The HN&S Chronicles: What You NOT Finna Do

*I started writing this on Thursday night. It's Saturday now, and I've been tweeking and editing this thing for 2 nights. Ugh!*

It's almost 2am and I am writing on a school night. I have a sub gig, but it's not until 11:45 am. As much as I enjoy subbing, I cannot STAND going to bed and getting up early unless I want to. If I don't have to get up early, it's a cause for celebration. How do I turn up when I'm on Shellybird Time?

In my last post, I was ensconced in the struggles with subbing, or getting motivated to sub. Well that has passed...for the most part. I've been getting the 4 days per week that my school system allows plus working at Hammers, Nails, & Sh*t in the evening, and it is kicking my ASS. I never felt this worn out when I was subbing and working at RetailTopia last year, and I do a lot less work at HN&S, so what's up with that?

Speaking of HN&S, haha! Lemme just tell you this. There's this dude "Thomas" who works at the store. The fact that he's 9 years older than me--he's in his 50's--with 3 kids (how many mamas I don't know or want to know), makes him not my type in any way, shape, or form. Although I will admit that the closer I get to the reality of cat ladyhood, the less stringent I am with my requirements. I'm not into workplace dalliances, though. I've made that mistake a time or 5, so as a general rule, I no longer mix business with pleasure.  This dude had been kinda flirty with me, calling me beautiful and gorgeous (color me appreciative, but unmoved), and after a few interesting-enough convos about work, God, and life asked me if I wanted to go out to dinner. I jokingly asked him if he was paying. He said that he would never allow a woman to pay for her own meal and would never take her out again if she insisted on doing so. I guess that makes him King of All Dudes. *insert eyeroll emoji* He tells me his number in this rapid fire way even though I wasn't near pen nor paper to write it down, and I don't remember numbers well, so there's that. I must admit that the Appleby's shrimp and spinach salad has been laying heavy on my mind for quite some time. HN&S is down the street from the Appleby's here and there have been evenings when the aroma wafting across the way of those skillet thingies made my soul weep, both for male companionship and for fancy food I don't have to pay for or cook. By the end of that week, I was sick with the allergy attack gets me every year when the seasons transition from summer to fall. The half-assed dinner invite was more or less forgotten, and he soon ripped his draws with me anyway, so now it's never going to happen.

See, I have this thing. I am a stickler for manners and sparing the feelings of others--total product of my raising and those Duso the Dolphin guidance sessions from elementary school.

A person's tone of voice and patience level carries a lot of weight with me. There is a certain way I speak to people and a certain way I expect them to speak to me. Where dating is concerned, what comes out of a dudes mouth and how it comes out can be a deal breaker. Don't judge me; I know I'm not the only woman who feels this way. But for those of you who don't mind, well, that's you. Honestly, that's why I never liked "The Honeymooners". The way Ralph talks to Alice? Nah, son. Just nah. Y'all can have that. But I digress. Thomas showed me his true colors on 2, actually 3 different occasions, snapping at me and raising his voice/storming off over little penny anty mistakes I made on the job. I mean, I am technically still a "new hire", you know. On both of those occasions I gave him the cold shoulder for a while after that because you're not going to flirt with me in one breath and talk to me like I'm the dumb, ugly chick amongst the sister-wives the next.

Another thing he did that pissed me off was trying to talk down to me. They play pretty decent music over the loudspeaker at HN&S. Thomas was humming one of the tunes one day and it was a song I liked so I was snapping my fingers. He tried to tell me I wasn't on beat (IMPOSSIBLÉ! I AM BLACK!). I think he was about to launch into a music lecture because he's a church musician, and well, that makes him an expert. While he was inhaling so he could expound, I jumped in and let him know that I am a trained musician, having played flute from elementary school all the way through high school--marching band and concert band. He looked right cheap then. I wonder if he's one of those "self-taught/play-by-ear" church piano players who bangs out every song like he's playing in a wild West saloon during a shootout. HA! That said, he's already used up his 3 strikes. NEXT time--and there probably will be one because he said himself that he needs to work on his patience*--he gets the stern "Here's what you NOT finna do" lecture because I am not the one and I am done.

The funny thing about all of this is that I suspect people at work are trying to ship us. I know for sure at least one guy is. Ev-er-y time he sees me he has to tease me about Thomas, as if we're already an item or close to it. Honestly, if you don't have anything more to say except the same stale shit every time you see me, a simple hi and bye will suffice. I guess me being a single middle aged black woman and him being a single middle aged black man makes us the perfect couple. Yep, that's all it takes....man, GTFOH.

*I'm guessing Thomas mentioning that he needed to work on his patience was his way of "apologizing". He said it in front of me but was talking to one of the other guys who was basically "hype man-ing" him through it. Dude, jr. high school is 30 plus years behind us--clean it up!

Sub Adventures 7: Nothing to See Here

Well, summer vacay is over. Classes resumed on August 10th. Not for me though. I haven't picked up a job yet. Oh, the opportunities are there, but I got a part-time job to supplement my income, and since I'm training there, I decided to put subbing on hold for a bit. I guess I'm going to go back this week, but the Lord KNOWS my mouth isn't set for it. The feeling of venturing into the unknown with each new sub assignment, trying to follow lesson plans, dealing with student attitudes, the algebraic ice cream money process...UGH. I don't hate it; I'm just not ready. I need to pray for strength to get my hind parts into some school SOMEwhere this month so that I won't jack up my pay. (If you don't start subbing during the first month of school, your pay will be late. I don't need that.)

But yeah, I have a part-time job. An old friend/co-worker from the Retail Cesspool got me on at a home improvement store where he's currently an assistant manager. Actually, he messaged me back in March regarding this opportunity for which I thanked him graciously but was secretly hoping to be modeling or to have won the Powerball by summer. I know; I'm delusional. Anyways, I had to go crawling back in June to see if there was any possible way they could squeeze this little birdy onto the payroll, and they did. So I will just take it as the blessing it is and try to be the best little cashier Hammers, Nails, & Sh*t has ever seen.

I've learned a lot since I've been there (3 weeks). Of note:
1. Home improvement is a thing. I'm sure you knew this, but I'm an odd duck, ok?! I'd heard of this company before but all I ever thought of in terms of their products were hammers, nails, and (the only thing I ever bought there) light bulbs . Certainly not the lumber, plumbing accessories, large appliances, electrical zip zoodles, project assistance, and everything else they sell. Builders, electricians, landscapers, and plumbers in my hometown have contracts with them. Believe it or not, I actually enjoy trying to imagine what awesomeness is going to be added on to someone's home based on their purchases. It really has opened a whole new world to me--that I will never fully understand because I ain't trying to stay there longer than a year. Hopefully I won't get fired though. Three terminations in 15 months will do me for life.

2. There's a thriving Amish community here. Did NOT know that. I love waiting on the Amish guys. They're so handsome and mannerable. I would LOVE to know where they get their pants. I bet they're homespun, (I have no clue) but I love that crisp blue denim*ish fabric. Seriously, I want a pair for myself, but I would never fix my mouth to ask them about it because I don't think the women in their world wear pants. It would be highly irregular for me to express to them my desire for a pair, I'm sure *laugh emoji*.

3. There are a LOT of good looking men in my town--including the Amish ones. There are also some really gross ones that seem to have an affinity for Shellybirds *eye roll*. Since I strive to be "as cute as I can be" (Thanks, Oprah!) every time I leave the house, I've gotten more male attention as an employee of Hammers, Nails, & Sh*t than I have in a month of Sunday's. Is my dry white season over? Alas, it is not, but I can survive on the meager ego boosts that I get there...for now.

4. I was at the Retail Cesspool for 13 years, and have a pretty sharp sense of when there's going to be some sort of upheaval. When I first got hired at the cesspool, we could wear whatever we wanted (within reason) except jeans. But in keeping with that unwritten rule of the universe--We Cannot Have Nice Things--some people went above and beyond the call of bama a few too many times and the navy blue/khaki dress code was put in place. These days, most retailers have a dress code. There was already one at the Retailtopia when I got hired there, the store name embroidered on our navy polo shirts. (Two of those went directly from the washing machine to the trashcan dripping wet after I was informed by phone that I was terminated. I was doing laundry at the time...and I'm petty.) I feel in my heart that Hammers, Nails, & Sh*t is on a runaway train to Dresscodesville. I think they're among the last retailers (not including upscale stores) that don't have one. A change is a-coming.

Oh, AND we cashiers basically just stand around waiting for customers between customers. That WAS NOT allowed at my other retail jobs. If you didn't have customers, you had to straighten merchandise near your register or stock it. If that was taken care of and it was a slow day, you'd find yourself in the sales floor helping with whatever.  Cell phone use on the sales floor was forbidden while working. Technically, it's not allowed at HN&S either. The HR manager warned me about this during orientation and said that they had an issue with it that they were going to address. That was probably my warning not to do what I see other people doing because I've watched 2 cashiers in particular stand at their registers texting like their souls' salvation depends on them hitting "send".  This is a daily thing for them, and no one ever says anything. A change is a-coming though.

So, there's that. I'm in retail AGAIN, and my buttcheeks STILL clench every time I log on to the substitute teacher's database. Nothing to see here; move it along.

*UPDATE* It's now Sunday evening, and after my shift at HN&S, I logged on to Aesop and got a sub assignment for tomorrow. It's a half-day, taking over for a parapro. Baby steps, y'all.

I Posted on Facebook Tonight

I'm switching things up a bit. Usually I direct people who stumble upon my Facebook companion page to this little spot, but I posted there tonight. The idea for the post came to me suddenly after reading the news and before I knew it, my thumbs were flying. So head on over to my Facebook page for a short, bittersweet read about my childhood experience with the death of a classmate during summer vacation. 

Crappy Apps, Ipsy, and Other Such Minutiae....

*Damn it STRAIGHT to hell, this is my
THIRD ATTEMPT with this post. We can put a man in the moon and elect a Black president, but can't tweak a blog app that saves your content as you type?! Okay! THAT'S why it's no longer on my phone. It was free anyway so I guess I got EVERYTHING I paid for. I am so f*cking pissed right now, hence the salty language that I don't use ·too· often. Sorry/NOT sorry. I guess if the the 3rd time is a charm, this incarnation of my post will be f*cking spectacular. SMDH. I've got to get a laptop...
And I know some horrible, heartbreaking things have transpired over the last month. My blog has never been "topical" though, and I won't address those issues in this post. It's certainly not because I don't care. Right now I just feel the need to hide behind a fluffy cloud of minutiae where there's no danger of getting shot by cops or terrorists and Donald Trump isn't running for president.*

*sigh...again, with feeling* I've haven't posted since May! I guess summer break extends to blogging as well, for me anyway. In all honesty, I actually grounded myself from doing the writing I WANT to do until I completed the writing that I NEED to do. Let me just tell you right now that it ain't working. I'm my own hardheaded child. Smh. For what it's worth, I do occasionally slap something up on my Facebook companion page.

That said, guess who's an Ipsy subscriber? I am. Their ad kept popping up on my Facebook page singing the cyber siren song of quality makeup dirt cheap. I mean, 5 samples a month for $10, no shipping, in a cute makeup bag to boot??? TAKE MY MONEY (in increments of $10)!!!!!

My July Glam Bag...

Ever since my mom "turned me loose" in my teen years and allowed me to wear makeup, I've been all about some lipstick/gloss, the darker the better. It's my THING; I never leave home without it. That's why I subscribed to Ipsy. I'm really feeling these  hyper-pigmented "lippies" that are all the rage (although I can do without the matte finishes; I like a shiny lip). How many lip products have I received since I've been a subscriber? Not a DANG one. And this is in spite of the fact that I have done and REDONE my subscriber profile. In my 3 months of subscriberhood, I've received 3 eyeliners--a product I NEVER use, 2 bronzers that won't show up on my bronze skin, 3 makeup brushes that I can learn learn to like, and some creepy one-piece face masks that will make me look like either Leather Face from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre...or a klansman.

NOPE.

I never asked for ANY of that shyte. I've also received some eyeshadows which I can work with, but I didn't request those either. My favorite product to date is a sample size of a perfume called Remarkable People, the receipt of which got my hopes up, but I only received perfume once. It smells DIVINE though. I'd never heard of it before so I googled. A full-size bottle would run y'all $140, and I said "y'all" because I don't have that kind of money, sooooo *WINNING*.

Now Ipsy does offer a disclaimer stating that they don't guarantee that subscribers would receive the exact products/brands that they requested, but...NEVER? We are paying for this stuff, you know. In one of my Ipsy emailings, they informed me that I could increase my chances of getting my preferred products by doing reviews (the portal to which is in the Glam Bag preview email). I shouldn't have to "review" products that I never use and thus didn't ask for just to get some lipstick that I told them I wanted from the jump.  I guess I'll try it before cancelling my subscription to see if it actually changes anything. But I'm certainly not doing any unboxing/review vids, if that's also what they meant. I just feel like makeup tutorials, unboxing vids, and product review vids (which are all over YouTube and enjoyable enough until they become annoying) are for young people. I am 44. I have yet to see one of those vids by someone who doesn't look like they're young enough to be my kid. (Middle-aged women might be doing them, but I haven't seen it.) I just want some friggin' lip product!!! I SWEAR sometimes I think I ask too much of LIFE.

I've voiced my complaints on social media in the most non-bitchy way possible--and that took extreme effort. I scoured the nets to see if other women had the same concerns. I finally stumbled upon an Ipsy swapsie group, and the makeup angels sang...But not for long. The premise of the group is to swap your unwanted products with someone else who has something you do want.  I was so looking forward to the chubby lippies rolling in as I rolled the eyeliner and bronzer out. I guess the group is fairly new because the other night the page admin/creator asked us members if we had any ideas for group rules. Seems like she would have already set that up 10 Commandments style since, you know... TOTAL STRANGERS WILL BE SWAPPING COSMETICS, but nah. The only response came from this one forward-thinking chick who posted, "No swapping cosmetics that have already been opened." The admin didn't respond, and no other rules were suggested, no rules posted. Oh, but yesterday, the admin posted a pic of a tube of cupcake frosting-pink lip gloss (gloss all smeared on the tube) with the caption, "New, only swatched." Um, honey, I don't think "new" means what you think it means in this instance.

Not the actual pic from the group, but you get the idea.

RIGHT.

I have funny ways. That's not gonna work. I've revisited the post several times and no one voiced any objection. As a matter of fact, one chick expressed interest in swapping. Now I'm not trying to be shitty, but ew. Just ew. So, until some ground rules are established in that group to keep us swappers herpes-, conjunctivitis-, and cat hair-free (hey, I don't know these people), I'm just gonna lay low unless someone wants to swap some perfume. I have a beautiful millennial cousin who probably knows how to do that cat's eye trick with eyeliner and would appreciate some free stuff.

*UPDATE* I checked the group again today and the rules are slowly creeping in. One member also suggested only swapping new unopened items, but said it was ok if they'd been swatched. Lordt. 

The Manicure Files: Great Work, Andy!!!

How's about a little fluff? Ok, I got ya, boo. I got my nails done Saturday, and I super duper LOVE them! I've been at odds with my digits for years because I've always felt that I had "man hands". My auntie gave me a complex about my hands in my teens, pointing out my "blunt nails ". My nail beds are short you see, so I need long nails--grown out just past the quick at the least--to add daintiness to my paws. (If you're uninitiated in regards to nail bed length, Google it.) Eighties supermodel Kara Young and FLOTUS Michelle Obama have the hands I wish I'd been born with.

Going polish-free is really not an option for me. I've tried so many different things to keep me in the girls' club when it comes to my hands: Long acrylic can't-type-or-wipe-my-butt-properly nails, stiletto shape (SO ghetto, imo), and the style that I've found suits me best, "squoval". My boy Andy did me up right after I showed him a pic that I cribbed from Sally Hansens' Facebook page.

I brought my own polish to the salon, NYC Colors in Wine Bar--$1.97 at the Wal-Mart, and I am quite pleased with the finished product. I should also mention that this look only cost $15--$18, if you count my tip! WOOT!

Sub Adventures 6 The Last Days: A Rambling Account About the End of the School Year

Today is the next to the next to last day of school. Where am I? The middle school AGAIN, but no complaints here. In reference to my last post, I finally saw the Hugging Teacher again--no hugs today, just a wave in passing *womp womp*. I also saw his wedding ring, or a ring on the ring finger of his left hand. We need legislation on this thing: If you're married, always wear your matrimonial hardware to lessen confusion. When I got my hugs, I didn't spot a ring. I found out from another teacher that he's a minister, so maybe those were just good ol' Christian hugs. In the future, I'll just accept my Christian hugs from Jesus when I walk into the Light after dying in my sleep at the age of 100, thank-you very much. Right now I'm 43, single, and easy to get ideas. Moving on...

Since I've been subbing, my mind has been set adrift on memory bliss, if you will. No matter what grade I teach, I spend so much time trying to remember myself at that particular age, and I LOVED school. The learning atmosphere, the awesome teachers, that papery-gluey smell when I entered the building...I had my ups and downs but when used for its intended purpose, school was AWESOME.

When I got to the job site--such a technical term for...school--everyone I saw was dressed up. Teacher attire is but one of the glaring differences between school now and the 70's/80's version I experienced. My female teachers always wore skirts, dresses, blouses, and slacks. The male teachers were never without a tie. Now it's khakis, polo shirts, LEGGINGS/JEGGINGS, sneakers, and flip flops, pedi or not (*side-eye*). I actually patterned my style of dress (for subbing) after my teachers, and you won't catch me slipping. My supervisors may look back on my job performance and say, "She couldn't maintain control of her classroom," but they'll never bust me for inappropriate attire. Casual Friday is my exception at the schools that participate because my ass loves denim, literally.

So yeah, anyway, folks were looking casket-ready today. Those mannish, smart mouth boys that I was always threatening to write up looked like distinguished gentlemen. Those snippy, attitudinal girls looked like ladies. Why? Today was 8th grade promotion day. (NOT graduation, but PROMOTION, as the teachers were quick to clarify. Didn't stop parents from buying up all the graduation balloons at the Wal-Mart, doe.) The wistfulness and nostalgia was palpable when I walked in. It almost made me long for those days, now 30 years gone. The only promotion ceremony we had was running out of the building on the last day of 9th grade like Brad Davis at the end of Midnight Express though. HA!

I could tell the "seniors" were taking it in for one last time before it was all over. My heart went out to them, but onward and upward, little chirren! The best is yet to come (if you get your butts in gear)!

Aaaaand, some of them WON'T. You can't save them all, and some seemingly don't even want to be saved, but we will keep trying. For instance, that little devil-boy that was in my 6th block class this afternoon. So much mouth, UGH! He even left a hate note on the white board for his teacher. Why his mama didn't take him home after the ceremony is beyond me. Even his partner in crime was like, "Dude can't you EVER be nice???" I hope they warned the high school about him though. Lord knows I tried to warn him about the high school, but you know...deaf ears...

I washed the board so his teacher wouldn't see that.

Time Warp of Loooooooove

I'll try to make this quick because this is a school night and it's after midnight. I should be asleep, but the school year is almost over and like the real teachers, I've had it. The shitz I give are becoming fewer and further between.

That said, I'm actually looking forward to school tomorrow--or today rather, given the lateness of the hour. This is in spite of the fact that it's at the middle school. I seemed to have developed a crush on one of the teachers there, and I don't even know his name. I see him every time I sub though and he's always very nice. If I get turned around--which is a regular occurrence for me given my wack sense of direction--he gets me on the right track. I ran into him Sunday at the Wal-Mart where you see EVERY-D*MN-BODY when you live in a small town. He gave me a hug, we chatted a bit about school, and he asked if I was working next week, which is now this week. I told him I had a day coming up at the middle school although I couldn't remember which day off the top of my head. I told him to enjoy the rest of his weekend and he hugged me goodbye. I thought it was weird, but pleasant (and what ignited this little spark of feeling). I mean, is all that hugging a religious thing?  It WAS Sunday, but I'm Baptist and we don't do all of that. Maybe he's sweet on me. Who knows? After the mini-date though, I've begun to believe in the possibility of love again, and I'm kinda feelin' myself. Like, I AM a viable candidate for significant otherhood. I'm also feeling like I did when I was a teenager and the least little bit of eye contact or a touch had my head all aswim.

*Is "aswim a word? Eh, who gives a crap; I'll correct it later.*  So we'll see what happens. I might even Sadie Hawkins his butt. Like I said, the school year is almost over; we only have one week left. I may not get another assignment there before the cheese stops rolling. Strange how the potential for romance--or dinner at Appleby's that I don't have to pay for--took me from dreading going to the middle school to looking forward to it.