CRASH!!!

Welp, I went to NYC last week, and I'm back. Honestly, spending 5 days in the Big Apple--16 hours of which were on the train coming and going--is like going to Disney World and being kicked out after 30 minutes. There was so much I didn't get to see and do. I was on my ear to go to a rooftop bar, but that didn't happen. Didn't see Harlem either, but I'm still grateful that I was able to go because Lord only knows when I'll return. Unfortunately, I didn't make a triumphant return to the dirty south with a modeling contract, a high-paying radio gig, or even the phone number of Mr. Right. Bright side? The shopping in New York City is RIGHTEOUS, and by RIGHTEOUS I mean CHEAP, if you know where to go. Luckily, my sorority sister who squired me about town did know where to go, and her fashion sense is astounding. I came back with suitcase full of new clothes. Sure, I'm still an underpaid dj, substitute teacher, and chick who got fired from 2 retail jobs in less than a year, but I'll be dang cute in all the roles I play.

When I stepped off that train at the end of my trip, I was so happy and motivated. People say New York City is dirty, but I was living cleaner than I had in ages. I was down to 1 cigarette a day, I was drinking water instead of sodas, I didn't watch tv and I didn't miss any of it. But just like the energy boost you get from a caffeine pill when you're sleepy, a crash follows. And honey, I've crashed. Hard. I'm back to chain smoking and swilling sodas, smh...I'm still trying to figure out the catalyst.

The Friday before I left for my trip, I found out that a little girl that goes to my church passed away suddenly; she was only 11. Everyone who knew her was thrown for a loop. There's isn't a day that has passed that I haven't thought about her. Her funeral was Saturday, the day after I got home, so maybe my sadness slowed me down a little. I cried for pretty much the entire service. Looking at the obituary and seeing all of the pictures charting her (way too short) life, just did me in. I witnessed her growing up. She was supposed to start middle school in another week, but the Lord had different ideas. I'm not going to go into it any further. If I write any more about her, it will be in a post devoted to her. She was just that spectacular.

I think another contributing factor to my crash was car trouble. Well, in this instance, it was a bald tire. I've had enough flats in my time as a motorist--I'm a wiz at driving over nails and glass--so as a result, I have tire paranoia. I do random walk-arounds inspecting my tires and the morning after I got home discovered "old baldy". The Lord truly is in the blessing business because I called the shop and they told me to bring it in Monday so they could squeeze me in since I didn't have an appointment. I expected an hours-long wait. I was fully prepared to ask for a ride downtown where I was going to walk around and have lunch at a side walk cafe--that's the NYC that's still in me. I was in and out of the shop in 30 minutes though. The owner of the shop is a good Christian man who looks like Santa Claus. The irony isn't lost on me, honey.

Even though the tire situation is solved for now (I still have 3 others to think of after all), my car is really, literally ALL TO PIECES. It's a 2005 Chevrolet. Before I even finished paying on it, I noticed a slight fissure in the dash right at  the windshield. Fast forward to NOW, and I have the mess you see before you: a pie wedge-shaped piece of plastic on the dash held in place by Jesus, and the area around the radio gone all to crap, chunks of plastic dropping left and right. The vents are PERCHED there. As soon as my car is in motion, they fall out. My last car was a Ford Escort. It died on me and sat in my yard for 2 or 3 years before someone bought it. When I went to clean it out after I found a buyer, everything was in 1 piece. No cracks or any foolishness like that. I've encountered other people with the make and model of car I have now that had dashboard issues. Oh, and the gages are effed up too, and I've met other Chevy owners with that problem. SIDE. EYE. I won't have another Chevrolet unless someone gives it to me, and yes, that's a big-arsed hint to anyone with pull at Chevrolet who has any shame and happens to stumble upon this post. Otherwise it's Ford all the way. (Another big-arsed hint.)

 

So, I say all of that to say that I'm really back at square one. I'm praying my phone won't ring and I see SubFinder the caller id, clenching my butt cheeks as I check for available jobs. I won't say I don't want to go to school; I'm just not ready. Not ready at all. I wish I was still in New York.

*I'll post more about my trip later. It may be a series of posts. 

Oops, I Did It Again...

Lord, only me...I guess first and foremost I need to stop acting like I wasn't sitting on this little tidbit of Shellybird news for about 2 months, so here it is. I got fired from the Retailtopia back in June.

AGAIN.

Long story short, I got into a verbal altercation with my assistant manager because I asked for my break, Her response? "Why do you think you deserve a break?"  

Um, WHAT???

                                          

 We had words back and forth on the sales floor (a retail no-no) and a customer reported us. We were suspended and subsequently fired. Actually my assistant manager self-terminated. We had to go in and write statements the day after the incident and explain ourselves, and as bad as the situation seemed at the time, I think our jobs could have been spared. I came in full of explanations and apologies. My assistant manager came in with an attitude. Hood boogers, I tell ya...That of course made the store manager angriER. She fired the assistant manager on the spot, and told me that she would call me and let me know the district manager's decision. I found out by word of mouth about 5 days later that I was fired. I called to confirm, and the rest as they say is history. Eh, it is what it is. That store was ratchet anyway, and rife with unprofessionalism (which I admit I contributed to on the day in question.) You can call it sour grapes if you want, but I didn't belong there and folks were trying me. Newsflash: I am not the one. Overall, I don't like to be bothered, but I will can only be as nice to people as they are to me.

As far as I'm concerned, retail is behind me. I was a little down at first because in the space of time it takes to conceive, gestate, and birth a baby, the most remarkable thing that I managed to do was get fired. Again. When I told my sorority sister about the altercation and suspension at work, she said, "Girrlllll, if it was me and they decided to fire me, I'd be on the first bus or plane to NYC as soon as they cut me loose." She knows I am in a New York state of mind and have been for a good hot minute. However, unlike her and all of my other go-getter friends, I second guess myself out of everything I want in life. My soror also has  tremendous faith in God and believes He allows certain things to happen to get you to where you need to be. She told me that He's removed me from retail twice for a reason, and I suppose He has. But, now what? Well, the same sorority sister (who's given me so much good advice that I've second-guessed myself out of taking) invited me to spend next week in Brooklyn with her and her family. She's been trying to get me up there for a while. She even tried to get me to take the apartment her parents had for rent--mercifully low rent by NYC standards--and I didn't take it, so someone else did. Well I'm going to visit and feel the city again. My train ticket has already been purchased and I printed it out yesterday. I've even dared, with my 43-year-old self, to see which model agencies are having open calls while I'm there. I've found one so far, and I'm going to give them a call in the morning to make sure they'll look at a more "mature" woman. On my first NYC trip, my bestie accompanied me to Wilhelmina Models. They have an older women's division, so I foolishly thought we'd be just as welcome at the open calls as the 7', 100 pound 14-year-olds. Nah. For all of the, "Wow, you don't look your age," remarks that I've heard in my adulthood, I must have looked every split second of the 33 years that I had under my belt in 2005, because my friend and I didn't even make it through Wilhelmina's lobby.

I don't know what's going to happen when I go to New York next week, maybe nothing, maybe everything, but I'm praying for something good great. I know I just said that retail is behind me, but the reality is although I hate it, I'm good at it. It's all I know how to do with confidence. I almost feel like that poor old fella from The Shawshank Redemption when he was released from prison but prison life was all he knew and he couldn't make it on the outside. Well, Brooks Hatlen also committeed suicide. I'm not suicidal, but the lack of self-assurance is something I understand very well.

Shellybird...on the inside

I wish that achieving your dreams was as easy as it used to be back in the day...or as easy as the movies made it seem. People with dreams of stardom or just a different (read: better) life would travel to NYC or Hollywood with $200, a greasy bag of mama's chicken wings, and a dream and somehow come out on top or at least manage to stay in the city of their dreams even if success eluded them. I was watching the Steve Harvey show the other day, and Empire's Taraji P. Henson was on there talking about how she went to LA with $700 and her baby. Look at her now. I feel like if I go to New York with even a million dollars, somehow I'm still going to wind up like this:

Y'all got any more of that success???

I'm praying for something much better though.

Innaweb Findings...

I was puttering around the internet the other night and stumbled upon an awesome blog about bridal (and prom) ideas. At this point in my life, being married has once again become this fanciful, far-off idea, much like it was when I was a little girl. The difference is, back then it was a someday thing. Now it's an "Is it ever going to happen?!" thing. I'm collecting bridesmaid dresses like a boss though; I've got four so far: red, gold, lavender, and violet. And I used to model bridal wear locally...for free...But it was a  priceless experience because it's the closest I ever came to that other fanciful, far-off idea I had: the one of being a model. A girl (or middle-aged woman) can dream, and believe me, I still do. However, for anyone reading this who's been lucky enough to have someone like it and put an engagement ring on it, the blog I linked may be a nice point of reference for you. See? I'm not bitter at all. I'm trying to help.

Couldn't you just die?!

I can just hear the soft rustle of the fabric.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!

*None of these pics are my property; I found them on the blog. Of you click the pictures you will see a link to the deer pearl flowers blog. Credit where credit is due. 

Shellybird's Birthday Prayer

Today's my birthday. Thank-you Lord for letting me see another year of life. I'm the big 4-3 today...Overall I'm ok with that because every moment of life is a blessing. And much like Halle Berry, Jennifer Lopez, Jennifer Aniston, and Naomi Campbell, I am wearing my 40's well.

 Please JESUS let me maintain this uncracked Black...

And while you're at it Lord, a husband and some babies (in that order) would be nice, before it's super duper too late. I don't cry easily anymore, but I was perusing the Facebook and I ran across this pic post about pregnancy cravings and I almost lost it. Please help me with that and my move to NYC. You're front and center for everything that goes on in the world, so I'm sure you've seen what a shambles my life has been during the past 11 months.  Please help me to fix it. Thanks in advance, and thanks again for #43. Amen.

Lessons Learned...

I can't write much because I have to be at school at 8am in the morning to substitute teach a 3rd grade class. Never have I valued Fridays the way I do now as a sub. I enjoy it, but it is a job. Kids love it when their regular teacher isn't around. I've been saying that if I get my teaching degree, I wanted to teach grade levels k-5. When I was coming up, it would have been k-7, but after my county came out of the dark ages and switched to the middle school system, it became k-5, with grades 6-8 at the middle school, and 9-12 at the high school. I learned a valuable lesson yesterday: I do not want to teach 5th graders. I had a class yesterday that was very disrespectful. When they were leaving the classroom for the day, all I could do was shake my head. Yeah, SMH.

I guess anyone planning to go into the teaching field has a preference. My cousin teaches middle-school math. She said that the little kids are too needy for her. I personally like having to tie the occasional shoe, receiving random hugs,  those squeaky little voices, and the Elmer Fudd r's in their words when they talk. I will pass on kids tall as I am who think they're grown because they are on their way to middle school, and preteen girls who look at you like they're going to take a razor blade out of their hair and cut you...EFF THAT.

 I grew up in the 80's for Pete's sake! I really thought that my generation was pretty rough, but I don't remember any of the flagrant disrespect that I received yesterday. I like to get along with the kids, not be their home girl, but I don't want them to feel like I'm against them. These Jokers had me barking like a drill sergeant. I was D-R-A-I-N-E-D when I left school yesterday, and still had 4 hours to slog through at the Retailtopia. Factor in what I suspect hope and pray is a pulled muscle in my back* from lifting cases of mini blinds at the 'Topia last week, and you'll have my reason for making myself unavailable on Subfinder today. I wasn't scheduled to work at the store either, so it was a me day with nary a thing getting done. I took mom to the KFC for dinner, and that was IT.

So, if one bad class--actually this was my second bad class, I made the mistake of trying high school a couple of weeks ago--put me under, what will I do as a real teacher? Damn good question, if I must say so myself. I'm going to chalk yesterday's bad behavior up to the kids being excited about having a sub, and thus, a break in routine during sol testing week. I really don't remember my elementary school classmates acting like that. However, I'm not going to be like the generations before me who act like they were ALWAYS respectful to their elders. We weren't. I came of age in the 80's. THE EIGHTIES. 'Nuff said.

*I'll have to post later about the mysterious back pain that didn't start until after I was lifting all of those heavy cases of mini blinds. The hypochondriac (and 15-year smoker in me) keeps whispering lung cancer, but I ain't claiming that.

Most Random Post Ever: Mourning and Mewling

Hm...I don't even know where to begin with this one, but here goes. My uncle died of cancer Monday. I'm sad, don't get me wrong. Uncle B. was a sweet funny guy. He was also a former employee of the Retail Crapper, so when I used to work there and he'd come in shopping and see me working with my mouth twisted, he already knew. He was my daddy's brother-in-law, and since I didn't have any real contact with that side of the family until like 2000, I didn't really get to know him as well as I know my mom's brother and brothers-in-law. Anyways, the funeral is Friday. I'm worried about my Auntie and cousin. They seem to be "holding up" pretty good, but I know it will be rough. Oh, and if the Retailtopia has any designs on putting me back on the schedule, say....FRIDAY, Shellybird will be unavailable. (Yeah, I'm still pissed. Here's my rant if you missed that post.)

I had trouble with a starting point for this post because it was inspired by a brief moment of eye contact with that hot manager  that I had to leave behind at the Crapper when I got fired. I needed to give backstory on why I was up in there in the first place. I am fixing some food to take to my auntie's house and I stopped by the Crapper to buy ingredients, so there's that. I'm much more comfortable with going in there now. That's no longer an issue, as long as folks don't come at me with, "Do you miss us?!" or "You know you want to come back." I need not hear any of that, seriously.

There really isn't even that much to tell. I was in the housewares department looking for some of those aluminium pans to fix baked angel hair pasta in. One of my ex-coworkers was working in that area and we chatted for a bit. While I was talking to her, the Latino Adonis--how I like to think of  this manager--walked by. Extended eye contact was what transpired. If I must say so myself, my dark purple lipstick was poppin', and my hair was cute, as was my outfit: Denim carpi's that accentuated my curves and a black ballet inspired top, no bra. I went "waist up commando" because that shirt is really too small and my padded bras make it even tighter. Oh, and I'm not getting rid of that shirt because I love it. It makes me feel like Coco from "Fame". BOTH Cocos, doggone it.

He is so hot...and so married. I'm not one of "those chicks". Married men are like damaged goods to me, even if they are hot as fire. When I was young and naive, I did date a few guys who were legally separated, but I wouldn't even do that again. Separated is still married, people. Don't get it twisted. But LORDTTTTTT, if I was one of "those chicks," or better yet, if he was single, he could GET IT, GET IT, GET IT, GET IT, GET IT, GET ALL OF IT!!!!!! Then again, if he was single, I probably wouldn't stand a chance with him because he would have carte blanche with all da womenz. I think he cuts his eye at me (and probably a lot of other chicks) because we're women he can't isn't supposed to have. All that looking is probably just to mentally store up some fap--or perhaps sex-with-wifey-when-he's-really-not-in-the-mood--fodder for later. Whatever the case may be, we just exchanged a look that was probably of more significance to me than it will ever be to him, and now I'm home alone, fixing baked angel hair pasta.

It's an interesting--and suck ass--thing, being single at my age. I mean, I don't have a real grasp on why I am, and I wish I weren't. I'm picky, yes, but there is nothing wrong with having standards. That said, y'all can have all these multiple babies/multiple mamas, weed smoking (still illegal in my state), can't stay out of jail bums walking around here because I don't want one of those. I must sound like I think I'm the isht. Not true. It's taken me the better part of my 40+ years to love and appreciate ME, and there's no turning back. I don't see Tyra Banks staring back at me when I look in the mirror, I think I look pretty decent. My body is at it's best, aesthetically. Granted I do have cellulite, but since I put on weight, I also have curves that I never had before. I'm no longer a stick figure, yay. Shellybird after a shower is farcical and kind of sad. I look at my naked body in the mirror and KNOW that I could really please  blow the mind of the right man, and yet I'm alone. I really don't know what else to say. I had some eye contact with a cute guy and wanted to share it, and I did, all in the same post about my deceased uncle. I am going directly to hell.

Now See???

Good Friday turned out to be a bad day for the Shellybird. I was scheduled to work at the Retailtopia that evening 5-9. I'd been lounging all day. I'd decided to take my name off the substitute teacher list for that day because the kids were getting out early for spring break and I had an appointment that morning anyway. It was the hottest day of the year so far--low 80's--and the first hot day always makes me sick. I don't know why, but I always get a headache, and for me headaches are no joke. (I also get migraines, which are far worse than headaches. If you've never had one, I hope you never do.) I felt the headache nagging at me, but I hate pumping myself full of pills if I can avoid it. They make me feel so...chemical-y. I decided to try napping it away. When I woke up to get ready fro work, I was shot to shit. On top of the headache, I think I was having a hot flash. When I left the house, my hair was plastered to my head, and my clothes were plastered to my body. I was driving down the highway with the AC on full blast and the driver's window down for some relief, which never came. The urge to vomit flooded over me, and I knew then I was not going to make it. I pulled over and called my manager to let her know I was too sick to come in. Her response? "OooooKAY." I don't know about you, but I hate being okayed like that. There's such an air of condescension to it. While I've never been a head honcho of anything, I have been a supervisor before, and I was never one to split hairs when employees told me they couldn't come to work for whatever reason. My philosophy is live and let live. I'm still going to get my paycheck regardless of who shows up or who doesn't. Apparently, the Retailtopia system of beliefs involves shafting employees who miss work during the holidays out of a week's worth of pay. I found this out when I went to the store Saturday afternoon to check my schedule for the upcoming week, which is the week we're in now. My manager said, "You're not on next week's schedule because the district manager payed a surprise visit to the store Friday and was angry about how messy and short-staffed it was." Now see??? Ain't that that about a B...Apparently things can always be worse (than the Retail Sewer).

 Let's get something straight: I have 16 (mostly unfortunate) years of retail experience under my belt. I am well aware that Easter comes second only to Christmas as the biggest money-making holiday. Folks lose their collective poo over Easter baskets, because nothing says "Thank-you, Jesus for dying on the cross for my sins!" like jelly beans and marshmallow chicks...If I didn't feel like my head was going to do a re-enactment of "Scanners," if I hadn't felt like I was going to spontaneously combust, I WOULD HAVE BEEN AT WORK. Illness is the hardest working man in the retail business. It doesn't take holidays or vacations. I'm mad as hell about the situation because my unemployment has run out (which was to be expected) and school is out for spring break. There's the radio gig, but I just got paid from there, so the Retailtopia is my only source of income this week. Did they lose any money because I didn't work Friday?I'll answer that. NOPE. If people think they can get anything cheaper st another store than they would at the Food Lion or Wal-Mart, they will run a flaming gauntlet to get it and stand in a check-out line that's 10 miles long to pay for it, bitching the whole time but whatevs. So why not call me in for a come to Jesus meeting? Why not write me up? I think it's real shitty dicking around with someone's livelihood like that. And I know that I said in my last post that the job isn't that serious to me, and it isn't, in terms of spending even 1 year there. HOWEVER, I have showed up on my scheduled days at my scheduled time and done my job to the best of my ability. I've even worked over an extra 4 or 5 hours per the managers request, a request she made right before my shift was supposed to end, more than once. AND THIS IS THE THANKS I GET???

I'm holding my peace right now. No need to act all ghetto when there's the off chance that the store manager might get the district manager to come off his male period long enough to give  me some of my hours back. That chance is looking more and more off each day though because as I'm writing this, it's Wednesday. The time will come though when I WILL  give the district manager a sharing-size piece of my mind for these shenanigans. I have his number saved in my cell phone, to further illustrate the magnitude of my ain't playing-ness.

Peep the last 3 digits of his number....OH, THE IRONY

I can't stand folks who are drunk on power, like their employment is set in stone or something. *DEEP eye roll* I can get that they are trying to run a business , but when you're sick, you're sick. So, yeah, I called out on one of the busiest shopping days of the year...

No, you did NOT, but I felt like I was about to, and THAT is why I didn't come to work.