Ain't nothing going on but the rent

In case anyone is curious, for the last three weeks I have designed the menu for this cafe, purchased everything for the menu, made it all, been underwhelmed by the 'utility person' they hired for me (pots, pans and peeling) and almost quit twice.
I can not take this business anymore.
The deal is this. They baught a catering space which also has a front cafe. I'm only there for the cafe, yet the catering 'chef' is this bitter fat slob bitch. Okay, Mickey...calm down.
This is the thing about people who cook. They brand themselves 'chefs' as soon as they turned their first hamburger @ Wendy's. I went to Culinary School. I have lived and worked around the world with some great people who I have learned so much from, and still, I never call myself a chef. I know how to cook. I cook great stuff. I have fantastic taste buds. I can create a frigging dinner by opening a refridgerator, yet; the title bothers me. I was working in the Plaza Hotel at 1CPS, a very distinguished place, as a Sous Chef, and all the workers were like, "Chef?" "Chef?" And I was like, "Please...call me Mickey." I guess the glut of 'chef's' who are complete douche bags that I have either worked for or seen in public or on TV have made me feel that I never want to be a part of that group. Kind of like that Will Rogers saying of, "I would never belong to a group that would have me as a member."
I know where my talents lye. I know what I make is unique and tastes great. I see 95% of the customers coming back for more. Thats all I need to know.
Anyway, this whore bag is so malicious and maybe jealous of me, that she is trying to sabatoge everything I do and poison my name to the few people I befriend. She's this fat fucking failed plus model who calls herself a chef.
They have a catering gig this sunday and she is making the french toast today. She is using Pathmark Brand White bread to boot. And then she is talking loud about how someone is sponsoring her in some competition and she can not decide which one of her 'signature dishes' she will make.
Oh my God, I fucking hate this bitch.
The other catch is this. Everyone who works at this place are best friends. So, whorebag is best friends with the owner. And all the venom she has for me is most likely being spread in rumors about me. You know how they say 'the boys club' and how hard it is to break into it. Well, I'm now working at the "Bi-Polar Cafe".
This is so pathetic. I want to wait like three more weeks, save up the money (pittance) and move to Holland. I'm working my dick off and some cupid stunt is making Brushetta's on Thursday for a Sunday party, and she is breaking me.
Fucking people suck so bad.
I'm too pissed off to spell check pittance and others. Any advice is cool.
Love, Mickey