I never thought I'd say this...but I'm happy to be back in my cubicle. This, of course, comes after a week of being cramped in a tiny, hot room with several other people that I can barely stand...enduring training that I really didn't need. Not to mention, being forced to sit at a 'desk' with absolutely no room to work, and no organization whatsoever. Yikes.

At least in my cube, I have (some) privacy. I have room to work, I have all the forms, papers, post-its, paper clips, staples, filing trays and whatever else I may need at my disposal. Organzied in a way I like it. Right at my finger tips. Neatly stacked and filed around me. Did I mention organized the way I like it?

The charm of being back to my own little piece of Office Hell has quickly worn off, and boredom has set in. 26 more days. 26 more days.

The countdown to 'freedom', which was at first a source of joy and delight, is now filling me with fear and anxiety. I'm terrified. I don't know why I'm so scared. What's the worst thing that could happen? I'll be broke? My business will fail? Why do I feel that failure is the worst possible thing that could ever happen to me?

What about now? What about how miserably unhappy I am now [with my job]? How many times have I felt sick to my stomach the moment I turn into the parking lot? How many times have I sat in a bathroom stall, crying because I hate my job (and many times, my life) so much? How many times have I been embarassed to tell people what I do, because...well...I am embarassed? Why have I only half-heartedly persued the dozens of other (insurance) jobs I've applied for over the past several months?

I can't understand why I fear 'failure' so much, when by staying at Shit Job, or any job like it, is the biggest personal failure of all? Why do I feel that because countless others have never bothered to persue their own dreams, and instead chose to wallow in misery, that I should, too? I almost feel guilty that I'm taking this chance, because so many others couldn't, or wouldn't, or didn't.

Sadly, I think I'm the only person in my life who feels this doubt. It seems everyone else is behind me 110%, and has every belief that I will be a success. Why don't I believe it, too?

My Mom and Stepdad are coming to my place tomorrow evening to discuss my 'business' plan with me. We should be taking the loan out in the next couple of weeks (hopefully sooner than later...it will be a huge relief when I start have some concrete proof that this plan is moving forward.) Maybe once I can see things moving into place, I'll be able to regain some of the confidence I'm losing.

My goal, for now, is to work solely on Sug@rKitty and at 2nd Job until after Christmas (meaning, I don't want to pick up another part-time job just yet). My manager at 2nd Job was delighted to hear my schedule will be opening up. I work in custom framing, and we have a gigantic sale coming up. And of course, there's always the Post-Thanksgiving-Christmas-Mania that sweeps the nation...methinks I will have more than enough hours there.

Enough about my paranoia.

Retail Etiquette

I'd like to take a moment to review some Retail Shopping Etiquette.

Normally, I like 2nd Job. I like it a lot. I don't even mind it when I'm tired or hungover. Sundays, on the other hand, are a different story. It seems like the one or two annoying customers I get during the week, all congeal into a huge, writing mass of idiocy and come into my store on Sundays. Maybe they're grumpy after having the Wrath of God burned into their sinful souls? Maybe the Hometown Buffet was too crowded? Or out of fried chicken? I don't know. All I know is this: Sundays=Assholes

For those of you who have forgotten your Shopping Manners, I've compiled a neat little list of rules that will help make your retail shopping experience much more pleasant (and your plebian cashier much more cheerful).

1)Do not ignore me while I'm waiting on you. This includes talking on your cellphone, checking your voicemail, conversing with your sister/brother/aunt/niece/cousin/uncle/dad/mom/grandma that came into the store with you. This is not only annoying, it's disrespectful. Yeah, so I fucking scan your precious silk flowers and quilting thread for $7.50/hour. I'm still a person, and I still deserve a response when I say, "Hello, how are you doing today?"

2)If you have a coupon (which I know you do), do not wait until I've scanned and bagged every single item and totalled your purchases. Once again, this is rude. FUCKING PAY ATTENTION!

3)If you MUST ask me about my tattoos, please refrain from asking the following questions:

"Are they real?"

"Did that hurt?!"

"What does your mom think of that?" (My mom?! I'm almost 26!! What does my mom have to do with anything?!!)

and "What are you going to do when you're old?"

And most importantly, do not ever touch me without asking. Ever. Especially do not jerk up my shirtsleeve while I'm behind a register, when I cannot react and I cannot do anything but fake a smile and grit my teeth, answering your moronic questions. Do. Not. Touch. Me. Without. My. Permission.

Why do people think that because I have tattoos, they are allowed to pull up my sleeves without asking?! COMPLETE STRANGERS DO THIS TO ME EVERY SINGLE DAY! I'm not a fucking freak show, Asshole!

*ahem*

I now feel much better after releasing my repressed feelings. Thank you for your attention.

The Cure

As expected (well, as a Cure fan would expect), the show was amazing. It was actually a festival, headlined by The Cure, where a lot of really great bands played (Mogwai,The Rapture, Interpol).

There was hardly anyone there, which really surprised me (although, I went to the Cincinnati show, and heard that the Cleveland show was packed). The lack of crowd proved advantageous, as there weren't throngs of drunken morons hemming us in on all four sides. Had it not been a million degrees out, it would have been absolutely perfect.

I went with Kelli and Sabrina, and CP met us there (remember, he lives an hour south of me). He brought his cousin along...making his cousin officially the First Member of CP's Family That I've Met.

CP and his cousin left halfway through The Cure's set, and so I was left drifting off into my own little world while my friends danced around. I lay on the grass, looking up at the stars and letting the music pour over me, grinning madly because CP had whispered, "I love you!" to me, twice before he'd let me go. Though I missed him, I felt supremely happy.

They closed the show with Boys Don't Cry, an obvious but good choice, and I marveled at the aging Robert Smith. He still has the crazy black hair, thick black makeup, and a slash of red lipstick....but he's decidedly chubbier than I've ever seen him. It gives him a comical, almost clownish appearance. Still, it was a good show...and he still rocks my socks.

CP's beginnings

I had an entire day off this past Saturday, (the first full day I've had off since July 20th...ugh!) and CP came to rescue me.

He came up Friday night, and early Saturday, he drove me back to his town to spend the day. He grew up in a small town, in rural Ohio. And I do mean rural. Corn fields, soybeans, and hills as far as the eye can see. We even stopped to buy some ears of corn from a portly farmer, clad in overalls, who wished us a "God bless you!" as we walked to our car.

His family owns several acres of land, including an apple orchard where his parents live. His mom even raises chickens (which are really fucking cute!). Oddly enough, he and his family are not imbred hicks as most of the population of that part of Ohio are. His parents were marines, and moved from California when CP was a wee tot. Why they moved to Bumfuck, Ohio is beyond me.

Regardless, city girl that I am, I enjoyed my day in the country. The air really does smell better in the country...a delightful mixture of fresh corn, barbecue, and wood burning stoves. Maybe I'm a hick at heart, afterall.

I couldn't have asked for a more perfect day. In true hillbilly fashion, we even went to the drive-in. Ah, the wonders of southern Ohio.

I would write more, but frankly I don't know what to say. I hate to be one that gushes on about being in love and saying all sorts of mushy crap that makes everyone (myself included) sick. I don't know how to write about CP without gushing, without going on and on about how wonderful he is, and how perfect he is for me...not without sounding like a tool anyways.

So I'll keep it to myself. Heh.

For now.

xoxo
sz