Dumb questions

Don't you hate being asked dumb questions?
I hate the question, "What are you doing?" when someone is looking RIGHT at the act which you are completing.
For instance:
I hate when I am reading a book and then someone comes over and asks, "What are you doing?"
This question BEGS for a sarcastic response. No matter if it is your best friend for life or your boss, you must respond with, "Ummm. I'm frying eggs."
Seriously, what does it look like I'm doing?
I hate questions. I hate criticism and I hate when criticism and questions are rolled into one.
For instance, "Why are you watching THAT movie?"
1. it's judgy. Stop criticising my movie taste. Just because I wanna watch Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (again) should not include chocolate with a side of judgy. No gracias.
2. Sarcasm time. "Ummm. I'm watching this movie because terrorists are forcing me to."
Duh. I'm watching WWandTChocoFac (pronounced "waatchocofac") because I want to. Stop asking dumb questions.
P.S. I think sarcasm is underrated. I met some friends of the Englishman who did not understand sarcasm/my sarcasm. It was so disappointing, for me, not to enjoy the sarcasm aftermath. I live for the twinge of guilt, sadness and anger that is felt by the victims of the sarcasm quake. I live for it.

Un-politically Correct Interests

Embarrassing things I shouldn't like. This blog post has its roots in the last blog post and many posts previous to this one.
I really like weird things. Most of them are not politically correct. In fact, PETA and every other Rights Activist Organization would like to see me shot. But, I'm not sorry....I will shout it from the rooftops, if I have to.
1. America's Funniest Home Videos
Yeah. People getting hit the crotch. People getting hit in the head. Kids falling down. I can't get enough of that shit. That is quality home entertainment.
2. Beef Jerky
'Nuff said. I would be the first one to survive in the wilderness because all I would bring is a truckload of beef jerky. Good luck, vegetarians. Good luck trying to sustain life off of romaine lettuce and carrots. I love that salty, hard, smoked, chewy goodness of beef jerky. (Sorry PETA.)
3. COPS. I love the show COPS.
This is definitely related to America's Funniest Home Videos. I like to see criminals run from po-pos and then taken down by said po-pos. Yes, it is awful to see the inhumane treatment of smalltime criminal offenders. Sure, the justice system might not be the best ever created. Sure, there might be some troublesome police officers taking advantage of their authority. Sure, guns kill. Violence sucks. But...on camera. Amazing cinematic greatness.
4. Smelling Permanent Markers.
I am the perfect candidate for a Drug Rehabilitation Program. I have a problem. And I've heard that is the first step in recovery. I love to smell permanent markers. ("Hi, Erica.")
5. Drinking to get Drunk
I mean business when I consume alcohol. I don't pussyfoot around (I hope that isn't a misogynistic term). Every alcohol/drug program I've experienced has told me not to participate in drinking to only get drunk. Apparently, that is a bad sign. They also told me not to participate in drinking games....so, how much do they know?
6. Eating Meat.
This goes along with Option #2 (beef jerky). I love the stuff.
One time, I decided to quit meat and only eat vegetables and occasionally fish. Pescatarian is what I'd like to call it.....
But, then, all I ate was a gaggle of frozen vegetables and fish....FOR EVERY MEAL. Lunch: Peas and halibut. Supper: Green Beans and Grouper. Snack: Broccoli and Fish Sticks.
I just replaced beef and chicken and bacon/breakfast sausage (I'm not a fan of pork or regular sausage) with Fish.
7. Buying Clothes from Wal-Mart.
I love those strong, third world connections that Wal-Mart has. I can buy a t-shirt for 4 dollars. That is amazing...I'll take two (or three). Some activists are all about Target and K-mart as an alternative to Wal-Mart. Personally, I love me some Target, but you can't beat the prices that Wal-Mart has. Why pay more? Those activists are like, "Blah blah blah....what about the small children employed overseas? Don't you think about them?"
Answer, "No I don't. I think about my sweet ass deals I get from the Women's Section at Wal-Mart. But, thanks for asking."
After I leave Wal-Mart, I always feel like I am stealing from them. When I walk out, I always have the shifty eyes and perspiration on the brow. How can it be so cheap??
8. Skipping Class.
I currently hold to record for classes skipped in a semester. It's true; look it up. But, it's unofficial, so when you look it up, you won't find anything. It's more unofficial. I didn't have mono. My family didn't lose a house and I had to go back to work on the family farm to save the house. No, I just like to skip class. Why go and learn when I could read and learn from my couch.
Everyone is always giving me the look when I tell them about my efforts to skip. But, I can't be held responsible for their poor decisions. I skip, because I care.

TO BE CONTINUED

Mom-isms from Me

Whoa! I am a bloggin' maniac. I have written on Wednesday and then I am writing today.
I wrote about Judgy Pants People, Study Abroad and now: Momisms.
This blog post is all about things I have said (to various people) through the years. I am like a mommy-in-training, I always have a great yearning to spread "valuable" knowledge, and yet, I always treat it like I am passing on jewels, diamonds, wealth. This advice, coming from me, is the best you'll receive, ever. in your entire life. ever. (Or, at least I'd like to think so).

1. "Choose wisely and wear protection."
I said this to my sister. It seems obvious and I am sure that other people have told her this advice (i.e. sex-education teachers, health care doctors, nurses, principals, our shared mother), yet I felt the need to share this invaluable, timeless tidbit. I always feel the need to tell my sister how it was so hard for me when I was her age and how I had to fight battles, overcome great odds and the outcome is this advice I graciously share with her.
This kind of goes along with wrap it before you tap it, too.

2. "Did you turn the oven off?"
Yeah. I am that type of mommy. Even though I don't have kids (not that I know of)....it is my destiny in life to be a nag. An over controlling nag. You're welcome, World. YOU'RE WELCOME.

3. "Save electricity and turn off some lights."
This goes hand-in-hand with the previous quote. I like to nag. I also don't like to spend booty on utilities. Sure, YOU gots money in da bank. BUT I DON'T. Let your trust fund lie and turn off the lights. I gotta pay for that.

4. "If your lousy relationship doesn't work out, you better not come crying to me."
Stop choosing poorly (See Quote #1). Do you ever see a couple and immediately say, "That's never gonna last." Well, if you are pessimistic/realistic, you know how it rolls.

5. "Don't choose that food just because it has a pretty picture/prize, you'll never eat it."
This one doesn't happen often, but when it does, it makes me feel like a Mommy.

6. "Stop being mean to your friends."
What happened to liking them? Why don't you like them anymore? No one knows. No one will ever know. Did one person do something wrong? Are you to blame? Are they to blame? Is this an episode of 7th Heaven where someone hates someone else? Who knows. I KNOW from experience: one day, everything is fine, a week later, HATRED. My mom used to tell me to solve all problems with gifts. She would tell me to extend a peacemaking gesture by giving candy or little toys to friends I got in tiffs with.

7. "Don't bite off more than you can chew."
Don't enroll in 17 hours of undergraduate and graduate credit. That's too much work. Take it easy. Actually, I like to have my life be like any Bob Seger song. Or Eagles song. "Take it Easy" by The Eagles pretty much sums up my view on life.
Lyrics: Lighten up while you still can, Don't even try to understand, Just find a place to make your stand and Take it Easy.

8. "If the shoe doesn't fit, don't wear it."
This, like many other quotes before it, is kinda backwards, maybe even ghetto/Hoosier. That's how I roll and I don't trust others who don't roll that way. Those types of people will never let you down. Plus, they can be counted on for dozens of other problems. They get shit done.
This quote has to do with realizing that if you don't/can't/won't do something, realize the obvious and do something else. Know thyself (and know that you're bugging the hell out of me by making poor choices).

9. "Think before you speak"
Such a classic one that us Mommies say, but really? Clearly, it needs to be said. Like, I could have said it to G.W. Bush all day long. At every press meeting. At every speech. Think about what you're trying to say. And, if someone comments on the fact that what you are saying might be untrue, dumb or otherwise, perhaps read between the lines and/or listen.

Yeah, that's about all for today. If you see me spouting some Mommyisms, just remember, everyone has it in them to be someone else's Mommy (even for a short time).

Abroad, broads.

Two of my best friends are coming back, or have already returned from Studying abroad. This led me to thinking....what happens when you are abroad, are studying abroad or just in a different place than the Midwest.
I have only been out of the center of non-civilization once, and that was a school sponsored trip to NYC. We went to NYC, got our hands held the entire time and then came back to the Midwest, where I apparently belong.
Anyway, what happens overseas? I have no idea. Studying, yes. Thank you, sarcastic Sallys and Sals....I know that Studying Abroad means taking classes and studying. Now that we've got that covered, what else happens?
Well, here's what I think happens when you go overseas:
1. Daily body cavity searches.
Especially Americans---tricky bastards. Never know what they are going to have on them.
2. Hazing.
They probably make you go through a hazing ritual whilst you're in said country. Whether it be France, the UK, S. America, China, Africa or Espana....hazing the newcomer is a time-honored tradition. No matter if their culture is similar to ours, or they are third world....they will probably make you memorize lines from their Pledge, Song of their Country, or learn Shakira lyrics (they just love Shakira). (All while pounding a 1/5th of Bourbon, sake, tequila or Vodka (depending which country you are in).
3. It is notorious that other countries eat later than Americans. I am the oldest person alive. If someone makes me eat later than 5:30 p.m., I get grouchy. But in other countries, they eat at like 9 p.m., stay up til 3 a.m. and so forth.
I think the first day you get to the country, they make you fast until you conform to their standards of eating. They withhold all food and beverages (unless it it Bourbon, sake, tequila, or Vodka) until you are willing to eat later and sleep from 3 a.m. until 8 a.m.
4. Clothing.
I am sure they will give you lip about your faded jeans until you are willing to sell them. Apparently, Americans get jeans for cheap. I think Europeans are willing to buy them from you....you are expected to do this.
5. Entertainment.
As a guest to their native land, you bring information from the outside world (aka, The Midwest United States). Sure, the only thing you've taken part in, is a pick-up game of 4-Square, but still, they wanna a story. You are the entertainment.
6. Awful public transit, transportation.
Especially in Mexico, Africa, S. America and I am sure the back roads of Switzerland and France are similar to this, too: Bad. Transit: worse.
To break you in on the first day (and subsequently every week after you arrive), you must go through public transit. i.e. sit on some one's lap for a 9 hour bus ride going 60 miles an hour over pot-hole central.
7. Luxuries.
They revoke all luxuries no matter who and where you are. Doesn't matter that you are studying in Sydney, Paris, London or Rome. Luxuries no more. It's for the experience.
8. Boyfriends/lovers/girlfriends.
No matter who you know. You don't know them any more. Their name is dead to you. This is law. This is SPARTAAAAAAAAAA (or wherever you are studying abroad.)
--------
Whenever I leave my town (St. Louis) and travel to another place in the United States, I expect to get the same treatment as well. Turns out, no. And the rest is probably incorrect for other countries as well. Who knows. We'll never know.

Judgy much?

Have you ever been the blameless victim of a JA? What is a JA, you ask.....well it is a Judgment Attack. I, Erica Wiley, writer/victim have been judged. This goes along with my previous post about haters.
But, judgy pants is a different form. They judge on the basis that they have never participated in the kind of activities that I do. They think the kind of things I do is socially unacceptable, lower class, trashy or what have you.
dictionary.com claims that to judge is to decide upon critically, to guess about, estimate, or a person qualified to pass critical judgment.
For one, these people/person is not qualified to pass critical judgment.
Secondly, they are clearly only guessing; they are in the wrong.
Thirdly, stop being so critical.
Fourthly, they don't knooooow me. (insert a sassy snap)

What are they judging me on:
1. Food habits. A nameless roommate of mine, who is perfect in every single way, no stone unturned, all I's dotted, all T's crossed, whatever the hell that means, persnickety, always judges me for my food choice. And I don't blame her. It's silly, my food choices. What's funny is, she thinks people judge HER. No way, Jose. Step back in line....the judgy train is full speed ahead....We have a nonstop flight to Judgytown, U.S.A.
Sure, I eat more cookies in a month than most people do in a year. Sure, I like to eat carbohydrates like it's my last day on Earth. Sure, if I am bored, sad, angry, stressed, happy, lonesome, not lonesome, I pound out some munchies. Is that a reason to judge? I don't think so.

Just because you happen to have excellent teeth, bone structure, blue eyes and throw off the metric scale for weight doesn't mean you can criticize me: a brown eyed, brown haired, sloppy, clumsy, Baptist-bred, curvy, over-eater roommate. She's not the only one either. One time, at Wal-mart, I was with a nameless roommate, we were shopping together, which was hilarious. We are funny shoppers. We had a good ol' time, screwing around at the local Wal-mart supercenter.
When we were done making lewd gestures, joking around, causing chaos in every aisle, the best time of my life, we decided to check out. She went first, putting her yogurt, low-cal drinks, cereal, tomatoes, canned vegetables, celery, wheat bread, eggs, cranberry juice, bananas, wheat thins, light mayonnaise and oatmeal on the counter. Then, she grabbed a candy bar. One candy bar. The cashier, making small talk says, "Ahhh, I see someone (my roommate and loyal patron to Wal-Mart) has a sweet tooth."
My nameless roommate, politely smiles and says, "Ha, yeah, I guess so."

Then comes my turn. Here's the rundown of my shopping cart: eggs, orange juice, brown sugar, white granulated sugar, Chips Ahoy Chunky, chocolate chips, walnuts, meat, red meat, extra-fatty pizzas, Reese's miniature peanut butter cups, a loaf of bread, French bread, and three candy bars from the aisle. He then turns to my roommate, gives her a look, turns to another cashier, gives her a frightened, appalled look, then turns back to me and says, "Someone here really has a sweet tooth."
Then, not-as-politely, I shout, "INCORRECT, MY GOOD MAN. I have THE sweet tooth. THE. SWEET. TOOTH."
If this was a Baptist church, in the St. Louis area, on a Sunday afternoon, I wouldn't be getting this kind of treatment. They would take one look at my basket of sweets and ask if I was on a diet.

That's the other thing, being raised Baptist, most of the stereotypes are actually true. Especially in regards to food. If there is more than 1 person at the house, a casserole is in order. Fried chicken is an every day occurrence and if there is a party, there must be a separate table for desserts. In fact, keeping it light, means only having one table of desserts. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
2. Clothing.
This is probably going to be a repeat theme in my awesome blog. Seriously, I don't read Vogue, I don't shop in "Size 3" (A fictional clothing store for thin white girls) and I don't have money to buy, wear once then discard, all of the new trends available.
It took me years (and I mean years) to buy and wear skinny jeans (which are probably going out of style now that squares like me are actually wearing them).
So, listen up: Stop judging me on the basis of my turquoise jewelry, classic, yet not trendy, slightly worn, but ok, sweaters, faded, flared jeans, etc, etc. I am an okay person, I just don't care enough to peruse the internet looking for the new trends abroad.
Don't bring up that the shoes I am wearing are not only out of style, but years old. They still work. They were cute 3 years ago, I think they are ok now. Don't even get me started on Sales. I would prefer not to thrown into the lion's den or buried alive for.....
yes....it's true....
I do this....
thrift shopping.
Yes, other people have worn these clothes. Yes. Strangers.
I bought them for a dollar. Full price: one dollar. And I am not going to Fashion Hell for it. Suck it.

Finals Week Tidbits

Finals Week is upon us college folks are here are just some tips from me to you.
1. In case you haven't noticed, there is a hierarchy of people here in college. Freshman have NO room to complain, no matter what they are taking. I don't want to hear about your problems. I did my part when I was a freshman by not complaining, so you should do the same.
2. Everyone is stressed out. I'll give you two: "I'm so stressed out"s before I cut you off. No more. Everyone is in the same boat unless you are one of those people who got lucky and finished their worksheets ahead of time and is now only in the way.
I hate those people. What are they still doing around? At least pretend for our sake that you are stressed, barely breathing and is contemplating suicide. That's the least you can do.
3. If you've showered, you don't need to complain. Finals week is all about studying, cramming, eating bad junk food, not showering or changing clothes.
4. If someone barks at you......let it slide. They're busy and you probably were asking a dumb question. (I've gotten snipped at on more than one occasion, so this may only apply to me and my dumb incessant questions.)
5. Drinking while studying is ok. I don't care what time it is. If the person next to you smells like beer or vodka.....give him/her the "I-get-that-nod."
6. It's best not to ask what someone has left before they can go home for the semester.
I am so tired of hearing the lists of things to do from everyone. I can't keep track of everyone's list as well as my own. At least put it in a blogpost for all to read (like me, of course *insert pretentious laugh).
7. If someone is crying, vomiting, making the worst face you've ever seen.....just move away from that person. Be a hero. A finals week hero. You might not get your name in the newspaper, but you have to do your part and step up to the plate. And by step up....I mean give that loony some space.
One time (yesterday), I walked into a campus computer area that is rarely used, and this girl had her face to the window and was on the phone. All I wanted to do was check my mail (I don't have the 'Net at home). So, I walked in....gave a "Sup Homie" to the girl and THEN.......
she TURNED AROUND.
As she turned around, phone in-hand, her face.....Well, it was not good.
It gave me a good startle and I took a step backwards. The room was dark, she was next to the window, a small flicker of light shone in....
All I saw was massacre. I'd like to call it the Massacre on 4th Floor.
As I peered into her bloodshot, greasy, soggy eyes.....I was scared. She was having a hard time and obviously talking to her parental unit or significant other about some problems but, the amount of smeared make-up face ratio was 9 to 1. NINE TO ONE, PEOPLE.
9:1.
Immediately, I said, "I'm gonna go..............uh, somewhere else."
Then she said, "Really? Are you sure?"
Then I said to the 9:1 face girl, "Ohhhhhh, yeahhhhhhhhhhh."

Favorite Pastimes: Snow Edition

I love the snow. It always comes around Christmas time and Christmas time brings all that jazz.
BUT THIS BLOG POST ISN'T ABOUT CHRISTMAS, IT'S ABOUT SNOW.
I feel that snow gets a bad reputation sometimes:
----It's always cold when it happens and most people don't like the cold.
----Car accidents due to the inclement conditions. I am an inclement condition. I cause vehicular accidents because I am a bad driver.
----You, rather I, put on like 10 pounds during the winter (and I don't lose the weight until like September---just in time to gain it all back again).
----When you have to pee, you have to remove like 18 layers of clothes. And, if you gotta go really bad, well, that sucks.
---Ice. With snow, comes melting snow and then refreezing snow, which makes ice. Ice is no bueno. NO BUENO, people.
---Falling on the ice. I fall when it is 75 degrees and sunny. What do you get when you add freezing temps and climate problemos?
---Scraping the snow and ice off of your car. Can be fun---but I've never experienced the fun.
I actually really like the snow, though. It always gets blamed for many problems like the aforementioned examples, but I love when it snows.
Plus, snow is always left out of the conversation around the holidays.
So, here's to you, snow. This is why you're hot (in the metaphorical sense):
1. You don't soak me.
---you really don't. Your lovely flakes coat my clothes and my hair but never soak me thoroughly. I never need an umbrella, ella, ella eh, eh eh. Clearly better than rain.
2. It's pretty. Snow blankets the land. It's quite lovely.
3. Fun! Snow's really fun.
4. A continuation of #3, you can have snowball fights, build snowmen and snowwomen. Plus, you can sled and sledding is fun. I missed out on sledding last year and I am NOT happy about it.
The whoosh of your hair as you slide down a steep slope. You hear a high-pitched scream and after the annoyance fades, you realize it was you making that god awful noise.
5. EVERY FLAKE IS DIFFERENT. Isn't that mind blowing? I know that blows my mind.
6. You can write poems about snow. Robert Frost did (and so can you).
7. You can eat it. (not the yellow snow, or the snow on busy roads...but the white stuff is okay).
8. It has so much personality. It's like rain for the most part, except better. Sometimes it snows hard, sometimes it never hits the ground. Other times, it snows sideways, vertically, horizontally. There are thundersnows, flurries, thick snow, hard snow, wet snow, dry snow. Icy snow. Rainsnow. Shrimp gumbo, pineapple shrimp, coconut shrimp, shrimp soup, shrimp stew.
9. It melts and forms around trees. It makes trees and bushes and plants and houses really pretty. Weird too.
10. Everything becomes silent. People stay in, less cars are out on the roads and there is a certain silence that comes with a snowfall.
11. Snow days! Kids get off of school. My college doesn't call for snow days, but still, remember when that was AMAZING.
12. Hot chocolate. After sledding, running into the house where Mom had steamy hot chocolate waiting on the snow. That was the shit.
13. Accessories. I had to say it. Yep. Scarves, mittens and gloves, hats (which I loathe), jackets, coats, boots, galoshes (whatever the hell galoshes even means).
14. Quality time indoors. Family time is good time (unless it's the holidays; then the claws come out).
15. Fire.
---indoor fires, fireplaces, stoves.
Clearly, it recently snowed here in the Midwest and as a lovely, loyal Midwesterner, I had to give it a shoutout.

Technology

Does anyone own a piece of technology?
I do. I admit it. I own a piece of metal and wires and chips and whatever the hell goes into electronics. I like to think magic and spells goes into each piece. We'll never know.
In other news, I have NO IDEA how those things work. Muchas cosas en the United States. I blame Asia. Asians are always creating some top-of-the-line mechanical or electronic device that is teeny tiny and can slide out of my hand on its own accord (having nothing to do with my clumsiness).
You know how some people are phobic of certain events, material things, situations or ailments? For instance, some people are agoraphobic (afraid of spiders). Some people are germaphobic (afraid of germs). Some people are xenophobic (afraid of sexyhottness). Well, para mi, I am afraid of technology. I have, and probably always will be, afraid of technology.
Anytime anyone comes over and whips out their new gadget, I make myself scarce. I become like a 14 year old boy from the Bible belt at a sorority house. I start sweating, my palms itch, I have trouble swallowing, I can't think straight, my voice becomes coarse---all the usual ailments that come with phobias. I just gotta get out of there. Clearly, this is the normal response to technology.
The biggest problem is APPLE. The Mac/Apple company is always inventing some new, tiny, expensive, pretty and white machine to buy.
For one, I am like a bull in a china shop. I am a 5' 2" lumberjack on roller skates, who doesn't do lumberjack outdoorsy activities. As this lumberjack, I am going to DROP any small tiny thing that requires handheld attention. Secondly, white? Really. Could they pick a more dirt-attracting color? I am messy. At any point-in-time, I have ketchup on my hands and dirt on my palms. I understand some of their toys are black, or pink, whatever. But, mostly, they are white.

I am actually quite jealous of all of these new toys. But, I don't need them and I definitely can't afford them. I wouldn't know what to do with all of these new toys, except parade them around in a Ziploc bag, unused.
I'm sure that I deleted Itunes off of my computer a year or two ago. I am a Windows Media Player aficionado. No street rep there, but definite accessibility. All I am saying, PC USERS UNITE. Also, MP3 player users unite. Macs can have their cool club, we as PC users need to develop a club, that is all I'm sayin'.
Imagine what would go on at THOSE meetings.

Call to Order
Singing of PC song:
(Hail to thee, Oh dear P.C, Hail to thee Oh Hail. Ease and Honor you have brought us, Hail to Thee, Oh Hail).

New Business
Old Business
Discussion
Departure....including holding and praising and bowing of the personal computer of choice.

Just don't do it.

This is dedicated to all the workers out there.
I have been neglecting my blog for the past week (the Thanksgiving "holiday" took up all of my time). Plus, our computer is as old as time, so that didn't help the bloggin'. Lo siento, kids.

Ok, after seeing a commercial that I thought was hilarious, I decided to do an exposèe on this topic. (COPYRIGHT WARNING: THIS IS NOT MY IDEA, IT WAS OFF OF A NEW BOARDGAME: I'M JUST REVAMPING THE IDEA).
Ok: Things NOT to do on your first day at work:
1. Kick the boss.
Just don't do it. You don't bite the one who feeds you. Animals know it and so should you.

2. Sleep.
Sleepy time is not work time. People are going to think you have a drinking problem; get a good night sleep. Believe me....I am a big sleeper, so I know how tough this is.

3. Wear your hippie costume from the recent "Herb Exchange" at the local head shop.
Self explanatory. Don't do it. Unless you're working for the Head Shop or as a lobbyist for Students for a Sensible Drug Policy or the Federation of People Who Like To Dye Things.....don't wear your "I love Drugs and Alcohol" t-shirt.

4. Do not recite the verses to the theme song from Star Trek: Next Generation.
I learned this one the hard way.
Nerds unite!

5. Do not trash talk your dumbass coworkers.
There is plenty of time to diss those brainless, self-righteous people with whom you share workspace. The first day is not the time for this.

6. Don't eat other people's food in the fridge.
And definitely don't tell them about how great it was. Especially if it is chocolate or sandwich related. If it looks shady, it's fair game (in my opinion).

7. Don't photograph the infamous Black Book. Definitely don't hand it out, post it, send it out in a memo. If anything, you should keep it under lock and key under your bed AT HOME.
Black Book material should not be shared the first day. No. Don't do it.

8. Jell-o someone's stapler.
Clever idea. Beautiful for The Office, the television show, as seen on NBC, and its affiliates. Not acceptable for work use and definitely not for the first day of work.

9. Don't string all of the paper clips together.
This is a multi-faceted, very complex issue:

A. Come on. That's a bitchass move. Funny for a minute, I'll give ya that....but after a minute, it becomes weird.
B. Really? Your first day? You're gonna do that the first day?
C. At least act like you're busy. It's your first day, let's not piss anyone off.
Overall, it looks pretty, but it is not cool.

10. Find your university's rival and then pick a fight.

A. Rarely does anyone care about College Athletics after college.
B. NOT ON THE FIRST DAY.
C. You're gonna look like an idiot reciting all of the statistics from the last 3 seasons to someone who probably just happened to go to Big University.
D. If they did care, they probably wouldn't know anything about the sport, etc, nowadays.
E. You're gonna look like a tool.

11. Make out with the office hottie/stud.
Even if it is not the office hottie/stud (and just an available, loose-lipped person)...don't do it.
Probably best left to day number two. This is also correlated with the Number 7 previously mentioned. If you're gonna do it....do it in the coat closet (still wait for Day Number Two). Or do it on your lunch break (get a lunch out of it too).

12. Politics....religion....
That's an obvious thing not to mention on the first day. Especially if you're working for a big business, they are probably Republican and not interested in your feelings toward the oppressed minorities. They got scrilla to make.

Overall: Appearance and Behavior is key.

BFF

My BFF, Kailey Burger just joined the bloggin' realm.
She already has me beat for followers (although my followers are definitely more loyal........maybe).
Anywho:
Shout-out:
http://kaileyburger.blogspot.com/
Check it out....she's very funny (and isn't long-winded like I am).
But, still Follow my blog as well.

Shame, Shame, Shaaaaame

Any loyal readers of mine ever do the Walk of Shame? If not, you're missing out on one of the time honored traditions in America. I'm sure people do the Walk of Shame in Europe and Africa and Asia and the Americas, but we, as Americans have perfected it. I would even go as far as saying that the Midwesterners have perfected it for the rest of the United States. Here's the theory: Northerners never get caught doing the WoS because it's too cold that no one ever gets caught. For one, everyone (probably) wears North Face and ski gear, so people could be doing the WoS, and no one would notice because the clothing doesn't change. Here, an essential element to the WoS is the clothing. If you are in stilettos, thigh-high tights, black halter top and you mirror a football player with their smudges to keep the sun away (or whatever they do that smudging for).....all on a Sunday morning, you have just been initiated into the Walk of Shame. The point is: your makeup has seen better days and so have you.
Anyway, Northerners are not frequent WoShamers. Too cold.
Southerners: too classy. Or rich.
The coasts: to rich. Plus, I feel like the West Coast is so wealthy, everyone has a personal servant to run around picking them up at all hours of the night. The East Coast, people would probably just catch a cab. Or they would buy new clothes and throw them on. Plus, in busy places, no one would recognize you anyway, so thus, it is not the WoS.
Lastly, I have been the NYC (the only place I've ever been), where there are some SCARY people. These people look like aliens who just caught the stomach flu. Pretty frightening. If they can deal with that sickness, I am sure the WoS wouldn't faze them.
Midwesterners: people know you, you see people, rarely are there cabs, we don't have loads of clothes lying around, perfect conditions for the WoS.
I am a regular participant of the WoS. Even though it is with the Englishman, it is still the WoS when you meet your boyfriend's friends while heading out the door at oh six hundred hours on a Sunday. Why is it you never meet your boyfriend's friends or former lovers when you are in a formal gown? God, karma, Santa Claus (whoever controls things) et al has a funny, funny way of screwing around with our lives.
I love when you cross paths with someone else doing the WoS. Both of you know what's going on, both agree that it is best to give a small nod, then look down whilst walking. It isn't glorious, but it is an unmistakable bond.
The worst is when you are a regular WoShamer and then others, who apparently have a routine too, catch you on a weekly basis. I have bumped into a building mate of the Englishman for weeks now. At first, it was awkward. But then, as the weeks progressed, the mate of the Englishman would say, "Hey....Walk of Shame??"
Me: "You know it."
I am so classy.

Haters

Ya know what sucks more than anything else in the whole wide world?
HATERS.

One Childhood Mem'ry

Per the suggestion from my lovely boyfriend (whom I've kept secret from my loyal readers until now), whose pseudonym will be.......the Englishman, suggested I write about the early years. He is not British, although I think his family's ancestry originates from the Great B. He wanted his pseudonym to be Barracuda, probably from the song "Ooh, Barracuda"...but I don't want to be too outlandish. Plus, it's my blog, I can pseudonym if I want to. Anywho, the Englishman wanted me to write about my childhood memories for my next blog post. I have A LOT of memories. Childhood and otherwise.
Let it be known, I was probably the funniest, most precocious child ever. I was very independent too, and bossy as a wee little one. It probably made parenting easy....or hard, one or the other. Either way, you're welcome Mom and Dad.
One memory that I had was one where I would play the game, 'Let's dig to China.' And how you played the game was, Erica digs in the back yard until she reaches China. Knowing very little about geography (nothing much has changed since then), I figured China was straight down. Straight down, hang a left, pay a guy ten bucks for a road map and then BAM, here's China!
So as a kid, I sat in my backyard for hours digging and digging and digging. With a spoon. That poor spoon. We (and when I say we, I mean our digging team: me and the doggy who wasn't much help) had like two indestructible spoons for digging and I am sure one is still in some mound of dirt in our old backyard. As a city person, (aka, I lived in the suburbs of St. Louis), I sure was handy and knowledgeable when it came to holes, especially outdoorsy holes; the best kind.
But, here's the thing: 1. I never got anywhere. 2. The hole never made it to deeper than a foot. 3. I gave up on some holes and started new ones, thus never making it anywhere. 4. Most of the holes made looked more like craters than holes.
My mom never checked on me either. She never asked what I was doing, she never came into my office (the outdoors) to ask me what the holes were all about.
And from that, I always thought it was my own secret. I always thought maybe she was a laissez-faire, hands-off mother who didn't know that I dug holes, even though she gave me supplies to do the job (the Indestructible Spoons and Cherry Kool-Aid).
It took me a while to realize that she probably was either sleeping off the exaustion I'd caused her from the day, she might have rejoiced that I was out of her hair, or she probably got the washer and dryer warmed up for when I came back into the house still in my dirty clothes. My mom coulda went to Mommy-paloza while I was digging, or she was probably taking snapshots of me and my weird habits. I'd like to hope that she didn't call all of my relatives to tell them about Hole 101, instructor: Erica Wiley, age 6.
I think I do have a photograph of a little me wading in a pool of muddy rainwater with my infantchildsister (yes, one word) staring at me while I'm exploring the path to China.
My mom still brings it up my old pastimes to this day. Thanks Mom.

Schmanksgiving

Right now, I wanna bitch about Thanksgiving. I know it's a bit early, but I can't not give my two cents. I'll probably write more about this awful holiday, just you wait.
Every single day, I hear people jib jabbing about Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving, Schmanksgiving. Really? reallllllllllyyyyyyy. I don't need a whole week off of school just to overeat. I can do that on a Friday night, in my pajamas without having to leave my apartment or see the extended family. I'm not even a holiday person, but I make no complaints about the other holidays. I support the Judeo-Christian holidays. Especially the ones with presents.
Lemme just say, I think I would rather be Jewish. Hanukkah: 8 days of presents, no gaudy Christmas tree, a cool dreidel with a dreidel song and you get to light candles (but they don't go overboard, which is nice). For the last four Thanksgivings, my family hasn't made turkey. THAT'S THE WHOLE REASON I GO----for the turkey sandwiches and the pumpkin pie. Seriously, two years ago, my extended family made.......ham. Yes, ham. You heard right. Ham. Let me refresh your memory of the first Pilgrim/Indian feast. Some European colonists (aka Pilgrims) sat down with various Native American groups (who were here in North America first) and ate corn, vegetables, pies/puddings and.........poultry! Poultry! Not swine. POULTRY. TURKEY. Feathers, not curly tails. And then the "two" groups lived peacefully together ever since........
Like I said earlier....I make no complaints about the other holidays. Of course, I have qualms, but for now, it's just the one absurd holiday that needs criticism.
Thanksgiving---the poor man's Christmas. I just don't understand what use it is to me/everyone in the world who breathes. I get a whole week off (including two sets of weekends). We don't even do anything until the day of. Thursday morning, I get up early, travel an hour to the scary part of my Midwestern city, to my grandma's house where I greet an embarrassing assortment of extended family members whom I haven't seen since last Christmas and then we all eat. And then after I eat....I eat some more. Then, I talk to these family members (you know the ones....the ones whose names you cannot recall)....and tell them the same story:
1. No, I'm not pregnant. This is turkey weight. I'm just pudgy....get off my back.
2. Yes, I'm still in college.
3. Studying history.
4. Hell if I know about the only Russian history fact you seem to recall. I study American history. Leave me alone or at least stop embarrassing me with your random Jeopardy-esque trivia about Eastern Europe.
5. Yes, I do have a boyfriend.
6. (After #5) Please don't give me any "knowing looks."
7. No, I don't want any more food. This is my third plate of turkey sandwich with a side of pumpkin pie.
8. Get your own Bud Light. And, ask someone else, in the kitchen, if they recall who Frederick the Great is.
9. I can't say that I'm in the market to buy your 2006 Mercedes Benz off of you.
10. Your sexual innuendo is refreshing....but say one more tidbit and you're going to get this lightly sauced turkey sandwich in your boozing face, sucka.
_______
And, what can you ask them? It gets pretty dull receiving the third degree from your dad's great uncle, once removed, etc. Conversation starters are tricky with a middle aged man.
It's hard to come up with questions for someone whose name has escaped you.
How's work, sir?
What is it that you do, my good man?
How do you even spell that job, senor? (add a squiggle to the 'n' in senor)
Is that an actual job? Are you really unemployed? Are you actually that sad character on Office Space (the one who loves his red Swingline stapler)?
What is it that you do, in your job?
And they pay you for that?
Is this your twentieth beer, because you've been rambling about the accounting department for 15 minutes.

Plus, except for last year, all I did on T-giving is eat, talk to the family and watch the Dog Show. yes, the Dog Competition on Animal Planet.
Why? I dunno. It just feels right. I sit on my couch, some people play poker for nickels (.05 cents) while me and the other kids (those not married....and my grandpa and maybe one real uncle) watch the Dog Competition. We always shout out which dog we like, which is the cutest, funnest, while we watch.
It's the best part about Thanksgiving: hearing my grandpa yell from the other room, "Erica, Large Breed Dogs are up next...."

The fall

Ok, seriously. It's fall here in the Midwest. Since I am from the St. Louis area, I have seen it all. St. Louis has THE WORST weather on the face of the planet. Sometimes, I look up the temperatures in Alaska and cross check it with the temperatures in St. Louis and I get jealous of Alaska. I should move to Alaska. It's sunshiny for days at a time, they pay you to live in their state and there is nature all around. That might actually be a downside for me. I do not do well with the outdoors, or machines. I think those two oddly go together. You have to fix your own shit when you live in the middle of nowhere. (Plus, sometimes it gets warmer than St. Louis). Anyway. I hate fall....everyone is sneezy, it rains like 5 out of 7 days a week, the temperature fluctuates from smoggy to frigid within an hour and a half. It's like wintertime, except with warmer temperatures and just replace the snow with more rain. Speaking of sneezy, I feel like the sneezes are contagious. Just like the mirror neurons used for contagious yawning....once someone sneezes, everyone in the whole room starts sneezing. It's so ridiculous too, when you're in a lecture and you're trying to concentrate and then....
Achooo.
ten seconds later....
Achoooooo.
Five Seconds late,
Achoo, Achoo.
And before you know it everyone has sneezed and is now sniffling.
Also, that's another problem. Summer is warm and flu free and once October rolls around, EVERYONE has the flu. Flus wouldn't be so bad if they didn't come with the sniffles. I think that sniffling is one of my petpeeves, but only upon occasion. Sniffling people in classrooms can definitely be annoying. I guess it isn't their fault. There is a tremendous amounts of Kleenex until you need a freakin Kleenex and then there is none to be found. In the summertime, you couldn't give it away, but in late October, the prices are inflated.....people are selling it in back alleys for an increased rate. I once THREW AWAY Kleenex..........blasphemy.
The nice thing about fall is.....you're looking forward to the Holidays. Once Halloween rolls around, then next thing you know it's Thanksgiving and then BAM....Christmas and then BAM.....a whole new year. I always get the hungries in the Fall though. Me and my nameless roommate were just chitchatting about this via the Facebook machine. I rarely get to see her, so Facebook's the best way to chitchat. Anyway, I can't stop eating. I like to think it's because I've used sooooo many calories with my walking to and from school and bicycling up and down the flat streets of my small town, but come on, that's not the reason.
I think I have the hungries in the Fall because my body knows what's coming, and it's preparing the best it can for the inclement conditions of winter by stocking up on carbohydrates. Ya know what I never considered doing? Cutting out carbs. I can kinda see cutting out candy and sweets (I would never give up Chips Ahoy Chunky, never, not ever), and I can kind of see cutting out dairy (I'm L.Intolerant, let's not telling anyone---I don't want to be bullied for my differences). But, CARBS? That is the meal of the Romans and the Greeks. And, I'm sure the Persians jumped on the carb bandwagon too. The meal of the middle class Egyptians who worked on the pyramids was rich, thick BREAD. Not, a veggie salad with a light vinaigrette. BREAD. If they could make the pyramids off of two slices of bread for lunch, that's good enough for me.

Adventures in Minimum Wageland---The Grand Finale!

Dollar General.
D.G.
What a wonderful little place to work. My particular Dollar General was operated by two middle aged women and one middle aged man. I was the only youngster in the joint. (Yes, I called it a joint, because it was like prison---the temperature was hot, everyone smoked, I got paid very little, I was always working, and the only people who patroned the store were the underrepresented, oppressed minorities of society.)
Plus, in The Joint the workers made up an elite squad of gangsters. Kinda like a Chain Gang. It was cool. I felt at home; apart of something bigger than myself. That was when I knew I had to quit: If I felt at home in a DOLLAR GENERAL, it was time to go. But really, it was great. All I did was open boxes and scan people's small purchases. I hated being a cashier at the fake floral store, but I think it was the atmosphere and the quantity of goods purchased by the average customer. At D.G., the average shopping cart was stacked with batteries, t.p., tampons, $1 pregnancy tests (yes, one dollar) and candy. If I had more than 10 items for one patron, it was a 'busy day.' I got a funny story about a Latino man:
One time, when my manager was taking her bi-hourly smoke break, a couple of Mexican men came into the store. *This isn't me being racist; many people of Latin American descent shop at D.G.----it's close, cheap, accessible and small. They finished shopping: they bought beans, rice and batteries. One of the men left, the other man paid for his stuff and then......lingered. Yeah, he just hung out. In my mind, I thought, "What, did I mess up his order, do I need to translate something with my broken Spanglish?"
Then, he leaned in, hand still on his wallet and said, "You work here all the time?"
And I said, "Surprisingly, yes, all the time."
It got really quiet, and I hate awkward pauses, so I filled in with: "Do YOU work all the time, tambien?"
He ignored that (or took it as rhetorical) and then said with an eyebrow raised (like in a cheesy film), "You live around here?"
HOKAY, let's be frank here. I am a Midwesterner. I don't understand flirting. My idea of flirting is BLATANT. In fact, I had to be ostracized by one nameless roommate before I understood that my form of flirting is generally unacceptable by this country and the society I live in today. I, personally, have been hit on 0 to 1 times in my whole life. I do not comprehend how someone is/could be attracted to me. Weird.
So, I answered, "Si, yo vivo en the next town."
He then scanned my face, and his eyes traveled down my body, down my black shirt, down to my corduroy pants. He then said, "You live alone?"
"NOPE, sure don't. Definitely not. Not alone. Nope."
"Who you live with?"--My future lover, clearly.
"My dad. And my mom, and my sister." Then, at that moment, he started the undressing-my-clothes-with-the-eyes routine, but as he got to my trousers, he turned his head to the right to find my boss with a hand on her hip, a 6 foot 2 inch frame, crazy dyed red hair and a cigarette in her hand giving my stalker the "look". He then left pretty quickly.
I will always remember him fondly.
I only worked D.G. for a little while, but during the next summer, I started work for this college Big Wig. I like to refer to her as Mrs. Big, like Sex and The City, or The Notorious B.I.G.wig.
Anyway, technically I worked for the NBW's secretary, (which made me feel like the bottom of the food chain), but still, close contact to the NBW. Actually there wasn't really a big issue with this job, just that the NBW was on a diet. I don't know why, but she had a shitton of small, prepackaged green bean containers. I had to help move offices (from one side of campus to the other) and I kept finding dusty green bean packages. I thought about stealing and eating one just to see what the fuss was about but I decided against it.
Also, the secretary was ridiculous. She liked HER college and talked trash about other colleges. Plus, I never knew what was expected of me and after the sixth day of asking, "Is there anything I can be doing?" I decided to stop asking. Then, (and here's the kicker) she complained that I never fulfilled my job duties. Ummmm, what job duties---asking questions about packaged greens and what I could be doing? I should have stolen a green bean package.

Lastly, I started working at the library. I quit the NBW and I got a lovely job working for the school library. It's great except for the late nights. The worst part is closing the library. I don't mind the late hours, but it's checking the men's bathrooms. We have to check each stall, so I hold my breath, kick open the bathroom door, like I'm Chuck Norris or Steven Seagal and rush into the bathroom and proceed to do the same to each stall. By the time I'm done checking, my face is blue because I have run out of breath and end up breathing deeply, inhaling what I was trying to avoid in the first place. By the way, why is it that the men's bathrooms are more heinous than most prosecutable crimes? It is an awful place to be.
What should I write on next? If you have any ideas, give me a shout out.

My Adventures in Minimum Wageland part 3 of __

Up next: dorm desk, Dollar General, College Big wig, and my library love.
Ok, it's my Sophomore year at State U and I decided to make a couple bucks (literally a COUPLE of bucks---anything that's funded by the government is cheap) by working a hall desk. Job description: guarding UPS packages with my 5 foot 2 inch body, swiping student I.D. cards in exchange for ping pong balls (our dorm was the proud owner of a ping pong table). FYI: Ping pong has many many followers. In my college experience, if I had any free time, I would be spending it sleeping or watching bad television, NOT playing ping pong. Who are these people who have all of this free time? Underachievers, I'd like to think. Maybe, they are writing all of their papers about the art of ping pong and their playing is really just extensive research. Maybe.
Let me tell you guys, working the hall desk was so easy. I only worked like 5 to 10 hours a week and I literally just sat at the desk (had a computer though). The manager of the hall desk (yeah, we needed a manager) scheduled workers to work the hall desk on the weekends too. We were trying to be as convenient as possible for the students. The manager and the Dorm Coordinator ran the desk, and encouraged the workers to be as professional and serious about the job on and off duty. So, when I worked the lonely Saturday night, I decided to opt-out of the professionalism and pop a movie into the computer or download Youtube videos. One time it was: The Princess Bride, another time I watched like three episodes of the Office. Another time I played Saturday Night Live videos. ALL WHILE ON COMPANY TIME. Booyah. Another crucial fact about this story is the fact that the computer would play the episodes/movies/videos for ALL to hear. Imagine hearing The Office's theme song radiate in the corridors of a Saturday night. Yeah, I did it. Just a suggestion, kiddos, if you got a computer and the willpower to undermine your boss's authority, DO IT. The best part of the desk job was catching up on all the latest games. I never had any gaming systems as a kid. I had heard of Sega and Playstation, but I had never had the privilege to own one, or play one. So, when they invented computer games....and then four years later I heard about it....and then another several years before I played one myself... I knew this was the distraction for me! But, being in college is a timesuck. All I do is read, sleep, eat and write papers. I love writing papers (and sometimes reading), but that left little time for computer games. Anyway, this hall desk enabled me to catch up on the new games at addictinggames.com. Excelente! I actually only played four or five games (I just wanted to be the best at those games that I could be).
One time, when I was playing those games, it had something to do with a car. The controls were Space Bar to jump, use the arrows to move left, right, accelerate, etc. I got so into the game....it controlled me. I was the car that I controlled. I moved left....right.....faster and faster. All I could think about was the open road. But, just as soon as I thought I was winning, Bam! I slammed into another car on this virtual road on the Internet. If I had not been possessed by the information super highway, I could have handled the situation as if I had been playing a game. Instead, I handled the situation as if this was my only path in life. This road was my only mission. I could succeed at this game, or lose my life. So, after I hit the car, I screamed out: SON OF A BITCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH -------------just in time to look up and see a loyal dormitory guest, holding a student I.D. card with the most absurd expression on his face. Under his wide-rimmed glasses, his eyes looked watery, half-closed, squinting back at me. His mouth held tightly pressed teeth. He was scared and confused. And I was the cause of that. NO. The gaming cult caused that face. I am just a member of that cult.
Next post: Dollar General, big wig and Library.

My Adventures in Minimum Wageland Part 2 of ___

Ok. So, my faithful readers have read about the Pondo, the P.H.co., the bistro, Whitey's and the fake floral store. But, that was only half of the excitement that is: my employment history.

6. During my time at the fake floral store, I also volunteered for an after-school program tutoring kids. Don't think I'm some self-sacrificing hero---I did it to get a scholarship. For one, I don't even like kids that much. I dry heave every time someone mentions breastfeeding. I have dreams about giving birth, and being revolted by my own milk-filled breasts.
I think infants are boring, too. They smell weird, I hate the smell of baby powder, they need like a Paris Hilton sized accessories closet and all they do is poop and scream. At all hours of the night. Infants are a lot like frat boys, in a nutshell.
Luckily, the kids I taught were trained and very nice. I Tutored reading and English for awhile and then I moved on to tutoring kids one-on-one at math. Ummmm. In case you don't know me, I am a HISTORY major. I don't do math. At this age, (18), I hadn't taken math for over a year. And, even then, I was only enrolled in a math course, I didn't really learn math. These eight-year-olds are depending on me to help them pass math? Hokay.
So, I roll into the classroom and the teacher points to a small boy in the back corner. Why is it that they always stick the mathematically-challenged people in the back corner? I was mathematically-challenged, and I was stuck in the back corner too. Immediately, I bonded with this kid.
So, as I was reading the problems and seeing his answers and the work he did to get the answers, I was stopped short:
He, and the kids in his class, were learning a new procedure for large arithmetic problems! In other words: I didn't know shit about what he was doing. So, instead of alerting the proper authorities on the situation, I decided the best thing was to just have him teach me the new procedure. Except, we were both in the dark about the procedure. Time well spent, I'd say.
7. After I quit the floral store and I went to college, I needed money to pay for stuff....so I picked up a job for breaks (especially over Christmas Break, the longest ass break that college students have). Why is the break so long? 5 to 6 weeks. It isn't healthy for me to sit around for five to six weeks while waiting for school to start, especially in the presence of cookies and candies and holiday treats under the scrutiny of my Baptist / Republican / nondrinking family. Thanks, State University. Pain in my ass. So, in need of cashmoney and to cure my boredom, I decided it was a good time to pick up a job at the mall: Victoria's Secret. I really heard good things about the company and its friendliness to the employees. They also had a good training system that had a lot of coverage in all areas of the store. V.S. is a bra place. They sell underwear and bras and some perfume. This seemed like the place for me.
The only weird part was the nudity. Women are much freer than I thought they would be in the real world. They are very willing to show, and have 19-year-old girls touch, their front areas, checking for bra inaccuracies and asking for advice. And, these women (yes, women, no one under the age of 30 does this) will COME OUT INTO THE STORE AND DRESSING AREA partially nude. I am an American. Americans like the second amendment, flags, misogyny, freedom and blowing shit up. Most Americans find nudity very shocking. I am one of those Americans. Breasts were EVERYWHERE.
So, while all of these women are in the nude, instead of playing it off and being calm and collected during the episode/peepshow, my face turns bright red, I start sweating a little, and my eyes are open wide. Like a deer in the headlights. I couldn't look away and yet, I couldn't look straight ahead. Wide eyed *not so bushy tailed, however. A little while after the incident, I got transferred to the lingerie section---I'm really good at lying and selling lingerie. I think I got transferred because they knew my addiction to the kink. I was probably the only kinky one (with selling skills) who worked there. One time, this man came to V.S. looking for some lingerie. It was around the holidays and he needed a gift for his lady. He came to me wearing construction boots, flannel and some heavy-duty pantalones. These pants looked THICK. Anyway, he came to me asking for some lingerie. I asked him the usual questions like, do you want a certain color, style, etc.
We narrowed it down to two choices. He picked up one that he really fancied and said, "Is this going to rip easily?"
Okay, I thought to myself, I need the sale (we don't work on commission, but I wanted to impress the bosslady)....what is going to make the sale?
So, I responded: "Not unless you want it to rip."
Sale made!
Next up: dorm desk, Dollar General, college big wig, and my current love: the library. Stay tuned!

My Adventures in Minimum Wageland. Part 1 of ____

Okay, let me start off by saying that college student life is not synonymous with glory. It isn't all well and good that I decided to spend 4 to however many years of my life in an institution far away from the people that love me and whom are legally and ethically bound to support me (and far from the place of my dreams *where there are no hard times *aka Nowhere Real). Well, I just HAD to get that special one-of-a-kind taste at freedom. Well, to go to college (and to put off a real job), one has to work the shittiest, most degrading jobs imaginable. I don't want to go all classist on you, but seriously: Being raised as a lower middle class daughter of a blue-collar worker doesn't exactly open you up to privileges of the higher classes. Just sayin'.
Anyway, so I have decided to go the "easy route" and work summers, breaks and holidays. This also includes the years I've spent before moving to East Jesus Nowhere--College Campus.
So: this blog post is about my previous employment history---which is probably as intimate as one could get. Sure, I can wax poetic about my sex life to just about any old joe, but when it comes to my employment history, I usually require a paid dinner and a bottle of wine before I give up the old job ghost.
1. My first job.
Ponderosa.
Yes. I served medium-rare meat to a lucky audience of truckers, ass-pinchers, d-bags and the garden-variety slime balls. Not to mention the people who seemed to have holey pants (because they never tipped).
Usually the Sunday crowd was a little more tolerable, but still. You never can tell about the churchy types. I am one of those types. Point made.
Best part: Hotties love to wait tables. Ladies know: we go to restaurants because hotties wait tables. Beautiful men, moving large tables and lifting trays full of good looking food. Yeah. nice.

The worst part about Ponderosa was the pies. Here's an secret from the industry: they cook the pies in the oven and to let them cool, they stick them on the top of the oven. Why? Beats me. There are many many empty tables free of pies. I am not even a pie person. Set. the. pies. on. the. open. tables. I am not one hundred feet tall. I am 5 foot 2. I cannot reach them, nor do I want to reach them. Who is even putting the pies on the ovens, that's what I'd like to know. Who are these 100 foot people setting pies nearest to the ceiling? It seems to me, they will always have jobs, because no one else can set pies in unreachable places like they can.

2. Second job. The second job was the worst job I have ever had. The Pasta House Co. It was basically the same as the first job, except more pretentious bitches. The curves on their noses were just blatant indicators of their unwarranted self-importance. The worst part: I am already THE most awkward person on the planet. Once I get around popular people, I am even more awkward. Especially around high school age: there are only two types of people: the winners and then the awkward kids. Philosophical fact: The awkward kids have more fun now, I have discovered. 16 years old wasn't the best years for popularity in my world.
3. A local coffee shop.
No one came into the store for hours---then I got laid off. Sometimes, I would think about making a sandwich board saying things like: "it's hot inside the cup, coffee has feelings" or "we welcome you and your beret." But, no such luck---no sandwich board and no business for the local bistro. Laid off.
4. It was a long time coming, but an out-of-work 17 year old girl had to make money somehow.
So, I decided to apply to......yes, the White Castle. Lesson learned: be nice to fast food workers.
First day: Clumsiest person ever born: Could not work the television which played tapes to ironically teach me how to work the machines. I'm not a machine person. If I can work the microwave, it has been a good day.
Next day: Broke a spatula. <----not my fault---it was only made of plastic and probably a prayer. Same day: I burned ALL TEN OF MY FINGERS.

Third day, I BURNED ALL TEN OF MY FINGERS AGAIN. Then, I got my retribution: with my fingers still throbbing, I told a coworker that I thought this job was only so-so. Long story short: the boss heard and told me I should rethink the W.C. I was upset, but only because it would be on my permanent job record that I worked for a place that burned its employees daily.
5. The regional craft, linen and fake floral store. "They have stores all throughout the Midwest!!"
This one actually suited me. I didn't care for fake garden flowers, and I didn't have time for crafts, so I assumed the cashier position: I was a cashier and then I got "promoted" to Customer Service, then to a supervisor position / counted money.
I hated cashiering. My fellow cashiers were great---I just hated the lines of eager, all shopped-out customers. As a cashier, I was a robot. Cashiers are robots. That doesn't really work for my personality or my patience.
I was especially cranky one day when this self-indulgent ho bag came into my line fussing about prices and crafts. You know you need to chill the hell down when you are fighting about small wooden craft projects. IT'S JUST CRAFTS, IT'S GOING TO BE OKAY. Then, she had a large item under her cart, and refused to pick it up. Here's where I knew that the class system existed. She had money, and I was the one who scanned her precious purchases wearing a collared orange t-shirt and a misspelled name tag. So, as a reactionary measure: I came around the cart and.......whipped her with my hand-held scanner cord.
Ftttchhhhhh!!
I did what I had to do: I whipped her in the head.
There was no damage physically. But, she'll think twice before jib jabbing about crafts to a 17 year old cranky cashier (especially when she is armed with a corded scan gun).

There is more to come:
I worked for an after-school program, Victoria's Secret, a dormitory desk, Dollar General, a college big-wig and the library (my current / fabulous job).

First Blog Post Ever

I have never really been a blogger. But, my dream is to write my own memoir, so I better start preparing!
People always ask me what I want to do with my life; what I want to accomplish in the near (but ever present) future. Ya know what I hate? Those questions. I blame the elderly. Yes. The elderly. For one, those are the main sources of those types of questions. Grandparents, old neighbors, cashiers at random grocery stores ALL ask those types of questions. Do you know who are also people with question rabies (rabies as in foaming from the mouth, but with questions)? People who don't give a shit about the answer. That's my biggest pet-peeve. A.D.D. question askers.
Anyway, back to the question: What I want to do with my life / the future. Listen old people. I love you. You are great at story telling, giving advice about some things, you are good listeners....BUT bad question-askers. For the last time grandma, I am still no pregnant. No, grandma, I'm still not getting married. No, I don't think the price of bread is criminal. No, grandma, I don't think that we should give up on Obama quite yet. Let's give him some time.
---Seriously though. Old people and inappropriate question askers need not ask dumb questions. If I was really into telling you about my future, I would have done so. If I knew myself what I was going to do for the rest of my life (the rest of my life until I win the lottery or become the inventor of the chocolate chip cookie blow up machine (sort of like a shrinking machine, the it makes the cookies expand to 1000 times its size-----it's still in the production phase), I would tell you what I would be doing.
Anyway, I've had many goals in my life. The earliest memory of my life goal was to be a ballerinafirefighter. One word. I would dance and then fight fires. A graceful hero. Well, as a twenty something woman of the world (the Midwest world, that is), I I can tell you that I am neither graceful or a hero---but in a good, average, safe sort of way). I used to want to be in business, like work for a company and make lots of money and have a 401K and all that comes with corporate life. But, then I realized that my worst fear realized is: cubicles.
Like that great movie Office Space, I don't want to be chained to a desk. I want to be free. But, I also want to be free from manual labor too. Such a quaint juxtaposition.
So, I thought about it and thought about it. And then I settled on: being a lobbyist. That life goal lasted until I realized that I only wanted to be a lobbyist because I was sorta interested in politics and I was somewhat keen on spending time with my BFF Mrs. President. Mrs. President is one of those girls who will be the best person in the future. I never knew that class / caste systems existed until I met her---but in a good way. She is just my role model. She gets shit done. Being a lobbyist would never fly because I'm not THAT politically motivated (I lean far left, but I am only passionate about said topics until the fire dies out and I get bored), plus I never watch the news, CNN, or anything political. I think I once read a book about Jay Leno, Conan and Colbert and their effect on the political leanings of everyday Americans, but really, that was it.
Then, one day, I said. Ya know what: I want to be a professor. Everyday from late August to early May, I would see 4 or 5 professors teach me some junk that I could have read out of the books they gave me. Yes! Finally, a career for me! I mean, how hard could it be. Go to 4 to 6 years of graduate school for a certain field and then BAM---career made. Plus, I always saw my professors leaving early, not working too hard....But, as I started researching grad schools, and the Secret Lives of Professors, I understood what made those quirky professors tick. Professors work for years and years about one grand subject. It's like Dustin Hoffman's character in Rain Man, except without the over exaggerated stigmatism on disability. These professors work hard. For years they have worked hard---and continue to do so. Who knew?
Well, that career couldn't fly. I get bored. Plus, I need human contact (not human-to-book contact).
So, finally, I decided that I wanted to write a book of humorous stories about my life. But, as a non-published author (not published yet, anyway), I need to get my name out there! The only way to do that is to become a writer. Then, I decided that I want to work (and gain access to healthcare or an HMO). So: the dream is to go to grad school for Journalism and then work on a newspaper. I would love my own column, and then maybe, down the road, I would love to write a memoir about my humorous life (believe me: Boy, have I got some stories, too).