sure. let your kid tear apart the package of a product. why do i care. i only repaired 2 already today, and you're walking out. no big deal.
i often wonder if i made a big mistake turning down the spot with the contemporary dancers last year. my life would certainly be much different. i wouldn't be as frustrated with myself (letting myself get so lazy and out of shape) and humanity (working retail 8 hours a day, 6 days a week).
but i honestly don't know if i + it would've =ed such a good fit.
i love dance, don't get me wrong. but i just didn't know if it was the exact kind i wanted to do everyday for, at least, several years.
i'm a little lacking in the self-confidence department when it comes to dance. especially more recently.
i just feel so clumsy, even after 17 or so years. i can't find my balance easily, and i just feel like i make the positions and exercises look. well. ugly. i can't look at myself in the mirror, but i just feel so down and heavy, that i can't even imagine how i look. and forget going to the front row. i somehow always manage to snag the back right corner...and stay there.
i don't know if this dance-esteem issue was brought on or fueled by the awful teacher i went to for 3 classes late last year. telling me i don't have technique and that i should be in a beginners class with girls in their first year.. i wonder sometimes if she was jealous of me, or punishing me for something..?
nonetheless, i've certainly thought about it more this year, even when my current teacher praises and corrects me. i've never thought i was the best, but i've also never thought i was as bad as this teacher makes me out to be. i didn't belong in a beginners class, and placing me in one was ubsurd. if i was at this level, 17 years would have been for naught. i couldn't possibly have zero technique, and being out of shape and out of the studio for a year wouldn't even put me in this situation. at least i would hope that my other teachers would've pointed this out and corrected me, but clearly it didn't need to be. i'm over thinking this. 2 classes left. am i going to go further? am i as bad as i think, as that teacher wants me to think?
i wish everyone would just get out.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
i hope i die before i get old.
my grandma was recently transferred to the home literally just down the street from mine, so really, i have zero excuse not to see her more often.
it's a beautiful place, recently built and over looking the river. every time i've been to visit i've spotted at least one deer walking the banks.
not only is it more enjoyable for me to visit (and more convenient), i've noticed some change in her as well. we held a 77th birthday party for her last night, and it was a good time. good food and my crazy family, who picked on doug incessantly. i bought a balloon bouquet (mostly so she could have it in her room after), and made a card. i'm pretty proud of that card, if i do say so myself.
now all i can think about is how i can make her room seem more like 'home', and what little things i can make to cover the walls. they're just asking for it.
ideas so far:
found a sunflower mosaic kit that i could put together for her window
'pretty-up' a small corkboard for pictures (memory board style)
vertical mattes/frames for each grandchild from birth-graduation
take some knickknacks from home
put up a spoon rack from home
because, hell, i wouldn't want to live in what's not much better than a hospital room.
i get a lot of satisfaction out of making things for people, and i'd like to think they're not half bad. i wonder if i could actually do something like that for a living, but my dad says i don't want to get into business. i dunno. so many ideas whirling around in my head, so little time and money. plus effort. cos i'll admit i can be lazy. case in point? my room. don't get me started on that. i hate myself for it, yet when i even attempt to clean it i lose all of my energy and get bored within seconds. i need to work on this.
just asked what our 'mars mud' is, and received a very upset? response when i said it was just goo. 'it's not from mars?! ' ....
it's a beautiful place, recently built and over looking the river. every time i've been to visit i've spotted at least one deer walking the banks.
not only is it more enjoyable for me to visit (and more convenient), i've noticed some change in her as well. we held a 77th birthday party for her last night, and it was a good time. good food and my crazy family, who picked on doug incessantly. i bought a balloon bouquet (mostly so she could have it in her room after), and made a card. i'm pretty proud of that card, if i do say so myself.
now all i can think about is how i can make her room seem more like 'home', and what little things i can make to cover the walls. they're just asking for it.
ideas so far:
found a sunflower mosaic kit that i could put together for her window
'pretty-up' a small corkboard for pictures (memory board style)
vertical mattes/frames for each grandchild from birth-graduation
take some knickknacks from home
put up a spoon rack from home
because, hell, i wouldn't want to live in what's not much better than a hospital room.
i get a lot of satisfaction out of making things for people, and i'd like to think they're not half bad. i wonder if i could actually do something like that for a living, but my dad says i don't want to get into business. i dunno. so many ideas whirling around in my head, so little time and money. plus effort. cos i'll admit i can be lazy. case in point? my room. don't get me started on that. i hate myself for it, yet when i even attempt to clean it i lose all of my energy and get bored within seconds. i need to work on this.
just asked what our 'mars mud' is, and received a very upset? response when i said it was just goo. 'it's not from mars?! ' ....
a..plastic. one?
that was my answer to this ridiculous grandma when asked what kind of bag i would put her purchase in. and i did. she then proceeded to take the purchases out of the bag and hand them to her grandchildren... therefore not needing it. i shake my head to keep from outright laughing in her face.
people blow my mind. i often think that there is something seriously wrong with this world, and that a sick joke has been played on all of us. all of the intelligent, talented people have been placed, and are stuck in, retail/mediocre jobs, while the ridiculous, mentally-stunted of this world have been handed the decision-making ones.
i keep coming to write about actual stuff, and then another of them blow my mind and i'm forced to work it out in print so i don't explode.
people blow my mind. i often think that there is something seriously wrong with this world, and that a sick joke has been played on all of us. all of the intelligent, talented people have been placed, and are stuck in, retail/mediocre jobs, while the ridiculous, mentally-stunted of this world have been handed the decision-making ones.
i keep coming to write about actual stuff, and then another of them blow my mind and i'm forced to work it out in print so i don't explode.
it's about time.
I should write up a 2 weeks. Even if I don't hand it in, at least I'll have taken that step. By being lazy, I put myself through this torture week-in week-out. Ugh. Need to go to the bathroom, but I'm by myself so I have to wait til at least 2.
As I said to my mom, are we the only intelligent people here? I mean. I could've told you that putting a fucking pan under a leak up on the ceiling is a fucking waste of time. And now it's overflowing, because there's no way of emptying it. Fuck me. So embarrassing, that I have to have an entire display covered in a tarp. Weird, grade 8 teacher walking past right now pushing a stroller. Has grey hair. Probably won't recognize me. This is the reason I don't wear my name tag.
And fuck if I'm going to wear a stupid cream polar fleece vest. They can waste their money, I ain't wearing it, and there's no one to enforce it on Sundays. Probably another reason I should quit.
As I said to my mom, are we the only intelligent people here? I mean. I could've told you that putting a fucking pan under a leak up on the ceiling is a fucking waste of time. And now it's overflowing, because there's no way of emptying it. Fuck me. So embarrassing, that I have to have an entire display covered in a tarp. Weird, grade 8 teacher walking past right now pushing a stroller. Has grey hair. Probably won't recognize me. This is the reason I don't wear my name tag.
And fuck if I'm going to wear a stupid cream polar fleece vest. They can waste their money, I ain't wearing it, and there's no one to enforce it on Sundays. Probably another reason I should quit.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Because I Really Do.
Sunday is the worst day ever. For everyone else it means Day 2: Weekend, but for me it means: Welcome to Hell, Population: Me.
As if I've made a blog. I had a LiveJournal back in the day, but don't even get me started on the problems that caused. Let's just say I've forgotten that password, and thrown away that digital metaphoric key. I figured this is a clean slate start and, what the hell, gives me something to do on this bloody day. If it accomplishes some ranting and venting at the same time as making me look busy, it's all dandy.
Ugh. Insert Generic Happy-Go-Lucky Female Birthday Host shouting. One of the reasons I hate Sundays.
Ever since we've been forbidden to decorate the shop, I've hated coming here. It's the one thing I looked forward to every week: the chance to be creative in my otherwise head-office driven cookie-cutter retail life, and take some initiative.
I'd say I have an eye for that kind of stuff, and our store was once one-of-a-kind. A bright, fun, happy place with a mod twist, I enoyed working here. Although I was working on my day off, it felt more like a project, and I loved basking in the end product.
But orders were handed down from 'above', and all decorations, hand-made, store-bought or brought from home, were torn down, bound for the trash (wait. we're as eco-friendly here as possible. correction: recycling) or to collect dust in the back. And our store returned to it's original state of stark white walls and plain empty windows. Not much fun anymore.
And thus I sit here every Sunday, 9 (k. lie. I'm supposed to be here at 9. more like 915.) - 445, much of it spent on my own, resenting those orders and completing what measley tasks are left for me, which usually isn't much and doesn't take much time to complete.
My one bright light is occasionally checking my Facebook and crossing my fingers that someone has posted something or will reply immediately to a message. And my music section.
I love looking through the catalogues and online, searching for new artists I can contact and albums to try in store. Sure, they may just be children's cds, but I pride myself on having quite an extensive catalogue, especially one that features so many local and national artists. And I am especially proud when I come in to find some slots empty, meaning some sold and I can order again..
But it seems every time I come in (and someone actually talks to me for a change), a new rumour has sprouted up about me, usually involving Doug. I feel like I'm still in high school, it's so ridiculous. First of all: who cares whether or not we are actually dating. The rumour was around when we weren't, and even if we were, it's none of their business. If we wanted them to know, we'd tell them. But we're both professional and not the type who find PDA necessary, so we don't express this at work. As it should be. But since the original rumour there has also been one that we broke up (while very much still together), I got a new boyfriend, Doug and I had a terrible fight (probably while he was away for 2 or so weekends, completing his EMR course), and then got back together.
The best one I was informed of 2 weeks ago: Doug and I both don't want to work there any longer. Which, is true, but we haven't informed anyone beyond my mother of this. I plan on quitting by the summer, so the hours can be given to someone else, and so there is time to train a new employee.
Said rumour made it all the way to my manager. Great, huh? Makes it kind of difficult to quit for real now.
Anyways, long story short: Everything I dread all week long occurs on Sundays. My shift at the museum, and curling. Dunno why I agreed to play again this year..
Fuck. I hate grabby people. I WILL hand your purchase to you, I promise. I'm not going to forget.
Well, this certainly feels good. Probably paints a pretty angry picture of me, but I really don't care. After 5 years in retail, I honestly just can't take it anymore. I need to go to school, work minimal shifts to make some addiction (aka. audio/visual collecting) supporting cash, and get the hell out of the mall. By that time I will have been in retail for almost a decade, and that is MORE than enough for one person.
I suppose I should follow my mother's rule: a negative thing must be followed with a positive thing, particularily when speaking with her, and on especially rant-y days.
Hm. Well. The new plush we have in the store certainly put a smile on my face this morning. They're all so cute..and fuzzy..and I want them all...(No, I do not have one of the stuffed dogs at the counter with me..) *shaking head..Ugh, such a little girl..
AND. It was Nick's birthday party last night. Good times, good company and GOOD CUPACKES. My stomach was none too friendly this morning, probably due to the lethal combo I gorged on all night: cupcakes+cookie+chips&salsa=already sickening, no need to + pop&vodka...
Anyhoo, twas nice to catch up with people and just sit and relax with my friends. I hope Nick had a good time, and this year is better to him than last year.
Ugh. I started picking my fingers again. Worst. Habit. Ever. I was so happy I stopped for awhile, but I guess once I noticed I started again.. Gross and not pretty. Need to stop again. At least the stomach pain is kinda gone..
Oh god..they've found the party horns....
As if I've made a blog. I had a LiveJournal back in the day, but don't even get me started on the problems that caused. Let's just say I've forgotten that password, and thrown away that digital metaphoric key. I figured this is a clean slate start and, what the hell, gives me something to do on this bloody day. If it accomplishes some ranting and venting at the same time as making me look busy, it's all dandy.
Ugh. Insert Generic Happy-Go-Lucky Female Birthday Host shouting. One of the reasons I hate Sundays.
Ever since we've been forbidden to decorate the shop, I've hated coming here. It's the one thing I looked forward to every week: the chance to be creative in my otherwise head-office driven cookie-cutter retail life, and take some initiative.
I'd say I have an eye for that kind of stuff, and our store was once one-of-a-kind. A bright, fun, happy place with a mod twist, I enoyed working here. Although I was working on my day off, it felt more like a project, and I loved basking in the end product.
But orders were handed down from 'above', and all decorations, hand-made, store-bought or brought from home, were torn down, bound for the trash (wait. we're as eco-friendly here as possible. correction: recycling) or to collect dust in the back. And our store returned to it's original state of stark white walls and plain empty windows. Not much fun anymore.
And thus I sit here every Sunday, 9 (k. lie. I'm supposed to be here at 9. more like 915.) - 445, much of it spent on my own, resenting those orders and completing what measley tasks are left for me, which usually isn't much and doesn't take much time to complete.
My one bright light is occasionally checking my Facebook and crossing my fingers that someone has posted something or will reply immediately to a message. And my music section.
I love looking through the catalogues and online, searching for new artists I can contact and albums to try in store. Sure, they may just be children's cds, but I pride myself on having quite an extensive catalogue, especially one that features so many local and national artists. And I am especially proud when I come in to find some slots empty, meaning some sold and I can order again..
But it seems every time I come in (and someone actually talks to me for a change), a new rumour has sprouted up about me, usually involving Doug. I feel like I'm still in high school, it's so ridiculous. First of all: who cares whether or not we are actually dating. The rumour was around when we weren't, and even if we were, it's none of their business. If we wanted them to know, we'd tell them. But we're both professional and not the type who find PDA necessary, so we don't express this at work. As it should be. But since the original rumour there has also been one that we broke up (while very much still together), I got a new boyfriend, Doug and I had a terrible fight (probably while he was away for 2 or so weekends, completing his EMR course), and then got back together.
The best one I was informed of 2 weeks ago: Doug and I both don't want to work there any longer. Which, is true, but we haven't informed anyone beyond my mother of this. I plan on quitting by the summer, so the hours can be given to someone else, and so there is time to train a new employee.
Said rumour made it all the way to my manager. Great, huh? Makes it kind of difficult to quit for real now.
Anyways, long story short: Everything I dread all week long occurs on Sundays. My shift at the museum, and curling. Dunno why I agreed to play again this year..
Fuck. I hate grabby people. I WILL hand your purchase to you, I promise. I'm not going to forget.
Well, this certainly feels good. Probably paints a pretty angry picture of me, but I really don't care. After 5 years in retail, I honestly just can't take it anymore. I need to go to school, work minimal shifts to make some addiction (aka. audio/visual collecting) supporting cash, and get the hell out of the mall. By that time I will have been in retail for almost a decade, and that is MORE than enough for one person.
I suppose I should follow my mother's rule: a negative thing must be followed with a positive thing, particularily when speaking with her, and on especially rant-y days.
Hm. Well. The new plush we have in the store certainly put a smile on my face this morning. They're all so cute..and fuzzy..and I want them all...(No, I do not have one of the stuffed dogs at the counter with me..) *shaking head..Ugh, such a little girl..
AND. It was Nick's birthday party last night. Good times, good company and GOOD CUPACKES. My stomach was none too friendly this morning, probably due to the lethal combo I gorged on all night: cupcakes+cookie+chips&salsa=already sickening, no need to + pop&vodka...
Anyhoo, twas nice to catch up with people and just sit and relax with my friends. I hope Nick had a good time, and this year is better to him than last year.
Ugh. I started picking my fingers again. Worst. Habit. Ever. I was so happy I stopped for awhile, but I guess once I noticed I started again.. Gross and not pretty. Need to stop again. At least the stomach pain is kinda gone..
Oh god..they've found the party horns....
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