Crazy Cat Lady...

Okay, so, I totally stole this from Megan at By & By because it's me.

Or at least it will be.

Call me a thief, call me a liar, but don't EVER call me the Crazy Cat Lady.

At least not yet.

Okay, now.

My Holiday Sweater...

Here is something special just for Vikki. I'm not sure that she even reads this, but if she does, she'll get the joke.

If not, enjoy my Christmas sweater.

Marathon...

I can't friggin' wait.

T minus 3 days until the 24 best hours of the season.

In case you were wondering, yes, the answer is yes.

I will be sitting on the floor, drinking wine alone, in my underpants and watching this movie.

Over and over.

And over.

Best scene?

Anything starring Scut Farkus.

Tag, Tag, Bo, Bag...

I got meself tagged again, this time by Dirty.

Enjoy...

A-Available or single?

B-Best Friend? Mema.

C-Cake or pie? Cake. Always Cake. Unless it's lemon meringue.

D-Drink of choice? Pepsi.

E-Essential item I use every day... Blistex.

F-Favorite color? Black.

G-Gummy Bears or Gummy worms? Gummy Worms. Sour ones.

H-Hometown? Labrador.

I-Indulgence...Lobster.

J-January or February? February.

K-Kids and names... Nada. Two cats, that counts.

L-Life is incomplete without? Pepsi, candles and drunken sex. Or sex period. (I'll steal most of Dirty's answer)

M-Marriage date...Whenever I am cryogenically UNfrozen.

N-Number of siblings...1 younger brother.

O-Oranges or apples? Oranges. Unless I have Mema's Apple Crisp.

P-Phobias or fears? Car Accidents or being the crazy cat lady spinster.

Q-Favorite quote? "Balls!"

R-Reasons to smile...Christmas is almost over!

S-Season? Fall.

T-Tag 3 or 4 people...Jonah, Frank, and Amy.

U-Unknown fact about me... I don't like to sit on my couch. I very rarely sit on furniture, always on the floor.

V-Vegetable you don't like...Peas. Never have. Never will.

W-Worst habit...Swearing like a sailor.

Y-Your favorite food? Mema's Seafood Lasagna.

Z-Zodiac? Leo.

Debate...

I honestly debated with myself for quite some time this evening.

You see, if you've read any of my comments, you'll notice that there are a few there that are requesting some "discreet" pictures of my ta-tas to judge whether or not they're really as big as people seem to say they are. (To my face, in my store...)

In the end, common sense won, and for now, you will have to settle for this lovely picture. A chaste woman in a turtleneck.

Sadly, it's not even really of me. Although, my PhotoShop skills are truly a sight to behold. (It's late, fuck off...)

Soon Jonah, Soon...

An Open Letter To Christmas...

First, let me start off by saying, I know it's baby Jesus' birthday, and I mean no offense to Christmas.

Dear Christmas,

Please be over soon.

Seriously, I am so over you.

I am currently prepared to cancel Christmas altogether.

I have been working for a little over a week now, with 4 days to go.

This is sheer lunacy.

Mean customers, creepy mall lurkers, old ladies in stirrups and Christmas sweaters, hooligans, and screaming babies.

Make. It. Stop.

Pretty please?

I can't handle much more of this.

I am tired, cranky, and completely unable to sleep properly.

I am beginning to develop a tic.

I've consumed entirely way too much Pepsi.

I may have also eaten my fair share of chocolates and cookies already.

I mean, come on, is it even right?

The answer is no.

Christmas is a time for sharing, for being with your family, for enjoying eachothers' company.

Not for buying exorbitant amounts of presents and pushing people around with empty shopping carts.

In closing, I would like to apologize again to Christmas. Please don't be mad at me. I really do love you, I just wish you would go away.

Sincerely,

The Boob Lady

The Flippin' Celebutard Thing...

http://www.myheritage.com

This one's for you Chris... Although, my look-a-likes are a smidge hotter than your Capriati. That one will go down as a classic.

Oh, and never you mind about the whole "angry" looking thing I've got goin' on. Don't ask. I'm being sassy.

Ella...

I came across this Ella Fitzgerald song a while back and then while reading the Mitch Albom book "For One More Day", the lyrics to the song are in there too.

They struck a chord in me somewhere, just thought I'd share...

"You're walking along the street, or you're at a party,

Or else you're alone and then you suddenly dig,

You're lookin' in someone's eyes, you suddenly realize

That this could be the start of something big."

Who knows what path we're all on, where we're supposed to be, what we should be doing with our lives?

When is it time to step back, look at your place in line, wonder what it is you're doing?

Will you know?

Jack In A Box...

Celebrity Look-A-Likes...

This thing is a piece of shit.

Pure, unadulterated turd.

Seriously.

My results will be postponed until tomorrow when this stinkin' site can process my "collage" without an error.

Chris, I know you'll take special enjoyment out of this, solely based on the fact that I made fun of you for looking like Jennifer Capriati.

Seriously...

Another old bag told me my tits were huge at the store yesterday.

There was a witness to this travesty.

I almost couldn't believe that it happened again, literally, for the third day in a row.

K (My Assistant) just kind of stood there agape.

After aforementioned old bag said this, I smacked my fist in my palm and said: "Third day in a row... wow."

That was it, nothing more.

The old bag apologized.

Yeah, they're big. So?

Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific...

A seemingly uneventful evening this past Monday quickly took a turn for the worst when I was preparing my close.

A gentleman came in and started rooting through my lovely clean panty table.

I should tell you that my panty table looks impeccable. Always.

Until men come in at quarter to nine and mess it up.

This literally sends creepy crawlies down my back. I hate it.

So, he's rooting, digging, using his claws to trample the poor table and when I ask if he needs help, he says he's fine.

I'm patiently waiting while he's got his panties in one hand and begins to look through the sleepwear.

He comes to the counter and lays his goods down.

It's at this point that I realize he's drunk.

Totally inebriated.

As I'm ringing in his purchases, I notice that he's leaning a little bit closer to me, inch by inch.

I'm still being polite, telling him his total, taking his money, slowly leaning back.

He's still coming.

I notice that his eyes seem to be closing a little, he's sniffing.

He's SMELLING me!!!

Seriously.

I am almost sitting on the opposite counter since he's practically straddling my counter and

smelling away.

I smile, pass him his change and wish him a nice evening and a Happy Holiday.

He turns to leave and just as he's about to exit the premises, he turns to me and tells me how nice I smell.

With that, he's gone.

Out the door.

Like an apparition.

A drunk apparition who likes to smell attractive sales people with nice boobs.

Tag Bitches...

Holy Crap. I got tagged again.

This time, by Frank. I am to tell you childhood crushes. I'll spill, but it won't be pretty.

The first hardcore crush I can remember without straining my brain far back into my repressed childhood (I'm kidding...) is a boy I'll call J. We'd been in school together for as long as I can remember and were pretty inseperable. We'd sit together in music class, lingeringly touch hands under the desk, make googly eyes at eachother. I actually went to school with J up until high school graduation. We always stayed close, but never quite made the transition to boyfriend/girlfriend.

My next crush who I'll call JK was when I was in the 6th Grade. He was in 7th. I think that says it all. He was my first kiss. In a field, just outside his house. It was glorious. I still remember feeling like my lips were going to explode while I ran home. They were buzzing. Ah, the first kiss.

The next crush I go for here was a boy, B, that drove the ice cream cart in my neighbourhood. I flirted with my eyes while laying on a blanket on my front lawn every summer afternoon. He became my "boyfriend" not long after that but it didn't last. I think for me it was the thrill of the chase.

Another, was a guy that I went to high school with. I was in Grade 10, He was in 12th. We'll call him JP. (Turns out I had a thing for J's...) We lived pretty close to eachother (He was about 6 houses away) and walked to and from school or rode the bus together. Somehow, one day, (I'm sorry if you're reading this mom...) we ended up making out in a little cubby hole by the bathrooms. We'd do that literally every day. We'd never call eachother boyfriend or girlfriend, but just enjoyed hanging out.. Or making out. Whatever. (Again, mom, I am sorry)

I had a crush on a younger french guy in University for a while. He was hot. I was the older woman in that scenario... I think he enjoyed that. I know I did.

That's it. Or at least all I can tell you about. Any more and I'd have to get rid of you.

I now tag Dirty and Jonah.

Dammit!!!

I forgot to tag again. I'm new to this whole "tag" thing, so here you go, again...

The five tag-ees for the "5 Songs to describe how I'm feeling right now" are: (in no particular order)

Marni, Chris, Jonah, Frank, and Hootch. Song away folks!!

PS: Last time I don't tag properly, I promise.

PPS: I still can't fucking comment. I even cleared my cache.

If You Need To Do Laundry...

Do yourself a favor... Check this out. I can't even wait.

I would also like to wash my panties on Gerard Butler's abs.

Seriously.

Holy Tag Batman...

I've been tagged again. This time, by dirty.

She would like me to tell you the 5 songs that describe how I'm feeling right now.

So, without further ado, here they are.

1. Clap Hands - Beck (I love this song, I dance around the store when it comes on... Not a feeling per se, but still, I enjoy it..)

2. 12:59 Lullaby - Bedouin Soundclash (This song reminds me that I'm up until all hours of the night due to my insomnia because, although my body is exhasted, my mind is always running.)

3. Sweet Ones - Sarah Slean (Just like it)

4. Welcome to the Jungle - G 'n' R (Let's face it, I work in retail...)

5. Enjoy the Silence - Depeche Mode (Mostly cause I'd like to...)

That's it, nothing fancy.

I've got a great rack though, so I can get away with it.

Baby Got Tagged! (Tag-ees)

When I got tagged, since it was my first, I wasn't sure of the protocol.

I would like to tag the following people for the whole "5 things you don't know about me"...

Dirty, Hootch, Jonah, (Even though I know he won't do it) Grant, (Although I don't know if he's done it or not) and Jen.

Hooray.

Comments...

Hey kids,

I want to apologize to you all.

I can't comment back to you.

I can't comment on my own friggin' blog.

Blogger Beta can suck my left nut.

Or boob.

Since I don't have nuts.

Thanks for reading!

Jenn

Thanksgiving...

I know that Thanksgiving is over.

For you American's, it's still fresh.

For us Canadians, it's been over for almost two months.

I would just like to say a quick thank you and then I shall resume my normal posting...
---------------

Thank you.

Thank you Britney.

Thank you for not showing me your vajayjay this weekend.

Thank you for keeping your pooter in your pants.

Your vajayjay ain't pretty.

In one picture (yes, sadly I looked... You did too, don't deny it) your vaj looks a little green.

I suppose mine would look green if it came anywhere near K-Fed's 007 too, but still.

We didn't need to see it.

Three times.

Skanks again Britney, my weekend was lovely, and my eyes have finally stopped bleeding.

The Chitlens...

Todd, entering state "Pure Bliss" while Jack appearingly nuzzles into his man boobs.

Todd licking Jack while in a headlock as Jack nuzzles aforementioned man boobs.

Todd looking like he feels dirty and whore-ish while Jack preens his back hair.

Even though it's blurry, had to put this one in there to show Todd in heaven while the kids canoodle.

Yeah, that's right, I clicked while he was licking his manhood. I'd be pissed if you took a picture of me licking myself too.

Todd, looking demure and dapper. (And a little wonky)

What appears to be his ass on his front is really only his misshapen body. I don't know how this happened. Cross breeding with an elusive assback cat?

Todd is looking either really stupid, or gloriously smart. He's part of Mensa. Just sayin'.

--------------------------------

Thought I'd share some lovely new snaps of the babies.

I know, they're too cute.

You can barely handle it.

This is for you Mema and Dirty.

**Viewer's Note: In the 6th picture down, don't be fooled, that's not a llama. It's Todd. The kitten. Turns out he's got a fucked up body when photographed.**

Cookies!!!

Yeah, I made cookies...

The most glorious, amazing cookies that I've possibly ever made.

I made shortbread from scratch.

Is it wrong that I made the icing first?

I didn't think so.

Take a look at the masterpiece.

Yes, what you're thinking is right.

There are a few missing from the plate.

I may have consumed one.

Or five.

They're good. Sue me.

**Reader Note: They really are cookies. Not deviled eggs... My apologies.**

*Update: I ate 3 more*

Baby Got Tagged!

I've never been tagged before so this is quite an honour. I've been tagged by Chris and am to tell you five things about myself that you don't know about me.

That should be pretty easy since you poor people haven't been coming here all that long.

That being said, here are my "Fancy Five"...

1. I have to talk to my mother every day. Seriously. If I don't, I feel very odd, like I'm missing a piece of me. I call her multiple times a day and she does the same when she can. She has a 1-800 (NOT 1-900 or 1-866 you perverts) at work, so I can call her for free.

2. I know all the words to Baby Got Back and sing it any chance I get. I like to kick it old school. True story: I called my mom one night (if you've read number one, you know this happens a lot) since I was alone in the apartment. When she picked up the phone, instead of saying "Hey Mema!" like I always do, I started to spit my rhymes. When I was done, I said I love you and goodnight. That was it. I could hear her laughing as I was going, but since we didn't talk afterwards, I can only assume that she peed a little and couldn't talk to me anymore that night.

3. I will NEVER be able to break my ankles. I've sprained them so many times that doctors have told me that it's virtually impossible that I'll break either one. **I often roll an ankle while standing completely still. It's like a party trick. People love me.

4. I want to be a pastry chef. I've always wanted to be a pastry chef. Who knew that I'd be selling bras, panties, and pyjamas and not living my dream at all. I will do it. Bank on it. You'll all be eating sweets and shit at my shop. Be there or be square fuckers.

5. I'm fluently bilingual in French. It's something that I love having. I was enrolled in french immersion starting very early, took it up until high school graduation and for the 2 years that I went to University. I use the term "went" to University very loosely.

So there you have it kids, a fancy five things you didn't know about me. I'm not very exciting, have no stories of debauchery, drunken stripping, or fun things of the like.

Sorry.

I've got a great rack though.

Jalopy Jalopy...

I have a jalopy.

The beast shut down on me at the grocery store tonight.

Carl had been cranky for most of the evening, but after the past couple of days, I thought that nothing worse could happen.

I was oh so wrong.

It got me to the store. It barely got me home.

Were it not for the kindness of a stranger who saw a pissed off me in the front seat angry-dialing her mommy for bitching purposes...

Well, let's just say if he hadn't given me a boost, I'd still be wallowing in the parking lot. Probably chain smoking and crying alternately.

She's Not As Big As You...And Yes, They're Mine...

After my hellish evening last night, I thought today at work would be a cake walk.

Boy, was I wrong.

I get to work and after the raucous evening with Carl, (my car) I think that all is well in the lock world.

Notsomuch.

I get out of the car, lock the door, and shut it.

It bounces off the hinges. It doesn't close, in other words.

After about 10 minutes of hip shakin', door bumpin' fun, I get the damn thing closed.

I go about my morning business in the store, trudging through leftover boxes from the night before, markdowns, phone calls, the usual shit.

About midday, a lovely 197 year old lady comes in the store.

She's hard of hearing, partially blind, and completely lacking in the tact gene.

After asking me for an "oversized shirt", (Which loosely translates to nightgown) I show her EVERY single thing in the store to no avail.

I ask her what size the girl is. (Standard question when senile old bags are looking for clothing for other people)

She turns to me and says:

"Well, she's not as big as you..."

I'm thinking; "Okay lady, back the fuck up before you say something you regret... I can kick that walker out from under you faster than you can say Depends."

She continues with: "I don't mean you, I mean your boobs, they're huge..."

My eyes widen for a fraction of a second before settling to their original width and I smile politely and say maybe she'd like to go to Wal-Mart. They're sure to have what she's looking for.

Cue melancholy music.

My boobs are huge. Yeah, so?

I'll take numb hands for $1000 Alex...

Holy &%$@.

Seriously. Yesterday was the day from Hell.

Hell frozen over.

Seriously. We got our first snowfall of the year yesterday and it was bad. It was cold, windy, slushy, slippery, shitty snow. The kind you'd rather be sitting in your warm house NOT watching.

Instead, I drove to work in it.

I parked my tin can in the mall parking lot at around 11:30 am.

I didn't get back out to my car until 9:10 pm.

At this point, my car looked like it had been snowed on for approximately 10 hours. Go figure.

I skate out to my car and lo and behold, I'm parked in the only fucking puddle in the entire lot.

My shoe had a hole in the sole.

Again, go figure.

I am not wearing gloves since I think that the entering the car and warming it up portion of the evening is going to go off without a hitch.

Wouldn't you know it? I'm wrong.

It's -139287124978 degrees outside, I'm not wearing mittens and son of a bitch, my key won't turn in the lock.

I thought I might be able to warm up the car before I started chipping away at it. Not so much.

I go to the trunk to retrieve my scraper. I leave it open in case I have to crawl through it later.

*&^$!!

I scrape for a few and re-attempt to enter the vehicle.

MY. KEY. WILL. NOT. TURN. IN. THE. LOCK...

I'm growing more numb every second, swearing loudly while people leaving work click their fancy pants automatic lock buttons, auto-starts, and open their doors with relative ease.

I suck.

So does the tuna can I call a car.

At about 9:30, some other girls come out of the mall, seemingly stifling laughter at the sight of the poor latch-key kid with the hole in her shoe scraping a frozen slab of tin.

They offer to drive me home (God love them) and then to bring me back to work in the morning.

I politely refuse (near tears) since I don't want to risk someone stealing (yeah right) my car over night. (please??)

I throw myself half in the trunk and heat up my key heroin-style with a lighter. ( I heard that's how people cook it...)

I run to the door, slip the key in, try to turn it. (It budged, I swear)

Nothing.

I scurry back to the trunk (slide is more like it, I think I threw my back out in a near slip and fall accident) and re-light my key.

After repeated failed attempts, I finally manage to unlock the passenger side door.

That's right, I entered the shitmobile via the passenger side. Don't laugh. You'd do it too.

I lean over, start the fucking thing and since it's warmer outside than in, I hover outside the car, scraping the rest of Mother Nature's Ass© off my car.

After a few minutes, I get in the passenger side again.

I hop the bucket seats, slam my ass/tailbone on the gear shift (ow) and start the fucking car.

I get home (just barely, since I can't steer with icicle hands) and think; "Hmm, maybe I'll try to unlock my door".

Guess what?

The fucker opens.

I exit the vehicle, squoosh up the stairs, shimmy out of my pants, peel off my socks, go to the bathroom, shut the door, sit on the edge of the tub, turn the hairdryer on full blasted heat, thaw out my toes and fingers and finally collapse on the couch.

*UPDATE*
My fingers regained their full range of motion and color this morning at approximately 9:00 am.

As I prepare for Monday...

I am considering this fine gentleman's take on life. I really wonder if it's wrong to tell the majority of your customers that they suck ass..


Is it really wrong???

I thought so, but still...

Sometimes, it would be so cathartic to say this to every douchebag that crosses the threshhold.

Holy...

SHIT! Christmas in T minus 21 days.

"Are you there God? It's me, Giraffe..."

So I've developed a new addiction.

No, it's not porn.

That's not a new addiction.

It's youtube.

Seriously. Have you checked it out? I could seriously watch it for a living. You can find anything there.

Please partake in this glorious clip, courtesy of Robot Chicken. One of the best shows ever made.

Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dGvw6WpHSF4

Who knew?/Wow!

Who Knew? http://ebaumsworld.com/2006/11/trained-bees.html

Wow! http://www.ebaumsworld.com/2005/12/2legdog.html

Thank You Maine...

The following is a photograhic dramatization of my evening. I must say, it was quite enjoyable.

First: Second:

Third:

Fourth:

And Finally:

**All identifying names and places have been changed to protect all individuals involved in this glorious, glorious evening. **

An Open Letter to All Christmas Shoppers...

The season is upon us, dear readers...

That's right, Christmas shopping season is in full swing.

They're coming out of the woodwork now. They're animals. Get in the way, and you're hamburger. Old ladies pushing empty carts will check you out of the way without lifting a cane.

This is an open letter to all of you lovely people out there who make working retail such a joy. Don't get me wrong, I looooove my job, but seriously, come on, would it really hurt that bad if you smiled?
-------------------------------
Dear Christmas Shopper,

Please don't hurt me. What did I ever do to you? (Besides provide extraordinary customer service, that is.)

First, the thank you's.

Thank you for shopping at my store.

Thank you for spending lots of money at my store for your wife, girlfriend, mother, and/or sister, whatever.

Thank you for being in the store all day, this makes my day go fast, which in turn, means I'm that much closer to leaving.

That's it. I'm wiped.

Second.

Fuck you.

Fuck you for not even AKNOWLEDGING my presence. When I say: "Hello, how are you doing today?" and you respond with: "I'm just looking..." and then you turn away from me? Not cool. I didn't ask if you needed help, I asked you how you were. Be nice.

I swear, sometimes, I think I'm the Assistant Manager's invisible friend and only she can see me.

Fuck you for only coming in to my store when I'm on a ladder (With proper supervision of course...) and there're racks and pyjamas all over the place.

How bout you come in when it's nice and clean. And quiet. It gives me something to do.

Fuck you for shopping at my store with your piss poor, woe is me attitude. What happened to "Holiday Spirit"? What about common decency towards man? Did your mother raise you that badly?

I don't care that you lost your list, or that the "other" store is cheaper.

Go there.

It'll fall apart.

A week after Christmas.

Tops.

Don't come running back to me.

Fuck you for getting mad at me when I can't break a hundred dollar bill. Sorry Daddy Warbucks, but Little Orphan Annie's cash register is not stacked. (Unlike herself...)

Fuck you for getting mad at me because I ran out of boxes. You think you're out shopping early? Not a chance.

I've got 110 year old ladies that were done in October.

Of 2005.

For this year.

Fuck you for asking me to show you something that you've been searching for, showing you a dozen of said item, and then complain that it's not "Exactly what you were looking for" and leave without buying something.

Fuck you for getting mad at me because the debit machine is down. It's not my fault. I just work there. I don't run the banks.

Next time, bring cash just in case.

Most of all, Fuck you for being rotten first thing in the morning before I've had my caffeine and sugar dosage. This has to happen before I plant the fake smile on my face for the rest of the day.

That is all.

Merry Chrismukkahwanzaa to all.

A Walk Down Memory Lane...

I thought I'd share with everyone a lovely moment from my childhood.

I came across this gem last weekend while I was visiting with my out of town grandmother while I was on a hiatus from a work conference.

Fuck, I was hot. (not that I'm still not, but you get the idea...)

Seriously, check out the sweet threads I'm sporting.

I mean, really.

Who could have known that Ghostbusters sweats were to 1985 what Juicy Couture is to the 2000's...

I know, you're jealous.

It even looks like I'm hovering.

Don't ask. I wouldn't tell my secret, even if I knew how I did it.

It takes great pains to be so cool. Trust me, I know. I've been working for over 20 years to get it back.

I could write a book, or a screenplay: "How Slimer Got Jenn Her Groove Back".

It's catchy, I like it.

Try and bite your tongues though. The mushroom/bowl cut combo is a lot to take in at once.

Don't hate.

**Sidenote: The adorable fat kid who looks like he's taking a dump at the end of the couch is my brother. God love him.

Boo Monday...

Oops..

This may or may not be the reason I got an extra special patdown at the airport last week.

I'm not sayin' see...

Umm...

I'll let this one speak for itself. Don't worry, I got you ALL one for Christmas!! Hooray!!

**Please note the honky on the left with the rat tail and the lazy eye. And is he missing a finger? Is he sporting a nubbin? Or is he simply hiding the "golden nugget" he dug out of his nose three seconds to this photo being taken?**

***Please also note the three young male models are holding hands***

****Also note the young man in the middle doing the patented "Look how hot I am, biting my lower lip" bit.****

You knew I wouldn't be able to let this photo speak for itself.

Holy Snow Balls..

Mi madre, mi perro, y un "shitload" de la nieve...

Taken today, this photograph depicts what it's like to walk outside.

In November.

With lots of snow.

And a happy Black Labrador.

And a possibly not so happy Mema.

Sir Links A Lot

I was going through and re-reading all the blogs that I frequent this evening, even though I've read them all to their fullest extent. While reading them, I thought, why not share the joys that I experience each day with others. Sharing does mean caring you know. That being said, they're all on the right. I'll add some more soon, I'm tired though, and getting cranky, and we don't want that. Well, you don't anyway...

Let Us Pray...

Come one, come all.

My Babies!!

Just thought I'd share some photos of my children. They are too cute not to share. I swear, sometimes it's like I done birthed 'em mahself!!


Here they are IN the laundry basket. Together. On my clean clothes. Fuckers. :)

Here's Todd, the kitten, sitting IN a basket ON the microwave. Kooky!

They're too cute aren't they? The have to be together all the time. This picture was taken as I sat at the computer. They had to be nearby.

These two crazy cats love sleeping in my Roots bag together. They're nuts. I love it.

Oh MiPod!

I have re-fallen in love with my iPod.

Technically I never fell out of love with Randy, but I did neglect him for a while. We're back together.

I've never been happier.

Right now, I'm listening to a lot of Wintersleep. This is a band from out in these parts, and they're excellent. I very much enjoy them.

I'm also bopping to some Nas, The Stills, The Rogers Sisters, (Who I've recently been introduced to and very much enjoy), Sufjan, as usual, and I threw in a little bit more to keep me on my toes.

My most played songs this weekend are probably:

Chicago- Sufjan Stevens
Hands Open- Snow Patrol
Hip Hop is Dead- Nas
Avalanche- Wintersleep
Danse Macabre- Wintersleep
A Good Man is Hard to Find- Sufjan Stevens

That's my two cents for today!

If

if i called you, would you answer?

if i moved you, would you tell me?

if i needed you, would you hold me?

if i touched you, would you kiss me?

if i told you, would you believe me?

if i asked you, would you come?

Home!

I am finally here! Just as I suspected, there is a SHITLOAD of snow, and the temperature is well below zero.

When I left my home yesterday, it had been close to 15 degrees above zero. (Celcius for all your Fahrenheit folks) It was glorious.

I wore flip flops all the way to the hotel in Montreal last night.

I knew, however, that my mother would murder me if I got off the airplane without wearing shoes, so I sucked it up, put on socks and shoes, and suffered through it.

Let it be known that I DO NOT wear shoes. Or socks for that matter. I loathe them.

I put on my sandals in February and wear them until approximately the middle of November, sometimes December if I am lucky. Not so much this year.

There are snow drifts.

There are skidoos out.

There are people wearing *gasp* winter coats, hats, and mittens. And don't forget the shoes. Dammit, I think I saw boots too.

I will wear socks and shoes until I leave, just so that my mother continues to feed and love me.

Once I get back to Montreal however, the shoes are off. The toes come back out.

I will supply some photographs tomorrow. Maybe I'll send some squalls and blizzards your way.

Finally!

A small, albeit well-deserved vacation starts tomorrow.

I am going to visit my parents in Northern Canada.

I will be away until Thursday of next week, but have no fear loyal readers.

I shall update with tales of snow and frolicking. Anyone need some snowballs?

***I should also mention, that this is literally the "highway" (and I use the term highway very, very loosely) where I am from. I shit you not.

Day Off?

The dictionary describes a day off in the following two ways:

Day Off:
A day away from work, school, or a similar obligation; a free day.

Day Off:
n : a day when you are not required to work; "Thursday is his day off"

Bullshit.

This is a farce. The dictionary is full of bold faced lies.

On my day off, I did the following:

Made bed
Did dishes
Swept floors
Vacuumed carpets
Put away dishes
Paid Bills
Cleaned up after messy cats
Dusted
Prepared ingredients for supper
Went to store to buy treats for said messy cats
Typed Blog
Surfed net for about 10 minutes
Cleaned up after messy cats
Checked email
Sent email
Checked other blogs
Listened to iPod while doing all of the above
Talked to Mother, Brother, and Friend
Cleaned up after messy cats

Day off? I did more work today then I do AT work. And it's not even half over yet.
I've yet to shower, or read. I need to read to relax.

I'm off to read before getting in the shower so that I can read again after I'm clean.

**UPDATE**
I am now clean.

Friday's Playlist

My Friday is over and I plan on relaxing for the rest of the evening (Until I return to work tomorrow). I will curl up with a good book and slap on some tunes. Here is my choice playlist (In no particular order) for aforementioned event.

1. Bright Eyes - On My Way To Work
2. Rilo Kiley - With Arms Outstretched
3. Aqualung - Falling Out Of Love
4. Wintersleep - Butterfly
5. Foo Fighters - Razor
6. Rilo Kiley - Glendora
7. Gary Jules - Mad World
8. John Legend - Do What I Gotta Do
9. Prince - Seven
10. Mobile - See Right Through Me
11. Queens of the Stone Age - Little Sister (One of these things just doesn't belong here)
12. Sparta - Breaking the Broker
13. Sufjan Stevens - The Dress Looks Nice On You
14. Sufjan Stevens - To Be Alone With You
15. David Gray - Babylon
16. The Stills - Still In Love Song
17. Pilate - Lover Come In
18. Sarah McLaughlan - Posession
19. Sarah McLaughlan - Good Enough

Come

Sharp- intake of breath
Arched back, lips pursed

Slow- release of air, fireworks
Toes Curled, eyes closed

Tight- calves, teeth clenched
Heaving chest, curling smile

Hair- falling softly across pillows
Sheets tangled up in limbs.

Crescendo- of rain, outside windows
Dark creeps in, sleep comes.

Minions Deux..

My night is almost over.

I am exhausted.

I am eating Twizzlers one after the other.

I am secretly reading my book behind a rack of robes so that the security cameras can't see me.

I am chugging Pepsi.

I hear screaming.

I hear whining.

I see minions.

Two of them. Dear God no.

I say a silent prayer. Nobody answers it.

They come in.

Their mother is not at fault for giving birth to two of Rosemary's babies, she just needed to go shopping.

In they roll, I am frozen. I can't hide anymore. There's nowhere for me to go. I contemplate hiding in a change room, but can't leave the store unattended. I straighten up, and greet the family.

Mom came by to tell me that her purchase was fantastic, and that she was very pleased, and more people should be like me. It made me happy to know that I'd done a good job with Rosemary, and even though I had to put up with the blond brats, she bought something.

On their way out, one of the pint sized brats says:

"Can I have some candy nice lady?"

How could I resist.

Plus, Mom will have to get them down off their sugar high later.

Duffle Shuffle

It's me.

I know that now.

I alone attract the weirdos.

As usual, it was a pretty uneventful day.

That is until I went to grab some supper.

I went to the store to grab a Pepsi, and while waiting in line behind a 143 year old lady counting out coupons and pennies for her Depends, I noticed that there was a tall black man standing eerily close to me.

Carrying a large green duffle bag.

I thought nothing of it, that is, until said duffle bag man yells in my ear:

"What kind of music do you like just askin'."

There was no break in the sentence. No punctuation mark between the question about my taste in music and the statement that he was "just askin'."

I look at the cashier nervously, she almost imperceptibly shrugs, while stifling a giggle, and then turn slightly to duffle man.

He is looking directly into my eyes and being a close talker. He repeats the question.

I do not like close talkers, I back up. I feel awkward. So should you.

He comes closer and starts to open his bag. At this point, I've paid, I'm ready to go eat, and I'm slightly terrified.

Once his duffle is open, he is closer to me, and he begins to lift the flap of the bag. Inside, he tells me, are clocks. With posters of "my favorite" bands on them. Or, at least, someone's favorite bands.

He tells me they are selling for $30.00 a piece, and asks me if I want one.

I politely decline, and go for supper.

Random much?

Playlist

Since everyone else was doing it, and since I always answered "Yes" when my mother asked me if I would jump off a bridge if everyone else was doing it too, I decided to grace you all with my playlist for today. (More or less the same playlist I've been listening too all week, but mostly today...)

1) This Could Be Anywhere - Alexisonfire
2) Brighter Than Sunshine - Aqualung
3) Together - The Raconteurs
4) Slow Dancing in a Burning Room - John Mayer
5) Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol
6) Can You Feel It - Nelly Furtado
7) How To Save A Life - The Fray
8) Doctor Blind - Emily Haines
9) Diary Of Jane - Breaking Benjamins
10) Hole In The Earth - Deftones
11) Lover Come In - Pilate
12) Psycho Ball and Chain - The Creepshow
13) Comin' Home - City and Color
14) Possession (Cover) - Evans Blue
15) Sidewalk When She Walks - Alexisonfire
16) She's Walking Out - The Stills
17) We Might Fall - Ryan Star
18) Roxanne - Sting and the Police
19) Africa - Toto
20) Into Temptation - Crowded House
21) Son's Gonna Rise - Citizen Cope
22) What's the Altitude - Cut Chemist
23) Enjoy The Silence - Depeche Mode
24) Mushaboom - Feist
25) Lover, You Should Have Come Over - Jeff Buckley

Satan's Minions

I've been to Hell. Let me tell you, it ain't pretty.

On the eve of Friday the 13th, I was to work the morning shift.

I went through most of my day without distraction, accident, or disturbance.

That is until one of my girls had to go home sick and there was no replacement.

Let me rephrase that. I was the only replacement.

So, instead of getting off at 6 like I was supposed to, I worked a double. With no pee break.

And no supper.

Then I had to schedule myself to work ON Friday the 13th.

My day off.

So, I start the second leg of my double, and all seems to be going relatively smoothly, considering.

About a half an hour into the pee-less, supper-less evening, a mother and her two young boys came into the store.

They were adorable, they looked like little twins, although they were about two years apart.

Blond hair, blue eyes, little angels right?

WRONG!!!!!!!

The two little beasts started to run around the store while mom was asking me about bras and matching panties.

When I say running, I mean, bobbing, weaving, interlacing themselves within my racks. They were rolling on the floor, giggling maniacally.

I swear, at one point, one of them had red eyes.

Mom excuses herself, turns to the brats, and scolds them appropriately.

Wrong again.

Next, younger Satan spawn starts to circle the panty table like a shark circling its prey.

As mom continues talking, I'm nodding and smiling, all the while keeping my eyes on the little hellion.

Next thing I know, I've gasped out loud.

Mom turns around just in time to see Bratty McBratterson clawing at clumps of panties and dropping them in piles on the floor.

We're talking about 175 pairs of panties.

I shit you not.

Mother promptly turns away, apologizing profusely and tells me she will return once she has them restrained.

About 15 minutes later, mom and the Bobbsey Twins come back.

Mother is calmer, the twins are strapped into a stroller so that they can't properly move any extremities and/or wreak havoc.

A sigh of relief escapes my lips and I am able to make a sale.

This is the first time in my entire life that I seriously contemplated bodily harm against a person under the age of 3.

Pray for my soul.

Do You Have Any Silkier Ones?

A seemingly ordinary day at work today quickly turned into one of the funniest days I've had in a very long time.

The unequivocal highlight of my day came at approximately 3 pm. This is the time when a small french gentleman of about 30 came into the store.

He wandered aimlessly for a few minutes, (As most of them do) and had initially refused our attempts to aid him with his purchase.

Moments passed, we went about our business, helping other customers, moving things, generally trying to look busy.

Finally, the gentleman went over to T, asked her if we had any of a particular panty that might be a little silkier than the ones on display.

She showed him an array of underwear, but still, he wasn't satisfied.

It should be known that we try our damndest to assist gentlemen shoppers with a purchase for their women. We have a great success rate.

T went about her business, showing the panty man some of our finer selections, while the gentleman nodded, smiled, generally seeming normal.

He spoke about being out shopping with his sister, having to meet her, things like that.

It wasn't until right before he left that he mentioned that one particular pair wasn't far off the pair that he was wearing, and did T think that the medium would fit him.

I only caught the tail end of the conversation, but apparently, depending on who you ask, I came in at either the right, or wrong time.

After he left, (Without purchasing) T looked over at me, made sure that I had caught the exchange, and like the professional she is, went back about her business.

We stole glances and snickers from eachother for the rest of the day.

Mental Picture of the Day

I recently had a mature woman come in to the store looking for bathing suits for an upcoming trip down south.

I showed her my selection and she asked if she could try some on.

I gathered her choices and set them in the fitting room. Not expecting to see her for some time.

A few moments later, I hear a hushed "Psst.. Excuse me Miss?"

"Yes, what can I do for you?"

"Can you tell me how this looks?"

"Sure." I reply.

Dear Lord above. I truly, truly wish I hadn't agreed to offer my opinion.

I am an honest worker, I tell my customers the truth. Which is part of the reason most of them are repeats.

This time, however, I wish that I had been with someone else at the time.

*****************Disturbing Mental Picture Begin*****************

The bathing suit was 3 sizes too small, hugged said "Mature" woman in all the wrong spots, gave her what I have termed "Hungry Bum", and the ever present camel toe.

Also, there were several tufts of unruly short and curlies peeking out from the bikini line.

All of our customers are aware that they must keep on their undergarments before trying on items of "intimate" nature, and this woman obliged, but I could see her underwear, under the bathing suit, and this STILL didn't stop the little buggers from showing themselves.

*****************End Disturbing Mental Picture*****************

I stifled a sob, smiled politely, told her that the suit looked fantastic, and that she should definitely buy it.

And the matching cover-up.

And some slippers. (Why slippers you ask? Why not slippers?)

Hell, if you're going to make my eyes bleed, the very least you can do is spend some money.

Where am I?

I have no concept of time anymore.

All of my days run together, my weekends are actually one day, usually smack dab in the middle of the week.

Not that I can complain. I make the scedules after all, but that's the beauty of being the manager.

You'd think with a fancy title like that, that I'd be able to swing weekends off and great shifts.

Not so.

Someone today mentioned that they were happy that it was Friday since they could start their weekend.

"It's Friday?" I sputtered.

I honestly thought it was Wednesday.

I was so mad I could have spit.

I was thisclose to giving them a roundhouse kick, Chuck Norris style.

Picture it. You know you want to.

An open letter to all job applicants...

So, you've decided to apply for a job.

Good for you.

Whether it's your first time, or you've done it before, you must know some basic rules. Don't be fooled. As much as they may seem like common sense, to many, they are not.

I don't know how, I don't know why, but some people seem to think that going for a job interview is almost like going to the bar.

It is not.

Basic Rules:

1. No Jeans *If you come to a job interview wearing jeans, you are more than likely not going to get the job. Unless you're applying at some sort of denim ranch. Even then, you are probably not going to get the job.*

2. No Tube/Halter/Backless/Pleather/Leather Tops *If I can see most of your rack, any prospect of a nipple slip, your back fat, or your bra, you are probably not going to get the job.*

3. Clothing That Fits *If I can see you're sporting a thong, a "muffin top", any form of "double boob", or, again, your back fat, you are probably not going to get the job.*

4. Camel Toe *Enough said.*

5. Interest In The Advertised Position *If you don't remember where you've applied, you're probably not going to get the job.*

6. Ability To Work Shifts *If you come into the interview and open by saying: " I can't work on ... or... and I need this off..., you're probably not going to get the job.*

7. Come Alone *If you come in with your posse, you are probably not going to get the job.*

Although this is only a small portion of the basic rules, I feel that this is sufficient to cover at least the resume drop off/interview portion of the evening..

I will add as I see fit, and/or, as more tards drop me off resumes.

Jezzebel!

Unfortunately, I couldn't get a front on photo of the poor harlot in the lightbox. My camera ran out of batteries, and I had to work with it plugged in.

*Gasp*

If you look really close, with one squinty eye, you can almost see the tootsie roll.. Almost..

At least you get the idea.

Slut.

Hiatus Complete..

After a much needed and well deserved hiatus, I am back.

I guess I just needed time to gather some new material. (Not that it's not around me for every second of every day, but still..)

Last week, we decided that we needed a new lightbox poster. Not really out of the ordinary, since technically, swimsuit season is over in my neck of the woods and the bathing suit that was in there had to go.

Let it be known that I have very little in the way of poster selection in my back room. Head office has been claiming for approximately 3 months that new ones were on their way, but alas, there are no new ones.

So, rather than put in a different swimsuit poster, I rooted around for one of my old bra ones.

They're bad. They're really bad.

And old.

But I digress.. As usual.

I put in the best poster of the bunch. Some of them were, I'm sure, circa 1985 or before, and that's just unacceptable.

If you are a store owner and feel the need to have strange men of all ages and pre-pubescent boys stop, stare, and leer into your store suggestively, the following is a list of things that the skank on your lightbox poster must posess:

Bearskin rug
Slutty hosiery
Skanky hairdo
Greasy body
Come hither stare
Pillow lips
Extraordinary amount of makeup
Fake tits
Brazilian wax
Lollipop Head (Tiny body, huge head.. Anyone?)
Tootsie Roll

If, and when, you have all of the above, you are able to either pose, or photograph a lovely lightbox poster all your own.

What's a tootsie roll doing in the poster you ask?

That's what it looks like the skankbox in the picture is sporting in her brazilian waxed bikini! I swear to you. It looks like she's got a chub and is playing hide-the-vienna-sausage.

Still want one?



And...

Scene.