On the Road Again...

In case you hadn't heard, God is good all the time, and all the time, God is GOOD! I got a new car Monday. Well, to be more accurate, I got a gently used car. It's so nice to travel under the power of my own steam again. It's SUPER nice to travel in a vehicle that has working gages, vents, all the things that keep your car legal. (I Googled myself. My ENTIRE government name can be found on the innanets regarding *cough* "improper equipment".) I don't have to feel unworthy of the "good" parking spaces anymore. Do you know how long I've been parking a zillion miles away from my church, work, school, and the site of my sorority meetings out of fear that someone walking by would look in my car and see what a hot ghetto mess it was? Over 2 years, honey. When people questioned me, I called it cardio.

It's been a stressful month since I realized that I couldn't keep skating by the way I was doing. It all started with my car literally cutting off on me in the middle of the road. Mercifully, it was on a lightly traveled country road near my house, and not the highway or as I was crossing the railroad tracks in town. God really does shower the blessings! I got it started again, but it sounded like a motorcycle, or a lawnmower. My mechanic told me it was the engine and that it was time to start looking for a new car. Every "BAD CREDIT/SLOW CREDIT/NO CREDIT" car dealership commercial that came on tv had me surfing the net to see what they had on the lot. I followed a local auto swap page on facebook, as well as the page of some upstart car dealership that posted pics of cars that didn't look to be in much better shape than mine. My auntie, who is like another mother to me, was gracious enough to let me use her car to get to work when she could. Then I rented a car for about a week. That was a quick, temporary fix that included the extra added bonus of new car smell, but I was really nickeling and diming myself going that route.

 I bit the bullet Saturday and went to a car dealership in a neighboring town. I haven't really cared for car salesmen since I was young and had some experiences with them being snarky and rude, but hey. Supply and demand, right? I needed to ride, so I went in. My salesman was a pretty nice guy and actually kinda cute, but my head was swimming from the stress of trying to find something right away so I could return the rental and return to normalcy by Monday. No time for flirting. Not to mention that this car lot was so yuge, they had golf carts to zip shoppers around in. I'm way too indecisive for that much choice. Cars for MILES, honey. (That may be why I got what I got, but I'm not complaining--more on that shortly.) I sat in several cars and test drove 2. One of my "sit-ins" was just like the car that I got from Enterprise Rental. I seriously considered that one. Another that I'd seen on the dealership's website and was REALLY interested in had a push button ignition. I'm old school--I like keys *shrug*.  The salesman was really trying to talk up a car with heated seats. I gave that one the bypass. See, I have this thing about heated seats. I'm afraid they'll malfunction and blow my butt or vajayjay off. Oh! There was an almost sit-in too. My dealer tried to interest me in a 2004 Toyota Something-Or-Other, pitching what a smooth drive it was. I politely peeked into the driver's side window and it felt like someone had walked over my grave: Same early 2000's technology staring out at me reminding me of how my car used to be and what this one was destined to become. I thought to myself, "Um, SIR, I have spent the last 3 or 4 years watching my 2005 Chevy Cavalier decompose before my very eyes. You couldn't sell me a 2004 Anything even if it included a naked Keanu Reeves in the front passenger seat!"

Moving on...The two I drove were the same make and model, just different colors, one gray and the other green. The green one was a bumpy ride that reminded me way too much of the early days of my car's walk into the light and the interior smelled like cigarette smoke--that CANNOT be masked as I told you in my last post. The gray one had more miles--120,000+--but the ride was smooth, and gray is one of my favorite colors, so I chose that one. The interior is cloth in a very light gray. It's got some stains, but I think I can get rid of them; they're barely noticeable. But most people consider their cars their babies and I'm no exception; I was counting the fingers and toes, honey. I probably need to get seat covers because this chick LOVES to eat and drive. I'm not trying to get Taco Bell juice on the seats this early in the game.

Now that I'm back in the driving (my own car) game, it's like I have a new lease on life. I wasn't scheduled to go to HN&S Monday, and I get my schedule mixed up often. I was sure I had to work, double checked my schedule and I didn't. I think, in this instance, I was just looking forward to the drive. Ha! I've been considering sub gigs as far out in the county as possible...because now I can, and I'm applying for a tutoring gig at one of those far-out schools to supplement my income. I do have a car payment again, after all.

Speaking of car payments, when I paid off my Chevy Cavalier, I swore I would drive it into the ground before I got another car, and I did. That extra $300 a month was SWEET. Wish I'd been wiser with it though. Interestingly enough, a co-worker said he was avoiding car payments like the plague as well. His car is a 1999 Something-Or-Other and he has to hold down the turn signal lever. It won't stay down on its own anymore. I guess there are lots of people on the highways and byways "struggle driving". Over the years, I think I've seen it all: Clear plastic sheeting in lieu of a window, giant holes in the bodywork from some unknown accident (and lack of auto insurance or adequate coverage), paint job gone to hell, bottle of Windex in the car for the windshield because the washer fluid receptacle sprung a leak (that one was me, btw)...But ohhhhh when you get those fresh wheels, you wonder how and why you let things go so far left for so long. That point was driven home to me yesterday (literally) when I went to the dumpster. In the country, the trash isn't picked up from our houses. We take refuse to the dumpster and the garbage man gets it there. I haven't rigged up my trunk with protective plastic yet, so I decided to take the trash in Old (Semi) Reliable one last time before deactivating my tags and registration. As I drove those back roads in a little blue car that sounded like Husqvarna's finest, I was simultaneously praising God and lamenting putting myself through such vehicular hell for so long. Never again though. This time, it's oil changes ON TIME, no smoking in the vehicle and just overall kid glove treatment. You won't catch me riding dirty again.

Without further ado--although you probably gave all of that typing above the bypass anyway--I present my new baby:

2012 Honda CR-V

My beautician was kind enough to inform me that I now drive an SUV. Silly me, I thought it was just a really big car or a fat station wagon. HA! That's not what I planned to get; I set out looking for another sedan. Told y'all my head was swimming from stress and indecisiveness. (That means more gas, but it's easier for mom to get in an out of when I take her places.) Whatever she is, nothing but the best for Dorian...Get it? Because she's gray. Just let me be clever.

I QUIT SMOKING!!!

Then I started again after a month...Smh. I'm so glad that I'm not addicted to anything stronger than nicotine because my flesh is WEAK. I've been a smoker since 2000. I started a few weeks before my 28th birthday. How's that for an early present? Other smokers have   chastised me for starting so late. Okayyyyyyyy...Um, many people started  smoking while they were still in their teens or preteens. At least I didn't break the law. So THERE.

But why did I start? Well, at the time I was engaged. My fiance (that I worked with at the Retail Cesspool) was emotionally abusive and controlling. This particular long story short, the majority of our time together was spent with him telling me who I could and could not talk to, especially men, while he did basically whatever the hell he pleased--with and to other women. I mean, he literally made a list of the men that I was allowed to talk to--and it was a short list--consisting of 2 of his friends (also co-workers) who were already boo'd up, another co-worker who was probably in his mid 60's at the time, his dad, his two brothers, and his brother-in-law. Yet every time we went out, he was introducing me to his female "friends" that we encountered pretty much everywhere. (Apparently, he had a thing for hood boogers and trash; it was truly a miracle of biblical proportions that I tested clean--The Miracle of the Trojans.) Working in retail, where you have to be nice and make eye contact with everyone, this shambling scrub had me walking around with my head down, looking like a fool. See, he threatened to kill anyone that I talked to who wasn't on the list. I was too afraid to disobey. One day, a female co-worker came up to me and told me that he was cheating on me with someone at work (and I later found out there were others). She told me that she thought I was a really nice person and had heard I was saving myself for marriage (he was indeed my first but we decided to do it before the wedding) and she said I deserved to know what he was doing. I was already having misgivings about walking down the aisle with this miscreant, and this sealed the deal. I was so shocked and hurt though that I had to calm my nerves immediately. Since this revelation was made to me during my shift at the Retail Cesspool, drinking was out of the question, plus I had to drive home. I'd heard co-workers who smoke say that cigarettes calmed their nerves, so I decided give it a try, and the rest is history.

I broke up with the guy soon after the revelation, but it has been much harder to break up with the cigarettes that aren't treating me any better than he did, and could kill me someday...Oh, addiction, you wacky bastard...But you know what? Out of my many (failed) attempts to quit smoking, this latest one felt different. After the first 3 days--quitters know that's the hellacious time when you shake the physical addiction--I was enjoying not smoking and not smelling like smoke. During that piddly month as a non-smoker, I became as snobby as those people who've never smoked and are all self-righteous about it, minus the unsolicited lectures. (Y'all make me sick by the way.) My sense of smell was sharper than it had been in years, and I could tell who smoked with just a whif of their breeze as they walked by. Heavy smokers standing in front of me at HN&S made me want to gag--they smelled like ashtrays. I could even tell which of my students were around a smoker at home. Smoking around kids is pretty low, in case you hadn't heard. *side note* I once saw a family get into their car with a newborn and the mama lit a cigarette. It was winter time so they didn't have the windows down so the baby wouldn't catch it's death of cold...But wait.

I never once purchased a carton of cigarettes. I bought them a pack at a time, and it was nice having an extra $20 a week. My speaking and singing voice was so much clearer. The rasp that I had acquired soon disappeared. I've seen videos of singers who sang and smoke at the same time, and I'm just like, how, Sway? I lost all of my high notes, and I want them back.

How, Lana?! :'(

 So whyyyyy did I start back? You know, I really missed smoking. I missed it. Since I started back this time though, I haven't gotten the same type of enjoyment out of it. When I first started, I hid my newly acquired habit it from my family, so when I knew I would have a chance to be by myself and light up, it was almost like a turn-on. I literally felt like I was sneaking off to meet a lover. I got that feeling all the years I smoked, during church, during school, during sorority meetings. "Soon as I get out of here, I'm going to see my boo, Nic." I haven't been getting that feeling this go-round. Ironically, it feels more like when you finally break up with an asshole you were dating but for some dumb reason, you take him back. With every cigarette now, it's more like, "Bitch, why is you here?!"

And I guess I stink again. Anyone who smokes knows that perfume or cologne doesn't camouflage that smell.

Actually, writing this is almost cathartic enough to make me try quitting again, and hopefully really stick with it this time. I'm sort of apprehensive though. I'm afraid of the cravings. I'm afraid of being desperate for a cigarette when I know I shouldn't have one. I'm afraid of falling off the wagon. A friend and former co-worker from my radio days was an overweight smoker. She quit after having gall bladder surgery and being hospitalized and unable to drive after the procedure. I was standing in one of the offices smoking and she came from the studio and rhapsodized about my delicious second-hand smoke. I offered her a cigarette and she said, "I would rather gain back double the weight that I lost after my surgery and have to lose it all over than try to quit smoking again." I've always had an issue keeping weight on me, but over the years I've thought about what she said and it pretty much explains in a nutshell what quitting is like. It's hard as hell, and I'm afraid I'm not up to it and afraid of struggling. I need to be this afraid of dying of a smoking related cancer with a hole in my throat and my face all bloated like my daddy did. (Daddy looked like Bob Marley without the dreads before he got sick.) If I wasn't "too dumb to be scared" his death almost 10 years ago would have been the deciding factor in me putting the cancer sticks down for good. So I guess I'll scramble back up on the wagon after I finish the pack I'm on. I can't quit if I have cigarettes, even if I tear them up and throw them in the trash. I remember digging through the trashcan and finding a few cigarettes that weren't completely destroyed and I smoked them, because these wacky bastard that is addiction. So out of sight, out of mind is the route I will take. No more dumpster diving for the kid. Wish me luck.

Shellybird Randomness...Writer's Block

You know that moment when, as an aspiring writer of short fiction, you finally Christmas gift yourself a laptop and then finally rig the thing up in February--don't judge--and all of those amazing story ideas that came to you when you didn't feel like straining your eyes on your cell phone are now GONE?! Well, folks, this is my moment. I'm sprawled out watching the Oscars and waiting for something amazing to pop into my head so I can catch it on this screen, and...nothing. Ugh.

 My laptop was $200, so....not doing THAT.

I'm basically posting right now just to hear the hypnotic clickety-clack of the keys. Two sounds I love? The sound of the keys on a computer keyboard and people popping and chewing gum. What can I say?

So there's a random throw-away post for ya. Good-night.

There's Nobody Left...For Me, It Seems

Pardon me while I try to figure out why in the entire HELL I am still single. I am 44. I clean up well. What gives???? I thought I was going to be ok with books and cats. Now I'm not so sure because bitterness has settled on me like ash after a nuclear blast. Seeing the happy family lives of my friends played out moment by moment on social media is only adding insult to injury. Sometimes I'll wait all day before I "like" a photo. I'm not proud of that fact, but I own it. Honestly, as I get sucked deeper into the yawning abyss of singlehood, I find myself forgetting the "hows" of dating and being a girlfriend. Like most little girls, I had the expectation of a lavish wedding with an equally lavish gown that made me look like a princess. Now that isn't even a definite maybe anymore. It's like something that might have been.

Earlier today, I was pondering this and I thought of the encounter I had with my ex-boyfriend during the holidays. Nothing major (to y'all). He came through my line at HN&S. I think he was surprised to see me. I was unpleasantly surprised to see him because I didn't want him to see me working another dead-end retail job, with my left ring finger still naked as a jaybird. At least my hair was cute and my lipstick was popping though. Ladies, if you don't take any other advice from me ever--and that's perfectly understandable because I'm kinda flaky--heed this: Don't get caught slipping with your appearance. Exes are like the police, liable to roll up on ya anytime. Anyhoo, I digress. Today I was thinking about the fact that he's on his second marriage and how he and I dated for years between those marriages--collectively, we were together 17 years, I think. For a few years during our second go-round, every Christmas my family and I anticipated an engagement ring from him, and "the engagement ring" came in the form of a digitial camera, various necklace/earing jewelry sets, a Chevrolet pickup that he said was "for us" although I never drove it nor had the inclination to...It was a nice truck though, high off the ground. Anyways, I was outside having a cigarette during this pity party and as I walked up the steps to my house, I thought, "Why wasn't I good enough for him?" The old Shellybird would have cried at this thought, but I keep her chained to the pipes in the basement of my mind. New and slightly improved Shellybird only cries at funerals and during poignant vids that she sees on Facebook and Youtube--the soldiers' surprise returns are favorites--so there's that.

I haven't been on a date in over 2 years unless you count THIS mess. Don't get me wrong. My dance card would be full if I didn't have standards. These dudes need to get their shyte straight though. I have my qualifications, and I don't think I'm asking too much: No kids, no weed smoking, no police record (speeding tickets ok), no ho-like tendencies, no dummies, and no disrespect. Now what's wrong with that? People tell me I'm bougie, but honestly, I thought bougie black people also had money because that cancels me out from the jump. I just don't want to be saddled with mess, and I'm well within my rights to feel that way. Any woman who truly knows her worth should feel that way. And THAT, lil chirrens, is why I am still single. You wouldn't believe some of the bs I have to hear and put up with from various dudes at HN&S, and co-worker Reggie's stupid ass is still being propped up by various hype men and women who obviously can't see him for what he is like I can. I had to go to management on that azz last week because he doesnt know how to talk to anyone.

Smart mouth mutha....I've made the decision not to speak to him unless it's pertaining to work because you don't get to loud talk me or condescend to me, and I've given him more than one opportunity to reign it in. I am so glad I didn't take him up on his dinner offer because he is not worthy of me. Ladies, more unsolicited but sage advice from a flake: Know your worth. I have half a mind to take a quick trip to his ex-wife's facebook inbox (she's my high school classmate and on my friend list) and ask her what his deal is. Like, why did they split up? I'm no psychiatrist, but I was in an emotionally abusive/controlling relationship once, and Reggie is exhibiting some tendencies that just put my stomach in knots. Like I said, I only have half a mind to compare notes with her because she's engaged--I do believe this will be her 3rd marriage *side-eye*--so far be it from me to be a bag of wet brownies. She's moved on. But if I ever run into her at Wal-Mart again (inevitable) and SHE should bring him up first, it's off to the races.

Well, I've let that hobo live rent-free on this post long enough because, you know, I encounter some quality prospects as well...Until I look at the magic finger and see a wedding band. As of late, it's those annoying black wedding bands. When did THAT become a thing??? If I ever were to get married, I would hope the hubster wouldn't want one of those. I prefer white gold or platinum. That aside, why are the a**holes single and the sweet, well-mannered, handsome thoughtful ones that look like they read books taken? It's like the relationship axiom from hell.

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.