www.reneecarol.com

how is it that my doctor’s office (gynecologist) can manage to deliver babies, yet not call in a prescription to the correct pharmacy?  like that is too difficult of a task or something…weird.

a rule to selling:  relate the product directly to the customer.

…and this is exactly what i did…but it didn’t work out so well.

at work, we sell a membership savings card that carries an annual fee of $15.  sometimes, no matter how hard you try, people suck at math and will never understand that buying a small item, month after month, can add up to huge savings at the end of the year…but that’s not my problem, i guess.

for example, i have one guy who comes in every month and will not buy the membership.  we joke around about it every time.  this individual happens to have a gold tooth on his left central incisor (google it if you must.)  so, yesterday, i decided to take the sales plunge and imply the savings directly to his situation.

me:  “okay, you know very well by now what i am going to tell you about the membership card…we do this every time, babe.”

him: (laughing) “i know, i know.”

me:  “i mean, with all of the money you could have saved by now, it should be enough to buy yourself another gold front.  let’s be honest.”

he just looks at me with the “this white bitch is crazy look.”

me:  “oooooh.  too far?”

now, before you get all “oh-no-she-didn’t” on me, let me just chime in that i figured i was being politically correct on this one.  it’s not like i told him that with all of the money he was saving he could have bought a sawed-off shotgun and a 40-ounce of malt liquor.

ooooooh, too far?!?

here are some of my favorite quotes from vegas this weekend:

ryan: “why are we getting ready and you girls are taking champagne showers?”

ryan: (completely concerned) “is jennifer aniston ever going to settle down?!?”

ryan: “sean, i umm, learned how to iron.”

erin: “can helicopters fly upside down?”

ryan: “maybe if i got some sex, i wouldn’t litter.”

renee: (while peeing) “it’s always a relief when your kidneys still work.”

while making an exceptional caramel macchiato cheesecake yesterday, i accidentally murdered my electric mixer.  apparently the batter was too much for this little guy to handle.  i smelled burning first, and then looked down to see my utensil smoking at the gills.  bad sign.

hey, if you can’t stand the heat, get the hell outta the kitchen. ohhhhh, burned.  renee: 1.  dead mixer: 0.

date: February 14, 2010 (Valentine’s Day)

setting: Grocery store express check out lane.

goods i was purchasing: items for my cheesecake baking arsenal.

goods that that gentleman behind me was purchasing: an over-sized heart-shaped balloon, a flower bouquet, baby wipes, two containers of soap and toilet paper.

my thought at that exact moment: wow, sir, it looks like you have yourself a nice little sloppy Valentine’s day hook up, cleaning supplies and all.  you never know how messy this could get. (insert imaginary fist pump here.)

read this and then continue on below.

…and that, ladies and gentlemen, was my 7th grade crush.

not only did he have the balls to rob a grocery store, but he did it in his own hometown, where everyone knows everybody.

in his defense, he was probably strung out on heroin.  don’t judge.

..of miss reneecarol.com can be challenging.  especially if it’s a monday.  i’ll outline my typical monday (it’s actually just like any other day, because i never do anything exciting, but ‘mondays’ always get the best of everyone for some reason.)

1.  wake up to hit the gym, only to find yet another spot where my dog has managed to up-chuck.  oh well.  finding dog vomit at 8am is much better than finding it at 5am, i suppose.

2.  make it to the gym, weigh myself, and see that i dropped some of the weight i gained out of nowhere.  i high-five myself in the locker room, and become an early morning spectacle for all of the older, naked, doughy women to marvel at.  glorious.

3.  come home from the gym, hop in the shower, look down at myself and wonder, “why must getting older be such a pain in the ass?”  forget the fact that i was happy about losing 3.5 pounds about an hour and a half ago.  to top things off, i eat a bowl of cereal with chocolate syrup on top, before leaving for work.  wtf, renee, wtf.

4.  leave for work.  traffic + construction = FML.

5.  once at work, i deal with two customers who are going through a divorce and they both decide that i will be their emotional-release person.  the first guy, while in the middle of tossing out the ‘F’ word while referring to his ex says, “you’re really pretty, by the way.”  i reply, “oh, that’s sweet…but that’s just the divorce talking.”  the second guy decides to go on and on about how he’s happy it’s over, and i end up keeping the store open ten minutes late due to this fact.

6.  upon leaving the store, i get in my car, only to find that it doesn’t want to start on the first try.  it must have been too cold out for it to start right away.  dear vehicle, you are from michigan.  get your pansy-ass started in this 50-degree weather or else i am going to cross the border and leave you there to be ransacked for parts.  thanks.

7.  i get home, and attempt to make myself some tea.  clearly, this task is far too complicated for me on this monday evening.  while trying to squeeze out my tea bag, it erupts herbal goodness in to my hot water.  eff.  as i am trying to fix this catastrophe by filtering out the herbs with a coffee filter in to a new cup, i spill the herbal-y tea water all over the place.  eff.  i should have just cracked open a beer and said ‘to hell with it.’

8.  i lay down on the couch to watch some TV before falling asleep.  i am clearly a homo, because rather than watch something good, i tune in to ‘for the love of ray j reunion.‘  ahh, nothing quite like quality programming to round out my monday.

yep.  i know you’re jealous.

…the most recent sex you’ve had is with yourself.

and just to make it seem like a real-life situation, i didn’t even call myself in the morning.

to celebrate yet another year of not getting pregnant, shot, joining a gang and the slight drooping of my breasts, i am going to vegas and everyone is invited.

February 18-21 i am driving to las vegas with some friends and shacking up in a decent hotel, where i shall be giving myself champagne showers and jumping on beds until i throw up all of my birthday fun.

if you know me and feel like meeting up, get a hold of me and i’ll give you the rest of the information.  if you don’t know me and still want to go, please don’t be offended when i greet you with my pepper spray.  if you know me and can’t make it, well, i will be sure to think about you while my face is buried in some stripper’s fake cleavage.

cheers to aging, getting closer to thirty, at which age i am pretty sure that my life will officially be over.  unless i produce children before then.  on accident.

i suppose i should always take it as a compliment when people visit me at my place of work and ask me to make a career change and work for whoever it is they are working for.  but more often than not, they are just trying to move me in to another shitty sales position that would make me want to take my own life five days out of the week and wear suits.  yuck.

so, when this douche bag came in yesterday and tried to recruit me to sell health supplements for this “new line of products”, i guess i came off as a little abrasive.

“i mean, without sounding like a jerk, there are supplements and then there are supplements.  what you guys sell here are just supplements,” he said.

“wow.  sounds pretty similar,” i answered with a hint of sarcasm.

“the products that we are producing, the astronauts are taking them in to space with them,” he threw in.

“really?  hmm.  they take monkeys in to space.  and that one time, lance bass was almost taken in to space.  i am sure they take a lot of things in to space with them, but we are not about to sell monkeys here,” i said with a shit-eating smile on my face.

he looked at me like he had no idea what i was talking about.  and frankly, i had no idea what i was talking about.  all i knew was that i didn’t want to work with/for this douche bag and i was ready for a margarita.  take those “new” supplements and launch them in to Uranus, Mr. NASA.