I can declare part of a store a sovereign nation if I just plant a flag, right?

Standard

Mornin’ all, and a Happy Easter to those who celebrate!

…and a Happy Regular-But-Still-Beautiful Sunday to those who don’t!

It was a long week at work, filled with creepy bunny cakes and even creepier bunny cake buying customers. I’ve said before that holidays have customer themes, a collective mood shared by the holiday shoppers. Thanksgiving is friendly. Christmas is rushed. Easter? Turns out Easter’s mood is “douchey.”

I was not expecting that.

I had more flat out rude customers this week alone than I’ve had since I started there. Everyone wanted what they wanted, no matter if it was something we sold or not. They wanted it, and not only did they want it NOW NOW NOW, they were totally willing to make a scene if we couldn’t get it.

It was like a week long temper tantrum.

Ah, but peppered throughout there were just enough happy old ladies trying to give out unwrapped hard candies in gratitude for help (true story!), lost husbands who almost cried with relief when you found them the item their wife sent them to get, and people who wished a heartfelt “blessed Easter”, to make me not quit and keep me from shoving a creepy bunny cake up someone’s nose.

Customer service…it’s never boring.

Yesterday my store manager totally ruined my plans for a coup.

It’s spring, so our general merchandise department sells lawn furniture. In a grocery store. Because…? And I’m not talking just a couple folding chairs. I mean, everything you need to have a bangin’ backyard BBQ. From the chairs to the grill, patio sets, umbrellas, tiki torches to keep away the mosquitoes, huge wicker couches, and even pop up screen houses.

They set up a huge display of these items right in front of my department. And they went all out, too. They totally staged it on top of a stack of pallets to look like someone’s back yard. They put up one of the screen houses, set up a wicker furniture ensemble, a table, a grill, some tiki torches…

Now, I said it was a rough week. As I stood there icing the creepy ass bunnies, a plan of escape formed. I was going to rally my fellow bakery employees and claim the display as our back yard. I had it all worked out. I’d bribe the managers with margaritas, and anyone who objected would get a good stainless steel BBQ tong-ing (also on sale this week for only $3.99! Wow what a price! Hurry, supplies won’t last!).

I think we have a mole in the bakery, because yesterday, the planned day of attack, my store manager decided to make my dreams of an indoor backyard BBQ much more difficult. He went and put huge stacks of plastic lawn chairs around the display, blocking my entrance up the pallets to my work haven. He kept looking at me while he did it, too. Giving me the eyeball, as if he knew my plans and felt triumphant for thwarting them.

He thinks he won? Bitch, please. After some consideration, I think he accidentally played right into my hand.

First, we have to root out the mole. Someone squealed, I just know it. I’ll find out who and ice them.

…and I mean literally ice them…with icing. I’ll just fill that yap trap with delicious buttercream and they’ll be too busy enjoying a tasty treat to blab.

Then, we attack in the early hours. We move before the other departments are set up and watching, when it’s just night crew filling frozen all the way at the other end of the store. We stealthily gather supplies, then move the stacks out lawn chairs of the way long enough to take over the screen house, before pulling them in tighter and using them to our advantage. What at first seemed to be an obstacle will end up being our fortification.

It’s brilliant. We’ll already have the advantage of higher ground because the thing’s set up really high on pallets. The stacks of chairs will be our ramparts, and we can just pelt anyone who’s stupid enough to try and breach our defenses with flaming marshmallows.

It’s a rock solid plan. I see no way for it to fail. And then when we’ve gained control, I’ll invite you over for a fancy umbrella drink and some burgers.

Doesn’t that sound a lot better than work?

Thus concludes a very quick Musing for Easter Sunday if you’re inclined, or Regular Sunday if you’re not, April 16, 2017. I’m thinking this might be a record short one. I just have a ton of things to do this morning, but wanted to say hey. Everyone have a great day, no matter what your plans are or are not! And if you do end up in a legit back yard BBQ and the good times are topped off with a few drinks, don’t be an ass. Let someone else drive.

Advertisements

I didn’t know kitties had pull strings…

Standard

Mornin’ all.

I just unwound my cat.

I got up to find her wagging her tail at me…

*author’s note: Dude, this cat. This cat wags her tail like a dog. All. The. Time. When she’s happy, it thumps. When she’s mad, it sways. When she’s froggy for adventure, it twitches. She also eats trash and drinks out of the toilet. I tell her all the time that she’s a cat…she’s above such banal canine antics. I’ve told her about her proud heritage, that her ancestors were held up as demigods, for cryin’ out loud! Do you think any of that matters? Nope. Not one bit.

…and when I looked closer, I saw about two inches of curling ribbon sticking out of her mouth.

Yesterday was Easter. While we aren’t religious here, I was raised in a Catholic household and there are many Easter traditions I celebrate simply because they were joyous memories I want to have with my kids, too. We don’t go to church, but we have our own way of doing it up. One of the things we do is have one big basket of candy. I wised up and learned a long time ago that when you’ve got four kids, making one huge basket is a helluva lot easier than four separate ones. Plus it really does look epic.

MOUNTAIN. OF. CANDY.

While we were in Oregon, we saw some really cool Easter bouquets of candy. I liked the idea, and decided to make a bouquet of marshmallow Peeps to stick up out of the basket. I skewered those poofy little buggers and then tied curling ribbon around the skewers underneath the impaled Peep asses to make them seem less Vlad-like and more festive.

Now, in years past, the plastic Easter grass that normally fills the bottom of a basket to help make it look like the Easter Bunny isn’t a cheap-o has been nibbled on by our identity-confused kitty, so I changed over to tissue paper. Looks just as pretty, is way more cost effective, and boy, can you fluff that shit and make it seem like there’s a ton of candy! Plus, I’m not going to be sweeping up damn Easter grass five months down the road. I thought it was a brilliant solution all the way around.

I should have thought of the curling ribbon.

So here’s the cat, wagging her tail with no shame, and a couple inches of curling ribbon sticking out of her mouth. I think she wanted me to know. Or maybe she wanted my help. I began to pull, thinking it was just a little bit she needed to spit out. I must have pulled out a foot and a half of kitty spitty, soggy, limp, disgustingly warm ribbon.

See? *shakes my head* No dignity.

Needless to say, the basket is going to be put where kitties dare not tread. Or, if I’m too lazy to figure out how to secure it, I’ll pull off all the ribbons. I can’t imagine it would do her digestive tract any good to have feet of ribbon work its way through.

Easter was nice. Like I said, we don’t do much here. Listen to Jesus Christ Superstar, see if we can sing all the parts (Spoiler: I can. I’d be an embarrassment to my family if I couldn’t). My dad always played it before Easter, either on Good Friday, or Gettin’-a-buzz-on-before-Easter Saturday. Unlike my household of girls when I was a kid, boys turned out to have zero interest in fancy new Easter hats, so there’s some money saved. We do an egg tap with our colored eggs, a nod to their Pop’s traditions, and have a nice dinner. And that’s pretty much it. Not a lot, but nice nonetheless.

For much of the world, yesterday was just another Sunday. While it is without a doubt the most pivotal, crucial, reverent holy day in the Christian religions, the vast majority of the world’s population is not Christian. I get that. I respect that.

What I don’t understand is the need by folks on Ye Olde Booke of Faces to:

a) point out on Easter-celebrators’ posts that they are NOT celebrating Easter

b) post as many atheist memes as possible

c) make zombie jokes

It grinds my gears, folks, it really does. I mean, why? WHY? What is the point? There has to be an end goal in mind. I just can’t figure out what that might be.

Is it to make those who ARE celebrating reconsider their beliefs? Because I gotta be honest…being a dick on their most sacred holy day is not the way to accomplish this goal.

Is it to let the world know that they don’t follow the Christian dogma? Again, why? What the hell does that matter to literally anyone else? No one cares if you donned a bonnet and sat in church, or if you had a sweatpants-wearing Netflix binge Sunday. It’s like those people who have eaten meat their entire lives and see a movie or read a book and suddenly believe they’ve had an epiphany and go vegan and MUST tell you EVERYTHING about it so they can feel morally superior. Same mentality. No one wants to know what you eat, no one wants to know if you don’t celebrate Easter. No one cares.

I guess it would be one thing if someone simply said, “Just an ordinary Sunday here. No bigs.” However, that’s not what happens, is it? No, that can’t be it, because then they can’t get any sick pleasure in pissing people off. No one’s going to get angry and worked up on their special day just because of that innocuous statement.

That’s the real reason I saw so many anti-Easter posts yesterday. People went online to publicly make fun of a religion because in their minds, that would make them seem smarter and make the religious people seem dumb. They do it because it makes them feel superior to belittle people who truly believe in Christianity.

Not cool, bro. Not cool at all.

I hate the zombie jokes. Again, not because I find it offensive to *my* views, but because they are only designed to make good people feel bad on a very special day. There is no other point for these jokes to exist.

And the funny thing is, the people who have no problem making “zombie Jesus” jokes are the SAME people who will jump down the throats of anyone who doesn’t support their particular cause. If you champion for fairness, dignity, and respect for one group of people, how in the hell can you justify NOT offering that same courtesy to another?

There is a difference between being and atheist and being an asshole.

Themoreyouknow

*Bethie steps down from soap box and shoves it back in the corner where she can’t ding her shin on it*

What? Don’t look at me like that. It had to be said.

Hey, did you know that when you move to a desert, it might just be a waste of resources to have a perfectly manicured lawn? Apparently the folks in California are stunned that their wanton lawn-watering has created a massive drought in the reservoirs. H2O is at dangerously low levels, and several news sites have articles on how Californians are “trying to adapt” to not watering their imported sod.

I’m sorry, but is this *really* a concern? Really?? If they wanted a lush, green lawn, why in the HELL did they move to a desert? Did they not learn about deserts in school? Has the Common Core curriculum so crippled the nation’s ability to think that they had no idea at all that deserts are hot and dry? Are there not enough dictionaries to go around anymore??

IT’S A DESERT!! There’s no “adapting” that needs to happen! Let the desert be the friggin’ desert and leave the water alone. Gawd. You read stories like this, of these people actually panicking over having to look outside and be reminded that they live where they CHOSE to live, and THAT’S when you shake your head and say, “…’Merica.”

Don’t get me wrong, now. I love our country. Wouldn’t live anywhere else. But sometimes, people. *sigh* Sometimes.

Did you know…

“Another ‘did you know’? Is this Trivia Monday or something?”

…hm…Trivia Monday?…*strokes beard*…not a bad idea.

“You mean…I thought of something!?”

You may have done at that.

“Yay! Can we get prizes?”

Uh…

“You have to have prizes.”

I was thinking more of imparting random facts to you.

“But I wanna win stuff.”

Oh. In that case, scrap Trivia Monday.

“Awwww.”

We’ll just call it Know-It-All-Monday. The prize you get is the satisfaction of knowing something that others might not.

“…that is literally the shittiest prize ever.”

Yep!

ANYway, as I was saying… Did you know that there was a Society of Biology poll on the sex lives of critters?

Ahhh…got your attention, didn’t I? No use pretending you aren’t intrigued. I know you’re trying to sulk over there, but I saw your ears perk up.

Apparently the Society of Biology- yes, that’s a real thing- was incredibly bored and more than a little randy with Spring in the air. That’s the only reason I can come up with for this poll to exist. They decided to try and determine which creature has the most unusual sexual habits. Though there were many contenders, the Argonaut Octopus has come out on top.

…er…pun only intended if you aren’t offended. Otherwise, pardon the slip of the tongue.

What makes the Argonaut Octopus the world’s weirdest lover? First of all, the male mates with the female who is five times his size. How’s THAT for aiming high? But probably of even more significance in this particular poll is the fact that when they mate, the males leave their penises behind.

It’s detachable.

The penis, I mean. It comes right off.

Not only that, but a female collects them. These Lorena Bobbitts of the deep break off and store the penisis for later fertilization. The males, having literally given their all, die shortly after. And you thought getting your HEART ripped out after a romance was bad!

So there. I’ve now given you three topics to discuss around the water cooler this morning. Nothing too controversial. Just religion, dumb Americans, and unusual sexual habits. Should be a banner day at the office!

You’re welcome.

Thus concludes the Morning Musing for Monday, April 6, 2015. I’ve got to take apart a washing machine today. Huzzah. Oh, and deal with an insurance company about a vehicle I may have sorta dinged up a wee bit… I suppose after 20 years of driving, I was bound to have a blemish on my record somewhere. Still no speeding tickets, though. There is that. *goes to knock wood, but remembers she drives a 30 year old diesel station wagon and speeding is nigh impossible, so skips the knuckle rapping and hopes for the best*