The Unsavory Cashier

A recent internal dialogue with myself went a little something like this:

Black coffee. Maybe some cream.

Crap.

The cream is bad.  *GLOP*, *GLOP*, *GLOP* in the cup bad.

Ok.

No coffee.

New Plan.

So this is the way my day started. Theoretically, this is probably a good thing. It can only go up from here, right?

I mean, if I had gently awakened to coffee that had lovingly ground its beans and placed itself in a French press to steep to perfection, what the hell would I do after that? (Obvious dismay that coffee could do this aside, of course).  And seriously? I don’t even know what to do with the chunky milk horribleness. There is no way to transform that into a charming sentiment. There is no in-between on milk. It’s either good or bad and this was very, very bad. I promise.

I try very hard to be a “glass half full” kind of girl. If I can only find one of my shoes, I would likely say something to the effect of “at least I have the other one”. But that, my friends, is bullshit. Sometimes you just have to see things how they really are regardless of how you feel about the state of your glass or the whereabouts of your shoe. The reality of it is that having one shoe is really the same thing as having no shoes at all because you can’t wear just one shoe. I mean, I guess you could, but most people probably wouldn’t. So what does having a half full glass do for you? It may leave you wanting something more, but it moistens the palate.  But what does a half empty glass do for you? It leaves you thirsty.

Yeah.

Drink that up – chunks and all.

So there you are, walking around wearing one shoe, parched, bitter, probably nauseated and being a generally unappreciative hag. Doesn’t that make you feel pretty, ladies?

And I know how much I LOVE spending time with people like this. I may be cynical, but I’m not miserable. Being a cheerleader to someone who is content to bask in self-pity is exhausting and frankly, a complete waste of effort. Specifically, MY effort.

So what. Shoes are a highly overrated commodity in this country. Go barefoot. Don’t try to cheer the un-cheerable – you know who these people are and they know we’re talking about them.

So, in closing, we have all had (and will have) to deal with things that we would rather not. That happens. But let’s form a united front and agree not to be horrible to people around us, especially innocent strangers who inadvertently stumbled into your unsavory moment. Smile. Be nice. Fake it. They don’t know about your chunky coffee or your missing shoe and just want to get out of the fucking store.  Ahem. Sorry.

So, I will be nice to you perhaps even when you are not very nice to me. However, I will not be the cheerleader who tries to right the wrong in your day and I WILL NOT be an outlet for your inexplicable nastiness.  Embrace the concept of moving forward. Make a new plan. Consider a career about a bazillion leaps away from customer service.

Saying the Wrong Thing

There’s really only so much I can say. I find myself running my mouth a bit these days. I’ve never thought of myself as someone who would fall into the category of a mouth runner/shit talker or whatever term you would like to apply to someone who tends to say too much. I think most people have those special moments where we say something and we instantly wish we hadn’t. I like to think of taking it back as speaking in reverse. But I’m the girl who thinks of vomiting as eating in reverse. It’s kind of the same principle, actually.

So why don’t I write more these days? Perhaps you’re familiar with the adage that if you don’t have anything nice to say you should not say anything at all? Now consider my silence.  Yeah. It’s like that.

Okay, okay…it’s not that I don’t have anything nice to say. Perhaps it would be better to say that I don’t have anything productive to say. For example, if someone who you find mildly irritating says something to the effect of “Hi, how are you today?” is it productive to say “I was managing this day much better prior to having been disenchanted by the mere sound of your voice”? 

No. It’s not. And knowing -  as they say -  is half the battle.

As for the other half of the battle, it’s about self control – Something I believe to be a highly overrated phenomenon. What has self control ever done for me? Well let me just tell you that I am the happiest I’ve ever been since I stopped saying what I think, eating what I like, and started keeping my hands to myself. Really. Everyone should experience the joy only self control can bring.

March

I decided on February 29th that March is for wimps. No blogs for March. March is entirely too pussified to handle me. It get's nothing.

Defining Faithful

It seems relatively uncomplicated to define faithfulness. You know: being loyal, honest, trustworthy and other such squishy sentiments. I fully support the premise of being faithful in all avenues of my life. The question is, what happens when you put your faith in the wrong thing?

Sure this is pertinent in such things as generic sun screen, the "miles until empty" notification on the dashboard of your car, and lucky number 34... but really... things can get far more jacked up than losing your ass on a bad bet and ending up walking home getting cooked by nature's broiler.

There’s no need to mentally prepare for an assault against your spirituality or lack thereof, but just know that I feel pretty good about how I live in this world and where I stand in the proverbial "end". See. That's all. This insight may come as a surprise to those who aren’t personally acquainted with me given my pension for referencing liquor, profanity and the relative side effects of the aforementioned. I neither condone nor recommend behaviour relating to the aforementioned, but I will tell you that I fully support the efforts of those trying to enjoy life.

Once upon a time, I met (sigh) a lovely individual whom during the course of a conversation said “you really have a lot of faith in me”. to which I responded “yes, I do”.  To be honest, I think the direct simplicity of my response was a bit much for noncommital ears. Not to say that I should have made something up or responded in a more complicated manner, but knowing that someone trusts you to get it right is a lot of pressure.

This is where faithfulness falters. Being faithful is different than being a fan of something. I am a fan of dark comedies, but am willing to deviate from this genre from time to time. Being willing to deviate from something that requires faithfulness causes me to challenge whether or not you are simply a fan. John Cuszak will not question my integrity if I temporarily lose my mind and think I need to watch a Jersey Shore marathon. He might not be impressed, but he’ll probably let it go.

I could make cliché references to adulterous behavior or “for better or for worse”, but really these ideas are not always applicable to faithfulness in the broader sense. The point is, having someone trust you to get it right is a lot of pressure, but faithfulness is being grateful for someone's effort even if things don’t go how it seems like they should. Good intentions should never be discounted. When you know someone is trusting you, you don’t have to act as though you’re honored, but at least know that something fragile is in your hands.

And when it comes to sunscreen... don't be a cheap ass.

Irony

There are some things that really are indescribable. You can string together a laundry list of adjectives that feel like they might be appropriate, but even when mashing them altogether, they seem inadequate. I knew a boy who said that he had seen sunsets that were so amazing that they made him cry. That in and of itself was a little much for me – I appreciate natures beauty as well as being sensitive and introspectivce , but I was left feeling a little conflicted by the thought of him falling apart over the setting of the sun. I’m not that cynical, but the sun DOES set every day, you know?

ANYWAY…

This morning when I was leaving for the day, I pulled to the end of the drive to my subdivision where it meets a relatively busy road across from a shopping complex that includes  (but is not  limited to) a Home Depot, a Pet Smart, and a Walmart. As I was beginning to get impatient waiting to turn left (who the hell do I have to write a letter to for a traffic light to be considered there?!?!?) when I realized that the sky behind Walmart was in the midst of fading from blue, to purple, to pink. The way the colors were moving as the sun was rising was fluid and somehow reassuring. The pastel pool before me was truly one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen… only it seemed to be happening along the roofline of Walmart.

What the hell? Right? If the Walmart Corporation could conjure a way to sell this amazing spectacle for eighty eight cents to the esteemed American Public, you know that it would. I was instantly imagining this amazing view being cheapened by a room full of corporate whores who wouldn’t dream of shopping in the establishment they spend their days pimping to the generally economically disadvantaged people who shop there.

I have been wondering throughout the day what I am to take from this? Beautiful things can happen in even the ugliest of places? Slow down and appreciate the little things? Even though you can buy an ass-ton of things for eighty eight cents inside of Walmart, the bottom line is that the best things in life really are free?

In the very least, it certainly is ironic to see something so striking behind something so dreadful. I sincerely hope this is not some kind of metaphor that I have yet to grasp. That would be most unfortunate.

The Gift That Keeps on Giving...

This is quite possibly the most depressing song I could possible subject myself to at the moment.

Option 1:
Curl up into a ball and go into a catatonic trance only to be broken by an IV of vodka.
Option 2:
Maintain visible composure and think about Option 1.
Option 3:
Turn it off. Why are you doing this to yourself?  Seriously.

There are literally a hundred things I could be doing, but instead I choose to do this. I choose to sit here and feel bad about… wait… I’m feeling bad about feeling bad? Cyclical and obsessive.  Totally unimpressive. Giving recognition to this bizarre turn of psychological events doesn’t make it stop. More than anything, it seems to be propelling the process. I have, within the confines of my own head, diagnosed myself with the first ever case of kinetic despair.

Perhaps the best thing to do at this point is properly season myself with wine and herbs as to create more enjoyable dining experience for my psychosis. I have always been a bit of a people pleaser…

Or I could just, you know, turn it off…

How is it possible that I could fuck myself up this badly, and not fix it? You’ll hear people say “Wow. That’s really fucked up”. Have you ever once heard anybody say, “Wow, she really un-fucked that up”. Sure, you can turn things around, change directions, recover to an extent – but you can’t un-fuck something. Some things really can’t be undone. Sure, if you break something, you might be able to fix it, but really you’ll always know that it was broken.

For Christmas, I have gifted myself with the knowledge that I am functionally broken. Glued back together, but if you look closely you can see the slight crackling where the emotional bonding agent has been applied and pieces have been forced back into place. In a heated environment, you hope the adhesion holds, but it’s unpredictable. If you glue the handle of a coffee cup on, you can certainly still use it. But please do the world a service and don’t act surprised when the cup drops off the handle one day and unloads ten ounces of second degree crotch burns at your door. You signed up for this shit.