I love Fantasia. One of the greatest voices ever.
Dear James Blake,
Becoming a fan of Two Door Cinema Club.
“It’s like you’re my mirror / My mirror staring back at me”
Just a great song, it makes you want to dance but it’s deep at the same time.
Oldish but good.
“Are you gonna leave me now?”
Turns any day into a mini party.
Sitting in the office counting the money in the safe with my manager. Now, this is a fairly long and boring process so my manager attempts to make conversation with me. But I really am horrible at carrying on a conversation, so it always ends up with her talking the whole time and me saying “Yup” everyone once in awhile.
Here is how today’s conversation went:
“Me and my husband went shopping at the mall last night. We went to Lids to get my son a hat. Man, fuck Lids. It’s like thirty dollars for a hat. My husband ended up getting one for him too, so that’s sixty for two damn hats. Then his ghetto ass cousin calls and ask him to pick up a hat for his six-month-old baby. Man, fuck that baby. I’m like, ‘I don’t know that baby.’ And he asked us to get his kid’s name on the side too, which is like another thirty on top of the thirty we’re already paying for the stupid-ass hat. Man, fuck that hat!”
The awesome people I work with make my horrible job bearable.
Today someone at my work brought up that they were being forced to take a vacation next week. They said is was a bunch of “bullshit” because they could have planed a trip to New Orleans if they’d of known earlier. I told this person that I have friends down there and that I’ve thought about traveling there myself.
To that they replied:
“You don’t want to go there. People are weird as hell in New Orleans! We got lost down town one time. It was scary as hell. We somewhere around Bourbon street when we saw this giant-gay-black-man dressed in pink spandex rollerblading down the road. And on the other side was another gay-man tap-dancing with glass bottles on his on his shoes. We quickly realized we were lost in the gay district of New Orleans. We didn’t have much of the choice of where to go, though, because the other district was full of voodoo. So we were either going to get killed by a bunch of gay people, or by a bunch of voodoo people. We chose to take our chances with gay dudes.”
Now, I’ve heard of people being homophobic because homosexuality either makes them uncomfortable with their own sexuality, or it somehow conflicts with their religious beliefs. However, I have never heard of someone actually having a fear of gay people because they were afraid of getting killed by them.
I laughed at this person’s story, but I honestly have no idea how dangerous gay men in New Orleans are. But I do know this, that if I were murdered by a roller-bladder in pink spandex, I’d be mad as hell.
Just listen to it. It’s one of those perfectly elecetronic songs.
Cleaning the women’s bathroom at work when a woman walks in and just screams. She is completely hysterical about the fact that there is a man in the women’s bathroom.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize and try to explains, “I am cleaning in here.”
“You should put a sign up!” she informs me.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize once more because there is no such sign that exists in our store that informs people that the bathrooms are being cleaned.
“You should put a sign up!” she demands again.
“I’m sorry,” I say knowing that if I tell her that there isn’t a sign that it’ll only add to her distress.
“You should put a sign up!” she yells at me one final time.
I don’t say “I’m sorry” this time, because I figure if my apologies haven’t sunk in after three attempts then they probably are never going to.
But I really don’t understand what the big deal is in the first place? Why can’t a man be in the women’s bathroom? Why does there even have to be two separate rooms for people to do there business? It kind of seems like segregation and sort of ridiculous in this day and age. If I want to use the women’s bathroom why the hell shouldn’t I be able to? I had a professor who once said it’s because people like to pretend that girls don’t poop. But let me tell you, from my experience at work, bitches be shitin’ all the time — which I am about to further explain.
I leave this woman to her “work” and go clean the men’s room while I wait for her to finish. I hear the blow dryer running and the door slam shut, which are clear indicators that she is done. So I head over to finish cleaning the women’s restroom when I walk in and start gagging on the worst thing I’ve smelt since the time I attempted mixing all the cleaning chemicals together to make a product that could clean the mirrors, toilets, and floors all at once — turns out you’re not suppose to do this.
Anyways, I bare the stank and go on cleaning until I arrive at the source of the smell. Turns out, this woman left a big floating surprise for me. What kind of horrible person doesn’t flush?
I can’t help but feel like she did this to get revenge…
My manager comes asks me to help her take out the trash before I head home, so I do. After we finish, a pickup truck with boards built on the side of its bed back up to the Big Lot’s dumpster. A dude in overalls gets out and gives me a nod of recognition, so I give one politely back. The next thing I know, this dude climbs the dumpster, hops in, and starts throwing the trash we’d just put in, back out.
Having never seen anything like this happen before in my sheltered life, I look over to my manager and ask, “What the fuck is this shit?”
“Dumpster diver,” she calmly answers as if this is a common occurrence.
“Should we do something about it?” I ask, hoping that she’ll say yes so I can confront this trash collector. Seeing him make such a mess out there really made me want to punch him right in his filthy butthole — because I know I’ll be the chump cleaning it all up tomorrow.
“No. Let him do his thing. You don’t want to mess with a man who’s willing to dig through trash.”
In hindsight, that guy would have probably would have swept the floor with me, then he would’ve taken me out to the trash, only to dig me back out so he can take me home with him — this is a really bad analogy of how he would have beat me up. Because she right, anyone who is willing to dig through shattered glass, rotten food, and broken boards only to find some semi-salvageable Christmas ornaments is probably slightly fucking crazy.
I guess I just don’t get how someone could look at a dumpster and think: “That looks like an adventure. Let’s see what I can fin in there.”
I mean, there was this one time when we threw out a perfectly good recliner and I thought about going back up to work to dig it out. However, my mom told me,”You aren’t bringing no dumpster chair into my house.” So that was the end of that. But my desire to dumpster dive was different, because at least I knew there actually was hidden treasure amongst the trash. I think that make me a little better of a person than that dumb, dirty, dumpster diver.
At least I hope it does…