Shhh!

I've spent the better part of my day at the library down the street from my house doing some work and non-work related things. The couple I speak about in the following rant plunked themselved down in front of me about an hour ago....

Okay, I get that the library is a public place but for the love of all things good in this world what makes you think that you can sit RIGHT across from me and have a loud chitty-chat conversation when I am clearly trying to get some effing work done!? Perhaps going to a cafe where you can chat freely or maybe MOVE THE FUCK AWAY from me so that I can do my work in peace and not listen to your assinine conversation about Germany and children and FUCKING ROOT BEER!!

Seriously, can you please go somewhere else if you're going to chat? Please?
I don’t want to hear about your cat or dog or the way your cat and dog get along and how cute it is that they think they’re people. Some of us still believe in the sanctity of the Library and the quiet and peace and learning that used to come with it. For some of us, the Library is our Church. Please don’t shit on my hymnal and don’t talk over the sermon.

Or how about learning some basic manners? How about that? Be aware of your surroundings and not think that you are the only two people on the planet. I mean, for the love of god dude, clearly she thinks of you just as a friend, can you not see the crossed arms, the lean back to her body, the hunched shoulders? You can lean in all you want with your open arms and your laid back attitude but she’s not going to fuck you. Sorry.

Ha. That made me feel much better. I only wish that the keys of my computer were louder so that I could type my 60 wpm and interrupt your OH SO IMPORTANT conversation with clickity-clackity-clickity-click. And if I had long nails to type on said keyboard with, well that would be all the better.

Seriously, shut the fuck up. Now you're bothering the people two tables down. How completely oblivious are you to your surroundings? Shut up.

And that's the end of my rant. I am pretty cranky today and I suppose I could have asked them to please move but then again I think that if the tables were turned I would have moved away. But that's just me.

She Works Hard For It

Teeny tiny ranty.

Okay, what I do to make money to pay for the things that don't earn me money but bring me joy isn't rocket science, it's barely brain surgery but it's not without it's difficulties - have you ever had to be nice to everyone you come in contact with for 8 hours straight? Try it. Not so easy, is it?
Do me a favour, the next time you're speaking with a customer service rep (CSR as those of us in the biz call us in the biz) make the assumption that they know:
a) how to do their job
b) how to spell
c) how to count
d) if they don't know how to do a, b or c they will transfer you to someone who does

I know how to do my job. I was hired to do it and as long as I keep doing it right I'll keep getting paid. I like money so I'm going to keep doing my job right. I'm rather Pavlovian that way. So unless you sign my paycheque, please, PLEASE do me a favour and keep your job pointers to yourself.

Thank you.

I'm a 10!

I went bathing suit shopping the other day. Why? Because I was feeling way too good about myself lately and the quickest way to depress yourself as a women over the age of 12 is to go bathing suit shoping. Seriously, I live in Los Angeles now, and there are beaches and well... snowsuits don't make for an even tan.

I go into this store that shall remain nameless (because I honestly don't remember the name, but it had the word "swim" in it I think) and I start looking. It's divided up by size. There's an area for size 4, size 6, size 8, size 10, size 12 and size 14. Now this is weird to me because most swimsuit stores I've been in have their stuff sized Small, Medium, Large, XL.

The sales lady visually sizes me up and tells me to look in the size 6 rack. I think that makes sense because in clothing stores I am anywhere from a size 4 to a 7 depending on the store. I grab a few size 6 suits and head to the changing room. I can't get any of the bathing suits over my ass. Not a one. I head back out, confused and look for size 7s. They don't have size 7s so I go to the size 8 rack. I find a few there I like and take them back.

I find one I love that fits.... but it's a little tight. The kind of tight that makes your back fat bunch up under your armpits and gives you the oh-so-not-sexy muffin top. As I am walking back out... ready to wave the white flag on bathing suit shopping and start starving myself asap I see the exact same suit on the size 10 rack.

I'm not a size 10. If I was to wear a 10 in jeans I could pull them on without undoing them. here is nothing wrong with being a 10. I know tons of 10s and they are fine wonderful, fit people. But I am not a 10. It's weird how you learn to identify with a size system but you do and I did and my size has never been bigger than a 7.

Anyway, I pick it up and examine it and for the first time look at the tags sewn into the bahting suit instead of the sizes marked by the store on the racks. I see that although the store has stuck it on the rack marked "10" it actually says "medium" on the tags. I look at the one I had tried on from the "8" rack and it's marked "small". The 4/6 rack are actually "extra small and "extra-extra small".

WTF?!

So I take the "medium" and I try it on and it fits perfectly. It's awesome. I love it - and I haven't loved a bikini since I was 14. So I go to the cash to buy it..... this is the conversation that ensues with the cashier.

CASHIER: So you found something you like?

ME: Yeah, I love it.

CASHIER: I thought you had me put this one back earlier? You changed your mind?

ME: No it's the same suit but a different size. The 6 and 8 didn't fit.

CASHIER: It's a 10?

ME: It's a medium.

CASHIER: Huh, I never would have thought you were a 10. You hide it well.

ME: Wow, way to kick start an eating disorder. Thanks.

I'm 5'7 and 126 pounds, what ,exactly, am I "hiding well"??????

I should have walked out. I shouldn't have given her my money. But seriously, that would mean I would have to go and do this to my self-esteem all over again somewhere else. And that option was way more unappealing than just giving her my money and taking my size "10" (and by "10" I mean "medium") ass home.