I'm not -mad- that we broke up. God no.
The worst tragedy of all of this was at one point I had the sense to date a
The second worst was that I continued to date him for eight months.
The third worst was then finding him butt-naked with another woman in his apartment, on Christmas morning. (Pro-Tip?: Remember who you give your apartment key to =OR= Try to only sleep with one person total while in a relationship; hopefully, the person you're in the relationship with).
My good friends Jack and Daniels have stopped by again. They never judge me. A few doubles and the mind-numbing, soul-crushing work of this month's inventory in the bookstore goes by without a hitch. (Why are we not incredibly digital yet? Barnes and Noble has a clicker/ray-gun/name your price/star trek phaser gun to barcode scan everything. We have Excel. Excel that has reached the peak of portability on my aging laptop).
[[Oh. Good Store Idea: Set up our own WiFi, and stop stealing the Laundromat's next door. I think they are on to me. Maybe because I ask for the password without having any laundry there? I don't know. Also, it's killing me slowly that the password is always something like "Sudsy" or "Bubbles" or "SnuggleSoft". Makes me feel like I'm logging into the wrong side of the Internet, you know?]]
I suppose the one perk of owning your own business is that you can be as buzzed as you want to work there. They don't even mention that in any of our starting your own business books. (Probably something to do with a future liability suit of an author when some lush comes back with half a hand saying that the author said he could drink as much as he wanted and own his own sawmill, or something. People are stupid. It could happen. This is America).
- Yvonne "ARE YOU DRINKING AT WORK AGAIN?!" Schmitt
