Monday February 23, 2009

Woke up to my alarm at 10:00 AM today. Actually was in a good enough mood to just get the fuck up and get going (shocker). I hit the bathroom, take a leak and cruise into the kitchen to get my coffee. I don't have to start work until noon today, so I cook myself up some waffles and thoroughly enjoy my hour and a half of free time before work.

I start getting ready around ten after eleven. I jump in the shower and realize that I'm out of conditioner, so now my hair is all fuckin' dry and shitty looking today (I know I sound like a fuckin' woman on the rag, but I truly did look like shit). Once out of the shower, I throw on my clothes and hit the road. I swing by the mailbox to drop off one of my Netflix movies (it was this movie called Wristcutters: A Love Story, which was a fuckin' brilliant film), and I also have enough time to even stop by the gas station and to throw in a half tank. So far, the day is looking pretty damn good.

I get to work on time and do my routine: clock in, walk in back, set all my shit (coat, laptop, book) down next to the desk, put on my shitty looking apron, and head out to the front to start my day. Sound fascinating? And people wonder why retail workers are so often driven to insanity. That picture I just painted should answer some questions.

The day goes by fairly quickly. Not too busy, not too slow. I actually got a lot of work done on the 2nd draft of my screenplay, so it wasn't a complete waste of a day. I decide to check my bank accounts to make sure everything is still in tact.

I realize that my credit card bill is due tomorrow and I still am over my limit by twenty dollars. But, for some odd reason, the minimum payment is $18.89. Now, by paying the minimum payment, I would still be two dollars over my credit limit, which would ultimately leave me with an over-limit fee slapped onto the next statement. So the burning question is, why not just make the minimum payment twenty dollars? I'll tell you why. Because the bank wants to fuck me out of an extra thirty-nine dollars. I call up the credit card company and confront them about their ruse and tell them that they are scam-artist sons of bitches. They don't take too kindly to my accusations, but can't deny them either. I tell them to fuck themselves and hang up.

I shoot a call over to my Dad (and fellow hell-raiser when it comes to fucking with corporate America) to tell him of my accomplishment. We both laugh and bask in the glory (rebel, rebel) and commend ourselves for being the middle class bastards who don't take shit from anyone. We have a good time for about twenty minutes until we both hang up to get back to our jobs: working for the man (if you're clever, you'll catch the irony and the humor).

I get out of work at 5:00 and cruise straight home. I get inside and set my laptop back up in my office and chill out for a bit checking my e-mail and updating the diary. Hart stops by to pick something up around 6:30 and we shoot the shit for awhile about the Academy Awards from last night and who we thought deserved to win and who we thought should give their awards back (because our opinions DO matter).

After Hart cruises, I make myself a quick dinner and then head over to Dave's house for band practice. It's our only opportunity to practice before our big show at the Double Door on Wednesday, so we have to milk it for all it's worth. We run through the set list just to make sure we have all the parts of each song down to perfection. We do, as if there was any doubt (cocky). Having said that, we're probably going to fuck up royally on Wednesday night (karma).

We call it a night just around 9:00. I shoot a call over to Stin to see what he's up to. Him and Phil just picked up the new Unreal Tournament game for Xbox360 (which means nothing to me, but I pretend to be excited). I cruise over to Stin's to see what all the excitement is about. Basically, in a nutshell, the game is just another game like Halo and Call of Duty, but with aliens vs. humans. I must be getting old because I just don't see the attraction to getting three of the same exact games (that and I find the controls on these newer generation games way more complicated than they need to be... give me one button to shoot, one to jump, and one to run... I'll be fine).

I cruise out of Stin's just around 12:30 and head home. I brush my teeth, set my alarm and get ready for bed. I just got the first disc of the first volume of Batman: The Animated Series so I throw that in and pass out after a few episodes.