I just watched Charlie's Angels for the first time. Damn. Next time I watch it, I'm going to make sure I'm drunk and the volume is off.

Speaking of drunk and stupid, guess what I did this weekend? That's right, I don't want to talk about it.

No, I guess I do. Nobody I work with knows I'm online.

So this stupid bitch I work with keeps leaving work early and I'm always stuck cleaning up her messes. I mean, it's a small shop and all but still- once I count down the till and clean the machines, I just want to go home.

On Saturday, Tammie (I hate how she spells her name, too!) says that she has to go home because her mom is in town and would be all upset if she didn't hang out with her, so I said I'd cover. Again. For the ninetieth time. I mean, the excuses are all plausible. I think if you're a compulsive liar, you should probably become a writer... but that's kinda insulting to the rest of us, and this dink is too stupid to spell most of the words she can say out loud.

At one-thirty AM, after I clean the tables and floor and the bathroom and the fucking windows, I lock the shop up and start walking home through the blizzard. And guess who I see and McFinley's Irish Pub? The stupid dink knows where I live, knows that I walk home, and knows that the stupid bar is on the way home.

I didn't say shit all week. I'm beginning to think that either I'm a sociopath or she's an utter void of comprehension. I've been pissed off about this one thing, where she has had about a thousand life and death episodes since then. Every day is blah blah this, blah blah, that... God, I'm getting pissed just thinking about it.

Working with this harpy is not worth nine-fifty an hour.