I suppose I judged the shitty camera on my new phone too quickly. Although the reviews didn’t have much good to say about the photo-taking abilities of this phone, to me they’re far advanced in comparison to the image quality of my previous two phones.

So, alas, here is another “Cam Phone” segment, wherein I post photos from my endeavours outside of the house and do not have a better camera in which to capture those Kodak memories.

On the way back from getting beer at his place, Steve told me about his “Sad CD”, which was a seven track mix CD of melancholy songs that he created in order to go along with the Shakespearean crap his life has consisted of this week. I thought it was far creative compared to the shit ass dance CD in Matt’s car, or the mainstream song compilation in Heather’s car, or all of the CD’s that JoHN used to steal out of my CD collection to listen to in his car.

Better yet, Steve labelled the front with no songs or name, but a sad face.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Dear Uterus,

The other night, Heather and I showed each other where we were in our birth control packs, and at the time I was one pill away from the green pills. I said to her, “Well, I guess we both know what I’ll be like next week.”

This morning, you were hurting me more than my hangover did, and I spent the entire time after waking up listening to a guy rapping very badly in the house down the way while I was trying to differentiate if the pain in my general stomach area was because I had to throw up or because you were just being a bitch.

Turned out, as always, that it was the latter.

Heather asked me why the hell I was still having cramps if I was on the pill. I told her that the pills helped other things, but not with what I wanted them to. Granted, it’s nice to actually have my period when I expect to, but sometimes when I consider it, I would almost rather deal with being grumpy a week or two later than I plan on rather than endure some cramps that do nothing but have me wailing to my co-workers about how difficult my uterus is being.

But whenever that fails, there’s always Advil.

Bitch, please,

Rebecca

Playing “I Never” when you have a long-term boyfriend is great, because at least when any kinky stuff is mentioned, you won’t be the only one to take a drink.

While I was working, a lady asked me, “Do you have poles that go from the ceiling to the floor?”

I said, “Uh…no…”

There was cake at work today for those co-workers who are parting from the my co-worker family of retail-badasses.  It was a damn good cake, the best we ever had.

And while we were eating it, Matt was all, “God, I am going to get so fat.”

“I’ll meet you there,” I said.