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.