www.reneecarol.com

…because i will.  i’m a homo.

and yes, i am posting a link to britney’s new single.  because i love that crazy trick.

if you didn’t pay for it, then don’t bite in to it.

this could be said about a lot of things; fruit, mouth guards, strippers…

…you get the idea.  but i am specifically referring to protein bars in this post.

common scenario:  family comes in to my work with their litter of children.  parents are looking around the store, kids are running rampant.  spaztastic child spots a protein bar that looks like candy, sinks his fangs in to my merchandise, wrapper and all.

thank goodness for my self control (this time.)  because what i feel like saying is; “please remove your sabertooth child from my store and leave twenty bucks to cover those eight, drool-coated, non-saleable snacks.  thanks.”

oh, kids.  can’t live with them, can’t eat them.  those cute little fuckers.

“hey, how was your day today?” jim asked when i got home.

“well, are you referring to my day before or after i super-glued my finger to a lock box and then got a strange love letter from one of my customers?”

to top it all off, i got stuck in a shirt at target in the dressing room, and then the same thing happened with a pair of capri lycra workout pants.  i would advise against ever trying on a pair of those.

you win, mr. monday…but next week, i’m coming for you.

i tried yoga today for the first time ever.

…and i’m pretty sure i was the only person sweating by the end.

i entered the class with my friend erin (because there’s no way in hell i would attempt that by myself) and we grabbed a mat and sat down.

“did i leave enough space between us for yoga?  i don’t know what i am doing,” i said.  erin ended up scooting her mat a few inches farther.  good choice, that way, you won’t hear me grunting as loudly.

the instructor turned down the lights, put on the music, and like clockwork, i started snickering to myself uncontrollably.  this was  like an acid trip sans acid.

we began the class, and almost immediately i had regretted going.  the instructor had us sit indian style with our palms facing up, resting on our knees.

“i want you to focus on your breathing, and close your eyes,” she said.

close my eyes?  are you serious?  i don’t trust these people in here, and i hardly know you. what the hell?  i’ve had wayyyy too much caffeine this morning for this relaxation stuff, ma’am.

“next, i want you to tighten the muscles in your toes, your calves, your legs, your abs, your chest, and your face and fingers.”

if we aren’t careful, i feel that some of these people in here might accidentally defecate on their yoga mat.

“okay, now we are going to move in to the downward dog position and relax back in to child’s pose.”

do they call it “child’s pose” because you want to cry like a little kid because you hurt so bad?

“while in downward dog position, take your right leg and thread it through to where your hands are and move in to a resting position.”

are you fucking serious?!? i think i said this a total of, like, 2,143 times.

“if you’re advanced, you can bend back your left leg behind you, grab that foot with your right hand and touch it to your head.”

my foot is coming nowhere near my head.  where the eff do you come from, gumby?  and why does my right armpit feel strained?

“while we stretch, you shouldn’t hurt.”

it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. my limbs are going to fall off.

“while in downward dog position, raise up your right leg to the sun, and flex your foot.”

if a meat-head falls over in yoga class, do they make a sound?

with every position change, my body ached and i grunted like a stubborn monkey.  when would this torture be over?

toward the end of class, the lights were turned all the way off, and we were told to lay down on our mats and close our eyes.

again?  eyes closed?  this is kinda weird.  reminds me of a cult of some sort.  what the hell did i walk in to?

we laid on the floor for about five minutes.

are people still laying down, not moving?  are everyone’s eyes closed?  or am i looking like a complete idiot?

after it was all over, erin asked me how it went.

“so, what did you think?” she asked.

“it feels like i just got my ass kicked by the tooth fairy.”

new idea for slogan t-shirts:

“spread the word like herpes.  www.reneecarol.com”

okay, who wants one?!?

when at sam’s club, buy in bulk.

except when it comes to cheese puffs.

jim: “can we get those cheese puffs?”

renee: “we are not paying six dollars for cheddar flavored air.”

making genius financial decisions one wholesale item at a time.

i was complemented on a piece of my anatomy the other day (at the dentist.)

hygienist: “wow. nice canines.”

thanks.  they’re real.

what genius decided to build a ramp that pours you and your 1,000 pound grocery cart in to oncoming traffic?  who knows.  (probably some degenerate.)

now, i know why you need a ramp.  somehow, you and your nutrition need to make it to your vehicle safely without hopping down from a curb.  but, those ramps should follow the same rules as the common traffic crosswalk.  granted, people shouldn’t be cruising through the parking lot like it’s the indie 500, but not everyone feels this way.

the reason i bring this up, is because this very incident happened to me this afternoon (for the millionth time).  after i was shopping at sam’s club, (and you know the cart was heavier than i), i was dragged in to oncoming traffic.  i was also in a dress, so there was no advanced acrobatic activity going on to try and stop the cart.  the car (sporting a handicap sticker) drove right on through the crosswalk, narrowly avoiding my wholesale treasure chest.

talk about “paying it forward.”  just because you have a handicap sticker, doesn’t mean that i want one.  thanks, but no thanks.

we sell a certain organic liquid soap at work, and when one gentleman was buying it, he filled me in on a little something that i’ve heard before.

guy: “you know, this stuff has an erotic side.  when my friend and i were bathing in a stream when we were camping, we swore it made our balls tingle.”

me: “yeah, i know what you mean.”

guy: (puzzled look on his face.)

me: “i mean, i’ve heard that from some guys before.”

…and this is what happens when i don’t think before i speak.  this poor guy now thinks that i own a set of balls.  boo.

i went out to an eighties bar last night with erin and ryan.  wait, let me clarify; i went to a bar that is known for playing eighties music on saturday nights.  the place was kinda a hole in the wall, but at least the music was a hit.  there were all kinds of people there, mostly older guys that looked like serial killers and thick women minus bras.

ryan had asked us gals if we wanted to dance.

“umm, no thanks man,” i said.  “i am scared that one of those guys with a mustache is going to dry hump me on the dance floor.”

not exactly my idea of a great time.