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12:31 am - August 16, 2004
I dance for the organ-grinder-man.
So, I promised a bit about the new added gainful employment. At the media whorehouse. But I'm a wee bit tired, so I reserve the right to edit this at my whim.

Two jobs. Yay me. And as of the 23rd, full time student as well. Maybe. If I'm lucky.

Alright, I'm pretending to be far more cynical than I really am about this. I actually like it pretty well. The people are nice, very laid back. (With the exception being that I've noticed all 18-year-olds feel the compulsion to ask my age, what the blazes is that?! Sure, just make me MORE aware of the things I am without, namely, degree, grown-up job, house, respectable car and grown-up relationship. Bah, enough of my issues.) But the job does keep me busy, so by the time I get done with work, usually, I feel the need to bond with my lovely cosy bed and not a raucous bar, so I'm saving money, in a way...

The "in a way" part comes into play with my excellent discount and ridiculous book/dvd/music acquisitiveness. Yes, this will be wonderful come christmas, when everyone can pretty much guess what they'll be getting. I am sure some will appreciate this more than others.

The downside? Ridiculously tiny wages. Very, very sore, aching feet with something akin to burns on them from my shoes. I don't know if the fledgeling blisters gave up and this is the result, or if I have foot SARS. Pray I don't get gangrene, because the way this year is going, I think it may be entirely possible. And no, I'm not wearing ridiculous shoes, these are comfortable keds. Dunno.

There are also times where I feel a bit like a monkey, banging away at my cash register, trying fruitlessly to open one of those stupid cases the cds and rental dvds come in. I am certain that Hell is well-stocked with lots and lots of those little clear case-thingeys. I stand on my little dais, besieged by people ogling my hair, trying to rent movies when they know perfectly well they have no account, and proceeding to pay with pennies and dimes. (When this is a child, it's cute. When it's an adult with a bill of $15.95, the charm begins to wane.)

Aside, what do they expect me to respond with when they point out to me that my hair is really long? "Thanks, I hadn't noticed, I'd better get that taken care of?" Bleh. I get at least six of those a night. If it's meant to be a compliment, I sure wish they'd just say so. If it's not, then why bring it up at all? I don't point out their baldness or bad dye jobs or weed-whacker haircuts. This must be how really tall people feel. I'm tempted the next time someone asks how long I've been growing it out, to say "Schizeh! You mean my mullet grew out already?"

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