Tears of a Clown
Dave's tactics for trying to get me to make him food in the middle of the night while he is stoned are hilarious. First there was the infamous "but I'm your baby bwudda." tonight: "but I make you laugh Lauren! I make you laugh. Let me ask you something, are the tears of a clown free? Are they? Are they free lauren?"
Go Ann Taylor Stock Team!
I was scheduled to work from 8-1 at AT this morning, Opal from 1-10. We gave a whole new meaning to the term "tag team" when she showed up for her shift wearing the exact same thing that I was. Note this was not a stock day.
The Internet Hard At Work
So friday night i went and had a grand old time at Rhinoceropolis and managed to make it home before dawns early light. go team. Saturday I woke up at the crack of noon (oh my god it was glorious!) not yet ready to eat, i grabbed my computer and decided to check my email. Now about 6 months ago I posted a short story called "Picking My Nose and Finding a Submarine" that i was doing a presentation on for my creative writing class. When I opened my email on Sat. it said that I had a new comment on my blog from a J. Marcus Weekley, as well as an email. Either because I just woke up, or because I am...well, me, I sat there looking at my computer screen thinking "where do I know that name?" for a good minute and a half. The easy thing to do would be to open the emails and see if it contained any clues, or even better, read the subject line that said "Picking My Nose and Finding a Submarine" and put two and two together. Either way. But no, it very slowly clicked that I had just received an email from the author of the story. (Marcus, I hope you google your name again, it's always nice to find that someone is writing about you...or very creepy.) This makes the second time in the past month that I have heard of someone finding my blog like this. Last time it was Willie telling me that his boss pulled him aside with a printed version of one of my entries concerning Chedd's Gourmet Grilled Cheese. mmm....grilled cheese.
Pointless Entry
I started writing this whole big entry about what is going on with me, all the crap I usually don't talk about and or don't know how to express, but then I read it. I decided that i would much rather sit down and actually talk to someone than have you all sit and your computer screens while killing time between classes or work eating coco crispies or whatever reading about what a nut job I am. But alas, it is 2am and you kids are all asleep.
today.
This morning started with me killing my already injured finger. After my alarm went off I rolled across my bed to close my window, my broken window. Where as most windows when you open them stay open, mine doesn't...unless it has been raining or opened past a certian point, so it is proped open by an Aladdin cup with glitter and floating lamps and shit in it. I remove the cup holding my index finger out (because when you have a band aid on your finger, you suddenly can't use it) only to have the window SLAM down onto my finger. Now being as ghetto as my window is, it naturally doesn't have a handle on it. That means that half my finger is stuck in it, there is no handle and the way I am sprawled across my bed doesn't allow me to stand up without causing myself a whole lot more pain and suffering, that leaves me insanly clawing the quarter inch or so crack of space that is open at the bottom trying to free myself. After what seems like hours, i finally free myself. Afterward I go on to break a shoelace and storm up to meet Hazel at Safeway at 7.30 bitching about the world.
8am. Work. I eat more than my fair share of candy today. So much candy! and cheesecake! I don't know who it was, but someone brought in cheesecake! Opal keeps me entertained through out the day by telling me about this russian guy who hit on her and now she kind of likes. He is 10 years older than her, was a professional ballerina from the age of 8 and swears more than she does which she sees as a perk. She also tried throwing candy in the air and catching it in her mouth while standing behind our manager, described the flower that used to be on the side of her shirt as "like, a little fucking secret garden. Who the hell wears a secret garden on their shirt?!" Got into a debate with me over the lyrics to the song that was playing in the store while we were ringing people up, "i'm telling you, it's 'whose fooling who' " "how did you go from 'oh domi vous' to 'I'm telling you' to 'whose fooling who' in such a short amount of time?" While restocking the nylons inquired "can't we just pay someone to do this for us?" "you know Opal, I haven't been working here as long as you have so I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure thats what they pay us for." And when our conversation about who knows what was interrupted by a manager asking us to go fix different areas she suggested we break out the walkie talkies so we could continue our conversation, which would have been interesting since last time she was given a walkie talkie for something she was seen yelling "breaker breaker nine!" into it in the back room.
After leaving AT at 5 I went and saw Hazel at her other place of buisness. Watched as she steadily got busier and busier and got dangerously close to the breaking point. At one point, I thpught she was going to cry. Willie and I helped her close up when the time came because we are awesome like that. Then all went for a quick cup of coffee before home.
Your Memorable Voice
At times I feel like I am Ron Livingston's character in "Office Space." Between my 2 jobs I have like 7 bosses. The good thing is I like most of them. Sure Steve should not be incharge of the schedules, but other than that, they are good.
Every weekend I call my boss Debra at Curious Coffee and tell her when I can work based on my Ann Taylor schedule. Every week. My CC schedule is very rarely figured out in one phone call. Sometimes it takes three calls, on occasion, four. We have spent a considerable amount of time on the phone with one another. For the first minute or so of these phone calls, Debra has no idea who she is talking to. I can understand not knowing who you are talking to when they call you, but we have had the following conversation several times:
Me: Hello?
Debra: Hi, this is Debra
M: Hey, how are you?
D: fine...who is this?
M: *thinking* ...but...you called me
M: this is Lauren
D: oh hi. *still has no idea who she is talking to* um...how are you doing?
eventually she figures it out, but it takes a moment. I can't imagine what she is going to be like when she's old.
