You Think Your Job Sucks?

I’m standing in front of a toaster. (Intrigued yet?) Oh, it’s also the size of a mammoth, and it’s one of the most medieval devices I’ve personally come across in my life. This large rusty metal contraption rotates about 40 pieces of bread at once, and gives birth to toast after a few rotations. The thing is, you have to stand in front of it, as it radiates heat burning your face off to catch the bread at the bottom. After each rotation the bread falls out, you catch it, and throw it back into slits, trying very hard not to burn the flesh from your hands. Like I said, medieval.

At this time, I am seventeen years old, working at a retirement home during the summer of 1995. I work 5 days a week, from 7am-6pm. I make $4.25 an hour. It blows. Hard. I’m one of the many teenage waitresses serving the folks breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I’m also one of the many teenagers the manager of this place treats like donkey bleep.

But, this story is not about the a-hole manager, or the scary toaster.

Scene: Back to tussling with the menacing toast maker.

As I’m performing daredevil tricks with bread to prevent myself from ending up in the E.R., I hear some disagreeable voices going back and forth from the other waitresses.

A bit of back story: I’m the newest employee. Why do you think I’m performing one of the most undesirable duties as a waitress in this place. Little did I know, there was actually one more duty that had it beat. Beat by, like, a lot.

I yell over to the girls and ask what the problem is. One exclaims it’s the other’s turn to take Mr. Johnson his meal, and of course the other waitress disagree’s and says it is not.

“Who is Mr. Johnson, and why won’t he be in the dining room?” I ask.

Their heads quickly whip towards each other locking eyes, and I could see evil manipulating light bulbs going off.

“Well, the thing is, he kind of has a special condition, so we have to bring him all his meals.” One finally pipes out.

“Okay, so why are you arguing about it, just take the man his food.” I say, a bit frustrated.

“He has elephantitus of the balls.” The other waitress blurts out.

(This is what she said, and what I called it for years, but in later research I discovered it is commonly mispronounced that way. The actual term is elephantiasis.)

I had never heard of that before but my logical brain had a pretty good idea what it meant.

“Alright, so.”

“I mean, you just don’t know. You just don’t even know. It’s all out there. And then there is the smell. It’s so gross.”

“Just give me the food. I’ll take it to him. The man has to eat.”

They both look very satisfied. When I begin towards the elevator one yells, “Hold your breath!”

As I’m going up to the third floor I think, how bad could it be, okay, I haven’t seen too many balls period, but whatever, and what part of this place doesn’t smell like piss. Huh…she didn’t actually say the smell was…ugh whatever…

I get off the elevator and start down the hall to Mr. Johnson’s room. What a convenient color for the carpet. Shit brown.

Two doors away from his room and my nostrils are already catching a whiff of something. Directly in front of his door my senses are being assaulted with a pungent aroma that is more wretched than anything I could imagine. This is not okay. This whole thing. I shouldn’t be here taking all the B.S. that comes with this job. And someone should be in there disinfecting, cleansing, powdering…or whatever.

I knock on the door. No answer. Oh come on. I decide to just go in. I open the door and walk over the threshold. As I catch a glimpse of Mr. Johnson sitting upright on the edge of the bed–I turn around and power walk my ass right back out, closing the door behind me.

Not because of the sight of his naked from the waist down body, and crusted cantaloupe sized balls, because I forgot to hold my breath.

The smell as bad as it was outside of the room, was a completely different situation inside of the room. Words will never be able to fully explain what that bouquet was like. I can’t even explain why it smelled like that. The only thing that ever made sense was, whoever had the responsibility of cleaning that room and Mr. Johnson, were terrible at their job.

I swallow traces of vomit down my throat and prepare to go back in. This poor man.

I take a few deep breaths and hold it. I power walk back in like nothing happened.

– Put his tray of food down.

– Nod. Force tight smile.

– He doesn’t acknowledge my existence. Sad. But okay with me at this point.

– Grab tray left from last meal. Place dirty dishes on it.

– Freak out internally because all dirty dishes have unexplainable white crust-like substance around the edges.

– Realize I’m being an idiot because what I’m thinking can’t be possible.

– Think: Anything is possible.

– Realize I’m about to pass out.

– Power walk out of the room. To the elevator. To those two damn dirty bitches.

– Express to them they are horrible people.

– Quit 3 weeks later.

 

Hot Booties: Proof The World Really Is Coming To An End

Last night at 10:55 P.M. my world changed forever. I encountered a commercial that was a sign for “The End Times.”

Because let me tell you something–when a product is created that requires for the consumer to place it in a microwave, and THEN goes from ones microwave to ones feet, then I am sorry, but something has gone terribly wrong, and humans no longer deserve the earth.

I am speaking of a product obviously from the devil himself called, Hot Booties. “Soothing heat to treat your feet,” says the commercial. Yeah, okay, heat on your feet to prepare your ass for fire and brimstone because you fell for this fuckery.

Alright, let me get real about the product for a second. The devil booties are filled with linseed that supposedly absorbs and holds heat. Each set comes with a bootie bag that is used to place the booties in the microwave to heat. The bag is supposed to be so your microwave stays sanitary, but seriously will the bag never end up on the floor? And yes, you can wash the bag, but then do you want your microwave to smell like a spring day?

You can purchase not one, but two pairs for $14.99. The deal being, buy one get one free, but you pay almost $16.00 in processing and handling for two pairs. And if you think that the linseed won’t start to get all “funny” in a short time, then you would be so very wrong.

The cherry on top of this idea are Tim and Taylor, who do the online commercial. Where do they find these infomercial people? Do they send them to How To Be Annoying As Fuck And Brainwash America school? Either they both did a line of crack-cocaine before the camera started rolling, took a handful of Ritalin, or got shot with B-12 right into their bloodstream.

Maybe I’m helping sell this crime against heaven and earth but check out the commercial for yourself at the link below. Beware: You might get sucked in and order them. And I won’t even hold it against you.

https://www.orderhotbooties.com/?tag=im|sm|go|tm&a_aid=011&a_bid=6151f0c2

Evil Creatures

To be serious about my health/weight loss kick, I may have to consider counting calories and carbohydrates. Now for someone like me who loathes math in all forms, counting anything is mental torture.
If someone had a gun to my head, and started a statement with,
“Billy was at a train station…”
And ended that statement with,
“How many…”
I would yell, “Just pull the trigger!”
I hate math. I’ve always hated math. Guess it’s time to bust out and dust off my calculator.
Actually…

Nope. Who am I kidding? I’m not counting shit. I know what NOT to eat. I just have to not eat it. Done.
(P.S. Counting may work for some. Oh yeah, and this is mainly a humor blog mixed in with my truth. So shush, people who swear by counting calories.)
Yours Truly,
Hater of Numbers Big and Small
Ha ha…I knew it!

10 Confessions Of A Heavy Housewife

1. Once again I’m determined to lose weight and live a healthier life style. I vow to workout at least five days a week, and vacuuming, scrubbing the toilet, and folding laundry totally count. As a matter of fact lets add cooking dinner as legit exercise.

2. I ordered two of Jillian Michaels exercise dvd’s from Amazon. And seeing them sit on top of the dvd player makes me feel good about myself already.

3. I’ve considered becoming an alcoholic to lose weight. My grandmother lived on boxed wine and never gained a pound.

4. Dairy Queen’s menu is not very accommodating to my new life style. But I make it work for me by asking for extra lettuce and an extra tomato on my heavily battered crispy chicken sandwich.

5. I’ve told my husband, who is a slender man, that he better not get too skinny, but if he ever told me I better not get too fat, I would shank him in his sleep.

6. If I’m having a bad day or getting down on myself that’s the perfect time to go channel surfing for mind numbing T.V., because I’d always rather be me than any “Real Housewives of (Insert City)” Or “(Insert Whatever Husband Does So Wife Has Plenty Of Time To Fight With Other Women Over
Shit That Doesn’t Make Any Sense And Could Simply Be Solved With The Slightest Bit Of Basic Communication) Wives.”

7. A year ago I bought a pair of skinny jeans and still haven’t tried them on. I just feel it was a lapse in judgement. You can say as long as it’s in your size, you should be able to wear what everyone else is wearing, but no, this is not always the case. At this time nothing with the word skinny attached to it should be anywhere near my body. Skinny jeans in a size 18 are like a fake friend who says you look thin and lovely. When really you look like your ass is suffocating, and have a camel toe violating the eyes of the general public.

8. In the last few years I’ve gained weight making me the heaviest I’ve ever been. I practically live in sweat pants since I refuse to buy new clothes with the hopes of losing the weight. Right now I have two pairs of jeans I can still wear. And when I do squeeze into a pair, that means I am “dressed up.”

9. Hiking with my husband is annoying as bleep. He doesn’t even break a sweat, breathe heavy, need to take a break, lose the feeling in his legs, or feel like his heart is going to burst into flames. F.y.i. I experience one or more of the above. Bleep hiking. Bleep trails. I like flat land walking, thank you very much.

10. Yes, we (fat women) passionately loathe skinny twats who can eat whatever they want, all day, all night, and never exercise. Especially when they’re shoveling food in their tiny mouths they talk about how they eat so much, never gain weight, and never exercise. We consider causing them bodily harm. A little nudge into traffic here, a little push down some stairs there, and perhaps a little sharpy, stabby, in the corner over yonder.

P.S. Most of this probably shouldn’t be taken too seriously. Let’s eat some red velvet cake! Just kidding, no cake. How about some yogurt that turns your home into a house of lies with its promise on the container to taste like cake. Yum.

What We All Need Less Of In 2012…In My Opinion

Let’s start with less of these things in 2012:

– The never-ending black hole of celebrity news and the convoluted media.

– Reality show personalities getting rich for being train wrecks.

I do not want to-be-all-up-in any celebrities personal business. And no one else should want to be either. I don’t give a bleep if Justin Bieber fathered a child. I don’t give a bleep if he cheated on his girlfriend, and I definitely don’t care what they did on a date night. I’m sure he is a swell human being, but all that needs discussing is his music, not where the hell he took his girlfriend for dinner. I don’t care about Kim Kardashian’s wedding nor do I give a flying crap about her divorce a few months later. Why the world feels this is such a priority it must be announced every 2 minutes in the media, and gets air time on news tickers is beyond my comprehension. Some celebrity news is fine to a degree, but the subjects being reported on and the amount of time spent on such reports have gotten out of hand. Way, way out of hand.

If an alien race looked down upon the earth from space and studied us they would believe us to be the easiest mind controlled sheep in existence, and they might be right. The media have led us to believe we must know every single move a person in the spot light makes. It also pushes upon us that they are more important than anything else on God’s green earth and may in fact be Gods themselves.

Another thing that would make the world a better place, is if we could cut back on the amount of people getting ridiculously rich off of being train wrecks. For example: The cast of Jersey Shore. Let me add I have watched this show, and I have even caught a few episodes of Keeping Up With The Kardashians, but shit has gone beyond a place it should have never been allowed to go. Not only does the Jersey Shore cast get paid an unreal, underserved, amount of money per episode, but then most of them come out with these crap products. They’ve “written” books, (put their names on a cover of a book) have spray tanning, lotions, beauty products, slippers, all attached with their names. And some of you out there have the audacity to purchase these items and allow them to continue to laugh their butts off all the way to the bank.

This irks the bleep out of me, when people with real talent are trying to make things happen, and when I think about hard-working bastards just trying to provide for their families, and these douchebags (who might actually be very lovely people in “real” life) come along taking advantage and manipulating society into allowing them to make a living acting like idiots, getting drunk, and fighting on television.

Look, all the reality shows full of nonsense can last forever for all I care. I watch some of them, but that doesn’t mean they should get paid enough to buy an island. They also shouldn’t be worshiped like they have done something that actually matters.

As far as celebrity news, I know it’s not a new subject but It seems to be getting worse. We do not need every detail of someone else’s life. Complete loss of privacy should not be what a celebrity is signing up for. It should not be part of the job. We don’t need to be up in their marriages, divorces, births, etc. I especially think the media needs to stay out of their kids faces. The only entertainment news that is required should focus on movies, television, and music that a celebrity is involved with. For the love of God please stop telling me what someone is saying, wearing, eating, purchasing, who they stood next to, and who they are rumored to have slept with every five seconds.

Sometimes too much media coverage on a celebrity has turned me off from their work that I had previously enjoyed. The media kept violating my mind with his quotes and actions and have now ruined my viewing of his movies.

When all is said and done I know the media coverage of celebrities and “celebrities” will not lessen. The public demand for it will most likely never waver. It makes us feel closer to who we view as “awesome” people and maybe makes us feel a little awesomer. But the public needs to realize we’re all awesome in our own right and don’t need a reply on twitter from Snooki to be important.

P.S. I wrote this while watching a Jersey Shore marathon…haha.

Craigslist Buffoonery

Currently I’m selling a few household items on Craigslist for extra cash with the bonus of knowing I’m not attached to all of my possessions like a hoarder. This runs in the family so I like to check on myself from time to time. I’m good. Anyways, even when I’m not using it as an internet yard sale I browse through different states and cities from time to time and thought I would share some of the baffling, kinda funny shit I come across. Also, I recently caught wind of the ad that made headlines about the woman selling her husband under “free stuff” as a joke, and that is hardly the craziest thing you will find if you browse it on a regular basis.

– Wanted: Fake Girlfriend: I am seeking a fake girlfriend to attend my sister’s wedding. No pay. Free trip. Lots of free food. Here kitty, kitty…(That was word for word. This either turned out really well or really bad. For all involved. And that “here kitty, kitty” was as about as creepy as you can get.)

– Writing Gigs: Heroin Addicts: I’m interested in learning more about heroin. Seeking subjects currently addicted to the drug. Thank you. (The ad didn’t mention pay but unless there was I can’t imagine many “subjects” jumped at the chance. I am also not sure how many heroin addicts are skimming the writing gig ads. They probably should have placed the ad in a more drug addict user-friendly location. But who knows.)

– Writing Gigs: Note Writer: Seeking writer for prewritten custom suicide notes for loved ones, co-workers and Facebook. (What. Did. I. Just. Read. What the friggen’ hell! …and for Facebook. This explodes so much wrongness I can’t wrap my head around it.)

– Writing Gigs: Blog Writer Needed: Need a decent writer with a blog to interview me to help my business. I know it sounds egocentric and ridiculous, but I figure if someone writes an article about me as if people should give a shit, then maybe they will. Just trying to think outside the box, like all the business gurus preach. Contact me if you’re up for it. (Good for him or her. Nothing wrong with thinking way outside the box.)

– Writing Gigs: Free Story Idea: This story is about an extraterrestrial visitor- The main character of the movie Starman (1984), his Mother. She comes to Earth looking for her grandson and the magic orbs. I have worked on this story for many many years. And given up on it, equally as long. I am happy to give it freely. In the back of my mind, I always had a hunch, I would be giving it away, if someone was interested. If you are, feel free to contact me at the email above. All the best. (This is odd on many levels and yet my heart breaks for this person.)

When it comes to innocently trying to sell items on Craigslist it is asking for the buffoonery to be a part of your daily life. I foolishly thought how simple it would be. List items and wait for people in my area to contact me. Well no, it doesn’t work that way. What actually happens is if you wish to be contacted through email you will receive a massive flood of scam emails. Now if the first contact email was a clear scam I wouldn’t have been as irritated. But they mostly sound like a real legitimate person interested in your item. You know, by saying something like, “Hello, I am interested in your item. When can I come by and take a look?” I send off a reply and then I get back this junk.

– Hello, I really wanted your item but my son just crashed my car. Thank God he is okay. But now my car has a huge dent that I have to pay for. I have plenty of money but after this I don’t know. In fact I made all of my extra cash with tips at this website”____” You should check it out. My sister is even doing great with these tips. But only so many people can take advantage of this so please don’t tell anyone about it.

I received about fifty of these word for word. A huge waste of my time.

I did get some real buyers after weeding through all the craziness. But then unnecessary crap kept-a-comin’. Emails saying, “Hey, just call me.” Others offering me quadruple what I was asking if I would give them my paypal account information. Um, nooo. And someone felt the need to send me quotes from famous people. That’s it. Just quotes. Over and over. What. The. Fuck. Is. The. Point.

11 Ways To Tell If A Social Networking Site Has Turned You Bat Shit Crazy…In My Opinion

1. If you forgot to feed your kids, husband, dogs and yourself, while checking what everyone on your “friends” list is doing.

2. If you forgot you even have kids, a husband, and dogs.

3. When you write an update on your wall of the site and get a finger cramp from hitting refresh, waiting for someone to comment on your post and if no one does, you feel rejected by the world.

4. If you’ve sent a friend request and sit obsessively hitting refresh. Remember, as crazy as it sounds not everyone checks in to a social networking site everyday.

5. Getting upset when someone you last spoke to in the 3rd grade doesn’t accept your friend request.

6. When a person deletes their account or some foul beast has the nerve to unfriend you all that goes through your mind is, “Goddammit, now my friend list is smaller!”

7. If you actually think the number of “friends” in your friend list is significant in someway and validates you as a “liked” person.

8. If you post 10,782 pictures of yourself every week, from every angle, (bent over angle included) because someone once told you that you were pretty. Now you very well may be pretty but this is annoying and the quickest way to get yourself one less social networking “friend.” Especially those god awful in the mirror pictures, along with the half of your face pictures. They seem like you’re trying to cover a deformity.

9. If you post a picture of yourself everyday from the same angle, with the same expression, same everything! (Just stop it!)

10. If you play every and I mean EVERY (I once got a request from the same person in 48 hours to play 10 different games.) mind numbing, life wasting game the social site offers. The Farmville, Cafeville, Whatthefuckville will give you brain rot. Even worse do not try to drag unsuspecting “friends” into this pointless, boring, ridiculous type of escapism. I do not advocate this in any way, honestly booting black tar heroin would be more productive.

11. If in place of a phone call, sending a birthday card, or face to face happy birthdays, you post a happy birthday on the social networking page of someone who has been a real friend of yours since the two of you were infants. And you actually feel done and accomplished. No – this is not okay. Admittedly, I am even guilty of this. It must stop. Shame on me and anyone else who has committed this crime against friendship.