Auld Lange Syne

So it is New Year's. Meh. I have all the goodwill and mushy feelings I should have at this time of year, but let's face it; it's another year. I'm still in debt, I'm working a lot, and today was a stressful day. It started when I burnt my toast. I decided right then and there, standing in the kitchen at 6am, that I was not going to have this kind of day. Burnt toast days are the worst, and I decided just because I burnt my toast did not mean that my day was going to go this way; like a Monday on steroids. After a day at work in which I became a bit overwhelmed and stressed out (I had to give myself a time out at one point), I came home, and Captain Awesome, who is using his last personal day of the year today, was home relaxing. We had a nice afternoon at home, joking and talking, watching a little tube. For dinner he made lobster tails with Caesar salad and champagne (not real champagne, I can't handle it and I don't really like it. He bought Toad Hollow Risque, which is like an amazing dessert wine with bubbles. I LOVE it, and it's what I had last Christmas, when life was not so hot). And yes, we cooked with the new fancy pot! Woot! It is easy to feel blessed right now on the home front. The lobster tails were a nod to the Japanese New Year tradition of decorating with lobster and lobster themes, representing old age with their bent over tails. Yay, we were festive! :)

I also was reading about Portmagee, Ireland, which still holds an annual tradition brought to them by French Sailors a couple hundred years ago. The villagers watched, awestruck, as the sailors embarked on land, and an old, decrepit man walked slowly up the hill at midnight, at which point he fell over, apparently dead. Then from the crowd, a sharply dressed, spry young man pounces, signalling the New Year, while the old year has died. I kind of like it. I have never really thought about aging until this year (thank you, 30), and time just seems....different somehow. Anyway, here's a cool link to that story... http://www.moorings.ie/Portmagee/Portmagee-NewYear.aspx. Check it out, it is actually very interesting, and the story (surprise surprise) is told well.

Thinking about New Year's and Ireland, I think about my friends and family all over the world, knowing that in each country where live the people that have had such impact on my life live (Norway, Ireland, Austria, Germany), they are all kindred spirits, and even though we are far apart, I love them. I miss them, and I would love to be spending this time with them. I've been thinking of Auld Lange Syne a lot lately. How it was written only a few hundred years ago, by my beloved Robert Burns, and how no one even associated it with New Years until the end of the 20s (and by noone, I mean Americans). And how no one really knows the words. Here they are now, for your enjoyment. In the Scottish-English, and Parochial English :)

This is copied from http://www.electricscotland.com/burns/langsyne.html

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?
Chorus
For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup,
And surely I'll be mine;
And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne. For auld, etc.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pou'd the gowans fine;
But we've wander'd mony a weary fit,
Sin' auld lang syne. For auld, etc.

We twa hae paidl'd in the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar'd.
Sin' auld lang syne. For auld, etc.

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere!
And gie's a hand o' thine!
And we'll tak' a right gud-wellie waught,
For auld lang syne. For auld, etc.


A translation from the Scots Independent

auld;old lang;long syne;since
auld lang syne ; days of long ago
pint stowp ; tankard
pou'd ; pulled
gowans ; daisies
mony ; many
fitt ; foot
paidl'd ; waded
dine; dinner-time
braid ; broad
fiere ; friend
willie-waught ; draught
owresettin

Should old friendship be forgot'And never remembered ?
Should old friendship be forgotten,
And days of long ago.

And surely you will have your tankard !
And surely I will have mine !
And we will take a cup of kindness yet,
For days of long ago

'We two have run about the hills
And pulled the daisies fine :
But we have wandered many a weary foot
Since days of long ago.

We two have waded in the stream
From dawn till dinner-time :
But seas between us broad have roared
Since days of long ago.

And there's a hand my trusty friend !
And give me a hand of thine !
And we will take a large draught
For days of long ago.

It is a nice sentiment. Friends who have known each other for years, drinking and trusting, enjoying each other. This is where the goodwill comes from, and whether or not you know the words, the feeling and sentiment is the same; remember the past, cherish those around you, and look forward to prosperity and better times ahead. I like it. I won't miss this year much, but I am grateful for what I have learned, and what I have seen in my own life. Health and Wealth and joy to all of you. God bless, and No Worries.

today's song of the day is two-fold; Auld Lange Syne, which you can find yourself. Also, Matt and Kim, Lessons Learned. I like the cadence, and I like the "close your eyes and use your mouth and tell me about your song" part :)
http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Lessons+Learned/21999520

Plants: How they Inflict Identity Crises, or Possibly Reflect Them

I have plants. I have had plants for a really long time. As of late, I have felt defeatist about my plants; I saw them be so fruitful over the summer while outside, and when I brought in a select few, they dwindled. I lost my sage plant, and came close to losing my mint. I felt like, "what's the point? They don't like it inside, let them die." And I ignored them. I didn't water them. And they looked sadder and sadder. Consequently, among all the dead leaves there rose a dust problem, as well as a small insect infestation (except for the one VERY large moth that hatched somewhere in the house, presumably from the sunflowers we brought in to harvest and left in the basement....yes, I have a lot to learn). This morning as I took stock of the state of affairs in plant-land, I saw the sun peek out behind the clouds. I decided that the root systems of all the plants (except the sage...sniff! I LOVED the sage; I named my blog after it!) were all still intact, and that my plants needed (as well as deserved) a little TLC. I set out to remove all the dead leaves off all the plants, and then decided I should cut off all dead parts to give the living parts a chance. I got out a pair of scissors and a box from Christmas for all the debris. I started with the mint. It was like watching Wall-E. So much dead, I just pulled it over the side and snipped it. I was snipping along when I noticed that there was, in fact, new growth under all the death. This poor plant had been trying to break through the barrier of death and malnurishment to prove that it was, in fact, still living. This gave me new resolve to attend to all the rest of my plants as well.

I spent the morning trimming, feeling bad for letting things go so long, and hoping that out of this extreme cut back, new life would be able to thrive. Of course, as typically happens with gardening, I started thinking about my life. As the new year comes (I have never been one to make resolutions at New Year's...it seemed a losing battle, and the beginning of the year always felt like September, due to my birthday, and school, etc), how fitting that I trim back the death that surrounds me? Do I feel like I am a plant that thrived outside, but now that I am inside (am I inside?) I am withering? I look at my plants now, and I still feel a bit sad, but they are cut back, neat, there is no layer of dust and dead leaves sitting on their soil, they are very Feng Shui. I know that they will have a chance to live now, new growth can come; they won't have to use all their resources trying to nourish a dead branch or rotting pepper. I think about the things that I could cut out in my life; each of us has them, though no doubt they are different. I am slightly addicted to the food network, and HGTV. I could probably stand to spend time with my boyfriend or myself, rather than staring at the TV. It has become a friend, which can't be good. Also, I hold on to things that I suppressed, such as feelings that arose from an unfortunate incident about this time last year. I go through my life imagining that I have simply forgotten it, when I know I haven't. Those are dead things; it does me no good to hang on to them, even subconsciously. And the trouble with supression is, while it can be a helpful tool at the time, in time you forget the good stuff too, because you do not allow yourself to think about any of it. How many memories have I lost? How would I know?

It was a strange feeling, trimming the plants, wondering if I could be so much more than I am if I could just trim back and be nourished properly. Have you ever had that? You do the most mundane thing, and suddenly you have a new perspective on your life? Like the sheep who gets sheared; no doubt the first time they are frightened, and I am sure they always dread it a little bit, but it grows back, and they are still alive. That sheep could well have become veal or mutton. Maybe the sheep focuses too much on the negative, or the fear, or the death, and not enough on the fact that, even after a full shearing, they are able to go back out on the brae and eat the grass, wander around, and be sheep. Full, satisfied sheep, living to their potential, whatever that may be. It may be a little cold at first, but adapting to the elements comes with the territory.

So that is my thought today. Perhaps I need to see myself as a plant, and realize that I may be malnourished or self-neglected. Perhaps I could trim out the things that inhibit me from my full potential and see that in order for new growth to occur, the dusty, dead leaves need to be shaken off, and my wool sheared, so that I can live the life I was meant to. Live (I hate ending sentences with prepositions). I just hope that the shearer or the trimmer doesn't have allergies to my dust, as it can really irritate the sinuses!

It would appear that this is a crossover Blog Post for Sage Grasshopper and Wandersheep. Sorry!

Today's song of the Day:

Looks Like Love, by Need to Breathe

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Looks+Like+Love/3020028

Clever, Clever Boyfriend!

While reading the news, I read an article about a baby being born at 30,000 on MSNBC...quips the boyfriend: "The Mile High Cub." Clever!

Whilst Trying to Feel Pretty, I Ended Up Looking Like a White Trash Version of Tanya Harding: I Want My Day Back, Spa!

Yep. That pretty much sums it up.

I've needed a haircut for a while. I made an appointment at the Aveda Institute in Minneapolis, where spa grade haircuts are available for $15.00, instead of the usual $35. The best part about this is the great smell of the Aveda products, and the scalp, neck and hand massages that come with the professional grade haircuts. I secretly decided to get a soft curl perm, so that I could finally have curly tresses that didn't fall out after an hour. I can't tell you how excited I was about this. When I told my boyfriend, he winced. "A perm? Are you sure?" Silly boyfriend, perms aren't the poodle inducing image they used to be! I am getting a soft perm with big fat curls that fall beautifully around my face. I'm going to feel pretty. And I'm not going to tell anyone else, because they are going to be blown away by me finally looking beautiful, my hair not matted to my head. I arrived at 12:15 for my 12:30 appointment. Let's count the red flags, shall we?

I sat and read my book until 1:15, when I was called in for my appointment (1); when I sat down, she asked me what I wanted. I told her, and I told her that I wanted a perm so that my baby fine hair would actually hold curl and volume. She told me it would be best to perm my hair first and then cut it (2). She called over her professor, who told her how to roll my hair in preparation (3), asking if she knew how to do a brick roll (4). He also told her to cut my hair first. After a quick wash with NO scalp massage (5) and no towel to keep me warm or dry as I walked back to her station by myself (6), She piled all the hair on top of my head and made 2 snips (7). An hour and 15 minutes later, my hair was finally in curlers (8), with a second pass to put in picks to hold it. She pulls out the perm box and starts reading it (9), as if she just bought it at the Piggly Wiggly (10). After a 10 minute wait, she finally mixes the first 2 ingredients and calls over her prof (a different one (11)), to check her brick roll. The prof looks at me, down her nose and over her glasses (12) and says, "why are you getting a perm? If you use V05, Pantene, Suave or Aussie, you're hair won't hold it. You have too much wax build up." (13) I told her my hair has been this fine and smooth since I was a child. "Weeeeelll, we'll try it, but it may not stick. You can come back for a redo, but that's all we'll do for you." Who the f*** are you, lady, and why are you in my space??? Do you have any concept of SPA day, or pretty, or something nice to do for myself? I looked at her and said, "then why are there curlers in my hair? Where were you an hour and a half ago?" She quickly smooths over, "oh, well, let's just continue on..." "Well what SHOULD I be using?" I ask. "Anything Professional" she says. Oh gee, thanks. The "stylist", who graduates on MONDAY, then doused my head with the perm solution, ignoring the top and front (14) and stuck my head in a shower cap for 20 minutes. During that 20 minutes, I start reading the box. According to the box, I should have had the next step up perm, not the one she's giving me, and I should have a heat source on my head. I bring it up, and she says, "I have only ever done 1 perm." (15). (16). (17). So 20 minutes later, she takes me over to the sink, lays me down on all my curlers and rinses my hair for 10 minutes, forcing water down my back and drenching me. After we read the box together for the next 3 steps (18), all of which involved some sort of torture of me, whether it be squeezing the sharp curlers into my head to blot dry while sticking her finger in my eye (19) or having me sit in awkward positions resting on curlers, we take the curlers out and go back to the station, once again with no towel, and my back drenched into my underwear (20). We get to the seat, and she starts picking through my hair, pulling it out (21). She says, "Oh, I forgot conditioner." So she starts putting in hair gel and mousse, which are obviously the same thing (22). Then she doesn't see the curls, so she starts trying to tease my hair, yanking and pulling (23). I looked like a drowned rat, and that is NOT an exaggeration. When my bangs finally dried a little, she cut them. Too short and chunky (24). she flops them off to the side without even combing them and they start drying kittywampus (25). Then she calls her prof over to sign off on it. I was like, "WHAT? This is done?" The prof says, "hmm. Maybe we should dry her hair a little, it's still really wet." I say, "I really don't like my bangs, they are chunky and sticking out everywhere. Can we round brush them? I need them to blend in." She does round brush them, but they end up looking like an entirely different entity than the rest of my hair, and she frizzes out the front of the right side of my head in the crossfire (26). So, as she has done dozens of times in the last FOUR AND A HALF HOURS (that's right, it's almost 5pm and this point, and I got there at 12:15...(27)), she douses my head with water from a spray bottle. I am SERIOUSLY waterlogged by this point, and still soaked and freezing from all previous dousings and rinses (28). Aaaaaaand, my bangs go back to looking kittywampus and I go back to looking like a drowned rat (29). I don't know what was worse, because without conditioner, it was frizzy and white trashy wavy. I muster up the courage to say, "I still don't like my bangs. I just need them to blend." Her response to this is to cut all the way down my entire right side, so that it doesn't look chunky anymore (30). So now I have 2 uneven sides and nothing tapers, and I won't bore you with the other things that made me cry all the way home. She calls over her prof, because he has curly hair, and he can tell her what to do with my bangs. He comes over and his answer to this issue of how terrible I look is, "Can you go home and play with it? Can you fix it yourself?" So, to sum up: I spent 4 1/2 hours to look like a drowned rat, spent $60.00 to do it, and I am supposed to go home and work with it, and come back if it's not flowing. RIGHT. She took off my apron, and I was shocked that I was done. The logic: if we keep messing with it, it's only going to get worse. NICE. So I go down to the lobby, she refuses to give me the survey about my experience, and she HAS to show me product for her course study. The looks on the other customers' faces said it all: "I'm so sorry! Did that happen here?" I got out to my car, threw my hair into a ponytail and texted my boyfriend the following while crying hysterically: "I'm not sure how to get out of Minneapolis. On 4th and Central. I'm on my way home. Can we please not talk about this? Ever?" I didn't even return my movie from Redbox, because I refused to go in to the store. I'd rather pay another dollar. To add to my pity party tears, I didn't get ANY of the massages or ANY of the great smelling products. That's the WHOLE reason to go there! (eheh, eheh ehe eheh...cough cough....hate my life!!!!)

So. My day of beauty ended up being a day of pain (beauty is NOT pain, stop saying that!). I was insulted, embarrassed, and spent money I didn't have, because I wanted to feel good about myself. My best friend texted me and asked me out for dinner. I called her back bawling, and told her it WAS that bad. I finally convinced her after the story about the way people looked at me in the lobby. And Aveda graduate, let me give you some advice; do NOT show me the picture of what it is SUPPOSED to look like. Don't do that. Thanks to Elle Woods, I know that washing my hair in the first 24 hours deactivates the ammonium thyglocolate! So there is 60 dollars and 5 hours down the tubes. I want my day back! I came home with my hair in a pony and a hat on. I'll be doing that for a while, because I guarantee THIS will be the perm that actually sticks, even after washing, which I am not supposed to do for 48 hours? What happened to 24?

Today's song of the day is:
http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Just+Like+A+Pill/22521998
Just Like a Pill, by Pink.

Just the Chorus. Angry girl music....mmmmmmmm. Rated PG-13, if your kids listen. It'll be better tomorrow, when this is all a memory. Sorry! I feel better, though! It's JUST HAIR! :P

And How Was Your Black Friday, Dear? Mmm-hmmm...

Black Friday. What a name. Who came up with this name? It sounds like the start to the next great depression. Black Friday is an excuse for retailers to make money hand over fist by offering lower prices and opening their doors at ridiculous hours the day after Thanksgiving, hoping to lure in the turkey-ridden, dopamine infested public. If they did that every day, sales would be more level, people could shop around their work schedules, and nobody would die. I'm just saying.

I had the pleasure of working my first retail Black Friday since 2002 this year. I actually don't even remember working Black Friday in 2002, so perhaps it is my first retail Black Friday ever. It was a real adventure this year. Our store, thankfully opened at 6, rather than the insane 3, 4 or 5am that other stores offered. I arrived at 4:45, knowing that if I showed up after 5:30 I would not be allowed in until after the 5 hour sale (which may be a blessing, except for the suspension that would follow). I parked in the employee lot, 40 acres away from the front door and trudged toward the side door. How amazed was I to see the lot already half full? Cars running with (mostly) women drinking hot chocolate, and even a devout 45 or so people sitting outside the doors in their foldable lounge chairs, wrapped up in blankets and hats (no doubt things they were planning to buy)? Right before I got to the door, they all started to get up. Right. Then I saw that I was actually supposed to go into another door, farther down with a guard and a deadbolt. Hallelujah! That was close. So I go inside, put up balloons, and wander the store, seeing where all the "hot" items have been stocked. About 5:30, a woman comes up to the guarded door, pleading with the guard to let her in because her daughter needs to go to the bathroom. She is persuasive enough (hint: she told the guard that the girl would pee on the ground and he would have to clean it up...classy, huh?) that they were let in. The woman immediately abandoned her child and filled her arms with Holiday items. We didn't even have the cash registers on or cashiers to ring her up, I don't know what she was thinking. They were again kicked out, and lost their place in "line," I can only guess. So we continue to prepare, the lot continues to fill, people parking on the grass, on the street, at the gas station a quarter mile away. Our parking lot is set up poorly anyway, in a triangle shape where blind sides abound, and merging doesn't go well. This day people were actually parking so as to lock people in. The logic in that I am still trying to find.

At 5 minutes to 6, we were told to stand in the main aisle, so as to help guests as needed. Stand and point. Don't point. Stand and direct. For 5 hours. So we all took to our stations and waited. When the doors opened, the scene was epic. Like any country invaded by Hannibal, soldiers standing steady, watching the tide of running soldiers advance, complete with elephants in their pajamas and bedhead, who clearly didn't have time to stop and put on their bras. The earth shook, and as they all ran into the store, 98% of them turned left, and raided the Snuggies. Yes, yes, the item of choice after waiting outside for over an hour, is the Snuggie, a fleece blanket with arms. People loaded up their carts with Snuggies overflowing, and ran to the checkout. The first hour, there were no empty carts in the store (not even drywall carts) and the line reached to the back of the store for the checkout. No one thought to go outside to the garden center, where the cashiers sat lonely, drinking cocoa and no doubt laughing at the scene. For 5 hours, I stood and pointed the mass of people that blocked the aisles, items literally flying off the shelves. Pallet after pallet emptying and being removed. I marveled at the year. How all year people have been cutting back on everything because of the economy, and yet, they still find money to spend for Christmas. One by one, the radio sang out the next item that was sold out, so that we could update our ads. "2 foot summer sausages. Large Pet Beds. Wii Sports bundles. Fountains. Coffee Makers. Bakeware." Not that it helped. We ended up saying, "if there are any, they are over there..." etc. And that lady in the gray pajamas with no bra is just SO sure that there are a few in the back. Well, there aren't.

5 hours after opening, the store was back to normal; all the seasonal items gone, back to home improvement. The poor contractors that came in to do their normal business had a tough time. I sent them all up to the Garden Center for quick checkout, after a few jokes about "regular shopping" on a day like this. Most of the customers were funny, at least the men, who were no doubt dragged out by their wives, some of them with their mouths hanging open, following like a slow zombie. Some would try to make small talk while their wives careened through the aisles, leaving their cart behind. "Who got to stay home today?" They would ask. Noone. Everyone works today. This is the Holy Grail, buddy. This is where we get to show the economy we can survive, for a day. Whenever 2 people would go by, each with ShopVacs in their carts, I'd do a play by play, as if it were ShopVac Races. Only a few thought it was funny. Wit goes by the wayside when commerce is on the line.

So, I survived. My best friend came in to see me, and thankfully took me out to lunch. I was really hungry, but I was not about to go move my car just to come back! No way. People were parking on the sidewalk in front of the door. The cops were called more than once. It. Was. Chaos. I left after 8 hours, doing the bare minimum, out of exhaustion, and went home, took a nap, and went out for dinner, where I told of my exploits to the people who are not brave enough to go out on this, the holiest of shopping days. And yes, I was asleep by 8. I missed Monk. Again. :)

To my fellow compatriots in the Retail Biz, I salute you, battle well fought. Here is a photo so that the rest of you can understand just how it is, and how we get a front row seat to the freak show. And how suddenly popular and needed we are :)

Today's Song of the Day is:

Crazy Frog, Crazy Jodeling http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Crazy_Jodeling/1165386

Because, while I am completely excited about Christmas, I am finding much more joy in the Hope of the real Christmas. And this is the perfect soundtrack to Black Friday...especially the "bam bam"s that are randomly thrown in.

Screw you, Amex!

So I got up on Saturday morning, and went to pay my bills. And it happened. The last credit card I have, the American Express, the "good guys," have increased my interest rate by 6%, because of the economy, and through no fault of my own. How depressing is this? Every time I make a plan and think that things might be able to improve, I can finally get out of debt, something like this happens. I have no option of opting out, I have no choice, and even if I close the account, the interest rate will stay hiked. Boo hisss!!!! I'm PRETTY sure "the economy" has been tougher on me than it's been on you. Thanks for the heads up.

Today's song of the day (in honor of breaking up with ANOTHER credit card):

Gives You Hell, All American Rejects
http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/artist/The_All_American_Rejects/401910

short

If you wonder why I haven't been writing so often, here's a good statement that nearly sums it up:

All paid jobs absorb and degrade the mind. - Aristotle

Ever feel like jell-o when you come home? :P Nobody cares.

Moon Over My Hormones...

Oof. Last weekend I fell victim to one of the world's classic blunders. I was very hard to deal with. It would have been laughable, if I wasn't so out of control. Now it's a little laughable.



I spent the weekend entirely irritated, then irritated because I was irritated. Nothing my boyfriend said or did was right, and I made sure he knew. This all stems from an hormone pill gone awry that affected me days later with an uncontrollable bout of fake PMS, on top of which was the issue of me not sleeping at all on Friday night. I was resentful because I get up for work at 4am, and never see the sun. By the time I get home I'm sleepy or it's rainy, or whatever. I was resentful I had to work all weekend, I was resentful that I was going to have to bow out of our church's Christmas program because of my new schedule and transitioning into a new position. I was resentful that the floors just don't stay clean. I was even resentful that my boyfriend went grocery shopping without me, and he bought me ice cream, wine and flowers to make up for my mood. Maybe I didn't want those things! It was not so much fun for anyone, least of all me or him. I thought about writing, but I knew it would just come out whiny and pouty, so I kept my fingers to myself, knowing I was overreacting, but feeling totally helpless about it.

Monday I texted my best friend with some sort of comment like, "I think I need to have a cry day and get this out of my system. Can we get together for a PS I love you day?" I learned she had also had a horrible weekend and we both just gushed out, "I MISS YOUUUUU!" As soon as we got on the phone. So I decided I would keep it all in, and have our day together Thursday to cry it all out, because that is what PS I love you is for, seriously.

Tuesday, I finished work and went shopping for the few items I needed that Captain Awesome didn't know I wanted to buy. I came home exhausted, carrying my 4 bags of produce, and set it all down to lock up my garage. I picked it all back up, stepped out into the parking lot and twisted my ankle on a landscape rock that some children had strewn about. Everything went flying. Imagine the cartoon of this, cast me as an old lady, and see everything flying through the air; cucumbers, grapefruit, apples, bananas. Memory flashes went careening through my mind; I was four, and I wiped out on my bike in front of my piano teacher's house. I can imagine the feel of the dirt in my mouth and the taste of the Popsicle she gave me while she cleaned me up, grape. Peter Griffin, sitting outside after falling, holding his knee and spending way too much energy and time making pain noises; "Ssssssssst. Aaaahhhhhhh!" for 5 minutes. And the old staple for me, "don't cry now Wait for it." I sat in the parking lot, rubbing my knee and feeling 4 years old, knowing it was skinned (at what point do we stop being proud of our skinned knees and see them as a child's injury?) through my jeans, and decided not to cry. OBVIOUSLY all my neighbors are going to be at their windows watching me. Obviously. So I gathered up my now bruised food (poor me!) and walked to the house, keeping my composure by a minute measurement. I opened the door, and Captain Awesome was sitting inside, all happy because he had just connected with a friend he hadn't seen in over 10 years. I immediately changed the entire environment in the room, unable to postpone my pity party any longer. He jumped up, and I told him I tripped in the parking lot, tears streaming down my face. I blurted out some nonsense about my bananas being bruised, and my apples, and how I felt like a little kid. He tried to distract me (like a child, I might add :P) by picking up some gloves that were lying on the table. "Look honey!" he said, "You got nice new gloves for work, that was good, right?" And in between sobs I inform him that they are the wrong ones and I have to take them back. "And (heugh) I have to wear (heugh) gloves because I (heugh) don't (heugh) feel (heugh) like (heugh) a (heugh) girlllllllllllllllllllllllllllll!" Which only made me feel more stupid, so I immediately followed with "I am ONLY crying because of my knee right now!" Yeah, that was better. Shwew; I almost lost it there.

He let me cry like a baby, offered to take me out for dinner that night, and told me to go sit out in the sun for 15 minutes with my turtle. I can't BELIEVE how much that helped me. I had no idea I had Seasonal Affect Disorder, with which I am self diagnosed :) How else do you explain it? Brain tumor. (I know you're thinking it too: "It's not a tumuh!") I took a nice long bath while watching Grey's Anatomy and took a nap. Isn't that what kids do?

So, long story short, I was reminiscent of that Everybody Loves Raymond episode in season 4, where Deborah has that horrible PMS. It was great. When Thursday rolled around, I didn't really need a cry day anymore, but I took it anyway. We spent the whole movie waiting for Jeffrey Dean Morgan to show up, so we could say, "yes please," because he is soooo cute. She's awesome. And yes, I cried a little bit. It's what I watch when I need to cry!

Anyway, I am back to my old self, mostly. Bright sides everywhere, not freaking out because the dishes are in the sink or the dog ran away from me instead of to me when I called it. True story, I grabbed the leash to take the dog out, but when he saw it, he ran away. So I (very dramatically) threw down the leash and said, "FINE." That's got to be a sign of something. So when I'm whiny or being unreasonable, I say to myself, "nobody cares." It gets pretty funny after a while. Or I cough like a kid playing sick and whine, "I hate my life!" But mostly, nobody cares.

So today's song of the day is the song I listen to when I need to cheer up. It's my favorite song.

Galway Girl, by Mundy
(this was written by Steve Earl but I HATE his version. It's better to hear it in a pub, live. Plus I love Mundy. This is actually better by the accousticats, but it won't let me put in a song I have on my computer as an mp3. Plus, Sharon Shannon was a friend of my dead fiance's, and I don't listen to her for that reason. Nothing against her, I just will NOT associate that song that I love with that experience...even though she plays this version with Mundy. Fine. Whatever. Nobody cares.)

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/search/?query=galway%20girl

My Week: An Experiment in Avoidance, and How Futile that was

Hello, Reader.

Did you think I died? I didn't die; I've been practicing my avoidance techniques this week. I just didn't want to hash out decisions I was making or tell you what was happening, because I felt defeated, and I wasn't really being realistic. But, everything is fine now, I guess. :)

I was offered a position at work at slightly higher pay, but I would have to work every other weekend. Coincidentally, this came the same week I joined the choir and orchestra at church. So I had to decide if I wanted to work and make more money, or stay in the choir. I don't know that I really have to choose. I don't think I do, but I may have to bow out of the Christmas program, which would be sad. But then I wouldn't have to try and get down the rhythm of this gospel syncopated version of Handel's Messiah that I am struggling with (in more ways than one). Anyway, I asked one of my managers what the hours would be like, and then I asked the other and got different answers. So I told them to talk on Wednesday and discuss my options, and we would talk about it on Thursday. Trouble was, on Thursday, my status had already been changed. It's fine, I was going to take it anyway. I have been staying a working about 35 hours a week anyway, and who knows how long they would be able to be that flexible with me, to let me stay whenever I want? Plus, if I'm going to be staying that many hours a week, I may as well get paid more for it. So it's all good, I just haven't had to work weekends in a few years. And it's only every other, so I can plan around it pretty well. Of course, the weekend I travel to Tennessee is one, as is the Christmas program at church, and all the rehearsals, but if I switch to the alternate weekend, I have to work with Team Member Valkyrie all the time, and that's just not going to be OK. It will be fine.

The reason I struggled so much is because I felt like Jim on The Office, when he was deciding whether to take the #2 position. If he took the job, then that was his career, his job. I felt the same way. If I take the position, then I'm here, and it's harder to work around it, and when people ask what I do, I have to say I'm a sales rep for a home improvement store. In my mind I can see Jon Lovitz in the movie Rat Race, jumping up and down screaming, "I don't want to work at Home Depot!" And I don't, so...

Anyway, forgive me for staying away, I just didn't want to hash all of this out on my blog, even though that's kind of the purpose of the blog. Plus my pastor's messages have really been kicking my tush lately, and while I'm sure he'll get a kick out of hearing, "Your messages have been really brutal lately, and I want to say thank you, but I don't, cause it's messing up my life..." I have only gone so far as to write on his Facebook page how he's kicking my rear. I suppose that would be the ultimate compliment for a pastor, but somehow it sounds a little...bijou. We'll work on that. Plus his whole house has been sick.

Anywho, I did have a day on Friday where I just got together with my bestie (forgive the gummi word) and watched Irish movies, ate Chinese and brownies and reminisced about our trip to the Emerald Isle, and that was lovely. Like an in-home spa day, complete with heat packs and toe separators :) I love my friends. When you lose a size because of your work, it's totally fine to pig out for an entire day, right? It reminded me of when my mom came down to visit me in Florida after the death of my Fiance. We decided we needed a break from the grieving family (let's face it, grieving families do STUPID things to each other), and we rented some movies and went to the store. We had the most comfortable King bed back at the hotel, and we just wanted to veg out (gummi) and take naps. All we could think about was getting back to that bed. We had both been so stressed, and didn't want to get out of bed for hours, so we bought whatever we wanted, because we just wanted a little of this, and a little of that. When we got back to the hotel and laid it all out, there was ice cream, grapefruits, candy, Chinese, candy, candy, candy, muffins, you name it. The whole table was covered. I wonder if she still has the picture. We did just eat a bit of this and a bit of that, but it became a TON of stuff. We had to share with the amazing staff at the hotel, who gave us beach balls and SWAG in return. Good times. Good times. Sometimes you just need a day like that to refresh yourself. I think this might have been the first day I did that since...well since 3 weeks ago when we did it with Pizza and Peanut Butter M&Ms....moving on... (in my defense, this is a VERY rare occurance. 3 weeks ago was the first time this year). Plus, here I am again, having taken a day to do NOTHING. Or 2.

So I was out walking the dog this morning, who scared up some crows in the field. They started screaming at him, and it made total sense how old crotchety women got the nickname crows. I could totally picture this old woman screaming at the dog. I watched FIDO the other night, in honor of Halloween (since I don't like scary movies unless they are funny, Shaun of the Dead and FIDO are about it for me). If you haven't seen it, FIDO is a zombie that becomes the family pet. There was this old woman in the movie, and she was an old crow. And now it makes sense. And now you're riding my stream of consciousness, which I normally save for my penpal, not for my blog, but there it is.

So, I have to go get ready to get my rear kicked again by my pastor, who is noble and good and won't settle for ritual-oriented, unreal people, so I leave you with the song of the day, which is:

Caedmon's Call: Hands of the Potter

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/search/?query=hands%20of%20the%20potter

Ugggh... Brutal. By the way, I'm starting a new blog about my faith questions, ups and downs. It's personal and really hard to write, so you should know that it is not meant to be disrespectful, but is based on the thought that true faith is a seeking faith, and no question should be off limits. It's called the Wandering Sheep Diaries, and I haven't published any of it yet, because it's not easy to admit I think this way sometimes. I wanted to have it published by the Wander-Sheep, but it appears I can only publish as Sage Grasshopper...unless anyone out there has any tips on that :)

Tales from the Re(tail).

Hello, dear reader.

I don't know if you've ever worked in retail, but let me tell you, it is a surreal world, one where customers can sexually harrass you with no recourse, and where your management really wants to make sure you're properly trained, but there's just so much to do. At my particular store, the interactions are often bizzare, I usually start looking for hidden cameras. Examples, you say? You must have examples now? Ok.

-Every morning the inflatable Santa looks like he took a bender and passed out in the Christmas trees. He has to be propped up for the air to inflate all the way. It makes me laugh every day, and my new buddy in that department shares in my amusement, asking that I not fix it until after he comes in to work. No problem.

-Someone asked me where some piece of inventory went, and I didn't know. 15 minutes later, they walk by and tell me where it went. I say, "Oh good, thanks for telling me, now I know." You may think the response is, "surely," or "you betcha" or something equally serene. No. The retort is a snappy, "well, I'm just TELLING you, I thought you'd want to know! Geesh!" There have been times where I am caught by a customer or coworker with a bewildered look on my face, trying to fathom what just happened. Honestly.


-99% of the customers who ask me for help end up standing there while I read the label in front of them and tell them what they want to know. They just need me to stand there and read the back of the bottle. What?

-85% of the customers who come in looking for window and door treatments think I can solve all their problems, even though they don't bring me any information about anything. Then they get angry because they don't want to cut their own plastic. They use words like "asshole" and "Greedy stupid bitches," which I know aren't aimed at me, but c'mon! Is it really such a hard thing to believe that doors and windows are different sizes and so hard to cut your own measurements? Why are you yelling at me? That guy you called an asshole for ignoring you? He was on break, and you walked in to the breakroom to ask him a question. He didn't hear you because the of the iPod. True story.

-I have received more sexist comments and gross pick up lines than anyone ever thought possible. Really terrible ones too. I actually thought I was going to get my butt grabbed today, and turned my body. How wrong is that? Can I sue a customer for sexual harrassment? Someone get me a law student, get me Elle Woods! Am I supposed to take some kind of pleasure in the fact that some gross old guy thinks I'm cute enough to offend so entirely? ick.

There are a lot of rules, that you learn as you go. Here is a small list of some of the first rules I've discovered.

Rules of Retail (so far):
-The customer may always be right, but the team members get the last word....after they leave.
-Just because your coworker is a nice-looking lady in her mid forties, doesn''t mean she's nice. She will flat out ignore you, and sigh and throw stuff around when irritated (not even Team Member Valkyrie!), making you feel very pariah-like.
-You will get injured. Pretty much every day.
-Don't extend your knife all the way.
-Politics exist, on a scale yet to be invented.


The Song of the Day today is:
Angry People, by the Barenaked Ladies
http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Angry_People/7476882

Classic. I win, they don't drag me down. They make me laugh :)

Just Can't Seem to Get it Right Today

Hello, dear reader. I apologize for my absence. I have been picking up more hours at work (to quote my coworker, "I have a pile of bills 1/16th of an inch thick!"), and this last weekend I was dog sitting a dog I've known since puppy-hood. He's not one for sharing attention, especially with computers or other living things, and he definitely doesn't understand that sleeping people don't give attention to dogs unless they howl and flop around like an attention-starved starlet with the back of her hand on her forehead.

So today I was going to stay and work longer, make some money. I had the best intentions, and I seem to have a TON of energy on Tuesdays (a phenomenon which I am willing to investigate and extort) when, 15 minutes into my shift I had a comical but devastating incident. Thinking about it now, it is funny, and I hope you find it funny too. In my head it reads like that insurance claim about the guy with the bricks. I've told my manager that I will set up the paint machines every morning (I may as well tell you I work in a home-improvement store; the secret is out. Everyone from my old work knows, and seem to be coming in to check on me. Fabulous), so that she doesn't have to come in a half hour early just to set it all up. It's fairly simple. Purge the machines, check the color levels, etc. Today I was filling the white colorant when I decided it would go faster if I punched a hole in the bottom. Before the can was empty I could see that the color was getting full, so I moved the can to the next machine to fill up that white container. Clearly I had forgotten that I had punched a hole in the bottom, and a trail of white paint was following me to the next machine. In my haste, I dumped the remainder in the next container, only to see that it was the wrong color. My manager hath oft told me this would be grounds for a royal hissy fit. I caught it after only a couple of drops, so no harm was done. I bent down to clean up the paint I had trailed on the floor, and hit my forehead on the counter, getting white paint on my face. I quickly cleaned up the floor and disposed of the offending canister, spraying all the surfaces with a powerful degreaser. I got the paint cleared up and decided to clean the counter. I safely sprayed a paper towel with this wonder-solvent, but it was on stream, rather than spray, and it sprayed back into my eye. I cannot tell you the amount of burning that is involved in this venture. I do not recommend it to anyone. I went to the drinking fountain and rinsed my eye, then, wet, bangs dripping, with white paint on my face, went to ask where the eyewash station was. What was that? Was that embarrassing, you ask? Ohhhh, not compared to what came next. I went to the eyewash station and bent over the fountain of saline solution, when the dock worker told me I had to stay there 15 minutes. 15 minutes, in a busy receiving area, bent over a fountain with my butt hanging out in the world. Everyone walking by wanted to know what happened, and I couldn't tell them, because of the odd sensation I was drowning. It was a high tech Neti Pot, I tell you. So there I am, snot pouring out, eye still burning, hanging my backside out to the world, trying to breathe, alienating those around me who want to know what happened (Minnesota Nice: Asking for the details while one is still in the process of dealing with it...Minnesota Nosy, more like) because I can't speak. Good times. I did NOT go home, however. But I did leave when my shift was over, rather than staying for more hours. I just want to shut my eye!

The good news is I can see. I have a minimal amount of blurriness, which is slowly subsiding, and all I can feel is a bit of a burn. Could have been worse. The ironic thing is that when they showed me that degreaser in the first place, they said, "this right here is your best friend." Ummmmm, no. Not so much.

The morning did not improve. My mineral water and juice concoction exploded on me, going all the way down my shirt and into my pants, my shirt buttons kept coming undone, making me the Mae West of the general area. I dropped a 6 pack of Catfood on my foot. If it could go wrong today, it did. I thought it would be best to just get home, close my eye and hide from the world. The only thing that went well was that I didn't cut myself with the box cutter, as per usual. What am I doing here? The HR guys keep asking me that too, but that's more because I seem so smart and overqualified. Maybe if I do well enough soon enough I will not have to be a grunt for long, but on the upside, I'm a size smaller and I'm getting some upper body strength. Ha!

This job cracks me up. I can't help but find things funny about it all the time. For the first 2 weeks I thought I was socially awkward, having been out of the world for the better part of a year, then I realized a lot of my coworkers are a bit on the awkward side, leaving odd pauses or rambling about seriously trivial things, like their granola bar preferences. The small talk gets really funny. I was thrilled to find out that one of my coworkers watched Family Guy last week, so when I asked him about it this week he had not seen it. He watches SpongeBob Squarepants. What? What is the best response to that?

There are a million more stories like this, and just as many that come from the customers. I will share them with you as I can remember and see. I better hide from the world, before I ruin another remote or laptop keyboard with spilled something or other. Oh yeah, it's all happened.

Today's song of the Day is

Joe Purdy, Just Can't Seem to Get it Right Today

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Can_t_Get_It_Right_Today/8231261

It's snowing again, for the third day in a row. Here are a few implications of the snow:

America: Land of the Panic Attack

I present to you reasons why I don’t watch the news anymore; it feels like America has become one big dysfunctional family, and the news is the doomsday, overprotective mother. I will watch the news, if I want to see what it is I’m supposed to panic about. Or if there is a story about a waterskiing squirrel. No wonder why so many people are suffering from panic attacks and disability.

Here’s a small list, from the last few years:
-War in Iraq
-War in General
-Obama and his healthcare plan
-Swine Flu (why are you still calling it that, news?) – Minnesota Hospitals and doctors offices took a new take this year, asking all Minnesotans to stay home if they think they have the flu, and don’t come in for help. Same with schools and daycares, and guess what’s happening? Schools are down 50% in attendance because a kid has the sniffles, and the subsequent absenteeism in workplaces makes the parents panic about working in this economy. Which leads us to:
-The Economy
-Unemployment Rates
-Terrorists
-Nuclear Bombs
-Natural Disasters, such as flooding, quakes, fire, storms….basically everything they used to call “Acts of God.” It’s probably better if they don’t call it that.
-Random violence among the youth and in the schools
-Gangs
-Workplace violence

I feel like the news is that daily call from an overprotective, horror-story-for-everything mother; “Did you hear that some woman just murdered a pregnant woman and took her baby!?!?” Add that one to the list. Fear and panic gets ratings, I know. Maybe I should go into business writing about happy fun stuff…like Chicken Soup for the Soul or the light side of news….oh wait, that’s already being done.

I think about panic and how it is not just an American Institution. Religion, National Leaders from all countries, the medical community, they all thrive on panic, because it keeps things rolling. It’s a great motivator. How unfortunate. I am much more motivated by goals and encouragement, but I never see that on a public scale. I’d work for those people. :D

There was a woman in the news (ha! Here we go) from Minnesota, who ran away with her 13 year old son after he told her he didn’t want to go through chemo again. They hunted the two down, vilified her in the news, and a judge forced them to go to chemo. So many people called her neglectful, tore her apart, but I knew what she was feeling. To see someone go through chemo once is hard enough. You inject your body with poison, hoping to kill another poison. The added sickness and weakness that comes with chemo is terrifying to watch, and I have no idea what it would be like to go through, I just pray I don’t ever know. This child (no one seems to remember he’s a child) wanted to live out the rest of his life happily, with good quality, not spending his last year on earth stuck in bed and throwing up all the time. She loved him enough to try and do that. So she ran away with him to hide him. Maybe she shouldn’t have done that, but when a pompous doctor, who, let’s face it, DOES NOT HAVE A CURE, but tells you to subject your body to this horrifying poison a second time or he will take you away from your family, put you in a foster home and still poison you, what is the best response to that? Doctors don’t have a clue when it comes to many diseases, and their response to illness is generally, “let’s try this. Let’s try this. Let’s try this.” I went to the CNN website to read people’s comments on this story, and I was heartbroken, the way people were throwing stones at this woman. Then, they interview a doctor, and he flat out says that this woman ran took her son away from a cure, that he is saddened because he’s holding all the answers in his hand and she has refused them. A CURE. Apparently this guy has cured cancer and failed to tell anyone about it. He’s the savior of this kid and she’s the devil for trying to let him live his life, however long it may be, as he wants, with happiness and some semblance of normality. Since he was 13, he was a minor, and the guardians were not allowed to refuse treatment on his behalf, nor was he allowed to refuse treatment for himself. Doctor (24 year old kid who has swallowed whatever he’s told) knows best. So this kid gets forced into chemo a second time in 3 months, with no hope, no feeling that it will help, totally depressed and with no faith of healing. Yeah, that will get the job done. Good on ya, doctor.

I didn’t mean to digress on this. This situation made me so furious, obviously. I just have issues with the panic and judgment of this country. Not that it is better anywhere else, but America seems to revolve around public gossip and humiliation and judgment, and it’s a little distasteful for my pallet. How many times have you seen the news, where there is a 30 second blurb about, say, a mosque full of men using their wives outside as a human shield (or sacrifice), only to spend the next 4 minutes on Tom Cruise or Brittany Spears? I tell you, it makes me sick. So if I seem like I don’t know what’s happening in the news, I likely do, but I won’t get my news from TV. News, like healthcare, is a BUSINESS. It’s about the money and the attention.

This all came about because of course, someone I know has the sniffles, and immediately everyone is freaking out. Yes, panic and lock yourself in your house with Airborne and Emergen-C, that will protect you. It makes me think of the plague, but we’re not witty enough to make a nice little nursery rhyme out of H1N1. But, we’re not quarantining the sick and the well together, so we got that going for us.

This reminds me of the song by Panic at the Disco: The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide is Press Coverage. But that’s not the song of the day. Don’t worry. It also reminds me of the Weepies: This is Not Your Year. But that’s not the song of the day either.

For my money, I will take my chances. I have never taken a flu shot and I never will. That too is a business, and business from panic is good. I will trust in God and Fate and let science continue to think they’re both. Wow, I am cynical today! I apologize. I don’t know why that happened today, but I feel better, having written it. :P

I didn’t start off cynical today. Hmmmm.

Today’s Song of the Day is
The Weepies, The World Spins Madly On
http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/World_Spins_Madly_On/185470

I Find Things That Irritate Me: I Laugh at Them

So I haven't written in a few days. Thank you to those who send me emails and Instant Messages, prodding me to write. There doesn't feel like there is a lot to say. I still feel like I'm in a holding pattern, waiting for something. I got an email from one of the real estate offices to which I applied on August 20th. I emailed him back. We'll see.

Here's the travesty (photo) of the day: I went into a store last week, on September 24th, and this picture is what I saw. I then found out they've been there for more than a week! That's just sad. No Halloween, no Thanksgiving. Christmas in a recession, starts at Labor Day. Smart.

I feel more and more like we need to get out of this place. My boyfriend's job is getting more and more frustrating. He has an injury that he got on the job, but is still working everyday and overtime. And all his coworkers and bosses do is complain and demand more than they did before the injury. No clue how much money he is saving them, no idea how hard he's trying to keep things "normal" for them, while he is in so much pain. It's like they went on a mission to try and make him quit, because they know he has to be fired over his injury in order to get Comp benefits. The man is in so much pain, and all he gets is complaints and demands. And now he gets disciplined for every little thing also. You can see the company building a case against him. Nice. Good work environment. It's so hard to watch him go through this every day. I just pray for a new situation in life, a chance to leave this one and go somewhere else. And healing, and wisdom, and peace. Life is just hard right now. I look forward to the day when the people complaining actually have to get off their butt, put down their joints and do something, because he does it all, and he pretty much does it for me, for which I am trying to not feel guilty. It adds to the worry that I've been feeling. He's amazing.

Having said that, in many ways life is good. I've gone from helplessly looking for work to helplessly watching him get trampled and abused. I'm a helpless creature, and it's probably better if I know that. I went to Grace Church last week (if you get irritated by peoples' faith, look away now), and the message was all in Colossians 1, where it talks about identity. How people go to church and are nice to other people because they think it will win them brownie points when they die, and how many of the religions of the world are based on human teachers who teach this. I agree, loving your fellow man and living a nice life are important, but at the end of the day, it doesn't earn you anything. All it does is give you, as the tryer, peace of mind, which seems selfish and not self denying at all. Religion is all about advice. Do this, don't do that. I've learned I cannot give advice and change someone; I can't even change myself. This leads to toleration of others' faults. The professor teaching made an interesting comment. He said advice doesn't help, even if it's nice. If you're drowning in credit card debt, and your friends say, "just get a job that pays a million dollars a year," that is not very helpful. I think toleration is good, but I wonder if I love them.

I don't love my neighbors. My actual physical neighbors. Even now, my couch is shaking with their children running through the house on these crappy support beams that resonate on either side. The screamer is at it again, because it is almost dinner time, and the children are impatient. I have been thinking about the idea of loving your neighbor this week. This is the sick sense of humor that God has; love your neighbor, but you can't pick them. Love whoever I put next to you, whether they love and respect you or not. Crap. Crap crap crap. Why? Why can't I say, "I love you" to whomever is there (someone check my grammar there)? Why does it have to be the next person, who is so seemingly horrid to humanity? I heard that love is wanting the absolute best for someone else. No, I don't do this. I wait for the day where they will have to face the way they live, all the while ignoring my own faults. Same thing on the road, I want to see the jerks who cut me off crash, and that's not wanting the best for them. There has to be a middle of the road, where I don't make excuses for their bad behavior, I don't wish them ill, and it doesn't feel like a free pass for someone to walk all over me. I have this saying, when people are jerks in stores or on the road. I look at my cohort and say, "they are more important than we." It seems to be the obvious statement they want to make.

I am glad to be working with my hands, even if it is an easy job and it's not quite making the bills. It's close. I enjoy the customers, I joke around with them, and my coworkers are wonderful. Today I was told that I should leave all 5 gallon drums, and let the guys do it. What gentlemen. Works out for me. I have earned the nickname "Crash," after my run-in with my cohort in a previous post. I wish I could say things are getting less embarrassing, but being a klutz and carrying a box cutter is just an invitation to hilarity. Luckily, I've only cut myself and only once. Today I had to unload a dog house for a large dog. As anyone else would do, I tried to put it on my head and carry it over that way, like those women in Africa. It fell and messed up my hair, but luckily no one was hurt and it didn't break. Also, I made my first disaster today, moving the wrong boxes, and causing an avalanche. Good times. Good times. If you're good at Jenga, send some pointers my way. :) Letting the customers in at 6:30 is a bit unfair, though, when I have Irish pub songs in my head and don't know where everything is. My manager is nice, and also newer to the department. She brings in donuts and runs to McDonald's. Soon I will stop accepting her generous offers in the name of weight loss, but she's nice and helpful. She clearly doesn't understand what I'm doing there; not that I do either.

I am on this journey whether I like it or not, and I simply can't afford to be "destination" oriented, when my journey could mean so much. I am happy to work, I wait for something beautiful, and I need to start paying attention to my travel. I get so frustrated with others, who complain about their jobs, and they HAVE a job. I get frustrated with people turning down good work because it is beneath them or they don't want to negotiate a schedule, so they let it go. I get frustrated with people who owe me money and have a nice job, but spend all their money on some weekend trip or coffee and meals, because they don't want to cook for themselves or plan, or pay back what they owe. These things irritate me (as do Rooster decorations, Red pickups and Audi drivers). But my life is good. I have a home, I am fed, I have a really nice boyfriend (case in point: I wanted to try this new orange toothpaste, so he bought it. And I hated it. And he never said a word, but has been using that nasty toothpaste, even though he bought a new tube for me. That's a nice guy.) I'm 30, I view work as a means to live my life, and I want out of debt. I think that's healthy. It's time to make my "To do by 31" list. I think for my next birthday, I'm going to hire a Jack Sparrow impersonator, I'm going to either pull this tooth or fix it, and I really want my SCUBA certification. Now I just need to find 1500 bucks for all that. 500 if I just pull the tooth. :) Hmmm, and I need $2000 to finish my associates degree. I'm trying not to be greedy, but I want my bachelors. But that is only to make me feel good about myself, and that makes school my religion, and I don't want that. :)

I want another perspective, you know? One that seems so impossible, but isn't. Like in Colossians, when Paul tells the Greeks how Christ is different from the Greek gods. These people were terrified of their gods, their gods broke their own rules, came down to earth whenever they wanted on benders. Paul comes swooping in and says, "this guy isn't like that. He's the lifeguard, and he holds on to you." It's like me telling you that New Yorkers are laid back people who just like to sit at the beach and hang 10; it goes against everything you know about them, and it takes a lot to accept. Perspective is funny. I could be mad right now, but you wouldn't know because I'm typing and you can't hear me or see my handwriting get sloppier. I could walk in as someone walks out, and they might not even see me, but I could spend the day worrying about whether I did something wrong to them (annoying side note, I also dislike when people don't use the "g" on words, like "somethine"...that drives me CRAZY, but I also don't like to hear the "g" at the end of the word, like "songch." And there is an insight into my crazy...have fun with that).

Anyway, I am sure there is more to come, and I am sure you've enjoyed reading about all the things that irritate me, but my life is good, there is a hope to it that many don't have. I don't feel empty, as is easy to do when freaking out. I have authentic friends and loving family. I sit in this storm with all sorts of uncertainty, and I feel fine. No worries. I LOVE no worries. I am still waiting for something to happen that will make things more enjoyable. I have faith that something will. I think more and more about starting my own business, but I have a tough time. I know I could do it, but I don't know the direction to take. Not to sound like I'm adding external stuff into my life to improve it, but how great would it be to have my own business, and then the guy could quit and I could be working towards something for me? Dreams dreams dreams...

Today's song of the Day is a song i LOVE. I've been playing it all week. It's always cued up.
Need to Breathe: Something Beautiful

http://www.myspace.com/needtobreathe

It doesn't seem to be on Grooveshark yet. So if you go to their myspace page, scroll down and click on "something Beautiful"....it's so amazing. It's all I've been thinking about all week.

Impressions of the Week

I was 10 years old, sitting in Mrs. Fitzpatrick's class, waiting for our recycling demonstration set to Michael Jackson's "We Are the World." I remember thinking about it before she even asked us. Our class joined up with Mrs. Strand's class, and I was staring at the pictures on the wall. I never answered the way anybody wanted, and this was no exception. She pointed at me and said, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I looked at the pictures again, of various men and women (mostly men) in their careers. I thought about how, if I said "a business woman," all the girls in both classes would know it was because of our collective crush, our Junior Achievement teacher, who looked just like Tom Cruise, but with better hair. I knew what I wanted to do; I had already started looking into it on my own. I don't know why it felt like a knee-jerk reaction, but I blurted, "I want to be an Archaeologist, but not with dinosaurs. I hate dinosaurs." The assembled classes of course laughed, but the picture of the archaeologist was surrounded by dinosaur bones, and South Dakota was not my idea of excitement; plus I had serious doubts about dinosaurs. I always felt like they just found bones and stuck them together, and who knows if that animal really looked that way? You could have bones from 6 different animals for all you know. I said this, but no one heard me, because they were still laughing at me. I wanted to be in some far off place (not Egypt though, I never knew why), carefully brushing off sand and dust to reveal some treasure from the past that no one had seen for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years. Of course, with all the laughing and the pointing, a girl tends to start keeping that stuff to herself. Not until college, sitting in a course in Egyptology (ironic, is it not? I had to take it before I could take the Civil War class I wanted), when I remembered this moment from the 5th grade. I decided again I wanted to be an archaeologist, but my boyfriend at the time wasn't going to be ok with that. My prof was planning a trip to Jericho, in Iran (or Iraq? I can't remember now), but they didn't end up going anyway because of the diplomatic climate. I thought that would have been amazing. To go on an actual dig, finding pots with burnt grains on top, but whole grains underneath. Yeah, I thought Archeology would be amazing. I had spent the last 2 years with a guy-friend, watching Biographies and learning little known things, and of course had fallen in love with him. He ended up marrying my boss' daughter and I quit and went to college, where I never watched any biographies. Stupid boys. But I digress.

They say you know yourself the best when you're 10. German and Norwegian children choose a career when they are 10, and that determines which kind of school to which they go. They choose, and are trained in that field up until they complete school, when they are ready to go into that field. Can you imagine if Americans did this? How many times would we change our mind and how long would schooling take? 22 and just graduating highschool because you changed your mind 3 times? No direction. No staying power.

All of this is on my mind this morning, along with some random 3rd grade memories, for some reason. Actually I know why. I had a best friend in Elementary school, and one night we watched "The Princess Bride." It was the first time I had seen it, and it was soon my favorite. I still watch it a couple of times a year. When she moved away, I set our whole friendship on that, how she and I shared something that is still so precious. So imagine my surprise when, on facebook, she FAILED the Princess Bride quiz this week. She doesn't remember most of it; hasn't watched it since 4th grade, when we watched it together. So sad. It was cemented in my mind that we would always have that memory and could relive it whenever. :P

You may know that I started my new job this week. I don't really think of it as a job. I think of it more as 4 hours of exercise, first thing in the morning, for which I am paid. I am grateful for the work, and it will nearly pay all the bills, even part time. I just don't see it as my "job." Maybe I will. I forget what it's like to be new. I forget that those you work with have done this job, and are likely bored with this job, and have discovered how to slack off at this job. I stand there at 5am asking, "so the truck is late, what do you do when the truck is late? Down stock?" And they look at me, like, cool it, lady. We chill. We make small talk, and the manager walks by. I start asking if they will teach me....whatever. Show me around. The guys I work with in the morning are really wonderful. Nice guys. My first day, one of them loaded up a cart for me, gave me all the light stuff, carried anything heavy for me. It was really sweet. I know that won't last, and that's fine. But it was nice. And we're already working as a team really well. First day was great, we finished everything early and did down stock, we rocked it. Second day is where it got interesting.

I couldn't remember either of my coworkers' names. They, unlike me, don't wear their name tags out for the world (I still need to find the loopholes that these guys find in the rules :P). So I go to the first guy, tell him I am terrible with names, and can he tell me again. So I learn his name, get it down, remember. Then I confide in him that I can't remember the other guy's name either, so he tells me, but for some reason, I can't hear. So after 2 attempts, he shows me on the schedule. Ok. So all morning, I'm calling them by their names, we're getting along, and 3 hours into the shift, I call the 2nd guy over, and he tells me I've been using the wrong name all day. I looked at the wrong name on the schedule. Fantastic. So I tell him I couldn't remember and tried to cheat by looking at the schedule, thinking, why didn't the first guy tell me? Ohhh, Minnesota Nice. He didn't want me to feel like an idiot. Yes, yes, job well done. Funny, isn't it? The lady at church last week who called me the wrong name and I didn't correct her because I didn't want her to feel foolish, and then this happens? Anyway...

The day goes on, and we have extra work to do because the trucks were late. I still have not learned to take a break. Both days I've worked, I have not taken breaks. I will. Anyway, this guy comes in to the aisle where I am working, standing on a flatbed cart (kids, don't try this at home). Of course he needs something and I have no clue where it is. So I spend about 40 seconds trying to get off this cart gracefully, and finally end up leaping onto solid ground. I turn around to see him with one eyebrow up, so I self-defamate by throwing my hands in the air and singing, "graceful!" I turn to RUN around the corner to ask for help, when I run straight into a fellow employee, a moustached stranger. Chest to chest, full on collision. We are both so stunned, and neither can think of a good icebreaker, or awkwardly funny phrase. We stand there, both our hands on the other's outer arms, embarrassed laughter in our eyes, and all we can think to do is slide our hands down until we are holding hands, and say, "good morning!" In full view of my customer, who already knows I'm a spaz. Yippee. I'm surprised we didn't dance; it looked like we were going to. So I go to my manager and tell her that my morning just got very embarrassing, but feel no need to tell her why, I have a customer waiting.

When I took this job, I thought, "Yes. 5-9am, no customers, just stock and get out." But consistently, customers start coming in about 6:30. Why? And on Fridays it's worse, earlier and busier. They all find me for help, and I always find someone else to help, because really, what do I know? Oh well. It makes it easier to work later for more money. It's pretty relaxed there. The policy is after you miss 3 shifts without calling, then they talk to you. Yesterday the General Manager came up to my manager and said that someone wasn't in yet. She said, "if she's not in within the next half hour, let me know, I'll text her and wake her up." Nice. That was not how I ran things, but I had a much more stringent schedule, and a lot less people to fill it. So those things crack me up. I like wearing normal clothes, jeans, to work. I can just go do anything after. But I ask so many questions, involved ones. "With the discount, does it come out pre or post tax? How long do you have to work to get profit sharing? Can part timers get in on the 401k plan? How much does health insurance cost per week, and what's the grace period? When is open enrollment? What if I am trained in Blood Borne Pathogens, do I still need to call a manager to clean up human fluid spills?" The poor HR guy. In training, we'd watch the riDICulous videos, and you know what I mean. He'd say, "are there any questions?" and look at me. The one time I didn't have a question, he was shocked. He just kept saying, "Don't worry about it." It's a sarcastic and relaxed place. It's a good fit. I just have to make more money with it :) It doesn't sound like extra hours will be hard to come by.

Today's song of the day:

Round Room - Phish. I don't know why. It's the cadence, I think. This is how I'm feeling :)
http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Round_Room/64138

My Super Power is Minnesota Nice. Will I Use it for Good or Evil?

So at Grace Church Roseville, this series of sermons is happening about Minnesota Nice. He had a great definition up there from Wikipedia, and it stirred up my own thoughts on the subject.

Minnesota Nice is an expected politeness, an inherited people-pleasing gene; letting others go first, opening doors, deferring to others when making a decision about social locales. Minnesota nice is nice, but I think it also brings to light an underlying self esteem issue that Midwesterners have as a whole. The premise is nice, make others feel good, so they like you. Minnesota Nice also carries with it a connotation of shallow, passive-aggressive behavior that leaves one open to manipulation. Minnesotans would die like martyrs just to prove a point, without having to say it, as long as they were the nicer one in the situation. They will exhaust themselves helping others and baking "bars," just so people won't think they don't care. They will put other families before their own, giving all they have, just to have the appearance of being a nice, wonderful person, while their own family falls to the wayside. People talk about that too.

With this Minnesota Nice expectation comes some stress. Often I will sit at a stoplight, waiting to turn left or right. If I am the first one at the light, I fear that somehow, even though the light is red and we are bound by law, I am holding up the person behind me. In my mind they get angrier and angrier, and it's my fault, because I am in front of them. Almost invariably, when I finally get up the nerve to confront the seething person by looking in my rear view mirror, there is no one even behind me. If they are there, they are oblivious to me. So Minnesota Nice becomes this constant quest of "how can I make everything easy for those around me," as if it is my job. Also stressful is sitting in, say an office waiting room. You're expected to make small talk. I'm not one for small talk, I don't like talking about the weather. I will give this to Minnesotans: they usually begin the conversation with a joke about themselves, to put everyone at ease, myself included. Because that would make other people comfortable. But after a few sentences, awkward pauses dot the conversation, and no one knows if the polite thing to do is continue the conversation, or if the other person is getting uncomfortable (see my first entry, "Searching for Jobs and Chutzpah"...these are "Bob" situations).

It seems like a wonderful thing, this Minnesota Nice, and it is, when one is in a new situation. People are warm and inviting. But getting into a real friendship is harrowing business. One can't just say, "this is the kind of friend I am, these are my faults" to a forming friend. These things have to come out slowly, over time. You can't stress someone out with any issues you may have with yourself. You can't show imperfections until well after the 5th or 6th lunch date. Many times, you invest the initial 4 months trying to get to know someone, and when they FINALLY start showing you who they are, it's not always pretty, or worth it, and sometimes you never get below their "nice." Sometimes (thank you, Gertrude Stein), there is no there, there.

The other issue about Minnesota Nice I didn't even realize until the last few years is the manipulation and actual insult that Minnesota Nice can bring. I worked in a very stressful place as a caregiver, and one of my coworkers would come and vent about Minnesota Nice on a regular basis. She was from Europe, and she just didn't understand this concept. Just say you messed up. Just say what you want from her and she will do it! There is this sense, and maybe it is heightened in the health care field, that you need to show people you care about others more than they do. You are a better person because of how you care for others, and your whole life is devoted to it. People use it as credentials; "because I work with the needy, I have a more weighted opinion." She also felt like it was lying. She didn't feel like she knew any really honest people, because everyone is trying so hard to be nice, that the truth never comes out at all.

The manipulation is different than the dishonesty. The manipulation comes from those that know what Minnesota Nice entails, and use it for sympathy, attention, food, you name it. Minnesotans are ridiculously easy to guilt. They'll fall for that game, as I have often done. But, taking over hot dishes and bars doesn't even help, because the helper won't ask what's going on. They won't delve into how else they can help; food solves everything. This works out well for the manipulator, because there really is no problem anyway. Other manipulations come from people who, in their quest to be nice, simply cannot show their true personality; they act differently with each friend they have, and in a group social event either don't go, or say little, because they have to be a different person with each friend. This is the people-pleasing gene. They always have to look like the good guy, or they always are in need of help. They pick a role in the friendship that will make the other person feel good about themselves, and the boundaries are set. This creates HUGE problems in a social group, because one friend thinks they know the friend in question, but then they hear a completely different side or issue from another. This brings up gossip, each friend calling the others to see what they were told, and the last resort usually is confronting the friend in question, which Minnesotans aren't typically prone to do. That would be rude.

Here's a perfect example of Minnesota Nice, a real texting conversation between my Minnesotan friend that moved to Tennessee. We'll call her D:

Me: We HAVE to get together and have lunch while you're visiting!
D: Totally! Where do you want to go?
Me: You're the one visiting, what places do you miss? You have to chose.
D: You have to choose, because you know what's there, and what's affordable and what's close. I do miss the ginger dressing at Saji-Ya, but I also like the Good Earth, the French Meadow and Shish.
Me: Well that is just plain not helpful. ;) Where is the French Meadow? I've never been there.
D: It's in Minneapolis, I can't believe you've never been there! It's all natural and delicious.
Me: That may be a little undesirable, geographically speaking (yes, this is how we text. We text for hours, when we could call in 10 minutes, and we both HATE abbreviations).
D: Well, they are all good to me. You pick.
Me: YOU pick! You're the one visiting!
D: Ok, how about you decide between Saji-Ya and the Good Earth?
Me: Fine. Saji-Ya. How's 11?
D: Great. Does Saji-Ya do lunch? Can we do 12:30?
Me: I'll check. (20 minutes later). Yes, they do lunch.
D: Ok, then Saji-Ya at 12:30. Unless you want to do something else.
Me: NO! That's it. Saji-Ya at 12:30. I'm so excited to see you!
D: Me too!

Ok, so that conversation is typical, and really happened. Apparently we have all the time in the world to make decisions. On the actual day, this is the texting that took place:

D: I'm running late and changing plans. Will 3:00 work for you? We could have an earlier dinner, or a late lunch.
Me: Sure! (20 Minutes go by). Uh-oh; Saji-Ya is closed from 2-5. We need to find another place.
D: Gah! ok. How about Shish?
Me: Where is Shish?
D: Somewhere on Grand. I can't remember. By MacAlester somewhere.
Me: Ok, I will google it. I can do that.
D: Are you sure? We could go somewhere else.
Me: I'm sure! I'm not having THAT conversation again. :P I will meet you at 3 at Shish on Grand.
D: Sounds great!

Believe it or not, this is progress. You can clearly see that I made a decision both times. Yay me. Plus, I told her that she was not being helpful, and she didn't cry. Yay her! :) This is why you use emoticons when texting Minnesotans, so they don't EVER get the wrong idea or read your message in the wrong tone. The number one rule: EVERYTHING is fine (I'm not shouting. See?).

So that is Minnesota Nice in a nutshell. A tool that can be used for Good or Evil. An inherent politeness that borders on the frustrating. A deep insecurity. And now you know.

Today's song of the Day is in process. I'm not feeling the right one. If you really need one now, Jack Johnson, Good People will do for now:

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Good_People/21865857


Right now I'm feeling a little bad because at the service about how MN nice is not nice, a nice woman came up and introduced herself. I told her my name, and she started calling me Alice. I did not correct her. I didn't want to make her feel bad, and I didn't know if I would see her again. I realize this was the wrong thing to do. But Midwesterners aren't great with awkward either, it's a flaw in the people pleasing gene. Mapped to make everything nice.

May the Force Be With Me. The Work Force.

I am up at 5:30am today. No idea why. I did meet with a store yesterday and had the all important, dignity boosting pee test taken, to ensure I don't do drugs. Yay. I told the interviewer I have never even smoked a cigarette or a joint, and I don't know if he just sees a lot of junkies or what, but he giggled, and said, "seriously?" Then he quickly quipped "that's awesome." It was a very informal interview. I found myself joking a lot. I kept thinking of Chandler Bing, and tried not to be as funny (i.e. "you said duties....hee heee heee"). I don't think he has a lot of faith in me, but that's OK (why do we have to capitalize OK? It's not an anacronym), I'll show him. I was offered a job, working M-F 5am-9am. This is perfect for me. I can work around it, I can be done by 9, and money will still come in. Plus I can stay after sometimes and make more money. Win-win-win-win. He seems a bit unsure if I am going to be comfortable working those hours. I told him I was a bit of a ridiculous morning person, and my housemates would probably enjoy having me out of the house in the mornings. At my old job, I was always singing or bouncing by 6. My awake nighters never understood me. And my nickname in Austria was Red Bull, because I didn't need any. I will let your imagination marinate on that a little bit. So yay, one job confirmed (hmmm, after the drug test, confirmed....I don't see a problem there). I move back into the force of the working. What is that? Is Doom shaking a little in its shoes?

Since I haven't been working, I have noticed just how much I used to spend frivolously. There were many lunches and coffees, which I don't really regret, but I used to have this habit of going to Target or Walgreens, and buying like $50 worth of stuff, and just leaving it in my back room, still in the bags. When I moved, I had so much unopened stuff that I totally forgot buying, it was ridiculous. I ended up donating like....yeah all of it. I was just having this conversation with my mom. She has recently joined the work force also, in the form of assisting in yearbook photos while insane mothers come and pull their 5th grade daughters out of class to dress them up like little hussies and hover (Ferris Bueller's Day Off: "My sister wears too much makeup; people think she's a whore.") Suddenly old habits and people seem just so ridiculous. She also realized when she stopped working how she would mindlessly shop. I never thought I was a shopping type of girl, but I guess you don't have to buy designer stuff to be an autobot shopper. I was good at putting money away and paying down my debt, too, but I bought a LOT of stuff I didn't need, or even want, as it turned out. I don't do that now, because I can't. I don't see that as a habit that will come back. I don't know, though. Sometimes I just want to go get something, even if its small. But I don't. So I think we're good. Ha! This is that ambivalence that pervades me....and that doesn't look like a word.

English is such a funny language. I read once that they interviewed people on the other side of the world who didn't speak a word of English, and they asked them to pick the most beautiful word, from a list (I don't know how many words were on the list). The majority of them picked Diarrhea. I found this odd, until my best friend told me that when she was a child she had an imaginary friend named Diarrhea. She was a ballerina and wore a pink tu-tu. I don't think she sees her much anymore. I ask about her sometimes, because I'm a good friend. :P I wonder if my friend is reading this post! Ha! I'll be hearing about this, I'm sure.

Today's song may require a bit of explanation: I've chosen The Sound of Settling by Death Cab for Cutie. I don't feel that I am settling, as I am grateful for any job at all, and this one actually will work really well for me, schedule wise. But somewhere deep inside, this rings a little.
http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/The_Sound_of_Settling/7280094

Some Ramble or Other About the Aesthetic and Emotional Pleasure of Letters

I love mail.  Good old fashioned mail.  I have a pen pal and today I sent off a package.  I love dressing up packages so that they're fun to get.  I wrap everything in brown paper.  Then you can write all over it, or you can tie it up in string, so that when the person gets it, invariably they are singing "My Favorite Things" for the rest of the day.  Who doesn't love mail?  Email is the tool of the day, and I'm not disparaging it, but when you're in college (even today), the only thing that makes you feel really really amazing is a care package from home, or a letter from someone put in your mailbox.   Even if that letter is from your roommate, and she could have just told you.  Mail makes you feel loved.  It is a concrete thing that you can hold in your hand and know that someone was thinking about you. 

You may wonder what started this pen pal craze of mine in 2009.  Well, I saw the movie Julie and Julia, and while Julie's blog was interesting and fun, I was more captivated by Julia and her pen pal.  She always had a letter in her hand, she was always writing one.  No matter the letter, no matter where she was, letters came and they were like the newspaper.  I'm sure as she got older she probably resorted to email like the rest of us, but I like to think that she always wrote letters. 

I used to have lots of penpals.  Living in a tourist area almost guarantees it.  I had friends from camp every year, and an assignment in the 4th grade where we were given a pen pal.  Mine was Elizabeth, and we actually wrote for a year or so.  That was fun.  Many of my international friends and I still write, though admittedly, it is more often through email or facebook that I do my correspondence.  Also, I had all of their addresses in a memory book that was passed around when I was in highschool, and it was lost for 10 years.  I got it back this year, and now I wonder who will remember me, and why I don't remember some of them! 

Letters are such a great way to remember people.  I often deleted emails from my grandmother, but I am fairly certain I have most, if not all the letters she ever wrote me, for birthdays or any reason.  I was so proud when I became able to read her writing.  I have her to thank also for the meticulous way I write now :). 

I want a song to go with letters, but if you notice, most songs are about sad letters.  That's not good.  My Baby Wrote Me a Letter would be ok.  Please, Mr. Postman...hmmm.  Maybe.  Hmmm.  Brad Paisley's Letter to Me is sweet.  I don't know, a song about mail is just not hitting today.  We'll see what comes up.

So today is a worry-free zone, as my lovely friend reminded me yesterday.  Today I write letters and I don't worry about not working.  Hopefully I'll hear something today, but I am not sitting by the phone.  There is a beautiful fog out in the park this morning, and geese and turkeys.  I'm going to go for a walk with another lovely friend and enjoy the day.  Many a day have I wasted by sitting inside, staring at the sunlight, worrying about my future and destroying the present.  When I look back on this year, will I remember anything but the worry?  My friend and I have much to worry about, but she reminds me that it won't help anything and now is the time for action.  Can waiting be an action?  Maybe my action will be to get a pedicure.  Or a massage.  Let's start with the walk :). 

Today's Song of the Day is: 
Heavenly Day, Patty Griffin
http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Heavenly_Day/49054

Did you see that one coming?