I'm going to mostly stick to other observations. I got giardia from my cats three weeks ago, suffered mightily for a week, recovered for two weeks, and now I'm most likely sick with it again. And in case you wish me to describe what the hell giardia is, go Google it on your own time. It's too disgusting for me to discuss. And when *I* say something is too disgusting to discuss, you know damned well it ain't a walk in the park.

Here's a question for you all: WHY THE FUCK DOES ONE FUCKING BOX OF KRAFT MACARONI AND CHEESE COST $1.29? Yes, kids, a fucking dollar and twenty-nine fucking cents. (Of course, if you add Chicago's 10.25 percent sales tax, it now costs $1.42.) For KRAFT macaroni & cheese. Not the spiral shit, not dinosaur-shaped pasta. Not Annie's 12-Cheese and Pomegranate Flavor organic crap, either. Just Kraft mac and cheese. You know, the Cheesiest? The simple blue and orange box with the Kraft logo and the Cheeto-colored powder inside and the 39-cent price tag? THAT ONE?!? And no, I wasn't shopping at some yuppie grocery at Old Town, either, just my local cheap-ass grocery store. A buck twenty-nine. For one box. Of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. One fucking box. And I'm not so fucking old that a 39-cent box of Kraft Mac and Cheese is the product of my childhood, because when I was a kid it cost twenty-five cents. THAT'S RIGHT, ONE FUCKING QUARTER, NOT FIVE. And only two years ago it cost me 69 cents for a box, so don't tell me it's gradual inflation. This is fucking unnatural, as unnatural as the damned dinner itself. I'll pay five bucks for a gallon of gas, but I'll be damned if I'm coughing up nearly a dollar and a half for some heavily processed cheesy pasta product, even if it is fucking yummy. Fuck Kraft.

On a lighter note, I've been reading about Armageddon, and I had a thought: what if the Rapture happened just last week, and we didn't notice because only the crazy Christian bums who hollered at you on the street were lifted to heaven? Boy, wouldn't that make the end of the world a fun little surprise. "Yeah, Brad, I haven't seen that screaming lady with the bulging eyes on the Red Line in weeks either, come to think of it. Say, what's that red stuff dripping off the moon?"

I got home at 3:30 in the morning last night. Long night of drinking? Snagged a young cashier to end Independence Day with a bang? No. I was going to leave Oak Park's fireworks display for home at around 11pm last night. That was when my friend elmegil whipped out his wii. I would estimate we played Boom Blox for over three hours before we realized we were two middle-aged men playing a video game past 2am and giggling like schoolgirls at a sleepover because we kept "losing our baby cows." I also suspect that, about forty years from now, we'll be tired of discussing various poop-related problems and, after a few minutes of silence, one of us will blurt out, "all baby cows are lost!" after which we'll burst out laughing and not stop until we pass out from exhaustion.

Speaking of exhaustion, I'm going to bed. Sweet dreams, kids.

1. A prime number is defined as a number divisible only by 1 and itself. Why isn't 1 a prime number? (Hint: mathematicians took the wussy way out.)

2. What will replace pomegranates as the next fad fruit?

3. Why in the heck do my cats have more health problems in two months than my previous pair of cats had in the three years I owned them?

4. Aw man, does this mean I have to eat Big Macs again in support of Mickey D's?

5. Could you imagine a better reason to vote Barack Obama into the White House than this? (I'm sure you could, but you have to admit, this one has to be in your top 20.)

6. Do you think these people are totally cool or utterly horrifying? And are you one of them?

When I requested the next seven days off, I had intended to fly to Phoenix to visit my mother and aunt. However, plane ticket prices are through the roof, shooting down that idea. So Tori and I were going to take the Amtrak to Milwaukee to visit her family. This was before both she and the cats got sick. Since God apparently does not want me to travel, I will listen to the deity and stay close to home.

So...what's everyone doing for the 4th of July? Anything? Huh? Hmmm?

I turned in my letter of resignation today. My boss will no doubt see it later today, we'll discuss it, I'll make it public, and that'll be the end of that.

I feel a little nervous because I'm taking a big chance. I don't have a job waiting for me. However, I simply can't take the stress anymore.

You wanna know what I'm tired of? I'll tell ya what I'm tired of:

- I'm tired of throwing out crazy people, rambunctious teenagers, and homeless people sleeping in the cafe.

- I'm tired of arguing with stupid people who want me to honor coupons they "forgot to print." Do they do this at Jewel?

- I'm tired of the company's constant cost-cutting. At my store, they've radically cut our payroll, cut our inventory by nearly half, and taken away a large chunk of holiday pay. Hell, they've taken away the staff's free coffee and tea. Yes, the company is in trouble, but *free coffee?* Lemme tell ya, free coffee costs literally pennies to the company.

- I'm tired of my manager bitching at me and the other supervisors on the sales floor. That's beyond tacky.

- I'm tired of not getting a pay raise, which I haven't received in over two years.

- I'm tired of feeling there's no future at the store or the company.

- I'm tired of the company's brass, who arrive at the company with no experience in the bookselling industry - or even an interest in books - and who think selling books is just like selling any other widget.

- I'm tired of being so stressed at work that I carry it home with me, even dreaming about the bookstore when I go to sleep. Sometimes I'm afraid to sleep because I don't want to go back to work.

- Finally, I'm tired of constantly mutating work shifts that take me away from my wife and friends.

These nine grievances normally don't bother me at once; sometimes it's four of them, other times six, other times two. Nowadays, however, it's all nine weighing me down, making me tired and depressed. Sometimes all it takes for my energy levels to drop is walking through the front door. It's not fair for me, and it's not fair for Tori, and it's not fair for the people around me. I simply can't live like this anymore.

This month I will be busy looking for a new job. I'll update my resumes yet again, write cover letters (which I *hate*), get my teeth and suit cleaned, and engage in job hunting-related activities. I'm financially stable enough to hold out for a couple of months, but I can't afford to sit on my butt.

My last day will be Saturday the 26th. Anyone wanna party?

Go see WALL-E. If you don't, you suck. If you do and don't like it, you are mostly likely a soulless, pathetic loser.

Just sayin'.

I was woken up this morning by a falling cat. This was extremely effective; I didn't even need to use the snooze button. I merely pressed my pillow tightly against my skull to stop the bleeding to the four-inch gash in my head.

Now, I do not blame Jack for this; he merely stumbled and fell. Still, it's not fun to have a jagged cat scratch in my head. I can only hope I will not have a scar; if so, I have a clumsy cat I'd like to sell.

...I wouldn't have removed the out-of-control toddler from the airplane... at least not until the plane was at least 20,000 feet in the air.

But that's cuz I'm mean and nasty.

One thing's for sure - I've checked a few versions of the article and read the responses of readers, and there's a huuuuuge divide between those who believe the airplane crew's action was unjust, and those who thought they were absolutely correct in what they did. There ain't no middle ground, kids.

If you're not at work (because of the captions, not the photos), check out this photo essay about phone sex operators. I found it intriguing. Think I could use my sexy voice to turn on lonely folks? Probably not.

I love my cats, and spoiling them is a lot of fun, but I think I should still remain within the boundaries of good taste. Although our household needs a cat tree, you will not be seeing this in our living room anytime soon.

I'm so glad I don't own a car. Not only are gas prices through the roof, but an increasing number of gas stations may no longer take credit or debit cards because the fees they pay to the credit card companies are killing them.

Seems like the only folks profiting from these gas prices are the oil comnpanies and the oil speculators, a fine bunch of scumbags.