Happy Valentine's Day
Gawd, being a consumer sucks. When I win the lottery, everything I ever need will be brought to my swanky residence and paraded in front of me. I will have several personal shoppers, and I will order them about as my needs arise. "Shoe Shopper, nothing matches what Suit Shopper has left here. Go to Amalfi now." Or, "Recreational Drug and Alcohol Shopper, we've no more gin. What are you standing there for?"

I despise shopping, particularly during the winter or inclement weather. I knew that I had to come to the office today, and I knew that I had to pick up two or three things which unfortunately required a shopping centre. There is one by my office, so I figured "may as well brave it, but get there early." And I did - I had to wait ten minutes for Radio Shack to open its doors so I could buy a fregging battery. While there, I thought I might buy one of those nifty laser pointers for my kitties to play with, as one of them is getting quite fat. But it took about ninety seconds for me to tire of the retail experience, because three pimply salesmen hovered over my every move. "The hell with the fat cat, I'll just throw her toys from room to room for a day or so."

With phone battery in hand, I made my way to the other side of the mall to cash in on Clinique's Bonus Time. It's the most wonderful time of the year. However, by the time I was finished picking up a few prezzies for Mr. Crabby and a sweet little jacket for me, I was an exhausted, sweaty, parched bitch. Stores are not designed for people in coats who are carrying four bags. Neither are store fixtures. They are designed for lightly dressed people with two free hands, who have already had a bite to eat and a glass of water. I tried on a few sunglasses. For every pair that made it to the bridge of my nose, two would tumble off the rack onto the floor. "The hell with the sunglasses, I'll just go blind."

And now I'm at work, on a Saturday, after having stayed until 8:00 Friday evening. It hasn't been a very happy place lately. There was a very ugly meeting last week, at which the negligent parties admitted how difficult they are making my life, and asked that I bully everybody for the next six weeks so that we can all be successful. "I don't see that as my role," I said, even though I knew it's not very nice. I told you, things got ugly. Anyway, here I sit, not working at all, and now that I've finally stopped sweating I realize that the heat isn't working. Again. Maybe I'll dig out my sweet little jacket, crank some REO Speedwagon, and get to it. So that we can all be successful. Or maybe I'll just say "The hell with work, I'm already successful."