Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you're cool, and fuck you, I'm out!

I've been canned. Sacked. Pink slipped.

FUCK MY LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFE.

Tonight and this weekend are not going to be pretty. I suspect there will be crying and drunkeness and hardcore feeding involved with the money that was supposed to be for bills.

I'm probably applying for unemployment and letting the government take care of me for awhile.

Kinda funny how I didn't get fucked by the god-awful economy until the VERY end of Bush's term.

And by funny I mean shitty as fuck and I want to harm somebody.

But my hyperactive sense of entitlement as a twentysomething American female tells me that means I don't have to play nice for the time being. People that take certain kinds of energy to deal with are coming to visit this weekend. I make no promises that I am playing nice. If anybody even looks at me funny, I swear I'm going to unleash a world of fury they didn't even know I had. Jackie, crazy twat Clara, Richard, the homeless bums that panhandle, anybody. I'm not planning to be mean, but I'm just saying, if things are pissing me off, you'll know. Full blown Diva mode has been engaged.

So much for SXSW 2009 magical road trips. So much for spring break.

I started kissing the nicotine smokestack yesterday.

But on the upside, Theresa and I are job hunting tomorrow.

I would love it if the snow stopped, thanks.

There's always the titty bar.

I think it's 80s night. Somewhere else, not at the titty bar. That would be kinda epic though.

Two hours left at this job and I don't care who I offend.