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.