The other day I was helping a customer and she mentioned that she thinks people that say they have no regrets are either lying or are a little stupid. I think that statement is entirely unfair and very prejudice. And a little stupid as well. I completely understand wishing that events in our life didn't happen because they were painful or hard to live through. Regret for me is like hate. It is a very strong word. And only to be used when absolutely necessary. I think of it as a no holds bared word as if it were a curse word. When you regret you basically want to change the natural order of things, and we have all seen how those face lift turn out, not pretty!
For me regret would be something that had no lesson in it. It would be something like a plain crash. And I suppose that there is even a lesson to learn in that. Don't land in a corn field or fly into a flocks of seagulls. Unless it remove the hair cut from history. See there's a thing to regret. A bad hair cut. You learn nothing from that other than perms aren't for everyone. Oh look another lesson. This one is fixable however. Regret is a word we use when we don't know how to categorize something or how to process it. We may understand what has happened but we don't know what to do with it. It is a useless emotional word that solves nothing. The event or circumstances is life altering in some way and usually not to pleasant. Regret should be something truly dreadful. Perhaps regret is a word used when we can't solve a problem, or feel overwhelmed by a past situation.
I only bring this up because I think of my self as not having regrets. And I wouldn't say I'm stupid. That would be like standing up and saying I'm learning disabled, get me a standardized test and I'll prove it! I have been through a bit in my life, as we all have, and I am glad of every last piece of it. Was some of it unfortunate, well yes. Everything makes us stronger and helps us learn to make better choices. I hate the saying, whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger. But it is true. I'm just really afraid of finding that gray line and being pushed over it. With each test we prove what we can live through. Bad jobs, bed bugs, multiple relocations and near bankruptcies be DAMNED!!
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
I'M EITHER INCREDIBLY SMART OR OUT OF MY MIND
Sometimes I think I am psychic. I can tell when a women walk up to the counter that she hate me. It’s the look she has in her eyes as she ask the same damn question in five different ways expecting me to be stupid enough to fall for it. You know that's the definition of crazy. Doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome. I may be a pretty boy, but momma didn't raise me for the Special Olympics. Give me some credit. I also start to wonder if I have been spending too much time with foreigners, people who have English as a second language, and my customers can't understand what I am trying desperately to tell them. I DON'T AVE TURQUOISE EYE LINER!! In all actuality I sometimes find it more simple communicating with our Asian clientele who barely speak a word of English. I guess the words for, pearl, compact, and gel eyeliner must be universal.
Every now and then I find myself speaking out loud to NOBODY! I'll be walking around working out a conversation in my head, with it spilling out of my mouth a little. And when the stresses of the job makes one find themselves mumbling obscenities loud enough that one can hear themselves over the already loud MAC music, perhaps a day off is needed. Or perhaps some better planning to avoid working 6 days in row during sell times. It's at these times that I become the most quiet, I'm afraid that if I speak to much or if I interact with the customer too much, what I actually think about their "tragic experience" with their face cream or plum based eye shadow, will pop out. Most of the time I do not need a story! I have Net Flix; don't tell me a tale cuse I don't care. Let me just fix it and you can leave! Which will be the best part of my day.
I do love to help people.Really I do. Making them see themselves in a different better way, feeling pretty, and attractive, is really a gift I can give. And I do value it. I wish sometimes people would shut the hell up and let me do that for them. I'm not asking much. Help me help you! Don't interrupt either. I want to know what you think, I need feed back. But for the love, wait until I am done to tell me what you think. Odds are if you have a call out, it will be fixed. And for gods sakes if you come up to the counter and tell me you have a quick question or "just need to pick something up" don't follow it by " I don't know my color" Not real quick then now is it. Well you just lied to me, and now I'm going to lie to you, "I'll be right with you"
Every now and then I find myself speaking out loud to NOBODY! I'll be walking around working out a conversation in my head, with it spilling out of my mouth a little. And when the stresses of the job makes one find themselves mumbling obscenities loud enough that one can hear themselves over the already loud MAC music, perhaps a day off is needed. Or perhaps some better planning to avoid working 6 days in row during sell times. It's at these times that I become the most quiet, I'm afraid that if I speak to much or if I interact with the customer too much, what I actually think about their "tragic experience" with their face cream or plum based eye shadow, will pop out. Most of the time I do not need a story! I have Net Flix; don't tell me a tale cuse I don't care. Let me just fix it and you can leave! Which will be the best part of my day.
I do love to help people.Really I do. Making them see themselves in a different better way, feeling pretty, and attractive, is really a gift I can give. And I do value it. I wish sometimes people would shut the hell up and let me do that for them. I'm not asking much. Help me help you! Don't interrupt either. I want to know what you think, I need feed back. But for the love, wait until I am done to tell me what you think. Odds are if you have a call out, it will be fixed. And for gods sakes if you come up to the counter and tell me you have a quick question or "just need to pick something up" don't follow it by " I don't know my color" Not real quick then now is it. Well you just lied to me, and now I'm going to lie to you, "I'll be right with you"
Monday, August 9, 2010
SORRY, NOT GAY ENOUGH TO KNOW WOMEN'S SIZES
No sleep last night and looking at the same tonight. Today was, shall we say out of the normal. For one on a day when I had no reason to I was up at 8 and ready to go by 9. Of course like every other grieving spouse that has lost their mate my mother made muffins and set the table for breakfast with coffee and eggs ready to go for the first arrivals.
After the sad and uncomfortable welcomes and hellos between the family we start setting out the day’s activities. Note I did not say anything about eating yet. Heavens no we will wait for the rest of the family to arrive for the meal to begin. Because we are so rarely all in the same time zones let alone adjacent zip codes out of duty we SHOULD wait.
I get up and shower wondering yet again how much eye liner is appropriate. After all it’s never none. I am a blond masquerading as a red head. I need definition on the mess, better known as my face. I am quickly told by my intentionally over planned and under delegated mother that one of the grand skills I have that has gotten me in to a ton of personal hardships and financial problems, is my job today; SHOPPING! I have to find an outfit for the funeral for her. And she claims she didn't know about me being a homosexual. And she is sending me on yet another shopping extravaganza as if that is actually an important duty. I don't mind. As long as my brother is around I don't need to do any important work.
Before I go on my great adventure I'm laid out on acceptable options: no stripes no low cut necks, no green, yellow or orange, skirts not too long something modern not tight through the mid-section. Then pulling out two perfectly nice and respectable skirts, I'm told she doesn't like them. AND hosiery is needed. Deep sigh. We're off!! I get in to one of the towns finest department store and start to locate the right woman's department. There appears to be no one in the store except those who work there. Rummaging through this and that I find a few nice things, wrong size. What size is a 12-14, medium? She always gets too cold so all of the seasonal offerings are out. And you know it’s tough to find black in the middle of June.
After about 45 minutes I have worked my way through most of the departments. Some very quickly ruled out. She would never wear designer, she wouldn't feel right or want to pay the price. I understand a fixed income. Half of what I'm looking at I can see my grandma wearing, although I love her that's right out, and the other portion is far too casual for the occasion at hand. Again being summer quite a few pieces are v-neck and too low cut. The dresses are the wrong color all together. I can't have her showing up in fuchsia far too cheery.
I'm lucky enough to find someone on their first day and am redirected to areas that I have already visited. With a helping of patience I look at the same sweaters and clearance racks that I had already seen. I thank her for her help and ask if she would recommend another department. She tells me I should stop by the casual wear area, retard, I've already been there. I thank her for her help and wonder in the opposite direction. Maybe petites mom is average to small in stature. At this point I have narrowed down exactly what I am looking for, a black suiting separates. I'm hoping I didn't use words that were too big or confusing, and thank the gods I found someone who understands what I'm talking about. But I'm told no. Looking back on it I'm curious if she did understand. Many years later I find a few things that will work. Less than the three outfits I was sent for but it’s covered.
By this time my brother and sister in law have finished with their tasks and found me in me foraging for pantyhose and under things. Talk about a fish out of water. I've never been inclined to do drag and I'm still not. So this is a vortex of absolute confusion and necessity. I had no idea of all the options in this world. I mean really! Silk or satin, shape wear and support. That's all too much for Mr. Rogers. I only occasionally wear underwear, so lifting and separating apparatuses are completely out of my scope of understanding. Not something I have ever looked for in a t-shirt. The perplexed looks that I am receiving only crescendo when I enter the lingerie department; where I truly had no clue what to do. The looks were, I think, a mixture of fear and astonishment or just plain freaking laziness. Wouldn't you think this guy needs some help? I was putting on my best lost child look and everything. If these were the people in the park all those summers ago when I was left there, I might still be feeding the birds.
I always thought it was our job as good sales people to be helpful, acknowledge the fools running a muck around us and help them spend their money. I don't think much of that happened this time, which is why we haven't recruited them at my company yet. Snotty stuck up moment over.
After the sad and uncomfortable welcomes and hellos between the family we start setting out the day’s activities. Note I did not say anything about eating yet. Heavens no we will wait for the rest of the family to arrive for the meal to begin. Because we are so rarely all in the same time zones let alone adjacent zip codes out of duty we SHOULD wait.
I get up and shower wondering yet again how much eye liner is appropriate. After all it’s never none. I am a blond masquerading as a red head. I need definition on the mess, better known as my face. I am quickly told by my intentionally over planned and under delegated mother that one of the grand skills I have that has gotten me in to a ton of personal hardships and financial problems, is my job today; SHOPPING! I have to find an outfit for the funeral for her. And she claims she didn't know about me being a homosexual. And she is sending me on yet another shopping extravaganza as if that is actually an important duty. I don't mind. As long as my brother is around I don't need to do any important work.
Before I go on my great adventure I'm laid out on acceptable options: no stripes no low cut necks, no green, yellow or orange, skirts not too long something modern not tight through the mid-section. Then pulling out two perfectly nice and respectable skirts, I'm told she doesn't like them. AND hosiery is needed. Deep sigh. We're off!! I get in to one of the towns finest department store and start to locate the right woman's department. There appears to be no one in the store except those who work there. Rummaging through this and that I find a few nice things, wrong size. What size is a 12-14, medium? She always gets too cold so all of the seasonal offerings are out. And you know it’s tough to find black in the middle of June.
After about 45 minutes I have worked my way through most of the departments. Some very quickly ruled out. She would never wear designer, she wouldn't feel right or want to pay the price. I understand a fixed income. Half of what I'm looking at I can see my grandma wearing, although I love her that's right out, and the other portion is far too casual for the occasion at hand. Again being summer quite a few pieces are v-neck and too low cut. The dresses are the wrong color all together. I can't have her showing up in fuchsia far too cheery.
I'm lucky enough to find someone on their first day and am redirected to areas that I have already visited. With a helping of patience I look at the same sweaters and clearance racks that I had already seen. I thank her for her help and ask if she would recommend another department. She tells me I should stop by the casual wear area, retard, I've already been there. I thank her for her help and wonder in the opposite direction. Maybe petites mom is average to small in stature. At this point I have narrowed down exactly what I am looking for, a black suiting separates. I'm hoping I didn't use words that were too big or confusing, and thank the gods I found someone who understands what I'm talking about. But I'm told no. Looking back on it I'm curious if she did understand. Many years later I find a few things that will work. Less than the three outfits I was sent for but it’s covered.
By this time my brother and sister in law have finished with their tasks and found me in me foraging for pantyhose and under things. Talk about a fish out of water. I've never been inclined to do drag and I'm still not. So this is a vortex of absolute confusion and necessity. I had no idea of all the options in this world. I mean really! Silk or satin, shape wear and support. That's all too much for Mr. Rogers. I only occasionally wear underwear, so lifting and separating apparatuses are completely out of my scope of understanding. Not something I have ever looked for in a t-shirt. The perplexed looks that I am receiving only crescendo when I enter the lingerie department; where I truly had no clue what to do. The looks were, I think, a mixture of fear and astonishment or just plain freaking laziness. Wouldn't you think this guy needs some help? I was putting on my best lost child look and everything. If these were the people in the park all those summers ago when I was left there, I might still be feeding the birds.
I always thought it was our job as good sales people to be helpful, acknowledge the fools running a muck around us and help them spend their money. I don't think much of that happened this time, which is why we haven't recruited them at my company yet. Snotty stuck up moment over.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
A REAL HOME COMING
I'm sitting in the terminal on the way to my step dads funeral in a wing of the airport that I didn't know existed and I'm pretty sure they just announced early boarding for families traveling with fat children. I know that I live in the land of the rich skinny, the movie stars, and the want to bees but I'm not sure that we should consider that a handicap. She couldn't have possibly announced fat right? Well they do board the first class in advance. And they sit in the front. Perhaps we have just reached that level of separation. Will the overweight be put on their own flight and have their own schools and restaurants. Oh god what am I thinking? They do have their own restaurants, anything with a drive up window so that they don't have to be seen or over exert themselves, oh but I'm just being cruel now... get out of the car already this is only adding to the problem.
After going through an unmarked terminal, we exit the airport. It’s always an alarming feeling when you’re traveling to such a small town that you leave reality to begin the trip. I smack my head on the plains door frame on my way in, I thought that I had stopped the awkward not knowing my own height thing when I left my teenage years. As I walk past the other seats remembering the size of the plain I'm suddenly aware that I will be discovered with these peoples body parts strewn over me. I feel a little more alarmed. It’s a plain with two seats on each side of the aisle. I know I'm going to die now. Not to mention the fear of going back to a town where I was raised in the closet for 24 years. Because if I came out then who knows what would have happened to me. I mean people actually mountain biked around there. Plenty of mountains to it on. Bring on the country folk, I'm bringing eye liner and a blow dryer. I haven't been home in five years and am thinking that this is really shaping up to look a lot like a gay Lifetime movie. And after I check my horoscope I'm informed that I will have to socialize tomorrow with people that I may not want to whose expectations I may have a hard time living up to. Interestingly enough, I am returning to my child hood anti-gay church and there will be a reception afterward. And people doubt horoscopes for some reason. Eerily accurate I'm thinking. Also I should find love by Friday!!! Funny since I couldn't do that in 24 YEARS THE LAST TIME I WAS THERE! But I'm up for a challenge.
I find myself seated next to the picture of a small town stereotype, Wrangler jeans light blue over pressed broad cloth button down shirt, with the cowboy hat in the over head compartment. Somehow I am adjacent to a girl that had just "graduated 6Th grade" and is looking forward to getting home and knitting. Not joking, she also prefers her neighbors about ten miles away. And I’m just guessing starring at people in public since she doesn't see many people that don't hang on her every annoying word. And beyond that ten mile radius. Forget the fact that I just told you what she was saying, I wasn't listening at all. Freckled weirdo. I take it back, we're not going to die. She is, virgin sacrifices for all the Gods. I'm sure she has a few friends with good eye sight that we can throw in with her.
I keep looking over at my cowboy friend, might I say that he is in his late 50s and doing the crossword from the in flight magazine so he isn't looking to rediscover his sexuality and I wouldn't want to help if he did. He's randomly righting in the ripped out pages of a full sized day planner, notes of some sort that he periodically drops to the ground and has to do the odd bend over and pick up between the seats. When I finally get a good look at the righting I swear its San script or a foreign language. The only thing that comes out of his mouth for the 3 hour trip is excuse me I need to put this above and I'll take a 7up. Not that I wanted a great debate but he was very cowboy quiet. No talking, exactly how I like to fly.
Latter on I hear one of the flight attendant apologize for not having coffee because LA didn't give it to them. Now I must say that's just bad planning on all parties accounts. And that’s a little accusatory for my taste blaming a city for not having coffee when I know that LA loves its java. Skip forward to the next morning when I'm being forced to make a fresh pot of coffee because a whole pot was not made in the first place. Bad planning again. Which becomes the apparent status quo of the whole trip.
Soon to come:
SORRY, NOT GAY ENOUGH TO KNOW WOMEN'S SIZES
After going through an unmarked terminal, we exit the airport. It’s always an alarming feeling when you’re traveling to such a small town that you leave reality to begin the trip. I smack my head on the plains door frame on my way in, I thought that I had stopped the awkward not knowing my own height thing when I left my teenage years. As I walk past the other seats remembering the size of the plain I'm suddenly aware that I will be discovered with these peoples body parts strewn over me. I feel a little more alarmed. It’s a plain with two seats on each side of the aisle. I know I'm going to die now. Not to mention the fear of going back to a town where I was raised in the closet for 24 years. Because if I came out then who knows what would have happened to me. I mean people actually mountain biked around there. Plenty of mountains to it on. Bring on the country folk, I'm bringing eye liner and a blow dryer. I haven't been home in five years and am thinking that this is really shaping up to look a lot like a gay Lifetime movie. And after I check my horoscope I'm informed that I will have to socialize tomorrow with people that I may not want to whose expectations I may have a hard time living up to. Interestingly enough, I am returning to my child hood anti-gay church and there will be a reception afterward. And people doubt horoscopes for some reason. Eerily accurate I'm thinking. Also I should find love by Friday!!! Funny since I couldn't do that in 24 YEARS THE LAST TIME I WAS THERE! But I'm up for a challenge.
I find myself seated next to the picture of a small town stereotype, Wrangler jeans light blue over pressed broad cloth button down shirt, with the cowboy hat in the over head compartment. Somehow I am adjacent to a girl that had just "graduated 6Th grade" and is looking forward to getting home and knitting. Not joking, she also prefers her neighbors about ten miles away. And I’m just guessing starring at people in public since she doesn't see many people that don't hang on her every annoying word. And beyond that ten mile radius. Forget the fact that I just told you what she was saying, I wasn't listening at all. Freckled weirdo. I take it back, we're not going to die. She is, virgin sacrifices for all the Gods. I'm sure she has a few friends with good eye sight that we can throw in with her.
I keep looking over at my cowboy friend, might I say that he is in his late 50s and doing the crossword from the in flight magazine so he isn't looking to rediscover his sexuality and I wouldn't want to help if he did. He's randomly righting in the ripped out pages of a full sized day planner, notes of some sort that he periodically drops to the ground and has to do the odd bend over and pick up between the seats. When I finally get a good look at the righting I swear its San script or a foreign language. The only thing that comes out of his mouth for the 3 hour trip is excuse me I need to put this above and I'll take a 7up. Not that I wanted a great debate but he was very cowboy quiet. No talking, exactly how I like to fly.
Latter on I hear one of the flight attendant apologize for not having coffee because LA didn't give it to them. Now I must say that's just bad planning on all parties accounts. And that’s a little accusatory for my taste blaming a city for not having coffee when I know that LA loves its java. Skip forward to the next morning when I'm being forced to make a fresh pot of coffee because a whole pot was not made in the first place. Bad planning again. Which becomes the apparent status quo of the whole trip.
Soon to come:
SORRY, NOT GAY ENOUGH TO KNOW WOMEN'S SIZES
I’VE BUSTED MY PANTS
It has happened too many of us I’ve been told. Has this happened to you? You’re down on your luck and can't afford a new pair of pants. Not to fear you went to a fashion school and as luck would have it you’re a big mo and think you can sew your own pants. Well let me tell you, you are wrong! Here’s how I know. I recently found myself in this situation and I did really think that there would be no problem in reaching my end goal of having clothes for work. I’m sitting around on my day off and feeling sorry for myself and angry that my style is suffering because my bank account was as well. Problem solver that I am saw nothing to worry about. My roommate was an accomplished seamstress and it seemed like a simple matter of stitching two pieces of fabric together in a very short line just enough to make the waist a little smaller and look more professional for the work place. Being broke does have some advantages after all; and if it’s a dieting plan that it has to offer I’ll take it.
All seems to be adding up nicely, right? Yet another limitation to my gay powers overcome as it may seem. Or in this case not seam. I was feeling quite proud of myself. The pants were a slimmer and looked pretty good. Yeah, the pockets were a little close together. But if someone was looking that close at my pockets they really weren’t looking at the pockets in the first place. I went through a few weeks of wearing them on and off and all was great; I even went back to not wearing underwear beneath the pants. it just gets to hot,. I'm telling you! Trust me you should try the eau natural in your pant life style. The first time I did this agai with this pair was the day of a department wide meeting for which I got up earlier than usual and in a rush. Thinking all was well and nothing to be worried about I prepared in a rush and selected clothes that I thought were acceptable for the occasion. This is a moment I will remember specifically as proof that I am not psychic. At the end of my day an hour and a half to go I’m working on a display to feature product that wasn’t selling very well, when I drop the sign on the floor. Not realizing that there is something to be concerned with I absent mindedly bend over to pick it up and hear the unmistakable popping sound of a seam splitting.
At this point I have a heart attack! I can’t go and buy something to wear. I’m battling with creditors and my bank seems too feel that my account is over drawn. So the idea of new clothing is right out. Even a pair of underwear where I work would set me back $30. And that is unreasonable, and obviously money that I will need to buy liquor to get over this em-bare-ass-ment of the day. My hands instantly go to my ass. Maybe it’s not as bad as I think it is?!? I feel cheek. Oh my god I’m a manager here and I’m exposing myself. Could this be considered sexual harassment? Being a problems solver I feel where my jacket hits on my backside and think, as long as I don’t bend over or move too much there might be nothing wrong. It was a particularly drafty day that day and I realize that this will not be an option. I un-tuck my shirt ant relate to the person that I am having a small problem. Once they have stopped laughing at me I’m told I should go home. Not being one to give up I think “I can just walk around like I have a stick up my ass” I did it for 24, what’s another hour. I tell the group that I’m working with that I have something to do then will leave for the day. As I walk away I hear giggling and an “Oh honey” to which I smile and wave as if there is nothing wrong. Word to the wise, you never know when the chips will come down in life or your in your pants, don’t be caught unprepared.
All seems to be adding up nicely, right? Yet another limitation to my gay powers overcome as it may seem. Or in this case not seam. I was feeling quite proud of myself. The pants were a slimmer and looked pretty good. Yeah, the pockets were a little close together. But if someone was looking that close at my pockets they really weren’t looking at the pockets in the first place. I went through a few weeks of wearing them on and off and all was great; I even went back to not wearing underwear beneath the pants. it just gets to hot,. I'm telling you! Trust me you should try the eau natural in your pant life style. The first time I did this agai with this pair was the day of a department wide meeting for which I got up earlier than usual and in a rush. Thinking all was well and nothing to be worried about I prepared in a rush and selected clothes that I thought were acceptable for the occasion. This is a moment I will remember specifically as proof that I am not psychic. At the end of my day an hour and a half to go I’m working on a display to feature product that wasn’t selling very well, when I drop the sign on the floor. Not realizing that there is something to be concerned with I absent mindedly bend over to pick it up and hear the unmistakable popping sound of a seam splitting.
At this point I have a heart attack! I can’t go and buy something to wear. I’m battling with creditors and my bank seems too feel that my account is over drawn. So the idea of new clothing is right out. Even a pair of underwear where I work would set me back $30. And that is unreasonable, and obviously money that I will need to buy liquor to get over this em-bare-ass-ment of the day. My hands instantly go to my ass. Maybe it’s not as bad as I think it is?!? I feel cheek. Oh my god I’m a manager here and I’m exposing myself. Could this be considered sexual harassment? Being a problems solver I feel where my jacket hits on my backside and think, as long as I don’t bend over or move too much there might be nothing wrong. It was a particularly drafty day that day and I realize that this will not be an option. I un-tuck my shirt ant relate to the person that I am having a small problem. Once they have stopped laughing at me I’m told I should go home. Not being one to give up I think “I can just walk around like I have a stick up my ass” I did it for 24, what’s another hour. I tell the group that I’m working with that I have something to do then will leave for the day. As I walk away I hear giggling and an “Oh honey” to which I smile and wave as if there is nothing wrong. Word to the wise, you never know when the chips will come down in life or your in your pants, don’t be caught unprepared.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Confessions of a Retail Specialist
When in life do we give up thinking people are smart or even mildly intelligent and start treating others that we don't know as if they are someone who can't understand the language we are speaking? Truly the more experience we have with people it is hard to differentiate between someone needing a hand, a person trying to get their way, and someone that should be on governmental aid and should have live in assistance; really no judgment here. I realize that sometimes things need to be explained to others, we all have our personal area of expertise. Also at times we may need to find a way to get what we want and need and at times, god forbid, we may need to ever so slightly to manipulate a circumstance by getting some help in reaching our end goal. I feel there is a fine line between stupidity and downright ill-intention though. For instance, a waiter announcing "Hot plate" isn't trying to make the diner feel compelled to touch the plate and burn themselves. And since he knows that you were able to place an order for hot food items served on dishes there should be no confusion about how the food is served. "Hot plate" isn't stated because he thinks we are unaware that isn't the first thing that goes through our mind. It isn't so much that we doubt that the plate is hot; we know he isn't lying. Personally I touch the plate to prove that I can!! I'm not the pansy boy who can’t stand the heat. Logically it’s a liability and safety issue that encourages them to say "Hot plate" And now it occurs to me that I am the reason for "Hot plate" But I digress.
Do we merely give up the effort of explaining what we want and what we are looking for or need and why? Is it conscious choices we make to get others do what we want so we chose to sound stupid and uniformed? We say I don't know how to do something, I can't figure this out, what would you pick for me or ask for suggestions when we are fully aware of what we want but we want the other person to do it for us or get it for us. I have worked in the beauty industry for a long time. And I will say that I am sure that many women truly do not know how to do their makeup and need some beauty advice, I get it. I think that a person should just ask for what they want be straight forward and honest. Let’s say the women mentioned before did really need help and maybe not even intend to buy more make up; really who needs a new gloss. Ask for a lesson for Christ sake. But that doesn't happen and I start playing mind games with myself and I have to wonder, am I being unfair? Is this a person in need of help for real? Because it’s cruel to ignore the makeup challenged in need of advice. We have all seen that person that doesn’t seem to won a mirror because god knows she wouldn’t have left the house like that. Or does this person just want something for free from me, am I being manipulated? When did we get to the point that we automatically presume the worst in people; that the individual in front of us asking for help actually doesn’t needs it? When will we pay attention to the woman running away from a scary man yelling for help for 12 blocks and realize that she really does need a hand. We are a moment away from not believing that we are having an Earth quake as buildings are falling down around us.
As a person that deals with the mass public on a consistent basis, I find that in order to avoid a head ache I must fall back on the "Hot plate" mind set and think the best of the person in front of me, forcing myself to form no judgments about them and maintaining my willingness to patiently explain and help out. It's just a little easier to think people are stupid. Taking them at face value and explaining everything like I'm speaking to a toddler, than deal with the exhaustion resulting from the battle of wits that no one ever, EVER wins. Where your try to convince the other person that you know what they are doing without having to say it to them and maybe you'll be able to make them just go the hell away! A conversation you find yourself playing over, over in your head reassuring yourself that you had made you're point quite well, and it was a good and logical point, surely the other person understood what you were saying, and they knew that you were right and they were wrong too. Right? No; why do you ask I've never ever had that conversation. Remember, I think the best of other people... really I do.
Do we merely give up the effort of explaining what we want and what we are looking for or need and why? Is it conscious choices we make to get others do what we want so we chose to sound stupid and uniformed? We say I don't know how to do something, I can't figure this out, what would you pick for me or ask for suggestions when we are fully aware of what we want but we want the other person to do it for us or get it for us. I have worked in the beauty industry for a long time. And I will say that I am sure that many women truly do not know how to do their makeup and need some beauty advice, I get it. I think that a person should just ask for what they want be straight forward and honest. Let’s say the women mentioned before did really need help and maybe not even intend to buy more make up; really who needs a new gloss. Ask for a lesson for Christ sake. But that doesn't happen and I start playing mind games with myself and I have to wonder, am I being unfair? Is this a person in need of help for real? Because it’s cruel to ignore the makeup challenged in need of advice. We have all seen that person that doesn’t seem to won a mirror because god knows she wouldn’t have left the house like that. Or does this person just want something for free from me, am I being manipulated? When did we get to the point that we automatically presume the worst in people; that the individual in front of us asking for help actually doesn’t needs it? When will we pay attention to the woman running away from a scary man yelling for help for 12 blocks and realize that she really does need a hand. We are a moment away from not believing that we are having an Earth quake as buildings are falling down around us.
As a person that deals with the mass public on a consistent basis, I find that in order to avoid a head ache I must fall back on the "Hot plate" mind set and think the best of the person in front of me, forcing myself to form no judgments about them and maintaining my willingness to patiently explain and help out. It's just a little easier to think people are stupid. Taking them at face value and explaining everything like I'm speaking to a toddler, than deal with the exhaustion resulting from the battle of wits that no one ever, EVER wins. Where your try to convince the other person that you know what they are doing without having to say it to them and maybe you'll be able to make them just go the hell away! A conversation you find yourself playing over, over in your head reassuring yourself that you had made you're point quite well, and it was a good and logical point, surely the other person understood what you were saying, and they knew that you were right and they were wrong too. Right? No; why do you ask I've never ever had that conversation. Remember, I think the best of other people... really I do.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Dear LIFE, This is What You've Done to Me
I do everything too much I just take turns with what it is I do too much. I don't believe in Puppies and Babies, the only thing more disgusting is licking a park bench, which is likely to happen with the subjects mentioned. I don't do drama, can't stand it. I do enjoy gossip though, I just like being informed. I have more tolerance for the slow than the lazy. I will not tame my words to be easier to hear. I will explain them. I have a bad habit of ordering one more drink and eating all the cheese. I think a difference of opinion is the best thing that can be encountered. I strive not to drive because I don't want to be prison raped, due to the incarceration from a possible DUI. Every now and then I think "what would this person do if I kissed them." Not in a normal moment, but in the middle of them talking about their job or hummus, you know just randomly. Not even someone I'm attracted to. Or hit them with my car that's always a favorite to. But this does bring me back to the prison rape. I want to start eating and never stop. I used to let the little fat boy in me shop, but the old man tells me that it is getting expensive. I wish I could be addicted to something healthy. It's always diet pills, drinking or hating myself. Now that I've hit that scary level I'll tell ya I believe in myth and magic and dream of finding a fairy all of my own one day.
I spend a lot of time watching movies and working. And that is a pleasant change from being trapped in my own head thinking about the catastrophe that my life has become. I enjoy anything that involves a little escapism. I'm into my job and developing my future, in my 30s I've come to want more. Whatever that may be, like more time, another cup of coffee or another hour before work. I love a night, and early morning, out on the town. I find though that when I do that it takes me a while now to get back to normal. What ever happened to being able to bounce back and have an easy day at work, instead I want to die to get out of this body and clear my head, regain focus, make a time machine go back and never drink that much in the first place! Music with a bottle of wine and a sharp cheese used to be a recipe for a good time, now I think of the indigestion that will cripple me for hours. LIFE it just never stop! It seems like when I get all my balls in the air another one drops into my lap. Is it wrong that I want to take the sole of a teenager to turn back my internal clock to my early 20s again? A little bit of child sacrifice never hurt anyone. I need to start movie night again. I also need to start being a drunk again, if only to catch up with my friends. Alas still no time machine. Is there an AA for being for too much sobriety? Because I don't feel right yet. Isn't supposed to all be in place by now?
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