(no subject)

QotD: Quote of the...Dream?!

Mike C. (While discussing the fact that he's grown to be about seven feet tall) "Well, the extra eight inches are skin."
[pause]
"My special MAN-skin!"

(((ew, ew, ew, ew, ew! Also, I am dissapointed that I did not get to point out that having a long penis would not actually increase his hight --the alarm went off just as I was about to, and I woke up.)))

Earlier in my dreams last night, I had a segment which I'd rather like to turn into a short story called 'Fox Run'. Does anyone know of any cultural basis of all for racing pigs, foxes, and horses? Or even two of the above?

~Sor
MOOP!

So, Jobity Job

One of the things I keep alluding to is that I supposedly have a job. This is a true fact! I have a job and even without having started it yet I'm really really happy with it.

So, the background is that about two years ago, the ever-expanding land of Columbia added a thrift store quite close to my house --half a mile, if that. This was deemed 'awesome', and I would wander over there when possible. It's actually the store where I got the first dress I ever had to talk myself into buying ("It fits like it was made for you!" "But it's *short*..." "FITS WELL. LOOKS SEXY. IS PURPLEY BLUE! BUY NOW" "...Yessum...")

But I digress. Anywho, thrift store. Good stuff.

The start of this summer, I poked my nose into CVS (right *next* to the thrift store, practically) to ask if they were hiring. They directed me to fill out an online application, which I did. Nothing. For a whole week, nothing.

So, I decide that I really do need a job, and wander up towards the CVS and ask inside. Just before getting there, my brain coughs politely and points half a block further along the road. "You could try looking in there. They might even give you an employee discount."

CVS was immediately forgotten.

I step inside with a wary smile, and get directed back to the managers office. He seems pleased at my inquiry of a job, and hands me a clipboard full of forms to fill out. I dutifully do as much of it as I can (Address of elementary school? No, I'm sorry, I don't seem to have that in my mental records anywhere. :P) And turn it back in.

One drug test later, and he tells me I'm hired!

I go through the basic orientation of "This is what our company is!" --turns out that the thrift store is not your generic Goodwill or Salvation Army. It is actually part of the Linwood Center --a group that works with autistic children and adults, helping them learn to function, the usual thing. So, not only am I now working for a thrift store, it's connected to an autism support group. Go me!

My particular brand of job is simply retail bitch --working register, keeping the store orderly, presumably helping tag and hang items, sort things, etc. My first day is Tuesday, and hell --I'm pretty damn psyched!

((Oh yeah, and I got paid for orientation. Yay, I'm nineteen dollars richer than I was yesterday. Okay, so the pay's not *great*, but at least it's above minimum wage. :D!))

~Sor
MOOP!