Monkeys and keyboards aside, one Random + CSS still doesn't make poop.

Everyone knows that I hate my one job. That's kinda a given. But I still need it to pay bills.

Long story short: Last week I called the home office to ask why I was still at the base rate for management. They basically told me that they couldn't (read: wouldn't) help me out.

This week my hours were cut down from the teens to six.

I came in to work today and found that no, it wasn't six--it was four.

Next week? I was up for nineteen. Nope--four.

And another manager was transplanted from a closed store. She's full time and needs full time hours. She also needs keys. My keys.

"Are you guys tryin' to tell me something?" I said.

They insist that things will get better, but I have no reason to trust this company.


But I have reason to hope. I stopped at the gas station on the way to my other job. I was at the pump, being grouchy--how the hell am I supposed to pay bills, now? One job just doesn't cut it, and etsy's been quiet lately. Then I started paying attention to the overhead music.

Bobby McFerrin, singing Don't Worry, Be Happy.


Ever get that sort of cosmic pat on the head? It's a funny experience.


Borders is gonna fill in some of the space, but in the meantime . . . Hell, I don't know what I'm doing. But I'll figure something out.

Kids' toymakers have re-set their sights on the animal kingdom, and are looking at horses in a whole new way.

Or Whoreses, as some of the viewers are naming them.

Go look and ask yourself what this is setting the younger generation up for: Stilt-legged, tiny-headed "horses" with floofy skirts, tons of jewelry, built-in coy expressions, and hideously malformed legs because they're wearing gigantic high heels.


I like horses. Real horses. Snuffly stinky dusty ones that love dandelions and ear skritches; ones that come without accouterments like oversized saddlebags purses and scoop-neck tops; ones that'll roll in the mud right after you wash them and that can make you a severely unhappy puppy if they step on your foot. Not a disfigured semi-ethnic deer with its own matching purse and bad anime eyeballs. So where is the black one, anyway? But apparently normally-proportioned horses (or even My Little Ponies!) aren't good enough anymore--at least, not when a three-and-up kid's playthings can be hypersexualized in this manner.




Insert Paris Hilton & furry jokes here, plz. (Bonus points if you get both at one go!)