Yesterday when I was driving through the parking ramp at the gym, I passed a car with a decal on the back. I could have sworn it was Calvin peeing on a cross. Like a blasphemous version of Calvin peeing on a Ford or Chevy logo. Or like a cartoon take on Piss Christ.
I was entirely too excited about this, as I heart blasphemy. Against my better judgment, I actually went to check it out to make sure I saw what I thought I saw. Big mistake. It was Calvin on his knees, praying in front of a cross. Boo! When will I ever learn to just take my first impression and have fun with it?
It's like the time I was at Walgreens and walked past the eye drops section and I was positive I saw something called "Hobo Tears." Now, I'm not going to go back to see what the package really said. Why? Because the real thing could never be as awesome as Hobo Tears. Also, I'd see what the package actually said and realize I need to stop smoking the crack.
In other news, I think I hate my new job. But it's a different kind of hate than the hate I had for my last job. This training is brutal. They do acknowledge that it is awful. I guess that's good? It is terribly nice of you to tell me I'm going to want to scream and tear my hair out and then tell me not to get frustrated. Um, okay. I'll see what I can do about that.
Once I get acclimated, I'm sure the hate will dull and I'll get through the days without crying or marking up the insides of my wrists. That's what I'm hoping happens, anyway. 'Cause I'm far too old to be a cutter. Thank the Baby Jebus for booze.