Hipster hoes in different area codes... and keys?

Before the judgement begins. I might work at a hipster clothing website. I might have attended the Death Cab for Cutie concert this weekend. On occasion, you may find me in black rimmed glasses (they help me see) and a pretty, pretty dress. However, I am not a hipster. Merely a manic pixie dream girl minus the "pixie" and "dream"... and it's kinda iffy on the girl part. Particularly since my comeback lines whenever men yell lewd comments at me usually involve me stating that I have a penis.

Anyway, back to the Death Cab concert. I don't know what it is, but I am somehow a magnet for the inappropriate folks who just go to concerts to drink, attempt to make babies through their clothes, and annoy people. And that's exactly who we ended up next to at this concert... and a knight in shining armor, whom I'm pretty sure I terrified with comments about singing murderous children, likening the drunken debauchery next to me to the cast of the "Monongahela Shore" and oh, yes, a Lion King reference. Oh, and this was after I just stopped, stared for awhile with wide eyes and my mouth gaping open because God forbid an attractive man speak to me and I act like a normal human being. However, it was very refreshing to have someone actually be nice and even chivalrous at a concert, considering what I've run into in the past... and present because those hipster hoes were still right next to me. Fist pumping. Yes, FIST PUMPING to DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE (I did feel the need to caps lock yell those words). Somewhere, Seth Cohen fell to his knees, looked to the sky, and just screamed "Nooooo!" (Yes, I might have indulged in a few episodes of The OC... a few episodes being the entire series...).

There was also the man completely obliterated in front of us who was either going to vomit, pass out, or both. And the man who snuck up behind us and requested to dance with us girls. Unfortunately, I didn't hear him or else I would have stated that I wasn't actually a girl...and probably would have gotten punched in the face. Then I would have screamed, "I WILL EAT YOUR BABIES, BITCH!" because that is just something I want to yell at those who anger me. Luckily, there were people around who I think just pitied us and helped us steer clear of creepers. Finally, we ran into our knight in shining armor that helped us out with the creepers in the beginning of the show....he recognized us by overhearing my statement about being anxious in crowds because I think of Mufassa.


Dear God, please grant me the strength to be more "Hey, I just met you and this is crazy, but here's my number, so call me maybe." and less "Hey, I just met you and I am crazy, blah blah blah blah blah. The Lion King." ((PS. This would have also been helpful when I was on Grandview this evening and another somewhat attractive man attempted to talk to me by starting a conversation with "Kindles suck..." a statement that I concur with being that I slightly glared at the girl who had one and decided to sit right next to me, but could only think to reply with "I like books." I might as well have said turtles."))

Must Love Dogs... and Hate Jackasses.

Being away from the general public has done wonders for my personality. It's made it so much worse.  No longer can I just grin and bear it. I'm getting toothaches from grinding them in attempts at stopping a stampede of profanities just waiting to storm out of my mouth. It's only my third night back on the floor, back on the register, and back dealing with dumbasses. I've already had enough.

Day 1: Oh, a 98 degree day. Hmm... what can we do that is air conditioned, doesn't cost anything to get in and we can harass the most people?

And ask as many stupid questions as possible like, "how are you?" (Yes, it annoys me. You don't care, don't ask. Clearly, I'm not "Oh, quite well" or "good" or "ok." Yes, I'll ask about your state of being as well, I wasn't raised in a barn. But I really don't care how you are, so just keep your head down, let me tell you your total and you can leave. I also know that "it's a scorcher out there!" and that "it's soooooooooooooo hot.")

Anyway, that day I was accosted at the men's register in regards to the construction behind the register. It's going to be an Izod shop. What will it sell? Really? We've carried the brand for years. Clearly, hand grenades.

Day 2: I'll take a crazy cat lady over the man who I presumed to be a kindly old grandpa. Grandpa Munster, maybe. After I showed him some shirts, he began making small talk about his cat. Once again, don't care, but I'm an animal lover, so I'll play along. Apparently, he got the cat from a shelter because the family couldn't keep the cat with their dogs. After politely nodding my head to the beat of the song playing in my own personal la la land, I tried to excuse myself, but then he asked if I had any cats. Being the proud mama I am, I told him I had a dog. I could see it in his eyes- this flipped the crazy switch on and it was quickly becoming turbo charged. He began on a tirade about how selfish I was to have a dog because dogs cost more money and there's more cats in shelters than dogs. I'm sorry that there's probably just more cats out there than dogs? Oh, and that I'm allergic to cats so even if I wanted one, I couldn't have one? I'm sorry that shelter dogs get more of a bad rep than shelter cats? But who am I to say? I love dogs so that must make me and John Cusack real assholes.

Give me all the bacon ice cream you have

It was a magical day. Not only was it the first official day of summer and recess day (which my new workplace celebrates... can we say awesomesauce?), but I also discovered a true gift from God. It completely makes up for that lame list of ten rules we're supposed to follow. 

So after a long, hard day of work that involved 2 hours of playtime, I just really wanted ice cream... then completely spaced out on the way home and got into the wrong lane, which unfortunately went in the complete opposite direction of the ice cream stand. Then, as if it were a sign sent from the heavens above, I got stuck in traffic, but was able to make an illegal u-turn and head in a different direction... which, just happened to lead me directly to a bountiful land filled with ice cream and tacos and beer. Today, I just opted for the ice cream and thank the good, good Lord I did. I've been curious about this little homemade ice cream stand for awhile (Antneys, hey, this is a pretty good endorsement for them... because so many people read this). There should have been a beam of light hitting the stand with choirs of angels singing its praises for what I saw on the menu- Salted Caramel Bacon ice cream. I feel like my enthusiasm overwhelmed the cherubim at the window, but she graciously gave me a sample of the heavenly indulgence and basically this is what happened....

And that scared her even more. But I did end up ordering a cone and I only had to pay for a small considering that their version of a small cone is two scoops of ice cream. I heard the song so many times at the hell hole, but I finally understand. Heaven is a place on earth. 

It's the most furriful time of the year!

Driving through dahntawn

In my Cavalier

When around the Westin

Oh, what did I hear?

People in fur costumes

Making spirits bright

What fun it is to ride and see

The furries out tonight

Oh, it's furry time, furry time

Anthrocon is here

Grab your cat ears and your tail

Cause furry time is here

This past Friday was basically better than Christmas. It's the time when I feel all warm and fuzzy... mostly because it's June and there are hoards (stampedes? gaggle? murder? herds?) of people dressed in animal costumes parading around the 'Burgh. It's times like this I'm truly proud to be a yinzer- Pittsburgh is the home of Anthrocon- a convention of like-minded nerds who enjoy dressing up as cartoon creatures. It's one of the few times out of the year I feel normal. Which felt strange. 


I go see the merry band of costumed creatures every year, but this year we went right into the lions den... well, lion, fox, dog, cat, etc. den. Most of the "furries" stay at the hotel directly across from the convention center and we walked right into the lobby. The hotel, not the convention- I'm not quite ready for that yet. I'm still not quite sure if we were allowed in there considering that we were neither patrons of the hotel, nor the rather expensive restaurant located inside the lobby. Thankfully, we didn't get kicked out and we hung out with local radio personalities and the real stars- the furries, who were quite glad to put on a show for the onlookers. They happily posed for pictures with the families facing the recession who couldn't take their kids to Disney World, so they went for the next best thing... furry-invaded downtown Pittsburgh. On second thought, it's pretty similar to Toon Town. Anyway, my babble isn't very interesting, but the pictures are- so here ya go. 

... I was excited... can you tell?

....excited and slightly terrified.

The local radio personalities... who got much better pictures than we did.

And finally, we found Jesus. And Waldo (not pictured)

The wheels on the car go round and round... that's about all I know

I'm not a car girl. I can't point out makes or models save for maybe the DeLorean and the Batmobile. Maybe the one from Knight Rider, but only if David Hasslehoff is standing next to it. I didn't really pay attention in drivers ed., I mostly worried about if the teacher would discover the mouse my friend and I decided to raise in the school and take to class with us. I did learn about the dangers if road rage- don't piss someone off, they might have a crossbow. I recently learned where the windshield wiper fluid goes, but I need to get the damn hood open first. I found this is best done by hunters with a dead deer in the back of their truck in the GetGo parking lot. And I do know that when your car is smoking, it's not because it is being possessed by the smoke monster from Lost. Smokey the Bear is also not helpful in this situation. Apparently the bastard only cares about woodland creatures. 

So maybe this is why I virtually devolve into a bumbling bimbo anytime I'm forced to go to a car repair place. No matter how many times I practice the speeches my dad tells me, I still regress into a dialogue used mostly by teenage girls and lobotomy patients.  It doesn't even matter if I have a cheat sheet written on my hand. Most car parts are still referred to as "thingys" or whatchamacallits or thingamabobs with a lot of "likes" and "ya knows" thrown in and God forbid it's making a noise. Honestly I just need to fully dedicate myself to the bimbo character I play every time I walk into a mechanics and dress in daisy dukes, a cut off top with hair up in pigtails, lucious, freshly glossed lips sucking on s lollipop while I proceed to wash my car before bringing it in. Oh wait, I went there today in my "I'll be cute at work" dress and flats. That might be just as bad.

Avenging my Previous Avengers Experience... or not

As you might have guessed, my previous theater-going experience with The Avengers was not exactly spectacular. After working a few hours of over time at my new oh-so-much-better job, I decided to reward myself. So I took myself out for a night on the town.. or just to Panera Bread and the discount ticket day at the theater closest to my place of employment. What? I'm a cheap date. I had hoped that the new horror movie, "What to Expect When You're Expecting" would draw the biggest crowd since the blokes had a few weeks to drag their gals to "The Avengers." I was wrong.

Granted, it was not as bad as it was the first time. Not nearly as bad. Unfortunately, I did end up next to the girl I was stereotyped as last time and she asked her man-friend questions at every possible turn. Might I propose a rule that if you drag your significant other to a film (especially a nerdy one), you give them a rundown of the characters and a brief summary of what to expect. I'll forgive children when they ask questions or get confused. Especially the little boy in front of me, who was clearly into the film... I could tell because at one point he threw his popcorn down and proclaimed "SMASH!" His character totally changed by the end of the film though... he declared himself to be Thor. I just hope his parents don't get him a hammer. Then there were the lovely women behind me... who just referred to Mark Ruffalo as "hot stuff" the entire time and cheered whenever he appeared somewhat, almost, but not quite nude. It was awkward. Didn't they know they should be cheering Chris Evans in sweatpants? They also stayed for the credits to "see who those other people were with him." ...yeah. Oh well, time to try and ease my disappointment. I think I'll watch "Smash." It's about the Hulk, right?

Occupy MC Nickels... might as well, it's pretty much a ghost town

So the company ("MC Nickels") I kinda, almost, sorta, but not really still work for got a new CEO. In keeping with my oh-so confidential cover- up names, we'll call him Ron Last-name-synonymous-with-male-genitalia. Well, let's just shorten it down to "Dick," it's pretty fitting seeing as how he's running the company into the ground and putting a ton of hard-working individuals out of jobs. I know it's strange to see me actually passionate about keeping the company afloat, but it's not so much the tyranny of corporate America that I'm sticking up for- it's the people that make up the individual stores. Sure, there are people I don't get along with and some that I just plain wish would take a two mile run off a cliff whilst on fire. But there are many others who make the eight plus hours I have to endure there so much more bearable. I'll admit, I've imagined that place exploding, imploding, going down in flames, up in smoke, flooded, runaway wrecking ball (especially when we carried a hat that resembled Indy's fedora), taken over by a zombie hoard, mannequins coming to life and taking human slaves, recreating The Hunger Games in the junior department (more on that to come), and basically every near- apocalyptic scenario. However, I never wanted the company to go down like this- a slow, sizzling burn out that makes it more painful for the peons while the big-wigs sit back and wait for the inevitable crash in order to take their severance or whatever they get for their screw ups. So this jackass...err, "Dick" better change course soon or else he'll not only have angry stockholders to deal with, but one already disgruntled associate with not a lot to lose. And we all know those are the dangerous ones... especially when they're a girl who is 5'3 with no formal defensive training except for a few zombie apocalypse preparations and fake light saber. So I guess until then, we must keep calm and carry on...

...or according to my new, awesome, so much better job:

...yeah, it's much better. 

Tonight I'll be your nerdy girl

Feelin' kinda N E R D Y

I don't know how many times I can state this. I'm a nerd. A geek. I'm a Whovian, X-phile, and incurable Lostaholic. I like almost anything with "Star" in the title, except for maybe "Dancing with the." I've read comic books, graphic novels, science fiction, and fantasy. Oh yeah, and I'm a girl....I know- major shock! ...as if all of that wasn't enough social awkwardness for one person.

I finally saw The Avengers last night... I say finally because I was going to go to the midnight showing, but had to work at the hellhole until 11:00 that night. Yup, that place ruins everything. So I ended up at a sold out Tuesday evening showing by myself. Alone. By myself. I really was supposed to have movie watching companions, I even saved them seats. Unfortunately, they got there after the tickets sold out and didn't take my hooligan advice to buy a ticket for another movie and sneak in the theater. So who cares if they created a small fire hazard? Not all the seats were filled and I even had two saved... up until 5 minutes before the movie started. In my heart of hearts, I believed they might muster the courage to be a rebel and sneak past the teenage ushers who take their job oh so seriously. At least I had saved their seats long enough for families with small children to bypass me and go to the very, very front of the theater. Yeah, it just made me look like a real dick. So I finally decided to call my absentee movie buddies (mostly to prove that I actually have friends) and told them I had to fork over their seats to a group of nerdy boys... who seemed to see a kindred spirit in me. Or just boobs.

I was proud of myself- I actually spoke to these gentlemen like a normal human being. Mostly. Unfortunately, that morning I opted for the "cute girly top" rather than my normal geeky t shirt suit of armor or else the night's events might have gone a bit differently. I hate when people talk to me during movies. I hate when people text during movies. I hate seeing movies in crowded theaters (except for midnight showings) because someone usually breaks these commandments. I thought I had these gents on my side... until the movie started. Apparently my minuscule female brain was already overflowing with thoughts of make up and dresses and all things pink to comprehend the movie and I needed to be told who each character was. For example, one of the guys leaned over when Loki first appears to tell me that it is, in fact Loki. I refuted that I believed he was Gandalf because he was carrying a big stick. Not picking up on my sarcasm, he then told me that Bruce Banner is the Hulk. I just couldn't believe it. Mild mannered Bruce Banner is a giant green monster? Boy, I wouldn't like him when he's angry. Oh, and did you know that Tony Stark is Iron Man? Whaaaat?! No way! Is his arch nemesis  the Man of Steel? So it's like a naturally occurring element versus a man made alloy? That final comment is finally what put it over the top and they shut up for the rest of the movie... I need to work on my social skills.

Code Name: Kevin Costner

Perhaps my six year old self was right. Maybe I'm not meant to be in a creative field. Maybe I should have taken my life in a much different direction. I take solace in the fact that somewhere in an alternate universe (possibly the one where in 2036 Desmond is stuck in amber), no one told me The X-Files wasn't real and I am fighting crime and aliens with Mulder, Scully, and my cigarette smoking homeboy.

This runaway thought train began during my sobriety free St. Patrick's Day festivities. For some reason, Vice President Joe Biden decided to lead the 'Burgh's bagpipers through dahntawn. Of course, accompanying him were a bunch of Secret Service agents. Well, my friend put the idea in my head that "it can't be that hard." Besides, ya know, the possibility of taking a bullet for someone that you might not even like. Thus, the seed of becoming "Code Name: Kevin Costner" was planted in my warped little mind.

It's a true underdog story. A girl from a small town with big city dreams that are immediately dashed once she enters the harsh realities of the "real world" where people stop being polite... and start getting real. She could feel the creativity slowly seeping out of her soul, the writer's blocks becoming walls and the walls demanding a sacrifice of 10,000 men... but settling on a man simply named 10,000 and being a man made structure that can be seen from outer space (yeah, I remember World Cultures). Plus, who really makes money doing things they like anyway? Why not take up a more noble profession? Become a modern-day knight... who gets shot at... and has to do a lot of running. I wouldn't pass any sort of physical test. But at least I wouldn't rent a prostitute... that should give me a leg up on the competition.

Where have all the real nerds gone?

A strange phenomenon is happening at the hellhole. There's a strange spark in the air like a storm is brewing. A storm that causes up to be down and left to be right and right to be wrong. But if loving caped crusaders, mystery men, masked vigilantes, and the like is wrong, then I don't want to be right. I proudly wore their emblems on my chest before Sheldon Cooper and crew made them... cool?

The super hero shirts that usually just collected dust have started selling like hotcakes, which as evidenced by the Greensburg IHOP opening weekend, is pretty darn fast. I assumed this was because of the mass influx of super hero films and excitement for the upcoming Avengers and Dark Knight Rises, but this doesn't seem to be the case. Apparently there are a lot of people under the assumption that these are Big Bang theory shirts. I'm not sure if they believe that the creators of The Big Bang theory created a whole nerdy realm of fictional superheroes for the nerdy main characters to obsess over. I'll admit the show is a few steps above most of the sitcoms nowadays and is, at times, even clever. But not that clever. These caped crusaders have been around for a rather long time.

I became rather fascinated with this "Big Bang" phenomena and began to observe those who perused the nerdy shirt table. Only the real nerds went for the shirts that proclaimed "Marvel" in the traditional block letters surrounded by the actual characters. However, the shirts with only the symbol were fair game for those who weren't even sure who they represented... or just assumed that everyone would realize they were ironically referencing the Big Bang crew. How do conversations with these guys go? Something like this:

Me: Oh, you like The Flash?

Customer: Who?

Me: The Flash...DC Comics... superspeed?

Customer: No, I like The Big Bang theory.

Me: Oh. People will totally get that just by you wearing this shirt.

Customer: ...Sheldon has one.

Me: ... Sheldon also knows who the Flash is.

Now, I'm not the biggest nerd in the world, but buying a nerdy shirt just because it was worn in a tv show you like would be like me thinking I know Italian just because I like Fellini films... which I do... and I was convinced I knew Italian after writing a paper on him... but that's not the point. Maybe look for a "Bazinga" shirt or something that directly references the show before us nerds try to recruit you into our pack.

It's like "Who's on First?"... but with hockey?

So who's on first, what's on second, and crazy's on the phone. The hell hole has cut hours, cut people, and left the surviving associates to fend by themselves on the floor. I'm one of the lucky? leftovers. So I get to deal with fitting rooms, folding, recovery, and customers all by my lonesome. I'm wondering if it's a psychological study because no one can remain sane under these circumstances... especially when dealing with certain people.

This morning I got a phone call. Since I actually wasn't doing anything, I had to answer. The lady on the phone asked if we had hockey shirts. I asked if she meant Penguins shirts. Of course I was the stupid one for asking this question and she responded with, "Well, what other team would you have?" Gosh golly gee, I had an answer for this one, "Actually, we got a shipment of Buffalo shirts in." I figured maybe it would piss her off that we dare carry another team's merchandise. Apparently I made this up because she retorted, "They're not a team. I never heard of the Buffalos." Sabres. Buffalo Sabres. They're not the "Buffalos." But, yeah, ok. So I asked her what kind of Penguins shirt she was looking for. "You know, the ones you had over Christmas," she stated. I told her that we do have some leftover, but we haven't gotten in any new t shirts, just swim trunks and flip flops. But she was looking for specific shirts, "you know, the ones made out of a different material that kinda have holes in them." Jerseys. They're called jerseys. Well, we do have them so I asked her who she wanted. She responded with, "Neal. 71." We don't have Neal, but she was in luck, we have plenty of Malkin ones. Once again, I'm the stupid one, "I didn't ask for Malkin, now did I? I asked for Neal, number 71." I told her that we don't have Neal, but if she was looking for number 71 we do have Malkin. I still don't know what I'm talking about, she is looking for a Neal jersey who is 71. So I just gave up and told her we don't have a misprint Neal or Malkin jersey playing number swap. Then she asked how much the jerseys cost. I told her anywhere from $109 to $120. Apparently this is too much money to show support for her Neal/ Malkin hybrid. She also yelled at me because "The team is doing really good right now. You should get more in so more people could show support." So I told her to look at Pro Image or to find cheaper ones, there's online knock off sites or even the Strip District. She could even customize her own jersey so Neal is number 71. Way to jump on the bandwagon then go tumbling off.

Why do I smile at people who I'd much rather kick in the eye?

I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour

But heaven knows I'm miserable now.

I was looking for a job and then I.... Well, I decided to go to the 'Burgh's St. Patty's Day parade. Perhaps not the best decision, but when your menial job is on the line, you're even having mental breakdowns in your dreams, and you've just won $40 on an instant ticket, you take that as a sign you need to indulge in some alcoholic beverages. Particularly the green variety. And who better to make me feel better about my life than a bunch of drunken yinzers? And they did not disappoint.

Joe Biden, our current vice president, lead the parade with his FBI/ Secret Service cronies. If I had any motivation at all, my new goal in life would be to go into the Secret Service- just so I could have the code name "Kevin Costner." If no one had told me The X-Files wasn't real, I could have been an FBI agent now. None of this "follow your dreams" nonsense.

A few minutes later, the VP of our country was quickly overSHADOWed by a celebrity groundhog. That's right, Pittsburgh got the real thing. Not that second rate, instant ticket scratching rodent. Punxatawny Phil paid us a visit on the lovely 70 degree day so could all laugh in his face at his incorrect prediction at 6 more weeks of winter. Suck it, you little bastard. Suck it hard in the sunshine.

The parade was finally over after about 4 hours (if only I were joking, the Burgh must have a lot of bagpipers and Irish stepdancers who mostly walked). Then it was time for shenanigans in Market Square. It was a glorious afternoon of green beer, drunken old ladies, another Pens victory, getting invited to a wedding, not stepping in puke, not puking, actually remembering the day, Mexican food (but at least I got salsa verde), and Irish Pride(?). Then it was back to the reality of the hell hole, which somehow got so much worse. But I think I still had a little bit of St. Patty's Day fight in me because I was sure ready to deck someone.

Back to the Misses Department

After spending a relaxing month-ish in the mens department, they threw a curveball into my schedule. Just when I thought I escaped, they send me back to the misses department...just the thought makes me want to run away at 88 mph.

I have noticed a drastic difference in the types of customers between misses and mens. I tend to get yelled at less in mens, they don't like small talk (mostly), and they understand that we always need to scan things so hiding the tags doesn't help, sometimes it's just easier for us to take the stuff off the hangers and fold it, and it never helps to roll your purchases up into a ball and then tap your foot impatiently when we try to untangle your mess. Basically, they're less bitchy. Big surprise considering the majority of the mens department customers are, well, men.

They changed everything about the fluorescent lit hell- from motto to pricing to the entire look. And it's now up to the associates to take the brainless zombies that we get as customers by the hand and explain to them the new strategies. Part of this new pricing scheme is having clearance signs that say "$5 and up." So clearly everything on the rack is $5; if it was more than $5, the tag would say "and up." A lot of the male customers accept the price on the tag. Not women. They'll bring an item, which is clearly marked $8, up to the register, but argue it's supposed to be $5. I'll take them back to the sign and point to the "and up," which they don't understand and still respond with "But the sign says $5." There were so many times tonight when I just wanted to put my ear to the sign and say "I don't hear anything. The shirt's $8."

One more small annoyance. Thanks to the awesome new CEO, old Ronny boy with a last name that is synonymous with "dick" (the way things are going, it seems very fitting), opening new credit accounts is the number one priority. And most of the managers have taken this to heart and are harassing the associates even more than they were before. As annoying as that is, I still wish to take it out on the customers who just start repeating "No, no, no" over and over again when I start my little speech about the fantastic benefits of opening an MC Nickels card. Really? Are you tired of people asking you to open a charge? How difficult that must be on you relaxing day off full of fun time at the mall. Guess what, it's my damn job and I'm even more tired asking a million people if they want to open a stupid credit card. Let's grit our teeth and get through this together, shall we?

The Crazies Found Me. There is no Leap Day

I thought I left the crazies downstairs. Or at least most of them. But they all decided to come visit me in the mens department today. I know I got a little too obsessed with Leap Day William and incessantly quoted 30 Rock... and even wore blue and yellow. However, I still recognize February 29th as a day. One of my first customers of the day did not. She stormed up to the mens counter and began her rant about a pair of jeans she bought for $15 on February 29th and now they're back up to $25. I told her that with the new pricing strategy we have month long sales. She purchased the jeans in February and it is now March, which means it's a new sale. The lady began to argue with me, stating that any other year, it would have been March 1st so she should be able to purchase the jeans for $15 and February 29th "doesn't count" as a real day. I would have laughed, but she was very passionate in this belief. I would have thought that perhaps she was actually referencing the 30 Rock episode, but it I'm pretty sure she didn't have a humorous bone in her body... well, besides the humerus (betcha never expected an anatomy joke. That's right, I've seen an episode or two of Bones). The pants weren't even from the mens department. Oh, no. They were from downstairs. This crazy hunted me down. And I'm starting to study a whole new set of crazies in their natural surroundings...

The mother shopping with son. A rare sight, particularly if the male is over a certain age. For some reason, today was an appropriate day for the teenage male to be seen with the matriarch of the family...especially if the matriarch is of the kinda sorta slightly loopy variety. As soon as we opened the store, a rather attractive bloke entered the store. He asked for a Penguins vest that was on hold behind the counter. Upon retrieving the vest, my heart fell a little for it was a vest for a female. I handed it to the young man, assuming it was for his girlfriend and no matter how much I bat my eyelashes for well, let's be honest, lean down with my slightly low cut top, he wouldn't give me a second glance. But, oh no, it was worse. Much worse. About five minutes later, I saw what appeared to be a middle aged woman dash across the store in the same vest with the dashing young man following her, whining for her to hurry up because she had to drive him somewhere. The two ran around my department for a little longer, conversing loudly with large hand motions. The mom ran to the neighboring lingerie department and at least the adoring son did not follow her. He stopped by my register for a talk. Surprisingly, prince momma's boy was actually charming....then his mom ran through the department again... and he followed her. I lost sight for them for awhile and breathed a sigh of relief since they ran right past my register. Unfortunately they returned. With a lot of items. And momma was in the mood for a chat. And there was a price discrepancy, which meant they stayed at the register even longer. I heard their whole soap opera-ish story. Apparently he dropped out of school a year and a half ago and she was helping him lie to the entire family, leading them to believe he was still in school. But he's smarter than his brother, who just graduated with honors from law school... would it have been too forward had I asked if his brother was single and if I could have his number? Note to self for when I become skinny, pretty, and slightly more confident- MC Nickels is not the place to go gold digging.

The Jury Duty that Wasn't

Thank you, Westmoreland County Courthouse for realizing that anything that happens on Leap Day doesn't count. No, I wasn't caught stalking in attempts for employment and put on trial by jury. I was supposed to be the jury. Well, one of them at least. About a month ago I got the dreaded jury summons in the mail. I had already gotten out of it twice before. Once by actually having a class on the day of the summons (I think they would have revoked that excuse if they learned said class was on horror films) and the other time by saying I was moving to Allegheny county. Well, they found me in Allegheny county. There was no getting out of it this time, especially if I wanted to file my slightly cheaper taxes under my parents address.

If it weren't for the fact it was on a holiday that only occurs once every four years, I'd be a little more excited. I did not want to actually get picked for the jury seeing as how I had to sit through 12 Angry Men several times in several different schools. I feel as thought that is enough experience with jury deliberation. I merely wanted to go in and let my crazy flag fly. As an avid watcher of 30 Rock, I decided to take a page out of Liz Lemon who got excused from jury duty for seeming too crazy... I don't see why, she just showed up as Princess Leia with a stack of 1970s Playboys. I didn't want to be a copycat, especially since the only Princess Leia outfit I have is the slave girl one and I was afraid it'd be viewed as public indecency and no one wants to see that (j/k, j/k). However, I did come up with a few ways to out crazy my civic obligation:

-State "Well, I don't have any officers of the law in my family, but I am related to a select few who are ABOVE the law" *wink* "Also, my mom thinks we're related to Jaromir Jagr and the Pope"

-Dress in Victorian garb, ask for a parking permit for the Tardis.

- My religious views will be "I just kinda go with whatever Lost tried to convey in the rather disappointing series finale... which I'm still trying to figure out"

-Political views- "Ron Swanson," which will also be the back up answer for everything else.

- Sing the praises of vigilantism, particularly the masked variety, while wondering why there aren't more Batmans running around.... ease into claiming to be Batman.

- Fill out the date as 1999, when questioned exclaim, "I always party like it's 1999, biatches!"

-Check a lightsaber at the door.

- Quote "My Cousin Vinny" at every opportunity, claim that film taught me everything about the law I ever need to know.

However, the court must have taken a page out of 30 Rock and realized that real life is for March and excused all the jurors who were called. It's a Leap Day miracle!

Twas the Night of Valentine's Day... aka "Half off Candy Eve"

'Twas the night of Valentine's Day, when all through the house

Not a single girl was bitching, about not having a spouse

The kitchen was clean, the cupboards were bare

In hopes half off candy soon would be there

All the single ladies were nestled snug in their beds

While visions of cheap sweets danced in their heads

And I in my PJs, my dog in my lap

Had just settled down for a film filled with sap

When down the street, there came a great noise

I had to stop thinking of such a silly thing as boys

Out the door, I ran like the Flash

With only a pocketful of change, very little cash

The red bullseye gave off such an inviting glow

Illuminating the automatic doors that were right below

I entered the store and what did I hear

The sound of a markdown gun ringing loud and clear

A man in a diaper, looking very stupid

I knew that moment, he must be Cupid

He spoke not a word, continued his work

Marking the candy half off, just like the stock clerk

His eyes how they twinkled! He moved with such grace!

His cheeks were so rosy... just not the ones on his face

On his back he carried an arrow and bow

He shot a man in Reno, to prove they weren't just for show

I thought his sudden appearance to be quite queer

But that's OK, he gave me a 3 Musketeer

He put down the candy, his wings began to flap

I tried to get the store to start a slow clap

But I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight,

"Happy half off candy day to all and to all a good night!"

Movin' on up...stairs

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! I am finally away from the women's department. If only I could say I escaped from the hell hole, but at least I will be away from the majority of women customers and their small talk and stupid questions and stupid comments and stupid life stories and their... stupidity. So I might be a little sexist against my own sex, but really? Who doesn't hate women once in awhile? Plus, they're the ones who offend me first...most of the time.

Starting tomorrow I will be working in the mens department. So toothless men and ESL folks, come on up! Bring it on because I've come up with a pretty good plan for when they try to hit on me. I am picking out a mannequin, naming him Carlos, and he will be my "lover." Hey, the lady mannequins seemed to like me. The only way this won't work is if "Polamalu's cousin" makes another appearance. I think he could out crazy me anytime.

I did something I don't normally do- I actually did work at the hell hole... and violated a bunch of mannequins while I was at it. No, really, I'm pretty sure I've become a registered mannequin offender so I have to go store to store to inform other clerks I'm in the mall.

For the past glorious month, I've been away from the register and away from customers, but unfortunately not away from stupidity. One lady looked me in the eye and told me she didn't know how to use an iron. I guess you can't have it all. In exchange for this escape, I basically had to do manual labor. Thanks to the new head honcho, a giant change was implemented in every store where we had to move everything around...including changing the mannequins- which somehow became my job. I shouldn't say "change the mannequins" because that would imply they were already clothed, but not these ones. Oh, no, they were all going commando. I walked in to work the one day to a whole army of plastic naked people. Women were appalled and began screaming at the sight. Children were covering their eyes and crying. Men were... well, the men kind of liked it. Especially when I had to dress the voluptuous plaster ladies and always ended up touching them inappropriately. But I'll get to that later. Customers were complaining for the two days of our little still life striptease... especially since we have a few mannequins who are slightly more anatomically correct than others. I began telling them it was a political statement and/or an art project.

These mannequins were my friends for two long, oh so sexy nights. I didn't even get a chance to buy them dinner before spreading their legs and...well, putting pants on them. I wish I did so then maybe I wouldn't have had to touch an inanimate nude human form till after the store closed. But, no, I had to start at the very front of the store... right in front of the men on the benches waiting for their wives. Boy, were they friendly. And, boy, did they not understand the concept of personal space... or at least mannequin changing space. See, the mannequins have magnetized limbs that can sometimes be difficult to take apart in order to dress them. My old man friend who decided to walk up and ask a bunch of silly questions could not comprehend this... so a mannequin arm came within inches of his face. This finally caused him to turn tail and head back to his bench...w here he still continued to watch intently. Well, at least the mannequin wasn't Kim Cattrall...

On a mission from God since 1992

Catholic guilt. Parental guilt. Wonder twin powers activate! Form of me going church for 3 weeks in a row... and it's not even Christmas. Or Easter.

I went home again this weekend for several reasons. One, I was off... again. It was amazing. Two, my parents have better cable and a warmer house... stocked with food. Three, I had to go home to see that special someone... who is covered in fur. My parents go to church every week. I wouldn't necessarily say they're devout, more like riddled with Catholic guilt and fear of the nuns. And thanks to this same Catholic guilt and fear of nuns with parental guilt as a cherry on top, I end up going to church every Saturday night I'm home. It's not that I'm not religious, I honestly don't know what I am. When it comes to religion, I just assume that Lost got it right and go with that. It's just I have a fear of being struck by lightning every time I step on hallowed ground... or turned to stone. I saw Hocus Pocus, I know it could happen.

I wouldn't say I'm a bad person, per se.... I just say bad things sometimes... that might offend people. A lot of people. But, I mean, the Justice League of the Hereafter has to have a sense of humor, right? Look at my life- if it's not pure knee-slapping good time for some omniscient being, I don't know what is. And my second point... the platypus. Anyway, the inside of a church while mass is going on is not the best place for me, especially since they changed the words to the same old mass that I've been going to since they dunked me in a bucket of water and called me a Catholic. I don't deal with change well, I still say a lot of the old words. Then realize I say the old words. Then say a word that would have gotten my wrist taken clean off had a nun heard me say it in grade school. Hopefully I at least get points for trying?

Then there's the snack time near the end of mass. I actually like the communion wafer. I think they would be able to market them as a healthy and holy breakfast food. Seriously. Instead of people seeing the image of Jesus in a piece of toast, Jesus would BE the toast. However, sometimes they let the wafers sit out for awhile and they go a bit stale... and then it's somewhat difficult to hide my distaste for them. I would say it's still a step up from when I was a kid and truly believed that it WAS the body of Christ... as in cannibalism on the holiest of scales. It makes sense considering I wasn't the best student in religion class. I couldn't remember the authors of the Gospels, but for some reason "John, Paul, George, and Ringo" stuck out in my mind. I got the answer wrong. And I got to see the nun after class. The same nun who caught me outside of class when I wasn't supposed to be and I told her I was, "On a mission from God." The Blues Brothers was my favorite movie... in kindergarten.

Well, hopefully this didn't offend anyone too much. The ever-powerful "they" say never to talk about religion or politics. I guess I didn't mention politics.... so here you are!

(Oh, most of the political stuff is actually posted by the morons on the comments section.)

Slush Road Cavy

Since I have been on the super secret team at the hell hole recently, I haven't had much to say other than complaining about all the hush-hush projects I've had to endure...but can't speak openly about. I'm like a retail James Bond with ninja skills... except not as cool. Not nearly as cool. Alas, that's about all I'm allowed to say... you never know, there are secret agents from Kohls everywhere. The saddest part is, it's all true. We were bound to secrecy in fear our competitors might overhear and steal this ridiculous new strategy. When customers ask me what's going on, I reply, "We're trying a new strategy we learned from Montgomery Wards and Lazarus." Some of them will accept this answer, but others will look perplexed and reply, "But those stores are closed." To which, I just nod and give and emphatic, "Exactly." However, I will still roam around the store humming "Secret Agent Man"... or the theme from the Pink Panther.

Since my job is now under-wraps, I shall divulge all the juicy details of my weekend... that's

right, weekend. I had a real one this time. Like most normal people, I got off of work at 5:00pm on Friday and didn't have to be back till 9:00am Monday. It was a glorious sensation. I felt alive. I felt renewed. I finally knew what Loverboy was talking about... I could just hear that cowbell. Since everyone was watching to see what I would do, I felt the pressure to get it right... get it right. I wanted to go somewhere and do something spontaneous, but a midnight train going anywhere just seemed dangerous. So I hopped in my I-wish-I-could-still-call-him-trusty Cavy and headed for Latrobe where at least I would be fed...aaaand cue the snow. Most people would turn back, but, oh no, I had a grumble in my tummy and a nice warm house on my mind. A major section of the commute was not bad... until we got to the dark lands where the Penn Dot workers really take out some anger issues on unsuspecting drivers. I'm pretty sure they added snow to the road. Either that or I took a wrong turn and ended up on Ice Road Truckers. Hey, maybe I could have my own show- Slush Road Cavy.

Eventually my earning-back-my-trust Cavy and I did make it home and were handsomely rewarded with a warm house (and a garage), food, and gifts aplenty.... even though the gifts aplenty are going to put me on Hoarders one day. My mom finds deals. She likes coupons. She likes clearance items. Even if these items are already stockpiled in the house or we don't actually need. Case in point- my mom handed me two bags of pinecones. Yes, pinecones. Apparently they were on sale. I don't know if she got swindled by a squirrel, but last time I checked, pinecones were free as long as you found the right tree. So now I have two bags of pinecones sitting on my living room couch. Oh well, I guess I'll keep them. Maybe they can decorate the library in my Scottish castle.

True Life: I'm a Disney Princess

Once upon a time, in a far away land of the black and gold, there lived a young lass who dreamed of a world outside of this kingdom made of steel. A world where she no longer had to fold clothes or scrounge for change to buy a few measly pieces of bread and a large sweet tea with way too much ice in it. A world where she could create art and be content. Then, one day, she heard the opening notes of Aha's "Take on Me" and was magically transported into an animated world with talking animals, dragons, and magic. This land was ruled by an evil Raven queen and her equally evil dragon flyer, Phil. Our young heroine swiftly defeated this dastardly duo with the help of a magical pierogie. Her heroics and sassy wit entranced the young prince, whom she saved from his imprisonment by the evil queen in a field of jaggerbushes. This handsome Scottish prince lead her to a castle, where he already had an enormous library filled with every book imaginable (no nooks or kindles here) and a theater where they could watch moving pictures together and even a studio where she could make her own movies for the entire land to enjoy. And they lived happily ever after.

...or at least that's how I thought my life was going to be like when I was finally that magical "Disney princess age" (between 16 and 20). I was convinced as a child that I was, in fact, a cartoon character. It all started when I was about 4 and I thought I was Cinderella. Completely, 100% convinced I was Cinderella. It didn't help that my mother sat a bucket of water in front of me and I was content cleaning the floors as long as the water was bubbly enough, I had a kerchief in my hair and a song in my heart, which, of course, I would sing aloud. So I became that kid who would walk around singing and talking to birds and mice, waiting for my fairy godmother or my Halloween pumpkin to turn into a coach.

Of course, a few years later, I realized how silly this was. I wasn't Cinderella. I was Ariel. During my swimming lessons, I could stay afloat and propel my body in a forward motion... I just didn't want to kick my legs. I had a fin, you know, I had to move them together. I failed swimming lessons miserably. However, I like to think that if I ever actually need to be able to swim to survive, the sea creatures will save me thanks to my bond with them due to my time as a mermaid.

Then I grew up a little more and realized that Ariel was a little too flighty for me. And really? Giving up everything, including her voice and family for a man she doesn't even know? Who

does that? No, I needed to be a little more level headed. Still independent, intelligent, but with strong family ties. That's when I met Belle and I was convinced she was my animated doppleganger. I learned how to read and walk at the same time thanks to the library that was located inside the local supermarket... it made grocery shopping with my mother bearable. I already loved to read, but I really threw myself into it. I'm pretty sure that I was the only child who actually got yelled at for reading too much. But some of my best friends were in these books. And I could travel to so many places before I was even able to drive. I'm not sure if I ever got out of my "Belle" phase. It might even be the premise for my "Hoarders" episode. I can see it now, the cameras enter the house to stacks and stacks of books. A small voice is heard from behind one of the piles, "No! You can't take these! They're for my Beauty and the Beast Scottish Castle...What do you mean this candlestick isn't talking?"

Time flies when the Tardis is your Christmas Tree

Haul out the holly, put up the tree before my spirit falls again. Fill up the stockings, I may be rushing things, but deck the halls again now. For we need a little Chris.... wait, it's over? It's been almost a month since Christmas? I guess my wish to hibernate till January was almost granted... minus the part where I was awake to see the sun rise almost every day about 2 weeks before Christmas trying to paint a nativity set for my mother. I think she appreciated it though- I believe the term she used was "bullshit" when I told her I made it for her. Happy birthday, baby Jesus!

For once, I did have a nice, rather uneventful holiday. The only downside was, I couldn't blink or turn away from my Christmas tree (this year's theme: "The Angels have the Christmas tree). I was even good at Christmas Eve mass... still demoted to the children's mass, but completely silent save for falling asleep BEFORE mass started and a few comments about the Pope finding a thesaurus...and maybe a little something about the paperclip from Microsoft Word being a new prophet by "suggesting" new words. Thanks, Catholic church for teaching me new words... and making me look like a fool when I proudly recited the prayers I memorized in grade school... then realized the words were wrong. At least the nuns weren't there to slap my wrist.

Then New Years rolled around and because enjoying Christmas was too good to be true, I got sick during the Christmas present to myself:

Yup, I was right there on the ice... just about 2 levels above it toting my camera with a pretty damn good zoooooom. However, I did realize during my holiday hibernation that I might be Anne Franking it a bit too much in my attic room. So my New Years resolution was to get out more... but judging by the small nest that I made in front of my computer and the fact I'm already halfway through season 3 of Supernatural, which I just started watching about a week ago, I've already failed miserably. So my new resolution is to become an extreme couponer. This is probably for the better since come December 21st all that will be left are hoarders, extreme couponers, and crazy people. Two out of the three already describe me... so why not make it all three? And if the world doesn't end, maybe I could get a show on TLC.