Today I'm leaving to go to my friend's time share about an hour away. Because I'm nice I'm bringing the various amounts of alcohol I have left over. An entire bottle of Jack, some Kettle One and a bit of leftover Captain. Not to mention all the limes and tonic water in there. I think I even put it all in a picnic basket. How sweet. I might get alcohol poisoning again, who knows. If I'm not inches from death then it's not a party. At least I think that's how the saying goes.
I'm gonna be driving for an hour with all this in my trunk, probably being a paranoid little bitch, freaking out around every cop. That's not suspicious or anything.
I digress. I'll be back with some interesting stories I'm sure.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
What The Hell
I am new to this. This is foreign. However, it seems that Blogger is hazing me. I go up to the top of the screen and click next blog, and it happens to be in Italian. That's fine, I'm not interested in interpreting it but it's fine.
Next blog.
It appears to be Portuguese (spelled that right on the first try, go me!). Strange, but whatever.
Next blog.
It's the first one I was sent to that was in Italian. This went on for several minutes before I just gave up. I guess that's what I get for hunting potential followers...
Next blog.
It appears to be Portuguese (spelled that right on the first try, go me!). Strange, but whatever.
Next blog.
It's the first one I was sent to that was in Italian. This went on for several minutes before I just gave up. I guess that's what I get for hunting potential followers...
High Five of Death
Driving back from the party tonight I saw someone I used to work with. At a stop light, so nothing too exciting occurred. It brought back a lot of terrible, horrifying memories. You see, I used to work at a particular "restaurant" if you will. One that specializes in pizza. And has a certain mascot. One that may or may not be a mouse. Is it clear enough? Not a fantastic place for a person like me to work. I have never considered myself very maternal, and being surrounded by children day in and day out for up to 10 hours is my own little personal hell. The fact that I have an extremely dry sense of humor and an extremely low tolerance for annoyance probably didn't do me any favors.
One day I'm working. Pretty ordinary shift, I hate my life and children roll their way to obesity around me. I'm stuck at Kid Check (podium at the front where you stamp their hands with the little fluorescent numbers. Y'know, like a concentration camp tattoo but a lot less permanent and somehow more exciting). I get off at 9, it is currently 8:47. The store is almost empty, and I turn around with a big grin on my face toward the counter only to see my boss standing there. I must have looked too happy, because we made eye contact and she said the worst thing I could have heard at that moment, outside of "Nicole, I hope you weren't planning on driving home, because a disgruntled customer just stole your car and crashed it into the children's hospital. And you're being held responsible." or "Before you leave I need you to take this sack of kittens and turn it into a coat for me because I am rather chilly."
She said "We need one last walk around. So go get in the costume."
On the outside, I smiled and said "Sure!" On the inside I said "BITCH I WILL LOCK YOU IN THE FREEZER."
I go back and I'm sitting on what I can only imagine are all my compacted hopes and dreams and my broken spirit but is probably just a chair, putting on the costume. To put this into perspective for you, the costume is one size fits all. I am 5"2. It can fit someone up to 6"3. So while trying to hide my shame at actually being in this costume, I also have to try and figure out a way to explain to kids hopped up on Mountain Dew and deep fried mayonnaise balls why it looks like I have elephantiasis WITHOUT SPEAKING (legit rule, no speaking in the suit). Everyone walks away disturbed and frightened from that interpretive dance. I wrestle the head onto my shoulders after a hernia or two and make my way out toward the tables in size 38 shoes. I cannot even begin to explain just how disproportionate I was. I dance, I deliver the cake into the snarling mass of children, I pretend to be excited over the fact that he's 6 today, but secretly cry over the fact that he weighs more than I do. Diabetes has never looked so....right.
I assume that my nightmare is about to be over, and step over to my manager, wanting nothing more than to be rid of the costume before the head gives me scoliosis. But she just shook her head, gave me a fake smile and pointed me out to the floor and mouthing "Walk around".
A walk around is exactly how it sounds. You simply walk around the entire store. You just...ignore that ulcer you feel coming on and walk. I barely made it ten feet before I could hear a breathy, sputtering sound.
"ohmgah...OHMGAH...[insert character's name here], you're my hero." I turn around just to find a boy about the age of 8 standing before me with a quivery smile. He's practically peeing all over himself just because I exist. When I thought things couldn't get creepier, he opens his mouth and whispers "I love you..."
I'm not quite sure how to respond, but without words at my disposal I figure a high five will do. I'm nearly bursting with tact. I awkwardly put up my hand in the universal "High Five" signal. His eyes lit up and he wound his arm back, entire body tensed and arched. If my life were a film directed by Stephen Spielberg, right about this time some kind of epic song would start playing. "O Fortuna" er something. I'm looking past my gloved, fur-encased hand, somehow knowing that it would never be the same. Something interesting you need to know about the gloves is that a very sick, sadistic man designed them. They only have 4 fingers. Which leaves your smallest finger exposed and unprotected. That little boy's hand came careening down like a tiny, sticky meteor, and snapped my finger in half.
At first, I didn't realize what had happened. I only heard it. Then the pain burned a path up my arm and set my brain on fire. But because I am a good employee, I obeyed the rules and did not speak, scream or even cry. However, holding that in apparently made my legs not work anymore. I collapsed and hit the floor. Of course the kid had no idea what he had done, and simply stood over me before giggling "teehee! You're so silly!" and jumping over me to go play skeeball. As I writhed around on the bacteria encrusted carpet, catching God knows what, a shadow falls over me. I blink away the tears just to see my managers face.
"sooo...do you think you could stay to the end of your shift?"
I knew the freezer was the best idea I had ever had.
One day I'm working. Pretty ordinary shift, I hate my life and children roll their way to obesity around me. I'm stuck at Kid Check (podium at the front where you stamp their hands with the little fluorescent numbers. Y'know, like a concentration camp tattoo but a lot less permanent and somehow more exciting). I get off at 9, it is currently 8:47. The store is almost empty, and I turn around with a big grin on my face toward the counter only to see my boss standing there. I must have looked too happy, because we made eye contact and she said the worst thing I could have heard at that moment, outside of "Nicole, I hope you weren't planning on driving home, because a disgruntled customer just stole your car and crashed it into the children's hospital. And you're being held responsible." or "Before you leave I need you to take this sack of kittens and turn it into a coat for me because I am rather chilly."
She said "We need one last walk around. So go get in the costume."
On the outside, I smiled and said "Sure!" On the inside I said "BITCH I WILL LOCK YOU IN THE FREEZER."
I go back and I'm sitting on what I can only imagine are all my compacted hopes and dreams and my broken spirit but is probably just a chair, putting on the costume. To put this into perspective for you, the costume is one size fits all. I am 5"2. It can fit someone up to 6"3. So while trying to hide my shame at actually being in this costume, I also have to try and figure out a way to explain to kids hopped up on Mountain Dew and deep fried mayonnaise balls why it looks like I have elephantiasis WITHOUT SPEAKING (legit rule, no speaking in the suit). Everyone walks away disturbed and frightened from that interpretive dance. I wrestle the head onto my shoulders after a hernia or two and make my way out toward the tables in size 38 shoes. I cannot even begin to explain just how disproportionate I was. I dance, I deliver the cake into the snarling mass of children, I pretend to be excited over the fact that he's 6 today, but secretly cry over the fact that he weighs more than I do. Diabetes has never looked so....right.
I assume that my nightmare is about to be over, and step over to my manager, wanting nothing more than to be rid of the costume before the head gives me scoliosis. But she just shook her head, gave me a fake smile and pointed me out to the floor and mouthing "Walk around".
A walk around is exactly how it sounds. You simply walk around the entire store. You just...ignore that ulcer you feel coming on and walk. I barely made it ten feet before I could hear a breathy, sputtering sound.
"ohmgah...OHMGAH...[insert character's name here], you're my hero." I turn around just to find a boy about the age of 8 standing before me with a quivery smile. He's practically peeing all over himself just because I exist. When I thought things couldn't get creepier, he opens his mouth and whispers "I love you..."
I'm not quite sure how to respond, but without words at my disposal I figure a high five will do. I'm nearly bursting with tact. I awkwardly put up my hand in the universal "High Five" signal. His eyes lit up and he wound his arm back, entire body tensed and arched. If my life were a film directed by Stephen Spielberg, right about this time some kind of epic song would start playing. "O Fortuna" er something. I'm looking past my gloved, fur-encased hand, somehow knowing that it would never be the same. Something interesting you need to know about the gloves is that a very sick, sadistic man designed them. They only have 4 fingers. Which leaves your smallest finger exposed and unprotected. That little boy's hand came careening down like a tiny, sticky meteor, and snapped my finger in half.
At first, I didn't realize what had happened. I only heard it. Then the pain burned a path up my arm and set my brain on fire. But because I am a good employee, I obeyed the rules and did not speak, scream or even cry. However, holding that in apparently made my legs not work anymore. I collapsed and hit the floor. Of course the kid had no idea what he had done, and simply stood over me before giggling "teehee! You're so silly!" and jumping over me to go play skeeball. As I writhed around on the bacteria encrusted carpet, catching God knows what, a shadow falls over me. I blink away the tears just to see my managers face.
"sooo...do you think you could stay to the end of your shift?"
I knew the freezer was the best idea I had ever had.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Alright. Here We Go.
I'm not really sure what I'm going to use this space for yet. I'm undecided about whether to make it serious or funny, because I think I have the capability to make it either or. It'll probably be both. As a warning, my mood swings are more violent and shocking than a train wreck. I don't think there's anything medically wrong with me, I'm just a bad communicator and for all my training and vocabulary, I'm not a terribly effective conversationalist. So don't be alarmed if I post something all "Teehee!! Rainbows and sunshine!!" and then 2 hours later come back and say "FFFFFFFFF SO MUCH RAGE!!!". It happens. And it scares the poop out of some people.
Enough with the warnings, I'm sure we'll all have fun, eh? So anyway, I'm off to a grad party. I'll post something of substance later on tonight er something.
Enough with the warnings, I'm sure we'll all have fun, eh? So anyway, I'm off to a grad party. I'll post something of substance later on tonight er something.
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