Bitch, Bitch, Bitch

Blu-fricking-hoo. I hate whiners. That's why I work hard to keep my whining to myself or only to share it with a few poor, trapped family members. But where is that getting me really? What has burying anger and dismay ever done for me? Excluding the procurement of a Maalox/Tums addiction and expensive stays in "health spas," not a damned thing. So. What do I have to complain about today?

How about the four fucking dollars per gallon that I just spent putting half a tank in my car? My car gets roughly a half a mile to the gallon, so the forty dollars I stuffed into its tank will get me to work and back a little less than twice. I guess I will have to hitch that last couple of miles. On the Interstate. At fricking night. Considering that I pull in a whopping $20 per hour as a RESPECTED adjunct instructor (NOT), it costs more to drive to work than I'm making by going to work. See why people go on Welfare? It PAYS to sit on your ass and eat cupcakes infused with high fructose corn syrup and fried in lard. I'm in!