Myspace is a brilliant invention for inventorying and ranking relationships. Changing one's status to "In A Relationship," deserves a small, private ceremony involving witnesses and a Shins song. Likewise, changing one's status back to "Single' is the ultimate act of closure. For that ceremony I recommend vodka, cigarettes and Loretta Lynn.
Sometimes, like four different times this week, myspace is the gossiping bitch in high school who takes joy in watching me squirm. Ultimatley, its just too easy to find out that exes' and crushes' statuses have changed from "In A Relationship" to "Married" or from "I'm not sure if I want kids" to "Proud Parent."
As my status remains firmly on "Single" and "Considering kidnapping if I don't have babies soon," I wonder why some girls change my guys' status when I never could. Myspace lets me research.
Upon surveying the girls who are marrying guys I've liked I have found a few common factors:
1. They don't wear blush.
2. Their photos are oddly cropped, beer-in-hand, posed-candids from house parties.
3. Current Top 40 hits are the best way to express the contents of their souls.
4. None of their friends are funny and don't know the difference between a message (only she can see) and comments (everyone can see).
5. They live in towns I wouldn't stop to pee in.
Is that all it takes to get married? Move somewhere with no decent work, nightlife or fashion.
Oh wait, I already live there. Now I just wait.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Friday, March 9, 2007
Time Travel
Fall Daylight Savings Time is obviously superior of the two. I don't use it as an hour to catch up on sleep, but instead an hour to do things I wouldn't do in this space-time-continuum like take a bath or wear UGG boots.
But finding the virtue of Spring Daylight Savings Time is a little harder. I am planning on going for a jog and scooping cat shit. Like 2:01 a.m. on March 11, 2007, that's never going to happen.
But finding the virtue of Spring Daylight Savings Time is a little harder. I am planning on going for a jog and scooping cat shit. Like 2:01 a.m. on March 11, 2007, that's never going to happen.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
My secret pleasure
My store has one window the is often mistaken for a door. I know I'm going to hell for laughing about it now or at the time: but hell is worth the hilarity of people walking into the window.
At our grand opening party, a gorgeous caterer (one of a set of twins) was so bent on geting away from a bartender with a bad weave that he walked into the window while the whole staff watched.
I was waiving to an adorable Asian baby girl when she ran towards me and slammed into the window.
Today, the Brinks armored gaured crashed into the window so hard his glasses flew off. He's never going to become real cop with that intuition.
The common denomonator between them all: the look of absolute betrayl they flashed me. It's as though I lured them into the glass only to point and laugh when their bodies fell backwards into the mallbenches.
At our grand opening party, a gorgeous caterer (one of a set of twins) was so bent on geting away from a bartender with a bad weave that he walked into the window while the whole staff watched.
I was waiving to an adorable Asian baby girl when she ran towards me and slammed into the window.
Today, the Brinks armored gaured crashed into the window so hard his glasses flew off. He's never going to become real cop with that intuition.
The common denomonator between them all: the look of absolute betrayl they flashed me. It's as though I lured them into the glass only to point and laugh when their bodies fell backwards into the mallbenches.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Breakfast of Runners Up
A couple weeks ago, I went into the ’bucks. That’s nothing new, I hit up the ’bucks every morning for a Triple Grande Nonfat Vanilla Latte and a Reduced Fat Cinnamon Swirl Coffee Cake. With tax its $6.05. I know, I’ve done the math and that equals my car insurance every month. But I don’t use my car insurance. I would have to get into a car accident every day to deliver the same joy as my not-too-sweat, slightly-diety breakfast.
But they did not have my Reduced Fat Cinnamon Swirl Coffee Cake that day.
The shit hit the fan. I asked to speak to the manager. Is there some sort of suggestion box? Can I email someone from corporate? Don’t they know that Reduced Fat Cinnamon Swirl Coffee Cake is the best breakfast ever? (that’s hyperbole, Vegetarian McGriddle is better, but more for special occasions (like hangovers)).
The manager did come out (just as I would come out if some irate customer was hassling my associates over a discontinued eye shadow). He assured me that he too loved Reduced Fat Cinnamon Swirl Coffee Cake, and that it wasn’t being discontinued. And he gave me another breakfast treat for free. (Oh, he’s the sort of guy I could introduce to my parents and he’d bring Sunshine Cupcakes (a Spring-seasonal treat)).
Its time for confession.
Forgive me Father for I have sinned: I have a crush on a Barista. It’s been 10 months since I liked another Barista. We broke up four months ago.
But, every time I go to that ’bucks, I find myself talking about Reduced Fat Cinnamon Swirl Coffee Cake. “Glad you got Reduced Fat Cinnamon Swirl Coffee Cake back in.” Or, “ I see you got Reduced at Cinnamon Swirl Coffee Cake again.”
It’s a miracle I’m not a 800-pound virgin.
But they did not have my Reduced Fat Cinnamon Swirl Coffee Cake that day.
The shit hit the fan. I asked to speak to the manager. Is there some sort of suggestion box? Can I email someone from corporate? Don’t they know that Reduced Fat Cinnamon Swirl Coffee Cake is the best breakfast ever? (that’s hyperbole, Vegetarian McGriddle is better, but more for special occasions (like hangovers)).
The manager did come out (just as I would come out if some irate customer was hassling my associates over a discontinued eye shadow). He assured me that he too loved Reduced Fat Cinnamon Swirl Coffee Cake, and that it wasn’t being discontinued. And he gave me another breakfast treat for free. (Oh, he’s the sort of guy I could introduce to my parents and he’d bring Sunshine Cupcakes (a Spring-seasonal treat)).
Its time for confession.
Forgive me Father for I have sinned: I have a crush on a Barista. It’s been 10 months since I liked another Barista. We broke up four months ago.
But, every time I go to that ’bucks, I find myself talking about Reduced Fat Cinnamon Swirl Coffee Cake. “Glad you got Reduced Fat Cinnamon Swirl Coffee Cake back in.” Or, “ I see you got Reduced at Cinnamon Swirl Coffee Cake again.”
It’s a miracle I’m not a 800-pound virgin.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
The Scent of the Afterlife
A woman purchased a bottle of perfume on Monday. I admired her conviction; most customers need to hear about every note before consenting to try a sample. Most customers tell me a horror story of migraines and sneezes, and therefore I should just give them a free bottle because they won’t like it anyway. But not this woman. Not this Monday. She was ready to take home some perfume: scent on smelled.
On Wednesday she called, having been to hell and back, wanting a refund. Here is her story:
“I would like to return a bottle of perfume, I was allergic to it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, we can exchange the product for something else. But we do not do refunds, it’s our store policy printed on the receipt and at the register.”
“You don’t understand. I sprayed it last night and went into anaphylactic shock and passed out. When my husband came home he found me unconscious in the bathroom and called the ambulance. They pumped my stomach, did a chest tube, and shocked me. I actually died for three minutes. My soul was above looking down at my body, and it smelled the perfume and my soul got a headache. “
“Wow, I’m so sorry to hear that. I wonder what you’re allergic to, so I can divert any other clients who may have that allergy.”
“I don’t think anyone will ever know. Allergies are so hard to figure out. They’d have to run tests.”
“I would think if you almost died, you’d want to know what your specific allergy is. And maybe get a bracelet talking about it. But, I’ll make an exception this time and refund your money.”
Honestly, I don’t believe her. And I don’t want to believe that a near death experience makes you realize how important seventy bucks is. But, she had the best story this week.
On Wednesday she called, having been to hell and back, wanting a refund. Here is her story:
“I would like to return a bottle of perfume, I was allergic to it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, we can exchange the product for something else. But we do not do refunds, it’s our store policy printed on the receipt and at the register.”
“You don’t understand. I sprayed it last night and went into anaphylactic shock and passed out. When my husband came home he found me unconscious in the bathroom and called the ambulance. They pumped my stomach, did a chest tube, and shocked me. I actually died for three minutes. My soul was above looking down at my body, and it smelled the perfume and my soul got a headache. “
“Wow, I’m so sorry to hear that. I wonder what you’re allergic to, so I can divert any other clients who may have that allergy.”
“I don’t think anyone will ever know. Allergies are so hard to figure out. They’d have to run tests.”
“I would think if you almost died, you’d want to know what your specific allergy is. And maybe get a bracelet talking about it. But, I’ll make an exception this time and refund your money.”
Honestly, I don’t believe her. And I don’t want to believe that a near death experience makes you realize how important seventy bucks is. But, she had the best story this week.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
I'm not even here
I'm sorry I've been ignoring you for so long. But, I've been in my happy place for a couple weeks.
You should come to my happy place sometime, there's lots of wine and pizza. How do you get there? Repeat after me... "It's just fucking soap, it's just fucking soap, it's just fucking soap..."
It works anytime. Like when your coworkers find you at a resturant to ask a question, or when your boss finds out you lost two deposits two months ago and never told him.
Seriously, its just soap.
You should come to my happy place sometime, there's lots of wine and pizza. How do you get there? Repeat after me... "It's just fucking soap, it's just fucking soap, it's just fucking soap..."
It works anytime. Like when your coworkers find you at a resturant to ask a question, or when your boss finds out you lost two deposits two months ago and never told him.
Seriously, its just soap.
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
Is it hot in here? Or is it just earth?
You can stop worrying, Al Gore, HSN has the answer. I wil quote from the source, "If your cashmere wardrobe seems to warm because of the global warming, this Vneck acrylic sweater is the solution." The XXL fits polar bears and the deep V neck really elognates and slims.
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