FML.

I feel 30 today.

I was driving home from work just now, and I saw some kids playing in a mud puddle. I want to play in a mud puddle, not work a lame-ass full-time coffee "career", where I get a 9 cent raise every six months. I make espresso based bevvys for ignorant rich people that can't tell the difference between a cappuccino and a latte, and add the word "cafe" to everything.

"I'll have a cafe mocha."

These are the same jerks who give me a toonie for their $1.98 bold roast coffee, and feel like they're doing me a favour by telling me to "keep the change". Thanks a heap, coyote ugly...your two cents is totally going to make the extra mile when it comes time for me to lay down the cash for tuition this fall. Bitchin'...you're the best.

I want to play in a mud puddle. I don't want to worry about being homeless. I don't want to throw more of my things out because keeping them means they won't fit in my car when I have to move again. I don't want to keep hearing that my low wage isn't that bad, considering I get benefits and stock options and free drinks and blah blah blah. Seriously, Starpukes...get off my dick. I could care less about my stock options, because, quite frankly, the stock is always down anyways.

I swear, when it comes to my job, I'm bi-polar. Some days, I love it; other days, I just want to poison everyone. Don't worry...I'm not a safety risk, Howard.

And to lay down the last brick of today's rant: I swear to Jeebus, the next person who whines about being single is getting a face full of fist.

Being single? Not that bad.

Fuckers.

I'm out.