Thursday, Jun. 12, 2003 - 8:41 p.m.
Bleh

Oh, bah. It's not my week.

Everything is just wrong. I don't like my job. I never have enough money to last me until my next paycheck. My online friends are dropping like flies (no, not dying, just ... deciding not to talk to me anymore, because I'm a self-absorbed asshole, probably). I've gained more weight, and I feel so incredibly blob-like and unattractive. My room is a hideous mess, and I never have time to clean it. My roots are showing, and I now hate having blonde hair (what was I thinking? What am I ever thinking, straying from red?). And I just can't seem to do anything right. I think I really need a hug. I'm not much of a hug person, either, except with close, close friends, so that should tell you what state I'm in.

Bedo (that's the store I work at, on Queen street West, and I'm telling everyone about it now because the likelihood of anyone actually making the effort to stalk me is slim to none, I figure ... I'm not the diaryland hotshot I once was, it's time to face the facts), yes, where was I? Right. Bedo has decided to bring in all kinds of ghastly military-inspired clothes for women. It's all polyester khaki-coloured and mesh and crap. Trendy, but cheap. Oh, and hideous, but in style, at least. Oh, stock days are such jolly good fun.

On the bright side, I do have the whole weekend off, which means I get to spend two solid days with m'love, doing whatever we both please.

I really don't know what else to say right now.


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� Ripe Tomato 2001-2005
Don't steal my shit. I'll send thugs. Oh shut up. I do so have thugs. Quit laughing! Look, just don't steal my stuff, OK?