Adventures in Retail

Dear Guy in the Toys R Us Parking Lot,


That “One Way” sign was not a polite suggestion.  Next time you almost hit someone head on – while she is parked no less – drop the snotty look and don’t even think about all that wild gesturing like I am the crazy one.  Just do the human race a favor: get yourself sterilized.







Dear Very Nice But Sorta Oblivious Salesgirl at The Gap,


When I ask if you have another size in a pair of pants, offering an identical pair with the suggestion that “Maybe these will be cut differently!” is not inspiring confidence.  Either help me find the smaller size or tell me you don’t have any.  Don’t mess with my head.







Dear Young, Clearly Sleep-Deprived Parents in Target,


The diapers are a few aisles over from where you are standing.  I know this because they are near the shoes. 


You’re Welcome,





Dear Forever 21,


I am having a hard time telling if some articles of clothing are a shirt or a dress.  I’m really hoping for “shirt” because holy vajayjay no one needs to see that much of anyone’s anatomy.  And yes, I know I am probably too old to be shopping at Forever 21 but hot damn you have some darling tank tops and accessories.  But for reals: shirt or dress?  I NEED TO KNOW.


I’m Probably Going to End Up Wearing a Dress as a Shirt – Whatever,





Dear Fellow Shoppers at North Valley Plaza,


Whoa, sorry about the dumbassed parking job I did.  I didn’t realize until I got back to my spot that I was almost taking up two spaces.  My bad.


Don’t Hit Me,



Our Gabriela

Today our family said goodbye to Gabi, my mom’s Shetland sheepdog.  Gabi was meant to be my “replacement” when I went off to college; she was my mom’s constant companion and a source of love and amusement for our entire family.


My mom had always wanted a Sheltie and when she found a local breeder with a puppy looking for a home she was psyched.  The breeder raised show dogs and Gabi, being a teensy bit too tall or some nonsense, was not considered “show quality.”  That seemed like total bullshit to me since she was gorgeous and full of personality, but whatever.  We just figured we were lucky and brought her home, where she proceeded to charm us and annoy the hell out of our now-deceased cats, Pookie and Squeak. 


About a month after she came home I was sick with the flu.  The kind of sick where you sleep a lot but never feel rested.  The kind of sick where you are simultaneously feverish and freezing.  Gabi stayed by my side while my parents were at work and – I swear to God – would dig for me under the covers to make sure I was OK.  Shortly after that, my mom was able to take her to work each day so they could bond and Gabi could learn to socialize.  She still liked hanging out with me, but by now she was clearly turning into Mama’s girl.


Everywhere we took her people loved her and children wanted to pet her.  Much as she loved the attention and was a bit of a ham, her loyal little heart truly belonged to Mom.  She was happy to hang out while she sewed or worked from home.  A true herding dog, she felt most secure when her “sheep” were in sight.


Gabi, Easter 2009
Gabi, Easter 2009


She was suffering from some health issues and wasn’t young by dog standards, but it was a tough call to let her go.  The vet was amazingly supportive and kind; she was impressed with our willingness to treat Gabi, but we had reached the end of the line.  Phrases like “quality of life” were being thrown around and we made an appointment with the vet so that we could have a little time with her.


The house feels quiet, although we still have a house full of pets.  I miss our feisty, sassy, silly, tortilla-stealing, lawnmower-charging, squirrel-chasing little fur factory.

Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangsta

If you read the minutiae of my life on Facebook or, like, talk to me in real life you’ve heard the news: I was laid off.  This wasn’t a huge shock given the state budget, and I had a bit of warning.  It’s been a crazy week wrapping things up but I am officially done.  So, uh, what exactly do I do now? Maybe beat the shit out of a fax machine with a bat.  PC LOAD LETTER, indeed.


Anyway, I am actually feeling good about the transition.  I have some leads and interviews lined up, and am not in danger of living in a van down by the river any time soon.  Things are going to be OK. 


It was an interesting time there and I will forever be grateful that the opportunity arose at a time when my life was in a state of chaos and uncertainty.  Getting this job helped me settle back into life in California, introduced me to wonderful people, and gave me a purpose. 


Damn, I’m going to miss seeing random fire academy cadets around campus.

Like a Phoenix Rising from the Ashes…or Somethin’ Like That

Some randomness for you that, hopefully, will constitute an entire post.  Bullet points!  Hooray! 


  • The crazy-assed two day conference I helped plan went off smashingly well, if I do say so.  I feel like an event is a success if the only negative comments people can come up with are things that cannot be helped (ie weather) and no one loses an eye.  I aim high, clearly.  Anyway, it was gratifying to see the fruits of my labor come to life and DUDE I TOTALLY MET A NOBEL PRIZE WINNER AND HE ASKED MY OPINION ABOUT STUFF.  Also, nice that none of my stress dreams came true: people showed up, there was enough food and I never misplaced my shoes.  Who dreams about misplacing her shoes during a work event?  I do, apparently.


  •  I am feeling the need for a change-up in the hair department.  After a whopping four months of sorta-longish-at-least-for-me hair I am thinking about cutting it.  Nothing crazy, but I keep seeing all these pictures of curly haired women with adorable shorter styles and I look at my scrappy ponytail and think, “Meh, surely I can do better than this” and am tempted to chop it.  Also, I am missing the red and think it may be time to say buh-bye to the auburnish-brown hybrid that doesn’t really do much for me.   Joan Holloway is a big inspiration.  Any thoughts or advice here is welcome.  Because I know you care.


  •   Forever 21 just opened in Chico and I am excessively excited about that.  Nevermind that I am a good 10 years beyond the intended demographic. 


  • Last night we were talking about getting called for jury duty and I talked about Liz Lemon’s method for getting out of it.  Watch this if performing your civic duty doesn’t appeal.  Safe for work, but you may accidentally snort coffee out of your nose.  Not that I’ve ever done that. 

31 or 13? You Be the Judge

On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being Beavis and 10 being Stephen Hawking, how much of an idiot am I for laughing maniacally – by myself – upon reading the words certified wood on a sustainability poster?


Any extra credit for also thinking it would be a good band name?


Don’t look at me like that.  It’s already been a long week.

Either This is an Omen of Things to Come or It Can Only Get Better from Here

Here’s a little glimpse into what is going on in my life today:


  • I cannot find my glasses.  The ones I need in order to, like, see shit and drive and function.  I have my presciption sunglasses (sexay) but come nighttime I am screwed.
  • I forgot to put on earrings.  Which, really, is not so much tragic as just retarded since I laid out my entire outfit – accessories included – so as to save myself time and be efficient and whatnot.
  • Pretty sure I have an ulcer. 
  • This week is the Big Conference I have been planning for months and if one more fucker calls asking if it would be too much trouble to add something for the program I will go from twitchy to stabby. 


On the bright side I have cute red toenails and last week my friend Kristina sent me a keychain that says “My Other Ride is Your Mom” because she is awesome.  And when you see something klassy like that you can’t help but think of CKD.