Farewell, weekend

I know it’s only 5:30 p.m. on Sunday, but the back-to-school butterflies are waging war in my stomach right now … dreading another five solid days of bullshit ahead.

I went in for awhile today, to work on my resume to submit to H.R. for the position I am already doing in addition to the one I took when I moved down here. My cover letter was on the cocky side, noting that I have been doing the two jobs just fine, so why shouldn’t I be easily and quickly promoted? Although, they are now on a witchhunt, per Shan, about dress code, and I know I have my moments of conflict with it. Thus, they’ve already emotionally assaulted me on a few issues already, and I know I fall victim to some of their new pet peeves, so I expect they will be dredging up any minute reason to prevent me from having the job.

Speaking of pet peeves, I HATE IT when people cough without covering their mouths. Hate it!

Case in point: I breezed into my nail parlor (read: Vietnamese sweatshop) today to get my lovely French manicure done at 3 p.m., and the girl who did my nails snarfed and arked in my face for awhile, until she finally put on her little surgeon’s mask. Then she continued to snarf and ack through the thin paper. Naturally, she was busy with my nails, so even if she covered her mouth, she was still touching me with her germ-infested little hands.

And it’s so weird being there. It’s silent, save for the employees communicating in their language. Once in awhile, a worker will speak to a client, but in my case, I never realized it and had to ask three or four times for her to repeat herself. She was very sweet, though, and much gentler than the gal who did my nails the last time I was there. I didn’t bleed or cry once today, so I got her name and figured that a little bit of cold germs are decidedly better than getting HIV in my open wounds from their nail files.

Nails look really good. Not as good as Dina used to do them, though. I miss my early-Saturday appointments at Cardamone’s in Pittsburgh with her. She rocked. We chattered the whole time I was there, and as it was a big family-owned place, the owner was there b.s.ing with us, and all the manicurists, hairstylists and customers were all in each other’s conversations. It was like a big Italian-family dinner, every time I had an appointment there. Here, in the Sweatshop, you can hear a pin drop, for the most part. I was wondering if the workers, when they did speak, were talking about what assholes they thought their clients were. lol. At any rate, Dina really did do a better job, but she was waaaayyy more expensive, so I guess it’s a trade-off.

I like having pretty nails, so that when I drive by the Veggie Patch, I can flip it off with a beautifully manicured finger. Heh.

Shan and I were there at the same time, but we only spent a few moments together when we were both done. We did hang out yesterday, though. Treated ourselves to a disgustingly sinful dinner at Lone Star — Amarillo cheese fries, filet mignons, etc. etc. Stuffed ourselves silly, but it was so very worth it. Highlight of the evening: we were walking to our cars, and this short little asshole in an ancient car came pealing around the bend at 60 mph, almost running straight into us. I started to move aside and attempted to pull Shan with me, but she wasn’t having it and continued walking exactly where she was. Then the little shit pulled into a spot just behind us.

As if on cue, we both — at the top of our lungs and completely in unison — yelled, “Dumbass!” Then we realized we’d heard an echo or something, and we dissolved into giggles and high-fived each other. Just goes to show how alike we think. It was hysterical. And the little runt got out of his car — he was all of 5’2″ — and I shouted back to him, “Perhaps if you could see above the steering wheel, you could drive better!” I was also laughing at him because he had his seat reclined all the way back, and I know I hooted about that, too. Hee hee. The dumbass didn’t bother with us, though — he would’ve gotten his ass kicked, for sure.

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