Fuck beans.

So I guess I AM working through next week. Not gonna bother asking to extend my two weeks 'cause Shelby's already outsourced a replacement for Chelsey and I. And he's gonna be an actual stock manager, so the word goes. Fucking. Amazing. Funny how bad she panicked when Chelsey and I both decided to leave at the same time, eh?

Whatever.

I swear, if only Shelby was out of the picture and Angel was the store manager... shit would be so different.

I'm terrified, you guys. So fucking scared. I got so comfortable there that I really don't know what I'm going to do after it's over and I never really thought about it. I mean, when I really sit back and think about it, this job was one I was practically forced into for a week or so and they ended up deciding I was (sort of) worth something. So I just stayed and tolerated so much bullshit for slave wages for SO long. I think I'm a fucking masochist.

One more paycheck and then I'm seriously destitute. The paycheck's gonna be huge 'cause I'm getting my vacation time tacked onto it, but still. What the fuck am I gonna do with my lives? I'm figuring that I'm probably gonna run somewhere like Coach or Ann Taylor (both of which pay VERY decent) in a panic because retail/stock is the only trade I fucking know. And am I the type of person to throw myself into a situation outside of my comfort zone? Absolutely not.

I know there's something out there for me that will actually pay me what I'm worth and I'll be fucking amazing at, but I'm way too scared to go out and get it because somewhere in the back of my head, there's still the looming possibility of rejection. Ugh.

So here I sit in my comfy pants, downloading copious amounts of N.E.R.D., downing Rolling Rocks like the brewery is about to be shut down. Something tells me this is exactly where I'm gonna be for the next few months.

/end quarter-life crisis rant

On that note. The amount of hip-hop I've been listening to lately is strange and disturbing. And yet I'm enjoying it immensely. Heh! But then, it's not bullshit "Cashmoneymillionairefuckin'bitchesshootyouintheface" hip-hop. It's actually... decent. Ya know, with substance and some inkling of thought put into the lyrics. Heh. Still, the me a year ago would beat the living fuck out of me today. So goes the evolution of Bre. I blame it on working at Guess for fifty million years.