I've never seen a better depiction of scumbag dog in my entire life. That's not a very long time, but still. It looks like the type of furniture piece that a firefighter or wife beater would own. Fuck them, I want it. Three of them. For when I get my own place in the future. Two of them on each side of my bed, just for kicks; And definitely shits and giggles. Literally, shits. And one in the entry way of my place - right when you open the fucking door - you will see this table in front of you, up against a wall, with this pig on top of it:
Yeah, that's a pig with teets. A piggy bank, shall I say. What it's banking is all up to you to figure out.
After school my mom drove me to the Rockaway Townsquare shopping center where I tried to pick up an application from Target, since the salary was nine fucking bucks an hour. Turns out most of the assholes who work there are assholes to the 900th degree, and told me that I had to apply on a computer. Fuck that, man. I'm not standing there for fifteen minutes, looking like some library computer geek looking up seventy year old newspapers in the presence of these folks. So then we went to my most desired place to work - Victoria's Secret. Hell fucking yes.
In the mall, on our way to VS, we passed by Godiva and saw a sign that said they were hiring. When I went in and asked for an application, the clerk said you must be eighteen years or older. For selling goddamn chocolate? Hey if I can trust fifteen year old supreme-pizza-faced dipshits making my full-course meals at McDonald's, then I, as a sixteen year old, should at least be able to sell wart-sized truffles to horny people.
Then we got to the (my) desired destination and picked up an application, hoping to god or David Lee Roth or whoever the fuck it is that runs the universe, to get me this fucking job. What could be greater than wearing a hot sexy black suit, walking around in a jungle of racks of frilly and lacey underwear in a pink/black/white environment all day, and talking about underwear and boobs? Man, if you want to work at Limited Too or something within that level of coolness deviance, then you're a bonified idiot.
And the question about how old to work there, I think at my age you could - there's areas on the paper that indicate it pertaining to stuff. Sorry for the lack of word there.
Finally, my mother had to go to Michael's to buy some Christmas garlands and wreaths. A few months too early, but she had a shitload of coupons that she wanted to put to good use; Very typical of an asian woman, or even any goddamn asian person, to be money-conscientious. Since she had two coupons and two items to buy, she gave me the giant six-foot garland, some money and one of the coupons - to save even more money, because she'd save on both items with two people using one coupon for each. So while I was waiting on the usual russian-border-long line, the people before me had an entire fucking cart towering with fucking boxes of cheesy Halloween decor. They were this tiny little middle aged woman who looked too old for her age but wore the makeup and the dyed hair anyway - from far away she looks like a little girl (probably younger looking than I am because I'm a scary old looking mothefucker with a forty-eight year old man in his middle age crisis' voice), but up close she looks like a witch. Kind of like a Monet, if you've watched Clueless. Ironically enough, she probably bought something that resembled a witch.
She and her daughter moved slowly too - the whole time that I was standing behind them and waiting and waiting and hormoning and hormoning and losing more and more brain cells that contain the answer to the mystery of the creation of the universe, it took for them to lift a fucking box of cardboard spooky house onto the fucking counter. And like I said, they didn't buy just one box of junk. Junk like elementary school teachers would buy to decorate their classroom with.
Christina N. @ 7:36 PM
