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Oh, you’re working? Why don’t you let me sit down to a therapy session?

So, as I pursue my quest to find myself some time to go after this thought called normality, I am accosted by all sorts of things that ding the question part of my brain into attention. Do I really need this to happen? No, but it does. Because that is the fun of life. It does what you absolutely do not want it to just because it can.

The one thing that amazes me the most is how the average person looks at someone who works the service industry and automatically assumes it’s time for a therapy-like download. I don’t get it. When the hell did it become normal to download your life’s drama onto the nearest living vessel?

I guess I’m a good listener. I guess this because I find myself so often in that position. I don’t ask for it, and most of the time, if you’re a friend or someone I know, I don’t mind. I get it. We all need someone to vent to. Sometimes the people we have in our life that we see very often are sick of listening to it. Sometimes, we just want someone to care. Someone outside of our normal circle. Someone who doesn’t have to, but still tries. We all want it. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that helps. But, why does that have to be someone who is sitting behind a counter?

Last week, I was working. Doing my job. Some dude walks up, states that he doesn’t want to take my from my job, but proceeds to do so simply because, well, he had a problem. There was this girl. She was okay, but obviously, by the way this guy talked, wanted an actual relationship. She wanted to talk, communicate, actually get to know this guy. He wants to know how to get her to shut up. So, he asks his nearest service professional for the answer.

He likes her. But, doesn’t want to talk to her. Wants to date her, but not talk to her. ALARM ALARM. Basically, in my experience, this is language akin to, “I want to bang her, but not date her.” He’s asking for advice on how to keep her strung along for the booty call, but not for the dating part. Seriously? In what world do you ask some random person this question? I’m sorry: I don’t understand why I’m supposed to help you get laid?

 

That’s not a service we provide.

 

Seriously, people. Those people behind the counter aren’t your counselors. We’re not paid to make sure you’re stable, and while we strive to be nice, we’re not striving to be Relationships 101. I’m not here for dating advice. Plus, you’re kinda creepy asking me to help you deceive someone else because talking is annoying.

Guess what? So is your assumption that I’m here to help you get laid. Have fun with that thought.

 
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Posted by on 04/10/2013 in work

 

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Yes, I’m still alive. Sorry to have been absent.

This will be a short entry, as I’m more motivated to spend the writing urge that I just had on a piece of work that might eventually garner me some money and a publishing contract, but I have felt nothing but guilt the past months. I wish I could give a good excuse as to why writing has not been a priority for me lately, but as usual, I don’t really have one.

Work has consumed my life in so many ways, mostly due to the inevitable turnover that happens in the service industry. Thus, I’ve been working several different shifts a week, and each week presents a new set of variant shifts to basically induce insomnia and a real want and need to check out of reality.

So, to make the readers/writers out there possibly perusing this blog entry with some interest happy: I may not have been writing copious amounts of fiction or blog entries, but I’ve certainly spent a good deal of time reading some ebooks on my Kindle and allowing my brain some space to relax enough to even think of writing. 

So, soon,  I hope to have an actual, interesting blog to write. As it is almost Spring (at least, I keep telling myself that), I think that my mood and energy levels will lift, and in general, the more intriguing plotlines in my life so far have always started or happened in the spring and summer. Or, perhaps that is just what I keep telling myself. In any case, if any of you are still out there, I hope to start entertaining you soon.

 
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Posted by on 03/17/2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Checkmark next to Thanksgiving. Next blank: Christmas.

November has been a weird month for me. Between my work driving me ever closer to a nervous breakdown, and the confusing, hectic life leading up the major holiday season, I have felt very lost and outside of time. Yes, you heard that right. I don’t feel OUT of time. I feel OUTSIDE of it.

It feels like standing in place, watching the world spin around you, and you’re aware it’s still spinning, but you don’t feel it. An hour’s passage doesn’t faze you, and it feels like a minute. You can’t keep track of what day it is. You feel small and inconsequential, not because someone called you that or because you’re just down on yourself, but that things keep moving on in their moving on in their sort of way, and you don’t feel yourself move with it.

Some of my friends and family went with the “Today, I”m thankful for” meme on Facebook, and I couldn’t participate. Mostly because I hate being beholden to think of something different for another day, even if I’m currently thankful for a million things. Part of me also wants to rebel and say, “Hey, I’m thankful EVERYDAY, not just one day or 20 some odd days in November because everyone else is doing it.” I know; I know. Everyone else feels the same. So, here’s a thought: If you do feel the same, show it. Don’t say it. Show it.

This is something I’ve tried to work on with myself. I’m not always successful with it, but I try.

I feel like if I continue, I’ll start the babble, and bore the heck out of anyone reading, so I’ll just try to finish it with a few thankful thoughts.

I’m thankful that I have a family to love, friends that deal with all my crazy, and a job that keeps the roof over my head and bills paid. I’m thankful for finding out I have friends I didn’t even know I had (and who give a crap about me), and I’m most thankful that I have a brain that has no problems, whatsoever, entertaining me in the way it always has.

Now, hopefully, next year, I can claim “a brain that always keeps on that writing task thing” as a point to be thankful for. Until then, I guess I have enough to make me happy.

 
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Posted by on 11/26/2012 in family

 

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Sometimes, life just controls you.

I think I’ve tried to write this entry about twelve times. I know I’ve struggled with what exactly to say and whether or not I really, truly care to say it. Writing, to me, has never been something I could treat as a chore or a listing that I must check off. It’s been a passion, a love, a friend, and until the last five years, a refuge from a lot of things I have been consistently struggling with since my last entry.

The big reason I stopped posting wasn’t for lack of ideas. It was a lack of energy. My job has become more of a time consumer in my life than ever, and I feel like I’m lost in a whirlwind of what I need to do to keep the income in because, ultimately, when you’re poor, that’s the main impetus for your life. Keep the income that keeps your life together.

To not give too many details: The company that I worked for was bought out by a bigger, global, and more successful company in the same type of “business.” They were nice: They “converted” stores rather than close or sell them, and a majority of the people who worked for the original company retained a position in the new company. But, switching companies means new rules, new hours, new job requirements, and in my case, a hell of a lot of new stress.

I spent a week fielding phone calls from corporate offices and bank customer service lines, and my own workplace in order to locate a missing fund of money (AKA my pay), I am spending nearly 3 x’s my old amount of money just trying to get to work (cause I’m the loser without the license), and I think I’ve gotten 30 hours of sleep total since October 4th.

I work three different shifts a week, which seems to be the normal for me, and I try my best to be accommodating and nice because ultimately, I know I work this because there isn’t anyone else to do it. I have about 40 people a day ask me how I like my new job, and I have to grin through explaining that it’s a lot of change. They don’t get why I’m not raving in my reviews. Maybe if I had some time to really stop, think, and contemplate, I could actually figure out how I feel. Instead, I’m busy just trying to figure out when I’m going to do laundry next, and OMG, Christmas is coming, I have gifts to buy and OMG I have no time to buy them. Thank goodness for online versions of stores. That is ONE thing not contributing to stress.

I feel backed into a corner, and I’m never at my best in these moments, and since I tend to write best when happy, writing hasn’t been a priority when not sleeping has.

Couple this with the election coming up. I’m not going to get political. I have too many friends and people I’m fans of flooding my Facebook wall with all of their opinions, whether I want them or not, and I don’t want to spend an entire post explaining why I feel the way I do.  But, I will, in a few days, make a decision. I will vote. Once, I was told by a family member that she didn’t vote because,  “It doesn’t matter. My vote doesn’t matter.” Sure, because of the electoral college and the basic “leaning” that states have, in some way, in NY, even if you vote Conservative, chances are you’re going Liberal as a state.  But, here’s a little factoid that some might not realize:

One day, after submitting my vote for President, and reading the local paper, there was a headline that gave a listing of the votes collected in my local county, counted for President of the United States. I, and my mother, voted Democrat.  It was a VERY close election, even in the conservative county. My choice, even though he didn’t win, won the county by 2 votes. 2 votes. Those two votes, those two voices, could have been mine and my mother.  That made voting more real to me than anything. It can, at times, come down to a vote. Things do so all the time. One vote in a battleground state, as they call them, could decide how the state goes. One vote. As optimistic as it might make me to believe in that, being raised to believe in the United States made me be that optimistic.

So, please, if you can, do vote. Your voice can only be heard if you open your mouth. Silence isn’t winning. Silence isn’t better. You may hate your friends for filling up your walls, and blogspace with political points with their point of view, but they, at the very least, are using their voice and to get all patriotic: The fact they are even able to have a voice about such things? THAT is the essence of what is great about this country. So, vote. Speak up.

That’s as political as I EVER hope to get in this blog.

So, here’s the deal with the morose post: I’ll hope to write more. After all, the holidays are coming up, and I’m sure I’ll have funky tales to talk about. But, I did want people to know I do not intend on walking away from this blog, even if I was forced to for the past few months. Silly Saturdays will be back. Crazy midnight, 2am, 6am (and out of work!) musings will be coming. I felt I had to say something and get this all off my chest, as rambling as it might be.

See ya’ll soon. 🙂

 
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Posted by on 11/05/2012 in blogging, Uncategorized, work

 

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A Silly Sunday instead of Silly Saturday: Pete the Poptart

When I first started this blog, I wanted to have a feature called Silly Saturdays. But, as I usually have to work the early shift on Saturdays, thus cementing myself in the brain-dead category for the rest of the day (see prior post), that quickly fell aside, as did this blog. Then, I came back to the blog, but abandoned the silly. How dare I?

So, I promise some silly.

I work in a small grocery store. It’s not the most glamorous of jobs, but it pays the bills and that is what counts. So, once upon a time, the company I work for had annual meetings. The store managers used to go to these meetings and usually attended a food show. This is sort of a convention for food retailers. You can get some free stuff, if the vendor is willing to give it. You can also try out new product about to be released to the market and decide if you want a part of the potential cash cow.

One year, my boss, an aforementioned store manager came back and eagerly shoved in my face…this:

(Yeah. That. Admit it. You think he’s cute. And, his expression says it all. He’s pimpin’ it. He wants YOU!)
 

That’s Pete. Well, actually, Pete the Poptart. Yes, Kellogg’s vendors gave out amazingly handsome frosted poptarts with pink icing and sprinkles. Complete with arms, legs, and the most appropriately, “Yeah, I’m hot,” facial expression!

Naturally I fell in love.

Pete found his way into the hearts of my coworkers. He became the mascot of our silly store. He developed a cool relationship with another friendly icon in our store, Kyle the Keystone Can. Kyle Can for short. Kyle was already a post in and of itself, but for reference, here’s Kyle:

(Yeah, he’s awesome. Plant that flag, baby. Plant it!)
 

Anyway, Kyle and Pete became the best of besties, and in turn, hatched plots. See, Pete was a sheltered Poptart. Kyle was an adventurer. I mean, look at that picture. He scaled the mountain of beer. He has a helmet. He has an awesome arctic ride:

(Yeah, I don’t know if drunk driving laws really apply to a beer can, but I’m willing to bet the picture above is illegal.)
 

So, Pete begged for an adventure. He needed to sow all those oats or something. So, he had his adventure. Pete went home with Lauren. Yes, me.

First thing Pete learned about was this idea of the internet. This media was foreign to the guy that was only saw technology as the way to toast him. But, Lauren (me) promised to show him the good of technology. She showed him how famous he was.

He found himself on the internet. How much more famous can you get? This wasn’t enough. He needed to be the next Indiana Jones, Poptart version. So, he went on a quick fishing trip. He caught a fish. And, it was:

 
(this big!)
 

Kyle’s tales, however, teased him. He needed to experience more. No one would believe he was brave if he didn’t have the stories to prove it.

He tried to join a rodeo and compete, but his steed let him down. The dog was too fluffy, too clean, and way too prissy. So, he moved on. Maybe the ocean? Pete couldn’t get to the ocean. Not Yet. But, he managed upon a seafood market. Inside, there was a lobster.

(Look at that poptart run!)
 

However, that lobster had it out for Pete. He had connections and, realizing the poptart’s dream, he met with his rough buddies to plan an adventure ol’ Pete would never forget. Barely able to cool his feet from his retreat from the red shellfish terror, Pete found himself out in the dark. Literally. The knock on the head left him cold. He didn’t know how long he slept, but slept he did.

(Yes, he’s sleeping. They were kind enough to put him to bed. Oh, and the eyes open thing? Completely natural for a poptart. They’re always avoiding consumption. The eye thing only helps!)
 
 

He awoke to this:

 

(We call him Jungle Pete. He’s the king of the Rumba beat!)
 
 

“Aw, Crap,” said Pete. “How will I ever get out? I know! My superior wit!”

It didn’t work as well as he hoped. I mean, after all, he’s a poptart with no adventure skills. He slowly climbed through the jungle of shamrocks and he encountered the native inhabitants. Throwing himself at their mercy, he struggled to learn their language. Learn it, he did. And, they made him one of their own:

(He gained the name: Philip of the Crispy Rice–There’s a Pop Culture reference if I’ve ever seen one!)
 

Now an accepted member of the native tribe, he was able to get the information needed to get out of the jungle and in turn back to civilization, even if it meant the threat of toasterdom to him.

Back in something recognizable to him, he sought out a nice hotel. They had fine Egyptian cotton sheets, and Pete spent his nights dreaming of Egypt, its pyramids and sites. Then, he realized Egypt is in the desert, it is hot, and toasting him might result in some hungry Egyptian mistaking him for a snack. Waking up from an nightmare, Pete decided to spend a short while in the tub, cooling off.

The jets in the tub made amazing bubbles. Yes, amazing. See how amazing they are?

(Mmm…bubbly!)
 
 

Tales of his adventures with the natives of the Shamrock Jungle had reached the local media. Pictures were being taken of him everywhere. Even in his bubbly bath. He struck out at the paparazzi. How dare they invade his privacy?

(HOW DARE THEY!?!?)
 
 

Upset, Pete closed his curtains, turned off his ever-ringing phone, and disconnected the router in his room. Terrified of this world that would sneak in on a poptart and snap photos of his basking in the orange-scented bubbly goodness of a bath, he sat down in the most comfortable chair in the room.

(Well, comfortable for a Poptart, after all.)
 
 

Rocking away, he let the insanity set in. He imagined himself in different places. Different things. He struggled with his newfound fame. Should he venture outside? Is the world still that scary? He turned on the tv in his room.  Quickly flipping the channels, he skipped the news and settled on reality programming. Ah, yes. His favorite adventure show. Deadliest Catch. Man, that Time Bandit crew seemed like Poptart type people. Oh, if he had the guts to be frozen for many months of the year. But, that would make him a Toaster Strudel and he couldn’t ever forget his last date with one of those! She broke his heart. Aw, poor Pete.

Going to sleep with thoughts of cod guts being dropped into the ocean by guys much more daring than himself, Pete tossed and turned. He didn’t hear the latch on his door click, or the rustle of a breeze disturbing the room’s curtain as the window was opened. No, he didn’t even notice as they lifted him and set them in their next trap. Poor Pete. How would he ever survive the dreaded: Lady with a Pocketdog Purse torture?!

But, renewed with the face of his new Shamrock Jungle brothers, Pete fought and climbed the walls of the pocket dog purse. He scaled them. He slipped! Oh no! Would he fall to his death?

But no, the leg is out. An arm. Half a frosted body with sprinkles! Hurray! Pete escaped! He escaped the wrath of the Pocket Dog with its licking tongue and green bodied home!

Knowing enemies were still out there, Pete struggled with his escape. He needed a weapon. Many had fought with the Pocket Dog. Many had fallen aside. He searched through the remains of those brave souls.  No armor. Crap. But, lo…a glint of an obsidian sword!

Yes, it’s the weapon he needed.

Using it, he wandered the halls of this newest challenge. Here and there, he found dead end after dead end. But, press on he must and eventually, he found his way to the exit. The gleaming light passing through the portal inspired him. Could he do it? What if there was something out there to stop him?

Then, he saw it. The reward so critical for an adventurer such as himself to collect. Who cares what lay outside the door? This..yes, this was all that matters.

The treasure. He had to have it. And, have it he did. He opened the chest. He found the cache of his dreams. And, he returned home with the privilege of being a true adventurer behind him. Kyle the Can could not scoff at him now. He was just as brave. He was just as daring.

He was the true poptart that he was meant to be.

Yeah, I’m not joking with this post. I like being random. I like my imagination and where it takes me. I like concocting stories with objects and amusing my coworkers. In seriousness, Pete is a welcome relief when the onset of numbers, and shrink, and profit/loss rule your life. When people yell at you, or hit on you, or do all sorts of things under the creepy guise that as a customer service person that service part is taken literally.

I refuse to grow up if it means that life must always be serious. I refuse to give up these few threads of youth. I want fun in my life. I want laughter. I want to feel like I did as a child, sometimes. Too much of being an adult means losing the fun of life. Why, I refuse to do so completely. I love pretending. I love letting my imagination run.

It keeps me alive.

It keeps me happy.

That’s all that matters in the end, no?

 
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Posted by on 07/23/2012 in silly saturday, work

 

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Brain’s broken…need to refresh…

Ever had one of those days where you think the world just broke that part of your brain that makes you different than the rest of the animals out there? If not, this blog probably isn’t for you.

I started writing this entry about four hours ago and happened upon using baseball metaphors to try to get my point across. Okay, the baseball lingo worked. Trying to move past that? Not so much. Instead, yet again, my brain ran across something infinitely more interesting, and the blog got “trashed” in the internet sense. Basically, hit refresh on your browser and, “Bye! Bye!”

I’ve never been a math chick. I mean, really, I give a lot of credit to people who love numbers, can do complex equations in their head, and understand deep scientific principles on the math alone. In high school, I studied basic calculus, some physics (when we weren’t placing bets on when the teacher would come back from maternity leave), and the various other normal studies, but, it was harder for me to learn than most other things. I’m just not a numbers gal. Even as I’m great with the word-play, financial lingo stops me in my tracks.

Today, it wasn’t financial lingo, but it was numbers. Too many numbers and the Lauren brain goes into shock. Left too long in that state, and it starts to shut down, cortex by cortex until my body just moves around by instinct, and higher functioning halts while my brain is still sorting why the heck I couldn’t figure out the math to make it work. 

Basically, I killed my brain with math today. I would have depended upon the verbal center of my brain that usually takes over in my more “dumb” times, but that was halted with having to argue with people who, deciding they were smarter than me, refused to listen as I told them the truth of how things were. For my dear readers, who may or may not believe I’m giving myself too much credit there, the truth was something a coworker of mine had come to know, realize and agree with me upon. 

Basically: I was right. They were wrong. Nana nana-poo poo! (Yes, a little regression there!)

Wow, that was a moment.

All of what happened today, between the arguing with people and the math (OMG: MATH!!!), is why I love what I get from writing. To me, that’s uncomplicated. Yes, I get frustrated. Sometimes, I just can’t make the words fit. But, I understand why they don’t fit. I understand what they mean. I relish the beauty of the things other people do with them. Numbers? I don’t always see that way.

So, numbers broke my brain today. Not because I was too stupid to understand it, but more because I’m wired differently. So, when the numbers break my brain, I hit refresh. I dump thoughts into a blog, a post, a story, a book. That’s where I live. 

 
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Posted by on 07/18/2012 in Uncategorized

 

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