you’d never guess, but i’m college-educated.

July 22nd, 2010

but yet, it still does nothing for me.

after becoming extremely frustrated today over my current employment situation, i thought i would look at what jobs are out there for a regular, run-of-the-mill smart ass, such as myself.

KINDERGARTEN TEACHER

perks: i get to be a kid all day, i would have a classroom aide, and i’m pretty sure there’s nap time.

downfalls: i will be surrounded by children all day, with their precious, un-warped minds at my disposal.  i think this might be unsettling for some folks that own offspring.  and the application mentioned nothing about a criminal background check or drug test.  where is this place?  oh, south tucson.  ’nuff said.

DANCE TEACHER

perks: i can probably get drunk and still go to work.  i’m a better dancer that way, anyway.

downfalls: i don’t think “watches so you think you can dance and america’s best dance crew” look that credible on a resume.

CAMPUS POLICE OFFICER

perks: i can raid students for their narcotics stash.

downfalls: no one would take me seriously in uniform.  they’d probably think i was the hired stripper for the dorm room party.

PUBLIC SAFETY DISPATCHER

perks: this is an unsupervised position.  definitely the kind i like.

downfalls: i probably wouldn’t give a shit about your dilemma.  i’ve got my own, dude.

UROLOGY MEDICAL ASSISTANT

perks: i really can’t think of any.

downfalls: just about everything.  install catheters?!?  measure bladder retention?  can’t we just make educated guesses?!?

SLEEP TECH TO PERFORM SLEEP STUDIES ON PRISON INMATES

perks: i could get free prison tattoos and learn how to shank someone…finally!

downfalls: all of the bad things that (heterosexual) sex-less inmates could do to my lady bits.  and i hear the prison food is terrible…lunch time would be a disaster.

NAIL TECH

perks: i could probably get high on nail polish fumes.

downfalls: i’m not asian.  thanks a lot, mom and dad.

TOW TRUCK DRIVER

perks: i am guessing the dress code consists of an awesome trucker hat and a budweiser cut-off t-shirt.

downfalls: i’d have to pick up my chewing tobacco habit again.

TEMPORARY WRITER

perks: stringing together words to form sentences happens to be my specialty.

downfalls: nobody said i was good at it.

the descent of coolness as we know it.

July 5th, 2010

dresssocks

one morning everyone is going to wake up and notice that their sock drawer is full of “send-me-off-to-my-corporate-position” foot coverings.

i had this revelation this morning, myself.

black socks?  really?  when did this happen and why i am continuing to wear these treacherous footies five days a week? i am getting old.

i mean, nothing tells you that the party is over and you have to work for a living for the rest of your life quite like dress socks.  nothing tells you that it is no longer acceptable to sniff-test your clothes before rolling out the door, mixing beer in your cheerios for breakfast is a no-no, or you-tubing your  most recent keg stand is soooo freshman year quite like dress socks.

i pondered to myself, “what could clue a person in on aging better than conservatively-printed cashmere dress socks?”

nothing.  absolutely nothing.

forget the stretch mark cream that i have in the medicine cabinet.  don’t even pay attention to the HGTV channel that’s permanently on the television.  and let’s not even touch on the fact that i drive a fuel-efficient, family-friendly vehicle.  none of this compares to the painful reminder of aging like dress socks.

this week, dress socks.  next week, it’s a mini-van and Roth IRA.

don’t know what an IRA is?  maybe you should try on a pair of dress socks.

masseuse by day, tea-bag artist by night.

June 25th, 2010

after receiving an injury including alcohol and being a good samaritan, i decided it was time to give massage therapy another shot to make things feel better.  i have only had one professional massage in my life, and that was a few years ago…but needless to say, i was a little apprehensive about getting a second.

oh well, what can it hurt?  might as well give it another go, i thought to myself.

i called and scheduled an appointment and luckily got right in.  i arrived 15 minutes prior to my massage to do paperwork.

the front desk worker comes over to me to review what i wrote down.  “so, you had a drunk guy kind of fall on you.  that doesn’t sound like fun.”

“it usually never is,” i laughed back.

“well, we are going to have ricardo work on you, and he can target the lower back if you’d like.”

“awesome,” i said.

i wait around for my massage therapist for a few minutes.

hmm, ricardo?  the last time i did this, i had a female rub on me.  is this going to be awkward with a guy?  will he care if i fart in front of him?  do we high-five and talk about the lakers while we’re locked in the room together for an hour?  and why does he have to sound so feisty already?  with a name like that, i can only imagine he’s got caramel colored, lotion infused skin and smells like avocados.

a man that does not fit my aforementioned description walks out to greet me.

“hi, renee?  i’m ricardo.  you can come right this way,” he says.

“ricardo, i am really sorry, but i haven’t shaved my legs in two weeks,” i blurt out in the lobby, in front of everyone.

“i’m not too worried about it,” he replies.

ricardo leads me down a long hallway with a ton of private rooms.  i immediately wonder if this is what a brother would look like.

“whoa!  this place is huge,” i say, possibly louder than i should.  here i am, yelling down a long hallway when people are trying to relax in the rooms that i am passing.

ricardo leads me in to a room.  “you can go ahead and get ready, i’ll be waiting outside.  just crawl under the sheets when you are all set.”

“okay, but how do you want me?  how naked do i get?” i asked.

“well, it’s up to you.  but i will let you know that the less clothing you wear, the higher quality massage it will be.”

oh!  i’ve heard this one before.  stupid college.

although i laugh to myself, i still decide that i am stripping down to my undies.  i am such an easy ho.

ricardo re-enters the room after i have climbed in to position.  we chat briefly about what hurts, and then he goes to town.

now, i know massage therapists need lotion, but i have never noticed that some choose to keep it in an apron pocket.  let’s keep in mind that i have a male masseuse, wearing an apron, who keeps pumping lotion in to his hand in the same general vicinity as his genitalia.

i can’t even get a massage without wanting to crack up hysterically.  i will never grow up.

anyway, he works around me, and as he is walking from one side of the table to the other, kneading my skin, i feel a light brush on the top of my head.

wait.  did i just accidentally get tea-bagged by ricardo?  ricardo, did you just tea-bag me?  i mean, really.  when someone’s balls are in that close of proximity to my head, i always assume the worst.  oh well, let’s keep this massage train rolling…tea-bagging and all.

as i was listening to the music, and pondering about my recent possible sexual encounter with ricardo, i thought about asking him to turn on the radio.

do people request songs or radio stations?  i mean, some people might like the sound of birds chirping while they are flying over a large body of water, but i don’t really find that to be soothing.  can we put on a top 40 radio station and hope that miley cyrus is on?  nothing soothes me more than guessing that miley cyrus is going to end up a train-wreck like lindsay lohan.

i decline my urge to request new melodies for the sake of ricardo.

no wonder he probably tea-bagged me…here i am, relaxing, while he is hard at work, lubing up my obviously-neglected, never-seen-the-sight-of-a-razor legs.  i am such a jerk.

an hour goes by faster than it should have.  “okay, renee, we are all set here.  go ahead and get dressed and i will be right outside the door,” ricardo mentions.

i put on my garments and walk out, where ricardo is waiting with a glass of water.  i hand him a twenty.  in a weird way, i kind of feel like eliot spitzer.  i am sure his extra-curricular activities involved him locked in a room for an hour with a person of the opposite sex, that ended in a monetary exchange.

nope.  i’ll never grow up, i tell ya.

wait, that came out wrong.

June 18th, 2010

the number one way to make your mother mad:

tell her that she’s got the “justin bieber haircut.”  but, it does look better on her, anyway.  everyone should really reconsider re-naming it after my mom now.  effin’ hottie.

well, that’s not right.

June 8th, 2010

oh, the perks of working.  if i didn’t have that depressing filler in my life, i would have fewer funny stories to share.

“shove it up your ass sideways,” the guy calls back as he walks out.

okay. let’s rewind.

mr. junkie and his trailer park princess walk in to make a return.  sure.  we can try to do that.

“do you have a receipt?” i asked.

“nope,” he said.

“okay,well, where did you get it?” i asked back.

“umm, here,” miss tweaked-out princess replied.

“nah, it doesn’t look like we’ve sold this product since i’ve been here,” i mentioned.

“oh, well, we got it from this same store, but the one across town,” she snapped.

“well, let me see what we can do,” i said as i checked the price in the register. “okay, this is a discontinued price of $3.97, but it’s two months away from expiration, meaning i can only give you 25-percent of that, which comes to a dollar.  are you really sure you want to return it without that receipt?” i questioned.

“yeah…i’ll just take a couple of these and we can call it even,” the guy said as he grabs a couple of protein bars and starts to walk out.

“actually, we need to do an exchange in the computer for inventory reasons, so it’ll only take a minute,” i called after him.

mr. white trash-tweak-a-riffic looks irritated, but complies.  he returns to the counter.

apparently, when you’re high on meth, or crank, or whatever mr. citizen-of-the-year was on, you’re fairly impatient.  i was almost finished with the transaction and crediting him his one whole dollar when he shoves the protein bars across the counter and says “forget it,” and turns to storm out.

“oh, well, don’t forget your product here,” i called after him.

i guess he didn’t care because he kept walking.

“well, have a great day,” i said anyway, even though i could care less if this fucker O.D.’d in the desert.

“shove it up your ass sideways,” he yelled as he walked out the front door with his lady friend.

“oh, thanks, you do the same,” i replied with a shit-eating-grin on my face.  the customer next in line looked at me with a confused expression on his face.

“yeah, i know, someone must be having a bad tuesday,” i said. “but just for the heck of it, can you NOT tell me to shove something up my behind? it’s going to be a long day for me.”

the guy just laughed and managed not to tell me something mean during the whole transaction.  thank you, sir.  you may not know it, but by you refraining from telling me to stick any object up my own ass, sideways no less, has just made my day.  come back and see me anytime.

as for the crackheads, they didn’t bother to come back.  i don’t know how much meth you can purchase in exchange for a dollars-worth of fun size protein bars, but i’m sure it’s enough to get the party started.  maybe next time we’ll stock the shelves with some PCP and you’ll find something worth your interest.

sweet home ala-oxford.

June 6th, 2010

that’s right.  it’s about that time that i make a trip back to the mitten.

in four days, i will board my plane (under the slight influence of alcohol), have a layover in denver (where i shall consume more alcohol), and land at my destination feeling slightly hungover, several hours later.

for this trip, much like the last, i embarked on a 30-day diet prior to coming home.  this included stripping sweets from my diet, limiting my sugar intake and staying away from starchy foods that contain white flour and such.  need less to say, by the time i get home, i will ninja kick someone in the neck for a fuckin’ cookie.  ’nuff said.

i have drank once (okay, let me clarify, i indulged one weekend in alcohol, but for the sake of pity and lack of remembering exactly how much i drank, we shall refer to it as ‘once’) in the last month.  this is another big deal for me.  seeing as how i make my best impressions and life decisions under the influence of alcohol, you can guess that my life has been in shambles the past 30 days.  (excluding that ‘once.‘  that ‘once’ ended with me hanging my head in a hotel room toilet, certain that i was going to vomit up all my evening’s fun.  i told you i make great life decisions…but i didn’t end up puking, FYI.  i win.)

all for nothing, i guess we can say.  for when i get home, i will be at my friend’s wedding (drinking and eating), hanging out with my family (eating and drinking) and going out with old friends (drinking and drinking.)

the whole point of this post is; when i step off that plane, someone please stand by with a cookie and an adult beverage.  i need to get my life back on track, asap.

see y’all in FOUR days.

let’s hit it.

May 17th, 2010

a customer at work was taking a sip out of their protein drink, when they dribbled a little bit on the counter.  without thinking, and with a dollar bill, the customer wiped up the drop and licked it off the bill.

“oh, no you didn’t,” i said.

“didn’t you know?  that’s how you get your daily hit of cocaine,” he replied.

“…and feces,” i added.

let’s play a game.

May 15th, 2010

sometimes in the morning, grizzly and i play a game that’s similar to “where’s waldo?”

i like to call it “where’s the urination?”

i bet you’ll never guess.

whereswaldo

date update.

May 15th, 2010

so, for those of you who happen to stumble upon my sometimes-coherent ramblings on my website, you might remember reading about a date gone wrong back in december or so.

i rigged myself up on my own “point system” that i failed miserably.  i guess some people aren’t impressed when you verbally express your profound love for taylor swift.

anyway, the “date” has since proposed to someone else.  i don’t mind this fact, but it was brought to my attention that perhaps the reason everyone else is taking the plunge and i am not, is due to my immaturity.

true.  but dating someone on my maturity level isn’t really my style, and it happens to be just plain illegal.  oh well.  i am sure second-graders don’t put out, anyway.

honesty is the best policy.

May 11th, 2010

conversation between a customer and i at work the other day:

“wow, that’s a huge rock,” the guy said to me as he was eying my “wedding ring*.”

“oh, yeah, thanks,” i replied,” but it’s totally fake.”

“well that’s cool that you admit it,” he said.

“yeah, i just don’t feel like getting jumped for it when it only cost me thirteen bucks at Kohls.”

*this ring is my “creepy guy repellent.”  and yes, it works…sometimes.


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