Survival Tactics

The Pansy: Why didn't you blog today?
Team Gingerbread: (huffily) I was busy
The Pansy: Fair enough

I think the reason I'm so obssessed with self-denial is that it's a war game I like to playu with myself, in order to prepare for the inevitable.

At some point, although when is really up in the air, I'll be cut off from my family - emotionally, spiritually, and financially. It's happened before, and it's only a matter of time before it happens again, I tell myself.

Something about setting a precedent.

So I practice, by denying myself something that I love, diligently cutting out one thing after another: tv (that's the latest one), sex (although a whole host of other factors contributed to that one, one of them being that I physically recoiled at the thought of having sex with someone else after The Engineer), the gym, coffee, shopping, meat, just to see if I could come through on the other side unscathed.

So far so good, though you never really know if you're prepared for the apocalypse until it happens.

Dinner & A Movie

DD: Hey I'm outside
Team Gingerbread: Of what?
DD: Your place, Am I early?
Team Gingerbread: (buzzing him in) Early for what?

We're not really friends anymore, mostly because of that incident, but I made a concerted effort to not make things too awkward when I was forced to hang with DD (the love of my livfe circa 2003) and P, a mutual friend from my residence hall days.

Friday night was rather tame, settling to watch Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen (my choice) over pizza and beer. I felt really uncomfortable, he didn't really seem to notice, the perhaps that's why P excused herself so early and spent the majority of the night in her room/the kitchen futzing around. He kissed me once or twice and I jokingly told him that he was distracting me from the entertainment, but it was ok, I just don't know if I'm ready to burn that bridge one more time. WE drank a bit more and somehow I ended up with little scratches all over my body, who's origins are rather suspect but I can't quite recall how they got there...

Saturday was a no-go, because I had the biggest headache from easily the worst weekend work day ever, it seems only the irate customers come out on Saturdays, joy.

I had steeled myself for Sunday, thinking that it could easily top Saturday's hellishness, because it was one girl's last day and she threatened to bail on her shift, I in no uncertain terms to her to politely fuck herself and that she's better show up for her scheduled shift. She did, but she wasn't happy about it, and spent the entire day in the back room cleaning.

As we left work on Sunday it was so humid (it's never like that in Alberta) that it literally felt like steeping out of the freezer to go into the sauna. I have been on this skating to work kick but I couldn't even skate to the bus stop because by then my face would be running down my shirt. I foolishly chose to skate home after a bus detour and ended up a sweaty mess with only 1.5 hours to go before I met up with DD and P again, so I chatted with The Pansy via text from New York and showered/got ready.

We went out for dinner instead of staying in and then bought booze back to P's condo for the movie, a forgettable National Lampoon Direct-to-Video number. I wore my new Orisue shorts partly because they're rad and I can't really wear them all that much at work and partly because they'll keep me pure, as they are so tight that I' have a hard time getting them off sober.

P retired early again, I don't really know why she's so tired as of late, but it's not like I'm going to sleep with someone at your house with you in the other room. If you had asked me 4 years ago you might have gotten a different answer, but I digress. We made out a little more but I jokingly put the brakes on it with a playful 'are you sure you're ready to push your luck?' - a veiled reference to our past drunken shenanigans. He backed off a little but I still didn't end up getting home until well past 4 am.

Road Rules

1. Step 1: Actually charge iPod so that when loud talker mcgee next to you decided to utilize his bluetooth headset (his hands are busy hanging slackly by his side) you can listen to something (anything really) other than his loud, oddly-intoned, voice.

2. There is no Step 2. That concludes today's lesson.

Young & Modern

I don't really care understand what being a Hutterite entails but I somehow came away the idea that they didn't really own cell phones, much less ones with rather suggestive ringtones about 'lovely lady lumps'.

Sometime earlier this week, two young Hutterites made their way into my store. It was pretty early in the day and the mall was dead but I've become so accustomed to the daily freakshow that I didn't really think anything of hearing a terrible song being played a little too loudly One of the YH's reached into her (home-made) purse, that was partially concealed by her (also home-made) frock and whips out a cell that's blaring 'My Humps'.

I and the other girls I was working with found this so funny that neither of us were able to contain ourselves and I was relegated to guffawing silently in the corner with my back turned as she helped them.

Moving Day

...or the one where I went to work on my day off to pick up my cheque and ended up staying until 4 am helping our guys' store move back into their newly renovated digs.

At least I scored pizza, beer and wings out of the deal, but was I ever feeling it today.

Turns out 2 hours of sleep just doesn't cut it when you have to pull a double the next day...who knew?

Anticipation

...and I'm so bored.

Trade show wrap up parties are lamer than I remember.

Count me out.

The Food Court Showdown

I'm perusing the insanely busy food court trying to spy an empty seat so that I don't have to sit across from some random at a 4-person or worse yet, a 2-person, table when I spy a couple of empty seats by the pillar.

I was in a somewhat foul mood because my attempt to get McDonald's was thwarted by the throngs of ringette-tournament tourists in the mall who were also jonesing for some McD's it seems (because McDonald's in Edmonton is vastly different from the McDonald's in Hinton?) so I settled on Taco Bell.

I set my tray down only to have the guy on the other side of the pillar lean in and state "Uh, do you mind? I'm saving these seats for three people" with this entirely dead serious look on his face. I look at him blankly, and politely decline to relocate (I'm hungry/fuck off!) at which point he turns to his companion and remarks indignantly "I'm saving the seats!"

Now, I'm kinda miffed and I face him and say "Dude, this is a food court, not a bus in kindergarten - you cant just save seats!" to which he replies "I'm just saying, I was saving the seats for people who are getting food. Where are they supposed to sit". "I don't really see how that in any way affects me" is my terse response, and we proceeded to have what cold easily be described as the most awkward lunch date ever.

Both of us refused to give in to the other's wishes so he simply talked ultra-loud in my ear to one of his companions (who had since joined the pillar table) who was seated on the other side of me.

I can just picture his recounting of the story to his wife/anyone else who will listen "...and then the aggressive black girl refused to give up her seat! I mean, what kind of world do we live in?"

On a scale of 1 to 10 how inappropriate would you say it was

The Producer ambled down the stairs and I laughed as I chatted with a coworker. He came into the store to find out what was so funny (the way he walks, it's cute, but still funny) and we got to chatting. Somehow we got on the topic of sexual harassment (I think I jokingly accused a coworker after a rather sexually-charged comment) and he said that if I thought that was bad, that I definitely wouldn't be able to hack it at his store.

I disagreed, because that's just how I roll and told him that there was no way that they could top any of the inappropriate conversations we have in our store. This was obviously a challenge he couldn't back down from so he told a mildly racy, but ultimately boring story about sex in the change rooms.

Yawn.

I laughed it off and then mentioned that previously I had jokingly made some sort of comment about fucking a coworker with a strap on.

The look on his face was priceless and I had to smirk.

"I win!" I teasingly gloated and he stood there mouth agape. More witty banter ensued and he eventually left (most likely to tell the boys that we're not nearly as innocent as we look)

Secrets are a dying breed

So it turns out that AirQuote reads the blog - no big deal I suppose it's just funny because she's known about it for about a month and I just found out now.

She also found out about The Pansy x The Gentle Giant via the blog (it's kind of a secret - he specifically asked her not to tell anyone because their dalliance is a little taboo).

It's just par for the course I guess, since The Pansy also found out some rather privileged information by reading it on my blog.

See? This is why we can't have nice things

For all my friends who don't understand why I can't be friends with an ex, Avatar spells it out explicitly...too bad The Engineer doesn't know about the blog.

Of course, it's always best to practice what you preach and not have mid-week bro-downs/sleepovers when you're deathly ill.

But at least there's someone there to take care of you/rub your back when you can't sleep all night long.

The one with the crazy cat ladies (plural)

So I'm casually napping slash watching the Sopranos on a The Pansy's couch waiting for her return only to be aroused from my semi-lucid half sleep half hypothermic state by the building's fire alarm.

At first I was really confused and tried to figure out exactly how a fire alrm figured into the plot (it didn't) and then it occurred to me that it was in fact coming from beyond the door.

"Boo! Now I have to get off the couch and out from underneath the blankets" I thought to myself. I didn't really feel like leaving the warmth of the living room so I stayed in the apartment for a bit and called The Pansy for advice - which actually just worried her and then I peeked my head out the door only to make eye contact with her neighbour's white trash (and possible) live-in boyfriend (Ed. So it turns out it's the boyfriend's place), so I quickly closed the door again.

Still in the apartment.

The Pansy asked me to ask them what was going on, but I didn't really feel the need, but I complied. Except once I peeked my head out once again, he was no where in sight (too bad!).

At this point, I had to go to the washroom and was seriously considering a trek to McDonald's because at least I'd be warm/have food and shit but I refused to relieve myself there, so that was my last stop before bundling myself up n my way out the door.

I went out the back door (because it's more fun to plow your way through snow drifts when you're wearing canvas shoes) and walked around to the front doors to find what can only be described as 'the cat-lady cabal' - a small troupe of obviously single women clutching cats wrapped in blankets kvetching about how the alarm interrupted their movie or whathaveyou.

Seriously, just shoot me in the face; it's better than being trapped in an alcove with these women, who give single women everywhere a bad name.

I called The Pansy again to fill her in on what exactly was going on ( a fire alarm went off in an empty unit prompting a nosy vigilant resident to call 911 and subsequently pull the building's alarm) and the firemen eventually let us in after calling the old building manager.

All in all, I only missed half of the Sopranos episode that I was watching and solidified my vow to never become a cat lady.

I make this look good

...and bitchy.

I bought a fitted a couple of weeks ago because when I was drunk I decided to be all cutesy and steal The Gentle Giant's hat when we were at the bar.

Turns out, I look good in hats.

But the fitted gives me mad swagger and I tend to get a little bossier than usual when wearing it.

ex:

The Engineer: Can you stop calling me a bitch?
Team Gingerbread: Whatever, you love it
Team Gingerbread: (mutters under her breath) ...bitch!

"It's Like, Yeah, Motherfucker, I'm Fine."

...well not really because I got greedy and tried the double jalapeño cheeseburger combo with diet lemonade (because, you know, I'm watching my figure) tonight before we dove into a new episode of The Real World: Denver and now it feels like a civil war between my stomach and my gag reflex.

I need antacids, and more self-control.

Straight up lurking...

Thoughts from the night out at the bar wherein The Archaeologist stood us up (again!):

Upon entering the bathroom

It's so weird that there are urinals in the girls washroom! It must be one of those Ally McBeal-esque unisex ones.

Upon sitting on the toilet

Um, actually, I'm in a guys washroom. I'm not drunk - I swear.

Upon exiting said washroom

Yup, that is definitely the traditional male bathroom pictogram



Bar room chatter:

Team Gingerbread: Uh, who are you texting?

The Pansy: No one.

Team Gingerbread: Is it The Goth Girl - who was actually supposed to come out as well, but instead stayed home to entertain with her manfriend. (thinking for a minute) Is it The Gentle Giant?

The Pansy: Maybe.

Team Gingerbread: He texted you?

The Pansy: I may have texted him...

Team Gingerbread: What happened to "Fuck that! I'm totally not talking to him first!?!

The Pansy: (devilish grin)

The Husband Game: Redux

The background story

Team Gingerbread: Hey, look it's your husband!
The Pansy: Um, that's The Goth Girl's boyfriend dude...
Team Gingerbread: Oh, that's awkward. Thank God she didn't hear me...

Team Gingerbread: BarelyLegalBoy was trying to talk to you...
AirQuote: I was trying to be nonchalant
Team Gingerbread: Uh, you ran away. That's actually the opposite of nonchalant

"...and Potent Potables for $100, Alex!"

So I'm about to leave work and we're performing the perfunctory bag checks.

"Yo, look in my bag!" I call out to whoever is listening

"...and before you ask, yes that is a copy of Martha Stewart Living and a block of fudge in my bag" I spit out preemptively

"Ooh, fudge! Can I have some?" asks The Goth Girl

"Uh, no." I reply quickly

"Come on, I gave you juice" she pleads, "I love fudge"

"I know, but you don't want this, trust me..." I say as I try to reason with her, but she persists and I give in "Fine!"

"Ew! That is so gross!" "I think it's coating my mouth!" and "Whoever made that should be shot, then pissed on!" were just a few of the choice phrases that came out of her mouth as she quickly gulped down a 500mL bottle of water in the back room.

"Uh, who made that for you?" piped up The Pansy, quickly adding "Was it The Engineer?"

"Uh, no. I don't really want to have this conversation with you..." I trailed off

"Are you going to blog it - or tell me later?"

"Uh, no. That's not necessary. Ok, bye!" I yell as I trot out of the store to get tacos (not a metaphor)

In truth, I actually got the fudge from The Engineer's mom (well she gave it to him and he gave it to me). He doesn't like fudge (probably because he's only had his mom's terrible fudge, and has nothing good to compare it to - erroneously assuming that all fudge tastes like hot ass, which is not the case) and gave it to me because I heart fudge and I was stressed about exams and shit.

Moral of the story fudge (like pizza and sex) is not good even when it's really, really bad.

How far is too far or erasing the line in the sand

...one hand/blow-job at a time.

I'm at work chatting up a mom who's seriously contemplating buying a pair of shoes that I'd really like to get rid of. I'm in full suck up mode because nothing rules more than never having to see a certain pair of shoes again - because sometimes that last pair lingers forever.

I notice she's wearing a rad pair of slips and I compliment her on them:

"Seriously, I think it's awesome that you're a mom, and you're rocking a sweet pair of slips. If my mom tried that I'm pretty sure she'd ruin slips for everyone else"

She finally decides to get the shoes (woot!) and I'm boxing them up/casually chatting still as I ring her through. She mentions that she's a little disappointed that she wasn't able to find what she'd been looking for (a replacement part for her kid's shoe) but that at least she was able to get a new pair of shoes so the trip wasn't a total loss.

I mention that she could probably find them online and give her a few hints where to look, noting that she's pretty determined. I mention that because Christmas is coming up crazy parents are in full force and she regales me with an anecdote.

It seems her daughter is a HUGE fan of a certain country band (I honestly can't remember which one but I remember being unimpressed) and that until I'm a parent, I won't understand.

I nod sympathetically, but I'm unconvinced, and then she gives me a knowing stare and point blank says:

"She really wanted to meet them. I'm not going to disappoint my kid. So I went back there first. 20 minutes later, we're in and my daughter has her meet&greet/autograph and picture session! Seriously, you'd do anything (she really draws this word out) for your kids. You'll see. Wait ten years and come talk to me. I'll be like 'I told you so!' "

I wasn't so much shocked by this admission as I was a tad startled that she'd divulge this in front of her young son, who was standing by her side (granted, he probably wasn't paying attention, but still), and to a complete stranger no less.

But, you know, there's that whole shop girl-customer confidentiality thing...

...and, I'm bored

Kevin Smith explains (in great detail) the reasoning behind his selections in his rejected iTunes Celebrity Playlist.

Personally, I'm not a huge fan of these because I really couldn't care less what Rick Mercer is listening to, but sometime I'll take a look just for kicks. The only one I remember with any great detail was George Stroumboulopoulis' list and that's only because his list referenced one of my favourite songs (Hockey Skates by Kathleen Edwards).

I love Kevin Smith and I really didn't feel like reading through more than two of his song choice synopses.

While I'm totally stoked on the concept of celeb mixtapes, I don't need a fucking novel accompanying every song, so I can certainly understand why Apple rejected his excessively verbose ass.

I guess it's kinda like cultural anthropology - who knew I cared so little?

Boys are mysterious

Team Gingerbread: Is that a pomegranate?
The Engineer: Um, yes.
Team Gingerbread: When did you start eating all this exotic fruit? First salad, then mango yogurt, then this?
Team Gingerbread: I feel like I don't even know you anymore! Do you have some secret stash of starfruit shampoo that you use when I'm not around too?
The Engineer: Um, it's not mine, it belongs to [The Engineer's roommate]
Team Gingerbread: Oh. Perhaps I overreacted a little bit...
The Engineer: One might say that - not me, of course, but someone else...

On self-injury

I got exfoliating scrub in my eye this morning. It hurt - a lot.

That is all.

Don't even front...

The Engineer: So, like, if you wanna watch The OC while you're here that's totally fine with me...
Team Gingerbread: Oh, bitch please! Do not even front like you're not totally hooked on it too! Don't act like you're doing me any favours...
The Engineer: (mumbles something indecipherable)

Team Gingerbread: Um, I think this yogurt went bad
The Engineer: Let me taste it (tastes it) No, that tastes fine to me
Team Gingerbread: Seriously? This is the grossest peach yogurt I've ever tasted in my life!
The Engineer: There's your problem - it's not peach, it's mango
Team Gingerbread: Who buys mango yogurt?
The Engineer: This coming from the girl who called me three times in one day to ask if I had tried the prune yogurt yet...

Because I secretly lead a really glam life (but lets keep that on the DL), I had originally planned on staying in all day Saturday to do laundry (not a metaphor) and take leisurely naps - but those plans were hastily thrown out the window when a certain boy called and asked me to join him on a shopping adventure...which quickly morphed into a casual lunch/dinner date followed by The OC and ice cream bars (because we're crazy like that).

I had to cut the festivities short though, as I still needed to do laundry/shower once I got home.