Friday, or, Thursday part 2

Working six days a week is lame.  My jobs are not mentally taxing or anything, but still.  I require a significant amount of cooking/cleaning/bread-baking/reading/crossword-puzzling/internet-surfing/gym-going time, and all this working is really cramping my style.  Which is illuminating.  I wasn't previously aware that my style was "lazy homebody."  Maybe I was aware but not ready to admit it, so here I am, telling the world.  Or like five people, but whatever.

So it's Friday night but it doesn't feel like it at all, because I still have to get up early and work another 8 hours tomorrow.  Whine whine whine oh my life is so hard.  Nobody wants to hear it.  At least I'm working.  Buuut health insurance would be nice...and a regular schedule...but a girl can dream.

Speaking of dreaming, I thought I was having an opium nightmare this morning at work.  (I don't know if opium gives you nightmares, but the phrase sounded hardcore and we've been watching Deadwood and those Wild West whores are ALL ABOUT laudanum and opium.  ALL about it.)  This man came through my line who I would swear was a cartoon character.  He was short and stocky, but he was...so much more than that.  He was extremely muscular, yet so short and so broad.  He looked like a chiseled little vienna sausage with arms and legs.  The best part had to be his outfit, which only accentuated his comical physique.  Fire-engine red baseball cap, same color sweatpants, and a pale pink, skin-tight, threadbare Mighty Mouse t-shirt.  So skin tight I could have counted his chest hairs.  If it had been any colder, his nips would have pierced right through the cotton.