So...Dangeresque

My new $12 B. Moss "Dangeresque" shades, complete with rhinestones.

Well, for whatever reason, after I "made" a layout (a.ka. modified the crap out fo the Minima layout), Blogger decided to cut about 3/4 of the code off after a few days. I'm about to freaking give up here.

The past couple of days have been somewhat difficult. At the beginning of June, I spent a week or two in the most heavy depression I've experienced so far in life. Going back to work has helped, in that it provides a stimulus that does not make me feel bored and useless. It doesn't take a whole lot, however, to push me back into it, and I think I'm PMSing right now, so the danger is much higher. I feel much better now, but the last couple of nights have been rough on me and Thom. While, as I said, my job helps, it's not the ideal stimulus. At the end of the day, it's still working at the Barnes & Noble cafe. They've been seriously cutting back hours because sales have been "hurting" (like the kind of hurting you could cure with a First Aid kit and some Tylenol) and the precious higher-ups are running to defend their salaries.

Though, it could be worse. I've been reading The Betrayal of Work on my 15-minute breaks, which has pointed out to me that many people in my wage-range are adults with families and that many employers do not allow "luxuries" like bathroom breaks. I'm serious. In poultry processing plants, if there's no one to cover you on your job for 5 minutes (and you better not be gone one second over five minutes, let me tell you) you have to stand there and hold it. To me, this is so pathetic. People talk all this shit about the American Dream, and about how, if you just work hard, you'll be able to get good wages. BULLSHIT. I'm not saying that (all) "higher-skilled" jobs aren't difficult, but there's a difference between sitting at a desk all day and doing what you were trained to do in college and working in a factory grabbing live chickens (a the rate of 1 chicken per 2 seconds or something like that) by the feet, being pecked and scratched, and hanging them upside down in a machine so that their heads can be cut off, and getting paid $6.50 an hour for it, with no benefits...and no bathroom breaks. I realize now that I'm very lucky for working for a company, as large and faceless as it is, that offers affordable health insurance to people working at least 20 hrs a week, gives me breaks, and lets me go to the bathroom as often as I need to.

At any rate, work has been stressful because of under-staffing and, oh joy of all joys, the district cafe manager is coming tomorrow for a full business day of breathing-down-our-necks fun. In the words of my manager and dear friend, "I don't care if you paint a fucking clown smile on your face, Emily, we're not going to lose certification because he's an asshole." And I wasn't being sarcastic about the "dear friend" part, I love my manager, he's just a bit...how do you say...on the edge sometimes.

Yesterday I went shopping to the dreaded mall with my mom. My town has two malls, an indoor one and an outdoor one. The outdoor one is a hangout for rich people and homeless people alike. Most of the shops are for rich people. Today I patronized one and blew $35 on a freakin' pencil. But then again, that money is not added to spending on cosmetics, DVDs, video games, stereo equipment, car payments, and other crap that people usually spend a lot of money one. Nope, books and school supplies are definitely my two main luxury expenditures, with clothes in there too. And yes, I consider my spending on clothes to be "luxury" spending, if for anything for keeping myself from throwing out the cosmic insult to the millions of people in the world who can't just go to Old Navy and drop $20 on a pair of pants. And now that I look at the website, I even got my overpriced pencil for $5 less than what the company sells it for, plus a 10% discount because it was on sale. OK, I'll stop trying to assuage my own guilt now.

At any rate, the indoor mall is the "regular" one. You know, owned by that Simon thing, containing all the usual supects: JCPenny's, Sears, American Eagle, Gap, Victoria Secret, and several jewelry, piercing, and watch stands in the middle. It's also frequented by a much different crowd. Let me just say that there are a lot of REALLY rich people around where I live, not just the upper-middle-class/lower-upper-class people that everyone sees blowing $300 at Nine West without thinking about it. These really rich people have no use for the mall, because there are so many other stores in the area willing to sell them a $500 camisole for their fox hunting yacht cruise...thing. So the indoor mall is crowded with mostly lower-middle-class families and their screaming kids and pack-hunting teenagers just chomping at the bit to spend their $20 monthly allowance between Smoothie King and Claire's. Needless to say, the mall is not the place for people like me, who avoid over-stimulation like the plague. At least it gives me yet another excuse to never set foot in Abercrombie and Fitch (1. being their racist asshole ways and 2. being their lame taste in clothes.) Even a 20-minute trip to Best Buy the other night was about to make our brains ooze out of our ears. After going for a long time with no TV, being present while 10 surround sound systems play The Lord of the Rings at full volume, while another 10 play a baseball game is just not. cool.

Here is the coup de grace of the day, though: I told my mom that I'm using reusable pads. She was seriously more visibly disturbed than when I told her that her soon to be son-in-law is four years her senior. "Isn't that kind of...gross?" "Why? You just use them, soak them, and put them in the wash." "Where do you soak them, in the SINK?" "No, in a little container that I use for it." I guess she's finally started to figure out that yes, her daughter is quite "different."