I try very hard to not be one of those asshole "drive everywhere" shitheads, so this evening I walked over to the grocery store. It's only 3 blocks from my house, and it took less time to walk there than it probably would have taken had I driven the wagon over there. The little furry crap and vomit machines were out of catfood, so I figured it was paramount that I get over there and back as quickly as possible. I swear to Baby Jesus and Jello Biafra they looked like they were going to eat my eyeballs when I got home. When I die cold and alone, there will be nothing noble about how my cats deal with it. There will be no plaintive meowing to alert the neighbors of my demise. After about 4.7 hours of no feedings, they will simply proceed to eat me, starting with my eyeballs (the juiciest part, you know..).

Today was rather low key at the Sound Factory. I put together one round-base microphone stand to loan to another company, ate pizza with the two other employees who had decided to bless the company with their presence, and generally surfed the internet all day. I didn't even find anything new out there. I'm fairly sure that I've finished the internet. Done. Reached the end of it, seen everything there is to see out there. And oh yeah, we got a block of pre-sale tickets to the Police. Yeah, we're awesome. Sometimes this crappy, thankless industry pays off in really serious cool points.

Today was such a jack-off day, that I was reminded of when I was just out of college and worked in the local used record store. This was in 1994, and when I say "record" store, I mean we sold old, vintage, used and hard to find vinyl. Needless to say, in Macon, GA, this place didn't last very long. Most of my shifts consisted of me showing up for work looking like the self appointed rock snob goddess that I thought I was, sitting around smoking cigarettes (in the store, mind you), looking cool, sneering at the few customers we had (who were usually looking for Eagles vinyl..blech! How uncool..), listening to Blondie, Jim Carroll Band,The Clash, and Weather Report (?) on the turntable, fixing my make-up and hanging out with my musician boyfriend who would usually stop by to help me out in the sneering at customers department (hey...that took alot of energy). I made about five dollars an hour and was worth every penny if you count music snob as a qualification. And I'm pretty sure that, instead of clothes, I wore costumes. Purple and orange plaid hotpants. Magenta babydoll dresses with floral tights and Doc Martin mary-janes. Glitter eyeshadow. Black crocheted tight-ass bellbottoms that were see-thru with 4 inch platforms and tube tops. I think my "look" was a feminine David Bowie with an Athens and Seattle edge. I'm sure I was a freak. My roommate at the time worked for a department store, so she was always having to wear these demure little dresses and pants. I'm sure we were a pair. I wish I could get away with dressing like I don't give a shit what anyone thinks, but these days, I'm more concerned with the sturdiness of my work apparel. Also, I don't weigh a buck 'o five anymore. Not by any stretch...

Anyone out there have a job in the past where you got "carte blanc" on your dress and/or behavior at work?