In which we traumatize the girl child.

We went sailing with my parents a few weeks ago. It was the first time ever for the Honey and the Kids--I was raised on the sailboat, it's just 6 months younger than me. I suspect it was the consolation prize for my father for trading in the Porsche when I was born.

The Honey and the kids loved it, but Little O wanted to go swimming. With me. RIGHT.NOW.

It WAS hot, so we found a quiet cove and Big O and I jumped into the water. Then it was Little O's turn. Do you see that photo? The one where she's wearing the bulky blue life jacket?

We explained that she HAD to have a life jacket on and KEEP it on in order to be on the boat. It would keep her from sinking and keep her safe, which is always our biggest priority. She accepted it without a peep.

So I jumped into the lake, and in spite of the 100 plus degree temperature, that water was a bit chilly. I thought to myself,
"oh, this isn't going to last long at this temperature..."

So the Honey passed Miss Priss into the water, onto the floaty cushion thrown out for general principle.

My poor baby.

As soon as she slid off that cushion, she completely flipped out. Shrieking and climbing on top of my head.

Apparently we had sold the life jacket so completely that she had absolute faith in it, and we never bothered to explain that she WOULD sink into the water, but that it would stop her from sinking sinking. She thought in her six year old brain, that she would float on the water where the life jacket touched the water. It makes sense. It also nearly drowned me before her father could pluck her back out of the water and calm her down. Thank God for the stupid floaty cushion.

She's fine and now that she understands that her life jacket was not failing, she's totally game to go sailing again.

What a trooper!

Sigh.

So I put my foot in it at work.

We have one very blunt, outspoken girl at work, and one very fiery person. The ladies of the fishbowl prefer to stay neutral.

So Miss Blunt observes that Miss Fiery tends to get sick when our boss takes personal days on Fridays. It should be noted that Miss F's best friend is the receptionist, so from time to time on a Friday, the Receptionist (and she's sooo much more than that, but we'll call her Miss Sunshine) says--"Will you guys be okay without her? Because Miss F is sick." Which is awkward for all of us, because then we're resenting Miss Sunshine for just doing her job and being the bearer of bad tidings because it's her best friend she's asking about, and we feel like jerks for wanting her to come in because we're slammed. We've all been sick, we all take sick days. Not many of us call in consistently when the boss is known to be gone.

Huh. Miss Blunt calls 'em like she sees 'em, and I rather enjoy her straightforward attitude, although I tend to be a little more discreet myself--usually.

But this week is graduations of all sorts, as well as our office's busiest time of the year. So while it was a scheduled MORNING off for Miss F, she was supposed to call in to see if we needed her, because the Boss just went on vacation.

She called at noon, and Miss Sunshine told her she didn't know, because the reps were on the phone and I was at lunch, so Miss F said she was going to grab some lunch and call back after.

So she DID call back. At 2:30. I told her um, yeah, come in, and she tells me then she'll have to drop her daughter off so it won't be until at least 3. Then she paused, waiting for me to say, oh, never mind then. I told her to come on in.

Miss Blunt takes a lot of heat from Miss F for talking shit, but this was enough, and I DO NOT LIKE talking ABOUT people. I think the honest way to do it is to talk TO them. So I warned Miss Sunshine that I was going to say something to Miss Fiery about the schmucky call in. She suggested, given Miss Fiery's nature, that maybe I send it in an Email.

So Now Miss Fiery is completely pissed at me, and doesn't see how it's any of my business that she took two and a half hours to take her kid to lunch, because the boss told her she could (take him to lunch, that is). I think she really believes that if the boss had been in the office she really would have taken two and a half hours and then called in STILL not ready to come back.

Wouldn't it be chickenshit for me to let Miss Blunt take the heat for saying what we were all thinking, but never saying it TO Miss Fiery? I'd rather have it out in the open, so we can all move on.

Sweet Jeebus I hate drama. I hate it even more knowing I threw gas on the smoldering embers of this particular drama, but I also have to live inside my own head, you know?

BE a good citizen.
Treat others like you want to be treated.
Take other people into consideration.
sheesh!

***************************************

update!

So my boss asked me to apologize, not for the message, just maybe for the delivery of said message, and Miss F and I are okay again.

Woot! Woot!

On the Vay-Cay!

***warning** this is a three page pity party. Proceed at your own risk.

I want a vacation. I want out of my own skin.

I am clinging to my computer these days, desperately sending everyone to bed so I can have five minutes of "me" time.

Everybody wants a little piece of me.

The kids are HOME all day. When I get home they are all over me. The Honey wants my attention once he gets home. My sweet elderly landlady flagged me down as I was late to work the other day, had me park and get out and come inside her house--I thought she had some sort of emergency--no, just a present for the Honey. The Honey's family has us going over two or three nights a week for Big O to practice for the Quinceanera, and it lasts ALL NIGHT. We need to take the MIL out on weekends. I can't even hide in the bathroom, Little O will just talk thru the door.

Work is playing a big part in my restlessness. My boon fishbowl companion, Bre, has gotten the lateral job change she has pined for (because she really doesn't like customers, which is rough for a customer service rep). New girl came in, and took her spot.

I am socially retarded on my good days. I can get along with anyone, but finding someone that gets me is rare. Bre was one of those people, and now she's gone to the back office. Kim was another and she moved away (Yay, Kim!), and this is not the first time Bre has gone to a different part of the office. I know that playing the "She's not Bre" game is a losing prospect.

I'll adjust. I will.

However.

You know that sensation of just not connecting? Like you're playing catch, lobbing the silly playground ball back and forth, and all of a sudden you see that giant leather medicine ball coming for you, and you just watch it hit the ground, and rather than picking it up you both just blink and watch it as the uncomfortable silence grows? That's a lot of my day. Oh, except that I'm training new girl, we're short staffed, and several of the jobs that I used to marvel at Bre doing have been *ahem* gifted to me. Due to various IT issues, I am the only one in the office that can do things that are normally available to any CSR, so those are getting dropped in my in box. I'm waiting for the lecture about my cluttered desk. With a new girl parked right next to me? I'm always ON. Sigh.

And Bre is gone. And both of the new girls have more motherfucking internet access than me.

Blogher is this weekend. Several of my bloggy idols are there. It would be fun.

And yet...

The folks I adore and would love to meet? Not gonna be there. None of them have even mentioned Blogher, and aren't really the folks who would. My own lack of social skills would have me lurking behind potted plants the whole time, afraid to move. I am painfully, pathologically shy in situations like that.

But it won't be this close to me again for a long time. I adore the bloggy community as a whole, a group based on words and humor (and frequently their kids). These are all things that are vital and interesting to me. Most of the folks at work or in my life would just blink at me like I'd just dropped a big medicine ball in the middle of the room if I said the word blog. (Except for my brother, who totally ratted me out on the whole ice cream maker thing--thanks, Jeffro!)

Sweet Jeebus, if I weren't playing Scrabulous with my best Jen, I'd have gone postal weeks ago. Did I mention that everyone is going on vacation? yeah, that's why we're short at work. My daddi-o even left for FIJI this morning to go build a church--three weeks of slave labor in exchange for a fourth week of glorious snorkeling, and it's tax deductable! I just wanna go to my mom's for a four day weekend, man, but gas prices suck ass too.

What would the flying spaghetti monster say? Maybe I'll entertain myself tomorrow by trying to throw in a few pirate phrases on the phone. The problem is when I start thinking in pirate speak, I sort of wander into some weird leprechaun on crack accent. Like the lucky charms guy after a three day bender. What can I say? It's a gift...

Shut up, Scary Mary! SHUUUUUUUUUUUUUT UUUUUUUUP.

'Kay, I am not a fan of things that start on their own. If I want to hear it, there is a "Play" button conveniently located. Mary is annoying the shit out of me on my own freaking blog. So Wrong.

So, it's just meh. Yes I had a quiet family dinner the night before my birthday, but upon further reflection, I made dinner and I got us all there, and that was a present to myself. The honey was an ass last night, and if I enjoyed listening to him puke, well, it still doesn't count as a present.

I feel stupid and childish that I am completely butt-hurt that my parents didn't call on or around my birthday. I am 37 years old, it's not like I doubt that they love me, so I feel whiny and needy. My brother called me from Disneyland (Okay, my birthday is also his anniversary, so it's hard for him to forget), my uncle, who I never talk to, emailed me. It's been almost a week and I have not heard anything from my mother.

I hate being whiny and feeling stupid. Hate it. I feel greedy and stupid for wanting the honey to get me a present--but would it kill you to show the foresight to get me a card? To figure something out BEFORE my birthday? I am wallowing here, and I cannot stand to be in my own head. But he was a complete ass last night, so it just unleashed the flood. Resentment and long term grudge, thy name is Jennifer.


This has been another whiny self pitying post by jen. I should probably have some Bon Jovi playing.

I like to Move it, move it....I like to move it, move it!

Okay, that's a damned lie.

We have reached the halfway point in this journey to homelessness, and I MUST give a mighty shout out to

The whirling Dervish that is an uncaffeinated

Breanna.

Okay, I see why she does not drink coffee. She would be unstoppable. This chick single handedly packed up my entire kitchen. The WHOLE thing. She rocks.

That is all.

...must...pack...boxes...

RESIST the lure of the computer....
GAHHH.
Where are the packing fairies when you need them...
I'll be back soon...unless I go live with my MIL, in which case you'll al be stuck with emailed posts from work with no photos or visits/comments from me. (SOB!)

See?? Even now I'm stalling to avoid the boxes.

The Honey? He's found a Steelers Bar here in town, and invited a buddy from Roseville down to watch them at ten on a Sunday morning. Because I refuse to get cable. So I kind of did it to myself.

HAAA!! I'm still stalling!

Bow down before me, the Mistress of Procrastination! One week until we are homeless!!










Right.







Boxes.

...And We're Back.

the scandal of the starving baby
Originally uploaded by Djuliet.

Fabulous vacation, surgery went okay, sucktastick return, a sixty day notice stuck on the door and realtor bringing someone through TODAY. UGH. More later.

But Ash had her bebe, and she looks adorable! Go see!

Dorky moments...

So I thought and thought about what story to share, and the one that kept popping up is totally inappropriate for a dork post. Someday I will reveal the shame of the sheep named Jenny, but I'm not ready to do that yet (Best Jen, you hush.)

But I will give you two stories from my tiny Hanford, California Bookstore.

Ours was the closest bookstore to the Naval base in Lemoore. We saw a lot of sailors. My store's good numbers were due in no small part to the pretty and friendly girls I hired to staff my store. We loved them and they loved us and there were certain boys we adored. Best Jen still remembers the super tight faded jeans of (James?) Heidi. They were something--so were his eyes... hmmmm....

right. back to it.

One day we got a couple of lovely Australian fellows. When I say lovely, I mean they looked like volleyball gods. We wanted them hot and sweaty and showing those dimples, and hmm? oh. right. Love God number one was trying to find a book for his Navy host, and asked us to look up the "pair of one." I was sooo happy to be helping him, and I searched frantically for his book. No luck. I was looking it up in books in print, even, which back in the day was--literally-- a set of huge books listing every book in print. It finally dawned on my lust-fogged brain to get him to spell the author.

It turned out that he was looking for "The Power of One" by Bruce Courtenay, a book I had sold a thousand times. I was just so ga-ga over him that I hadn't taken his accent into account for anything but it's lust-inducing qualities.

I was beet red.

Now I'll share a dork moment from my ex husband that I found endearing at the time.

I have always been baby crazy. So when a charming family came into the bookstore, with a moon faced baby in a bonnet, I played with that baby all night. The two older boys were well behaved at eight and four, and the parents were nice enough. That night we re-arranged the entire store, and the next day, this guy kept coming into the store, looking at everything and nothing, and then leaving. Best Jen finally told me she thought he was going to ask me out. I looked up and watched as he picked up a book from the shelf and pretended to read it while listening to us do our schtick, and laughing at all of our jokes. He was standing in what, the day before had been science fiction, but thanks to the shuffle, was now romance. I asked him if he had read anything else by that author, and he looked down at the book he was holding in curiosity which turned to horror.

He did, in fact, ask me out, and as I stood there talking to him it dawned on me why he was so familiar. He was the DAD from the nice family the night before. EEEEWWWW. I promptly told him what I thought of him in no uncertain terms and told him to hit the road.
He eventually convinced me that he had been out with his sister and her kids, and I agreed to go out with him.

*********
This has been a very weak post from Jenn Factor 10. I hope to post lots of fabulous pictures from my working vacation next week, up to the blazing heat of Redding to care for my mom after her eye surgery. Actually, my mom is horrifyingly self sufficient, so I'm probably going up to save her from a week of chili and corn from my dad. His entire repertoire consists of chili, corn, and bran buds cereal (Actually, he poaches a mean egg, too.).

Today the part of Jen will be played by a moody, whiny little bitch.

I am blue.

I think it's a combination of things, several having to do with money and housing, but I also would like to blame my co-worker(s).

Work: I think my base line personality is pretty happy and pretty mellow. I can roll with your verbal punches, and if you throw one too many at me, I'll smack you back.

What stresses me out to no end, is having to listen to you throw them at someone else. Someone who is too classy (and bound by certain labor laws and working conditions) to slap the ever-loving shit out of you, even in a verbal sense. Even though she could make you cry and you would deserve every bit of it. I know it's not worth the drama to stir shit up. It will all be over soon. But you ruin every goddamned day that I have to sit and listen to you spew your bile. Have you EVER focused on the positive things in your life? EVER?

ahem.

I would like my man, my partner, my one and only, to help me around the house. I am tired of being the only one who does dishes. That's why they aren't done. Because I am tired. Not sleepy, TIRED.

I adore babies. I could eat them with a spoon. I loved every single second of being pregnant. I would LOVE to have another one. But we cannot afford it. Can.Not.Afford. We are a couple of bounced checks away from being on the Government dole, and I can't do it. If I won the lottery I'd be pregnant yesterday. Sigh.

I want the TWO books I have started to POOF! appear in front of me. I don't WANT to start a third. I want my very good books to come back to me. Where in the hell did I put them? Why don't I have any clue here?

Um , crazy ass recycle man? SHUUUT UP. It's FREE, asshat. Stop talking to me.

Sensitive new age guy ex husband who cannot earn a living because you insist on chasing your dream? Grow the fuck up.

Crappy mothers who have bred and then mistreated girls who turned into amazing women without any help from your sorry asses? Shut up and leave them alone--you do not deserve your incredible daughters.

Here is my list of demands:

Be nice. Even to the person helping you at wally world, even if they seem to have a family tree with only one branch. Be nice.

Be considerate. Think about the other person. Whether that's me or someody else.

Be patient. Are you really so important that you can't wait three seconds more?

Less is more. You don't need more stuff, you need to pay more attention to what's in front of you.

Shut up. Listen. No, REALLY listen.

bleah. This has been bitchy moments with Jennifer. Your usual psychotically chipper (hmm, that's probably more real life Jen than Blog Jen) girl will be back shortly.


*********

On a completely unrelated note?
My throbbing blog-crush on Greg Beck is only deepened by his confession about poetry. He needs (other)Jen's Tuesday Work Sucks Haikus.

Newsflash! Factor 10 assaults mom-bots in parking lot...

Back when Big O went to the overpriced future nazis for christ republican daycamp masquerading as an educational facility that the Ex insisted upon, the coffee swilling barbies that REALLY ran the school would block the entrance every morning as I tried to walk him in.

I am not bitter.

But let me just say... Bitch, you are wearing kitten heels at seven FUCKING a.m., with your overpriced track suit. Buy a pair of tennies. They make those in overpriced and trendy, too. Stop trying to blind me with the frigging boulder on your finger, and yes, we KNOW your husband is a neurosurgeon, but really, it's getting embarrassing that you force that into daily conversation. If you do not move your bony ass off of the path so that people with real jobs can drop off their kids, I am going to spike your empty bleached blonde head into that mud puddle you are making everyone walk through, so that you and "Babs" can catch up on your list of meaningless chores you invent to pretend that you have lives.

Today at the market, the senior golf version of Bones and Babs were doing their best to make me lose it. They stopped with their full carts immediately outside the entrance to the store, parking their carts in middle of the only freaking ramp into the parking lot, leaving just enough space on either side to allow carts to squeeze by. They were standing next to a table that the market provides for customers who want to sit down and chat. They stood there for twenty minutes, at least. I took a picture of them with my cell phone, and I'll post that bitch if I can ever figure out how. I was so mad, I was leaving and then I came back and pulled into the handicapped spot so I could roll down my window and tell them what inconsiderate cows they were.

My mother's voice popped into my head and asked if I knew what the kindergarten teachers at Little O's school looked like, because wouldn't that be just my luck, and I stopped myself and drove away. I called the Honey bitching, and called them inconsiderate cows just standing there, and Little O thought that was the funniest thing she had ever heard. You called them cows, mama! hahahahhahahahahaaaaa

If it couldn't be me....

I'm glad that ZigZagMan was declared the winner. CRSE is, I think, a force of nature. She is the Essence of Dork, in ways that others can only dream of. But anyone with a story that involves collapsing a tent AND showing big daddy and the twins to your hooting aunty is, in my book, a dork supreme.




Hats off to you sir...or would that be pants?

It's all an adventure...

Well, Frick.

I've been at this less than a year, and now I have two blogs, and I'm learning a little more each day. The Dorkteenth was a wild success, now it's voting week. There are some hilarious entries, and I encourage you all to go read em.

We had a problem with a full on (and I DO mean full-on) porn link, that didn't even have an entry. What's up with that?

I would like to play Dorkteenth any time there is a Friday the Thirteenth, but that may be too much pressure...whaddya think? I like the idea of not having a weekly or even monthly meme...

Anyway, go read the entries and vote for your favorite...even if--I can't say it--even if it's not me!

(Okay, it will not be me. There are some kick ass stories, and one hilarious photo.)

I went back to work today.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.


the scandal of the starving baby
Originally uploaded by Djuliet.

Had a customer complain to my manager about my bad attitude before I even got my first cup of coffee.

Pay yer freaking BILL, and the late notices will stop. It's a pretty straightforward system.

Silly me, I forgot that diplomacy is more important than truth. A glorious week of saying the FIRST thing that popped into my head was obviously NOT conducive to dealing with the great unwashed.

Today is the last day of my vacation.

the scandal of the starving baby
Originally uploaded by Djuliet.

My house is maaaaaaarvelous. No, really, it's like a whole new house. But I spent a week away from work and went nowhere. I think I only left my house three times. Little O didn't go to daycare, and actually, I kept Big O home from school one day (gasp!).

It was....lovely. I was terrible at my stint as a stay at home mom. I was so lonely and isolated that I just gained four thousand pounds and became a raving bitch. (At least according to the ex.) This was fun. Even with the cleaning, or maybe...because of the cleaning?
I'm not sure I'm ready to go THAT far, but it was a week well spent. Now I just want another one to enjoy it, and actually get some reading time in.

Hello...is this thing on?

Anyone volunteering to pay all of my bills so I can read and blog at my leisure?

Oh well, back to the garbage mines.

Thursday 13-Vacation Sucks Haikus

Thirteen Vacation Sucks Haiku--haikus? nah, gotta be haiku. haikooses? Inspired by my bloggy hero, Casual Slack Called the city guy please sir can I have some more Axe falls on Friday Co-worker bite me No one called about my house Thanks for the support Clean Cleaner Cleanest I hate the smell of pine sol Want to go to work Fingernails are gone fumes creeping into my brain oooh, pretty colors die-die-die-die-die scrub, scrub, scrub a dub dub, dub Mr Clean, suck this my son is grounded much like the food in his rug cleaned his room, my ass i am so tired he is sleeping, why not me? coffee is my friend quit blogging and clean how can you be so stupid they'll be here Friday Aw, look at the snaps! Little O with my mom-oh, crap Distracted again Must invite in-laws "Come to dinner and judge me" Good thing I like them Wait, didn't I just Empty this stupid vacuum? Love my bagless vac. must buy more coffee and some steak ASAP on my knees already Last Haiku, thank you back to the wretched cleaning what a vacation

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!


The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I have a magical linky box that is, apparently, functional again. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

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AAAAH HA!

Ads for the movie "Shooter" have been driving me crazy. I kept thinking it sounded like a Stephen Hunter book, but Shooter was not the title. Point of Impact. Had to google it.
mmmm, books....
I know I've said it before, but Greg Rucka writes a great story. I can never remember which one comes first--I think it's Keeper, the second one was Finder, and I always thought they should be reversed. The hero is a bodyguard named Atticus Kodiak. Rucka writes graphic novels, too, but if you read things like Shooter, I highly recommend Keeper. Ooooh, and Sleeping Dogs by Thomas Perry. It's hard to find the first one, Butcher's Boy (unless they are re-printing it by now), but Sleeping Dogs is another one of those books.

I remember books...lovely grey pages, cracking the spine, mmmmm...

I can have books again when my house is cleaner. Please note that I did not say clean. My house is never clean. I AM the crazy old lady with forty years worth of crap piled up. I was on Oprah recently. Okay, not ME, but my psychic twin (no, not CRSE, I apparently have another). Except that SHE works at a container store, and makes a living organizing other people. I'm not quite THAT hypocritical(?). Whatever that is...No, I have my papers at work in piles, and my house is the same. But higher. And with random crap thrown in. I have achieved in thirty-six years what it took my grandmother sixty-three years to do.
It's our first rental inspection tomorrow. Something new for our fair city, and my part of town is in the first wave. My co-worker is convinced that someone called and complained about me, and that is why I have been chosen. Since I saw tags on several other rental units in my neighborhood, I don't think that it's for that. We are pest free and pet free, so I am not sweating that so much, but it lurks in the back of my mind. It's the clothes that are killing me. I have more clothes in this house than we will ever need. I need to start throwing two away for each new item that I bring into the house.
Gah. What a way to spend a vacation. CLEANING. ugh.

er, um, oh gawd.

I was just bored and hitting the "next blog" button, which usually takes me to kids from brazil and malaysia--but I found a lady who just got a ping pong table--I am actually very jealous. BUT I DIGRESS...

A few more clicks, and where do I find myself? At someone's SecondLife blog. Now I admit that I am generally pretty far behind the trends anymore, because, well, my REAL life gets in the way. I haven't been blogging for a full year, yet, and I had to ask my sixteen year old niece to show me how to text on my cell phone--which I promptly forgot. I am by no means up on the new things. I am intrigued by Sarah at Still Life with Soup Can's forays into Oblivion.
But this other lady has started a blog for the "photos" of her modelling jobs for her SecondLife persona.
Am I more forgiving of Sarah because it's sci-fi fantasy themed, so I GET it more? Because Sarah doesn't strike me as odd at all, but this lady completely freaked me out. Maybe it's that Sarah writes about real life, and the other blog was made up almost solely of this lady's modelling jobs? I don't know. I am embarrassed FOR her.
Maybe I am just hopelessly un-cool.

I could go for a little Italy right about now!

A reddish glare
Originally uploaded by Hobo pd.

Okay, before we get to the meat of this fully sponsored post, can you believe this photo? I was looking through Flickr for something to go with an Italian post, and every one of this man's pictures was amazing.

A Pay Per Post opportunity leapt from the screen at me today. Post something about Italy. Now Italy is one of the countries that I did NOT get to see when I went to Europe. I want to go. Isn't that like saying that the sky is blue, though? Who DOESN'T want to go to Italy? SO much of Western history centers around Italy, and it's such a rich, dense, multi-layered explosion of historical flavors... You like it bloody? Italy's got it. How about religion--um, helloooo, vatican, anyone? Politics, Lust, Fashion, Romance. Italy pretty much embodies each of the seven deadly sins and really, every modern vice. But it's still beautiful.

I admit that I love happy endings, but Under the Tuscan Sun? Great movie. Didn't you instantly want to run away from all of your problems and find a charming Italian villa to pour your energy into? The sponsor of this post has Italian properties for sale. I personally am NOT George Clooney, with the money to spend on a Villa on Lake Como, but we have to dream, right? I set up services for people from the Bay area, who are buying weekend houses in Lathrop, CA. I realize that you all have no idea what this means, but trust me, the thought of spending a half a million dollars to buy into a cramped housing tract, in the middle of a muddy flood plain, it boggles the mind. I just want to scream at them all. If my half a million bucks bought me a cobwebby apartment above a restaurant in an Italian village, I would sooo spend it on the tiny apartment rather than the McMansion.

I apologize again for restating this, but this has been a sponsored post. I'm still a little bitter that PPP refused to pay me for the Dubai post, because they felt that I was not clear about the sponsorship. I do not want their disclosure policy button on my blog. I think that I make it pretty clear when it is a sponsored post, and I don't take a bazillion of these opportunities. That makes two posts that I did not get paid for. grrr... (okay one was due to my own over-enthusiastic dorkiness, but c'mon!)

********************

Now they say the opportunity has closed, but it is still listed. Are they just messin' with my head, now? You know what? I'd still like to go to Italy--this post will stand as a little freee love to the folks who sponsored it. I don't write them if I don't mean them. That's why there are so few.

Get.me.out.of.here.

I sit behind a plexiglass window at work.
Customers laugh and ask me if the trash is a dangerous business. In my head, I generally think that while trash isn't dangerous, our part of town IS, and oh, look, there go your rims in that shopping cart.
What I usually SAY is that it's kind of like the spit shield at the salad bar--and through the wonders of plexiglass, they can usually, literlally, see my point. ugh.

Yesterday I actually had a man tap on the plexiglass and tell me to try and keep up.

I thought I was going to go straight through the window. Un-freaking-believable. One of us wasn't getting it, but it sure as hell wasn't me.

Helpful hint? When demanding extra help from a Customer Service Rep? Try not to piss them off.

wow. this has been a remarkably restrained post about yet another booger-eating-moron.

You're welcome.