Fruit Wars Episode 1: The High Fashion Menace

A long time ago, in a department store far, far away... Well...er, this weekend, the little piggies of Pittsburgh didn't go to market, nor did they stay at home. I'm sure that some of them may have had roast beef, but others opted out. But they did cry "whee, whee, whee" while they were trashing the department store I work at. So I didn't have time to contemplate the many mysteries and complexities of life like I usually do. Instead, I planted my feet firmly in front of the register and listened to the soothing sounds of the cast of Glee butchering popular songs (Yup, my own personal hell got slightly worse) and the customers exclaiming their disbelief at how many people had the exact same idea they did in coming to the mall on a Saturday. What a novel idea. Luckily, I only had a 4 hour shift that day, but thanks to the cost of gas, I decided to stretch it out a bit so it was worth the drive. Plus, it was sort of an endurance test to see how long I could last with the crowds of people.... especially since the store is delving into new, unexplored territory.

That's right, my middle-end department store is boldly going where Macys, Saks, Neiman Marcus, Bloomingdales... have gone before. Into the expansive, little known realm of high fashion... which they liken to H&M and Forever 21. Except they like to make it a little fruitier and much more idiotic.

The black tarp of doom that was hanging over the misses department finally came down and the new clothing line was launched. This was both a good thing and a bad thing. A good thing because the customers will stop asking stupid questions about it and a bad thing because it acted like a black hole the customers went past and never came back, but now they can find my register. Now, this new line, let's call it "Pineapple," (Sadly, the name is not far off from the real one) is priced at about $30-$50 for a shirt and over $100 for a dress. I have shopped at both Forever 21 and H&M and if I saw that price tag, I would think Ashton Kutcher decided it would be more fun to "punk" normal people whose life is already a joke. Also, I think the clothes might actually be made for Barbie dolls because I know only about a handful of people that could actually fit in them. I'll be keeping a log of updates on the progress of this "mission high fashion" (MHF for short?) I'm eagerly awaiting this line to crash and burn because Pittsburgh is not exactly a high fashion area, unless you count black and gold (or black and yellow?) It is the proud land of Primantis sandwiches and french fries on salads and pizza dunked in ranch dressing. Which equals out to a bunch of fatasses in Steelers jerseys, Pirates hats, and sweat pants who wouldn't be able to stuff themselves into anything that was "runway inspired." But I wouldn't have it any other way... unless you threw some Pens attire in the mix.

Do you know what happens to a town when it's covered in snow? The same thing that happens to... er, uh, well, it's cold.

Well, I finally did it. I became Storm. My anger and pure hatred of retail caused a snowstorm of epic proportions. Well, maybe not as epic as last year's snowmageddon, but pretty darn close.

We were extremely busy the whole weekend. The store was filled with bitter biddies, toddlers with their tiaras, and just overall annoying individuals. These folks managed to create a perfect storm... in my head. The entire weekend I just prayed for a snowstorm to send everyone panicking to Giant Eagle... and Monday we got one. Like I said, I can control the weather. I only wish I could control the idiotic public...

Since my manager knows that I have no life, I am scheduled just about every Saturday night and this past one was no exception. The only good thing is I miss most of the old folks who stampede through the store after their Grand Slam breakfast and a quick jaunt around the mall to get revved up before harassing unsuspecting mall employees. I thought I was lucky, having dodged this tiny, little speck of a bullet, but I got hit with a grenade instead. I guess I'm not the girl the oh-so-dreamy Bruno Mars sings about. Although, to catch this grenade, he'd have to take down every teenager, toddler with a tiara, the soccer/ pageant mom that accompanies them, and, of course, the women who look like men dressed as women.

This week I ran into some real toddlers and tiaras.Usually they're just trying on prom dresses for "fun" or to be "grown up"- these hussies to be were trying them on to compete and to figure out which dress is best to "shake it for the judges in." Maybe it was all innocent and they were just making Shake n Bake potatoes to the tune of "Shake It" by Metro Station. I don't think this was the case though. The mother seemed very adamant on the girl getting the slinky red dress so she could "shake it." I don't know what she had to shake though because this child was about 8 or 9. And why were they trying on dresses at a middle-end department store anyway? I thought people spent hundreds of dollars on fancy dresses the kid could grow out of by pageant day anyway. Oh, wait. We have skank hoe dresses. Way to teach your kids, the future teen moms of America. Hopefully they'll make it on the show. By the way, the mom in this scenario was not only the pageant mom, but she was the woman who looked like a man dressed as a woman that looked upon me with a judgmental stare. All my favorite things rolled up into one tight, dysfunctional family that leaves dresses balled up in the fitting room and run screaming up and down the hallway.

Now for a story that happened today about a place that actually seems to care about their customers. As pretty much everyone knows, I'm poor. So when my friend at work goes out to Starbucks to get coffee, I usually request an ice water because it's free. And as everyone knows, I like to feel special and not feel left out. So when everyone else gives their coffee order, I usually request a "Venti ice water, blended." Sometimes it gets a laugh out of the Starbucks employees, but today they took it seriously. She came back with my ice water that they attempted to blend... which apparently caused the line to get backed up just so they could get me FREE water order correct. Now those are some devoted workers. Not going to lie, it was pretty good- it was like there was a snowball in the middle of the cup. Maybe next time I'll ask for a "Venti water, two scoops ice, blended, no whipped cream."

And I say, it's all right.... wait, no, no it's not.

It's summer in the 'Burgh! Well, kinda. For the first time in a long time, the frigid temperatures have broken and the sun is starting to shine through the steel curtain of clouds that ominously hang over the city from September to May. Maybe the poor little critter they yanked out of his home on February 2nd was right and it will be an early spring. It truly is a beautiful day, birds are singing, the skies are a blue-grey instead of just grey, The Beatles' "Here Comes the Sun" is echoing in my head. Little Darlin', it's been a long, cold, lonely winter, indeed. Maybe a little too long. So long that there may be some of us who have forgotten how to dress in a more temperate climate.

The first person I would liken to an ostrich. Perhaps it's because I've been brain washed by the Sy Fy original series "Face Off" (cheer on Megan, the Burgher!) But the girl that walked through MCN looked more like an ostrich-human hybrid than anything they could do on the show. She strutted through the store donning a black ruffled, poofy skirt, black tights, gold shoes and giant, bug-eyed sunglasses.

The next was a dead ringer for Brittney Spears... when Brit was attacking cars with umbrellas. This girl unfortunately didn't have her head shaved to complete the look, but did have a wife beater that was too short, a skirt that was too short and then a flannel shirt tied around her exposed midriff. I guess it was a lumberjack school girl look?

The ever-popular Ugg boots and shorts are back. Again. When are those stupid boots going to go away? They look like they were designed by a child who couldn't draw shoes. And if it's warm enough to be wearing shorts, you don't need boots.

Some notes on VD...

Happy Valentine's Day! V-Day! VD! Singles Awareness Day! Remembrance of a Massacre! ...Or whatever you want to call it. Personally, I like to call it the day before half off candy. Seriously, poor (financially, not pitiful) single folks just have to make it through the day and then a bountiful harvest awaits them at the local Target or grocery store.

I actually don't mind the holiday. And not just because of the candy. I'm quite content with buying my dog a bone and some tennis balls and calling her my Valentine. It's when I get the high pitched hapless "Oh, honeys" when I tell people about her that really annoys me. Just because I'm single does not mean I'm a bitter betty on Sweetheart's Day. Whatever happened to the empowerment of Kelly Clarkson's "Miss Independent" or Beyonce's "Single Ladies?" Apparently us independent women are not allowed to enjoy a holiday for those who come in paris. We're not on Noah's Ark anymore. And I see nothing wrong with enjoying a relatively harmless holiday... unless you're a 1920s gangster.

I was all prepared to spend the day blending into the background, contemplating who Bruno Mars would catch a grenade for, why in God's name he would do that, and what kind of hardcore Mafia shit this person is involved in. However, since there has been a rush of customers at good ol' MC Nickels calling me either fat and/or ugly, a friend suggested that I try to look my best on Singles Awareness Day. Apparently these ladies like to insult my relatively average, plain-Jane appearance because they are trying to make themselves feel better about being overly made-up, leather skinned, middle aged hussies. Unfortunately, when I tried to actually dress up and look somewhat girly, I ended up in all black (What?! It's slimming) and I looked like one of those bitter bettys I was just complaining about. Now it seemed like I was walking around with a target on my back for the single ladies who are desperately looking for a man to put a ring on it... but they would have better luck with a blind man. Most of the women are angry to begin with, but it seems like this holiday amplified it ten fold. I didn't get any direct insults, just a few glares and up-down glances and scoffs. Oh! A dyed blonde, Barbie make up, collagen lipped bimbo did have to grit her teeth to be nice to me. That was fun.

All of this made me feel slightly better about being mistaken for being preggers a couple weeks ago. Then I remembered the Discovery Channel special last night where it scientifically explored the "number system" of mating, which I thought only existed in bad comedies. They actually assigned people numbers based on their attractiveness, which I find insulting not only to the human race, but to math (which, btw, is my least favorite science). Really? Doesn't the Discovery Channel have sharks to film, taxi cab passengers to surprise, deadly things to catch and dirty jobs to exploit? Do they really need to point out how superficial people are? Not to mention, remind me I am a 3 at best. Oh, well, my "attractiveness" number might be low, but I'm pretty sure I scored a 10 with my Valentine.

Ain't she adorable?

It's time for another sit on your ass Sunday!

So I was aiming to be productive today. I really was. Then the Pens lost again after the travesty that was Friday's game (even though fist of steel Johnson did strike again, it didn't make up for losing to the Islanders). After that I just decided "Why move?" and plopped my ass down in front of the tv and attempted to make it "Subtitled Sunday" and put in Krysztof Kieslowski's Blue, but my brain decided that it was too much work to read a movie and I fell asleep. Luckily, I woke up in time to see all of the Grammy awards, starting off with the ginger lady belting like a black woman in tribute to Aretha Franklin. There were other so called "pop princesses" up there too, but she surprised me the most. I love Florence and the Machine, but they just never struck me as a belt your little heart out... Then I immediately regretted waking up because Train won for "Hey Soul Sister," a song that has been played so much that they they are going to start playing it in the Abu Ghraib prison as a more effective form of torture.

And now a few more observations...

-Where in the world was Carmen Sandiego's yellow trench-coated half-alien sister? Why, performing at the Grammys, of course! Not going to lie, Lady Gaga scares me a little bit, but I think that might be because she thinks of crazier ideas than I do. But I thought tonight's performance was actually relatively normal... at least at the start. OK, she was dressed as a color blind Carmen Sandiego for part of it and she emerged from a pod or an egg or something and there was an organ with human heads on display, but the first thing that struck me was "Wow. She is in very high heels and jumping around a lot." Then I realized that there were horns coming out of her shoulders and head.

-Justin Bieber is going to be on CSI. For realsies. I had to Google this cause I thought "Oh, maybe it's like a gimmick that Grammy nominees are taking over CBS shows. No. He is going to be on CSI. Who let this 12 year old take over the world? Excuse me, 17 year old who sounds like he's 12.

-All I have to say about the Muse performance is "prepare to be stalked." And the lead singer kinda looks like Jacob from Lost.

-Will Smith's kids ruin everything. Even Justin Beiber- btw, we really don't need an acoustic version of your "Baby, baby, baby ooooh" song. I did manage to get up the strength to flip the channel over to Family Guy, but unfortunately switched it back too soon and saw the ending of the Biebs... with Will Smith's son. Really? You already ruined The Karate Kid and now you're going after the Bieber? At least he wasn't whipping his hair back and forth like his equally annoying sister.

-Are they even giving out awards at this show? No, really...

-Oh, ok, they are giving awards, but have dropped acid at some point during the country ones because I have no idea what the hell was up with Cee Lo Green's performance of my personal favorite song (that was taken down a step since it was the "Forget You" version.) I think he was trying to outdo the Gaga... but dressed as a giant peacock? And Gwenyth Paltrow showed up and I feared for her climbing everywhere in 20 inch heels. But there were puppets. I like puppets.

-Oh my God! YES! They cloned Johnny Depp! Wait, no, that's John Mayer. How disappointing....and slightly sacrilege. Don't steal Johnny's look.

-OK, Mick Jagger. There's rock legend and there's annoying. You were walking the line, but I'm pretty sure you crossed it. Please retire before you actually become a performing mummified puppet instead of just looking like one. And I like The Blues Brothers rendition of "Everbody Needs Somebody to Love" better.

And now I think it's time to retire to a slightly more comfortable chair. Sitting in front of the computer on an exercise ball is just too much work for a sit on your ass Sunday.

Suck it, Mick Jagger. They did it better.

And in my little corner of Steeler Nation...

Most of the time, I am a loud and proud yinzer and I question my sanity every second of it. This weekend was no exception. The Steelers made it to the Super Bowl and I decided that it was good family bonding time. I invited my father to go to the Strip District on Saturday and for God knows what reason he invited my mother along. God knows why she agreed to go. She was very excited for a few days. Have I also mentioned that my mother is a big hockey fan? Well, Sidney Crosby fan. Just Sid. Doesn't really know a lot about hockey, but has latched onto him like a cougar to her prey. You'd think that she might want to actually watch the game to see him (even though he's been out forever and a day). But, no. She apparently stands behind my father and asks "Which one is he?" and then after my father (and myself) explained that he's going to be out for awhile, she replied "Well, he went bowling." This was both amusing and scary that she is stalking him this much (at least we know where I get it from.) Then we had to explain to her that hockey and bowling are a little different, to which replied "Not much."

Anyway, my mother started playing a little game called "Where in the World Is Sidney Crosby?" and found out that he is in Nova Scotia, a fact that neither my father nor I knew until she told us. And we thought that it was creepy before. My father did point out one benefit to this in that she is somewhat learning geography. Needless to say, since my future stepdad Sid was not in the Burgh, she no longer desired to wake up at an ungodly hour on a Saturday and make the long journey to the Strip. Oblivious as ever, my dad didn't realize that she would drop him like a hot potato just even at the chance of meeting her future hockey husband. So he assumed that she was still excited to join the legions of loyal Steeler fans in cheering on their team at 8:00 in the morning. She wasn't. But she didn't want to stay home either so she ended up joining my father and I on an excursion to the heart of Steeler nation.... and she was not too happy. We ended up having to distract her by ushering her into the Polish store, but then there were a ton of people in there as well and none of them were the hockey player of her dreams. Like myself, she is not a fan of people- especially when they crowd together in a sea of black and gold with polka songs blasting with the smell of pierogies and hope for victory in the air. She just doesn't get it. My father was having the time of his life though- till he realized how pissed off his wife actually was and he slowly moseyed us back toward the car leaving behind the "Here we go, Steelers" chants, the storm of confetti and his dream of feeling like a young kid in the big city during a Steeler Super Bowl... until 2012 that is.... I think my mom will have to wait a little longer for her dream of Sid the Kid (getting a restraining order against her)

Life is a highway? My life is a bad comedy.

I always wanted my life to be like a movie. Mayhaps that is why I became a cinema major. Sometimes I even hear a rather epic score in my head or try to jump-start a montage if I'm having a particularly boring day. Over the past few days, it seems that situations from films have been jumping right off the silver screen and intwining themselves in my life. Unfortunately, it wasn't the Gregory Peck showing up on a Vespa and taking me to Rome that I imagined...

You know those horrible comedies where a rather large woman is mistaken for being pregnant? And an awkward situation ensues? (but not a lot of laughter) Guess who that rotund lady was? Me. Now, I am not the smallest chick in the Easter basket, but I like to think that I'm just a little curvy and in no need of being airlifted out of my house...yet. I was picking up clothes in the maternity department, when I heard a voice beside me say "It's so hard to find clothes at that stage." I looked around and noticed I was the only other person nearby so I assumed that she was talking to me (about what, I had no idea) so I responded with "Huh?" The woman looked at me and said "Well, being so early on, just a few months on..." That got another "Huh?" and then I realized that she was implying that I was with child (what kind of child I still have no idea). My usual quick-wit was even startled by this one so I just told her that I work in the store and was not shopping. Then anger consumed my wit and I was just pissed off the whole day. Now that I've had time to think about it, I came up with a few better responses:

"I just need stretchy pants for the food baby I get after eating endless soup, salad, and breadsticks at the Olive Garden"

"Yeah, I go on Maury next month to find out who the father is."

"Did you know you could get impregnated by a gorilla?"

"I just got back from my a-bduction. I think them there aliens did something to me."

"Between you and me, it's the second coming. The end is near."

Then today, action movies decided to take a stab at ruining my life (or at least day). You know that one where the bus can't stop? Well, I think my little Cavy idolized that bus and decided he wanted to grow up to be just like it. I was actually prepared to go to work and running on time when I stopped to go onto a highway and my car started moving forward. I really thought that I had my foot on the brake and then I realized that my foot was still on the brake, it was just touching the floor. When I panic, I start flailing about so I inadvertently started pumping the brake... and that still didn't stop me. So I just decided to go for it and propelled my car onto the road. Another thing I do when I panic is call my parents because I am a big baby. This time I made the mistake of calling when I was still driving (at about 15 miles an hour with my hazards on). The last stage of panicking is my father yelling at me to calm down. Because angry screaming is what every person who can barely breathe wants to hear. He did snap me out of it though because it forced me to yell something along the lines of "I'm not Keanu Reeves, I don't know what to do in this situation!" Unfortunately, Keanu Reeves did not jump into my car to help me. Sandra Bullock did not offer to drive. And the whole ordeal was probably not as exciting. But luckily, my car did not explode and I like to think that my life has a little stronger of a plot.