Holidays starting.
UGH.
Oh god, I hate holiday season.


I hate all the flaming imbeciles that come to the Mall of America on a Saturday in December and then cluelessly ask me, "Is is always this busy?"

*FACEPALM*


I hate all the morons that come to the Mall of America on a Saturday in December and then demand to know how we possibly could be sold out of [X]. DIDN'T WE KNOW IT WAS GOING TO BE POPULAR!? WHY DIDN'T WE STOCK OVER 9,000!?

*FACEPALM* YES, WE DID, AND THE FIRST 9,000 PEOPLE GOT ONE. CONGRATULATIONS ON BEING THE 9,001 PERSON TO ASK ME FOR SUSAN BOYLE TODAY.


I hate-- oh god, HAAAAAAAAAAAATE-- all the people who come to the music department with an armload of books and excuse themselves by whining, "The line up front is soooooooo long!"

ALKJGDHLKDFGsdlfkjsldfkjslkajsdlkJLKWRAGERAGERAGE. I FUCKING HATE YOU. WHY DOES EVERY SINGLE PERSON NEED TO SAY THIS!? WHY!? WHY?! I know the line up front is long, you fucking dipwad-- it's the Mall of America on a Saturday in December. NO SHIT, THE LINE IS LONG. But there are nine people up there ringing as fast as humanly possible and usually also a line manager. Back here, there's JUST ME. DOING EVERYTHING: shelving, cleaning, answering questions, finding things, preventing shrink, and ringing. I guaran-fucking-tee you that the line up front, no matter how long, will be quicker than waiting for me.


"It's not the 'holidays'; it's Christmas!"

...fuck you, lady. I'm Jewish.
(No, I'm not, but I am for every heinous bitch that tries to correct my offensively PC "Happy Holidays" into a "Merry Christmas". NO. I want to say "Happy Holidays." AND I WILL. AND YOU CAN BITE MY PASTY WHITE ASS.)



I hate the rampant consumerism. I hate the rush and impatience and rudeness. I hate the overstimulation and expectation. I hate the self-importance.
I hate the way people admit to buying things for other people simply because of the obligation-- not because they care or they want to or they saw the perfect gift. No. Obligation. I have to.
UGH. No. You don't. Stop it.


For the next month, it's all black and emo eyeliner for me.

Oh my god, I just woke up from the most cracked-out dream on the planet. (And it wasn't a nightmare! Whoo-hoo!)

I don't remember much of it, thank god.
I do remember trying to rearrange my stereo in my room without lighting the extension cords on fire with candle that was lit, being in my grandmother's house checking my email (wtf? my grandmother doesn't even have a computer...), and most of a kitchen scene.
Me and my roommates were trying to make...something. I mixed bread dough in with the doughnut dough and was microwaving the batter in little doughnut shaped pans (like ice cube trays, but for doughnuts), and was dressed like Envy (note to self: too much fanfiction). The doughnut batter was exploding and Jen was yelling at me and asking me why in the hell I put bread dough in there (I have no clue myself, actually), but I just kinda shrugged and was OK with everything, took my half-nuked doughnuts out, and began to eat one, dipping it in the frosting Wendy had made, which prompted Wendy to yell at me. So I wandered out and decided to watch TV (wtf? I don't watch TV...), and gradually everyone joined me. For some reason, while none of this was taking place in our apartment, the dresser that's in our hallway was there and the TV was on it, and Tom pulled out a drawer and sat in it in order to watch the show, and everyone else was worried he was going to break it.

*shakes head*
Weird. But I would like a doughnut.

Oh yeah.

Happy Easter, y'all.