Old Ladies are mean.

Ok.  I realize the title is a very broad statement. 

1: they are crotchety.

2: they are all convinced they have Celiac's disease. (hello.  Just because you have indegestion does not mean you have a wheat allergy.  Yes, wheat allergies are all the rage, but it's probably the FRIED SHIT you eat.)

3: They are picky picky picky.  ("Could I get the dressing on the side? Oh, and the tomatoes, oh. and the onions.  Better yet, can you just put everything into separate containers?)

4: They smell like an entire bottle of perfume/cologne.

5: They are rude. ("Um, miss, I said I wanted it 2/3 full.  NOT 5/6 full.") <<>

I do however love their scarves, lipstick, and posture.

Oh, and I love my grandma.  And she's well over 60.

the Right knee's connected to the... heart bone.

I've started this post of how I fell in love with keith a million times.  But I can't seem to find a way to tell you all without taking up 900 pages or spending too much time on whats not important to the real story.  So I think I decided I should just tell you about small things one at a time.

Before keith and I were dating, he lived on the floor of my livingroom after a break-up.  Though he and the girlfriend had only been together for 6 months they had shared an apartment.  In an attempt to help him out (cause we worked together and I thought he was hilarious and in need of a friend)  I offered him our living room, which he gladly took.

Somewhere around the 2nd week I was about to go to bed and keith said, "Wanna know something awesome about me?!"  to which the only polite response is... "sure, hit me."

"I have a rock in my right knee"

"Shut the fuck up.  No you dont."

"Yeah, I soooo do."

"Did lauren put you up to this?"

"What?!"

"Lauren told you"

"Huh?! No, Look!"

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

"Yeah... its... a rock.  What's wrong?"

"I have a rock in MY right knee!"

Yeah.  We might be meant for each other.

NExt time... Rock Paper Scissors

I saw the sign

Sitting in traffiic* on my way to or from somewhere related to work I saw 2 signs that made me laugh. 

Well, technically the first one made me go... what the HELL?!  I've never seen a sign for that at ALL, much less a buy one get one (Heck yeah! BOGO!) sale!  And the second one made me laugh because it reminded me of the first one.

"Tell us tell us tell us!"  I can hear you chanting and creeping toward the edge of your desk chairs.  So I'll take a dramatic pause. 

Well, the first one was for "memorial park"  which is not a park so much as a grave yard (sorry, but If it doesn't have swings or duck poop, it isn't a park).  

I think you see where I'm going with this.  The sign says: "This summer only, buy one burial plot, get a second one free!"  I can't remember if there was really an exclamation point, but for the sake of selling burial plots like cars, let's pretend there was one. 

I was baffled, to say the least and thought of what I would do with two burial plots for the rest of my drive home. [note, I will not be buried, but that doesn't mean I couldn't bury something! or someone!] Most likely I'd bury one very wide person, one very tall person diagonally, or my time machine.

Thats as far as I got in my "what would I bury" scheme... when I came upon sign number two, which is posted outside of one of those in-a-trailer churches with a sign out front that probably cost more than the trailer ever did.

"There's no recession in Heaven"

Now.  This sign says to me: "Hey, kill yourself, life's better in heaven.  And while you're at it, go up to memorial park, buy two plots, get two free,  and take your whole family on a ride to Heavenland!  Where ice cream is money and noone ever frowns!" 

(note: I'm pretty sure killing yourself is one of those churchy no no's so... perhaps this isn't the best idea.  Cause I'm about 97% sure there IS a recession in hell.  Either that, or they're just giving out credit cards like candy and you have a payment to make every day I can't decide what's worse.)

I think the church and memorial "park" are in cahoots. 

---------

*Traffic in Athens is a lot like traffic in Atlanta, at 3 oclock in the morning.  As in, you might have about 5 cars in line with you.

I mean... you're not supposed to prank call 911.

Yesterday, I was at Sam's... you know... my home away from my home away from home.  (Just for reference, I&J is my home away from home, though I spend more time at I&J I still consider my home my home)

I took an exorbitant amount of time to get into my car and back out of my parking space because someone started waiting for my space before I even unlocked my car.  And to them I say, "yes.  My space is the third one in.  However, this is why you're fat.  If you'd just park 7 more spaces down in that EMPTY ROW OF SPACES you would have already been inside!!!"  But, they waited as I loaded my overflowing cart-full of crap and then returned my buggy to the cart area and sauntered back to my car (passing the aforementioned empty row of spaces).  They were still there waiting.

Just as I was opening my door to  begrudgingly give up my space, a crazy woman asked me if she could borrow my phone to... wait for it...

Call 911 because a dog was locked in the car next to hers "for five minutes, I timed it".

Obviously, someone needs to tell this woman what 911 is for.   Here is a list of reasons I would call 911:

1:  I'm bleeding and it's so bad I might pass out

2:  Someone has broken into my home

3:  I think I heard gunshots

4:  I didn't know I was pregnant, but I'll be damned if I'm not having a baby. RIGHT.NOW.

5:  A fugitive is where I am and I happen to recognize him as such.

6:  I'm at a bank and these dudes in presidents masks are holding us all at gunpoint, but I'm hiding behind a big ass tree and they dont know I have a shoe phone.

Ok, so some of those are a little specific, but I digress.  This woman, let's call her Mrs. Nowell, cause that was her name, called 911 over a dog in a car.  Yes.  Leaving an animal in a car for any length of time on an 80 degree day is not awesome.  HOWEVER.  It was five minutes, the windows were down 1/2 way & the dog was fine.

Long story short, the "heroine" of my story called 911... who, of course, transfered her to Animal Control & was greeted, they took her name, the license plate number, asked if the windows were down ... at which point M. Nowell said they were and that she'd poured a cup of ice into the car window so the dog could drink....   Yeah.  She poured a cup of ice into their car.

Animal control said they'd send someone out.

They probably wont.

But hey, that car that was behind me finally moved on and parked in one of those empty spaces.  So not all was lost.

I'm sleeping in til 3 am tomorrow!

Momma said...

Momma said momma said...

Momma said there'd be days like this, there'd be days like this my momma said.

Today has managed to spin wildly out of control.  I'm a control freak, I know this!  But seriously.  Why the hell am I still at work?!  I would probably be less at work if I hadn't taken a 15 minute break to hang with sam across the street at Lavandaria before heading over to Los Compadres for some work-related items (sadly, none of which was beer) and then stopping to chit chat with an employee who's chillin' at Agua Linda with a boy... that she's still hanging out with? (insert confused face.)

But that's just fifteen minutes.  And this will be another 15 minutes... cause I need to give my brain a break.  Too many recipes.  Too little time.  Pretty soon I'm going to start mixing them all together and the muffins will looks surprisingly like scones and everyone will be terribly confused.  Myself included.

Momma said momma said.

Break it off.

I'd say that in the course of my life I've fallen in love four times.    

I was thinking about this while chopping vegetables today.  Recently at work I've found myself in the seat of "sous-chef" of sorts.  I cut up vegetables for hours on end and Dean makes delicious soups from the vegetables that I slave over.  As a result, I have a lot of free time to think.  Especially today, as my audio books for this month have been exhausted and I have little interest in music or re-listening to books from a separate series at this moment. 

I also have had blogging on the brain.  I've been trying so hard to think of things to write about that dont involve work that I've been overlooking what's really read-worthy.

Suddenly, as I was remembering all of my lost or tossed loves while tossing vegetables, I realized I was actually on to something fo' realz!

While picking thyme, I wandered over all of the boys I've been infatuated with, and tried to pick apart what made me think it was or wasn't love. 

There's something about falling in love that makes you long to do it again and again and again, though it rarely ever ends happily.  Espeically when you're young.  My first big fall was at 15.  Having actually found someone whom I love and adore and am completely whole and equal with, I think I can honestly say that I did fall in love at 15.  It wasn't just some summer lust-fest that gave me little pause for thought after it was over.  

I was head over heels in love with this boy.  His name was Alec.  Alec was charming, 2 years older than me (hello, he could DRIVE!) and had a lake house near our family friends' lake house.  I wouldn't say he was a fantastic influence on me.  But boy howdy did I love him.  He and I would spend HOURS and hours and hours and hours talking and "talking" and hanging out and "hanging out" and running around doing the stupid things you do when you're in highschool and trying to prove just how adult you are. 

I think that if I ran into him today I wouldn't know what to say to him, though.  We shared a lot of things, talked about ourselves in the future, everything was serious. What do you say to your first love when you haven't seen them in nearly a decade?  Honestly, I'm about 100% sure what I would do if I saw Alec while I was out and about.  I would avoid him.   I know this sounds ridiculous, but I can't imagine what I'd have to say to him.  We broke each others hearts.  Heartless, we two were.  In more than one sense.

Then of course there's John.  I say "of course" as though you know about him.  And perhaps I've alluded to unhealthy relationships before,  but John was beyond unhealthy for me. 

I started dating him after I had been in France for a while and had just returned before the start of my senior year of highschool. I wasn't terribly interested in him.  To be honest, I thought he was a jack ass.  But he wouldn't leave me alone.   I saw him one day as I was waiting in line at Target and he came over to talk to me after partaking in what I can only describe as a "huddle" with his friends.   So obviously, having watched "10 things I hate about you" and "she's all that" about a million times, I was pretty sure I was about to be the butt of a joke, or the business end of a bet.

We had NEVER spoken before.  I was one of those kids who knew a lot of people, but wasn't necessarily popular.  I didn't really have a large group of friends, and Johnny Boy definitely wasn't part of it. He would NOT leave me alone.  Called me all the time, wrote me letters, invited me over, went on errands with me.   

I continued thinking I was part of a bet, so I would just ignore most of his advances, until one day he showed up on my doorstep crying.  He said he just didn't know what to do or how to say to me what he wanted to say to me.  While I stood flabbergasted.    

I couldn't help it.  I fell right into it.  In the process of my trying to give him the cold shoulder and all the while he was trying to endear himself to me, I actually started to like him.  Unfortunately, after 2 years of dating, one of which was long-distance, we started to fizzle out. We grew apart, nothing was right.  He needs control in his life, and I was uncontrollable, try though he might (and boy did he try).

I've never cried so hard as I did over John.  Its hard to describe why.  I think it was something to do with how long we had been together and that I felt as though I was wasted.  That my time was wasted.  We hadn't been on the same page in AGES.  We both knew it was coming, but neither of us wanted to be the one to end it. 

Staying together past the point of expiration does no one any good.  In fact, I effectively fell in love with #3 while I was still dating John.  I never acted on it.  I have far too much respect for people in relationships (myself included of course) to embark on something so torrid, but had the timing been at all different I think that year would have been much different.  Though I will say that I would never change the way my life has gone. 

I met Scott while out at a French Round Table one night, jibber Jabbering the night away with a group of french professors at Auburn who got together once a week to spend the evening getting out all of their french lingual needs and I was along for the ride, missing the sound of that romance.  Scott was new to the group.  Not really knowing any French, and after 3 weeks of seeing each other 3 days a week he left a note on my car to meet him around the corner for coffee after I left the round table.  I think I still have that note.  He must have waited an hour or two for me there because I was one of the last to leave the meeting.  Curious, I walked around the corner, and there he was, hanging out, reading Moby Dick.  

Scott and I spent a lot of time together after that.  He was probably the only real friend I had in auburn.  He left for the Peace Corps at the same time as I left Auburn, and I haven't really spoken to him since, but he opened my eyes to so many new things that I had no idea ever existed.  He was the polar opposite of John, and I can't believe it took me so long to realize that someone who cared so much for others was what I needed.  

And I think that realization led me to Keith. 

Who deserves his very own post. 

Putting it on

I've gained about 10 pounds in the past 3 months.

I could blame it on donuts, biscuits, tartes, cakes, cupcakes... cause I've been eating those.  A lot. 

But I think it's actually beer.  Since the bakery opened I've noticed a DRASTIC surge in how much booze I consume.  Usually by myself. On my front porch. While listening to an audio book.  Yes, that's right. While listening to an audio book and watching birds flit about in trees while I pretend I'm in Scotland.   And then I go to bed. 

I also like to drink at work.  And I'm saying that cause normally I'd be 100% against that.  Maybe even 110%.  But man.  Due to the fact that I spend 10 fold more time at work than I do at home, sleep time included... I've started to think of work like home, and home like a bed. 

So drinking at work is like drinking at home.

And I need to change that.  yes.  But beer while making muffin batter after everyone else has gone home is somehow comforting. 

Must exercise.  Must stop drinking at work.

Feverish but taking antibiotics

For obvious (well, I think it's obvious) reasons, the bakery I own is prime ground for the pregnant women of Athens to come flocking in.  Or waddling.  For the most part they're only REALLY pregnant women.  Maybe we get some lesser-pregnant women, but it's harder when you're surrounded by 9-month pregnant women to notice the lesser preggers.

Anyway.  Long story short.  There are also a LOT of babies.  The little buggers are everywhere.  EVERYWHERE.  I cant get away from them.  They're either in the womb or sleeping in carriers or salivating all over the glass cases and spreading their saliva around with their sticky little paws. 

And damnit anyway if I don't love it. 

I know that I dont really want a baby right now (god.  When would I spend time with a baby?!!) but someone put some sort of ticking clock inside of most ladies, and I know I'm getting to an age when that clock starts moving around... but I plan on snoozing that button.  And snoozing and snoozing. 

And so, I've been hanging out with Tucker.  The cutest little red-headed 6-month-old baby girl you've ever seen.  Or never seen, but trust me. Adorable.

And she reminds me that I DONT want a baby when she cries, pees on me, etc.  

And everything goes back to normal.  Where I drink, sleep, work, drink, sleep, work Repeat.

PS: Renee, you're finally back but I can't get to your page!  Killing me. Killing. With shivs. 

Next to Godliness.

I need to start a blog that is specific to work.  Cause then maybe I'll be able to write all of my work frustrations down.  And then when I got to THIS blog, I wouldn't just be thinking about weird work things.  Like going to Sam's.

Which is alternately depressing and hilarious, so maybe I SHOULD write things about sam's.  

Like clean hands.

I'm not sure at which point Sam's became hyper-sensitive to germs, but recently they've been putting out hand sanitizer everywhere.  No joke.  Everywhere.  There's a bottle at each register, near the pharmacy, near the fruit, near the breads, about every 4 feet in the meat department and randomly dispersed among the video games (this is perhaps the most perplexing placement.  What exactly do they think the gamers are doing that is so unsanitary?!  Wait.  I think I answered my own question.  Kitten Killers).

The Higher-ups must have also instituted a mandatory video of sorts which all of the "associates" must watch then take a test.  I hadn't really noticed the bottles of hand sanitizer until a few days ago when two cashiers (who happen to be two of my favorite cashiers... yes, I have favorites.) were chit chatting while scanning all of my items.  The following is the discussion they were having:

Tab:  Girl, there was a man in my line earlier today and his hands were FIL.THY.  Like, somebody needs to tell him to go wash his hands, FILTHY!  And then he reaches over to use my hand sanitizer!  I was like.  No no no no no.  You did not just dirty up my hand sanitizer with your dirty hands.  It does NOT work that way!

Shae:  Girl, I know what youre talking about.  I always wanna be telling them they need to WASH the dirt off.  You can't just use sanitizer!  All you did was make a nice little pool for those germs to go swimmin' in.  Germs'll be having a good ol' time.  Cause you KNOW that hand sanitizer isn't killing most of the bugs and crap in the dirt on their hands!

Tab:  I know!  I just wanna be telling them where the bathrooms are.  Like, hey, there're TWO signs!  Go wash your damn hands! 

Shae:  Mmm hmmm.  Dont I know.

Tab: But hey, I know I shouldnt be talkin trashy.

Shae: That's right girl, one day he might be your boo!

Tab:  Over my dead body, maybe a BUGGABOO.  

[by the way, I wasn't aware buggaboo was still a cool phrase]

Shae: Oh girl you didn't.

Tab:  You know it.  I dont want no grubby hands on my face.

So on and so forth.  You get the point. 

Hilarious! 1:I only have time to text in blogs. 2: my liver needs a break.

Ideas

Well.  I keep having these ideas for silly little posts.

And by the time I get myself to a computer where I might have 30 minutes to write down those silly little thoughts I end up forgetting them.

So here I am.  Writing about how I can't remember what I wanted to write about! 

Boogers. 

I need a drink.

Blog!

Blog! I miss you!

Let's get together some time and catch up.  Maybe Happy hour? Next week?

Yeah?

Maybe.

Misses

I miss Renee.

Who's with me?

We are the Highway Suits

Driving on the highway (currently I'm stopped, don't worry) (that's a lie) and a handsome dude in a suit just came bounding out of the woods alongside the road. I have a desperate urge to go back and find out where the path leads. Yes, Path.  It quite obviously has been used many many times because it's very visible now that I've seen someone come out of it. But I'm worried I'll end up 1: dead 2: in a crazy cult or 3: stuck in 1792.

But I guess that suit he was wearing couldn't have come from 1792...

Must be a handsome-dude fort.  So that's where they all come from!  I'll ask my hubby about it.

Yes. I just texted in a blog. What what technology!!

Shit! Danielle Ate my Sandwich.

There are a lot of hilarious things about the internet.  

For one, it's making us all-knowing.*

For another, it's making people funnier.**

And Finally, and most importantly ... it's making kids sound like Truckers.***

I don't actually find this last fact**** hilarious.  But I do find it disturbing.  I'm not sure if this is a phenomenon that existed when I was a wee lass using the internets or not, but I don't really remember so many crass comments left on IM's and whatnot as there are now.  Sure, we said stupid shit about each other, then it got copied and copied and copied & pasted and pasted and pasted until everyone in school knew that you hated Jenny because she was dating Michael who was like, SO hot. But rarely did we espouse some of the ridiculous things that kids are saying these days (oh those whippersnappers.) 

I started thinking about this when I was watching Danielle Ate the Sandwich's Videos on YouTube.  She was first brought to my attention because she did a cover of Hall and Oates's "Rich Girl" which we all know I couldn't resist.

But then I got a little (alright, a lot) obsessed with her videos.  1: They're hilarious (see my second point above) 2: She's got a great voice 3: There are a ton of them 4: Her glasses are endearing. 5: I addict to things quickly. (I'm not sure I can use addict like that).  6: She fuckin' Put SCRUBS together with RICH GIRL.  GENIUS.   I mean, come on.  Who wouldn't have gotten addicted.

But I digress.  I started reading some random comments and I realized that kids are either RETARDED or just getting dumber and crasser through the use of the internet.  

Then I realized this was insulting to people who actually do have mental handicaps that are not in their control.  Such people are quite obviously smarter than the kids that I'm referring to, who actually HAVE all of their faculties and yet are leaving comments either entirely in acronyms (maybe I don't like them because I don't understand them?  WDYT? -what do you think?- LOL. -laugh out loud-

And then of course there are the more ridiculous ones that are lewd and disturbing such as this one from Markysaid95 (which I'm assuming means he was born in 95?!  MAking him ... oh god... 14?!)  : "UR so fukin hot. I thnk I luv U. I want 2 fuk U." 

First. Watch the videos.  

Second. Check yourself before you wreck yourself because SERIOUSLY?! This is the response that these videos elicited?! The girl is hilarious.  She is adorable.  But "I want 2 fuk U?" REally. Really?

And finally, if it isn't acronyms it's made up words.  Pwned.  PWNED?  It's OWNED, people.  One slip of the key and suddenly you PWNED (sounds like Poaned.) the other person.

Dont even get me started on slavery.

Ugh.  Yutes. 

The end *****

_____

*Maybe not all-knowing, but Web MD has certainly made a few people I know think they're full-on MD's.  I can't bring myself to tell them that they don't really have that super rare disease that happens to also have all the same symptoms as the flu --Cough Cough-- If you hear hooves in the distance while standing in a field in Wisconsin, it's best to assume you're about to be stomped by Cows (the flu) and not Zebras (rare blood disease that causes your blood to attack your lungs resulting in coughing).

**Maybe when I say funnier I mean that they're really just reading funny things that other people say and are spreading them around.  OR maybe when I say making people funnier, I mean they're laughing more from watching youtube videos and... Oh, reading my blog.

 

***No offense is meant to truckers.  I met a real-live one last weekend and he was a fantastic person who didn't swear and had two of the cutest kids ever... which are named after him and his brother.  I overlooked this because the kids were so cute and mild-mannered.  Otherwise I would have thought he was crazy or egomaniacal... or really wanting to relive his youth.

     So, in hindsight I should have said Pirates or Sailors.  But not sailors because my cafe is right next to a Navy School and as I'd rather not have any sailors kicking my ass for saying sailors are trashy, I won't say that sailors are trashy. Shit, I said it anyway.

**** Yes, the term "fact" is used very loosely here.

*****My thanks to Corey J for lending me his use of the asterisk****** for this post.  Although really, I stole it. Because I did not ask before taking it. (no, we are not in league because we are both named Corie/Corey.  We just happen to both be hilarious.  Which, I think is a side effect of being named Corie/Corey.)

******Yes: I do realize that I took it to the extreme with this "to the sixth power of greyskull!" use of the asterisk.

Oh Corey J.

I'm sitting at work, while my crew is running their little asses off... and I'm in my office, laughing my ass off at Corey J.'s hilarious accounts of his sister's "many" poses.

I think coffee came out of my nose.

No, really.  Please go visit and eat a pizza beard Jesus

In other news.  I work a lot. And I'm about 50% sure that you dont need to hear about every ridiculous thing that happens to me that involves work.   And LUCKILY for you... We went to go see Hall and Oates in concert at Chastain last night and it was... AWESOME.  Daryl with his lion's mane and sunglasses on the whole time (it's like he wants a new reason for people to mock him) and John looking like you could stick him in your pocket.

Not quite as awesome as when Sam and I went to see them in LA a couple of years ago, but awesome none the less. Perhaps the only reason it wasn't as awesome is because we forgot our hall and oates wigs.

That shit is amazing.

I'd been having a pretty rough day (ok, a REALLY rough day), but when 3 o'clock rolled around and we were finally heading out of the ATH and into the ATL, I think I could start to smell the hairspray from Daryl's dressing room and everything got a little better.

Mmmmm.  Hairspray fumes.

I can go for that.

Text Blogging?

I just signed up to email in my blogs.  Although honestly, if I can access my email, it takes FEWER steps to access my blog account.  So... why would I email in my blog?  Especially when you can't actually have a title...

Same with texting in the blog.  Why would you do that?  it'll take me four times as long.  I dont twitter for a reason.  I dont want to tell you two second ideas about what I'm doing.  You wouldn't laugh at my blog.  And that wouldn't make me happy.  You'd be like... what does "Store no quinoa" mean?!

Then we'd be somewhere boring.  Dont want to go to there.

But I do love me some twitter news.  Short. Sweet. To the point.

So far my favorite:

Woman evades police in highspeed chase in Scion after assaulting an officer in Miami.  Max Speeds of 85 miles per hour.

Go lady, go.   But really, 85 miles per hour?!  What are they driving in Miami?! I totally thought the cops there would have ferraris or something.

I am now able to text my blogs in. iPhone says "hell yeah!! I love blogs!" but my thumbs say..."no way dude. We only do the space bar for blogging... But we'll handle it in a pinch!"

Well, that puts an end to that.

Recently I've been finishing up my Bakery-related errands at night after work.  Sometimes this puts me there around 9:30 or 11:00p.

Not so bad if you're not an old lady, but if you're me... you're taking rags over to a bakery while wearing your pajamas.  Because to be honest, 9:30 is about 45 minutes past my bedtime lately.  

Please, take a moment to revel in what an old coot I am.

Now... generally my pajamas are some sort of night-time dress (NOT that matronly garb with wee little flowers, but some sort of night dress, none the less) or some shorts with a tank.  

And so just now I wore my shorts... which are about the same length as a pair of short-like underwear and a tiny t-shirt (yes, straight up hooker style because all of my laundry is mid-clean) with some crest white strips, my hair strapped back in a headband, and a pair of mary-jane styled crocs. 

I can't believe I would wear such an ensemble either, it's absurd, but it's what was available. 

So, I headed up to work to bring some rags for the morning donut magician in all my tiny livery, and when I got there... I was amazed to see my neighbor standing out front with the police because the back door was open and they'd just done a sweep of the building.

Sigh.  Now half the greater-athens police force has seen the bottom of my bum and I'm indebted to my neighbor.  Although I'm hoping the bottom bit of my ass that was hanging out of my shorts (Oh dear god, why oh why) can be considered payment enough.

And so, I am now putting these shorts in the "donate to some hoochy teenager" box, and moving on with some more sensible pajamas.

Not to mention, I'm never going to head to work in my pajamas again.

I've had way too many run-ins with the police lately.  And all of them on a similar level of embarrassing.

Holy AWKWARD.

I had the MOST amazing and awkward interactions today.

I'll tell you about the most awkward, because it's the best.  And I'll save the other for later.

Earlier today and yesterday I got rid of terrible employees 1&2

Thing 1 was pretty easy to fire.  I told her she was adorable [cough, but that wont get you everywhere], nice to customers[cough but you never left a 2squarefoot area], but that I needed someone with a little more experience in the service industry if it was going to work out.  She said, aww! thanks!  Hope you have a great day!  

Yes. That's right. She thanked me for firing her.  Awesome.  

Then of course there's Thing 2.  Who was a better worker than Thing 1, but just not what I'm looking for.  Yes, I'm being picky, but I need someone pretty awesome in my store.  I'm not going to just give in and keep some dude who's kind of... meh.  So I had to let him go even though he's sweet as pie. 

So I called him today to let him know that I wasn't going to be needing him anymore.  And I even called a few other places around town where I know people and know that they're ALWAYS hiring.  

So.  I basically got him another job.  But he was all... sad times.  And made huffing noises at me and sounded dejected.   But it was all good, and finally done.  I waited a couple of days longer than I had wanted to, but at least it was DONE! 

And then 3 hours later he walks in at the same time as the AWESOME guy that I hired to replace him walked in.  So I was all... awww shit. This is gonna be weird.  I go get Thing2's check and let him know again where he should go apply blah blah blah... and then I realize that he and the guy I just hired are ordering together.

YES... they LIVE TOGETHER.  THEY'RE ROOMMATES.  AND... wait for it... AND He's in a band with the OTHER guy who is ALSO taking some shifts that I originally thought he might be able to get. 

Then he wanted to know if I had time to "talk"  and made sad face at me about how it would have been really nice to have worked this week.   Ugh.  My insides are all twisty just thinking about it. 

Wow. Just. Wow.  The most awkward interaction EVER. EVER. 

A) I hate firing people [period]  I always feel compelled to help them out.  Except for that one time when I fired someone for stealing... He was pretty easy.  But he cried. 

B) I hate firing people that wont let go.

So anyway.  Today was amazing.  And pretty hilarious.  

Sigh.  But tomorrow will be awesome because the guy I hired who's awesome is learning his job tomorrow, and kickin ass.

Date Grape

Yesterday I laughed so hard I couldn't contain myself.

My buddy (you remember the one who got dumped?)  has decided to start a blog.  A blog about dating.   And he's going to call it Date Rate.  (yes, it does sound startlingly similar to Date Rape when you say it out loud.)

He's basically going to sign up for every single dating website or service in Atlanta and go on dates rating the system on whether or not the match-up is good or if the people who date online/with services really deserve the cant-get-a-date-in-the-real-world stigma.

And when he runs out of services... he's going to start again with schticks.  Which is the part of the date rating that I can't wait for. 

Imagine being on a date with Edward Cullen or AC Slater (hello, chair backwards THE WHOLE TIME?! amazing.)

Anyway, long story short.  My buddy is hilarious.  And he's going to make dating fun for me to hear about.

Unhappy

We've been rushing so many people through the bakery lately.  Craploads of customers, bunches of sandwiches.

And I've got two people out sick.  Two out of four.  HAHA! SO FUNNY!

No, not funny at all.

So I hired two people, and then a third.  The first two were horrible.  I'll be getting rid of them today.  And the third was amazing, but I have to work some things out.  We'll see.  I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

But my god.  The other two... well, they're both bad, but one makes the other look like a shining star.  JEsus.

There's something to be said for people's intuition.  Because the moment those kids walked in I was like... Oh dear god.  This is going to be horrible.  Sometimes I'm wrong, so I gave them the benefit of the doubt.  But no.  They are just straight up terrible.  Correction, one was HORRIBLE the other is awesome at cleaning, but totally not as bubbly as I need my employees to be. 

So another two bite the dust.

Suh. Weet.

And this post is incomplete, because my 5 minutes of non-crying free time is up. 

Damnit.

Wait... we're still saying that?! Oh.. .No. No we're not.

It's just another Friday Night and I'm off to the shopping superstore where you can buy everything half of your own lifesize, but 3 times it's own lifesize.  But first I wanted to let you in on something.

The following phrase is no longer cool:

"I was totally wiggin out"

I'm pretty sure it was sort of cool sometime right before 2003.  Cause that's when I first started hearing it.  And if I've heard it, it's definitely on the edge of not being cool anymore.  Like half the things I say way too often. 

ex: "word" "killer"

But today at the bank my teller must have said "wiggin out" at least 5 times in reference to planning her wedding.

Now, in her defense, she may have gotten married in that time frame, and perhaps used that term while describing herself getting ready for the wedding.

But then I realized that this was the first conversation I'd had with a non-family, non-employee, non-customer in 10 days.  And I just went along with it.  And tried not to wince when I said "wiggin out" as well.

Sicky

Awww Shit.

Everyone at work is getting sick.

Matt (my partner) has come down with what I can only imagine is some horrible strain of the flu.  And now I have phantom sick feelings.  Which could be actual sickness, or could be "maybe- I'm-sick! sickness.

And then of course Chip (who is integral to the donut and -all around deliciousness- making process) is also getting sick.  He's running around ragged with a cough.  And My lunch guy... well I'm forcing liquids and fruit into his body to keep him healthy.  Cause god knows that I cant make the sandwiches.

In other news, this week I hired someone to clean my house.  Yes. that's right.  Why? Because I've spent (I added it up) exactly 47 waking minutes at my house in the past...

Wait for it...

2 weeks and 5 days.

Which is awesome.  Just loving it. 

LEt's see.  What else can I tell you in this disjointed 15 minutes that I have... 

We got our first bad review.  And I'm all pissy about it.  But it's alright.  Im just trying to tell myself that I can't make everyone happy.  And I'm glad it took her so long to print her review so that enough people came by anyway.  I know that it's just one person, and that it shouldn't matter quite SO much...

Oh well.

I'm gonna go do some paperwork.  BTW:  I hate reconciling bank deposits

My being hurts.

First of all.

I MISS MY BLOG TIME!  I know I said that I couldn't wait to get back to work...  but I never... NEVER thought it would be as busy as it is.  I thought I'd still have a life, that I wouldn't be going to costco-type stores MORE than I did before (which was 3-5 times a week). 

But I don't.  We've been SLAMMED every day from start to finish.  I open the doors and 15 people are waiting outside, then the tables fill up (inside and out) and I've got nothing but running around to do.  HOLY CRAP.  

So anyway.  I'm not really at liberty to be blogging all the time.

But speaking of Blogging... my bakery was in a New York Times Blog the DAY AFTER it opened.  I mean come on.

I am magic.  MAGIC.

And I miss you.  I'm trying to think of an anecdote for you, but I've got too many, or I just can't think of any.

I made donuts this morning.  Wooooo

When you're in the field...

Oh man.

Opening a business is scary.  Scary because you dont know what the hell you're doing, you're never going to be ready, and scary because you've put all your eggs in this basket that could very well have holes in it because... SHIT... you didn't really look at the basket when you bought it. 

Splat.

Luckily.  My basket is made out of fucking STEEL, HONEY!  (oh, and pillows. to keep the eggs safe.)

So, as is to be expected.  I'm awesome and my bakery is awesome.  (I'm also humble)  We have been doing really well.  Although I'm exhausted and I have no life.  I've spent no less than 20 hours at the bakery every day.    But I'll take it if it gets us moving.  Love love love doing what I love love love. 

Regardless, We've done WAY better than I had anticipated on my most optimistic day.   Telling you about the opening isn't really too interesting.  We made food, donuts, soups, biscuits, cakes, cupcakes, donuts... you name it, we're selling it (coke's at the back door).  We were all running around like chickens with their heads cut off for the whole of our 11 hours open.  It was a madhouse to say the least.

BUT more interestingly is the few days leading up to the opening.  Matt had an anxiety attack, I cried once in my sleep (which was only 4 hour in four days... don't try it.  Hallucinations are a very real and very frightening side effect of being awake WAY too long.) and... wait for it...

I got to do my very first (and hopefully last) field sobriety test.

The night before (well, technically the day of) we opened I was driving some muffin batter between my bakery and our sister bakery for a 3 am bake-off and got pulled over after making a left out of the sisterbakery  without my lights on.  And as I made an immediate right, realized I didn't have my lights on and turned them on... without using a blinker, cause I was turning on my lights.

And then some blue lights started flashing behind me and I realized what they were only after first thinking... shit, did I drive through the disco?!  I pulled over into a gas station and the officer took my id, looked at me, asked what I was doing... and when I said I was going back to work she squinted her little police lady eyes and said "oh really.  Where do you work exactly?"  as though perhaps she could catch me in a lie.   Wow, WHAT A LIE!  that would be a genius one. 

So I tell her what I'm doing, (No, I didnt offer her a donut... but it DID cross my mind) and then she straight up looks at me and asks how many drinks I've had.  Not if I've had anything to drink, but just HOW MANY I've had.  No leeway there.  She thinks I'm drunk.  Could have been because I was maniacally laughing (sleep deprivation... no good) when she walked up.  

Anyway, she made me step out of the car and stand on one leg while raising the other up and down 15 times and staring at the tip of her pen cap without moving my head.

I'm gonna wait for a second while you get off of your ass and just give that a whirl.  Go ahead.  

Now.  WHO THE HELL CAN DO THAT?!  You cant give tests that are impossible to pass.  Jesus.  I was standing there (perching?!) in my 42nd hour of being awake trying to concentrate so as to keep myself off the ground.   And the whole time, I'm thinking.  Fuck.  I'm gonna fail this impossible test and I'll be in Jail on our first day of business.  What a start.

However, I magically passed, though I think it was mostly due to the fact that the officer had to head to a "police chase" in which someone was (as far as I could tell from eaves dropping on her loud ass speaker) in pursuit of a perpetrator fleeing the scene of a drug deal involving no less than a key of cocaine. 

So I followed her to watch the hot pursuit.  

Then headed to my house to sleep for an hour before heading in to make the donuts.  I never would have thought that phrase would ever really mean something in my life.

 

C-Murder

Today Has been... Hilarious.  Or rather, I'm telling myself it's hilarious to keep from crying.  HILARIOUS!

Cheesedip?! Anyone?!  Liquor?! ANYONE?!

My day today has been very long.  Yesterday ended with an 11:45 bedtime, and today started with a 1:30am wake up.  So I've been running around like a chicken with it's head cut off for approximately 14.5 hours right now on a little less than 2 hours of sleep... and it's barely 5pm.  Suh.Weet.  Although I feel surprisingly good.

The strange thing about starting your "day" at 1:30 is that by 8:00am you're confused as to why people look tired.  For instance, when I rolled into both Sam's and Target right at their opening times I was all... LETS GO! and I came across a few people in their pajamas.   As it was basically Lunch Time for me, I was thinking to myself... Come on BedHead, could you get your shit together?! It's like... wait... it's 8am isn't it... fine.  But seriously, put on some real pants.  How hard is it to put on some real PANTS?!  (sam, you know what I'm saying)

Here were some highlights from the rest of the day... Post Sam's and Target.  It was the... PERFECT (shit) STORM of what you DONT want to happen the day before you open:

1) I finagled our electrician to take off the day from his OTHER, PAYING JOB to come work on our flattop... and then had to send him away because an inspector was coming by and I couldn't have dust getting all over things while the inspector was there.

2) The inspector was 3 HOURS LATE.  and showed up just as the Dishwasher repair people FLOODED THE ENTIRE BACK OF THE BAKERY.  Yes.  But hey, now we have lots of clean dish capability... and I know that the floor is clean.  At the same moment, our Landlord also showed up to see what was going on and... you know... taking us so long.  Cause we're obviously taking our SWEET ASS TIME to provoke him.  (also, my dishwasher rep's boss was in town today and would NOT SHUT UP (an HOUR) about how much she loves to bake, and how her kids help her bake on the weekend and they sell things to local friends and families.  Wait... you pay your nine year old $5.00/hour to work an 8 hour day?!  You know that's illegal... right?!  X, back me up here.)

3) The inspection took 3 seconds.  And then he told me to re-cover the lights that I covered in a fit of hysteria from 2am to 4am.  Basically it consisted of me Screaming at lightbulbs... and trying not to fall off of a 15' ladder.  

4)  The Electrician can't work tonight, and he can't come until tomorrow at 1.

5) The piece de resistance....  We can't open 'til Thursday.

And to think that's only what happened after 12.

Basically... I thought I was going to Murder someone today.  In fact the words "which Murder is the premeditated murder?  Is that one or two" came out of my mouth around 1:45pm.  Murder probably would have been funny for about three minutes while everyone at the bakery joked about my making my nickname a reality. (Matt and Chip have taken to calling me C-Murder... cause I'm scary... pff.  I'm calling Matt M-Arson.  So he can burn the bodies when I'm done with them.)  But I'd say no one wants to clean up that mess, even if we DO have a squeegee and a floor drain.

Big ol' Fat Tuesday

I'm not one for Mardi Gras.  In the same way I was never one for Girls Gone Wild when it would inevitably show up on our campus when I was in school.  Seems a little desperate to me.  

I mean really, you can get dudes to look at your boobs and get WAY better prizes than year-later shame or some plastic beads.  But maybe I'm missing something awesome, so please, please enlighten me.  And if one person mentions a king cake, I'll punch you in the face with a tiny, plastic baby fist. 

The only mardi gras I've ever celebrated was 4 years ago.  There was a hurricane offshore that was blowing through Athens as some sort of tropical storm, so almost everything was closed and I had my crew hanging out in the office (the office was a big magnetic room that used to be a bank vault... crazy) and I took leave of the place to go find something to do.  And what do I find?  A birthday party in the middle of a bar party.  And so my one and only foray into mardi gras was born.

I hopped into the party and helped blow out candles just as the worst of the storm was coming through and all the lights in town went out as one of the GINORMOUS trees on N.Campus toppled over into the main square in front of Downtown.  Yes.  That's right.  We blew out the candles just as the lights went out.  It was eerie to say the least. 

Girls Screamed, I'm sure some boobs came out of their shirts, and boys hooted.  I grabbed some cake and ran out into the rain.  Then of course, I gave up birthday candles for lent because they were obviously working some weird magic.

Now, to tangent (Cause it's my blog and I can)... I don't celebrate any holidays other than Christmas.  Well, not with any fervor anyway.  You know how I feel about valentine's day, I'll probably wear green on St. Patrick's Day (because I work in the service industry and people eat that shit up) and I definitely don't celebrate easter.   I can't remember the last time I gave anything up for Lent for realsies.  Usually I just say... well, I'm giving up... frowns.  I hope you're ready for even-more-jolly-than-she-already-is Corie.

But this year, I'm giving up sweets and the word "word" as an affirmation.  Sweets, because after yesterday (THE FIRST DONUTS OF THE IKE AND JANE BAKERY!!) when we tested 20 dozen donuts, I can feel the sugar pulsing through my veins and because I've gained 10 lbs in the past 2 months and I don't like it.

And I think you know why I'm giving up the word "word."

Cause it's getting a little out of hand.

-word

Dreams

I've been anti-internet the past week.  Most of this has to do with the fact that I've been trying to get the bakery open.  So, sorry for the hiatus, but THREE FUCKING DAYS TO GO! 

Jesus Christ.  I never thought today would get here.  (as in a day when we might be open by wednesday of the same week, and for real) When I agreed to do this, I had no idea what the interim would be like.  I just envisioned myself open for 3 months, when everything would be kosher and all smiles, all the time! Pfft.  I failed to really think about what it would take to get this piece of shit polished! (which, by the way, I recently watched a "myth busters" based on polishing turds and it made me feel better about the project... because you CAN polish a turd.)

Anyway, I was prompted to write this entry because the last three nights I've had dreams that involved blogging.  Not just my own, but just about every one that I read.  Which either means I really love blogging, or I'm psychic.  I'd like to believe it's that I'm psychic, but I think it probably just means that I take to hobbies too quickly.

Saturday I dreamt about the future blogs of certain bloggers, let me just say, Renee is about to have some craziness in her life that she wont see coming, Raul is about to get published, Corey J is going to have an affair with the tranny from Real World, and my husband is soon to complete some 40ft x 60ft massive pieces of canvas artwork.  

Sunday, I dreamt that I couldn't save my blog.  I just kept writing and writing and writing and nothing happened!  Oh man.  And it was a good one too.  Something about catdogs,  text messages, and magical harry potterness.

And finally, last night I dreamt that every blogger I've ever read sent me a text message to tell me that I'm late to receive my food order for the bakery.   Which was true.  So, thanks guys.

Good god. I need more hobbies.

Challenge #5

What what! Weekly challenge!

Write a short story (no more than 300 words) with internal rhyme about something you've lost, and how you got it back... or didn't.

I seem to have lost track of time!  Off to work!  Dont forget!  Email it to me by Friday at 8pm (I'm busting back the timeline!  Join in! It's all in good fun.)

Get your dance out

So last night, after I posted about being all dressed up with nowhere to go.  I decided to go back out. So, I dressed down:  (white American Apparel T, black cardigan, Jeans, flats) and headed back downtown with just my i.d. and $10.

I did something shameful.  --this wont really make sense to you unless you are familiar with Athens, Ga and the hierarchy of bars-- I went to BarCode.  I guess to elaborate, I'd describe barcode as a place where you only go if you have a TERRIBLE fake i.d. or if you're trying to pick up way-too-young/way-too-drunk sorority girls.  It's basically a joke.  But they were having a dance party, and I wanted to go to a "top 40" kind of cheesy dance party where I could "get my dance out" as Sam and I have been saying recently.

When I handed the door guy my i.d. he looked shocked.  Like maybe it was the first legit i.d. he'd gotten from a girl all week.  He went to stamp my hand to signify my age.  Now, you don't know this about me, but I hate being written on.  So I stopped him and told him i'd rather just have my license handy. He started going on and on about how it's his job. Blah blah blah.  At which point I made note of the fact that I was sure he wouldn't get into trouble for NOT stamping someone who IS old enough as opposed to... you know, stamping someone who isn't old enough.    

He looked at me like I was a genius, or crazy, I'm not sure which... So I winked when I passed him and headed to where the party was before he could say anything else.  I mean, hey.  It's valentine's day.  What's a night of dancing without winking?! 

Inside I'd say that there were probably 150 people milling about, most of them dancing in sparkly, sequined numbers, so I shoved my id back in my pocket and started in on dancing.  And it was awesome. Although I was probably the oldest person there by 4-5 years.  Not to mention not at all sparkly or sequined.

I had a couple of dudes and one under-dressed & under-aged chick start trying to dance with me, but I was having none of it, I'd just migrate whenever they got too close to me, and after about 30 minutes, no one bothered me.  It was the perfect way to spend an hour.  Everyone was already all paired up and I was just surrounded by a bunch of people dancing to awesomely bad remixes and other assorted top 40 songs.

But when I got home I found a couple of things:  

1) a phone number. with a note that says: "you wont dance with me, wtf"  but no name 

2) rolled into said number was a 20$ bill.  I should hope that this poor fella didn't mean to leave me his $20... but whatever I'm obviously keeping it.

So I'm spending that 20$ on some new music to have a "get my dance out" party at my house.  Or Brunch.  Probably Brunch to eat away the shame of having gone to Barcode.

Rocky Mountains

Keith is out of town for this Valentine's Day.  This doesn't bother me, as I think Valentine's Day is ridiculous, but none the less, I put on a dress and headed out to dinner with the ladies.   We had fun.  But now it's 10:45, and I'm at home, writing a blog, still all dressed up... with no where to go.

Sooooo I'm gonna tell you a little story that I have already told fifteen times today because it's my quintessential "I love my husband because" story, and for some reason people just LOVE to swap LOVE stories on Valentine's Day.  It's short, and not gushy, so it probably wont burn your eyes.

When I first met Keith, we were working together at a local cafe.  He had a live-in girlfriend, I kind of had a too-old-for-me boyfriend (that's another story).  But eventually that boy broke up with himself for me (yeah, I said it was a story), and shortly after that Keith and his gal ended their relationship, leaving keith somewhat homeless for a few months.  And so, being the good buddy co-worker that I was, I let him stay at my house. 

Over the course of a few weeks I totally fell in love with him.  Mostly because he was goofy, totally off the wall, hilarious, creative, sweet, tattooed and most importantly 100% in love with my dog.  I didn't know I was in love with him though.  (I know, this sounds ridiculous, but it's true.) He ended up being my best friend.  We did just about everything together.  Basically attached at the hip.  

But this is what solidified our bond.

One night, when we were about to go to bed, he said to me:  "Oh! Hey, wanna see something cool?"  obviously the answer to this is... "YES."

"Come over here, look"  He proceeds to pull up the right leg of his pants and points to a purple spot on his knee.  "It's a rock, it's been in my knee since I was 6."

And now for my response:

"Oh come on. Who told you about that? That's not funny.  Dont make fun"

Obviously Keith was flummoxed.  "What are you talking about?! It's kinda cool!"

"Wait... you're serious?!"

"Yeah! It's a rock! Is that wrong?"

"No no, I just mean... I have a rock stuck in MY right knee!  That's ridiculous! We're the same!  I got mine when I was five... when you were six!"  

Some people were just meant to be together, I think. 

George Washington Carver...

And now... without further ado

(trumpets)

the entries I have for Challenge # 4:

never fear, if you haven't sent me your entry, you can either email it to me at coried@gmail.com or you can just post it as a response, whatever you like! It's internet magic! If you email me, I'll add it to the post.  And you'll be legit.  Again, magic.

Raul:

It's not George's fault

good sex in peanut butter

he did not invent

Corey J:

George W.'s Bush

Grew Legumes and fed millions

What innovation!

A legacy which

Differs from another George

Bush that bore no fruit

Mine: 

Such joy in peanuts

Was harvested by Carver

For generations

Delight with Jelly

and nutella makes it grand

Thai food would be naught

And Mr. Peanut

Touts with classy monocles

That George's Love Saves

Yet so many hold

If not for epinephrine

they'd asphyxiate!

Put your Thumb out, COME ON!

When I lived in France I learned the art of the Hitchhike.

I'm not sure if any of you have experienced this, but for some reason Hitch Hiking is a 100% legit way of getting around when you're in Europe.  My buddy and I were talking about this the other day when I mentioned my follies with hitching and he brought up a bunch of random experiences of his own when he was living abroad for a year or two (but he was 23, which is a little safer than my 16 years). We were going back and forth on what worked, what didn't (hint: NOOOOO skeezy mustaches.  If you plan on trying to get a ride... you probably ought to get your shave on! Cause drivers don't want mustache rides).

Ange (of coffee family fame) and I probably hitched on 80% of our outtings.  At first the fearful american in me was all... "AREYOUFUCKINGINSANE?!  We. CAN.NOT. Hitchhike.  That's like RAPE and PILLAGE waiting to happen! " 

And her carefree french attitude just laughed at me.  "Corie, this is not NYC... come on.  Get in the car."  

The "car" was a tiny Peugeot with three other girls already in it heading for the center of the city. ALRIGHT fine.  Three girls, what can it hurt? We got in and they let us out, just as we had planned, exactly where we were going (which SHOULD have been school.  But Ange was a bad influence). And suddenly I was ALL ABOUT the hitch.  By the end of the year I was flagging down prospective hitches like they were cabs.  Chatting up the drivers, learning about their lives, what they were up to.  It was like a social experiment. 

  

Throughout the year we had a number of hilarious encounters.  My favorite of which being when we hitched a ride at 2am from a couple of really sketchy looking dudes who were probably 22ish, while Ange and I (in all of our nubile glory) were out in some CRAZY-short skirts and flats.   We probably looked like jailbait, when I think back on it.  We had been dancing all night, I was totally sober (as always, I was an uptight teen) and covered in sweat, but Ange couldn't claim anything CLOSE to sober, so I was in charge of getting us home, because she was useless and I think at that point my french was actually better than hers. 

Then, after one of the boys winked at us from the front seat and asked where we needed to go in the most horrific french I've ever heard to this day (and I suffered through a LOT of american highschool and college-level french classes) he turned to his buddy and said --in the most obvious Savannah Accent I've heard on anyone under the age of 40-- "My boy, I think we have us a couple of perfect french conquests!  Our night just got better."  Seriously, I didn't know Savannah youth had picked up that accent.  I thought it was just the oldies. 

I stared at him in some kind of wonder, still dazed about the accent not to mention the idea of being conquered, and without thinking, said: "Savannah, you're from Savannah. What's your name?!" In my perfect, Atlanta-based  english.   Needless to say, he turned white.  And started back pedaling.  But at that same moment Drunk-Ange broke the tension when she leaned over the front seat and started making out with the driver.  While we were in motion.  Then of course she climbed into the passenger's lap and stared at him intently until he moved into the back seat.

Way to go, Ange.  Now I'm sitting next to a creep-o from Savannah, and  you're making out with our driver.  

Never speak english in a foreign country imagining that you are being sneaky.  You're definitely not.  And Ange will totally help you out if you're in need of a conquest.  No need to be shady about it.  Just hope she doesn't vomit on you.  Even though you deserve it, and instead you're getting to third base. While driving.

The guy I was sitting next to and I still talk occasionally.  He lives in Atlanta, works for some record company, and spends a lot of time on Facebook, as far as I can tell.   Not sure about his compatriot.

And the next night?  Totally unphased,  we hitched again, and all was back to normal.  I have yet to ever tell my mother about this.  Partially because I know she'd disapprove, and partially because I'm not sure it matters anymore.

Oh vanity, sweet sweet vanity

Today I witnessed something AMAZING.

While driving home from the video store, I pulled up to a stoplight next to a really awesome (note: sarcasm) dude in croakies and a camouflage hat ROCKING OUT on the air drums to some system of a down knock off (in case you're wondering... that's supposed to point out that the music was extraordinarily bad). 

And so... I stared.  Because it was amazing (of course).  He thought he was very very good.   Really good.  Like, maybe-he-could-get-a-grammy good.  

And then out of nowhere, he stopped drumming and looked down at his pectoral muscles, stretching his arm out the window. After eyeing those bad boys for a couple of seconds, he moved on to his biceps.  He flexed, kissed his biceps, flexed yet again, then smiled, and nodded to himself.

Cue the moment when I busted out laughing with the windows down.  Big time laughing.  And the fella looked at me... so I tried to play it off as though I was laughing to myself... and not at his vanity.

Holy moly.

Challenge #4 and Etiquette!

My my my. Let's start with the "etiquette" part of this entry.

I had a new follower earlier this week, and was quite delighted to have had someone start following the blog all on their own, as one is want to do!  However, he would seem to be some sort of bizarre follower-whore who simply starts "following" every single person who begins following another blog.  (are you following me?)

And so I blogblocked him.  Is that cruel?  I just... felt a little dirty.  Especially because now he's all over your (my real followers) blogs.  I've unleashed this scourge upon  you and now I'm letting you know that I'll bring you the vaccine, just tell me where to meet you!

But I digress, 

The time has come for yet another writing challenge.  This week, as it is still February... the month of love... (and breast cancer, and african american history...) I thought perhaps we should write a series of haikus for george washington carver, inventor of peanut butter (among many other great things) 

It can really be about anything you like, so long as it involves good ol' georgie, and some delightful peanut based snack.  I'll probably incorporate love and asphyxia, but your subject-matter is up to you!

Tis Monday again

shove off ye untold lovers

find something to write

I'm going to love

disapproving lil' letters

don't wait til too late

Due thursday near 5

when you'll find your desserts

Peanut butter-bound

That's a secret I'll never tell... xoxo

Do you know what my blogging has come to?

I am watching Gossip Girl.  It started a while ago.  Keith is obsessed with it (yes, he's a dude... I don't know how I got so lucky) I've been watching five minutes here or there for a month or two, then rolling my eyes and getting annoyed, leaving the room.  I mean seriously.  This shit is bananas (b...a...n...).

Now, I haven't watched the first season (but never fear, my addictive tendencies have me heading over to the video store to get my hands on season one) so there are a lot of nuances that I'm not quite clear on while watching season two on apple TV.  

Needless to say, there's quite a lot of weird highschool drama flooding my brain right now.

Actually, scratch that.  There's a lot of weird, would-never-ever-happen-in-a-real-highschool drama flooding my brain.  You know what happens in a real highschool? None of this stuff.  Well, maybe one thing from both seasons of this show, at one school, every five years.  Not everything that happens here in each season at one school in one year.  They'd shut this school down.  Or at least get rid of 90% of the student body.  Hot Damn.

But more importantly... WHY THE HELL HASN'T ANYONE TRIED TO FIND VERONICA MARS YET?!  I mean seriously, Gossip Girl is just... always ready to blog?  I know you can post from your phone... but come on.  Someone HAS to know who she is.  please. Looking for gossip girl?  Send her a text at lunch hour, then you get a message from gossip girl immediately! Use your sleuthing skills!  And eventually she has to graduate! GOOD GOD.  It's killing me.

Anyway.  Gossip Girl blogs, I blog... so I'm blaming blogging on the fact that I'm watching Gossip Girl.  Not the more realistic reason... which is that I'm just terribly in love with over-dramatic high school activities involving gossip and high-fashion.

Oh. And students sleeping with teachers to frighteningly angry music.

xoxo

Cloud

Through the geekologie website I found this hilarious thing that takes copied text from your blog/whatever you want and makes a cloud of the words most used.

You'll note that BLOOD is the biggest thing in my blog.  And Edward is at the very top.

I think I might need to branch out!

Yesterday, Oh Yesterday

There's something about certain songs that I can't resist when I'm in certain states of mind/body.

For instance:  When I'm cold or need to calm down, I like Bon Iver's Skinny Love or Manchester Orchestra's I Can Feel a Hot One. When I'm hot I like to listen to pretty much any  Jamie Lidell song.  When I need a pick me up, I'm always good for Joe Purdy's Just Cant Get it Right Today I know, it doesn't make sense, but that song makes me happy.

And perhaps most embarrassingly when I'm overly upbeat or a little bit tipsy...  I love Hanson.  Yes. Hanson.  No Mmm Bop though (cause that would be silly).  Mostly from their "underneath" album (which... I don't know if that's good or bad... probably bad.) Last night I was reminded of this when Sam, Keith and I decided to split 3 pitchers of Margaritas.  Yeah.  Never let your tipsy husband convince your already drunk brain that one more pitcher is a "challenge."  Cause challenge or no, one pitcher per person is NO GOOD.

That being said, when Drunk-Corie got home from the Mexican fiesta that led to a quick siesta, she put on Hanson really loud and danced around in her underwear and some galoshes.  Yep.  I'm not sure why exactly I had on the galoshes, but I think it had something to do with just prior to the dancing about when I was walking my dogs.  Dear god I hope I had on pants while walking the dogs. 

Remembering that this morning (oh wow. this morning) I was reminded of a fateful summer afternoon in which I was doing mostly the same thing (but with pants on).  I was totally ROCKING out.... to a hanson song.  In my car, windows down.  A girl with mousy brown hair pulls up next to me, watches me for a second, then pulls up her arm as though she's about to flick me off for being such  crazy Hanson freak.  

But to my surprise, on her wrist... where most people would have a watch... was the Hanson "logo."

The girl was a walking, singing, breathing, arm-swinging billboard.  HOT DAMN.  I am cooler than one person. 

Vamp it up

And finally (maybe take 10pts off my final total for the tardiness of my assignment, Professor. Woopsie) Here is my response to challenge #3.  One of these days you'll all join in.  I know you have it in you. Make sure you check out Raul's entry on his blog. It's sweet and thoughtful.  Basically what a Valentine's day gift should be!

For the record:  this is a magazine article.  To be posted in "blud" magazine.  It's pretty hip, as far as Vampire magazines go.  Totally geared towards the younger groups.  You know, like 350-600 years old.  None of those multi-millenia bloodlusters. (ugh, old people. Gross)

Side note:  I went to journalism school.  Not that you can tell.  But I did.  And this is the first time I've used any of that "knowledge" in 3 years.  Well... probably more like 5.  Since I didn't really use it while IN school either.  Actually, I'm not sure I used it here, either.  Damn.

-----

Blood Oranges

by Corie, Vampire/Cupid extraordinaire

With the over-hyped, lovey-dovey, human-geared Valentine's Day just hours away, those of us without beating hearts are looking desperately for gifts to shower on our lovers.  Never fear!  Your handy, dandy Blud How-To girl is on the move.

I've spent the past couple of days searching for gifts for my fella, and I'll say it's been hard.  BUT NOT IMPOSSIBLE!  

I started with the obvious.  "I'll just take him out to dinner"  I mean, he loves good Chinese Take-out.  And let's be honest.  Finding a lovely, loner Chinese woman on the streets of Atlanta really isn't that hard.  And convincing her to come back to our house would be even less difficult.  But for some reason, this year I am in the mood for a challenge.  Seems to me, the last 50 or so years we've had the same tradition.  Find food, bring food home, torture food, Eat food.  Yawn.  If I could sleep, I would most certainly be asleep out of boredom.

But not this year! No no, I refuse!  There will be blood, there will be lust, there will be gifts! Extravagant gifts!  

And so here we have a list of things I've found that seem to be the perfect opportunity for you to show your other half just how much they mean to you.

1:  I planted him a blood orange tree.  I know what you're thinking; let me explain.  "But... you do realize those oranges aren't filled with REAL blood, right?"  Yes, of course I do.  It's a gesture!  If I COULD grow blood on trees, I would.  So I'm starting him a blood orchard.  Every year, we'll plant a new tree.  We'll have 100 before we know it.  They smell surprisingly delicious.  But taste disgusting.  Just fair warning, smell, don't eat. 

2:  I signed him up for a blood of the month club. For the next year he'll have 1 gallon of the rarest blood from around the world.  From the description, I'm most excited to try the blood of a girl with a rare blood disease that causes all of her red blood cells to double and mutate a-sexually.  Can you imagine?! It must be potent.  For those of you who are newer and haven't had 500 years to accrue an amazing bank account, this might be out of your reach.  But if you are so lucky as to have wealth, this $400,000.00 price-tag is well worth the coin.

3:  Acting lessons.  I don't know about your mates, but mine is completely incapable of blending in with the outside world.  So... I've signed him up for a shakespearian acting class.  Maybe if he gives in to his more theatrical side, he'll be able to blend in better and we can start going out more often without my being so embarrassed when he inevitably whisks some pixie-haired brunette into the bathroom and uses her up when we're supposed to be passing the time watching  movie.  I hate when the humans see me enter with someone and then end up alone.  Stood up, as it were.   A little control, please... honey.

4: The Twilight Series.  Yes, really.  We all know it's a total farce.  (Although I do admit that after reading these books I decided I should try to drink animal blood.  Just to see if there was some glimmer of truth in this human's "fantasy." And let me just tell you... Don't do it.  You'll vomit & be sick for years.  Yes, years.)  But let's be honest.   It's a great work of comedic writing. Really.  One of us falling in love with a Human and not changing them immediately?  There's no fun in that.  And anyway, who doesn't love a love story on Valentine's Day.  And if you're into this idea, maybe the first season of True Blood would be another hilarious addition to your library.

5:  And Finally... I'd get him a human heart.   I'm talking about a straight-up human heart.  It's amazing what you can find on the black market for a grand.  I made sure it was still viable and had it inserted into a working model of the human body.  It's now going to grace our entry way as a fountain.  Yes, we will have a blood fountain in our house.  It's being finished and injected with some AB positive today.  His favorite.

Jealous?!

Whatever you decide to do for your love, make sure you get on top of it!  There are only 240 hours left to search and scour!  Get on it!  Then of course, Valentine's day will be here again before you know it. So, if you forget, I guess there's always next year!

For more information on any of the items I've found just contact me at: corie@bludmag.com

Make sure the subject line reads: Loveblood

Thursday

Today marks a day that I have gotten so stressed out that words have failed me.  

I slept until 9:30 today.  Do you know when the last time I slept past 5:30 was?  I don't, but I thought maybe if I asked, someone would. 

Well, now it's 1:00.  I've JUST had coffee, because I sat in bed trying to go through my day for 2 hours before I could even move.  My body just. WOULDN'T. move. I tried to get up at least five times.  But every time I went to get off of the bed my body froze.  It was like, somehow I was strapped down and couldn't go anywhere. 

I've never been paralyzed by stress.  But it happened today.  And now I'm just... Stuck.  Unmoving.  Wishing that the bakery would OPEN ALREADY so I could remember what the hell I'm doing with my life.

Eff. EFF.

Anyway, I'm going to finish up my entry for challenge #3 today by 5pm... anyone else giving it a whirl?!  I'm using the Newspaper article format.  I decided to let one of my majors do some good for once.

Momestle

Just a little note to let you all know that, due to the ridiculous nature of the "verification words" Sam and I have started a blog dedicated to the definitions of Verification Words.

Should you have a particularly hilarious word, please add it to your comment!  Cause, I comment a lot... but I could use options.   Thinking up definitions for "words" like Spolub is all in good fun.

Or if you need to see more evidence of the fact that I have too much time on my hands, please visit:

Word Verification Words, WORD!

Challenge #3

Alright, this week's Challenge (brought to you by Raul) is to write a short story, news article, poem, long story, novella... whatever you choose about...

A vampire shopping for a Valentine's Day Gift for his love.

Yes, I think he did this to appease me.

You have until Thursday.

GO!

Someone has a very clean face...

Last night I stopped by the bakery on my way home from grocery shopping to pick up a few things and install a drainage tube on the espresso machine.   I think I was there for 5 minutes.  Max. 

Somewhere in there, I went out to the car to grab the drainage tube, and when I went back out less than 5 minutes later, the car door was open (ajar, not just unlocked).   Of course my first reaction was... did I leave the door open?!  Jesus, I'm losing my mind. 

My second thought was... Well, shit.  Now I have to make sure there isn't some weirdo in or under my car.

And then my third thought was... shit.  My purse is in there.

Not to worry though, no one took my purse.   They took one of my grocery bags.  Not all of them mind you, just one.  So, now I'm down one reusable target bag, one Aveeno Facewash (which I was excited about, you bastard) some cabinet liners for the bakery, and a 25ct roll of kitchen trashbags.

I know it could be worse, they could have taken my vintage coach bag, my new wallet which I love or any of my totally useless credit cards... but ...

I'm more upset about the facewash and the target bag.

I totally have my priorities straight.

pick up sticks in the sticks

I have no idea how I end up at these websites, but I was reading these pickup lines because I needed a (please excuse the pun) pick me up, and it threw me back to the 2 years of dating I did just before I started dating my husband.

Unfortunately, I've heard a lot of these.  Whether they were directed at me, or my friends. But a few were not mentioned in this list.  My favorite of which being:  What's this tattoo of? (pointing to my upper-back, then running his hand from shoulder to shoulder)

I, having had no tattoos at that point (and even now, I only have two and they're invisible, no really, they're there. they're just invisible) looked at the over-muscled, not-even-close-to-my-type fellow, glared with what I'm told is an admonishing and frightening glare, and told him to "back the fuck up, and keep your hands off of me."  and I pulled my keys out of my purse, (complete with my pepperspray) while trying to find my wallet to pay and get the hell out of the bar.

Then he said, "Oh, that's how it's gonna be.  Well, you're missing the rest of my pick up line.  I was gonna tell you it would be my name soon."

I mean seriously.  Who the hell would that work on?

Coincidentally, this was the same night that I maced 2 guys.   On my way home from the bar, I was walking to my house that was in the superghetto, and an old, maroon Cadillac passed me slowly on my right.  I ignored it.  Keeping my eyes straight ahead.  And walking with my usual ferocity (Craig always says I have the most serious walk he's ever seen in a person my size)

The car drives to the stop light 200 yards ahead of me, and makes a U-turn.  Oh shit.

The car slows to a stop once it's two feet in front of me. And then the driver leans over the passenger to talk to me just as I  crossed by the window.  "Hey baby, what you doin' walkin' all alone down here?  Don' you wanna talk to me?  Look at how your ass moves! Comeon, talk to me!  Your ass says you want to, baby!"  And the passenger says "We'll give you a ride! come on baby!"

at this point I've passed his car, and he's now moving in reverse down the hill to keep time with me.  

So, seeing no other option, I stop, he stops.  I look him straight in the eye, say nothing, raise my arm.  And spray mace into the open window.  

A bunch of screaming ensues, "That fucking bitch just maced me!"  etc, etc.  Their car rolls down the hill a little bit, swerves, gets stuck on the gutter and comes to a stop.

I kept moving forward to my house.  Called my roommates,  ("I JUST MACED TWO DUDES!) and as soon as I was 15 feet from the car... RAN to my front yard.  

It was quite a night.

Deliveries

Yesterday morning we got our first REAL order into the bakery.  All of our paper products and non-perishables came in and are getting put away today.  (also, I've been stamping our cups by hand to save money --like $5k--... which is AWESOME and fun... oh, and repetitious and killing me).

Anyway, I'm about 1300 cups in, and about 1300 to go but I need to go get a new stamp pad.  Who knew! Stamp pads don't last forever!

It really doesn't take that long.  And I've found a system or two, but it's still time consuming. 

Of course, when you're stamping cups you have to pay attention to what you're doing.  You can't really watch a movie (which I discovered while trying to stamp and simultaneously watch american teen.) Combining the two tends to cause one of two things to happen.  1: you just plain ol' stop stamping.  2: you don't actually stamp in appropriate areas or in appropriate directions.  

And so I'm left to sit, listen to music, audio books, and coffee break spanish while I stamp, patpatpat, stamp, patpatpat, stamp (repeat 1300 times.)  Of course, most of what I'm doing isn't listening or learning so much as thinking about things that don't necessarily matter.  Like, what I'm gonna do while keith's out of town for a week, when my bakery will FINALLY OPEN and what I need to do to get it open.  Which just causes me to get more and more anxious.  God damnit it's FEBRUARY.  And I wanted to be open in NOVEMBER.  I'm going crazy. 

So what am I doing?  Writing a blog. about being anxious. because I'm not working.  And what am I doing right now?  Not working on working.  Cause I'm writing a blog. 

This is a terribly cyclical problem.  I can't wait until I don't write posts about this anymore.

Hello.  My name is Corie, and I'm an easily distracted workaholic.

{Hi, Corie}

Excuse me! This is me time.

Keith and I have a few rules.  For the life of me, I can't really think of more than one, actually.  

Due to the fact that I can only really think of one, I'm starting to believe we really only have ONE rule.  Do not ever hang out in the bathroom while the other person is on the toilet.   Just because we're seated doesn't mean it's powwow time. (alright, so there are others, like... don't fuck around, obviously)

Until about 2 years ago, I'm pretty sure no one had ever seen me pee (this doesn't count my mother, of course.  I'm sure I gave her a number of golden showers as a baby).  And then Sam and I started "team drunk."  We don't have jersey's but we do drink whiskey.   In excess.  But only once in a while. 

On our inaugural Team Drunk night, Sam and I went to "thebar" and then proceeded to consume a bottle of Jameson that had JUST been opened and used to pour 2 shots.  Over the course of the next 3 hours, we finished that bottle.  Yes. Finished.  I only remember the first hour and 2 small snippets from the rest of the night.  Sam remembers that I drank more whiskey than she did, and not much more.  At this point in my "adulthood", I have a hard time thinking of two people finishing a fifth in one night, but we finished an honest-to-god bottle.

Somewhere around hour 3, we had to go to the bathroom.  So we ran next door to the cafe where I was the boss (yes! way to undermine your authority) and Sam was everyone's favorite.  And we did what drunk sorority girls have been perfecting for all of time.  We paraded into the bathroom as a duo.  You know, held each other's hands.  Just in case peeing had gotten significantly harder.  

I vaguely recall trying to hide my face from my bunnies with my sweater when we were headed into the bathroom, but I'm sure it looked ridiculous.  In fact, I don't even remember having on a sweater, so it's very possible that I flashed a cafe full of people.  Cause I think I was wearing a skirt.  (OH DAMNIT.  Why does this memory just get MORE ridiculous.)  And then I sat on the floor while Sam peed, and vice-versa.

There were, of course, other hilarious things that happened that night.  

1: I got lost on my way home from the bar, which is scary because I lived in the superghetto and hilarious because I was visible from the bar when I called Sam to tell her I was lost.  She waved and told me to "keep on!" This statement kept me keepin' on.

2: Whenever I'm wasted I murmur in french, and that night, the teams-man in me  was shouting out phrases you'd shout at a (european) football match at the top of my lungs.  Luckily my roommates were both at work.  Only Penny (dog) witnessed that.  I think I threw her a ball and said goooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaal for a long long LOONG time.  She got scared and went to her room.

But what sticks out the most to me is the peeing.  And the laughing.  So sam, I know you've seen lots of people pee at gigs and shows (and some of those bitches are shooting up, which is CREEPY! Don't do lines on bathroom sinks!) but you're the only person to see me pee, not to mention the only person I'VE seen pee.  

I was reminded of team drunk part 1 this morning when my dogs came barreling into the bathroom while I was peeing.  EXCUSE ME! This is me time!

We really have to fix that latch.  And Sam, wanna take on a fifth?  Or... what's half of a fifth?