www.reneecarol.com

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

thursdays are generally my day off during the week from that suicide gateway i call “work.”

listing in numerical order (because that’s what i do) i will break down what happens on my glorious thursday off:

1.  wake up at 8:30 am.  this is sleeping in to me, seeing as how i normally get up at 4:50 am to hit the gym.  the dog is sitting right next to my face.  i didn’t realize that i ordered a tossed salad for breakfast, poochie.

2.  i try to throw in a load of laundry out back before i run out for a bit.  i am in my robe and naked underneath, because, well, that’s just what people do.  the dog is outside and there is one hell of a drool rein hanging from his jowl.  he is excited to see me come outside, i am trying to dance around him to avoid him using my clean robe as a napkin.  in between ninja-like dance moves, i look down to realize that my robe has opened in the front.  happy thursday neighbors, my vagina says “hello.“

3.  i meet up with a friend at the gym.  she’s a personal trainer and naturally has no mercy on me.  i am sweating, huffing and puffing and she asks why i am having so much trouble just trying to tie my shoes.

4.  i have to run to target to pick up a new pair of work out pants.  why is it when i enter that store with one thing in mind, i leave the store with at least $65 worth of goods?  nope.  didn’t need socks or underwear.  but i bought them anyway.

5.  i come home for a minute, grab some old clothes and i was off to plato’s closet.  i was in need of some shorts.  i go in to the dressing room with a pair of size “ones.”  i can’t get those little fuckers over my thighs.  hmm…i know squats are doing wonders for my glutes, but if i can’t fit in to normal clothing i am going to scream. i return to the rack to upgrade to the next size.  i spot a cute pair of shorts and then look at the tag.  rocawear.  great.  ghetto booty shorts. i bring myself to actually try them on just to see if they fit.  and they do.  i don’t know if i should start rapping “gangster’s paradise” or cry.  i choose to leave the shorts in the fitting room because i am too ashamed to carry them out of the fitting room and put them back on the rack.

6.  i decide to do a little grocery shopping.  i was hungry at the time.  bad idea.  who needs two kinds of peanut butter, two types of granola, two different kinds of milk and two different kinds of high fiber bars?  i guess it’s better than buying a russian and a taiwanese hooker.  i can only imagine the language barriers.

7.  i tried to do a little studying out of my personal training book.  when i realize that i can’t find my hi-lighter, i lose the passion to study.  i haven’t studied in so long, i almost forgot how to do it.  and then i realized that i almost forgot how to read.

8.  i open one of my milk choices in the fridge.  i bought lactose-free milk and almond milk.  i didn’t know that almonds had teats that produced milk for baby almonds, but what the hell.  it was effing delish.  those almonds definitely know how to lactate.

never mind all of those “sex addiction” claims that celebs are making lately.  if sex is going to be an “addiction”, at least make it an addiction that you fuel by banging good looking chicks.  (come on, jesse. michelle bombshell?  her name is a joke and so is that tramp stamp that is strategically placed on her forehead.)

heidi montag claims that she is not “addicted” to plastic surgery, never mind the fact that she had ten procedures done at once and plans on getting more.

and please don’t get me started on celebrity rehab.

rather than ramble on and on about other peoples’ addictions, i thought i should point out my own, just so i can feel as equally pathetic as tiger woods on thanksgiving day with a nine-iron hanging out of his back windshield.

addiction #1

celebrity news.  but i think you’ve gathered this already.

addiction #2

pop music.  if you’re under the age of 20 and have a hit single out, i will most likely be caught driving along, playing it at top volume, singing all of the words.  you semi-talented kids are so catchy and cute.

addiction #3

online videos that include underage pop stars.  example.

addiction #4

reality tv shows, namely ones that are on MTV.  16 & pregnant hooks me in for hours.  i am 26-years-old and should be doing something more productive with my life, other than watching mediocre television programming.

addiction #5

douche-bag guys.  i am still trying to break myself of this one.  but there’s just something so alluring about a guy that loves himself more than celebrity fit club-bers love complaining.

addiction #6

sleep.  but hey, at least it’s better than heroin.  or so i hear.

addiction #7

updating my website with useless and non-entertaining posts.  clearly.

before i get started, may i just point out the “caring for your unscheduled illnesses and injuries.”

may i ask who schedules an injury?  i suppose if i were to go and jump head-first in to a venomous snake pit, i might have a scheduled injury.  other than that, i doubt people pencil injuries in to their busy everyday schedules.

well, on sunday i happened to have an unscheduled injury.  stepping on a rusty thumbtack was definitely NOT penciled in to my drinking/sun bathing schedule.

after having stepped on said thumbtack and declining to go to urgent care that night, my friend washed off my foot, elevated it on a pillow, and we ordered pizza.  tetanus was no match for Papa Johns.  pizza usually trumps everything, especially when there’s beer involved.

however, waking up monday morning with an enormous amount of pain in my left foot and still thinking that my last tetanus shot was when i was five-years-old, i figured i might as well succumb to the fear of tetanus and take myself to urgent care.

i phoned my first urgent care choice.

“hi, do you offer tetanus shots?” i asked the receptionist.

“we do, but i am so sorry, we are all out of them,” she answered.

i hung up.  wow.  there must be a mass abundance of people stepping on sharp, rusty objects in this town.  crazy.

i phoned my second urgent care choice.  this location actually had the remedy in stock, so i left my house and prepared myself for penetration.

once i got there, i was told there would be about an hour-and-a-half wait.  not good.  i needed to be to work in two hours and i still had to shower.

hmm.  i thought this was urgent care.  and what are all of these little hispanic children doing, running around this joint like a mcdonald’s playplace?  have you children heard of a playground?  have you injured yourself?  because the way you are running around like a baboon on cocaine, it doesn’t seem like you should be hanging out at the urgent care facility on a monday morning.  if you are not bleeding from the anus, or have not stepped on a rusty thumbtack within the last eighteen hours, please gather your napping (passed-out-drunk?) parents and retreat to your 1995 ford mustang that awaits in the parking lot with tinted windows and chrome hubcaps.

well, time passed, the children played in the waiting room, and i had to leave for work.  i approached the front desk.

“i am really sorry to be wasting your time, but i have to go.  i need to be to work pretty soon.  i mean, is tetanus really that bad?” i asked the front desk guy.

“oh, i don’t think tetanus is too bad,” (yes, he really said this) “you should be okay, i guess.”

“i mean, is there a certain amount of time that i can wait before having the shot and i won’t die?  i just really have to be at work.”

“you should get the shot within 48 hours,” mr. genius-tetanus-isn’t-too-bad-guy said.

“okay, cool, i’ve got some time, then,” i said as i walked out.

i got to work on time and didn’t wake up with lock-jaw on tuesday morning.  it was a win-win sitaution for me.  thus far.

overstatement of the day:  “i will die if i eat that many carbs.”

here’s the story:  a woman came in to my store today, bought a protein bar, and walked out.  two seconds later, she came back with the un-opened good and said exactly what you just read above.

excuse me, ma’am, i know i don’t hold a degree in medicine, but i think it is practically impossible for you to die from eating thirty carbs in one sitting.  trust me, i work in retail.  your ass will just definitely get fatter, though.