Things I Hate Because Today Sucks

If you can't deduct the cheeriness of this post from the title then consider yourself warned, it isn't gonna be pretty. 

Shit I Can't Stand Any Longer:

• Taxes. Who is the asshole in charge here? I am a full time student, dependent on her parents, working for peanuts at an assisted living home. I consider myself Christy Walton when the summer rolls round and I have two extra nickles to rub together. Why THE FUCK are you picking on me IRS? You want me to just bend over and take it from you? You want to take 7.8% of my FUCKING CHECK every two weeks* and then you wanna say I owe you 500 fucking dollars at the end of the year when I'm trying to get some money back and maybe, if I can't get that, then at least a shred of my dignity? Oh, you do huh? You wanna go around and kick some small children while you're at it? You wanna punch a nun IRS? Because that's the path you're headed down. You can't treat people like this.

• *Biweekly Checks. Tell me, is there anyone on planet earth who knows how to budget their money to last them two weeks? Because if there is, step forward kind sir or madam, I need your help. I know I sure as fuck can't do it. I think I'm doing great the Monday after I'm paid if I still have enough to pay my bills. Then I remember I need to eat, and feed my caffeine addiction, and buy 15 bagels because I have no time to scratch my ass never mind make a nutritious and filling breakfast in the morning when I'm rushing out the door 15 minutes late for whatever menial and most likely extraneous obligation I'm required to be at.

• Mike, for figuring my net worth today, which is -$314. Wanna figure my weight next asshole? I'll give you a hint: it's positive. 

• Exercise. Stair Master, I'm talkin' to you. What sick fuck thought of a never ending stair case? It's only a matter of time before the thing short circuits from all the sweat pouring out the bottom of my spandex pants and into its gears. And WOW, while I'm at it, what is with your new chemicals? When I'm trying to a) not die, and b) recover from your cursed Stair Master the last thing I want to do is walk my ass over to your chemical station where your new fancy Greenzo Earth Shit is CHAINED to the fucking table. Get off your horse Work Out World, I don't want to steal your stinky cleaning products, inhaling them alone makes me feel like my lungs are going to come out my butt.

• Finding aborted fetuses on the porch. Seriously, GOD? What is your problem? Why did you go and drop a big fucking FETUS on our porch? Aren't things bad enough already? Didn't you cause enough destruction in Japan? Do you really have to go and pick on our house? Is this one of the signs of the Apocalypse? Plague, famine, and fetus? Just so you know, I'm not picking it up. And it better be a mouse or even a monkey, just not what it looks like. I mean, the thing had eyes, that's fucked. 

Update: This is the conversation that just took place between Mike and I. 

M: Danielle, you have to put the picture of it up, people will remember that.
D: I put a link, do I really want to be remembered like that?
M: Remembered like what?
D: "Hey guys lets see if the fetus blog was updated this week!"
M: HAHAHAHAAH, but its so memorable!

Better to be remembered for something rather than nothing...

• Housekeeping. Pity the poor bastard who does this shit five days a week. There is NOTHING worse than cleaning up after old people. Robin, the full time house keeper, "fell" off a step ladder Thursday. I suspect she threw herself off it, and I don't blame her because she must have known she'd have to clean Room 245 this week. The short version, and believe me I thought about telling you the long one, is after finding her in a pool of her own blood my resident was sent to the hospital and I was called in to clean her room. A combination of poor eye sight and a Metamucil dependency leaves poor 245 finger painting the walls with her own diarrhea week after week. I am thus, forever scrubbing a sticky orange film off her sink and shit hand prints off her walls, basin, toilet and diaper bin. This week I was lucky enough to receive some additives to my usual routine: blood spattered pillow cases, used Preparation H wrappers all over the bathroom, and here's the real clincher... amongst the pile of wrappers transpired, brace yourself, a WHOLE TURD on the floor, perfectly round and hard as a rock. Fantastic. After the massacre I couldn't help but laugh when I managed to knock over a jar only to find myself with teeth juice coating my arm and a pair of dentures floating in the sink.

• Spain and the state of Michigan. Lor, Conor, please come back. I know I didn't really paint a picture of someone you want to be around with this post, but believe me that Stair Master is doing wonders for my physique and in two short weeks I'll be financially stable with bells on. Hopefully. And if not wouldn't it be great to just grab an iced coffee? Lor? Lor? I know you'd like that. Think about it.

That's it for now. If I don't write my bloody paper soon I'll be damning that to hell in my next post.
Be good little followers. I love you guys.