Oh, hello! Come in for some scones and tea.
So, clearly, I am 12 years old.
I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that the Gas ‘n Sip is being merged with the Pump ‘n Stuff, becoming the Gas ‘n Stuff. Well, of course that means new signs. Today, electric man is here to hook up the power to the sign, and of course the wiring is in the ceiling RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY SLURPEE STATION.
That wouldn’t be so bad – I mean whatever, it has to be done and today is an easy day so far. But when I look up and all I see is ASS CRACK. BIG UGLY HAIRY ASS CRACK. Then? I have an issue. (Let’s be honest – if the ass in front of me belonged to… say…. Christopher Meloni, Nathan Fillion, Simon Baker, Michael Weatherly, Vincent D’Onofrio…. I wouldn’t have thought twice about drooling. But this one? Think red-neck meets beer gut. It wasn’t good…)
And why am I 12? Because of course, when this hideous apparition appears in front of me? I giggle. And try to take a picture that I can Tweet. And ask for hazard pay.
I’m so immature.
Oh, hello! Come in and have a Caramelized Apple Tart* and some coffee.
My rant today is about the media. And all the time that is wasted on stupid stuff.
Do any of us REALLY care about Jon and Kate? About her new stupid hair-do? About his girlfriend? What about Misha Barton having a meltdown? Or how much the First Lady’s sneakers cost?
I freely admit that I look at the headlines on the tabloids. I even buy a People magazine on occasion. (I used to subscribe, but thought it was a waste of money for something that could be read in about 10 minutes.) I am not “above” reading about celebrity crap.
But OMGoat! Enough! Give us the “big” stories – who is getting married/divorced, who had a baby, who died. I don’t need to know about every time Kate Hudson goes to a baseball game. Or Lindsey Lohan goes shopping. Or Matthew McConahay goes running. There has to be something more important going on in the world than the fact that Kanye pulled another assholish move and dissed Taylor Swift. Let me think… OH! that’s right! There’s a friggin war in Afghanistan (among other places) and we (Americans, among other countries) have troops (sons, daughters, husbands, wives, parents) there.
And as far as the President goes? The complaining about him screwing up the country started BEFORE he even took office. Really? Can the complainers see into the future?? And where can I buy that skill? Like him or hate him, agree with him or don’t, but Judas H. Priest! Give the guy a fair chance to phuck everything up before you burn him in effigy! I would expect that of ANY president, regardless of the political party to which they belong. And to sit and analyze EVERY SINGLE THING HE DOES – mostly on the stuff not “Oh, by the way, I’m running the country” related, is childish and petty. Analyze the big decisions. Call your Congress and Senate representatives about that stuff. Don’t bitch because the First Family is wealthy and Mrs. Obama can afford, and chooses to wear, $500 sneakers. I may think it’s stupid to pay that much too, but if she has the money and wants them? LET HER.
Jesus Christ. Move on. Let’s get out of the weeds and focus on the big issues. There are plenty of wonderful charities doing great works all over the planet. Find out more about them. Read to the elderly. Teach someone to read. Go for a walk. But, please. Just stop with the inane blathering of all things inconsequential. There’s too much noise in the world already. Maybe we can help quiet it.
*Recipe for tarts:
How to Prepare: Take one pastry shell (half), layer on cheesecake, add 3-4 apple slices, then drizzle with caramel.
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Oh, hello! We’re having tea and bagels this morning. Help yourself.
I do love me some makeover shows. I loved What Not To Wear (WNTW) on the BBC. Trinny and Susannah picked apart the wardrobes of frumpy, schlumpy women and made them FABULOUS! And unlike American telly, they got to say things like “You have really great tits!”
There was a show on TLC (I think) called 10 Years Younger that was fun. (It might still be on, but something shiny went by and I haven’t watched it in forever, so who knows.) They took someone, put them in a sound-proof box. Then random passers-by critiqued them and what was “wrong” with their look/style and said how old they looked. After new clothes, new hair/makeup, and a pep talk, they went back in the box and went thru the same process. The difference was 10 years younger. (Imagine the editing that went into that!)
Then TLC brought WNTW to America. They made it an hour show, instead of the 30 minutes that BBC had. The first season (maybe 2?) they had Stacey and Wayne. Remember Wayne? The Fabio-wannabe with the long hair who thought he was all that, and a bag of chips, plus tax? Yeah, not so much. He was replaced by Clinton – a tall, thin, fabulous partner. They (S&C) make over women (they used to do guys too, but not any more) and are very respectful of the “big” girls – “It’s not about what size you are”, etc. blah blah blah. (Oh, of course it is. That’s what we do here in this country. But I digress). I still watch them and enjoy seeing the transformations. They finally replaced the hair guy (thank goat!) and now if they would replace the annoying makeup chick (not everybody wants a phucking smoky eye, you whore. And put on a top that fits, while you are at it!) the show would be great.
Well, now we have the best of both worlds. Trinny and Susannah have come to America!! I absolutely LOVE these two. Why? Because, while like C&S, they are respectful of “women of size”, they don’t gloss over it. They confront it and celebrate the “flaws” – regardless of the size of the woman. They also aren’t afraid of pointing out their own “flaws”. It’s definitely more like your best girlfriends telling you what you need to hear, rather than what you want to hear. AND! they take their “victim” to a store in their own town. IMO, this is the best part. They show the makeover person how to shop in their own environment with what they have available to them on a regular basis.
C&S fly the makeover person to NYC to shop. That is great and exciting and glamorous, but it’s not realistic for women who live in North Dakota, or Ohio, or wherever, who don’t have access to the ritzy-titzy stores of Manhattan.
Anyhoo. Today’s blog was brought about because I was trying to celebrate my gut, and I thought about how awesome it would be to have Trinny and Susannah come here and do a makeover on me. Here is their website, in case you want to find out more about them.
Oh, hello! Come on in and have a glass of port with me.
FFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK.
Back Story: One of the very few perks of working at the Gas ‘n Sip is that sometimes we get tickets. To sporting events. For those of you who follow me on Twitter, you know that we had tickets to the Boston Red Sox for last evening. Now, I am, admittedly, not the biggest fan of baseball. It’s fairly boring. But, since I NEVER get offered a ticket, I thought it would be fun. There were 4 tickets. I got 1 and the other 3 went to Frank, the napkin dispenser filler, and Aubrey and Wesley, the co-chief gas Pumpers. Yep, me and the 3 boys get to hit the road for some baseball.
I rode down with Frank. He drives one of those froofy cars, FAST! I didn’t know that froofies went 80+ and got so close to the cars in front of them. 😮 What an exciting ride down. The Pumpers took Wesley’s car.
After that exciting ride, Frank and I stopped for 2 of these:
mmmm, beer
We finally go into the stadium, and these are our seats:
pavillion seats, first base line
Aubrey and Wesley were already there. Our seats? Rocked. We had servers. We didn’t need to schlep to the vendors. They came to us. I tried to take a picture of the menu, but it didn’t come out clearly. I could have gotten a lobster roll. Yum, right? $18.20. No. That is not a typo. Hotdog? $6.10. Energy drink? $8.10. French fries? $6.10. Um, no thank you. I’m good.
Here are some pictures of Fenway:
The Outfield
The Green Monster
The maintenance guys making the infield pretty again for the players
And here is a picture of the shmev in front of us with a truly tragic hat:
No, this isn’t one of the Pumpers. But it is truly tragic.
So, why am I freaking out? Well, the Pumpers found my blog. Wesley said, “That’s what you get for putting stuff out on the Interwebs”. Yeah, there is a HUGE difference between virtual strangers reading my deep dark secrets, and boys I see EVERY FRIGGIN DAY reading it. They don’t need to see when I write a post about me being lonely. They don’t need to hear me bitch about the Leg Jiggler – they KNOW the Leg Jiggler!!!
I’ve made a deal with them. They promise secrecy in exchange for free Blue Raspberry Slurpees. I countered that if the Slurpee machine really does go away, I would keep them in orange cheese-flavored food product if I move to the Nacho Bar or the Wiener Wheel. Deal.
So, you phuckers. I know you are reading this, and you know who you are. If I get back to the Gas ‘n Sip on Monday, and there is any indication of my having a blog and/or working at the G’nS, I will grab you both by the short hairs and make you scream like 12-year-old girls. MMMMKAY? (But if you made me a new, slammin’ Gas ‘n Sip name tag, I’d like to see it, please. 🙂 ) (Oh, and my girl Lesley, over at Um…What? would like one too, please.)
kthxbai
Oh, hello! Have some tea. And sugar cookies.
I think it would be an affront to feet everywhere if I said what I have are feet. Or soles of my feet. No, I think it’s safe to qualify what I have as hooves.
These? are my feet. I’ll wait while you go hurl…
Back when I pretended to have money, I would get myself a pedicure every 2 weeks. It kept them soft and pretty. Then, when I realized that I really didn’t have money, that stopped. I bought the Ped-egg to scrape down the worst parts and, while I do like it, if you don’t do it very consistently, the hoof-ness can get away from you. Add to that that I prefer Dansko clogs (mostly due to my foot issues – I would love to wear hot sexy heels all the time. Alas, tooties aren’t cooperating). These shoes are unbelieveably comfortable, but they are conducive to calluses. I even bought something called “Crack Creme” but mostly due to the fact that the name made me giggle.
Tonight, I broke out the big guns. Bag Balm. And socks. I don’t know if it will work, but I’m desperate. If anyone has any other suggestions, I’m willing to give them a try!
Oh, hello! Have a mini-cupcake. They’re fresh.
What has happened to customer service? Back in the day, store employees would actually say “Thank you” or “Thank you for shopping here”. At the very least, they might make small talk with the customer, ask about their day. Dealing with service people by phone used to be less of a chore. They would attempt to resolve your issue, without putting you on hold 5 times, all while speaking clearly.
I stopped at the grocery store on the way home this evening. I picked up a rotisserie chicken (LOVE those!!), some fruit, bread, and frozen veggies. At the checkout, I was not greeted by the cashier. I was not acknowledged. I was given the total. And then…. she packed the groceries. Bag #1: fruit ON the bread. Bag #2: frozen veggies with the HOT FROM THE OVEN chicken. Yes. She put the hot stuff and the cold stuff in the same bag. That takes stupid to a whole new level. What the heck is wrong with people? In what universe would that ever be considered appropriate? Or sane?
Then before I left, I didn’t get the “Thank you for shopping here” or “Have a nice day” or even the ever-irritating “Have a good one”. No, no. Insult added to injury, after she started the melting of the veggies, she was talking to another cashier about her weekend. Um, really? Who raised you? How does one learn to be that rude? And how does one go about NOT acquiring common sense.
Listen, you are in a SERVICE POSITION. This means you DEAL WITH PEOPLE. If you don’t like to do that, great. Go find a job where you don’t have to interact with customers. I did it. The Slurpee manager doesn’t actually have to deal with customers. And trust me, we’re all happier for it. The Chip-Bag Fluffer? He has to deal with customers. He’s good at it, and likes to do it. Good for him. The point is this. If you work with the public, be polite. Have a smile on your face. Pretend to like your job. That’s what you get paid to do. IT’S YOUR JOB. Each interaction takes less than 5 minutes, usually. Suck it up.
And for Goat’s sake, DON’T PACK HOT FROM THE OVEN CHICKEN IN THE SAME BAG AS THE FROZEN STUFF. ASSHAT.
Oh, hello! Have some beef stew!
So, I had a recent visitor to this little adventure who didn’t seem to like what I had to say. I was asked “what brought this on”. I responded “It’s my blog and I felt like it.” Well, this person saw that and thought my response was too sharp. I did thank the person for her opinion. I really have no issue with anyone disagreeing with me. But don’t be all snotty about it.
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I went back to work today after 2 weeks off. My post-vacation glow lasted all day. I haven’t taken a 2 week vacation in a long time. I’m thinking that next year? I’m going to do it twice. A one week vacation is all about decompressing and getting rid of the work ick. Long about Friday, you are feeling pretty good, but you know you have to go back to work on Monday. Tack on a second week and that is all cake. You all but forget there is a job to go to. FAB-U-LOUS!!! If you have the time and ability to take 2 weeks together, I highly recommend it.
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Last night, Herb took me out for pizza at my favorite place. He was supposed to meet his girlfriend, so I was second choice, but I don’t care. It was still deeeeeeeeeeeelish! Steak and onions and mushrooms (my half) and green peppers (his half) and garlic on a beer crust. YUM! And there was enough left to bring home for dinner tonight too! SQUEE!
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I got notice today that my mortgage has been sold. This? Is a HUGE pain in my arse! I have the payment automatically drafted and now I have to change that, and I think there was already half a payment drafted this month. I have to track that down and find out if it can be recovered and sent to the new place. Oy. What a nightmare. I can totally envision this becoming a full time job to get straightened out.
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Okay. I think I’ve blathered on about nothing enough. More tomorrow. Hopefully.
Oh, hello! Chips and salsa, with guacamole? Help yourself.
**DISCLAIMER: This is only my opinion. Don’t sue me.***
I used to be a huge fan of Oprah. I was one of her sheep. I saw the show where she first revealed her big weight-loss. Remember that wagon full of fat? I followed along with her book club. I read her choices religiously. But I stopped… my goat, those books were SO depressing!!
Then she came out with her magazine. The magazine where she herself is on the cover, EVERY FRIGGIN MONTH! The magazine where she forgot her poor roots and now continually advertises $1,000 watches, and $500 blankets, all as things that her faithful flock “need” to have.
Then she “gave” everyone in her audience a car. She didn’t pay for them. And these people all had to pay the taxes etc on the cars. Some gift.
And finally, there was her on-air character assassination of James Frey. Yes, his book was published as a memoir, and contained fictional parts. But, if that book helped even ONE person turn their life around, then really. Who cares? It was an interesting story, and he deserved good publicity. He did NOT deserve to be humiliated on national television.
Bottom line? In my opinion, Ms. Winfrey does not do anything that doesn’t benefit her in some way. She also doesn’t do anything without making sure the entire world knows about it. Nothing she does is altruistic or selfless. She has lost sight of her roots, her humble beginnings, where she started. I truly admire what she has been able to accomplish – she is one of the most famous people in the world. And I get why people love her. Sort of.
But there is more to life than money. There is more to life than paying people to like you. More and more of her shows are about the famous, the rich. Her famous friends. The famous doctors. It’s not about who she can help anymore. It’s about her. And only her. She doesn’t deserve the adulation. She doesn’t deserve the worship. And, in my opinion, it’s disgusting.
Oh, hello. Cocktails this afternoon. Martinis, I think.
Before I start ranting about hair dye, how is it that Maggie’s fur is soooo much softer than Seamus’s? I wonder if she uses a different conditioner. I must research that I think.
Usually, if I need to get my hair done, I head down town to the Salon of Awesomeness. This place is a little oasis of heaven, right in the middle of the city. Everything is shiny and white and smiley and pretty. All the stylists are shiny and smiley and pretty. No one person handles more than one job. (I know!) So I get to see Ashley for my color, and Hannah for my style. There are assistants who bring you wine or coffee or water or snacks. Yes, wine. Even early in the morning! Seriously. Salon of Awesomeness.
However, as of late, my checking account has not been accommodating my need for Salon time. *sob* Finally, I broke down and bought a box of root-touch-up goop. The box said, and I may be paraphrasing here, “Guaranteed to match any color, no matter what brand!” It said it on the box, so it must be true, right? *snort*
I mix up the goop, brush it on to the 1 inch roots/gray, and am supposed to wait 10 minutes. I may or may not have gotten distracted by something shiny, and remembered the goop burning my skull 20 minutes (or so) later. So, yeah, it’s way darker than I anticipated, but the gray is gone. (Most likely due to them being burned from my head) (not really. I’m exaggerating) (sorta).
I used to be really good at self-dying. I would go to the beauty supply store and become my own little chemist. Mix a little of the white stuff with a little of the color stuff, shake, and you’re good to go. Although, there was the one time, years ago, when I dyed my hair 3 times in one weekend. I didn’t like the color it turned out, so I kept doing it over. FYI: so NOT a good idea. I’m sure I have mentioned before that I have very curly hair. After that, um, display of genius, my hair was toast. And straight. For a long time. Until it completely grew out again. So not pretty. *sigh* The things we do in the name of vanity.
I’m hoping that I will be able to visit the Salon of Awesomeness again next month. I miss Ashley and Hannah. I miss the shiny, smiley prettiness. I miss the free HUGE glass of wine.
Oh hello! We’re having sangria this evening. Want some?
There is a very large well-known retailer in this area who usually ramps up staff during the holidays in order to meet customer demand. Additional staff is needed in the store, on the phones, and in the warehouse – picking items from the shelves, and packing boxes to ship. It’s pretty common that if you live in this area, either you or someone in your family has worked for Great Big Retailer.
About 13 years ago, I first got a part time job with Great Big Retailer answering phones for the holiday season. Taking orders from people all over the country. I was young and thought it was fun. For the most part, people working there and people calling in were very nice. It was a friendly environment, and the employee discount kicked ass! I did the phones for 2 years. Then I got a better job, better pay, and thought it was not necessary to work a second job.
Fast forward, to 2 years ago. I decided that money was tight and Great Big Retailer was a good place to get a second job again. But this time, I was sufficiently aged and jaded about people and knew that I would have no patience with people calling in. So I asked for warehouse. I didn’t care if it was picking or packing, but then I knew I would be able to go in, do my job, and leave. It would be brainless, and for a part time job, it payed pretty well. I became a packer at the warehouse of Great Big Retailer. That year, they hired on about 100 people to pack boxes and get them out to be shipped. We had to match up bar codes with order sets and make the boxes and stick the label on. Really. Not rocket science.
Now, one thing about the 100 seasonal employees… there are a significant number of immigrants that are hired every season. Equal employment opportunities. Great! I’m all for it. However, and this is a HUGE generalization, on average, the amount of work produced by said immigrants was dramatically lower than others. Please believe that I am not a racist. There was a significant number of US citizens who didn’t produce well either. Nope, not racist. Lazist. When it comes to work, if you are lazy, you WILL irritate me. We are all paid the same, we all have the same “quota” to get out. So DO NOT make me pick up your slack.
When I say not rocket science, let me explain. Every item is sent down the shute with a bar code. You scan the code, and sort it into a slot until all items in the order are there. Then you print the packing slip, and label. The computer tells you what size box to use. And the packing tape is dispensed already cut to the right length, and wet so it sticks. Monkeys could do this job.
I did that the first year and was acknowledged for being a fast packer. (Can you say that? *heh*). Anyhoo. The money was good, so I went back last year. However, last year, there was different management and the vibe was very different. Management initially said that the agreed upon hours – 6 to 10 – were not being offered. (Since I work full time at the Gas ‘n Sip, I couldn’t start until 6 so that I had time to travel and get something to eat.) I wasn’t the only one who had the hiring agreement in hand that shows we were promised those hours. After a big hoo-hah, we were allowed to continue the season with our promised schedule.
Something else was very different last year as well. The economy SUCKED! Orders into Great Big Retailer were down about 30% from the year before. There was much time standing around. If I’m going to work a second job, and give up part of my life, KEEP ME BUSY! And then there were the changing schedule. We were expected to commit to at least 25 hours/week, and yet we were often scheduled for as little as 4. Can’t plan on second income that way. Again, I stayed until about a week before Christmas and left, again with a promise that I would be rehired this year if I wanted.
Fast forward again to last week. I got my rehire letter, called, went for an interview and was told that they had “restructured” the schedule this year. The only available hours were 2:30 to 10:30 OR 6:30 to 11:30, and the expectation was to commit to 30-40 hours a week, with the week running Sunday through Thursday, and Friday if necessary. Okay. That kinda suck, but okay. I can’t possibly do the 2:30 shift, but 6:30 is an option. Yeah, but then I can’t start until mid-NOVEMBER. NOVEMBER. Which means only 4 weeks of work. 4. 4 weeks. WTF am I going to do with that?? It’s not even worth it. So, I will not be back at the whore house this year. I will have to suck it up and either get a job in some retail store (okay, that is so not going to happen) or be good and live without overspending (*gasp*).
So why “whorehouse”? Yeah, it’s just too close to warehouse to NOT call it that. We, the packers, were either “ass packers” or “box packers” and the pickers were “nose pickers” or “ass pickers”. So I just told people I worked at the whorehouse. It made for good stories. I met some wonderful people, had some fun, and who knows. Maybe next year I can again go be a whore for Great Big Retailer.
As for this year? I’ve decided to relax, and live my life. And enjoy the hockey season that’s coming up. And not being exhausted all the time. And now that I put it that way, I wonder why the heck I ever did it in the first place.
More sangria? 🙂
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