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.

Pushing the car uphill - not really.

You will not believe what this bonehead (me) did the other night.

I went home on my lunch break (like I always do) and come time to go back to work, the car ran out of gas. Now, I knew it was a touch below "empty", but I thought it would be enough to get through the night and get some in the morning. No such luck. And I was having such a good night too. I heard on a radio commercial many, many years ago that the "E" stands for "Eh, still got quarter of a tank." They lie.

It hadn't been on "E" long. I thought for sure I would be fine because I don't live that far from the store. Live and learn.

Anyhow, I had to call a manager and they sent someone for me. I got $4 worth of gas to last me until morning, and the sweetheart who came to get me pumped the gas and put it into the car for me. I was forty-five minutes late, but I was ahead of schedule anyway so I wasn't worried.

Still, it was wholly embarrassing. I'll be fine one moment, and the next it will pop into my head, and I'll wince a little. I know I'm not the only one who's ever done this (and won't be the last), but I know better. And I did it anyway.

Just like cupcakes. I know I shouldn't eat them. I know better. But I'll eat them anyway.

On a completely different note, I am super pissed that Quinn is lying to Finn on Glee about her pregnancy. What the hell?! This won't bode well for the Rachel-Finn love connection.

See for yourself:

The point of walking...

I was on my way to work last night when I saw a sight that I find amusing at the expense of someone else's pride (they just don't know it).

There was a guy, probably in his twenties, making his way down the sidewalk. His gait was horribly awkward (and not in a possibly-physically-disabled-but-not-quite-sure way), and he was wearing the ever-popular (though I can't think why) "wife beater". Yeah, I know I shouldn't use that appalling term, but I have a point. I'm calling that particular walk the "beater step". It's midway between a cool swagger and a drunken stagger.

Walking, like driving, or riding a bike, or flying, is a mode of transportation. It gets you from Point A to Point B - as simple as that. But it seems that it must be dressed up with some pseudo-dance move to somehow make this guy special, make him stand out. I'm guessing that he has to do this in place of a piece-of-junk car with flashy rims.

This isn't the first guy I've noticed doing this. Every once in a while, one will pop up. Makes me think that maybe there's some kind of conspiracy going on to confuse me in my more paranoid moments. But that's just more of my inner-crazy peeking around the corner.

Speaking of inner-crazy, I had a minor bout of insecurity at the job. Seems I don't think or move as fast as I used to. I know, I know. Get over it, Sam. You'll be a pro again soon - God-willing.

But I have to say, I feel really exposed right now because I'm just now remembering some things that got lost since leaving the store, things that I naturally did or followed the process of. It's a strange sort of vulnerability that I didn't think I'd experience by returning to the same store and the same job. When you start a new job at a place you've never work before, doing something you've never done before, you expect that. But because people know me, I keep thinking they are probably expecting all of this to just come back as if I'd never left. So, I kind of shuffle my feet and make awkward expressions, coming up with excuses that I don't really need. Everyone there is pretty patient and saying, "Don't worry. You're doing fine." Am I? Am I really?

This constant need for reassurance is annoying even to me. I can't wait until I'm back to "good" and not just "okay".

I need sleep.

Analyzing the specimen

I don't know why I find it mortifying, but I do. Peeing in a cup and handing over to another person is downright weird. And not the good kind of weird. It's the I-can't-wait-to-leave-the-room-and-try-to-forget-this-experience weird. Not quite traumatizing. Not quite part of the norm.

So, the proof that I'm not a junkie of any kind and don't partake of the occasional joint has reached the personnel office at the store. My sister said she's surprised they do a pee test there instead of the more accurate hair follicle pulling test (which probably costs too much for the low-price giant). The hotel my brother-in-law works at used to only use the hair test. After having a very high rate of positive returns, they decided to quit that. They couldn't find enough qualified people who weren't smoking weed. A compromise had to be reached. Now they just have crappy staff.

Today is the ever-dreaded (not really) orientation. Since I've already worked for this company before, and done the job that I will have, I thought that I might be able to forgo the ritualistic Wal-Mart propagandizing that an afternoon watching WMTV and doing computer modules subjects their staff (sorry, associates) to, but no such luck. So, as of 2:30 PM (central time), I will be a Wal-Mart associate again. As my friend Sadie would say, "Well, slap my ass and call me Sally." Yeah, I almost didn't think this day would arrive (and for a long time, didn't want it to), but I've reconciled myself to this. It's not a forever job. Just a for-now job. And that's okay.

I had a chance to watch Glee last night. Diggin' it. I figured keeping the momentum from the pilot going would be tough, but this crew seems up to the challenge with this episode. You can watch it below. Their performance at the assembly is hilarious!