FUCK YOU, alan!

there's this dude alan,

he sells chemicals. today he was in inquiring about the success or lack thereof of his company's new environmentally degreaser. the other stuff-the environmentally unfriendly stuff-is hella nasty. i won't go near that shit.

so alan comes in and he's in before and he's obsessed with my boss' personal life and with telling me OVER AND OVER AGAIN how inappropriate and unattractive my tattoo is. today he was EXTRA grossed out by it because it's kinda oozy...what? it's new! FUCK! he's such a dick i can't even explain.

i appreciate anyone's right NOT to like it, that's fine. i don't like that fact that you choose (and it's all about PERSONAL CHOICE) to drive a GIGANTIC suv and kill babies with all the pollutants you're spewing into the air. it's ok alan, i didn't want kids anyways. sterilization is a-ok by me.

alan, i am not going to hell because i have tattoos. i'm still a nice person and you telling my dad on me isn't going to do anything. nor is telling me how gross you think they are. seriously, what am i suppose to say?

"you're right alan, i'll get straight to work on getting them removed. god, what would i do without you?! don't tell your wife but i LOVE you!"

FUCK!

it's not ok to treat me like that because i look different than you think 'the boss' daughter' is suppose to look like. god!

ok, i know this, in the grand scheme of things, isn't a big deal but he comes in once a week and we have the same goddamn conversation about it. he tells me how gross it is and i laugh to prevent myself from punching him.

/vent.

michelle!