Soon!

So let me explain.

No, don't look at the date I last posted. It hasn't REALLY been months. That's just your monitor having some kind of glitch. I've been meaning to blog. I even took notes of two hysterical events!

I can't find them now, of course.

And I totally haven't been blowing this off and playing Skyrim. Or like every other video game possible. Or just sleeping. I swear.

I've just had totally awesome super secret spy stuff I can't talk about here been happening. It's been so awesome. But I can't tell you. Yeah, remember that one time you didn't die? That was totally thanks to me. I bet you didn't even know anything was going on, that's how good I am.

As soon as I can find those notes, I promise, there will be a post!

Generic Job Post!

First, sorry sorry sorry! I accept my title as the worst blogger ever, no, EVAR, and that it has been far too long since my last update!


But to make it up to my whole two readers, I am making an extra long post, about work!




I don't want to name names, so as far as you all know, I work at GENERIC SUB STORE. GSS is an easy, easy job. Slice meat and cheese, put mayo on it, ring it up, bam. Done. Hardest thing is coupons.

In theory anyways. Sometimes customers make the reality a bit more difficult, sometimes the surroundings are to blame, and other times it's my own stupidity.

Recently, we had one of those difficult customers. An older man asked for a kids meal, with chicken on it. Now, we have a cheat sheet for all our sammichs that shows how many slices of cheese and meat to do for every single size of every single sammich. Near the bottom there is

KIDS MEAL

No chicken. Hm. I figure I'll let it slide and make the guy a chicken sammich anyways. But... how many slices?

Kid's equals half of a medium so... 2 1/2? I decide to be generous and give the guy 3.

To which he FREAKS out. "THAT"S NOT RIGHT!!!" I am told. "I GET FOUR PIECES!!!"

I explain to him that if he wants four pieces, he needs to get the small. He retorts with the fact that I even sliced the chicken too thin.

I. Never. Touch. the thickness of the slicer. Ever. Not once.

After that, he says, "I want light on all the spices except salt."

Which is a very tricky statement. I'm sure, again, I was just trying to mess up his particular sammich, but I took that to mean light on everything and normal salt. Boy was I WRONG. Also, I think people are under the impression that mistakenly putting salt on something is an offense punishable by death.

Maybe I was... asalt-ed.

But I'm sure I saw him, and decided to really screw up HIS sandwich. I mean, I must have zeroed in on this guy, and been like,

Another fun customer... Upon entering the store, asks me,

"Miss? Could you please pull out your hair?"

No, no I had not misheard her. She really did just ask me to pull out my hair. I brushed my hair back, but that wasn't good enough. "No, miss, right there, you have hair that is going to get in my food!"

"I'll uh... Go to the bathroom and pull them out then."

"Thank you!"

And I did. I pulled out my hair. Now, this same lady, whenever she comes in, compliments my now not-as-messy hairstyle. Asking me where I got it done, (Greatclips?) what I asked for, ("Short?") all these questions. I suppose that is her way of saying that, post pluck, my hair is very nice.

Now, as a general note, if you go to a sammich shop, please, PLEASE do not walk away in the middle of telling your poor, under paid, over worked, sammich artist what toppings to put on it. Not only is this rude, but now I don't know if that means you're done (and whenever I decide this, of course, you wanted vinegar on it and now I have to unwrap your sammich...), or if I should wait for you to return (and whenever I take THIS course of action, you were done and why am I wasting your time...). Another thing.

If you say you want everything on it.

Get. Everything.

The sentence "I want everything except onions, pickles, tomatoes, and peppers" IS ACTUALLY "I just want lettuce and olives!" You can't have everything EXCEPT. That makes NO SENSE!!!! If you are making exceptions then it is NOT REALLY EVERYTHING.

Now, something to keep in mind-- I work with knives. Really sharp knives. And a slicer. Bet that would hurt...

Speaking of!!

When I first started working, my boss felt the need to share with me the fact that a few unfortunate workers had actually sliced off the tip off their fingers while working the slicer.

So I have always been really careful working with the sharp pointies. It doesn't matter though. I suffered my first injury within my first week of work. Now, before I was trained on anything else, I was trained on middles. Which is basically just topping and wrapping the sammich. I'm not allowed near the slicer or register. Which seems like a good way to get workers used to everything before doing more important things, but in reality it is so stressful! People walk in, expecting to be helped, and I have to stand there with a huge grin on my face while waiting, (praying) someone else comes to help.

This is important to know, because I was already feeling terribly inadequate going into the lunch rush. I was trying to cut the sammich, and that's when I sliced into my pinkie finger. It didn't hurt too bad (adrenaline? Or God-like pain tolerance?), and I didn't want to drop everything and run into the back, because then it would be *MY* fault people had to stand in line. So I did the thing any reasonable person would.

I hid it.

I tucked my finger into my palm, and continued the lunch rush. I figured as long as blood was not pouring everywhere, I was good. I made it through the whole rush, then on the last sammich was like, "Oh no, I cut myself, better go bandage that...."

But those were not my fault. I blame it on the sharp pointies. The next one was totally just me being a newb at life.

It was early in the morning, and it was just me and my boss working. He needs to go run and get a coffee from starbucks three doors down (heh), and says no one should come in, but to hold the store down while he's gone, for maybe three minutes.

SO! As soon as the door closes, the oven goes off. INSTANT PANIC ATTACK.

My boss loves the bread. In fact, I think he cares more about the bread then some of the workers. He likes the bread exactly perfect, and I think people have been fired for burning it. So when the oven timer is informing me the bread needs instant attention, I am almost instantly filled with fear. I open the oven and the bread seems... bread like. It's wheat, so I can't really look for the 'golden brown' color since... it's that color all the time. I decide that it needs maybe one more minute. Maybe two. As I'm closing the door to the over, a customer walks in. Now, I am barely trained on slicer, not at all on register. But I figure I can stall while topping, at least until boss gets back.

Oh dear. All she wants is a soda. She hands me a dollar and is now waiting expectantly for her change. I must have looked so intelligent, staring at the register.

After a few seconds, she decides she can't wait any longer for miss incompetent to hit the "CANNED SODA" button, she starts to walk out, when I see it! I tell her, wait miss! I found it! I hit it, and then try to input that she gave me a dollar. On the old registers I worked on, you hit the number and it assumed dollars automatically. If they gave you something like 1.50 you had to hit the decimal button. Going with that knowledge, I hit '1' then cash. Hmm, I just gave her a one cent discount.


At this point, she's gone, and my boss walks in. I try to explain to him what happens, and he says, "Well, as long as she gave you a dollar and you gave her a cent change, then it's all good."

BUT I DIDN'T EVEN DO THAT BECAUSE SHE LEFT!!!!!


Last story:


A worker from another store came in, telling my co-worker about a surgery she was having done. Apparently, I looked too interested, because she decided to explain to me what she meant.

"My lips are so frustrating, I'm getting them shortened."

I look at her face and well... They look fine?

That's when she laughs and says, "Oh! Not the ones on my face!"

I needed mind bleach for that one, figured I would share the love. <3

Innuendo!

I've been putting off the post for a while.

Mostly because yes, I can be a bit of a perv. I giggle at inappropriate moments, and love 'that's what she said' jokes. The funny part is my parents know how to up the ante, and turn my immature snickers turn into embarrassed blushes.

The first example of this is when Boyfriend was visiting. We were playing some version of Carcassone, and my dad was explaining the jobs of all the different units. He starts talking about the Mariners when my grandma asks, "So that's what the sea men do?"
Yes, I giggled. Mom rolled her eyes and Dad gave me a look. So we continued.
Dad's almost done explaining the rules, and he says something like this to Boyfriend, "Right, then we tally up the points, and that's how you score." Before I could keep my mouth shut, I blurt, "I would think you wouldn't want him to score!"

 

  
Dad's comeback: "Well, he's scoring in front of your parents."

Yeah, I couldn't think of anything else to say after that.

Another time I was sitting in my parent's bed, and we were all talking. Now, we have a code in our family. 'Watching a movie' can mean two very very different things. It can mean enjoying a dvd, or it can mean... well... *ahem*. Being quite intimate.
So, I thought I was picking up on some subtle flirting on my parents' part, so I asked, "Do you guys want to watch a movie or something?"
At this point it's midnight.
Dad looks at the clock and sighs. "No, because by the time it's done, it'll be like 2 in the morning."
My response?
"I'm doing it wrong...."

Last one: I was bothering my parents, this time it was lunch time. (I find out later that they had actually WANTED to "watch a movie.") After they paid enough attention to me, I retreat back into my room.
Mom comes in, closing the door behind her. "Do you NEVER want me to watch a movie again?"

(IRL it was much funnier.)

Why I am a crazy girlfriend.

I try to be a normal, non-crazy girlfriend. I really do. Sometimes I just can't help it.

Boyfriend is in a ballroom dance class. At first I was like, "Wow, awesome! He's so cultured and amazing!"

And then the crazy started. Because I realized, wait a second. In almost every chick flick ever, there is the 'dance scene.' You know the one. The couple is dancing, their witty banter interrupted by the intricate dance moves. They scoff and chuckle, and by the end of the dance they are completely in love. They can't even help it, it's because they talked while they danced. And Boyfriend is pretty darn attractive, and I live a whole state over. Those silly dancer girls were probably salivating at the chance to live out their Victorian love scenes with him!

I had to fight every urge asking Boyfriend to refrain from speaking.

Then, just last night, he showed me the song they are preforming to. It was like nothing I was picturing. In my ballroom dance class we danced to things like... Bach. But his song... it was...

Sexy.

So the crazy started picturing what kind of moves one would do to this kind of song.
My hopeful expectations versus dreaded reality:

I tried to keep the crazy in check, and simply replied with a forced, "Oh. Neat."

Sister!

So, while this story doesn't actually have to do with something bad happening to me, it's funny and I need to share it. :)

I have two younger siblings, both of whom are quite possibly the coolest little kids around. My brother, 9 years younger then me, and then my sister, who is 13 years younger then me. This particular story has to do with my sister.

Like most young girls, she had a play kitchen were she would 'bake' and prepare 'food'. I believe she was about.. 4 when this particular event happened.

I was walking down the hall, and notice out of the corner of my eye something amiss with her kitchen. She's playing quietly in front of the oven. The over door, which looks like it is barely closing, has doll arms sticking out of it. I ask, "Rini, why are your dolls in the oven?"

She turns around, completely emotionless, and says, "They were naughty." Then she goes back to playing.

And I share a room with this girl.

Snow!

For my freshman year of college, I went to this little private school in the middle of nowhere, Kansas. Come wintertime, I discovered that my desert raised self really had no grasp on what 'cold' truly meant. At first the snow and ice was a cause for excitement, I had only ever seen snow three other times in my *life*, so having it everyday was something truly magical. At first.

Snow and I started to have issues very quickly. I lived in the dorms on the top of a steep hill, and all of my classes were at the bottom of this hill. Very quickly, people came to assume that there would be wet stains on my butt from falling and sliding down the ice hill.

The second thing about Snow that started to get to me was the fact that it was SO WET. My socks were wet, my pants were wet, and as a side note, converses are NOT snow shoes, however stylish they might be.

Then came Christmas break. Finally, I would be going back to the desert, back to warmth and sun. My friend Adam offered me a ride to the airport (that was about... 40-60 minutes away from the school, if I'm remembering right) with his '89 pick up truck. And, yes, Adam was a very good friend of mine, but his shifting abilities were... a little unpracticed. Ah, the joys of a stick shift. The first problem came when he couldn't actually get the car OUT of the parking spot. He had parked on an incline, and because of the ice, he simply could not get enough traction to back out. Now, me being the closet genius I am, I suggest that everyone besides Adam pile into the back of the truck, and that gives it enough umph to back up then get on the road.

So now me and Adam are driving along, and we pass over this old rickety bridge. I think I remember him saying "it's ok," as I slowly realized what was happening. There was a patch of black ice once we exited the bridge, and we were spinning to the left. We continue spinning until we are now facing traffic, in a ditch on the side of the road. He tries to get over the slope, and a thought slowly crosses my mind.

"We're sideways."

Now, we weren't entirely sideways, but I think if even a gentle breeze had hit us we would have rolled to depths unknown (which included an icy lake- the reason for the bridge in the first place). He's determined, but the truck just can't get out. We ended up perpendicular to the road, our weight supported by a few scarily thin trees.

He calls 911 from his cell, (thank goodness for technology) and they ask where we are. "Uhm. We're by the snow. Oh, there's some trees as well."

A tow truck DOES show up though, (along with another tow truck, and a police car), and we ride in the tow truck until we get to a little town where the ice isn't as bad.

I bought him some hot chocolate at starbucks.

So, thinking the ordeal is over, I get ready for the sun back home.

Except, after being there for about a week, the unthinkable happens.

It snows there too.

Fine, Snow, you may have won this time, but surely you can't- Yep. The year after that? When I'm living in Texas? It snows there too. A lot.

The year after when I'm back in the desert? Not actual SNOW, but there were snowflakes.

And this is why I believe that Snow just has a hard time expression his emotions, and he has diverted his efforts to stalking me.

Singing!

When I was in middle school, I was a part of my church's choir. I thought this was amazing- I was always gotting caught singing in the shower, singing in my room with the door closed... and now was my chance to show off in front of the whole church how awesome I was! Nevermind the fact that everyone who auditioned got in...

So, the first time we preform, I notice a key difference between me and the soloist. When I hold out a note, it sounds like this:

When she held out a note, it was more like this:

(I later learned from my violin lessons this is called vibrato, but when I was little I called it 'bouncing'.)

So, in a quick desicion, I decided I'm going to bounce my voice loud and proud.

It was after this out burst that my friend sitting next to me turned to me, with a confused look on her face. "What are you doing? Are you ok?"

My voice has been much less bouncy since then.

Lazy!

Sorry for the lack of posts, I was working on this

 :)

Death!

One afternoon I had driven myself to Target for some last minute shopping. I believe it was for a birthday, because I was wandering around the toy section.

There was a worker in the same aisle as me, stocking up the brightly colored boxes of action figures.

"Excuse me, miss," I turn, even though it's not directed towards me. I see an older lady (I'd put her around... 80? but I'm bad with pegging ages) in one of those scooters that the store provides for people who can't walk.

"Miss, I'm dying."

WOAH! At the announcement, me and the worker are both flung into panic mode. The worker, looking a little shocked, asks for clarification in a shaky voice. I guess this had been her first experience with death as a Target stocker.

"Miss, my batteries are dying, I can barely move."

Oh. Her chair is dying. Not her.

I swear she did that on purpose.

Ears!

I was showing my parents one of the pictures from a previous post, and upon seeing it, my mom exclaimed, "You have to explain about the ears!"

so not ears... >.>

I informed her they were not ears, they were hands. But none the less, I feel it's time I do explain the ears.

When I was a baby, I'm sure the doctor must have said, "OMG THE EA- I mean it's a beautiful baby girl!"
Ever since I was a little little kid, my ears have been... Not big per se. But they ARE perpendicular to my skull. They stick straight out.

When I was a baby, my ears would actually suction themselves to my cheek in my sleep, and my mom would have to peel them off of my face.

My parents nicknamed me mogwai when I was little.

Then, only a couple years back, I was riding on the back of my dad's scooter. It was fast, not like one of those ones you have to drive on the bike lane. No, you could ride this one in the street, among traffic. Well, it was hard to hold conversations, so I would often just listen to my ipod. I had those earbud type head phones, and one of the ear buds came loose.
Never fear, my ear is near!
My ear actually caught it, and the wind blowing against it kept it in place.It was only when we came to a stop light that it fell.

Me holding my brother :) He has the ears too.

For a while I tried to convince myself that I had elven ears, and if only they were pointed they would be awesome.

I have come to the conclusion though, that they are not elven, just perpendicular.

Birthday!

Boyfriend doesn't want me to post this one. But it's his birthday, so I have to :)

During the same trip as the whole earring incident, my boyfriend wanted to take me out on a romantic dinner date. He's really sweet for the fact that he wants to be romantic, except with me it rarely works out that way.

The first plan was to stop by a friend's house, chat a little, then head to one of my favorite restaurants that is ONLY down there. There are none in my city. Cry.

So, talking at a friend's house ending up taking a little longer then I had expected, and my restaurant was closed. And by that time, the only place that was open was things like Mc D's... Not romantic in the least. We decide to try and still have a romantic dinner, but we're going to MAKE dinner. Maybe get stuff and go back to his place... Oh yeah, he lives with three other guys. That's less romantic then Mc D's...

Then he gets the idea, oh, we can have a moonlit picnic! Go to the store, get some ready to eat stuff, then find a park.

Wandering through the store was an adventure in itself.

"What are you in the mood for?"
"Oh, anything really. I'm not picky."
"Me either, I could go for anything."
"Me too."
"So, what do you want?"
"Anything you want."
"Hmm, I'm not that picky..."
"Me either... What are *you* in the mood for?"

Our first decision was made: A can of peaches. Then some sausage, cheese, bread, and the final piece of the romantic dinner was to be some sparkling cider. There were even wine glasses on sale, a dollar each!

We drive to the park, where it is practically pitch black.

It's cold, and scary at the park, and I'm pretty sure I saw a hobo just waiting for us to get out of the car. So we don't. We manuever into the back seat of his car (which I love, but gosh is she tiny. And HE may be skinny and flexible and able to wiggle back from the front seat to the back, but me? I was like a pregnant elephant...)

First bump comes from the fact that he can't OPEN the sausage. He struggles with the 'easy pull tab' for a few minutes, until I just grab it from him and rip it open with my teeth (at which point I can hear my parents weeping: 'noooo, we spent thousands of dollars on those teeth, they are not package openers.....). Divvying up the meat isn't exactly... graceful. The cheese wasn't so much either. Hunk o' meat, Hunk o' cheese. The bread was good, but crumbly and left a mess in it's wake.

Well, I think to myself, at least we have the cider. I love cider. So I try to open it....

It's not a screw top. It's one of those you have to have a bottle opener to do. No worries, I think to myself, and ask to have Boyfriend's keys, which should OBVIOUSLY come with a bottle opener. It was at this point that I realized, just because my dad always has a bottle opener on hand does not neccasarily mean that every guy has one.

Improv a bottle opener, I can do this! I try his keys, the belt buckle, my teeth, the seat, the glasses... Nothing. The bottle mocks us for the rest of the 'dinner'. As do the empty glasses, which we don't even have water for.

Now, boyfriend looked crushed as his romantic dinner barely even met the standards for 'dinner'. "I'm so so sorry," He kept repeating, whereas I was just laughing. I warned him that if he continued to date me, there would be a looooong line of dates like this.

Expectations Vs. Realities.

The part that makes me facepalm the most though, is when I went to his apartment the next day, and see our cider (because now it was OURS, since it was bought for OUR date) has been all but devored by his roommate.

"That stuff's pretty good." Was all he could say for himself.

(We ended up going to the restaurant later that day. And it was good.)

2012!

I am terrified of December 21st, 2012.

Will the world end? Will we enter in a new age? Will there be some sort of wondrous enlightenment, or nuclear war?

I'm not sure, but I do know I'll be spending the day under my bed, with my cats. Maybe my boyfriend, but I need someone to get food, and I'm pretty sure he volunteered for that job.

The fact is, so many different cultures have come up with the same date, the Mayan, the Chinese, the Hopi, and Nostradamus, how how how did they all come up with the SAME DATE? Doesn't that lend some sort of credibility that something is going to happen on that day, if all these separate cultures that had no contact with each other come up with the same day?

OR DID THEY?  (dun dun duuun!)

Another thing I am terrified of is aliens. The weird part isn't because I watched some sort of alien horror film (although "Signs" scared the CRAP out of me), not even because I got spooked from the X-Files, no, it was from watching history channel documentaries. The thought that I could have been abducted ALREADY and I wouldn't even know if they erased my memory. For all I know I could have been abducted twice by now.

My mother (in a true show of jersey love...) was kind enough to show me the theories that all these different cultures actually DID have contact with each other, through the aliens! The Ancient Astronauts! OH MY GOSH!

It was probably the aliens that are orchestrating 2012 in the first place! We're probably like the biggest lab rat EVAR, and that's when the expiration occurs! Maybe the aliens gave us that date to shape up by, or BOOM D:

Regardless of whether it's true or not, I know where I'll be on December 21st, 2012, where will you be?

Babysitting Part One!

As a teen, I did a lot of babysitting jobs. This has resulted in more then a few stories of either me or the children momentarily forgetting to use our brains.
The first one is when I was guilty of such an instance.

I was babysitting for a family that had four children, and our families were really good friends. I had babysat for them multiple times before, so I knew the kids really well, enough to trust them.

They claimed they hadn't eaten breakfast (I was over around 1) and that they really really NEEDED oatmeal. This wasn't just a want situation anymore, their very existence depended on the consumption of oatmeal. Now.

I might be slightly spoiled, but I never really had to heat water on the stove. We're big tea drinkers, and we have a little hot water heater shaped like a tea pot. You just put water in, click the button, and a few minutes later, TADA, boiling water. Well, the family didn't have one of those. They didn't have a tea pot either. So how the heck did they heat up the water? The first thought that crossed my mind was maybe like a pot, but then how would you pour it without a spout? huh?!

So I asked the kids.

Whoops.

They show me this Pyrex measuring bowl cup thing. And I asked them, "So your mom puts this right on the stove?" Oh yes, that's what she does, yep. For a second I hesitate, but then I remember, you put glass baking dishes in the oven, it must be safe to put them on the stove!

Sitting at the table, they are all quietly coloring while I wait for the water to boil. It gets hotter and hotter...

And then it explodes.




 
Glass, hot water, go shooting EVERYWHERE with a loud bang. I yell at the kids to get under the table, picturing in my mind the discussion I'm going to have with the mom later:

Oh yeah, that blood on the floor is just from the glass wounds. No biggie.

Luckily no one got hurt (I got burned a little as I tried to clean the glass and forgot to actually turn OFF the stove...), and the mom was more then understanding.

And from this I have learned, glass on stove is BAD!

Jersey Love!

So, this one only happened a couple of days ago.

And no, I'm not a mean person. I'm really not. See, my mom is from New Jersey, and we have this running joke that people from Jersey show love through pain. If mom makes you feel bad about yourself, she likes you. If she makes you cry, she loves you.
(I can almost feel her sighing as I write this. So in her defense, she's nice sometimes too.)
The reason why this is important to say is because you have to remember, when tears come, that means love is there.

 

*ahem*

Rini and Bug (sister and brother, 8 and 12 respectively) had decided that I needed to be woken up WAY earlier then I am used to. And not only did they wake me up, but they expected to me to not only hold a conversation, but be interested in what they were saying! My brain was having a hard time processing 'you are awake', never mind which pokemon was my favorite or what someone should be wearing.

Then we heard it. The Noise.

The Noise was a low pitched chime, but it caught everyone's attention immediately. Bug, my brother, gives me a "I know what you're doing look" and checks the volume on my computer. Except it's turned off.

"Maybe it's a ghost or something," I mumble, and my sister's eyes widen in horror.

(The Noise, drawn by my sister)

 

Now, I suppose a normal human being would have soothed her fears right then and there, but as I have already stated, I'm from Jersey. I have Jersey blood. They needed to know how much I love them.

Bug, being the mini-scientist he is, goes over to Rini's stereo, looking for the source of The Noise. The Noise is sporadic though, growing louder then stopping for a few minutes... then slowly gaining volume again. Rini's stereo is off too. Bug goes to check on mom, see if it's her music.

As soon as Bug leaves the room, Rini jumps in my bed and curls up against me, then goes completely silent. I ask her what she's doing, and she responds "I'm listening for Bug to scream because he saw a ghost."

Again, another great oppurtunity to comfort her. Nope.

Bug comes back, now thoroughly confused. Mom's stereo was off too. Rini jumps up, runs to the door, slams it shut, then quickly hops back into the bed. "Now it can't get in!" And of course, The Noise stops as soon as she closes it. I tell her she needs to open it, because our dog gets upset when there are closed doors. So she gingerly opens it... OH NO THE NOISE. 

 

It starts up loudly, scaring Rini, who is now plastered against me.

Now, I think I've shown them enough Jersey love at this point, so I say causually, "You know, it *kind* of sounds like a wind chime." Bug's eyes light up and he runs to check the wind chime in the kitchen. He comes back with a dissapointed look on his face. "No, it wasn't that."

"Maybe our neighbors have one?"

So the kids check, and yes, look at that, our neighbors have a windchime. And The Noise only happens when there is wind.
Bug is satsified with this, and goes on with his day.

Rini on the other hand was freaked out about ghosts all day.
I kind of fail at normal love.

kidney stone :(

No update due to angry kidneys :(

Now, this one might be kind of awkward, but bear with me. =3

My best friend in college, Leah, decided to take me on a bra shopping trip. She has little sisters, and has done the whole bra shopping thing before- a couple of times. Claiming some sort of bra sizing superpowers, I decided to challenge her amazing skills, since my particular size was hard to find.

This was when I was going to a teeny college in the middle of nowhere, so it was about an hour drive to the nearest store that wasn't walmart. (I swear, the main activity of the college students was friday night walmart trips. Or going on hikes in the woods-- which I actually did until I got chased by wolves. I never SAW the wolves, but I could hear them. It was scary.) So me, Leah, and Leah's roommate (I called her Organic Sarah <3 ) all raid the bra section.

Even Leah had trouble finding the right size for me. I go into the changing room, and (what else) call my mom for support. Stupid bras. They don't fit, or you get the stupid under arm pudge. I HATE the pudge. Or they hurt, or they make your chest look lumpy....

After a couple of failed attempts, Leah comes back with another armful of bras. Included in this group is like, the chasity belt of bras. It has TOTAL SUPPORT and features SIX STRONG CLASPS that hold and bind you in place ALL DAY LONG.

I get this monster of a bra on and... It doesn't hurt. No stupid lace on the front either, so it doesn't look lumpy underneath my shirt. Hm. No under arm pudge. It fits perfectly! This is ama-

Ow. Ow. Why is my skin burning?

It was at this point I remembered why bra shopping is so hard for me.

"LEAH I'M ALLERGIC TO THE BRA!"

Yep, there's that nylon allergy. My skin is on fire as I try to unhook the STRONG CLASPS that hold you in place ALL DAY LONG. As I'm trying to twist them off I'm begging Leah to help, and I'm repeating like a skipping cd "I'm allergic, I'm allergic, I'm allergic!! THE NYLON BURNS US!"

Finally the evil thing is off, and my skin is red and raw. It's at this point I remember it's not a single room dressing room, and I'm reminded of this fact because of the laughter I can hear coming from the other changing stalls.

The day ended in only like two bras fitting, and they were like 30 dollars each. But she was right, she DID find me one :)

Mall!

Every so often in conversations the topic of 'most embarrassing moment' comes up. Someone said jokingly once to me that it must be hard for me to pick just one time.

It's not.

A couple years back me and two of my friends decided to make a mall trip. We saw a movie, then were planning on getting lunch at the food court. Nothing big. Now, to understand completely, you have to know this was during the punk phase of my life. I had a whole outfit dedicated to black and white- white shirt, black tie, black and white strips knee highs and arm warmers, and a black skirt. I looked cool.

So, being silly teens, we all link arms and decide to wizard of oz skip through the food court. At 12:30 on a Saturday. It is absolutely PACKED.

I trip, no big surprise there. What I end up falling over is one of those 'Caution, floor slippery when wet' signs. The sign, not the actual wet floor.

 And when I trip over the sign, it's  not a simple 'whoops', no. I fall INTO a trash can. Head first. So not only do I fall into all of the old food, but remember? I was wearing a skirt?
The awesome force of momentum threw my skirt up, in the middle of the packed food court.

I don't go to that mall much anymore. 

Dinner!

I recently met my boyfriend's parents for the first time. Since I live in a different state, I knew that whatever impression I made was important-- mostly because I couldn't fix it. Until I was able to get down there again, I was going to be "that girl who______"
a) Spit all over
b) Broke the precious hand me down china
c) Fell over.

Even while I was packing, I made sure to pack 'nice' clothes (most of my wardrobe looks like a teenaged boy's, not a lot of room for nice.). When I knew we were going over to his parents house, I did my hair, make-up, everything. I wanted to make sure I made the BEST impression EVAR.

That didn't happen.

It started innocently. My boyfriend's little sister's friend mentioned something about nylon, and without thinking I blurted out "I'm allergic to nylon!"
"Oh really? What else are you allergic to?"
"Latex!"

Now. The first thing *I* think of is balloons. Or doctor gloves.
Mom and Boyfriend had a meeting (giggled conversation in the laundry room) about GUESS WHAT.

But I could recover. I tried to smooth over the conversation, finished dinner, (thank goodness my parents are interesting enough to talk about. Because all I wanted was my mom and dad. And that's all I could think about, and in turn, what I ended up blabbing about.)
Then, as we're leaving, his mom goes to hug me.
Yes!
This means that she doesn't hate me! You don't HUG people you hate!
She happened to have hoop earrings on. Now, for ANY other person alive, this wouldn't have been a problem. Me? Well, I managed to hook my thumb into it and rip it out.

I stood there for a moment, earring in hand, stuck between fear, dread, and embarrassement. I had ripped out my boyfriend's mother's earring. There was no graceful recovery from that.
"Where's my earring?"
"Uhm. Right here. Uhm. Sorry. I'll leave now."

Fortunately, they invited me back.    

Firsy day of work!

Over the past couples months I've been trying desperately to get a job. It got to the point where any standards I may have had (oh gawd please no fast food) were lowered (do you want fries with that?).
And finally, finally, I got a call back. For the same place as my grandmother has worked for something like nine years (she denies any responsibility in the job offer, but I still think she pulled strings.), and the interview, although quick, went amazing. I didn't spit on the interviewer (my teeth have these water jets behind them that like to embarrass me whenever they have the chance. For instance, I was getting a ride from a guy I completely and utterly adored at the time. I tried to talk, but no, no words came out, only spit. He exclaimed "EWWW" and proceeded to wipe his entire arm (I'm thorough) and the seat with the most disgusted look on his face. I kind of died.)

So! As far as I was concerned, this was a win for me!
Then the training happened the next day.
Saying I was overwhelmed would be an understatement. I'm working as someone who makes appointments for people who need their taxes done. Sounds simple enough, right? No. Oh no. Every other word out of my employers mouth is an acronym, and the EOE is SSH that ICMTS.
(Expectations of Employees is So Stupidly High that I Cried Myself To Sleep.)
I have no tax knowledge, in fact, I've never made enough that I even had to file. So when they start talking about 'basic' tax procedures, and then that we offer loans as well... 

The only loans I really understand are my student loans. But even there, I see the "PAY THIS AMOUNT" and I pay it. There are no %'s or meetings or UA. (unnecessary acronyms.)
As of this point, I don't even know what office I'm supposed to work at. Or how much I make. Or even what hours I work.
And my boss is out today.