My feelings on the Twiight "Saga" are thus: It's the terrible self-indulging musings of a middle-aged Mormon who cannot write better than a high school fanfiction centered around a mary-sue.
The little Englishman and I have spent every other day drinking this week. Tonight is one of those nights so I apologize for any typos and the like. Our drinking has been Twilight "Saga" centric. We've watched both New Moon and Eclipse under the pretenses of a drinking game. The one for New Moon was tailored to fit the "plot," of the movie. Let me tell you, those rules and the general shittiness of the "story," got us drunk within the hour and had me feeling pukey within two. However, the drinking game tonight was far less tailored because I'd only read up until New Moon (several weeks of my life wasted in the pursuit of anger over poor written drivel).
Clearly the millions spent on Eclipse were focused on writing alterations. Though the cheesiness of the original "plot" was a hard thing to avoid, I actually found myself genuinely laughing at the parts that were intended to be funny. The story seemed to focus on Edward being a creep at the beginning and Bella doubting her relationship with him, which is valid and should be explored because Edward is a psycho stalker and, though Robert Pattinson is pretty attractive, pale skinny men are creepy.
Eventually Eclipse fell into the trappings of the Twilight "Saga": Bella continues being willfully naive: Edward's stalking and controlling nature ignored: Bella contuining to be a Mary-Sue, and Jacob continuing to lose his personality despite being the only round character in the novel.
It was unfortunate which is the best adjective you'll hear me use in describing a Twilight related novel or movie.
I'm actually hoping someone will pay for me to get into Breaking Dawn because I really want to see the vampire c-section and werewolf pedophilia
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
My Experience With Internet Dating Sites
I've always been pretty against online dating. I'd had an "internet boyfriend," when I was thirteen but I found out he'd been lying to me about his name and age. He was also soliciting my other underage friend and implying to both of us that he wanted to have anal sex with us. My friend and I are still hoping to see him on To Catch A Predator and have Chris Hansen read off the chat transcripts: "I want to blank you in the blank until my blank erupts with blank."
However, when I moved to smalltown, IL, my views were changed due to lack of close friends and crushing loneliness. My sister suggested I check out okcupid.com to try and find some friends, mostly because she didn't want to deal with me being in the house all the time. So, I filled out the profile and answered hundreds upon hundreds of questions to try and get my possible match score up.
The first guy I started talking to was named Tim. Tim seemed rather simple but nice. He had a kid but I was trying to keep an open mind since everyone in smalltown has a baby. We arranged to meet up. My sister made sure she got all of his information and that he picked me up far enough away from our house so he didn't know where we lived. I was standing in a parking lot near a billboard, surely looking like a hooker because I'd decided to dress up for this meeting. A rusty old SUV with a plastic wrap window pulled up and Tim asked if I was Caitlin and I said yeah. I got in the backseat and noticed that there was a different guy driving. I was a little more scared because there was more of a possibility of being overpowered and raped with two of them about. They took me to Tim's grandma's house and that's when I noticed Tim's front teeth. All of his front teeth were either rotted or missing. He said it was because his baby's mother hit him with a toolbox. Things weren't looking up for Tim from then on. We talked about video games a little and he said that he liked Vampire Hunter D but then the conversation turned entirely uncomfortable. He started talking about how he had been chatting with this stripper from another dating site. But not a dumb stripper! Oh no, a very intelligent stripper who know the meaning of antidisestablishmentarianism, because no nine year old with a dictionary knows that word. Then his buddy and he started telling me how they had both banged Tim's baby's mother at the same time the night she got pregnant and they didn't know which one was the father because of this. Needless to say, I made up some lame excuse to go home after they told me that. Every now and then Tim comes in to County Market with his baby's mother and purchases items on WIC. He doesn't recognize me and last time he argued with me when his items went over the dollar amount on the WIC slip because he'd "bought the same stuff last time on it." Obviously, prices never change and things never go on sale.
The second guy I met was Jacob and I'd met him before when I was seventeen. Neither of us really remembered each other but we had the same friends. I found out that he was into LARPing. He said it wasn't LARPing, it was special exorcise. I actually became very close with Jacob because he was the least weird guy I'd met in a while. We had similar politics and liked similar things. As things wore on though, I found him to be very very boring and was just using him to have some semblance of company. I knew it was time to lose Jacob when he told me how hairy my arms were and that I should shave them. I'm fairly confident that I broke his heart but come on, my arms are nowhere near hairy.
The third okcupid.com was named Seth similarly had chauffeurs but one of them was a girl so I felt a little more comfortable. I found out he had lost his license because of some DUIs. I wasn't fond of this part of him but he shared his weed and we watched some It's Always Sunny before going to see The Lovely Bones, which was amazing when high. I liked Seth because he never tried anything with me and was nearly always high and therefore nice when we hung out. He didn't seem like the kind of guy that I'd date though so I kept him in the friend zone. He went to jail a couple of weeks after we last hung out so I haven't really seen him since last summer.
After Seth came Andrew Paxton. That's right, I'm giving you his full name. And here, here's a picture. He lives in Prophetstown, IL. This boy took the cake for creepiness. We had been talking on the phone for weeks and we finally decided to hang out by going to my sister's boyfriend's show in a nearby town. He was very, very small. I had probably about 50 pounds on him and a few inches. My sister deemed it all right for me to go to a party with him alone because I could probably take him if he tried anything. We got drunk with all of his friends and it was a lot of fun. I started dancing with this girl at the end of the night and was quickly led away from the party by Paxton. We got in the car and he yelled at me for dancing with her because she was "the slut of the town," and probably had herpes. I explained that I was just having fun and meant nothing by it but he continued to argue with me. I just let it go. I thought he was driving me home at that point but we went to his house which was in the middle of nowhere. He made me pizza but in my incredibly drunk state, I dropped it on myself and he had to get me a wet rag. It was then that I realized I should probably make it clear that he wasn't getting any which in drunk speak translates to "I didn't shave today because I didn't think I was going to do anything." The details get hazy after this but unfortunately I remember kissing him.
The next day, Paxton continued his argument with me about the slut girl. I kept defending myself that I didn't know anything about her and was just having fun. He yelled at me for getting so drunk with all of his "friends," who he then told me all did crack. At that point I was angry at him for taking me to a crack den in Prophetstown, IL. I told him never to contact me again at which point he got really sad and told me he'd "developed deep feelings for me," which I rebutted "You've only known me for a week!"
We stopped talking for a while but at some point he'd enrolled at Sauk. I decided it would be find to talk to him while there since he was a funny guy and liked a lot of the same things as me. It was fairly soon after that he'd been stalking me secretly online under the alias "MikeF83." Even the year in that name is wrong. He'd secretly been reading all of the tweets between me and the little Englishman for months. I blocked him on every internet site I knew he watched me on and avoided him at school. He soon dropped out, proving he'd only been going so he could see me.
I recently found out that Paxton dated one of my friends after stalking me. He'd told her that I puked pizza all over myself that night after they'd seen me at County Market (yay, he knows where I work!). I guess he's not a virgin anymore but he still did the pathetic thing of telling my friend he had "deep feelings for her," after only a month. I also found out that he apparently had pulled a gun on his mom when he was in high school. I now lock all my windows and doors at night
However, when I moved to smalltown, IL, my views were changed due to lack of close friends and crushing loneliness. My sister suggested I check out okcupid.com to try and find some friends, mostly because she didn't want to deal with me being in the house all the time. So, I filled out the profile and answered hundreds upon hundreds of questions to try and get my possible match score up.
The first guy I started talking to was named Tim. Tim seemed rather simple but nice. He had a kid but I was trying to keep an open mind since everyone in smalltown has a baby. We arranged to meet up. My sister made sure she got all of his information and that he picked me up far enough away from our house so he didn't know where we lived. I was standing in a parking lot near a billboard, surely looking like a hooker because I'd decided to dress up for this meeting. A rusty old SUV with a plastic wrap window pulled up and Tim asked if I was Caitlin and I said yeah. I got in the backseat and noticed that there was a different guy driving. I was a little more scared because there was more of a possibility of being overpowered and raped with two of them about. They took me to Tim's grandma's house and that's when I noticed Tim's front teeth. All of his front teeth were either rotted or missing. He said it was because his baby's mother hit him with a toolbox. Things weren't looking up for Tim from then on. We talked about video games a little and he said that he liked Vampire Hunter D but then the conversation turned entirely uncomfortable. He started talking about how he had been chatting with this stripper from another dating site. But not a dumb stripper! Oh no, a very intelligent stripper who know the meaning of antidisestablishmentarianism, because no nine year old with a dictionary knows that word. Then his buddy and he started telling me how they had both banged Tim's baby's mother at the same time the night she got pregnant and they didn't know which one was the father because of this. Needless to say, I made up some lame excuse to go home after they told me that. Every now and then Tim comes in to County Market with his baby's mother and purchases items on WIC. He doesn't recognize me and last time he argued with me when his items went over the dollar amount on the WIC slip because he'd "bought the same stuff last time on it." Obviously, prices never change and things never go on sale.
The second guy I met was Jacob and I'd met him before when I was seventeen. Neither of us really remembered each other but we had the same friends. I found out that he was into LARPing. He said it wasn't LARPing, it was special exorcise. I actually became very close with Jacob because he was the least weird guy I'd met in a while. We had similar politics and liked similar things. As things wore on though, I found him to be very very boring and was just using him to have some semblance of company. I knew it was time to lose Jacob when he told me how hairy my arms were and that I should shave them. I'm fairly confident that I broke his heart but come on, my arms are nowhere near hairy.
The third okcupid.com was named Seth similarly had chauffeurs but one of them was a girl so I felt a little more comfortable. I found out he had lost his license because of some DUIs. I wasn't fond of this part of him but he shared his weed and we watched some It's Always Sunny before going to see The Lovely Bones, which was amazing when high. I liked Seth because he never tried anything with me and was nearly always high and therefore nice when we hung out. He didn't seem like the kind of guy that I'd date though so I kept him in the friend zone. He went to jail a couple of weeks after we last hung out so I haven't really seen him since last summer.
 |
| This is Andrew Paxton. Note his creepy thinness |
The next day, Paxton continued his argument with me about the slut girl. I kept defending myself that I didn't know anything about her and was just having fun. He yelled at me for getting so drunk with all of his "friends," who he then told me all did crack. At that point I was angry at him for taking me to a crack den in Prophetstown, IL. I told him never to contact me again at which point he got really sad and told me he'd "developed deep feelings for me," which I rebutted "You've only known me for a week!"
We stopped talking for a while but at some point he'd enrolled at Sauk. I decided it would be find to talk to him while there since he was a funny guy and liked a lot of the same things as me. It was fairly soon after that he'd been stalking me secretly online under the alias "MikeF83." Even the year in that name is wrong. He'd secretly been reading all of the tweets between me and the little Englishman for months. I blocked him on every internet site I knew he watched me on and avoided him at school. He soon dropped out, proving he'd only been going so he could see me.
I recently found out that Paxton dated one of my friends after stalking me. He'd told her that I puked pizza all over myself that night after they'd seen me at County Market (yay, he knows where I work!). I guess he's not a virgin anymore but he still did the pathetic thing of telling my friend he had "deep feelings for her," after only a month. I also found out that he apparently had pulled a gun on his mom when he was in high school. I now lock all my windows and doors at night
Monday, April 25, 2011
Celebration
I'd like to celebrate my first follower(s). It seems like it is a group of blogs that are very much into food. This post is dedicated to you and the pursuit of happiness through following one's stomach.
This is a fairly recent event in the little Englishman's and my history. We both love food. Love love. Most of our budget is spent on good food and not the other trappings of a materialistic society. Clothes? Please, give us a good ham and our heart is content.
One of my favorite foods is of course pizza. It's amazing how even the cheapest, poorest made frozen pizza appeals to me. I've had everywhere from Gino's East to two dollar County Market pizza and I've only ever turned my nose up at one: the doughy undercooked mess that was the UW- Platteville's student center pizza which I even had to "cook" at one point in my life. You need to understand this to know the deep impact the story I'm about to tell had on my psyche.
The little Englishman and I are not the most well-off people. We live from my paycheck to paycheck with additional money from his "America Savings," and the money my mom has decided to pay him to visit my "mahmaw,": my surly, dementia riddled old Southern grandma. We try and eat out sometimes but lately we've had to save it for special occasions. Recently, we decided my survival of an eight hour shift at County Market was a celebratory occasion. We got the cheapest yet nice take-out pizza smalltown, IL has to offer. We scrounged up the $7.47 required to buy it and took it home. When we got home and started to ingest the spoils, little Englishman decided that the pizza required more cheese. Luckily, we had some shredded cheese available to add to our ill-fated pizza.
It was at this point that little Englishman ruined our night. I did not witness the exact events but he's described it enough times for me to share with you the details. According to him, he coated the edges of the pizza with shredded cheese and then turned the pizza on. After finding it suitably hot for melting cheese but not scorching enough to melt his hand, he "turned it off" and put the pizza in, box and all. About five or ten minutes later, the little Englishman smelled something burning. He went over to the oven and found the pizza box on fire. Instead of forgetting the pizza and saving the apartment, he decided to try and put it out with a kitchen towel to spare the pizza. However, upon being supplied with more oxygen, the fire quickly grew. The little Englishman called me over for help. Upon seeing my oven on fire and thinking about our own safety and our apartment building, I literally ripped the fire extinguisher off the wall, pulled out the pin, and sprayed the oven thoroughly until no flame remained.
At this point our apartment was filled with thick smoke. I quickly moved to the car but the little Englishman stayed behind. After about 20 minutes, he came out with what he'd been saving: the remainder of the pizza on his plate and a drink. I was livid to say the least. I'd spent hard earned money on a pizza I'd only got two slices of and he was about to stuff his face with four more than I'd had. I watched him eat it in pissed off silence before make him buy me a BK DoubleStacker and some fries, which pale in comparison to the amazingness of that pizza.
What had happened was the little Englishman forgot he'd come to America and the broil didn't mean off and pizza boxes can catch flame when introduced to enough heat.
This is a fairly recent event in the little Englishman's and my history. We both love food. Love love. Most of our budget is spent on good food and not the other trappings of a materialistic society. Clothes? Please, give us a good ham and our heart is content.
One of my favorite foods is of course pizza. It's amazing how even the cheapest, poorest made frozen pizza appeals to me. I've had everywhere from Gino's East to two dollar County Market pizza and I've only ever turned my nose up at one: the doughy undercooked mess that was the UW- Platteville's student center pizza which I even had to "cook" at one point in my life. You need to understand this to know the deep impact the story I'm about to tell had on my psyche.
The little Englishman and I are not the most well-off people. We live from my paycheck to paycheck with additional money from his "America Savings," and the money my mom has decided to pay him to visit my "mahmaw,": my surly, dementia riddled old Southern grandma. We try and eat out sometimes but lately we've had to save it for special occasions. Recently, we decided my survival of an eight hour shift at County Market was a celebratory occasion. We got the cheapest yet nice take-out pizza smalltown, IL has to offer. We scrounged up the $7.47 required to buy it and took it home. When we got home and started to ingest the spoils, little Englishman decided that the pizza required more cheese. Luckily, we had some shredded cheese available to add to our ill-fated pizza.
It was at this point that little Englishman ruined our night. I did not witness the exact events but he's described it enough times for me to share with you the details. According to him, he coated the edges of the pizza with shredded cheese and then turned the pizza on. After finding it suitably hot for melting cheese but not scorching enough to melt his hand, he "turned it off" and put the pizza in, box and all. About five or ten minutes later, the little Englishman smelled something burning. He went over to the oven and found the pizza box on fire. Instead of forgetting the pizza and saving the apartment, he decided to try and put it out with a kitchen towel to spare the pizza. However, upon being supplied with more oxygen, the fire quickly grew. The little Englishman called me over for help. Upon seeing my oven on fire and thinking about our own safety and our apartment building, I literally ripped the fire extinguisher off the wall, pulled out the pin, and sprayed the oven thoroughly until no flame remained.
At this point our apartment was filled with thick smoke. I quickly moved to the car but the little Englishman stayed behind. After about 20 minutes, he came out with what he'd been saving: the remainder of the pizza on his plate and a drink. I was livid to say the least. I'd spent hard earned money on a pizza I'd only got two slices of and he was about to stuff his face with four more than I'd had. I watched him eat it in pissed off silence before make him buy me a BK DoubleStacker and some fries, which pale in comparison to the amazingness of that pizza.
What had happened was the little Englishman forgot he'd come to America and the broil didn't mean off and pizza boxes can catch flame when introduced to enough heat.
"Cunt Market"
That is what the little Englishman calls my place of work "County Market." The name came about when we noticed lots of stores in the place I live had letters burnt out in their signs. For example: Carpetland was "Car--- Land", Beefaroo was "-----roo" and Blockbuster was "--ockbuster." We started playing this game where we'd remove letters from stores in order to make the funniest name. Most of mine were lame and not worth mentioning but he came up with the little gem that is now the title of this post.
I started working at County Market after being here for a year and applying every where, literally. It's such a small town that after putting in applications for a week, I ran out of places and briefly worked from home as an "independent contractor," answering calls for various infomercials and trying my hardest (tricking) to get the people on the other end of the line to buy all the extras. I earned so little at this job that I didn't even have to document it in my taxes for this year.
County Market is a chain grocery store in Illinois owned by a company that has numerous other chain grocery stores and even a pet store. I knew on my initial training day that it was going to be an interesting experience when they showed a video about why they remained "union-free." It was basically one long right-wing anti-union ad about how unions are bad and why we should get wrapped up in their bureaucratic mess. I'd driven to training that day in a car with a "Union Yes" bumper sticker and another bumper sticker that had the name of my mom's union on it.
My first day actually working was a nightmare. I was scheduled for seven and a half hours which means I got two breaks, one fifteen minutes long and one thirty minutes long. I took my fifteen break about an hour and a half into my shift thinking I'd get my lunch later on. This never happened. I watched as hours went by, my feet and ankles feeling like they were going to explode. Anyone who works in retail knows that feeling even though it seems like just standing around wouldn't cause so much agony. I realized how inadequate my training had been when people started coming through with alternative forms of payment to the normal credit/debit cards, cash and checks. I'd been so confident going into that shift that I'd remembered everything I'd been taught that it became mentally anguishing whenever I had to call one of the Customer Service Managers (CSM) over to help me or override something stupid I'd done with their keys. I also had never been taught that when people come through with their foodstamps cards, sometimes you have to type in the numbers on their cards because most of them have been unable to keep their cards in good repair. I also did not know that when people with these cards used vendor coupons, they'd still have to pay the sales tax on the items. This is something that most people with foodstamps cards also do not know so after being yelled at for hours about having to pay a few pennies of their own money and still not having my second break, I was close to a mental break down.
The last couple of hours went by in a similarly horrible fashion, however there was only one CSM still there and one other cashier. It was at 9PM that I finally broke. This family decided that it would be a great idea to come out at this time with about ten WIC slips. The father seemed rather scary and was in a foul mood because they'd brought all four of their children to come shopping. The mother was passive and seemed rather apologetic about the whole situation, but it didn't really help. Anyone who has been on WIC or has had to ring up WIC knows that it is terribly complicated especially if you have no idea what you are doing. Most of the stuff this family picked up was either not WIC approved or not the right item listed on the slip. I had to keep having someone to go get the right item or just take it off altogether, which meant more overrides for the one CSM still there. Also, if you don't designate the transaction as WIC before starting it, the register won't let you go back and change it so the entire thing needs to be canceled by means of supervisor keys. It doesn't matter if all you've done is scanned the "Max Card" (County Markets Big Brother card), the register doesn't care. The father of the family kept getting more and more impatient with my foibles and the CSM was on a register at that point to handle the long lines of people created by my inability to complete one transaction without trouble and couldn't come over every time I had an issue. I felt all the pressure from these customers and started tearing up a little from my own unabated anxiety due to my ADD. I finally finished with the WIC slips and started helping the people next in line but my register took issue with that. After inputting so many WIC transactions into it, it was stuck in WIC mode so when I scanned the next customer's bread, their only item, it kept telling me it wasn't a WIC allowed item. The CSM couldn't help me because she was helping someone else and no matter how many times I trying scanning this loaf of bread, the register kept spitting at me that it was not WIC approved.
I broke into sobs over my inability to simply ring up one item correctly and the long line that had formed from it. I kept apologizing repeatedly to the customer and letting them know it was my first day, which was probably incoherent to him though he said it was all right. I felt like an idiot because I was crying unabashedly in front of dozens of strangers. The CSM was finally able to help me and when I told her that I hadn't gotten my second break, she let me go home. I fully planned to quit and never go back to face the embarrassing environment my scene had created. But my sister made me go because she wanted money for all the bills I hadn't been paying for the year I lived there. No one mentioned it the next day but anytime two fellow employees were chatting quietly to one another, I was convinced they were talking about me. It took me a month to get over the episode and my shyness towards my coworkers. Strangely, after all that, I'm now a CSM and a bookkeeper and get to hold the keys.
In related news, the customer whose bread made me cry found me on both facebook and the myspace I hadn't used since I was 15. He added me as a friend and after a bit of back and forth asked me if I worked at county market. I was alarmed by this stranger having found me on the internet, months after our one and only encounter and tried to pump him for information so I could avoid him at the store. I asked what he looked like because he didn't have a profile picture. He said he'd show me but asked if my boyfriend would be okay with it. Recognizing his intentions immediately, I responded that he'd be fine as long as it was a picture of this guy's face. He responded with what must be his best pick up line ever "I could show you much more if you didn't have a boyfriend." I instantly blocked him. It wasn't until recently that I found that he sent me a message on myspace as well and it was there that I found a description of him. I was a bit saddened to find that it was the guy that I'd been having rather pleasant conversations with whenever he came in with his grandma to by bread. That's all they ever buy, no joke. My coworkers and I have deemed him Bread Guy.
Again, I'll probably post more soon in a similar strain as this.
 |
| This is me in full work attire. Notice my awkwardness. |
County Market is a chain grocery store in Illinois owned by a company that has numerous other chain grocery stores and even a pet store. I knew on my initial training day that it was going to be an interesting experience when they showed a video about why they remained "union-free." It was basically one long right-wing anti-union ad about how unions are bad and why we should get wrapped up in their bureaucratic mess. I'd driven to training that day in a car with a "Union Yes" bumper sticker and another bumper sticker that had the name of my mom's union on it.
My first day actually working was a nightmare. I was scheduled for seven and a half hours which means I got two breaks, one fifteen minutes long and one thirty minutes long. I took my fifteen break about an hour and a half into my shift thinking I'd get my lunch later on. This never happened. I watched as hours went by, my feet and ankles feeling like they were going to explode. Anyone who works in retail knows that feeling even though it seems like just standing around wouldn't cause so much agony. I realized how inadequate my training had been when people started coming through with alternative forms of payment to the normal credit/debit cards, cash and checks. I'd been so confident going into that shift that I'd remembered everything I'd been taught that it became mentally anguishing whenever I had to call one of the Customer Service Managers (CSM) over to help me or override something stupid I'd done with their keys. I also had never been taught that when people come through with their foodstamps cards, sometimes you have to type in the numbers on their cards because most of them have been unable to keep their cards in good repair. I also did not know that when people with these cards used vendor coupons, they'd still have to pay the sales tax on the items. This is something that most people with foodstamps cards also do not know so after being yelled at for hours about having to pay a few pennies of their own money and still not having my second break, I was close to a mental break down.
The last couple of hours went by in a similarly horrible fashion, however there was only one CSM still there and one other cashier. It was at 9PM that I finally broke. This family decided that it would be a great idea to come out at this time with about ten WIC slips. The father seemed rather scary and was in a foul mood because they'd brought all four of their children to come shopping. The mother was passive and seemed rather apologetic about the whole situation, but it didn't really help. Anyone who has been on WIC or has had to ring up WIC knows that it is terribly complicated especially if you have no idea what you are doing. Most of the stuff this family picked up was either not WIC approved or not the right item listed on the slip. I had to keep having someone to go get the right item or just take it off altogether, which meant more overrides for the one CSM still there. Also, if you don't designate the transaction as WIC before starting it, the register won't let you go back and change it so the entire thing needs to be canceled by means of supervisor keys. It doesn't matter if all you've done is scanned the "Max Card" (County Markets Big Brother card), the register doesn't care. The father of the family kept getting more and more impatient with my foibles and the CSM was on a register at that point to handle the long lines of people created by my inability to complete one transaction without trouble and couldn't come over every time I had an issue. I felt all the pressure from these customers and started tearing up a little from my own unabated anxiety due to my ADD. I finally finished with the WIC slips and started helping the people next in line but my register took issue with that. After inputting so many WIC transactions into it, it was stuck in WIC mode so when I scanned the next customer's bread, their only item, it kept telling me it wasn't a WIC allowed item. The CSM couldn't help me because she was helping someone else and no matter how many times I trying scanning this loaf of bread, the register kept spitting at me that it was not WIC approved.
I broke into sobs over my inability to simply ring up one item correctly and the long line that had formed from it. I kept apologizing repeatedly to the customer and letting them know it was my first day, which was probably incoherent to him though he said it was all right. I felt like an idiot because I was crying unabashedly in front of dozens of strangers. The CSM was finally able to help me and when I told her that I hadn't gotten my second break, she let me go home. I fully planned to quit and never go back to face the embarrassing environment my scene had created. But my sister made me go because she wanted money for all the bills I hadn't been paying for the year I lived there. No one mentioned it the next day but anytime two fellow employees were chatting quietly to one another, I was convinced they were talking about me. It took me a month to get over the episode and my shyness towards my coworkers. Strangely, after all that, I'm now a CSM and a bookkeeper and get to hold the keys.
In related news, the customer whose bread made me cry found me on both facebook and the myspace I hadn't used since I was 15. He added me as a friend and after a bit of back and forth asked me if I worked at county market. I was alarmed by this stranger having found me on the internet, months after our one and only encounter and tried to pump him for information so I could avoid him at the store. I asked what he looked like because he didn't have a profile picture. He said he'd show me but asked if my boyfriend would be okay with it. Recognizing his intentions immediately, I responded that he'd be fine as long as it was a picture of this guy's face. He responded with what must be his best pick up line ever "I could show you much more if you didn't have a boyfriend." I instantly blocked him. It wasn't until recently that I found that he sent me a message on myspace as well and it was there that I found a description of him. I was a bit saddened to find that it was the guy that I'd been having rather pleasant conversations with whenever he came in with his grandma to by bread. That's all they ever buy, no joke. My coworkers and I have deemed him Bread Guy.
Again, I'll probably post more soon in a similar strain as this.
I'm Terrible At Introductions
Today I left work early because I can't take Pamprin like a normal lady without my entire body feeling numb and an overwhelming nausea replacing any cramps I may have been taking the pills for. I'm currently buzzing on Adderall, prescribed because I'm ADD, not recreational like hundreds of other college students. Anyway, Adderall makes me feel like I need to do something with my hands at all times and be productive. This usually manifests itself in my smoking an entire box of cigarettes every time I take it, but right now it's caused me to start a blog instead of napping to get over my Pamprin sickness/crampiness.
Let's get this show on the road shall we? I don't normally like introductory posts for anything be it blog, vlog, resume etc. They are never particularly interesting to the reader or the person that feels they need to write it. Alas, how else I'm I meant to start off a blog besides to give you a bit of background information on myself?
My name is Caitlin. Not Katelyn. Not Caitlyn. Not Katlynne. All the other spellings are wrong but have been proliferated within society by people who think they are being creative by changing a few letters in a traditional name. I'm kind of a student. I mean kind of because right now I am only enrolled in one class and that's Fiction at a rinky dink little community college. I was a full time student last semester but one of the teachers had a bit of a god complex and anger issues causing her to keep changing due dates of major projects based on how much this one kid pissed her off in class. I dropped that which means I have to make up the credit, or so I thought but I got accepted to the real college I'm planning to transfer to despite the glaring "W" on my transcript. In fact, I got accepted to my next college despite having dropped out of the other real college I went to before my current situation.
As I mentioned before I'm ADD and on medication for it. It's not so serious that I will get too distracted to function normally but serious enough that it comes along with crazy anxiety and horrible memory. While at the previous college I attended (University of Wisconsin in Platteville), I decided (and by decided I mean forgot) to only take my Adderall every once in a while and party every other day. My first semester wasn't so bad. I managed to get a 2.5 with one failed class (Music Appreciation). I failed that only because it was at 8 AM every morning after my usual drinking days and I figured I could blow it off. Unfortunately I blew off the class when he told us that we were going to take our final a week before we were supposed to so when I showed up on the day it should have been, the secretary told me my teacher was in Mexico. The next semester, I drank less and was determined to not fail anymore classes. That started a long string of missing both my English and Math classes which resulted in me failing those classes for the next three semesters I attended. By the last semester at UW-Platteville, I was on two or three different antidepressants and another ADD medication that caused me to be on the antidepressants and was only attending one class which was basically the school newspaper. But I made sure that one counted by doing articles for and editing the opinions section as well as doing two weekly cartoons for it. During that time I managed to also get caught drinking in the dorms twice and forgot to attend the class about drinking that allowed me to continue living in the dorms which meant I got kicked out. The final straw that caused me to leave Platteville altogether was when my boyfriend dumped me after finding out that I was cheating on him with his best friend. If this last sentence makes you dislike me, believe me, he precipitated the situation (I'll probably post more on this later).
My mom, my therapist, and I decided that it was time to move on. My mom came up with the idea that I should move in with my sister about 45 minutes from my hometown in Illinois and enroll at my current rinky dink community college. I'd rather devote an entire post to my time with my sister than explain it right here but the basics of it were that I went off the antidepressants and began regularly taking my Adderall and attending classes and achieved a better than average GPA. My sister is a very very secretive person and massively OCD. She's also a bit of a hoarder which meant I had to clean every time the house was unlivable because I had no qualms about throwing away receipts and junkmail from the last two years. She and I had epic fights over absolutely nothing (mostly the dishes) and this eventually resulted in her punching me in the head before kicking me out. Luckily, I'd already been looking for apartments and very quickly found a new place to live after staying with my grandma with dementia for a couple of days.
During my stay with my sister, I met the tiny little Englishman who now lives with me. He and I started talking on an internet dating site. I know, I know, only sad people go on those but we were both sad and lonely. After several months talking to each other for an average of four hours a night, he worked up the money to come visit me. We'd both made a bet that the first person to say "I love you" to the other would owe them a dollar. I took this bet even though I knew I felt that way already but didn't want to be in a relationship with someone who lived 4,000 miles away. Go figure on the second night of his visit we got drunk and I spilled the beans. I still owe him a dollar. He recently came back for another visit and is now working on changing his status.
Well, I didn't expect to cover the last four of years of my life in my "introduction" post. I'm going to end it here so I don't get too many "TL;DR" comments but I'll probably post again in the next five minutes since I'm bored and the tiny Englishman is playing FIFA with little boys
Let's get this show on the road shall we? I don't normally like introductory posts for anything be it blog, vlog, resume etc. They are never particularly interesting to the reader or the person that feels they need to write it. Alas, how else I'm I meant to start off a blog besides to give you a bit of background information on myself?
My name is Caitlin. Not Katelyn. Not Caitlyn. Not Katlynne. All the other spellings are wrong but have been proliferated within society by people who think they are being creative by changing a few letters in a traditional name. I'm kind of a student. I mean kind of because right now I am only enrolled in one class and that's Fiction at a rinky dink little community college. I was a full time student last semester but one of the teachers had a bit of a god complex and anger issues causing her to keep changing due dates of major projects based on how much this one kid pissed her off in class. I dropped that which means I have to make up the credit, or so I thought but I got accepted to the real college I'm planning to transfer to despite the glaring "W" on my transcript. In fact, I got accepted to my next college despite having dropped out of the other real college I went to before my current situation.
As I mentioned before I'm ADD and on medication for it. It's not so serious that I will get too distracted to function normally but serious enough that it comes along with crazy anxiety and horrible memory. While at the previous college I attended (University of Wisconsin in Platteville), I decided (and by decided I mean forgot) to only take my Adderall every once in a while and party every other day. My first semester wasn't so bad. I managed to get a 2.5 with one failed class (Music Appreciation). I failed that only because it was at 8 AM every morning after my usual drinking days and I figured I could blow it off. Unfortunately I blew off the class when he told us that we were going to take our final a week before we were supposed to so when I showed up on the day it should have been, the secretary told me my teacher was in Mexico. The next semester, I drank less and was determined to not fail anymore classes. That started a long string of missing both my English and Math classes which resulted in me failing those classes for the next three semesters I attended. By the last semester at UW-Platteville, I was on two or three different antidepressants and another ADD medication that caused me to be on the antidepressants and was only attending one class which was basically the school newspaper. But I made sure that one counted by doing articles for and editing the opinions section as well as doing two weekly cartoons for it. During that time I managed to also get caught drinking in the dorms twice and forgot to attend the class about drinking that allowed me to continue living in the dorms which meant I got kicked out. The final straw that caused me to leave Platteville altogether was when my boyfriend dumped me after finding out that I was cheating on him with his best friend. If this last sentence makes you dislike me, believe me, he precipitated the situation (I'll probably post more on this later).
My mom, my therapist, and I decided that it was time to move on. My mom came up with the idea that I should move in with my sister about 45 minutes from my hometown in Illinois and enroll at my current rinky dink community college. I'd rather devote an entire post to my time with my sister than explain it right here but the basics of it were that I went off the antidepressants and began regularly taking my Adderall and attending classes and achieved a better than average GPA. My sister is a very very secretive person and massively OCD. She's also a bit of a hoarder which meant I had to clean every time the house was unlivable because I had no qualms about throwing away receipts and junkmail from the last two years. She and I had epic fights over absolutely nothing (mostly the dishes) and this eventually resulted in her punching me in the head before kicking me out. Luckily, I'd already been looking for apartments and very quickly found a new place to live after staying with my grandma with dementia for a couple of days.
During my stay with my sister, I met the tiny little Englishman who now lives with me. He and I started talking on an internet dating site. I know, I know, only sad people go on those but we were both sad and lonely. After several months talking to each other for an average of four hours a night, he worked up the money to come visit me. We'd both made a bet that the first person to say "I love you" to the other would owe them a dollar. I took this bet even though I knew I felt that way already but didn't want to be in a relationship with someone who lived 4,000 miles away. Go figure on the second night of his visit we got drunk and I spilled the beans. I still owe him a dollar. He recently came back for another visit and is now working on changing his status.
Well, I didn't expect to cover the last four of years of my life in my "introduction" post. I'm going to end it here so I don't get too many "TL;DR" comments but I'll probably post again in the next five minutes since I'm bored and the tiny Englishman is playing FIFA with little boys
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