Evil Thoughts

Yesterday I worked a fourteen hour day; on top of that, I came into work and found out from an associate that the DM was going to be there.  I was on edge for 14 hours, scared to even have friendly conversation with one of my associates for fear that it was "unprofessional" and we weren't doing actual "work."  The store was dead due to the weather, and immaculately clean which fueled my desire to relax for a bit and do nothing but chit-chat since I'd busted my ballz all morning doing audits and cleaning.  I had to take my lunch break only 5 hours into my 14 hour day, and while I was sitting in the depressing parking lot, in the depressing, cold drizzle that was yesterday's weather, I thought to myself (as I always think to myself on my lunch break), "maybe today I will drive away and just not come back."  "Maybe, I will drive to California and make money Go-go dancing; maybe I will drive to the Hamptons and live on the beach.  Maybe I will just start going to the library and working on my book, but instead continue to tell my parents I am going to work so that they don't think I'm a jobless slob."  I was really considering just leaving for good with no notice, never looking back, and I texted a friend to tell him he'd better talk me out of it.  He did.  I told him how much I had saved up (which I was thinking was a pretty decent amount), but then he reminded me that should I lose my insurance, that amount would be gone with one broken arm, or broken front tooth.  Goddammit.  I am still on my parent's insurance until I am 25 because it is more economical at this point in my life (Thank you Obama for making the life of the college grad a bit easier), but you never think about the unexpected expenses that will drain your account.  I suppose the fiscally responsible thing to do would be to find another job first before quitting, so I am going to job search all day today (in addition to working on my book :D ).  I am also going to make homemade pasta and my famous lentil balls (like meatballs but meatless).  I'll make homemade sauce too... it's one of those days.

Today I missed the 'morning meeting' that apparently we were in fact supposed to have, because apparently the DM is still there.  We (the management team) are supposed to have a morning meeting at 8:00 am every Tuesday, but I mean, in the five months that I've been employed by Chodes R' Us, I've only gone to like three morning meetings and only because the DM was going to be in attendance; normally the store manager says it's fine that we don't have one.  We can discuss whatever unimportant business we would discuss this morning when we work together on Thursday and I'm pretty sure the world isn't going to end.  But in complete honesty, it's my day off, so why am I going to drive to Binghamton for an hour-long meeting, when what I would be paid for that singular hour won't even cover the cost of my gas to drive there and back?

Hear that world?!   This is my DAY OFF, I've just worked an illegal 14 hour work day, my pay is cut in half for every hour over 40 that I work, and they want me to drive 40 minutes to Binghamton for a one hour meeting, about unimportant shit that can be discussed later, for approximately $7.50.   I don't fucking think so.

Don't even get me started on the image-branding of this company either.  I might be the biggest fucking bitch in the world sometimes when I go out to the bars and see a fatty wearing a crop top that she shouldn't be wearing, but from the bottom of my heart, I mean it when I say that this company drives me insane- telling us to hire people on a basis of looks, and causing divisions and rifts between associates because some old, sloppy, unattractive corporate loser sits behind a desk (probably fapping to the half naked images he is sent of our employees) and decides that some of our employees are 'attractive' enough to make 'tracker' and others aren't attractive enough, for God only knows what reason.  I talked to a girl who is hot by all standards, and she was upset she didn't make tracker because they told her that her Italian nose was 'too big.'  Honestly?  What are we doing to these young women and men we employ?  Who is to say that some other girl is hotter than another when obviously they were both attractive enough to be employed in the first place and beauty really is in the eye of the beholder?  And it's not only women who are hurt by this rejection of feeling that they aren't 'attractive' enough; I have seen disappointment in many a male employee's eyes because he thinks that his body isn't 'ripped' enough because someone make tracker over him.  It's just so fucked up.  I can't tell you how many times through out the years that I thought someone was attractive and my friends told me I was gross for thinking so, or they thought someone was attractive who I found positively hideous- you know why?  Because aesthetic tastes very from person to person.  It's so absurd it drives me insane.  This is like a fucking Mel Gibson rant right now, and I apologize for that.  It's just that as someone who spent the majority of my teenage years thinking that I wasn't "attractive enough," It really hurts me to be part of a brand that is solely about being 'attractive,' and makes impressionable young people feel like they aren't 'good enough.'

I can't continue to be part of a company that doesn't take important factors like having a good personality, creativity, or a fully functional brain into the consideration.  This company is always stressing the idea of promotion or the idea of possibly being a store opener in a foreign country to its managers, but sometimes I wonder If I would even be 'attractive enough' to be considered for the position of a store opener over-seas.  From ages 12 to roughly 21, I felt like I wasn't thin enough, I felt like I wasn't tall enough, my nose wasn't small enough, my face wasn't 'cute enough' for me to be considered attractive.  Fuck that.  I still have days where I feel like I could use many improvements, but for the most part I'm a lot happier with myself, and it's really hard to be happy with one's self when they are constantly fed images of photoshopped, surgically enhanced celebrities and models that we're told are the standard of 'beauty' and what men find 'desirable.'  I'm so sick of opening a magazine where the model is photoshopped to the point of looking like a plasticized alien; I'm so sick of seeing celebrities on TV that claim they are naturally, just that beautiful.  Ok, that's why I can google a picture of them from five years ago with noticeably thinner lips, a larger nose, and no cheekbones of which to speak.  I think American women need to stop buying into this shit.  When I pick up a fashion magazine these days, I hardly even notice the fashion because I'm too focused on some celebrities inflated duck lips or how damn thin they are.  I am no longer the insecure 19 year old that I once was, but as a woman I am still receptive to media images telling me what I should look like.  And I'm so over it.

Anyhow... changing the subject.  I think I am going to be Jessica Rabbit for Halloween next year. lol.  I should just be a housewife some day (albeit one who still does creative things and is financially independent from her her husband).  I'd be the perfect housewife with my penchant for donning sexy clothes at all times of day and my cooking skills and ability to entertain.  Maybe I will make bank off of my book if I could ever finish it and get it published and then I could be a housewife with my own money in the bank... what a lovely thought :) lol.  Hey, a girl can dream right?


I will leave you with some pleasant pictures to warm your heart; I know they certainly warm mine, and that's a hard feat to complete.  My animals can't wait for my niece to be born so maybe I will stop dressing them up and dress her up instead. lol

Ceely is so cuuuute in the morning when she snuggles on the chair; almost reminds me of a BSM...

Bijou loves the bow.

Abby, you would make a sexy housewife too.

LOL

Why am I so Mean?

I had a fantastic week away from Chodes R' Us this past week.  I cat-sat for my sister in the city and spent some much needed time with my boyfriend.  I am feeling relaxed, rejuvenated, and much more sane.  Sane enough to take back control of my life and quit my awful, fucking job.  It has been so nice having more than just one, solitary day off.  For the past five months, I haven't had a decent break (aside from my four day excursion to Miami way back in January). I have probably only had one other 'normal,' two-day break, but unlike the majority of Americans, this break didn't even take place on the weekend.  Instead of having off a Saturday/Sunday, I'm pretty sure it was a Monday/Tuesday.  I didn't have to wake up at 7:30 am because It was my one day off to run errands, do chores, clean, do laundry and find time to relax.  It was nice to wake up at 8:30am, knowing that I didn't have to put on clothes and get going; lounging around in comfies and having two, leisurely cups of coffee is certainly a much more savory way to begin a weekday.  It was also nice knowing I could go out and enjoy myself without having to be up at the crack of dawn to go to work.  For the first time in a long time, I could drink more than two glasses of wine without dreading a waking up at 6:30 am with a hangover and 9 hour work day.  I even got to go out with my friends this weekend, because for once, I wasn't closing on a Friday or Saturday night, hating life and resenting the fact I was missing out on my prime years while everyone else lived it up like a person should on the weekend.

Despite the fact that I had an entire week off from work, I saw my boyfriend, and I went out and had fun and socialized with friends, I made a terrible self-realization that I'm an awful feminist.  Maybe I'm just insecure and hate myself or some Freudian shit like that, I don't know.  Maybe I am mean because I hate my job... that's definitely a major factor, and one I am actively working on fixing.  It struck me the other night when I went out with my friends, that I think some really bitchy, mean things, and I am not at all proud of that.  I mean, I've never been a crazy feminazi-type feminist.  I believe in equal rights for women and men (in the job force, at home, in terms of the freedom to walk down the street at night without fear of being raped), I am a firm believer in a woman's right to have control over her own anatomy, I am pro-choice, I hate the media's construction of what a 'woman' should be and how she should act, I get offended when I hear men make inappropriate comments about a woman's body or 'her place in life' (making them sandwiches).  That kind of shit makes the feminist in me come out.  And don't even get me started on celebrity culture and how the media and women's magazines that 'supposedly' empower a woman, really bring her down.  For example, Cosmopolitan magazine constantly features articles about 'how to please your man,' or, "what drives HIM wild in the bedroom," but rarely do I see a piece about how to make your man please you.  That kind of shit makes me crazy. Seeing magazines featuring and celebrating emaciated celebrities with accompanying weight-loss tips or diet plans makes the feminist in me go bat-shit crazy too.  However, I start to feel like a really awful feminist and fellow woman, when I go out to the bars.

I don't know if it is the alcohol, or the lack of alcohol (I only had like 1.5 drinks when I went out the other night, since I was driving home later), but I start to question whether I am a true feminist when In my head I'm bashing other girls on the basis of their conduct and their bodies.  The first thing that made my disgust level start to rise was the fact that a group of 30 year old men were hanging out at the Sip on Water Street.  Don't get me wrong, people are entitled to hang out where ever they choose, but that Bar is notoriously only occupied by college-age students, and usually where people go to dance in their finest body-con skirts and 5 inch heels.  Just knowing that they were their to pick up 19-21 year old, drunk college girls made my blood boil.  I mean, it's cool if a 30 year old wants to date a 21 year old (I guess...), but seeing a group of guys hanging out here with the specific intent to 'hook up' with a much younger, wasted individual really turned me off.  I guess that is part of the more reasonable feminist side in me, so I'm sorry for digressing...

The bad feminist in me, is the critical voice in my head that sees a girl wearing a crop top with her gut hanging out and screams in a bitchy tone, "what the fuck."  Being a woman, and feeling the pressure that women have placed on their shoulders by men, society, and themselves to 'look good at all times' should make me happy for this girl; I should be happy that she is comfortable and confident enough in her own body to go out wearing a tummy-exposing crop top without giving a fuck what anyone else thinks of her.  But It just makes something in my brain snap, and I think awful things like, "what makes her think she looks good in that?!"  God, I'm an awful person.  This is something I sincerely need to work on.  As long as I am happy with myself, why should I give a shit what anyone else does or wears?  I shouldn't.

The sloppy-ho behavior of drunk college girls is also enough to make my anger rise.  I'm not saying I never did things I shouldn't have done, because I definitely did.   But when your ass cheeks are hanging out as you grind on some dude's thigh in public it's quite revolting.  I'm all for girls getting drunk and having a good time dancing with random hotties at the bar, but I don't want to see your ass cheeks and neon pink g-string.  I should be happy for this girl; fulfilling her needs and hopefully getting some man ass later.  But, the logical part of my brain always wonders how much smack my friends would talk behind my back if I were this girl, flashing my ass and dancing dirty with a stranger... I wonder if her friends will shame her in the morning or if they promote ass flashing on the dance floor.

In addition, I have always felt that women should be able to get away wearing what they want without being labeled as slutty or being hit on and groped.  However, when you are wearing something that people might misconstrue as a 'slutty ensemble,' shouldn't you take special precautions as to not ACT slutty?  Go ahead and put on your mini skirt, just make sure you pull it down when it's riding up and exposing your crotchal region as you walk down main street.  Go ahead and wear those 5 inch platforms, just make sure you stay coherent enough to walk in them.  Why am I so mean?


I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK TO WORK TOMORROW :(    I feel like a sixth grader who just had a week long vacation and is dreading going back to school.  I'm working not one, but two different 14 hour days this week and instead of making overtime, my pay is cut in half for each hour over 40 that I work.  WTF.  This is the worst job ever.  I hate it. I applied for an internship today.  I will apply for whatever else I can find that is reasonably appealing and/or lucrative this afternoon.  I've gotta get out of Chodes R' Us before I die.  Even a game of dress up won't improve my mood today.   You know you're in a bad mood when putting on a shit ton of make up and high heels doesn't make you feel better.

Problems of a white, 20 something woman (Warning: TMI)

Fuck My Life.  I know, we all say it sometimes, and we really don't mean it; or we say it over petty/trivial things bothering our otherwise, stagnant and content lives, however, right now, at this moment in time, I mean it when I say 'fuck my life.'  Let me start off by saying there are a great many things one could use as fodder against my right to say FML.  I'm not living in extreme poverty, I'm not being brutally beaten or raped, I have clean drinking water, electricity and plenty of food, so I mean, I'm already better off than at least 2/3 the world.  But goddammit, It's been a rough week filled with woman problems.  So if you don't want to hear about my feminine issues, I advise you stop reading right now.

Woman problems:  we all get them (well, at least 1/2 of the population does at one point or another).  They can be anything from a freshly manicured finger getting the polish chipped, to a broken stiletto or a button popping off your jeans due to period bloat.  I have had enough trivial issues adding up this week to make up for 3 months worth of feminine dilemmas.  I decided to get my first Brazilian wax done this week.  After reading up on it, I found a classy salon in Vestal (Acacia Aveda) that did waxes for $65.  I know what some of you might be thinking, 'who the hell would pay that much to go through 40 minutes of brutal torture in the name of hairless skin?!'.  Well, I was sick of razor burn and thought this was a great alternative.  I also know some of you are thinking, 'shit son, I can get that done by a Russian waxer in the city for only $35.'  Yes, well, this is upstate New York and not only are we devoid of Russians willing to wax another woman's nether region for an affordable fee, but most people up here just don't give a fuck what their nethers look like.  I am not one of them.  Now, as you may or may not know from previous blog postings, I have about the most sensitive skin that ever existed.  I like to tell myself I'm like a fair, gilded lily, but in reality, my caucasian hide simply was not made to tolerate anything other than Nordic temperatures, minimal sun exposure, and absolutely no 'exotic' substances or product.  Most people can tan; I burn and then have weird discoloration for months after the fact.  Most people can use a body product without fear of a reaction occurring; I take a stroll in the woods and end up with an unidentifiable rash all over my side.  Most people can take the daily assualts of life with stride, I get bruises for absolutely no reason and have at least 4 scratches or cuts on any given day from lord only knows what.

Anyhow, I scheduled this wax a week in advance, did my research, read precautions, and actually reconsidered after reading that bruising and redness could occur in people with sensitive skin.  However, being the vain bitch that I am, I figured, 'nah, can't happen to me.'  I was wrong.  Instead of the baby smooth porn star look I was trying to achieve, I have about as much redness and blotchiness as a person who not only shaved, but then decided to go horseback riding afterwards.  And please keep in mind this was done by a professional who'd been doing it for 13 years, in the nicest day spa/salon in a 40 mile radius.  This is truly just my luck.  I'm almost glad I had to cancel my obgyn appointment today, because the dr. might have called 1-800-poussoir-abuse on me. lol.

So then, today, I have my annual 'lady doctor appointment' (you know the one).  I've been dreading it for  the past week, but knew I might as well get it over with.  I arrive at the office ready to go, and hand over my insurance card.  Apparently my insurance is fucked up, and I have to call my insurance company and find out what's going on because I currently have none.  I remember back in January when my parents were renewing their insurance, I was still going to be on my dad's plan, but there was a mix up then and I didn't get a new card or something, but my dad called and the insurance people said everything was fine....evidently it is not.  I was not about to pay $300 out of pocket when I know for a fact I should be covered, so I rescheduled and have to make the trip to Oneonta again next week, when hopefully, all of my insurance shit is straightened out.  Is is the end of the world?  No.  But did it severely annoy me that I woke up to drive to Oneonta when I will have to drive to Binghamton later for work? Yes.

Then I got my period.  I mean, at least I know my body is healthy and I'm not prego, but Jesus Christ, of all the days to get it.  I haven't seen my boyfriend in two fucking months and am seeing him tomorrow, so this is just another wrench thrown into my wheel.  At least I know that my bloat isn't just due to the 5 lbs of candy and chocolate I consumed last week.  On top of all of this, my face broke out.  We all know how much I hate zits on my face... they just make my confidence go from normal, to zero.  I don't know why; we all get zits, and I never really notice a zit on someone's face, so why would they notice the zits on mine?   I don't know, but it's making me feel really ugly.  I feel like I break out just in time to see my bf every time I see him.  It's like I'm at my attractive peak one week before seeing him and then it's just all down hill with a series of zits, bad hair days, and bloat.  wtf.


Friday the 13th is doing me all sorts of dirty.  I would go have a glass of wine in the tub, but that'd probs just make me more emo, my zits more prominent, and my bloat more obvious.  FML.

Confessions of a Balding Donkey

Once my sister told me I should try parting my hair to the extreme side.  I told her I was unable to pull this look off because it made me look like a 'balding donkey,' what, with my five-head and prominent facial features.  I've had people tell me when I flip my hair to the side it looks really good, but I look into the mirror and I see a balding donkey staring back, so this look never leaves the confines of my house.

I've made out with a lot of people in my day... most of them were moments of desperation I should like to forget.  I made some pretty poor choices in the make out department for a few years running; I think I was just trying to find a guy who would call me back after all he got at the end of the night was a kiss and nothing more.  At one point I didn't even care what the person looked like or what kind of douchebag they were, everyone was free game.  I made out with a guy who started talking about how sharks like to bite each other before having sex, and that really freaked me out.  I still can't believe my friends allowed that one to happen.  I also made out with this guy who is even thinner than me, with tons of tats and like, two hairs on his head... that was another sketchy night I can't believe ever happened in retrospect.  Once I made out with this kid who was a former drug addict and was using me for a pot connection.  I thought I fell in love with him and was shattered the next night when I heard him call someone on the other end of his phone conversation "baby."   Thank god my bf came into the picture when he did or lord only knows what kind of poor decisions I would have made.

I like to do naked squats in the morning wearing only a pair of high heels.  It makes me feel like a female version of Patrick Bateman, but it has been most affective on my muscles.

The summer I was 21, my bestfriend and I had a week that later came to be known as 'rage week.'  We both had some personal issues behind our alleged rage; mine was fueled by the fact I was a 21 year old virgin and no guys who showed interest in me ever called me back because I didn't put out.  I was in the midst of a quarter life crisis that would go on for another 8 months or so, culminating in one of the most eye-opening moments of clarity after a series of bad decisions led me to rock bottom. lmao... so dramatic I know ;)   Anyhow, we had many adventures both sober and drunk that week, and ran from the cops not once, but twice.  Classy.

I blocked this memory out until I was about 11 or 12 and then one day it struck me; I was in Gross Motor Skills as a kindergartener.  This was a class primarily occupied by developmentally/severely physically challenged children (those in the 'Special Ed.' class).  Apparently, I was so clumsy and prone to walking into shit, and awful at catching and throwing, my gym teacher suggested this class to my mother.  While everyone else in Mrs. Johnson's class had afternoon playtime, I was taken out of class to go toss dodge balls up and down, walk in straight lines, and jump over a sedentary rope with mentally challenged kids.  I forgot about this until middle school when I found myself always being picked last for kickball teams and must have had those recurring emotions of failure and being a castoff.

I can't eat animal fat.  I consume massive quantities of fat calories daily; I will drink a cup of heavy cream in my coffee, eat potato chips, eat anything battered, fried, or sauteed in oil, devour chocolate bars, but I cut every last bit of fat off of my meat, because the texture disgusts me.

In the morning, and in the afternoon, I use alone time in my car to scream obscenities and vent my daily frustrations:  for example, on the morning commute, I scream, "I fucking hate my job!!!!!!, I fucking miss my boyfriend!!!!! How the fuck did a girl like me end up working at Mollister?!  Someone fucking kill me neow!"  And then suddenly life seems a little bit more humorous and a little bit more tolerable and I manage to survive another 9 hour shift.  People passing me must think I'm on my way to kill someone if they catch me screaming.

It's been a while...

And I apologize for that... but not really because I doubt anyone gives a fuck about my blog or what I have to say, especially when most of what I have to say is entirely self-absorbed and superficial.  JK. hahahahhaha.  My blood sugar levels have spiked after having roast beef sub and a cannoli, so I'm pretty hyper and feeling good at the moment, after a rough couple of weeks and many foul moods and tears.  Last week my mom was in the hospital for a couple of days.  She is fine now, but it was definitely a scare, and I was working 10 hour days which sucked balls, so I was already stressed out.  Oh, and from this point forth, I will refer to my place of employment as "Chodes 'r Us."  Anyhow, work was rough and I wasn't getting proper lunch breaks due to the fact that there was no overlap in management schedules.  I almost lost my shit the day that I had to do a floor set by myself, two employees failed to show up, the district manager was coming to do an audit, and I found out my mom was in the hospital.... luckily for me, I found a mysterious cigarette in my center console.  Now, I don't smoke, and I never will, but that mysterious cigarette did wonders to calm my frazzled nerves on that particular day, even though I felt smelly and gross after it touched my lips and precious fingers.

I really don't want to go to work this afternoon... I hate Saturdays.  I caught my first shoplifter last saturday; he was a fat 13 year old who claimed he didn't know how the bottle of cologne he was trying to lift had gotten into his bag... right.  Let's hope this Saturday is not as busy and frazzling on my ancient nerves as I'm feeling rather touchy today and might snap.  I have been feeling geriatric since turning 24, though I don't know why.  I've got a serious case of the Benjamin Buttons and grow increasingly more attractive with each year that passes, in my opinion anyhow.  hahahah.  For example:  

BUSTED... I was the homeliest child on the planet.  I had an untamed fro, huge glasses, teeth that grew in too big for my tiny head, and a scrawny body.  Yipes.


I hope my children never have to go through an ugly phase like that.  Luckily for me, kids liked me because I was nice, I was smart so they could copy my homework, and I was artistic so I could draw them pictures... I never really got picked on until high school (but that was for being an over-achiever, not for being ugly, even though I still was).   It's safe to say I whole-heartedly plan to adopt in the future.

Bijou has pretty much become an indoor cat at this point in the game.   He loves spending time lazing about and getting high on catnip.  He also loves watching his mom get dressed up, and striking a pose with his mom... he is my gay boy after all.

And here is a gratuitous mirror shot, because at heart I am just one of the dumb sluts I despise.  JK.  



When I was out for my birthday celebration, we ended the night getting pizza, and that is when I saw the truly drunk and sloppy hos of Oneonta.  I wanted to snap a picture on my phone, but it would have been too suspicious so here is a rendering a re-created:

Her ass cheeks were hanging out of her skirt... and they were flat, sloppy, and cellulitey.  Yuck.  Oh, and her skirt was made of pink duct tape... classy.  Jesus h. Christ, even if I was a supermodel with the hottest ass cheeks ever (mine are pretty nice as they are) I wouldn't wear a skirt that exposed them in public.  What's wrong with people?


I will have 8,000 in my savings by April 1st, which isn't much in the grand scheme of things, but it's enough to let me quit my current job and find a better one and pay for a couple months rent.  I also plan on finishing my book by April 1st, and I know that I say this every month, but this time I mean it.   I am going to haul-ass home from work tonight in order to see the shit show that is Lindsay Lohan on SNL, followed by Jack White, who is pure sex appeal... if I didn't have a bf, and I was cool enough for Jack White, I'd be all over that.

For the sake of writing a blog

Two days off in a row.... finally I can wash the jeans I have worn about 5 days in a row and vacuum out my car (seeing as how it now has about 2 months' worth of accumulated grit on the floor).  I'm feeling quite strangely today.  All of the things I want to complain/bitch about in this blog seem trivial compared to other people's problems.  Inspired by a friend who told me about the article, I decided to read this piece from NYTimes:  http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/04/world/asia/cold-weather-kills-children-in-afghan-refugee-camps.html

Now, normally, I would ask, "Why the fuck are these people having children they can't afford to raise in a warm, happy environment?  Why the fuck aren't these people utilizing birth control knowing full well their kids will live a life of hardship in the world they are unwillingly made to enter?"  But that is all besides the point.  These children have already been brought into the world, and therefore something needs to be done about the situation.  It baffles me that Americans are so unaware of the hardships faced by others around the world.  Sure, we have a shitty economy, and many of us are living below the poverty line right here in our own country.  But honestly, we are lucky we aren't in refugee camps, or subjected to freezing temps at night because we have no electricity or insulated homes to keep us warm.  We are fortunate not to live in fear that we might be killed or raided or raped by bands of rogue insurgents at night while we sleep.

Yesterday at work, I thought it was a sad reflection on the American people that on Super Bowl Sunday, people stopped shopping a good, two hours before my store closed.  Presumably, the game took importance over all else in their life, and they went home or to whichever party they were invited to, to make merry, get drunk, and watch football.  My store was dead between the hours of 5 and 7:00 pm (the last two hours we were open).  I worked on Christmas Eve, and we were busy right up until close... which also happened to be 7:00 pm.  Why is it that watching football is a reason to be home on time, but being home with your family on Christmas Eve isn't reason enough to deter people from shopping right up until the last minute we were open?  I guess that goes to prove what is really important today in America.

We live in a world where the latest Kardashian gossip and celebrity breakup makes front-line news above Darfur and freezing babies in war-ravaged Afghanistan.  I'm not saying that we can help everybody all the time, because I am a firm believer that one cannot help another until they have helped themselves (in this case, America needs to be financially stable before we can give increased aid to other nations in need).  However, I am saying perhaps instead of focusing on our own wants, we learn to recognize the fact that around the world there are people with actual NEEDS that are not being fulfilled. Instead of complaining how much I hate my job (even though I will continue to hate it until I find one that is more fulfilling), perhaps I should take time to remind myself that I am lucky to have a job in the first place, amongst the hundreds of other things that I am lucky to have.

I'm sure I'm as guilty as the next person, sometimes bitching that I have never travelled to Europe, or that I wish I could afford more vacations, or a sick apartment to call my own, but I am lucky to have enough food to keep me satisfied, a roof over my head, and the comfort of knowing that I live in a country where I am (essentially) free, and safe enough to walk down the streets by myself (excluding sketchy sections of Binghamton) any time I want (let's just forget the dangers of being a woman, alone at night for the sake of this statement).

So today, even though I want to complain about the fact that my debit card cannot be used internationally to order this Motel dress for my upcoming birthday:  http://www.motelrocks.com/shop/products/Motel-Ginetta-Dress-in-Jade-and-Black-Lace.html
I shouldn't complain at all, seeing as how I have enough money to afford such a frivolous little number, and seeing as how this pales in comparison to the true problems and issues faced by millions of people around the world.  I remember when I was 6, I got the wrong American Girl doll for Christmas ( I wanted the Asian baby and my mom bought me the Felicity doll), I threw a fit and cried.  My mom slapped me (yes, this was a day and age where it was still socially acceptable to man-handle one's own child) and reminded me how lucky I was to have any presents at all when their are children who never even know the pleasure of a new toy, and are not even lucky to have enough food to keep them full.  I didn't really comprehend back then, why I was fortunate, and I couldn't look past what I saw as an injustice (getting the wrong doll).  Looking back, perhaps my mom should have slapped me harder or made me watch a documentary on the children of developing nations so I had a reality shock a little earlier on in my life.  Sadly, this situation repeated itself when I was 12 and I cried because I got underwear and a training bra in my stocking and proceeded to pout and cry.  I was such a brat.  I am no saint, and I complain pretty much daily about things that people living in poverty would never consider a problem, or worthy of stressing over, but I am going to make an effort to be more aware from this point forth.  Lord knows I have been aware of animal cruelty for a while and I still continue to eat meat.... but we will save that topic for another day.

I Wish I was Still in Miami...Trick

  The cold is even worse on me old fragile bones now that I've had a taste of warmth and sun and have returned to upstate New York's version of 'January.'  I'd like to thank my sister for a wonderful early birthday pressie in the form of a mini-vacation to Miami, and I would also congratulate my brother-in-law on running in the Miami Half-Marathon!  I know I would have needed to start walking after about 1 mile, so the fact that he ran 13 miles in a decent time is pretty impressive.  I never thought I'd like a city where about 3/4 the population is plastic (titty implants, ridiculous tans, ridiculous duck lips, blonde extensions, etc.), and my hair is a continual Diana Ross-like-Afro due to the humidity, but the sun and fun of Miami is a nice break from the reality of sub-zero temps and a full time job that I hate.  I got tons of sleep, which was a nice departure from running on 6 hours a night, which is what I've been doing for the last few months, and I finally had more than a single day off from Mollister (I'm still surprised I had enough vacation days accumulated that I was able to take such an 'extensive' (aka, 4 days) break hahaha).

I'm pretty sure that given the opportunity to lay on the beaches of Miami forever, my stress level would be null and void.  There really is nothing like the sun warming your mostly nakie body and knowing that you're 3,000 miles from your job and responsibilities and no one can find or harass you or make you do anything.  I always get this notion in my head when I'm on a vacation that if I wanted to never come back, things would work out just fine... and I briefly pondered what it might be like to run away in Miami and never come home (though I would miss my bf, my friends, and of course my pets).  I decided that wasn't a very feasible option given the cost of living and the fact that I know no one in that city lol.  I'm sure finding a sugar daddy would solve the issue of money, but I don't think that would fly with the bf, nor would my natural assets and lack of skin pigmentation fly with the Miami Sugar daddy crowd.  Speaking of sugar daddies, Miami must be the capital.  It always weirds me out to see some old, wrinkled man with a twenty-something bimbo, because you know that bitch is probably doing some pretty nasty things for her keep.  lol.  Yikes.

I was pretty damn vigilant about protecting my ivory skin from the sun this time, making sure to cover my entire face, body, and scalp with SPF 60 every time I left the hotel.  I didn't really get a tan, however I got many freckles and a couple rogue burn marks on my lower back/upper bum area where apparently I wasn't vigilant enough with the SPF on my first day there.  I've discovered it is best to be completely naked when applying sunscreen so as to assure you cover every last inch of skin.  I was super excited to finally have the opportunity to wear my new bathing suit(s) though, seeing as how they hardly even saw the light of day this past summer.

Lifting those heavy boxes at Mollister and doing 2 pushups a night (yes, two) has really paid off.  Sometimes I wonder what kind of heritage I really have, given the fact that I build muscle mass like a goddamn pitbull and my hair is nappier than any white girl's should be.  jk.  

It was a nice break actually, knowing that I didn't have to style my hair, because my efforts would be destroyed as soon as I left the AC... it was also nice wearing only mascara and a bit of blush because any other makeup would melt off... aaahh, the simple life. 

My sister and I spent the majority of our days laying in the sun and being lazy (well earned, might I add), as well as walking/biking around the city.  South beach was nice because unlike New York, one doesn't shit themselves biking around praying that they don't get clipped by a rogue taxi or a bus.  The streets were surprisingly un-busy, although there weren't really any bike lanes of which to speak, and we were unsure whether we should be on the sidewalk or in the road. haha.  We also found this awesome frozen yogurt place, that I wish we had around this area, because I would eat that shit for lunch every day!  

On Friday, we looked out the bedroom window of our hotel and saw a photoshoot going on on the rooftop next-door.  Being the inquisitive girls we are, my sister and I kept peeking out the window to see what they were shooting when my sister remarked that the model looked 'just like J-Lo.'  Being the bitch/skeptic that I am, I decided that it was far too tall to be J-Lo, and was probably some no-name model.  Well, come to find out, that was J-Lo that we spent the better half of the afternoon spying on.  I can also confirm she must have the most inflated ego EVER, because while we were sunbathing on our rooftop terrace, we heard her new song play 50+ times (yeah, that's right- JLo poses listening to her own song... on fucking repeat).  

Dlisted.com proved my sister was indeed correct, we saw all of the people on the roof next door. 

We did a little photoshoot of our own that afternoon with a pigeon I named Roberta, on our rooftop terrace:

Roberta, the sexiest pigeon who ever did live

The view from the Hotel's rooftop

The rooftop of our hotel was perfect for some late-afternoon rays and the beach was right across the street from the hotel...I wish I had this available to me year round. 

We also discovered a huge population of feral cats that lived by the boardwalk and spent their days and nights chilling in the beach grass and by the many restaurants.  This little guy was my favorite, probably because his pink nose reminded me of my own sweet Bijou:

So cuuuute!  I tried to pet him, but he was wild and wanted nothing to do with me. 

I didn't really have the opportunity to enjoy the night life this time around, and that was fine by me.  Being sober, waking up non-hungover, and laying in the sun was better than any cocktail.  

Tomorrow it is back to work for this girl.  Oh well, that's more money in my savings and hopefully less time before I am able to peace out of this town and re-locate.  I have promised myself to finish my book this month (this month being February), and I will bust me ballz to make that happen!  In the meantime, I plan to treat myself only to one new dress to wear out for my bday (maybe it will compensate for the fact I'm over the hill), jk.  Now I look forward to seeing my boyfriend again, and a couple of fun arts and crafts projects lined up... I love February :D