They can dream it, but they'll never be it.

So I went against everything I believe in today. I've avoided it for so long and then one little thing enticed me into it and I couldn't avoid it anymore. I finally gave into popular songs sung as showtunes and moral lessons thrown as one two punches until your head is pounding and you start to wonder if you are really being "yourself" or if society molded you. Then all the insecurities of high school come rushing back... but in a catchy tune that you can sing along to. That's right, folks, I watched Glee.

Now, the main reason why I have avoided this show for a year and half is because I feared it would bring back horrifying experiences from Point Park. It was a nightmare. You could hear it from a distance, but hope beyond hope that it was all in your head. Then the sound would get closer and closer as you neared the laundry room or cafe or any large hallway... or small hallway... or some dorm rooms. Then you would find the source of the sound.... a musical theater kid singing and sometimes dancing. It was just as if life were a musical... give me Freddy, Jason, and good ol' Mikey M. any old day if I never have to face that terror again. So needless to say whenever I heard the premise of Glee I was not too excited to relive the 4 most useless years of my life. I stayed away from the Joss Whedon/ Neil Patrick Harris episode... almost. I'm not going to lie, I watched a few clips of it then and was not too impressed and did not feel the need to continue watching the show, especially since it did not have a smoke monster or any sorts of mythology besides the usual problems of high schoolers and who needs to go through that again?

So if I believed that the show would bring about posttraumatic stress disorder, why did I decide to watch it? Well, I did participate in musical-like activities in high school AND I was completely obsessed with Rocky Horror Picture Show... which they performed on Glee this past week. Now, my obsession with Rocky bloomed in between my sophomore and junior year... where my friend and I knew every word to all of the songs, owned t shirts and taught a 10 year old girl the meaning of "transvestite"... well, kinda. She heard the word a lot at our play rehearsals and asked her mom what exactly a transvestite was... oops. But she had to learn sometime. The complete obsession wore away after awhile, but the Time Warp will always hold a place in my heart...

Theeen Glee decided to take that piece of my heart and jump to the left and then stomp on my heart to the right. Maybe it wasn't that bad... it wasn't as bad as I had imagined, but it didn't live up to the hype either. The main character of the sweater vest wearing, mini jew fro teacher creeped me out a bit... no school district would allow that man to get away with everything he did in this episode. I was particularly concerned for "Charlie" (not sure of her name in this show, but that was her character in Heroes) during the "Toucha Toucha Touch Me" scene. Sweater vest (sans sweater vest.... and shirt during this scene) had the creeptastic "I just roofied you because I never touched a woman before in my life" look in his eye.I never thought I would say this in the post-Kokomo era, but I am totally team John Stamos.

The actual performances of the songs were decent, I wasn't expecting them to completely attempt to imitate the original actors, but I approve for the most part... except for the Frank N Furter thing. It's not unusual for a female to play Frank, so I don't understand why they acted like it was equivalent to Neil Armstrong putzing around the moon. Us gals can be pretty sweet transvestites too... from sensational Transylvania? Lame. Stupid censors. (Bad fretting? Heavy sweating? Why did they even try to fit "Toucha Toucha Touch Me" in the episode?) That truly was my biggest qualm about the show- besides it being a musical version of those "The more you know" commercials. I hate it when people try to blatantly teach me lessons in morality. I hate it even more when they sing about it. Rocky Horror is already about being yourself and not caring what other people think. "Don't dream it, be it" is repeated about 50 times. Yet that was not enough for Glee. They decided to include several scenes about characters talking about how insecure they feel about their bodies. I find the spontaneous singing and dancing more believable than these discussions. No one would actually say that, they'd keep it to themselves and develop an eating disorder.

So while they tried, I do wish I could time warp back and just stick with Tim Curry and his sexy legs to rose tint my world and keep me safe from my trouble and pain.

Oh, and totally Team John Stamos...

Cult of the Creepy Yellow Smiley Face.

I hate Wal Mart. I hate the blue vests. I hate their warehouse style buildings. I hate that creepy disembodied smiley face that floats around the store in the commercials. Yet every so often I find myself venturing there. Mostly for cleaning products or something that is significantly cheaper than other stores that don't pick up their employees at the border. Tonight was one of those days. The ten dollar difference for curtains that will supposedly keep my room warmer forced me to suck up my hatred for the place, deem myself a hypocrite and go traipsing into the store with my head held high... until the creepy greeter says hi to me, of course. Unfortunately tonight, I didn't even get that far. I was almost run over in the parking lot by a giant truck with light up spinners squealing its tires down a lane, only to stop in the handicapped spot in front of the store. It was probably the closest thing I'll ever see to this:

I'm the person who always eagerly awaits to see if the person who emerges from the vehicle in a handicap spot is, in fact, handicapped. I can't help it, I'm always hoping for a pirate with a peg leg... or a midget, preferably one of the Roloffs. Plus, I wanted to face the man (or woman) who almost took me out of this miserable life. The person who hopped out of this vehicle and started rapidly waddling towards to the door had no visible handicap other than he was extremely large. The woman who I presume to be his wife or girlfriend started running full speed behind him (that's how quickly my big little penguin was moving) yelling that there's a bathroom in the McDonalds he can use and he better make it because "it was his dumb ass who wanted Mexican." It was at this moment, I knew it was going to be an elegant evening.

As soon as I walk in the door, I encounter my first group of Wal Mart eccentrics. It was a group of guys, yes, big, muscular, jock-looking guys, in awe because they think they just saw Ryan Reynolds shopping for a coffee pot. At first I assumed that maybe this Ryan Reynolds was just one of their classmates who coincidentally had the same name as Mr. Suck-it-werewolf boy, I-look-better-without-a-shirt... buuut then they started talking about how he is playing Green Lantern. Who knows? Maybe it was Ryan Reynolds. I heard he's in town filming a movie... 2 years ago.

Needless to say, I did not bolt to the coffee pot section and continued on my merry way to the curtain aisle in hopes of exiting the second level of hell as quickly as possible. The curse of Wal Mart is that it is a lot like hell- a labyrinth of useless shit you wander through for eternity and occasionally run into someone you know or some dipshit who tries to talk to you. This time it was some dipshit who tried to make incredibly awkward conversation with me. I picked out the curtain rods before finding the curtains and had them in my hands when some little old redneck man (maybe not that old, but the missing teeth tacked on a few years) asked me if I was going hand curtains "with them things." To this I replied, "No, I need something to hang the woodland creatures I've collected over the years," grabbed my curtains and ran away.

Then I was almost hit by a runaway Hoveround driven by a group of teenage girls. This was the last straw. When my friends and I tried to go through the store in a motorized wheelchair, we got thrown out of the store. I hate to think that the store in Latrobe is a higher class Wal Mart than the one in my new town, but clearly this store does not give two shits about high school kids who have nothing better to do and no older friends/ siblings to buy them alcohol. Maybe I should offer next time I see them.

I finished up my Wal Mart excursion with a refreshing sweet tea...aka my crack addiction. The McDonalds in this Wal Mart is clearly more evil than the stand alone Mc-y-D's. They make you pour your own sweet tea there and I have an overwhelming fear that the barrel will run out before my glass is filled. Like I said, it's basically a crack addiction.

All in all, it was an exciting trip. I picked up my curtains, curtain rods, clothing dye, a black cloth, new Nikes, a shirt that says "I come in peace" and a smiley face mask... who says Wal Mart's an evil cult corporation? A nice man in a smiley face mask gave me free Kool Aid!

BRB, Going on a Mission from God.

So I came to a sickening realization today. The Blues Brother lied to me. Car chases through malls rarely happen. I've worked in retail for six long years and have not witnessed a single high speed chase. Which is even more disappointing considering how quickly those annoying center mall kiosks are reproducing. They need to be like Monroeville mall and keep those little fuckers caged in. My hair is already curly, no I don't want it straightened, let go of my hand and your pillow smells bad! None of your silly products are viable Christmas presents. Go away and let me get my Orange Juilius, damnit!

Sigh. It's like one more of my childhood dreams have been dashed and I once again am forced to face how gloomy and abysmal my life has become. Maybe it's not that bad, but I do miss being a kid...even though I did go to Catholic school, but I feel like I relate to the blues brothers more that way. Plus, I was the cool Catholic school kid who was obsessed with The X-Files, The Blues Brothers, and whatever other inappropriate things my dad let me watch at a rather young, impressionable age. A winning combination for any nun or teacher to deal with. So maybe I was a little different. Maybe I did vehemently question the Bible, but believe in aliens without any doubt. Maybe I forgot the authors of the Gospel and wrote John, Paul, George and Ringo on my test (Yoko was the book of Revelation. Clearly) Maybe I did proclaim I was on a mission from God whenever I got caught somewhere I wasn't supposed to be. And maybe I did get in trouble for all of these shenanigans, but I was still much happier than I am stuck in retail...this time the cynicism is real. It's not as cute as when the sarcasm was coming from a little kid. Now I'm just a world weary twenty something with a bachelor of arts degree stuck folding clothes for a living.

All of this was running through my head today and the past couple days when I had to wait on pretty much every customer who was either stoned, disconnected from reality, or just completely insane. You know the type instantly- it's like NBC instilled a 7 second delay from their eyes to their brain and vice versa. One even perfected a David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust impersonating Lady Gaga costume...although I don't believe it was intentional. For some reason I am the person that these drugged up alien hippies decide is their leader and they ask my for advice, then proceed to follow me around the store. Unfortunately, I've been in too much of a slump the past few weeks to fight back, so I fear these people may have won for now. Once the Christmas soundtrack, recorded by the Children of the Corn, begins, the Grinch inside of me will once again rear its ugly self and I'll be my feisty old self. Hopefully. I want to believe. Until then, I suppose I'll just have to tell these people that I'll be right back, I'm going on a mission from God.

It's (one of the most) dreaded times of the year...

Ah, it's that time of year again. The leaves are changing, the air is getting cool, pumpkins are being carved and Christmas stuff is being put out... which means we have to get rid of all the summer/ fall stuff left over. That's right, it's $1.97 madness! (It's not a good thing)

So sometimes working in retail has its perks. I get a pretty decent discount off pretty much everything in the store and I've become a cheap ass bitch. I know how to work the deals and refuse to pay over $5 for a shirt (maybe $7 if it's a sweater) and $10 for a pair of pants. Plus, I work at "MC Nickels" so you just know I'm constantly raking in the dough there for doing the job that will be soon performed by robots (God willing) and getting paid a step above illegal immigrant wages. Hopefully no one in upper management will read this because I might have just given them an idea.

Anyway, I know how to work the deals and have a sixth sense for when things get marked down to $1.97. So when morons... er, customers walk up to my register with about 50 things from the $1.97 rack they probably had to tackle someone for (seriously, sometimes I'm surprised that we don't find bodies in the racks in the land of the clearance) and proceed to have their face affixed to the pin pad screen saying "That didn't ring up right" every time I have to manually change their price it takes all my willpower not to slam their face directly into the counter and say "No, shit Sherlock. Do you really think you're the first person to stumble upon the rack with a giant "$1.97" sign on it?"

Then there are the people who buy a shit ton of the $1.97 stuff and claim it's for charity. Yes, a charity called ebay where all the profits go towards themselves. And in three months, I'll be returning a bunch of the $1.97 stuff that was bought as Christmas presents. Nothing says "Happy Holidays" like your friend/ relative doesn't love you enough to buy you something decent. I know sometimes people don't have the money, but be smart- don't get a gift receipt. Then there are the people who return stuff that "just didn't fit" or "there's a thread loose" when it cost them $1.97. I love these people. I love the look on their face after they tell me that "Every little bit counts" and I respond with "I know. It counts a lot, especially when you get the $1.97 clothes and send them to a nursing home or a shelter where people really don't have a lot this Christmas. Isn't that what the season's all about? Oh, wait, you're returning this..." So, maybe I'm a bad person. No, wait, that makes me a good person... just with a big, sarcastic mouth. Wow, that's weird.

On a much happier note- Congratulations to Angela for escaping her shitty job! There can be hope... just not if you work in the black hole of MC Nickels and have already broken countless nails trying to claw your way out.

I can have Halloween on Christmas if I want.

Ah,it's that time of year again. Where the black and orange combine with red and green to form some sort of baby vomit color. I've already been wished Merry Christmas... twice. Now, I already am stuck in retail hell, please don't remind me of holiday hell. Give me the ghouls and ghosties and goblins...you know, from the real depths of hell. I love Halloween more than Shark Week. And that is saying something. I don't need customers telling me Merry Christmas in the middle of October and reminding me of the most dreaded holiday for the poor souls stuck in retail. Now, they were little old ladies so I will give them the benefit of the doubt and say that they were just confused because the store has already decked the halls with boughs of cheap plastic. I stand behind my appropriate "Bah humbug" responses that I gave to both customers. That one turkey day with the football is already the forgotten holiday, let's save Halloween before the black hole of Christmas sucks it up.... although, unfortunately, most of my relatives still show up at my house the last Thursday of November and we eat turkey... weird, I thought Christmas was the only time we did that (at least I get paid in presents to spend time with my family).

Now, I love the Christmas cookies and the hot chocolate and the giant banquet of food, but I'm an eccentric fat kid so nothing is/was better than dressing in something completely outlandish and getting free candy for it! And the crisp fall air with the crunch of leaves when you walk is so much better than the frigid winter air with the slush of snow. Even nature likes it- colored leaves are so much better than a blank, dismal canvas. So let's just give those North Pole munchkins some more time to make my presents, let the reindeer play a few more games of poker and give Santa and Mrs. Claus some "alone time." Or better yet. Let's extend Halloween and have a three month long celebration.

To quote the gospel writers of my high school years:

We can live like Jack and Sally if we want
Where you can always find me
And we'll have Halloween on Christmas
And in the night we'll wish this never ends
We'll wish this never end

Memo: For useless education, you bitches.

A few days ago the payment for my student loan was due for the month of October. Those people can kiss my ass because I am not sending it in. Seriously. Do they know how many hard-worked hours of hiding in the fitting room playing Boggle on ipod that took? Of course, I need to actually get to work to earn that money and not be stuck in Penn Dot traffic for 2 hours on the damn parkway with a lot of irate people. Now, I understand why they're angry, I am no fan of the wizards of roadwork either, but you do not need to yell at other drivers. Unless, of course, they are not taking their appropriate turn at merging or trying to get all up in my (car's) grill... or trying to put the moves on my car and get all in his trunk... sorry, he doesn't go for that. In that case, I approve people screaming out the window that "We learned to take turns in preschool, but clearly you're a fucking moron so maybe it's time to go back and learn to share and play with the wax fruit!" Just don't take "Sugar tits," cause that's mine... and Mel's. So next time I am stuck in traffic, I will be carrying a supply of Kit Kat bars or Reeses and hand them out to other drivers. Cause to quote the dreamy Zac Efron and crew, "We're all in this together"

Thankfully, it's been rather warm out here in the lovely land of Southwestern Pennsylvania. Unfortunately, that means that girls are taking the opportunity to wear even less clothes with the boots that look like they found a Yeti and decided to transplant its feet onto their own. And then because they think they look good they do the "duck face" where they attempt to poof out their lips to look like Angelina, but end up more looking like a duck. PLEASE just get botox. I will promote plastic surgery to stop girls from thinking that making their mouth look like a horizontal vagina looks good. Even though the best thing about the duck face/ fuzzy boot epidemic is that the fuzzy boots force the gals to walk like ducks... either that or the world should stop focusing on vampires and worry that ducks are actually the virus that is taking over. Fuck the duck face, I like to imitate the Elephant Man in my pictures.

I was too hot for LA to handle, then I made it rain...

A week away from the land of retail has brought me a new outlook on life. I am not longer a cynical little drone who robotically folds clothes, but an optimistic young lass with a new passion for life. Or not. I had my date with fate last week and I'm getting some mixed signals. Now I know how Katy Perry feels.... minus the whole giving kids the wrong idea about breast feeding thing.

On the fateful day of the anniversary of the crash of Oceanic Flight 815 (September 22 for you non-nerds), I flew out to the land of sun and Snoop Dogg to begin my dance with Fate, who looked a lot like slimmed down version of Drew Carey. That's right, the moment of truth has arrived- will Fate accept my challenge and ask a certain Heather Jewell to "Come on down" and be the next contestant on the Price is Right so I can become a plump, paler version of a California Girl? No. But we did get this picture:

So I think that made up for the fact that I didn't get to pack up all of the stuff I've hoarded (to think it all started with me just saving one magazine...) and move across the country in the dead of winter. Or "autumn" as they like to call it in Pennsylvania. Or do I? One of my insane schemes may have sparked the attention of a certain crass blonde talk show host.... or one of her assistants...

Pictures are worth a thousand sarcastic words, so let's look, shall we?

That's right. I send Ms. Chelsea Handler a bottle of vodka with my resume and cover letter taped around it. So it might not be the classiest way to get a job, but if someone sent me a bottle of liquor in the mail, I'd probably hire them... and that's why I am stuck in retail. And for your enjoyment, a portion of the fantastic cover letter I included:

"Dear Chelsea Handler,

You might be wondering why a random girl from Pittsburgh is sending you a bottle of vodka with her resume taped to it. Or not. I know I wouldn’t question it if someone sent me a bottle of liquor. Bottom line is I’m desperate to get out of the retail hell hole that I currently work in and I figured, why not send you my resume and a little gift? OK, I’m totally sucking up, but as I said before I’m more desperate than the ugly hooker left alone on the corner...."

The rest was a variation of what I've already written on here. And somehow this sparked their attention and I have not yet received a restraining order. I got a phone call on Tuesday basically telling me this is not how you apply for a job there (obviously, people would go broke if they had to keep getting liquor to send to their future bosses), but I should apply online because my wits and wisdom are needed there and they don't know how they got along without me. OK, maybe I made some of that up, but I'm becoming a rather good liar now. It is apparently illegal/ immoral to ship alcohol (lame. Bring back the hippie movement- free love!... or almost $20 in shipping fees) so I dressed up, prepared to dish out an elaborate lie about how I work for the Consol Energy Center and this is a "Thank you snowglobe" for performing in our fair city.... unfortunately, the one girl had just gotten engaged or is having a baby or something that girls normally care about and they did not give me a chance to perform. Oh well, I guess that's one less reason why I'm going to hell.... Wait, nix that. During my layover in Dulles, I did get annoyed with people asking me if I'm "coming or going" so I settled on "I'm going... to bury my dad in California." That at least got them to shut up. Your mother always said don't talk to strangers (because you'll annoy the shit out of them) you should have heeded her warning.



The rest of the trip was a superb mixture of 113 degree weather and thunderstorms. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is... maybe I'm just to hot(t) for LA (see Price is Right picture)