When did I stop making sticks with ribbons?

What a fucking day.
I started training as a cashier to pick up some extra hours. Fuck that noise.
My friend Matt is a manager up there. He's pretty awesome...sometimes he makes me laugh. I was pumped to hang out with him. Unfortunately he did not train me. An older woman did. Vooonnnnnaaaaa.....she is a trip and a half.
Her husband died 6 months ago. She told me this about 341 times today. She talks about being a widow the way I talk about being an artist. Like it was something she had to go to school for and she has literally earned a degree in having her spouse die. But two seconds later she talks abotu how much of a hit she is at the senior citizen center. I guess she really struts her newly single goods there. All the men says she got the best old ass they've ever seen. I'll be honest, if I were a horny 78 year old, I'd tap that.
But only if she didn't talk. Her voice seeps through my veins like pieces of glass that are on fire. I listened to her all day and I actually had to listen becasue she's the one who was telling me what to do. By the end of the day I didn't need her anymore. The better I did at my job the less she talked. I decided to make it my own personal game to see how long I could get her to go without talking. My high score was about a half an hour. She has tomorrow off so I win by default. I think I've created the best game ever, it may be more addictive than Guitar Hero.

Nah not quite.

I'm also the topic of conversation at the grochery story because I said something I shouldn't have to the destrict manager. Keep in mind that as soon as I was introduced to Marcel, his title soon followed. I had to hold back my laughter becasue my mind instantly connects to Steve Carrel's character in The Office. I wish I could have recorded this guy, he was everything and more. I mean I could write a book about this guy and I only talked to him for about 3 minutes. But word gets around when you work for a corporation and he knew who I was way before I even knew he existed. He had a plan when he said those few words to me.

"So how are you liking your job?" he asked with this big goofy smile on his face. He asked like he was expecting me to literally get down on my knees and praise his name tag because my job rocked so hard.
But I contined wiping down the counter, laughed under my breath and said "Its not the worst job I've ever had" and then gave him my best 'your my favorite customer smile"
He in turn smiled nervously and replyed "Well, lets work on this being the best job you've ever had." I could tell he wanted to give me an freindly pat on the back and do a secret handshake. He wanted to know that he was the district manager to the happiest underpayed overworked people in the universe. He wanted to sleep soundly that night.He wanted to be the prettiest girl at the ball.
Luckily there were customers waiting for me to get them a peice of delicious carrot cake, so I excused myself and left him standing there with Sheryl. Sheryl, the bronzed store manager who shapes her bangs to a perfect point and curls the ends of her bob into perfect half circles. SHe looks like a walking pyramid. I lovingly call her triangle head.
She later explained to me that I could learn a lot from him. I lovingly disagreed.


And there's what I like to think of as my "real" life.
I'm working on new work for a gallery in Nova Scotia that I was nominated to be a part of. I've decided to to stray away from the city scene and gravitate towards something I know more intimately....irony. I've never felt so much a part of my art. It feels so much like something I was born to tell. As i am creating these characters its interesting to see how much they relate to the people in my life. Its a quiet way of judgement that puts me in the narrator position.
My dating scene is sometimes a part of this "real" life. Although not that often. But today when I got home from work I had a message from a voice I always look forward to hearing. "Hey I was just thinking about how you like to put ribbons on sticks.I like that about you. I went to a cafe and someone had put some ribbons on a stick and hung it like you do. I never got that, but they get it out here. Maybe if you answered your phone more often I could tell you about these things." He went on to threaten me if I was screening my calls and then apologized. And then he said he missed me more than the snow. I like hearing his deep voice talk about sticks with ribbons. Its kinda like giving a starving man some fruit, a peice of bread, maybe a latte with thick foam. It just feels good.

Timing is such a bitch.