Thursday, September 23, 2010

You Got The Love, Writing.

I was going to go to bed, but this one, indelible thought is keeping me from resting my weary eyes and dreaming once again about the Jonas Brothers (I really did dream about them, and yes it was weird). I NEED TO WRITE MORE.
Last night, sitting at a bar in Brooklyn, a friend and I had a conversation that accelerated my otherwise slow, painful spiral into oblivion. For months I have been allowing myself to become content in this state of blinding apathy, allowing it to take hold of my entire self and render me a senseless imbecile. I mean, I'm happy (I really am happy, it totally comes off as some fleeting, empty statement), but I don't feel fulfilled. I feel like I'm wasting away. Never have I felt so...lame. I don't know how to describe it. Devoid of intensity, passion, substance... lame. A walking shell. A rock, dense, contributing nothing of value. It's like I've forgotten that I actually have opinions and ideas. I need to get out of this funk. I was thinking about writing some essays or something. I haven't done that since college. I always felt so accomplished after completing an essay.

I dedicate this song to the love of my life: Writing. It's always been you.(Though, I think this song is really about Jesus... eh, oh well).

"Sometimes I feel like throwing my hands up in the air
I know I can count on you..."

I'm out.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Wind and Water and Weird

Apparently a tornado touched the hipster-stained streets of Brooklyn yesterday, and instead of rallying a large, rowdy group of people armed with cameras and iphones to chase after it, I was sleeping. I had no idea that swirling torrent of wind and rats (instead of cows) was tearing through the streets as I was startled into consciousness, almost hitting my head on the ceiling. All I knew was that my bed was not going to withstand the windy weather. Through my window I could hear the wind screaming obscenities as it crashed into everything in its path with violent intensity. What I heard it saying was, "Your loft bed from ikea is giving me a f&^cking headache. I'm gonna have to tear that sh&t down." And instead of scrambling out of it to safer grounds, I stayed up there. It was like I wanted the bed to break. I wanted to be in it if it fell to pieces and wrecked my entire room. It was a weird feeling. I'm a weird kid.
I may write more later...

Aaaand here it is...
So, if you didn't see it. I actually wrote "right more later..." instead of "write..." I've been finding myself making more and more mistakes like that which are not only embarrassing because of my love of words and my degree in freaking literature, but because I absolutely hate it when other people make those mistakes. It drives me nuts, and now I can't be mad because I AM one of those people- devoid of proper mechanics and grammar, turning my back on the literary tradition, desecrating an art. I should be shot... just in the foot, though.

I've been listening to a lot of Bob Marley lately because... well, I like him. He has so many awesome songs that are not mainstream that he sings- duh. Also, I know I'm not the only one who gets annoyed/uncomfortable when people sing "Redemption Song" at the top of their lungs at bars. That is not a freakin karaoke jam, people. It's just not.

That's the stuff. yeah.

I'm out.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

I Have To...

I have to dedicate at least one blog post to the insanity I encounter everyday at work. Without trying to sound like that angry sales associate archetype I will attempt to relay the endless frustrations I experience everyday... Hey, maybe this single entry will start an unprecedented revolution of retail etiquette. HA!

Let's start from the beginning of the customer's experience...
Walking through the doors. It just astounds me that people have this strange aloofness when walking into the store, "Do you work here?" they ask, after I greet them, welcoming them to the establishment, after the walkie around my waste goes off alerting a department there's a "call on line one" for said department. Staring in bewilderment, unable to comprehend such a ridiculous question I used to be taken aback when I heard it. Now? Now I just say flatly, yes, I work here, using everything within me not to emphasize this you're-an-idiot tone in every word. Sometimes I want to answer, No, I just enjoy standing at the front of this particular store, smiling, and saying "hello" to strangers. Or say, "Heavens no, I just haven't taken my medication. I assume I am imagining all of you," and then spin around in circles repeatedly, laughing hysterically.

One question that I have gotten almost everyday since I've started working in NY has been "Is there a bathroom in here?" NOOO. NOOOO. NOOO, there is no bathroom in the store, and don't give me that look of disgust when I answer your silly question. This isn't an effing Macy's. Does freaking Forever 21 have a bathroom? Noooooooo. How about the Gap? Nooooooooo. Hm, maybe American Apparel? HELL NOOOOO. So, why the hell would this place be any different?! Get a grip people.

STOP LEAVING GARBAGE IN STRANGE PLACES. JUST ASK FOR A TRASH CAN. Rogue cups of Starbuck's coffee, candy wrappers, balled up gum, empty soda cans, full soda cans, potato chip bags, Pinkberry cups, you would think you were at a gd amusement park. So many cups of coffee have been spilled all over the floor, turning into a sticky, smelly brown mess. Yes, it was necessary to give you that visual. Throw it away before you get here! Or throw it away into the garbage can that's right outside! Or ask someone who works here where to put it.*

*note I was going to interject a lewd, unnecessary joke here, but thought better of it... kind of.

The most infuriating place, I'm convinced, in ALL OF RETAIL, is the fitting room. The most despised place in the store, where no one ever wants to go. People rudely yelling for sizes, and getting pissed if there are no more- truly believing, in their hearts, that we have vindictively planned to not have their size because, obviously, our entire lives revolve around them and their wardrobe. Mindlessly/carelessly tossing their clothes at you without saying a word, people shuffle into a room and slam the door. They don't think you're a human being, no just a clothing receptacle. A giant key that will get them into a room where they can stare at themselves for several minutes, looking over each inch of themselves, relishing in their "beauty." Or they're wrapping themselves in an insecurity blanket and redirecting their self-loathing tendencies onto others in the nastiest, most unkind way.
SO many people come in giggling about not knowing how many items they have, thinking it's a fun game to play while there are 15 other people waiting behind them to get into a fitting room and they have decided to pick up, oh 387945034030450 things and be completely entangled in them, like some kind of horror movie monster. And with a smile on my face, I try to make conversation so as not to completely go off the deep-end and honestly ask why they think it's alright to walk into a fitting room with 50489509485792734 items and not buy 1 thing.
Coming in with their parents wining selfishly about a skirt they really want, the spoiled preteens, tweens, teens, whateverTF they're called are TERRIBLE. All I can hear when they come in is a dull, continuous buzzing that fills my entire body until I start shaking and sweating knowing the harsh reality that these kids are about to spend a rent check's worth of money on one outing at one store. It's painful, really haha. I can probably write a book on the numerous amounts of things that remind me of class discrepancies or stratification.
The language barrier is also a story within itself. Pantomiming stupidly to foreigners, "No, you cannot bring those shoes into the fitting room with you. Yes, I know you want to keep them to try on. No, I will not put them back. They will be here in this basket." After a few brutal minutes, the dramatic act is over, and stupidity is immediately replaced with "What the hell was I just doing?"

Oh and this is merely the tip of the iceberg folks. There is much, much more where that came from. MUCH MORE. SO MUCH MORE IT'LL MAKE YOUR HEAD SPIN. I KNOW MY HEAD'S SPINNING.

And now to end with a song I have had in my head ALL DAY!


I'm out.