Baby, It's Cold Outside

I might be snowbound. That would be awesome, as I'm supposed to get to my job 20 miles away by 9:30 a.m. tomorrow. Snow is only a good thing when it results in cancellation.

On a side note, KFC is ridiculously expensive. $7.19 for the dinner buffet? Are they crazy? Am I crazy for paying that price? There's no cheap variety for the hungry, I guess.

Lastly, Wait's Rules for Customers #536: Don't ever, EVER bring in a party of 30+ people half an hour before the restaurant closes. #537: Don't spill things all over my floor. #538: If you're going to do either of the previous, at least be nice. Which they were, and very much so, so I can't complain too much.

500th Post

I am special and have now posted 500 times. Yes, well. . .

During close tonight, the topic of girls and gentlemen came up. I think many people are surprised to find that I am no feminist. I appreciate gentlemanly actions. If a guy wants to hold open the door for me, I cheese out. I like it. If I can't lift a garbage can or open a jar, I have no qualms about asking a man to do it, and I don't understand women who do. That said, I don't have any problem with asking a woman to do it, either. I am the type of girl who likes to be taken care of, which comes as a shocker to many of my male friends. I can hold my own, I suppose, but if I don't have to, I don't mind. Men take out the garbage cans, and women have the babies.

I also enjoyed (?) the singular experience of having a guy friend tell me that I look like I'm 7 years old. That said, this particular friend is 18 and often asked about his nonexistent kids, so it wasn't too much of an insult. I did, however, howl and protest accordingly. I come across this fairly often; I'll get carded until I'm 38 (I hope). I don't have a particularly baby face, but my voice is high enough, and I do bear a frame that is almost (but not entirely, I swear) devoid of breasts. A butt, though, that's another story. I tell people I have Spanish blood, which supposedly explains my oddly-shaped physique, but that's an outright lie. I just have a butt. Hell, I'll take what I can get, even if it is appealing to that group known as Ass Men. (I certainly lay no claim on Breast Men, and my legs are long but disproportionately so.)

Raah! 500 posts.

Materialism Fun (With Characteristic Parentheses)

For anyone who wants to pretend to be interested, I present the Exmas Haul:

- Little Miss Sunshine DVD (I've been dying to see this)
- Robot Chicken: Season One
- Alice's Adventures in Wonderland pop-up book (I'm always a sucker for Alice, and this book is gorgeous; you can see it here
- a new, very nice jewelry box
- The Sims 2: Pets for Mac (nerdgasmitabulous!)
- the Samsung Nimbus u420 (This is an unbelievable upgrade from my two-year-old craptastic Nokia)

That said, the Nokia served me well. It's durable as can be. My latest party trick was to throw my phone at the ground, watch the horrified gasps as it shatters into three pieces, pick up the phone, snap it back together, and call somebody. I have a feeling the Nimbus couldn't take it. This is unfortunate, as it means that I will now have to try and win people over with my personality. That could be bad.

Happy Boxing Day, everybody to you both!

Pop, Pop, Pop, Pop Music

I had a good night tonight. I closed at Corporate Pizza Joint with some way old-school people...me, a veteran of two years; a manager who's been there just a titch longer than I have (he was a cook before); and a driver who's been at the Joint for four years (and was still a cook when I last worked with him). A good time was had by all. We talked music, television, The List--you know that Friends episode in which Ross has the little laminated card of five people he's allowed to sleep with and Rachel can't get mad?

Quick, your List. Mine is John Cusack, David Bowie, Vincent Kartheiser, Johnny Depp, and the Apple guy on the new Mac commercials.

Anyway, I also impressed with my steel-trap memory of all the words to various pop songs. Featured tonight were "Fergalicious" and "Golddigger."

It was good time, no? Tomorrow I work 12-6ish, and I must admit, I'm quite looking forward to it.

Like a Hot Noise

Between my Marc Jacobs' Blush and Joe's Burberry London, we can at least smell rich.

The last few days are a bit of a blur. I worked SundayMondayTuesdayWednesday. On Wednesday afternoon, I drove up to La Casa de Chantel, whom you may remember as my best friend during my junior and senior years of high school (you know, 'cos I posted so often). She is now living in a house 40 miles north of here, married to a guy named Jeff, and they have a baby boy, Matt, who will be nine months old on Christmas. I'm Matt's godmother, so I rocked the surrogate Auntie thing pretty well for a couple of days, and we had a nice little mini-Exmas. I helped them adopt a dog from the local humane society, and a grand old time was had by all.

Today, I trolled the mall and Exmas-shopped for Joe. Fairly uneventful.

New Look

Oh, good Lord, Supernouveau has been revamped. Survey says? I'm still on the fence about it.

On Eerieness (and Parentheses)

Last night I had my first encounter with the Corporate Pizza Joint Ghost.

I was in the bathroom at about 10 p.m., putting a new bag in the trash can. I had my head tilted away from it, staring into space, seeing nothing (the way one does during menial tasks). My particular gaze happened to encompass the non-handicapped stall, of which the door was already open.

As I automatically knotted the bag with one hand, no joke, I am NOT making this up, the toilet seat LIFTED ITSELF UP about 20 or 30 degrees and SLAMMED DOWN.

I squealed like a little girl and ran away. My manager was concerned, though not shocked, as this was only the most recent report of the Corporate Pizza Joint Ghost.

(Oh, yes, I still work at Corporate Pizza Joint. After I quit, my manager didn't technically terminate me; rather, she put me on leave of absence until should could ask me to come back less than a month later. I worked Tuesday nights for a year, and now I'm back to a real live part-time position.)

...

The eeriest things always happen when you don't expect them (obviously). About a month ago, when my brother, boyfriend, and I were playing with my brother's new Nintendo Wii (you have to use the company name or else it sounds like a third-grader's dirty joke), there was a sharp "knock-knock-knock" at my now his bedroom door. Thinking nothing of it, I got up to answer, fully expecting my mom or dad to be there. Not a soul present. Not even one of the cats. Thus, we concluded that it must be Annie, our name for one of the resident ghosts in our house (the other is Orville--both names are estimates at who the supposed presence might be, based on the abstract we obtained from the courthouse). My parents got the story from the three of us separately, and all corroborated.

It occurs to me that I might not have typed up an analysis of Annie yet. I ought to do that sometime.