My Foot And Your Ass Are Going On A Date

So my new job. Amazzor. I get a desk by the window in the warmest corner of the building. I also have four screens at my disposal, one of which is a laptop. I get a nice $2500/month salary, which is also nice considering I get insane health/dental/eye benefits. I get a nice sized cubicle that apparently is highly disputed. What do you do at your job? So far, I've made graphs and charts for math problems.

Now the usual bitchy-Dave part.

I have to walk to work. 2.3 miles seems like a short distance on Google maps, but they failed to show me the 42-grade hill I have to scale every morning. Don't forget that it's "northern" Iowa winter winds and below freezing temperatures. As well, people don't understand that shovelling snow off sidewalks prevents ice, especially deceivingly thin layers of ice that are hidden under wet powderings. Oh, and then there was the matter of $0.10 and the bus driver, Dickhead McDoucheBag.

I got that sumbitch back this morning, though: I paid the $.75 fair with seven dimes.

Otherwise, though, can't complain. I move into the Raven's Loft (that's what I decided to call my 2 bedroom apartment because it's on the 3rd floor and farthest away from the stairs) on Sunday. Hopefully with the help of Ol' Windypants.