bruiser_boy

I worked from 5-9 tonight. It rained all day, only clearing up around 8, so we stayed in the office, making calls and doing data entry. My coworkers were grumbling about the phone work. I can't say I was too thrilled, but when your mantra is "better than Bread Hell*" , its easy to cope. I got my hours increased, so I'll be making $40 more a week. I'd prefer to do it full time, but they don't have the funds. Oh well.

You know whats a great feeling? Coming to a stop light next to a cop with your windows down on a rainy night, loudy singing along to "West of London" by the Frantic Flintstones, and knowing that the cop is either thinking "Jeezus, that boy likes John Denver** a little too much" or "I wonder if my daughter's cat is a closet homo."

I have no idea what is on tap for this weekend. I'm fucking tired, yo. I've been up since the ass crack of dawn, driving people around, doing housework and then working.

My dad's stuck in Toledo right now. He'd been driving Steph (my little sister) to college when the transmission on the van blew out. Fuckers want $3500 for a reworked tranny and inspection. The van's only worth about $5000.

*Bread Hell: (n) 1. The Country Kitchen Sweatshop Bakery on Lisbon St., Lewiston (my first, and surely all time shittiest job). 2. The place where bad bread goes after you throw it out. 3. The place where Porky Pig goes when he begins alucinating after eating too much bread in old timey, 1930s educational cartoons.

** "West of London" is a mutilated cover/parody of "Take Me Home Country Road"