tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22815736471510828582024-03-13T12:50:27.608-07:00ToeJam TalesTwisted Tales from the World of Retail, and The Lives of Those That Suffer Through ItRedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-11454060657113464382010-01-19T13:40:00.001-08:002010-01-19T14:03:03.365-08:00Been A While...It's been a while since I posted, and the fact that I haven't had <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Internet</span> access is a large part of that. But I am back now, so look out.<div><br /></div><div>The store I work at in San Francisco has been a blast. I really have been enjoying the people I work with and the customers that come in. The guys are really into the brand we represent, and love talking about it. They are all incredibly passionate about what they represent and willing to share that knowledge and joy. It's one of the best places I have ever worked. And the owners are fantastic.</div><div><br /></div><div>One of the odd things about this store is that I really haven't had any of the odd customers asking the weird questions I normally get. Which isn't to say I don't get the odd stupid statement ("where are the cars?" is a popular one, but I can't say more without revealing the store, which I am not allowed to do!).</div><div><br /></div><div>We do have some fun customers. I have been meeting and talking to people from all over the United States and the world in general. We have, regularly, people calling from all over the US to buy things, which is a lot of fun for me. I have also talked to customers who have called from Paris, France and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Hong</span> Kong.</div><div><br /></div><div>The local customers are a lot of fun, too. Some of the regulars are just great people who love the brand. And they really do enjoy coming in and talking with us while they shop.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, working in San Francisco has its fun moments, too. For example, back in December, we had <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Santa-con</span>, aka Drunk Santa Fest. A bunch of people dress up as Santa and/or his elves and basically do the ultimate <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">pub crawl</span> in the city. Where else can you see Santa in a thong? Or even better, Mrs Claus in a thong? Of course, I would love to be the tourist parent explaining to their child why there won't be a Christmas when they see Santa being busted by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">SFPD</span>, and toted away in a paddy wagon...</div><div><br /></div><div>We have also been front and center for a Hotel Strike protest march in the city, which was fun... <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">C'mon</span> people, at least you have jobs! Other fun things include the various protests against the major banks in the City (such as Wells Fargo and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">BofA</span>). You also have the various political protests (it is San Francisco, after all) and basic <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">left wing</span> fun in the city.</div><div><br /></div><div>Basically, I have spent the last month or so learning the product and history in my store, just having fun and getting into the swing of things after my long summer off. I was there a week and the previous manager left, so instead of being an assistant, I am now acting manager (a spot I hope to take over <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">permanently</span>) for the time being. And as I get my feet under me, I am starting to make changes, hopefully for the better. I know the guys are responding to it, and good things are starting to happen.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Looking back, I am bitter on how I was treated at my job in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">SoCal</span>, and even more so on how I left. But I know it was a good thing for me. This is the most fun I have had at work in years. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">BossLady</span> has even commented that she likes it when she can see me having fun at work.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Domestically, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">BossLady</span> and I are finally settling into our own place. We aren't far from her family, which has <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">pros</span> and cons, but we will take it. I was finally able to live up to my promise to her to get a new kitten for her graduation. So now we have two <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">tortoishell</span> cats with very different personalities. Which, of course, means I sleep on the floor since they have taken over my spot on the bed at night.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It's also been fun reconnecting with friends here in the Bay Area that I haven't seen in a few years.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So as more things happen, I will post more. I just hope I get some good fodder for my stories...</div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-29191250868396529532009-11-30T20:18:00.000-08:002009-11-30T20:27:32.049-08:00Smoke Two Joints...November has been an interesting month.<div><br /></div><div>I got the job in my home town that I was stressed about. Turned out not to be a good fit, so I left.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was lucky in that the other opportunity was still on the table that I wanted. I started there today, and if anything, the opportunity has increased. Nothing has been promised that I would call set in stone, but the language tells me it won't be long for a major promotion. Good things really do come to those who wait, I guess.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I am back working in San Francisco, a city I love and find endlessly entertaining. I mean, where else in the world would you see three people walking down the street smoking joints and just have the police wave at them?</div><div><br /></div><div>The job is going to be great. I really enjoy the new crew, and the opportunity to grow is beyond belief. I don't want to go into too much detail because of all the proprietary information, and I certainly do not want to offend my new crew, but I will post stories as they happen. Working in San Francisco, you can count on several in the not so distant future.</div><div><br /></div><div>This will be a bit of a busy time for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">BossLady</span> and me, as we are moving to our own place after staying with family for the last 4 months. I probably won't post again until mid to late December. But I WILL be back. </div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, this year I am having to do something I never do. Shop for Xmas. It's big in her family. I never did much beyond getting Mom a card and maybe something for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">BossLady</span>. Otherwise, to me, it was just a forced day off. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Blech</span>. Now it's shop for her, her parents, her grandmother, and sixteen dozen other people I've never met. </div><div><br /></div><div>Fun and games.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanksgiving was interesting, spending it with several people I have never met, but am apparently related to now. And even more fun, some of them work retail as well, and know the store I am going to.</div><div><br /></div><div>This is going to be interesting to say the least.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Anyhow, I will be back.</div><div><br /></div><div>Eventually.</div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-46351676720791441172009-11-04T18:43:00.000-08:002009-11-04T18:49:23.028-08:00HomeBossLady and I have had a bit of a go lately. <div><br /></div><div>We have been staying with family in the Bay Area since the move and while I found work. Family is great and we could not have made it without their help, but it's time to move on.</div><div><br /></div><div>Back when BossLady took her photo gig, we drove up and went apartment hunting with little luck. It's very frustrating when they all want money NOW and we were just getting ideas. So we backed off and decided to wait till I landed something.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today we signed our papers for our new place.</div><div><br /></div><div>We are both excited to have our own place again. We appreciate all the family has done, but we need to have "our" space back. We miss it.</div><div><br /></div><div>The only problem... We have to wait a month till we actually move in.</div><div><br /></div><div>This could be a good thing, as I have to get going on the new job and the dust will settle a bit for us. And we can start planning our move without feeling rushed.</div><div><br /></div><div>BossLady is happy, too. She will be in her hometown. I will be close to mine, though I have lived in this city before. And she will be close to her family, which is something she has not had in 5 years. And best of all in her mind, I have to get her a new kitten, which we decided we will rescue from the local shelter.</div><div><br /></div><div>The place is in a nice location, close to BART and a golf course as well as tennis courts and a lake.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ah... the joys of moving...</div><div><br /></div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-37894955352746749752009-11-03T11:04:00.001-08:002009-11-03T11:05:46.242-08:00I GOT IT!Today I start the new job. <div><br /></div><div>I got the one I wanted, which is awesome.</div><div><br /></div><div>Even better, it's in my home town.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today is paperwork, and then we are going full bore to get the place open and just rockin'.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Stories should follow soon about the customers and just what it's like to open something from the ground up.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-21390017898987354252009-10-29T21:05:00.000-07:002009-10-29T21:08:02.301-07:00... pation is Killing Me!Had the interview.<div><br /></div><div>Talked with who interviewed me before. That was good.</div><div><br /></div><div>Talked to his "boss". I have no read on him, so not sure how it went.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was told I would hear by tomorrow.</div><div><br /></div><div>Wife has me out at the driving range hitting golf balls then going apartment hunting all day to keep my mind off of things.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I don't feel good about this.</div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-77064934300375897722009-10-29T12:08:00.001-07:002009-10-29T21:08:14.742-07:00Anticip...Waiting has never been my strong suit.<div><br /></div><div>I have my final interview for a job that I really want today (in less than an hour, actually) and I am going nuts. I'd bite all my fingernails off, if I had any left. Heck, I'd gnaw 'em off the cat if that were possible... But I also feel that this is just a formality, and that all will go well. Which is why I am excited and anticipating this interview. I want to work again so bad I can almost taste it.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A habit of mine when I am working (or just excited for something) is to be early. Very early. As in I-got-here-last-week early. People laugh at me and tease me about it, and I even make fun of myself for it.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I have never been late to work. Ever.</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, this means when I go to things like a football game or baseball game, I tend to show up before the players. Which can be fun, if you are into people watching. And depending on where you live, you can get quite a show.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">BossLady</span> and I have been fortunate in that we have lived in places where we encounter a lot of different people. In Los Angeles/Orange County, all you had to do was drive to the beach or take a walk in a tourist trap area, and voila! Here in the San Francisco Bay Area, just hop on BART. Hell, just walk in San Francisco.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">BossLady</span> and I would go to Disneyland when we were in Southern California and comment (quietly) to ourselves about people. Sometimes, we were crude, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">mean spirited</span> and just outright inhumane with what we said (though we never spoke it above a whisper in each other's ear... we truly are not mean... we just make each other laugh this way and we do judge each individual on their own merits). Other times, we would make up fantasy lives for these people, or even make like we are some fashion critic couple touring the place.</div><div><br /></div><div>Face it, LA is prime people watching turf.</div><div><br /></div><div>People are a large part of why I love working retail. You meet all kinds of people, good and bad. Some are funny, others sick. But they are the reason the world goes 'round.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So here's hoping things go great in the next hour....</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-81323684175430463182009-10-28T13:54:00.000-07:002009-10-28T14:26:34.869-07:00Remember Me?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/Sui10ilknjI/AAAAAAAAAIs/2_DQ7dvt8uE/s1600-h/Kayla+and+Clinton+Brown+in+the+Heart+of+Roses.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/Sui10ilknjI/AAAAAAAAAIs/2_DQ7dvt8uE/s400/Kayla+and+Clinton+Brown+in+the+Heart+of+Roses.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397764067645759026" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/Sui10XBpM0I/AAAAAAAAAIk/iC5R6H4jOzg/s1600-h/DSC_0048.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/Sui10XBpM0I/AAAAAAAAAIk/iC5R6H4jOzg/s400/DSC_0048.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397764064542274370" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/Sui1z23j9JI/AAAAAAAAAIc/_1izxRH40bE/s1600-h/DSC_0015.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/Sui1z23j9JI/AAAAAAAAAIc/_1izxRH40bE/s400/DSC_0015.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397764055910053010" /></a><br />Hi, Remember Me?<div> </div><div>Been a while since I posted, and a lot has happened.</div><div><br /></div><div>First, I lost my job in Southern California. Yeah, I know, get in line with about 13% of the country. So most of my time has been spent pounding pavement and scouring the job boards to find a new spot. And by this Friday (more likely Thursday), that problem will be solved. </div><div><br /></div><div>Heck, I have had two separate phone interviews while typing this today!</div><div><br /></div><div>Only took me six months to deal with.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Back in February, I committed a form of pseudo-suicide. I bought Snowboard gear for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">BossLady</span> and myself and took her to Big Bear Resort in Southern California to learn how to snowboard (suicide because I know me... If I can get hurt doing something, bank on it happening. And it did. Concussion, and messed up <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">rotator</span> cuff in my left shoulder, and the world's UGLIEST bruise on my ass). By default, I learned, too.</div><div><br /></div><div>The lessons at Bear Mountain were great, and we met and became friends with a really great guy, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">JC</span>. Originally we did a group lesson that he taught, then arranged for a private lesson later in the day. Best money we ever spent. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">JC</span> made us learn in the best way. He told us what we got right and how to improve where we were not doing so hot without making us feel stupid. We left that first day feeling incredible, but driving in the blizzard down the mountain with a concussion was a blast.</div><div><br /></div><div>A few weeks later, we went back and just rode. We found <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">JC</span>, and got another day of lessons. Now, no one is going to confuse us with Shaun White, but we did improve. And with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">JC</span> there, we were laughing the entire day.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">BossLady</span> and I made a third trip just before the end of the season, and while we didn't do the lesson, we did manage to see <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">JC</span> and his <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">significant</span> other (and she is a very fun person, too!). <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">BossLady</span> and I had fun, and then invited <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">JC</span> and C to our wedding (which they managed to make to the reception!). </div><div><br /></div><div>Now we can't wait for it to snow in Tahoe at Squaw Valley. Or Mammoth. But we do plan on going to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">SoCal</span> to board at Bear Mountain as well. It wouldn't be winter without <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">JC</span>.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">BossLady</span> took a job in Northern California, so we packed up from our Irvine home and headed back to our roots in the San Francisco Bay Area. Made the job search fun, but that's okay. Once we got back to the Bay, we realized how much we missed it. I miss <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">SoCal</span>, but this is home.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I also had to deal with the loss of a very important person in my life. My grandmother, who put me through college and made a lot of the things possible for me that I did growing up, passed away in August at the age of 98. She is a legend among my family, and no one who ever met her has failed to be amazed by her. She was incredibly active in her life right up to the last two years when she started losing her hearing and sight. It's been three months since she passed, but I still visit the family house she helped build (literally) and expect to see her in her favorite chair talking to her friends on the phone or playing with the cat. She will always be missed.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also did something insanely stupid but really overdue. I got married to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">BossLady</span>. We got married back in May with a few close friends (and we wanted to invite others, but they vanished on us... SLICK... that means you) and family around on a cliff overlooking <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Laguna</span> Beach. I don't remember too much about the location other than the MOST beautiful woman in the world showing up in white and strangers walking by and stopping to wish us the best. Incredible. </div><div><br /></div><div>Best move I have ever made.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Anyhow, I hope to get back to posting more often again, and not just about retail. The fun never ends, and I hope to share it with people again.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-11617609357116293872009-01-31T21:28:00.000-08:002009-01-31T21:48:51.785-08:00Skip To M'LouSome really smart and nice people let their kids do some really stupid stuff inside stores, and are amazed by the idiotic things that happen to them.<div><br /></div><div>Today was a great example.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I had this rather nice family come into my store. Very pleasant people. Mom was trying to get her two daughters supplied for dance class. She was asking some very detailed and pointed questions with the clear intent to get her kids into the right product for them. Kudos, Mom. Dad was kind off in oblivion, with a Just-Get-This-Over-With stare and comments. The two kids were overloaded with sugar. It's just not fair to have that kind of energy around someone who is still half asleep...</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyhow, this family was trying on shoes. One daughter would try on the tap shoes, and the other would run around the store like she was at in the running for the Kentucky Derby, (and winning by 3 furlongs...). Then they would trade off. Dad was muttering for them to slow down and behave, but his heart clearly wasn't in it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now the problem is where they were <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">before</span> they came to my store. The previous store sold them two light-up jump ropes. All was good till Mom decided to let the girls play with them <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">inside my store!</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>You see the problem with this?</div><div><br /></div><div>Suddenly my quaint little shoe store became Gold's Gym for the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">superjuvenile</span> set. Displays are going flying, people complaining, girls slugging each other with lit up ropes like some sort of sick 80's fetish... It just was not a pretty site.</div><div><br /></div><div>And Mom is sitting in the aisle wondering why people are going <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">apeshit</span>!</div><div><br /></div><div>____________________________________</div><div><br /></div><div>I have three employees that speak Farsi (a Persian language). Farsi supposedly is one of the toughest languages to learn, but that isn't stopping my girls from trying to teach me. So far, I have mastered one word ("Hello"), and I am slowly picking up a couple of others. </div><div><br /></div><div>I really think the girls are doing this to me so they can make fun of the way I talk. It's giving them quite a laugh.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now it's really a good thing for me to learn this, since my store has a high percentage of Persian speaking customers. (I am also learning Spanish for the other dominant language in my area, with a bit more success!) </div><div><br /></div><div>Naturally, if I am involved, something is going to go horribly wrong, with some sort of hideous result. Today, it happened.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was working alone in the store when two Persian ladies came in. One was about my age, and the other was born sometime about the time the dinosaurs got wiped out (I mean, she was a walking fossil, completely hunched over and barely moving!). I said hello to them as they entered, as per our policy (and just trying to be nice... I know, I know... it's not me). The younger lady said hello in unaccented English. The biddy turned to me and with all her effort, barely squawks out "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">salam</span>" (<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">IE</span> hello). I turned to her and replied "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">salam</span>". Her eyes got HUGE (think dinner plates the size of Texas) and just kept craning her neck at me as she walked past. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think she wet herself.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was all I could do to not laugh at her response.</div><div><br /></div><div>The younger lady told me as she left that the biddy was shocked that anyone like me (<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">IE</span> straight white boy) would even try to speak her language. She truly did not know how to react!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Who says old people aren't fun?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-60263977830369051352009-01-20T12:20:00.000-08:002009-01-20T12:57:39.289-08:00Dream a New DreamThis may get a bit random, a bit wordy and a lot introspective. If you don't want to deal with it, don't read.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I finally replaced my computer that died in December, so I should be posting more soon. Today's post is probably going to have very little to do with retail since I am on vacation this week. Sorry. </div><div><br /></div><div>I turned 38 yesterday. I am incredibly shocked I have lived this long. When I was in high school, I always believed that I would never live past 30. So you can imagine me laying awake the night of my 30<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span> birthday, waiting in terror for the lightning bolt that was going to take me out. At the time, I don't recall if I was relieved it didn't happen, or disappointed. Now I am glad it didn't. But it still scares me every year on the night before my birthday. I mean, what if I was off in my count? The night before I turn 40 is going to be a real nail biter, that's certain.</div><div><br /></div><div>The last few days have brought me into contact with some people I figured I would never hear from again, or if I did, it would be at high school or college reunions. A couple of them have just sent messages online, others have taken the time to chat. I am grateful for both. And I look forward to hearing from more people. Hopefully, they will see I have grown (I hope I have), and I hope they see their influence on me over time. I may not have talked to them over the years for various reasons, but there really hasn't been a time when I wasn't thinking of them.</div><div><br /></div><div>The people who have found me (or been crazy enough to let me contact them) have been amazing. </div><div><br /></div><div>I ran found my old speech/debate coach from high school, a man I highly respect. He took the time to have faith and work with someone with very little talent and gave that person the belief that anything is possible. Thank you, Mickey Martin (Bet you forgot how we tormented your Mickey tie all those years ago!).</div><div><br /></div><div>My college roommate and I traded emails for the first time in 15 years. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Kegger</span> appears to be doing great. Still bleeds <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">SMC</span> Blue and Red, which is as it should be. I don't know that he ever had a bad day at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">SMC</span>. And I bet he still has some great college stories for his friends and family. Of course, he figures large in several of my best memories from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">SMC</span>, but those are for another time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Another friend took the time to get me into contact with other friends. Her road through life seems to mirror mine. Some rough times, some really great times, and finally coming to terms with everything and just enjoying each day while trying to better herself. Talking to her really made me think about everything I went through in high school, and that I had to come to terms with things. Point Blank, she set the example. Thank you.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was shocked to learn that people from both the high schools I attended are close to where I live. I would love to sit down over coffee with them and just talk. I can tell they have some amazing stories to tell, and I would love to listen. </div><div><br /></div><div>Another friend was found for the second time. The Bishop and I reconnected some ten years ago via my ex in Kansas City. She had told me I would love her boss's husband. Turns out he and I went to high school together and were involved in drama at the same time. When she and I split, I lost contact with the Bishop and his wife. Last night, I got to talk to both of them. I plan on not losing contact with these people this time!</div><div><br /></div><div>I sat around last night looking on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Facebook</span> at some of the profiles of people I remember from high school and college. Married, Doctor's degrees, families... it just makes me understand that I grew up around a ton of really remarkable people. I have been lucky.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't think my road has been anything special. I really do think I am like a lot of people. I had my problems, but I had my highs as well. My lows include a couple of suicide attempts, some failed engagements, a dream destroyed while out running, loss of some really great friends, a bought with alcohol, and just overall abusing myself. I don't see myself as anything special, just another person. No matter what image I portray, it's how I have always thought of myself. Nothing special, and truth be told, probably a little less than most.</div><div><br /></div><div>For years I was told (and diagnosed) with depression. One "family" member even played <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">amateur</span> psychologist and told me to work out the issues with my father (imagine his surprise when my real doctor told him HE was the issue, not my father, and that I had actually done a really nice job dealing with that mess!). About 4 years ago, after a stint in a mental hospital for a suicide attempt, a doctor realized that my problem wasn't depression. I suffer from an anxiety disorder that causes depression and SERIOUS panic attacks. Since that revelation, I have been depression free (aside from the normal ups and downs of everyday life). That doctor saved my life.</div><div><br /></div><div>I had three engagements blow up in my face. The first was just a mess after I graduated college. To this day, I think I was just being used to get back at her old boyfriend. I don't talk to her anymore (haven't since 1994), so I will never know. Not sure I really care, either. The next was with me for 4 years. We lived together, had everything planned. Then she decided she wanted to be alone. I later discovered she was seeing someone from her work. End of that. The third I caught with a friend in a compromising position. Trust became a bit difficult for me at that point. Still is, but my current fiancee is working on it. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have been a physical wreck in my mind. Five knee operations since 1992, an elbow operation a couple of years ago, and now the doctors are telling me that there is a chance they will have to operate on my shoulder to clean it up (but they are trying to prevent that). I have put on too much weight, which I am hoping to lose this year, but I don't expect miracles. I just hope to improve myself.</div><div><br /></div><div>The highs have been great as well. I did some skydiving. I have travelled most of this country. I have met and made friends all over the world. I have been living my sports dream of seeing games (NFL, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">MLB</span> and NHL) in as many cities as I can. I am engaged to the most wonderful woman in the world, even if we drive each other crazy. Somehow, it just wouldn't be right if we didn't drive each other bunny nuts.</div><div><br /></div><div>My dreams out of high school were to go into the Marines, complete with a stint at the Naval Academy. That didn't happen when I blew my knee out. Backup plans were to get a degree in Performing Arts and possibly act or direct, and eventually get a law degree. I got the first degree and I worked as a Tech Director of a Dance company for two years. I lived the acting side of it doing regional work for a couple of years before realizing the job I had taken to pay the bills was what I truly enjoyed. I now work a job that many think is below me, but that's their perception and problem. I love retail. I love the people. I love the insanity. </div><div><br /></div><div>The most important thing I have done in my life is to come to terms with myself. I am who I am. Deal with it. I have finally learned how to do just that.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I hope that some of the classmates, old work acquaintances and friends will see this and get in touch. I offer no apologies for the past, nor do I want any for actions from them. Those actions made us who we are. I will not deny the past. I will learn from it daily.</div><div><br /></div><div>I will say one thing... thanks to all of you. For the highs and lows. And for what may come.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dreams come and go. So when one fails, dream a new dream.</div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-46364081028389858602008-12-27T15:23:00.000-08:002008-12-27T15:47:20.062-08:00'Tis the Season to Bitch Bitch BitchXmas is (finally) over.<div><br /></div><div>In theory, this means no more screaming twits for another year. And their kids are just as bad, but I know they are a year round event.</div><div><br /></div><div>This year wasn't anything memorable at work. People came in, bought stuff and left. Most of the whining I got was from people wondering why certain other businesses in my complex have closed, or swearing that X business was open just yesterday and gone today (it's been closed for a year, you mental mini midget), or that prices have gone <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">waaaaaay</span> up.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Tis</span> the season to bitch.</div><div><br /></div><div>I had a few really good ones, but not much memorable.</div><div><br /></div><div>The best one was the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Heely's</span> incident, and it happened Christmas Eve (I guess there really is a Sandy Claws).</div><div><br /></div><div>This one family came into the store, with the middle child skating around on her <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Heely</span> shoes. (I absolutely HATE those things as they are a safety risk, both to the person wearing them and those around them that they skate into.) This child insisted on skating in the store, so I asked her to not skate in my store as she could get hurt. A few minutes later, I see her skating again. This time, I tell the birth defect to not skate in the store or I would have to ask her to leave. I see her a few minutes later skating again. This time, I tell her mother that the child will have to stop skating for safety reasons (hooks and racks are painful to hit and can do serious damage if you fall on them). Mother Knows Best just looked at me like I was insane. I walked away stating I had warned them.</div><div><br /></div><div>A few minutes later, I hear this loud SMACK and boxes falling (we have items on shelves on top of our racks... fortunately for this snowflake, they were only 3 deep). A short moment later, I hear Precious let out a Banshee scream after 3 boxes of shoes maliciously attacked her for skating into her fixture. My first thought was that I warned the child, and I hoped she was okay and hadn't hurt anyone else. NOW the fun begins.</div><div><br /></div><div>Before I can get over to check out the situation, Momma is in my face attacking me for moving the racks in front of her child while she was skating in my store, even after I had asked both mother and child to cease. It was clearly my fault for moving the rack, which is over 400 pounds and bolted to the floor, in front of her child. And I deliberately put the boxes on top and pushed them onto the twerp when she slammed face first into the shelves, even though I was on the other side of the store at the time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Am I missing something here?</div><div><br /></div><div>I also had my human wrecking crew in. This family is very nice, except that the mother lets all three kids run around my store, opening stuff, tearing things apart and then leaving. IF she buys anything at all, it's usually under $10, while her heathens have done over $100 in damage to my store. All the while, she insists she is my best customer, because of how much she spends in my store, and the fact that she is in all the time (I see her about once every 3 months).</div><div><br /></div><div>This visit was not any different. The oldest boy proceeded to tear apart every slipper package I had (just before the peak buying time on them). He wore slippers all over the store, and even out of the store (without paying for them) before his mother got him back in. The middle daughter opened up every pair of tights we had (again, during my peak season to sell them). The youngest one discovered my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">sunglasses</span> and jewelry fixture, took everything off, and proceeded to dance on them.</div><div><br /></div><div>All told, about $250 in damages done.</div><div><br /></div><div>They bought $17 worth of shoes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Merry Fucking Christmas to you, too, lady. </div><div><br /></div><div>And to top it off, I discovered this visit that she works retail as well!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Other stuff happened. My <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">DM</span> held his <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">annual</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Xmas</span> breakfast, which meant a ton of store visits since he holds it at the restaurant across the street from my store. Yup, all 25 managers in our district pop in and pick my store apart. Fun times.</div><div><br /></div><div>The only thing I have to look forward to is vacation next month. I think I will sleep the entire week.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">BossLady</span> got part of what she wanted for Xmas... She got her Guitar Hero. And yes, she can seriously kick my ass in it.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>My PC died the big death. The mother board fried, so I am not going to be posting as often, since I have to steal <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">BossLady's</span> computer to do so. Hopefully, I can get the computer I want sometime in January, and things will be back to (insanity) normal.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>By the way.... SLICK>>> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">where'd</span> ya go???????</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Anyhow, hope you had a great holiday, whatever you celebrate/ignore/plot. Be safe and have fun, and happy New Year. </div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-6207225720454654112008-12-07T21:37:00.000-08:002008-12-07T22:11:57.688-08:00Fruitcake'Tis the season for fruitcake.<br /><br />I hate the holidays.<br /><br />I really hate fruitcake.<br /><br /><br />Why is it the holidays bring out the worst in people? The me-first attitude and those that want to use any biological difference as a way to get ahead? Or those too good to get off the phone when they talk to you?<br /><br />I'm talking about people that expect the world to revolve around them. The ones that were born with the universe owing them EVERYTHING. Those that use everything as an excuse. Look at me cross-eyed? That's an excuse for me to accuse you of every venal sin ever imagined, and a few yet to come.<br /><br />Yup, Today was fun.<br /><br /><br /><br />My first fun fruitcake today was a lady that called early in the day. I was working alone on a busy Sunday. I had several customers in line and more in the aisles. Up to this point, I was doing a decent job of balancing the register with service for those in the aisles. Then the phone rang.<br /><br />This fruit wanted me to look for a shoe for her boy. No problem, just allow me to finish the transaction I was in and I would look. I was told that it could not wait. I told her I would look as soon as I finished, but I couldn't even look until I freed the register so I could check inventory. She agreed to wait.<br /><br />As soon as I did look, she started asking detailed questions about the product. I answered her. Then she asked me to look for another item. I advised her I had a line at my register that I must help, and that I could call her back when I had no line. She said she would wait.<br /><br />So I help the line. One customer, Hispanic, complimented me on my patience with everyone (IE being able to help everyone and the customer on the phone... she was happy with me... I musta done fucked up somehow).<br /><br />As I am ringing on the register, we could all hear the woman screaming at her kids about how the "idiot" on the other end of the phone was ignoring at random, and how she should come before anyone else since she was looking to buy two items.<br /><br />I finally get back to the phone, locate the items she wants (I don't have them, but another store nearby does). I offer to hold the ones I do have, and she declines. <br /><br />That's the end of her, right?<br /><br />Hollow laugh.<br /><br />Later in the day, she calls back and demands the same information from my part time help. My part-timer, who is relatively new, asks me every question that the fruitcake asks me. After the third question, I know who it is. The conversation ends with Doc offering to hold the merchandise. Again, declined.<br /><br />But that's not the end.<br /><br />Late in the day, she comes to my store and chews me and my newest associate out (not the one that got the call) for NOT putting her items on hold. We offer to do this twice, she declined both times, and it's OUR fault it's not on hold? What am I missing here?<br /><br />I take the time to help her find what I found for her two other times today via phone. She then lays into me because I don't carry certain items that she wants. I explain that I have a smaller store, and as a result, I don't get everything my company carries. She then rips me for not forcing my buyers to send it to me. I then get a new one plastered on me since I am an ass for not knowing exactly what items and what sizes are coming on my next truck (my paperwork just tells me I have a truck coming with X number of cases).<br /><br />There was just no pleasing this fiend.<br /><br />I just thanked her for coming in and walked away.<br /><br /><br />My second fruitcake was one that gets under my skin easy. The "race" card.<br /><br />I initiated contact with this piece of work by approaching her and her party in the aisle. I said hello and offered to help them locate their choice of items. I then told them about our current promotion and told them to call me if they needed anything before I got back to them. I then went to check on my other customers.<br /><br />A few minutes later, I popped my head around the corner and asked, "are you still doing all right?". I got an earful as she was talking on her blue tooth, "I am shopping and I am not buying here. I refuse to shop where they stare at me like I am gonna steal just because I am [race excluded]".<br /><br />This "lady" then went around accosting all my other customers complaining about the racist treatment she had been receiving, since I was "profiling" her and "accusing" her of theft because of her race. This actually got a laugh from a customer, who told her all she heard was me just offering to help.<br /><br />I finally approached her and asked just what I did that accused her of anything. She said I was constantly checking on her to keep her from stealing. I replied that I was sorry she thought that, but I was just checking to see if she was in need of assistance, just like I do every customer that comes into my store. <br /><br />She asked to see the manager. I replied, "How can I help you?" and pointed to the Store Manager badge I had on.<br /><br />She finally had her family member tell her to shut up. They bought their items and left.<br /><br />So apparently I am racist because I offered to treat you like every other customer in my building... smiling and offering to assist you and telling you about the deals we have, just as our corporate directive tells us to do.<br /><br />Am I missing something?<br /><br /><br />As a general rule, if someone is on a cell phone, I offer to assist them quietly, and thereafter just touch base with them using a nod or hand signals until I am certain they are off their phone. Most of the time, and good smile and wave are all it takes for them to know I am there if they have a need.<br /><br />Then there are the self important pricks who think the world is theirs to command.<br /><br />A young lady came into the store today, and I said hello and realized quickly she was on her cell phone. I passed her in the aisles a couple of times, each time offering a quiet but noticeable "you doing OK?" as she was yakking away on the rap rod. Each time, I was ignored, even though eye contact was made.<br /><br />She finally made it to the register, still managing the ear pollution for some poor soul on the other end of the connection. I complete the transaction, hand her the receipt, and she ends her phone conversation. Then the shit went postal.<br /><br />"Thanks for the help. NOT!" she sniped at me and Doc.<br /><br />I just said "thank you" and walked away.<br /><br />Look, if you are in a conversation, I was taught not to interrupt. I made attempts to work with you, which you acknowledged. Don't get your shorts up your ass because I won't kiss your ass when you ignore me.<br /><br />Besides, I don't care who your friend got blown by last night. If you are at my register, pay for your shit and get out. If you don't have the decency to talk to me, I am not going to talk to you.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I really hate fruitcake.RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-57049604964814040472008-12-05T21:17:00.000-08:002008-12-05T22:09:38.618-08:006 Hour Commutes SUCK<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SToWsa9aSnI/AAAAAAAAAIM/zENOg7YkoDY/s1600-h/Haunted+Mansion.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276554865824909938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SToWsa9aSnI/AAAAAAAAAIM/zENOg7YkoDY/s400/Haunted+Mansion.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SToWrxzeG5I/AAAAAAAAAIE/qrq7DeLopxg/s1600-h/Tarzan+Gets+what+he+wants.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276554854777363346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SToWrxzeG5I/AAAAAAAAAIE/qrq7DeLopxg/s400/Tarzan+Gets+what+he+wants.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SToWr9ZGFmI/AAAAAAAAAH8/OJjULfs41jE/s1600-h/Us+all+wet+on+Splash+Mountain.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276554857887962722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SToWr9ZGFmI/AAAAAAAAAH8/OJjULfs41jE/s400/Us+all+wet+on+Splash+Mountain.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SToWrWaH1pI/AAAAAAAAAH0/UYBZrKm9GUg/s1600-h/Us+atop+Tarzan%27s+Treehouse.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276554847423288978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SToWrWaH1pI/AAAAAAAAAH0/UYBZrKm9GUg/s400/Us+atop+Tarzan%27s+Treehouse.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SToWraNYqCI/AAAAAAAAAHs/KPtKR7SYr5s/s1600-h/Us+at+breakfast+at+the+Carnation+Cafe+on+Mainstreet+Disneyland.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276554848443607074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SToWraNYqCI/AAAAAAAAAHs/KPtKR7SYr5s/s400/Us+at+breakfast+at+the+Carnation+Cafe+on+Mainstreet+Disneyland.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Today was BossLady and My 2 year anniversary together. We spent the day (Wednesday) like we did our very first together-- At Disneyland.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>The story goes something like this, and it starts in Fremont, CA (near San Jose/San Francisco/Oakland)...</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>BossLady had the misfortune to work for me a couple of years ago. I had been transferred to her store because I was to have surgery on my arm, and that store was a much slower volume location. The thinking was being slower volume, I could work with my arm in a cast and not get hurt (my DM failed to take my stubborn-assed work ethic into account).</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>BossLady had started about two weeks before I got to that location. So not only was she being broken into the new guy, she was being broken into the store in general (and she will KILL me if I have my timing wrong... or for just mentioning this... I am dead either way).</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Things started well. It wasn't long before I realized that she had talent. I could ask her to do anything and she usually with, though it would cost me a smart ass remark or four. Fair trade. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I started calling her "Crazy Lady" with a smile. She replied by calling me "Psycho Man". We got along great. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I then vanished for a bit, having my surgery on my arm. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>When I got back, we ended up talking a lot, along with a few others who constantly ended up on the same shift. We all became pretty good friends.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>About this time, she had a medical issue of her own that was quite serious and missed a lot of work. She would bounce in just to let us know she was still alive, and during one of those visits, I gave her my number and told her to call if she needed to talk.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>A week or so later, while I was in physical therapy getting the living beejeezus zapped out of my arm (this is rehab? having some crazy woman apply electrodes to my arm and set them for extra crispy?), I got a text message. It was from BossLady. The great text war was on.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>For the next few weeks, she seemed only capable of messaging me while I was being fried in PT.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Fortunately, she returned to work, though with a downer. She was leaving for school in Southern California soon. Real bummer.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Before she could leave for Long Beach, I got transferred back to the store I loved in San Francisco. BossLady had a surprise for me. My last day at Fremont, she met me in the parking lot with a gift bag as a going away present. She had several items in it for me, but what stood out were the three CD's she burned for me to listen to while I was sitting on BART.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Those CD's told a story, or so I thought.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>A few weeks later, in August, she left for Long Beach. I was not happy. We hadn't developed any real closeness yet, but we had been talking so much, I was certain I was losing a good friend. I mean, she certainly wouldn't waste time talking to me from that far away...</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Almost immediately, I found I was wrong. I got a bajillion text messages from her each day. If I forgot my phone at home, I got chewed out when I got home and online from her for ignoring her. We talked every night for hours online. She even called me at home in Fremont and asked me for directions in Orange County (which is SoCal... I was in NorCal!).</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>What all this did was prove to me just how special she was.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Then the wars began. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Each of us would go through a phase where we realized we were too close to each other and back off. We would even go so far as to tell the other it wasn't working, and we would never hear from the other again. Bitter fights. Very stressful.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>It finally came down to her telling me we were through and that was it. I called her and we fought. And I do mean fought. We were yelling, screaming, crying into the phone. I know I was pounding the walls, my bed, kicking the cat... you name it. I finally challenged her to say goodbye to my face when she came home for Thanksgiving.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>That holiday was hell. We met at a bookstore in Fremont late in the evening. I knew it was goodbye. I was terrified. We ended up just walking around and talking for a few hours. We went to my studio and shared our photos. We left that night in peace.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>The day before the holiday, she met me in the City for lunch at Blondie's Pizza on Powell. We spent my lunch hour walking around Union Square.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>She surprised me by texting me on Thanksgiving. I had gone with a friend's family to dinner in Modesto, while she was with her family.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>The day after, she called me and asked me if I wanted to meet her for coffee after work before she went to see a friend in Santa Rosa. I agreed. We met and talked for an hour or so. As she went to her car, we took the first two photos of us together.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>That night, I got a series of <em>very interesting</em> phone calls from a <strong>very</strong> plastered BossLady. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I was now so confused that I gave idiots a bad rap.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>She called me one more time that weekend to meet me for breakfast the day she left. As we went to our cars, she took a photo of me. I am NOT photogenic at all (Kodak is terrified of my image... they pay me to stay away from their cameras!.. I wish), but I let her. We then got in our cars and headed out, her for Long Beach, me for BART.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>It was a long day.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I didn't hear from her that night. I dealt with it by getting drunk.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>The next day, I got home and turned on the computer and got surprise. On her yahoo360 blog was a photo of me. And it looked amazing. To this day, I don't know how she got such a good image of me.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>That night, we talked. I had just reconciled myself to the fact that she would not be happening for me when she dropped the bomb on me. She was interested, and that she was tired of hiding behind her fears.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>She had decided to go for it. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>My next day off was 5 December. I talked my boss into giving me an early (IE 5am to 2pm shift) so I could sneak down to LA for a day. My boss (love that woman!) gave me a better deal... 5am to 10am. I told BossLady to be ready as I was making a suicide trip down to see her.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I bolted from work that day and made the six hour drive in something like 4. The entire drive down the 5 was a blur.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>That first night, 4 December, will always be burned in my mind. I stayed at my mother's place in Anaheim, and I remember talking to her how I felt like I was 15 going on my first date. I was terrified of the trip to Long Beach. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I went. We went to dinner in Cerritos, then down to Irvine (ironically, less than 2 miles from where I now work!) and played minigolf and hit in the batting cages. We ended the night by the Queen Mary in Long Beach with our first kiss.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>The next day, 5 December, was magic. We went to Disneyland and discovered just what we truly are-- two overgrown kids. We spent the day riding our rides, talking and just being together. Disneyland lived up to it's slogan of "where dreams come true" for me that day. It was magic.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>The day ended, and hell began. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>We went back to my mother's place in Anaheim, and I packed my things up for the drive home. Leaving was hell. I think we shot about 200 text messages before I cleared the Grapevine (North of LA). It was snowing that night, so driving over the pass was not fun. The drive took forever. Getting home was... empty.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I learned two things that day.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>First, six hour commutes REALLY suck.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Most important, I didn't want to live without BossLady in my life.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Wednesday was a reminder of that magical day for me. We got to the park, had breakfast, walked around arm in arm, rode the rides, took pictures (some are posted here, others on myspace...<a href="http://www.myspace.com/redgael94">http://www.myspace.com/redgael94</a> if you want to see) and just had fun. We did the same thing last year, and probably will for the rest of our lives.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Thanks BossLady, for taking that chance two years ago.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-36139316304552552362008-12-01T08:09:00.000-08:002008-12-01T08:33:56.086-08:00Evil IncarnateI have decided after this weekend that I am evil incarnate.<br /><br />Seriously.<br /><br />Every time I went to measure a kids' feet using the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Brannock</span> device (foot scale), I ended up with a screaming <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">heebeejeebee</span>. And it's not like this scale is scary or anything. At worst, it's a cold piece of metal. But put it in my hands near a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">bed wetting</span> toddler, and the banshees come out in force.<br /><br />It really makes me wonder. <br /><br />Yesterday was a great example.<br /><br />Two kids were playing with the scales while their parents shopped. Each kept taking turns running behind the counter and grabbing the devices. They would then run around (literally) the store swinging the scales until the other relented to have their foot measured. All fun and games (except for the customers that we cannot help since we can't find the scales now!).<br /><br />Until it's their turn. <br /><br />The parents finish demolishing the section of the store that they think they own, and now it's time to put shoes on the snowflakes. All hell is about to come crashing down about our ears.<br /><br />Mom (usually) or Dad comes up to us and asks us to measure the feet. In yesterday's case, it was Mom. <br /><br />First things first, I have to have a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Brannock</span> device. We keep some behind our counter, and a couple up high at the end of the aisles, so no problem.<br /><br />Remember, these fiends have been playing with these same scales, laughing and running and basically terrorizing the entire store, just moments before all this...<br /><br />I kneel down and talk to the snowflake, asking if they are having fun, smiling the entire time. <br /><br />Snowflake takes one look at me, one look at the scale and decides this ain't happening.<br /><br /><em><strong>"<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO</span>!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"</strong></em><br /><br />I am sure the scream was audible somewhere in the orbit of Neptune.<br /><br />Little Precious now starts kicking and yelling, pointing at the scale. Tears are falling fast enough to flood the Mojave. Other customers look at us either in fear, wondering what we are doing to the poor child, or in sympathy, or relief since it isn't their child--yet.<br /><br />Mom is looking at me with apology all over her face.<br /><br />The other child, in the spirit of the moment, decides they want attention. She starts screaming with the intent of setting off new decibel records.<br /><br />Mom thanks me for the effort, and says she will just guess on size unless she can talk Snowflake into being measured. I tell her that I will leave her the scale and give her a brief how-to on using it should the twerp decide to be measured.<br /><br />I get up, leave the scale on a bench and walk towards another customer. <br /><br />INSTANT silence from Snowflake.<br /><br />It's got to be me that Snowflake hates.<br /><br />It's okay. I am not exactly her biggest fan either.<br /><br />After all, I am evil incarnate.RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-17943460815253974382008-11-29T22:10:00.000-08:002008-11-29T22:22:47.142-08:00Blah FridayBlack Friday was a real let down this year.<br /><br />I am not talking about the sales. <br /><br />I am talking about the people.<br /><br />Normally, I get something to happen that just makes me laugh my (considerable) ass off, or makes me shake my head and wonder how the human race has managed to survive this far.<br /><br />This year, NADA.<br /><br />What a waste.<br /><br /><br /><br />In years past, I have had some really stupid people out there. The Furby incidents, the Tickle-Me-Elmo fights, the idiots camping out at 4 in the morning... this list never ends.<br /><br />One incident I don't think I have relayed before goes back over ten years to when I worked at Kohl's in Overland Park, KS. <br /><br />It was about 9 AM and the lines were about 10 deep on all 23 registers. We had 3 people working each register (one ringing, two bagging), and yet one woman had the nerve to start bitching about the day. <br /><br />"I can't believe they don't have more people ringing!" Or "Why can't they move faster!" and my all time favorite, "Why do they let so many fucking people in here today?" <br /><br />About this time, most of the people I worked with were reading to go Olympic on her, and invite her to a javelin toss, receiving end. But being the nice, friendly, considerate corporate slugs we were, we said nothing and smiled.<br /><br />However, that didn't stop the people in line from saying what we wanted.<br /><br />It was a beautiful moment. SuperBitch was in my line for her purchase, ranting all the time. The line was moving nicely (she had only been in line about 5 minutes, but it was an eternity to us), and most of the people were upbeat.<br /><br />Finally, a lady in front of her decided she had had enough.<br /><br />"Look, bitch. If you don't like crowds like today, why did you set foot outside the day after Thanksgiving, <em>KNOWING</em> how busy it was going to be?"<br /><br />It was all we could do to not applaud her for saying what we so dearly wanted to.<br /><br /><br /><br />Anyhow, hope you all had a great holiday. I got to pick BossLady up from the airport (she went to Vegas and didn't win enough for me to retire yet... bummer), and cook a not-so-traditional Thanksgiving dinner of Enchiladas. BossLady was happy, and that's all that matters.<br /><br />Next up on our agenda, Disneyland for our 2 year anniversary (from the first date). More on that later, tho....RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-13068539914836838252008-11-26T22:44:00.000-08:002008-11-26T22:45:40.971-08:00Give 'Em a Big Bird...Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.<br /><br />Hope someone gives you a really big bird...<br /><br />To eat, that is.RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-11835044875016902692008-11-23T22:12:00.000-08:002008-11-23T22:31:27.611-08:00Opening Shifts on Black FridayAbout ten years ago, I was working at <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Kohl's</span> in Overland Park, KS and I had the joy of being one of the opening managers (I was a supervisor at the time, just learning the management side of things) for Black Friday. I didn't like the idea of being at work at 4 AM, but I liked the idea of being done by 2 PM. <br /><br />I rolled into the parking lot and there was already a crowd there waiting!<br /><br />I really wonder if people have a life. I mean, given a choice, I would have been home in bed waiting to get up (LATE!) and just be lazy. Getting up and sitting at a store before the sun is even thinking about having the thought of getting up is insane. I don't get it.<br /><br />These people were hard core. It was something like 20 degrees outside, and these people had been there for hours. Insane.<br /><br />What's fun is going in the front door with this crowd there. None of the lights are on, and you clearly are coming in to open, but these people were trying to come in with us. No can do. They were fighting with us to get in. We really threatened to call the police in order to get in! The people then had the guts to say we should let them in since it was cold!<br /><br />Wait... weren't these the idiots that got up early to sit in the cold to be the first to go shopping? And I'm cruel for making you sit an extra 30 minutes in the cold? What am I missing?<br /><br />Of course, it's fun when the doors do open and the crowds gush in like a dam bursting. It's clear within minutes what is THE item of the season. Tickle Me Elmo, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Furby</span>, Cabbage Patch Twerps... you name it.<br /><br />Of course, watching how people react over THE toy is hilarious. People literally fighting over <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Furby</span> (my store stopped selling them after a different retailer nearby had someone go to the hospital after fighting for one). Listening to the Tickle Me's as they come off the truck... kids screaming... You have to love it.<br /><br />Side note: I was unloading a truck with our dock manager, J, and we unloaded a box that was laughing ("<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">heheh</span>.... that tickles!") with a sound that just made me sick ("<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Oboy</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">oboy</span> o BOY!"). When J and I opened the box, we found the Tickle Me Elmo face down with the Tickle Me Cookie Monster on top of him... Yup, Cookie Monster was busy sodomizing poor old Elmo... and we got to hear about it.<br /><br /><br />Think about that as you slug it out Black FridayRedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-80132974402788385202008-11-21T23:04:00.000-08:002008-11-21T23:12:53.016-08:00I No Longer Have the Only Say in the Matter...<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSew66-fZrI/AAAAAAAAAHk/hLrPR4vKfaA/s1600-h/levitate.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271376415170717362" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSew66-fZrI/AAAAAAAAAHk/hLrPR4vKfaA/s400/levitate.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Fantastic news!<br /><br />BossLady started her own blog tonight.<br /><br />The sad thing is, this is no longer a one-sided story. She finally gets a say (I may as well get used to that!) in what goes on.<br /><br /><br />Check out her blog at<br /><br /><a href="http://talesfromthedarkroom.blogspot.com/">http://talesfromthedarkroom.blogspot.com/</a><br /><br /><br />Welcome aboard, Babe!!!</div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-12435501108818706462008-11-21T22:40:00.001-08:002008-11-21T22:50:18.459-08:00Open Open OpenBlack Friday is almost here.<br /><br /><br /><br />Six Days, one hour and twenty minutes as I type this.<br /><br /><br /><br />Oh joy.<br /><br /><br /><br />Kids screaming, grown women fighting over toys, fathers asking where the nearest bar is...<br /><br /><br /><br />Gods, I love humanity.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Black Friday conjures up some pretty interesting ideas. I plan on writing about some of my more memorable ones later next week (when <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">BossLady</span> is in Vegas partying up while I stay home and slave away...). Believe me. If you haven't worked a retail Black Friday, you won't believe the stories.<br /><br /><br /><br />This year I am already exhausted. I have been replacing people on my store team for various reasons, and as a result, I am in the dreaded spot of training new hires the week of Thanksgiving. It's going to be a memorable year.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Those of you who have worked retail know that this is the time of year you dread, but at the same time, it's why you work. To me, it is the single most fun day of the year. The traffic is amazing. The people are funny, either intentionally or accidentally. The pace is amazing. And the numbers unbelievable.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Several years ago, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Mervyn's</span> ran an ad campaign for this where a lady was standing outside the store going "open, open, open" at something like three in the morning. It was clearly before the employees were supposed to be at work.<br /><br /><br /><br />I HATED that ad.<br /><br /><br /><br />It wasn't until years later that I learned people really do shit like that. I had to fight to get to the door of the store I was working at to get in and get the place running so those idiots could come trash the place.<br /><br /><br /><br />Fun stuff.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Anyway... more later on some of my observations, both this year and years past.RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-3116288696441110182008-11-17T19:34:00.000-08:002008-11-17T22:07:52.157-08:00Fires, Part II<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSI4PuSiy7I/AAAAAAAAAHE/4M2r23yIoHc/s1600-h/ATT00061.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269836356751903666" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSI4PuSiy7I/AAAAAAAAAHE/4M2r23yIoHc/s400/ATT00061.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSI4Pao0woI/AAAAAAAAAG8/8f8A5UKp4_I/s1600-h/ATT00051.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269836351476646530" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSI4Pao0woI/AAAAAAAAAG8/8f8A5UKp4_I/s400/ATT00051.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSI4PP_DJwI/AAAAAAAAAG0/yF6wAlib-nU/s1600-h/ATT00041.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269836348617074434" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSI4PP_DJwI/AAAAAAAAAG0/yF6wAlib-nU/s400/ATT00041.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSI4O7Rd5LI/AAAAAAAAAGs/7oH6c6PMJwQ/s1600-h/ATT00031.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269836343057179826" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSI4O7Rd5LI/AAAAAAAAAGs/7oH6c6PMJwQ/s400/ATT00031.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I promised pics that BossLady took with her phone. Here they are. Bear in mind, she took these in the early part of the afternoon. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>The air here has gotten better, so there is light at the end of the tunnel.</div></div></div></div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-10058055600867610252008-11-16T21:16:00.000-08:002008-11-16T21:48:41.877-08:00Fire<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSEFrvimfvI/AAAAAAAAAGk/e2Dm2tYwZaE/s1600-h/ATT00088.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269499288054300402" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSEFrvimfvI/AAAAAAAAAGk/e2Dm2tYwZaE/s400/ATT00088.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSEFrq5jlbI/AAAAAAAAAGc/wmL6CWO2840/s1600-h/ATT00074.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269499286808401330" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSEFrq5jlbI/AAAAAAAAAGc/wmL6CWO2840/s400/ATT00074.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSEFrfRQtXI/AAAAAAAAAGU/fCxauFDMxUM/s1600-h/ATT00063.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269499283686602098" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSEFrfRQtXI/AAAAAAAAAGU/fCxauFDMxUM/s400/ATT00063.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSEFrIs0tNI/AAAAAAAAAGM/CXLWh5bVjk4/s1600-h/ATT00053.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269499277628191954" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSEFrIs0tNI/AAAAAAAAAGM/CXLWh5bVjk4/s400/ATT00053.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSEFq3dd25I/AAAAAAAAAGE/PSEtDAQtxlU/s1600-h/ATT00046.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269499273000377234" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SSEFq3dd25I/AAAAAAAAAGE/PSEtDAQtxlU/s400/ATT00046.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>By now I am sure everyone has heard of the fires here in Southern California. Part of the news coverage strikes me as sensationalism. Other parts strike me that they are downplaying it. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Bottom Line: Pretty Fucking Scary.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I know. BossLady and I live in a community where one of the fires is/was.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Here's the scoop.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Yesterday (Saturday), I was out running some errands before going to work, and I saw smoke coming from the area near where the Santiago Canyon Fire was in Irvine this time last year. I literally called home and said that the canyon was on fire again. I was apparently wrong. This fire started near Corona, or so the news reported.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>All day yesterday, I watched the smoke cloud growing and moving towards my home. It was nerve wracking just watching and wondering and not knowing. All I got was snippets from customers, and while some was accurate, some was way off base. Frustrating.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I can only imagine what BossLady was thinking at home. She told me all she did was watch the news and watch the smoke cloud out the window and try not asphyxiate.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Driving home last night wasn't fun. As I was driving down Jamboree in Irvine/Tustin, I could see the glow (and some of the fire) from the Sylmar (aka Sayre) fire, over 70 miles to the north. It gave me a false sense of safety, since I couldn't see any light from the "Freeway Complex/Triangle Complex/Corona" fire (or whatever they are naming it this hour). The smoke was just unreal. It looked like it was snowing, but the temperatures were still in the 80's.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Driving the 55, I finally came to the 91 interchange, and as I came over the connector, I could see the entire ridge to the north of Yorba Linda/Brea just lit up. I could see flames leaping, smoke billowing and the smell was just lethal.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I got home, went inside, and BossLady was glued to the TV. The news was just terrible. By now, I am sure that everyone has seen the images by now, so I won't recap them. What was terrifying was that they were talking about places just 3 to 8 miles from my home and saying it was moving our direction. Evacuations were just blocks from here.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>We finally went to bed last night wondering if we were going to get the knock on our door telling us to leave. We had packed several "emergency to go" bags just in case it happened. I know I woke up several times and peeked at the news coverage, and BossLady confessed to me that she woke up and checked the Internet for updates.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Not an easy night.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Anyway, we woke up to discover that the winds had changed, and the fire moved away from us. Relief for us, bummer for the people in Diamond Bar.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>The fires were aided by the Santa Ana winds. These are high winds that come down off the mountains (gusts up to 80 miles an hour) and HOT! As the winds come down the hills, they get warmer. Add that to our already hot day (record heat in the area) with temps in the 90s in the area, it's just not a good day in the neighborhood.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Tonight, BossLady and I went less than a mile to the grocery store on Yorba Linda Boulevard. The difference in air quality was dramatic. It was like going to something from a holocaust movie. Just unreal.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>As I type this, the fires are getting under control. Once again, the firefighters here in Orange County and Los Angeles County kick ass. These guys have balls the size of King Kong. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I do hope that if the fires were arson, that they get the guys who started them and seriously fry them. I hope they suffer like each family that they have left homeless. I hope they sit in fear like every family that sat glued to the TV last night wondering if they should flee.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>The pictures I have put with this are ones I took with my cell phone. A couple are from Irvine, about 20 miles from the fire in Corona/Yorba Linda. All you see is the smoke cloud, but it's bad enough. The others were taken from the streets near my home this morning, and the other was taken from the 91 freeway this morning. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>BossLady is sending me some more pics that she took with her phone. They are much more dramatic as they were closer to the action (the cloud she photographed was only about 7 miles away).</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>To all that were directly affected by this mess, I hope for the best for you. I know that OC rallied around the fire victims last year, and I hope they do the same this time. If you know anyone in the area who may be affected, please reach out to them and let them know you care. It makes a difference.</div></div></div></div></div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-72170088087016490192008-11-14T20:44:00.000-08:002008-11-14T20:49:40.746-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SR5UH-qI91I/AAAAAAAAAFs/c_HZ0ijMlo4/s1600-h/ATT00062.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268741110125623122" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SR5UH-qI91I/AAAAAAAAAFs/c_HZ0ijMlo4/s400/ATT00062.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SR5UHwd_9UI/AAAAAAAAAFk/roxQTdtEiE4/s1600-h/ATT00051.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268741106316604738" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SR5UHwd_9UI/AAAAAAAAAFk/roxQTdtEiE4/s400/ATT00051.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SR5UHrOlPaI/AAAAAAAAAFc/afLRaRwc1dE/s1600-h/ATT00041.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268741104909761954" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SR5UHrOlPaI/AAAAAAAAAFc/afLRaRwc1dE/s400/ATT00041.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SR5UHd9MtvI/AAAAAAAAAFU/ZbCTWItca-M/s1600-h/ATT00030.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268741101347190514" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SR5UHd9MtvI/AAAAAAAAAFU/ZbCTWItca-M/s400/ATT00030.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SR5UG4XubYI/AAAAAAAAAFM/otLIVBJOsy8/s1600-h/ATT00009.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268741091257904514" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SR5UG4XubYI/AAAAAAAAAFM/otLIVBJOsy8/s400/ATT00009.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>The <strong>Urban Dictionary</strong> (<a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/">http://www.urbandictionary.com/</a>) defines alcohol the following ways (and this is a very limited selection of their definitions).</div><div> </div><div><em>1.alcohol</em></div><div><em>The cause of, and solution to all life's problems. T</em><em>o ALCOHOL: The cause of, and solution to all life's problems. </em></div><div><em></em> </div><div><em>2.alcohol </em></div><div><em>A substance found in beer (except American beer) and several other beverages that makes you excessively happy, sad, belligerent or horny. It allows white men to dance and ugly men to get laid (when given to their victim). You wanna get with that hottie? You're gonna need lots of alcohol! </em></div><div><em></em> </div><div><em>3.alcohol</em></div><div><em>Liquid Panty Remover</em></div><div><em>"Man alcohol is like liquid panty remover, you see that hot drunk chick over there, she's gonna get boned tonight." </em></div><div><em></em> </div><div><em>4.Alcohol</em></div><div><em>The antidote to reality. reality is for people that can't handle drugs and alcohol.</em> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>My district at work won a contest back in August/September for the Back to School Season, and my company just recently got around to giving us our prize money. We had several options as to what to do with it. One was go to Knotts Berry Farm and toss our cookies. Another was a bowling party. 24 Managers in our district decided on Dave and Busters to practice bending the elbows. </div><div> </div><div>Fun.</div><div> </div><div>I learned something (again) tonight. </div><div> </div><div>24 Managers can drink our DM into bankruptcy.</div><div> </div><div>The above pictures are just a little blurry because that's how I was (am) when I took them with my cell phone. It was a good time, and yes, our bar tab was over $1800. Unlike the last time we did this, I wasn't the last one out this time.</div><div> </div><div>Have a good weekend. </div><div> </div><div>I am off to have another beer or sober up.</div><div> </div><div>Or both.</div></div></div></div></div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-57693124993959262132008-11-13T21:49:00.000-08:002008-11-13T22:08:23.838-08:00We've Got Big BallsThe crazy people are all over the place.<br /><br /><br />BossLady and I went bowling tonight, and while I am beating the living crap outta her, two mothers and four boys (the oldest being MAYBE 10 years old) start playing on the lanes next to us.<br /><br />Okay...<br /><br /><br />BossLady knows I am not a big fan of kids. Some can be fantastic, well behaved and a great sign of the things to come. Others? C'mon people, invest in some birth control or parenting classes, please.<br /><br /><br />BossLady was enjoying a rare time when she was beating me (barely). About this time, the boys (all four of them) decide that the lanes they are on are not enough. They started running down their lanes (onto the playing surface!) and the youngest (maybe 5 years old) started break dancing on the approaches, right into where we were playing. A couple of times, I almost kicked them during my turns. Another time, each of us came close to hitting the boys with our back swings with our balls.<br /><br />To make matters worse, each of the mothers was taking flash photos during the games.<br /><br /><br />Think about this. People throwing big balls being suddenly blinded. I was seriously tempted to "accidentally" throw the ball the wrong way... say... towards the photographer. Sounds like fair play to me.<br /><br />BossLady did the smart thing. She told one of the mothers to control her kids or that I was likely to do my best Rambo impersonation on her boys.<br /><br /><br />The bowling alley finally agreed to our request to change lanes for the safety of the boys.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Some of you may laugh at BossLady and I for bowling, but too fucking bad. We took it up earlier this year as something for us to do together outside the home. We got so into it that we broke down and got balls of our own, shoes, etc. Eventually, we will find time after all the wedding planning and whatnot to join a league.<br /><br />I routinely beat her ass. <br /><br />So we have started a new scoring method now. We both still go for our personal bests, but now the winner is the one who gets the highest over their average. I'm still gonna smoke her.<br /><br />I used to bowl on leagues growing up. When I lived in Antioch, CA, a friend got me into a bowling league. I loved it. When we moved to Kansas City, their was a bowling alley on Richards-Gebaur AFB where we lived, so I bowled there as well. I got involved in theatre in high school, so I dropped it for a while. When Mom got transferred to Marine Corps HQ in Washington, DC, I joined her Marine Corps intramural league. I loved it.<br /><br />Throughout college, I bowled for kicks with friends whenever the mood struck us. But I stopped after graduating college.<br /><br />BossLady's idea to go play last spring really struck a good cord with me.<br /><br />And people wonder why I dropped the Big Q on her?RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-1184178154537127912008-11-10T21:21:00.001-08:002008-11-10T21:43:28.644-08:00Baby Bombs<strong>Baby Bomb</strong>: <em> (n)-- The loaded diaper of an infant. Usually falling in the 1o-15 pound fully-loaded range. It's nothing short of toxic waste, and just as hard to dispose of. Pampers ain't kidding folks.</em><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Kids in stores are a bad mix.<br /><br /><br />Infants in stores are <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">scary</span>.<br /><br /><br />Bad parents and the above should just be criminal.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Today started like any other Monday in my store. Quiet. A few people from the shopping complex bounce in and talk about the economy for a few before heading off to their jobs. A couple of yuppie parents come in shopping with their preschool kids. Nothing glamorous, nothing shocking.<br /><br /><br />Somewhere mid-morning, a mother comes in with her infant (I can't guess the boys' age. He isn't talking yet, and barely walking) in a stroller. The first thing she does is take the boy out of the stroller and lets him walk around.<br /><br /><br />Then it gets <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">scary</span>.<br /><br /><br /><em>The mother wanders off to shop for herself in the aisle with her size, leaving the infant boy to play by the front door, completely ignoring him!</em><br /><em></em><br /><br />That isn't a misprint.<br /><br /><br />The child starts trying to push the door open. Another parent in the store takes the child back to the mother. She turns him loose immediately.<br /><br /><br />The child now starts pulling items off the bottom shelves and chews (<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">teethes</span>?) on them, ruining over $200 worth of merchandise. <br /><br /><br />I take the twit back to her and ask her to please watch her child as she could be liable for the damaged product. <br /><br /><br />She doesn't speak English (conveniently).<br /><br /><br />I walk away, with child firmly in mother's grasp.<br /><br /><br />Not more than two minutes later, the boy is behind my counter <em>chewing</em> on the extra cordless phone and trying to fry his measly little gonads on the power cables hidden under the counter. Mother is nowhere to be found.<br /><br /><br />I finally convince young Tokyo Jones to leave the counter (and give me my phone back) and find his mother, mostly by smiling and saying "find mommy" with little result.<br /><br /><br />Out with the Windex to clean all the baby slobber off my store. As I start cleaning the counter where Little Mr. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Slobber Fest </span>has been, I notice a rather <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">pungent</span> aroma. I don't like it. The kid <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">bunny'd</span> under my counter?!?! Damn little fart broke wind like a rabid hurricane! Now I need to go buy some <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Febreeze</span>!<br /><br /><br />I look up to see that the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Slobber Bomb</span> has tried to walk out the store again. This time, I tell his mother to please put the child back in the stroller and keep an eye on the brat or I will call the police for child endangerment. She stares at me blankly. Real winner here.<br /><br /><br />I go up to the front of my store to ring a purchase for another customer. They ask me if I would like them to call child protective services. I thank them, and tell them that I have it under control, all the while wishing I could drop this kid like a three foot putt.<br /><br /><br />By now, Junior has planted himself by the accessory items by my front register. The aroma I noticed earlier is getting very strong. (I mean, it was killing the fake plants type strong.) The little <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Beelzebub</span> was sitting there putting anything he could into his mouth. Shoe laces, spray cans... you name it. I quickly grab everything I can and move it out of his reach (or so I think).<br /><br /><br />By now, the mother has finally realized that her darling little angel is creating hell, and she is about to get the bill. This is after half an hour. And I thought I was slow on the uptake with kids.<br /><br /><br />Mother finally comes over and picks up her boy. As she lifts him into his stroller, I discover that the smell is indeed him. His diaper is full. And by full, I mean it <strong><em>LITERALLY</em></strong> was overflowing the top of his diaper and down his pants.<br /><br /><br />That, my friends, is a nuclear baby bomb first class.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />On a side note, I am looking for to post stories for Black Friday. Send me your horror stories. I have a few of my own, but would love to get other people in the action!RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-75195978668369019482008-11-06T21:21:00.000-08:002008-11-06T21:54:59.489-08:00Coconut Cat Crap<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SRPStq6S3_I/AAAAAAAAAEY/ebt5fRNAI58/s1600-h/Fiyera+in+her+hammock.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265784071380983794" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SRPStq6S3_I/AAAAAAAAAEY/ebt5fRNAI58/s400/Fiyera+in+her+hammock.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SRPStFDJd6I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/seSFtXn_Yfs/s1600-h/SV201051.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265784061217568674" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SRPStFDJd6I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/seSFtXn_Yfs/s400/SV201051.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SRPSsgKo02I/AAAAAAAAAEI/ezohig3hzM0/s1600-h/ring+058.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265784051316872034" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SRPSsgKo02I/AAAAAAAAAEI/ezohig3hzM0/s400/ring+058.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SRPSsC9VSfI/AAAAAAAAAEA/g7oplzIoHmQ/s1600-h/ring+086.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265784043476437490" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8UDKtKVRpW8/SRPSsC9VSfI/AAAAAAAAAEA/g7oplzIoHmQ/s400/ring+086.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>We have a killer in our apartment.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I don't get it. Started so small. So innocent. So cute. Such a pain in the ass.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">BossLady's</span> cat has been an adventure. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Don't get me wrong. The cat is an absolute riot, and I can't imagine coming home to not seeing her any more than I could without finding <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">BossLady</span>.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ThunderButt</span> was a gift from a former employee of mine, The Mother Of God. Her daughter's cat had its seven hundredth litter (give or take a few). <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">BossLady</span> wanted one. So before I moved down to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">SoCal</span>, I took some pics of the litter, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">BossLady</span> chose her kitty. We then spent the next two months figuring out a name, which we got from corrupting a character's name in a Musical we both like. Hence, we have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Fiyera</span> (named after <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Fiyero</span> in the musical, <em>WICKED</em>).</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>We took a day last summer and drove up to the Bay Area and got our resident <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">furrball</span>. Six hours up, two hours playing with the litter, and six hours home.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>The drive back was an adventure. We stopped in San Jose and got lunch at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">McNasty's</span>, and about that time, the little fuzzball started screaming. Apparently, we didn't get her to her <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">cat box</span> in time. She dropped her load all over the front of my car. And she was <strong>POTENT! </strong>So we broke out the extra air <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">freshener</span> I had in my car... and spent the next 5 and half hours smelling coconut cat crap. I will never eat <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">McDonalds</span> again.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">ThunderButt</span> was the smallest kitten in her litter. Now? I think her mission in life is to be at least 60 pounds. She's well on her way. You can feel her running down the hall. Bookcases rattle, walls shake, mothers pull babies off the sidewalks...</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">ThunderButt</span> likes to play. She is constantly chasing us in the kitchen. I can't remember the last time I took a crap without her supervision. She sits in the bathtub while you do your stuff. She howls like a banshee if you lock her out. </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>CATS!</div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>The other night, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">BossLady</span> and I discovered we have a killer/hunter living here. We were online checking out sites for our upcoming wedding (only 10 months left to plan.... just shoot me now), and I hear <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">ThunderButt</span> playing in our closet. I look down, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Fiyera</span> is taking her latest kill out to the living room. She had <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">BossLady's</span> boot in her mouth and a proud look on her face.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>CATS!</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>We won't talk about the times I hear the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">ThunderButt</span> run followed by her launching herself on the bed... and using me as a trampoline to the window.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>CATS!</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>I can't go <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">thru</span> San Jose anymore without smelling Coconut Cat Crap.</div></div></div></div>RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2281573647151082858.post-3566135831408806622008-11-06T21:20:00.000-08:002008-11-06T21:21:54.895-08:00It's a CrimeBossLady is trying to convert me to watching her crime shows. <br /><br />I don't do blood. <br />I don't do guts.<br />I get sick thinking about tossing my own cookies. <br /><br /><br />So she's trying to convert me and getting me excited about watching others do this shit?<br /><br />I don't get it.RedGaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14043761649420150980noreply@blogger.com0