Wednesday, 24 December 2008
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Monday, 22 December 2008
I also like to make up stupid little rhymes and songs/chants just for the fun of it. Usually it's because I'm bored, but sometimes, it's just because I'm a little bat-shite crazy. Okay. The chant thing makes it sound like I'm a hippy (which there's nothing wrong with, but I'm not) or some weird pagan-ey type person, which I am also not. Lemme explain.
Me and my guy have been looking for a house, one that allows multiple pets, and found two that I looked at and liked, and so filled in the appropriate applications for. Then comes the waiting. Both places said they'd call back this morning, and my guy was feeling skeptical about it, since most places for rent don't allow pets easily, if at all. Well, this morning, I got a call back from one of the places, and let me tell you, the guy I was talking to sounded so enthusiastic about having us live there, I pretty well signed on right away, but he was with the more expensive place. So I told him I'd think about it and get back to him. Not even ten minutes later, the other house called me back.
(Now lets take into account at this time in my story, that I was at work when this happened, although the store wasn't open yet. kay. back to my stupidity.)
So this other guy calls back, lets call him guy 2 for now, and guy2 is telling me how he thinks the place is ours, just have to drop by the office and drop a down deposit so I can guarantee a hold on it. and in the middle of this conversation, my work phone rings. I don't want to be rude to either person on the phone, so I swivel around the cell phone with guy2 on it, pick up the other phone, and do my little "Thanks for calling the gladly-take-your-money-store, can you please hold?" bit, (Multi-talented, that's me) and put that phone down so I can concentrate on guy2 who's in the midst of telling me move in dates, and the such. a short 30 seconds later, I'm off the phone with guy2, beaming stupidly to an empty store, and congratulating myself on winning the bet that both places would call back, even though my guy didn't actually make a bet, but I needed some way to fill my childish competitiveness up for the weekend. In fact I was so pleased, I got up and started doing a little 'winners' dance. And then I started chanting. 'I fukin told yuh, I fukin told yuh, I fukin, fukin, fukin, fukin, fukin, told yuh.' I finished up my dancing and juvenile chanting, and got back to work.
Only half an hour later, when I had just opened up the store, did I realize that I hadn't gotten back to the lady who I had asked to hold. I checked the phone of course, but there was no answer. Why should there be?
So now I'm left to wonder whether some random lady heard my potty-mouthed ranting, or if I got off the hook because she was impatient and couldn't wait for 35 seconds....
on a completely somewhat different topic, I had a lady come in that tried to give me $6.20 on an $8.47 bill. Between my saying it out loud and the computer screen telling her you'd think she wouldn't've had a problem. She blamed it on me not speaking properly, and how I should get my speech problems fixed, and did I know that roughly half of the younger population cannot speak properly? I replied in a properly low mumble,' did you know that about 75% percent of the population over 65 wear hearing aids, and about 35% percent probably need them?'
Saturday, 20 December 2008
We have a coat check room beside the hostess station where the busser, (and sometimes a hostess or two) get to hang up all the coats/mitts/boots/hats/dead ferrets/etc/you get my point. And on the desk of the hostess station there's a little wicker basket that people throw their change into to tip/pay coat check. Now when it's very cold outside, which it's been for a week or two now, both hostesses help out with coat check, as customers tend to appear all at once, totally ruining our calm and collected appeal, and practically turning the front door area into a war zone. okay, that may be a bit of an overstatement, but it gets pretty hectic in there. Anyways, that little wicker basket comes into play at the end of the night, as, hopefully, many people have thrown many bits of change into it, and then it gets split up between the hostess and the busser.
This is where my quandries and thoughts start a-naggling at me. When I was in grade three, we had a school dance. I really don't remember anything about it other than I wore a black 3-tiered mini skirt with neon trim in pink green and orange, and that I won a dance contest with another boy in my class. The prize was a box of icy squares. I remember going to the stage to pick up the icy squares, going over to the bench with the boy, and divvying up the squares equally, because, gosh darn it, we had both worked very hard to win that competition.
How different is a couple of people dancing around a coat check room, working very hard for the prize, then going to the back room(it's where the paying public are prohibited. most of the time,) and sorting through the change til it's in two piles, and having that slightly proud feeling of accomplishment when you get a big tip out? So this is my problem. Every time I hostess, I get swept back into grade three.
Friday, 19 December 2008
So after she got through learning her numbers on my back, arms and lower legs, She left me momentarily to grab the paraffin, whatever that was. Now ladies, I know you'll understand me when I say I was a little uncomfortable waiting on a foldable table half nekked, with just a sheet on in too-bright lighting.
So she comes back with four long plastic bags half-filled with pink goo. Think Ghostbusters 2, and the bath tub. I couldn't bathe for a week after seeing that movie, mind you I was only 5, but still, little creeped out when I saw those bags. I swear for a moment there, I was holding my breath to hear a disembodied Vincent Price-like Cackle. But no dice.
So she proceeds to put my hands and feet into the pink goo, squooshing it around some to make sure the wax hit every corner of my extremities, and then tying up the plastic bag like a tourniquet, and then pulling on a white lobster mitt over the whole mess. when she was done this process I'm sure I looked like some kind of rag-doll, with the nosn-descript hands and feet. Sure felt like it. So, then she gave instruction to 'relax, have a quick snooze, it'll take about 15 minutes to set, and then I'll be back.'
and what did she mean by letting it set? that sounds like cement! will I not be able to move my hands? how will she get this shit off? with a mini jack-hammer? belt sander? where was she when I had all these questions going through my head? gone of course. scarpered off while I was contemplating the probability of amputation.
So three minutes into my sentence, and I find that I can still move my fingers and toes a little, having been frantically wiggling them to see if I still had feeling in them. I did. So I calmed down a little, and found myself giggling over my hypochondriatic situation.
Minute 7. My inner ear started to itch. Followed by my right nostril. Lucky for me, I can't move my hands anymore, due to me stupidly trusting the goo and backing off on the wiggling, not too mention that those stupid mitts had no sharpish corners into which I could dig into either orifice to my hearts content. As the itching grew worse, I found myself rubbing my head on anything I could find, pillow, blanket, shoulder, feeling like a retard and wondering if they had a camera set up in the room specifically meant for taping this type of thing. Candid camera or whatnot. piss me off.
Minute 13.? finally get rid of the itching in my ear, can deal with the nose itch now, feeling mighty tired after all that exercise, and I find my eyes closing on their own, despite my anger.
Not even 30 seconds later, my torturer shows up at the door, cryptic smile on her face, approving of how I did get a quick nap in after all.
So, all in all, not the most relaxing experience, but certainly one of the most entertaining and challenging ones I'm sure I'll have in my lifetime.
p.s. is it a new standard procedure to wear latex gloves when giving a massage, or did my massager just have a fetish? hmmm....
Thursday, 18 December 2008
Well, of any kind of spa massage anyways.
See, I have a little bit of a buggered up back, around the shoulder/neck line, so every year when the cold hits, my shoulder acts like an old guys balls in -20 weather, and tries to escape into my neck. funny image, that. but true. So every year, I make sure I have a couple bills set aside for whoever I find to be the most convincing in their coaxing of my shoulder back into it's original position. Sometimes it works, and I find myself grateful to the Master Negotiator of Muscle. Then, at other times, I find myself ruing the day I ever came across that coupon for
'Free Hot Hamburger with Massage, courtesy of The Ligament Lounge!'
This year was so exceptional as to have a little of both worlds. I was lucky enough to bugger up my shoulder early in the season, so I didn't have to deal with all those crazy outta-control x-mas shopper-extraordinaries, and their pulled hamstrings or loose wallets. ( I hate having to tip extra to someone that didn't do the job properly. Just because that last two people in line to pay have each slapped down 20's, a gift basket, and some homemade cocoa, doesn't mean that I'm gonna do the same.) So I try out this new place, advertised in the phone book as the only physio- centre that hires only seasoned-Rmt's, which sounds both edible and medical, so I give it a try.
Glad I did too, fantastic place. Ended up having to go back only on more time, it was fantastic, and really reasonably priced! But if you think I'm gonna tell you the name of the place, tough luck.
My massage therapists! BAck OFF!
Kay. Now to the second place, and I'll gladly tell you the name in just a minute. So I got this awesome gift certificate from work, got it last x-mas, and it was about to expire, so I thought, gee what better way to start the holiday season than to get a relaxation package, which is a 45 min. relaxing full body massage, and a paraffin hand and foot treatment. For those who don't know what that is, I'll also get to that in a minute. So, I book the appointment for the day after my certificate expired, still got to use it though, and wait dutifully for the day when my back shall be relaxed and my hands paraffined.
Kay. Firstly, I did not receive a 24-hour reminder call, so I didn't actually remember that I had the appointment until about an hour before. that was fun. Found a sitter though, (my casual sitter fuckin rocks!) so I made it there with two minutes to spare.
Secondly, I was given the only massage room without a proper massage bed, so I had to make do with lying face down with a pillow on what felt like a hospital gurney, not just that, but a FOLDABLE hospital gurney. Lemme tell you, when yer nekked, you don't want to be feeling the metal hinges to your bed in the most uncomfortable spots. I swear, I'm sure they had a couple of teenage stoners come up with with the mechanics of that bed.
dumb ass1-"heh, it's cool that the principal let us outta detention to make up for the shop class project."
dumb ass2-"Heh. yeah. the Principal's a tool. heheh"
dumb ass1-"heeeyyy!!! wouldn't it totally rock if we put these cold metal hinges like, right where the girl's boobs are? then we could totally see some frozen tats! heh. heh."
dumb ass2-"Doofus! we aren't gonna see any of the chicks who'll be lying on this thing. duh. dumb ass"
dumb ass1-"ohh,... oh well, it'd still be cool."
dumb ass2-"no man! we already failed this once. dude I can't fail, or my parents won't buy me that x-box."
dumb ass1-"come on!"
dumb ass2-"heh. heheh. alright, let's do it!"
I rest my case.
Thirdly, I happened to get the one girl who they just let past the training stage, so she was pretty new. Didn't understand the concept of 'relaxation', you know, real talky and such, and the point got moot anyway, cuz as soon as she started, you could tell she was still doing the 'audible counting in the brain thing'. So I started to count along with her.
Left-side down, 1-2-3-4-5-6-pause..... drag hands up middle, right-side down, 1-2-3-4-5-6-pause..... drag hands up middle, repeat.
At one point she even asked if I knew the technique she was using, cuz I guess at some point the counting-along-in-my-head-thing kinda turned verbal, unbeknownst to me. I just said no, and went back to my counting.
I'll leave the paraffin for tomorrow, as this post is already getting too long. I know I said I'd tell you in a minute, and it will be for me, but everyone else will have to be patient.
Wednesday, 17 December 2008
"ATTENTION! THIS CAR'S BATTERY HAS JUST BEEN REPLACED, PLEASE DO NOT UNPLUG!!! thanks"
and that they couldn't have possibly known the mechanics of my car, in the fact that it's a peice of shite, so it takes twice as long as any other car on the entire earth, to accept and befriend any new part I choose to put into him. stuck-up little bugger. So I was without car for a few days, while my trusty trickle-charger did it's job, and I sucked major ass to get rides to work and back.
So I guess the moral of this story is that if you see a kid with shifty eye, baggy clothes, or even just a smile, Smack him as hard as you can. Cuz you know that they'll deserve it at some point.
Thursday, 11 December 2008
see? lists can be fun!
anyways, while I was bat shit retardo-girl, my mother gave to me a beautiful grey plastic folder, you know the ones with 57 thousand different compartments in it? and she said, 'it may get hard, but when you've lost it all, at least you'll have this.'
Actually I don't really have a clue what she said to me when she gave me the folder, if she even did, as I was bat shit, like I mentioned before. R-E-T-A-R-D-O.
But as a result of that folder, given to me by who-knows, I grew a great fondness for coming up with lists, writing them just so, and putting them in that folder so they wouldn't get lost. Of course at the time I was too stupid to actually label the compartments on the thing, so it took half an hour to find anything in there, but I always had that folder with me, so I could never say anything was actually "lost."
since then I have an acute liking for making lists, which I usually lose about half an hour after making them, but the magic and fun is still there, so I won't rain on my own parade until the day I actually make a list that has vital importance and then lose it.
another fun preggo story is when I used baby-daddy's head as a target when he decided to take the first sip of a coke I had just poured. (hint- I used the almost-full glass of coke as the dart, it's just good that I have horrible aim) well, I won't go into that one right now. save it for another time when I'm feeling reminiscent.
Wednesday, 10 December 2008
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
Monday, 8 December 2008
I read in a magazine that during the x-mas season, men should be getting an extra hour of sleep a night for a total of 8-9 hours of sleep, and women should be getting an extra hour and a half to 2 hours for a total of 9-10 hours of sleep. This is supposed to help prevent against winter colds and other maladies.
I, however, fail to see the logic in the statement. Sure, extra sleep gives your body time to rejuvenate, slows everything down, and lets you work through the weird stuff that happened during the day. It lets your body fix it self, and gives your brain and sensory thingies a break.
BUT-how can one get an extra hour or two of sleep when there's so much to do during x-mas?
Lets tally the hours here:
1. the roads suck so bad that you have to get up an hour early to drive to a workplace that only takes 20 minutes to get to in the other seasons
2. you have to set the alarm for at least 20 minutes earlier anyways, cuz when it's still pitch black outside, it's harder for you to wake up.
-20 minutes, +35 minutes
3. The Tim Horton's/Starbucks/other local coffee drive-thrus are extra packed, cuz no one wants to actually spend the 5.2 seconds it would take to get out of the car, to the freezing cold, and run inside to get yummy warm coffee only to have to go back outside in the freezing cold for another 7.9 seconds(remember you're holding sweet caffeinated nectar you don't want to spill) just to get back to a semi-cold car, cuz you turned off the engine not realizing it's -26 before you went in. Hey, I get it, not all of us think before a certain percentage of coffee has been injected into our systems. I'm not even sure I'm there yet...
4. The Malls are open later and later everyday, and you realize that the one gift you couldn't find has just been shipped in but won't be out on the shelf until 9:30 in the pm. Due to work shortages and picky pre-teens, This leaves you scrambling with a whole bunch of pissy people and their half-asleep kids still waiting for the same thing at around 10:30 pm, because the kid who was supposed to be unpacking the shipment quit to go work at a McDonald's so he could get the free meals.
-39.6 minutes, plus two bruises on your elbow that will hurt like a bitch in the morning.
5. You stay up baking cookies for x-mas prezzies for coworkers, only to realize that you've sampled the equal of two dozen cookies, and it's already 11 pm, and that new magazine you read, you know the one that had twenty fabulous ways to stuff a turkey cold, says that you shouldn't sleep on a stomach full of sugar for at least two-three hours because your body won't metabolize the sugars and fats while you're sleeping, and you know those two(or was it three?) dozen cookies are at least worth 12.6 pounds on the hip/thigh/ass/second chin scale, but you're so tired, so you try to compromise by doing lunges around your house for twenty minutes, then reward yourself with two more cookies, give up and pass out exhausted around 11:45 pm.
-20 minutes exhaustive exercise, -17minutes guilt trip and sugar rush, + 15 minutes past your last snooze alarm
So taking into account that I usually have a bedtime of 10:30-12 pm, depending on if I'm working double shift or not, and that with taking my kiddo to daycare every morning before I have to be at work by 8am, I'm usually up by 6, 6:30 if I'm lazy, that's a daily sleep intake of 5.5-7.5 hours of sleep a night.
So we add... hmm... no subtract .....*mumble, sigh, carry the four*.....
and we have a total of 118.6 minutes of lost sleep to add on to that already depleted amount of zzzz's. anymore lost sleep, and I swear I'm going to start having spirit visions, complete with my own spirit guide in shape of a platypus. either that or I'm going to sleep 19 hours straight whether I like it or not.
Friday, 5 December 2008
To the lady who I'm meeting with to look at a house this weekend, I apologise in advance. When you say that you're new to renting out places and you don't even know if you care if there's animals in your house, I'm going to have to exploit and take advantage of you at every chance I get. I really want that house.
To my left eye that has been twitching off and on for the last four days, Fuck off already! getting really annoying! and if this is an 'only symptom that appears before you get a brain hemorrhage' type thing, I'm going to be really pissed off!
To everyone who wished me well for my birthday, as well as those who laughed at me and then said I'm getting old (like my son) thank you. but it's really not necessary. Next time just send booze. anonymously. works better.
To my son, who loves to give presents as much as receive them, or even just to know that the present he gives can be used by everybody (and by everybody I mean him) I think we're going to have to go over some basic house rules again. even though you bought it for me and picked the colour and everything, there is no way in Hell that I'm sharing my coffee pot with you. besides, it'll stunt your growth.
To my friend, who's having a blast after breaking off a crazy-stoopid relationship, slow down. There's enough yummy boys to get around to, without having to break so many of those boys' hearts. but still, you go lady!
To my absentee Landlord, in the immortal words of someone else I know, 'Go bugger yourself. I'm done.!'
To the customer who loitered in my general working area for 15 minutes furiously smelling something, you gross me out. Stop-no, sto-stop stop... step away, and leave the immediate area. icky (I sit right in front of the porn section of a magazine store by the way, no fault of mine, just where the comp.'s placed)
To my cat, who woke me up this morning by trying to eat my toes, I have many knives, and if one of my toes goes missing, I guarantee that your tail will go the same way.
To my brain-to-mouth filter, which I obviously left at home today, I miss you.
and finally I leave you with this question. When you sell papers like the star Phoenix, and the globe& mail, and a customer asks you if either are available, does the following sentence sound dirty to you?
'No, I don't have any globes right now, but I have a star!'
Monday, 1 December 2008
thanks for tuning in to my hissy fit. better stuff next time. I promise(hope)
Saturday, 29 November 2008
Notice the complete lack of confidence as mini-her walks up to the desk to ask about - wait for it- video gaming magazines. So I politely point the girl in the right direction, and go back about what I was doing. which is completely ignoring the world around me and counting things. I get a psst, psstt, about thirty seconds later, and the mini-her is back to ask me if there's any specific games magazines, and not just gaming systems mags. So I reply that Nintendo wii has a couple of specials on their new wii fit game, cruel I know, but she didn't take the hint / bait/ jab/ whatever. Not the girls fault at this point of time, really. She asks about a certain game on x-box, no-clue if she was speaking english or not, and I retort that if it's not on the shelf, it's not in the store. sorry
So mini-her goes back to mom, and sighs a little sigh, groans a little groan, and is immeadiatly comforted by mama. Mama says, "now don't worry about it honey, we can stop at that new Indigo that's opened up to look for your book, I hear they have a Starbucks in it too! how does hot chocolate sound? You know, I used to have a computer desk job too, and I didn't like it very much, most days I was grumpy, so I don't blame her for being rude, she can't help it, if she doesn't like her job. Hey, do you want to stop at Mcdonalds on the way home?"
This I swear, word for word, is what came out of her mouth. Many things some to mind when someone either a)insults me, or b) tries to make concession in my favour with a back-handed comment.
The first thing that pops up is to throw it back in their faces, add a little more condescention, and some sarcasticity to the mix. The second, in this instance, was to question their parenting skills. I wanted to berate that little pilsbury creation into nothingness, tell her that she's turning her daughter into an obedient fat cow ready for the slaughter-house that is high-school, she should tack on taco-time just cuz it's on the way, and WHAT is with their hygeine? icky!!!
The third would have been to point them both in the direction of the cooking mags, might as well learn the girl up on how many ways you can deep-fry chocolate.
The fourth would have been to throw-up.
But I didn't do any of those things. why? Not because I'm a wimp, not because I only thought of those things just now, but because I don't honestly care anymore. That's right. Because those kids are our future, and us parents are royally f**king it up. I've seen enough to know that I can't stop any of this execpt for my own son. Just making sure that he doesn't turn into a stupid, fat, blubbering slob is all I can ever hope for. I hope I don't live long enough to have to put myself in other children's care, because I'd probably not make it anyway. so that's it. that's all I have to say. no point to this post really. You and I have screwed the world over enough. just don't help your kids to do the same.
Friday, 28 November 2008
Actually, it's about the buffet at my night job, where the wild things have died, been sauteed, and then stewed in a steam tray for an hour or more.(hey, I didn't lie about the food)
At least that's the story more or less by the time the staff get to eat it. If there's any left to eat. We lowly slaves to the upper-middle-class-alcoholics usually get last pickins after everyone else has been served, sometimes we get riled up and convene to order from somewhere else so as to take the upper hand, but mostly we're too lazy and eat whatever's left. which is usually slimy from steam, or rubbery, or dried out and chewy.
I'm sure that when it's served to the paying public, it's not that bad. We usually get rave reviews on it. like, 'Oh this is yummy!', or 'You should try this! have you tried this? tell me you've tried this', or 'Oh, the potatoes are so MOIST.'(hehe. moist..)
Also, our Caterer usually plays the meals out to match either the entertainment or the season.
For example, last year we had an Italian play, so there was moist pork medallions and spaghetti carbonara, along with a variety of veggies, side dishes, and a whole table dedicated to desserts. Every X-mas, the Caterer does the Ukrainian special, which has turkey, ham, potatoes, stuffing, cabbage rolls(homemade, not that store bought shite) and perogies(which sometimes start out homemade, but usually end up that Cheezo(?sp?) brand after a coupla weeks.) along with mushroom sauce, gravy, salads, and that whole table dedicated to desserts.
This meal(the X-mas meal) is the only buffet I can handle every night that I'm working. Why? Because this meal in itself, is the main reason the Ukrainians were invented. To feed the public. Literally. and I know some Ukrainians. So I can't let them down, you see. to shun the very food that they have been put on this earth to make, is like telling a jew you don't want any Lutefisk. or refusing fried okra when in the southern states. so I, by sheer decency for all things put on this earth, will eat this meal, and smile whilst doing so, for the sake of my Ukrainian friends. May everyone on this earth taste the heaven that is Cabbage roll. and have a Merry x-mas.
screw it. I don't really care if yours is merry or not, just eat the friggin cabbage, or I'll stuff it down your maw!... do it for the people. do it... do it...
Thursday, 27 November 2008
Click Click Click goes the Camera! Smile Smile Smile Goes my Son! Tic tic tic goes my jawline, I'll be happy when this shit is done!!!!
Just a tip. Never do X-mas piccys at wal-mart, as they don't tend to employ the regular version of people. at least not here in Bellybutton. But, as I tend to be both a sucker for punishment and Lazy, I've faithfully gone to Wallyworld every year to get piccys done. I can remember now that I'm not intuitively blocking my memories as I so often do, the first year was fraught with retardation. We actually got someone Else's pictures before we got our pictures! And when we finally Did receive our piccys, they had decided to print us the cast-off ones and not the ones we'd asked for. that was fun.
Last year, I got a phone call about a week after the shoot, saying that something was wrong with the film(even though the pictures are taken digitally) and that our entire shoot would have to be re-done, though not in time for X-mas, or probably even V-day. I opted for a full refund, and I got a free disc with all of our pictures on it, even though it probably would have taken them about 5 minutes to re-print the pictures for us. I later learned that one of the girls that had done the shoot had had a Major hissy fit, and had deleted all the photos she was supposed to be printing out, and subsequently got fired for it. How we still got a full CD of the pictures after that is beyond me, but whatever.
This year's picture shoot has been rescheduled twice due to people leaving/quiting/getting the hell out of there before Wal-mart's Apocalypse, so we'll see what happens. Keep your fingers crossed for me!
Wednesday, 26 November 2008
Except for Football, which I'll probably watch a little of.
And seeing whether or not I can get my boss to pay me holiday pay. He does that sometimes, as he's a little old. I wouldn't put it past him.
The grocery down the road from me even has ham and little turkey's on sale, just for the occasion! (They're probably saving the Big turkeys for the real consumer holidays), and I also noticed that they have coupons for their frozen Birdy dinners, which again, just shows appreciation for the holiday and the people who celebrate it. Don't get me wrong, my town and at least a quarter of the Country I live in are considered hick-ish, but I know we didn't come up with that frozen dinner thing, even though we have enough snow around here to freeze our own meaty buns off with.
anyways, happy birdy and ball day!
Tuesday, 25 November 2008
In a nutshell (literally) the play is about an up and coming writer who's spent the last few years living with his best friend, in the quasi-lap of luxury, on his parent-paid college fund(he was supposed to become a doctor, duh). Twist: His rich parents-CEO dad, trophy mom- come to visit him out of the blue to see how his doctor practise is doing. So he hires his best friend-a shitty actor- to get some acting buddies to play patients, and then, yep, Plays Doctor.
And Hilarity ensues.
The recipe? Think of it as bad british slap-stick, throw in some really painful groaners(Groaners means horrible joke for all twisted sickos out there.. like me) a coupla chicks barely dressed, and some self-righteous semi-nudity.Then wrap a shitty plot around it, and presto. This is what I get to watch for the next month and a half.
Luckily, I also get to serve selfish bastards and their women booze while I'm at it, so yay for tips!!, and boo for un-called-for ass grabs from old yuckies, people who think they don't have to tip for drinking coffee(We still serve it to you, where the f*ck did you think it came from? I don't see no Juan and donkey roaming about) and disgruntled women who realize that the buffet isn't all it's cracked up to be.( I mean, come on. No matter how you dress it up, it's still a stuff-your-f*ckin-face-before-it's-all-gone kinda thing. One step up from piggies at the trough. As for the women-only reference, come on guys. You know you don't taste it. That stuff's just for soakin up the booze so you can drink more.)
So yay for working. And yay for two jobs. And yay for no sleep.
Now where did I park my Juan?
Sunday, 23 November 2008
Saturday, 22 November 2008
Friday, 21 November 2008
What is it with old people and their will to die?
I have this one gentleman who always pays the wrong amount, and then when I point out the error, he comes back with, 'Oh, I would never mean to cheat you out! I'm due at the pearly gates soon, ya know'. Or the Little Ukrainian woman with the boobs to her knees that likes to travel to a different province for about 10 months in the year, not consecutively though, she likes to go back and forth every coupla weeks. I think it's something to do with family. getting off topic here. ANYWAYS, she always ends sentences with "God willing" or "God rest him/her/them/etc", and she likes to talk about dead people. like they were still here. Perfect Example: The Show that was last going on in the Theatre that I work at had a little ol' lady character in it that gets obsessed with death, funerals, tombstones, final resting places, etc, whenever she starts feeling poorly. The playwright got spot on with that one, what with the older mentality and defeatist attitude. well not defeatist, maybe acceptance? It's becoming all too common, anyways. I'm not saying that all older peoples are like this, just the ones that gravitate around me are.
A woman that just was in my store asked if we had a public washroom. Now, I don't really like just anyone using the washroom, as I think most people don't actually know How to use a public restroom, hence the 'employees only' sign on it. just as I'm saying no, her husband goes right in. seems he's been here before, and considers this place home. or at the very least our plumbing facilities. then she feels the utter need to let me in on the state of his prostate, and other such maladies. and the time he's got left in this world. Now I know that losing someone is hard, dying sucks, and getting old just blows in general. But confiding in your friendly customer service rep is not really the way to go. Talk to family, friends, hire a professional, but please, don't spill on the chick who only gets paid just above minimum wage to sell cigs and candy.
Plus, I just put a sign on the Bathroom Door that really should make people think about their conscientiousness!! There's already an 'Employees Only' sign on there that should make things clear, but since it doesn't me and my beautiful Permanent Marker made an attachment that reads-*ahem*
THIS MEANS WHAT IT SAYS!!!-thanks, mgmt.
Now, I'm not the Bathroom Nazi. Of course I'll let customers in if they really need it.They just need to ask. Is that so hard? really? whatever happened to people being shy and modest when using the facilities? why do I need to know that they've got raging prostate problems, or that their hemorrhoids are acting up? um.. didn't mention that particular customer did I? oh well. another time.
Thursday, 20 November 2008
However, I despise the shopping, not for the shopping itself, but that I never carry cash, only plastic. And because of this, I realized this morning that I don't have any clean socks left, due to the fact that I live in a big building with many others (some call it an apartment) and it's only got a coin operated laundry. The plus side to this is that I have small feet, so I can fit into my son's socks. The downside to this is that my son is only four, so his socks, which are usually knee high-ish to him, are now ankle socks to me. So needless to say, my ankles and calfs are chilly!!!!
I also love winter for the Coffee. Every Coffee shop I know in Saskatoon comes up with special yummy drinks, either in Coffee or Hot Chocolate form, even the place that I work at night, so there is always something new to try. I learned quite recently as I was pacing the Brand New Indigo in town (yay! we're finally big enough to have an Indigo books!!!) that Starbucks has a myriad of New flavours for me to sample (well, they're not all new, some are just re-introduced from last year, but still) and lo and behold, I found the Jackpot. It's taste was of Buttery Hot chocolate, and Skor Bar flavour, with a whipped topping of Chocolate Whipped Cream and Rock salt. It was heaven, and usually I'll savour a nector such as this, so I was surprised and somewhat sad when the last dregs came after only minutes. I'm sure this will become my winter Favorite. yummy.
oh yeah.. it's called the Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate, and I order everyone I know to try it at least once.
Wednesday, 19 November 2008
"These Customers aren't being stupid just to piss me off and make my day worse! They actually and Factually don't know any better! They're just plain old dumb! "
And of course that made my day better, and with that thought out, the customers didn't seem as stupid to me, just mildly endearing, if not entertaining.
And so I leave you on a lighter note. The next time someone pisses you off with their stupidity, do not frown. No. do not use any wasted emotion on these poor souls that have been depraved of the common sense and good old working brain cells. Instead, look them in the eye, smile, and gently pull their bridle down until they are eating the carrot out of your hand. and oh yeah. always bring carrots.
Tuesday, 18 November 2008
I was walking into good ol' Wally World last night, with my son, on my way home, to buy some kitty necessities, and I heard it. It was faint at first, but the closer I got to the deserted animal section, the louder it became. A horrified feeling burrowed it's way to the pit of my stomach, and my son came up close as if sensing what was wrong. 'What is it mommy?' he whispered, as I felt my hands creeping down into the earmuff position on my poor child's delicate ears. 'I'm not sure', was my fearful reply. As I ushered my child quickly to the proper aisle, the sound became louder, as then more and more voices joined the first and all blended into one another, quickly becoming a mish-mash that hurt my ears. I had to make my decision fast. I picked up my son just as tears started to prick my eyes and started running toward the nearest exit only to find it was blocked by security and packed with people staring at a customer denying her obvious problem with paying for things. Turning slowly around to look for other exits, I noticed a blue-jacketed salesperson cowering in a corner, not too far from where I had heard the sounds. I ran to her, hoping for information, and she didn't disappoint me. 'What is that noise!' I cried, trying not to let my histeria show. 'We just unpacked them this morning', her voice was monotonous. ' The senior associates are doing a battery check right now. I don't know if I can take it anymore! This isn't supposed to be happening yet!' and with that, she shuffled off with her hands on her ears, mumbling something about evil Saints, Reindeers, and Snowmen with guitars. By this time I realized that I had not been earmuffing my son and, horrified, turned around to find him holding something so vile and dastardly, it could only come from hell. a Fat man in a Blood red Suit was perched in a gyrating position, wearing sunglasses that I could only presume covered the fact that he had NO EYES. As if in slow motion, My son said' look, Mommy, it sings! see?' and then pressed the little black button beside the bearded demon's boots.
Well, I blacked out after hearing the first few chords of 'Grandma got run over by a reindeer', But I'm told by the authorities that I'm not allowed in any major shopping centre without a supervisor, and Logan won't talk to me about what happened at all, just gets a far away look in his eyes, and then does the Godzilla stomp around the room pausing only to run up to someone's face and roar at them. I don't see the connection...
Monday, 17 November 2008
-not a smart idea, don't you agree?
Sunday, 16 November 2008
hopefully I can help in the future.
Thursday, 13 November 2008
- go to a doctor.
And stop complaining. Sort of.
And it's not exactly a doctor, more like a Massage Therapist, but still licensed, and I've also been complaining to random people about needing a really good massage, so really I'm killing two birds with one stone here. Yay for time management!!!
I'm not here for anyone else's pity but my own, but it's not so bad. Here. I found a picture that could describe the discomfort to you! yay again!
I may or may not look like this.
the following is not an accurate representation of what happened to me, but it deserves an aww, and some pity for the poar creature!
But I have to say, I learned something from searching for my perfect look-a-like via google images. This shoulder thing has been a recurring problem for years and years now, and as I was searching, I found an article on 'frozen shoulder and thyroid problems.' Hmmm. Does it matter that my family has a history of thyroid problems? dunno. Do I really want to get rid of these icky shoulder pains? most likely. Do these things have anything in common with what I found on the net? also dunno.
Really should get that physical sometime soon.
Anyways, pity me, and mourn for me. Then, after Saturday, you can rejoice for me, and then we can get back about our business.
Wednesday, 12 November 2008
How in the world are mullets still popular?
I've seen two today. and I wonder... do hairstylists still do mullets anymore? do they know how to cut the hair to make the mullet? it seems like a very complex procedure. It's all perm-y in the front, and long layered in the back, and the two cuts meld into one another. I seriously don't think you can get that shit done in any respectable salon anymore. Hell, I don't even think you can get it done in a magic-cuts, or cut-rite. do they have home haircutting kits? like back when regal and avon were big on the bowl cut and they gave you a 'specialized circular shaped hair-measuring tool' or a BOWL and a plastic sheet that's shaped like an upside-down umbrella and some scissors? they even had many sized BOWLS depending on the size and shape of your head, or when the x-mas catalogue special came out, one of those collapsable traffic cone-thingys. and INSTRUCTIONS!!! cuz any half-sane or mostly un-retarded person is gonna need to know how to put a bowl on their head and cut around it without cutting off an ear or giving you an *Gasp!* un-even cut. I personally wouldn't go out in public if I got a bowl cut, whether it be even or not. likewise with the mullets. Not sure what these people were thinking. ohh! Mebbe, 'gee, if I get a mullet, people won't notice my overly HUGE fuggin forehead... hmm
Tuesday, 11 November 2008
Monday, 10 November 2008
It's a difficult biz to get into. most people can't handle the stress of it. However, that doesn't mean that not every Sally, Dick and Jane can do it.
I personally think Customer Service is the easiest bloody job to take on, not really hard at all, requires about three brain cells, even my son could do it and he's only four.
I think that most retail/customer service/lackeys should at least have the common sense to know three important rules when working.
1. the customer is always right(until out of earshot)
2. Listen to the customer, don't try to guess(they'll usually tell you what they want)
3. do what you get paid to do, nothing more, nothing less.
These three rules will not only keep you in your job, but probably make life easier to handle in the long run. really.
example. This morning, I inadvertantly tested an employee of a certain bagel shop in above rules. I thought, gee wouldn't it be nice if I could make my own mocha? I could just use Coffee, chocolate milk, and a little cocoa and voila! impromptu yumminess!
So I asked for four things.
My lunch, a tasty lox and capers on a cream-cheesed bagel, which was made slowly, incorrectly(she made me egg salad) and with many interruptions, since the girl was talking to the thingy in her ear, which I can only assume was either an earbud to a radio, or one of those phone plug-in-thingys.
Some soup, which was forgotten about until we got to the cash register.
The coffee, extra large (which you pour yourself, they just give you a cup)
The Chocolate Milk (which was in the cooler behind the counter, not in front with the rest of the pop and cream cheese that you just grab yourself. guess it's more valuable or something.)(this was also forgotten completely.)
Now, I happened to be only carrying debit and not any cash, so when I got my reciept and noticed no chocolate milk and realized my morning caffiene/sugar rush was postponed due to lack of listening to the customer, needless to say I got a little upset. I pointed my ice blue daggers her way and spoke in just above a whisper( don't really have a voice first thing in the morning), 'umm, where's the milk?' to which I got one of those pointy up fingers that one does to show they want the other to hold on, they're busy. So I said, a little louder,'where's your manager?' to which she replied, 'I am the manager, just hold on a sec, I'm a little busy.' and continued her conversation with her ear. At this point in time, Her manager came out( aha!!! LIAR!) and asked if I had been helped, and I proceeded to rip the little ignorant bugger a new one, using such words as:
'girl can't take out her earbuds long enough to do her job',
'a little confused with my order since she made me egg salad when I obviously asked for lox and cream cheese',
'is she actually a manager, because in that case I'm not sure why I even bother to come in here in the first place if that's the kind of person you like to hire',
'forgot my chocolate milk, and I only have debit, and I can't make my perfect mocha',
all in a surprisingly whiny voice( I guess I'm not very witty first thing in the morning either, mostly just a big puss). In any case, the girl got a swift talking to, I got a free egg salad sandwich, got my coffee refunded, and subsequently went to Starbucks and got a big americano.
So in conclusion, this is my fourth post in a row, and already I have nothing to write except how much people piss me off first thing in the morning. shitty..
p.s. oh, yeah, forgot to mention I'm trying to do this everyday for a month, care of napomlobo? namoplobo? nope... just a sec... NaBloPoMo. That's it. That stands for National Blog Posting Month. so that's what I'm doing. cuz I have no life. that's all...
Sunday, 9 November 2008
I Hate X-mas Shoppers.
with a blazing passion only the evil demons of shopping Hell could provide me.
-you can't see their eyes, but you know they're glowing...
Saturday, 8 November 2008
Hi there! sorry about that. My mind may have wandered too far off of the mission-I mean topic, that has brought me here today. Today I wan't to tell you about a great new thing called 'Starbucks'. These beans and bevvies have brought beauty and justice to the world, and in doing so, have made me a better person. If not for them, I wouldn't be the mindless drone upstanding citizen I am today. Why, there's lots of fun things that Starbucks brings you. Such as their commercials. I love their commercials. You should too. Commercials are fun. They let you know what you need to buy. and there's no brainwashing, I promise. Now just look into my eyes....
Friday, 7 November 2008
1.Location, Location, Location:
I live in a province (yes I said province) where 6-8 months of the year are covered in snow. you can't get rid of it. You can't form petitions to have it forcefully removed, cuz goddamn muther nature will just keep giving it back. You can't escape it because the land is so flat you give up trying after about three days of running. all you see is white.
I have a child, who loves to build and throw and destroy things. yes I have a boy-beast. Snow,to me at least, is a built-in toy/friend/bribe that I don't have to pay for. I mean... what the hell. yeah. it's free. and that makes me happy in my pants. and my heartstrings. if I had any.
I can't quite describe the feeling I get when I look up and see the murky grey sky, that chill in my bones, and the wind through my hair. It makes me happy inside. it makes me think of past winters and hot chocolate, and don't eat yellow snow-too late, and forts and making graves for dead squirrels that you find in your annoying neighbours/ neighbourhood nemesis's yard, just so you can have the satisfaction of 5 months later having the snow melt and the looks on their faces. Now that, my friends, was long-term fun.
mittens. and toques. I believe that says it all. oh wait...
The sizzle of wet mittens and toques as you dried them on the heating vents and the almost overpowering smell of wet dog that seemed to waft from these seemingly harmless little knitted accessories.
6.The Holiday Sales:
Not the Holidays themselves, those are just a bullshit commercialized reason for you to buy things for other people so they'll be your friends for another year. No. I like the shopping for me. and what better time to buy useless, and sometimes harmful, or at least pretty stuff, than when it's on sale for a completely different reason? no time like snow time, I always say. like just now.
On the topic of Holidays, that pretty much go hand in hand with winter, my next favorite thing is the X-mas Songs. Now, I'm a bit un-orthidox about this one, as I can't seem to remember any bloody holiday jingle when there's actually need for one, but give me a nice hot sunny sunday in June, when everybody else is singing about their blings, ices, ice-cream, umbrellas and whatnot, I'm singing Jingle bells.
Yes kiddies, the Queen of all things sugary, bittersweet, and overpriced. Now, you can get chocolate pretty much any day of the year, but only during the winter can you get Cadbury's Chocolate elves a'la pop rocks. If you haven't had one of these things, you should. if you don't know what pop rocks are, you're stoopid. if you don't care, that's fine by me. These things are on the highest pillars of awesomeness, and they will never come down. unless they start putting pop rocks into reese's.
well, a chance to buy new shoes of any kind really. I'm not particular. But I guess for the occasion, It'll have to be boots. or sexy heels for new years. . . mmmmmmm, shoes....
10.Golden Glowing Glacial Graupel:
otherwise known as: yellow snow. ahar de har ha ha. too funny.
Monday, 27 October 2008
Or, as I should put it more accurately, agghhaayy for Bhee.
However, My mind seems to be working properly, at least for the time being, or maybe this is all a big snot induced dream and I'm going stark raving, but I have a story for you. well, more like a tutorial. It's called, How to Wear Face Paint. or more importantly, How to Look like a Tool While Wearing Face Paint.(even though you're not even in school yet.)
This is a tradition that's passed down from generation to generation, mostly through sibling to sibling, then sibling's child then child's sibling, and so on.
Now I have vague recollections of Aunty Awesome wearing Face Paint at some point in my young life , although I'm not sure it was for Halloween, (it was the 80's after all.) But obviously, I thought it looked super-cool, and one year, either my 4th or 5th (or my 3rd or 6th, can't remember, I know I was young, and It's therefore one of my first memories) and on a particularly chilly halloween I decided I wanted to be a witch. I'm sure I wasn't really particular about what kind of witch, but I was dressed as the Wicked Witch of the West, with a lovely costume one of my Kin/clan/brood had made for me, might have even been my mother, she was a whiz with the needle. (in the most respective way!. idiots.) My memory wants me to say that my aunt was there, and that we were getting ready in her apartment, so I will. Also, I believe that it may have been my aunt smearing me with the green paint, and therefore mebbe my theory of sibling-child-sibling contact has been debunked, Mebbe I'm confused, what ever, but all in all what I really, really remember, is the texture. Now if you've ever had your face painted before, you'll know the texture I'm talking about. you might even like it. Me, however, not so much. I gag at even the sight of unnkown snot, drool, unverified liquid, let alone having it rubbed into my face and letting it dry. Not to mention the chalky/acrylic smell of a Face Paint Stick.
side note: I wasnt' even sure they made the Face Paint Sticks any more, as all I've seen are those newfangled Crayons, or pots of paint. These Sticks are basically Tongue depressors that have been dipped in the nasty non-toxic goo that then gets dried Onto the stick and packaged in a variety of Five colours for your convenience.also, the only picture I could find without actually searching was a link to a link, so whatever you do, don't press close window, cuz you'll lose the story. if you pressed it already and the window closed on you, you're a tard. just sayin. kay. back to the story.
So Here I am, in my Black dress-over-snowsuit and my cape, hat and broom, and My aunt is getting up close and personal with my face and this Glow in the dark green paint stick, and all I can do is sit quiet and not complain, because I'm sure at the time there was no reason. Now let me ask something else. Has anyone tried to give themselves a home facial? you know the Face mask that's supposed to peel off that top layer of skin and all that icky dirt in your pores? That gel-ley one that you're supposed to leave on for ten to fifteen so it can dry and then you peel off and feel refreshed? remember that feeling. That's what the paint stick feels like once it has dried. For all those that have never had a home facial before, sneeze in the crook of your elbow, let the snot dry, then try moving your arm. That's what it feels like. bleagh.
I spent quite a while outside covered from hairline to chin in that stuff, completely oblivious to the fact that it wasn't coming off very easy, not even when my face was getting sweaty from all the running and the high from the sugar-adrenaline mix. after that night, I vowed I would never, ever, EVER cover my face in that stuff again. Then I realized I was only five or six, and so probably promptly forgot about it and went back to arguing with my dad over the nibs/licorice. I remember, a few years later, My sister wanting to be a devil for hallow's eve (myself having moved on to gypsies and fairies, smart choice), and she was bedecked out in the hidious stuff, in the colour of red. I also remember her face after about half an hour and thinking, gee they don't make that stuff like they used to, as her face had either disintigrated, or bled onto her mitts and coat collar. Now, this year, My sonny-boy is going as Scooby-doo, something he is very adamant about, and I'm contemplating passing on the curse to him, but I just can't find a paint stick in even a close colour to the baby-shit-orange his costume is. Somehow I don't even think I'll be able to take him outside after I paint him. I'll be too busy rolling around on the floor, peeing my self with tears in my eyes.
Wednesday, 22 October 2008
Like the guys who match their coats and hats to the cover of their stealth-hunter magazines, or the little old british ladies who think they're part of the royal family just because they buy, well, Royalty magazines. But I sincerly want to put out a big HELLY-O and a thank-you to my favorite bunch: The Overbearing, man-panties-in-a-bunch, Tight-uncomfortable shoe wearing Businessman.
These Gentlemen, or, as some of them prefer to be called, Phat Cats, are true chameleons in the realm of the 'zine. They Can flit back and forth from Rap Mags, Porn rags, and Quilted fags like nobody's biz. ( sorry, I just had to find another ryhme-y word for that last one. Not to mention, it's true.) Now, the normal time of day to spot the P.C's (for those of you who are slow, that means Phat cats) is either 11ish in the am, or just after one in the pm. Basically anytime around the lunch period, but not quite, so they don't have to answer any uneasy questions to any associate/collegue who might also have a penchant for perusing the papers over lunch. You can tell a P.C apart from a normal business-person by the long black high-end looking dusters they prefer to wear no matter how tall or not they are, their tommy-curl hair that looks thoroughly shellacked, and the smell of Geriatric spice or Cowboy-CAN'T YOU TELL I AM A MAN- perfume Emanating from every pore on their person. These such people always elude me when they come in, sometimes, I think, just from the pendulum effect their coats have on me, and then I'm completely oblivious to the fact that there's a sub-human being under all that pizzaz. These P.C.'s always walk with a purpose, though they usually take 5-10 minutes( or whenever all the other customers have left) to purposefully stride to their glossy destination. Which is almost always one of the three sections I have mentioned earlier. However the Typical P.C. is careful not to let on that they are purchasing anything suspicious, so before making their final stop at the counter, they swish over to the News aisle and pick up whatever Market paper is available, ie. Barrons, Newyork times, wall street journal, western investor, etc. Then these crafty buggers hide their true purchase in the folds of a paper and return to the cash register looking lofty and pristine. I've learned to look in all papers that a business-person is carrying now just to make sure there isn't a hidden glossy somewhere, as most times they, as do all other customers, think that we retail personnel are experienced mind-readers and shouldn't need to be told that they are hiding dirty, dirty smut somewhere between the Housing and Stocks section. and hey, to give credit to them, it's not always smut. Sometimes a Real Man just has to loop a coupla Circle Shell Stitches to unwind, ya know?
Anyway, they almost always pay with some form of Mastercard super-multi-platinum-double-gold-fingered card, just to let you know that they still are an imposing figure when it comes to using other peoples cash, and it' really surprises me that they don't use, you know, cash, cuz that would just make it impossible to trace, and so, not letting the entire banking world know that they bought a 'no-no'. I dunno. just thinkin aloud. through my fingers.
N-E-yways, after which, they throw a smoke bomb down on the floor, and with a swish of their coats, disappear into the smoke laced interior to the external life without leaving a trace! exept for, well, the door chime thingy going off as they make their escape. ;)
Friday, 26 September 2008
My Final and probably only piece of advice in this spiel is that no matter how insignificant, stupid people have a purpose too. That annoying dude on the radio may have to be someone to listen to, though unless it's on how to torment girl guides and brownies and such, I don't know. And for gawd's sake, DON'T Trust the Midas touch.
Monday, 22 September 2008
Coming back to why I'm on minimal sleep/maximum caffiene exposure, I have one very sick little boy.This weekend was long, tiresome and snot filled due to my kid contracting some kind of throat icky. I tell ya, even though it may be cute when your little one sounds like a mixture of Big Gay Al and Miss Piggy when talking, throat infections are not fun. Sure the 'banana' medicine is awesome! I mean who hasn't actually looked forward to that tasty concoction when diagnosed with some ear/nose/throat malady? I certainly haven't. But even with the mass advancements in making all our drugs taste like candy, no one has entirely figured out how to make acetominaphin (spelling? bah. who cares, you get the gist.) not taste like ass. First they had grape and orange (Tylenol people. still have nightmares about it myself) , then cherry and bubblegum(even in the no name brand!), even mint(didn't last long as the menthol came off on your hands and subsequently went into your eyes. stingy.), and now a 'fruit medley' and 'citrus squeeze' or something like that. And My son Still Runs screaming from the room with his hands over his mouth while blubbering and choking on his own snot any time I mention the 'chewy pills'. They made Chlortriplon taste all right, why can't they perfect this? gawd, even my Allergy pills have a candy coating, and they came out with those Halls dissolvable sheets, like the listerine thingys. silly pill makers! get it right! for all the parents of sick kids! do it for us! pleeeaaaassssseeeeee!!!!
that's it. for now.