You know what's the worst? When you strategically place a condom in a convenient location, don't end up needing it, forget you put it there, and then remember 3 hours later after your mom has been in the general area of said condom for at least 2 of those hours.
AHHHHH!!!!
Luckily I was safe, she did not move the Kleenex box and discover my hiding spot. You'd think I'd learn, but really, I don't. I prefer the shock-horror of the moment, apparently. This has happened to me approximately 12 million times. I flatter myself. I only WISH it happened 12 million times cause that would mean I would have had a lot of sex. Actually, it would mean I almost needed a condom 12 million times, but never got around to it. Hmmm. Need to rethink that wish.
Speaking of "wishing", I have a bone to pick with the term "wishing". You can "wish" to have sex 12 million times. You can "wish" you were taller. You can "wish" to wake up with better hair and straighter teeth but you cannot "wish" like my cousin "wishes".
Darling, I'm about to expose you. My fabulously awesome cousin "wishes" for things for Christmas. It's normal when you're 8 to make out a "wish list" from the Sears "wish book" (which is something else entirely that I don't want to talk about yet).
The thing that puzzles me the most about all of this wishing is her phrasing. She says "I'm going to wish for that for Christmas". Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you really "wished" for things from Santa, and we know that Santa = Parents, so now we "ask" for things for Christmas. It also suggests to me that she sits there, thinking REALLY had about what she wants, "wishing" that it will appear come December 25th. It suggests that she will keep it to herself and hope that it shows up. Since you're not supposed to tell anyone your wishes, and Santa was just supposed to know what you wanted, it seems counter-productive to wish for something for Christmas when, if you ASK your parents for it, you're more likely to get it.
But this is all just semantics. I know what she means, she asks her parents for it, but always describes it as "wishing" for Item X; In my head I see her sitting alone in her room, eyes scrunched up tight with a thought bubble of the thing she wants, drawn in a cartoon. In my head, she's wishing really really hard.
I love you.
Maybe I should apply her theory to my situation. I will wish for sex 12 million times. Does that mean I have to ask for it? Cause that's just desperate isn't it?
My other cousin, (Wishing Cousin's Sister) came over to my house yesterday and I was drunk.
You see, originally I went to a tailgate party for a football game but ended up being thrown up on, going home early and opening the door to my mother who said: "You smell like booze" and "Is that vomit on your pants?" It was really a pretty funny experience. When my cousin came over, I was in a great mood! I had drank enough in the morning so that I would have been drunk for the entire game. The only problem was, I was at home, alone, with my mom all day. We watched TV and ate pizza and I tried to keep my drunk thoughts to myself. When I relayed the story of my up-chuck experience (it was not my vomit, but my best friends, so it didn't really bother me, somehow?) she said to me: "You know, Jessie, I think only you can make a story about being thrown up on and missing a football game into a hilarious story, and still be bouncing happily around your house." And it's true. Only I could do that, because I have to WORK at being in a bad mood. I have to WANT to be angry to really be grouchy.
Naturally happy people are pretty weird. I have a weird part of me that tends to really take over my whole self sometimes. I wonder how people get along with me on a day-to-day basis; especially when I get to work at 6 AM and am really happy. I'm not a morning person, I'm an everytime person. If I wake up in a bad mood, normally I can have it beat by noon, or earlier. Though, I went through a pretty bad couple months where I was in a consta-bad mood. Even choosing to be happy didn't help, and just came out forced. I would sink into happiness, but then remember that I was in a bad mood and then turn that smile upside down. I think I'm almost over it, though it still drives me INSANE when my mom drives to the lights in the morning instead of the stop sign. It's 6am. No one is on the road!!! YOU DON'T NEED THE LIGHT!!!!
I'm irrational sometimes, but what can you do?
I gotta go get that condom out of there before I have some explaining to do.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
LIGHT BULB!
A few hours later and I'm the smartest person I know. Eyes to the front, boys and girls, while I regail you with my tale of genius.
I left a bit ago to turn off my dvd and to answer a phone call from my cousin. I am blessed with having amazing relatives that actually like me and want to hang out. She convinced me that it is futile to sit sedentary and be swallowed up by my giant Pier 1 Imports Papasan Chair when there are fun times afoot. I decided to meet her half way at least and shower.
During my shower I decided to step outside the box and, instead of using the shampoo that my mother and I share, I chose my dad's shampoo. It is some Suave something or other with coconuts on the front. To my astonishment and amazement, it actually smells EXACTLY like Banana Penicillin.
Did I mention I'm death-bed sick? Phlegm and all the other nasty assortment of ewwies? Did I also mention that I have had roughly 9,000,000 ear infections in my youth and would only ever get Banana Penicillin and beg my mother to let me have more than my prescribed tablespoon?
I LOVE BANANA PENICILLIN! I love it so much, I washed my hair with the copy-cat-scent-shampoo just to help myself feel better. Upon discovering this, I also decided to do my "Full Body Cleanse". It's like when you go to the car wash and decide to get the "Deluxe Wash". I clean every part of my body consciously. The crook of my elbows and inbetween my toes and all the things you miss out on when you're just doing the important bits like the mirrors and the hood. It makes me feel like I'm scrubbing my brain from the outside in and it always makes me feel better. However, my delightful suds-up was RUINED when I caught a whiff (through the pinhole airway in my clogged nasal passages) of GARLIC!
CURSE YOU GARLIC SUIT! Even when the uniform is in the wash and I've scrubbed my hands, you insist on adhering yourself to me! Well not today. No sir, I refuse to wear you all day. I am reclaiming my independence from odourous-mascotry.
(Here is the stroke of genius...I bet you thought I forgot about it)
I washed my fingernails with toothpaste.
TADA!!!! Garlic is GONE. Toothpaste is designed to combat the horridness that is offensive food smells and it is formulated for the body! It can't possibly harm me, except make my hang nails sting. But other than that. Presto Chango. The smell is gone and I feel remarkable.
I felt so good in fact, that I just HAD to blog about it, and now my hair has dried funny.
-J.-
I left a bit ago to turn off my dvd and to answer a phone call from my cousin. I am blessed with having amazing relatives that actually like me and want to hang out. She convinced me that it is futile to sit sedentary and be swallowed up by my giant Pier 1 Imports Papasan Chair when there are fun times afoot. I decided to meet her half way at least and shower.
During my shower I decided to step outside the box and, instead of using the shampoo that my mother and I share, I chose my dad's shampoo. It is some Suave something or other with coconuts on the front. To my astonishment and amazement, it actually smells EXACTLY like Banana Penicillin.
Did I mention I'm death-bed sick? Phlegm and all the other nasty assortment of ewwies? Did I also mention that I have had roughly 9,000,000 ear infections in my youth and would only ever get Banana Penicillin and beg my mother to let me have more than my prescribed tablespoon?
I LOVE BANANA PENICILLIN! I love it so much, I washed my hair with the copy-cat-scent-shampoo just to help myself feel better. Upon discovering this, I also decided to do my "Full Body Cleanse". It's like when you go to the car wash and decide to get the "Deluxe Wash". I clean every part of my body consciously. The crook of my elbows and inbetween my toes and all the things you miss out on when you're just doing the important bits like the mirrors and the hood. It makes me feel like I'm scrubbing my brain from the outside in and it always makes me feel better. However, my delightful suds-up was RUINED when I caught a whiff (through the pinhole airway in my clogged nasal passages) of GARLIC!
CURSE YOU GARLIC SUIT! Even when the uniform is in the wash and I've scrubbed my hands, you insist on adhering yourself to me! Well not today. No sir, I refuse to wear you all day. I am reclaiming my independence from odourous-mascotry.
(Here is the stroke of genius...I bet you thought I forgot about it)
I washed my fingernails with toothpaste.
TADA!!!! Garlic is GONE. Toothpaste is designed to combat the horridness that is offensive food smells and it is formulated for the body! It can't possibly harm me, except make my hang nails sting. But other than that. Presto Chango. The smell is gone and I feel remarkable.
I felt so good in fact, that I just HAD to blog about it, and now my hair has dried funny.
-J.-
Hidey Holes
While miming a fit of sobs at work today, I almost shed real tears. I told my friends that I was moving out of my apartment *forever* on Thursday. It's not so much the apartment, but closing the door on the last semblence of independence I thought I had. It was sooo nice living with friends instead of family. You can do whatever the hell you wanted to. If you closed your door, it meant (very clearly) that you did not want to be spoken to.
It's not that living at home is so awful. I have it stupidly easy here. I get to drive whenever there's a free car; and I have a comfy room specifically for my use; I have a home-gym in the basement; my parents are awesome at understanding I am basically an adult.
Very basically. I feel like an Adult-Child. It's very depressing to me that now that I am done university, a graduate, that I will revert back to my high-school like zone of influence until I get a job where I make enough money to move out of the parental house. As much as I hate to admit it, I really want to see Post Grad with Alexis Bledel. The movie of my life, it seems. I think it's funny that they're making a movie about the "AHH!" moment after graduation where you realize you're supposed to have a "career path", and everything slowly slips from beneath your feet.
On a lighter subject, I am watching The Nightmare Before Christmas. I don't know why but periodically I love to watch Christmas movies. This is the perfect movie for me at the moment, because the October-February stretch is chaulk full of holidays, and the rest of the year, not so much. No one gets excited for Civic Holiday the way they do about Christmas. I think it might have to do with the fact that no food is associated with these holidays. All good holidays have a good food associated with them.
Halloween: Candy. Need I say more?
Thanksgiving: Turkey. Sweeet tryptophan. Pumpkin Pie.
Christmas: Either MORE Turkey (Which is never a bad thing) or Roast, and allll the associated Christmas foods: Apple Cider and Cinnamon EVERYTHING and Bailey's.
Valentine's Day: Cinnamon Hearts.
I guess Easter can sneak in there because of all the chocolate, but it's more religious than the others, which I suppose detracts from the tasty edibles.
Anyways, I can't wait until Autumn. It's my favourite season. I love comfy sweaters and wearing jeans and cosy shoes. I love big steaming cups of tea while the wind howls outside. I love when the leaves all set themselves on fire in a final farewell to warm weather and drop from their branches. I especially love when it rains and blows and it's chilly out and all the wet leaves are slick on the road. Oooo it makes me want to curl up right now under a blanket and feel protected.
Soon, it will be all pathetic fallasy, what with the stormy weather. Maybe it will even out. Right now I have the opposite of pathetic fallasy. The sunnier it gets, the moodier and snippier I am. Maybe when we hit Fall, I will be super happy as the days get more miserable. Here's hoping.
I wish I owned Hocus Pocus on DVD.
-Jess-
It's not that living at home is so awful. I have it stupidly easy here. I get to drive whenever there's a free car; and I have a comfy room specifically for my use; I have a home-gym in the basement; my parents are awesome at understanding I am basically an adult.
Very basically. I feel like an Adult-Child. It's very depressing to me that now that I am done university, a graduate, that I will revert back to my high-school like zone of influence until I get a job where I make enough money to move out of the parental house. As much as I hate to admit it, I really want to see Post Grad with Alexis Bledel. The movie of my life, it seems. I think it's funny that they're making a movie about the "AHH!" moment after graduation where you realize you're supposed to have a "career path", and everything slowly slips from beneath your feet.
On a lighter subject, I am watching The Nightmare Before Christmas. I don't know why but periodically I love to watch Christmas movies. This is the perfect movie for me at the moment, because the October-February stretch is chaulk full of holidays, and the rest of the year, not so much. No one gets excited for Civic Holiday the way they do about Christmas. I think it might have to do with the fact that no food is associated with these holidays. All good holidays have a good food associated with them.
Halloween: Candy. Need I say more?
Thanksgiving: Turkey. Sweeet tryptophan. Pumpkin Pie.
Christmas: Either MORE Turkey (Which is never a bad thing) or Roast, and allll the associated Christmas foods: Apple Cider and Cinnamon EVERYTHING and Bailey's.
Valentine's Day: Cinnamon Hearts.
I guess Easter can sneak in there because of all the chocolate, but it's more religious than the others, which I suppose detracts from the tasty edibles.
Anyways, I can't wait until Autumn. It's my favourite season. I love comfy sweaters and wearing jeans and cosy shoes. I love big steaming cups of tea while the wind howls outside. I love when the leaves all set themselves on fire in a final farewell to warm weather and drop from their branches. I especially love when it rains and blows and it's chilly out and all the wet leaves are slick on the road. Oooo it makes me want to curl up right now under a blanket and feel protected.
Soon, it will be all pathetic fallasy, what with the stormy weather. Maybe it will even out. Right now I have the opposite of pathetic fallasy. The sunnier it gets, the moodier and snippier I am. Maybe when we hit Fall, I will be super happy as the days get more miserable. Here's hoping.
I wish I owned Hocus Pocus on DVD.
-Jess-
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Big Sighs and the Adventures of the Annoying Adult
*Sigh*
Today I feel like the epitome of the word "sigh". The expulsion of air from my lungs is just a big *puff* of lack-luster oxygen.
I didn't always feel this way about the day. I started out pretty well actually. A large Tim's Steeped Tea (One of their better inventions, I think) nom nom nom. Bagels cooperated; the dough was perfect. I even got to stay late (wooo making more money!!) and do some decorating. Making more money is my mantra to staying late at The Grocery Store. What I really want to do is go directly home and to bed, but my wallet screams "Noooo, FEED ME MONEY!!" and since I do whatever it says, I stayed for the extra 2 hours and made 20 bucks. I hate minimum wage.
My father even pulled up on the proverbial white horse in shining armour (aka, the silver of our mini-van) to save me from taking the bus home from work, again, in the garlic suit.
The entire good feelings I had dissolved when I got home and could not find a single thing to eat. It was out of pure frustration that I made tomato soup, only to have sickatating white floaty bits in it, that I am sure were the remnants of my "breakfast-for-dinner" pancakes I made last night that were clinging to the whisk. My house is under renovation, so we hand wash all our dishes. I know this makes me seem "hard-done by" to complain about having no dishwasher, but it really does suck when you realize you forgot the inside edge of the whisk and end up with pancake batter in your tomato soup. But in the end, it tasted fine.
The irritation, however, did not dissolve as easily as the batter into the soup. I was infuriated with the fact that I wasn't actually hungry at all, but was only eating because it seemed natural that I should eat something at 1:00 when I hadn't eaten since 5:30am. But in the end, the soup was relatively satisfying and I wasn't clawing out my stomach with hunger an hour later. After watching a bit of Ace of Cakes on Food Network (I WILL marry Geof one day. He's my all-time top favourite because he is just sooo mellow; he would be the perfect balance to my crazy), I decided I needed a proper nap and crawled into bed with a big, you guessed it, *SIGH*.
I slept for approximately 2 hours before rolling over and thinking my clock said "7:45" instead of actually being "3:45". It was a bit of a nasty shock thinking I had been dead to the world for 6 hours with no idea of how it happened. I rolled over and slept for another couple of hours and woke up feeling worse than when I started the nap! My throat was all tight and awful and I am more and more convinced I am getting sick. Though they say that rest and sleep help, I always feel awful when I wake up and my whole throat is screaming "WATER!!! PLEASE!!!!". No desert is drier than my throat when my nose is plugged. Apparently I also snore like a water-buffalo when this happens, or so my sister tells me. It is only with a conscious effort that I try to breathe steadily through my nose at sleep overs so as not to disturb the peaceful slumber of my friends. A lot of them know by now to just listen to music, it's better than hearing me truck on with gasps for air every couple of seconds.
I once sighed so loud in class, my roomate wouldn't stop laughing. I love sighing. I love the feeling of just squeezing out all the air in your lungs and starting over fresh. It doesn't help all that much, but it helps somewhat and you can really only do things by inches anyways. You can never fix anything *BANG* in one second. I have realized this in my goal to lose 100 pounds. *100 POUNDS!* It sounds so epic, like it should be read by the guy who does the voice overs in movie previews. But the ones where he's parodying himself, so it's even more exaggarated. So far, I have lost 35. Which is pretty impressive to me, since I don't actually feel like I've lost 35 pounds, nor do I feel like I LOOK like I've lost 35 pounds. I also don't think other people think I look like I've lost 35 pounds. Maybe I am one of those people where no one says anything becuase they know I still have a long way to go. At least I'm not dispreportionate. My weight gain is spread pretty evenly over my entire body so I feel like I'm shaving it off in tiny increments. It also means losing it is significantly less noticable. I'm hoping I notice a HUGE difference when I have lost 50, if not I'll be super disappointed because that's a lot of weight to lose without noticing. I hope one day I turn around and I'm like "WOW! My ghetto-ass is gone! SWEET!" and it will just sneak up on me like that.
I was rude to someone at work yesterday and am having residual feeling of anger for them. It's not them specifically, but their kind in general. They are the people that have assumed that because I graduated, I know what I want to do with my entire life. I want to wear a sign around my neck that says "ON HIATUS FROM SEEKING FURTHER EMPLOYMENT". Everyone above the age of 35 has asked me the awful question: "So, what's next for you?" The rest of the conversation is as follows:
Me: "I took until September to not think about it. When September comes, I'll think about my next step."
Annoying Adult: "But what do you want to do?"
Me: "I have no real goals at the moment. I want to buy a car and get a full-time job. I don't really care where."
Annoying Adult, ignoring the fact that I have just plainly said everything I wish to say, and have gotten snarky, fall back on their ultimate weapon: "What is your degree in?"
- Now I'm pissed. If I thought the specifics of my degree were going to lead me down the path of real life, I would have told them all my passionate feelings for my specialty at the forefront of this circular conversation, now wouldn't I? Also, I probably would have chose a more practical degree. ALSO, I find it highly irritating that full-time people at The Grocery Store harange me about my future when they themselves are still at T.G.S. I feel it is a discredit to themselves. In the same way that people are always saying to me 'You have to get out of here, Jess' I feel like saying: "What if I stay! You stayed and, though you hate your job, you're still a good person who is employed, which is saying something since there are a LOT of people out there who aren't and just collect E.I." I won't stay at The Grocery Store because I just can't see myself making enough money to keep me living in the style of which I'm accustomed. But this is a vast tangent and we have left the Annoying Adult hanging, waiting for our answer, which will definitely lead to the Dreaded Question. I can already feel it forming in their mind. -
Me: "I was an English major, with a minor in History and a minor in Women's Studies."
Annoying Adult: "Wow, what are you going to do with that?"
Me: "I don't know yet. I'm going to think about it in September."
Annoying Adult, without FAIL will ask me the Dreaded Question: "Have you thought about teacher's college?"
I have a few options here. 1) Rip their head off about how it's presumptious to assume that all teachers are English majors. Though it's a good base, there are many other majors that can be applied to teaching. 2) Explain in short, prefunctory words, that of course I have thought about teacher's college, who hasn't, but that I don't think it was the choice for me.
Usually, I go with option 3, which is afterall, the truth.
Me: "No. I hate children."
Annoying Adult: *!!*
Everyone wants me to be a teacher. My parents think it would be great. When I ask my mother she says "You'd be so good at it, you have the kind of voice that really carries." As if this is the most important thing to teaching, having a loud voice. My dad thinks it would nurture my inner-self. He's all about that sort of thing. He does it in a good way, but I am not cut out for teaching. I might be a good teacher if I was passionate about it, but I'm not, so what's the point? Also, I really do dislike children. I have a very hard time humouring them, and children need humouring. I'm sure I will love my own children very much, and I love my neices, but children as a general category that aren't related to me can just keep their distance. And, somewhat shamefully, I didn't have good enough marks to get into teacher's college, which is another blunt fact I sometimes throw into conversations where the An.Ad. is being really teacher's college pushy.
The truth is, I'm not passionate about anything. There is nothing that I'm really "YEAH!" about. (Unless we're counting Twilight, but I'm pretty sure I can't turn that into a life-long career. "What are you, Jess?" "I'm A Twiologist!"). When I was further provoked by the Annoying Adult, I became rude and clipped and explained in these words specifically: "I don't want to do anything. I have never wanted to be a doctor or a teacher, or a lawyer, or a poiltician. I am a passionless child." What a sad phrase. "A passionless child." I think I might have a problem that I need to sort out.
*sigh* I'll give it until September.
-Jess-
Today I feel like the epitome of the word "sigh". The expulsion of air from my lungs is just a big *puff* of lack-luster oxygen.
I didn't always feel this way about the day. I started out pretty well actually. A large Tim's Steeped Tea (One of their better inventions, I think) nom nom nom. Bagels cooperated; the dough was perfect. I even got to stay late (wooo making more money!!) and do some decorating. Making more money is my mantra to staying late at The Grocery Store. What I really want to do is go directly home and to bed, but my wallet screams "Noooo, FEED ME MONEY!!" and since I do whatever it says, I stayed for the extra 2 hours and made 20 bucks. I hate minimum wage.
My father even pulled up on the proverbial white horse in shining armour (aka, the silver of our mini-van) to save me from taking the bus home from work, again, in the garlic suit.
The entire good feelings I had dissolved when I got home and could not find a single thing to eat. It was out of pure frustration that I made tomato soup, only to have sickatating white floaty bits in it, that I am sure were the remnants of my "breakfast-for-dinner" pancakes I made last night that were clinging to the whisk. My house is under renovation, so we hand wash all our dishes. I know this makes me seem "hard-done by" to complain about having no dishwasher, but it really does suck when you realize you forgot the inside edge of the whisk and end up with pancake batter in your tomato soup. But in the end, it tasted fine.
The irritation, however, did not dissolve as easily as the batter into the soup. I was infuriated with the fact that I wasn't actually hungry at all, but was only eating because it seemed natural that I should eat something at 1:00 when I hadn't eaten since 5:30am. But in the end, the soup was relatively satisfying and I wasn't clawing out my stomach with hunger an hour later. After watching a bit of Ace of Cakes on Food Network (I WILL marry Geof one day. He's my all-time top favourite because he is just sooo mellow; he would be the perfect balance to my crazy), I decided I needed a proper nap and crawled into bed with a big, you guessed it, *SIGH*.
I slept for approximately 2 hours before rolling over and thinking my clock said "7:45" instead of actually being "3:45". It was a bit of a nasty shock thinking I had been dead to the world for 6 hours with no idea of how it happened. I rolled over and slept for another couple of hours and woke up feeling worse than when I started the nap! My throat was all tight and awful and I am more and more convinced I am getting sick. Though they say that rest and sleep help, I always feel awful when I wake up and my whole throat is screaming "WATER!!! PLEASE!!!!". No desert is drier than my throat when my nose is plugged. Apparently I also snore like a water-buffalo when this happens, or so my sister tells me. It is only with a conscious effort that I try to breathe steadily through my nose at sleep overs so as not to disturb the peaceful slumber of my friends. A lot of them know by now to just listen to music, it's better than hearing me truck on with gasps for air every couple of seconds.
I once sighed so loud in class, my roomate wouldn't stop laughing. I love sighing. I love the feeling of just squeezing out all the air in your lungs and starting over fresh. It doesn't help all that much, but it helps somewhat and you can really only do things by inches anyways. You can never fix anything *BANG* in one second. I have realized this in my goal to lose 100 pounds. *100 POUNDS!* It sounds so epic, like it should be read by the guy who does the voice overs in movie previews. But the ones where he's parodying himself, so it's even more exaggarated. So far, I have lost 35. Which is pretty impressive to me, since I don't actually feel like I've lost 35 pounds, nor do I feel like I LOOK like I've lost 35 pounds. I also don't think other people think I look like I've lost 35 pounds. Maybe I am one of those people where no one says anything becuase they know I still have a long way to go. At least I'm not dispreportionate. My weight gain is spread pretty evenly over my entire body so I feel like I'm shaving it off in tiny increments. It also means losing it is significantly less noticable. I'm hoping I notice a HUGE difference when I have lost 50, if not I'll be super disappointed because that's a lot of weight to lose without noticing. I hope one day I turn around and I'm like "WOW! My ghetto-ass is gone! SWEET!" and it will just sneak up on me like that.
I was rude to someone at work yesterday and am having residual feeling of anger for them. It's not them specifically, but their kind in general. They are the people that have assumed that because I graduated, I know what I want to do with my entire life. I want to wear a sign around my neck that says "ON HIATUS FROM SEEKING FURTHER EMPLOYMENT". Everyone above the age of 35 has asked me the awful question: "So, what's next for you?" The rest of the conversation is as follows:
Me: "I took until September to not think about it. When September comes, I'll think about my next step."
Annoying Adult: "But what do you want to do?"
Me: "I have no real goals at the moment. I want to buy a car and get a full-time job. I don't really care where."
Annoying Adult, ignoring the fact that I have just plainly said everything I wish to say, and have gotten snarky, fall back on their ultimate weapon: "What is your degree in?"
- Now I'm pissed. If I thought the specifics of my degree were going to lead me down the path of real life, I would have told them all my passionate feelings for my specialty at the forefront of this circular conversation, now wouldn't I? Also, I probably would have chose a more practical degree. ALSO, I find it highly irritating that full-time people at The Grocery Store harange me about my future when they themselves are still at T.G.S. I feel it is a discredit to themselves. In the same way that people are always saying to me 'You have to get out of here, Jess' I feel like saying: "What if I stay! You stayed and, though you hate your job, you're still a good person who is employed, which is saying something since there are a LOT of people out there who aren't and just collect E.I." I won't stay at The Grocery Store because I just can't see myself making enough money to keep me living in the style of which I'm accustomed. But this is a vast tangent and we have left the Annoying Adult hanging, waiting for our answer, which will definitely lead to the Dreaded Question. I can already feel it forming in their mind. -
Me: "I was an English major, with a minor in History and a minor in Women's Studies."
Annoying Adult: "Wow, what are you going to do with that?"
Me: "I don't know yet. I'm going to think about it in September."
Annoying Adult, without FAIL will ask me the Dreaded Question: "Have you thought about teacher's college?"
I have a few options here. 1) Rip their head off about how it's presumptious to assume that all teachers are English majors. Though it's a good base, there are many other majors that can be applied to teaching. 2) Explain in short, prefunctory words, that of course I have thought about teacher's college, who hasn't, but that I don't think it was the choice for me.
Usually, I go with option 3, which is afterall, the truth.
Me: "No. I hate children."
Annoying Adult: *!!*
Everyone wants me to be a teacher. My parents think it would be great. When I ask my mother she says "You'd be so good at it, you have the kind of voice that really carries." As if this is the most important thing to teaching, having a loud voice. My dad thinks it would nurture my inner-self. He's all about that sort of thing. He does it in a good way, but I am not cut out for teaching. I might be a good teacher if I was passionate about it, but I'm not, so what's the point? Also, I really do dislike children. I have a very hard time humouring them, and children need humouring. I'm sure I will love my own children very much, and I love my neices, but children as a general category that aren't related to me can just keep their distance. And, somewhat shamefully, I didn't have good enough marks to get into teacher's college, which is another blunt fact I sometimes throw into conversations where the An.Ad. is being really teacher's college pushy.
The truth is, I'm not passionate about anything. There is nothing that I'm really "YEAH!" about. (Unless we're counting Twilight, but I'm pretty sure I can't turn that into a life-long career. "What are you, Jess?" "I'm A Twiologist!"). When I was further provoked by the Annoying Adult, I became rude and clipped and explained in these words specifically: "I don't want to do anything. I have never wanted to be a doctor or a teacher, or a lawyer, or a poiltician. I am a passionless child." What a sad phrase. "A passionless child." I think I might have a problem that I need to sort out.
*sigh* I'll give it until September.
-Jess-
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
A Mixed Bag
I have approximately eight hundred and fourty two things to talk about today.
I was going to start this blog by ranting about how my work hat makes me look like an old Polish Baba, but something happened while I was waiting for the *sigh* bus that pushed that topic to the back burner. I saw a man in his car clipping his fingernails. IN HIS CAR! It was pretty gross. Almost as gross as when my roomates and I found a set of nail clippers on the kitchen counter and no one would own up to who they belonged to, or if they had, in fact, been used in the kitchen! How gross. Finger nails should be clipped in the bathroom, or the bedroom if you're very careful. The worst thing is when you step on them when they are hidden in the pile of the carpet and they poke you very hard. It's just so wrong to clip them in your car. Especially because he was clipping willy nilly! Just letting them fling about! Ugh! The carpetting in cars has a very low-pile. I bet you could see them all scattered about.
While having a pregnant-woman like bout of cleaning at work today, I stabbed the floor. If you look around at your local Grocery Store, you will see these metal barriers that are near the corners of things like refrigerated bunkers and displays so that you don't bash your cart into them and break them (because apparently, customers have a tendency to be reckless. I think they feel they are entitled to it because of the old adage "The Customer is Always Right" which is COMPLETE bullshit; anyone in the customer service business knows that, without a doubt, the customer is ALWAYS wrong, even when they are full of self-righteousness and think they are right, they are WRONG. Even when they are holding the product you said five minutes ago that you were sold out of, they are wrong. Even if you messed up the order, it's their own fault for ordering something complex. They're just wrong. I always think that I should like the customers, because without them I would have no job, instead of just a crappy one, however they make it IMPOSSIBLE to like them when they are picking away at my beautiful bagel display like vultures! Sometimes I want to scream at them to put the tongs down and just leave). Anyways, the metal barricades come out of the floor for some inexplicable reason. I was cleaning the ones that stand guardian over the bagel kettle because the honey-water from the kettle splashes around and I'm not sure we've ever cleaned them. While I was brilo-padding it vigorously, the entire metal guard came flying out of the floor! When I pushed it back down, a very strong smelling oil seethed out of the hole in the floor! I always knew my store had a heart of black. It was exactly like seeing something bleed black blood all over the place. It was weird and disturbing and bizarre and now I'm convinced that my particular Grocery Store is possessed, but I always knew that, so it's not exactly a shock. The action sequence was pretty good though.
When I went on break today, instead of being friendly I attempted to hide behind my technology. I brought out my troops: cell phone and iPod. With these two tools at my side, I can effectively ignore all the people in the break room I wish to avoid. Which is pretty much everyone. I'm such a bakery snob becuase I fully believe it is the most difficult department to work in with the least amount of slack given to us. The coffee portion of the store is the size of my bedroom (or smaller...) and it has the same amount of full-time people as the bakery, which is roughly twice the length of my entire house. Wow. Sooo fair.
My bakery hat makes me look very European. Not in the "Oooo how European" but more the European where I wear sturdy clothing made of materials meant to last through tough winters, or perhaps even leiderhosen, but that might just be because I like to pin my braids up to my head. That probably isn't helping me with my European feel. Either way, I have to take that hat off if I'm going out in public after work. This leads to many problems. 1) If I didn't shower before work, my hair looks realllly hat-heady and greasy. 2) I just got bangs and have been forced against my will to put them also up into the hat. When I didn't have bangs this was fine because my hair stayed under the hat, but with a nice side part thing in the front that kept me from looking constantly surprised, which happens if all my hair is pulled straight back. Now, I have to use a pully/lever system of a bobby pin and a hairband to keep the part in the right place and keep me from looking shocked. The problem here becomes the age-old irritation women everywhere have dealt with at one time or another in their lives. Why on earth can't Goody design a headband that actually stays in place? The ones they like to THINK work just use those little elastic bands to rip your hair out. They slide right off the back of your head too, which has you constantly tensed. No one looks good with a headband sagging off the back of their head. No one. Whose idea was One Size Fits Most? It's a horrible idea. They should have a key on the back of the pack of bands "Note: Only heads with a circumfrance of X number of inches need purchase this hair accessory". It's only logical. The entire hat-related problem only REALLY matters when I have to take the bus home. Since I am wearing polyester hounds-tooth patterned pants, I decide that it would only add insult to injurt in continuing to wear the Euro-hat on the bus. Also, if I take off my polyester white shirt with the snaps up the front, it's really only the pants that are a problem, and I can ignore that. Removal of hat and shirt actually are a bonus. I can put the shirt in the hat and try to hide as much of the bagel smell as possible in my purse.
Oh yes. There's a smell. A distinct bagel smell which is comprised mostly of honey, wood fire, garlic and onions, and toasted sesame seeds. My mother actually holds her nose when I come home, which has given me a bit of a complex. I almost fear a bus-full of people, lest someone be offended by my odorous nature for the 15 minutes I am forced to bus home. I feel like I should be wearing one of those mascot costumes. "Hello boys and girls! I'm here from The Grocery Store to talk to you about GARLIC!" I would be a perfectly plump little garlic bulb. That's how I feel sitting on the bus. Like each of my fingernails is it's own clove and I am emitting waves of garlic to the unsuspecting bus riders, who I assume all smell like vegetable soup. Ever since seeing So I Married An Axe Murderer when I was little, I am weirded out by vegetable soup. Charlie aka Mike Meyers says he broke up with a girl because she smelled like soup and I have always taken him to mean Vegetable. I think he says what kind, but it doesn't even matter because it will always be Cambells Vegetable Soup in my head. Maybe with Barley. I associate weird people with smelling like vegetable soup. I wonder is anyone associates weird people with garlic. If that's the case, I'm in a lot of trouble.
My bus ride home gave me a plethora of ideas to write about. Sadly I had left my spiral bound notebook at home to write them down in and had to fill up the week of August 16th in my agenda with tiny little thoughts to expand on later. I used to always carry a book around with me because I wanted to be Harriet the Spy, but without being Michelle Trachtenberg and having Rosie O'Donnell as my matriarchal figure. But I sure did want that book full of thoughts and ideas and spying. Spying is hard work. It's almost as hard as watching True Blood with parents home, which happened AGAIN last night, except this time it was on my computer and therefore, twice as bad. I tried to spy on the people on the bus but kept on getting distracted by things out the window. These things included:
A U-Haul lot and an advertisement for something in Birdland.
The U-Haul lot made me wonder: If you could choose which graphic you wanted on the side of your U-Haul, which would you pick? The map? The description of the spacious insides of your loaner van? Personally, I would want the giant trout being hooked. It's the most woodsy one of them, even though U-Hauls really have nothing to do with camping, or the outdoors, but I'd still choose that one. U-Hauls imply road tripping to me and I always see myself road tripping in the southern states of America, and that somehow reminds me of trout. I have very strange word associations. Yes, more than U-Hauls = West Virginia and Weird People = Vegetable Soup. I'm sure they'll come up sometime in the future.
The thing about Birdland really irked me. Why on earth is it that people think it's okay to refer to their neighbourhood this way? "Birdland" is a place where all the streets have the names of birds. I'm not 100% positive on this, but I'm 99.8% and that's close enough. Streets like "Cardinal Cresent". So therefore, they get to be known as "Birdland". I think it's ridiculous. People who come from areas where every street is some old-man name don't say they come from "Geriatricville" because they know that people will know where "Arnold St." is and if they don't they'll do what everyone else does and Google it. Birdland I tell you! Tuh!
Also, people who sing along to song lyrics while on the bus need to know that's not acceptable. It's makes you look like a crazy and you probably will suffer from a case of the vegetable soup-smell if you keep it up.
I had an attack of good manners as I left the bus that embarrassed me. It's very odd when you want to be polite and mind your P's and Q's and end up looking silly, even though you're doing the right thing at the time. I exited from the back door of the bus and said Thankyou to the driver from that location, which is a bit too far away from the driver to be non-chalant. You have to really want to be polite to say thanks from the back door. The trouble is, I had my iPod on, and therefore have no real idea how loud my voice is. I have this problem in the mornings at work when I ask someone a question and they're standing next to me and I'll think I'm almost shouting but it turns out I'm actually speaking VERY softly because my earphones make me sound 1000 times louder in my own head. I hope the driver heard me because she did an excellent job of not being a bumpy driver, even though she went over the curb a few times. At least she didn't slam on the breaks and shatter my kneecaps. That usually happens.
Sweet, Mom just told me I get the car for work tomorrow. Wednesday's blog will probably not have as many disconnected or jumbled things in it since I'll be lacking the bus-fumes.
My bagels were gorgeous today. They were atoning for their partying ways yesterday, I could tell.
~Jess~
P.S. Moist = Brownies
I was going to start this blog by ranting about how my work hat makes me look like an old Polish Baba, but something happened while I was waiting for the *sigh* bus that pushed that topic to the back burner. I saw a man in his car clipping his fingernails. IN HIS CAR! It was pretty gross. Almost as gross as when my roomates and I found a set of nail clippers on the kitchen counter and no one would own up to who they belonged to, or if they had, in fact, been used in the kitchen! How gross. Finger nails should be clipped in the bathroom, or the bedroom if you're very careful. The worst thing is when you step on them when they are hidden in the pile of the carpet and they poke you very hard. It's just so wrong to clip them in your car. Especially because he was clipping willy nilly! Just letting them fling about! Ugh! The carpetting in cars has a very low-pile. I bet you could see them all scattered about.
While having a pregnant-woman like bout of cleaning at work today, I stabbed the floor. If you look around at your local Grocery Store, you will see these metal barriers that are near the corners of things like refrigerated bunkers and displays so that you don't bash your cart into them and break them (because apparently, customers have a tendency to be reckless. I think they feel they are entitled to it because of the old adage "The Customer is Always Right" which is COMPLETE bullshit; anyone in the customer service business knows that, without a doubt, the customer is ALWAYS wrong, even when they are full of self-righteousness and think they are right, they are WRONG. Even when they are holding the product you said five minutes ago that you were sold out of, they are wrong. Even if you messed up the order, it's their own fault for ordering something complex. They're just wrong. I always think that I should like the customers, because without them I would have no job, instead of just a crappy one, however they make it IMPOSSIBLE to like them when they are picking away at my beautiful bagel display like vultures! Sometimes I want to scream at them to put the tongs down and just leave). Anyways, the metal barricades come out of the floor for some inexplicable reason. I was cleaning the ones that stand guardian over the bagel kettle because the honey-water from the kettle splashes around and I'm not sure we've ever cleaned them. While I was brilo-padding it vigorously, the entire metal guard came flying out of the floor! When I pushed it back down, a very strong smelling oil seethed out of the hole in the floor! I always knew my store had a heart of black. It was exactly like seeing something bleed black blood all over the place. It was weird and disturbing and bizarre and now I'm convinced that my particular Grocery Store is possessed, but I always knew that, so it's not exactly a shock. The action sequence was pretty good though.
When I went on break today, instead of being friendly I attempted to hide behind my technology. I brought out my troops: cell phone and iPod. With these two tools at my side, I can effectively ignore all the people in the break room I wish to avoid. Which is pretty much everyone. I'm such a bakery snob becuase I fully believe it is the most difficult department to work in with the least amount of slack given to us. The coffee portion of the store is the size of my bedroom (or smaller...) and it has the same amount of full-time people as the bakery, which is roughly twice the length of my entire house. Wow. Sooo fair.
My bakery hat makes me look very European. Not in the "Oooo how European" but more the European where I wear sturdy clothing made of materials meant to last through tough winters, or perhaps even leiderhosen, but that might just be because I like to pin my braids up to my head. That probably isn't helping me with my European feel. Either way, I have to take that hat off if I'm going out in public after work. This leads to many problems. 1) If I didn't shower before work, my hair looks realllly hat-heady and greasy. 2) I just got bangs and have been forced against my will to put them also up into the hat. When I didn't have bangs this was fine because my hair stayed under the hat, but with a nice side part thing in the front that kept me from looking constantly surprised, which happens if all my hair is pulled straight back. Now, I have to use a pully/lever system of a bobby pin and a hairband to keep the part in the right place and keep me from looking shocked. The problem here becomes the age-old irritation women everywhere have dealt with at one time or another in their lives. Why on earth can't Goody design a headband that actually stays in place? The ones they like to THINK work just use those little elastic bands to rip your hair out. They slide right off the back of your head too, which has you constantly tensed. No one looks good with a headband sagging off the back of their head. No one. Whose idea was One Size Fits Most? It's a horrible idea. They should have a key on the back of the pack of bands "Note: Only heads with a circumfrance of X number of inches need purchase this hair accessory". It's only logical. The entire hat-related problem only REALLY matters when I have to take the bus home. Since I am wearing polyester hounds-tooth patterned pants, I decide that it would only add insult to injurt in continuing to wear the Euro-hat on the bus. Also, if I take off my polyester white shirt with the snaps up the front, it's really only the pants that are a problem, and I can ignore that. Removal of hat and shirt actually are a bonus. I can put the shirt in the hat and try to hide as much of the bagel smell as possible in my purse.
Oh yes. There's a smell. A distinct bagel smell which is comprised mostly of honey, wood fire, garlic and onions, and toasted sesame seeds. My mother actually holds her nose when I come home, which has given me a bit of a complex. I almost fear a bus-full of people, lest someone be offended by my odorous nature for the 15 minutes I am forced to bus home. I feel like I should be wearing one of those mascot costumes. "Hello boys and girls! I'm here from The Grocery Store to talk to you about GARLIC!" I would be a perfectly plump little garlic bulb. That's how I feel sitting on the bus. Like each of my fingernails is it's own clove and I am emitting waves of garlic to the unsuspecting bus riders, who I assume all smell like vegetable soup. Ever since seeing So I Married An Axe Murderer when I was little, I am weirded out by vegetable soup. Charlie aka Mike Meyers says he broke up with a girl because she smelled like soup and I have always taken him to mean Vegetable. I think he says what kind, but it doesn't even matter because it will always be Cambells Vegetable Soup in my head. Maybe with Barley. I associate weird people with smelling like vegetable soup. I wonder is anyone associates weird people with garlic. If that's the case, I'm in a lot of trouble.
My bus ride home gave me a plethora of ideas to write about. Sadly I had left my spiral bound notebook at home to write them down in and had to fill up the week of August 16th in my agenda with tiny little thoughts to expand on later. I used to always carry a book around with me because I wanted to be Harriet the Spy, but without being Michelle Trachtenberg and having Rosie O'Donnell as my matriarchal figure. But I sure did want that book full of thoughts and ideas and spying. Spying is hard work. It's almost as hard as watching True Blood with parents home, which happened AGAIN last night, except this time it was on my computer and therefore, twice as bad. I tried to spy on the people on the bus but kept on getting distracted by things out the window. These things included:
A U-Haul lot and an advertisement for something in Birdland.
The U-Haul lot made me wonder: If you could choose which graphic you wanted on the side of your U-Haul, which would you pick? The map? The description of the spacious insides of your loaner van? Personally, I would want the giant trout being hooked. It's the most woodsy one of them, even though U-Hauls really have nothing to do with camping, or the outdoors, but I'd still choose that one. U-Hauls imply road tripping to me and I always see myself road tripping in the southern states of America, and that somehow reminds me of trout. I have very strange word associations. Yes, more than U-Hauls = West Virginia and Weird People = Vegetable Soup. I'm sure they'll come up sometime in the future.
The thing about Birdland really irked me. Why on earth is it that people think it's okay to refer to their neighbourhood this way? "Birdland" is a place where all the streets have the names of birds. I'm not 100% positive on this, but I'm 99.8% and that's close enough. Streets like "Cardinal Cresent". So therefore, they get to be known as "Birdland". I think it's ridiculous. People who come from areas where every street is some old-man name don't say they come from "Geriatricville" because they know that people will know where "Arnold St." is and if they don't they'll do what everyone else does and Google it. Birdland I tell you! Tuh!
Also, people who sing along to song lyrics while on the bus need to know that's not acceptable. It's makes you look like a crazy and you probably will suffer from a case of the vegetable soup-smell if you keep it up.
I had an attack of good manners as I left the bus that embarrassed me. It's very odd when you want to be polite and mind your P's and Q's and end up looking silly, even though you're doing the right thing at the time. I exited from the back door of the bus and said Thankyou to the driver from that location, which is a bit too far away from the driver to be non-chalant. You have to really want to be polite to say thanks from the back door. The trouble is, I had my iPod on, and therefore have no real idea how loud my voice is. I have this problem in the mornings at work when I ask someone a question and they're standing next to me and I'll think I'm almost shouting but it turns out I'm actually speaking VERY softly because my earphones make me sound 1000 times louder in my own head. I hope the driver heard me because she did an excellent job of not being a bumpy driver, even though she went over the curb a few times. At least she didn't slam on the breaks and shatter my kneecaps. That usually happens.
Sweet, Mom just told me I get the car for work tomorrow. Wednesday's blog will probably not have as many disconnected or jumbled things in it since I'll be lacking the bus-fumes.
My bagels were gorgeous today. They were atoning for their partying ways yesterday, I could tell.
~Jess~
P.S. Moist = Brownies
Monday, August 17, 2009
An Introduction/Trueblood and Bagels
Starting out is always the most difficult thing isn't it? I'll pretend I'm in an A.A. meeting.
"Hello, my name is Jess and I have a problem with addiction."
I am not an alcoholic, but I certainly have a problem with addiction. I can become addicted to anything as long as it stands still long enough for me to discover its good qualities. The day before yesterday, yesterday, and today I have been addicted to Trueblood on HBO. I don't get HBO; instead I put 33 dollars on my Visa to rent the entire series in it's entirity from Blockbuster and then watched 11 hours of television in 3 days. I hardly watch any television so this is a feet indeed.
The way this blog came about was that I was in the break room of my infuriating part-time job at a grocery store, talking about how difficult it is to watch any show with sex in it and not look like you're watching porn when your parents walk by. There you are, minding your own business, watching two people ass-naked on the screen moaning while you simultaneously try to turn down the volume by one-tick incraments so that the passionate screaming doesn't carry down the hall because your parents might notice you've turned down the sound. Heaven forbid they come into your room and see you SNEAKILY watching almost porn. That's worse than watching it in the living room and inviting them to join you in your HBO-rgasm-athon. My parents are the worst because instead of pretending they didn't see two people sweaty and humping, they'll throw open my door and say, with as much mirth as possible "Jessie! What on EARTH are you watching...*hahahaha*" But no amount of mirth can cover up the fact that I am in a room alone with the lights off, my face lit only by the red tinted light from the screen of the TV. I say "Trueblood" and my mom tries to look less embarrassed than she feels, but fails. So you turn the sound up a bit more and deal with the facts becuase lets face it:
You WANT to watch it with the volume up, because its just not as satisfying when you can't hear Sookie and Bill whispering erotic sweet nothings to each other while they fuck.
I was explaining this to my co-worker (who is also a friend) and an older Asian woman from the produce department who I have avoided conversation with for 6 years because I am prejudice. Not because she's Asian, but because she works in Produce. No one in Produce should be trusted. They all carry around small knives for cutting things, like leaves and potentially me. Besides that, she used to glare at me for no reason. Today I found out, she thinks my HBO-schpeel is hilarious. She even touched my arm and said I was funny. After laughing for a while more and inflating my head to an explosive size (I get a scumptious feeling when people tell me I'm funny. It's like when you know that Volvo made a S70 and a autophile argues that they only made a S40, s60 and s80, and right when you're about to give up, an S70 drives by and you have you remain modest, but you just want to jump up and down like a child screaming "I'm RIGHT and you're WRONG"), she hid her unfinished coffee in a top cupboard in the break room and walks out. She kept the leaf-knife hidden.
So, I work in the bakery section of the said Grocery Store. I make Montreal Style bagels, which is more of a process than you might thing. I would explain it, but I did that once to a friend and it took at least 12 floats around her pool and made for a very uncomfortable silence afterwards because halfway through the story I realized she didn't care, but then I was halfway through the bagel-making process and just couldn't leave them unfinished! Basically you boil them and put them into an oven and flip them alot and move them into complex lines and arrangments. If it was less structured I'm sure my creative side would take over and I'd try to write my name in bagels, but all the J's would get burned becuase they'd be closest to the gas fire that bakes them. However, I'm stuck putting them into lines and rows. Today, the bagels were very angry with me and kept on sneaking around and doing bad things behind my back. They would over boil themselves in the kettle or over brown while I was getting different bagels out of a different oven, and then they'd refuse to come out of the oven. It's a sad sad day when you give personalities to inanimate objects, but I do have a Degree and am working at a grocery store, so I think I'm entitled to a bit of insanity.
I hope the bagels co-operate tomorrow and bake up beautifully. I hate having to take people down off their nicities when they tell me my bagels look nice, but they're actually ugly. I think it must be like knowing you have an ugly child and having to correct people when they say how cute they are: "Jess, your bagels are looking good today" "No, they're not. They're flat and ugly. But thanks for trying..." and then they look at you like you're crazy, and you end up feeling bad even though you're the one failing. The best people are the ones that snap up and say "Yea, the sesame do look pretty shitty."
Confusing.
~Jess~
"Hello, my name is Jess and I have a problem with addiction."
I am not an alcoholic, but I certainly have a problem with addiction. I can become addicted to anything as long as it stands still long enough for me to discover its good qualities. The day before yesterday, yesterday, and today I have been addicted to Trueblood on HBO. I don't get HBO; instead I put 33 dollars on my Visa to rent the entire series in it's entirity from Blockbuster and then watched 11 hours of television in 3 days. I hardly watch any television so this is a feet indeed.
The way this blog came about was that I was in the break room of my infuriating part-time job at a grocery store, talking about how difficult it is to watch any show with sex in it and not look like you're watching porn when your parents walk by. There you are, minding your own business, watching two people ass-naked on the screen moaning while you simultaneously try to turn down the volume by one-tick incraments so that the passionate screaming doesn't carry down the hall because your parents might notice you've turned down the sound. Heaven forbid they come into your room and see you SNEAKILY watching almost porn. That's worse than watching it in the living room and inviting them to join you in your HBO-rgasm-athon. My parents are the worst because instead of pretending they didn't see two people sweaty and humping, they'll throw open my door and say, with as much mirth as possible "Jessie! What on EARTH are you watching...*hahahaha*" But no amount of mirth can cover up the fact that I am in a room alone with the lights off, my face lit only by the red tinted light from the screen of the TV. I say "Trueblood" and my mom tries to look less embarrassed than she feels, but fails. So you turn the sound up a bit more and deal with the facts becuase lets face it:
You WANT to watch it with the volume up, because its just not as satisfying when you can't hear Sookie and Bill whispering erotic sweet nothings to each other while they fuck.
I was explaining this to my co-worker (who is also a friend) and an older Asian woman from the produce department who I have avoided conversation with for 6 years because I am prejudice. Not because she's Asian, but because she works in Produce. No one in Produce should be trusted. They all carry around small knives for cutting things, like leaves and potentially me. Besides that, she used to glare at me for no reason. Today I found out, she thinks my HBO-schpeel is hilarious. She even touched my arm and said I was funny. After laughing for a while more and inflating my head to an explosive size (I get a scumptious feeling when people tell me I'm funny. It's like when you know that Volvo made a S70 and a autophile argues that they only made a S40, s60 and s80, and right when you're about to give up, an S70 drives by and you have you remain modest, but you just want to jump up and down like a child screaming "I'm RIGHT and you're WRONG"), she hid her unfinished coffee in a top cupboard in the break room and walks out. She kept the leaf-knife hidden.
So, I work in the bakery section of the said Grocery Store. I make Montreal Style bagels, which is more of a process than you might thing. I would explain it, but I did that once to a friend and it took at least 12 floats around her pool and made for a very uncomfortable silence afterwards because halfway through the story I realized she didn't care, but then I was halfway through the bagel-making process and just couldn't leave them unfinished! Basically you boil them and put them into an oven and flip them alot and move them into complex lines and arrangments. If it was less structured I'm sure my creative side would take over and I'd try to write my name in bagels, but all the J's would get burned becuase they'd be closest to the gas fire that bakes them. However, I'm stuck putting them into lines and rows. Today, the bagels were very angry with me and kept on sneaking around and doing bad things behind my back. They would over boil themselves in the kettle or over brown while I was getting different bagels out of a different oven, and then they'd refuse to come out of the oven. It's a sad sad day when you give personalities to inanimate objects, but I do have a Degree and am working at a grocery store, so I think I'm entitled to a bit of insanity.
I hope the bagels co-operate tomorrow and bake up beautifully. I hate having to take people down off their nicities when they tell me my bagels look nice, but they're actually ugly. I think it must be like knowing you have an ugly child and having to correct people when they say how cute they are: "Jess, your bagels are looking good today" "No, they're not. They're flat and ugly. But thanks for trying..." and then they look at you like you're crazy, and you end up feeling bad even though you're the one failing. The best people are the ones that snap up and say "Yea, the sesame do look pretty shitty."
Confusing.
~Jess~
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