Work tonight was horrible because I had to spend 45 minutes being interviewed by one of my managers about the slew of sexual harrassment complaints that have been filed against one of the guys that I work with. The interview and paperwork wasn't a big deal because he's definitely fucked up and he needs to be fired. And despite all the whining that he does about not being able to pay his bills and being evicted, I don't feel sorry for him because he's an asshole and he brought this on himself. He's 38, makes less than I do and takes advantage of the food banks around town in lieu of getting a full time job. I've worked with this guy for a year and a half and all he does while he's at work is objectify women. He makes horrible comments about customers, he hits on the girls we work with, he's said shit about my friends and he's said some really vulgar shit to me. But when I did the whole interview thing I only told my manager about the stories I had heard from other girls. This was not to save his ass, because I think that the whole situation is totally fair. And they had already decided to fire him about three days ago and the interviews they're doing now are just a formality. But I didn't tell my manager about any of the things that he had said to me because they were all related to my being a lesbian and all I could think of as I was being given the opportunity to talk about it was "Do I really want management to know that I'm a dyke?" And the answer was always a big, undisputable no. And I really don't feel like my keeping quiet about it had anything to do with me being ashamed. It's just that I have no desire to air the details of my sex life to my fascist superviser. And I don't think that I should have to. But I still feel like I committed some horrible wrong against the gay community because of it.

The whole thing also made me feel like I failed as a feminist. One of the questions I had to answer was something to the effect of "Why didn't you report the incident(s) right away?" I've worked with this guy for a year and a half and he's always done this shit and all the girls have always complained about him. Why didn't someone say something sooner? Why didn't I say something? He said some really perverse shit to me and I just blew it off as not being that big of a deal. Or I wondered if I brought his comments on by some of the things that I talked about. And I'm smart enough to know that it's all bullshit, and you would think that I would be able to react appropriately, but I sat by and watched and pretended to ignore him.

The thing that I'm the most pissed off about is that I've spent the rest of the night beating myself over the whole thing.

To make up for what I didn't say about Michael, I laid Scott out. The little fucker was going on about how he was going to defend Michael because he was always just joking around, girls always take things to seriously, he's just been single too long, and -- my personal favorite-- "Michael's just bold. I've got some things that I'd like to say to some of these women." So I released the wrath of Anna and felt a little more confident. In the end, Scott ended up going through an interview and telling our manager about all the shit that he had pulled without trying to glorify the guy.

The next time Michael whines about the possibility of being fired, I will probably lash out because I'm so pissed off about having to beat myself up over something that he did. He already knows that he's going to be gone and he keeps saying shit like "As long as I get unemployment, I'll be fine." But I don't really want him to be fine. They've got complaints from almost every woman that works up front and my manager told me tonight that when he was "terminated," they would probably call the police to escort him out because he's prone to violent outbursts. He definitely shouldn't be banking on unemployment.

This whole week has been so long and it's really just sucked. I want to crawl under my sheets and just lay there without having to think about setting the alarm clock to get somewhere by a certain time. But that's not going to happen until Saturday night.

And this Sunday is mother's day-- the greeting card holiday that leaves me wracked with guilt and hating my life. Maybe I should send my cunt mother a card. Maybe not. I feel like if I do any sort of reaching out to my mom, it will be interpreted as me crawling back looking for money. But I don't need money and I don't need anyone thinking that I do. I've got to get my step-mom something, but I don't know what. A gift certificate to the greenhouse, perhaps? Done.

Now I have to go to bed and rest up in preparation for my movie night with Erica and Brett which will most likely leave me feeling incredibly violent.

I'm going to miss Megan at school tomorrow.

The baby is crying and my stepmom just poked her head through the door and gave me a look that seemed to say, "You're up. Why didn't you get the kid a bottle?"

BECAUSE IT'S NOT MY FUCKING KID

They should have never had babies together.

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