Tuesday, May 31, 2005

I promised myself...

I wouldn't quote Stevie Nicks in this post. And I really won't. I can't promise the same about Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam. You can't make me.

I just got off the phone with Stumpy. Apparently, she's going to be at TIA on a layover tomorrow evening, and wanted to know if I could meet up with her. Mind you, we haven't seen each other since, quite possibly, undergrad, and it would be the most wondrous of wonderful things to have a mini Beaver reunion...

But tomorrow is my "late night" at work.

Yet another reason to hate my job.

I think I'm going to try to finagle an early exit from the office tomorrow, should J.Co be so kind as to let me go. Because, if I can't go, and I miss the one opportunity I've had in several years to see Stumpy, I'm gonna lose it. And not in that quirky, "Eminem doing his impression of Pee Wee Herman" way, either.

Oh yes, my hurt will cause an inferno. (See? I told you I couldn't promise you anything!)

A lot has been happening lately; thus, my neglect of the World. But hopefully, after I turn in my resignation letter (how the hell do you word those, anyway? "Thanks for all the shit. I'm out!"?) and things settle, we'll be back with a vengeance.

For now, sleep. As Mr. Chappelle says, "Night night. Keep your butthole tight!" Or something of that ilk.

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Tuesday, May 17, 2005

To reiterate...

I know I'm repeating myself, but I find it important, even now, at this late date, to say:

Not Everyone Fucking Loves Raymond.

I realize it may seem a bit petty, but hell, he ragged on our sorority girls that time he was at Gator Growl. For cryin' out loud, nobody gets to rag on our sorority girls but us!

Whatever. At least for the time being, I don't need an excuse to avoid CBS on Monday nights. Oh wait, wasn't really a problem to begin with. Carry on, my wayward chums.

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Saturday, May 14, 2005

Oh, forget it.

So it took me a few thousand hours to realize the "new" blog template got rid of all these wonderful entry titles. Fahk. Back to normal, almost. I'm going to bed.

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Thursday, May 12, 2005

So, you may have noticed...

In the spirit of avoiding work and toiling of any kind, I changed up the blog template today. This one is courtesy of Hidden Anxiety. Thank you, whoever you are, for shaking it up a little for me. I was almost getting ill of pink.

And that would be horrible, Mr. Hat!

So, tell me what you think of it. I'm still getting used to it, myself. Then again, I find myself recently using a Firefox theme called "Pimpzilla," but that's beside the point.

Anyway, Happy Birthday to Super Mario today, too! In his grand tradition of austerity, we will not be hiring hookers this year. Crap!

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Wednesday, May 11, 2005

ISO another vacay.

And no, the weekend before last does not count! I was sick that Monday and Tuesday. God! Okay, maybe not feeling well, as opposed to "sick." I really didn't feel good about going to work those days. That's got to count for something.

I have worked three straight 12-hour days, and I have to tell you, it's getting mighty old. Today was one of those days where I was so exhausted by hour nine, I found myself trying to twist my lips so they'd stay shut so I wouldn't accidentally tell my client's haggard nag of a mother to shut the fuck up, already! It was very, very close to happening. And since she has no teeth, she sounds like Elmer Fudd, even when she's really serious, so it was everything I could do to hold myself together... especially after her sixteen-year-old son (poor guy) told her to "shut up, you toothless old hag!"

Again, it was an exercise in the greatest of restraint. Instead of commending him, as I so secretly wanted to do, I had to reprimand him for not being respectful to his mother, despite the fact that she so righteously deserved his barb. It's no wonder I got a massive headache after that session. Inner turmoil does that to you, I hear.

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Sunday, May 08, 2005

My patience wanes as night falls on Wal-Mart.

Full day today. Before I forget, a big shout-out to Moms, one and all. You put up with our sorry asses for many years, then let us go easily into the real world, muttering "Those fuckers will figure it out soon enough!" under your breath. For that, and for not killing us in infancy, we salute you!

Moving on... It was a fabulous day today, since it was both Mother's Day and my folks' anniversary. Spent most of the day at my bro's, sharing a meal with the fam and fiddling with decorating Sideshow's pad. After I left my brother's, I decided to grab a keyboard to put on my laptop desk in my room so I could use the laptop with the monitor and docking station while I was at home.

Since it was after seven on a Sunday night, I decided to head to the nearby Wal-Mart, which, much to my chagrin, is always busiest and most full of idiots when I really need just one simple thing.

This evening proved to be no different. The place was teeming with people doing last-minute grocery/Mother's Day shopping (for shame!) and various children simply milling about, getting in my way. I quickly proceeded to the Electronics Department, found the cheapest keyboard at $6.97, and proceeded to the checkout.

Once there, it rang up as $9.98, and I told the cashier that I would go back and check the price, although I was sure it was correct, and allow her to check out the two patrons behind me in the meantime.

I got back to the keyboards, grabbed another one, and brought it to one of those price-check scanners. It rang up as $9.98 there as well, so I went back to the shelf. There were maybe 30 of the same keyboard, all on the shelf marked $6.97. I decided to take a picture of the price, then headed back to my register.

By the time I got there, there was only one family ahead of me, but they had a cart that was packed to the gills, and had already filled the conveyor belt with their stuff. When I ended up behind them, they had just realized that they were goofing off in the store so long, the ice cream they put in their cart at the beginning of their shopping trip was melting, and started leaking out of the carton and onto the conveyor. belt. It took them about three minutes to complain about this, and say that they took so long their ice cream was melting and they didn't want it anymore, and make the cashier come from her position behind the register to their side of the belt and clean it up.

I stood behind them, patiently.

Then the Mom discovered that whoever put the bread in their cart managed to put it under something heavier, which squished the bread. So, she sent her teenaged daughter, who looked about as useful as an asshole on an elbow (props to you, QT!) to get a newer loaf, and she did so, groaning as she left.

In the meantime, the cashier kept ringing up their purchases, and someone I can only assume is the Dad, who looked about as useful as a second asshole on an elbow, just kept piling up shit on the conveyor belt in ridiculous piles that the cashier had to carefully maneuver then re-pile more sensibly in order to bag them. The kid came back, then her Mom asked her, "Is the Tylenol there?"

"I guess so," the kid said, absent-mindedly.

Mom then proceeds to ask the cashier, who by this point, has scanned about three hundred things, whether or not she scanned a pack of Tylenol. The cashier stops to dutifully review the receipt so far, and determines that no Tylenol was scanned.

The Mom, exasperated, leaves the line to get the Tylenol, muttering about how her daughter drives her "insane" as she goes, while her daughter absent-mindedly twirls her hair.

Meanwhile, the harried cashier continues to scan products coming from this fucking clown car of a shopping cart.

Mom returns with the Tylenol. Scanning continues, and daughter momentarily freaks out because she can't find her cell phone. Mom shows little sympathy, then daughter recovers it from her back pocket. The world breathes a collective sigh of relief.

I check my phone. Seven minutes have gone by since I got back in line.

Daughter spots some friends or family members. They get in line in front of me to greet the Clown Cart Family. I am relieved that I don't have to kick anybody's ass when they realize there are actually others in line before them, and they go to find another register.

Another register opens up nearby, and the cashier calls out for anyone waiting in line. The Mom slugs me in the arm and tells me that another register is opening. I tell her I have to wait in line at this one, because I have a price discrepancy issue. The cashier, still scanning items, nods in agreement at the Mom. Mom, daughter, and Dad all stand there, Dad forever loading the belt.

Ten minutes have gone by at this point. I can't move, and have to wait because my purchase is in this line. I start to look at the floor to avoid watching this family dumbly stand around.

Finally, the total is rung up to over two hundred dollars. Mom maneuvers her way from where the wheel-o'-bags is, back to the little counter where the ATM/Credit Card scanner is, and proceeds to put her big-ass "Boots N' Bags" (or whatever the hell it was called) purse on the little counter, then rummages through said big-ass purse to find her checkbook.

No, no, no, no, don't phunk with my heart! (I know Fergie feels my pain.)

I feel like I am slowly dying inside.

Mom proceeds to fill out her check (rather slowly, in my opinion), then tells the cashier that she doesn't need to look at her license, because she already put that information on the check. A manager happens to be standing nearby, and says she just wants to make sure everything on the check is accurate.

This launches the Mom in to a two-minute tirade about how she actually tries to make it easier on cashiers by putting her driver's license number on her checks, because she was a cashier once, and it's really unecessary for her to have to present her ID. Well, give this lady a fucking Nobel Prize, already!

Twelve minutes, and I think my calf may be cramping.

Finally, the purchase has been completed, and the family is on their way out the door. The cashier tells me to follow her to her register to complete my own purchase. Well, where the fuck were we just standing, Montreal?

She takes me to a podium where the manager is standing, explains the price discrepancy, and the manager states, "Yeah, you can do a price adjust." Then we proceed to another register (apparently "hers,") and she rings up the keyboard for $6.97. Hallelujah, thank you for coming. I bust ass out of there to avoid any further annoyance in my evening.

Now, I sit here, typing on the very same keyboard I purchased after waiting about half an hour in agony, and retell you my sorry tale of stupidity in commerce. Moral of the story? Shit, I have no idea. There are so many potential ones. Don't be an idiot; get your checkbook out and start filling out the check in advance, maybe. Wal-Mart can even fill in your check for you. Don't go into a big stink about how you used to be a "whatever," too, so you "know how things work." If you "know how things work," just accept it and follow the rules; don't fucking complain and waste other people's time with your righteous retail attitude.

Whatever you do, don't get ice cream at the beginning of your shopping trip and fuck around for two hours so it melts, then complain that it's melting while you wave it around, making a mess for others to clean up.

Agh, my head hurts. I need a drink. I think I'll have one of those Diet Cokes sweetened with Splenda. Maybe my taste buds are shot, but that really seems to taste a lot like regular Coke to me.

Dammit. There's another thing I forgot to get at Wal-Mart. I can't fucking win!

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Friday, May 06, 2005

I don't know what's worse...

The horrible joke I made coming back from our Cinco de Mayo festivities, or the fact that LoLo laughed so hard at it.

See, she was driving us back to our cars, and her leftovers were sitting on the dashboard. Well, when she stepped on the gas to go when the light turned green, the leftovers flew backward, and I managed to catch the to-go box in my left hand, keeping the contents safely ensconced within.

Impressed with my cat-like reflexes, something was mentioned about the difficulty level of getting guacamole out of your shirt, and J.Co said, "Just Shout! it out!"

I, of course, having no beer in my system, stated, "Yeah, I tried that once. It didn't work so well. I just stood there, screaming at my clothing."

J.Co said it was horrible, and although LoLo agreed, she still laughed at it while admitting it was horrible that she was laughing at it so hard. What can I say? I aim to please.

All this after an evening of verbal abuse and stinging slaps to my upper arm. This is what I get for trying to tell jokes to drunk people.

Damned Five of Mayonnaise, ruining it for everybody!

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