One year later and Jack's still a pussy. (Which has nothing to do with this entry, just had to say it)

To all my nerds in training still duct taped to the couch, eyes open Clockwork Orange style watching Lost- don't read this.

My name is Jen and I am still a Lostaholic. With the new fall TV season fast approaching and Breaking Bad's 4th season making me regret not paying attention in chemistry, I am still trying to grasp at the few mysterious straws of my beloved show that has been off the air for over a year now. Obviously, Lost and I had a polygamous relationship. Like many of my sister wives (and husbands), Lost and I had a harsh break up and the lack of closure is what fuels the obsession. Was it something I did? Where did I go wrong? (Season 3, "We have to go baaaaack!" Shut up, Jack, the island was purgatory all along, you're just pissy cause everyone guessed it and Eko's church was meant to be the church at the end)

Yesterday, August 15th, might have been just a normal day to most people, but to Lost fans it is a holy day of obligation. 8/15. As in the fateful Oceanic Flight 815, which started it all. Of course I celebrated by watching as many Lost episodes as possible. And my old phone became the smoke monster. Or to be more precise, the smoke monster is pretending to be my phone.

OK, so what really happened is on Memorial Day a few buttons on my phone just stopped working. I turned it off and when I attempted to turn it back on, well, it refused. I took it to the store and they basically said it was fried. Well, as much as I would like to, I can't go without a phone or else my mother would basically be living in my house. And neither I, nor the object of her stalking, Sidney Crosby, want that. So I ended up with a Trac phone. Preferred phone of grandmas and drug dealers. Once again, this combined with Breaking Bad make me sad I never paid attention in chemistry. I hated this phone. But then three months later on Lost day, I looked over at my poor lifeless phone on my side table and on a whim, picked it up. And it came back to life! Just like Jesus with Lazarus. The Smoke Monster and John Locke. Radiation/a comet/ space dust/ rabies/ virus and zombies. A day later and zombie phone, Lazarus, is doing just fine and I got all the pictures of Keyta off of it. It's also now one of the geekiest phones this side of the Droid (ringtone="You All Everybody," message tone= the "Grrrr. Argh" from Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon's production company and alarm= "Non Le Regrette Rien...." the kick from Inception) My mom decided this was a sure sign that my life was going to turn around. Then I went for ice cream and more than likely ate several insects that dive bombed into it. Maybe not so much.

It's aliiiive!

Help! A Hillbilly Took my Dingo!

Some would say that standing in the hot, hot sun in 90 degree weather wearing a winter coat is insanity. I, however, signed right up for it. Then, the one small part of my brain where logic lays awoke long enough to reason with the crazy and I cancelled my "reservation." So what could possibly compete with being "in" The Dark Knight Rises? Puppy shopping, of course!

Now, I knew I couldn't bring a dog home that day, but it couldn't hurt to look, right? Wrong. I wanted them all. Big dogs, small dogs, all would be welcome in my happy home. But I could only pick one. The one shelter we went to boasted they had three huskies on their website. They were all adopted by the time I got there. I made the rounds again and came across a medium sized, fluffy shepard mix named Daisy. Clearly it was a sign, Daisy was one of the first dogs of my childhood. I knew I couldn't get her that day, but I'm not above begging- or pimping myself out to pay the still-standing $5,000 vet bill. Any takers? Anyone?

Not wanting to take the first fluffy, adorable dog I came across, I continued down the row- I could always come back to her, right? Nope, strike two. I was batting a losing game, just like the good ol' Pirates. Off in the distance, I heard a banjo strumming the opening notes of the Deliverance theme and a rebel yell cry "Hey, Billy Joe, come look at thish dog." I turned around to see that hillbillies have taken a liking to my dog. I didn't want Jed Clampett and crew to take this dog, but I was powerless against my worst kayaking nightmare- what if they wanted me to squeal like a pig? (Only if they paid me. Remember, vet bill, people)

I'm just glad they put on their classiest attire for the occasion. A classic midriff baring Steeler shirt small enough to show off the impressive beer gut... on the man. But it's ok, because he clearly brushed his shiny, gleaming tooth for the festivities. His wife/ possible sister was lovely too. She was a dog expert, arguing that one of the "hushky" puppies was not actually a husky, when I'm pretty sure he was more husky than my poor baby was. Maybe I'm just bitter that the Clampetts found their canine soulmate... even though I saw her first. I might not have been part of them, but if I could, I would have still taken her, loaded up the Cavy and moved to Beverly. Hills, that is. Swimming pools, movie stars.

Dr. JiminyCricket: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Calling Off

I suppose it's apparent now that I'm desperate to get out of my workplace hell. I'll try or do anything. As much as my moral code and beliefs are centered around Disney, I've never been one to truly believe in the fantastical or superstitions. Well, besides in hockey. I was taught at a very young age that all of those superstitions are the honest to God truth, my shirts still start to smell around playoff time. Nevertheless, I took some advice from Jiminy Cricket and wished upon a star. I gathered all my belief inside of me and thought about my wish. I looked up at the sky and got about halfway through my wish when I saw a shooting star. Some people would take that as a sign. However, I was aghast and ran inside because I felt like I had just made a star commit suicide. Rest in peace, little twinkle twinkle. I just hope you weren't the star guiding little Feivel home.

I was hoping my little celestial friend didn't give his life in vain, but now I fear he did. If only he didn't interrupt me and let me finish my wish. I don't want to reveal what I wished for, just in case. OK, so maybe I am little superstitious. Let's just say it involved jobs and the first part was what I don't want/ where I don't want to be and the second half involved a certain "star" who is soon getting a "care package" from me that I would very much like to work for and whose book I am currently reading. Draw your own conclusions. Oh, and my dad would be proud. I believe this still falls in the wish making guidelines.

Not sure how this correlates with my wish, but a few odd things happened the past few days. They say when it rains, it pours. Sometimes it's a good thing, sometimes pouring rain really messes up your plans. After almost a year without a call or a rejection letter, I get two interviews in one week. It also happened to be the week that I worked the most hours at my lovely hell hole of a job. Now, with another large bill added on top of my student loan payments...and rent... and bills... and the Netflix addiction (an Australian show about teenage mermaids, you say? Yes, I will sit and watch it hours on end), I really needed another job. But on the other hand I needed to not get fired from my current minionship. I've already called off a few times this year, so going in late was my best option. Even though I hate the job, I do like most of the people I work with- even a manager or two and I get a bit of anxiety when I feel like I'm letting people down. So of course calling off work makes me a bit antsy- even if it is for a job I hate. But every now and then a "sick day" is needed for one's sanity. Which is why I probably should have just not gone in instead of driving my Cavy 90 miles per hour across town to make it to work at a reasonable time. Luckily I think a lot of the police are a bit tied up with nanananana Batman! so hopefully my traffic violations will go unchecked for a bit longer. They did put up "estimated time to downtown" signs.... My 1999 Cavy, aka "Danny," aka "Lightning McQueen" will accept that challenge.

I Am Become Creeper

Empowered by the independent spirit of Holly Golightly and not wanting to go back to my house for obvious puppy-less reasons, I decided to take a walk down Grandview. I didn't get very far when I stopped to watch the far off lightning and gleaming bat signal on the Highmark Building. Then, my ears perked up at an approaching jingling- a dog was coming my way! I looked up and saw a husky, just like my lost love. I tried to contain my excitement and twinge of sadness as they passed by, "Beautiful dog," I exclaimed to the owner, "Huskys are my favorite." I was proud of myself, I kept it relatively normal.

I eventually got bored trying to convince people that the lightning was actually part of The Dark Knight Rises and that Christopher Nolan can control the weather. So with only Kurt Vonnegut by my side, I decided to take a walk to see what the husky pup was up to. I got the entire way down to the Mon incline when I realized what I was doing was slightly creeper so I decided to turn around. I didn't make it four steps before I saw the husky coming straight towards me. I decided to play it cool and nonchalantly walk past. As I was walking, trying to not look at the owner, who I'm sure was staring quizzically at me, I felt a warm tongue and wet nose brush up against my hand. That was it, I had a taste and I wanted more. I turned around and began following the lovable pup once again. It wasn't weird at all. He wanted me. He would have totally left his current owner to be with me. I'm the pretty one! Wait, it was weird. The one ounce of normal in me began sounding alarms as loud as Bono in Heinz Field. So I turned around and ended up wandering about a mile down the street to the statue of George Washington about to make out with Sacagawea No, really....

How romantic...

I was proud of myself- I avoided being a total creeper and I got some exercise... until I saw the same husky puppy come out of the shadow of the statue. After a small shocked expression, I scurried over to one of the rocks and pulled out my book. See? Thinking you're a Disney princess can come in handy sometimes. After I read a few pages and could no longer hear jingling dog tags, I surveyed the area to find there were only two other people in my vicinity. A couple. Talking about their hopes and dreams. With me right next to them reading Cat's Cradle. A satire on the end of the world. It was then I realized- I am become creeper. Destroyer of nights.

The Curious Case of the Sweater Napping

It was a dark and stormy day... at least I think it was? I can't really tell if the sun is shining outside of the fluorescent lit tomb known as the workplace from hell. But "dark and stormy" is more fitting to this story than the actual "hot and humid." So hot and humid, in fact, that I have sworn off wearing pants for over a week. Don't worry, I've just been wearing dresses. Unfortunately, most of the dresses I have are either strapless or have very thin straps and my shoulders are just too darn provocative to show in the store that sells hoochie mama cheetah print hooker dresses to 12 year old girls so I have to wear sweaters to cover them up. One of my favorites is a simple thin white flyaway cardigan with short sleeves. Apparently it was a customer's favorite too....

Greeting customers puts the "hell" in "hello." Every time I acknowledge one of them, I end up with a crazy and this lady was no exception. As I was cleaning out the fitting room, I noticed a middle aged lady who appeared to be in distress. She had a very mom-like appearance so I figured she was safe to approach. I apparently need to work on my people skills because boy was I wrong. I asked if she needed any help and she said that she lost her sweater (note she was NOT wearing any provocative shoulder-baring clothing. And the heat index was 107 that day) I told her that I would help look for it and headed for the fitting room, which is where she last saw it. The sweater was nowhere to be found. Then, she must have noticed that I was wearing a white sweater and asked where I got it. Once again, I made a stupid mistake on my part and told her I got it at the store last year. I thought she just might want to replace her lost beloved sweater because that's what any normal person would do. But this lady wasn't a normal person, she was an MC Nickels customer. She then accused me of taking a sweater I found in the fitting room. Because that's what I do all day, find other people's clothing in the fitting room and claim them as my own.... and wear them. I explained to her that I actually found it in my closet at home that day and wore it to cover up my provocative shoulders. She stared at me suspiciously and left her name and phone number in case the sweater was found.

Well, waddayaknow. The next day I was folding a table and found her freaking sweater. I couldn't help but compare it to mine (which I was still wearing that day- shoulders are just too erotic for the store that sells push up bathing suit tops). Her's was a long sleeved sweater with three buttons... it looked nothing like mine. I found the paper with her phone number and made the call, feeling very justified that I could prove to this lady I did not steal her sweater. Unfortunately, when she answered she was on her way to Cleveland. But she still wanted that damn sweater for the chilly 100 degree weather and asked if we could ship it to her. After a long pause in disbelief, I replied no and told her it would be waiting at the lost and found. And this brings the curious case of the sweater napping to a close.

Alfred Hithcock Was Right About Birds

Contrary to what I believed my past 24 (dear Lord) years of my life, I actually do have a lot of trouble sleeping alone. And contrary to what a lot of people believe about me, I don't have crazy one night stands or wild fornication parties. That's only on Tuesday nights to fill the void left by Lost. Yup, I'm *that* kind of needy girl. Except my significant other is a dog. So I sit in my room, listening to the soothing sounds of Three's Company until the wee hours of the morning. Unfortunately, this doesn't lend well to the "customer service industry" and my Keurig only holds so much power.

As you might have guessed, I'm a dog person. Actually, an animal person. I love all God's creatures. Except for birds because those were sent by the goddamn devil himself. Yes, I realize they evolved from dinosaurs, but they should have just stayed the way they were. I don't hate all birds... cardinals do have a pretty sweet mohawk and sparrows make me feel like a Disney princess... as long as they don't get too close. I've started to realize that a lot of the female customers that walk into the hellhole are a lot like the birds that I so despise. They are either short, stout and walk somewhat bow legged appearing chicken-like or long and lean, strutting like an ostrich. The worst is when they're none of the above and just believe that they are a beautiful peacock who deserves to be waited on hand and foot.... even though the males are the pretty ones, but you get my gist. The one thing all these birds have in common is their squawking. I truly believe that these women work at having such shrill voices. It's like it's a contest or something and they just keep getting louder. Or I have built up my caffeine tolerance and need to add a cup or two of coffee to my daily routine so I'll be able to stand these biddies.

So with the bird analogy in my mind and a coffee mug in hand, I entered the hell hole today with a less than friendly demeanor. I felt like I was Tippi Hedron on a boat heading straight to Bodega Bay. Then, one customer gave me bad flashbacks of being chased by chickens on my uncle's farm. It all started when I pulled a cart out the fitting room, she strutted over like it was feeding time. Now, all of the items on this cart were plentiful in the rest of the store, but she had to pick at this cart. While my supervisor sat there watching me and the cart expectantly. I was not going to take the "feed" away from this lady, in fear of getting pecked by her beak... or worse, hear her squawking. So I patiently waited till she was done and I went on my merry way, putting the rest of the clothes away. Then, about 10 minutes later, I hear a chirping behind me that sounded like "Cart.... caaaart." I looked around for a manager or another associate, since I assumed those would be the only other people discussing a cart, but didn't see any. Then the chirping turned into a loud screeching "CAAAAAAART!" I turned and saw the chicken lady running towards me, bingo wings flapping in the wind with a few items in her hand. She had followed me to the other side of the store because she got the items on the silver cart I had in tow. She handed me the clothes and I went through them to discover they were all dresses that belonged in the area where she tried them on and there were numerous other silver racks. I guess she must have had her homing device set to mine. Lucky me. And I didn't even have any bread to give her.

Baby, I'm howlin' for you.... oooh, this is awkward. I wanted a dog, not you..

As I've been continuing down my life path on my own, it feels more and more like I'm just being attacked by the village idiots. I know I said the previous post that I would try to look the other way, but I think even Keyta would have agreed that the annoyance towards stupid people runs so deep that they're eating authentic Chinese food.

While I walk down the street, now struggling to make it up the hills, I feel like a woman near her "change of life" does towards babies. Except with dogs. When I see other people walking their dog, I just want to grab it, run and call it my own. So that's how I was a bit distracted and found myself in an unwanted "Situation." Yes, as in the Jersey Shore man.

As I was walking, I noticed a person walking a dog across the street. I stared longingly in her direction, eyes focused solely on the dog, hoping it run across the street and jump into my arms. Well, I did attract a dog...of the male human form. I suppose the dude that was walking behind the dog must have thought I was staring at him because he walked across the street and cut right in front of me. And took his freaking shirt off. And began flexing his muscles for crying out loud. I suppose this would have worked if I were a chimpanzee. However, I usually don't just take my pants off and have at it after seeing such a spectacle of male bravado. He would have to have a good personality and at least be able to answer some of the questions on "Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader." I feel like young Schwarzenegger sensed my hesitation, so he took a step aside and let me pass him. I thought I had left him in my dust, but then I felt a presence and heard a mumbling behind me. Note, I had my "don't talk to me" headphones on and was NOT doing the "fist pump" mating dance. I glanced behind me and saw I had not lost the Jersey Shore wannabe. I'm not sure if he wanted to talk about his shirt that he recently purchased at Baby Gap or if he needed directions to the Monongahela Shore, but I didn't really care. If he could make a spectacle of taking his shirt off, I could put on a great show of taking out my ipod and turning up the volume full blast. And when the song says "Baby, I'm howlin' for you," I'm thinking of an actual dog, not a meathead with a six pack, thank you very much.