Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Last May Day

So, here's the last day of May. Am I the only person who feel like this was the longest month ever? I'm pretty sure that it was really 127 days long, not 31.

Sleep well.

Sunday, May 29, 2005


I sit here with Pretty Woman, a movie I can't stand, on the television because everything else on is either just as bad or worse. I could turn the TV off, but I want some noise with a structure and I have no music with me.

And then there's the reason for writing this, so the page doesn't look like it's just hanging around to hold up comic strips.

Does that seem pathetic to you?

The only thing that can make it worse is knowing that I'll turn around and watch the movie when Jason Alexander goes super evil. *sigh* I shouldn't know as much about this movie as I do.

At work, people are being freaked out by my reading. It's not so much that I have a new book at least once a week, but my choices. I've been switching between some younger reader books--like the Artemis Fowl series--fantasy, science fiction, and regular fiction. Yesterday, I started reading Rosemary's Baby and most of the people think I'm nuttier than usual.

Is being eclectic wrong?

Thursday, May 26, 2005

The Weirdness of Leaving a Store and Returning

Once upon a time, when the ‘Bucks in Cow Town was brand new, there was this a Shift Supervisor, I’ll call her FCCM, who decided that what I needed more than anything was a girlfriend. She proceeded to bombard me with questions about what I like in a girl. She wanted to know how important looks were. She needed to know what quirks drove me crazy. And, most important to her, am I an ass man.

I answered all of her questions with red cheeks and began suffering.

“What do you thing of her?” FCCM asked, pointing at a customer. “Do you like her ass?”

Or, while I was washing dishes, she would charge into the back room, grab my soapy hand, drag me to the front, and, among a crowd of coworkers, she’d point and say, “Her! What about her?”

About three months after FCCM started her crusade she came to me early one morning and said, “I’ve figured it out.”

“What?” I asked.

“I know who you should date. I’ve found the perfect woman for you.”


“Do you wanna know who?”

“It’s not that woman with the baby, is it?”

“No,” she said and hit my arm. “It’s someone you know and already like.”

“I already like her?”

“Yeah, you like her, but you don’t know that you like her yet. She’s perfect of you.”

“And who is this vision of perfection?” I have to admit, I wasn’t really close attention.

“I think you should ask NBJW out.”

I dropped the pastries I was handling. “NBJW? Why her?” And, before you ask, JW does stand for what you think it means.

“Because you two get along so well. You have the same type of sense of humor. You both watch the same TV shows. You’re perfect for each other.”

“Maybe as friends,” I said, picking the scones off the floor.

“NO!” she said. “Not as friends. You and her are em eff ee oh.”

“As friends.”

“Why as friends?”

“Main reason? Religion,” I said. “I, quite often, say some off color things about religion, in general, and Christianity specifically.”

“And what does that have anything to do with anything?”

“You can forgive a friend for saying, ‘Yesterday, my dog shat Jesus.’ but not a boyfriend.”

“She’s not that religious.”

“Except she goes to church twice a week.”

“Fine,” FCCM said, walking away.

Occasionally, after that, FCCM would tell me that I should ask NBJW out, but sort of left it alone.

Yesterday, I was told I could leave work a half hour early. As I was finishing up, NBJW, who is now a Shift Supervisor, asked me to help her roll the bazillion coins from the tips. So I did.

We sat at a table in the back room laughing, quoting cartoons, and flicking pennies at coworkers. It was fun.

My time in the store ran out just as we finished rolling the coins. NBJW gathered up the coins and I packed up my stuff.

On my way out, The Manager (who was The Assistant Manager in the beginning) grabbed my arm and pulled me into the corner by the big fridge. “You like her,” she said.

“Like who?”

“NBJW. I heard you two laughing back there.”

“Yeah, it was fun.”

“I think you two should hook up.”

My jaw dropped. My eyes rolled. And I hightailed it out of there.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

A Little More


I wish I didn't have to go there anymore. Of course, I wished that I didn't have to go to work the very first day I ever had work. That doesn't seem to be the way things are, though.

During my first week back, The Manager asked me when I was going to be a shift supervisor. I told her I'd do it whenever she needed one. She said okay.

Three weeks ago, our store lost four people (one had finished his last two weeks, one was told that she had to quit by her doctor, and the other two were told not to bother coming for the week). DHOH was one of them, and she's a shift supervisor. Near the end of the week, The Manager asked me if I was ready to become a supervisor and said she could prep me for the interview. I said that'd be great, but could we hold off on the promotion thing until the second week of June?

"Why?" she asked.

"Well," I said, "the beginning of June will be the end of another six months work at 'Bucks."

"And?" she asked.

"And I don't want to have worked here for six months and get promoted just days before my review and the probable raise I've earned during that time."

"But you'd get a raise."

"Yeah, but I deserve two. One for all my time here and one for the promotion."

"Okay," she said. "We'll talk about this after you're review, I guess."

"Thanks," I said.

Last week, the District Manager visited, twice. (She doesn't like The Manager much (mostly because this manager isn't willing to shove her self up to her shoulders into the District Manager's ass).) On the second visit, DM told The Manager that there are too many Shift Supervisors at our store and we needed to cut back. DM wants The Manager to try and transfer one or two away. And DM said that it's a good thing that DHOH isn't with the store anymore, an assessment that no one at this store agrees with.

So, it looks like, once again, I won't be getting promoted. I'll still be the lowest grunt on the ladder, even though I've been there for a long, long time.

There's other drama going on there, but I have to feed the dog and the eight cats before eating and going to bed, since I'm going to be at work at four in the morning.

Greetings from the Town of Jim

I bet, if I wanted to, I could find out exactly how long it's been since I sat down and wrote a real post for this thing. I don't want to. Anyone interested can e-mail me and make their case for the day they picked and I still won't really care.

How's that for nice?

I'm house sitting for my grandparents right at this exact moment. I started two weeks ago, I think. (I'd have to get up and check, but I'm not into that at the moment.) Their computer was out to get fixed for the first week of my stay and problems that I may or may not have caused stopped me from picking it up last week. Yesterday I fixed the problems and finally got the computer.

So, here I am. Back in the saddle. Again.

I don't know what it is, exactly, but I'm very allergic to something in this house. I have sneezed so much in the last two weeks that my ribs hurt. When I sneeze or cough or take too deep a breath I hurt. I keep thinking it's the dog, but there's no way for me to prove that she's the problem specifically. And another sneezing fit has passed. I keep wondering how long it'll be before I get a hernia because of the sneezes. But that's just me being paranoid, again.

While here, I've come to an important life decision: I'm never going to own a dog. The only way that I'm going to put up with something that requires so much attention that it'll wake you up three or four times in the night with it's whining will be if half it's genetics are from me (or I believe that half it's genetics are from me). I can't stand how needy dogs are. Constantly following my around. Whining when I want to read or watch TV. Slipping and sliding and then falling on the floor when she's excited. Licking so loudly and persistently in the night that it wakes me up. And always trying to put a nose in my crotch. These things are not cute. The best thing about this dog over many, many others that I know is that she's much better trained.

My uncle's dog (who lives just down the hill from my grandparents) is even worse, because he doesn't get the attention he needs from anyone. There are days when the whining and barking and howling get so bad that I want to walk down to the house and kick the dog in its face. That should put a stop to it.

Tell me: Why do people get a dog (or have a kid), not give it the attention it needs, not give it the training to be properly accepted by others, and then wonder why it acts the way it does? Why don't they take the time to deal with what they have? Why when it doesn't work out well they want a new dog (or kid), like having a playmate will solve the problem? WHAT'S WRONG WITH PEOPLE?

Maybe it's not the dog that I should want to kick in the face.

Thursday, May 12, 2005

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Once more...

I decided that, whether it's true or not, I've caught up with comics. That means only once a week from here on. Unless I know that I'm going to be gone for a while and do one massive dump.

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