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. . just fucking charming .
. Kmart's new ordeal is that it can't afford to pay the royalties on regular music. By regular, I mean Top 40 hits from throughout the past four decades. So now we have to listen to this horrible muzak that transcends any other muzak that I've ever heard. Some of the guys that I work with were able to pick out the familiar tunes, but it all just sounded like that new-age-meditation-soundtrack meets techno crap that they play in the Cirque du Soleil. (My manager even remarked that we needed strobe lights and ribbon dancers to cartwheel down the aisles.) Of course, that sort of shit seems appropriate in the circus. It's simply weird and off-putting when you're shopping for socks and toliet paper. The whole thing just made me shake my head and think: "Anna, this is the company that you plan to base your livelihood on for the next three years . . . if you're lucky."

While I was at work, I helped a 45-50 year old butch lesbian in a UPS driver uniform and a denim jacket with a pin that said "Lick Bush" and I felt nothing but love for her because she was just so typical. But I really wish Megan would have been there because it wasn't a love that I felt was communicable to anyone else that I was working with. They just wouldn't have understood.

The other favorite part of my day was when, twenty minutes into physics class, there was a tornado drill to which our professor's response was: "Tornado drill? Where the hell do we go for that?" Then he paused and scanned all of our equally confused faces and said, "Screw it. Class is cancelled." I second that.

Every entry I write just makes me realize how boring my life is. Whatever.

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