Thursday, October 15, 2009

Why can't they all be bastards?

So, dear readers, I learned something on my added shift last night. Normally, I don't work on Wednesday nights, but I was called in to cover for my co-worker, so in I went despite a terrible lack of sleep. I knew about this ahead of time, but for some reason, my body was fighting with the schedule I wanted to keep. Screw it. What can you do? It happens. Thank God for Starbucks.

Anyway, I should preface what I'm about to say with a little back-story, to give it context.

There was a guy I knew from the store for years. We were always friendly, and he was such a nice guy (a little younger than me - but cute and funny and we had a lot in common despite having hugely different backgrounds). I will call him EC for privacy reasons. Anyway, there was a time when we might have hooked up. I was still incredibly messed up from a previous break-up (i.e. mega-mind-games), so this probably wasn't meant to be. After a short while, even though he was the first to express interest, he began stringing me along. I didn't see the signs at first. But eventually, it became all too apparent (i.e. he was seeing someone else that we worked with - the DICK!).

When I decided to go back to working at the store, I wondered if I would have the misfortune of running into him from time to time. Being on third shift, I figured this unlikely, but one never knows. It wasn't until after I applied that I heard from friends that he was newly appointed to a position over the front end (including the accounting office - gulp).

I will admit, I was not digging this. Like Miranda from Sex and the City, once it's over, I feel they need to not exist.

The day of orientation, I did a minor freak-out with a very obvious "I'm avoiding you" move. And then, he ended up doing the stupid safety-talk in the orientation. This is my luck. Thankfully, it was just fine. He was perfectly nice, like he usually was, and it was over relatively painlessly. I thought that maybe that would be the end of that. I'd never see him again. Amen. Whew.

I hadn't seen him since the orientation (over a month ago now) until last night, when he ended up closing as a CSM (Customer Service Manager for all you non-Wal-mart people). Just my luck, it was the day that I picked up to cover for my friend. That's just wonderful, right?

This was the first time he'd closed the front end, so he needed a little help, but was over-all okay. Only a couple times did he ask questions. And he was friendly and nice. Which is completely wrong in my book.

A single incident needs to be amplified for all time. He was a bastard once, so that is what he is supposed to be for life, right? This would justify my opinion of him. But of course, he has to be the complete opposite of this. Just to make me feel bad for thinking ill of him. Damn you EC! Why can't you make this easy?

But now, given how things weren't completely awkward, it might be possible to be friends. Can it be? I'm getting too old to hold grudges. Maybe I am evolving.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Cinema Therapy, volume 8

I think it's safe to say that this is one of my very favorite movies. The heroine of this quirky tale makes you fall in love with her and her world from the beginning sequence. She's lovely, and she has no idea how much.

Amelie is one of those films that you love for a variety of reasons. The use of color and lighting is extraordinary in and of itself. But then you factor in the writing (which is superb), the characterizations (which are absolutely amazing), and the on-screen chemistry of all the actors, not to mention the direction, and you have a truly great film.

Even if you're not a fan of foreign films because of the subtitles, I recommend this movie. You quickly overlook what might otherwise annoy you for the simple fact that it is just so engrossing.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

On age...

I've been saying for a really long time that I'll probably live to be 140. Chalk it up to the lack of smoking, partying, having wild sex with strangers, just a little drinking, and being a relative hermit for the last three years, but I think it might actually happen. This is wishful thinking of course, but it keeps me thinking that there's plenty of time yet. No rush to actually get back to dating, get married, have kids, actually attempt some kind of career, still time to get to Paris and Buenos Aires, and to clean out my bedroom closet.

We live in a funny time (not funny ha-ha, funny strange) when it comes to age. I still get carded whenever I bother ordering anything stronger than a coffee. Some youngin's at my work orientation thought I was about twenty (yes!) even though there's increasing fine lines around my eyes that I'm growing a little paranoid about. My younger sister (by only eighteen months, but still younger) often passes for older than me. And I have always, always thought my mother looks about ten to fifteen years younger than she really is.

Someone my mom works with just turned thirty-eight. At her birthday dinner, the waitress guessed she was twenty-nine. The co-worker took it. Some time later (I'm guessing days by the story I was told), she was with her young son at Burger King where the woman (not kid) behind the counter told the little boy to have a nice day with his Grandma. She was irked and told her that the boy was actually her son.

My response to this is that we live in the age of Botox and Olay Regenerist. No one knows what 20, 40, or 80 is supposed to look like anymore. We make guesses and try to undercut what we suspect might be the actual age to make the recipient of the compliment feel good. But then there are those who look remarkably younger than their age, to the point of wonder. Is it lifestyle? Is it genes? Is it that great dermatologist you see ads in your mail for? Who knows anymore. Perhaps we should just tell each other "Hey, you look good" and leave the age thing alone. Our society dictates that our supposed youth dictates so much of our self-esteem and, in a lot of cases, our social standing. In ages past, it was the elders that were revered. What happened to that? It's nice to listen to people with wisdom talk about things they actually know about. How refreshing. Wisdom? Forget youth and beauty. That's my aim in life. (Okay, I'm really aiming for it all, but I figured I'd say that to make myself sound evolved.)

I'm only thirty now. What does 50, 70, 90 look like? It's not that far away you know. But as visually oriented as I am, I'm a bit more concerned with how I will feel. Will I be lucid at an old age, or should I be concerned about the amount of aluminum canned soda I've consumed? How about the fat "experiment"? How will that affect my health and mental state? It's nice to look good too, but there are more concerns than that.

Age - just a number? I don't think so. Apparently, it's part of a greater symbol of something else.

Want to live to be 140? Check out this site I just found. Interesting, but true?

Sunday, October 4, 2009

I almost pooped my pants!

And I'm not kidding.

The night before last, on my way home for lunch, I suddenly really needed to go. Why does it choose the worst time? Why?! Is it on a timer that says, "Oh, Sam's in the car now. Let's move bowels and see how freaked out she gets."? Really? Is this something that comes with age. I hit the big 3-0, so now I get horrific bodily urges at the worst possible moment?

And to make matters worse, I almost hit a bunny as I was speeding through the neighborhood, trying to get home. A freakin' bunny! Funny how it could've been a squirrel or a raccoon or a cow, and I wouldn't have cared. But a freakin' bunny? I can't hit a bunny and streak its cute little furry body all over the street! I might as well have shot Santa Claus!

When I was a kid, I was in the car with my uncle and he accidentally ran over some baby ducks. It wasn't his fault. They were just past the top of a hill and he couldn't have stopped if he'd tried. Thankfully, he didn't hit any with the wheels, so they just rolled and got a little fluffed up from the cars back-draft. I would've been devastated if any had been killed. I think it would've traumatized me to the point of therapy.

Wait. I need therapy anyway. Scratch that. I would've needed additional therapy.

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