The Adventures of the TinyPianist

Yam, bam, thank-you ma-am...

2009-10-11T07:32:00.005-06:00

I love the holidays!

Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Halloween, all those fun little holly days in between. Not for their religious value of course, not for the child-like intrinsic quality these holidays bring,
but because I
like
to
Feed
people.

And not just a meal either, not just a feast, not just a Gourmet feast, but something more like a Big-Yummy-Little-Old-Ukrainian-Grandmother-Style-Stuff-You-Til-You-Puke-And-Then-Make-You-Another-Plate-And-Complain-About-How-Skinny-You-Look Gourmet Feast.

I like to cook. lots.

So, I'm on the web this morning looking for side dishes to make, cuz wouldn't you know, I don't think that Turkey, Ham, Chorizo stuffing, mashed taters, broccoli and cauliflower bake, Red pepper salad, corn muffins, cinnamon buns, 2 kinds of pie, and homemade breadsticks and buns are going to be enough. Plus, I totally forgot about Yams! My poor little tubers! Now how could I do such a thing?

So I look up the fated tuber, and up pops all these icky sweet desserty thing to do with yams. Really? eww. candied yams? Saw a picture and it looked like upchucked peach slices. yuck. Baked in a pie? with marshmallows?
I remember a friend tried to do that once for a dinner I went to , but he was poor and didn't have marshmallows, but amazingly enough had marshmallow topping, and he wasn't really a good cook either, cuz the crust was burnt, and the eggs had separated from the yam mixture so there was hard baked egg bits in it, and he put the topping on after baking the pie, and cuz the pie was still hot the marshmallow topping started melting and it looked like somebody sneezed on the pie, but that's not the real reason I have a substantial fear of cooking with yams, nope...

Anyways, I thought that the sweet desserty thing was the sweet potatoes job. What? they're the same thing? No... really? You wouldn't believe how many recipes I found where the chef thought it was the same thing! you probably wouldn't even care!

Well I looked it up, cuz I was Really Confused. and No. For all you fantastic would-be chefs out there, The Sweet Potato, and the Yam are two completely different tubers.
Idiots.

So I spent the next hour or so reading up on why these two tubers are so different, how a yam is actually naturally sweeter than a sweet potato, and how yams are actually tropical, and can grow to be 7 feet tall (takes a backhoe to get it out of the damn ground), and all about the amazing health benefits of each tuber, (I Really like the word Tuber), and where the word Yam even comes from (for all you geeks, it's from the african term njam, nyami, or djambi, meaning "to eat,". who knew?)

and basically wasted my morning without finding a single recipe to cure my side dish blues.
well...

whoa!! long time!!!

2009-07-08T18:28:00.003-06:00

hokay...
HI!.....
it's been a long time....
how's it going?
yeah, yeah me too. really busy.
no time really to even scratch my ass or pick my nose.
yep.
busy.
that's me.

uh-huh.
eeyeeahh......
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Okay, okay, I lied, I've been doing nothing but scratching my ass and/or picking my nose, but I can explain.

I was, at one point,*insert dramatic sigh* too poor for internet.*insert 'pity me' sob*

Okay, okay, that's a lie too, I'm obviously rolling in the "dough", but really I'm sure if you're patient enough with me, I can come up with some kind of excuse you can be happy with, just hold on.
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nope, nothing. oh well.

And now for something completely different....

2008-12-24T12:50:00.003-06:00

I'd like to take a moment to go completely off topic here, and talk to you about something that has great importance to the world today. Something that, in my personal viewing experience, has gotten completely out of control as of late.

As you all know, it is Winter. And, in most cases up here in Canada, it gets very cold. Sometimes it's very, very, very cold. Such as this past week. The temperature's been stuck somewhere in the range of -30 to -40something, so, yeah. chilly. As you might Not know, here in Saskabusch, there happens to be an abundance of old people. And particularly in my work environment, Old men. some creepy, most harmless, but still, unavoidably present.

Which brings me back to my issue.

If it's so damn cold, why must I still be subjected to an abundance of hairy old man chest? I mean come on!

Lemme give an example, just to bring an image to the horror that I've faced lately.

-Scream richie, go on! scream like the little girl you wanna be!

That scary enough for you

X-mas Closure

2008-12-23T12:45:00.003-06:00

Ready?

Ok!!

All together Now!!!

IT'S ALMOST OVER!! IT'S ALMOST OVER!! IT'S ALMOST OHH-VHEE-EEE-ARE, OVER!!!

Thank you for your time.

My newest X-mas gift!

2008-12-22T14:12:00.006-06:00

I like to dance. A lot. I like to dance for real, I like to dance for audiences, I like to dance when I'm happy, learned some good news, and yes, sometimes I do a little angry dance.

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.

Example:

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?'

2008-12-20T09:33:00.000-06:00

The Theatre that I work at sometimes gets me to play hostess for the night, so the others can have a chance at making tips (just kidding!) Don' get me wrong, I like the job, I getty to wear high heels and dress up in my fancy pants, boss everyone around a little bit, (a tiny little bit), and so on and so on. But there's one thing that's always kinda bugged me. A thought that's just been burrowing away in the base of my spine, the very fringe of my grey matter. Lemme explain.
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.

Favorite winter tradition pt.2

2008-12-19T10:32:00.004-06:00

ok. where was I? oh yeah. at the paraffin treatment.

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.
NE ways,
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.'
15 minutes?
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.
bitch.
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.
bitch.
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....

My favorite winter tradition

2008-12-18T10:36:00.004-06:00

I consider myself a connoisseur of Massage therapy.
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!"
dumb ass1&2-"hehehe....he."
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.

And so this is X-mas, and what have you done? no. really. ???

2008-12-17T15:41:00.003-06:00

I take it all back. I hate winter. with a raging passion. I hate driving in the winter time, I hate the icy roads, but most of all, I hate the people. Well, to be specific, I hate those little punk kids who think it's oh so funny to unplug my car, especially funny when they know it's going to be around the -30 mark for a while. Although I admit that I forgot to post a big sign to my car that said,

"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.

Lists!!! Get your LISTS!!! Fresh made LISTSSS!!!!!

2008-12-11T12:47:00.001-06:00

I like to make lists. And no, this is not the first time I've noticed it, just the first time I've acknowledged it. Lists are fun. I'm not sure when they became fun, but they might have been around the time when a) I became knocked up, b) I got baby-brain while I was knocked up(which is a technical term for losing your fuckin marbles), or c) after I had baby, I had to move, take care of baby, find baby-daddy a job, and research town I was soon to be living in (which happened to be chock full of baby-daddy-relatives).
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.

Fun with Cut and paste Prt 1.67942/one third

2008-12-10T14:44:00.000-06:00

and again with the laziness, as I have only been awake going on 29 hours now, more cute kitties!!!

I'll write something more spectacular when I have a few more functioning brain cells.

Fun with copy and paste!

2008-12-09T11:37:00.003-06:00

k, Lazy today, so I'm not going to write anything. I'm just going to put up lots of cute pictures, and

hope that does the job.

My sleep calculator is broken!!!

2008-12-08T10:49:00.004-06:00

So starts the daily ritual of being too tired to do anything more than sit drinking coffee and hoping against hope that the caffeine kicks in soon, even though I've noticed I've become immune to caffeine as of late, except for that annoying eye twitch that I figured out was just from too much caffeine. It's gone now, thanks to some muscle relaxants,well mostly anyway. I just feel too apathetic to really be annoyed at my eyeball right now.

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
-1 hour

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...
-10-12 minutes

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.
fun

3..2..1... KAABLOOOIIIEEEE!!! just kiddin

2008-12-05T12:50:00.004-06:00

I have so much on my mind today, I'm going to implode in big yellow-gooey noggin pieces all over my workplace. so I write those noggin strainers here to save myself the hassle of having to clean up after myself.

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!'

Singing in the Rain

2008-12-01T15:01:00.001-06:00

It's December First. and it's raining. wierd. And I'm going to Nine Inch Nails tonight. Eeek!
that's it.

damn depressing, if I do say so myself

2008-12-01T09:42:00.000-06:00

here I sit. At my desk. In the dark. and it's already 9:30 in the morning. Why am I in the dark? because the sun refuses to shine upon us until close to 10am. Then it takes an early leave around 4:15. So that means that I go to work before the Sun comes up, and Leave after it's set. All work and no sunshine to play around in, or even drive in, makes me a bitter person. If only I could have some snow. Snow is helpful in illuminating a dark night, or morning and afternoon with. plus it gives me a damn good reason to get outside. Without snow, it's just dark and cold out. With snow, it's a night-time winter wonderland in which to whisk my kiddo out to play, make forts, have snow-ball fights, go sledding, make snow angels, eat (be careful about this one), and pile on slides only to knock it down. Childish fun!!! where's my Childish fun?!? I demand that it snow. RIGHT NOW!!!
thanks for tuning in to my hissy fit. better stuff next time. I promise(hope)

UH OH! I feel a serious break coming on...

2008-11-29T14:59:00.000-06:00

why are we so non-caring about our kids these days? I know inheriting a gene structure is one thing, but we shouldn't 'strive' to make our kids just like ourselves. Cue short-and-stout(very) lady and her mini-her of about 13. Notice the lack of a bra, the three-day-worth grime protective coating, and the sweats. The only thing that separates the two is age and make-up. One, completely oblivious to grease-paint and fish scales, the other, way too into experimenting.
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.

Merry Stinkin X-mas!

2008-11-28T13:00:00.002-06:00

I have a story for you. It's about Coffee. Sweet delicious Nectar of the Gawds.. and Food! Glorious Food!!!

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.
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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...

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!!!!

2008-11-27T12:01:00.005-06:00

It's Thursday! That means it's almost Friday! That means that in Five days my son and I get to go do the X-mas piccys that are distributed to random family members every year! That means that, if nothing goes wrong with getting our piccys this time, unlike every other year, that everyone should receive their X-mas piccys by New years! yay! almost on time for something for once! yippee.
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!

Frozen Bird on a stick!!

2008-11-26T14:39:00.004-06:00

So tomorrow's the American Thanksgiving. which means bugger all to me.
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!

Come one, come all, to the hell that is my X-mas!!!

2008-11-25T19:20:00.005-06:00

Ever been so tired that you're not really sure whether you're actually awake or not? Well, that's the position I look forward to being in the next few weeks. X-mas is coming. Whether we like it or not. And due to the overwhelming appreciation for booze and theatre in Bellybutton SK (where I live), and due to the fact that I serve in a "Theatre", I get to witness all sorts of appreciation to both very soon. We have a new show in the theatre, Called Playing Doctor, that if you don't think about when you see it (like, at all...) isn't really that bad.

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?

Day of Rest-easy-chore-day

2008-11-23T18:21:00.003-06:00

I'm thinking I will take sundays off from writing stupid shite. After all, I take my sundays off from every other job, and this means I have more time to spend away from computer and more time to spend on laundry, dishes, folding my mounds of laundry, and of course, doing that whole rest on Sunday thing that the religious peeps do. . . hahaha! I almost wrote that with a strate face. Couldn't do the whole religiousity thing if I tried. but seriously, can't type and do laundry at the same time, so. taking my sundays to be distracrtkeds-I mean distracted by my son.

The potty adventures.

2008-11-22T11:10:00.000-06:00

I remember when I was potty-training my son how long it took him to go. A really long, long, time. I mean, really how hard is it? get in, get on, get out right? well, it took me about three weeks before I learned that that was what he was doing, he just had to stop in the mirror after, and tell himself he was sexy. This was also back in the time when he'd strip down in front of people and tell them he looked sexy and then dance. I try to block this from my memory, but lack the refinement to do so. I also remember when he took his first poop in a potty. he was impressed. I was grossed out. He wanted to take a picture (just like a little man!!!) I said no, and then he replied, 'But Mom! It's soo Big!! pleasseee?' I'm proud to say that I never gave in, though I did giggle and snort like a little she-pig. And that is the reason why whenever my son takes a crap, he will tell everyone how big it is. which is just Fan-Tast-tic.

I'm a little old man, short and stout, here is my walking cane, here is my prostate!

2008-11-21T11:57:00.000-06:00

What is it with old people and their will to die?

anyone?

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.

Take this.

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.

that's it! I'm officially Addicted!!

2008-11-20T10:54:00.001-06:00

I LOVE WINTER!!!!

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.

Enlightenment and Vegetables.

2008-11-19T10:54:00.001-06:00

You know, I've always been angry about the working position I chose. I've been in Customer Service retail for about 10 years now, and I never could get over the fact that I hate people. I'm always flabberghasted when they don't know how to swipe their own debit cards, a mite annoyed when they can't check their own lottery tickets, a scrap depressed when they can't follow the signs to get to a bathroom. Well, today, I felt a little bit of compassion. I don't know, call it the holiday season, it's 'Magical', whatever. I was *ahem* servicing a customer (now don't make this dirty you sickos!) and the doe eyed look on that old guys face just made me want to reach out and pet his mane while feeding him an apple or a lump of sugar, and I realized.

"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.

X-mas comes but once a year! From Nov.15 to Boxing Day, Dear!

2008-11-18T11:15:00.002-06:00

Bad Rhymes are us. wow. I don't even know if I want to finish this now. But Plow ahead we must.

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...

Oh! the ninja's you'll see!

2008-11-17T10:20:00.006-06:00

This weekend has been quite interesting on it's own, what with Ufc fights, parties, general craziness, and my sonny boy singing his new favorite song, 'I'm a butter butt, and I'm okay', to the tune of Monty Python's famous Lumberjack skit.

My favorite bit, however, was introducing my two kitties to a dog so that when said dog comes to visit, they won't go all kitty-ninja on him, and get their little furry asses kicked.

-not a smart idea, don't you agree?

This puppy is extremely well-behaved, and was pretty much ignorant of them for most of the night, as there were people around that were more fun to play with. It was only once in a while that you could see puppy's eyes swivel to meet my smallest cat, and within their staring matches, you could just see the indecision on pup's face.

'Squeezy chew-toy! go up? or flatten? which will make bigger squeak? *pant*'

(at least that's my interpretation of what was in pup's mind, I just can't see a dog speaking in a more verbose style than that, you know? I just can't hear it saying something like, ' That skittish feline is making me a tad sprightly and waggish, I just can't surmise whether I shall use gravity's force whereupon my paw will meet her head, or if I shall use my snout to launch her in the air to my extreme enjoyment. .. damn there goes my tail again...'. although it would keep my imagination more wordy, I can't justify thinking this will come about in a dog's head)

NEWAYS,

After three hours approx, Little kitty figured she would exert her fearlessness and dominance and lay down a coupla feet from puppy, and they seemed happy-ish, until Little kitty decided that 3 feet wasn't good enough. So she got a little closer, up on the chair of course, gotta keep your escape routes open, and they went nose to snout for a second or two. Then, Little kitty gave a small hiss, puppy looked unfazed, and they were both done with each other. Bit anti-climactic really.

The Bigger kitty, however, would have nothing to do with him, and looked like she was going to attack the entire time we tried bringing pup in Her-I mean My room. We gave up after a while cuz she was making the cutest sounds out of her chest, and she kinda looked like when you mold a happy face in plasticine and then you pull the cheeks back and it starts looking evil? you know? whatever. she didn't look happy anyways.

So all in all, my weekend was pretty- well, pretty boring, but I spent it mostly with people I don't mind, so it's alright in the end. Plus, just writing this made me realize how little I know about how to talk. or write.

This post has been brought to you by http://www.thesaurus.com/, and by Becky's complete lack of knowledge on the English Language.

and Today's Letter is...

2008-11-16T17:16:00.003-06:00

This is a going thing right now. Sonny boy and his letters. numbers, days of the week. he's got it all. and pretty good too. only his phone number is eluding him, and somehow, that seems most important. but I still can't help but think, that I have had nothing to do with his learning. and I know I'm right.
hopefully I can help in the future.

The giantest pity party that can be made in less than 5 minutes.

2008-11-13T11:22:00.006-06:00

little broken here. Lopsided really, but on the upside, it only took me 7 days of on -and-off icky sharp pain, horrible sleep, and people pestering me to go to a doctor or something and stop fu**ing complaining to them for me to-
- 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.

These things can eat you. I swear.

2008-11-12T15:55:00.000-06:00

I have a serious question. it's been bothering me all day, and I can't figure it out on my own.

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

Tips for the dutiful Consumer pt.1

2008-11-11T14:27:00.000-06:00

Ok. So I've been noticing this more and more lately. Cell phones.and the immeadiate and deadly rude use of it in a public place. Particularly in my store. More to the point, when they're at the cash register, with me. Ok. So first I go through the 'is it me?' phases. Do I stink? Have they been here before, and I just didn't have enough stimulating conversation for them? Am I just plain creepy? These and other questions will inevitably pop into my brain when confronted with me losing a chance for small talk to a piece of coloured plastic electronickery. And, do you know, I just love being Told to put said merchandise into a bag, or being Told to get certain said merchandise. Because when any action is put to me when the customer is only half paying attention, or is put to me as a side thought deterred from his more important conversation about supper, and who he/she/it saw last night, that action becomes a demand, a telling to, and not a request. and that irks me to no end. So my course of action? Talk as loudly to the customer as I can, while he is on the phone, so that if he can not tell the importance of conversing with a flesh-and-blood person instead of a voice carried through satellite waves, then at least the person on the other line will have enough sense to ask to call later. or stop talking. The other thing I do is wait. just wait. I wait until they're done their conversation, or until they have enough sense to put the guy on hold, or the phone down, and apologise. Sometimes I help the people behind them, or clean things, but mostly I just stare and wait. So really. I ask any of you who read this. If you happen upon a store and are just coming to the checkout when the phone rings,PUT THE BLOODY THING DOWN!thank-you.

four! in a row! craziness!

2008-11-10T13:15:00.003-06:00

Customer Service.
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',
-and-
'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...

This one's short, I promise!

2008-11-09T17:41:00.004-06:00

I've noticed in recent posts, well all of my posts actually, that I like to write. Pithy and witty sayings, of course, but long and over exaggerated as well. so here's a really short one today.

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...

Caffeine and Music makes Me a happy Girl!!!!

2008-11-08T14:56:00.004-06:00

I like coffee. not just for the caffiene, as these days you can get caffeine any old where, be it in pop, pills, juice, even on it's own(in liquid form of course, but still.) I like coffee for the taste. Sure, I know what you're thinking, T.P why do you like something that tastes so horrible bitter and rots your guts from the inside out making you into a literal walking espresso machine? (by the way, my love for coffee runs so deep in my veins, the least amount I've ever had would be 2 cups a day) Do you do it because all the cool geeks wearing berets and quoting Tolstoy are doing it? well guys, to tell you the truth, I like it because it tells me too. Frankly, I've been drinking that frothy steaming bevvie for soo long, that I don't think I could possibly start any day with out it anymore. It has become one with me and burrowed so deep and dark roast into my cerebral mush that I don't give it orders anymore. it talks to me. tells me what kind of day to have. tells me all sorts of things rea-

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....

a Whimsical Winter Wonderland of Wisecracks

2008-11-07T12:43:00.006-06:00

I love winter. No joke. Most people here don't really like the white stuff, but not me. I love it. Here are ten good reasons why.(just cuz ten seemed like the right number to put down. gut feeling, that's all.)

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.

2.Kids:

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.

3.Weather:

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.

4.Clothing:

mittens. and toques. I believe that says it all. oh wait...

5.Holiday aromas:

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.

7.Tunes:

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.

8.Chocolate:

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.

9.Boots:

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.

attack of the Nine foot snot ball!

2008-10-27T13:42:00.005-06:00

So every year that I take sonny-boy out to the trick or treating, there's always sickness afoot to follow us down those dimly lit streets of mask and marshmallow goodness. Usually it's the little one with the sniffles, where at least the right sleeve of whatever costume he happens to be wearing(or not). This year however, I have been blessed with the mass sniffles, the snargles, the loogies, lung butter, quantum nose explosions, whatever you want to call it. It's okay though. I was searching for my winter coats earlier this week, and I came across at least three twelve packs of mini-kleenex, so I apparently had a little pre-cog in the realm of this 'holiday' and decided maybe I should stock up on the nose fluff for future fun with the holidays. yay for me.
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.

Creatures of Habits

2008-10-22T12:38:00.005-06:00

I love crazy magazine lovin wierdos. I Really do.
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?

-manly AND Complicated!

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. ;)

Things I wish I never heard of

2008-09-26T13:11:00.004-06:00

Kay. Surely everyone has heard the Fountain tire commercial on the radio. yes. radio. I happen to listen to it at work, since I LIKE hearing the same five songs over and over again. anyways, You know the ad, that one where the Fountain tire spokesperson is trying to gip a free box of cookies out of an unsuspecting girl guide. Well, I have to say that I hate that spokesperson with a passion. Not only does he have a nasally-impaired voice, not only is he blatantly dumb (and not the cutesy-Mr. Bean-not a clue dumb, the other dumb),but he's annoying too. However, He's got Midas beat, and so I can't Hate him entirely. Shame. Now, the politics of Tire-selling and adjustments and pretty arranging of the tires so they don't fall off, pretty much escape me. I don't know shit about cars. But I'm pretty sure the folks at Midas don't know much either. I do know that awesome phrase 'Righty-tighty, Lefty-Loosey" comes in handy when trying to replace a tire. The gents at this particular establishment anyway, do not. at all. In fact, the last time my car was in an accident(not by me by the by, but that's another story. and a few more by's) I had the unfortunate advantage of bringing it there, because they were the only place close by that was open on christmas. Now, it could have been the little fact that they were stuck working ON Christmas, or whatever. I make no excuses for the idiocy of this town and it's businessmen. They had to re-align my tires. and they did. They also left the car door open for about 2 or three hours after, so my car was completely dead when I came to pick it up. And cold. They also told me that my front passenger side rim was bent out of shape and they had to beat it back into shape. uhuh. I had to get that rim replaced by the by, as they had completely STRAIGHTENED IT, and it was literally shaving my tire bald. They also did Not apply the 'Righty-tighty, Lefty-Loosey' rule, and the two back tires almost fell right off my car on the way home. So. I ask you, oh Great Fountain Tire spokesman of the radio(yep, he's a man. that explains a bit) what are your promises? Cuz If you're place is anything like the Midas guys, I don't want anything to do with you. See, when cars get that 'Midas' touch(get it? Midas touch? heh? heh?... nevermind)at least in My town, Midas is essentially screwing itself over for not only it's own incompetence, but thousands of employees in hundreds of franchises across North America. Oh well. I'm sure your competitors aren't complaining, Midas. Like that Annoying Fountain Tire guy.

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.

Of Sweat and Snot, Of Balls and Tots

2008-09-22T12:12:00.005-06:00

Kay, so I'm running on about 5 hours sleep, and about 9 pots worth of coffee, so if the following thingy doesn't make a whole lot-a sense, then.. whatever. I don't really care. I just feel the need to express to all of the 40+ gentlemen out there, and even some of the women, that it is NOT OKAY to have mass amounts of spare change in your pockets when wearing sweatpants. you probably shouldn't be wearing sweatpants out in public anyways, but especially not with 10 bucks in change. Small, small change. This leads to the question of why you were wearing sweatpants in public, as most people who do are, well, exercising and sweating, or just a tad to big for any other material, and therefore, probably sweating also. This leads me into the knowledge that all of that big hunk of change vicariously swinging around your nether regions has probably also been co-mingling with the inevitable sweat of your said regions ( See: why people wear sweats in public), and saying that, I have just one question for those who apply to the previous. WHY DO YOU INSIST ON PAYING FOR SOMETHING ENTIRELY IN SWEATY BALL/GUNT CHANGE!???!?!?!??? eww. This is why every store should buy stock in Purell. or any kind of sanitizing agent. I seriously do not want to be touching coins covered in unknown/unverified liquids and/or moisture and heat of some kind. makes me kinda barfy. Maybe that would stop the sweaty change-exchange. If you hand me your taint-ed coins(get it? taint-ed? heh? heh? ahh.. nevermind) and I barf on your purchase(no refunds, sorry) that'll teach you a lesson. or maybe I'll just lose business. damn. no way to win.

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.

The NEW! Newfie Spa

2008-09-15T09:38:00.003-06:00

I seriously don't know what people see in lobsters. this past friday I had the um... *ahem* privelege to work during a city wide lobster boil. These people paid 70-some bucks to eat a lobster and some high class mac and cheeze. yup. mac and cheeze. Special people. They didn't even know how to eat with their HANDS, let alone a lobster cracker and a special fork. Lemme tell you, butter was ev-ery-where. First off, I don't know if our linens will survive the messy butter carnage. Second, I have pimples starting from the sheer amount of melted butter in the air. And these people were in awe of the smell of the beast! Like, LOVIN it.
YouTube - Swedish Chef and lobsters

I personally want to gag any time I smell the odour of dead sea creature and ocean water, but there a total of about 150 of these things being boiled, so it was inescapable. the air was permeated with the stench. A literal Newfie spa. Most of the people eating these things were drooling hardcore. It was kinda like the Pavlovian bell of crustaceans. icky. Most of us working there were smiling simply to tamper down our gag reflexes, which were working over time. By the end of the night (lemme tell ya, late) every pore of mine had absorbed more lobster juice than a month's worth in a Halifax harbour. I swear, I turn a certain way and I can still smell it, and that's After 3 equally long and scalding showers with only the best perfumed soaps and such. I'd take the stench of dead cow any day after this. And I will never, Ever, go near or eat butter again. well.. at least not til thanksgiving.

APOCburpALYPSE!

2008-09-12T12:01:00.008-06:00

AHH! Quick! Someone come up with 50,000 models of a car that goes on methane made just for saskatchewanites! we have the cows and pigs! and the old farts too! mebbe even some young farts to help out! where did that engine that ran on french fry oil go? Is Mcdonalds in the Oil and Gas industry yet? yech. I can't afford my gas at 1.34/litre at the creeway gas store, and now you tell me that it's gone up another 11 cents? Seriously freakin out here.

bugger you . you suck. Major goats. and anyone telling you otherwise is lying. You know, sometimes I just wanna scream Canada, you traitorous bitch, how could you? and then I remember something about having to be patriotic,so I get down on bended knee and pray to the gas gods for patience and forgiveness. Then I remember I'm an athiest and I get back up and start ranting again. hey wait a sec. isn't oil only at 101-something? isn't that not much of a leap from what it was like a week ago? where's the long weekend? that's usually the only reason they raise the prices this friggin much. oh wait. another natural disaster is gonna do the trick apparently. you know, I heard this funny little rumour a while back about when one of the alberta premiers wanted to keep the oil in canada, mebbe even alberta and refine it and what not so that gas prices would stay reasonable? do I even know what I'm talking about? mebbe not. all I know is that I'm gonna need a third job to pay for the gas to get to and from my first and second job. bugger.

Chocolates with Extreme Dizzying qualities?

2008-09-11T11:48:00.005-06:00

Don't get me wrong, I LOVVE chocolate. Dark chocolate, light chocolate, truffles, clusters, muffin and cake form, whatever. Chocolate is Guuuuddd. I do not love the people who organise the chocolate in my store. I don't care what looks better per shelf, I don't care that the regular size bars go on a higher shelf than the king size bars, in fact I don't even think that we should be having king size bars in my store, if not for the fact that the fat people love them so much. I happen to have the few representatives from each chocolate company that the rest of the world deemed 'too retarded to actually work in a real city' so they sent them to bellybutton Saskatchewan so they could run free and play. seriously. Mr Cadbury isn't past puberty yet, and stares at those bloody white chocolate bars like they're the creamiest thing he's gonna see, Mr Hershey is usually a no-show, although he usually does have the courtesy to book an appointment to come in so he has a certain time that he can NOT bother to show up for, and Ms Nestle? Picture Foreman's mom from That 70's show, skinny her up a bit, then ladle on some extra annoying. She's got that tasteful way of saying the most tactless thing in her honeyed voice, then following it up with a little twitter and an 'okaaaaayyyyy....'. I want to slaughter her with the sharp edge of a Skor Bar.

Ms Nestle came in to my store today, rearranged everything whilst I did my damnedest to ignore her, proceeded to take 'before' and 'after' shots with her new for-work-only digital camera, and in the midst of her in-home candy renovation, tried to talk to me about my life like she actually spent more than 10 minutes every 3-4 months in my store wiping the dust off of old product before replacing it. I have to admit that I might have given her some of the ammo to work with, but the rest she managed to pull out of her own a**. or at least out of someone else's life.

So she comes in with her BINDER OF ALL IMPORTANCE, her LABELS OF DESTINY, and her BOX CUTTER OF JUSTICE, and tries to butter me up with a free smarties box. Now I've said I lurve chocolate, but smarties doesn't really contain a whole lotta chocolate. just so you know. In fact if you look at the Label, the first ingredient is Milk Chocolate, which then has a brackets bar naming about 9 ingredients, 5 of which Ms Nestle herself couldn't even pronounce, and about four or five ingredients down in the sub-ingredients listing is unsweetened chocolate, but diluted by chemicals and 'Modified milk ingredients' so it can't really be considered chocolate) (I could be just making this shit up, but Ms Nestle should saw the backlash coming.) ANYWAYS, she gives me smarties, I say I don't like 'em, she looks like a puppy I just booted, so I try to comprimise and pull a little kindness out of a rarely used orifice and say that I could probably give them to my son, he'd like them. (which is true, I do bribe him when teaching him the alphabet, see 'By the power of Leapfrog') She lit up at this, and I thought all was well. Too well, it turned out. I was rearranging books in the small section we have that carries various romance titles and such (for the little old ladies, I just love them and their constant perfum of toilet cleaner and kitty litter) and she starts asking me about 'my little girl'. I corrected her once or twice, but she seemed set that my kid was Not born with the barnacles of manhood, so I went with it. what the hell. Then she started asking me about my husband and his Dad's business. So apparently now I'm married to my bosses non-exsistent son, which is kinda... different... anywho, this went on with her making shit up, and myself grunting the odd acknowledgment until she aquired how my pa-in-law was coping with the loss of his wife. a little caught off gaurd I was since my boss is a step father to a coupla daughters, and vice versa his healthy wife. I can only keep up with a made up a story so far, then I kinda lose point of what my goal was in the original making of the story, which was to keep this woman happy with the least possible amount of participation on my part, and mess with her head a little. I was wondering if she wasn't doing this to me. she didn't do a very good job tho, cuz I wasn't really happy with her. I think she sensed my pause of discomfort as a 'it's too personal, don't really wanna talk about it' kinda thing, at which point she did her finest Foreman's mom and Nasally twittered into the ackward feeling silence and 'okaaaaayyyy....'. Then she left. I don't know if she was actually done, or if she just wanted to leave the scene of the crime, although I'm not exactly sure who's crime it was, or what it was for that matter. I'm still all of a tizzy trying to figure it out myself. ..

weird.

Willy wonka and the Cancer factory

2008-09-10T10:03:00.002-06:00

I officially hate wednesdays.

So far today I have managed to yell at a customer on the phone, not once, but three times and counting(apparently can't take the hang up hint AT ALL), dropped all of my daily newspapers that come into my store(about 15 different titles, 5-20 apiece), then barked at a customer wanting to help.And these papers didn't just go in an up-down motion. oh no. I did the full version of the 'I got it! I Got it!' dance, and there was news every where.. and that nice, naive customer held the door open for a full 4 minutes while I did the 'mumbly-don't help me- I said I got it' stretches. all this going on, while behind me, and so unbeknownst to me, a good crowd of 4 or 5 people had gathered, either apparently too scared to pass the messy News-explosion into the helpfully opened door, or trying to keep their laughs down to a reasonably silent snorting session. yeah I heard it. helpful.

and it's not even 10:30.

ok now it is.

And enter- Oompa Loompa! Well. Not quite. He's a bit surlier than your average oompa. But he's short! And cancer-peely Orange! Someone should send that man to the tanning nazis. NO MORE GLOOP FOR YOU! ick. As always, he, like every other regular schmuck in my store, expects my mind-reading capabilities to kick in before lunch, or at least my third cuppa. So I'm behind the counter, vaguely aware that he likes to top off his carcinogenic routine with cigars, but I'll be a surgeon generals left t** if I can remember which kind. And so I start from the left of the display and move on, while he's making jokes about the intelligence level of retail employees in this day and age. I imagine the slow painful death he's made for himself, and picture him wheezing and purple, and somehow the comments bounce off . Not bad for 10:30. in the a.m. After I finally get the amount of and the kind(get this, a carton of bandi cigars, five to a pack , five packs a carton, twice a week. I hope he shares.) Oompa gets on his cell phone. Guess my converstional skills were no match to his lackey who can get him starbucks at his whim. So I'm standing there while he makes his order, still waiting for a form of payment. And the little bugger starts wandering around the store, visually picking out artery-clog inducing pastry! Hello! I want you to get the f out of my store! If you're not out in 30 seconds, your lackey better be bringing ME a venti-smooth-hot-something else-blahblah-water-more fake italian-latte, AND a muffin! I don't care which kind. not picky. haha... So , he finally comes back, and then tries to leave without paying. yeah. Saw That coming from a mile away, even in my caffiene-free coma. So we argue for a little minute, then I , in my graceful, refined and patient glory, say 'I have a video camera that's been watching you SIR! Why don't you have a look to jog your memory, cuz I am QUITE SURE that you didn't leave any fu**in money.' whoops. First rule,big one, no swearing at customers, the customer is always right. well I happen to know that most of the customers I serve don't know right from their own toes, so I guess that makes me a shitty manager. Whatever. So, wisely, he shuts his mouth, we go to the camera and rewind , he looks at himself going through the coffee summons, while I look on(thank god my back was to the camera, I'm pretty shure that I said many more unsavory things while watching his communicative ordeal.) (hah! big words! not even sure if they fit or make sense, but surprisingly they're the only words coming to mind)

And all he says is 'huh. so I guess I didn't pay ya.' and gets out his wallet. . kay best part. so he pays, says 'see ya next week, you know you don't have to let these things get to ya, don't let the world get ya down.' or something to that extent. then-'umm, I looked kind of orange in the camera... you might want to fix your contrast.'

priceless.

By the Power of Leapfrog!!!

2008-08-25T09:42:00.001-06:00

So here we are again, me showing off with the tardiness of my writing capabilities. bad! bad me! I have shamed myself. really. and with so much news to tell! I got a part in that Crazy white trash musical, since past,(the last showing was July 26th, to be exact) and it was a complete blast. really. lotsa fun. lotsa work too, since I was also working at the same venue that I was rehearsing, and eventually performing at. All at the same time. So if we work out the total life time I lost to this from the rest time I received, I technically only had Wednesday evenings off, with Sunday to Tuesday nights reserved for learning the play, and Thursday to Saturday nights for working. And Monday to Friday days for also working. But still, lotsa fun. Lots of drama too, and I don't mean with the actors. My own life tends to spiral out of control when I least expect it, which due to my goldfish memory-holding capabilities, is quite often. And in the midst of the swirling vortex which is my agenda, I usually tend to lose sight of the big picture, whilst trying to keep each little piece in order, resulting in broken appendages both literal and figurative. all of my own making of course, me being the control freak that I am. But enough of that. I know what I've done, and by means of keeping something slightly private, and away from prying webular eyes, I'll move on. This is no pity party after all.

No! this is about my son!

Do you know how interesting it is to teach a boy to recognize his ABC's?

My son is learning his letters, albeit reluctantly. After all, who needs letters and books when there are movies and video games to be had! and the funniest bit? I don't have TV, we rarely watch movies, and I don't own a gaming system of any kind. This is all learnt exclusively through outside sources, via babysitters, friends, etc. So... three hours, and a coupla timeouts later, and we now know ABCDFOSTXZ, and not in that order. But it's a start. I tell ya, if not for leapfrog, I would be forced to do it by hand, and then, even though I'm sure the letters would be learned in order, we would not have gotten as far. Also, I would thank nameless, who has a heck of a lot more patience than I, for about half an hour in, I was cleaning to relieve the tension, while sonny boy and nameless were still going at it. my parenting skills stop at a certain limit, apparently, mostly with teaching school-type things, as I can't even remember how I learned my alphabet, though I do recall a certain book with pictures of things that started with each letter, the most eye-catching picture being the ashtray labeled under Aa. And people wonder why I smoke. ha ha. ha..yeah.

Keeping with the subject of Learning new things and My son, there's the small matter of sports. Which is really quite big, if you look at all angles. He's starting in a swimming class come September, and myself and another have been trying to teach him other various sports, such as baseball, soccer, etc. Mostly starting with the fact that he can't just quit or cry when he doesn't get it right the first time. And let me tell you, not the easiest thing to instill in a child. there has to be a magic sentence or something that you say to the child, and BOOM! no more whiny give-ups. And they are not 'you only cry if you're a girl', 'big boys don't quit, you wanna be a big boy don't you?', ' if you quit then you don't get ice-cream', and other such bribes. And no, I am not above bribing, sometimes it's the best way to quiet the situation. I'm not saying it solves anything, just that sometimes it's better to compromise with food and/or toys and/or free-time, than to lose Mommy's sanity. But on the upside, he's learning.... slowly, like snail-speed multiplied. Example. I took him out to the park with a soccer ball, and took him to the field, and we started by running the length of the field while kicking the ball in front of you. that lasted about 20 yards. then we kicked it back to each other, which resulted in him picking up the ball and throwing it at me because he was frustrated. so I hit it with my head. THEN he was interested. So what was Going to be a teaching session, turned into a half-hour of Me throwing the ball at his head, and him running around trying to get it to bounce back to me. see? Not entirely wasted, but not the first thing I would've preferred to teach him. Enjoyable though. Kind of satisfying when you get to whack your son on the head, and he wants more. yup. Caring and responsible parent. That's me.

that's all my rantings for now. at least until we learn LMNOP. that should be fun. ha ha. ha....

Change of Pace

2008-03-27T09:37:00.001-06:00

K, so this blog isn't really working out to the best, so I've decided to change the pace. this blog will now be dedicated to certain meanderings, song pieces, and songs. and to start things off right, I'll put up a song that my friend and I wrote together, just out of a blue-hazy-disarronno laced fog.

Some Random Guy
It's nine o clock, Tuesday night
the bar is as dead as the air
a singular gentleman walks up to the stage
to take up his place on the chair
slowly he turns on the microphone
and picks up a ratty guitar
his cheap-gin infused voice floats over the speakers,
and slowly it fills up the bar

And he sings about moonlight, He sings about love
to the twenty-some people there
and He sings about life, and He sings about loss,
but no one seems to care
He's just some random guy on a chair

Now he knows that he's got half an hour
to lay out his soul tarred and bare
so he strums his first chord, to the audience who's bored,
and he sings about people who dare
to fight to the death for their loved ones,
or drink a mickey of gin when they leave
and the sad part is that this is where the man's at
when he sings his heart out on his sleeve,

And He sings about moonlight, He sings about love
to the twenty-some people there
And He sings about life and He sings about loss,
But no one seems to care
He's just some random guy on a chair

It's ten o clock, Tuesday night
the Bar is as dead as the air "

tired

2007-12-14T11:25:00.001-06:00

First of all, I'd like to apologise to everyone, and mostly to my self for being so tardy with this thing, I would like to write more, but I have a very hectic schedule... which brings me to second of all. I never want to work again. never. ok... mebbe just not so much. plus around christmas time, there's all these x-massy thingys to go to, hence any day that I'm not working on, I have been assigned to for bringing a dish that I don't have time to cook, to a party I'm not gonna be awake enough to enjoy. Here's just a little tidbit of my schedule.
Sat.15-Work 10-3, Work 4:30-11:30
Sun.16-Work 10-3,x-mas shopping, 6:30 x-mas party (potluck),
Mon.17- Work 8-4:30 wrapping,7 pm dance recital for a grown man( the first really fun part of the week)
Tues.18-Work 8-4:30, hair cut @ 5:30(getting a foot or so cut off, YAY! finally), dinner at 7:30 (potluck)
Wed.19-Work 9-4:30, Work 5-11:30
Thurs.20-Work 9-4, Work 4:30-11:30
Fri.21-Work 9-4, Work 4:30 11:30
Sat.22-Work 10-3, Work 4-11:30
Sun.23-Work 10-3, Work 3:30 to 10:30
Mon.24-Work 8-4:30
tues.25 X-mas
blah. I get tired just looking at this thing... and a little sad that there's only another week to go...
too much work... I better get F**king fantastic tips this next week.

HALLOWEEN!

2007-11-05T10:02:00.002-06:00

ok, so it's a little late, but not too too late, so I'll tell you all about it.
So The Last week of October, my son has had a bad flu,(this is a reminder, Please, get a flu shot, to save the ickies.) So, sonny had been spiking temps of about 103.-whatever since Monday the 29th, and was not in the best of health for tricky-treating. But, alas, daycare is such a wonderful place, that by the time pick-up time came around, he was up and about, full of Motrin, and running a wonderful little 'I'm goin tricky-treatin! yay for candy' rant, and since his dad had promised a week before to take him out, I couldn't really say no. Could I? so off home we go, and by the time we pick up daddy from work, the little tyke is passed out. yup, snoring in the car seat, oblivious to the whole day. Should I have just moved him from car seat to bed and not even tried the rest of the night? said enuf is enuf, and be done with it? probably.
so we get home, and daddy gets sonny out of the car seat, and sonny wakes up and lo and behold, starts the rant again. Now this whole rant was really kinda cute to hear in a way, since he was losing his voice, and it was coming out a squeak, so it kinda sounded like he was daydreaming. huh. So we get home, and bring out the spider man costume, figure we can tour the apartment building, and go home. Here is the first trial. even though Logan has worn the costume before, He doesn't want to wear it with clothes on. so we take off the clothes. Then he doesn't want to wear it at all. He can't understand as we try to explain that you can only get candy if you dress up. 'I can't wear it', he wails, and for a kid that's losing his voice, that's pretty impressive. So we ask why, and he replies' I can't tell you' and then proceeds to get really upset. So I ask Daddy to go put on his chef whites that he wore to work that day, and tell Logan that Daddy dressed up for candy, can you? NO. but if both daddy and mommy dress up for candy, then can you? NO! and more balling.
So this goes on for about, oh, 10-15 minutes, and then finally I tell daddy to calm kiddo down, don't ask him any more questions, and I start rooting thru the boxes in the storage closet for years past costumes. can't find anything. Start looking in my closet and his for anything that he can dress up as. Can't find anything. Then, on the brink of everyone bursting into tears, I find a pair of kiddy wranglers that good ol' uncle Hungarian and auntie got him for the Christmas before, that were a couple sizes too big, and I can't say inspiration hit me,... it was more like desperation. So in the background with Logan wailing, and daddy only slightly freaking out, and me more so, I find a vest that I wear and a cowboy hat I have that badly needs reshaping, and ask Logan if he wants to be a cowboy. NO. the wails get worse and after yet another failed attempt at explaining that only dressed-up kids get candy, it's daddy's turn for a brilliant idea. How about we just get you re-dressed and then go out for candy?
ok.
So we put him into the wranglers, and then a sweater, and then another sweater, and then his big boots, and a scarf, and get a pillow case. Sneaky. At this point we ask him if he wants to wear the cowboy hat. Big mistake. The wailing starts again, and at this point the mommy-meter for patience wears out, and I go 'OK! NO HAT! LETS JUST GET A BASEBALL CAP AND PRETEND YOU'RE A FARMER!'
But we bring the hat along just in case.
So we decide to go outside, to the street just behind us that Logan and I have meandered through many times before, and when we get to the first house, I ask sonny if he wants to wear the cowboy hat.
Ok.
AHHHH! I should have known.
So we get to the first couple of houses okay, including the one guy who just moved in and was renovating, so he gave Logan a couple of granola bars and a box of kd, then shut his porch light off. So as Logan is finally getting into the spirit of things, we get to this house in a cul-de-sac thing, and Logan goes up yells(as best he can, which isn't much with no voice, so mom and dad have to help) tricky- treating! and this little old lady answers the door, and she falls all over him like he's the cutest thing she's ever seen and of course in doing so, boosts up said parents egos and confidence, and then she asks him The Question.
'Are you a cowboy?'
and at this Logan looks so offended, and responds angrily' NO! I'm a Logan! '
and the lady lets out a twitter, and says 'I'm sorry, we don't get many Logan's dressed-up here."
and Logan says, 'I'm not dressed- up! Don't talk to me'
and turns around.
yeah.
Fan-tastic.
So after mass apologies, and I think the lady wasn't too offended, she still gave him raisins, and we're on our way. So I think Logan cheered up a bit after that, and did his usual flirting, and got mass handouts, and I do mean mass handouts, we hit 20 houses or so, and Logan filled half a pillow case. There was even one house, where the parents were ready to take Their kids out, and so they gave Logan like six bags of chips. This was also the house Logan met spider man. There was a five-six yr old dressed up as spider man, and he gave Logan one of the bags of chips, and you can just see His eyes go Wide! and soo surprised, and he says,'HI SPIDER MAN!' and goes to give this kid a hug, and I'm glad this kid wasn't older and more wary, cuz he returned the hug, and Logan is just glowing. His dad and I didn't really have the heart to tell him that spider man is a little taller than 3 foot 3. And after we hit one side of the street, it was time to go home, as his dad and I were taking turns either holding the candy-filled pillowcase, or holding Logan, and to tell the truth, it was hard to tell which weighed more.
So we get home, and logan gets back down to his diaper, and mommy dumps out the pillow-case to search for tainted goodies, and it wasn't bad, I only threw out a marshmallow thing and the box of raisins. I swear some people should definitly check expiration dates if they're going to give out healthy food. I don't condone it, in fact I recommend it, but really. Dont just give it away cuz it's been in your cupboard for the last five years, and you can't bring yourself to throw it out....
so that is the halloween story, and it's pretty scary, at least parts of it are in my eyes.
Stay tuned for more adventures from the Tiny Pianist!

Work Woes

2007-10-26T10:40:00.002-06:00

OHh, woe of all woes! The Store is being cut down on hours, prices, and space!
The Magazine store in which I work is coming upon financial hardships. Therefore, brain matter was used, and though many ideas came up, Here are the few that are going to be put in motion.
-Starting November 3/2007, New Store hours are now as follows:
-Monday-Saturday:10-8
-Sundays and Holidays-CLOSED
Now this is a Big change, seeing as how we're losing 2 hours per weekday, and 8 hours on sundays and holidays. also, comes the rescheduling, as I'm now myself down to 37 hours a week(not factoring in the second job) and all the part-times will be at the minimum 3 hours a night, and, hopefully, this will give the part-timers more inclination to fight over the shifts that are not being taken regularly, and not just quit.
Also,
-Starting in the New Year, we will be cutting down on 300 sq ft of space.
Now this one isn't so bad, seeing as how we don't really need the corner space we're giving up, as all it's there for is newspapers and puzzle books, both of which could be easily moved to another area of the store. Also, it's the coldest corner in the place, as there's no heating vents over there, so our heating system is constantly on, cuz there's still sensors there, I believe. The only bill that won't be bitten back is the electricity, cuz there's only two lights in that section, and then a giant skylight. There's so much space in the store that's not being utilized, giving us a kind of under-decorated feel, and so I think a few landlord-paid renovations will be coming out of the woodwork in the near future as well.

Now you may be wondering what exactly these hardships are that have us doing a couple of drastic changes...
The first being the canadian dollar. yup. Since the loonie went up, and the us daller went down, our one and only question coming in has been 'when are You going to be lowering the magazine prices?'
I've come to loath this question, I really have, only for the reason that there's so many answers out there, and all of them are the truth.
-Magazine covers are pre-paid at the current price for up to six months in advance
-Each and every publisher has to set a commitee meeting for cover price changes, some which might take a while
-Some Magazines like to wait for a certain amount of time, to see if the dollar will settle, or go back down,(why should I change the price when the price is going to go back to normal within three months?)
and other such excuses that were made readily available to me when the dollar first went up.
Now the customers have all heard these a little too often, and so aren't happy with the answers anymore, because they haven't changed. So they've stopped coming. boycotted the mags, if you will. Sure, there are still those who can't do without their monthly fix, but that's usually a collected magazine, sure to be worth something in the future.
So our lines have petered out and our returns have gotten bigger...

The second would be the raising of the minimum wage. Now I've learned a great little deal about this quite recently, mostly being that no matter what they raise the minimum wage to, anyone who's making minimum will still be below the poverty line. Now they consider anyone making 18-20000 a year below the poverty line. Now 7.95 to 9.25 in two years is not going to change a damn thing. And just recently, very recently, as recently as yesterday in fact, there was a poll sent out to all business owners about how this raising of minimum wages would or would not benifit them. And there was an interesting question in and among the list. It said:
"Basic Personal Exemption(BPE): Currently Saskatchewan's BPE is $8,778 compared to Alberta's $15,435 (this is the amount of income not subject to tax). Increasing the BPE allows workers to earn more before having to pay income taxes."
Then below was a question asking if the BPE should be raised in Saskatchewan.
First? duh...
Second? Hold on, hold on... we're only at 8,778? so even if a minimum wage worker is making 18000 a yr, after the first 8778 he/she's taxed? No wonder so many people are below the poverty line! Hell I've got two jobs, making over 25000 a year, and I'm still below the poverty line! WTH?
so... the independant business owners are forced to take a little more money from their own wallets to give to their employees, who then can give it back to the government and no one really benefits from this? well then. I don't want a wage increase. I'll be paying for it.
and really, being a business owner, when you're down this far with no one wanting to buy your product, and then you have to fork out a few hundred extra dollars to your employees, probably out of your own pocket,(whether they deserve it or not), you'd probably do all you can to keep Some money in your pocket...
And thus, the reasons all add up.
Blegh.
And so ends another adventure(Rant) from the Tiny Pianist.
Tune in Next time, when it Snows!

IN-VEN-TOR-Y!

2007-09-28T09:57:00.001-06:00

AHH! ERNIE!
So today at the Store of Marvolous Magazine Magnificence, we have our
inventory crew coming in from WIS, which I am assuming is Western Inventory something...
school? they all look like they should be in school, some on the short bus. K that's mean. But seriously! Their Leader sounds Like Ernie! as in Bert and? and there's this other mean little woman who I guess since I'm at the front all the time and they wouldn't want a guy to come and count everything(we might start a convo. *gasp*) they paired up the diminuitive shrew with me. So every 2 minutes or so, 'what's this price?' 'you guys forgot to sticker this' and the oh so popular 'oh nevermind, you don't know anything I'll go ask your boss.' I LOVE IT! My goodness, if that little bleep wasn't 4x4 I would've punted her across the store by now. I still think that WE who work in the store, should've been paid to come in on a sunday, and count everything ourselves. I mean three hours of counting things? not hard. and he would've been paying us probably a little less. so bossman would've been saving money. sheesh. oh well. It has provided me with enough entertainment to last not just the two hours they were in here, but for the next three hours as well. at least until I get my 2:30 brain shut down.
K that's it for today- mebbe...
Stay tuned for more ad-ventures from the TinyPianist!

It Was Me!

2007-09-27T11:29:00.001-06:00

HAHA! Yes It was me Saskatoon! It was me that denied Matt Good his oh-so precious New York Times Daily! and if he's not happy settling with the lousy weekend edition of the paper, and decides not to go on tonight, as I was told expressly, then you know who to blame! HAHA!
and don't you worry, my number's included in my 'apology' note to said singer, so I will be the one who gets the talkin to by whoever persons are in control of his personal and mental health! And if said newspaper puts him over the edge, and he decides to go on a lack-of-newspaper-crazed killing rampage, know, Saskatoon, that it was I that put him in that place! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

seriously, if you can't read a certain paper everyday, or if you can't do the crossword? in said paper, you should not be singing for a 80 bucks a ticket, you should be singing for like-minded gown-wearing, drooling, fellow crazies in the psych-ward! blagh!
I guess I could understand the importance of the New york times horoscopes though... I myself Never go out without consulting my ever-important msn horoscope. Heaven forbid I should be wearing the wrong colour for the day, or if I'm overly talkative, when I should be silent, lest I put my foot in my mouth...
well that's it for today..
Stay tuned for more adventures of the TinyPianist.

BLANK_____!

2007-09-24T14:28:00.000-06:00

so here we are in _____ and it's a new day. a cold one... and I am without my earmuffs. woe is me. In my new job, there is an open audition for a play coming out in April of next year, and the title of the Play is as follows: A Trailer Park Musical! come for a rowdy romp in south Austin's most harmonious mobile setting!
so I think I'm going to try out for it.
sounds like fun.
you know, lotsa YEE-HAW's, and Oh no you di'int! kind o' things. and big hair. yup. Biiig hair.
and the whole story line is something along the lines of this one girl, who's a stripper, moves into this move-able mobile setting, and starts 'getting to know' this other gentleman down the lane who happens to have an agoraphobic wife. Now if I'm right, agoraphobia is a fear of open spaces. so really, I think either the fresh-air terrified wife either gets some balls, dons a gas mask, and goes over to Pippi's (the stripper. yes I know) house and opens a can of musical whoop-ass, or the husband brings his clothes-hate girly home one-night by accident, and all hell breaks loose, with a lot of single-light solos.
now I don't really know how someone, or even why someone would be able to come up with this kind of shit. really. a musical about a trailer park?
k. Now I know what a close friend meant when they said that the world is indeed getting a lot stupider.
Yee-haw.
Stay tuned for more adventures of the tiny pianist!