Pay me to be your friend, damn it.

I hate looking for jobs. It is vile, vile with a capital V in fact. VILE. I realize that all my lovely readers are aware of this fact, but I just thought I'd rant a little.

It is demoralizing. Generally I walk around and think I'm pretty all right, if not awesome, but rejections, or stone cold silences from job people make me feel like the crud that is gathering behind our kitchen sink taps even as I write. Being rejected by a company that will probably hire some 15 year old with greasy hair and smelly armpits makes me a sad panda.

However, I've recently discovered that there is a new level of shame. I applied to this clothing store that I CONSTANTLY shop at. I've you've seen me wearing it, it probably came from that store. (Or a store in London that was ten million times better. This is neither the time nor the place for me to compare this summer to last summer. I will however, provide you with a hint: This summer does not compare favourably.) Jo and I thought we had a pretty good shot. We applied twice. Then Jo called to show interest and yesterday, I also called to show that I am a go-getter and NOT someone who stays up until 4 AM and sleeps until noon the next day. And that's when I got the news, the manager has called all the people she's going to call...A.K.A Fuck you Toni, no job for you.

I've spent trillions of dollars at your store lady, it wouldn't kill you to hire me so I could earn a little bit of that back. Throw me a frickin' bone here.

On a completely unrelated note, I managed to finally convert some files of mine from Microsoft Works into A FORMAT THAT ACTUALLY MAKES SENSE.

EAT A BIG BAG OF DICKS MICROSOFT.