So yesterday was my interview for that new restaurant. I got home from work about 2:30ish, and immediately re-checked my email to verify everything. The key here is that the email said "Can you meet me Monday after 3?" After. Not AT 3. So I took my sweet time getting ready and headed out there.
I walked into a near- empty restaurant. There were some people sitting at a table, and one of them shouted out to me.
Can I help you? Yeah, I'm looking for Eric? And who are you? I'm Desiree. You're 50 minutes late. Um... the email said after 3. No, it said AT 3. Have a seat over there and I'll be with you in a minute.
So I had a seat and was a little freaked out. Obviously I would have been there at 3, but the fact that it said "after 3" led me to believe that he didn't want me there right at 3. But I knew I was right.
After a few minutes, he called me over. I apologized for the misunderstanding, and he said not to worry about it. His demeanor was totally different from before. He had his laptop in front him, so I have the feeling he looked at the email and saw that I was right. Anyway, it was a real short interview, maybe about 5 minutes long. I didn't really get to brag about myself, but I think it went ok. I walked away with the feeling that the first part was "just a test" of that NY attitude they were looking for, and I think I passed. I mean, I stood by my guns when I was right but I apologized anyway. Actually I don't know if that qualifies as NY attitude. I would have done that when I lived in NYC too, but maybe I was born with that attitude.
He's still in the "preliminary" stages of interviews, so he said he'll know by next week. Fingers crossed and all that, but we'll see.
I plan to actually rejoin the driving force, and not just on my 4 mile commute to work. I got a raise at work (thank you, thank you) so soon I shall purchase my own wheels and be master of all that I see once again. Yes, I appreciate being able to use my boyfriend's car, but it's not fun to drive. My car will be fun to drive, and thus I will be driving more often. Sadly, it will not be a mini I get, as they are still a little too expensive for me and they have that whole "4 month waiting list" thing, but I will buy something almost as small and almost as zippy. (I'm thinking a Chevy Cobalt coupe.)
One thing I have noticed though is that people in Detroit drive weird. Weirdly. I can handle it though - man, I'm from California! But the one that gets my goat is stopping at stoplights. Many people here stop like 2 car lengths behind the person in front of them. As you can imagine, this backs up traffic for absolutely no reason. Now, is it because they are so worried about damaging their (American, of course) car that they must not come within 20 feet of another car, front or back? Or are they so excited about their SUV / muscle car / blingmobile that they need the extra space for when they totally gun it when the light turns green?
I do not do this. People in California generally do not do this. We know that there a lot of people driving, and we all need to cram onto the road all at once. More so, people in NYC do not do this. Granted, I never actually dove while I lived there, but I observed. There is no space on the little island of Manhattan for people to be leaving multiple car lengths at stoplights. New Yorkers know that if there is a space left, it won't be for long because someone will fill it up right quick.
Maybe that's it - Michiganders feel like they have all this open space, why cram all up in each others' grilles at stoplights? There's plenty of room here - look at all those areas that don't have any pavement at all. Why not enjoy it and appreciate it? But the flaw in that theory is that leaving large gaps at stoplights does not help one enjoy the wilderness. If you were going to enjoy the wilderness, you wouldn't be driving on a crowded road in the first place.
The point is, I don't get it. Is this just a Detroiter thang, or do other people do this? Enlighten me people, as I am clearly in the dark about this matter.
Hi folks, Because I've been soooooo busy at work lately (read: I'm not comfortable enough to blog at work yet - but give it time!) I haven't had much to say. So Good Friend Ernie gave me some burning questions for your reading enjoyment. I think they're pretty good, and I'm not just saying that because they were clearly written for me.
1. What exactly is your beef with capital letters? :) You have excellent spelling and grammar, so I'm curious why you don't capitalize your name.
You know, I used to have a reason. It might not be a very good one. I like using capital letters for emphasis (see Ernie's name above). My name doesn't need any emphasis. I don't even like capitalizing the first word in a sentence, but you'd be surprised at how low people's opinion of you gets when all they know of you is via text and your "bad" grammar. Oh but I do like making capital I because little i is easily overlooked, even when bold.
But thank you for noticing this and my skillz.
2. Favorite Asimov book? Why?
Ummmm I like "I, Robot." It's a bunch of short stories all tied together within a larger frame, and they're all about "rogue" or "freak" robots. And it's nothing like the movie, which is actually based on a different Asimov book - "The Robots of Dawn." I also like... all of them... because they are all very interesting. When I read my favorite author, I am inspired to go write and create great things like him. Of course, I haven't created anything yet, but I will. Someday. Also, Isaac Asimov was a real scientist, writing textbooks and stuff, so that makes the science fiction extra super. Plus, you know, robots.
3. You've lived on both coasts and in the Midwest. Which did/do you like best, and why? Also: before you moved there, did you think all Midwesterners were inbred wheat farmers? If so, has your opinion changed since moving there?
Technically, yes, NYC is on the East Coast, but from my understanding it is nothing like Boston or Maine or the Carolinas. NYC is it's own entity. I enjoyed my time there a lot, though there were some things about big city livin I didn't like... for example being able to hop in your car, drive for 2 hours, and be in the middle of the woods. (Yes, I know it's possible to do that in NYC, but I didn't have a car because it was too expensive - so it was a much bigger hassle than elsewhere.)
One thing I heart about CA is that you can drive a coupla hours in any direction and be in mountains, desert, a redwood forest, a giant city, the beach, or somewhere else completely different. Also all my family and a lot of my friends live there. It will always be my home.
As for the Midwest, I'm getting used to it. People still kinda react to things like dyed hair, tattoos, vegetarianism, etc, but no more than certain towns in CA. I've spent more time trying to convince people that CA and NY are weird rather than acclimate to the Midwest. This is because Midwesterners are the people in sitcoms that I grew up with. People are normal here, which is a bit of an oxymoron since it's not "normal" for me. It's hard for Californians and especially NYers to realize that there is more to the country, and that it is America. California and New York are separate countries. But I like them.
Michigan wins for cheapest cost of living though.
4. How long have you been a vegetarian, and how many times a month do you have to explain that fish aren't vegetables?
I've been an herbivore since I was 18. I had the inkling while I was still in high school, but when you're not in full charge of providing your own food, it's hard to be picky. My mom tried, bless her heart, but didn't get why I was against something like "oyster sauce" in my veggies. When I moved away to college, I went a little crazy and did that whole vegan thing for several years. Then I realized my life would be so much easier if I could eat things I didn't have to make myself. So now I'm not vegan anymore.
I don't have to explain the whole fish thing too often here. I don't know if it's because Michiganders are surprisingly knowledgeable about what constitutes an animal vs. a vegetable (hint: nervous system), or because I don't hang out with new people all that often so everyone already knows my rules. Also, I have a very carnivorous boyfriend that will "help" me eat some things.
5. What was the happiest moment of your life?
Seriously? Like when my daughter was born? Too bad I've never had a daughter. (Or a son, for that matter.) I don't know if I can narrow it down. I've had some good times. There was the time in high school when I won tickets to a Tori Amos / Alanis Morissette concert (for some reason that was better than being told I was validvictorian). It was pretty awesome when my BFF asked me to be her maid of honor. My first kiss with Jay was pretty frickin sweet. I'm sure there were more too, but I try not to focus on "the moment," Either I'm having the best or worst moment of my life every second.
That's a hard question. Maybe I'm just too lazy to put real thought into it.
And now, legal stuff:
If you'd like to play along, please follow these instructions.
1. Leave me a comment saying "interview me." 2. I will respond by e-mailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions. 3. You will update your blog (so you have to have a blog) with a post containing your answers to the questions. 4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post. 5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions
* Jay thought of the name of this blog, btw.
ps - please forgive any comments on this blog that are not published in a timely manner. Blogger has decided not to tell me anymore when one of you nice people wants to tell me something.
First, go read this very long post. It's very long. But very moving. If you don't feel like reading the very long-ness of it, that's ok.
In 2003, I graduated college. During my 4 years at UCDavis, I worked full time in order to completely support myself. When I graduated, I felt I deserved a little present. And by little, I of course mean big. I bought myself a brand spankin new car.
I didn't just buy a new car. I did a lot of research and ordered a super cool mini cooper and my little Scootey was built just for me. I had to wait 3 months for it to be shipped across the pond from the factory in Merry Old England, but during that time I learned every single spec and stat and number and uninteresting fact about my new car. I was totally a car chick. (This detail about me landed me my new job in the custom car shop, btw.)
When Scootey finally arrived, I went a little nuts. The personalized plates had already arrived, so there was no time (save the 20 minute drive from the dealer to my house) when the car was not Scootey. I loved that car. I loved driving it. I loved dusting it and washing it. I loved putting stickers on it. I loved showing it off and hearing people say "of course that's your car." And as the aforementioned post implies, I was heartbroken when I had to sell it when I moved to NYC.
While I lived there, I was fine not having my mini, or any car. Of course, whenever I saw one I uttered a small sigh of longing, but otherwise I was fine. Then I moved to Michigan. I thought that my years without driving had hardened me. I was like "I hate driving. I'll save my money because I won't even need to buy a car." But because this is not NYC and there is no wonderful mass transit system, I end up driving a lot. And now I have a job, so starting June 2, I'll be driving almost 10 miles a day, 5 days a week. Sure, Jay's got 2 cars, so that means I'll always have one. But they are old cars, and maybe not the most reliable or safest. They certainly aren't very fun to drive. And they're not mine.
So I'm again getting the itch. I want my own car, that I can take care of and be responsible for and do whatever I want with. And once I owned the coolest car in the world, so there's no way I can go back to some car I found on craigslist. Not to mention that there are a lot of mini coopers around here, so I get a little more wistful. I demand another mini cooper.
Because I enjoy torturing myself, I often visit the mini usa website. I now know where the closest dealer is (this is Motor City - no car dealership is ever that far away!). Thinking I was being a clever young girl, I checked the inventory of used minis. However, I found out that mini coopers are awesome so they hold up their resale value. What does this mean? It means that a used mini cooper is almost the same price as a brand new, custom made one.
So now I have a job. I've recently discovered that my credit score is not as bad as I thought it would be (in fact, it's much higher than it was last month, even though I've semi-stopped paying my bills). So don't be surprised when, in several months, you read that I have placed my new mini order, and will once again be a proud car owner.
ps - yes, I realize it's kind of sacrilege to drive a foreign car while living in Detroit, but I don't care. And yes, I now work in the auto industry, but I'm not one of the people with a bumper sticker that says "I work for Ford and I drive a Ford." In fact, my car has nothing to with my workplace, because I can't afford to use my work's services. (There's a reason our customer list is kept confidential - chances are, you've heard of the actors, musicians, and pro athletes that have gotten cars made by us, and would want their autographs.)
I still don't have a job. The temp agency hasn't called me since I turned down the last job. I spent some time regretting that decision, but I also spent some time going over the logistics of spending 45+ minutes each way in a car that isn't mine with gas that costs like $4 a gallon. I had high hopes for another job at an un-named popular gothy mall store, but when I went back in to apply and talk to the person again, she made it sound like there wasn't a position they were hiring for specifically. (Before, she'd indicated that they would be hiring a new store manager in June, which is why I even applied.)
So besides still not paying my bills, recent events have occurred that have and will continue to put a massive drain on our finances. Not to mention I still have to pay for a trip to CA in October for my sister's wedding. I don't like to think about the trips I'm giving up, like back to NYC for Suzanne's book release party and to San Francisco for this year's BlogHer conference. I'm crankin out jewelry like crazy, but nobody's buying. In fact, the other day I had to report someone to Etsy for "buying" something but never paying - or responding to my emails, for that matter.
I spend my days at home not spending money. We recently got a membership at Stupid Video Rental, which wouldn't let me sign up because I don't have a MI driver's license. AND our Jay's membership is only good at that location, even though it's a nationwide chain. We haven't gone to the zoo lately because we sleep til noon and the zoo is only open til like 4 or 5. So even though it's free because Jay is a member, it's not worth the hour round trip to just spend a coupla hours there.
So yeah, that's my life still. I keep waiting for things to change, but they really aren't doing so. But sometimes when I whine in a public forum like this, wheels get set in motion. Let's do that.
I just got back from my second job interview of the week. It wasn't as exciting as my last one for 2 reasons: it's a place I don't really really want to work, and it was a group interview.
Group interviews are the worst. In theory they save time because there is a "screening" process, but isn't what the application / resume are for? But now I'm going to dish out all the dirt on this one, because that's what I do.
There were supposed to be 5 people interviewing. But the interviewer guy (IG) messed up and told 2 people different times than he scheduled them for. This is already off to a great start, due to the complete and total organization of IG. So there were 7 people. That's slightly less time than the already narrow window we each have to talk about ourselves. Speaking of talking about ourselves, the group was asked 2 questions. Two. How can you judge if someone is hirable based on 2 questions? Well maybe we would give appropriate answers in the time allotted to us. Sure, but IG spent 75% of the interview talking about himself. Not about the company or the position, himself.
Since I didn't care a lick for what any of the group said, I spent my time taking mental notes (which were transcribed onto paper the second I was out of there -- thank goodness for my tiny notebook). Of course, I was seated between the most interesting characters of the day.
To my left, a guy wearing a baseball cap, a hooded sweatshirt, and jeans. To an interview! I totally scrutinize how people are dressed during interviews. I of course dress for success and to impress (it rhymes so it must be true). So not only did this guy look like a total slob, he absolutely reeked of pot. Seriously, dude, don't smoke the marijuana immediately prior to meeting someone that could potentially pay you. Wait til after. It's like a half hour. Also, this guy had the worst grammar and sentence structure I've ever heard. He said he'd lived in Germany his whole life, but he didn't have an accent. He was definitely not rocking the whole "Engrish as a second language" excuse. Then to top it all off, he "mentioned" how he had just dropped like $1200 in the very store he was applying to because of their stellar customer service. Well then where are your $1200 clothes? Kissing fake ass impresses nobody, especially me (the important one here).
To my right was a disaster. She was probably at least 45 years old, with an orange tan, bleached blond hair, and disgustingly caked on makeup. Oh yeah, and she was wearing jeans too. She kept talking about all these stores she had managed which are now out of business. She gave at least 3 examples. I don't know if she was trying to name drop or what, but the fact that she managed them and now they are out of business should have been a red flag. Connection? Hmmm. And why are you looking for a part time, minimum wage job anyway? Don't you have kids to support?
I'm sure someone went home and immediately told the internets about the well dressed girl who kept bragging about being from NYC. Well of course that was me. I did mention NYC in both my answers to the questions (all 2 of them!) but that just so happens to be where my last job was. And at least I looked good doing it, dammit.
Those people IG is "interested in" can expect a call next week, or if he forgets, in 2 weeks. Yeah remember that whole organized thing he had going? Not so much. Honestly, I won't cry if I don't get one of the coveted callbacks. I do need a job, and I can only assume I am better than 2 of the others I was interviewed with, but I still have some damn standards, people.
I've decided that I need to go on a game show, at least to tide me over until I gets me a real jobby job. I could totally rock a quiz show. I did take the online Jeopardy test a coupla weeks ago, but there were a lot of things I didn't know, so I'm not holding my breath for their call.
I think a better alternative is Cash Cab, on the Discovery Channel. Basically, regular people waiting for a taxi in NYC get picked up and surprised with the fact that they are then on a game show. You can win some cash (average probably about $1000 or so) and even if you don't win, you get a free cab ride. Unfortunately, I no longer live in NYC, so catching the cash cab is a far fetched dream.
That aside, I think the show starts out with a bias. If you're taking a cab in NYC, you probably don't need the prize money. I don't need to say that I rarely took cabs. Yes, I took them to and from the airport, but never just walking around town. What they should do is Cash Subway. Those are more likely the people that need the money, and it would have an added entertainment value with all the crazies.
This might be a good way for me to earn money, starting this game show. However, it might end up costing me money, which is why nobody has done it yet. So that would be bad.
To prove that I really do live in Michigan now, I needed a new bank account. (Besides the fact that the old one was shared with the xbf.) I did a bit of research and finally decided on a bank that met most of my requirements: There are lots of branches / ATMs around here (though none in CA or NY or many of the other places I may travel), and it is possible to have a checking account that 1) does not have a minimum balance requirement 2) does not require direct deposit and 3) does not charge a monthly fee. Conveniently enough, there is a branch right around the corner from my apartment. So yesterday I set out on a New Bank Account Quest.
There was snow on the ground, and it was cold outside, but other than that the weather was favorable. And because my internet at home had not been working for a few days and I was having withdrawals, I packed up my tiny laptop into my tiny backpack, and set out on my merry way, thinking that I may find some place with free wifi and lunch. The one thing I did forget, however, was my new camera (wanna see the official review?). Of course I realized this when I saw some cool bird tracks in the snow and had no way of digitally commemorating them.
I hit the bank first, and am still getting over the fact that there are not 10,000 people everywhere I go, like I'm used to from the good old NYC days. I walked right up to the counter, the person was smiley, and I put my name down to go into the special back office where apparently new accounts are set up. (That sounds totally shady, and I kinda wish it was because it would make for a better story, but I assure you it was a very normal bank transaction.)
I told the guy that I wanted to set up a checking account, and was a tiny bit offended when he didn't bother asking which account I wanted. Sure, he chose the free one which *is* the one I wanted, but can you please not assume that because I have blue hair and a punkrock t-shirt that I don't have the $20,000 required for the "gold" account? kthnxbai. Then he asked how much I wanted to deposit and I pulled out $100 in cash and a check for $12.09*. We both laughed at the fact that I had a check for 12 bucks, but his laugh was more patronizing than mine. But it wasn't just his laugh that was patronizing. It was the questions Have you applied for a MI driver's license yet? and Are you planning on getting a job? I "politely" informed him that, yes, I would do these things say maybe after I've lived here more than 2 weeks. But, I never have to deal with that guy again, thanks to the magic of Automatic Teller Machines and Direct Deposit (once I get that job he was poking at), so fah to him.
Mission 1 accomplished, I set out for mission 2, finding internet. There are a coupla strip malls around, and being the spoiled NY girl that I am, I assumed somewhere around would have wifi, and maybe some lunch I could buy on the pretense of using their internet. If I was in NYC, I wouldn't be able to turn around without finding a place. I checked a coupla bagel / sandwich places, and even a McDonalds, but no luck. So I pouted and gave up and went home. Luckily for me and the rest of the world, my Jason roughed up the internet providers a little so that I could continue with my addiction.
The end. Or is it?....
*Apparently I was involved in some class action suit against some big company or whatever. Hey, when people send me checks, even tiny ones, I don't ask questions.
ps, here's a picture of my cute little laptop. It's blue like my camera, and it's covered in stickers so you know it's mine.
So here I am in Michigan. The trip was looooong, but thanks to some very good friends, I was all packed and fed and ready to leave Brooklyn and begin. We had reservations in a hotel on the PA / OH border, but thanks to a very long day (my Jason was up at like 4am to catch the flight to NYC), a little bit of snow, and a stupid Uhaul that took way more gas than one would think is humanly truckenly possible, we ended up stopping somewhere much closer. The motel had signs all over expressing their distaste for accepting pets, so my Jason did a little distracting while I snuck in with a (thankfully quiet) kitty. Oh, I mean that Jay was very interested in the free coffee and donuts that were offered in the morning and genuinely had some questions that needed answering.
The next morning we got up and continued our drive. I had bought some funny little herbal drops to calm the kitty, but thankfully I did not need them. Yay for Mecru being the best traveler ever! We arrived in Detroit around 8pm, unloaded the necessities (cat tower, food, litter, and our overnight bags) and went to sleep. Woke up the next day and finished unloading the truck. Thankfully we had a few extra days on the rental.
Yesterday we ignored the boxes everywhere and went grocery shopping, returned the truck, and went out to dinner. The Brewery we ate at had a very yummy vegetarian friendly menu, and there was an awesome live band performing with 2 acoustic guitars, an upright bass, and yes, an accordion. Is it correct to say that that guy rocked the accordion? I think it is, and if you had been there for the performance, you would agree. Today is a day of unpacking, but my mood was ruined when I saw my last work check had been deposited. Oh good, my $46 came in. Yeah that's right. Apparently I worked for 2 weeks and got less than $50 for my effort. You can bet an email went out post-haste. If this doesn't pan out, someone in NYC is gonna have to go firebomb something. Just sayin.
But so yeah. Unpacking, more blog updates, and at some point, a job. Neato.
ps - the most beautiful tattoo in the world is almost done with the peeling stage, so pictures will come soon. Also, stay tuned for the story of Mecru Meets His First Dog, who is also his new roomie.
I'm moving tomorrow. New adventures and all that. But I had to spend my last day in NYC working. How lame is that? So technically yesterday was my last day here. I spent it wandering around Chinatown / Little Italy / Financial District in the rainy snow while waiting for Suzanne to finish working. I was almost tempted to buy a t-shirt from one of the awful tourist stands, but I just felt so dirty even considering it. I should have bought something and used it as an umbrella, but the fact that I hadn't eaten all day severely impaired my ability to think.
But when Suze was finally done, we had a long leisurely dinner and lots of tea. We did that thing where nobody was in the restaurant when we got there, but there were lots when we left. We're trendsetters like that. We did it again at Ferrara's, which is a yummy little Italian pastry shop that has been around for 100-something years (and still has "for a good time call..." graffiti in their almost immaculate bathrooms). We walked in, the only customers. Soon the place was a hotbed of activity.
This picture just about sums it up:
In the middle, you see the large white suited men in the tiny wooden chairs. One might even go so far as to call them Fat Cats. They were having a quiet, civilized discussion while they gorged themselves on desserts and liqueurs, ensuring they would never fit into the chairs. They were really supposed to be the focus of the shot, but since my camera phone does not do distance, you get the full story of everyone. It's better this way.
In the back, look closely, you have the Creepy Couple. They were on a date, a man with super-seventies sideburns and a girl that could have been his daughter. Oh, and, his fly was open. I know this only secondhand, but you'll have to trust the look of shock and disgust that crossed Suzanne's face when she discovered this and related it to me. I averted my eyes. But us spying on the couple probably didn't make their already uncomfortable first date (blind date?) any easier. Fun for us, though.
In the foreground, you see a little blur. That's a kid. An obnoxious obnoxious kid. It was fun for her to run through the joint screaming, knocking over heavy brass sign holders, and basically being oh such a joy. Such a joy in fact, that maybe Suzanne and I were heard to give statements like "your pink tights and cowboy boots don't scare me. Let's take this outside." or "bitch, give me your gelato - you don't deserve it!" Or we would have been heard making those statements had the devil child not been crying and screaming because someone tried to enforce a rule upon her ("We're going home NOW!" "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"). And what came of all this crying and screaming? A free cookie. Free gelato. It is this free gelato that inspired my above statement, when instead of shutting up, Bratty Brat Brat Brat screamed more and ran over to the gelato counter declaring that she wanted a cone and not a cup! For her free gelato. That she got by screaming. Suzanne and I decided we would start crying and screaming too, because we also wanted to be rewarded. The waitress suggested we jump on the table.
Not pictured: the waitstaff: Our waiter, who didn't really seem to get the jokes that Suzanne was making. The waitress who made the above suggestion. And the looks on their faces while Holy Terror ran free and unfettered.
I heart NY. I think I saw that on a t-shirt somewhere.
I'm moving. In 5 days. To Michigan. Away from NYC.
Because of this, I feel the need to represent. Brooklyn, yo! So I went on a tiny excursion to find things made in Brooklyn. I bought this awesome weekender bag made by a Brooklyn company, but it doesn't actually say Brooklyn anywhere on it. So when I'm off on a weekend jaunt, nobody will be like "Brooklyn, huh?" so I can brag. I briefly looked at Brooklyn Industries, which I pass every day on my way to work (no matter which store I'm working at) but they didn't have anything I wanted needed and could justify buying. So I half-heartedly gave up my half-hearted attempt at representation.
Then the other day, walking to work, I saw a store selling $3 t-shirts that said "Brooklyn Girl" on them. Um, hello? Perfect. However, I was worried about being late to work (why? they don't care about me! but that's a whole 'nuther rant.) so I did not stop. Because my Jason telephonically walks me to and fro each day, he got to hear about this store. And he got to hear about the subsequent journeys around the 'hood trying to find this store that I don't know the name or exact location of. And the follow-up attempts were not half-hearted. But I have not been able to find it, this mystery store. I'm becoming more and more convinced it was a figment of my overactive imagination.
But I have 5 days left. 2 of those I'm working, 1 I have to get a tattoo finished (yes!), and the other 2 involve me sitting at home possibly because it's snowing outside. But dammit, I want a $3 tshirt!
Well we sell them in the store. You can look at 3D pictures from such exotic locales as New York, Australia, and Puerto Rico, as well as pictures of things like space shuttles and dinosaurs. When they first came in, passersby could see 3 store employees looking through pseudo-futuristic goggles while pulling the lever on the side to change the slide.
They sell well, especially when people need gifts for children. So I was a little shocked when I had the following conversation yesterday: lady: do you have any of these for kids? me: they are all for kids. lady: no I mean child appropriate. me: what? Those are children's toys. They are made for children. They are all child appropriate. husband (to lady)*: Well see, it does say "ages 3 and up." lady sighs, because clearly we are all idiots for not seeing the apparent adult-only content in this "children's toy."
* Picture the Red King from Alice in Wonderland... he was meek and afraid to contradict his wife.
OK, going about my business. Later, I am ringing this couple up for their purchases, including the viewmaster. The lady asks me where the nearest Christian bookstore is, so she can buy some Christian thing I've never heard of that will apparently save the child's soul after he (yes, it was a he) looks at these awful graphic depictions of sex, drugs, and violence. I told her I honestly didn't know, but suggested 7th avenue, mainly to get her away from the store. She gave me a look that translated as "how could there not be a Christian store right next to this one, because clearly this one is full of sin."
I explained it to all my coworkers, and the best explanation was that maybe since she was a Super Christian, she found dinosaurs offensive because they weren't in the bible. It's a long shot. Any other ideas?
Waking up in a good mood is always, well, good. I had 2 days off in a row, so I wasn't tormented by waking up with xmas music already in my head. No Santa Baby for me, thanks. Then, I forgot to bleach my hair and eat breakfast. OK, so let's pretend the morning didn't happen, and combine the previous day into it. (Insert lots of tape editing noises here.)
I needed new mittens. I was in dire need of new mittens. See why?
Yeah, notice the thumb that is not even hanging by a thread. New mittens. Problem is, I'm very particular about my mittens. First off, they have to be the kind of mittens that pretend to be gloves. Finger holes. (ha ha ha - wait, you'll see why that is funny.) Because with regular gloves you have snowpuff hands and can't do anything, like dial a phone or get your metrocard out of your wallet. But with regular mitten cup hands, your hands stay impossibly warm while being even less functional. With the combo, your fingertips are exposed for you to do stuff with, but they remain toasty warm.
SO my quest for the perfect mittens began. And then it ended, shortly after, as I walked down Bleeker Street while chatting happily away. Then I yelled OHMYGODTHEYEHAVETHEBESTMITTENSEVER while my bf stayed confused. 5 seconds and $15 later, I had these.
I like things that are rainbow striped.
(This is the part that was seamlessly edited to make the 2 consecutive days blend into one.)
Time to hang out with my good buddy Suzanne. What else would we do but go to the Museum of Sex? (For a very good writeup on this, including what may be the best picture ever taken, also the reason I chuckled at "finger holes" earlier, go read Suzanne's account of it all.*) Hilarious and slightly disturbing times were had, except for the parts where we were walking to and from the museum when the world was full of horrible stupid slushy freezing rain that made my warm fuzzy boots, and as a result, my warm fuzzy socks, both very wet and not warm.
We trudged to a restaurant where I tried to redeem my free meal coupon. They took it, but gave me the 3rd degree on where I got it. I was like, I just want my damn stupid not so tasty food. For a drink, I considered hot chocolate until the menu description said "Hershey's syrup and whipped cream" which made me throw up a little. I went for the apple cider, then was very upset when they put whipped cream on that too. Seriously, who puts whipped cream on apple cider? Pukatronic. I scooped most of it out with my fingers, but the remnants looked like curdled milk, and try as I might, I just couldn't finish the drink. I would have taken a picture, but I chose not to so that I would never have to look at it again. Seriously, it was some nasty-ass funk.
Luckily it stopped being the Worst Weather Ever long enough for us to wander around accomplishing nothing until it was time for me to go see Royal Crown Revue, who is my current favorite swing jazz band. Doors opened at 7, so I figured the show would start at 8. My wet feet pushed me in there around 7:30. Luckily I have a sweet and loving boyfriend so I could wile away the more than 2 hours waiting for the show to start talking to him on the phone. But once the show did start, it was wicked good. There were so few people there, it felt kinda like the old punk shows I used to go to in Fresno. Everyone was having a blast, including the band, and especially the couple that was swing dancing in front of the stage. He was wearing a full suit with suspenders and wingtips, and she had a great swing dress with perfect pinup hair & makeup. I loved them, and had I a partner, I totally would have shown off my swing dancing skillz alongside them.
Here are some blurry photos of the band, because they are awesome and fun and you should go see them.
Afterwards, because this is how I roll, I met the band and bought their new cd, which was then signed by the drummer and the singer. The singer learned my name and sang me a song called "My Deserie" (which thanks to the magic of the internets, I can now listen to anytime I want). Then I chatted up the drummer, Daniel Glass, and told him that I love him a little bit and that he is my new favorite drummer. This is all true. Then he told me I should be a drummer too. And that's what he wrote on my cd. We started talking about one of his other bands that "is a little more 20s and 40s style, more dancable" and I was like I LOVE that so he wrote that down on my cd too. And told me to look them up on Youtube. So I did.
No, it's not the fanciest drumwork in that video, but that man was doing things with sticks that I never thought possible. Here's a picture of him playing the upright bass with drumsticks, which, yes, I have seen before, but I still love.
OK that's it for now. Good times.
*and it contains the line "Des is normal, and a sex museum promised fun." which is quite possibly the best statement ever.
You may think you speak "Standard English straight out of the dictionary" but when you step away from the Great Lakes you get asked annoying questions like "Are you from Wisconsin?" or "Are you from Chicago?" Chances are you call carbonated drinks "pop."
I always said I had a knack for copying people's accents, but this is ridiculous.
It doesn't show, but the other regions are rated in descending order with bar graphs, with only a tiny tiny bit in North Central. Only slightly above that? The West, where I spent the first 25 years of my life. Philadelphia and Boston have their own categories, but not Brooklyn? I'd like to think I picked up some NYC speech patterns (not Long Island though).
ps - I've never even been to the Great Lakes Region, except Chicago briefly, twice. Guess I'll have to move there so my accent fits in. How are you, Michigan?
And? I will never ever ever relent and call soda "pop."
So the store holiday party was Monday. Ours was the best company-wide because we have 2 Brooklyn stores, a Manhattan store, and the corporate office. Other locations only have one other store to hang with, and Chicago is all by it's lonesome. So we had the most fun. AND the head honchos said that my store had the awesomest crew. I'm not sure, but I think that's the word they used.
We were seated at very crowded tables, which upset me because I didn't like the guy who was wedged in next to me whom I met for the first time that night. Also, all the food was family style, so I had to grab what vegetarian options came by when they did cuz I didn't know what else I'd be able to eat. (ps, butternut squash ravioli? to die for.) Also, they did that magic wine glass refilling thing. I loves me some Pinot Grigio.
They played some games, none of which I won because they asked me a stupid question. WTF do I know about how many blue vinyls are on the walls of my store? I'm too busy selling stuff, remember? Yeah I'm still bitter. We did the gift exchange. I ended up getting my guy a gift certificate to the restaurant / bar next door. Then I had to brag about how that was the first GC ever given out by that place. I had to make a special appointment to talk to the owner and everything! He totally loved it. I received an excuse to fuel my muffin addiction from the bakery across the street that closes by 2 every day. Everyone loves everything.
So after the formal party, a bunch of us crazy kids decided to go to another bar. It was early yet, and I didn't have to be at work until late. The other people? Well they had no excuse. The night went by in a blur. We switched bars one more time and lost some people along the way until only 4 of us hardcores remained. There was loud hip hop music, dancing was involved, and at some point we gathered our things (miraculously still intact) and left. Another member of the posse had wandered away, so the remaining 3 of us took the train back home. At my stop, I bid them goodnight and promised to see them in a coupla hours. They had to opening the store in 5 hours.
I got home just before 5am and fell into bed. My phone died during the night, but my wine-addled brain reasoned that I didn't need it on because I didn't work until 1, so there was no need for an alarm. Well, I was right. I did wake up in time. 12:15, to be exact. I leave my house at 12:30. That gave me just enough time to gulp down 3 glasses of water (mmm dehydration) throw on some jeans and a sweatshirt, brush my teeth, and run out the door.
When I walked in, my fellow partiers from the night before did not look so enthused. But I am super and a rockstar, so I made it known that I was perfectly fine and not hungover at all and bouncing off the walls like my normal self. I'm glad they didn't hate me for it.
And that friends, is just one of the reasons I love my job.
ps - someone found my blog by googling "the least awesome thing ever" which kinda makes me frown. But I'm glad people are using my terms.
Why is it that NYC totally wants me to have a baby? I can't afford a kid here!
Ever since I moved to this stupid state, I've had nothing but trouble getting my birth control prescription filled. In CA, I went every 3 months to see the Best Doctor Ever (I miss you Dr. K!) and get a shot. I move here and have done the following:
1) waited in assorted doctors' offices many more hours than are necessary. One time I waited 8 hours before I was even seen. 8 hours! 2) given myself shots, which when you have an extreme aversion to needles, does not work out well. 3) been given the shot by loved ones. Also doesn't work so well. 4) switched to the pill because of #2 and #3. 5) put up with religious zealot doctors that believe birth control is a form of abortion and so I fight with them every step of the way, including the part where they insist on giving me a pregnancy test every single month. And not by peeing in a cup either. By draining an absurd amount of blood. Every. Single. Month. 6) found one doctor that was almost as good as Dr. K, only to have her disappear permanently just a few short weeks later. 7) had the pharmacy screw up so I thought I had a refill when I didn't, leading to 8) panically calling a friend of a friend who is a doctor, just to get a temporary fix.
And now this.
Ack. I can't get into Planned Parenthood until the after I have gone home to see the fam, which will be too late because I'll be out of pills. And they won't give me just a refill until I have the stupid regular tests done, which I don't really need anyway.
I can't go somewhere else because I don't have insurance (you know, that whole new job thing).
So, sure, in like a month, everything will be fine and hunky dory. Nevermind the crippling sickness that will get me (probably during my trip, making for great times all around), or the small possibility of baby deszs coming into creation.
It's fun to mess with body chemistry, right?
I tried to plan ahead. Dammit. I need to marry a doctor. Know any?
So yeah? Blood loss? I got that. Not good.* As I write this, a large portion of my upper half is covered in blood soaked bandages. And no, it was not a gruesome tractor accident. In an ongoing effort to make myself more beautiful, I got stage 2 of my tattoo done today. So now instead of a black outline, I have green leaves. The flowers, well they are still black outlines.
Why? you may ask. Why? Because apparently I enjoy torture. Oh and also I bleed. A lot. Like so much that the artist has to stop inking and apply pressure to my neck with a cloth. And when she moves on to another part, the blood 1) ruins the freshly inked colors and 2) drips down my arm / back / chest. Then she has to go back over the same spot again because all the bleeding pushed out all the color. Fun right? Another 2 & 1/2 hours under the gun and it's still not finished. But towards the end there, I was like I don't even care. I'll come back. Just stop this painful process (which included the soapy water that she used to wipe all the blood away which stung so much I think it hurt more than the inking).
You know what? Writing this is making me ill. Plus I haven't eaten since I finished, other than a grilled cheese from the automat. You remember that I love the automat right? Well I love it even more now because while my no-blood-addled brain tried to figure out the conundrum of what to do with my $5 bill when the quarters machine was broken and I didn't want to carry around 3 dollar-coins (I didn't want to carry around 12 quarters either, but that didn't occur to me til later) the nice Japanese boy at the counter was like, I can give you change! And I was like Yay! Thank you for saving me. Anyway, Chinese food is en route to mi casa, so soon I will have sustenance, rest assured.
On the way to my expensive blood letting, I had 2 things of note. The first was that a guy on the train trying really hard to be P Diddy had his fly open. And he had no idea. I think I'm the only one that noticed, but I'm not sure as to why I noticed in the first place. I was going to do the polite thing and tell him, but I couldn't just yell, hey guy , zip the fly! And I couldn't make eye contact, look at his crotch, and give him the nod, because I'm absolutely certain that would be taken the wrong way. So I gave up on telling him and just laughed at how ridiculous it was that Mr. Expensive Glasses, Matching Sneakers, and Designer Clothes was also Mr. Hey Look At My Weiner.
Then walking up 2nd Avenue, a guy carried an uncovered bucket of water on his shoulder. Then he dropped the bucket, which should have been no surprise, given the way it was carried. The shock came when suddenly both my legs from the knee down were covered in cold water on an only slightly warmer than freezing day. Oh and jeans don't dry very quickly, even under the best of circumstances. So I said a few choice words to Mr. I Drop Buckets All Day and continued on my freezing way to get colored.
So yeah. That was my day. I'll get around to posting pictures of my pretty leaves soon, but definitely not yet because they are far less pretty when soaked in my own blood. (I think that could be said for anything, though.)
* It's kinda like I'm drunk, so if my words make no sense, you know. I have edited it down for saneness too, but if I missed something, bear with me.
I've gone over this before 10 billion times, but I'll repeat:
Most holidays are unnecessary, especially the ones where you're supposed to show your appreciation to someone (i.e. Valentines, Mothers' Day, etc.). Why can't you show your love every day or at least not on a day when everyone else in the world expects it of you? I'm not religious at all, so those are out. Federal holidays? I don't really "celebrate" them so much as "have them off from work," and even then, only sometimes.
Thanksgiving is one of the few holidays I'll actually celebrate, the others being Halloween and Flag Day (and I don't care about the "flag" in Flag Day). In some respects, yes, you should be thankful for what you have every single day, that goes with my holiday philosophy (holosophy). But on the other hand, it is nice to see everyone all being thankful at the same time. People leave town to go visit their families, or they stay in town to hang with their friends. All at once, people express their sentiments via photos or short notes or any one of a number of other ways that seem somehow more special because of the holiday.
Even if you aren't following tradition by watching the Macy's Day Parade*, eating turkey, and then falling asleep to football, you can still enjoy your day. Normally I have a tofurkey (Shut up, they taste good. Veggies unite!) but one T-giving a few years back I only had wine and pie. Sure, we had so much wine pie that we forgot to eat dinner, but we were hanging with friends and it was a really good time. I haven't spent a T-giving with my family in years because it costs so much to travel out there, but other people have welcomed me into their home with open arms.
That is what the holiday is about. Not only be thankful for what you have (cliche alert!) but also what you've had in the past to make you happy, and what lies in the future. That's right, be thankful for memories and possibilities. People in other countries, you do it too. You don't need a national holiday that celebrates the shady beginnings of your country in order to do a little reflection.
So, in short, have a great day everyone.
(click to make it bigger)
*Hell no I'm not watching the parade. I don't watch tv at all, and I'm sure as heck not going down there in person!
You all should know by now that I had been trying to see the Reverend Horton Heat for a very long time now. 6 years, is it? And it's not that I became a fan and was like, oh I'll go to that show someday. No it was like every year he came to Sacramento, sometimes multiple times, and every year I was out of town on that date. Every year. That made me immensely upset.
But now I live in the Big City, where so many bands come through that I can no way afford to go see them all (I don't have to mention that ticket prices here are not as we say cheap). But I got word that the Rev was comin 'round. I checked my calendar out of old habit. Wait a minute! November 16 is a Friday! I won't be out of town until Saturday! Yes, that's right folks. The universe narrowly missed a chance to thwart me once again. I think I uttered a little (read:big) yelp of surprise and utter joy (surjoy), so much so that when C came into the room, I was already buying tickets. Since C has seen me suffer through my years of Revlessness, I was able to buy a ticket for him too.
Then the day came.
The opening band is one I have never liked. Their name is Nashville Pussy. So I planned on taking my sweet time getting to the show because it would be *ok* if I missed them, just this once. But even after a leisurely dinner accompanied by strawberry-pineapple juice (yum!) we were still early. There was no coat check, so we stuck out a place along the rear wall lest some asshat hillbilly spilled beer on my warm fuzzy coat or my Good Time Tiger (that's a backpack shaped like a tiger that goes fun places with me) and des would have to choke a bitch.
This is the point in the evening where I discovered that there were bathroom attendants. As I made clear when I saw Dick Dale, I hate bathroom attendants. I do not need someone to do the following: 1. turn the water on for me 2. pour soap in my hand 3. (not) turn the water off 4. hand me half of a paper towel. Now, I'm frugal with my paper towel usage, but seriously, half is not enough to dry even my tiny hands. So anyway this person did all that, and since I hadn't planned on having it done for me, I did not give her a tip. It was not a service that I wanted and to tip her would only encourage more of the same.
Back to the show. NP was still craptastic, but they are good at what they do. The chick guitarist and bassist had the rock thing going on, one sporting a fishnet shirt with black bra, the other wearing a low cut denim vest which showed her bright red bra. The singer looked like that dude you see angrily yelling at passing cars while sitting in his lawn chair, drinking a beer in front of his trailer. This is the look they were going for, and they pulled it off. I cut them some slack because I *do* like live shows, and they managed to do that thing that I like that makes the bass line pound in your chest outbeating your heart. Plus I had a rum & pineapple to kill the time. So NP wasn't as bad as I'd prepared myself for. I still wouldn't see them by themselves, but as a first act, whatever.
Up next was Hank III. You may have heard of his father, Hank Williams, Jr, or his grandfather, regular Hank Williams. Hank III's band was drums, a steel guitar, a fiddle, an acoustic guitar, and an upright bass. I felt like I was in a honky tonk bar and I loved it. I also realized that a cute cowboy twang isn't so bad. That is until Hank changed his vest and took off his cowboy hat to reveal long metal hair. There were a coupla switches on stage, and my cute little country band turned into a hardcore / death metal band that was so bad that I seriously considered shooting myself as a way out. Luckily, I had no gun. But I was in a really bad mood for the rest of the set, not helped by the drunken frat boys being overly homoerotic and invading my space a little too much (read: when they stepped on me and I kicked them with my doll shoes, they did not notice).
This tiny dot is Hank when he was still all cute and country:
Then came the Rev. The upright bass had flames on it. The Rev himself wore a bright orange blazer. I knew my 6 years of Reverend Frustration had paid off. They played lots of songs I knew, including a cover of Black Sabbath's Paranoid, which when done in rockabilly form and sung by the drummer, is actually quite good. They did not play my favorite song, New York City Girls, which was so disappointing because if you're gonna play that, now would be the time. Plus he kept talking about how pretty the girls are here (thank you) and how ugly-as-sin the guys are. That last part made me laugh uproariously because, well, the Rev is from Texas. He also kept being a jerk to this drunk guy up front who kept climbing on stage. Note to self: do not go see the Rev and be retarded and keep jumping on stage. The Rev has a silver tongue that will cut you down and make you look like quite the fool.
These tiny dots are the Rev and co:
** note ** This post was originally written on 11/17 at 8:38 in the AM, the morning after the concert. However, I had to leave for a plane that day (which I did, 20 minutes late thanks to this) and so left off thinking that I would remember all the details and my review would be just as good when I came back. So uh, no, it wasn't. Sorry about the incomplete post, but sometimes my brain gets wiped clean and there is nothing I can do about it. I think you get the gist, though.
ps - the one failing if my cameraphone is that it does not do distance shots. This I know.
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