Maggie's Octopus

The Truth Comes Out

2011-12-03T13:31:00.001-05:00

Hi,

Sorry for the blog hiatus. I really love keeping up with it, but unfortunately, I was kidnapped by pirates for a few months and was unable to access a computer. Things are fine now. Thanks for all of your outreach and concern during that difficult time. That all-star concert/telethon was particularly touching.

Judging by the last paragraph, you can all plainly see that honesty is very important to me. I'm the kind of person who really feels that telling the truth is the way to go. Granted, there may be a few small instances where it's OK to hide the truth or embellish a little or flat out lie to someone's face. Here are some examples:

-When a police officer asks if you know how fast you were driving
-When those annoying kids outside the supermarket ask if you have any spare change to help fund their stupid cheerleading trip
-When that idiot from high school asks if you know how the two of you became un-friended on facebook

Beyond that, you should really be honest. Telling lies will only come back to hurt you in the end. Well, maybe not. Actually, it seems the really successful people in life are usually the most selfish, crooked, dishonest characters among us. Sometimes karma finally catches up with them, but that's usually after they have already enjoyed living a rich, lavish lifestyle and had time to screw with the nice, honest folks like you and me. And even then, they usually find a loophole to avoid getting punished or condemned for their dishonesty. So really, the case for honesty isn't so strong. So what's the point of trying to be honest? Who really cares? Well...you know who cares? THIS GUY RIGHT HERE.

And that, my friends, is reason enough for me.

OK...on to the story.

You know when you get an itchy back, and there's no one around to help scratch it for you, and it's in a spot where you can't reach it on your own? Isn't that the WORST? When you get stuck in that terrible situation, there are a few things you can do:

-suffer in horrible, merciless, itching hell until someone comes along to help
-scream "SOMEBODY HELP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" until someone comes along to help
-stop whining and figure out a way to do it on your own

Option Three probably makes the most sense, even though the second option is also a pretty interesting choice. But if you end up picking #3, you still have to figure out how to do it on your own. One way I like to address the whole itching problem is something I learned by watching my dad. I like to call it the "Rub Against the Corner of a Wall" strategy. I think Dad may have learned it by watching a cat do it. Whatever. That part doesn't matter. The point is that it actually works pretty well, even though it looks pretty strange and the wall doesn't quite give that sharp, fingernail-y satisfying feeling that I often desire in a back scratching. But if you're in a jam, and you have a wall handy, I say GO FOR IT. If there isn't a wall nearby, you can probably also use a tree. I haven't tried it, so don't get pissed at me if something bad happens. I'm just saying it could probably work.

Then there is the well-known "Back Scratcher" method. There is a huge market out there for back scratchers. The idea is that if you're alone and need a good scratch, you can use a tool to scratch your own back. Of course, nothing can beat the fingernails of a friend, loved one, or hey...let's face it, a total stranger. It's always better when you don't have to do it yourself. But I'm getting off track. If you're alone and in need of a scratch, and you happen to have a back scratcher, you're in luck. However, I'm a little biased because the first experience I had with owning a back scratcher is with THIS THING:

This, friends, is a Mickey Mouse back scratcher. I can't remember when I got it, but it was a gift to me some time probably in the 1990s. Some of you may know that I grew up pretty obsessed with Mickey Mouse, so as a result of that, I often received a shitload of Mickey-related gifts. Including this thing. I'm sure the person gave it to me purely for the Mickey-ness and NOT for the practical use or for the fact that I love a good back scratching.

I don't have this item in my possession any longer, but I remember it vividly. Specifically, I remember that IT SUCKED AS A BACK SCRATCHER. Here's why: if you look closely at the picture, you'll see that the scratcher is made out of plastic. If you really look closely, you'll notice that Mickey's fingers (the part that does all of the scratching) are curved and roundish. So instead of getting a good scratch when you try to use it, all you get is the feeling of round plastic on your back. It's more of a rub than a scratch. And a shitty rub, at that. If they wanted to make a good scratcher, they would have put nails on Mickey's fingers. And let's face it...a real mouse would have long, sharp claws. Now THAT would have given a good back scratching! Then again, if Disney really cared about biological accuracy, he probably wouldn't have given Mickey gloves. Or pants. Oh well. I guess it's better off that way.

The point of the story is: early on in life, I had a bad experience with a back scratcher and was thus turned off to them. That's not to say I didn't encounter GOOD back scratchers over the years. I remember very clearly having some good experiences with a friend's scratcher. It looked like this:

It rocked. It was simple but it did the trick. However, scratching your own back is a pretty personal experience. No one wants to watch someone else do that whole moaning, wiggling, "aaaaaaaaah"-ing thing. It's awkward and uncomfortable. Therefore, I resisted using the scratcher and, consequently, suffered in silence. And I'm sure I could have gone out and bought one for myself to use in the comfort of my own home, but come on. Who goes out and buys a back scratcher for herself? That seems weird. Plus, back then, I wouldn't have the first idea where to buy one. It's a pretty specialty item, you know what I mean?

Thankfully, I now have a husband who scratches my back whenever I ask him to. Typically, it's not, "Hey honey, can you please scratch my back?" It's more, "OH MY GOD PLEASE HURRY GET OVER HERE I NEED YOU TO SCRATCH MY BACK NO NO NOT THERE HIGHER, LEFT, RIGHT, A LITTLE LOWER AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH OH MY GOD THANK YOU SO MUCH." I usually also encourage him to lift up my shirt and scratch my "naked back," because we all know how clothes can hold in the itch and form an anti-scratch barrier. Yes. I said "naked back." That's how all adults with a sophisticated vocabulary talk...right?

Despite the awesome husband with fantastic scratching skills, there are still those dark moments in life when I find myself home, alone, and itchy. So what's a girl to do in those times? Well I'm about to tell you.

So there I was, sitting in the kitchen, just relaxing after a long day at work. I had the laptop out and was putzing around on the internet (I know...shocker). Anyway, out of the blue came THE ITCH. I tried to scratch it on my own, but sadly, the itch in question was located in the Bermuda Triangle area of the back. I really didn't feel like getting up and walking the five or six steps to the wall. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted it...

The crock of kitchen tools that we don't really use because we already have a lot of kitchen tools and the crock is mostly there because it matches with our kitchen and we liked the look of the wood and sometimes my husband uses the spoons and spatulas but I never do because they never really come clean in the dishwasher and then we have to re-wash them by hand and besides, the wood makes me uncomfortable and reminds me of those wooden stick spoons that came with the Hoodsie ice cream cups we used to get in school and they always made me really creeped out because the wood spoon felt really horrible on my tongue.

Anyway, there was the crock. But it was one specific thing in the crock that really caught my eye:

Seriously. Look at that thing. Look at it! If it doesn't scream "I WILL SCRATCH YOUR BACK!!!!" I don't know what does.

Besides, what the hell ELSE good is that thing? Seriously. What is it? It looks like a big wooden toothbrush. I knew that's not what it was. At least, I was pretty sure that's not what it was. Beyond that, I really had no idea if it served any good purpose. Except, of course, to be my back scratching bitch.

A few questions popped into my mind before using it. Specifically,

1. Will it hurt?
2. What if pieces of my scratched off back get on it?
3. What will my husband think?

Then, since I'm such a thoughtful, non-impulsive person, I took the time to answer the questions:

1. I don't care.
2. I don't care.
3. I don't care.

With all questions answered, I forged ahead and scratched my back with the wooden toothbrush. And let me tell you, it was AMAAAAAAAAAZING. I'm not kidding. It covered a lot of back real estate at once, it didn't hurt, and it gave a nice, deep, fulfilling scratch. It was so good, I continued to scratch my arms and neck with it. When I tell you this thing was awesome, I'm not kidding. This shit was bananas.

After all was said and done, I decided to clean it off just in case there was some of that aforementioned back flake-age left over. By "cleaning," of course, I mean I ran it under some hot water for a few seconds. Come on...my back isn't that dirty! Geez. Then I thanked the scratcher for its excellent service, put it back into its home, and went on my merry way.

Fast forward to a few days later. I decided not to mention the back scratching incident to my husband because in the grand scheme of things, it really wasn't a big deal. Why trouble him with something silly to think about, right? It's just me scratching myself with kitchen tools. WHO CARES?

But there we were, putting the dishes away together, and I decided to come forward and be honest about my discovery. Not because I thought he'd be impressed (I knew he wouldn't) or think I was a genius (he doesn't) or think it was funny (I knew he wouldn't). No, friends. None of those reasons influenced me. I just thought I should come out and tell him. Just because. I don't really know why. Maybe it's because I really do care what he thinks. Maybe it's because I felt a little guilty. Maybe Jiminy Cricket told me to do it. Regardless, I finally just told him...and it went a little something like this:

ME: "Hey...so you know this thing? What is it? What is it for? I don't think we ever use it."

HIM: "It's for spaghetti."

ME: "Oh. I thought it was a back scratcher."

HIM: "Yeah haha"

ME: "No, well. Um...I actually scratched my back with it the other day."

HIM: "What? Are you serious?"

ME: "Yes well I was really itchy and it looked really good and I scratched my back and it helped and you know how I get really itchy and you weren't here and it's really no big deal. I washed it."

HIM: "Come on. That's nasty."

ME: "I know but I said I washed it. It's no big deal. We don't really even use it."

HIM: "That's still gross. I don't care if you washed it. That's like saying you used a spoon to clean up Maggie's dog crap, but it's no big deal because you washed it."

ME: "That isn't the same thing at all! So you're saying my back is like Maggie's dog crap?!"

HIM: "Yup!"

ME: "Yeah right. It's not the same thing. It's a back scratcher and it's awesome."

HIM: "No it's not. Don't use it like that anymore. Come on."

ME: "OK fine."

So that was that. Thankfully, we were laughing throughout most of this discussion, particularly when he introduced dog crap into the conversation...so I know that he was at least slightly amused at my discovery. However, I could tell that he was mostly unimpressed with my back scratching ingenuity. Therefore, I've decided to not mention that I still use it from time to time...including the three times I scratched while writing this blog post.

And that, my friends, is the secret to a perfect marriage.

Oooooooooh. Make that FOUR times.

I'm Here for You

2011-08-29T16:14:00.005-04:00

A few weeks ago, I hopped online and my yahoo home page greeted me with its usual collection of thought-provoking headlines…you know, stuff like:

Six Signs Your Boss Wants to Kill You

Robert Pattinson Steams Up the Set of Howard The Duck 2

How Using Coupons Can Make You Better in Bed

Twelve-foot tall Sixth Grader Ready for the NBA

However, there was a headline that (for once) seemed slightly relevant to my own life:

10 Tips for Beating the Back to School Blues

Oooooooh, I thought. I have the back to school blues! This article is for me! I should check this out!

And so I did.

And, like most things in life, the article was a complete friggin letdown. First of all, it was written by people at Oprah magazine, which automatically guarantees:

-the person who wrote the article has ZERO experience working in a school and is most likely employed as an artist, a holistic healer, or Gayle King.

-the article is way too positive for my taste and most likely incorporates quotes from “real life” people with 8-figure salaries and kids with really nice teeth.

-the article will without a doubt leave me feeling crappy about my life, my wardrobe, my financial status, and my teeth.

Needless to say, I was in a chipper mood before even reading the article. However, I decided to give it a try because, after all, it is still summer and reading an online magazine article sure beats the hell out of reading an actual book or something.

Well, friends…I have to tell you. Like so many other times in my life, Oprah let me down. Here’s why: The whole stupid article was about KIDS and PARENTS beating the back to school blues! What the hell? Not once was there a mention about teachers or guidance counselors. Are you kidding me? How am I supposed to beat the back to school blues? You really think kids and parents are sad about going back to school? Dude…90% of the kids are probably pumped to leave their dysfunctional homes and return to some sort of normalcy with adults who aren’t completely psychotic. And the parents? Well, they are just glad they have something new and exciting to talk about for the next 180 days.

(All positive, of course.)

I decided I had to do something about this. There are a lot of people out there depending on Oprah to guide them safely back into the school year…and the article just didn’t cut it. So here’s what I did: I took Oprah’s 10 tips (for kids and parents) and translated them into something school staff can understand.

Here it is.

Maggie’s Octopus proudly presents…

10 TIPS* FOR BEATING THE BACK TO SCHOOL BLUES (FOR THE PEOPLE WHO REALLY NEED THEM)

*purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. Maggie says that will help me not get fired should anyone become offended

OK, pals. Here goes. I’ll give you Oprah’s actual Ten Tips (and a summary of her explanation) followed by my thoughtful, teacher-friendly version:

1. Reconnect With Old Friends

THE OPRAH TRANSLATION FOR KIDS AND PARENTS: Don’t lose touch with kids from the previous school year! Have friends over! Reminisce about the past year and look forward to the year ahead!

THE MAGGIE’S OCTOPUS TRANSLATION FOR TEACHERS: Spend at least five hours a day on facebook. It helps to avoid the real world and makes you feel like you are still keeping in touch with your friends. It may also help you remember that your life really isn’t that bad at all, since most of your friends work throughout the entire year. Unless they are unemployed…which automatically makes your life WAY more awesome.

2. Create a New School Year Tradition

OPRAH: Do something fun at the end of the summer to celebrate and kick off the new school year! And make it a tradition! Have a barbecue! Or a neighborhood talent show! Or a family game night!

MAGGIE’S OCTOPUS: Since you’ll soon be waking up at the ass-crack of dawn, have an “End of Summer Life Blowout” by doing all of the things you’ll have to kiss goodbye for the next 180 days. Drink heavily. Hang out with people over the age of 12. Stay up all night watching a Top Chef marathon. Enjoy time with your spouse/partner that doesn’t involve complaining about parents or money or time or the union or being unappreciated. Have sex more than once a month. And things of that nature.

3. Start an Achievement Tree

OPRAH: Get out your crafts, kids! Make a tree with branches! Then as the year goes on, stick leaves on the tree that indicate good things you’ve done! For example, one leaf might read, “I had a successful day at band practice!”

MAGGIE’S OCTOPUS: You know what? I’m a fan of trees. So I’ll humor Oprah on this one. But here’s the thing…your idea of a “good thing” is probably a little different than having a good day at band practice. Instead, you should focus on things that you did during the school year that helped you NOT get fired. Because you know after about Day Five, those are the true victories. Here are some suggestions:

“I didn’t lunge at the parent who told me her child was ‘just bored’ in my class!”

“I didn’t say the word FUCK during that parent phone call. Not even once!”

“I spent $400 on supplies for my classroom! And half of it was broken or stolen the first week of school! And I only cried three times! Yay me!”

NOTE: if you find yourself depressed because you have nothing to write on a leaf, just set the tree on fire.

4. Talk to Your Kids About Their Worries

OPRAH: Your child might have back to school butterflies about fitting in, keeping up, and all that jazz. Take time to talk with your child about overcoming their worries! And don’t worry…if you’re inept and can’t handle it, you can always seek out your child’s teacher or school counselor. Believe it or not, they have college degrees and actually KNOW how to help kids! And you thought they were just bums off the street!

(OK, so I may have injected a little of my own flavor into that Oprah section. Deal with it. It’s my blog and I’ll do what I want.)

MAGGIE’S OCTOPUS: Whether it’s your first year on the job or twenty-first, chances are, you’re going to have a little stress about going back to work. Trust me, that’s normal. Just have a few extra beers the night before and you’ll be FINE. When you find yourself in the position of not worrying AT ALL, then it’s really time for concern. See, that’s what we in the profession like to call “burnout.” That extreme level of apathy is a sure sign that it’s time to find another job…or, like many educators, to STICK AROUND and ride the wave of extreme bitterness until it’s time to retire! We all know there’s no way to get fired in education, unless of course you actually kill someone (important). And even that’s questionable, depending on how your particular union works.

5. Prepare for Good Mornings

OPRAH: Be prepared! Draw pictures of each morning step and post them in the kitchen! Or make a responsibility chart with jobs like laying out your clothes ahead of time, packing your lunch, and other smart things responsible people do!

MAGGIE’S OCTOPUS: There’s nothing better than waking up and having all of your shit done ahead of time. Trust me, I understand. Lunch already packed: bonus! Clothes actually ironed and clean: SWEET! However, I’m also a realist. I know it’s a lot more fun to watch TV at night than to iron my clothes. I also know it’s way too tempting to eat my lunch at night if I pack it ahead of time. In a nutshell, good mornings are overrated. There’s no better way to start the day than by rushing around looking for a matching shoe, opening the bedroom door 47 times, turning the light on, and waking your husband up because you forgot to grab a pair of underwear the night before, and tripping over your dog in the kitchen while trying to grab a bag of microwave popcorn for lunch. That, my friends, is called LIVING IN THE REAL WORLD. Besides, Oprah has personal chefs and maids and ironers and shoe finders who do all of her shit ahead of time FOR HER. Who does she think she’s fooling?

6. Reset Your Body Clock

OPRAH: You need to retrain your body to wake up early! So start going to bed and waking up early about a week before school starts! You don’t want to be cranky or groggy that first week back!

MAGGIE’S OCTOPUS: This is bullshit, if you ask me. Don’t you think waking up early for a FULL WEEK before you actually have to will make you even MORE cranky? I sure do. Sleep is overrated. Besides, that’s what naps are for. And I, for one, am a huge supporter of naps. At home and at work. I bet Oprah looks down on those of us who nap…because we all know Oprah doesn’t nap. Because Oprah is a robot.

7. Create a Launch Pad

OPRAH: Make a “launch pad” on the floor near the front door out of blue painter’s tape! Put your backpack and belongings inside the pad the night before! Then it’s easy to “launch” to school prepared every morning!

MAGGIE’S OCTOPUS: A launch pad? Seriously? That is the STUPIDEST THING I HAVE EVER HEARD.

8. Set Up for Safety

OPRAH: Plan out and discuss how the kids will get to and from school. Practice the trip ahead of time. Don’t talk to strangers (except for the creepy bus driver; he should be OK). Safety first!

MAGGIE’S OCTOPUS: Think about staying safe on your way to work. Things to consider:

-Getting your coffee at the BEGINNING of the commute. Chances are, you just woke up about ten minutes prior to leaving. You’re tired. You’re not quite seeing straight. You’re not wearing any underwear. Coffee will help some of these problems.

-Texting and driving is fine during the summer, but once the school year starts, it’s a big no-no. You only get a certain amount of sick days, and wouldn’t it be a bitch to waste all of them at once because you’re laid up in a coma after a car accident that (probably) could have been prevented? So drive safely, turn off the phone, and use your sick days for something better…like that mental health shopping day in March or the time you’re really hungover after the Superbowl.

9. Put on a Happy Face

OPRAH: This one is aimed at parents. Oprah says it’s important for parents to “exude confidence and good feelings when saying goodbye on the first day. Seeing mom upset can put a damper on a child’s first day enthusiasm.”

MAGGIE’S OCTOPUS: Amen, Oprah! For once you’re making sense. You have no idea how many times I have had to talk a parent off the ledge when her kid is actually FINE and ready to rock. God knows I don’t get paid to be the parents’ guidance counselor. Get a grip, people.

And last but not least, Oprah’s final tip:

10. Make the First Day a Great Day

OPRAH: Make sure you have all the right supplies! Eat a good breakfast! Get to school on time!

MAGGIE’S OCTOPUS: Remember, friends. The start of school is inevitable…unless, of course, a hurricane hits and cancels your first day back. How sweet was that?!?!?!

Anyway, here are some final tips on making this year a smashing success:

-Crank the alarm up to HIGH. Remember to set it to “AM,” not “PM.” If I have to get to work on time then damnit, so do you.

-Hit Dunkin Donuts early and often.

-For God’s sake, wear something clean and presentable. At least on the first day of school. After that, anything is fair game.

-Adopt a mantra. “I can do anything for 180 days” works for me.

xoxo

Everybody just STAY CALM

2011-08-27T14:02:00.019-04:00

Hi friends,

At this point, I'm sure most of you are not online to read this, since you have most likely boarded yourself up inside of a refrigerator in your bomb shelter in preparation of Hurricane Irene. However, for those of you who braved the elements (or who still get good internet connection inside of a refrigerator), THIS ONE'S FOR YOU.

All this talk of apocalyptic hurricanes has got me thinking...what can I do to help people get through it? I know I have at least 6,000,000 regular followers, so it seems that it's my obligation to provide you with thoughtful, sound advice in times of extreme weather distress. I'm sure most of you are thinking to yourself right now...

Holy shit, what is going to happen to my house?

Holy shit, what is going to happen to my car?

Holy shit, what is going to happen to my cows?

Holy shit, how awesome would it be if my school was completely demolished in the hurricane and I didn't have to go back to work on Monday?

I understand. I'm with you. I, too, have these concerns. Some are VERY concerning to me, as a matter of fact. So, because I care about you, I'm going to share a few tips to help you get through the storm. Maggie's Octopus proudly presents:

HOW TO STAY CALM AND HOPEFULLY ESCAPE DEATH DURING HURRICANE IRENE

First, let's talk about things you should ALWAYS DO ahead of time to be ready for any kind of shitstorm:

1. CHARGE YOUR PHONE! I'm talking super charge. Juice that sucker up. When the power goes out, no one wants to be left without a phone. More specifically, no one wants to be left without the ability to:

-bitch about the storm on facebook and talk about how loud the thunder is
-take pictures of trees blowing around in the wind and then (of course) post those pictures on facebook
-keep yourself entertained in your refrigerator while playing Words With Friends (even though I continually beat you and yet you keep coming back for more)
-have a working flashlight. Yeah, yeah, yeah...I know some people still use those old fashioned non-phone flashlights. Or even those candle things. But what's the point of that? My phone flashlight is totally bright. Why would I want to carry around one of those bulky, real flashlights? Maybe you want carpal tunnel syndrome, but I sure don't. And candles? Really? That shit will only burn your house down.

NOTE: if you have one of those shitty phones that only makes phone calls...don't bother charging it. Everybody knows you don't ever call people during a storm. Lightning will come through the earpiece and kill you.

2. STOCK UP ON SHIT! Everyone knows that if a hurricane strikes, all of the water in the world will evaporate, all of the food in your refrigerator will eat itself, and gum will grow fungus on it. Therefore, the only reasonable solution is to stock up on food that you know is safe. For example...

-Iced coffee and a meatball sub: This afternoon, when I first saw the sky darkening up, I decided it was in my best interest to drive down the street and stock up on some supplies. I drove through Honey Dew Donuts and got a large iced coffee. I figure it will provide me with a hearty serving of milk, which can help me stay alive for at least a day or so after the world explodes. More important, though, it will provide me with a significant amount of caffeine, which will help me find the energy and adrenaline to lift my car when it flies into my second floor bedroom window and lands on me.

NOTE: the meatball sub has no real or useful anti-hurricane quality. I just really like meatball subs and I figure if my world is about to end, I might as well die fat and happy.

3. PROTECT YOUR STUFF! Listen. There's not a whole lot you can do to protect your house once the storm starts. I know some people go through the trouble of boarding up their windows...but let's be honest. If you live in an area where you are even thinking about boarding up your windows, your house is most likely going to be obliterated within minutes. So this message probably isn't for you. In fact, you really shouldn't even be reading this right now. You should be inside your refrigerator, kissing your ass (and your phone's ass) goodbye.

However, for the rest of us who don't have to worry about being homeless, we need to think about other things. Like...

YOUR CAR: here's what to do. If you're like me and use your garage as a home gym instead of an actual garage, you're going to have to protect the car some other way. My suggestion is to create a fence or a barricade that will protect your car from flying debris, trash, trees, cows, etc. What kind of materials should you use to build this barricade? Here are some suggestions:

-your neighbor's car
-the eliptical machine, treadmill, nautilus stand, and exercise bicycle taking up space in your garage...because your husband is really the only one who actually uses that stuff and he is in great shape so he could do without it for a while

4. WHEN ALL ELSE FAILS...Alright, I have to get real for a second. Even with all of my brilliant ideas, there still might be a chance that shit will hit the fan and you find yourself in crisis mode. So, here are some final thoughts on what to do when the power goes out, your meatball sub is gone, and your car gets tossed across the state:

-Go bat-shit crazy. Seriously, staying calm is completely overrated. No one will blame you for losing your shit and doing really odd, irrational things, especially when your house is blowing away and the internet crashes. I suggest running into your driveway, staring up at the sky, and screaming obscenities (preferably made-up ones) at God, Mother Nature, Pete Bouchard, or whoever else you feel deserves the blame.

-Get shit off your chest, once and for all. Assuming you still have the means with which to communicate with other life forms, I suggest you air all of your grievances with every last Tom, Dick, and Facebook friend you have. Tell your boss how much of a jerk he is. Thank your parents for all of the weird, irreversable shit they passed on to you. Remind your friends about all the times they forgot your dog's birthday. Tell the lady at the deli how she never quite sliced your bologna the right way. Question Theo Epstein about the JD Drew deal. Do whatever you want! It's the end of the world, damnit!

NOTE: In the event the world actually doesn't end, you might have some serious explaining to do. However, I think if you use the excuse "I'm sorry...I ran out of meatball subs and I just went crazy," people will completely forgive you.

Good luck.

Not Cool

2011-07-10T13:12:00.042-04:00

Dear Pals,

In an effort to do something positive here on Maggie's Octopus, I'm going to make sure I mention at least a few GOOD things in today's post. Here goes...

Last night, we went to the Sox game. Here are some of the highlights! In other words, some really GREAT things that happened! (Do you like how I'm being positive?! And using lots of exclamation points?! That just accentuates how HAPPPPPYYYY I was!) Here we go:

1. The Red Sox won.
2. John Lackey actually pitched well and didn't suck ass or blow the game or look like a fool or make excuses about why he sucks and how his life is sad and how he has to wear a shaggy beard to prove how messed up and out of control his life is.

Wait. Time out. That kind of turned negative...let me rephrase that...

2. A semi-clean shaven, semi-emotionally stable John Lackey pitched a great game!
3. The weather was amazing. It was a perfect summer night.
4. I had a sausage. With peppers and onions. It was amazing.

(Do you like how that last statement sort of made it sound like I had never eaten a sausage at Fenway before? Pretty clever, huh? I won't even bother to comment on the fries, pretzel, beer, and ice cream cone I ate. That would totally make me seem like a fat pig.)

5. The ride home on the T was actually quick and painless. We got on very quickly and didn't have to stand next to any people who were drunk, smelly, or sexually harassing!

OK. So now that I have taken some time to talk about the nice, happy, positive things that happened, it's only expected that I have to balance things out and complain about the shitty things.

Right? OF COURSE I'M RIGHT!

Here's the bad thing that happened:

Some dude and his kid/friend/associate/paid companion were sitting behind us at the game. My husband and I were sitting in our season ticket seats and we had never seen these two people before. (This will become a very important fact later on in the story) Stay tuned...

You know when you go to a game and you just want to sit and relax and enjoy it? And then someone ends up sitting near you and makes it really difficult? Yeah...that's what happened last night. But here's the thing: it wasn't your typical "Annoying Baseball Game Distraction" kind of person. See, the usual distracting idiots fall into a few categories. Let's take a minute to discuss...

THE TYPES OF REGULAR IDIOTS AT RED SOX GAMES

1. The Loud Drunk Guy: This is someone who thinks going to a Sox game is an excuse to get completely wasted on eight dollar beers and scream stupid shit throughout the game, such as:

-"YOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUK!"
-"Marcoooooooo! Marcoooooooo!"
-"Hey Drew! YOU SUUUUCK!"
-The 85% of the words they actually know to "Sweet Caroline"

Listen. I'm all about having a beer at the ball park. Sometimes I'm all about having a few beers at the ball park. But when you're so drunk that you are sweating and falling and swearing and spilling and getting up every three minutes to run to the beer stand or the bathroom, IT'S NOT OK. I don't understand why people don't just go down the street to one of the (several) bars and just watch the game from there instead? They'd save a lot of money on beer, they wouldn't have to waste money on a ticket for a game that they're clearly not watching, and they'd save me from shooting death glares (and peanut shells) at their heads when they're not looking.

2. The Stupid (sometimes drunk) Girl: This is someone who typically knows nothing about baseball except for these few facts:

-Jacoby Ellsbury is cute
-Jason Varitek has amazing legs
-Victoria's Secret now carries Red Sox clothing through their "Pink" line
-Fenway Park is a great place to pick up Loud Drunk Guys

And...that's about it. They walk around the stands in short shorts, or skirts, or sundresses. Seriously. Who the fuck wears a SUNDRESS to Fenway Park? Honestly. That pisses me off. Go away.

3. The Yankees Fan. This one requires no further explanation.

OK, so I have had my share of annoying guys and dumb girls and Yankees fans around me, but nothing could have prepared me for the dude who sat behind me last night. He wasn't drunk. He wasn't a Yankees fan. He wasn't wearing a sundress. But he was BY FAR more annoying than any of those three types of fans put together. He was...

THE KNOW IT ALL, PLAY BY PLAY, WON'T SHUT UP, ANNOYING OBSERVATOR

I don't even know if "observator" is a real word. It probably isn't. But I'm inventing it. It means "someone who makes stupid, obvious observations and never shuts up." Feel free to use it whenever you want to.

Also, for the purpose of this conversation, I'll be calling the fan behind me Mr. Wizard. It just came to me last night. I know this is probably very offensive to the real Mr. Wizard, and for that I apologize. But for some reason, it seemed to fit last night. Again, I'm really sorry to the actual Mr. Wizard, his family, and anyone else who might be impacted by this description.

I kid you not when I say Mr. Wizard talked through the ENTIRE GAME. It was unbelievable. And he had absolutely NOTHING entertaining to say. Nothing was funny. Nothing was insightful. Nothing was important. It was just horribly boring and aggravating. I didn't know the guy sitting to my left, but at one point early on in the game, I leaned over to him and said, "Dude. I will buy you beer for the rest of the game if you can figure out a way for that guy to shut up." He replied, "OH MY GOD. I know. He needs a mute button." This kind of clever banter continued through the rest of the game. Nothing like bonding with your fellow fans.

Mr. Wizard had something to say about EVERYTHING. For your enjoyment, I have broken things down into categories, followed by actual quotes from Mr. Wizard. The quotes are probably very close to being perfectly accurate, since they were repeated often and burned into my brain throughout the evening. Please enjoy the nuggets of wisdom from Mr. Wizard...

PLAYER INFORMATION

"Oh. There's JD Drew. He's just too calm. You never see that guy get upset. Never gets mad. Never gets happy. Never up, never down. Just there."

"David Ortiz is in his last year. He's going to be a free agent next year. I wonder if they'll keep him. I think he's making 12 million dollars this year. How'd you like THAT kind of salary, huh?"

"Geez, JD Drew just doesn't swing. He's too selective. He's not swinging. Look at that. Four strikes in a row. He didn't swing at any of them."

"What did he do last time? I think he popped out. No, wait. I think he was the one who hit into the double play. I can't remember. Do you remember? Was he the one who hit it to shortstop last time?"

"What was that? A balk? A balk?! Wow. You just don't see that in baseball a whole lot. A balk, huh. Wow. Now that guy gets to go to second base because the pitcher balked. He balked."

"What was that? A slider? Or a change up? Wait. I can't see. Oh, yeah. I knew it. It was a change up."

"Guerrero. He swings at everything. Seriously. He just swings at everything. I think he's a free agent soon, too. Remember? He was with the Angels?"

"Oh, boy. Lackey and Guerrero were teammates back on the Angels. I bet Lackey knows Guerrero as a hitter really well. Look at that. They used to be teammates."

"Good for Ellsbury. He has a single, a double, and a triple. Now all he needs is a home run, then he will hit for the cycle. That's all he needs."

"Here comes Ellsbury again. It will be a real shame if he doesn't get the home run this time because he probably won't get up again in this game."

"Here comes the coach. I bet he's going to call in a new pitcher. Yup. There it is. There he goes. Lackey is going out of the game and a new pitcher is coming in."

"See. There's Papelbon. He's warming up. He is going to come into the game later on. Now he's warming up."

FAN INFORMATION

"That man is with a young girl. She must be his granddaughter."

"See, those people must not have been in the right seats. They had to move when those other people got there."

"Oh, look at that. He had to move over a few seats when those people came in."

"That's the usher. He's helping those people to his seats. Oh look. He's wiping the seat off."

"They are yelling for Youkilis. They are not saying booing him. They are actually yelling "YOUUUUK." For Youkilis. You hear that?"

"See when JD Drew gets up? No one cheers, no one boos. They don't do anything. They just don't care."

"Haha. Those people are trying to start The Wave."

"Oh, there's The Wave. Look. It's going over there. Look, it's on the Green Monster. Oh look. The Wave is still going. Look. The Wave is over there. Oh, here it comes! The Wave is coming!"

"I don't know why that person put her sweatshirt on. It's really beautiful out. Why did she put on her sweatshirt? I love this weather."

FENWAY PARK INFORMATION

"This place has so many sponsors. Unbelievable. Look. They are really raking in the dough. Look at that. See on that wall? Dunkin Donuts. Stop and Shop. New Balance. So many sponsors. They must be making so much money. Bank of America. Budweiser. Wow. Ninety Nine. Volvo. Poland Spring. Look at all those sponsors. See over there? Cumberland Farms. Ford."

"See that patch of grass there? See where JD Drew is? It looks like it's replaced. Yeah, I bet that's where all of the players stand in right field. I bet that's why they had to replace it."

"You can see over there. That's where all of the radio and TV guys sit. You can see that. It's glass but it's probably not real glass. I bet it's plexiglass, because of the foul balls and all."

WEATHER INFORMATION

"Wow. What a beautiful night. That breeze is great."

"See the sun? Yeah, it will be much easier to see the field when the sun goes down."

"The sun should be going down soon. Then we can see the field better. But I bet the temperature will go down a lot once that sun goes down."

"Wow. The breeze has gone down a lot. That's funny. Wow. Look over there at the flag. It's hardly moving."

"OK, the sun is going down. It should be all gone in about five minutes."

"I say that sun is out of here in two minutes."

"OK, the sun went down. There it goes."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SHUT UPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!

That was just a small sampling of Mr. Wizard's amazing NON STOP ramble. It might not seem like a lot, but please keep in mind that he repeated about 90% of those comments. SEVERAL TIMES.

You may remember earlier when I mentioned we had never seen Mr. Wizard before last night's game. I am praying that we never do again. However, I have already promised my husband that if it turns out Mr. Wizard has season ticket seats behind OUR season ticket seats, I will do one (or more) of the following:

-kill Mr. Wizard
-cut off both of my ears (and possibly my eyes)
-become a Yankees fan

I'm deciding which option will be the least painful.

xoxo

What's Wrong With Me

2011-06-28T12:13:00.043-04:00

Holllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I'm back! Who's excited?!?!

By the way, I know ALL OF YOU love screaming "holllaaaaaaaa" in someone's face. So don't shake your head in disgust just because I'm brave enough to do it in writing.

Sooooo, yeah! I'm back to blogging. I really did miss it, but to be honest, I had been incredibly busy since about March or so. My life is quite the whirlwind of work, play, adventure, world travel...and so on. Thankfully, things have slowed down a little bit and I can once again return to my true love: writing.

AND NOW, FOR THE TRUTH:

Sooooo, yeah! I'm back to blogging. I really did miss it, but to be honest, I was doing all I could to survive the last couple of months at work. My life is quite the whirlwind of work, work, dogs, work, work, sleep, food, work, watching The Voice, work...and so on. Thankfully, I made it to summer vacation without killing anyone (at work) or having a complete nervous breakdown (at work) and I can once again return to my true love: ~~watching The Voice~~ writing.

Whatever. The point is...I'M ON VACATION!!! Maggie's Octopus is back, bitches!

It always cracks me up when people ask questions like, "So, what do you have planned for the summer?" and they expect the response to be something exciting or elaborate. I guess some people who work in education make detailed, grand plans for vacation...you know, like

-going on exciting trips across the world with safaris and cruises and tour guides
-going on long camping trips with tents and backpacks and fire
-working long hours to make money to support their lavish teacher lifestyle (you know...buying groceries, clothes without holes, gasoline, and other luxuries)
-somehow contributing to society (you know...volunteering, making a difference, shit like that)

Yeah. NONE of that really fits into my summer planning. Here's where I stand when it comes to The Summer Agenda 2011:

-spending time with ONLY quality people who don't want a damn thing from me (except to sit, relax, and laugh with them, and occasionally pass them the sunscreen, softball, ketchup, or bottle opener)
-doing whatever it takes to average 10 hours of sleep a night
-doing whatever it takes to lose about 50 pounds without exerting much/any effort
-doing whatever it takes to rock my amazingly awesome blue sunglasses, while somehow avoiding those shitty sunglasses tan lines
-doing whatever it takes to not sweat excessively through my clothes while I'm sitting in my SEASON TICKET seats at Fenway Park
-figuring out a way to remember to do the three or four things I actually have scheduled

And....that's really it.

Having said that, you might be a little worried about the limited amount of blog inspiration this summer. OHHHHHH don't you worry, friends. Granted, I won't be able to share any great stories about swimming with dolphins or climbing Mount Everest or building houses for homeless bald eagles or running a 5K for cancer or a 10K for measles or a 200K for asthma. But you can be sure I'll have a shitload to say about...

-sleeping
-how many days I can go without taking a shower
-working one day a week at (you guessed it) THE LIQUOR STORE!!!!! HELL YES!
-what kind of shit my dog eats, poops out, or otherwise destroys this summer
-what kind of shit I eat, poop out, or otherwise destroy this summer
-the amazingly funny (some accidentally, some intentionally, some unfortunately) people in my life
-the adventures I go on that most people are too ashamed or normal to talk about

Today I'd like to talk about that last bullet. Here is an example of...

AN ADVENTURE I WENT ON THAT MOST PEOPLE ARE TOO ASHAMED OR NORMAL TO TALK ABOUT

I have absolutely no problem doing things by myself. Yes, yes, I love my friends and my husband and my dogs and my teammates and my fan club. I spend plenty of time with all of them, don't you worry. But over the summer, a lot of those suckers still work during the day. Therefore, I find myself with a lot of quality alone time.

This morning, after waking up (at 9:00...with an alarm), eating some Raisin Bran Crunch, and walking the dogs (good news! they hadn't eaten/pooped out/destroyed anything overnight!!! However, Maggie did manage to lock herself in the bathroom for a couple of hours)...anyway, after all of that was done, I went out to do a couple of errands and while I was out, a little voice told me to do something...

"GOOOOOOOO TO THE SALVATION ARMY STORE. GO NOWWWWWWW."

Yes. Yes. YES. Once or twice a year, I make a trip to the amazing Salvation Army Store in beautiful downtown Framingham. It's something I started doing in high school with my brother...we would go to "Salvation" when the spirit moved us. Every now and then, we would actually take day trips around the state to check out the most massive Salvations around. It was a fun adventure...we'd toss some Beastie Boys in the tape deck, grab some fast food, and go searching for the most fierce thrift shops in Massachusetts! Quality family bonding.

Sadly, the Salvation Army in Framingham closed down a year or so ago. Amazingly, I had never been shot, stabbed, or mugged during any of my visits there over the years...so I was really sad to see it go. So today, when my inner voice encouraged me to go thrift shopping, I was forced to check out a new store. Thankfully, I didn't have to drive too far from the old Salvation location...

Ladies and gents, I present to you, ST VINCENT de PAUL! Also known as SVdP. Totally awesome. Let's put it this way...if Salvation Army is a Cadillac, then St. Vincent de Paul is like...a Delorean. Or a spaceship. Or Pee-Wee Herman's bike. Let's just say it's a pretty classy place (in a flea market, yard sale, attic box kind of way).

SVdP is in Framingham...you know, in that strip mall where Big D used to be? But now it's mostly empty except for about one and a half stores and a Dunkin' Donuts and a laundromat...and a scary parking lot near the gas station and that annoying light where people never understand that the left lane is ONLY for left turns but they go straight anyway...and there's the creepy retirement home next door and the random weird pizza place that looks like a house where our high school volleyball coach's boyfriend used to work? Yes, friends. THAT IS WHERE SVdP is located. Perfection!

So here's why I go to thrift shops: I have this weird fascination/obsession with t-shirts. I always have and I'm afraid I always will. I love getting t-shirts from places I have visited, events I have participated in, teams I have played for...you get the picture. And for some reason, that passion extends to another kind of t-shirt:

COOL, OLD SHIRTS THAT MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE FORMERLY BELONGED TO A DIRTY, DISEASED, DEAD, OR A PERFECTLY NORMAL AND HEALTHY PERSON

I should probably explain. I don't actively seek out shirts that belonged to dirty or dead people. It's just that you never really know what you're getting when you buy clothes at a thrift store, and it's kind of weird that I'm not more bothered by that. I'm kind of a freak when it comes to bugs and dirtiness and scum and stuff like that, but for some reason I'm cool with the used t-shirt thing...even though the person who previously owned it could have been a giant, crap-infested dirtbag. The strange this is, I don't think I'd ever buy anything else at a thrift shop...not shoes or pants or shorts...or even a book or a game...and DEFINITELY not a plate or a glass or anything mouth-related. But a t-shirt is fine.

Yes, I know that logic is bizarre...but what the hell do you expect? This blog is called Maggie's Octopus, for God's sake. I'm guessing you don't come here for logic.

The atmosphere at SVdP was very glamorous. I was incredibly impressed with their t-shirt selection. They had FIVE whole giant racks of shirts (compared to Salvation's measly three or four). However, they lost a few points in the Organization Department because the shirts were just randomly hung without any sense of order. The sizes were all mixed up and they weren't divided up by color. I mean really...what the hell is that? If I'm going to pay between .99 and 1.99 for a shirt, I shouldn't have to work hard to find it! Talk about a rip off. And get this--not once did an employee of the store ever stop to ask me if I needed any assistance! They were all too busy sorting through "donations." Give me a break.

OK, so that last part was a joke. Trust me, it was perfectly OK that none of the employees approached me. In fact, I was relieved. Let's just say the employees were a little...edgy. Yeah, yeah, I know. I know what you're thinking...

Give them a break. They're probably homeless or unpaid volunteers or criminals out on work release.

I GET IT. But that still doesn't mean they should be disgruntled! For instance, there I was, minding my own business, admiring a 2008 Quincy Summer League All-Star Basketball shirt, when I overheard one worker talking to another:

WORKER 1: I'm going to get some water. You want some? (walks away)

WORKER 1: (a few seconds later) I'M GOING TO GET SOME WATER! DO YOU WANT SOME?

WORKER 2: No.

WORKER 1: (now about 100 feet away) HEY!!!! I'M TAKING A BREAK!!!!

WORKER 2: OK.

WORKER 1: I'M GOING TO GET SOME WATER!!!!!! DO YOU WANT SOME? GOD...ANSWER ME!!! DO YOU WANT SOME WATER??!??!?!

WORKER 2: No thank you.

WORKER 1: WELL I DO! I'M GOING TO GET SOME WATER!

WORKER 2: OK.

I know that exchange probably doesn't seem very exciting or upsetting or life-threatening. Trust me. It's just one of those "you had to be there" moments. Since today's incident, I break out in hives whenever I'm near water.

Then there was some weird exchange that happened later when I was about to check out. As I approached the front counter, some dude was trying to drop off a prescription for someone who worked at the store. He was saying something like, "This is for Chris. I have dropped this off to him before" and he was holding a prescription in a bag from a local pharmacy. The clerk said that no one named Chris worked there, and the dude insisted that it was for Chris. The clerk said she would go out back and ask around. Then she came back and said, "Yeah, there is no one here by that name." Then the dude said, once again, that he had done it before and there was never a problem...then he said he would leave and call Chris and that was the end of that.

Um....ok. Let's break this down for a minute.

1. Would you ever have prescription medication dropped off to you at work?
2. If you did, wouldn't you probably make plans ahead of time to meet your buyer/friend/courier at the front of the store or maybe in the parking lot...instead of asking the front clerk to put out an APB for you?
3. If you stopped working at the store (due to being arrested, dying, or retiring early due to SVdP's amazing retirement benefits package) don't you think you would let your pal know?

Maybe I'm overthinking all of this...but something just doesn't quite add up. And more importantly, I'm really worried that Chris is going a whole day without getting his medication. That, friends, is the real tragedy here.

OK that's all I have to say about today's adventure. I went home and immediately threw my shirts in the washing machine, soaked my hands in bleach, and went on my merry way. If any of you wish to join me on my next thrift shop adventure (or if any of you know the whereabouts of Chris), please give me a call.

xoxo

I'm Just Sick, Damnit

2011-03-13T17:46:00.026-04:00

Great story...

So last week at work, out of the blue, I started feeling nauseous. Whatever, I thought. It's probably just the two giant iced coffees I had for breakfast and lunch. But then it kicked in again a little later (along with a pounding headache) when I was talking to a parent on the phone. Whatever, I thought. It's probably just the fact that this dude has me on speaker phone and his normal talking voice is like Macho Man Randy Savage. No biggie.

Then, around 2:15, I had a student in my office and I suddenly thought to myself, "HOLY SHIT I AM GOING TO THROW UP ALL OVER THE PLACE I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE AND I AM GOING TO DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE OH MY GOD THE ROOM IS SPINNING" and so forth. Thankfully, the young lad was wrapping up the conversation and getting ready to leave, which eliminated the need for an awkward OK I know you're in crisis right now but can you hold that thought while I sprint out of my office and dive head first into the nearest toilet? conversation.

The next five minutes were a blur of packing up my stuff, running around telling people I felt like ass, and then running out to my car. The 30 minute drive home was pretty terrible...if you want a visual, just picture a dog traveling in a car with its head hanging out the window. Except picture a very unhappy dog. Maybe he's going to the kennel. Or maybe he's going to be put to sleep. Got the visual? Great. Because THAT WAS ME.

Once I finally got home, I basically went back and forth between bed and the bathroom every five or ten minutes. I don't think I need to get into too much detail, because any of you who have ever had a stomach bug or food poisoning will probably NEVER forget the experience. Plus, we all know that as far as illnesses go, talking about the stomach bug is probably the least acceptable on the gross meter. Have you ever noticed that? There is a scale of grossness and I don't know who invented it...but basically if you want to talk about having a cold or allergies or a sunburn or whatever, that's fine. But talk about other stuff and FORGET IT! You're considered disgusting or accused of sharing too much information. Let's take a look at the Gross Meter, shall we?

THE GROSS METER - a cutting edge measuring system from your friends at The Octopus

STAGE ONE: NOT GROSS AT ALL

-sore throat
-headache
-muscle fatigue
-chills
-carpal tunnel

STAGE TWO: SORT OF GROSS

-paper cut
-toothache
-runny nose
-swollen anything
-acne
-mono
-cold sweats
-bee sting
-sunburn
-chicken pox

STAGE THREE: GETTING GROSSER

-ingrown toenail
-blisters
-warts
-hives
-scabs
-dripping boogers
-conjunctivitis
-broken bones
-PMS
-body odor

STAGE FOUR: PRETTY FUCKING GROSS

-vomiting
-lice
-dislocated body parts
-shark bite
-dandruff
-pus
-ringworm
-flesh eating virus

STAGE FIVE: YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO TALK ABOUT THIS. EVER.

-diarrhea

Don't laugh! You know that's exactly how it works. You can say ANYTHING on earth and even if it's gross, people will somehow manage to accept it. You could have a dripping, oozing rash on your eyeball, and even though people might gag, they'd still ask if you were OK and offer you a tissue and a cough drop. But God forbid you say the word "diarrhea." It's like cursing someone's dead grandmother. For real...people look at you like you're an animal.

And even if you have a stomach bug like I did...people do NOT want to hear about your diarrhea issue. Seriously...just think about it. If I said, "I had a stomach bug. I was up all night throwing up," people would say, "OH NO that's terrible...that's the worst..." but it's kind of acceptable, you know? It sort of validates the whole sickness. Like ohhhh you threw up? Then you must have been sick. People actually feel sorry for you. On the other hand, if I said, "I had a stomach bug. I was up all night pooping my brains out," suddenly I'm seen as a villain or something. No one feels bad for me. I am shunned from society. Like Quasimodo. Why is that?

I'll never forget one day I was walking through the nurse's office my first or second year on the job...and an eighth grader I knew pretty well was sitting on one of the beds, hunched over and groaning a little. I stopped and said, "Oh, hey, Pablo*...you're not feeling well, huh?" and Pablo answered, "No." I asked, "Oh, that's too bad. What's wrong?" and Pablo answered, matter of factly, "Ughhhhh...I have massive diarrhea!"

*names have been changed to protect students who are open about their diarrhea

"Massive diarrhea." What a perfect explanation! I knew exactly how he felt. If he had said, "My stomach hurts" or "I don't feel very good" or "Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," I wouldn't have really appreciated the depth of his discomfort. So even though in the moment I was a little startled by Pablo's candor, I had to give the young lad props for saying what was really on his mind. After all, we want kids to tell the truth, right? Bravo, Pablo!

OK...enough about Pablo. Back to me and my issues.

So after taking a day off to recover from my "stomach problems," I returned to work, still a little queasy. Naturally, a lot of my co-workers approached me and asked how I was feeling...and I'm not gonna lie. I was pretty blunt about my situation. I didn't use the word massive to describe anything, but I think I used some other key medical terms like "butt explosion" and "stomach hell." However, for the people I'm a little less connected to, I showed a little restraint and used the generic "stomach bug." In most normal workplaces, one would think that would be the end of it. But no. Not where I work. You want to know why? Because I am a 32 year old female. And whenever a woman at my job between the ages of 25-40 mentions anything about having a "stomach bug," it automatically means something else....

SHE IS PREGNANT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, folks. There is NO question about it. There is a baby on the way. Let's celebrate! Jump for joy! Do you have any names picked out yet? Hooraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.

Some of you might think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not. I'm not sure if it's the fact that I work in a school and 90% of the staff is made up of young women, newlyweds, etc, so it's just expected...or if it's just the fact that babies are exciting and people are hopeful...or if it's just that people are nosy and think they know everything and think it's totally acceptable to assume something so incredibly personal and life-changing about someone else. I'm sure any of those are possibilities.

Yeah, so back to me. Not only was I nauseous and sick to my stomach, but I was also smart enough to share that...

-I was extremely tired
-I had lost my appetite

Just in case you are wondering, these are two more HUGE pieces of evidence that support the notion that I am pregnant. Forget the whole stomach bug argument. Seriously...just forget it. I had at least three different people talk pregnancy with me on one day. They all had different approaches:

1. The Half-Joker: "Hmmm...maybe you're pregnant?" This one wasn't too bad. I laughed along and said, "Nope. Not pregnant, but thanks for asking." And that was the end of it.

2. The Serious Optimist: "Oh my God...do you think you're pregnant?!" This also wasn't too bad. The person was sincerely excited for me. I told her no. And that was the end of it.

but then, there was the worst one of all...

3. Cleo the Psychic: "Oooohhhhh I know what that means!!" (ME: "What does it mean?") "There's a baby on the way! These are the first signs! What did I tell you??!!!" (ME: "Nope, actually, I'm not pregnant. I just had a really bad stomach bug.") "Riiiight. Are you sure?"

and so on and so on and SO ON. I'm not kidding...this was the conversation. And it wasn't even funny or joking or sincerely concerned. It was accusatory. Like I was hiding something or had a secret and SHE was smarter than me. She was on to my tricks.

So let me get this straight--basically, if I ever complain about being tired or feeling sick or not being hungry or gaining weight or having sore feet or having a hangnail, my genius co-worker will think (sorry, KNOW) that I'm pregnant? Is this what I have to look forward to?

I finally got her to leave me alone by saying, "Listen...I'm really not pregnant." and she walked away with a smirk of disbelief on her face. I felt like I had to defend myself further. Looking back, I kind of wish I had said something more, like...

"Listen to me. I am NOT pregnant. I was home sick, crapping my guts out, because the kids at our school don't wash their hands. Deal with it."

"I'm not pregnant, you nosy jerk. I had diarrhea. Massive diarrhea, in fact. Would you like me to bring some pictures in next time as evidence?"

"Can you keep a secret? I'm not pregnant...but I'm sooooooo hungover. I just can't handle my liquor like I used to. I'm going to have to cut down to one bottle every morning with my coffee. Please don't tell anyone, OK? It will ruin my rep around here as a positive role model."

"Dude. I am NOT pregnant. Granted, my husband and I have sex every single day after school...on your desk, as a matter of fact...but sadly, we haven't been able to make any baby magic happen just yet. But don't worry...you will be the first to know when it happens."

Shoot. I always come up with the best things to say after the fact.

I WANT (to be) A BABY

2011-02-27T14:59:00.050-05:00

Howdy, friends. As many of you know, I have spent the last week on FEBRUARY BREAK! Yes, it's the time of year when all of us lazy, overpaid educators get yet another break in the action from sleeping under our desks and eating bon-bons. Even though it's only a week off, most of us still find the time to hop on our private jets and and head out to one of our many winter estates. I'm currently blogging from my little fixer-upper off the coast of Spain. Please ignore the construction mess...

In addition to spending time at Casa d'Octopus (that's what the servants affectionately dubbed it), I had a chance to visit with some of my favorite friends during my time off. Around mid-week, I realized something: all of my friends have little kids! Well, obviously, I knew ahead of time that they all had kids...but it was kind of weird to put it all together. Don't get me wrong...it was very nice, but it was by far the most time I have spent with a large group of assorted kids age 0-4 over the course of one week...with the exception of that time about 32 years ago...

Having so many close friends with little kids definitely has its advantages. First of all, it's exciting. I'm so happy for them and it's pretty mind-blowing to see some of my favorite friends in the world (some that I have known for 10, 20, or more years!) starting families of their own. Plus, anyone who knows me knows that I love kids and want some of my own someday...so getting to hang out with lots of awesome mommies and babies provides a ton of perspective and insight into the world of mommyhood. Plus, at any point in the visit, if the kids end up being loud, screaming, crying, puking, pooping, annoying jerks, I can just toss them back to their moms, throw on my iPod, and go eat some pizza. Not my problem!

Like I said before...seeing all of these babies and moms at once was a fun way to spend my vacation week, but I also feel like I came away from the week learning A LOT. And, since I never like to keep valuable information to myself, I've decided to share it with all of you.

So, without any further ado, Maggie's Octopus is proud to present...

REASONS WHY BABIES AND LITTLE KIDS HAVE IT MADE

That's right. They absolutely have it made. And here is the hard data (collected from my week of visits) that supports the claim:

NOTE: For the purpose of this discussion, "babies" will be used to describe any human being between the ages of 0.2 and 4. Also, the names of babies and mommies have been changed just in case they don't appreciate me writing about them to a total bunch of strangers. But don't worry...I'll try to give some good descriptions so you can figure out who I'm talking about.

1. BABIES CAN BE RUDE AND GET AWAY WITH IT

I consider myself a fairly rude person. Let's just put it out there. I like to hear myself talk. I interrupt people on a regular basis. I'm pretty loud. I don't always clean up after myself. I eat really fast. Sometimes I have gas. Whatever. I'm not embarrassed. It's who I am. Thankfully, I have a shitload of redeeming qualities that cancel out the less desirable ones.

But here's the thing---all of those things I mentioned earlier are considered unacceptable in the adult world. Adults are supposed to be polite and listen to people, even if the person we're talking to is incredibly stupid, boring, and long-winded. We're supposed to chew our food and not stare at people and put our dishes in the dishwasher. To summarize, being an adult is pretty unfair and challenging. However, if you are a baby, it's totally fine to be a self-centered slob who completely relies on other people. In fact, it's expected!

Here are just a few examples of things I observed babies doing this past week...without ANY kind of repercussion whatsoever:

-crying while I was trying to have a conversation with my mommy friend
-waking up repeatedly after being put to bed
-throwing food on the floor
-head butting me when I was trying to hold him
-cheating at Guess Who
-sucking on my finger without asking permission
-turning the page of a book before I was finished reading it
-in general, taking valuable attention away from me

You'll notice that I haven't even mentioned anything about pooping or puking. Just you wait. That gets its own section.

2. IT'S A MONUMENTAL MOMENT ANY TIME A BABY POOPS OR THROWS UP

You know it's true. The other day my friend was nursing her baby son and all of a sudden, I heard that LOUDEST, juiciest, longest farting noise I have heard in a very long time. It was nasty and unexpected...and it came out of the two-month old baby's butt! Hooooooly crap. I gotta say, it was pretty impressive...but it was also NASTY. I was expecting my friend to laugh or looked shocked or even apologize...but noooooo. Instead, she looked at her son and said, "Yaaaay! Awesome job!"

What? For real? Your baby just shot out about ten pounds of crap all over himself and, most likely, you. And this is a good thing? I'm not sure I understand.

Another time, this same baby had another butt explosion, resulting in poop to splatter out of his diaper, up his back, and straight through the back of his cute outfit (THAT I HAD GIVEN HIM A WEEK EARLIER). Again, this was a huge and exciting accomplishment in the eyes of his mom. Really? If I had pooped all over my clothes, I probably would have been sent out into the yard.

And what's up with the puke thing? Puke, spit up, spit, whatever you want to call that gross, stinky white gunk. The point is, I feel like most babies find the most inopportune times to spit up. Do you notice how babies NEVER seem to spit up when...

-they are getting a bath?
-they have a bib, washcloth, apron, tarp, or towel wrapped around their neck?
-they are chilling out by themselves?

Instead, it seems that they decide it's the perfect time to barf when...

-I'm holding them
-I'm hugging them
-I'm feeding them
-my mommy friend hasn't put that gross, stinky puke towel on my shoulder yet

Seriously. Yesterday when I visited Poop Baby, I wore a sweatshirt I had just taken out of the dryer that morning...and after about two minutes of holding him, he managed to cover the left shoulder with slimy, milky puke. I was planning on getting at least 5-10 wears out of that sweatshirt before washing it again... but now that idea is out the window. What the hell???? If an adult pukes on someone, they're called sloppy or inconsiderate or an alcoholic. And they get the dry cleaning bill. Babies get a high five and a change of clothes. Speaking of clothes...

3. BABIES GET TO WEAR AWESOME, FUNKY CLOTHES THAT NORMAL, PROFESSIONAL ADULTS COULD NEVER GET AWAY WITH

I love clothes. It's something of an obsession, actually. But I love picking out cute, colorful outfits and putting things together and looking good and getting complimented on how incredibly gorgeous I am. But no outfit I have can even come close to the kinds of things babies get to wear. I won't show actual pictures of my baby friends...but here are just a few outfits that are similar to ones I saw my baby friends wear this week:

I know...right? Too damn cute. But if you saw me walking around town in any of these things, you'd accuse me of trying too hard. Or being on drugs. And that's just not fair. (Or completely accurate, for that matter)

4. BABIES ALSO GET KICK-ASS FURNITURE

How awesome would it be if adults got to have portable, awesome shit to hang out in like this:

I would love to just reach into my car and plunk this thing down. Imagine how relaxing it would be to swing back and forth for a while? I can totally picture me, swinging in my office, with the lights off, maybe a little soft music playing, and just TOTALLY getting rid of my stress. BUT NO. That would be considered "weird." Screw that.

Again. Same idea. You're a little tired? Awesome! Just pull this thing out of your pocket, unfold it, and BOOM! Instant bed. Or cage. Or whatever you want to call it. The point is, you can fall asleep and not worry about rolling into traffic or getting attacked by ants.

DUDE. If I had something like this when I was a kid, I probably would have turned out to be even more of a distractable, distracting, unfocused, daydreaming nut. Seriously. You can get lost in this thing for hours. Trust me. My pooping baby friend was crying for like, twenty minutes straight, but when I put him down on this thing, he instantly stopped crying and stared up at a toy octopus hanging down above him. It was insane. He just sat there, smiling up at it for about a week and a half. He thinks the octopus is his best friend. Swear to God....I tried to convince my mommy friend to leave him there so we could go out to lunch, but she said no. We totally could have...oh well. The point is...THIS THING IS MAGICAL.

And then there's this thing. It just kills me. A foamy chair! Love it! You can just throw your baby in there and go about your day. It's pretty cool. One of my baby friends is four months old, and she chilled out in this thing like it was her job. She can't really sit up by herself yet, but put her in this thing and she's a sitting pro. Yeah, sure...every now and then she slid down and kind of leaned over to the side...but whatever. It just took a little re-positioning and she was good to go for at least another half hour. Genius!

And last but not least...

5. IT'S CUTE WHEN BABIES DO NAUGHTY (AND SOMEWHAT DANGEROUS) SHIT

At a certain point in time, it's OK to teach babies right and wrong. My mommy friends are pretty awesome at disciplining their kids in a calm, kind, and appropriate manner. However, sometimes babies are just too young to understand anything, and they can kind of get away with really bad shit. And there's nothing anyone can do about it! Except maybe laugh and joke about how Baby almost accidentally decapitated himself or tossed the cat out the window.

For example, during one of my visits, all of the mommies and babies were getting packed up and ready to leave. The whole process of saying goodbye took a while, considering some mommies had more than one baby and each baby came with about 400 bottles, jackets, shoes, bags, and diapers. One of my mommy friends went around to give hugs and say goodbye, and in the .0000000000000000000000004 seconds she took her eyes off her son (let's call him Speedy), Speedy managed to run to another part of the house and disappear before our eyes. Speedy's mommy stayed calm and called out to Speedy. We all knew he couldn't have gone too far...so anyway, after about ten seconds of looking around, one of my other friends said, "I found Speedy!" Well...apparently Speedy (who is almost two years old) decided to walk into the garage and explore a bit. My friend found Speedy face first in a pile of shovels, just kind of hanging out with his feet in the air. Speedy was fine...no injuries, no broken face bones or whatever. And we all had a good laugh at the fact that Speedy had managed to walk down the garage steps and into a pile of shovels in about two seconds without any of us noticing. Ha, ha, Speedy. You little rascal!

Again...I ask you: if you walked into my garage and saw me upside down in a pile of shovels, would you call me cute? Would you run to help me, or would you take a picture and post it on facebook? Exactly.

Babies have it made. That's all I'm saying.

Check Yourself

2011-02-25T17:04:00.033-05:00

Every now and then, something happens that makes you stop for a minute, reflect, and take a little personal inventory on your life. You know what I mean? Like, for example, you might see someone out in public who is in really rough shape living on the street and say, "Wow. I'm so lucky to have a place to live and food to eat." Or you might hear about someone who recently died and say, "Wow. I'm so lucky to have my health." Or maybe you see someone with no legs and say, "Wow. I got such a great sale at DSW today." Whatever. You get the point.

Today was a day like that. It wasn't necessarily a "wow, my life rocks" kind of moment. Don't get me wrong...I appreciate my life and I know I have it better than most (OK, all) people...but this particular situation made me realize something much different. That realization, my friends, went a little something like this...

"Wow. I'm not such a bad ass, after all."

Let me backtrack a little bit. Most of you know that I have a few tattoos scattered across my body. Four, to be exact...for now. Some people out there are a little put off or sensitive about the whole tattoo thing, and to those people, I respectfully say: LIGHTEN UP. It's my body, and if I want to permanently mark it up or put holes in it or spread peanut butter all over it, why should you care? There are a lot more pressing issues to worry about in this world, like world peace and health care and the price of iced coffee. So get off my (tattooed) back.

Not that I got the tattoos to be cool or edgy or anything...but I think there is a certain stigma associated with being a tattooed person. They have become a lot more mainstream in the past twenty or so years...so it's not just the pirates or the convicts or the bikers or the carnies who are getting inked anymore. But I think, in general, people with tattoos are looked at as maybe a little more...

...risky
...careless
...stupid
...awesome

Call it what you want. I think I fit all of those descriptions pretty well.

OK...so maybe I do consider myself a teeny bit of a bad ass for going "under the needle" a handful of times. I risked a considerable amount of discomfort for something I wanted, and even though my dad warned me a long time ago that "no one will ever hire you with a tattoo," I am currently in my ninth year as a school counselor, molding the youth of America into strong, successful, and well-rounded bad asses of the future.

So where the hell was I? Oh, right. Being a bad ass. So, as far as I know, nothing has gone wrong in my life because I have tattoos. I still got hired, my friends still like me, my husband still wanted to date and marry me, my dogs still let me take them for walks, and Mensa still proudly welcomes me as a member. However, there is still one group out there who absolutely still discriminates against tattooed citizens...

THE BLOOD DONATION PEOPLE!!!!

Did you know that? Here's how it works--basically, if you try to donate blood, and it has been less than a year since getting a tattoo, you are NOT allowed to donate. What's up with that, right? Well, I guess it makes sense, because of the fear of disease and needles and infection and all that stuff. I don't know exactly how the whole year timeline fits, but I'm assuming they figure that after a year, any weird tattoo disease will have made its way into your bloodstream and killed you before you have the chance to donate blood. Yeah...that must be it.

So my last tattoo was in November of 2009, so it is only recently that I have been able to donate again. So, as expected, I got the call from the ~~stalkers~~ blood donation people and they ~~begged and guilted me~~ nicely asked me to donate again...so I decided hey, why not...let's go back and give the gift of blood. I'm a kind-hearted, generous human being. I'm on vacation. I should really give back.

And, no...it had nothing to do with the fact that I get a free t-shirt and a huge Snickers ice cream bar just for showing up. Stop being such a jerk.

If any of you have donated blood before, you know the process...

1. You make an appointment
2. You go into the hospital or center or wherever the donation place is
3. You check in
4. You go into a room and go through a list of questions to make sure you're "eligible" to donate
5. Once you're deemed eligible, you sit in a comfy recliner chair and get the blood sucked out of you
6. You get a free t-shirt and a huge Snickers ice cream bar just for showing up
7. You go home, brag for a long time about your selflessness, and make everyone wait on you hand and foot and then totally exaggerate the whole "post-blood donation resting period" for as long as humanly possible

There are probably some other steps in there, but I have provided the most important ones.

So let's (finally) get to the point of today's blog post...in order to do so, we have to spend some time on step #4. The big, bad, list of questions. It was during this step at today's donation that I had the "a-ha!" moment of realizing just how non-bad ass I really am. Here's what I mean...

The list has about five million "yes or no" questions on it, and a nurse runs down each and every one and waits for you to answer it. Some of the basic questions make a lot of sense, like...

"Have you had a piercing or a tattoo?"
"Do you have AIDS or HIV?"
"Do you have hepatitis?"
"Have you used needles to inject yourself with recreational drugs or steroids?"

I get it. That's kind of like Blood Donation 101. Obviously they don't want anyone with diseases or STDs or Jose Canseco donating blood. That would just be unhealthy.

However, the list gets even better. Here are some of my favorite test items...I like to call them:

REMINDERS THAT MY LIFE IS PRETTY BORING

Here are some of my favorite questions from the blood quiz...most were prefaced by, "In the past six months...in the past three weeks...in the past year, etc..." but I forget all of that crap. Just shut up and read.

"Have you had acupuncture?" - No.

I have ALWAYS wanted to get acupuncture! People who have had it say it's pretty awesome...and I almost had it one time, but I chickened out. Bummer. I feel like people who do acupuncture are mysterious and crunchy and connected to a higher zen-like power. Damnit. I want to be all of those things. But, sadly, I have never been acupunched. Strike one.

"Have you traveled outside of the United States and Canada?" - No.

What the hell? I haven't been outside of the United States in the past year. Oh, wait...now that I think of it, I have never ever EVER been outside of the United States. EVER! Not even to Canada. What a loser. But hey...does this count? This summer I'm going to Canada to play in a softball tournament...and I even need to get my passport. Oh yeah. PASSPORT. Up in here.

(Seriously? To go to Canada? WTF. The passport costs more than the gas it will take to drive up there. Yeah, that's right. I'M NOT EVEN TAKING A PLANE!)

That's it. I am the scum of the earth. Fucking Canada. What a joke. Strike two.

"Have you ever been in jail?" - No.

Ugh. Never. Not even for a few hours! Who am I? Seriously. What's the point of having tattoos if I'm not going to have a record to go along with them? I'm so clean, I don't even have any speeding tickets! (The five warnings might count for something though...right?)

The saddest part is, I am not really a very good person. Those of you who really know me know that I'm somewhat of a hooligan/derelict/anti-social personality. I can think of several times I could have been thrown in jail, like...

-that time at the Allman Brothers concert
-that time in the street outside the WPI frat party
-that time on Rt 85 with that street sign
-that time in that fountain
-that time on the way to the Allman Brothers concert
-that time at Yankee Stadium
-that time in the woods behind Ashland High School
-that time on that field with those sprinklers
-that time with that fire and the puke
-that time on Halloween outside that bar
-that time on the softball field at Holliston High School
-that time at the mall
-that time in that parking lot hanging out of that car
-that time on the way home from the Allman Brothers concert
-all of the other things that happened before 1994

See? Plenty of potential arrests...but no official ones. I guess I'm just incredibly sneaky and lucky. Sadly, "sneaky and lucky" doesn't come up on the blood donor list. I'm just a typical, run of the mill, law abiding citizen. Strike three.

And...just for kicks, a couple of bonus questions:

"Have you ever engaged in sex for drugs or money?" - No.

OK...what the fuck? Really?

Time out, people---I'm very proud to be able to answer no to this one...but here's the thing: do you really think anyone who has ever engaged in sex for drugs or money would...

a) take time out of their busy schedule to donate blood?
b) be truthful when answering this question?
c) both a and b?

I mean, really. Can you see yourself answering YES to that question...even if it was true? And if you decided to...how the hell would you justify it?

"Yeah...but it was in college."

"Sure...but it was the 80s."

"I have...but I really needed the money."

"I have...but I really needed the drugs."

"Yes, but just that one time. And he was the President, for God's sake."

Yikes. Double play.

"Have you ever engaged in sexual contact with a man who has had sex with another man?" - Ughhhh...can I get back to you on that one?

Seriously. I mean...I don't think so...but you never know. I remember that one guy from college. I could have sworn he was gay...but he was really cute. And he was on the baseball team...

No, I'm kidding. Really! I'm kidding.

That guy definitely wasn't gay.

xoxo

Let's Watch the Super Bowl

2011-02-06T10:48:00.053-05:00

I don't know about you, but I don't give a crap about the Super Bowl. I never really cared for football and even if I did, I don't think I'd ever choose to watch the NFL. It's a close call, but I'd say that out of all professional sports, players in the NFL are the most obnoxious, arrogant, and jacked up with rage.

Having said that, it seems that watching the Super Bowl is some sort of obligation or civic duty. It's a chance for people who don't ever watch football to pretend like they care about it for a few hours. It's also a great opportunity for everyone to get together with friends, drink and eat heavily on a Sunday night, and wake up for work the next day feeling bloated, hungover, and smelling like a nacho. Who would let such a wonderful opportunity slip through the cracks? Not me, that's for sure.

In addition to gaining five pounds in one evening, the Super Bowl is also a chance for people to indulge in another classic American pastime: gambling. What better way for a non-football fan to get involved in the game...than to foolishly and blindly invest money in it! Brilliant!

There are lots of ways to intelligently wager money on the game...I'm sure a lot of people actually take the time to research, calculate, study statistics, and use their football knowledge to bet on the game with some sense of confidence. However, I prefer to flush my money down the toilet in a completely random process known as The Super Bowl Square. This isn't my actual square...but it's the same idea:

I decided to help a friend and her favorite charity by purchasing a Super Bowl Square (it makes it OK if it's for charity, right?). I gave her ten dollars and, in turn, she threw my name in a hat, pulled it out, and randomly assigned it to a square on a piece of paper. The square determines my "numbers" for the game...I don't feel like explaining it, but let's just say that the numbers have to do with the score of the football game, and if your square matches up, you win a crapload of money. So far, so good?

OK...well I consulted some of my friends who actually know a thing or two about football...and I shared my square number combination with them: 2 and 2. The overwhelming opinion regarding my numbers is that I have a better chance at getting a suntan today than I do at winning any money. Screw that.

So it has already been determined that I'm probably not winning any money. And I know I'm not going to enjoy watching the football game. The commercials are OK, but only for the first half hour or so. God knows the halftime show is going to be a gigantic disaster...I mean, really? The Black Eyed Peas? When was the last time they were relevant? I'd rather watch a Tyler Perry movie than watch the stupid Black Eyed Peas. Fergie tries way too hard to be sexy and interesting and the other guys try too hard to be Michael Jackson in 1995. It's just hideous.

Whatever. So what's a girl to do? I could sit on the couch and cry. I could whine and complain and ruin the Super Bowl for everyone else. I could go somewhere else in the house and read a book. I could go to bed early. I could do laundry. But I won't, because those are all terrible, selfish ideas.

Instead, I have come up with some brilliant ways to stay entertained that don't really involve giving a shit about football. I only wish I had enough time to incorporate it into my own gambling game...but there's always next year, right?

So listen up: if you're like me, and you want to be social and look like you're having fun during the Super Bowl (even though you'd rather be hit by a plow), just try these fun games. I've put together a checklist that will keep you attentive, focused on the game, and maybe even having a little fun along the way. Feast your eyes on...

MAGGIE'S OCTOPUS' FIRST ANNUAL SUPERBOWL CHECKLIST

Grab a pen and piece of paper, and give yourself a point every time you see any of the following things happen. If you want to make it fun, make bets ahead of time and see who comes closest to the final total. Or, turn it into a drinking game and take a swig from your bottle of gin any time any of these items occur. I really don't care. I'm open to anything that will make your night more enjoyable.

DURING THE PRE-GAME SHOW:

-the number of times "snow in Texas" is mentioned
-the number of times they show the video clip of snow falling off the roof of Cowboys Stadium
-the number of times Terry Bradshaw says something offensive and/or incoherent
-the number of pink or purple pieces of clothing that are worn by the crew by any MALE member of the FOX sports on-camera crew
-the number of times any of the announcers handles a football in any way, shape, or form (5 bonus points if Howie Long throws it to anyone)
-the number of times someone mentions that a current member of the FOX crew is in the Hall of Fame or that one of them should be in the Hall of Fame
-any time it is implied that Ben Roethlisberger is a misunderstood hero instead of a giant douchebag sociopath

DURING THE OPENING CEREMONIES:

-the number of times it is brought to our attention that troops from around the world are watching the game from a live feed in the desert
-the number of idiots it takes to complete a stupid coin toss (one point for every person involved)
-the number of times Christina Aguilera sings a long and overly dramatic run during The National Anthem
-the number of close-up shots of people who have not taken off their cheese hat during The National Anthem

DURING THE FOOTBALL GAME:

-the number of times a football player celebrates excessively for completing a totally routine play (5 bonus points if the player is on the losing team at the time)
-the number of times the referee tries way too hard to sound cool when he's on the microphone describing a penalty
-the number of times a coach is shown on the sidelines covering his face so no one can read his lips and figure out what he's saying
-the number of injuries that occur during the game, with the following parameters:

1 point: nothing major, goes back on the field within one play
5 points: removed from the game and taken to the locker room
10 points: immediate or certain impending death

DURING THE HALFTIME SHOW:

-Sorry. You're on your own for this one. I refuse to watch that shit show.

AT ANY POINT IN THE ENTIRE BROADCAST:

-the number of times you see a football player, coach, referee, or water boy gesture to God or heaven in any way (this can include performing the signs of the cross, hands pressed together in prayer, pointing to the sky, yelling out "THANK YOU JESUS," etc...)
-the number of ludicrous and obnoxious "sponsored events" that occur...for example, The Pepsi Coin Toss or The Doritos Starting Lineups or The Viagra Hardest Slam of the Game Award...you get the point
-the number of close-up shots of stupid fans who are waaaaaay too dressed up in their team's colors and look like complete assholes
-any time you see a sign in the stands that contains a spelling or grammatical error
-any reference to Troy Polamalu's or Clay Matthews' hair
-any time a celebrity is featured in the audience (bonus points if it's a FOX star and they get a caption underneath their name...like "Star of Glee" or "The Dead Guy in Last Week's Episode of Bones")
-the number of times you feel like punching someone or slitting your wrists because of something Joe Buck said

OK, friends. This should keep you busy...and it's a HELL of a lot more fun than looking at a bunch of squares with numbers in them. Let me know how it goes!

xoxo

Stop Your Bitching

2011-02-02T13:17:00.030-05:00

Hello!

So here I am, sitting at home with my ass on the couch...yet another day off from work due to the snow. That idiot groundhog apparently came out of his hole this morning and didn't see his shadow, which supposedly means that spring is coming early this year. Yeah, right. I don't know who times this whole Groundhog Day thing...but don't you think today was sort of a shitty day to talk about spring's early arrival? This is basically what my entire town looks like:

Besides, what the hell does a stupid groundhog have to do with predicting the weather? I never understood that. I mean...maybe if the groundhog emerged from a hole in the ground of its own volition, and this magically happened every year on February 2...MAYBE then I'd be slightly impressed. But the reality is that some idiot who looks like Mr. Monopoly drags a poor, fat groundhog out of a cage, kicking and screaming and clawing, then holds it up in front of a giant mob of people and claims spring is on its way. Seriously...this is a recognized holiday?

Whatever. So, once again, I find myself cursing out Mother Nature and bitching about the weather and wishing for springtime and flowers and sunshine and happy days ahead. Well you know what? I'm SICK of complaining. It doesn't make winter go by any faster and it just makes me grouchy. As a matter of fact, last night on the news, some dude was interviewing a local psychologist...and he was saying that winter can really take a toll on our stress level if we allow ourselves to let winter control us. He said that it's all about our attitudes, and instead of screaming and complaining and feeling helpless, we must remember that we are in control of our attitudes and we should do all we can to be productive during these frigid, snowy times.

So that's what I'm going to do. I'm not going to complain anymore. I'm going to be PRODUCTIVE. And I want you to join me. So, since I know many of you turn to Maggie's Octopus for inspiration, I'm prepared to help you find ways to embrace winter and use it to your advantage. You're welcome.

Here we go...Maggie's Octopus is proud to present:

HOW TO MAKE WINTER YOUR BITCH: Ways to Be Productive in Winter That Don't Involve Killing Someone

TIP #1: HOMEMADE X-GAMES

This past weekend, my husband and I were watching the Winter X-Games. You know, that competition where crazy, overpaid stoners ski and snowboard and do backflips on snowmobiles and drink lots of Red Bull. It's like 40 hours long. Good times.

Anyway, watching all of these 16-25 year olds flying through the air and speeding down ski slopes and smoking tons of weed and making more money in one weekend than I probably will this entire year made me stop and think: while I'm sitting here in the house complaining, these X-Games people are out enjoying the winter weather. I could be doing that, too! So here are a few ways you can enjoy yourself in the winter AND get some great exercise. All you have to do is create your own homemade X-Games. Just find a few friends in the neighborhood and make it happen. For example...everyone has snow on their roof. Gas stations are collapsing and parking garages are falling down on top of people. It's a mess. Do you really want your house to be the next one landing on the nightly news? Or worse, landing on you? Exactly.

So you know you have to clean your roof off anyway...why not have fun with it? Bring a few friends on the roof and let the games begin! Try this fun game: After you shovel the 500 pounds of snow off the roof, you and your pals can have fun jumping into the mega pile you left on the ground. Ask your wimpy neighbors (who refused to get on the roof) to serve as judges. Treat it like the Big Air competition and see who can perform the most badass trick off the roof. You can award prizes for the winners...like

BEST FLIP
FUNNIEST INJURY
LONGEST TIME BEING SUBMERGED IN THE SNOW PILE WITHOUT DYING

I highly recommend taking some video...so you can watch the footage later on from your hospital bed. Make sure you add some strobe light effects and alternative-techno-rap music in the background to make it feel more authentic.

Another fun thing you can do is play that old fashioned game from our youth...KING OF THE MOUNTAIN! You remember that game, right? It's the one where a bunch of kids stand on top of a big rock or a hill or a pile of snow, trash, etc....and see who can stay on it the longest. The goal is to push, punch, kick, or trip everyone else off the "mountain," leaving you as the lone person standing. But we're talking about 2011...and extreme winter sports...so instead of just using a stupid hill...GET YOUR ASS UP ON THE ROOF! I'm thinking everyone will take the game a lot more seriously if the "mountain" in question is 40 feet off the ground. If you want to make it more challenging, you can try some of these variations:

-blindfold all of the players
-use those jousting sticks from American Gladiators
-drink heavily before playing
-play on the roof of a skyscraper

Whatever...you can use your imagination here. The winner gets a dollar and the loser has to shovel the entire roof.

TIP #2: HIDE THE BODY

Think about all of the snow that's around us right now. Now, think about all of the trash and excess shit you have laying around your house. Instead of bitching about being cooped up in the house, think about the golden opportunity sitting right outside your door! It's time to CLEAN THE HOUSE!

I don't know about you, but I always get disgusted on trash day when I drive around and see that some idiots have left oversized crap out on the curb...even though they know it's not appropriate for the trash guys to pick up. However, with all of this snow, I say it's fair game. Here's my brilliant idea: take out your old mattresses and toilets and couches and televisions and car parts...but here's the catch--you can't just chuck them on the side of the road...you have to BURY them in a snow pile! How clever is that? Extra bonus points if you can bury them in front of someone else's house without them knowing or calling the cops! By the time the snow melts, the item in question will probably be disintegrated into a pile of sludge...OR, if it's not the kind of thing that deteriorates that quickly, WHO CARES? It's someone else's problem now. Chances are, all of your fingerprints will have washed off with the melted snow. No evidence. Sweet.

TIP #3: SNOW AS A WEAPON

Listen. I'm all about peace and harmony and love and all that crap. But sometimes you need to just get rid of some rage and killing someone (as mentioned earlier) is not an option. I mean...I guess it's an option, but it's not really a viable one in most parts of the country. But you know what is? Throwing snow around. And you don't even need to throw it at people. One of my FAVORITE things to do in the winter is taking a nice, heavy snowball and throwing it as hard as I can at the death icicles hanging from my roof. If you're not familiar with death icicles, here's a visual:

By the way...when I saved this image from google...it saved as "icicles-of-death-1.jpg." Hee, hee. That rocks.

OK, so basically, take a snowball and fire away! Normally it takes a while to actually make contact, even for a former All-American ballplayer like yours truly. And sometimes, even if you do get a direct hit, the icicle just sits there and laughs at you. But every now and then, when the stars are aligned and you hit it just right, the icicle will come crashing down on the porch like a guillotine. It's a pretty awesome feeling...unless, of course, someone happens to get hit by the icicle. That kind of puts a damper on the game, so make sure the area is clear before starting. It's also smart to make sure there aren't any other breakable items in the path of the falling death icicle...for example, your porch light. We learned that the hard way.

Other great ideas for throwing snow...

-make a snow bunker in your front yard, hide behind the bunker and then throw snowballs at cars driving by too quickly (or those show-off fitness buffs who like to run outside in the winter)
-keep a stash of snowballs in the freezer, and throw them at the TV when you're watching the list of school closings and realize your school is not on the list
-keep a stash of snowballs in a cooler in the passenger seat of your car, and if you see one of those jerks who didn't clean his car off well enough, throw the snowball at the one clean part of his car

The possibilities are truly endless...remember, it's all about your attitude. GOOD LUCK!

xoxo

Life's Mysteries

2011-01-29T16:59:00.026-05:00

First of all, I have to give a shout out to the thousands of people who have bombarded me over the past few weeks with requests to write a new blog post. It means the world to me that some of you actually follow the blog and look forward to reading all of the thought-provoking comments and observations that flow out of my oversized brain.

And, to clarify, by "thousands" I mean two. But the two of you are incredibly special people. Much love to you.

Just to reiterate--I have an oversized brain. It is filled with millions of little nuggets of knowledge. It allows me to think and speak and joke and listen and plot and scheme my way through life. Not to brag, but I'm something of a genius. But onto something you don't already know, right? I know.

I'll be the first to admit that I don't know everything. If you read my post about New Year's resolutions, you may remember that I confessed to not knowing much about certain unimportant subjects (like math, science, geography, history, etc). But lately, I have noticed a few random, strange questions that I just can't seem to answer. And they're not even that complicated...they're just stupid. But, since my life is an open book, I am willing to share my stupidity with all of you in the hopes that I can get some of my questions answered.

So, without any further ado, I stupidly present to you...

SHIT I DON'T UNDERSTAND, by Maggie's Octopus

Today's offering...

The Name of the Donut - I have a confession: I like donuts. Yes, yes. I know what you're thinking: How can such a fit, thin, and physiologically perfect human specimen actually eat DONUTS? That answer, friends, will have to wait for another blog post.

In this particular situation, however, the donuts in question are not for me. I PROMISE! Long story short, I have been rewarding certain individuals with donuts over the past few weeks. I won't tell you who exactly is getting the donuts, in fear that some idiot will read this and complain about the nutritional value of donuts and serving donuts in school and using food as rewards and bla bla bla. You get the point.

Anyway, I let the individuals select the kind of donut they like, and then I buy that donut for them. Easy enough, right? There are three people and they each like a different donut. Let me give you a visual of each donut:

Person #1 likes...

Person #2 likes...

Person #3 likes...

OK. So I want you to take a minute to look at each donut and tell yourself what you call each one. For example, if you pulled up to the drive thru at Dunkin Donuts, how would you order Donut 1? 2? 3?

Do you see what I'm getting at, people? Because this is where my confusion really sets in.

Let's start with Donut #2. That seems to be the easiest one, at least in my opinion. That, friends, is the famous Boston Cream Donut. You can tell by the little piece of squirted cream dried up in the corner of the donut. For those of you who might not be from around here, a Boston Cream is basically a plain donut with chocolate on top...but the secret is the ungodly amount of sugary, creamy, puddingy pukey stuff squirted and sealed inside. And while most regular donuts (you know...the ones with holes in the middle) weigh a few ounces, the Boston Cream comes in at about three and a half pounds. When you bite into a Boston Cream donut, it explodes all over you and squirts yellowish-white cream all over your shirt and hands and lap.

OK. I think it's time to change the subject.

Whatever. The point is, most of us know what a Boston Cream donut is. There's no nickname or alternative or variation. You order a Boston Cream, you get a (nasty, explosive) Boston Cream. Let's move onto the tricky ones....Donuts #1 and #3.

What do YOU call Donut #1? Look at it. It's a plain donut with chocolate on top. So wouldn't that be called a Chocolate Covered donut? Doesn't that seem right? Yeah. That's what I thought. Apparently, though, not everyone speaks the same donut language. For some reason, when I order a "Chocolate Covered Donut," I am not consistently getting the same thing. Sometimes I get this:

...but other times I'll get this:

I don't understand. How is that last one a Chocolate Covered? Isn't that just a Chocolate? I mean, I guess it's covered with some white drippy shit. But that doesn't count. UGH.

So back to Donut #1. When I ask for a Chocolate Covered donut, a few people just say OK and I get the right thing. Other times, the donut worker will ask for clarification. "Did you want a chocolate donut? Or a chocolate glazed? Which one?" Then of course, I get all nervous and don't know what to say. Usually I say something brilliant like, "The white donut with the brown stuff on top." I also use hand gestures to show me rubbing the chocolate on top of the donut. Seriously...what the fuck. I went to graduate school for this?

This kind of leads into Donut #3. Just so you all know, when I asked Person #3 what kind of donut she likes, she said, "Double Chocolate Donut."

Oh shit. Are you kidding me?

She assured me that Dunkin Donuts carried a "Double Chocolate Donut," so I went with it. OK. So, on Week One, I pulled up to the drive thru and ordered just that. Here's what I got:

And, sure enough, when I handed the donut over to Person #3, she showed her approval. Apparently this IS a Double Chocolate Donut. It's a chocolate donut with chocolate on top. Makes sense, right? Beautiful.

Week Two came around. Same Dunkin Donuts. Same time of day. Same order: "Double Chocolate Donut." This is what I got:

Oh dear.

I handed the donut over to Person #3. It wasn't a Double Chocolate. I apologized to the recipient in advance. Apparently this was just a Chocolate Donut. A "single chocolate," if you will. I screwed up.

No worries. My Donut Girl was just as happy. In fact, her response was, "Actually, I like this kind better. I think I'll stick with this one from now on." Awwww!

See, this is why I like kids so much better than I like adults.

OK...so now that I've confused you and wasted your time with my donut stories, I think it's time to get some straight answers. I consulted what I thought would be THE authority on donuts: The Dunkin Donuts website. They have a pull down donut menu with all of their different varieties (to give nutritional information on each one). Sadly, they are not accompanied by pictures, so the mystery lives on. However, here are the donuts they offer featuring the word chocolate...

Chocolate Frosted Cake Donut
Chocolate Frosted Donut
Chocolate Glazed Cake Donut
Chocolate Kreme Filled Donut
Double Chocolate Cake Donut
Dulce de Chocolate Donut

WTF. I think I'm going to start bringing these kids bagels instead.

'Til (Zombie) Death Do Us Part

2011-01-01T15:13:00.051-05:00

I don't often blog about my husband. It's not that I don't think he's worth writing about...that's not the case. He's great. It's just that the subject matter I tend to write about often falls into a category of.....how should I put it?

...not very nice?
...overly sarcastic?
...shit I can't stand?

Whatever. The point is, I love my husband very much and most of the stuff he does from day to day isn't exactly (by my evil standards) blogworthy.

Until now.

This afternoon, my husband and I were having a New Year's Day Veg-Fest. We spent most of the day hanging out in our pajamas, watching a Three Stooges marathon, eating leftover junk food from our party the night before, and basically being giant blobs together. At one point, my husband decided to play some video games while I watched and surfed around on my laptop. It was during this downtime that I decided to give my husband his fair tribute on The Octopus...because I think it's worth mentioning that my husband, who is an intelligent, kind, sensitive, compassionate person has another side to him.

He loves shooting stuff. And I'm going to tell you all about it.

Now don't go getting any strange ideas. He doesn't actually shoot things. It's not like he owns guns and goes to the range and shoots targets and crap like that. That's my crazy brother in law. He's the one you should be worried about. My husband just likes shooting fake video game people. I don't know if it's a guy thing or a nerd thing or a rebel thing or what. All I know is that when it comes to video games, we have the "our" games and the "his" games. Here's the difference:

The "our" games are games we play together. They mostly consist of...

-driving cartoon race cars around a track
-being on a game show
-playing baseball
-bowling against aliens
-playing a board game...on a TV screen...even though we have the same real-life board game upstairs in the closet
-being in a rock band

The "his" games are games he likes to play alone, not necessarily because he likes being alone...but because I refuse to play the games with him. They mostly consist of...

-shooting people
-shooting robots
-shooting dragons
-shooting zombies
-shooting Nazis
-being a fighter pilot
-being a kid running around the woods in the dark trying to avoid being eaten by a giant spider before getting caught in a bear trap or being crushed by a falling tree

I got him a game for Christmas called Call of Duty: Black Ops. I knew nothing about this game before buying it other than...

-I had seen a lot of commercials on TV for it
-Whenever those commercials came on, my husband would get very excited
-I had heard lots of 8th grade boys in school talking about how awesome this game is
-If an 8th grade boy likes it, then it must be a great game (and it more than likely involves lots of stuff getting shot, blown up, or decapitated)

Judging by that criteria, I knew I had a winner. I haven't had the opportunity to watch him play the game yet. In fact, I don't even think he has opened it yet. The reason? He wants to find a time where he can set aside an entire day just to play it. I am not kidding. This is a guy who is probably the hardest working person I have ever met...who cooks and cleans and helps everyone out and hardly ever just sits. This same guy wants to dedicate an entire day of his life just to play Black Ops.

Huh?

Then there's this game he is playing today called Portal. Let's backtrack for a second. Even though Black Ops isn't exactly my cup of tea, at least I can sort of understand it and (if forced) could probably figure out how to play it. From what I gather, you're a dude in a war and you're fighting other dudes. You run around and shoot other dudes before they can shoot you. Sounds about right.

But this Portal game takes it to a whole new level. I have been watching my husband play this game for about three hours now, and I still have no idea what the hell is going on. He tried to explain it to me (because it's important for me to appreciate these things, apparently). Here's what I sort of guess is happening based on what he explained: His character is in a room. I can't see his character...all I can see is a giant laser gun thing in his hand. So far, so good. Then my husband said, "Watch this!" and shot a hole through the wall. After he shot a hole in the wall, I could see into the next room. There was a dude in the other room holding a gun. My husband said, "That's me. Get it? I'm looking at myself through a portal!" Right. Am I supposed to be impressed by this? More importantly...am I supposed to even understand what it means?

After that enlightening conversation, I made the mistake of asking my husband if Portal was a newer game or one that he had for a while. Here's the quick, one word answer I got...

"It's an older game that I had that I never played. A while back there was a game called Half Life, and it won a bunch of awards and they put out this game called Orange Box Game of the Year Edition. And I bought it for nine bucks at the time. It was like four games. FOUR GAMES for nine bucks. It's not a very long game...it's more like strategy. It was kind of like an add on."

It was at this moment that I realized something...

OH MY GOD. THIS IS WHAT HE MUST FEEL LIKE WHEN I TALK ABOUT NAIL POLISH. OR JEANS. OR SHAMPOO. OR SOFTBALL. OR PEREZ HILTON.

The poor, poor man.

As interesting as "The History of Portal" conversation was going, it was sadly interrupted when my husband sat up in his seat, shot a hole in the wall and said, "Ooooh I know what I can do now." And that was the end of that. Bummer.

Let me tell you a little more about this game, since I'm sure you're very interested. It features an invisible talking robot woman who taunts you the entire time you're playing. She makes weird jokes and says incoherent crap and tells you she is going to kill you over and over again. Sounds like a lot of girls I know.

Since I had about four hours of material in front of me, I decided to jot down some of the more entertaining lines from Talking Robot Woman. Here are some of my favorites:

"If I were you, I would just lay down in front of a rocket."
"Killing you and giving you good advice are not mutually exclusive."
"Starting now, there is going to be a lot less conversation and a lot more killing."
"As much as I'd like to, I can't get the neurotoxin in your head any faster. So get comfortable while I warm up the neurotoxin emitters."
"Your entire life has been a mathematical error that I intend to correct."

Did I mention that by day, my husband is a physicist who studies radiation and plans cancer treatments?

Let's get back to the whole laser gun in the hand thing. Apparently in a lot of these shooting games, where the main objective is to kill stuff, you view the entire game from the perspective of the person doing all the killing. Does that make any sense? Basically, you can't see the dude's face or body or anything...all you can see is the gun sticking out of the bottom of the screen. Apparently the technical video game jargon for this is "First Person Shooter." At least that's what my husband calls it. So essentially, you feel like you are right in the middle of the action...as opposed to the kinds of games I like, when you feel like you're watching the 2D action from the last row of a movie theater.

There are a lot of people out there (like my husband) who are really into this whole first person shooting thing. It makes them feel like they are really there and it makes the game seem a lot more realistic. I, however, am NOT one of those people. It has nothing to do with the whole "being there" thing. I don't really care about that. The problem I have with this kind of game is simple: it makes me puke.

I get motion sickness pretty easily...in a car, on a bus, on the T, in an airplane, on a roller coaster, in an elevator, if I'm sitting too close at the movie theater, on a swing, etc. You get the picture. Let's just say I'm easily nauseated. Certain people have that effect on me too...but that's a whole other story. Needless to say, it only took about two seconds of watching that stupid Portal game before I started feeling dizzy and pukey. It was at that point I decided it would be much better to turn my head away from the game and direct my attention to something much more healthy: writing about my husband's freaky gaming and publishing it for the entire world to read.

After about four hours, my husband finally BEAT the game. It was quite the monumental occasion. Actually, it wasn't really that monumental, considering my husband wasn't even sure if he had beaten it at first. All of a sudden, the game went quiet and a bright white blob appeared on the screen. My husband just sat there, staring at it.

ME: "Did you beat the game?"

HIM: "I think so. I'm not sure. I think she might have sucked me into the portal."

Seriously? That's it? Shouldn't there be some kind of parade or something? I can remember the exact moment in my life when I first saved The Princess. It was epic. There were fake Nintendo 2D fireworks. There was music. It was outstanding. There was no doubt in my mind that I had defeated the evil Bowser. So what the hell kind of a game is it when you don't even know if you've won? That's some straight up bullshit right there.

After a few confusing moments, we concluded that my husband did, in fact, did beat the game. How did we know? Because a song came on and some credits rolled on the screen. Thankfully, I videotaped it so you can relive the magical moment along with us:

I apologize for the swearing. Hope you weren't watching this in church.

I'd also like to point out that my husband thinks our brother in law still hasn't beaten this game yet. Apparently in the world of video games, it is very important that you "beat" the game before someone else does...or in less amount of time. So, dear brother in law, please know that in the world of first person shooter talking robot games where the main objective is to shoot holes through walls....you are far less superior. Go sit in the corner for a while.

The Resolution Revolution

2010-12-30T16:02:00.041-05:00

Hello friends,

I have to give a shout out to my friends Jenny and Lisa...first of all, they deserve recognition for being such great people. In addition to that, they encouraged me to hop back on the blog and write a new entry. But the real reason they deserve a shout out is because they (along with me) were almost able to eat an ENTIRE blooming onion at The Boynton today. That, my friends, is impressive shit! We deserve a crown, for God's sake! Or at least a sash of some sort.

(This is a picture of us in the parking lot shortly after eating 90% of the onion. I'm the pretty one.)

Now that I've gotten the thank yous out of the way, it's time to move on to something very timely and important: New Year's resolutions. I'm sure for most of you, this time of year brings up feelings and thoughts of new beginnings, goals, and other bullshit that typically never comes to fruition. Come on, pal. You know it's true...and don't act like you're better than the rest of us fake promise makers. In case you haven't thought about your resolution yet, let me save you some time and give you a list. Chances are, you'll find exactly what you're looking for:

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION BULLSHIT CHECKLIST OF CRAP YOU SAY YOU'LL DO IN 2011 BUT NEVER ACTUALLY WILL, by Maggie's Octopus

-Lose 50 pounds
-Quit _________ (smoking, drinking, picking your nose, cracking your knuckles, making fun of ugly people, stalking that guy on facebook, drinking out of the milk carton, stealing other people's credit cards, etc...)
-Volunteer to help people less fortunate than you
-Start ________ more (exercising, reading, showering, wearing clothes in public, etc...)
-Be nicer
-Keep in better touch with _______ (parents, college friends, in-laws, parole officer, person who donated his kidney to you, etc...)
-Save money
-Do some ambitious physical feat (run a marathon, climb a mountain, lift a car, win a heavyweight title, etc...)
-Learn how to _______ (cook, speak Spanish, scrapbook, play piano, crochet, ride a unicycle, pole dance, etc...)

Tell me right now you weren't totally thinking of at least eight of those already. TELL ME. With a straight face.

Liar.

Hey, listen. Don't feel guilty about making bullshit resolutions. We all do it. We set ourselves up for failure every year...either we fail immediately on January 1, OR we stick with the resolution for a couple of weeks, but then we feel terrible and guilty the first time we cave and eat a cupcake or light up a cigarette or shoplift at Victoria's Secret or fall asleep in church or whatever. Well LISTEN UP. I'm here to tell you that it's totally OK to get real with yourself. Stop making promises you can't keep and instead, make resolutions that you are actually capable of honoring.

Because I care so much about you, I'm going to set the tone by sharing my resolutions for 2011. It's a list of things that I am currently not doing nearly enough, and my goal is to really stick to the idea of doing more of these things in the coming year. Hopefully by reading this list, you will be inspired to think about your own goals and start the new year on a positive, realistic note.

And now, I proudly present...

MY NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS - NO MORE BULLSHIT

RESOLUTION 1: Tell People How I Really Feel

If I do say so myself, I'm probably one of the nicest, kindest, most empathic and compassionate people I know. Not to mention humble (clearly). But here's the thing: throughout the course of my life, and particularly during my infamous Year Off, I realized something: I hate being nice all the time. It's incredibly exhausting and quite frankly, most people don't deserve it. Sure, sure. I know my job requires me to be nice. I'm cool with that. After all, I get paid to do that. And, believe it or not, I actually like being nice to 99% of the people I encounter at work. So don't go start spreading rumors about me and work. I had a hard enough time clearing my name after the whole Last Day of School Incident of 2007.

Forget work. I'm talking about all of the other times. You know...times in life when you really don't feel like being nice, but you are anyway? Just because it's the "nice" or "thoughtful" or "civil" thing to do. Well, you know what? I've had enough of that shit! Why do I have to be nice to people when it seems like the majority of the world is inconsiderate, rude, sloppy, smelly, and belligerent? I want a piece of that action, damnit!

So, from this day forward, if you do something to piss me off, I'm going to tell you. If you drop the ball, I'm going to call you on it. If you give me the same shitty, lame excuse for the 500th time, I'm going to chew your face off. If your pants are too tight and your fat is rolling over the top, then damnit, I'm NOT going to tell you that you look good. If you continue to post stupid shit on facebook, I will no longer click the "like" button. If you are a generally undesirable person, I'm going to kick you out of my VIP life circle. Forever. And then I will sing this song.

RESOLUTION 2: Make the Best Damn Donut Holes in Town

Every year we go to Connecticut for a family Christmas party. Sadly, this year we had to miss it because of the stupid blizzard that came through and slammed us the other day. One of the traditions of this party is a very competitive Yankee Swap, and since we weren't able to attend the party, our Yankee Swap gifts never made it there, either. So what's a girl to do? Save the gift for next year's swap? OH HELL NO! Instead, I chose to do the smart thing: open the gift and put it to good use! And what might that amazing ($20 or under) Yankee Swap gift be? Well, friends, feast your eyes on THIS:

Yeah that's right. It's a donut hole maker. Not just any donut hole maker...but the finest donut hole maker that Kmart had to offer! Mmmmmmmmmmmm donut holes.

For those of you who always thought, "Donut holes are IMPOSSIBLE to make. I'll never be able to get that same magical flavor in the comfort of my own home...." my response to you is, YES. You are probably right about that. However, if you're nice to me and you're not a complete jerk (see Resolution 1), then maybe someday I'll share some of my magical holes with you. Because, friends, I plan on completely mastering this beast of a donut machine. No. Forget that. I am going to DOMINATE it. And people will be lining up outside of my door and begging me for two things:

1--donut holes
2--my forgiveness (if they happened to be one of those assholes from Resolution 1)

RESOLUTION 3 - Beef Up on My Trivia/Build a Dynasty

I fancy myself to be something of a genius when it comes to most things. OK...specifically, things like: music, TV, celebrity gossip, spelling, sports that matter, cartoons, cereal, beer, Nancy Drew books, the fortunes on the bottom of Bazooka Joe comics, and Matlock. However, even geniuses know their limits. For example, I know that I am somewhat lacking in the following areas:

-science
-geography
-history
-math
-action movies
-origami
-wine
-Justin Bieber
-golf

And, although my brain may have a few tiny deficits, my current fund of knowledge is giant enough that I am able to dominate in most trivia endeavors. However, I recently decided to step beyond the friendly game of Trivial Pursuit and take on something a little more challenging...

BAR TRIVIA.

Yes. Bar trivia. Don't judge until you have tried it.

So anyway...the haunted bar down the street has Trivia Night every Thursday. After listening in a few times, I decided that I was ready to join in and become an official competitor. I gathered up a few of my genius friends and we took the challenge. So far, we have played three different times and only placed once. Third place, to be exact...out of about 12 teams, which isn't too bad. But let's face it---it's not too good, either. I don't know about you, but in addition to being a genius, I also tend to be a pretty fierce competitor. And when I play something, I play to win. Yes, yes. I know...it's also nice just to have fun. But come on, people. What's more fun than winning?

Another giant motivation for winning (besides just winning) is sticking it to the other people playing. Let's put it this way...some of the people who play trivia are incredibly annoying. What I mean by that is...they are just as competitive as me. And, while it's totally acceptable for me to cheer and yell and high-five my teammates when I get a particularly difficult question correct, it is completely UNacceptable when the dude at the next table does it. The other night, there was actually a guy running back and forth in the bar saying things like "YEEEEAH in your face!" to another table after his team got something right. Seriously? It's bar trivia, buddy. What a douche. I bet that guy was never an All-American softball player.

So, in an effort to crush that moron (and everyone else) at trivia in the coming year, I need to do some serious studying...because let's face it--life isn't all about pink and orange pie questions. However, increasing my trivia knowledge requires spending time on things I don't like...and what's the point of that? My time is way too valuable for that. So, consider this an open casting call for the GREATEST TRIVIA TEAM OF ALL TIME. So far we have three hardcore permanent members. We are allowed six. If you think you are up for the challenge, give me a call. In addition to knowing a lot of shit about unimportant things (like history, geography, etc)...it would be in your best interest if you also like the following things:

-french fries
-beer
-picking up the tab once in a while/a lot

It also helps if you...

-don't mind staying up late on a Thursday night
-are not afraid of ghosts
-don't mind if someone on the team accidentally yells "FUCK" in the final round after realizing she didn't wager enough points that would have put us into second or first place instead of third

Come on! Think about it. I'll promise you one thing: it's a hell of a lot more fun than exercising!

Happy New Year! :)

I'm Going Straight to Hell

2010-11-08T22:57:00.051-05:00

Dear Friends,

I know most of you are waiting with baited breath to hear more about my adventures in Fat Land...but I think I'll take a break from that to talk about a very...um, unique experience I had the other day.

In church.

I know topics such as church, religion, prayer, cults, wearing toupees, etc are somewhat sensitive for some of you. If you can't handle a healthy discussion featuring my personal feelings on a particular church experience, that's fine. I understand. I won't judge you at all.

You crazy, ignorant lemming.

So let me start off this post by saying I had a LOVELY time celebrating the 40th wedding anniversary of two very special people. My husband's aunt and uncle are incredibly loving, kind, and giving individuals who have been married for a long time and decided to renew their vows in front of their closest friends and family. The renewal of vows (which is why I was in the church) and the reception that followed were very moving and beautiful. It's so inspiring to watch two people who have been married for so long and who actually still (really) like being in the same room together. I know people who have been married for forty months who don't feel that way. So just to recap---I love my aunt and uncle-in-law and I really enjoyed celebrating this special occasion with them. And what I'm about to say about the whole church experience is in no way a reflection of the AWESOMENESS of these two amazing people.

(So now I can talk about my effed up church experience and not feel guilty, right? Sweet!)

OK. So basically, here's a little background info. I was baptized, CCD'd, first communion-ed, and confirmed in the Catholic church. I attended church sporadically as a child...mostly with my grandmother, who was a devout Catholic and who I knew would probably beat me with a stick if I didn't go to church with her. I never really liked going to church because I didn't really understand why I was there or what I was supposed to be doing. Church always seemed like a sad place and I particularly didn't enjoy that giant dude hanging on the wall staring at me. He always seemed upset.

It probably didn't help that my CCD classes were incredibly ineffective. I always seemed to end up with the teacher who was really mean and burned out. Most of the time, classes were held at the church rectory, which was a 30000-year old building with no heat and lots of old, smelly furniture. I vaguely remember playing hide and seek with members of different CCD classes. I also remember throwing things and laughing a lot. I'm guessing those aren't the kinds of things I'm supposed to remember about CCD. Oops.

Fast forward to the present...and it seems that the only times I find myself in churches are at weddings and funerals. I didn't get married in a church, and it always makes me chuckle when I'm invited to a church wedding and I'm 99% sure that neither the bride nor groom EVER attends church regularly. Whatever. I guess when your parents are footing the bill, your religious side comes out for a little while. Thankfully my parents respected my wishes to get married outside of the church and chose to focus their energy on more important parts of the wedding...like an open bar.

But enough about me and my epic wedding. Let's talk about my day in church. I think I probably blocked out some of the more terrifying moments, but here are some of the observations I can still remember...

The new church dress code really concerns me. Even though I'm not a fan of church, I still think it's one of those places where you should be respectful and dress appropriately. At some point in time, however, someone decided it was OK to dress like a total slob. I don't just think it's church, either...I guess it's just a general reflection on society. I think some people just don't like making the effort anymore; either that, or they just don't give a shit. Call me old fashioned, but I still think people should dress a little nicer than normal when going to places like weddings, wakes, funerals, the theater...right? Is anyone else with me on this one? Just a quick example--some dude showed up at my wedding in jeans. Really? Jeans? Are you shitting me right now? And it would have been one thing if he couldn't afford a nice outfit...but his wedding present totally sucked. So we know he wasn't spending his money on that. Not cool, buddy. NOT COOL.

So where was I? Oh yeah. Slobs in church. So my husband and I showed up in a nice skirt (him) and a shirt and tie (me). At least I think that's how it was. Whatever...so we sat down and waited for the ceremony to start. This was the perfect opportunity to do what I do best--people watch. Keep in mind that the renewal ceremony was only a (very) small part of the regular Sunday morning church ceremony...so in addition to the guests, there were many more people who were there as regular church folk. So there was a pretty decent crowd there for me to stare at.

Sure, there were several people who dressed nicely, but what I noticed more were the morons who had on wrinkled clothes, jeans, sweatpants, and other assorted shit that looked like it came directly out of the hamper. And don't even get me started on the kids. The majority of the children and teenagers who were there wore things that either looked like crap, or that would border on inappropriate in any setting. The two girls who went up to do a reading during the mass didn't exactly dress the part. One looked like she had just rolled out of bed, and one looked like she was going to her first middle school dance. The shirt was too tight and low cut. I'm not sure the guy on the wall would have approved.

Let's talk a little about the reading the girls did. It was some Bible story about some people getting tortured because they refused to eat pork. Some were adults and some were kids. And they kept saying NO WE WON'T EAT PORK and then they would get beaten and stabbed and spanked around. One of the dudes even said he would die before eating pork.

I missed the point of the story but I think it had something to do with sticking to your convictions and not letting people boss you around. Or something like that. But here's what I'm thinking...yeah, sure. There are some foods I don't like. Seafood comes to mind immediately. Let's say someone walked up to me and told me to eat some seafood. At first I'd say no. If the person kept forcing the issue, I might even get a little rude with him. But I'd still say no. If this shit persisted, I might have to start busting out some Tae Bo moves on his ass. HOWEVER, if the dude started holding me down and whipping me with a sharp stick, I think I might consider caving. Seriously. I'd just hold my nose and force the shit down. Hell, I might even eat those really slimy fish that come in shells. At the end of the day, it's not really worth getting beaten over, right?

Yeah, yeah, yeah...I know there is some religious lesson in the story about honoring your god and not eating something if it goes against your religion...but if you are trying to tell me that Jesus wants me to get beaten up over some stupid pork...then I'm not quite sure he's the kind of guy I want to have on my kickball team.

So once the story was over, the priest took over and walked out into the crowd. It was kind of weird...sure, I know priests walk down the aisle at the start and end of the ceremony, but I thought they were always supposed to stay up in the Priest Stage Area once the show starts. I think this might have been the first time I have actually seen a priest cross over the line into civilian territory during the actual mass. It was pretty cool, even though it would have been cooler if he had a backup band like in the movies...

Anyway...the priest walked around in the audience and talked about the pork story. Fine. That's great. It would have been fine if he walked around sharing stories and his opinion on the teachings of Jesus. No problem. However, things got weird when the priest starting QUIZZING all of the people in the audience! What???? It was very awkward. He would say things like, "So, what did he mean when he said.......?" and look at the audience. NO ONE ANSWERED. He went up to little kids and asked them. When the kids just stared back at the priest, the priest said things like, "Were you listening?" followed by uncomfortable laughter. He did this to kids and adults alike. You know that feeling when you don't know the answer in class, and you pray to yourself that the teacher doesn't call on you, so you put your head down or start coughing or fake vomiting just so the teacher avoids you? Yeah...that's kind of what I was feeling at the time.

The priest kept asking random questions about heaven and dying and spirits and other stuff. Thankfully he never called on me...if he had, I came up with a few good responses:

"Me no speak English."
"My lawyer has advised me not to answer that."
"Go away. I'm a Buddhist."

Thankfully I didn't have to go there.

After Final Jeopardy was over, the priest went back to his spot and carried on with the service. It got to the part of the ceremony when everyone gets to show signs of peace to each other. This is always an awkward time, especially if you're not exactly into touching strangers. I have been to enough church services to know the cue words that lead into the whole "peace" sharing time. It gives me just enough time to wipe my sweaty hand off on my shirt in preparation for the customary handshakes.

On this particular day, about two seconds before the priest commanded us to peace on each other, I noticed that the old man in front of me was wiping his runny nose. WITH HIS BARE HAND. Fantastic. Then, of course, he turned around shortly after and held out his hand to shake. Ughhhhhhhhhhh! What was I supposed to do? What would you do? What would Jesus do?

I didn't have the heart to not shake the dude's hand, and I didn't have a can of Lysol handy to spray him down...so I just shook his damn hand. Nasty. Peace (and flu virus) be with you, my friend.

And don't even get me started on the coughing, screaming, snot-dripping children sitting directly behind us. Seriously...who brings kids to church to begin with? Never mind sick, gross, sad ones. What a disgrace. Even though I'm not a fan of church, I know there are some people who actually go there to listen and learn and pray and celebrate and reflect...and I'm guessing it's kind of hard to do any of those things when a sick baby is screaming at the top of its (bacteria covered) lungs the entire time. Grrrrr....someone get me some pork.

So that's about it. There were some other things that bothered me, like...

-the fact that they passed the collection basket around TWICE
-the really loud and out of tune lady singing at the top of her lungs a few aisles over
-the uncomfortable pews
-the priest's accent

..but I'll refrain from discussing those things. After all, I wouldn't want to offend anyone.

xoxo

I'm Bringing Sexy Back

2010-10-28T13:02:00.043-04:00

Dear Friends,

I'm not really bringing sexy back. Sorry. I just needed something to put in the title line. Please keep reading, anyway.

So...long time, no see, right?! I used to spend so much time on this damn blog, but something happened toward the end of the summer and I kind of lost touch with it. What was it again...? Oh, right. I went back to being to being a productive human being and returned to work after my ~~nervous breakdown recovery period~~ year off. I knew something was different...

I'm sure ~~one~~ millions of you are wondering how it has been for me to go back to my job as a middle school guidance counselor after spending a year as a major lazy ass slacker/part time liquor store employee. I gotta tell you...it's going really well! The kids are awesome, and surprisingly, even after two months of being back, I haven't considered beating up any of my co-workers! It's a beautiful thing.

I hate to disappoint you...but please don't expect to read any school related stories on the blog now that I'm back to work. Granted, there are many humorous tales I could tell, but I value my job greatly, and I think if someone caught wind of me writing school stories online, my next blog post might be called "Tales From the Paper Route."

Anyway, I'm doing great, life is good, work is fantastic, the meds are working fabulously, and so forth. Thanks for asking.

Now that I'm back to work at school, I can't really talk about working at a liquor store anymore, and writing about being an obsessive, anxious maniac on sabbatical is so played out...so what's a girl to do? Hmmm...well, friends, I guess I'll just write about my recent life adventures, if that's OK with you. Not to brag, but I think my life is pretty interesting...and I think it's safe to say that the little, mundane things I do on a daily basis are probably way more fascinating and inspiring than anything you do. Ever. (Especially you, Steven. Your life is a complete waste.)

So now that we've established that, let's get cracking.

Today I think I'll share something about me that has been on my mind a lot lately. I'm hoping that by sharing it, it might inspire me to actually do something about it. The chances of that happening are incredibly slim, but whatever. Anyway...here's something I want you to know about me:

I am a fat, lazy, blob.

It's OK. Really, I'm totally fine with sharing. I think embracing your inner Jabba is the first step toward recovery. And though the idea of being compared to a giant, smelly, evil space gangster is kind of appealing (on a few different levels), I think I have reached a point in life where I'm ready to make some changes.

Let's backtrack for a second so I can share some physical history with you. Many of you already know the kind of Atlas-like physical specimen I was growing up, but for those of you who didn't know me back then, let's just say I was in pretty fantastic shape. I was very involved in sports and spent the majority of my middle, high school, and college years on a softball field. And even though softball isn't exactly a physically demanding sport, when you play it for 8 hours a day and 350 days out of the year, it tends to keep the body in shape.

I was also blessed(?) with mutant DNA that gave me an abnormal amount of muscle at a very young age. I'm not kidding. Look back at baby pictures. I was seriously jacked at age 2.

Looking back now, I can appreciate how having tree trunks for arms and legs helped me to dominate at sports, but at the time, I didn't exactly appreciate being challenged by boys to arm wrestling contests at recess. Or the fact that in college, members of the baseball and men's basketball teams used to line up around the perimeter of the weight room to watch me do my mandatory strength (lifting) tests. I guess they were impressed that a girl could bench press 200 pounds without trying, but from my perspective, it wasn't exactly the kind of attention I was looking for.

The weirdest thing about my freakish strength was that I have no idea where it came from. As I mentioned before, I was just kind of born that way. I never worked out or exercised or did anything except play softball. It wasn't like I spent hours (or even minutes) at the gym to become strong or fit. The first time I was really introduced to rigorous exercise was in college...our brilliant coach forced all of us into a ridiculously unhealthy "fitness" routine that was notorious for turning previously healthy, confident, athletic young women into obsessive, self-deprecating, loathsome robots with a variety of eating disorders and other assorted shit that I'm still paying for in therapy. Good times!

Whatever. Where was I? Oh yeah...so the point is, I never really had to work out growing up. I was just in shape without really making any kind of effort. The other cool thing about growing up as a female hulk was that I could eat ANYTHING I wanted and never gained weight. It was a beautiful thing to say the least. I'm sure watching me eat was never a beautiful thing, however. I tended to (and still do) eat food at a very rapid and superhuman pace. I'm not sure where it came from...it wasn't like we had a shortage of food growing up. I was never in much of a hurry to get anywhere. I think I just enjoyed the taste of food and decided it was best to savor as much as humanly possible at each sitting. And, since no one ever told me that it wasn't normal to eat one taco per minute, the habit formed and never went away. Looking back, I'm kind of sad that I didn't enter competitive eating contests as a child, because I think it's an untapped area of expertise that could have helped fund some of my college education. Oh well...you know what they say about hindsight.

So, time passed, many delicious morsels were eaten, and I grew up. Fast forward to my twenties, and now to my early thirties, which brings us to today. Needless to say, things have changed a little bit. How can I put it? Well, let's just say that the young She-ra is all grown up...and she has morphed into the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Woman. Not a pretty sight.

OK...so maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit. I'm not exactly a Discovery Health Channel documentary (yet). But it is safe to say that I have packed a few pounds on since my glory days. And it's driving me a little crazy.

So what the heck am I supposed to do? In addition to being a glutton, I also tend to be a very impulsive, scattered person. (I'm making myself more and more attractive by the minute, aren't I?) So if something appeals to me, I tell myself that I need to have it, then if I end up having it, I get tired of it pretty quickly and move on to the next great thing. This approach especially applies to exercise. I will set my mind to trying something new, do it for a few days, and then dump it. For example, there was a point in time a few years ago when I needed a treadmill. I didn't want it. I NEEDED IT. So I begged my husband for a treadmill, saying how it would solve all of my exercise problems, motivate me to run, eliminate any weather obstacles, cut down on my knee problems, cure my acne, make my teeth brighter, etc. You get the picture. My husband surprised me that year at Christmas with a brand new, shiny treadmill. He even put holiday lights around it and bought little accessories like a water bottle and a gift card to the sporting goods store to help inspire me to get started. It was the nicest, cutest thing ever.

I have been on that treadmill six times.

Here are some other things I have "needed" (then received, then dumped shortly after...) over the years:

Dance Dance Revolution

The Biggest Loser video game

Wii Fit

Turbo Jam DVD

A giant inflatable ball

Some stupid triangle shaped mat that is still in the package and I have no fucking clue what it even does

In conclusion, I have tried a bunch of gimmicky crap with very little results. It has nothing to do with the fact that I do something for two days and then quit. It's all the fault of the game, the DVD, the giant ball, or the stupid yellow thing.

I am in such denial.

So that is a little history lesson for you. The basic summary is:

-I am a fat mess
-I am a lazy ass
-My metabolism isn't what it used to be
-My former ripped muscles are now kind of muscly blobs of half muscle and half something else
-I have zero motivation to do anything about it (except whine)

In my next post, I will tell you about the newest discovery in my world of physical fitness. In the meantime, if you have any suggestions for how I can lose 40 pounds in the next week or so, I'm all ears. Stay tuned...

I Know Why People Go Postal

2010-06-21T16:05:00.011-04:00

As many of you know, I have been spending a lot of time this year working on my stress level. I find it very helpful to talk about my problems instead of bottling them up, letting them fester, and then getting so frustrated that I end up punching holes in things (like walls, car windows, and people).

Having said that, I'd like to talk about a recent trip I took to Wal-Mart. I think that if I talk about it, the urge to blow a small city up will (hopefully) subside. Here goes...

Maggie's Octopus anxiously presents...

THINGS THAT HAPPENED AT WAL-MART

First things first. I don't make a habit of going to Wal-Mart. I find that whenever I am inside, outside, or within a two mile radius of Wal-Mart, I start to develop small hives on my arms, legs, back, chest, and face. However, every now and then I go temporarily insane and decide that it's a good idea to venture inside Wal-Mart. I don't know why. Maybe it's when I am feeling guilty about something and I feel like I need to be tortured for a while. I have no clue. In this particular situation, I did have a semi-decent excuse: I needed shampoo, I was early for a doctor's appointment, and Wal-Mart was right down the street from the doctor's office. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

So obviously my first major mistake was to even drive into the parking lot. I get it. But anyway, I did, so just deal with it. Surprisingly, I managed to find a pretty decent parking spot with very little difficulty. I started to pull in, but then had to slam on my brakes because the person in the spot next to me opened up her car door (right into my space). Fine, I thought. No big deal. However, it soon became a big deal when the person left her door open for about a minute. NO JOKE. I'm not just saying a minute to be dramatic or to exaggerate...you know...like some of your friends do when they are trying to make a story seem way more ridiculous than it really is...like when you get a frantic call from a friend, and she's on the other end of the phone screaming "HELP! HELP! I am being attacked by TEN coyotes!" so then you drop everything, run down the street to her house, and it turns out she is only being attacked by like two or three. I hate that kind of shit.

Anyway, back to my story. I really mean it when I say THIS BITCH HAD HER CAR DOOR OPEN FOR A WHOLE MINUTE.

She finally got out of her car and closed the door, allowing me to pull into the spot. I threw her a peace sign as I pulled into the space. She didn't see me.

I got out of my car and headed into the store. I walked through a group of employees smoking cigarettes. They were approximately three feet away from the entrance to the store. Isn't there some sort of fire code (or common sense code) that says these morons shouldn't be smoking so close to where customers have to walk? It was one of the many moments in life I wish I carried a fire extinguisher with me.

Once I got inside, I saw the typical collection of dregs and lowlifes walking around aimlessly. Some of them had teeth; others didn't. Whatever. Some people think having teeth is too much of a responsiblity. Their choice.

About three seconds after entering the store, I started feeling that Wal-Mart anxiety creeping up on me. I should have turned around, but I decided to push my way through it. Thankfully there were some great distractions to help fight off the tightness I was feeling in my stomach, chest, head, and fists. For example...

I saw a man wearing a shirt with lots and lots of pictures of Santa Claus on it. He was very big and tall and kind of looked like Santa from the back. At first I thought to myself, “Hey. Maybe that is Santa!” but then I realized that I was in Wal-Mart, not to mention that the man walked with a limp, smelled of dirt and alcohol, and was most likely homeless. I concluded that this man was not, in fact, Santa.

Don't believe me? Judge for yourself.

In another part of the store, there was a man standing around a DVD display. It was one of those bargain displays that feature the worst possible DVDs on earth that NO ONE would ever buy...shit like:

Mighty Mouse in Space

One Day at A Time, Season Two

The Three Stooges Workout Video

The XFL's Funniest Bloopers

Anyway, this movie buff was walking around the DVD display, reading the different titles out loud and laughing to himself. I only watched him for about a minute and he had already done about three laps. I decided that on the fourth lap he would probably start chewing on his own skin (or mine), so I made the choice to leave that area of the store before it could happen.

Sadly, I checked the time and realized it was time to go. I had two items: socks and shampoo. That was it. However, the “Speedy Checkout Line” looked like the line at the Social Security Administration, both in respect to the speed at which it was moving as well as the collection of dirtbags that made up the line. I decided to avoid that section entirely.

Instead, I was fortunate enough to get into a line that was being manned by a kid who looked like a cross between Jabba the Hutt and a moth ball. Sadly, he smelled more like Jabba the Hutt and less like a moth ball. And yes, I do know what Jabba the Hutt smells like, so just shut up.

PS—he smells very, very bad.

What this young fellow lacked in moth ball smell, he more than made up for in moth ball intelligence.

OK, so back to the line I was in. It was slow as hell. I was third in line, which I thought might not be too bad, considering most of the other lines had about 38 people in them. Whatever. I guess when the person in the front of the line has 3,299 items in her shopping cart, it kind of makes up for the lack of actual people in front of you.

Considering all of these factors, you can imagine I had plenty of time to stare at the people standing directly in front of me in line. Let me draw you a mental picture:

Person #1 was an old lady. She had a cane hooked to the front of her shopping cart. She was buying Depends. Correction. She was buying Wal-Mart brand Depends. Lots and lots of Wal-Mart Depends. I didn't catch the name of them, but I imagine it was something clever like Wal-Pends or Depenz. I have no clue. I soon found out that Person #1's name was “Nana.” But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Person #2 was a kid...probably around 14 or 15 years old. Let's call him Spanky. Spanky was drinking a Red Bull. Every time he took a sip of the Red Bull, he made a face like people make when they take a shot of something really nasty, like Southern Comfort or cough syrup or lighter fluid. However, he continued to drink the entire Red Bull. I'm not really sure why people drink Red Bull, but from what I understand, it's supposed to give you energy when you are feeling lethargic...right? Well let's just say little Spanky really REALLY didn't need Red Bull. Either that, or Red Bull must kick in INSTANTLY because the kid was bouncing around the checkout area like a pinball. It was rather annoying. And every two seconds, he would say something to his Nana like, “Nana you're next. Nana put your items up on the belt. Nana move your cart forward. Nana here is your credit card. Nana watch out. Nana don't forget your coupon.” I wanted to ram my cart into the kid...not so much to hurt him, but more to have the same effect as when you smack the side of a record player to help it move past a skip.

You know, because I often do that when I'm listening to my records. On my record player.

While Nana and Spanky were being rung up, I decided to start loading my (two) items onto the little belt thingy. And, seeing as neither Spanky nor Nana were thoughtful enough to put that little divider stick after their pile of diapers, I had to reach over and grab it myself. In the 2.3 seconds it took me to reach over, grab the stick, and put it on the belt, the customer behind me pushed her cart forward, leaving about three inches between my cart and hers. Seriously WHAT? What the hell is that all about? So as I turned around to head back behind my cart, I realized there was nowhere for me to go.

CORRECTION: There were about three inches of space for me to go. And considering I have a four inch waist, there was clearly NOT enough room for me to fit. So....instead of just looking at me, then realizing her fuckup, and moving her cart back, the customer just stared at me.

Just. Stared. At. Me.

And these, my friends, are the moments in life when I completely empathize with those folks who go “postal.” In fact, not only do I empathize with them, I am brutally jealous of them.

So, after saying “Excuse me,” because obviously it was MY fault for encroaching on her shopping cart space, she finally moved her cart back (about three additional inches). If it were not for my tennis elbow situation, I totally would have lifted her cart over my head, thrown it across the store, and then punched the lady in the neck.

Stupid tennis elbow.

My therapist has encouraged me to stop typing now.

I'm Dying to Tell You...

2010-06-14T21:39:00.021-04:00

Dear friends, loyal readers, and freaks who happened to stumble upon this blog while looking for porn...

Some of you may think that this blog is just for entertainment purposes. It's just a little nonsense blog without any real purpose or direction. Right? Well if that's all you think Maggie's Octopus has to offer, then just STEP ASIDE and get ready for today's installment. I bet you'll think twice about slapping a label on me after you read this very educational entry.

No, I'm not going to tell you about some stupid kids' show. I'm not going to talk about Willy Wonka or Betty White or some other legendary historical figure. You can read about them in Social Studies class. Nope, today is much more deep. Today I am going to give you some valuable tips that will help you become a better person, a more responsible citizen, and an overall greater contributor to the human race. So, without further ado, Maggie's Octopus proudly presents:

HOW (not) TO BEHAVE IN A CEMETERY

Yes. That's what it says. How (not) to behave in a cemetery.

Before you turn away and say, "But I already know how to behave in a cemetery," please give me a chance. I think I might have a few things to offer that might not be found in your run of the mill cemetery etiquette handbook. Trust me. Please? I trust you.

So you might be wondering what inspired me to write about this exciting topic. Sure, I know writing about cemeteries is the fashionable thing to do these days, but please believe me when I tell you this is coming from a real place. I'm not just doing it because everybody else is doing it.

Here is a little background information: I live next to a cemetery. Yeah, I know. It kind of sucks and it was a major turn off during the home buying process. However, I have learned to love my quiet neighbors, and to be honest, it is a peaceful site with really nice landscaping. Plus, every so often, I get a free bagpipe concert in my backyard. You can't beat that with a stick!

Anyway, back to the story. So last night, I retired to bed around 11:45, settled down, and started to doze off into Sleepy Town. However, Sleepy Town was soon interrupted by the sound of loud, obnoxious rap music blasting from a car outside. At first I thought it was someone driving in my little neighborhood, but I soon realized it was coming from the cemetery.

I looked out of my window and saw a car parked in the cemetery with its lights on, and the music had to be cranked up to the highest possible level. The song went a little something like this...

FUCK YOU MOTHER FUCKER FUCKING FUCKING DICK BITCH SUCK MY MOTHER FUCKER SUCKING FUCKER ASS BITCH DICK FUCKER DICK FUCKING FUCK

Did I mention it was almost midnight? Um yeah.

Naturally, I peeked out of my window at the car to see what the hell was going on. Actually, I didn't really peek. It was more like me wedging my face in between the tiny crack in the closed blinds. Hey...I didn't want cracked out weirdos who hang out in the cemetery at midnight seeing me creeping on them! You would have done the same thing.

After about five minutes, I had heard about all I wanted to hear and I had enough. I decided to walk outside, storm into the cemetery, and give those hoodlums a piece of my mind.

Raise your hand if you believe me.

OK, now raise your hand if you don't believe me.

Yeah, so clearly I did not go into the cemetery. Fuck that. I know what happens at night in cemeteries. I saw Thriller.

Instead, I decided to do the logical thing and call the police. I called, told the nice dispatcher lady about my concern, and she said she would send some officers over to check it out. At one point she asked me for my name and phone number (in case she had to call back to get an update on the location)...and I'm not gonna lie, people. I almost hung up. I didn't want to give my name!!! What if somehow the cops were connected to the bad guys, and the cops ended up telling the bad guys with the foul rap music MY NAME??? Those bad guys would surely hunt me down and egg my house and slash my tires and turn into werewolves and dance on me. And I certainly did not need that drama in my life.

Unfortunately, with today's technology, I figured the dispatcher lady already had my name and phone number up on a screen even before she asked me...so I bit the bullet and told her the truth. But I didn't give her my last name. Down with the man!

Anyway...the cops came by and broke up the little party in the cemetery. Sadly, the thugs turned off the music before the cops showed up (um...can you say TIP OFF? Yeah. I thought so). I saw bits and pieces of the whole thing (when I wasn't hiding under the bed), and it looked like the cops just drove by slowly and then kept going. Really? What's up with that? I was hoping for some COPS-like take downs, just like on the TV show....where the dudes get dragged out of the car with no shoes, shirts, or teeth, and then a long chase ensues around the cemetery, ideally with Benny Hill music playing in the background.

Alas, none of that happened. The cops just fired a few warning shots in the air and kept on driving. God. My town is so boring.

So maybe that story didn't have the major climax you were hoping for. Sorry. It was just a story about a few morons blasting obnoxious music in a cemetery WAY too late at night. But let's ponder a few things for a second...

What the hell were these jokers doing at a cemetery at midnight? Is that the cool thing to do these days? Party at the cemetery late night? I assume the people were not doing something illegal like selling/buying drugs or vandalizing gravestones...I mean, when I do shit like that I always turn my headlights and radio down first. Otherwise I'm just asking to get caught.

So were they visiting a dead friend? I suppose that is possible. But at midnight? And what's up with the music? Dudes...I'm sorry to break it to you. But no matter how loudly you blast your music, YOUR FRIEND CAN'T HEAR IT. I know it hurts. But it's true. Plus, if your friend actually liked that shitty music, he deserves to be dead. Hey. The truth hurts.

One quick thing about the music: I thought long and hard about this, and if the music was not so obnoxiously bad, I probably would have refrained from calling the police. Come to think of it, I might have even been entertained. Just think about it for a second...imagine you are cuddled up in bed, when all of a sudden you hear music BLASTING from a car in the cemetery. Yeah, sure...you might be pissed. But imagine if the music coming from the car was...

...Anne Murray?

OR

...Kenny G?

OR

...a book on tape?

That is the kind of weird shit that would make me stand up and applaud! Can you imagine being in bed and suddenly hearing Frog and Toad Are Friends at 10000 decibels? I wouldn't call the cops on those kids...I would call and have a pizza delivered to them.

Unfortunately, nothing like that ever happens to me. My life is such a letdown.

xoxo

I once was LOST, but now am found...

2010-06-03T16:05:00.057-04:00

Greetings!

Sorry it has been a while. I have been really busy with work and coaching and directing my rap video...but it seems that life is settling down a bit, so I'm BACK to blogging!

OK, that's a bunch of crap. The truth is, I work about 13.2 hours a week. Coaching only kept me busy because I ended up drinking for about six hours after every game. The real reason I'm so busy is because I recently discovered the following apps for my iPhone:

Twitter,

Angry Birds,

and Fruit Ninja.

I pretty much only come up for air from those three things to bathe, eat, use the bathroom, and go to Gary Coleman's funeral. However, the novelty is wearing off (slightly), so I'm actually starting to have some free time back. So, instead of doing something productive, like exercise, laundry, or go to Rue McClanahan's funeral, I figure I'll do some blogging! Yes, friends. I am a winner.

Speaking of things keeping me busy, I recently said goodbye to a dear friend who kept me entertained for many years. Yes, friends. You guessed it: the television show LOST.

(Wait...you thought I was actually talking about a real person? You did? You moron!)

Anyway, LOST was a staple in my household throughout its amazing six-season run, so it was terribly heartbreaking to bid it farewell a couple of weeks ago. Now, I'm not going to sit here and waste anyone's time with my LOST theories. That would take way too much time...and, quite frankly, I'm not sure any of you are smart enough to follow my deep LOST thoughts anyway. Instead, I will just tell you this: I miss my LOST. I looked forward to watching it every week and talking with my (smart) friends about it afterward. I loved the mystery. I was captivated by the intensity. I really liked looking at Sawyer's chest.

Now that LOST is over, I find that there is a giant void in my life that needs to be filled. While I have done my best to try to fill that void with such things as food, alcohol, sex with prostitutes, and Silly Bandz, NOTHING even comes close.

OK, maybe the Silly Bandz come sort of close. But not quite.

I concluded that this LOST replacement HAD to be another TV show. Something with the same kind of intrigue, intelligence, and intensity. Something that will make me think and feel and care. I tried a few shows on for size, but nothing seemed to quite fit...

...too depressing

...too creepy

...too campy

...too stupid

...too close to home

I was just about ready to give up on TV altogether, but then I discovered another show...in the most unlikely of places.

No, not the Playboy channel. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Besides, we don't get that channel anyway. I checked.

Anyhoo, as you probably recall, I nanny for my friend's kids once a week, and every now and then we splurge with a little afternoon TV watching. One afternoon while looking for Thomas and Friends, we came across another show by accident. The show? Oh...you just wait. It was...

Yes. I know. This show has been around for a while. I understand. But it is just coming into my life now, so you can all just shut up. Let me have my moment.

Let's just say that after watching one episode, I was hooked. I can't even describe it...but let me try to put it into terms people of my generation will understand...

Remember when you were a kid, and you watched The Golden Girls, and you thought it was the greatest show ever...but the truth was, you really didn't get most of the content because it was really geared toward adults? (Yes, I wrote about this in my last blog post...just bear with me). Anyway...what I'm getting at is that YO GABBA GABBA IS THIS GENERATION'S GOLDEN GIRLS. No, I don't mean that it has old ladies having sex or eating cheesecake. What I mean is that Yo Gabba Gabba is TOTALLY meant for adults! The humor and the genius is totally lost on the stupid 5 year olds who watch it. (Yeah, I just called 5 year olds stupid. Deal with it. Most of them are and you know it.)

So maybe my Golden Girls comparison makes no sense. I'm just trying to say that Yo Gabba Gabba is epic and amazing and hilarious and deranged. And it is my new favorite show. In fact, after seeing the first one, I went home and DVR-ed as many as I could. And then I watched them. Yes, assholes. Make fun all you want. But I am seriously in love. This shit is funnier and wackier than anything I have seen in a long time. It's like Laugh-In and Sesame Street got married, then Sesame Street took some acid for a while and hooked up with They Might Be Giants...and then nine months later Sesame Street had a baby...but then the baby was adopted by Flavor Flav...who was married to The Electric Company...and who hired The Teletubbies to babysit.

You're with me, right?

OK. So more about the show. Every episode of Yo Gabba Gabba is different, and it seems like every one focuses on teaching some useful life skill, lesson, or breakdance move. The very first show I ever saw focused on eating and cleaning up. We'll get to that later.

Like I said before, I went home and DVR-ed a few episodes. I know I have a lot to catch up on, but for now, I'd like to report back some of my findings. Enjoy.

SHIT I LIKE THE MOST SO FAR ON YO GABBA GABBA, by Yours Truly

First of all, let's talk about the characters. We can't talk about anyone until we mention this guy...

Apparently his name is DJ Lance. But for the purposes of this post, let's just call him DJ Fucking Awesome. Because he is.

From what I gather, DJ Fucking Awesome was on his way to a Deee-Lite reunion tour when he accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up in Yo Gabba Gabba Land. After a few days of starvation, he was rescued by the natives, nursed back to health, and crowned mayor. He now happily presides over the town (which is kind of like a really cool diorama come to life), and emcees the daily comings and goings around the world of Yo Gabba Gabba. You with me so far?

Anyway, DJ Fucking Awesome is the king...which makes sense, because he is fucking amazing. But besides that, he is about 400 times bigger than all of the other characters on the show, so I'm guessing he kind of got the position by default. Whatever. That part really isn't important.

The characters in the Yo Gabba Gabba shoebox are five freaky puppet looking things. They all have fucked up names, but I would much rather call them by the pet names I created: The Yellow Robot, The Blue Cat, The One-Eyed Orange Vibrator, The Pink Flower, and Long Armed Green Guy.

OK, now that we know the main characters, let's talk about some show highlights.

Get this. One day, Jack Black is driving around on a minibike. A talking minibike. His bike runs out of gas and he ends up in Yo Gabba Gabba Land. This leads to Jack Black dancing around the Yo Gabba Gabba forest and singing about getting lost. But then he gets some help from the five Gabba creatures and they end up being good friends and eating together and having a dance party.

The moral of the story: If you get lost in the woods, hook up with the weirdest fuckers you can find, and instantly tell them your name and let them help you and feed you. Perfect.

Seriously, though...if DJ Fucking Awesome stopped me in the woods and wanted to hang out, I'd be all over that shit!

There are a crapload of other guest stars on this show, but I haven't gotten too far yet in the episodes so I can't speak about that too much. However, one of the coolest ones I have seen so far is the dude from Devo, who comes on and does this 21st century Picture Pages-like segment. Granted, it's not nearly as cool as Picture Pages, but let me tell you something...Billy Cosby never taught me how to draw a cat!

Let's move on to some of the more regular occurrences on the show.

Several times during each episode, there are random intervals of kids dancing. The formula is pretty simple: find the cutest GAP Kids models on the planet (or ugly kids who are cute by default because they are super ethnic) and let them bust out their most freestyle dance moves of all time. It's almost always accompanied by the kid saying, "My name is ______! And I like to dance!" It is pretty amazing. (Oh, by the way, if you have a traditional name, you are NOT invited to participate in this dance club. So your best bet is to run to the nearest courthouse and change your name to something like Peyton or Kainoa or Holland or Darla or Myles).

PS--There are also occasional short clips of these same Benetton kids walking around in a Donkey Kong-like video game world or riding a flying cartoon elephant. Brilliant.

You want to be let in on a really cool secret? OK...well, I was able to go about 10 years into the future (via my time machine) and I found a picture of the Yo Gabba Gabba Kid Dancers in the year 2020, as young adults. Here are just a few updated shots:

Mmmmhm. The future is bright, friends.

Another amazing part of the show is when the characters eat. First, let me ask you something...what normally happens when you eat? I don't know about you, but when I eat, I'm normally in a hurry. Whether I'm in the middle of work, or running from the police, or whatever...there isn't usually enough time to really enjoy my meal. However, the dudes on Yo Gabba Gabba actually SING while they are eating. They sing a song called "There's a Party in My Tummy." The song is so joyful that even the FOOD doesn't care that it is being eaten...it actually LIKES being shredded up and shot down into the stomachs of the characters. Look how happy this piece of carrot is to be swallowed into Jack Black's stomach. LOOK, I said!

There was one time in a different episode where the big green guy didn't eat his carrots, and look how upset the carrots got:

In the same episode, the Yo Gabba Gabba gang sang about snack time...in a lyrically rich song called "Snacky Snack Snack." The song went a little something like this:

Snacky snack snack snack, snack, snack
Snacky snack snack snack! Snack! Snack!
Snacky snack snack snack, snack, snack
Snacky snack snack SNACK SNACK SNACK!
Hooraaaaaay!

At the very end of the song, DJ Fucking Awesome looked directly into the camera and said, "Mmmmm. I like snacks!"

Dude. If that DJ Fucking Awesome isn't the greatest person alive, I don't know who is. I love snacks, too...but damn. He makes it sound so god damned epic.

Speaking of epic, there is a song about cleaning up. I think it's called "Clean It Up, Clean It Up." If you haven't already figured it out, the songs on Yo Gabba Gabba are not very complicated. In fact, I did some research, and it turns out all of the songs are written by those monkeys in front of typewriters you always hear people joking about. Yes, they really do exist. And they have had many beers.

Anyway, about the cleaning up song...the creatures dump trash in a can, and the can says, "THANK YOU!" as the pieces of filthy garbage are being thrown into its head. Then a tree and a hill smile and say things like, "This is so beautiful, I want to cry." Amazing.

Speaking of cleaning, why don't you watch this totally normal video about washing your hands...

Yo Gabba Gabba teaches other great lessons, like how to be kind to animals. This next song is all about being nice to all animals, like dogs and cats and bunnies who ride bicycles and starfish and wild bears who are loose in public. Watch it.

Seriously. Unicorns? Growing our hair with them? I need need need need to be a writer on this show. Come on. Please excuse me while I compose a letter.

Dear DJ Fucking Awesome,

I am begging you. Please hire me. I love your show. It is the kind of crazy shit I imagine and dream about and think about to myself ALL OF THE TIME, but never share with anyone because I'm afraid none of my friends will like me anymore. God damnit...it turns out there are more people like me out there!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Call me.

Love,
Yours Truly

(Some) Old People Rock

2010-05-07T19:39:00.059-04:00

In case you haven't heard by now, Betty White is hosting Saturday Night Live this weekend. I know the show hasn't aired yet, but I'm making a prediction right now: there has never been, nor will there EVER be, a better host in the history of the show. Seriously.

I have been a Betty fan since I was a kid. I won't lie; she was not my favorite Golden Girl (RIP, Bea. In my heart 4-eva), but I loved her nonetheless. Then, when I got a little older, I got to appreciate Betty even more through the wonder of reruns on Nick at Nite and Game Show Network. I love her because she is a legend. She is an actress, a comedian, an animal rights activist, and just an overall badass. Not to mention a workhorse. Come on...how many 88 year olds do you know who are still working? And another thing...how many 88 years olds do you know who can stay up to watch SNL, never mind host the damn show? Come to think of it...let's be frank. How many 88 years olds do you even know? PERIOD?

The point is, Betty White is a fabulously swinging senior citizen, and she is a great example of just how awesome older folks can be. I think sometimes we give up on people once they hit a certain age (you know...45 or so) and we forget that the elderly can actually contribute something positive to our society. Yes, yes, I know...there are a few cases where old people are not exactly helpful to the world. For example...

...but why focus on the negatives? Seriously...that's just wrong.

Here at Maggie's Octopus, we are dedicated to smashing stereotypes and challenging all of you to think outside of the box. So today, let's try to expand our horizons and embrace some amazing old folks. So raise a glass of prune juice as Maggie's Octopus Proudly Presents...

OLD PEOPLE WHO DON'T SUCK. NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT.

THE GOLDEN GIRLS: OK, I know I already mentioned Betty White. But who cares? The Golden Girls deserve to be mentioned because they kick ass.

If you are my age, you probably loved watching the show when you were a kid, even though you probably didn't even get half of the jokes. That in itself is an amazing thing, because that meant the jokes were raunchy and inappropriate...which usually meant they were about sex...which usually meant they were about Blanche.

Oh, Blanche. We all know someone like Blanche, right? Some loose joker who sleeps around with every Tom, Dick, and Harry. You know...your slutty friend? Yeah. Well chances are, your friend is UNDER the age of 60. So when your friend does it, he or she is considered a huge whore. But when Blanche did it, let's face it: she was a fucking rock star.

And then there was Sophia, who could get away with saying anything, simply because she was 120 years old. And Rose the idiot and her St. Olaf stories...and, of course...my hero...

Dorothy Zbornak. Oh my GOD I love me some Dorothy Zbornak. She was a giant, caustic, sassy substitute teacher. And as cranky as she was, whenever her ex-husband Stan came around, she couldn't resist his manly powers. Sure, she acted like she hated him (most of the time)...but you just knew whenever she saw him, she got totally fired up and wanted to jump on his bald head. Whatever. Who could blame her? Just check out this fine cut of Grade A beef:

Excuse me for a minute. I need to go take a cold shower.

OK, I'm back. Bottom line...this show was amazing and hilarious and it totally focused on old people. So next time you see some old lady dragging her feet in front of you in line at CVS, don't assume she's lost...or confused...or writing a check for Polident. Instead, remember that amazing GG episode, and just assume the old lady is waiting for a price check on condoms.

Priceless.

Not that I even need to go on, but just to reinforce my argument, here are some other fabulous old people who don't suck:

YODA: Come on. What other 900-year old do you know that can run super fast, move shit with his mind, and kick the asses of basically anyone he wants? And normally, if you met someone who talked like Yoda (you know...fucking up his sentence structure and moaning at random times), you would assume that he was hardcore Alzheimer's...right? But then you see him whip out The Force on someone's ass and you realize it's all part of the plan. Oh and by the way...he does it all while wearing an old brown bathrobe. That, my friends, is a fucking badass old guy.

GRANDPA JOE: First things first. If you don't know who Grandpa Joe is, please leave my blog immediately and never come back. Then go play in traffic. Thanks!

For those of you who do know who he is, then you will know that he is one of the greatest old people EVER. First of all, he basically raised Charlie. Yes, I know Charlie had a mother, but come on. We all know she was pretty useless. I mean really...she washes clothes in a giant metal bath tub and stirs them with an oar. Can you say crazy? Hasn't she ever heard of a washing machine? God. And don't even get me started on that hair...and you all know you ALWAYS fast forwarded during "Cheer Up, Charlie." And if it was on TV, that's when you went to the bathroom or went to get a drink. YOU KNOW YOU DID.

Enough about Charlie's deadbeat mom. Let's get back to Grandpa Joe. I say he was the real man of the house. Yeah, yeah...I know there were three other grandparents living in the house, but come on. They were all senile. The only purpose they served was to keep the bed warm for Grandpa Joe.

In case you still need convincing, let me remind you about some of the kick ass things Grandpa Joe did:

-told Charlie to buy Wonka bars, even though the family was dirt poor and could have used the money for much more important things...like firewood, Grandpa George's heart medication, or a haircut for Mrs. Bucket

-got up out of bed after vegging out for 20 years straight...just to have a hoe-down dance party with Charlie after he won the Golden Ticket

-stole Fizzy Lifting Drinks with Charlie even though Willy Wonka told everyone not to, then hatched the genius, life-saving plan to belch his way out of being decapitated by the giant ceiling fan when he floated too high

-tore Willy Wonka a new asshole at the end of the movie when Willy threatened to rescind on his offer of giving Charlie his free chocolate

Seriously...I haven't even done ONE of those things. And Grandpa Joe did all of them. In less than two hours. I don't deserve to live.

Let's not forget these Honorable Mentions, who also make it really cool to be really ancient:

Johnny Pesky, Red Sox legend

Grandpa Huxtable, jazz legend

Pearl from 227

Mark Twain

The angry lady on the cards who tells it like it is. I think her name is Maxine. But my sister and I just refer to her as The Old Lady Who Jokes About Saggy Boobs A Lot

Ben Matlock

Mr. Hooper

Mr. Wizard

Wilford Brimley...um...I don't know why I picked him. I just like the way he says 'diabetes'

Whatever. The point is that these people are amazing AND they are old. So stop beeping at old people if they are driving slow. Don't make faces at them if they take too long in public restrooms. Get off their case if they just so happen to drive their car into your front yard, local hospital, or business. Just lay off already. Because you never know...the old person in that car could be Betty White.

OK. Chances are, it's not Betty White. It's probably someone who can't see, hear, or walk, and who should have had their license revoked years ago. But whatever. Get over yourself.

Being Bob the Builder

2010-05-03T21:19:00.061-04:00

So let's talk a little bit about me. Before I became a guidance counselor (and then had a mini nervous breakdown and then ended up taking a year off and then ended up stocking shelves in a liquor store), I had big dreams. Yes, friends. Believe it or not, I didn't always want to be shaping the young minds of middle school students (or having mini nervous breakdowns or working in a liquor store). When I was growing up, my big dream in life was to become a writer. It actually still is my dream...which kind of explains why I share my weird thoughts with you via the blog.

At first I thought I wanted to be a sports reporter, but I figured I was way too gorgeous for TV, and just knew that no one would take me seriously as a journalist. They'd just be staring blankly at the screen, drooling...all while I was trying to build my reputation as the most respected baseball post-game locker room shower interviewer in the MLB. Alas, that dream died as quickly as it was born. Then that bitch Heidi Watney totally stole my shtick. Screw you, Heidi. SCREW YOU.

So instead of focusing my energy on naked baseball players (my professional energy, anyway), I decided I would shift gears and try my hand at writing for children. But not just children's books or children's music...oh no. I was going straight for the top. I wanted to write for Sesame Street.

Long story short, I took a crapload of writing classes in college and even got my degree in English...but the only thing I really cared about in college was playing softball, so I didn't bother to pursue the whole "how can I get my foot in the door with Big Bird?" thing at all. Hey, I never said I was responsible.

Fast forward a few years...and there was more softball...grad school...guidance counselor...nervous breakdown...liquor store...more naked baseball players...more softball...and that about brings us to the present day. I don't think I left anything out.

So what the hell am I getting at? I'm not exactly sure. Oh yeah...children's television. I think. Just stay with me.

Sooooooo...in case you didn't know, in addition to working at the liquor store during my year off, I am also a nanny! Yes indeed. Once a week, I watch my friend's two awesome kids. Most of the time we do fun things like build towers out of blocks and read books and play with trains and go in the sandbox and do puzzles and throw beans on the floor. But whenever we go in the car to drive one of the kids to school, we pop in a DVD to pass the time. But not just any DVD. Oh no. The only DVD we EVER watch is...

This fellow is Bob the Builder. He is a children's TV icon. He builds shit. It's no big deal.

I had never seen Bob the Builder before I started nannying. I had heard about Bob (and his building) but I had never actually experienced him in person. So naturally it was quite a thrill to watch Bob with two of the coolest kids on the planet.

Time out for a second. I need to clarify...I have never technically seen a whole Bob episode. Here's the thing...since I am driving, I never actually get to watch the DVD. I just get to hear it. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. There are only four or five “episodes” on the DVD so I have basically “seen” each one (in bits and pieces) about 47 times now. It's a wonderful thing.

At this point, I could pretty much tell you the ins and outs of each episode. I could also probably recite most of them word for word, too...but that would be boring. Here's the thing—since it's my lifelong dream to write for children's television, you can imagine that whenever I see a kids' show, I'm apt to scrutinize it pretty intensely. So that is exactly what I'm about to do.

Granted, if you don't have kids OR if you don't spend your afternoons watching PBS alone in your house like a pedophile, then you probably won't have much appreciation for the following commentary. However, I invite you to read a little bit about Bob and his chums and see how it compares with the kinds of shows you used to watch as a kid. Something tells me it might not quite compare to Electric Company, Smurfs, or Captain Caveman...

So, without any further ado, Maggie's Octopus is proud to present...

DECONSTRUCTING BOB

So this is Bob. He is a builder. (I'm pretty smart, aren't I?) Anyway, he builds lots of shit. In just this one DVD, Bob built/fixed the following things:

-a riverbed that had been eroded

-a new deli

-a barn that had been fucked up in a tornado

Bob also does renovations. For example, he worked on some rich lady's home library. Did some painting, added a few new touches to it...stuff like that. He also installs A/C units, windows, etc. In a nutshell, when it comes to building, Bob is the shit.

Even though Bob seems like a nice, humble guy, you can just tell he is on a total power trip. Everyone around him worships him. Seriously. Nothing gets done without Bob's OK. And all of the freaks on Bob's team follow him around like he's some kind of genius. No matter WHAT kind of job comes up, Bob asks his team, “Can we fix it?” or “Can we build it?” and his stupid team of lemmings ALWAYS says, “YES WE CAN!” Seriously. No matter what comes up, they always say they can do it.

Don't get me wrong. I love confident people. But really...fixing a riverbed? Isn't that playing God? Leave Mother Nature alone! And come on...a giant tornado completely fucked up an entire barn. Trees fell over. The barn was totally obliterated. No one in their right mind would actually think it could be fixed in a ten minute episode. The Red Cross wouldn't even deem it safe to drive over and help. But Bob's team could fix it!!! WOO HOOO!!!

Some people might argue that this level of intense ambition makes Bob an inspiring, motivational boss with great leadership skills. I say it makes him a slave driving cult leader.

Whatever. So Bob's minions consist of mostly machines and trucks. There are some humans that ride Bob's coattails, but they are kind of lame so I won't talk about them just yet. The ones who get the most airtime are the stupid machines. Here are the ones who stand out the most as the most irritating:

This is Lofty. I have no idea what he is. I know jack shit about trucks and machines, so I will just make something up. He is a crane. Yeah, that sounds good. A crane.

Lofty is a giant blue crane who clearly has self-esteem issues. Whenever Bob asks his crew, "Can we fix it?" most of his posse answers, "Yes we can!" But Lofty is always dragging behind saying something like, "Uh, uh yeah. I think so." Dude...that is NOT very convincing. No one likes a half-assed worker. Grow some balls already.

When you look at Lofty, you think the one thing he is supposed to do is LIFT shit off the ground. No brainer, right? But in one episode, he helped lift a dead tree off the ground and yelled, "Oh! Oh! Oh! I DID IT!" like it was some big freakin accomplishment. Yeah dude. You lifted up a tree off the ground. Congrats. You want to get excited about doing something? Then breakdance. Seriously. Breakdance on top of a tree. Then you're allowed to celebrate. Until then, shut the hell up and do your job.

Bob clearly feels bad for Lofty because he is constantly giving him praise and lame compliments that Lofty doesn't deserve. For example, one time Lofty knocked over a shitload of wallpaper that was supposed to go in someone's house. Then he rolled over the wallpaper and completely ruined it. Instead of getting pissed off, Bob told Lofty it was an accident and thanked him for cleaning it up. Really, Bob? That's it? No beatings?

Whatever. So then after totally destroying the wallpaper, Lofty decided to make his own wallpaper by rolling over spilled paint and then driving over huge pieces of paper. The “new” wallpaper ended up being a bunch of shitty tire tracks in assorted colors. For some reason everyone in Bob-Ville ended up falling in love with this “tire painting” and treated Lofty like the new Picasso. And then when they went to go hang the new paper in the lady's house, she stared at it and said how “delightful” it was. What?! That's bullshit!

If someone put that on my walls, I would immediately set them on fire.

The someone, not the walls.

This dude is named Roley. He is a steam roller. (Hey...I said I didn't know jack about machines, but I didn't say I was a complete idiot.)

So Roley is kind of a whiny bitch. One time there wasn't anything for him to do, so he got all annoyed and started complaining. He kept asking Bob if there was anything he could do. Bob kept saying NO. Roley said, "I wish I had an important job like Lofty." Ugh. Jealousy is such an ugly thing.

So even though Bob told him to just chill, stupid Roley rolled over to a pile of bricks. He tried to push the bricks around and made a giant mess. Then he started whining because he made a mess, which in turn got Bob's attention and distracted Bob from his job. It's a wonder Bob stays so positive, because I would have seriously gone postal at this point.

And another thing...I'm sorry, but if I had the option to either be busy moving heavy shit around or do nothing, I'd choose NOTHING. Seriously, Roley. Stop getting in the way and go sit around and drink coffee...besides, isn't there an unwritten rule in the world of construction that at least 40% of the workforce MUST be farting around and doing nothing at any given moment?

Oh yeah...then there was another time Roley got all pissed off because he was trying to write a song with some birds...and the birds weren't doing it right...so Roley kicked the birds out and told them to go away. What a jerk. I don't want people like that on my team. Piss off, Roley.

This is Muck. She is a dump truck. Or something like that. She is another whiner and I think she has a speech impediment. Whatever. That's not important. What is important is that Muck is clearly way too stupid to be trusted to work on a construction site. Seriously...don't you want people who are on the ball? You know, careful, intelligent workers? When you are working with heavy machinery, building materials, and expensive wallpaper, you'd think only the sharpest workers will do. Ohhhhh, no. Not on Bob's site. Listen to this exchange between Muck and Bob. Basically, one of the other idiot trucks pulled a tree out of the ground and Bob got pissed off. Then Muck came in and decided to share this nugget of wisdom...

"Couldn't you just build a new tree, Bob?"

"WTF? Build a new tree, Muck? Are you a damn moron?"

OK, so that isn't what Bob said. Instead, he said this:

"Trees GROW, Muck. You can't build them." He was trying to be nice, but you could tell he was totally laughing on the inside.

This is Spud. He is a scarecrow. He lives on a farm with some jackass named Farmer Pickles.

Spud is treated like a second-class citizen. It's blatant and offensive. Listen to this one...so in one episode...you know, the one with the tornado fucking up the barn ? Yeah, so anyway, in that episode, Spud was hanging out in the barn when a giant tree fell on it. The barn was totally smushed, but through some sort of divine intervention, Spud's life was spared. Miraculously, the only thing that happened was that Spud's nose was bent.

Yeah. That's believable.

Whatever. So you'd think that when Spud's friends found out what happened, they would be concerned. Oh, no. It turned out, no one even gave a shit. Instead, they only cared about the fact that the barn got fucked up and the yard was covered in debris. Here is an exchange between Travis (some stupid farm truck) and Spud.

THE SCENE: FUCKED UP TORNADO BARNYARD

TRAVIS: "What a mess!"

SPUD: "Ouch!"

TRAVIS: "Spud, what happened? Are you alright?"

SPUD: "No, I'm not alright. Look at my nose."

TRAVIS: "Haha. Oh well, Spud. You can fix that later. Right now we have to help Farmer Pickles clean his yard."

SPUD: "But...but...what about...?"

TRAVIS: "No buts, Spud. There is work to be done!"

Uhhh...can you say lawsuit?

Whatever. So then Farmer Pickles came over to see what was going on. You'd think he would be a little more sympathetic. Not so much...

SPUD: "Oh, Farmer Pickles...a tree fell on the barn and bent my nose."

FARMER PICKLES: "Bob's coming to fix it."

SPUD: "What...my nose?"

FARMER PICKLES: "Haha, Spud. No. Not your nose. The barn."

Dude...if my nose fell off and all my friends cared about was fixing a barn, I'd want to kick some serious ass.

So finally, once all of the work was done, Farmer Pickles gave Spud a new nose. Here's how it went down:

FARMER PICKLES: "Here you go, Spud. A nice, new parsnip."

Say what? A parsnip? Your nose is made out of a parsnip? What the hell is a parsnip? I am so confused.

Oh. I see now. Well...no wonder nobody gave a shit about your stupid nose.

So those are the main non-human characters...here are the few humans who are probably worth mentioning.

This is J.J. He owns a hardware store or something. I don't know his exact role, but for some reason he is the ONLY character on the show with a deep voice. Everyone else has an annoying high pitched, whiny voice. Then there is JJ, who basically sounds like a 1-900 phone sex operator. What gives? All these idiots running around sounding like they have been castrated, and then all of a sudden we have JJ pimping around the place like he's Lando Calrissian. Oh well...I actually kind of like JJ because he doesn't seem to take any shit from the stupid trucks. And he doesn't have any random, scary, vegetable body parts, either.

Two of the most annoying people on the DVD are Mr. and Mrs. Sabatini. They own a deli. I am not exaggerating when I say that these two are the most stereotypical Italian characters EVER created. They have horrible, thick, exaggerated accents, and I knew before I ever saw them that they would look exactly like THIS:

This is Mr. Sabatini. Obviously. I couldn't find a picture of Mrs. Sabatini, but just imagine an old Italian lady with a giant black bun and an apron. Ugh. This is how she talks on the DVD:

"Aaaaah, I've got to aaah go and aaaah make aaaah my ciabatta bread."

"Oh ahh no. You ahh made a big ahhh hole in my ahh deli."

"Now I aaah go and ahhh make ahh some ahhh beautiful ahhh ice cream."

Dude. Really? When are you going to stick your head out the window and call Anthony home for Prince spaghetti night?

Last but not least is Wendy. Here she is:

Wait...hold on a second. This must be a joke. We all know women can't be construction workers. Sheesh...go back to the Land of Make Believe, Lady Aberlin!

Well, that just about does it. Aren't you glad you have me around to give you the inside scoop on what your kids are watching? This sure beats the hell out of reading about drunk customers, doesn't it?

(Doesn't it?)

You Can't Keep a Good Blog Down...

2010-05-02T19:57:00.010-04:00

Dear Friends,

Welcome back to the Octopus! Yes, it's back. I know...your prayers have been answered. Your dreams have come true. All of those nights wishing on wishbones and selling your soul to the devil have PAID OFF!

OK, so here's the deal. I took a month or so off from the blog. It's not because I don't LOVE bringing it to you. It's not because I ran out of funny, weird shit to share with you. And no, it's not because I was in jail for a few months. Seriously. Don't believe all of the rumors out there.

(But you should believe the one about me and Jason Varitek. That shit really happened.)

The truth is, I do have a conscience (albeit a very small, very selective one), and I had a very special request from a very special friend regarding The Beer Can Diaries. After giving it some thought, I decided to retire TBCD and tuck it away into a very special place. And even though I am still employed at the fabulous liquor store (swear to God! I didn't get fired...yet) I have decided to keep my comments to myself for the remainder of my employment. Naturally, by keeping them to myself, I mean I'll still write random nasty facebook status updates, share funny stories over the phone with friends and family, and continue to mock people in my head as they try to hold a conversation with me while purchasing beef jerky. So while the stories live on in my heart (and on facebook, at parties, on bathroom stall doors, etc), the days of TBCD on Maggie's Octopus are over...however, they are all archived and saved and will forever be a special reminder of my year off. There are also a few leftovers I kept published on the blog just for posterity. Granted, there are only three or four still here (out of about 40...yikes!), but whatever. Get over it. If the highlight of your life was reading about my life in a liquor store, then I think we need to consider getting you a new hobby. Like banging yourself in the face with a rock. Over and over again.

Like I said, I have all of my diary entries saved somewhere very special...and if you are really nice (translation: if you beg me hard enough or promise sexual favors) I might just share them with you again later on down the road (translation: I'll give you a discounted price on the book). See? I do have a conscience after all!

Now then...the obvious question is...what the hell else will I write about? Let's face it--The Beer Can Diaries were the heart and soul of this blog for almost a year! Moving on, is my life interesting enough that I can continue to find hilarious shit to write about? The answer is...NO! My life is NOT interesting enough. Not even close. (Well, at least not the things I'm willing to post on the internet.) But guess what? Neither is yours, especially if you have time to read my blog! However, I'm sure I can still find hilarious, random crap to write about if I try hard enough. Just think back...remember the olden days of Maggie's Octopus, before The Beer Can Diaries, when I offered such thought-provoking commentary on things like...

-American Idol?

-People running outside in the snow?

-Alex Rodriguez?

-Using horse-strength Ben-Gay on my hamstrings?

-Store brand crackers?

-Getting beaten up by Marlon Brando?

OK, so maybe some of those things were never actually mentioned in the blog. Or maybe they were. I dare you to go back and read every entry to see what I'm lying about. Come on...we both know you have plenty of time to do it.

In conclusion, I want to thank the hundreds (five) of you who have harassed me about the blog in recent weeks. You gave me the motivation to get back on The Octopus and be creative once again. And you also reminded me just how much I missed writing and why I took this year off in the first place.

(To sit my fat ass behind a computer and bitch about people and things I hate.)

xoxo

The Beer Can Diaries 3/3/10

2010-03-03T21:03:00.012-05:00

In this episode of The Beer Can Diaries...

SOMEBODY'S WATCHING ME: I hope you all enjoyed reading about New Guy the other day. I decided to carry on the tradition of writing about my co-workers for today's episode. And trust me, friends...this one is a doozy.

Do you remember my bestest work pal on earth...Sue? The one I dance and sing with and make fun of customers with? Yeah, that one. Sue rocks. So anyway, the other day my phone rang and it was Sue. Whenever I get a phone call from Sue, the purpose of the call is usually something important like...

"Hey, can you pick me up a coffee?"

"Hey, I'm running late. Can you open the store this morning?"

"Oh my God! The Bejeweled guy just said I was 'AWESOME!'"

"Hey, turn on 106.7! Fucking Total Eclipse of the Heart is on!"

And other important issues such as these. You get the picture.

So Sue called me the other day and the first thing she said was, "OH MY GOD. I need to tell you what just happened."

This wasn't the first time Sue and I have contacted each other about work-related issues. It is pretty typical for us to send a quick text or call to one another when we're not working together, just to give an update like...

"Guess how late (enter moron co-worker's name here) is today?"

"Dude...Chip Delivery Man was just here and he was raging about how we moved the chips around."

"Holy crap. I just waited on a guy with the worst B.O. I have ever smelled in my life."

What can I say? We really care about keeping each other abreast of work issues.

Back to the current story. So Sue went on to tell me what happened...

First, let me explain something to all of you. When we open up the store in the morning, there are a few procedural things we have to do. One of them involves hanging the OPEN flag outside to let people know our store is open. Granted, the majority of people who shop at our store know the hours by heart, but it's always good to cover all the bases.

OK, back to the flag. There is a little flag clip thing on the side of the building located around 7 or 8 feet up the side of the wall. So, in order to get the flagpole into the clip, one has to climb up onto a little brick wall (which is about 3 feet high), then reach up and stick the flagpole in. It's not a huge deal, but it is one of the less desirable parts of the opening process. I hate it because the store is on a fairly busy road, and I don't like the idea of stretching up and flashing my ass and stomach to people driving by. I also have a fear of stepping up on the wall, slipping on a stray cigarette butt, and landing flat on my ass. Whatever. Needless to say, I typically try to shove the flag in as quickly as possible and run back into the store.

OK...so now you know about the flag job. Most mornings, Sue has the honor of opening the store. I only have to do it once a week, thank God. So, she did all of the regular tasks (including hanging the flag), didn't think anything of it, and carried on with her day. That is, until a customer came in and decided to brighten Sue's day.

A man came into the store...um, let's call him...Fat Sweaty Pervert Man. He has been in the store several times before, but up until this point, he has never done or said anything to merit any kind of reaction from any of us. He is just a regular Joe who comes in to buy his beer and leaves without much fanfare. That's why it was so unexpected (and, well, friggin disturbing) when he came in and told Sue this:

FAT SWEATY PERVERT MAN: "Hey, Sue. Hey...guess what? This morning, when you were out hanging up the flag, I saw you. And I took a picture of you. You were hanging the flag and you were all stretched out like this."

At that point, when he said "like this," Fat Sweaty Pervert Man actually stretched himself out as if he was putting the flag up. Or, as Sue so descriptively told me, "And I could see his fat stomach and hairy ass crack!"

OK, so let's break things down a bit. In case you're wondering, Fat Sweaty Pervert Man just sort of paid for his shit and left after making the comment. Sue said she was too busy freaking out and "vomiting in her mouth" to have any real reaction or follow up conversation with the guy. I guess I can understand; after all, how often does some random person come up to you and tell you he took pictures of you outside of your job?

So here's my question: did F.S.P.M really take a picture? Or was he just saying that to be...uh, I don't know...cute? Funny? Sketchy beyond belief? Fucking disgusting? All of the above?

Would you ever tell someone you took a picture of them like that? Without expecting them to call the police? Or kick you between the legs?

Seriously...I am totally baffled by this one. A random nasty man comes into a store and tells a relative stranger about how he is essentially stalking her and taking pictures of her hanging up an OPEN flag? What the hell? Is this some sort of pickup line, because if it is, I have some alternatives that might work a bit better...

Instead of "Hey, I took pictures of you hanging up the open flag!"...

How about try these pickup lines instead...?

"Hey, I have rabies. Can I bite you?"
"Hey, I haven't taken a shower in six weeks and I ate a tub of cream cheese for lunch. Want to make out?"
"Hey, do you like maggots? I have some growing in my ass crack. Want to see?"

That's all I have. Sorry.

The Beer Can Diaries 2/24/10

2010-02-24T22:34:00.010-05:00

In this episode of The Beer Can Diaries...

THE NEW GUY: I don't know about you, but I'm not always thrilled about meeting new people. I tend to be a creature of habit...I know what I like, where I like, and who I like, and once those things have been established, I don't typically care to change much. Sure, it's nice to meet new people every once in a while, but that initial first step can sometimes take energy that I don't always have. Usually, if the person ends up being cool, then the awkward first few interactions were well worth it. However, if the person ends up being a giant tool, every single second you have to spend around him is about as fun as eating glass.

Needless to say, when I heard that we had finally hired a new night manager, I was slightly hesitant. The questions started flying through my brain...you know, the questions we all ask ourselves before meeting a new co-worker:

Will I like him?
Will he like me?

Will he be easy to work with or will I want to beat him up every time he walks by me?

Will he be funny or extremely bland and boring?

Will he be a hard worker or a lazy pile of lard?

Will he bring good snacks and let me have some?

Will he wear deodorant on a consistent basis?

Will he wake me up from naps before the boss arrives?

Like I said...all of the typical questions.

So New Guy was hired, and even though he is going to be the night manager (which means I probably won't work with him a whole lot), the plan was for him to work during the day with me and Sue for a few weeks just to get the hang of things. Then, once he is feeling comfortable, he will start taking over at night. Great plan, right?

This is the part of the story where I'd love to tell you how New Guy is a creep, or how New Guy yells at customers, or how New Guy brings prostitutes in the cooler on a regular basis....but, my dear friends, I can't do that. Simply put, New Guy is great! He is a hard worker, he has common sense, he knows how to count money, he can engage customers in a kind, appropriate manner without spitting on them or belching in their faces, and he wears deodorant on a consistent basis. He is a normal human being and he is a lot of fun to work with. Thank you, Jesus!

New Guy seemed slightly shy at first, but Sue and I took care of that pretty quickly. As I have mentioned in past posts, Sue and I like to have fun during the day. We sing, dance, laugh, tell stories, and try to have as much fun as we can at work. We still manage to get a lot of work done, but we make a point to keep things light along the way. Thankfully, New Guy caught on to this pretty quickly and started joining in the fun pretty soon after starting work. He hasn't busted out any dance moves yet, but I'm sure that will come in good time.

I know it's hard to imagine, but another thing Sue and I do on a regular basis is comment on the many strange people who come in the store during the day. I know, I know...you are shocked that we would ever say anything about our customers. But, as you (hopefully) have learned by now, some of them deserve it! Anyway, we were a little concerned about how New Guy would respond to our ~~scathing insults~~ kind, lighthearted commentary directed at the customers. Mostly, he would just laugh along with us or nod his head after we said something...but then, the other day, a breakthrough occurred...

NEW GUY JOINED IN ON THE CUSTOMER BASHING!

There I was, jotting down some information on our inventory sheets, when a customer came in who looked like this:

Yes, that is everybody's favorite artist, Bob Ross. The customer looked a lot like him with a few exceptions:

-the customer had white hair

-the customer was not smiling

-the customer didn't have Happy Trees in the background

OK, so let's call the customer Old Man. So Old Man came in and was very grouchy. He started asking New Guy questions about our soda selection. This led to a long, pointless conversation (led by Old Man and patiently followed by New Guy) about different kinds of soda and what kinds we have and didn't have and how now there is Throwback Pepsi but we don't carry it and he doesn't know what Pepsi is trying to prove with having a throwback version.

I know....thrilling, right?

Then, even though the soda was about two inches away from him, Old Man ~~nicely asked~~ told New Guy to “Get me a Pepsi.” New Guy grabbed a Pepsi, but not before Old Man had a chance to add, “And make sure it's not diet!” New Guy was very friendly throughout this conversation, and he continued to smile and stay very pleasant until Old Man walked out.

I waited for a second to see how (and if) New Guy would have anything to say after Old Man left. I looked at New Guy, rolled my eyes a little, and just as I was about to say something, New Guy looked at me and said...

“First name: Crusty. Last name: Old Man."

Dear New Guy,

You are officially one of us. Welcome.

The Beer Can Diaries 2/15/10

2010-02-15T21:08:00.015-05:00

In this perplexing episode of The Beer Can Diaries...

NO ONE IS FORCING YOU: It's not uncommon for a customer to come in and "recommend" a certain product to us. For example, if there is a certain kind of beer or wine they want, but we don't carry it, they might say something like, "Oh, it's really good, I wish you had it." Some might even go so far to ask, "Do you think you will ever carry it?" Believe it or not, we often look into customer recommendations, and occasionally we decide to carry new products based on their requests...so it never hurts to ask. A lot of times, people will see something advertised on TV and want to try it...lately we're getting a lot of requests for that 55 calorie beer and some other wheat beer. Whatever. You get the point.

It's not a big deal if someone comes in and recommends a product to us. We try to be as accommodating as possible. If we can help them, great...if we can't, whatever. Life goes on. But every now and then, some pinhead comes in and makes a suggestion that no one wants to accommodate...

That brings us to today's story. A man came in the store, looked around for a little bit, and then came up to the counter with two bottles of this:

It is Glen Ellen chardonnay, which is a pretty popular brand in our store. I don't drink wine so I can't really say much about it, but from what I have been told, Glen Ellen is a somewhat decent wine for people with not-so-picky palettes, and it's very inexpensive for the amount of wine you're getting. So basically, it's for the Average Joe who likes a glass of wine every night but doesn't want to spend a lot of money and doesn't really give a shit how many points Wine Spectator gave it.

So Glen Ellen Man came up to the counter with his two bottles. Then he asked me a question...

"You guys don't carry Salmon Creek, do you?"

Wait. Is that a question or a statement? I guess it's sort of both. Anyway, that's what Glen Ellen Man had to say. And since we do not carry Salmon Creek wine, I answered him...

"No, sorry, we don't."

I thought that would be the end of it. Or maybe, I thought, he would suggest that we sell it, or tell me how much he likes it, or explain that he wants to get it for his son, the salmon fisherman. All of those guesses were wrong, however. Instead, he looked at the Glen Ellen bottles (that he was about to buy), and said...

"Well, you should carry it. It's a lot better than this stuff."

I just looked at him and said, "Oh. OK."

I'd like to stress how disgusted the guy sounded when he said "this stuff." It was like he was buying two bottles of sour milk or something.

So...can we talk about this for a second? Seriously? If you were this guy, and you were so adamant about Salmon Creek being so much better than Glen Ellen, then why the hell are you buying Glen Ellen? And two bottles, at that? Why not just go to another store and look for it? Or maybe try to find something other than Glen Ellen that makes you a little less disgusted? Hey buddy, look around for a minute. We carry about 50 different bottles of chardonnay in the store. Granted, you might have to shell out a little more than $6.99 for one (which is what the 1.5L bottle of Glen Ellen costs), but hey, it might be a little more up to snuff for your discerning palette.

NOTE: I decided to add a picture of a very snobby dog wearing sunglasses to help illustrate my point.

Back to Glen Ellen Man. What a dumbass. And really...is this Salmon Creek stuff really that much better? Since I had never heard of Salmon Creek before, I had to do a little online research to see what it was. It turns out the same size bottle of Salmon Creek chardonnay typically sells for around the same price as our Glen Ellen...so I can't imagine it's anything vastly better.

So what's the big deal? Why is Salmon Creek so much better? Does anyone know? Does a salmon jump out of the bottle when you uncork it? I doubt it. And even if that did happen, I'd say that would be a negative selling point. But maybe that's because I don't eat fish. Maybe Glen Ellen Man likes fish.

OK, now I'm just rambling. Time to go watch some snowboard racing. Peace out.

The Beer Can Diaries 2/14/10

2010-02-14T22:20:00.010-05:00

In this episode of The Beer Can Diaries...

JUST GET A GIFT CARD: Before we get started with today's episode, I have to post a disclaimer/correction/apology. In a previous episode, I made an off-color comment about libraries. In case you forgot, here's what I said...

"*Note: I threw in "library" just to round out the list, but let's be honest...who the hell actually goes to the library anymore?"

After reading that comment, one of my faithful readers and long-time friends (who also happens to be a librarian) contacted me to share her disappointment. She was very hurt that I used such disrespectful and hurtful language when speaking about libraries. I gave it a lot of thought, did some serious soul searching, and then I realized something: what I said was wrong. It was VERY wrong. And, to be very blunt, it was dishonest. I lied when I said that no one goes into libraries anymore. I'm sure a lot of people go into libraries, including me. So please let me take a minute to make an updated comment about libraries:

*Note: I threw in "library" because I really love libraries. In fact, there is a library located right next to the field where I play my summer softball games. Some nights when the field's bathrooms are locked, I run over to the library and use the bathroom there. It is really a life saver, because otherwise I would have to pee in the parking lot. And by parking lot, I mean the library parking lot. God, I would never pee in the softball field parking lot. That would be rude. Plus, there are tons of cars in the softball field parking lot, so I'm sure someone would see me peeing and call the police. Fortunately, the library parking lot is typically pretty empty (probably since no one really goes there), so my chances of being caught peeing there would be pretty slim. Thank God for libraries!

Ahhhh. I feel so much better now.

Now that I got that out of the way, let's get back to today's episode.

Today I'm going to talk about gifts. I think gift-giving is a nice gesture. I really do. I also like receiving gifts, so please feel free to give me one whenever you feel like it. However, I think there is a certain level of skill and creativity involved in giving a gift. If you're not going to put any thought into it, just don't bother. (Unless, of course, you are giving me a gift. Feel free to put NO thought into my gift and just stuff as many dollar bills as possible into an envelope.)

Sometimes people think they are being clever with a gift, but when you really think about it, they are actually just being stupid. Here's what I mean...

Every now and then we get people who come into the store looking for a "special" gift for a "special" someone. They come in looking for a particular bottle of wine that they think will be perfect for the gift recipient. Why do they think it will be perfect...?

-because it is the recipient's favorite brand?
-because it is a wine that they have had at the recipient's house before?
-because it is a wine they have heard the recipient talking about before?

NO, NO, and NO. That would make way too much sense.

Instead, the gift giver bases their purchase on something else, like:

-the recipient's job
-the recipient's pet
-the recipient's name, hometown, etc.

Let me explain. I'm sure you are very interested. Here are just a few examples:

The Recipient's Job: One time a person came in looking for a bottle of wine for her child's piano teacher. She came in and asked, "Do you have any wine with a piano on the label?" I looked around for a little bit and then told her no. The customer was very disappointed. She explained that it was for her daughter's piano teacher and that she really wanted to get her some wine with a piano on the label. I asked her if maybe there was something else she could do, like maybe get her a nice bottle of wine that she drank, but then get a card with a piano on it, or maybe some wrapping paper with a piano on it. Nope. She wanted a bottle of wine with a piano on it. She added, "I don't know what kind of wine she drinks. I'm not even sure she likes wine...but I figure, everyone likes wine, right?"

Uhhhhh. No, actually, not everyone likes wine. But I didn't tell her that. Instead, I pointed out a bottle of wine that had a musical note on it...

She flipped out and bought it right away. Didn't even ask about it. Didn't care if it was white or red, or if it was sweet, dry, or if it tasted like battery acid. All she cared about was the musical note on the label. Brilliant.

The Recipient's Pet: Another time, a guy came in and asked if we sold a bottle of wine that had a cat on the label. He thought it would be a great gift idea for a friend who loved cats. It didn't take long for me to look. In fact, I didn't look at all. I was 10000% sure that we did not carry a wine with a cat on the label. So I told him and he actually seemed kind of shocked. I felt like saying, "Dude. Do you really think the market for wines with CATS on the label is that big? How about you buy your buddy a can of Nine Lives instead? Now piss off before I spit out my gum at you."

The Recipient's Name, Hometown, Etc.: Every now and then we'll get a customer who happens to come across a bottle of wine with a familiar name on it. For example, one lady bought a bottle of Vivacious Vicky wine for her friend...you guessed it...Vicky. Another time we had a dude who bought a bottle of wine just because it was made in a town in Oregon he used to live in.

So is all of this normal? I don't quite understand. I guess it's a cute gesture to give someone a bottle of wine to honor their cat or their name or the fact that they are a piano teacher or a doctor or a stripper. But don't you think you should answer this little question before shelling out the money for wine...

"Hey...does my friend actually drink wine?"

Just a thought. Call me crazy. Oh well.

That's all for today. I think I'll go crack open a bottle a friend gave me for Valentine's Day...

The Beer Can Diaries 2/13/10

2010-02-13T17:55:00.013-05:00

In this episode of The Beer Can Diaries...

INTEGRE-TY: A guy came in the other day to buy some vodka. He went to the area where we keep the vodka, looked at some different brands for a minute or two, then brought this bottle up to the counter:

It was Integre brand vodka, a fairly inexpensive brand. To be honest, we don't sell a whole lot of it, because the people who buy really cheap, crappy vodka usually get Poland Springs brand or Rubinoff brand...and the people who buy the more expensive vodka usually lean toward the Grey Goose or the Chopin...and the middle of the road folks usually go for the Absolut or Smirnoff. Integre sort of doesn't have a category...it's not that good but not totally cheap, either...it's just sort of hanging out there on the shelf, not really sure where it fits. How sad. Poor, poor Integre.

Anyway, Vodka Man brought the bottle up to the counter and said, "Hey, is this stuff any good? I've never heard of it."

OK, so here's where I had a few options. First, I could go with the 100% honest approach...which would sound a little something like this:

"To be honest, I have never had it before, so I can't really say."

Or, I could attempt an answer by using my experience working at the store...which would sound a little something like this:

"Well, I have never had it before, but we don't really sell a lot of it, so it doesn't seem to be too popular. Maybe you might want to try another brand? I can recommend some top sellers in different price ranges if you'd like."

Or, I could choose the rude approach...which would sound a little something like this:

"Dude. How the hell would I know? I try to stay away from vodka as much as possible, considering I like my liver in its current condition. Besides, do you really think it's any good? You're getting almost a half gallon of vodka for around $15...it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that it probably tastes like windshield wiper fluid."

While all of these responses would have been totally acceptable, I actually didn't use any of them. Nope. In fact, I did what I normally do whenever anyone asks me about wine, booze, or any alcoholic beverage...

I LIE THROUGH MY TEETH

That's right. I lie. I don't care. I'll admit it. At least I'm honest. (About lying.)

If any of you know me personally, you'll know a few things about me:

-I'm fairly charming
-I'm a decent actor
-I'm a hell of a bullshitter

Put those three things together, and you've got...

A perfect convict? A sociopath? A faker who can't be trusted?

NO! You've got a brilliant saleswoman! Cha-ching!

So back to Vodka Man. Using my ~~lying~~ charm, here's how the conversation really went...

VODKA MAN: "Hey, is this stuff any good? I've never heard of it."

ME: "Integre? Oh yeah, it's really good."

VODKA MAN: "Oh, really? So you sell a lot of it?"

ME: "Yeah, we are doing really well with it. People seem to really like it."

VODKA MAN: "OK, sounds good. I am a vodka expert, after all. Ha, Ha..."

ME: "Ha, ha. Great."

Then I rang him up and sent him on his way. By the way, Vodka Man was trying to be funny and cute when he said he was a vodka expert. I think that was his way of saying, "Well, you know, I throw back a lot of vodka on a regular basis." Because, after all, if he really was a vodka expert, he would know that Integre isn't really anything special. And he probably wouldn't have smelled like dirt, either. But that's a sidebar observation.

I think I have mentioned before that I am not a huge drinker. Even in my professional drinking days back in college, I pretty much stuck to beer and whatever was cheapest and/or could fit easiest in my pocket sneaking in and out of the dorms. And now that I am older and wiser and (much) less of a raging party animal, my drinking consists of having a few beers every now and then. And that's really it. I don't like wine and I don't really care for hard liquor. So when someone comes in and asks for advice, I have a couple of options. I can:

a) sound like a moron and tell them that I, a liquor store clerk, don't drink

OR

b) fudge my way into sounding like I know what the hell I'm talking about.

I like choice B much better, don't you?

Here are some of my favorite go-to lines when I feel like putting on my best sales pitch. When the customer asks if a certain product is good, I have some different responses...

If the customer looks completely lost and clueless, I say: "Oh yeah. That is a great one. You should give it a try and see what you think."

If the customer seems like they actually have a clue about the product, I say: "You know? I haven't gotten around to trying that one yet, but we are selling a ton of it. People are buying it by the case."

If it's a gift for someone else, I say: "Oh yeah. That is one of my favorites, actually. Your friend is going to love it."

If it's an expensive product, I say: "Oh yeah. Someone was just in here the other day raving about it."

See? A little innocent sales strategizing never hurt anyone, right?

The Beer Can Diaries 2/12/10

2010-02-12T11:41:00.024-05:00

In this episode of The Beer Can Diaries...

HANG UP, ASSHOLE: Sometimes the titles are more clever and subtle. Other times, I just like to cut to the chase.

You probably already figured out what this post is going to be about. It's about those irritating, inconsiderate people who use their cell phones in a store. Before I go any further, I will admit to something right now:

I AM ADDICTED TO MY iPHONE. I AM CURRENTLY IN THE RECOVERY PROCESS AND I'M HAPPY TO SAY I AM MAKING VERY GOOD PROGRESS. HOWEVER, I STILL LIKE MY iPHONE MORE THAN I LIKE MOST PEOPLE. THERE, ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

Having said that, I can honestly say that I DO NOT use my phone in any of the following situations:

-when I am ordering food at a restaurant

-when I am going through the drive through at Dunkin' Donuts

-when I am at any kind of check out counter (grocery store, doctor's office, library*)

*Note: I threw in "library" just to round out the list, but let's be honest...who the hell actually goes to the library anymore?

The point is, I think it's just plain rude to be on the phone when someone else is trying to help you or wait on you or check out your beard-druff. Is it really that important of a conversation that you need to be on the phone at this very second? I don't think so! Let's be real---these are the only people on the planet who should NEED to answer their phone in the middle of a store:

-a heart surgeon

-a firefighter

-a police officer

-The Grim Reaper

Otherwise, just let it go to voicemail and check it once you get back in your car. Your life is clearly not that important. Jerk.

Needless to say, we have a lot of NON-heart surgeon-firefighter-police officer-Grim Reaper types who come into the store every day and chat away on their cell phones. I'm not sure what irritates me more...those jerks who answer their phones while in the store OR those jerks who come into the store mid-conversation. I think it's the second group, because that seems even more intentional to me. Seriously? You had to come into the store while you were still talking? You couldn't have just stayed in your car and finished things up? What the hell? That's when I really have to restrain myself from saying something rude, giving a dirty look, or throwing a boiling pot of water at someone.

The best is when the person answers the phone as he/she is in the process of paying. That's when I hear things like this a lot...

"Hi. No, I'm just in the liquor store right now."
"Oh, hi. Yeah, sorry. Just give me a second. I'm at the store and need to pay."

"I'm just picking up some butts. I'll be there in a second."

And even though that person chose to answer the phone, he/she typically acts like I am somehow intruding on the conversation...and that I should really hurry up and ring them up, or go somewhere else so I can give them a little privacy. I am not kidding.

So, dear friends, do you think I oblige these morons when they are looking for a little quiet time to have their chat? Of course not! Actually, I have a general rule that whenever anyone comes up to the counter on his/her cell phone, I try to engage that person as much as possible. That includes...

-asking for ID (even if the person looks over 80 years old)

-asking "is that debit or credit?" at least three times

-asking "do you want a bag for that?" at least three times

-asking "do you need matches?" even if the person isn't buying cigarettes

-asking "I'm sorry, did you say something?" at least ten times

That usually irritates the person more, which usually makes me very happy.

The other day a salesperson came into the store. While she was waiting for the manager to be available to place her order, she (salesperson) opened up the cell phone and starting placing orders with other people. Right in the middle of our store! Have I mentioned that our store is about the size of a large shoebox, so even if you are having a conversation at one end of the store, everyone else in the store can basically hear every word of it, regardless if you are at the other end, in the cooler, in the basement, in the bathroom, or on the roof. It's a tiny place. So, when you are a loud, annoying salesperson blabbing about numbers and money and price points on your cell phone, chances are, you're going to irritate everyone else. However, it didn't seem to bother her, since she continued to carry on for about five minutes. Oh yeah...let me also mention that whenever anyone enters or exits the store, a really annoying chime goes off. If you stand in the doorway, it also goes off. Repeatedly. It's one of the most annoying sounds in the world. So not only was Annoying Salesperson chatting away on her phone, she was also standing in the doorway throughout 3/4 of her conversation, causing the Crazy Chime to go off about 47 times in a row. Damnit. Where is that Grim Reaper when you really need him?

(Probably off somewhere on his cell phone...)

I also had a customer the other day who answered his phone just as he was about to hand me his credit card. Instead of handing it to me, though, he started talking, left his card in his wallet, and carried on for about a minute or so before even acknowledging that he hadn't paid yet. So, I decided to stick my hand out (the universal sign for "Give me your fucking credit card NOW"). He looked at me, looked at my hand, and then stuck up his pointer finger (the universal sign for "Hold on one second, I'm a douchebag and I'm in the middle of a very important conversation"). I looked at him, bit my lip, and decided to take a step into the back room for a moment.

After I caught my breath and pulled my fist out from inside the wall, I returned to the front of the store, where Cell Man was finishing up his conversation. He hung up, handed me his card, and said something to me. Any guesses on what he said?

a) "Sorry about that. That was my doctor with some important test results."

b) "I'm sorry, I know that was rude, but it was my son. He finally got his acceptance letter from Harvard."

c) "I feel so bad, but I really needed to take that call. It was my psychiatrist, letting me know there is finally a spot available for me in Phone Rehab."

Anyone? Sorry. You are all wrong. He didn't say any of those things. Instead, here's what he said:

"Wow. You guys have really crappy reception in here."

Umm...yeah. Amazing.

After he left, I was inspired to make a new sign. Some of you might remember another sign Sue and I made a little while ago...I mentioned it in an older post. Let me refresh your memory in case you forget...

OK. So like I said, Cell Man inspired me to make another sign. Let me know if you think it's too harsh before I send it off to the printer to be blown up and laminated...

The Beer Can Diaries 2/10/10

2010-02-10T20:52:00.020-05:00

In today's episode of The Beer Can Diaries...

THE THROW DOWN: This has been on my mind for a long time. Every time it happens at the store, I say to myself, "I am going to blog about that." Then I never do, because it doesn't seem very interesting or entertaining.

(Because clearly, everything else on this blog is wildly entertaining...right?)

Whatever. So time and time again, this thing happens at the store. Day after day... and every time it happens, it drives me CRAZY. So I finally decided...I am going to write about it. And guess what? Maybe I don't want to entertain you. Maybe, just maybe, the purpose of this post is to EDUCATE you.

OK, so maybe that is a little dramatic. The real purpose is just to let me bitch for a while. If you learn something in the process, that's just an added bonus.

So here's my problem. Just picture this scenario in your mind...

I'm standing behind the counter, waiting for a customer to bring up his/her item(s). If you need help picturing me, just think of someone who looks kind of identical to this person:

OK, fine. Maybe not identical. Obviously, I don't wear wings to work.

OK. Are we good so far? Let's get back to the story.

So picture me (without wings) behind the counter. I'm friendly, nice, helpful. Basically, an ideal employee. I ring up your item, tell you how much you owe me, and then...any guesses what happens next?

"...The customer punches you in the neck and runs out of the store without paying?"

Nope. Not yet, anyway. But I still have a few more months on the job, so we'll see.

What really happens is this: the customer pays. That in itself is not very exciting. In an ideal situation, the customer hands me his or her money, credit card, check, food stamp, etc, and then he/she leaves the store. Unfortunately, it doesn't usually happen that way. See, if you read the sentence carefully, you would notice that I wrote that the customer hands me the money, credit card, etc. HANDS being the key word.

And this, my friends, is where the bitching starts.

More often than not, customers do NOT hand me their form of payment. Instead, they do one of the following:

-drop it
-throw it
-toss it
-chuck it
-hurl it

...you get the picture, right? Wait...you don't get the picture? You need a visual? OK, fine. Here you go, wiseass...for your viewing pleasure...

MAGGIE'S OCTOPUS FILMS PRESENTS

THROW ME THE MONEY
Starring Me and My Dog Molly

In this heartwarming film, I play a rude customer and Molly the dog plays me, the hard working guidance counselor-turned liquor store clerk. The part of The Credit Card will be played by my Hallmark Gold Crown Rewards Card.

Scene One: The Weak-Ass Drop

The Weak-Ass Drop is when the card is dropped on the counter, right in front of the customer, resulting in the clerk having to reach over, stretch, and grab it.

Scene Two: The Fake Out

The Fake Out is when the customer reaches across the counter, seemingly about to hand the clerk his/her card, but then, at the last second, drops the card on the counter in front of the clerk.

Scene Three: The John Rocker

The John Rocker is when the customer hauls out and throws the card across the counter, resulting in the clerk wanting to jump over the counter and bitch slap the customer.

Scene Four: Utopia

In this scene, Molly and I demonstrate the ideal scenario...a kind, friendly customer handing the credit card to the clerk like a normal, civilized human being with social skills...instead of dropping or throwing it like a neanderthal jackass.

Thanks for watching!

The Beer Can Diaries 2/7/10

2010-02-07T13:32:00.018-05:00

In this episode of The Beer Can Diaries...

DRY HUMOR: A customer came in the other day to buy some beer. He comes in pretty regularly so I didn't really think twice when I looked at him. However, I'm pretty sure I did give him a second look the first time he came in...considering he looks like this:

Except for the suit. Just focus on the beard. That's where I'm going...

So Beard Man came in like he usually does. I'd like to add that Beard Man is not very friendly. He just sort of grumbles his way through the store and doesn't really respond when I say "hi" or "how are you today?" He just kind of plops his ~~beard~~ beer down on the counter, pays, and leaves. So normally there wouldn't be much to write about. Except this time, there was a little something else that caught my eye.

WARNING: IF YOU ARE CURRENTLY EATING, I SUGGEST YOU STOP AND/OR FINISH EATING BEFORE READING ON.

So Beard Man came up to the counter and I noticed he was wearing a blue sweatshirt. His beard covered a pretty big portion of the top of the sweatshirt. Then...I noticed something else all over the sweatshirt...

FLAKES AND FLAKES OF DANDRUFF.

Time out for a second. I am not a snob when it comes to dry skin. I completely understand that during this time of year, our skin isn't as moist and hydrated as usual. Trust me. I get it. My hands, legs, and face get pretty damn dry, and it's about twenty times worse considering I wash my hands about 600 times a day after handling filthy money and touching grubby customers' hands all day. Hey, I even experience the occasional flaky scalp. I'm not ashamed to say it. It's all part of life. And considering I am basically perfect in every other way, a little dry skin isn't too much to worry about.

Having said that, I'd like to get back to Beard Man for a minute. Please refer back to the first picture if you will...

And yes, that is Charles Darwin, in case any of you scholars were wondering. Hey, it was the best beard picture I could find.

Please note that Darwin has a lot more beard hair than head hair. Beard Man had even LESS head hair. In fact, he had almost no head hair. I was able to look at his head pretty clearly. And his head wasn't flaky or dry or nasty. So, after thinking for a minute, I came to this very frightening conclusion...

BEARD MAN'S DANDRUFF WAS COMING FROM HIS BEARD.

Or, to put it more technically, it was coming from his beardal area.

Like I said before, I am not a snob when it comes to dry skin. However, I draw the line with facial dandruff. That is just something I am not able to wrap my (dry) head around.

How can you not notice the piles of dead skin sitting on the front of your sweatshirt? Your dark blue sweatshirt???? Isn't there something you can do about that? Like hydrate your beard? Or your face? Or maybe just SHAVE THAT MESS OFF YOUR FACE? I don't understand.

That's enough for today. I think I'm going to go wash my eyes out with bleach.

The Beer Can Diaries 2/1/10

2010-02-01T20:23:00.011-05:00

In this episode of The Beer Can Diaries...

YOU'RE KIDDING, RIGHT? For the past few weeks, we have been advertising a night manager position. People have been coming in, asking about the job, taking applications, getting more information, etc. Typical stuff. Some of the inquiries have come from total randoms off the street...people we have never seen before. Some of them are normal looking, some of them are slightly not normal looking, and one fellow in particular looked like this:

Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's just that I would rather not work with someone who could use his face to open up a bottle of wine. Maybe I'm just being too picky.

We also got a few of our regular customers to ask about the job. Mmmmhm. Some of them are actually very nice, (seemingly) normal, (seemingly) upstanding citizens looking for some work. That's fine. However, some of the others are ones I'd describe more as...

-hooligans
-delinquents
-dregs of society
-Freddy Krueger

Which leads me to today's story...

A (very) regular customer came in the other day and was (very) interested in the night manager's position. He took an application, returned it the next day, and has been asking about it ever since. OK, asking is an understatement. He has been HOUNDING us about it...

"Come on...when am I getting the job?"
"You guys are giving me that job, right?"
"Why are you making me wait so long about this job?"

And so forth. So far, I have been pretty indifferent about the whole thing...mostly because I don't feel like telling him to buzz off, and also because I can be indifferent. Or at least pretend to be...after all, I have nothing to do with the hiring process. So I told him...

"I have nothing to do with the hiring process."

However, he didn't buy that. He replied...

"Sure you do. Come on...put in a good word for me."

Uhhhhhh.....OK. I thought about that for a while. This customer really thinks I am going to put in a good word for him. Seriously? Seriously. What the hell would I say if I were to "put in a good word for him?"

So here, my dear readers, without any further ado, is what I came up with...I like to call it...

PUTTING IN A GOOD WORD FOR A VERY SHADY CUSTOMER

Dear Bosses,

I know someone who would really be great for this job. Let me tell you a few things about him.

1. He is extremely passionate about the product. I know this because he comes in at least twice a day, every day, and buys a six pack of beer, various nips, and cigarettes. On each trip.

2. He won't take long cigarette breaks. I know this because most days, he is still finishing up his cigarette as he is walking into the store. He usually blows out his last puff of smoke directly into the store instead of wasting time and doing it outside. I'd call that strong multitasking skills, wouldn't you?

3. He is an open and honest person. For example, he has shared with us on a few different occasions that after he buys his alcohol, he goes back to work, pounds the booze at his job, then comes back an hour or so later to buy more. Then he goes back to work, repeats the process, then finishes up the work day (which I'm pretty sure involves operating heavy machinery). Nothing like good, honest communication, right?

4. He doesn't have all of his teeth. I'm not sure how this is a positive thing...but I just thought it was worth mentioning.

So, in conclusion, it is clear to see why this young man would make a fine addition to our staff. You have my highest recommendation and I hope that you hire him immediately, pay him double what I am making, and install a breathalyzer machine at the store entrance to ensure he doesn't blow the place up when he's working alone.

Sincerely,
Your Awesome Employee

The Beer Can Diaries 1/27/10

2010-01-27T21:42:00.007-05:00

In this very sneaky episode of The Beer Can Diaries...

TAKE THAT: A woman came in the other day and brought up two bottles of vodka to the counter. One was Belvedere (a relatively pricey bottle) and the other was Svedka (a slightly less expensive, more run of the mill bottle). I asked her how she was doing and she said she was good...but she was laughing to herself the whole time. OK, I thought. Is this lady having a good day? Or is my fly down? Or is she drunk? Before I had to speculate any further, she told me what was so funny...

LADY: “I have a brother in law who is kind of a jerk, and whenever he comes over or if there is a family party, he always goes straight for the Belvedere. He drinks all of the expensive vodka and never leaves any for anyone else. So we're going to play a trick on him this time. We're going to switch the Belvedere with this less expensive stuff and see if he notices any difference.”

Brilliant! I thought. That will show the cheapskate! But then I thought of something else...why should she give him a decent vodka? Svedka is hardly cheap...why not go REALLY cheap? So, I suggested it to her...

ME: “I love that idea. But why don't you really go cheap? Instead of Svedka, do something like Poland Spring or Ruble. That's the really cheap stuff.”

Well...let's just say my suggestion threw Revenge Lady into a frenzy. She looked at me, started laughing hysterically, and said, “YES! OH MY GOD! I LOVE THAT IDEA! Where is that stuff?” So I walked her over to the vodka section and grabbed a bottle of Poland Spring. She asked, “Oh my God. Is this stuff really bad?” And I said, “Um, yeah, no offense, but that is the cheapest, crappiest vodka we sell.” She LOVED it.

I went on to explain to her that by buying the Poland Spring instead of the Svedka, she was getting the same amount of alcohol but spending about five dollars less. I also added this brilliant thought:

ME: “Why spend the extra money on the Svedka? Your brother in law doesn't sound like he's worth it!”

She agreed with me, and then we shared one more laugh at Loser Brother in Law's expense before she left the store. As she left, she continued to laugh and thank me for my help. She was so happy, I honestly thought that she was going to come back a few hours later with half of a best friend necklace for me.

So, friends, this is just another example of how I use my job as a chance to help people in need and brighten someone's day. What can I say? I'm a giver.

2010-01-24T15:14:00.015-05:00

In this very nutritious episode of The Beer Can Diaries...

TO YOUR HEALTH: It was quite the week at the old package store. I worked alone more than usual, since my buddy Sue was on vacation. So that kind of sucked. OK...it really sucked, considering Sue is my primary source of entertainment at work. Thankfully, a few friends stopped by and kept me company throughout the week, so it wasn't all bad. And, as usual, some customers managed to come through in the clutch, providing some great material for today's episode.

I'm kind of excited about today's story because it features a subject we haven't really touched upon much at the Octopus: HEALTH. Yes, health. You wouldn't think that a liquor store would be the environment to inspire health-related conversations, would you? Neither did I...until these fine folks stopped by to enlighten me.

Healthy Customer #1: A man came in the other day and asked for a 30-pack of Coors Extra Cold. We don't sell Coors Extra Gold, so I had to break the sad news to him. I offered him a 30-pack of warm dog pee instead, but he declined.

OK, I really didn't do that. But what would you have done if I really did?

Anyway, back to Coors Man. I told him we did carry Coors Light, but he said he was looking for something cheaper than that. He said, "Just give me your cheapest 30-pack." Hmmm, I thought. He must be getting ready for a big date. I went into the cooler and brought out a 30-pack of Keystone Light, which happens to be the cheapest 30-pack we carry. I put it on the counter and Coors Man said, "Great. That's fine." Then he explained why he wanted a cheap beer...

"I don't really care about the beer, because I'm just going to mix it with V8 and Tabasco Sauce."

There was a customer in line behind him who decided to pipe in with his two cents...let's call him Nosy Man:

NOSY MAN: "Really? You mix it all together?"

COORS MAN: "Yeah, you know. It's a good, healthy drink."

Normally I'd say the good, healthy drink comment was just a stupid, corny joke. But you need to trust me on this one: THE GUY WAS BEING DEAD SERIOUS! I kid you not. I really think this guy believed he was giving us all a lesson in nutrition. Mmmm, that will get the heart pumping.

So what did we learn today, kids?

BEER + TOMATO JUICE + TABASCO SAUCE = A nutritious, delicious start to your day.

Hey, Raisin Bran...guess what? You can kiss my ass!

Onto the next customer...

Healthy Customer #2: A lady came into the store one morning dressed in scrubs. You know, like a nurse or doctor...or like these models who are clearly not employed in the medical profession...

She came in looking like she was in a big hurry. Maybe she is late for work, I thought. Maybe she is due in the operating room and needs to stop in for...alcohol? Hmmm...not off to a good start.

Whatever, I thought. Everyone drinks. Maybe she was on her way home from a long night shift and was stocking up for the day. Or for the ride home. I had no idea, and it really wasn't my business anyway. The woman approached the counter and asked me a rather interesting question...

"Do you guys sell tins of dip?"

Yes, friends. The lady in the scrubs asked me if we sold DIP. Do you all know what dip is? I'm sure most of you do. But just in case you are not a baseball player or a cowboy or someone with mouth cancer, let me clarify. This is dip:

Also known as chewing tobacco, and also known as filthy stinky slimy black rancid mouth juice. It is probably one of the nastiest things you can put in your mouth. In fact, there is not much I can think of that would be nastier...besides, perhaps, picking a piece of dog crap off of the ground and sucking on it. Then spitting the remains into an empty plastic bottle. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Listen. I don't know who the hell Scrub Lady was buying the dip for. Maybe it was for her. Maybe it was for her husband. Maybe it was for her four year old son. Maybe it was for a patient. I have no clue. The point is, it was pretty strange having someone who I assume works in a hospital asking if she could buy some chewing tobacco.

Sadly, we don't sell dip at our store, so I had to tell her no. However, it wasn't a completely lost trip for Scrub Lady. I happened to clean the bathroom at the store that morning, so I brought out the toilet brush and let her suck on it for a while. She was very appreciative. :)

The Beer Can Diaries 1/19/10

2010-01-19T23:17:00.008-05:00

In this episode of The Beer Can Diaries...

SOME PEOPLE ARE TAXING: Have you ever heard that expression, “The customer is always right?” Yeah. I have, too. I don't know the name of the dipshit who came up with that one, but I'm pretty sure he never worked at my store.

Before I tell you about one of our most annoying customers, let me tell you about my co-worker. Basically, I work with one of the coolest people on earth. Seriously. I can't tell you how lucky I was to end up working with her during my year off. She is funny, smart, loves to dance around the store with me, and actually knows what the hell she is talking about (which is a huge help to me, considering I pretty much know jack about wine). In a nutshell, I love her and she is NOT a dumbass. One of the best things about my co-worker (let's call her Sue) is that she and I are on the EXACT SAME wavelength when it comes to customers (and people in general). We like the same things and get annoyed by the same things. And, as you can imagine, there are plenty of opportunities to get annoyed as the day goes on.

If you read this blog regularly, then you know that we see our share of strange people during the day. Despite their weirdness, most of these customers are harmless and if anything, they provide a great source of entertainment during the day. And let's face it—working at a liquor store for eight hours a day can be kind of boring at times, and without these characters coming in and out, the day would certainly be a lot longer.

The strange customers are no problem to handle, and even with most of the slightly annoying customers, Sue and I try our best to be nice to them and put on a kind face. However, it really gets challenging sometimes when some of the extremely annoying people come in. For example...

A man comes in pretty regularly to buy beer. He is very annoying. He always has something to complain about and it usually always involves the government. The complaining itself is really annoying, but what's worse is that he usually carries on in front of the counter long after his purchase has been completed...and there are usually one or two customers waiting behind him impatiently during his rants. And, like most annoying people, this man never picks up on the social cues we give him when we are politely trying to get him to leave. For example, some of these common “go away” phrases, like:

“OK...well, have a great day!”

“And here is your change. Have a good one.”

“Alright...ha ha...take care, now!”

“Well, I need to help this next customer, so I'll talk to you later.”

“Get the hell out of here before I spray you in the face with Raid.”

NOTHING ever works!

This customer (let's call him Cranky Man) has been annoying since the dawn of time, but he got about ten million times worse when there was a tax increase in Massachusetts over the summer. Long story short, the state sales tax went from 5% to 6.25%, including alcohol. Alcohol had not been taxed up to that point (technically, it already had a crapload of taxes built in, but that's a whole other story)...but the point is, people who bought alcohol never had to pay an additional sales tax in Massachusetts. So basically, it went from 0% to 6.25% overnight. If that still doesn't make any sense, just think of it this way: BOOZE BECAME MORE EXPENSIVE IN THE SUMMER OF 2009.

Let's get back to Cranky Man. He buys the same exact thing every time he comes in, so he knows exactly how much it costs. The first time he bought his beer with the new sales tax, he went on a ten minute long rant about the government, the new tax, how we are being ripped off, how much the governor sucks, how our money is being flushed down the toilet, etc. On and on and on.

To be fair, I can't single out Cranky Man as being the only person who bitched about the tax. In fact, I'd say about 85% of the customers bitched for almost a full month after the tax was established. It was incredibly annoying, especially since none of the store employees really cared for the tax, either. It wasn't like we created the stupid thing, so why the hell was everyone bitching at us about it? Out of all of the bitching, I would have to give the Best Tax Complaint Award to this comment (yes, people actually said this):

“This tax is ridiculous. I am going to quit drinking!”

Seriously? You really want me to believe you're going to quit drinking now that your six pack is 42 cents more expensive? Get real. After about the tenth person said that, I accidentally blurted out, “No, you're not” to someone. Swear to God. A guy said, “I'm going to quit drinking!!!” and I said, “No, you're not.” For a minute he looked at me like I had three heads. Then he said, “Yeah, you're right...” and walked out.

Hey, honesty is the best policy, I always say.

OK...there is an end to this story, I swear. So most of the bitching died down after about a month or so into the new tax. Every now and then, someone would say something, but it was usually just something stupid like, “Oh yeah...thanks a lot, governor!” and walk out. Every now and then, someone would actually know the name of the governor....but usually not.

While most normal people have stopped complaining, Cranky Man HAS NOT LET UP since the summer. He continues to bitch about the extra pennies EVERY TIME he comes in. What's even worse than the bitching is that he questions me and/or Sue whenever we ring him up. Seriously. Every single time we tell him how much he owes us, he will ask something like, “OK...so how much is the tax? That doesn't sound right.” and make us run through the price, step by step...including the original price, the deposit, and the tax. It is soooooooooooo annoying. Most recently, he asked even more questions about the tax. He said something like, “Well, how do you really tax 6.25%? What if the 6.25% comes out to $8.433333? What do you do then? Do you charge $8.43 or do you round up to $8.44?” I told him I didn't know and then he rolled his eyes at me, then went on to tell me about his cousin who owns a gas station in New Jersey and how his cousin has to figure out the tax and how gas comes out to $2.6999999999 a gallon and how they round up and how his cousin hates the tax and bla bla bla bla bla.

Are you annoyed yet?

Then, Sue walked out and Cranky Man asked her the same question. She said, “I don't know. The computer just figures it out.” to which Cranky Man replied, “Oh, yeah. You just work here. They don't pay you enough to know how it works, right?” At that point, Sue and I were way beyond annoyed, so we were not as patient and kind as we normally would be. Sue responded by explaining to him that the tax was pre-programmed into the computer and that we had nothing to do with the tax and it wasn't our job to know how the tax mathematically works and that if he really had a problem with the tax, he should call up the state representatives and complain to them. Then Cranky Man became slightly apologetic (incredibly enough, I think he may have picked up on the fact that he was offending us) and said, “Oh, I know...I didn't mean anything by that...” and then CONTINUED to bitch about the state and the governor and the taxes and everything else. Then he asked us what we were doing at 5:00 every night. We told him we were working at 5:00. That made him laugh for some reason. And that made us roll our eyes. Cranky Man told us that if we ever have the chance, we should listen to Rush Limbaugh at 5:00. Then he explained how Rush Limbaugh was great and how Rush Limbaugh really knows what he's talking about and how this country is going to hell in a handbasket. Just when we thought he would NEVER STOP TALKING, Cranky Man cut himself off mid-sentence and said, “OK well, bye now” and walked out.

What. The. HELL?!!!

After Cranky Man left, Sue and I decided to come up with a new policy. Let me know what you think before we send the design out and have giant posters made...

The Beer Can Diaries 1/13/10

2010-01-13T21:04:00.030-05:00

In this episode of The Beer Can Diaries...

OH, THE IRONY: There is a customer who comes in on a pretty regular basis. He is very friendly and nice. Or at least he seems very friendly and nice. You see, he doesn't speak English very well, so I guess I am just basing this assumption on my observations of his body language and tone of voice. He smiles a lot and says "thank you" a lot. Works for me!

There is something slightly annoying about this guy, though. Let's call him Smiley. See, Smiley doesn't usually have a lot of money. He typically pays with piles of change, and will often ask me to count his money for him. I have concluded that he probably doesn't know how to count money very well. Once he asked if he could borrow some money and pay me back at the end of the week. I said no. That was one of the few times Smiley stopped smiling. Oh well.

So Smiley came in today carrying some empty cans, which wasn't a big deal considering he does this every couple of weeks. The funny thing is that Smiley carries his empties in a giant laundry bag...like this:

And when he takes the 12-packs out of the bag, it's like a never ending clown car of empty beer cans coming out of his bag. So weird. Oh well.

So here's what happened today: Smiley came in with his sack o' empties, dropped it down on the ground, and smiled at me. (hee, hee) I asked him how many empties he had. He said something like, "12, and 12, and 6, and 3." Then he repeated that a few times and added different random numbers each time. I decided I would just count them myself. Nooooo problem.

Then, in his own slightly coherent way, Smiley asked me how much a 6-pack of Coors Light would cost (minus his empties returned money). I told him it would be around $5.50, and right away he started shaking his head and saying, "No, no..." In Smiley language, that means I can't afford that. Then he reached into the beer cooler and grabbed a six-pack of Miller High Life. He held it up and asked me how much that would cost. I told him it would be around $3.50 or so. Smiley liked this answer, because he smiled and said, "OK, yes, yes..." and brought the six pack up to the counter. Yippeeeee! Three cheers for the Champagne of Beers!

So Smiley put the ~~champagne~~ beer on the counter and then had to come up with around $3.50. Here is how he paid. He gave me one dollar bill...

and then approximately this much change:

And yes...you guessed it...Smiley asked ME to count it out for him. Fun times.

I counted the money and it turned out he had plenty of change to cover the cost of the beer. I pushed back his pile of extra change and expected him to head out with his beer. Instead, he walked back over to the beer cooler and grabbed a single can of Miller High Life. He walked back over to the counter and held the can in front of me, then pushed his coin pile back over to me, and asked something like, "I get this?" That translates to, "Do I have enough money to buy this, too?"

Once again, I counted up coin after coin. He did have enough for the can. Hooray!

Smiley gave me a big smile, collected his extra coins, and put them in his pocket. Then, something magical happened. He pulled something out of his pocket and put it on the counter. I looked at it. I studied it for a second. Is that what I think it is? I thought. I looked back at Smiley. I smiled. And I said, "Oh yeah. Cool." Even though I didn't really think it was cool. I thought it was bizarre and unnecessary.

Smiley must have been feeling really generous, because he looked back at me, grabbed the item off the counter, and handed it to me. He said, "You have it." I took the item, looked at it, then looked at Smiley and said, "Oh. Thank you." Smiley, looking very pleased with himself, smiled back at me, grabbed his laundry bag of beer, and walked out the door.

THE END

Ha, ha. Just kidding. I couldn't end the post without telling you what Smiley gave me. Well, friends, here it is. For your viewing pleasure...it's...

A ring. Made out of a dollar bill. A real dollar bill. I kid you not. It's a RING MADE OUT OF A DOLLAR BILL. Like origami or something. Here's another view...a side by side comparison to my wedding rings:

Pretty amazing, huh? Yeah. I ended up throwing my wedding set down the garbage disposal after I realized the dollar ring fit on my ring finger. Hell yes.

So there I was, with a brand new piece of jewelry. And as excited and smitten as I was in the moment, I couldn't help but write Mr. Smiley a letter in my head...

Dear Mr. Smiley,

WHY THE HELL DIDN'T YOU USE THE DOLLAR BILL TO PAY FOR YOUR BEER INSTEAD OF TURNING IT INTO A STUPID RING? AND WHY ARE YOU GIVING AWAY DOLLAR BILLS TO COMPLETE STRANGERS WHEN YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE ENOUGH MONEY TO PAY FOR YOUR BEER? WOULDN'T IT BE EASIER TO HAND OVER THE DOLLAR BILL INSTEAD OF DUMPING 40 POUNDS OF CHANGE ON THE COUNTER? AND WHO THE HELL DRINKS MILLER HIGH LIFE ANYWAY?!!!

These, my friends, are the questions that keep me up at night. OK, gotta go polish my ring. Peace out.