Second floor living without a yard.

I set my alarm for the single digits of the morning with the full intention of waking up and doing a clean sweep of the apartment. My mom is flying in early tomorrow morning and apparently I'm hosting a party tonight.
I say "apparently" because I was just informed of this yesterday.
"Yeah, remember how we wanted to do something? Well the only available place is yours and everybody said they would help with the cleaning so..."
Thanks, guys.

Anyway, no matter what time I set my alarm I'm completely incapable of getting up before noon nowadays. Unless it's because I have to be at work at some ungodly hour in the morning.
This summer has taught me the true meaning of "eight days a week."
I feel like I should just set up a military cot in the employee break room of Reg and save myself some gas.

I wrote an angry rant at work. I feel it's safe to post it on here without being criticized because I doubt anybody has been checking up on my progress.
I know I haven't... been checking up on my progress.

I thought I had a pretty pessimistic and jaded view of human beings before I started working at Reg but I have to say, witnessing such stupidity and irrationality every day has brought my disdain far beyond any heights that I could've imagined a few years ago. These days, the majority of my customers make me want to rip of my own head and hurl it against the nearest wall.
I'm sorry that I can't make change for you but before you give me a dirty look and say something to the extent of "real nice" maybe you should stop for a split second and think to yourself how being rude to me because I'm just doing my job is going to benefit anyone... except maybe Satan to just added another reason to the list of incentives as to why you're going directly to Hell.
Maybe you should rethink your decision to spend fifty cents on a pitiful little handful of stale candy. Maybe you should stop over-reacting to the whole walking-thirty-steps-to-get-change-from-a-different-location situation. Are you acting like a dickhead? Yes. Is walking a short amount of feet going to kill you? No. Is going without a handful of candy that may or may not tip you closer and closer to obesity going to cause you any suffering? I don't think so.
I don't feel sorry for you. I'd do it if it were a life or death situation and the only way to save you was to open my register against the rules to get you some change. I may sympathize with you a little bit because I know how annoying it is to be presented with a coin machine that tricks you into wasting precious seconds--possibly even minutes of your time that could've been spent shoveling massive amounts of popcorn into your mouth.
I may sympathize, until you give me a dirty look and start walking away halfway through my sentence that was only meant to help you. At that point, my truest and deepest feeling is that you can take that dollar and shove it right up your ass. Because you are not special and I don't give a damn about how much you wanted that candy or how far you had to lumber out of the theater to get it.
You are just a peon in an endless sea of insignificant peons. That's the way the world is and I'm sorry if your mommy told you differently.

Also,



Johnny Depp, again? Really?
Let's find some new blood to exploit.