I know I haven't updated in awhile, but... I just couldn't seem to bring myself to bother to turn my laptop on. Pathetic, maybe, but I found I vastly preferred watching a bunch of movies and giving myself horrible gastro-intestinal problems far more rewarding. I even went outside a few times.

Right. On Sunday, I actually watched about six movies back to back, and during that time I had (in no particular order) lime flavored chips with spinach-avocado dip, a bowl of ramen, a bag of ruffled potato chips (sour cream), two bags of Skittles, a handful of orange chocolate rolled wafers, a bowl of tortellini (sundried tomato), four bottles of Ramune, one bottle of orange Crush, and a Junior Mint the size of a chocolate covered cherry.

I went to bed that night thinking a nice, tall glass of Alka-Seltzer would definitely hit the spot.

Today, however, my usual grace and good luck seemed to be generally off. Maybe the dream I had last night when I wasn't awake from rampant leg pain had something to do with it. Anyway. Aside from forgetting to leave the Assistant Manager's keys in the office before I left the night before, I decided to rectify this by going in at eight to return them so I wouldn't get yelled at. She didn't even work today. So I spent an hour dropping off bills and eating pancakes in front of a homeless guy eating crackers in IHOP before returning.

Around noon, we had a few in orders and whatnot, and I discover that one of the sauce bottles is mildly plugged. I tried prying at it, and it LOOKED like the sauce had just congealed slightly over the tip, like most of these things do. So, figuring a little bit of brute force might work, before going to get a toothpick to gouge out the clog, I positioned the bottle over the sandwich and proceeded to squeeze. And wouldn't you know it? That fucking bottle exploded like a puss-filled zit, and suddenly I was standing there covered in spicy ranch.

I'm rather glad no one actually saw this, they just saw me covered in ranch sauce. When the new(ish) girl came over to the table to give me the tickets, I just told her to finish the sandwiches and wandered into the back to clean myself off and hopefully let the shock wear off. Of course, N'Awlins is in the back, sees me, and says in surprise, "What happened?!"

My response? "I'm covered in fat free spicy ranch."

Then later today I managed to slice my finger open while cleaning the lemonade machine. I had to throw a rag into the laundry because I bled on it before I even noticed I was actually bleeding and not just in pain.

Then I went home and during the evening, we made an eleven minute run to the grocery store to pick up three items before the brownies were done baking, but not before me and Mal watched Super Mario Bros... again.

...I think I should go to bed now. Hopefully I don't have another dream about guys sleepwalking while dressed in plaids. Shades or Rocko's Modern Life right there.

http://bigcatpants.deviantart.com/art/SALAD-141812143

Didn't find a culinary section, so I put it under this. OH GOD I LOVE THIS SALAD RIGHT NOW.

This morning I woke up curled around my portable CD player with one of my arms almost hopelessly tangled in the headphone wires. It surprised me, because I had no recollection of even getting drowsy. I guess I just sort of switched off. Maybe it had something to do with my earbuds dying later today, but I don't think so- they were working fine until near the middle of my walk, then suddenly the sound started cutting out on one of the earbuds every time I pressed it as if I was adjusting it in my ear. Wonderful. *sigh*

Oh.

I have today off and work tried to call me in. At almost eight in the morning.

After the fucking day I had yesterday? Yeah, right.

Was feeling a little guilty for about an hour. But then I got over it. I know I shouldn't go in every time they call me in or I'll get even more burnt out (and homicidal). But I also know I'm one of the only people they even bother calling. I know there's a good chance I'm going to get questioned tomorrow, like about why I never called back and where I was, like it's any of their business. They'll live. But, I also also know I show up for ALL OF MY SHIFTS and actually DO MY WORK, despite what the Assistant Manager may think.

I know I've touched on this before, but seriously, Assistant Manager yells at me for everything- and when I say she yells at me for everything, I'm not kidding. Yesterday I got yelled at for: Not using measuring cups for the cheese, not calling out soups even though I had been doing that since lunch started, and my particular favorite-- loading sandwiches too fast. I have NEVER been yelled at for that- I'm the slowest one there who has a clue what she's doing. On a normal day, I'll also get yelled at for: cleaning, not filling the tables while doing the changeouts, not recalling to stock things, not doing changeouts fast enough, not doing the dishes when I'm supposed to, doing the dishes because changeouts are taking so long, standing around... I could go on. I don't really know what to do at this point.

Sundays are the worst. Especially since I'm usually working a seven or eight hour shift and it's very rare she'll let me take a break, whether we're busy or not. *grumbles* Then she'll make me sweep the lobby and stock the front while she's off the clock between her split shifts- both things, I might add, are HER JOBS as the MANAGER and FRONT PERSON and it usually means I'll get yelled at if I'm in the back for some reason. It's horrible, because I'll go out there and discover that she had done nothing except wait for her shift to be over so she could get me to do all her work. One day it especially pissed me off, because she still made me do it while she was on the clock and we had a ton and a half of things to prep in the back. I kinda feel like I'm being bullied.

Beta called in yesterday, so I had the distinct pleasure putting up with Hamster Bedding and his white trash fascism and N'Awlins's two-faced work ethic usually involving whether or not someone should be helping her or doing things for her entirely, I really can't handle it. I really, really can't. I'd rather have my face eaten off by rats than endure that again- working with Hamster Bedding outside the peanut gallery especially. Sure, I wouldn't enjoy it, but I would prefer it.

A new job sounds charming. It does. But there's a reason, a reason a reason that I won't tell anybody (although a few can guess) the small, stupid, idiotic reason why I never quite manage to look elsewhere, the craft store where I was nearly attacked by a raving lunatic without necessary medication not withstanding. Single, stupid, itty-bitty reason. Oh, wow I'm stupid.

A trail of sickness
Leading to me
If I am haunted
Then you will see...