I feel like Miss Havisham from Great Expectations right now...
Okay, its been less than 35 years since I last moved at all, but my Sunday ritual of crusting in bed certainly makes me lose track of time and considering the fact I'm still wearing the shirt I wore last night.... I'm on my way to never moving again and wearing the same outfit for the rest of my life.
Kidding.
Anyway, I've never even seen Great Expectations, just the Sassy Gay Friend of it on youtube.
So don't go thinking I'm all well read or am motivated enough to actually rent a movie...
Renting a movie would require getting out of bed, finding my keys, forgetting my dignity and the social norms of the environment I take part in and eventually leaving the house in sweats, offensive make up, and sporting hair that was popularized by homeless, toothless, peasants of mid-evil England...
Instead, I choose to sit in bed and wonder when crusting not only became a verb, but also an intengral part of the binding routine I call life....
Sundays used to be busy. I had a job, I taught a confirmation class, I did homework....
I most likely had an ASB lunch, and was already preparing mentally for Monday's officer meeting for Y and G. Many Sundays, I had debutantes. Oh wait... and I used to play softball?
Oh, how things have changed. The FUNNIEST part of this whole realization that I've basically become a certifiable vegetable on Sundays, hiding like anne frank or a heliophobic in my room.... is that I finally understand Senioritis. I have got the plague.
Now listen up all you youngsters.... You haven't got senioritis. You may think you do... But you don't. I say this because I was that loud mouthed kid who claimed they had senioritis from about mid-sophmore year on...
But you don't have senioritis if you are still doing things to try to get you out of La Canada.
If you still have extra-cirrics, an SAT tutor, a sport, and the motivation to move before noon on Sunday, you haven't been infected. DBAS. (dream big all-star).
Senioritis... it's more than being ready to leave. We've all been ready to leave since the day we realized the UA has a rodent problem, lice infected seats, and that the "cop" who patrols the theater on Friday nights, doesn't actually have any authority.. I doubt any 8th graders are reading this, but if on the off chance I've picked up a younger audience... SCREW THAT FOE-COP.... And stop lying to your parents.... If you are walking down to burger king/sitting at Starbucks for the duration of a movie to talk about drama or hang out with guys.... just tell them... they won't care.... I spent too much of my life holding on to movie tickets stubs just in case my mom asked for them... checking movie synopsizes on the original iphone.... BECAUSE I WAS SO SKETCHY SITTING AT STARBUCKS with my friends? Mom, I know you read my blog... So I take this moment here and now to apologize for lying about going to starbucks/rice garden. Hope you aren't TOO mad.
Wow, that whole little rant made me pretty nostalgic for 8th grade. Nothing like racoon-eyes and not knowing how to use eye-liner.... Nothing like daily fraps and taco deli nachos and remaining relatively thin... Nothing like the beeline on Fridays... WHO REMEMBERS WHEN THE LCF SHUTTLLE BROKE DOWN ON MICHIGAN HILL? WHO REMEMBERS WHEN BUSHMAN GOT HIT BY A MOM TALKING ON HER CELLPHONE? WHO REMEMBERS ROUTINE PHOTOSHOOTS AT MEMORIAL PARK WHILE THE BOYS SKATED... WHO REMEMBERS WHEN KB AND JM GOT IN A FIGHT AT MEMORIAL? WHO REMEMBERS THE Y DANCE WHERE THERE WAS A ROSEMONT VS LC GIRL FIGHT? (okay one attempt at a punch was made... doesn't constitute a girl fight, but the memory remains epic either way...) WHO REMEMBERS HOLLISTER/ABERCROMBIE TANKS IN EVERY COLOR... WHO REMEMBERS IDOLIZING THE CAST OF THE OC/LAGUNA BEACH/ EVERYONE KNEW NEWPORT HARBOR WAS A FAIL. WHO REMEMBERS MYSPACE? LiZzIe'ZZZZ PAGE. Hi :) I'm lizzie, I blow out my candles on july 9. :) I hate drama. I love my friends. I'm super chill, so if you want to get to know me... leave a comment :) (insert artsy picture from photobucket now.) COMMENTS? NAH BITCH, WE WALL TO WALL NOW.
Hopefully... I'm not the only one who remembers....
Wait, what the hell was I originally talking about... Hi I have ADHD, nice to meet you? No, I won't sell you adderol, asshole.
So back to Senioritis. Trust me, juniors who swear they DGAF and aren't going to study for AP exams.... You don't have it. Sophomore girls whose friend group has so much drama they SWEAR they are ready to move on, you aren't infected. And to the sketch freshman who have drank already... YOU DON'T HAVE SENIORITIS EITHER.
You just don't.
That's all for now.
I have some very important crusting to attend to.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Chinese Class at Community College
Community the tv show cuts way too close to home.
As I have recently begun taking Mandarin 1 at PCC, I realize that "Community" is a bit more accurate than we would all like to think.
Even if I tried, (which I have), I couldn't possibly think of a more random group of people compiled into room 201 every monday and wednesday from 330 to 610.
There's the only black guy in the class.
He brings a laptop and sits in the front...
One time, while discussing envelope colors and their meaning in China... he said "what about black envelopes?"
The teacher had no choice but to tell him black envelopes didn't exist in China. To this day, I am sure he was severely offended.
For those of you who watch Community, there are two men that resemble Pierce. Old white conservatives who ask too many questions are convinced that every component of the Chinese language has a perfectly analogous relationship to a component of English. They cannot understand anything unless it is related to something American. These two men always sit next to the black guy I mentioned before. It's pretty funny.
Naturally, there are two Korean girls that have deemed themselves smart and interesting enough to tell us every time we learn something in Mandarin, the word , phrase, character, or structure of the particular item in Korean. I'm not MGA, I don't care about Korean. I hate these girls.
These girls also have these weirdo bag hooks that they pull out of their backpacks and put at the corner of their desks so their all cliched hello kitty backpacks do not have to touch the miserable class room floor. It really weirds me out and I spent much too long of my last class thinking about how stupid their bag hooks are.
ALSO....
they won't go into the bathroom which has multiple stalls if anyone else is in it. they will wait outside until the bathroom is completely empty.
they are either doing cocaine or have the worst performance anxiety known to man.
The KG's (korean girls) are not to be trusted.
Next, come the three best friends that anyone could have...
they all dress similarly kind of like 1980's punkish and are awkwardly probably the smartest people in the class. the teacher cannot keep them apart even though they are all of different races and names begin with the sounds da, st, and ri.
They aren't chinese which pisses me off.
I don't know why they get Chinese so easily.
Maybe they are scamming the system, much like the fluent chinese girl who sat by me last class and read an entire novel written entirely in mandarin during last weeks class. I found this extremely unfair. I'm pretty sure she told the teacher she was Japanese, not Chinese the first week to stay in the class and has feigned ignorance ever since..... I am so curious about this girl, I wonder if she purposefully misses a few answers on quizzes here and there to maintain her cover.... It almost seems more exhausting to pretend you don't know something than take a class you actually know nothing about.
I will continue to watch this fluent speaker.
There a few other characters I must mention to complete the cast.
Of course there is the teacher, her English is hilarious but her good sense of humor keeps us motivated. think if the movie freedom writers had jim carrey, not hilary swank as the teacher.
there is a girl that the teacher pretends she knows and always uses as the example. i'm pretty sure this girl doesn't know the teacher and feels uncomfortable most of the time in class.
There is the awkward trio that sits in front. A chubby mom with Christina Augliera high lights circa 1999, an anorexic theater major, and asian good will hunting. Asian good will hunting takes his notes in a leather bound journal and always wears a suit. He has trendy glasses and has worn a scarf on more than one occassion.
The past two classes I've sat next to the same kid. I guess we are "friends"? I am truly unsure of how to meet people at this point but he seems cool enough..... I of course, can no longer get close enough to anyone in my class at this point because this blog posting is a bit... "too soon" to be read by my classmates.
hhaahaha..
OH AND FINALLY. THIS POST WOULD NOT BE COMPLETE WITHOUT MENTIONING STAR BURNS.
I have attached a picture of Starburns from community so everyone can chuckle together...
bahahaha. This guy is hilarious and by hilarious I mean horribly annoying and makes me question every class "is this real life?". He has obviously spent a ton of time in china town... he is a bit chubberooosks, wears a nightmare before christmas sweater every class, a fedora and has weirrrrrrd facial hair. One of the few words he knows is "pigio" meaning beer. So whenever we learn a new phrase such as
"I like"
"I want"
"I drink"
"I need"
"I love"
"I only talk about"
"has ruined my social skills"
you bet he raises his hand and volunteers the word beer.
I'm tempted to bring him a 12 pack soon and tell him we got the picture and to never utter the word pigio again. I truly might do that.
Of course, with all these people watching...
I've learned about one thing in Mandarin so far.
It is this.
Pigio=beer.
Damn you star burns.
As I have recently begun taking Mandarin 1 at PCC, I realize that "Community" is a bit more accurate than we would all like to think.
Even if I tried, (which I have), I couldn't possibly think of a more random group of people compiled into room 201 every monday and wednesday from 330 to 610.
There's the only black guy in the class.
He brings a laptop and sits in the front...
One time, while discussing envelope colors and their meaning in China... he said "what about black envelopes?"
The teacher had no choice but to tell him black envelopes didn't exist in China. To this day, I am sure he was severely offended.
For those of you who watch Community, there are two men that resemble Pierce. Old white conservatives who ask too many questions are convinced that every component of the Chinese language has a perfectly analogous relationship to a component of English. They cannot understand anything unless it is related to something American. These two men always sit next to the black guy I mentioned before. It's pretty funny.
Naturally, there are two Korean girls that have deemed themselves smart and interesting enough to tell us every time we learn something in Mandarin, the word , phrase, character, or structure of the particular item in Korean. I'm not MGA, I don't care about Korean. I hate these girls.
These girls also have these weirdo bag hooks that they pull out of their backpacks and put at the corner of their desks so their all cliched hello kitty backpacks do not have to touch the miserable class room floor. It really weirds me out and I spent much too long of my last class thinking about how stupid their bag hooks are.
ALSO....
they won't go into the bathroom which has multiple stalls if anyone else is in it. they will wait outside until the bathroom is completely empty.
they are either doing cocaine or have the worst performance anxiety known to man.
The KG's (korean girls) are not to be trusted.
Next, come the three best friends that anyone could have...
they all dress similarly kind of like 1980's punkish and are awkwardly probably the smartest people in the class. the teacher cannot keep them apart even though they are all of different races and names begin with the sounds da, st, and ri.
They aren't chinese which pisses me off.
I don't know why they get Chinese so easily.
Maybe they are scamming the system, much like the fluent chinese girl who sat by me last class and read an entire novel written entirely in mandarin during last weeks class. I found this extremely unfair. I'm pretty sure she told the teacher she was Japanese, not Chinese the first week to stay in the class and has feigned ignorance ever since..... I am so curious about this girl, I wonder if she purposefully misses a few answers on quizzes here and there to maintain her cover.... It almost seems more exhausting to pretend you don't know something than take a class you actually know nothing about.
I will continue to watch this fluent speaker.
There a few other characters I must mention to complete the cast.
Of course there is the teacher, her English is hilarious but her good sense of humor keeps us motivated. think if the movie freedom writers had jim carrey, not hilary swank as the teacher.
there is a girl that the teacher pretends she knows and always uses as the example. i'm pretty sure this girl doesn't know the teacher and feels uncomfortable most of the time in class.
There is the awkward trio that sits in front. A chubby mom with Christina Augliera high lights circa 1999, an anorexic theater major, and asian good will hunting. Asian good will hunting takes his notes in a leather bound journal and always wears a suit. He has trendy glasses and has worn a scarf on more than one occassion.
The past two classes I've sat next to the same kid. I guess we are "friends"? I am truly unsure of how to meet people at this point but he seems cool enough..... I of course, can no longer get close enough to anyone in my class at this point because this blog posting is a bit... "too soon" to be read by my classmates.
hhaahaha..
OH AND FINALLY. THIS POST WOULD NOT BE COMPLETE WITHOUT MENTIONING STAR BURNS.
I have attached a picture of Starburns from community so everyone can chuckle together...
"I like"
"I want"
"I drink"
"I need"
"I love"
"I only talk about"
"has ruined my social skills"
you bet he raises his hand and volunteers the word beer.
I'm tempted to bring him a 12 pack soon and tell him we got the picture and to never utter the word pigio again. I truly might do that.
Of course, with all these people watching...
I've learned about one thing in Mandarin so far.
It is this.
Pigio=beer.
Damn you star burns.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
PLAS II
The night had the stress of any sequel. Will there be a lot of hook ups? Will I be the one who throws up? I wonder if that lizzie girl is going to break a table again..... And I wonder if she will bring her camera....
Well, thankfully, I didn't break any tables this time around.. I did climb on a counter top and attempt to quiet people down at one point, but the bouncer carried me down before I could have any success... Because obviously I was in a state of mind to quiet a room full of people. right?
I did however, bring my camera. The pressure was on. I knew other photographers were going to bring the heat. But I had to capture the essence of the night. I hoped to do accomplish my goal without running a 5k like I did last time. All the running on an august night had previously caused me to think it was socially acceptable to dunk my head in the pool mid party to cool down. Word of advice to all: don't do it... you will have a middle part and resemble hansel from zoolander the entire rest of the night.
I make my entrance, and I know it's going to be a good night. Many thanks to my lovely friend with the pick up truck who happened to be driving by when I needed a ride. Let me tell you, there's nothing more exhilarating than arriving at a party dancing in the back of a pick up truck with you and your friends. And by heroic, I mean, embarrassing and pretentious in sober retrospect.
My camera is out. I must get good pictures.
I'm making my usual rounds, until a snap one make out picture which turns the whole night askew.
SOMEHOW, this one camera flash.... this one little snap shot taken mid party scene.... turns ugly into a rumor that I have mobile uploaded a couple engaging in more than a little innocent kissing, mid party..... yes, because I would leave the party scene in attempt to find kid porn and live the rest of my life as a registered sex offender....
anyway, I had no idea that this rumor had sparked so I spent the rest of the night yelling at people...
in retrospect the convos are so funny.
angry person: WHAT KIND OF HUMAN BEING ARE YOU TO DO THAT? GO TO HELL YOU BITCH.
me: IT WAS ONE PICTURE. JESUS. I DELETED IT AN HOUR AGO WHATS THE BIG DEAL.
angry person: FDKLAJFLDAJL
anyway, so just to clarify, I never did that, nor am I sure those relations even ensued to begin with. everyone should walk away with a clean name...
I meant to post this blog about a week ago.... But I never finished it....
But all I have to say is what a shitshow.
and I'm not quite sure if society is ready for any more PLAS.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
I'm sorry for telling people about that one time that you had dirreah at Barnes and Noble...
I needed a book.
Heading back from the snazzy arc light at paseo, my momma suggested we stop at the barnes and noble in old town. Of course, coming from the weird end of Colorado and trying to make a left onto Delacey so we can use that marvelous parking lot (90 minutes free! I recently went to old town and spent 102 minutes in the good ole old town [couldn't resist the ole, old, sorry], and let me tell ya, you love that lot until the day you spend 2 dollars on 12 minutes....) is utterly impossible... so, two lights and a lot cursing later we eventually decide its not worth the extra five minutes to make a left into a parking lot essentially a block away and we drive all the way to the Barnes and Noble in the Americana. Look, it made more sense to have an active pursuit.
We arrive at the Americana, thank god for the cold rags they dispense at each parking level so your motion sickness spurred on by the spiral speedway set up to traverse parking levels, is kept in check. Oh wait. They don't do that.
Me: Mmmmmhmmm the Americana smells good.
Momma Rita: It always smells good at the Americana!
Now, Momma Rita likes Glendale about as much as the average anti-semetic likes, well, someone Jewish. And all of the sudden, she is a Glendale Guru knowing the smells of the Americana like the smells of her own Mother's kitchen. I was/ am in utter chock.
We make it to the Barnes and Noble.
Does anyone else remember the time where bestsellers were stacked on the special wood tables in front? With the little glossy sign that says best sellers? Now, you walk into the ol' nobles and the special feature blond wood tables hold signs that say "self-improovement" and "dieting and nutrition".
This sucks for two reasons. Self-Help books and Dieting are the eye catchers of a book store? Is this really what people go book shopping for?? I admittedly came into the store to by a book in the self-help section....BUT I USUALLY DON'T. And it's not like I thought most people went book shopping to get weirdo "self -improovement" books.. Or does everyone think this? Profound....
The second reason it sucks, as I so eloquently put it, is that dieting and self improovement are two different sections. Because dieting doesn't fall under the cateogeory of self help? BECAUSE DIETING IS SELF DESTRUCTIVE? Wait, also, PROFOUND. Take that atkins, Barnes and Nobles execs think that dieting is inadvertently a sign of self deprication.
Anyway, I can't find the book I'm looking for, I thought it was sure to be in Pyschology but of course it is in the aforementioned self-help section. A jolly book finder helps me, and I have my book.
After a few more minutes of browsing, and i'm in the check out line with Momma Ritz.
Now, the last time I was at this particular Barnes and Noble, I was purchasing books for my AP Lit summer reading list. When we were checking out, an overly chatty recent UCLA grad who studied literature and loved ravoli (I told you, a chatty kathy amoung us), took it upon herself to examine my summer reading list and give me summaries of every book on it. BEACUSE AS AT RECENT UCLA GRAD WITH A LITERATURE DEGREE SHE WAS AUTHORIZED TO DO SO. Not only did she give summaries, but marked my list with little happy faces next to her favorite classics. Of course, not being OCD, I permitted her to do this. NOT. Well whatever, so much for you and your Bruin B.A., you still work at a godforsaken bookstore. Poophead.
So this time, it was essential to have a plan to avoid a three hour conversation. Momma Ritz and I decided to take on Russian spy personas (we love you Evelyn Salt), and pretend we don't speak english if the casher adresses us.
We approach the counter and, damn he already knows we speak English, it's the same guy that helped us find our book upstairs. This guy was a machine and possibly one of few working there. This understaffment led to our inquiry if they were hiring (after all, I did just quit **), an inquiry followed by giggles at Momma's suggestion that he would after all be the one hiring us.... (because he is the only person who works there. keep up people).
Back to the parking garage arena (it can't even be called a garage) and my Mom and I actually ponder whether or not to take the elevator or the escalators. We decided we would burn off the extra calories by using the escalators.... You realize I'm only half kidding...
My mom wanders off at level three (we parked at level five), and after I politely ask her, what she's doing she replies, "Oh, silly me! I always do this at the Americana." (once again, prooving her many encounters with the Americana? I'm still not sure if she leads a double life where she shops at the Americana every day without me, or if she just has recently gotten in the habit of using extreme jargon and using the word always a bit too much....)
Walking back to the car,
Momma Rita: Do you smell that? Smells like beer.
Me: I do smell that, but I was going to say it smelled like marajuana.
Monday, January 31, 2011
**
an * to explain the use of **, ** shall be substituted for the name of the place of which I was once employed, I fear using the real name of it..... somehow, I just know I could get sued, even though none of this is libel or defamation. ** just... scares me.
Me: Hello, Welcome to **!
Customer: Oh, why Hello lovely worker!
Me: Oh hello! My name is Lizzie I will be your goodness guide for the evening. Have you all been to ** before?
Customer: No, we have not been to this lovely place of swirly goodness before!!
Me: Oh my goodness! And golly gee! Well welcome to **. ** serves frozen yogurt! All of our yogurt is made fresh daily, has over a billion live and active cultures, and is non-fat, except for our delicious chocolate flavor which is low fat. (insert smile here!) At this location, we swirl six flavors, we have our delectable tart original unique to **, as well as coconut, mango, pomegranate, chocolate and our newest featured flavor, BLOOD ORANGE! you can mix any two flavors if you would like! what kind of samples can I interest you in?
Customer: I will try all of them because I have nothing to do with my day and LOVE frozen yogurt!
Me: SURE THING!
oh wait. that never happened. I've recently quit my job at the esteemed **, and I have never been happier. Well, I'm happy for now, but my sushi five times a week diet is sure to suffer in the near future. sorry for being a spicy tuna addict. love me.
anyway, I recently quit my job at the pristine clean uber trendy (three years ago) **. The little role play I gave earlier was a fantasy that the company has, assuming that each customer actually gives an eff about their yogurt. this is what actually happened 90% of the time...
Me: HELLO, WELCOME TO **
(not even as much as an eyebrow lift from customer who is typing furiously into their blackberry, andriod, or iphone. let's be honest, ** is so expensive, no 1990's flip phones are ever seen in the shop... )
Me: My name is Lizzie, I'll be you----
Customer: Ya, I need five medium originals all with strawberry, fruity pebbles, and pineapple.
(make yogurts furiously)
Customer: LET ME TRY YOUR CHOCOLATE.
Me (stop making yogurt and get sample: Here you are! Let me know what you think!
Customer: Ew, tastes like pudding. Let me try your coconut.
Me: Oh of course!
Customer: oh, god, tastes like rotten cottage cheese. back to the originals. is there anyone else working here that can help you?
Me: I'm so sorry, everyone is on their break! (this is a symptom of the fact that ** at most has 4 employees at any given time, ** workers are worked into the ground, not paid over time, and literally nap in the back whenever I work...)
Customer usually doesn't respond despite my best attempts at a smile...
Finally we make it to the register.
Customer: what?!?! THESE YOGURTS WERE 4.95 A PIECE? IT SAYS 3.50 ON THE MENU.
Me: well, let me review the menu with you, it says 3.50 without topping, 4.95 with topping, see the bottom row includes topping price.
Customer: I thought it was toppings per price, how many toppings can I get?
Me: Well, you can fit as many toppings as fit comfortably in the cup.
Customer: You never told me that, throw some of that chocolate goop on the yogurts then.
Me: oh the milk chocolate crunch!? delish. it will be 50 cents extra per scoop.
Customer (glares that could kill are usually received at this point): granola on the five yogurts, then.
Me: Of course! (thinking to myself that if you would have let me give my little speech at the beginning instead of cutting me off and checking into ** on your godforsaken iphone, you may have known this before.... but sure thing, let me unbag, un-ice, un-top five yogurts, refill the granola, and top your yogurts again.... I know you are in such a rush, so I will awkwardly try and run to and fro in my converse and dickies. yes. minimum wage jobs.)
let me just tell you something, people. are. terrible. if my job taught me anything, it is to be tolerant of the worker behind the counter. because, LBH here, it's more than likely that you are the b****, and they are just trying to do their jobs. people really know NO bounds, unless of course, they realize they know you.
no names used here, but you would be surprised at the number of times that I talk to a La Canada parent, and get them to drop a tip for me, because I know them, and the other workers would look at me in awe. you got HER to talk to you? she's usually so rude and pyschotic....
proving that no matter how low you are, or where you are, it's all about who you know.
I move forward today, less racist than I was before, you can't help but start to stereotype races for their preferences.
asians=original, mochi, blueberry
indians= mango
whites= pom, mango
armenians= coconut, pom
african americans(anyone ever think saying the af. am's is almost like less PC than just saying "black"? no one knows, I'm just trying to be as politically as correct as I can while still being openly stereotypical.... life. is. a. paradox. thank you and goodnight rick mohney)= still mad the watermelon is gone.
I move forward today, not judging, not having a pre-conceived notion of what kind of yogurt certain races would most likely order. Because, I have a dream.
I have a dream that one day, behind the clean counters of **, that the sons of all yogurt buyers will be able to sit together, at a clean white table, bleached by an underpaid worker.
I have a dream, that one day, even in the state of California, a state dripping with the sweat of health freaks and fro-yo addicts, will be transformed into an oasis of real food, and a place free of yogurt induced stereotypes. I have a dream that one day, children in high school will not judge others for the yogurt they buy, but they will be judged on the content of their character.
you're right. I probably took that way, way too far. jambs. life goes on.
at least I'm not subject to wearing a 100 percent polyester outfit, complete with an apron that fits no one with female "lady lumps" (thank you fergie) properly.
at least I no longer spend 15 hours a week under the scrutiny of cameras watched by big brother, receiving phone calls when you accidentally put the chocolate in the original machine. (IT WAS ONE TIME).
at least, I WALK FREE FROM YOGURT OPRESSION AND NO LONGER FEEL GUILTY EATING DOLCHE MANGO AND 21 CHOICES.
at least.
Me: Hello, Welcome to **!
Customer: Oh, why Hello lovely worker!
Me: Oh hello! My name is Lizzie I will be your goodness guide for the evening. Have you all been to ** before?
Customer: No, we have not been to this lovely place of swirly goodness before!!
Me: Oh my goodness! And golly gee! Well welcome to **. ** serves frozen yogurt! All of our yogurt is made fresh daily, has over a billion live and active cultures, and is non-fat, except for our delicious chocolate flavor which is low fat. (insert smile here!) At this location, we swirl six flavors, we have our delectable tart original unique to **, as well as coconut, mango, pomegranate, chocolate and our newest featured flavor, BLOOD ORANGE! you can mix any two flavors if you would like! what kind of samples can I interest you in?
Customer: I will try all of them because I have nothing to do with my day and LOVE frozen yogurt!
Me: SURE THING!
oh wait. that never happened. I've recently quit my job at the esteemed **, and I have never been happier. Well, I'm happy for now, but my sushi five times a week diet is sure to suffer in the near future. sorry for being a spicy tuna addict. love me.
anyway, I recently quit my job at the pristine clean uber trendy (three years ago) **. The little role play I gave earlier was a fantasy that the company has, assuming that each customer actually gives an eff about their yogurt. this is what actually happened 90% of the time...
Me: HELLO, WELCOME TO **
(not even as much as an eyebrow lift from customer who is typing furiously into their blackberry, andriod, or iphone. let's be honest, ** is so expensive, no 1990's flip phones are ever seen in the shop... )
Me: My name is Lizzie, I'll be you----
Customer: Ya, I need five medium originals all with strawberry, fruity pebbles, and pineapple.
(make yogurts furiously)
Customer: LET ME TRY YOUR CHOCOLATE.
Me (stop making yogurt and get sample: Here you are! Let me know what you think!
Customer: Ew, tastes like pudding. Let me try your coconut.
Me: Oh of course!
Customer: oh, god, tastes like rotten cottage cheese. back to the originals. is there anyone else working here that can help you?
Me: I'm so sorry, everyone is on their break! (this is a symptom of the fact that ** at most has 4 employees at any given time, ** workers are worked into the ground, not paid over time, and literally nap in the back whenever I work...)
Customer usually doesn't respond despite my best attempts at a smile...
Finally we make it to the register.
Customer: what?!?! THESE YOGURTS WERE 4.95 A PIECE? IT SAYS 3.50 ON THE MENU.
Me: well, let me review the menu with you, it says 3.50 without topping, 4.95 with topping, see the bottom row includes topping price.
Customer: I thought it was toppings per price, how many toppings can I get?
Me: Well, you can fit as many toppings as fit comfortably in the cup.
Customer: You never told me that, throw some of that chocolate goop on the yogurts then.
Me: oh the milk chocolate crunch!? delish. it will be 50 cents extra per scoop.
Customer (glares that could kill are usually received at this point): granola on the five yogurts, then.
Me: Of course! (thinking to myself that if you would have let me give my little speech at the beginning instead of cutting me off and checking into ** on your godforsaken iphone, you may have known this before.... but sure thing, let me unbag, un-ice, un-top five yogurts, refill the granola, and top your yogurts again.... I know you are in such a rush, so I will awkwardly try and run to and fro in my converse and dickies. yes. minimum wage jobs.)
let me just tell you something, people. are. terrible. if my job taught me anything, it is to be tolerant of the worker behind the counter. because, LBH here, it's more than likely that you are the b****, and they are just trying to do their jobs. people really know NO bounds, unless of course, they realize they know you.
no names used here, but you would be surprised at the number of times that I talk to a La Canada parent, and get them to drop a tip for me, because I know them, and the other workers would look at me in awe. you got HER to talk to you? she's usually so rude and pyschotic....
proving that no matter how low you are, or where you are, it's all about who you know.
I move forward today, less racist than I was before, you can't help but start to stereotype races for their preferences.
asians=original, mochi, blueberry
indians= mango
whites= pom, mango
armenians= coconut, pom
african americans(anyone ever think saying the af. am's is almost like less PC than just saying "black"? no one knows, I'm just trying to be as politically as correct as I can while still being openly stereotypical.... life. is. a. paradox. thank you and goodnight rick mohney)= still mad the watermelon is gone.
I move forward today, not judging, not having a pre-conceived notion of what kind of yogurt certain races would most likely order. Because, I have a dream.
I have a dream that one day, behind the clean counters of **, that the sons of all yogurt buyers will be able to sit together, at a clean white table, bleached by an underpaid worker.
I have a dream, that one day, even in the state of California, a state dripping with the sweat of health freaks and fro-yo addicts, will be transformed into an oasis of real food, and a place free of yogurt induced stereotypes. I have a dream that one day, children in high school will not judge others for the yogurt they buy, but they will be judged on the content of their character.
you're right. I probably took that way, way too far. jambs. life goes on.
at least I'm not subject to wearing a 100 percent polyester outfit, complete with an apron that fits no one with female "lady lumps" (thank you fergie) properly.
at least I no longer spend 15 hours a week under the scrutiny of cameras watched by big brother, receiving phone calls when you accidentally put the chocolate in the original machine. (IT WAS ONE TIME).
at least, I WALK FREE FROM YOGURT OPRESSION AND NO LONGER FEEL GUILTY EATING DOLCHE MANGO AND 21 CHOICES.
at least.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
top ten things every doctor show needs
1. a slender main character who isn't the most book smart but as a big heart and a traumatic past. these people always have a twinkle in their eyes and usually a good smile.
2. at least one pompous asshole type who partied too hard in college and med school but gets by because they are attractive, a liar, and ultimately a charmer. this character usually ends up dating half the cast.
3. the all attractive older wise doctor who everyone pawns after until he settles down with one of the other characters in the show. think clooney from ER, mcdreamy from greys, etc.
4. a place where all the doctors drink after work. most doctor shows also have someone who loves tequila and is debates an alcoholic. why have no surgeons sued tv networks for portraying them all as drinking obsessed nocturnal freaks. either surgeons are too busy to watch tv, or are truly drunk at the bars every moment of their free time.
5. a chronically ill patient who steals the heart of one of the characters. if the show goes on long enough, there is eventually more than one.
6. the perfect, usually ivy league graduate, OCD, competitive freak that you know you would absolutely despise in real life, but no one on the show ever has a problem with. they are heartless until they kill a patient, then they are depressed, then heartless again. even if they killed a patient in their past, before the show starts, they are eventually in their heartless stage again by the time in their lives that the show takes place at.
7. an unlimited supply of fake "epy injections". even I know at this point that if someone dies without being cut open, you induce them to have an elliptic seizure. "GET ME AN EPY NOW".
8. at least one black doctor that is the shit. even scrubs has turk. no other genre of show makes such an effort to have black people presented as intellectuals who save lives. i'm not saying it's bad, it's just true. jambo. this doctor uses comprises atleast one half of the guarenteed interacial couple on the show, and is often combined with another non white.
9. an either super weird or super badass chief of surgery. the chief may try and retire, but he never will. I should have said he/she, but it's always a man. doctor shows are openly sexist.
10. a truly minimal number of nurses. even if they are in the OR with scrubs, they aren't usually identified by name and just usually hand the surgeons the scapels. doctor shows are generous if they name the nurses, and under normal circumstances there isn't more than one.
2. at least one pompous asshole type who partied too hard in college and med school but gets by because they are attractive, a liar, and ultimately a charmer. this character usually ends up dating half the cast.
3. the all attractive older wise doctor who everyone pawns after until he settles down with one of the other characters in the show. think clooney from ER, mcdreamy from greys, etc.
4. a place where all the doctors drink after work. most doctor shows also have someone who loves tequila and is debates an alcoholic. why have no surgeons sued tv networks for portraying them all as drinking obsessed nocturnal freaks. either surgeons are too busy to watch tv, or are truly drunk at the bars every moment of their free time.
5. a chronically ill patient who steals the heart of one of the characters. if the show goes on long enough, there is eventually more than one.
6. the perfect, usually ivy league graduate, OCD, competitive freak that you know you would absolutely despise in real life, but no one on the show ever has a problem with. they are heartless until they kill a patient, then they are depressed, then heartless again. even if they killed a patient in their past, before the show starts, they are eventually in their heartless stage again by the time in their lives that the show takes place at.
7. an unlimited supply of fake "epy injections". even I know at this point that if someone dies without being cut open, you induce them to have an elliptic seizure. "GET ME AN EPY NOW".
8. at least one black doctor that is the shit. even scrubs has turk. no other genre of show makes such an effort to have black people presented as intellectuals who save lives. i'm not saying it's bad, it's just true. jambo. this doctor uses comprises atleast one half of the guarenteed interacial couple on the show, and is often combined with another non white.
9. an either super weird or super badass chief of surgery. the chief may try and retire, but he never will. I should have said he/she, but it's always a man. doctor shows are openly sexist.
10. a truly minimal number of nurses. even if they are in the OR with scrubs, they aren't usually identified by name and just usually hand the surgeons the scapels. doctor shows are generous if they name the nurses, and under normal circumstances there isn't more than one.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Bobbing Around
My sincere apologies to those who I pretend follow my blog and have been wondering why there hasn't been a more recent post.
This past weekend, I went to Camp Roberts for Y and G TRAINING AND ELECTIONS the second, aka BOB 2, the colloquialism needed for such a lengthy title.
Saturday morning 5 am:
delegates start to filter into the gym. some even bring parents. disgruntled mothers, (somehow perfectly made up, as if y staff, children, and other women also awake at the ungodly hour are out to judge them.... I really hate signs that high school really does never end), early rising fathers, and half asleep high school students who no doubt were out way too late (I didn't sleep at all....) make up the jovial crowd in the YMCA's glorified MPR. I hope no one minded my over excitement and uncomfortable dancing to the Fleetwood Mac that was blasting.
Buses arrive. Despite this being some people's sixth bob, there is endless confusion and a pre-concieved notion that lining up by the doors to the bus an hour before you will get on will somehow earn you the best seat possible. It's not cochella people.... It's a godforsaken bus...
I have nothing to say about the bus ride up, except that I slept the entire time and am frankly disappointed that there is not a picture of me drooling up on facebook yet.
We arrive at our barracks.
Utter madness ensues.
The race to find enough bunks, next to cool enough people, so that you and all your friends can slumber next to each other begins.
The next 10 minutes are filled with
"SENIORITY. WE GET TO ALL SLEEP NEXT TO EACH OTHER."
"Oh my GAH, her parents got divorced when she was 8, she really needs us right now"
"SERIOUSLY, I'M CALLING MY MOM AND GOING HOME I WILL NOT SLEEP NEXT TO SOMEONE WHO GOES TO MY SCHOOL, IS IN MY DELEGATION, AND I SEE ATLEAST ONCE A WEEK. WHAT IS THIS? THE HOLOCAUST? JESUS."
what never fails to make me gig is that by the time everyone's head hits the pillow at night, no one even talks. everyone is too tired. take night one, I walk into the barrack rather delirious and hyper, only to find everyone sound asleep at the mere hour of 11:15? I'm an officer in the program, when I'm down for some rambunctious behavior before lights out, I don't expect to be alone. (side note: I like how I am pretending that being an officer makes me not want to have fun, insinuating that if I'm looking for some cabin style fun and no one else is, that it is a serious issue. how far from the truth this is. LAWWWLZING.)
Back to being chronological and sequential, we attend our first joint session.
how good were those corn dogs? but really. goes to show not even BOB food (which is usually compared to a lovely mix of dog vomit, rocks, and moles) can mess up a corn dog. God bless.
Time for my first session, Constitutional Convention, affectionately called con con for short.
We speed date, except not really, because our dates are all given a political topic before they start, so no one actually has to be awkward and meet new people. Not to mention all the political topics are pretty one sided so no one gets mad. I swear at one point they asked if we thought that George W Bush looked more like an elf than a man. Seriously. (BTW the answer to that is a faerie, aka female elf).
Lunch time. I drink another red bull and skip the cabbage and liver they offer in the food line.
Second session, this time it begins with a special announcement. For the con con group, there will be 7 "directors" (the leader of the group, Tim, called them bucket heads which sent his wife, Cherokee, who also leads the group, into an absolute tizzy. it was epic.). We continue to speed date, but this time, our dates resemble more of a "group hang" (who watched OC season 2, where seth, ryan, and zack try and have a boys night out, marissa, summer and lindsay try to have a girl's night out, and they all end up meeting at alex's trendy music bar and have a "group hang" instead... anyone? just me? OCcrazy01 was my screename. live it. love it.) anyway, back to my political group hang, there are now 8 people discussing broader political issues with four rotating each time to a different group. Those trying for this aforementioned director/bucket head positions are so obvious. Group discussion is a place of combat.
"So, what do you think about that"
"Everyone needs to participate"
"I'm a great leader. just saying"
"If I was a leader, I'd be like batman, I mean if batman was real"
The "subtle" hints are hilarious. Mainly because I ran for a director's spot and didn't get it. but don't even get me started on the anarchy that constituted an election. 102 kids in this program area, 40 run for the 7 director spots, no speech, just a hi I'm Lizzie Miller... and then everyone votes. It's no surprise that all the kids who won have outrageously cool names. One is a season, another is Hawaiian, whatever, just. so. cool. THANKS MOM AND DAD.
another meal, and it's time for a political party convention. because y and g is a place of high school imagination and fun (yay!), the political parties consist of golden, wolf pack, ying yang, and rational, and unaffiliated which is an oxymoron because unaffiliated candidates then run unaffiliated and only those unaffiliated can vote for them. it's a wonderful paradox.
Enter tent, have flash back to last year where a certain AMAZING class of 2010 dancer and I dance battled two epic black kids.. and won with a songie regime. Good times.
Before I know it, I'm battling again. It really is uncanny how often I forget that I am white, and white people can't dance. I'm battling, I'm doing the stanky face, I'm actually telling people I'm from the bay area.
Time to question the candidates.
I raise my hand and get picked.
"Pro-life or Pro-Choice? But wait, there's a catch. Incorporate Jambo into your answer."
Let me just tell you, this question did not go well. Epic in the most watching an idea simply explode into small pieces that smell like mustard and dirty feet. So sad.
The rest of the PPC (political party convention) is pretty much dance battling, needless to say, I remained in the tent reppin my s$%^ long after it was socially acceptable.
After a few other things which I am cutting out because this post is already too long and I feel weird, is the DANCE.
To all y and gers, we know the dance as a place so crowded, so sweaty, that if you jump in the air, you can actually be suspended and move around the dance floor. Deans stand on a stage with small flash lights, the music occasionally goes in and out, and mosh pits to "tell me when to go" are a given.
To those outside of y and g, y and g dances are portrayed as giant orgies where everyone is beautiful, happy, and getting some.
It's pretty funny actually.
Sorry if I've crushed the fantasy of many readers...
That's all I'm going to say about the dance. Moving on. haha.
The last day, of my last bob, of my last year of high school (too much nostalgia?) begins nice and early. As a delegation, we walk to breakfast, and a few notable moments can't help but escape me. I can't help but reflect upon my previous years in y and g, bob memories if you will, and remember:
Being chair of the sex (reproductive rights.. lol, we called it sex, so esteemed and qualified to do so as sophomores) committee, and making "what a good chair does" jokes to my other best friends who were also chairs. these jokes could range from "a good chair is always punctual" to "a good chair always counts their chickens before they hatch" to "a good chair always hides nipple piercings underneath classy sweaters". Good Chair jokes must always be said in a pretentious British accent. If you can't play by the rules, sit down.
OR
chicken fighting (out of water of course) in the barracks, actually physically impaling each other, while older delegates looked at us in fear. we of course dismissed them as "such judgmental beyotches" where as today, if I saw 15 year old girls wrestling chicken fight style, there would be a lot more than some dirty glares. ahhh life's ever changing perspective.
OR
putting hair extensions in my shirt and telling people I had chest hair. (I also repeated the phrase "chest hair" at the friendship service at the end of the year, causing people to this day to believe I have an inordinate amount of inappropriate female body hair. I'd like to say here and now, I DON'T.)
OR EVEN
the psychotic rain of BOB 2 last year where delegates stripped and ran the mile or so to their barracks in the buff, yelling FREE RODNEY KING... When people fell in the mud and it was every man for himself, because looking back was pointless, all you saw was water. If anyone ever made it back to the barrack, they were applauded. RIP to those members we lost. kidding. probs too soon to joke about drowning. my apologies.
on that note... MEHRRR....
the weekend ends with a closing joint session, an epic record time clean up, nick naming, and a bus ride home.
I've always liked to save the best for last (omg who stalked my bob album! trendy!), and I can say without a doubt, this bob was the best (and clearly the last).
I LOVE YOU CCY.
This past weekend, I went to Camp Roberts for Y and G TRAINING AND ELECTIONS the second, aka BOB 2, the colloquialism needed for such a lengthy title.
Saturday morning 5 am:
delegates start to filter into the gym. some even bring parents. disgruntled mothers, (somehow perfectly made up, as if y staff, children, and other women also awake at the ungodly hour are out to judge them.... I really hate signs that high school really does never end), early rising fathers, and half asleep high school students who no doubt were out way too late (I didn't sleep at all....) make up the jovial crowd in the YMCA's glorified MPR. I hope no one minded my over excitement and uncomfortable dancing to the Fleetwood Mac that was blasting.
Buses arrive. Despite this being some people's sixth bob, there is endless confusion and a pre-concieved notion that lining up by the doors to the bus an hour before you will get on will somehow earn you the best seat possible. It's not cochella people.... It's a godforsaken bus...
I have nothing to say about the bus ride up, except that I slept the entire time and am frankly disappointed that there is not a picture of me drooling up on facebook yet.
We arrive at our barracks.
Utter madness ensues.
The race to find enough bunks, next to cool enough people, so that you and all your friends can slumber next to each other begins.
The next 10 minutes are filled with
"SENIORITY. WE GET TO ALL SLEEP NEXT TO EACH OTHER."
"Oh my GAH, her parents got divorced when she was 8, she really needs us right now"
"SERIOUSLY, I'M CALLING MY MOM AND GOING HOME I WILL NOT SLEEP NEXT TO SOMEONE WHO GOES TO MY SCHOOL, IS IN MY DELEGATION, AND I SEE ATLEAST ONCE A WEEK. WHAT IS THIS? THE HOLOCAUST? JESUS."
what never fails to make me gig is that by the time everyone's head hits the pillow at night, no one even talks. everyone is too tired. take night one, I walk into the barrack rather delirious and hyper, only to find everyone sound asleep at the mere hour of 11:15? I'm an officer in the program, when I'm down for some rambunctious behavior before lights out, I don't expect to be alone. (side note: I like how I am pretending that being an officer makes me not want to have fun, insinuating that if I'm looking for some cabin style fun and no one else is, that it is a serious issue. how far from the truth this is. LAWWWLZING.)
Back to being chronological and sequential, we attend our first joint session.
how good were those corn dogs? but really. goes to show not even BOB food (which is usually compared to a lovely mix of dog vomit, rocks, and moles) can mess up a corn dog. God bless.
Time for my first session, Constitutional Convention, affectionately called con con for short.
We speed date, except not really, because our dates are all given a political topic before they start, so no one actually has to be awkward and meet new people. Not to mention all the political topics are pretty one sided so no one gets mad. I swear at one point they asked if we thought that George W Bush looked more like an elf than a man. Seriously. (BTW the answer to that is a faerie, aka female elf).
Lunch time. I drink another red bull and skip the cabbage and liver they offer in the food line.
Second session, this time it begins with a special announcement. For the con con group, there will be 7 "directors" (the leader of the group, Tim, called them bucket heads which sent his wife, Cherokee, who also leads the group, into an absolute tizzy. it was epic.). We continue to speed date, but this time, our dates resemble more of a "group hang" (who watched OC season 2, where seth, ryan, and zack try and have a boys night out, marissa, summer and lindsay try to have a girl's night out, and they all end up meeting at alex's trendy music bar and have a "group hang" instead... anyone? just me? OCcrazy01 was my screename. live it. love it.) anyway, back to my political group hang, there are now 8 people discussing broader political issues with four rotating each time to a different group. Those trying for this aforementioned director/bucket head positions are so obvious. Group discussion is a place of combat.
"So, what do you think about that"
"Everyone needs to participate"
"I'm a great leader. just saying"
"If I was a leader, I'd be like batman, I mean if batman was real"
The "subtle" hints are hilarious. Mainly because I ran for a director's spot and didn't get it. but don't even get me started on the anarchy that constituted an election. 102 kids in this program area, 40 run for the 7 director spots, no speech, just a hi I'm Lizzie Miller... and then everyone votes. It's no surprise that all the kids who won have outrageously cool names. One is a season, another is Hawaiian, whatever, just. so. cool. THANKS MOM AND DAD.
another meal, and it's time for a political party convention. because y and g is a place of high school imagination and fun (yay!), the political parties consist of golden, wolf pack, ying yang, and rational, and unaffiliated which is an oxymoron because unaffiliated candidates then run unaffiliated and only those unaffiliated can vote for them. it's a wonderful paradox.
Enter tent, have flash back to last year where a certain AMAZING class of 2010 dancer and I dance battled two epic black kids.. and won with a songie regime. Good times.
Before I know it, I'm battling again. It really is uncanny how often I forget that I am white, and white people can't dance. I'm battling, I'm doing the stanky face, I'm actually telling people I'm from the bay area.
Time to question the candidates.
I raise my hand and get picked.
"Pro-life or Pro-Choice? But wait, there's a catch. Incorporate Jambo into your answer."
Let me just tell you, this question did not go well. Epic in the most watching an idea simply explode into small pieces that smell like mustard and dirty feet. So sad.
The rest of the PPC (political party convention) is pretty much dance battling, needless to say, I remained in the tent reppin my s$%^ long after it was socially acceptable.
After a few other things which I am cutting out because this post is already too long and I feel weird, is the DANCE.
To all y and gers, we know the dance as a place so crowded, so sweaty, that if you jump in the air, you can actually be suspended and move around the dance floor. Deans stand on a stage with small flash lights, the music occasionally goes in and out, and mosh pits to "tell me when to go" are a given.
To those outside of y and g, y and g dances are portrayed as giant orgies where everyone is beautiful, happy, and getting some.
It's pretty funny actually.
Sorry if I've crushed the fantasy of many readers...
That's all I'm going to say about the dance. Moving on. haha.
The last day, of my last bob, of my last year of high school (too much nostalgia?) begins nice and early. As a delegation, we walk to breakfast, and a few notable moments can't help but escape me. I can't help but reflect upon my previous years in y and g, bob memories if you will, and remember:
Being chair of the sex (reproductive rights.. lol, we called it sex, so esteemed and qualified to do so as sophomores) committee, and making "what a good chair does" jokes to my other best friends who were also chairs. these jokes could range from "a good chair is always punctual" to "a good chair always counts their chickens before they hatch" to "a good chair always hides nipple piercings underneath classy sweaters". Good Chair jokes must always be said in a pretentious British accent. If you can't play by the rules, sit down.
OR
chicken fighting (out of water of course) in the barracks, actually physically impaling each other, while older delegates looked at us in fear. we of course dismissed them as "such judgmental beyotches" where as today, if I saw 15 year old girls wrestling chicken fight style, there would be a lot more than some dirty glares. ahhh life's ever changing perspective.
OR
putting hair extensions in my shirt and telling people I had chest hair. (I also repeated the phrase "chest hair" at the friendship service at the end of the year, causing people to this day to believe I have an inordinate amount of inappropriate female body hair. I'd like to say here and now, I DON'T.)
OR EVEN
the psychotic rain of BOB 2 last year where delegates stripped and ran the mile or so to their barracks in the buff, yelling FREE RODNEY KING... When people fell in the mud and it was every man for himself, because looking back was pointless, all you saw was water. If anyone ever made it back to the barrack, they were applauded. RIP to those members we lost. kidding. probs too soon to joke about drowning. my apologies.
on that note... MEHRRR....
the weekend ends with a closing joint session, an epic record time clean up, nick naming, and a bus ride home.
I've always liked to save the best for last (omg who stalked my bob album! trendy!), and I can say without a doubt, this bob was the best (and clearly the last).
I LOVE YOU CCY.
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