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A Random Rant (because I can, damnit)

5 Jul

I woke up in a weird mood today. I woke up early, after a restless night’s sleep chock-full of weird ass dreams (though how bad ass would it be if Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were real and they really WERE my friends – totally bad ass, that’s how bad ass), and just cannot seem to pull my shit together today. I’m not in a bad mood, and I’m certainly not cranky. Maybe it’s the Monster I drank, or the fact that my Greek yogurt tasted weird this morning, but I am in RARE form… one of those moments where I think most of what comes out of my own mouth is pure comedic gold and feel anyone I come in contact with is my audience. So, for the narcissistic sake of “hearing myself talk” – here goes:

MY STORE IS NOT A PLAYGROUND. YOUR UNRULY CHILD IS NOT CUTE. YOUR PARENTING SKILLS SUCK.

Sure, he’s a cute little scamp. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t need a little discipline

I know, I know. Those of us who are childless (also known as AWESOME) think we know what it takes to keep a difficult child at bay when out in public – I’m sure there is a small discrepency in how easy we think it is and what it really takes. We are all very quick to pontificate that if that were our child, little Johnny and little Suzy wouldn’t be tearing shit off the walls and running screaming around retail stores, dangling from displays that, if they were to break or be knocked off balance, would probably put little Johnny and little Suzy in the hospital. Having cared for my younger brothers in the past, I have at least a vague idea of how to get children to behave in public… so all of you parents out there shaking your heads at me thinking I have no clue, quit judging.

The first step in making sure your kid isn’t running amuck is to PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR GODDAMN KIDS. Day in and day out, I witness parents that come into my store, and allow their kids to simply do as they please. They break things, they kick and scream, they act as though our store is their playground. Their parents, however, don’t get involved until either they are crying because something fell on them, or until one of us politely warns them “don’t hang on that, little one, it may fall on you and I don’t want you to get hurt.” The result is almost always the parent pandering to their child, and yelling at we, the employees (note I didn’t say babysitters), who typically want nothing more than to punt their child into next week. “Don’t tell my child what to do. They’re fine.” No, ma’am, little Johnny and little Suzy have left a path of destruction in their wake, not unlike a tornado, and you would probably sue us if that 60lb top-heavy display sign crushed their tiny, still-developing skull. Either leave the kids at home, or train them to behave.

Additionally, curb your know-it-all, disrespectful as fuck, “I’m too cool for this”, buy me what I want or I immediately become insolent teenagers. My ass would’ve had my cell phone, TV, computer, etc taken away from me for behaving the way these little douchebags do.

STUPID QUESTIONS WILL, IN FACT, RECEIVE STUPID ANSWERS

I really feel as though I shouldn’t have to explain this one, however… I do. Questions such as “Oh, you mean I have to pay for that?” and “I haven’t charged my phone in four days, why won’t it turn on?” are likely to get you an answer so laden with thinly-veiled contempt that you might even pick up on my total disdain for you. “Could this plastic piece of film that came on the phone out of the box that is completely obscuring the earpiece of the device be the reason my sound is totally muffled?” is a question that should really only be answered “Maybe you should take it off and find out.” Because I work for a company that frowns on such disregard for your feelings, you’ll get a cheerful “It’s entirely possible. How about I take a look for you and see if we can’t get that fixed today?” – please ignore the fact that the smile plastered on my face is closer to a wince and that in my head, I’m screaming obscenities. “Where is the power button?” – Well ma’am, it’s the one that is clearly labeled POWER. I can’t even.

…and I’ve run out of still. Til next time.

xoxo

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Baby, did it hurt? (You know, when you fell from heaven…)

20 May

You know, because we all want the creepiest guy we can find.

So, it goes without saying that most women get hit on by men that put up huge red flags at least once or twice. Getting attention from weirdos seems to be my specialty. In an effort to keep things a little light today, I’m just going to give you a quick round up of some of the most ridiculous pick-up lines I have heard over the past few years…

“I’m hammered. You’re hot. Wanna go do it in the alley?”  -No, no I don’t.

“My friend likes you. He’s in my pants, would you like to meet him?” -Really??

“You look like that chick from that movie – I’m too drunk to remember which one, but can I have your number?” -Sure. It’s 867-5309

“Wanna come back to a party with me? You’re really hot… I  mean, you smell nice and you don’t even have a lazy eye or anything.” -Are you fucking kidding me? That’s not exactly a compliment. Also, why are you close enough to smell me? Back up.

“Baby, I wish that you were gravy and I were a biscuit so I could sop you up.” -Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. EW.

“Drink up and strip down.” –Yeah, not going to happen. You’ve got a better chance of getting pregnant.

I’m pretty sure this is going to become a series of posts, as the idiots of the world never cease to amaze and astound me…

XOXO

Mini Mishaps

26 Apr

I often stray from the original purpose of this site… to highlight the ridiculous bullshit that happens throughout the course of my daily life. These things are not always huge, drawn out tales of shenanigans and tomfoolery – many times, they are simply bumblings and stumblings that make me laugh… and make everyone else in sight laugh with me (or at me, whatever).

So, for the sake of making fun of myself and/or filling you all in/staying true to the Confessions of a Walking Mishap premise, here are a few recent mishaps for your reading pleasure:

That time I walked around at work with a gigantic hole in my pants…

About a week ago, I realized, while washing my hands in the bathroom, that I had a gaping hole in my pants – right below the zipper… so, basically, I had a gigantic crotch hole in my pants. I saw it in the mirror. I have absolutely no idea how long I walked around like that, nor do I know whether or not anyone saw my goodies and didn’t tell me. The guys I work with say they didn’t notice… here’s hoping they aren’t just saying that.

That time I’m pretty sure my mailman saw me naked…

Okay, so I’m not always the domestic goddess I aspire to be – especially when it comes to laundry/ironing. I’m a menace with an iron. Instead of ironing things, I tend to throw them in the dryer while I’m in the shower (don’t judge). Anyway, this often leads to a dash down to the basement after showering to grab my clothes. Typically, it’s a race against the clock for me to get out the door on time. If my car is parked out back, I’ll often just get dressed in the basement, then off I go. On a particularly pressed-for-time morning, I knew my car was parked out back. I did my hair and makeup as per usual, then decided to forego the towel and just head down to leave. In the nude. Oops. I got down to the living room, and didn’t realize I had forgotten to close the curtains until I saw the mailman through my front window. He turned and walked away, and I made the rest of my dash to get out the door. He hasn’t been able to make eye contact since, so I’m fairly certain he’s seen me bareass. Awesome.

That time I called a Ma’am a Sir…

Sometimes, in working with the public, you run into awkward situations. A few of my coworkers have asked women what their due date was, when in fact, said woman was just a bit rotund. I had an individual come in the other day, and in my greeting, I made the mistake of assuming this short, rather husky individual with the extremely shorn crew cut, broad shoulders and cargo pants/flannel button up ensemble was a sir. Wrong. My “Welcome to ______, sir. My name is Dani, how may I help you?” was met with a VERY angry “My name’s Missy. Does that sound like a man’s name to you?” – OOPS. In my defense, Missy straight up looked like a dude.

 

I’m going to stop here, mainly because I’ve run out of steam and just wanted to make sure I got something posted since it’s been a few weeks.

 

XOXO

 

 

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