I Forgot To Tell Y'all Sumpin'

I completely forgot to do a post about my new found employment. Actually, since being fired from the Retail Booty Hole, I have acquired 2 jobs. In November of last year, I was hired by a smaller retail store, and I started there the day before Thanksgiving. (If I ever said "never" regarding retail, I either lied or greatly underestimated the need for Christmas cash.) I was hired by the local school system to be a substitute teacher also. I started doing that a couple of weeks ago.

I'm really not sure what the future holds for me. Are ANY of us??? I wiled away the better part of my 42 years dreaming of being a supermodel. I mean seriously, I wanted that like people want air to breathe....Only they made it happen; they're breathing, but I ain't modeling. Now I'm like a high school senior wondering what to do with my life. The difference is that I don't have that kind of time. When I was in high school, we had to make a collage about what we wanted to be when we grew up. I made mine using pics from the collection of fashion and teen magazines I had amassed over the years, and I didn't half-step with that shit. My collage was TIGHT. After class, I overheard this chick all UPSET because I picked fashion model for my project, like there's only room for one on a runway or something. CHILD, BYE.

Maybe she was jealous because at 5'9", I actually met the high fashion model height requirement, whereas she was like 5'1". (I grew another inch by graduation, so there's that.) I can still see and hear her now: "If she can be a model, I know I can!" Oh, and there were other instances of snickers and snarky comments when I said I wanted to be a model. I wanted that shit to stop. I enjoyed watching the local news back then because I had a massive crush on the sports guy. (I don't know what it was about sports guys back then. They were to me what rock-n-roll front men were to groupies. Go figure.) One night while watching the news, I decided if any teachers ever asked again what we wanted to be when we grew up, I'd say a news anchor. Nobody would laugh at that....and they didn't. As a matter of fact, my 10th grade English teacher suggested a great college with an awesome journalism department. That's how I attended the college I did, majored in broadcast journalism, discovered that I am a pretty decent writer, then decided I didn't want to wind up being sent to some war-torn country and killed as I field reported my way up to the anchor desk, did a radio internship instead and got a job at a local radio station a couple of weeks before college graduation that I got bored with, and got a job working at the Retail Shitter for 15 years that I got fired from in August...In the house that Jack built.

So, I suppose I've come full circle because NOW I'm telling people that I have decided I want to be an elementary school teacher. You didn't really think that I was telling people that I want to move to NYC and make history as the oldest woman to break into the modeling biz and find success, did you? I mean teaching wouldn't be so bad. I love kids. I just really don't feel like that's what I was meant to do. It is only here that I can confess that I am a bundle of nerves everyday hoping my phone won't ring for a substitute teaching job. When I am called, I go, but I'm spinning my wheels there just as much as I am in retail even though I do enjoy being around kids a helluva lot more than grown folks who want haggle over already dirt cheap prices and old men who hit on me on senior citizen's Wednesday.

I just want to be happy, and I'm not. I'm not miserable like I had been less than a year ago, but if I'm not careful, I'm going to wind up that way again. If I can't model--and it's quite possible that I can't--I would like to write short fiction. That's what I love to read; I am an absolute bibliophile. I want to bring readers the same joy that so many writers have brought me. When fans ask Stephen King how to become a writer, and he replies, "Just write," he is absolutely correct. I suppose he also knows the feeling of hating what you've put on paper. After all, his wife rescued "Carrie" from the garbage. I've never had any writing I trashed rescued from the garbage, but I remember it, and it really wasn't worth saving anyway. However, we do need to have a moment of silence for all of the awesome, fanciful ideas that have passed through my head that I DIDN'T put on paper. UGH.

Oh! I haven't given much detail about the retail gig. It's a very small company; I have always said that this particular store was a step above Goodwill. They sell refurbished electronics, flawed/out-of-season/overstock clothing from other retailers*, a small selection of grocery items (YES! We accept EBT, in case you're wondering). The staff is very small, and I am still forced to wear navy blue and khaki, but it is what it is. Strangely enough, one (of a precious few) highlights about working there is the fact they aren't open 24 hours. We close at 9pm every day except Sunday, when we close at 8pm. I love that last hour before closing time when we have to clean the windows and vacuum. I'm not much for scullery work, but in this instance it's symbolic of getting the hell out, and I am all about getting the hell out. I guess I could call the  place "Retailtopia", but at 15 hours a week/$7.25 an hour...hm. I do what's asked of me, but "above and beyond the call of duty" ain't happening, and I know that I won't be there 15 years. Screw that. Shellybird is just passing through. Heading where though, I do not know.

*Don't sleep on flawed/out-of-season/overstock clothing. Y'all ain't cute. I have gotten all kinds of outfits from that store. I may never be a supermodel, but I'll certainly be able to dress like a supermodel's personal assistant.

This Could Be The Start Of Something Big

I have always struggled with my weight, and by that I mean it's always been a struggle to keep meat on my bones. Up until I hit the big 4-0, I was at least 10-15 pounds underweight. I was teased about it as a kid. My mom was always worried that CPS was going to take me away from her due to malnutrition--she's always been dramatic. When I was in college, my phys ed teacher had me keep a food diary because I was "very anorexic looking," her words. Whenever I griped about being too thin, overweight people never failed to remind me how "lucky " I was. Oh I can't tell you the number of times they told me, "I used to be your size when I was young. You better be glad you're small because once you start putting weight on, it's hard to stop and harder to take off!" Well I will have you to know...that they were absolutely right. Middle-age spread is HERE with 4 large suitcases asking which bed is hers.

I'm the stick wearing the bitchin' 80's glasses!

I am 5'10', and I now weigh 144lbs. Somewhere along the way, I've gone from a size 6 to a size 10. I'm not skinny anymore; I have a small frame, so I'm slender/curvy...with a gut. Even though I hated being a stick, I was an aspiring model and took pride in the fact that Naomi Campbell and I had the same stats. Naomi never looked bony because years of ballet gave her that awesome physique. Aaaaand now I outweigh her by almost 20lbs. Wowsers. When I put on weight, it goes right to my hips and stomach. At this point, I could easily park in the expectant mother space at the mall with no questions asked, but I'm too vain to be seen out without having sucked it in. (I have to suck so hard now, I see spots.) I've always eaten recklessly in an attempt to bulk up and...I'm Southern. You do the math. I'm a serial snacker too. I never eat A doughnut or A taco. They die together like Thelma and Louise, honey.*

I haven't had a slice of cake in years. I eat WEDGES of cake. A slice of pie doesn't exist in my world; 1/4 of the pie on my plate is how I roll. Sunday night, during the "CSI: Miami" marathon, I ate half of a Sara Lee apple streusel pie in 2 hours by eating 2 slices. I stood at the stove and stared at the remaining pie chanting to myself, "I ate half a pie. I ate half a pie." Sara Lee--or the random hair netted individual in the Sara Lee kitchen--is a bomb ass cook though, so you can't really blame me. If Paula Deen hadn't ripped her draws, I'd probably be wearing a bed sheet now. Her sour cream pound cake was the bombbbbbbbbb, and I can't find it anywhere. All I got is this pic, making my mouth water. Dang it.

Since my parting of the ways with the Retail Skid Mark, I have been doing a lot of "because it's there" eating. It was the aforementioned pie that brought the realization that I need to slow my roll and kept me from ordering my usual 2 soft tacos at Taco Bell. I only ordered one, and my stomach was still growling 5 minutes after the last bite.

When I get out of the shower (don't try to get a visual, freaks), I give myself a good once over. Cellulite on my thighs, stomach, butt, AROUND MY KNEES...If I become officially fat, I can see exactly where my "rolls" will be. When I bend over or sit down, it feels funny having all of that belly fat just above the area where my uterus is. It feels like I'm made of paper and I can feel myself creasing as I'm being folded in half. Time to fix this before it becomes unfixable and I wind up on one of those weight loss shows bursting into tears after 2 jumping jacks. I'm not being mean; I've seen it, and I don't want it to happen to me. It's sad when it happens to anyone. Planet Fitness or Curves, I'll see you in January. I'm certainly not going to start an exercise regimen now. It's 3 days before Thanksgiving, just over a month before Christmas, and I done told y'all one time I'm Southern.

The hips and ass formerly known as a size 6...

        

 *Thelma and Louise died at the end of..."Thelma and Louise." Not really sure how this could be a spoiler when you've had 23 years to see it, but ok.

Just Random Nuptual Awesomeness

People keep having awesome nontraditional weddings, both in attire and ceremony, and I just keep getting singler (not a word about how that's not a word)...I want to go nontraditional, but when I finally get married, all of the awesome ideas will have been used. I ain't above copying though. Here's the latest. Beyoncé's baby sis Solange ties the knot in NOLA and she has some stunning pics to let the world know that she's no longer one of "da single ladies." *SIGH*

...Still Here...Lordt

Hey, y'all! I'm still here, and STILL enjoying my Retail Septic Tank-free life. I wish I could say that I'm writing this post in a Brooklyn brownstone, but alas, I'm still down South. I've put off my move until April. Leading up to my supposed departure for the Big Apple--when I was still planning to go this month--I would get this sick/anxious/excited feeling. I was having trouble focusing on apartment and job searching....I was something of a wreck. I want it BAD, but I wasn't ready. I am 42. This is a one shot deal for me because of my age and finances. I can't fcuk it up. The walls are closing in, though, and the family be trippin'. I may not make it to NYC, but I have DEFINITELY got to get the hell away from here. I'd even consider staying in the South, but somewhere like Myrtle or Virginia Beach. I frigging LOVE the beach. The settings on my sound spa alternate between rainy day and ocean. Always. Anywhore, now I'm just waiting for April and bracing myself for the coldest winter ever.

A Boyfriend Would Be Nice...

**For her next trick, the lovely and capable Shellybird will attempt a blog post while weeping and balled up in a fetal position on her couch.**

Hahaha, not really but..really. I squired dear old mom to the grocery store yesterday afternoon, and I ran into my ex boyfriend's mom (a super sweet lady), who happens to be my mommy's high school classmate. While they chattered about septuagenarian life--aches, pains, who from the c/o 1958 has passed away since the last reunion--I flitted around picking up stuff mommy needed. I got back to them and joined the convo. I dared ask how "Ray" my ex was doing. She let me know he was fine, had bought a home, and he's working towards another degree. Awesome! Oh, and his GIRLFRIEND that he met a year or so after I broke up with him is selling her house so they can build a nest together. Um...What the fuque???????

Here's a little background for you: Ray was my first boyfriend. We met as students at the local community college. We were together a collective 17 years; there were breakups in between, during which time he got married and eventually divorced. I had dates here and there, fell in love at the age of 27 with an emotionally abusive 19-year-old and became engaged to him. (That obviously didn't work out because y'all haven't seen me on "Snapped," have you???) After all of that Ray and I got back together, and of course everyone assumed we would get married and live happily ever after. Coming back together like that totally signifies that it was meant to be, right? Well, no...actually, everyone including me was DEAD WRONG. We dated for 6 or 7 more years, and every Christmas, I waited for my engagement ring. My "ring" came in the form of a digital camera, a couple of expensive earring and necklace sets, or cash if he ran out of ideas. He was the only guy I dated that my mommy liked, and occasionally she throws him in my face, and I QUOTE: "Well if you'd hung on to Ray, you'd be married and have those babies you always wanted." LORDT. Yes, he was/is mannerable, a hard worker, he doesn't have babies and an assortment of baby mamas, AND he has no police record--a real prize some might say. However, at the end of the day, I just could not deal with taking the backseat to his mother, his job, or whatever was on the SciFi channel. I wanted to be a wife, not a girlfriend that he called when he "remembered." I didn't want to be taken for granted any longer, so when we had a heart-to-heart and he more or less let me know that he was comfortable in the place we were in our relationship--limbo, as far as I was concerned--I ended it. I was in my late-30's at the time and he was in his early 40's, TOO damn old to be "dating"! Even Joanie and Chachi got married. Come ON.

...Sorry, that was a lot of background. Anyways, here I am, 42 years old, single, and childless, and my ex-boyfriend is probably working toward his second marriage. I don't understand, and I certainly don't think it's fair. I don't begrudge anyone the opportunity to be happy--LEAST of all myself. I still have the "here and there" dates, but the closest I've come to a date OR sex in the past 10 months are the biweekly manicures from my (sexy) Vietnamese nail tech. His hands are so soft, and I don't know what he puts in his hair, but it's absolutely intoxicating. I would be remiss if I didn't share that his body is TIGHT. Oh, WAYMENT...Since my unceremonious release from the Retail Chamber Pot (BOO-YA), I've stopped getting my nails done to save money. I ain't even getting hand sex now.

Now How Hard Was That?

So here's what happened yesterday: For the first time in the 6 1/2 weeks since I got fired, I went back to "the store." (And yes, I've run out of clever/snarky names synonymous with sewage to use in reference to my former place of employ, but if I come up with anything else, I'm on it. Word is bond, son.) Anyways, I took out a loan a year or so ago and unemployment insurance is part of the deal. The insurance form has a portion to be filled out by the previous employer. I dragged my ass for 3 solid weeks before finally taking it in to be filled out. It went smoother than I thought, but I certainly didn't think it would. I managed to stress myself into a lovely little tension headache/migraine/brain-on-fire type ailment that didn't clear itself up until hours after I got home. I still have a slight hangover from it, but I don't feel nearly as bad as I did before, thanks for asking. I ran into a few former co-workers while I was there, which was expected and dreaded. Hell, I went in through a rear entrance to avoid seeing anyone because I'm hardcore like that. I only received a hug from 1, which was perfectly fine with me. He's like a brother and has called me several times with advice and just to check in and make sure I'm okay. One other lady, who isn't really a friend but has always been nice, asked what I planned to do now. I told her about my NYC plans. A few others just said hi, and I responded in kind like nothing ever happened and I was still on the payroll. Overall though, if we didn't swap words while I was there, there's no need to be phony, all poking in my business now for the sake of having something to talk about later. I hate that. Being the Southern Belle that I am though, I made DANG sure I didn't roll up in that piece looking like "the struggle." My hair, nails, wardrobe, and makeup (read: lipstick, which is all I wear) were ON POINT. Homie don't play looking busted in the presence of mine enemies, be it a former employee, ex boyfriend, or whatever. One of the newer managers, a HOTTTTT Hispanic guy, saw me and said hi. I spoke to him as well, and was flooded with regret that THAT potential for flirtatious workplace diversion went down the tubes 6 1/2 weeks ago. Ohhhhh, the way he looks at you with those deep set eyes, WOO....but I digress.

While writing this, my internal alarm went off. I just read over the form, and the woman in personnel wrote that the reason for my termination was "misconduct with write-ups," the same inaccurate bs that almost cost me my unemployment benefits. It was in my file though, so that's all she could write. Bright side? I was spared the awkwardness of seeing the manager who tricked me into believing I WASN'T getting fired and had me hang around after my shift ended TO get fired and I didn't have to see the one who actually did the firing. Enough time hasn't passed for that to have been anything other than ugly. Whether or not the unemployment insurance covers this isn't a concern of mine at this point. It might be LATER, but certainly not now. I'm still riding on the high of freedom from retail, and I really don't want to come down.

Since I survived my first foray into the store post termination I think I am now prepared to bust up in there any old time. My mom needs a pair of those compression hose that she has to wear, so I'll swing by there this week after I get my hair done. My former place of business is one of the few places that sells them at a reasonable price, and I'll definitely do what I have to do for the woman who gave me life, no biggie. I'll just use the rear entrance like a boss.

Tommy Ain't Got No Job...And Neither Do I

We have a lot in common...but I'm prettier.

I's free; I's free!!! That's right--after 15 years, the Retail Gut Bucket cut me loose.  This happened a month ago, actually. Long story short, they called me in the office one morning and told me they were "terminating" me for a job performance issue, even though the job I was performing wasn't mine, was above my pay grade, and I wasn't being compensated for it. I was upset for like, oh, 30 minutes. The reason they gave me and the reason listed on my file that they sent to the employment commission were 2 different things. They tried to say it was because of my attendance. In my state, you don't reap unemployment benefits if you are fired for misconduct, and excessive absences/tardies (attendance) is under the misconduct umbrella, trying to stay dry. The Retail Dumpster doesn't like coming up off of that unemployment money, so while I am dismayed that they tried that, I am certainly not surprised. However, truth (THAT I TOLD because they weren't trying to) won out in the end. That said, my unemployment benefits are rolling in--thank-you Jesus--and I am FINALLY making plans to go to NYC. (I suppose if I were a blogger worth my salt, I could have taken you along as I navigated the highways and byways of "Da System." It was interesting, but I'm over it. Onward and upward, people.)

For clarification, let me say that I am still semi employed at the radio station, a part, part, part, part time gig that I have hung on to because broadcasting was my field of study in college. I eventually reached a point during my time in retail when I was ashamed to even tell people I worked at the Retail Septic Tank. People were more impressed when I told them about my job as a radio announcer and I was in desperate need of the shine. I'm really just window dressing at the station; if I fell off the face of the earth, the music would still play, honey. I've known how non integral my job is for years, but I always showed up and gave it my all. I'm expecting to reap the benefits of this soon...

Anyways, NOW what?  Welllll...I'm going to take a month or maybe 6 week excursion to the Big Apple to get a feel for the city and PRAYERFULLY find a job. I'm hoping to act in TV commercials, do voice acting work, another radio gig, or modeling. No, I haven't given up on that, so we'll see. I feel more optimistic about my future since I got fired, ironically. I had really reached the bottom of the barrel in retail, and let me tell you, it's ugly down there. I think I was depressed, burned out for sure. Word to the wise no matter where you work: When you reach the point where you hit snooze 312 times when your alarm goes off, when you look at your watch and see that you still have 2 hours left in your shift and you're reduced to tears at the thought, IT IS TIME TO GO. Trust and believe, you don't reach that point overnight. Let this post serve as a cautionary tale. I think trust fund babies are a happy (and rich) minority. The majority of us have to work, every day, to keep food on tables, clothes on backs, and roofs over heads. For the love of all things holy, PLEASE find something that makes you happy, even if it doesn't make you rich. You shouldn't dread waking up everyday.