Showing posts from October, 2010

Effie Mae Goes Banking

A stunning, and yet totally not surprising, streak of lazy (and alliteration) has taken me by storm... again... and left me with no motivation to blog.  The material is there (Shark bait, ooh haha!) but the will to write it has vanished.  This is where the concept of Guest Blogging comes in at.  I poke someone repeatedly with a stick while belting out the refrain from Oklahoma! until they give in and write things FOR me. 

I lied.

It pretty much went like this:

Me:  You should do a guest blog for me.

Effie Mae:  Okay.


EM:  But you'll have to post it anonymously.  I don't want to get fired.

Me:  Okay, I'll just call you Anonymous ___________  (Her actual name.)

EM:  .... I don't think that's how it works...

So I've decided to call her Effie Mae.  Her love of cast iron pans ("They're versatile.  You behave and you get cornbread, you don't and you get the skillet upside the head") and refusal to travel above the Mason Dixon line makes this fittin…

Of Course I Have a Fork in My Hand

There came a point in my life where I found myself lying in bed in the middle of the day, eating a danish, and crying over Cupcake Wars.

That was last week.

Two days ago I found myself lying in bed in the middle of the day again. No danish this time, Oprah instead of Food Network, and I’m crying because Paula Deen walks onto the stage with a plate full of cookies. I can’t say that I’m overly emotional about food, there was a back story to these events, and after all, I’m not a complete waste of space yet. The winner of the war between the cakes in cups induced tears not because of the sheer beauty of the cupcakes themselves, but because I really wanted that woman to win damn it and she did and it was beautiful and the charity director who was judging was crying and the woman was crying and I was crying. Oprah had a little boy that loved to cook in honor of his twin that died from a brain tumor at the age of nine and Paula Deen was his hero.

It’s not an every day occurrence that I find…

Adventures in Retail Hell Part 2

More happy work related topics. Please welcome our next guest: Mr. or Mrs. Oh boy am I clever. I hate this person. I want to kill them. At the very least, stab them in the eye with a pair of scissors.

You’ve all been to a store at some point recently where they have to mark your money with what I like to call my “secret decoder pen”, or as the rest of the world calls them, counterfeit pens. They poke your money and if it stays yellow, or light brown, you’re good to go, if it turns black, you become Big Bertha’s Prison Bitch.

Side note, these pens do not work. It told me, yes, the pen turned its head and said plain as day “Hey, it’s real, come on, believe me. Would I lie to you?” Yes, yes you would magic pen. So anyways, magical talking decoder pen told me that this rather odd looking fifty dollar bill was real. It said the same thing to my manager. The bank however, did not agree.

But I digress.

Boss man told me that I had to start marking EVERYTHING except one dollar bills becaus…