to all photographers/artists that sell to the public

seriously, guys. i'm going to help you out here. read carefully.

when you are selling photos or art, and tell the customer it is 'standard size', meaning they can fit it into a 'standard size' frame, MAKE SURE YOU KNOW WHAT THE STANDARD SIZES ARE.

there have been waaaay too many customers being very angry, because the person they bought their art/photo from said it would be standard size, when in fact, it was NOT.


those are the popular sizes that every store with a decent frame department should carry. measure your art, if it is not any of those sizes, THEN IT IS NOT STANDARD. there are few exceptions, we carry 11x17 and 12x17 and 10x13 in limited selections.

i'm helping you out here. would you rather have a customer come back and buy a few more prints from you, or get an angry call that they had to drop major money on getting that 12x19" pic framed cause there's no such thing as that size in standard?

sigh. that's all.

not that any of you, my friends, would do that, but i am just educating on what standard sizes are.


I hate my job sometimes

So I was working the night shift the other night...3-9pm. for some reason i hate working that shift. it always seems longer than the 9-3p shift, even though it's not. maybe i like seeing daylight when i leave. i live in one of the northern states and we get sunshine for maybe only a good two months out of the year.

anyways, it's closing time, i've already counted off my register,and am generally hanging around and annoying my co-workers til the manager tells me to clock out (yeah we can't clock out AFTER NINE when the store closes til they tell us to...).

well, this woman (mid thirties, maybe? heavyset, definitely not a real blonde), and her friend come up to customer service, complaining about how they were charged extra on their purchase. lue (name changed), being the awesome CSR she is, looks at the receipt, and listens patiently to this woman as she complains about being over charged TEN FUCKING CENTS. that's right, ten cents.

well apparently, how our computers add is this:

when we have a sticker for something (like her 10 felt pieces) for 24 cents, what the customer doesn't see is the taxed numbers after that. it works out to something like, 24.345 cents or something. now usually, the computer rounds to the next closest number (in her case, 25 cents) ONLY if you do a 'quantity'.

quantity, for those of you not being cashiers, is a handy device they make so you don't have to consecutively scan ten dowel rods, twenty felt pieces, fifteen frames, etc. you count the items, hit a button, type in the number, and then scan. voila!

well this woman, thinking we cheated her out of her ten fucking cents, proceeded to bitch and whine at our manager (which, being new, i've actually warmed up to), for fifteen minutes. all while lue is trying to figure out if her comp will let her give back ten cents.

now me being me, i was more than willing to give her the dime out of my pocket, but really, i was tired and went and clocked out (without permission, but by this point, manager didn't care), and came back up. by this time, the woman was gone.

'holy shit, really?!?!?! FOR TEN CENTS?!?!?!' i said.

'i can go beat her ass out in the parking lot for you', i said to manager.

'well, first off, you're still wearing your store shirt, and second off, no.' said manager.

'i can take my shirt off and be some crazy no-shirt bra-wearin' lady that just happens to have a dime she feels the need to shove up someone's ass.'

'no, that's ok. but i bet we'll get a call to corporate about our 'adding up' policy.'

'f that. i'm not ringing everything up individually, i already hate being on register.'

she shrugs, and tells me to go home.

i hope that woman gets karmic payback. ten fucking cents. wtf is wrong with you.



So one of my exes came into work the other day.

we didn't end on the best of terms, with me all punching him in the face and stuff.

i told some co-workers that he was around and they wanted to know the situation.

well, i said, we met at the bar, and after an on and off love/hate thing, i think we maybe hooked up, but i really don't recall. he's really super skinny, and one of those cocky, braggart, i-know-more-than-you types.

-hugging him was like hugging a bag full of wire coat hangers-

everyone laughed at that.

that's why i'll never date one of those indie rock skinny jean wearing douches again. i like my dudes with at least some muscles. or above 2% body fat. i'm not perfect, i hate waking up to someone who thinks they are.


more dating

back in my 'hey day' i was a fun-loving girl looking for a good time. now, i'm a fun-loving girl looking to get drunk and dance her ass off surrounded by people she knows once every two weeks.


anyways, back when i was living in akron, i had a studio apartment on the third floor of a building a couple blocks down from one of my hangouts. well, being the 'artistic' type, i hated the fact that i had to lug my garbage down four flights of stairs on a VERY NARROW stairwell, and then, walk half a block up to where the dumpsters for our building were. it was winter, at this time.

so of course, there were about four big black hefty bags full of trash sitting in my extremely tiny kitchen. i couldn't even open the fridge. i didn't let that fact bother me, cause it was saturday night, and it was drinkin' and dancin' time.

at the bar (this one was across town), i proceed to get very drunk with some acquaintances. i notice, however, this very adorable Skater Boy giving me the eye while he plays pool in the back with his friend. he has sandy blond hair, nice lips, and looks really good in the jeans he was wearing.

we eventually strike up a conversation, although for the life of me i cannot remember who said what first. well, the night goes on, and i say i'm going to head home.

Skater Boy- "Um, did you need some company?"
Me- "Sure, but you have to do one thing for me. If you do that, you can stay the night."
Skater Boy-"Anything!" (sigh, i wish i could hook them in like that nowadays!)
Me- "You have to take all my garbage out."
Skater Boy- "What?!?! You're joking."
Me- "Nope. Deal or no deal."

Cut to Skater Boy looking horribly disappointed when he not only saw how much garbage i had, but where he has to dump it.

but he took that trash out in record time, and he got to stay the night. ;)


so i was working yesterday, and the store decided to have a 'sidewalk sale'. that's pretty much bringing the carts of discontinued, non-selling, past holiday crap outside for the cheapskates to peruse.

the first thing they do is call 'all associates' to 5c for 'sidewalk sale'. now by 'all associates' they mean 'any associate that isn't old or infirm' cause those carts are heavy, a bitch to steer, and half the time i end up banging my knee on them.

while our store has a EOE policy, most of the employees are definitely OLD and INFIRM. that leaves about five people to take 12-15 carts from the back ass-end of the store to the front, dodging customers, aisles, things on the floor,etc. and as i mentioned before, steering these things is like trying to drive a badly aligned car while blindfolded on icy pavement. just a big pain in the ass.

well anyways, as i was pushing cart after cart of useless junk out, i found, against the outside wall, right by the door, a half chewed up cigar.

just laying innocently on the sidewalk.

you know what that means, right?


holy shit.

i hate retail

inside the mind of a customer

Oh man, I've got to hurry up, it's ten minutes to close and I need A LOT of stuff! Okay, grab a cart, lessee...OOO sales? Yes! I mean, I don't really need that, but I'm crafty I'll do something with it. Lemme get twenty just in case.

Wow, this store is big, I'd better take it nice and slow so I don't miss anything.I wonder why that worker asked me if I need any help? Of course I do! But I told her no and then she walked away. Jeez, what bad service. I guess I'll just have to wander around till I find what I'm looking for.

Hey, there's a dollar aisle? Oh man, that stuff is sooo cheap! I'll do something with it, I'm crafty. Now, I know I had a list somewhere, that looks like what I might need, I'll get some of that, and that. What? ANOTHER worker asks me for help? I wish you asked me five minutes ago. Wait...I say, "Hey do you have that one thing I saw here a year ago? It was red, and I thought it was back here." Why are they looking at me like that? Don't they know what I'm talking about? I described it. They said they don't think they have it. Of course. I give her a dirty look and walk away. Oh wait, that thing was in another store. Oh, well.

What was that on the intercom? Something..something...five minutes...close? I don't know. They'll stay open for me. I'm the CUSTOMER. Oh, I need that. I think. Oh great, where is everyone? Now I've gotta go up front and ask a question. Wow, they look really happy to see me up front! I ask the worker behind the service desk where that one thing is. Aw, she looks sad. She says it's aisle 25. Oh, back where I was at in the back of the store. I knew that. I tell her it'll just be a minute. It's not like they're doing anything else.

Hm, I pick up some more stuff on my way back. What aisle did she say? 22? Let's go down there. WHAT??? That's not what I'm looking for! Don't these people know every single item in the store and it's location? AREN'T THEY PAID TO DO THAT? Jeez. Oh, what was that on the intercom? Closing? They can't be closing, I'm still shopping! I'm the CUSTOMER!

Oh here's another worker. She tells me that the store is closed, and I have to go check out. Fine, fine, I'll just come back tomorrow morning and wait in the parking lot for half an hour cause they never open early for me.

What bad service! Okay, up and register...why is she taking so long? I only have a cartful of random stuff! I try to help her by piling all of my stuff on the counter. Why is my stuff falling on the floor? Oh, the counter's only four feet long, they need bigger counters then! I'll just make a teetering pile of my stuff.

Okay, IT'S HOW MUCH?!?! No, that's not right, you rang up things wrong. The computer added things up wrong. I don't trust computers. I'm good at math. Well, let's just go through every item again, I'll just dump the bags back out on the counter. THIS time I'll pay attention to every item and argue the price. Oh, I guess the computer was right.

I wonder why the cashier has a big vein in her forehead. Wow, that's throbbing. What is she asking me? Oh, for payment. Well, here's my credit card. I.D?!?!??! What the hell? Why do I need an I.D? Oh, it's not signed? Okay. Let me spend ten minutes looking through my purse...oh, I remember. It's in my car. I never keep it on me. It's a photo I.D. what do I need that for? Fine, fine, I'll go get it.

Ugh, it's cold out. I'll just walk really slow to conserve my heat. In the car now, lesse...oh there it is. I get back to the store. Wow, that vein is really pulsing now. She should go see a doctor. I sign the recipt, she gives me mine, back outside again. God, it's cold. Wow, I wonder if that store knows they've got someone screaming in anger in there. Maybe its just the wind.

Ah, all my stuff is loaded, I'll just leave the cart behind this car, it's too cold to walk the five feet to the cart corral. As I'm pulling away, oh hey, there's my cashier...oh, I guess I put that cart behind her car, wow, it sounds like she's really screaming!

Oh well, maybe it's just the wind. I'll be back tomorrow to return half of this stuff anyways cause I don't know what to do with it. I'll be at the store at eight-thirty, I think they open at nine, but it's okay, cause I'm the CUSTOMER.

Back in the day

so i found one of my old punk rock compilation cds.

it brings back fond memories of days gone past, and summers and winters that were fever bright compared to the dull grey light of today.

the times i spent couch surfing so i wouldn't have to drive up again that same night to see a band, strange showers, using other people's shampoo (and filling it with water so they wouldn't notice), waking up and wondering if this is actually my shirt, flipping off the assholes who went to bed early.

considering putting a litter box in my car so i wouldn't have to come home to take care of captain, always having a toothbrush in my purse, even if i had to brush my teeth with leftover beer. meeting all sorts of intresting and cute lead singers and drummers, flirting shamelessly, and then bidding goodbye when they went to a different house party than me.

going to work to get money for rent for a place i barely lived in. keeping extra clothes in my car, and during the summer, a bathing suit, cause you never knew who had access to a pool and hoping your fence climbing skills were good. looking around you and seeing people smiling, drunk, fighting, making out, playing on a kid's drum set someone had found, telling each other that they should collaborate on the next cd.

putting names in your phone like "that one chick with the dog" and "cute drummer guy mexican", or the "that lead singer didn't do it w him" or something like that. people looking up when i came into a room, and high fiving me. not needing red bull or even food as long as there was beer and some kind of pizza leftovers.

seeing how many 99 cent red lipstick shades i could buy at walgreens. ha dodging my landlord. lying to the old men. getting tattoos. getting a discount cause you brought the guy cake everyday and wanted the tat just how he drew it.

screaming like a baby. not remembering the one guy's name, but being best friends with his gf, and getting her super drunk. fighting with my old gay upstairs neighbor. thinking no one should be up before noon. crashing in my bed while people watched tv in the same room.

gettinng up at four, driving down to the bar so i'd have time to drink before i had to work at seven. hating all the stupid makeup i had to wear. becoming used to nakedness and women. no catfights cause i straight didn't care as long as the vodka and red bulls kept coming. funny money. that one time i made 1400 in one night, and blowing most of it buying everyone drinks.

trusting everyone and believing that this could go on forever. this dream of what all those punk songs talked about. being free to do what i wanted, be with whoever, no consequences, no thought to tomorrow. spinning around and around in my head, full of beer and fun and hoping that one day that everything had to stop was far away.

raising my fist. here's to the past.


old people are fucking weird

so i work in a retail store, we're kinda like a michael's or holly hobby. we mostly get old people and college students. but mostly old people. so on what i determine was an average day, i have the worst thing happen ever.

some old lady farted on my hand. and she didn't even know.

well lemme set the situation up for you.

our bathroom has three stalls, the last one being the handicap one. the sinks are against the left wall, and for some reason (oh yeah people complained it was too high) the paper towel holder was set way low, about two feet in front of the sink closest to the first stall. so in order to get paper towels when washing at the second sink, you would have to reach around and down behind the person at the far sink to get them.

so i did my business, was washing my hands, and a very elderly old woman came up beside me (to my right) and began washing her decrepit, gnarled claws. i finish, and reach behind her for the towels. as my hand passes her wrinkly derriere, she lets out the juciest, stinkiest fart. RIGHT ON MY HAND. I FELT THE AIR HITTING IT.

holy shit, dude, i was freaking out silently, and happened to catch her eye in the mirror. SHE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW SHE HAD FARTED. i quickly washed my hands, again, and wiped my hands on my pants, and left the bathroom before her.

what do you even say to that? "oh excuse me, you farted on my hand, what the hell, old lady?"

or maybe, "dude, you should never go out in public. how can you not know you just farted on a stranger!"

sigh. sometimes i hate my life.

to make it worse, i called my bf and told him. he put me on speakerphone (without me knowing) and had me repeat it to all of his co-workers. they all were laughing.


back in the day

This is one about me, brian, and Murph.

....And then some dude's party with the Chuck's crew. Me, Brian, and Murphy were leaving when Murphy suggests we take these roadcones that were on the sidewalk. Brian and myself (drinking since seven) thought that it would be funny.

We load up the cones, and just when Brian is about to take off, some douche knocks on my window. I casually rool it down and here's teh conversation:

Him-"Did you take those cones?"

Murphy (in the back of the car)-"No. (then to Brian)Go!"

Him-"Well I saw you take them and kids could fall in the hole there."

Me- "Don't worry, dude, we're gonna be sweet."

At this point Brian takes off and we are laughing so hard we're crying. "Dude, we're gonna be sweet" was the saying of the night.

Brian probably still has the cones in his trunk.

Sunshine Days

One of my favorite things to do is go hiking in the Cuyahoga Valley parks. I like going in early summer, before it gets too hot, and too filled with bugs. It's a good time to think about things that your normal everyday life has crowded away in the far corners of your mind.

Now usually I try not to over analyze things, because most of the people that I interact with know I'm a neurotic mess and thinking about shit too long tends to make things worse.

I was watching tv the other day, and they were talking about subconscious decisions. basically, your brain makes a decision about an instant before you realize you want to do that decision. So while you're off thinking that YOU actually decided to do something, your brain already knew that. It doesn't want to hurt your feelings, so it lets you think you're the boss.

I wonder when my brain is gonna let me go hiking. I've got some shit to think about.


more dating

I'm currently dating a great guy. He's super awesome and has put up with a lot. But hey, he doesn't know about blogspot so that gives me free rein to tell dating stories.

Well, lesse, I've dated a fair bit of weirdos and losers. Although to be honest I have had bad taste. Hey, everyone's been young and having fun.

There was Super Shy Guitar Guy. See, I'd had a thing for him for awhile, and had finally gotten him back to my place. The guy, to be honest, wasn't that attractive. He drank too much, had thrown up on my car, and had so far refused any kind of sexual below clothes contact.

Cut to my apartment. We're going at it, and, in the middle of things, he asks, "Hey, can you do me a favor?" and gestures to his penis. I ask, "Um, you want me to go down on you?"

"Yeah, like..a favor.."

So I obliged.

Oh man.

Worst man-bush ever.

There's a phrase from gay guys called 'The Shield'. It's where you take your hands, and make a trianglular hole (between both of your first fingers and thumbs) to let the penis through but not the rest of that stuff. The rest of your hands block the bush from tickling your nose, and making you sneeze (you know your jaw clamps sometimes when you do that? Yeah, bad idea.)

If you do it right, the offender won't even know you're trying not to get a hairball.

Damn, last time I did THAT guy a 'favor'.


Our Former Downstairs Neighbor

I am so glad you're finally out FOR REAL this time. I will give you a list of reasons as to why I am so happy.

-The first month you were there, you called our landlord (a very cool person) and complained about us having a 'marching band' upstairs every morning. Well, it's an old house, as you well know. We actually have to get up that early FOR OUR JOBS. We do try to be as quiet as possible but maybe you should stop sleeping in til noon??

-When you told us we were 'too loud' and you had a daughter that was hearing us. I've never seen this daughter. I would know if I saw her, cause we live in the same house as you and I woulda heard a kid. It's just funny that your mysterious 'daughter' was never around when you and your buddies smoked so much pot, it drifted into the vents in our place and made it smell like a Grateful Dead reunion. I never told the landlord about that.

-Ooh, or how about for Memorial Day, when I had some people over (three girls, who I took all the way upstairs to our finished attic so as not to disturb you), YOU CALLED THE COPS AND SAID THAT MY BOYFRIEND WAS BEATING ME. You've met my boyfriend. He likes fluffy things and plays video games. Really? I know we live in a semi-bad area, and maybe all the baby mommas and ghetto fucks you associate yourself with do those things to each other, but we don't. Thanks for not letting me ever have my friends over again, cause they're terrified you're gonna call the cops.

-Yeah, okay, you're black. You're tough. I get it. How about you don't go towards the sterotypes? No? Okay then. Play extremely loud rap music downstairs in the middle of the week, when normal people have to work tomorrow. Smoke a whole bunch of pot with your retard buddies. Oh yeah, by the way, that one friend of yours that has a handicap sticker in his car and a back brace? He doesn't look so hadicapped when he's helping you lift stuff and work on your car. Oh yeah, and talk on the phone really loud about how you live with a bunch of 'motherfuckers'. And play your car stereo SUPER LOUD when you drive by or wash your car for two hours.

-Oh, that note you left on my car when I parked in 'your space' was hilarious. The house is on a street. I parked in front of MY HOUSE. Your car wasn't there. Oh yeah, that's right YOU HAVE TWO CARS AND FULL USE OF THE GARAGE IN THE BACK OF THE HOUSE, WHICH CAN HOLD TWO CARS. I'm so sorry me and my bf had to park on the street, getting our cars dinged up and vandalized.

-When you said you were moving out the first time, a few months back, I told the landlord we wanted to see downstairs. Oh man. The recycling bin full of 'Meukow vs. Vanilla' was awesome. I had my bf walk upstairs on all the squeeky spots. Hmm, I didn't hear shit. It's funny that way, huh?

-And then when you told the landlords 'Oops, sorry, I'm not moving out' after they'd already been interveiwing people for the apartment? REAL FUCKING CLASSY. It made them look like assholes and well, you already know you're a stupid dickhead, so I guess there wasn't much change there.

-Thank whatever deity is finally putting you out of our lives. I like how your stupid ghetto friends drove their truck right up on the front lawn so you wouldn't have to walk so far with your shitty belongings. And I like how they banged on my door, laughing and shouting 'what's in here?'. That was icing on the cake.

-But you know what? I'm just so fucking glad you're gone.


To the People Who Should Not Be Allowed To Use the Bathroom Alone

Sigh. I know when I got this job, there was nothing on it about cleaning our restrooms. But like many employees, I am a multi-tasker. Mostly because I get the shit list from my managers and have to do it.

So here's a list of People Who Should Not Be Allowed To Use the Bathroom Alone.

-Children. I know you want your five year old to learn to use the potty without mommy's help, but this isn't the time. Public restrooms are dirty, filthy germ magnets (no matter how often they are cleaned), and your child is touching every available surface. They cannot pee in the toilet, but all over the seat and floor, they take FOREVER because mostly they play around in there. I can't count how many times I've had to plunge the toilets cause your precious darling used half a roll of industrial toilet paper. Oh that's right, let them in there by themselves. YOU ASS.

-Old People...REALLY SENILE OLD PEOPLE. I'm sorry you're old. I really am. But especially to that one ol lady that I thought had died in the handicap stall, dude, you should have a helper. Your daughter was out shopping the whole TWO HOURS you were in the stall!!!! I finally had to come in there, mostly because customers were coming out complaining about the stink. Knocking on the stall, you had thankfully managed to get your pants up, BUT COULDN"T FIGURE OUT THE HANDLE TO GET OUT. FOR TWO HOURS. I let you out, and escorted you out. I then made the mistake of going back in to look at the stall. OH DEAR GOD. There is exploded shit everywhere. Smeared all over the seat, on the handrails, on the toilet paper dispenser, and on the doorhandle. All of which I had to clean.

-Mentally Slow People. Listen, I know that might not be PC, but seriously. If you need handlers to even go in a store and look around, you prolly need handlers when you take a shit. I can't really get mad at you cause maybe you don't know better, but ew dude. I don't wanna walk in a bathroom covered in shit and oh hey, there's a smiley face drawn in shit on the wall. Where's your fucking handler? I should make them come in here and clean it up.

-Fat People. Take a shit at home. Seriously. You are the worst toilet cloggers ever. I know, I know, those gallons of velveeta coursing their way from your stomach to your asshole can't feel good, but do that at home. Ugh. It's like if I entered the poop lotto, I would've won the grand prize plus powerball. You don't do that to your own toilet do you??

All this from your once again, FRIENDLY CASHIER.

ah jeez

I was dating this one guy, let's call him Red. Now Red wasn't that attractive, and frankly, he was a raging alcoholic, and treated me like crap. But I was young, and he could be very funny and charming when he wasn't raging drunk.

Our sex life was at best, mediocre, mostly because he lived with his Grandma, and anything we were able to do would have to be done very quietly. I lived with my parents at the time, so sometimes we would sneak into my house and make out, eat food, have sex, etc.

Well this one incident happened towards the tail end of our six month relationship. As usual, we had snuck into my house after drinking, and I was giving him a blowjob whilst he was sitting on the couch. I was going at it with my usual drunken enthusiasm, when suddenly...FFFTTTTPPPPTTTT! Right in my face, accompanied by a horrible smell.

That's right. He farted in my face while I was giving him a bj. His excuse? "I was relaxed."


This is the same boy who, at the end up our relationship, explained why HE was breaking up with ME (I still argue it was mutal). "Well, see, you're the hottest girl I've ever been with, and other girls see me with you. So I figure if I break up with you I can get someone hotter."

My parting line? "You know why I'm breaking up with you? You're fucking crazy."
Hey, Smelly Guy at My Job, I just wanted you to know that whatever you're doing, it's working.

Maybe it was the smell of rotten cheese and b.o. that wafted up my nose when you walked by, or the fact that you are an immense human being, but damn, that was sexy. Maybe Maxim tells you not to bother wearing clean clothes around women, or even in public. It works.

The pit-stained t-shirt that was too small to cover your grotesque stomach or the sweatpants that had large holes on your left side ass cheek was something sooo right my panties totally got wet.

I like how I could see your fat hairy ass through the pants holes, and the fact that you were subtly advertising the fact that you weren't wearing any underwear. The old sneakers and no socks trick was just making me want to beg you for some lovin'. I know, I know, it's hard to be so fat and walk upright, so I like how you were using my store's carts to lean your man tits on for easier walking.

I licked the hand bar of the cart when you waddled and wheezed out of the front doors, leaving that precious cart you used behind, much like my heart. Sigh.

No man will ever best you in my mind, you have ruined me for any relationship I might have. Sigh, I wish you could come in again, for that smell is the only thing now that I look forward to.

Love, That Cashier That Was Making Gagging Sounds Behind You