i hate thanksgiving. i hate being a baker/pastrychef/dessert genius at thanksgiving. i hate being all-said-employments at the busiest/highest grossing co-op in the nation/world... at thanksgiving.

i made 45 pumpkin pies today.
[[i'm allergic to pumpkin (re: all forms of squash).]]
[[i lick the spoons anyway.]]
[[it'll cause kidney unsavoriness and urinary tract infections that i once mistook for a std only to have my nurse, upon hearing the last time i had had even the remotest of remote-sense-of-the-word "sex," laugh and say that it was definitely not an std.]]

but anyway... where was i?...

oh yeah, HELL!!!!! 1 day left until my weekend. an 8-hour shift (on paper). an 8-hour shift that'll end up being 9 or 10 or 13 hours in actual time.

then harry potter film [[can't help it!]], bar trivia in st. peter, free drinks until i win bar trivia and crawl the 13 blocks home to my mum's house. drunken phone calls. er, drunken messages since the go-to drunken phone call boys will be in far off lands and/or working and/or imaginary.

today was nothing in comparison with what tomorrow will be, baker-wise. [[and, it IS correct English to use "with" as the preposition following comparison in that sentence.]]

[[lest we have choice words, comrads...]]

listening to Silver Jews: "How Can I Love You If You Won't Lie Down" over and over and over and over and over and over and over and you-get-the-point and over again makes HELL somewhat bearable.