Baby, It's Cold Outside

And that's why she's wearing her winter warmest panties.

How do I know that Alvin the Chipmunk's Mom was wearing her warmest panties, you ask?

Because SHE TOLD ME, shortly after I asked her if she was ready to checkout.

Why did she tell me, you wonder?

I wonder that too.

My Favorite Christmas Think

Is that my Sweetie makes up words to traditional Christmas carols. And, if anyone knows who Harold is, please let him know.

An example:

"Jolly Old St Nicholas, lean your ear this way,
don't you tell a single soul what I'm going to say
Billy wants pair of skates
Judy wants a bell
Jimmy wants the kid next door
To go straight to Hell."

Yeah, that's the true Christmas Spirit.

It's Winter, You Dim Wit

So, Cry Me A River came back to work after having her baby (which, contrary to the numerous stories she was telling, is fine.) She's still nutty as a fruitcake, or frooty as a nutcake, whatever.

She doesn't seem to understand that she's working mid-shifts, which means she will be doing breaks. Yes, all day long, all over the front end. If there's an open register, she can be expected to cover at least one break there. It's not rocket-science.

Anyway, she doesn't bring a coat to work--even knowing that the garden center is open, and she'll be spending at least some time covering a break (or two) out there.

(as a side note: last week, she just flat out refused to cover my breaks. She didn't bother to tell anyone that she wasn't going to cover them, she just didn't. Sweet! My breaks became either non-existant or over an hour late. Yes! Fan-flipping-tastic!)

She doesn't have to cover those breaks anymore--I'm sure they haven't bothered to tell her that with or without a coat, she's going to be covering those breaks. I'll just get to go without.

Never mind that two years (or is it three?) that when I was told that the garden center wouldn't be open, and didn't bring my warm stuff, I had to go out there anyway. And I got to freeze (sans straw bale/windbreak) until they got the hut up.

Oh, yeah. It's an equal opportunity kind of place. Sure it is.

Beam Me Up, Scotty

As we all know, I meet up with some truly reality challenged individuals at work.

Yesterday, I had the Christmas season's doosy! She's getting an award and going down in the annals of my Flypaper for Freaks experiences.

First, she wants me to cut the wreaths down that are on the gate to catch your attention. She refuses to believe me when I tell her we have those SAME wreaths INSIDE the gate, on a table, just a-waitin' for her to buy 'em. I have to practically dangle a martini in front of her to get her to walk over that way.

When she finally makes it back to the register, she says, "Wow. I don't envy you, working out here."

I tell her my standard, "I volunteer for this."

Her eyes fly wide open, and she leans forward and says, "You mean they don't even PAY you to be out here?"

Now, remembering that it's winter, and I'm wearing copious amounts of flourescent orange (and have been asked, "are you seeing many deer out here" tee hee eye roll) and the temps are hovering around 26 degrees, and it is RETAIL, this is absolutely one of the frootloopiest questions anyone could ask me.

It takes all my willpower to answer, "Oh, I am an employee. I just like being out here, and so they let me be."

"Oh! That's better, then."

What I wanted to say is, "No, lady, I LIKE to wear this gawd-awful outfit, sit out in the cold weather, and deal with nutbars like YOU. I pay THEM for this."

I think this qualifies for the "Beam Me Up Scotty, There's No Intelligent Life Here Award"

Curiosity

Curiosity killed the cat. And it just may kill me.

We have infants to shop for this year, and whilst perusing the aisles of infant wear, I came across something that is driving me crazy for want of an explanation:

Infant socks (size 0) with SAFETY TREAD.

I have to ask: What in the world does AN INFANT need safety tread on the bottoms of his (or her) dainty little piggies? Where is he going, and how fast is he expected to get there on his own two feet?

Moby Nickel

I know it's a BIG RETAIL weekend.

But I still think the early openings and ridiculous (and all-too-often nutbar crazy) shoppers in the wee sma's is way less than newsworthy.

I also think that our store manager, Captain Ahab, has finally flipped his lid.

Friday saw a busy store. And many many cash dollars flowing.

But Saturday? Saturday was the day to stay in bed, sleep off the craziness hangover, and not bother. Plus, by Saturday, you were out of money anyway.

Captain Ahab, in search of the elusive Great White Nickel, opened the garden center at 7am. As the designated deranged, I sat in the toothpicks and saranwrap resurrected hut, in the dark and cold, until 9am before I saw a person who did not work there. And that person? He wasn't buying anything we had to sell.

Yeah, it was soooo totally worth it.

Life, in a Vacuum, Sucks

For the record, it sucks. Truly, Deeply Sucks.

So, with Saturday being Halloween, our town's Trick or Treat hours were on Saturday 5-7. Saturday was exhausting to think about: soccer game; end of season party immediately following; birthday party for a school friend; trick or treat. During T-0-T I also had to ensure that my Howler hit the neighborhood, AND made it across town (in two directions) visiting the older generation of demanding women. A plan was hatched...then rehatched.

It actually worked.

Until we got home afterwards.

She's still got the heeby-jeeby head lice. It'sbeen a migraine kind of week (with the call Monday at 3pm) and the daily hair picking (wich equals the daily hours long whinge and bitch session--HER, not me. Mine is all 100% reactionary.)

I'm trying to have a good sense of humor about this--honest, I am. But Tuesday, when she came home with 3 frisky adults AFTER I spent just over 2 hours on her head the night before (while my Sweetie spent and equal amount of time on her room and the house)

To discover on Saturday night that the 10+ hours I've already devoted to this was, effectively, useless, on top of discovering during the T-o-T route that the one aunt who gave my brother & sister in law such a hard time about THEIR dance with the lice last fall/winter (and that they were the ones that sold me down the river) had learned it.

The woman called me as soon as T-o-T was over and demanded to know if had gotten the shampoo.

What shampoo?

Did you go to the drug store and get the shampoo?

What shampoo?

To treat her head with!!!!!!!!

YES, I DID!

Don't yell at me.

To say I am hurt and angry--I mean, I know I'm lazy, and I'm not any kind of housekeeper, but to think that I would let my daughter (anyone in my house, really) have these bugs on their heads and NOT have gotten the stuff from the drugstore and treated heads ALREADY is very very insulting. The fact that she then told me to "not yell at her" when she was being this absolutely assinine-rude-insulting was too much.

The Howler was supposed to spend time at her house this week, especially over the weekend, as my Sweetie and I are going to church convention. My mom was stepped up, but it's still pissing me off--my cousin's two kids who also go to this school will end up with these thing, and the old woman is going to blame MINE, even though the Howler hasn't been near them in 3 weeks or longer.

When my Sweetie was talking to her yesterday, he said something about making sure their heads are getting checked--and I snappped. Nice and loud, and nasty, I said, "If they have 'em, she better remember they're in the school, and NOT around MY DAUGHTER."

My Sweetie is worried that I'll hold a grudge but this is different. This is just your usual, run-of-the-mill selling out by family members. I should have expected it--it's not like my brother doesn't accuse me of "telling" on him. (Once he accused me of telling a person I don't even KNOW, two days before he actually told ME anything.)

*eyeroll*

At this point, my family may actually be worse than the lice--at least with the lice, I know they don't really have any choice in being lousy.