Blame it on the…

bad decision making. Depending on how old you are, you either thought I was going to say “alcohol”

(editor’s note: I think that whole video can be blamed on the alcohol. I mean, Ron Howard? Really? And while we are at it, I am blaming Jamie Foxx’s “singing career” on the alcohol too. Shit is whack. Who let this happen? But I do love T-pain, which makes it hard to hate the song, dammit!)

or “rain”.

(editor’s note: Honestly, Milli Vanilli was ahead of their time. What they did wasn’t much different from auto-tune. R.I.P Rob Pilatus. Also; I like using editor’s notes because they make feel important.)

Back to the matter at hand. There have been times; recent times; when I wish that I could blame the activities I was engaging in, on some sort of behavior altering substance–but I can’t. There may have been a (few) times where I have answered personal ads on Craigslist. Sad, I know. I’ll save the gory details for some other shame cleansing blog post; I’m not sure how much dignity will be left after this one; so stay tuned! I also may have joined an internet dating site–or two–and possibly met up with someone from one of them and then proceeded to make out with them in their apartment. Again, another post dear readers, another post. But the most horrific offense of them all happened about a month or so back. At a work function. Do you see where this is going?

So in early October, the organization that I work for, threw a staff appreciation party…on a boat…with an open bar. Now it’s not an exaggeration to say that the people that I work with cut loose–especially if there is an open bar. I’ve seen many a disgraceful thing happen at these parties. I only had a couple of beers, because I know better than to get all wild and crazy at a work party. Or so I thought. I was dancing; I honestly wish I could say that was the worst of it; but it’s not. At one point I went down to the bar to get another drink, maybe my 3rd Bud Light (keepin’ it classy!) and ran into a guy from another store that I had met last year at one of our fundraisers. This was near the end of the night, so I am just going to cut to the gory details and say that we ended up making out in the parking lot of  the boat dock, with other employees watching. I mean, the guy I was making out with was wearing a shirt/jacket like this:

I wish I was kidding, I really do.

However, in my own defense, I didn’t agree to make out with him until he took off the shirt/jacket thing. I have some standards. I actually put up a pretty good fight too–he thought it looked cool. And I think we all know, that it didn’t. That thing was a big F.A.I.L, if I have ever seen one. So finally, he came to his senses and realized what a prime piece of real estate I am and took off the crumby jacket. This makes me realize that I was not drunk, because if I was, I wouldn’t have cared about that stupid jacket. But I did care…that was the part of me that was saying, “hey sister, this is a bad idea, but if you must, at least make him take that off, he looks like a broke down Chris Tucker in Rush Hour 2.”

He had the nerve to ask, “So are we going back to your place or mine?” Um, excuse me? I don’t be thinking so. I firmly told him that he was going to his place, ALONE. I then, however, felt compelled to put my number in his phone. This learning curve is a hard one for me to get around. So later that night–after the work shindig, I kept the party going with a few coworkers–he texts me to ask if I want to hang out the next day. I had the day off, so I figured, “why not?” and plus I still thought I was hot shit for making out with someone (ugh, it had been a while! Give a girl a break!). If I had known, what I was going to be walking in to, I never would have said yes.

It looked a little something like this:

track jacket? check!

Combined with:

 

Terrible sungless? Check! Puff Daddy swagger...check and mate.

It was AWFUL. The moment I saw him, I knew that this was going to be one of the most painful experiences ever. The lenses of his sunglasses were two different colors. There are just some things, that are never okay. Thinking about it now still upsets me.

So, we decided to see the movie Whip It; about the roller derby. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. Although, it would have been better if I wasn’t with someone who was complaining the whole time about the people sitting behind us, not doing anything. And then he put his head on my shoulder. NOT IN TO IT. And it wasn’t like I was inviting it. I was practically sitting in another chair.

Afterwards, we went to get something to eat. We went to a taco place and he was really obnoxious and rude to the people behind the counter…which I can’t stand. And it took him forever to figure out what he wanted and was being an total spaz about it. When we sat down to eat, he started unloading all this personal information. It was a first date. I don’t need to know about your ex-girlfriend and how she dumped you because you didn’t want to marry her and now you have to live with roommates that you don’t like because they are gay and use your dishes. Then when two police officers came in, he said, “I was this close to taking the police officers test. Can you imagine me as a fucking cop?” He said it loud enough for them to hear. And then he said it again. I wanted to die. There are certain things you say in public when cops are around and certain things that you don’t. I would file “fucking cop” under the “Don’t” section. And he said that he collects knives and swords. And that he has the sword from the movie Blade that Wesley Snipes used. ::shudder:: Then on the way to the train we passed a Dunkin Donuts and he said, “You probably don’t want to hear my theory on Dunkin Donuts” and I was like, “Um, not really.” I mean, that is what I said…and he proceeded to tell me! So everyone out there, reading this. I went on a date with someone whose theory on Dunkin Donuts is this: “They are all owned by middle easterners and they are trying to poison America.” If a train had been approaching at that moment, I probably would have pushed him in front of it–that is one of the most atrocious and stupid things I have ever had to listen to.

The train ride home was painful because all he was doing was complaining about the train and trying to touch my knee. I was trying to debate whether or not it would be worth it to get off at the wrong stop and walk all the way back to my apartment. So about an hour after I got home, he sent me a text message saying, “Why’d you let me run my mouth like that?  now I feel stupid.” I wrote back, “thanks for dinner.” I mean, what was I supposed to say, “Trust me, I wanted you to shut up more than you regret talking”?  Then the next night he texts me at 2am! We are not on the 2am text level. That is reserved for family and close friends. I didn’t respond. Again! The next night he texts me asking if I got his last text or if I don’t want to talk. I. Didn’t. Text. Back. He got that message.

But! and this is important people! Don’t make out with people that you work with! Even if they work at a different store than you. Because they might come into your store a month or two later! And come over to you and say “hi”! And then you’ll have to not look up and say “hi.” and then walk away. Because that is how it always goes. Until you get another job. Which doesn’t seem likely.

Which is why, I wish I could blame it on the alcohol, but at this point, it’s just bad decision making.

 

 

 

 

James Franco

Living in New York City (well, I live in a Borough, but same diff) can be thrilling. Tonight was no exception. This has probably been one of the longest weeks at work ever, and I still have to wait another day before a day off. The organization that I work for was having one of their annual fund raising events, which is a sample sale–basically a lot of designers and fashion companies donated stuff for a tax write off and we sell it at 50% below retail or even less. There was a big VIP event for it on Thursday night–I got free drinks from it, and a transtastic voyage kissed me on the lips–which was frightening–not because she was a trans, but because girl was sportin’ some stubble. I know it was late, but come on girlfriend! get that waxed! It was a pretty good time, because my actual interaction with customers that evening was limited. However, Friday-Sunday nearly killed me. The people that shop at these stores (I was at a different store from my own the entire week) are savages. They literally have no concept of being a decent human being and picking something up if they drop it on the floor. Most of my time was spent manning the fitting room, picking up clothes from the floor, and hanging them back up. I also gave dirty looks to people. If people would realize that if they said ‘excuse me’, they wouldn’t be forced to say ‘I’m sorry’, after I give them a dirty a look. The bright side to working at a store other than your own is meeting the other people who know what you go through on a daily basis. The employees at this store were pretty cool–except for one. There is this one girl that works there that is frighteningly annoying. She talks about being in a band and was trying to explain how jeans are folded at Abercrombie and Fitch. Other people felt the same way I did, so I know it wasn’t just ’cause I was hatin’.

Moving on. Today after an especially exhausting day at work, my pal Victor met up with me and we decided to get some dinner. We walked over to 8th ave and as we were walking, we stopped to look at a menu outside of a restaurant. We pondered over it for a bit, standing on the sidewalk, when I looked forward, and who should be crossing the street at that exact moment? JAMES FRANCO! It’s almost two weeks to the day that I last saw him. I saw him the Monday before Election day…he was walking down 6th avenue talking on his cell phone, laughing, carrying some books–he was carrying three books this time. I turned around and followed him for a block and a half. He didn’t notice (thankfully) and neither did anyone else, oddly enough. Anyways, when I saw him, I immediately put a death grip on Victor’s forearm and gasped, “Oh my God, that’s Jame’s Franco!” Victor then grabbed my arm, with his other hand, and we both took a step back, squealed silently, and began breathing heavily–because that’s just what you. The rest is as follows:

Victor: Oh my God, what are we going to do?! Where is he going? We should follow him!

(James Franco almost bypasses deli, then decides to go in. Victor grabs my arm and pulls me down the sidewalk into the deli. James Franco is walking towards the back, to get an icy beverage.)

Me: I should go up to him! I should say something! I should get my picture with him! (at this point, I’m freaking out, because HELLO! it’s James Franco. Both Victor and I are both hyperventilating and grabbing hold of each other for support.)

Victor: You totally should, I’ll take the picture!

Me: Do you dare me to go up to him? Do you fucking dare me?! (Seriously, I was losing my shit. My brain fell on the floor and any ability to think logically was lost…as was the ability to form complete sentences.)

Victor: I dare you!

Me: (I am peeking around a shelving unit to see where he is and I look back at Victor): I can’t do this!

(James Franco walks down the other side of the shelving unit that I am hiding behind. I look at him, he looks at me. I sort of put my hand out to stop him…as if I am trying to touch him. He stops. I take a step forward.)

Me: I just wanted to say, that you’re James Franco. (He’s looking at me, through his adorably squinted eyes, he’s smiling. He has dimples.) I mean, you’re James Franco. I’m sorry I can’t think of anything better to say than the fact you’re James Franco.

James Franco: (Laughs softly. Not in a mocking way, in a genuine, warmed way and leans toward me.): What’s your name?

Me: (in my mind, I am freaking out, because he just asked me what my fucking name was!) Meaghan.

James Franco: (sticks out his hand, we SHAKE HANDS. I TOUCHED JAMES FRANCO) It’s nice to meet you Meaghan.

Me: (I was trying to extended this moment for as long as possible, obviously) You were really great in Pineapple Express. (Yes. That’s the best example of his acting that I could come up with at the moment. You try sounding normal when looking at that beautiful face!)

James Franco: (smiling) Aww, well thank you.

Me: (I turn to walk away, because the last thing I would want if I were James Franco, is me at my geekiest, trying to engage me in conversation.) Well, it was really nice meeting. Have a good night.

James Franco: You too. (he smiles and walks over to get some coffee.)

I go over to Victor, who was hiding behind the shelves, just in case I did something really terrible and freaked out. We both start giggling like little girls and he touches my hand, James Franco touched my hand, and he was going to use that hand for sexy times later. ha!

Me: We should go. We don’t want to seem weird. (too late at this point really.)

So we are walking out of the deli, James Franco is getting his coffee and we see each other, I do a goodbye wave to him, and he smiles at me and WINKS. HE WINKED AT ME. I could have died. I could have just died.

I seriously, haven’t been this excited about a celebrity encounter since Ryan Gosling smiled and said hello to me in a bar. I only get excited about A-List. And James Franco is A-LIST. I think Victor was impressed with my ability to approach James Franco. I know I was. Even though I was a complete tool when I was talking to him. I’m just going to go ahead and say that James Franco seems like a really decent human being. He totally didn’t have to be nice to me, because it’s not like I’m some 8 year old girl that be devastated if he was a jerk. He didn’t seemed bothered by me approaching him and having a complete spaz attack. He was very nice and if anything, I wish I had been less of a tool.

Next time I see him, I can be totally cool about it, and be like, “Hey, remember me? I totally spazzed out when I met you in a deli one time. I’m all better now. I see that you like to read, I like to read also, perhaps we can visit a library and pick out some books together?” I have this all planned out.

There is, sadly, no picture. Let a girl keep some of her dignity. There are however, talks of a Victor, James Franco, Meaghan three-way. Victor and I aren’t allowed to look at each other.

Returned Check

I am sure by now, that all of you are familiar with my financial woes. Well luckily for all of you, I have one more pathetic anecdote. On Friday, when I went to the bank to get my rent check–I don’t like writing a personal check for my rent, I learned that lesson in the 2nd month of me living in this apartment. I took the management company almost an entire month to deposit the check, which is insane, because when I get a check, especially one for a large sum of money, I want it in my account as soon as possible. This whole f-i-asco resulted in numerous phone calls, to a certain Brooklyn-accented young lady who shall remain nameless, that were less than pleasant. Also, my rent is due the 5th of the month, so I wasn’t waiting until the last possible minute, if that is what you all are thinking.

Back to the bank. I went up, all prepared, with my withdrawal slip, prepared to take out $750. Well, the teller looks at me and says, “You only have bubkes in your account.” He didn’t actually say bubkes, but I figure I should keep some things to myself; however my bank account is similar to this. I was caught a bit off guard and started racking my brain, trying to figure out if I had somehow blown through $750 without knowing it, because I had just deposited my paycheck that past Monday, so I should have had enough money. I told him that I had made a deposit for slightly (and when I say slightly, I mean like five bucks). He asked me if I had the the receipt, which I did, and then he says–get ready for this–”That check got returned.” My initial vocal reaction at this poor guy was, “Are you fucking serious?!” I mean, my PAYCHECK, from my EMPLOYER, got RETURNED. The check bounced (how frightening is that video?!). All I could manage to get out of my mouth sans violent swearing was that, “it was my paycheck, and how could it bounce? It’s from a bank.” Backing away from me slowly, he said, “Just because it’s from a bank, doesn’t mean it’s good.” This is coming from someone at Washington Mutual, so they know a thing or two, about a thing or two.

Turns out, the organization that I work for, didn’t have quite enough money to cover everyone’s paychecks. So on Friday I had to go and get a replacement paycheck–I would have preferred piles of cash–and also had to submit a bank statement, so I could be reimbursed for the $12 returned check fee. I don’t really think, that there should be a fee for someone else’s check bouncing. Is it really my fault that I associate with deadbeats who hand out bad checks?

This just adds more fuel to my “I need a new job” fire. Which is reaching forest fire potential. Unfortunately, at the moment, I lack any sort of direction. I was at a party with a friend, and we were talking to some of her other friends, and this one girl said about how her career/life is moving in all different directions. Mine isn’t moving in any direction–except down, if you factor in that bounced paycheck.

Public Displays of Talent

or PDT’s as they will be referred to henceforth, I hate them. PDT’s should probably be filed under pet peeves, but since I was subjected to one today, I figured I would share it with you all. As most of you know, I work in a thrift store, where all the items are donated. Occasionally we get musical instruments, like guitars or PIANOS. First of all, pianos are loud; there’s not really a way to test them out quietly–I wish there was, because second point, pianos are obnoxious. I used to play the piano, but I gave it up. I wish I had some heart wrenching story about how I gave up playing piano because of long departed lover who taught me how to play and now every time I go near a piano it is too much for me to bear–but I don’t. I quit because I hated my piano teacher. She was a wench who spent most of her time hocking Melaleuca (also; melaleuca) products to my family. These products all smelled like tea tree oil, a lot of it. She also had enormous bunions. She always made me uncomfortable when she took off her shoes, yet grateful, because my feet did/do not look like that. To make a long story short, I don’t like it when people play piano, unless they are performing in a recital, because then it is appropriate.

So today; and pretty much every time we have a piano(s) in the store; people are constantly testing it out. There are probably four different categories that I can put these people in. The first is the person who can’t play at all. They just come in, tap a few keys to see what it sounds like and goes on their way. They don’t produce any melody, just a few notes. I like these people, because they know when to stop.

The second; and you’ll notice that as the categories progress, my hatred grows; are what I like to call “chopsticks”…because that is all they play. They think it’s amusing, entertaining, and/or cute. It’s not. It’s annoying. Chopsticks is only funny if you are Tom Hanks at FAO Schwartz (oddly enough, FAO is not as magical in person as it is in that movie) playing on a giant floor keyboard, in the movie BIG. You are not impressing anyone. You are not making anyone laugh. And you are not making anyone, i.e. me, like you. At all.

The third are the people that have no musical talent, but insist that they do, by forging through some piece of music that they can’t play. The song ruiner. This happens countless times a day. It’s almost kind of sad. You can tell they are trying really hard, and really want to impress us with their musical know-how, but it’s not working. Because they don’t know how to play–and what they are playing isn’t real music. One man once butchered a song to the point that one of my coworkers said, “I used to really like that song, until he started trying to play it.” This is probably what category I would fit into, if I was stupid enough to play a piano in public. But I’m not.

The fourth and final, and frankly the most frustrating and annoying, are the people that have talent, and play the piano like they are performing at Carnegie Hall. Also, I don’t want to stereotype and generalize here, but it’s almost always people of Asian decent. And for some reason Asian children. They are good at a lot of things; for example and also, and this (I love gymnastics! It’s another thing I quit. I also love quiting things, but that’s a whole other story) too. I think it’s most annoying when it’s children playing the piano at a freakishly high skill level. It’s like their parents are forcing them to play, to put on a show, and let people know how good they are. Stage parents are creepy–and so are their children (ed. note: HA!). However, when a teenager, or an adult comes in, and starts playing Mozart’s Piano Sonata no. 14 in C minor, and a crowd starts forming, and then they start clapping! It makes me want to be like, “Oh, Really?! Are You Serious?!” Are these people so starved for attention that they have to come into a thrift store to SHOW OFF? It’s like the people who post pictures on MySpace or Facebook and have captions like, “OMG, I am so ugly! Why am I so ugly?”, so people will leave comments like, “you are so not ugly, I wish I looked like you! Seriously, you are so pretty, I wish I had your hair. I hate you! J/K! I love you. But seriously, I wish I had your hair.” They want people to go up to them and tell them how good they are so they can be modest (false modesty by the way) and keep receiving accolades. It makes my blood boil. It happens a lot where I work and it always irritates me. I’ve always been this irritated by it. We had a piano in our house, and when people would come over, they couldn’t resist playing it. Starved for attention. This is why, when people start playing the piano at work, I say, “You bought it.” It makes them stop. If they bought it, that would mean they would have to take it home and the general public wouldn’t be able to awestruck with how talented they are.

This PDT also includes dancing. Three college aged kids came into the store one day, and I am not sure what music was playing, but they started showing each other dance moves in the back–like they were the coolest people ever. It was one girl with a couple of guys, so of course she was trying extra hard to be cool in front of them, by making herself look like a jackass.

These people don’t get it. No one is thinking about how cool or talented they are. We; i.e. me; are only thinking about how lame they are, and how much we want a lighting fixture to fall on their stupid face.