Things that start with the word hater

I just have a couple of things to address before I get to bloggin'.

One: I fucking cannot stand hater-ific people who don't want you to think you are worth talking about, yet talk about you anyway.
There's no reason to pretend that you're not talking about me. We both know you are, and most of your twitterlings and facebook darlings do, as well. Don't act as if I hold no importance or value and then turn around and bless my news feed with your weak version of who you think I am.

Two: I think that people who don't have the guts to actually hate on you in person should be publicly slapped in the face with leftover lipo fat.

You know who I'm talking about too. Those FB-Twitter-Myspace freaks that enjoy trash talking other people. And a couple of those people, I dare you say, I actually do (or used to) call friend. Well let me address you- woman to.. whatever.


I fucking love you.

Even as you call me fraud, transparent wordsmith, snobby, bitchy, wannabe, whatever...

You don't have to like me, what I do, how I live, or who or what I love. I don't do anything for you except feed your ego

SO

for the sake of both my sanity and yours, kindly fuck off. Both of our worlds are obviously better when the other is not in it. There. I said it.

Let's move on, shall we?


Today I realized that bitching and complaining won't get me anywhere, so I set out to make this work day as smooth as possible. I got to work early, despite having to run half a mile to catch up to the bus. The only downfall to that run was that I didn't get to stop inside Cosi and get some breakfast =/ Good thing there were doughnuts waiting for me in the break room to go along with my yumlatte.. so I didn't miss too much. THANK YOU girl with the cool hair cut for providing us with delicious doughnuts on a damn near regular basis.  You rock my tiny little world. So that rocky start turned into a rockin' day of signing poor unsuspecting people up for store credit cards and making them spend unnecessary money. I love America.




I'm used to a lot of things happening around this time. For one, my family sets out to grab all the gifts we can for other people while it's still cheap. Hell yes we're selfish little pennypinchers. My mom doesn't usually give us Christmas gifts. Since both mine and my sister's birthdays are within two weeks of the holiday, we've come up with a strategy: get everything AFTER the prices have plummeted postseason-- and only shop in tax-free states (like good old Pennsylvania). We make it kind of a postholiday tradition to wake up at the crack of dawn (nine-ish) to pile up in my mom's car and truck it up north to department stores, small boutiques, and the like so that we can enjoy cheap, taxfree things (mostly clothing) that no one else will have.
This year, though, I'll be celebrating the holidays in ghost town. Hopefully with my girlfriend, but, most likely, I"ll be drinking Marcea-made cocktails and singing to Alvin and the Chipmunks by myself.  Or complaining to my Mommy on the phone about how the snow is ruining my white Christmas and baking whatever delicious cake concoctions come to mind.

At least I have a vision. It's not gonna be anything like home, but it's going to be Christmas, nonetheless.