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dragonlady7I'm all, sleepy and kinda groggy, and one would think I'd been working hard or something.
It was ridiculously slow at work, and I only had a six-hour shift.
Tomorrow I'll only be there fiveish hours. And yet, I'm all full with the tiredness like I work real hard or something. (I managed to make reasonable money, oddly enough, whilst being bored to tears by how not-busy it was. I astonished both the senior bartender and two of the supervisors by performing routine maintenance tasks (refilling napkin holders, for one-- um, aren't we supposed to? And, like, I need napkins, and it's empty, so I had to get more... And... um... I don't know. Stop staring at me?) and even was officially commended by a supervisor. While I was standing around and being bored. It was... surreal, and yet, as I describe it, I realize I just sound like one of those teenyboppers with dead-end jobs for pocket money. I dunno. I'll stop.
I have a deep and abiding need to go shopping. Not because I am a shopper by nature, although I am American enough that I do have a deep-seated love of acquiring new possessions. No, rather because I require things and so have figured I ought to buy them.
What follows is a list, which struck me as amusing, of the things I need to buy. I am not much of a shopper, as I've said, and so the things I need are a very odd mixture of things that other people often acquire without even noting how they did so. (I am terrible at shopping in that I don't even know where to look for things. How do normal humans find things? I don't know.)
I need a personal shopper. I don't want to go find these things. I just want to have them. Bah.
And then the email arrives from Direct Loans to remind me that I owe them $600 now. Bah. Go away and come back when I'm using my degree, is what I want to tell them. Can I tell them that? I should be able to.
edit: Perhaps what i need is not a personal shopper so much as, well, a friend that likes to shop. I hear other women have these. I hear that other women, like, have female friends and they, like, shop together. This is alien to my existence. (In my defense, I recently spoke to my mother on the phone [on Easter, no less] and she confessed that she had only that weekend been to the mall for the first time since Christmas-- and only then because Fiona was home and needed something. Fiona is the only person in my immediate family who can shop at all. We all sit around in rags waiting for her to visit so she can come tell us how to spend our money. It's a shame, and yet not unexpected, that she never has any money of her own. And so it is not entirely due to my own utterly pathetic nature that I do not know how to shop: No, i come by it honestly, and Fiona is a genetic throwback to another generation of Kellys that knew how to spend money. The rest of us... don't. Although Ann's keen sense of style helps her navigate thrift shops and Wal-mart and she has assembled quite a wardrobe of really... interesting... things that she actually has to use wallpaper paste to apply. [On the premise that what one has got, one ought to flaunt. If I were a size 8 with a 34 DD chest and legs up to there, I would probably flaunt it as well. Though perhaps not with rainbow leg-warmers and little boys' t-shirts.] Katy's wardrobe consists almost entirely of varying patterns of camoflage, however. She gets so excited at the prospect of wearing civilian clothes that she winds up with Hawaiian shirts and things, just in the sheer exuberance of things not made of camoflage or olive drab. Also when on leave she gets excited about nail polish and hair clips, as she is not allowed those things in uniform either.)
It was ridiculously slow at work, and I only had a six-hour shift.
Tomorrow I'll only be there fiveish hours. And yet, I'm all full with the tiredness like I work real hard or something. (I managed to make reasonable money, oddly enough, whilst being bored to tears by how not-busy it was. I astonished both the senior bartender and two of the supervisors by performing routine maintenance tasks (refilling napkin holders, for one-- um, aren't we supposed to? And, like, I need napkins, and it's empty, so I had to get more... And... um... I don't know. Stop staring at me?) and even was officially commended by a supervisor. While I was standing around and being bored. It was... surreal, and yet, as I describe it, I realize I just sound like one of those teenyboppers with dead-end jobs for pocket money. I dunno. I'll stop.
I have a deep and abiding need to go shopping. Not because I am a shopper by nature, although I am American enough that I do have a deep-seated love of acquiring new possessions. No, rather because I require things and so have figured I ought to buy them.
What follows is a list, which struck me as amusing, of the things I need to buy. I am not much of a shopper, as I've said, and so the things I need are a very odd mixture of things that other people often acquire without even noting how they did so. (I am terrible at shopping in that I don't even know where to look for things. How do normal humans find things? I don't know.)
postage stamps(I actually figured out where to get those-- the Post Office-- although I then realized I could've gotten them at the convenience store one-quarter the distance from my house. These things are significant when one goes on foot.)- brown eyeliner (I have only black, or blue. Neither of which is particularly... classy, given my complexion.)
- black pants with pockets, dammit. (My only pair of black pants with suitable pockets for holding Landmark's menus got holes in them finally. My pants always wear out in the thighs/ass. Very annoying. I'm thinking of salvaging the pockets somehow. Man I hate girlypants.)
- one to three bras that actually fit. (This is the item I really don't know where to look for. JC Penney only carries my size in certain styles, none of which are comfortable or flattering. Victoria's Secret laughs at me. Frederick's of Hollywood is sympathetic, but their bras, while available in technically my size, are engineered for about a 36B, and so are prone to structural failures. But they're closer than anyone else. And they do fit, as long as I stand up straight. Lane Bryant laughed me out the door when I tried on clothes there-- and in that case, I'm being literal, and I mean, their entire sales staff pointed and laughed at me-- "she thinks she can shop here, just because the largest size Express offers made her look like a sausage! Go away, little girl, and come back when you're really fat!"-- so... Is it any wonder I really hate clothes shopping?)
- one to three pairs of underpants. The old ones fit, they're just, well, I got most of them when I went away to college, and that was, well, during the twentieth century. I think I deserve new undies. (I think I can actually find undies that fit me. Since I have a little white-girl ass and thus can fit in normal sizes. But why are so many of the undies on sale now thongs? Thongs hurt my soul. And my girl-bitz. It's not fair.)
- A pair of jeans that fit. (Or corduroys. Or something. Anything. Any kind of pants to wear on my days off. That fit. And there's the clincher. I don't know my size, and am beginning to think I, gasp, don't have one. Nothing fits me. GAH. My brown corduroys actually FELL OFF ME yesterday. This was embarrassing, even though nobody saw but Bert. Because who wears pants that FALL OFF? Me, apparently. Shudder.)
I need a personal shopper. I don't want to go find these things. I just want to have them. Bah.
And then the email arrives from Direct Loans to remind me that I owe them $600 now. Bah. Go away and come back when I'm using my degree, is what I want to tell them. Can I tell them that? I should be able to.
edit: Perhaps what i need is not a personal shopper so much as, well, a friend that likes to shop. I hear other women have these. I hear that other women, like, have female friends and they, like, shop together. This is alien to my existence. (In my defense, I recently spoke to my mother on the phone [on Easter, no less] and she confessed that she had only that weekend been to the mall for the first time since Christmas-- and only then because Fiona was home and needed something. Fiona is the only person in my immediate family who can shop at all. We all sit around in rags waiting for her to visit so she can come tell us how to spend our money. It's a shame, and yet not unexpected, that she never has any money of her own. And so it is not entirely due to my own utterly pathetic nature that I do not know how to shop: No, i come by it honestly, and Fiona is a genetic throwback to another generation of Kellys that knew how to spend money. The rest of us... don't. Although Ann's keen sense of style helps her navigate thrift shops and Wal-mart and she has assembled quite a wardrobe of really... interesting... things that she actually has to use wallpaper paste to apply. [On the premise that what one has got, one ought to flaunt. If I were a size 8 with a 34 DD chest and legs up to there, I would probably flaunt it as well. Though perhaps not with rainbow leg-warmers and little boys' t-shirts.] Katy's wardrobe consists almost entirely of varying patterns of camoflage, however. She gets so excited at the prospect of wearing civilian clothes that she winds up with Hawaiian shirts and things, just in the sheer exuberance of things not made of camoflage or olive drab. Also when on leave she gets excited about nail polish and hair clips, as she is not allowed those things in uniform either.)
