Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Watch my Fall from Grace

This year has been one of change. Last year at this time I was on my first ever paid vacation from my job at Southern Cash. I was stressed out to the max and actually ended up going to my office 3 times that week. I was horrendously out of shape, nervy, and miserable. My boss was the most hateful man I think I have ever known with only one exception. A control freak who wanted to micromanage and know every time I farted. My actual job consisted of getting hard-working people wrapped up in paycheck loans that they had no hope of paying back, and then calling them and all their family members to demand payment. I was alone in my office all the time and there were days when no other living soul darkened the door. It was the worst job I have ever had in my working life. Period.
All that was to lead in to tell you what I do now. I am the closing manager of my local Wendy's. I was exceedingly embarassed to take the job, which started out as simply a crew position. I cried the first day I put on that clown-red polyester shirt and had to walk in shame from my apartment to my car, hoping that no one was around to witness this injustice. I worked fries the first day, and was super depressed (not to mention super greasy) by the time that 3 hours was over. This is not the first time I've worked at Wendy's. It is, in fact, the 6th. And the 3rd time I've worked at the one in Fort Payne. I worked hard, and in 2 weeks time, I was asked if I wanted to take a management position. I did.
Now, I have the greatest boss I could ever imagine. Usually when we work together, we are in tears from laughing so much. She is easy to work for. She's great about scheduling and understands that there are more important things in my life than my job. She appreciates when I go above and beyond, which I am inclined to do. She doesn't get totally freaked out when I make a mistake, to which I am also prone. And I've lost 41 pounds since taking this job. I can't hate on anything that gets me laid on a more regular basis. (Sorry, Momma)
So, I love my job. Most of the time. Last week during the "World's Longest Yard Sale", it was nuts. My boss had some medical problems and had to be out for most of the week. I closed 6 nights last week, and they were 6 of the most ridiculously busy nights I have ever worked in all my fast-food days. I swear, I think every other restaurant in town was closed. We are seriously understaffed as it is, and then I had 2 call-outs Wednesday, an extremely violent walk-out Thursday, a call-out Friday, 2 no-call-no-shows and a call-out Saturday, and a walk-out and a no-call-no-show Sunday. (And just in case they read this, I want to say a HUGE Thanks to the people who actually did show up and work, and the ones who covered shifts for me. Holy crap, what a week) The computer fried on Wednesday, so I had to do paperwork by hand 2 nights, and then 3 nights of paperwork had to be entered Friday night when they got a new computer up and running. (Thanks goes out to Selena here for being such an Excel genius) Anyway...it was a rough week...but all I need is a thank-you, which I received. I worked Monday night, and it was blessedly uneventful. My wonderful boss gave me Tuesday and Wednesday off this week. I needed it in the worst way.
Yesterday, Brad called and said he was coming home early and wanted us all to go do something together. We decided to go walk around at Little River Falls and kicked around the state park some. It was hot, but we had fun and got outside for a while. When driving back home, we got caught in the coolest little sun shower. It smelled of ozone, and spattered against the car windows. We were all charmed and walked slowly into the house, enjoying the feel of the rain.
I didn't take my cell with me on our outing. On purpose. When I came inside, I checked my phone and had 3 voice messages.
The first, from my friend, Michelle: "Betsy, when you get this, please call and let me know you're OK."
"OK", I think, "That's kind of strange...but Michelle is given to drama."
The second, from my friend, Selena: "Hey, give me a call when you get this"
Alrighty, I sure will. Selena is not given to drama.
The third message was from work. Amanda, one of my crew people (and a sweet girl, besides), says shakily: "Betsy, please call me and let me know if you are alright. I'm worried about you, so please call as soon as you can and let me know you're OK"
By now, I'm wondering what the hell is wrong with me. I was only out of the house without my phone. Can I not be unavailable for a couple hours without everyone thinking my demise is imminent?
I call work, and Amanda answers. Apparently, a tornado (which we later find out was a "microburst", a downdraft that was a result of our sweet little summer shower) has hit the store. I live really close by which is why Amanda was concerned. Michelle thought I might have been there, and Selena said her first thought was that I had finally flipped out and trashed the store. She knows me so well...
Windows are broken, people are going crazy, and Cody got hit with flying glass. I missed all the excitement. I speak to the Assistant Manager, Tonya, and she says everyone is OK, and to come down if I want. I drive over and there are actually TV news teams everywhere, reporters from the Times-Journal, police, firemen and all manner of construction vehicles. The Wendy's sign is mostly gone, the fence around the patio crumpled like it was made of aluminum foil. One double paned window was completely broken out and the glass patio door imploded, knocking Cody clear across the dining room and giving him a miniscule cut on the nose which he will milk for sympathy and drama until the end of time. There was only one customer in the store at the time, and she will probably never come back after nearly being yanked bald by employees trying to drag her away from the table where she was sitting...right beside the patio door.
And here I sat, at my computer, Simming...blissfully unaware. I had my camera with me when I went down there and, like the colossal idiot I am, didn't take any pictures. And the ones in the Times-Journal sucked, as usual. They boarded up the window and replaced the glass in the patio door. I believe they are working on the sign today and I don't know what the plans are for the fence. It was a God-awful mess, and I tried to help. But, as Brad says, I am always the chick wearing the wrong shoes, and my District Manager was having a small coronary over me traipsing around over all the glass in flip-flops. I looked cute, though. And isn't that what's really important?
Sorry that was so long and essentially boring. Now, some random thoughts...everyone else does it...
-I love to see people in neck braces. It always makes me wonder if they are doing it for insurance purposes.
-Breakfast was caffeine, grease, salt, nicotine, tar and smoke. I am a picture of health.
-Does that horse really need a mobile home? I mean, I've heard of horse trailers, but come on...
-I really like Diet Pepsi better, but Diet Coke is so much more available.
-I think that buggy boy was actually checking me out. Weird.
-Ruby Tuesday is way too expensive. But the Blondie is so yummy.
-I need new jeans.

Ahh...Consumerism

I hate going to WalMart. I love potato salad, buttermilk biscuits and sweet tea. However, the one thing that all Southerners enjoy that I mortally hate is going to the frigging WalMart.
We had to make the trip today. We usually wait until it is absolutely necessary...sometimes maybe a bit more than necessary. But we HAD to go today for laundry detergent. We had to get gas first. Why? Because I said so. So, immediately I'm pissed because gas is $2.83 a gallon. Nothing to do about it except bend over and keep the Vaseline handy. After shucking over my life's savings to the attendant, I pull out and into the WalMart parking lot. You'd think something REALLY exciting was going on in there. Why are there so many people at WalMart at 10:30 on a Tuesday? Don't you people have jobs? And it is SO swampy hot today that we're all fighting to get the parking space that requires the fewest steps to the blessed air conditioning. Of course, I find a lady in a primo spot packing her (gas-hogging, ozone-killing, penis-envy) SUV full of her (cheap, sweatshop labor-produced, "Made in America") Wally World goods. I figure I'll wait her out. It's too good a spot to let go. My husband even gets out of the car to take her cart so she doesn't have to do the jog to the cart-park thing. We waited a good 5 minutes on this woman's space. Just so some schmuck can cut me off and pull into it first. I had a serious Fried Green Tomatoes moment. I think I may have burst a blood vessel.
I find another space. I don't kill the guy for taking my spot, for which I think I deserve a Good Citizen's award. We go inside. I am a raging mass of raw nerves at this point. I head to Health and Beauty Aids to pick up some personal products. You know what I mean, girls. I dodge the girls who think they are too pretty to say "Excuse me", the unattended children whose parents seem to think that WalMart is a playground, and the crazy women who didn't have the forethought to grab a buggy. OK, WalMart execs, listen up! If NO WHERE else, make the tampon aisle wider. We don't want to be there. We are highly irritable if that's what we're there for, and 4 buggies in the space where only one-and-a-half fit isn't helping the mood. They should offer Midol IV's if they can't do any better than that.
Now, back over to the grocery side of the store. Bread, coffee, milk, chips. We are easily pleased people. Except, at the coffee/bread aisle, a woman executes a move with her cart that I still, at this moment, do not understand. We are trying to turn right into the aisle, and she is coming from the other direction. I stop, and try to wait politely. No small feat, given my current state of homocidal rage. For some reason, this woman turns left like she's going into the aisle and then, instead of entering the aisle, she straightens out so that she is completely across the entrance to the aisle. WTF ARE YOU DOING????, I wanted to scream. Instead, I just pulled out my handy billy club and beat the woman to death right there in front of the whole wheat English muffins. Clean-up on aisle one, please!
After finally managing to circumvent the road block that this woman had effectively created, I grab a bag of coffee beans for Brad and a loaf of bread. Whole wheat, if you were wondering. Oh, and some chocolate syrup for Cliff's neverending chocolate milk addiction. We shuffle past the aisles of all the pre-packaged death without entering. Only to come upon someone's Family Reunion right in front of the refrigerated cheese coffin. Why do people do this? If you simply MUST catch up with your family in a retail environment, do it at KMart. No one's trying to buy stuff there.
Around we go, because...you know...they're in their own little protected bubble when they are chatting...and they can conveniently ignore you trying to get through to buy your groceries and get out of the hellhole.
And now, I want to take time to thank the people who had the spectacular idea to insert a McDonald's in the back of WalMart. It's not enough that there are Baby Bottle Pops at 6-year-old eye level hanging at the entrance of every single aisle. Wait until I have ALMOST finished shopping and done so without buying any of the crap that you market directly to my innocent child, and THEN around the last corner, throw up a giant, glowing "M" as a doorway and a life-sized, heavy-duty plastic Ronald McDonald sitting pedophilically on a bench. Nice. Make me have to explain that I have to buy things like milk, and that I've already spent a portion of his college fund on gasoline (the other portion probably soon to be used on legal fees regarding the woman I just bludgeoned). Make me have to look into that sweet little face and tell him that Ronald McDonald is a Bad Clown. A scary clown. A damned capitalistic, bloodsucking clown with horrendous hair. May as well tackle Santa next. Thanks, WalMart. Enriching lives everyday, you are.
I pen my son in with my buggy, so that he can't make a break for McDonald's, causing a football-esque episode to ensue where he dodges me like Emmett Smith. I grab a gallon of 2-percent and head as quickly as possible to the registers. I have to say here that I LOVE LOVE LOVE Self-Checkout. A perfect addition for anti-social people like myself. I find an empty line, and start ringing up my purchases, making profane comments to the computer voice as I go. At the end when I press "Finish and Pay", the disembodied computer voice tells me to "Please check your basket. Scan any additional items now, or press "OK" to pay." Cripes. Is this a shoplifting deterrent? Please. Kill me.
I stick my $20 into the bill slot, the machine hungrily slurps it down and burps three pennies back at me. Fantastic. Another WalMart trip survived. We are almost out the door!
And we forgot laundry detergent.

My Road Rage is like Wo

This one goes out to all the morons who pissed me off during my trip to Ider and back home today...
1. To the little old lady in the green Old-Lady-Mobile:
    YOU CAN NOT CHANGE LANES IN AN INTERSECTION!  And
    certainly NOT when the lane you are attempting to merge into is filled
    with bumper-to-bumper traffic.  Why should I have to honk my horn
    at you to get you to stop trying to come into my lane when I am RIGHT
    alongside you???  Next time, I'll be sure to set off my Go-Go Gadget
    car stilts, so I can just squeeze you in underneath me.  STOP DRIVING
    IF YOU CAN'T SEE A VEHICLE IN THE LANE BESIDE
    YOU!!!
2. To the idiot female coming down the big hill in Hammondville:
    No, in fact, I wasn't waiting at that stop sign for my meth dealer.  I was
    actually waiting for you to get by so that I could pull out behind you.  It
    would have been lovely to know that you were going to turn right 50 feet
    before you even got to where I was stopped.  I wouldn't have
    interrupted your driving route at all had I turned left in front of you.
    Check it out: there's this little stick on the left side of your steering wheel.
    When you use it, it alerts your fellow drivers of your impending intention
    to turn.  Down for Left, Up for Right.  Maybe master that before trying
    to drive while having a phone conversation.
3. To everyone behind me on AL Hwy 75:
    What the HELL is on my bumper that is so fascinating?  Why must you
     rush up at 70 mph and then hang there on my arse?  I don't have any
     witty bumper stickers.  I'm not going faster than 60 no matter how
     much you hover.  Take advantage of the broken yellow line in the
     middle of the road and pass me.  I won't be offended.  Jeez!
4. To the people in the red Sentra on airport road:
    If your car can't top 30 mph, the only time you should have it out on the
    road is if you are going directly to the hospital.  K-Mart is not an
    acceptable destination at that ridiculous speed. 
5. To all of the above:
    Don't look at me like I'm in the wrong when you are running all
    up in my day with your crappy driving.  Don't be surprised
    when people get angry with you for being Motor-Vehicle-Operationally
    Challenged.  Gah!!!!

Addendum

Just a little side note...
Those of you that don't appreciate bad language may want to skip "I Write Sins Not Tragedies".  He drops the G-D word approximately 892 times in that song.  Still watch...just don't listen.

The Man of my Dreams

No kidding. When you actually dream about a guy, there's no fighting it. This is who I dreamt about yesterday while in a fitful, sweaty, bronchitis-induced sleep. And before any of you get wise...it wasn't a sexual dream at all. I was interviewing him. I am a journalist at heart, folks. I had him right there in my subconscious and couldn't even do anything dirty. How boring. Anyway...

Mmm-mmm. The beauty of youth. This boy has been staring out at me from my desktop and singing to me in my car all summer. He's hot, he's smart, he's talented. He has just enough of a demented look to get me going. And, you know about my eyeliner thing.

You must watch this video. Turn off your speakers if you just can't stand to listen. But Brendon is so mm-mm-mm in this video that you absolutely have to watch. The smile at the end of the video...I feel it in my knees. Those lips...those eyes...the suggestion of kink...that ass...Which ass you ask? Why this one, of course:

Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?
Also, go to ifilm.com or music.yahoo.com or whatever site you like to watch videos and watch "I Write Sins Not Tragedies". Do it now. Watch when the guy blows the glitter and Brendon says "Yes!" Sexy. Gets me every time. My head spins around like Linda Blair's (minus the pea soup) no matter what I'm doing when that moment comes in the video. 
Rowr...

Good Morning (to those of you who aren't night owls)

I won't bore you with my babblings...I'll just let the pictures speak for themselves. Happy Monday, ladies :)



OK...sorry...I just had to say that this one is my favorite. I'll hush now.





Sorry to anyone with a slow connection for all the pics at once. But isn't he pretty? Ahhhh.....

Hello...Hello...Hello...Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me.

I will warn you that it is almost Brendon Urie time again.  And you may beg for him. 
This week's man sort of sneaked up on me.  After work Saturday, I came home, showered, blah, blah, blah, and then sat down in front of the TV around 1:15.  Because it was a weekend schedule, Rachael Ray wasn't coming on channel 53 at 1:30.  I could tell because Iron Chef was on and it's an hour long show.  Anyway...I decide to flip around and see what's on (cause I'm that much of a dude).  One channel up to 54 brings me to FX and "28 Days Later".  I don't know what possessed me to actually sit there till 3 in the morning watching that garbage.  Maybe it was...

Cillian Murphy (pronounced KILL-ian). I first discovered Cillian while watching the (equally bad, but far more entertaining) movie "Red Eye".

During this movie I only wanted 1) For it to end and 2)For him to bang Rachel McAdams. I so thought it was gonna happen. That silly bitch. I always root for the bad guy. But how could you not when he's:
1. Irish. As long as he doesn't sound like Brad Pitt in "Snatch", I dig a guy with an Irish brogue. Even better if it's lilting.
2. Got such a gravelly, evil voice. He also played the Dr. Jonathan/Scarecrow character in last summer's Batman Begins.

I'm assuming his voice lent itself well to this role. I wouldn't know because I fell asleep during this movie at the drive-in. Only because I didn't know Cillian was in it till after. Christian Bale and Katie Holmes bore me REALLY bad.
3. Equipped with such amazing blue eyes. They are stunning. All the better to see you with, my dear...

4. Quite forceful, for such a tiny little vegetarian guy. He carries a scary authority even though he's a very, very small person.


I think I've come to realize that I have a thing for powerful men. However, only in the bedroom. I'll kick him in his authoritative nuts if he tries any of that crap anywhere else.
So, are you feeling him? I have some great B&W's that I'll share later this week. I didn't collect any shirtless of him...it's not that hard to find. Just Google "28 Days Later" and you are bound to find one.
Love to all!