Here’s another lesson about how you can tell it is going to be a slow night at work:

When there’s a forecast of snow — particularly a big snow storm — the first thing everyone does is go out to the grocery store and spend hundreds of dollars on toilet paper, milk, and, yes, food.

When they get home with hundreds of dollars of toilet papers, milk, and food, the last thing they want to do is spend more money on … you guessed it … food. So they don’t, and therefore things are slow.

And I do regret that by “things” I don’t mean “a stunningly attractive, hot, naked woman, there of her own free will.”*

(I’d settle for “naked woman, there of her own free will”).*

I did, however, arrange for Chewbacca to cover my Sunday shift in case the snow fall is as bad as the weathermen seem to be predicting it will be. I have a pantry still full of toilet paper, and I hope the one and 3/4 jugs of milk in my refrigerator will sustain me through several snowed in days.

* Now accepting applications.

Alex called out tonight. Actually, that’s a lie — Alex’s DAD called out FOR him. Apparently, Alex was “too afraid” to call himself.

Alex is a grown man. Alex should be able to call out for himself instead of getting his dad to do it for him. Even when I was a minor, living with my parents and working at Ballbuster Video, I would only have been able to get my parents to call out sick for me if I was, in fact, sick and unable to speak on the phone. Alex’s excuse — pardon, Alex’s father’s excuse for Alex — was that Alex needed to go to the hospital to care for Alex’s grandfather.

Steve has finally had enough of Alex, and with the hiring of “The New Guy” this week, staffing might finally allow for Alex’s removal from the schedule. I’m fully in support of that — I don’t think I’m quite as enthusiastic as Steve’s thinking as to how he’ll remove Alex from the schedule, “I’m going to tell him, ‘Alex, you’re not fired, as soon as your grandfather dies, you can come back on the schedule.’”

I think Steve should just demand proof that Alex was, in fact, at the hospital with his grandfather as has been claimed for the days he’s called out recently (today, and last Tuesday). Failing to provide proof, Alex should be terminated for calling-out without cause.

Alternatively, should Alex call out for Saturday due to snow, Steve should remind him that out of three scheduled shifts, he’s already called out for two and placed an increasingly difficult burden on the shoulders of his coworkers, and that a failure to report for a third shift within the same week would mean termination.

Michael Brown, ex-head of FEMA, is running his mouth again, telling, what, the 10th version of this story? Now he claims he knew about the levee breaches almost immediately and was trying to jump-start the White House into action. Y’know, if he and George W. Bush were to both get up on a podium right now and give conflicting statements on the government response to FEMA, I’d believe Bush’s version (and given how little trust I place in anything that comes out of Bush’s mouth, it’s pretty incredible that Brown has the ability to get me past my “Bush is a liar” mentality).

Hey Brownie — you did a shitty job. You’re why political appointments should be based on merit, not personal relationships. Hey, y’know, that’s not true — I’m sure there’s a vice-Ambassadorship you could’ve gotten in like, what, Lima? No one cares if your incompotent bumbling starts a war with Lima. Israel had the six-day war, the U.S. and Lima would have the six minute war, when Lima would surrender after realizing no one in the U.S. took their declaration of war seriously.

Now, please, your trap? Keep it closed. No sound. That’s what we want. No sounds, from your trap, at all. Take responsibility, own up to your failure, and remember that to I’m sure just about everyone in Louisianna, you’re persona-non-grata. As for the rest of us whose lives haven’t been harmed more than neccessary because of your desire to color coordinate your shirt and tie, well, I think we’d be happy to see you persona-non-grata on the front page.

Ass.

I just got off the phone with readmissions, and I’ve already run into a snag, although not a large one — seems the form I need to fill out is available online, yet effin’ Acrobat Reader gave me an error. Not a big problem. I also need to get in touch with Towson’s English Department and the Advising Office to figure out what I need to finish this effin’ degree.

So, in addition to my weight loss (two-twenty-nine today, by the way) resolution proceeding on course, my “return to school” resolution is beginning to wobble out of dock as well.

Update:

I just got off the phone with the girl at the advising office. Apparently, I need to stop being so impatient and slow down a bit — once I apply for readmission, and only after I do apply, the advising office will send me a letter, and then I give them a call. Okay, Snay, let’s slow this down …

I place too much stock …

… in what people think of me.
… in what I think people think of me.
… in what I want people to think of me.
… in what I think people think of what I do (work-wise).

(And by “people”, I pretty much mean, uh, total strangers). Odd?

This is tied into my generally low level of self esteem. I can feel sorry for myself once in a while, can’t I?

I keep telling myself that this is the year I turn everything around. But look at me, have I called Towson’s readmission office yet? This afternoon, if I have the time between jobs — if not, Monday.

I find reassurance that I’ve stuck with my diet for six weeks — I’m going to be slim and sexy by June (don’t get me drunk at a HH post June, that might just give me the confidence to strip in a public place and, really, who wants that?)

Plus, snow tomorrow so maybe the weekend off work. I’m a total bitch about driving in the snow. I don’t want to get my car stuck again.

Things are looking up already!

I hate the snow.

Well, correction: I hate driving in the snow.

I consider myself a better-than-average driver. I check my mirrors, I check my gauges, I’m accused often of being “very serious” behind the wheel by passengers. Hey, y’know, driving is a “very serious” job. I try to anticipate what the morons ahead of me, the morons behind me, and the morons on either side of me, are doing, because nine times out of ten, they could truly, seriously, not give a fucking shit.

Inclement weather driving is something I hate. I hate driving in the rain. It isn’t difficult to drive in the rain — understand that water on the road affects traction … the first few minutes of a rainstorm are the most dangerous because materials on the road surface are now causing the wet roads to be much more slippery — trash, oil, fluids and carelessness can cost heavily. It doesn’t take much effort to drive safely in the rain — notably: headlights on, wipers on, and slow the fuck down … every time I’ve fishtailed or spun out on a wet road (or seen someone else) it’s almost always because they were driving faster than conditions allowed.

(Y’know, seriously, it took our ancestors months to get from one end of the continent to another. Now we can do it in, what, six hours? and it still isn’t fast enough. The world would be a much better place if people would pull their heads out of their asses, hung up their cell phones, took their foot off the accelerator, and paid attention to how they were driving. More people might be alive today, too).

As much as I dislike driving in the rain, I detest driving in the snow ten million times as much. Generally, in the rain, the biggest safety issue isn’t the wet stuff falling from the sky — the big safety issue are other drivers who refuse to alter their generally unsafe habits to meet weather conditions. The same of course applies to drivers in the snow, with the added fun (read that as: danger!) posed by what amounts to a sometimes thick covering of snow on the road surface, often interfering with steering, and of course, the great fun that is “ice” — often invisible, and able to recognize only when your vehicle’s rear end hightails it into a guard rail. Driving in the snow is a talent I would not say I’ve mastered in my tiny little sports car, although I did have success in my Jeep.

It snowed a few years ago for Christmas. Driving to my parents’ house on a snow-covered 695, I was careful to do just under fifty. The road wasn’t well plowed, and no gift is worth wrecking my car (or dying) over. I was passed by an SUV doing probably in the mid seventy range. I can only imagine the driver’s feelings on his speed: “I’m in a big truck with 4-wheel drive and excellent brakes.” I can only imagine his feelings a few seconds later, when he lost control, bounced off a guardrail, and came to a rather sudden stop in the middle of the road. I can tell you my feelings on it right now: “Reckless Asshole Deserves to Wreck SUV.”

In any case, it’s supposed to snow Saturday. Depending on how bad it is, I might call out from work, or drive to the shop and work inside. For some reason, most of the insiders have trucks — I can man the subline while they go out and deliver. Heck, they’ve got SUVs. Those things can drive in snow blindfolded, can’t they?

Besides, the last thing I want is to be taking a delivery when that same dipshit from that White Christmas loses control of his new, bigger, better SUV on York Road and crumples his car atop mine.