What I had planned: Clear out my bookmarks, sit on my butt, begin fucking around with the site for April Fool's Day, get started on doing the frames shit, start on remaking the captions for Thousand Arms, and give Fatal Frame a run-through.
What happened: WORK. (A nice four letter word that cancels out the stuff above.)
Breakdown on what happened: I go to school, get done kicky fast with my lab midterm, (like under 30 freaking minutes done) and head over to my mom's store to play "Gas City repair man", sans the pay. :P
My manager knows I'm over there and calls. Ye ol' ASSistant Manager (Who shall be know as FT, or Fucking Twink) had called off, claiming he was sick. Was since the night before.
Now what happened the night before: Coworker comes in, sick. (Who still worked for at least 5 hours) FT, who just got yelled at by the district manager for being a lazy prick when I got there, got it into his head that he could do the same thing.
... the only diffrence is that the coworker was actually sick. I mean everything, from the way he acted to the way he looked. He was sick. FT was fucking healthier than I was.
In my three+ years at that store, I have called off from work just twice. When my dog died last month and when the side of my car got smashed in back in August. It took me nearly three years before I had a legit excuse on why I couldn't come in. Mainly do to shit that happened to me that was out of my control. For me, bouts of laziness != day off from work. That's what days off are for. (Which mine's Sunday, right after a midnight shift. I pretend that my store doesn't even exist. :P)
[Wants] DEATH: Now. To do all the crap I had planned today: After DEATH. Or Sunday. Whichever.