Turkey Day and Consumer Chaos

Thanksgiving was a cozy and filling affair. The fam, the food, the fun-it was good times and I didn't want to leave. But alas, I work for a living. Dammit. After waking up from a turkey induced food coma, we managed to waddle out the door, leftovers in hand and drive back to the city. It was a silent ride, filled with dread. The biggest shopping day of the year was just around the corner and I had to work a double. A double on one of the busiest shopping streets in the city. "At least you don't work retail in a mall" I told myself as I fell asleep that night. Thus, I calmed my mind enough to fall into a blissful, stuffing filled sleep.

The blissful rest was over at 8am sharp. The alarm pierced the silence and the day was upon me. I looked out the window: rain. "maybe that will deter some of the shoppers" I thought ignorantly. Not so. This is Oregon after all and when has rain EVER deterred anyone from anything? My hopeful thoughts were shattered as the bus pulled up to my stop. It was jam packed full, and the majority of people inside were holding shopping bags. "We got up at 4 AM!!!" a pleasantly plump woman shrieked to the bus driver. "Thats when ye get the best DEALS!!" Her voice had reached a kind of frenzied falsetto I think can only be achieved when there is panic involved. Adrenaline fueled panic brought on by the consumer chaos of: The Day After Thanksgiving. "We just came from WALMART!!" she squeaked at a decibel level too loud for 9 am. The last word of every sentence was louder and more enunciated than the rest. "Now we's headed down thar to MEYER 'N' FRAAANK!! The good sales stop goin' in about an HOUR!!" She checked her watch, and I swear I saw a bead of sweat appear as she assessed her allotted time. The woman had Gresham written all over her. It was her annual trip to the city and by God she was gonna make the most of it. Her squawking went on all the way to downtown, as she filled the bus driver in on every sale in every store. His bleary eyes stayed on the road and he never once responded to the hectic pace of the woman's verbal frenzy. I saw relief cross his face as she franticly exited the bus, shopping bags in hand and made a B-line to Meyer and Frank.

Downtown was chaos. I had to race through a parade that was marching through the streets in order to catch my next bus. Crazy eyed women with bag upon bag of merchandise rushed up and down the streets yelling at their frightened looking husbands and children(some on leashes, I kid you not) to "follow me!" and "hurry up!" I barely caught my connecting bus in time due to the closed off streets and a homeless man insistent on telling me the "True meaning of muthu fuckin CRISSSMUS!!" He cornered me by the bus stop at 5th and Washington. He saw my bag that I had my work clothes in and assumed that I was one of the "evil shoppers". "Look at ALL Y'ALLl!" he grimaced, the stink of whiskey on his breath. "You think that CRISSMUS is about yo' mothu fuckin TRINKETS!?!? And yo' mothu fuckin GUCCI?!?!?" This was a testament to how drunk he was, because although the people around him all had shopping bags of some sort-we were all obviously working class. We were riding Tri-met after all, while the Gucci clad Portlanders had no doubt had their classy cars parked somewhere by valets. Not caring or noticing this point-the drunk man continued. "CRISSSSSSMUSSSSSSS" he began, in fire and brimstone-preacher like flare- "is about JEEEEESSSSSUUSSSSS !!!!" He looked deep into my eyes to see if I knew about the man of which he spoke. I tried to walk away, but he was having none of it. " I said JEEEESSUSS mothu fucka!!!!!" he yelled. " You think JEEEESUS wants his BIRFDAY clouded by yo GREED?!?! DO YA?!?!" I shook my head and rolled my eyes and wondered why I am such a freak magnet. "Then you kneel down right here and PRAY!!!! He screamed. " I said PRAY for your SOUL motha fucka!! Becuz the TRUE meanin of CRISSMUS is about--" Before he could say "Jeeeeesssuss" one more time I ran toward the approaching bus with gusto and hopped on! The drunk, potty mouthed, but nonetheless pious man was looking around dazedly and no doubt trying to find someone else to yell at. I looked at my watch. I had 8 minutes to get to work.

I arrived at work without a minute to spare. I set up the dining room and we opened for business. There was no slow start. It was immediate. At 11:30 the hardcores had been up for 7 hours already and were ravenous for pizza. Hell, it was practically dinner time for them. The soccer moms and desperate housewives(the normal clientele in those parts) barged in with their hypoglycemic children with only minutes to spare. When they were informed about the fact that we don't have slices-their eyes glazed over with rage. "What do you MEAN no slices?!?!" they screamed. "Pottery Barn's morning sale is only on for another 15 MINUTES and Susie needs food NOW!!!"
Oddly enough, it was the parents who were acting more like children that day. The bleary eyed children were quiet, defeated and tired. They wanted nothing more than to sit and eat and color. They were not so lucky. When the mothers were faced with the choice of feeding their children or saving a few bucks at a sale, the sale prevailed. Digging savagely into her purse, one mother pulled out a demolished looking Power Bar and shoved it in her child's face. The child grimaced in fear. "EAT IT!!" We've GOT to get to Restoration Hardware NOW!!!" And so it went all day long. I looked sympathetically out the window as tired children hobbled after their manic, sale driven parents.

My illusions of making crazy amounts of money were quickly shattered after I got my first tip. It was all of 8 percent. Then it all came back to me: Holidays= CHEAP. No money for your friendly, neighborhood waitress. No sir. Its all goin' to GAP, Urban Outfitters and Cost Plus. I walked away from a double shift with less than 15 percent in tips. I put my tired feet up on the bus seats as I rode home from a long day. The crowds had dispersed by then and there were only shell shocked looking women with rain soaked shopping bags, and exhausted, haggard looking retail workers on their way home. I once again reminded myself how lucky I was NOT to be working in retail on such a day.

The only thing I bought on the biggest shopping day of the year was a beer. A frothy, satisfying brewskie. I had earned it. Perhaps not as much as a shoe salesmen at Nordstrom or the opening clerk at Walmart-but I toasted to them and drank heartily. I could end this blog with political commentary about how disgusting and consumeristic our society has become. I could make analogies to the desperate shoppers and rabid dogs. I could name the evils of corporations and their advertising and how we are all just slaves to what the TV tells us to do. But I will bypass all of that and try to say something positive about a tradition that disgusts me: At least it makes for good writing material.

Until next time-I'll leave you with these words of advice: If possible, stock up, rent movies and stay INSIDE on the day after Thanksgiving . No sale is worth it.

blah.

It seems that I cant think of anything to write about today. The impending holiday has taken over my mind and turned it into stuffing. Hopefully I will have an entertaining story for you all after the big day. If not ABOUT the big day, about the biggest shopping day of the year on 23rd ave where I will be working a double on Friday. Just the thought of product hungry yuppies makes me...shudder. Stay tuned.

Aint Love Grand?

Every time I wake up and look at him, I get butterflies. Really. That curly, crazy hair and these eyes that are like, the best blue EVER! I get giddy. I get giggly. I am such a girl. I am so in love.
Even when he is not asleep I'll stare at him, like a stalker- thinking of various, dirty and romantic things. He has dimples too you know, though he'll never admit it. They are almost my favourite part on him. Almost. He can dish out compliments like they're going out of style, but when it comes to taking one-HA!! The worst. So, I keep it inside mostly. Except for those "I love yous" I cant help those. You would think it would get old saying it. Every day. Over and over. It doesnt.
I hope it never will.

Winter is fat. Fat is winter.

Its happening. I can feel it around my thighs. That's where it starts. Always. Winter is descending and so is the fat that comes with it. It starts innocently enough. I few pints of dank micro brews, perhaps a slice of Pizzicato. Then the boyfriend makes some sinful concoction with potatoes and meat and butter. I practically lick the plate its so good. Week after week of this.
I panic. I switch to light beer. No cheese. No white flour. Practically an impossibility in this country. "I want to be Asia skinny again!!!" I wail. "Selene, you had amoebic dysentery." The boyfriend points out gravely. "Yeah, but I looked HOT!!" I sob, remembering my tan, slender limbs. I am not in Asia anymore. I know this much is true, and I don't want to face it. It was so effortless. The light meals that tasted so good and then came straight out the other end 20 minutes later. Like an involuntary type of bulemia, except anal. Good stuff.

Reality sets in. I know now that I am back in FAT America- where the pounds come on as effortlessly as they were lost in Asia-that I have to work at it. Dammit. The flyer for the gym stares at me from its post on the refrigerator. Visions of treadmills dance in my head. "Just do it fat ass" my brain urges me. All I wanted was to be born with a body like Cindy Crawford and a metabolism that goes with it. All I wanted was........Aw, screw it. I was born with a body like a Bottecelli painting and it COULD look good if I got off my dimpled ass and walked to they gym once in awhile. "Tomorrow.." I tell myself. And I waddle into the kitchen to make breakfast.

winter

The trees outside are almost naked. The wind tears through them and soon all the hangers on will be gone. I take comfort in it. The bareness of it all. Winter creates a new sense of space. No clutter. Just sharp, clean space. You can look through the starkness, void of leaves-and see for miles.
Time to settle into the darkness. Hot tea. Books. Blankets. This is how I cope.
Might as well embrace it. Because its gonna be awhile.

adventure in Tri met part I

The coins in my pocket are shifting in the sweaty palm of my hand. The cars woosh by mindlessly, heading towards their destinations at a much more rapid speed than I. For I am a bus rider. I have been riding Tri-met for the better half of 4 years. I brave the crazy, the stinky, the OD'd and the loud. Adventures in Tri-met are a never ending story packed with details of foul breath, foul language and a whole lot of drama. I am armed with my book. It is an essential part of public transit survival. Headphones are an even better idea, but alas, I do not own any.

I see the bus in the distance, its great roof towering above traffic. I step closer to the curb to thwart any attempt to drive past me. Oh, dont think that they wont. In the name of "staying on schedule" those wiley drivers will keep their eyes straight ahead and leave you with nothing but the mud puddle they splashed on you. Not today. I wave my hands wildly as if signaling some sort of disaster and I see the blinker turn on. The doors open and I step up onto the bus. It is packed full. Standing room only. I groan silently to myself. "Theres no need to wave like that girl." The old bus driver says to me, his grey whiskers crinkling up as he smiles. "You look like you signalin' a fire!" he says and laughs a belly laugh into the microphone, where everyone on the bus can hear him say: "Move out the way folks, blondie got a fire to get to!" A few people join in his chorus of laughter as he lurches the bus foward with one hard press on the gas peddle. Lead foot, a common problem amongst bus drivers. I crash into the homeless man in front of me and the smell of urine and vomit and cigarettes fills my nose. I gag. He smiles a yellow, semi-toothless grin. I move to the back of the bus where I see a hidden seat.

Its morning and most of the people are commuting to work. That makes it less likely for there to be a total crazy on the bus. Let me tell you though, if there is but one crazy on the whole bus-they'll find me, you can gaurantee it. I make no eye contact and find the seat. I have to wake up an old man that is snoring to get to it, but so be it. Its mine for the taking. He glares at me. I sit down anyway. I hear a woman muttering to herself behind me. Softly though, so its not too bad. I do detect some curses being utterd under her breath. My book is opened and I am totally engrossed. After five minutes I smell the most wretched smell that I can only compare to the manure that was sprayed on the fields where I grew up. Only worse. I crinkle my nose in disgust and look around. Of course, you can hardly ever tell who dealt it. All eyes are looking straight ahead. Then the man next to me looks over and says. "My bowels aint what they used to be" his gravelly voice is somber. "And my wifes cookin' gives me gas somethin' fierce." He then proceeds to rip a new one so loud that people in the front look back. "Good lawd, I need to find me a bathroom." he says with a grimace. I curse my seat selection and pull my scarf around my nose, looking for another possible seat. Of course there is none. Then, the silence is broken.

"Mothafucka!!!!" yells the woman behind me. The barely audible mumbles have turned to screeches. "Did something crawl up yo ass and DIE?!?!" "Get the FUCK off my bus you stinky mothufucka-before I BEAT your stanky ass off!!!" The man beside me looks behind him and says "It aint MY fault lady!!" "You trying having IBS sometime!!" And, as if on cue, he lets another one rip. Everyone in the back of the bus is grimacing as the smell drifts towards them. "IB-what?!?!?!" she screeches, her breath laden with liquor. "IB-kicken your rotting mothfuckin ASS if you dont stop!!" It goes on like this for 10 minutes or so. Farting, yelling, farting, yelling. Eventually, the bus driver pitches in and starts yelling into his microphone. He threatens to kick the screecher off. I secretly wish it was the farter who was getting kicked off, but I geuss you cant expell someone for gas problems. A damn shame.

My quality reading time has all but been abandoned as my senses are assaulted with stink and screeches. I look out the window as the bus driver comes to an abrubt stop and walks angrily back to kick off the screecher. You can see his nose crinkle up the closer he gets to noxious fumes that have overtaken the back of the bus. I sigh and look at my watch. I am going to be late for work. I look up at the wall where there are various sayings like: "Tri-met. See where it takes you."
I grin to myself as I think up a much more appropriate slogan: "Tri-met. If its not the yells, its the smells."


More adventure coming soon from a bus stop near you.

brrr

Cold. Down to my bones. The trees seem too cold to move today, thier branches reluctantly and rigidly dancing in the insistant, bitter wind. The clouds are giant ice puffs. I retreat to the inside where I put on a hat and socks and a sweater. I lure the cats onto my lap for body heat. I do believe I have a brain freeze and wont be able to write anything interesting untill I thaw out my thoughts.

beards, babes and booze (aka Halloween 2005)

I awoke on Halloween morning feeling fat and lazy and broke. I had done no preparing for a costume. Although Michelle and I had discussed costumes thoroughly with a thousand ideas in mind, in the end we did nothing about it(how American-Michelle would say. How flakey).
I spent the daytime in my pajamas. I didnt have to work-nor did I have one cent of money, so it was a day filled with projects and daytime television.

As dusk descended(which it did around 5pm-damn daylight savings!!) the spirit of the holiday was in the air. The trick or treaters were starting to come out and I felt the need to transform myself. I raided my closet. I raided Michelles closet. I tried on EVERYTHING. Then took it off again. I laid on my bed in frustration and decided not to dress up. I changed my mind 5 mintues later. Black. I would wear black. The black dress and black stockings came on. The next step was all about the makeup. Enter Michelle. She did me up and made my eyes look scary. I took a piece of Reeses peanut butter cup wrapper and put it on my tooth(a trick I learned from dear old mom back in the day!). I looked at myself. Something was still missing. I put on a cowgirl hat. Not bad, yet......not quite right. I looked at Michelle and she had proceeded to cover herself in a beard. Michelle was a drunken sailor and looked awsome. I was a toothless cowgirl and looked decidedly less awsome. A beard!!!! YES! I would also dawn a beard and THAT would be the final freaky touch. I tried for a goatee, but my hand was unsteady and it ended up being a full beard. "HOT!" I said to myself sarchasticly, and headed out to find the boyfriend.

The boyfriend would hardly look at me. In fact, no boys could really look me in the eye that night. Thats when I knew my costume was a success. We went out to a party and hit the bars. I scared the shit out of the male species the entire time we were out. If any one of them dared look me in the eye I would growl and lick my teeth so they could see my "missing" tooth. The reaction was hysterical, predictable and satisfying. I looked around at the hot girls dressed as sexy angels or devils. The ones who look lovely, but could never bring themselves to NOT look lovely. Like, if men didnt find them attractive their costumes would be a failure. Poor girls. So self aware and so uncomfortable in thier hot thongs, lingerie and heels. I secretly wished them all beards. If they only knew how much FUN it was! "Real women wear beards" I growled to one of them. She grimaced, faked a smile and ran away.

Eventually the soap came out and the beard washed off and the boyfriend looked at me with a sigh of relief. Like he was afraid if I kept it on a second longer I might REALLY grow five o'clock shadow. Silly boys. "Goodnight my love" I growled masculinely. He laughed. Or, was it a shudder? he he he he.
Happy Halloween 2005 y'all.
Love,
The Bearded Babe.