Reader Poll

I forgot to mention that after I quit my job and move out of my current house, I'm going to move to New Zealand, or maybe Australia. I haven't quite decided yet. That's why I've included a poll over to the right. Everyone who reads this blog (all four or five of you) can vote for where you want me to move in the new year. At first I wanted to go Australia because I've always wanted to go there. But then I wanted to go to New Zealand because my brother will be there for a couple of months doing an engineering internship. But then I saw the preview for the new Nicole Kidman/Hugh Jackman movie and thought "Wow, Australia is so sexy. Definitely Australia". But then I saw that Australia is like 35 degrees in January. So I'm wondering if maybe I can just do both. It's almost to the point now where I've told so many people I'm going that I can't chicken out now. So please vote for your favorite location.

I've been dreaming about tornadoes lately. I've had three different dreams about tornadoes in the last month. I figured that must be some kind of dream anomaly so I looked it up. The experts all agree; it's not good. I finally found a nice neutral interpretation of tornado dreams. "A dream that includes a tornado may indicate the onset of sudden and major change in your life." I'm going to go with that.

Moving On

I hate when people interfere with my schedule so I was pretty pissed at work today when my lunch break had to be postponed because the guy who got caught stealing hundreds of dollars worth of DVDs (mostly Indiana Jones) decided to go insane and try to stab people with a dirty needle. Similar events happen often enough that I question the wisdom of having the security office/interrogation room/beating area so close to where we're expected to eat lunch. There's always some lunatic standing between me and my food. One time a crackhead ran through our lunch room trying to escape and often our friendly lunchtime conversations are punctuated with screaming and cursing from the hall. Today, Indiana Crackhead was finally subdued enough to allow for my safe passage to the fridge. I shot him dirty looks as I went by but I covered my name badge in case he was lucid enough to add me to his list of enemies. If only all the shoplifters behaved like last week's Hemorrhoid Guy, whose only crime was stealing a tube of Preparation H. When asked if it would have been less embarrassing just to buy it, he answered "Yes. Yes it would" and shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench reserved for the guilty.

Not that I don't cherish my days with these weirdos but I've decided to end my two and half year relationship with Wal-mart. My tentative last day is December 20. Since a million things could happen between now and then, I have only told a few people at work I'm leaving because nothing would be more embarrassing than having to stay after I hand in my resignation, tell off my boss, and punch a customer in the face, which is how I intend to go out.

My plan to have Shorty help me with my finances is going well so far. I think I'll probably move out of the house around December 21 and I have no intention of paying any rent for this month or the next. To be honest, I've pretty much gotten used to Shorty. He's not really a huge problem anymore, but that's not the story I'll be telling the landlord. Because he promised me Shorty would be gone the first of November, I sort of have a case. Most likely though, he won't give me a second thought, and I won't have to tell any story at all. For once I will take advantage of his negligence. I've been living free for ten days, only 40 days to go. Now all Shorty has to do is continue to refuse to leave and stay crazy. If the last four months are anything to go by, this shouldn't be a problem.

Survivor

Shorty has survived past his November 1st expiration date. He clearly isn't going anywhere. So I decided I will. I have a plan. It's ambitious and here's the twist: the success of the plan depends on Shorty staying. More details at a later date.

So just when I thought I could stop thinking about Shorty, I discover another layer of intrigue. He has started receiving frequent letters from a mystery woman. The envelopes are festooned with heart drawings and declarations of love and that's just on the outside. They are the kind of letters you would fully expect to contain naked pictures. Could this possibly be the pregnant girlfriend who wanted him dead? I guess it's possible. The letters arrive from Truro (ewww!) so there's half the mystery solved, but still. Because love letters are kind of adorable and old-fashioned, I took a thirty second break from loathing Shorty to say "Aww, that's so sweet!"

I'm always shocked to learn my enemies have friends and loved ones. When I saw that my boss had over a hundred friends on Facebook, I was sure they must all have added her by mistake but on her wall there were messages of good will and invitations to social gatherings. What is wrong with these people?