Check out my new cornrows, made with real corn

Crippling depression...mmm...like the touch of an old lover, whom liked to beat you to a crying senseless puddle of mud...that someone passing by decided would be a good place to take a shit.

Anyway, I purchased an entertainment center (or an EC) from Pier 1 today, for $525 (because I'm made of money, or at least was, until I bought that), when I could have gotten a floor model with an easily fixed irregularity for $349, because I wouldn't have been able to fit the not-in-a-box floor model into my Honday Accord. I guess I do need an SUV like every other Minnesotan. They were right, I was wrong. Or at least I need to make a friend with a pick-up, to pick-up my shit.

I doubt I can even fit the box in the car, whenever they get that EC in stock. Because of course, it wasn't in stock. Because Pier 1 stuff is so popular that the things they have to sell, they don't actually have.

But the chair I was going to get at HOM (cute) Furniture would have take 2 weeks to be made to the colour I wanted anyway.

But I'll buy that chair later, when I have money again. Which will be in a little while, cause my salary is crap and all. Because the shittier the job, the shittier the pay.

Well, actually there are a lot worse jobs than mine at a drill bit factory. I don't have the risk of drills going through the center of my hand (actually happened to someone last month). I've never been at a job where there are some many people going in for surgery per month.

My nephew can almost walk. I didn't get to see him for 2 weeks, and now he can waddle his way to me for a few steps. Time passes too fast. He was so proud of himself, all like "see me, Uncle Bri! I'm da Boss Baby #1 of walking, huh!", with that little smirk and raised eyebrow he does when he knows he's the center of attention. 11 month old babies shouldn't be able to have only child syndrome that early.

George Lopez has now talked for a half hour about child beating.

I figure, if I stay up forever tonight, tomorrow won't come, and then I don't have to work. Or, I'll be so completely tired tomorrow, that people will think I'm sick, and send me home because of fear of contamination. (They actually lysol my desk and send me home if I look the least bit ill. That's how horribly disease disgusting I look, all the time, like I'm the most contagious person in the world).

Or I'll just be so tired it physically hurts, and have to work the whole day in pain, and then do a shitty job, and then have people complain about my output that day, the next day, thus continuing the pain.

But on Thursday, we might order in Chinese food.