tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80048756310560645562024-03-13T17:02:49.828-07:00Thoughts Before CoffeeBayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.comBlogger63125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-15987449334971128242013-10-07T17:00:00.000-07:002013-10-07T17:00:30.016-07:00The More I See of College the More I Like My Couch.I'm hoping that one day I'll be as popular as <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Hyperbole and a Half</a> and then when I only post something every few months randomly everyone will just be so excited and happy that no one is like-<br />
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<i> "where have you been?" "Oh are you back for real this time?" "Why don't you post more?" </i></div>
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<i>"Dude nobody cares about this blog. Give it up already."</i></div>
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But also that probably takes more skills than I have in my talent closet so you know, sorry again.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Anyway</i></span></div>
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<b>I'm a for-real full time University College Student now! I'm going to tell you all about it!</b></div>
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.....It kind of blows.</div>
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<i>I know, I know,</i><br />
a) I should be grateful I get to go to college at all- it's a wonderful opportunity and not everyone gets the chance.<br />
b) I should reserve judgment on large universities until I have completed at least one semester. It's only fair to everyone involved.<br />
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But let's review some interesting little factoids* about my college career thus far.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> *what's the actual definition of factoid? I hope a factoid is a fact that is mostly a fact but sometimes an opinion and consists of huge generalizations. Because that's how I'm using it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">1.</span>I am 23 years old. I have lived on my own and worked full time jobs for the last four years or so, supporting myself. My parents have not claimed me as a dependent on their taxes for four years.<br />
Yet I am still required to put their tax information on the FAFSA, which not only looks at income <i><b>before</b></i> taxes, it does not care how many other student loans your parents currently have, or any of their expenses beyond their mortgage.<br />
The result of this is that I receive ZERO financial aid and my parents and I are forced to take out massive loans for my education that we are eventually going to have to admit, despite current denial, none of us can actually afford.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">2.</span> I'm not able to take out enough loans to actually cover all of my expenses while in college, and must therefore keep a job to continue supporting myself. This job amounts to around 20 hours a week.<br />
According to University expectations I am supposed to be putting in 3-4 hours of study time <i>per credit hour </i>for each of my classes. I am taking 18 credit hours in order to complete school as quickly as possible to save money. This means I should be putting in a total of 62 hours a week <i>minimum </i>when combining in class and out of class time.<br />
Add in sleeping and you have 138 full hours a week.<br />
This leaves me a total of 30 hours a week- or 4 hours a day- to complete everything else in my life*.<i> ie: Grocery shopping, laundry, cleaning, eating, showering, exercising, etc.</i><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*While technically possible, this sort of just sucks all around. </span><br />
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<i> </i><span style="font-size: large;">3.</span> Freshman suck.<br />
And I mean that. As a mostly accurate generalization referring to most teenage college students that just graduated high school and are now starting this new and exciting adventure in their lives and are just super duper excited to not be living at home.<br />
You're all so cute aren't you? With your new college backpack and your leggings that you think are pants.<br />
You think you're all independent and adult now. Let me clue you in darlings- you are not. Your parents are shelling out hundreds of thousands of dollars so that you can "experience" college life. Because that's what college is for right? The <i>Experience</i> of it.<br />
This wouldn't be a problem except that I have to listen to conversations like this between lectures:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at all of you. You're so adorable pretending to study <br />while recounting last night's drunken make-out sessions.</td></tr>
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<b>Freshman Girl #1: Oh man do we have an exam in this class?</b><br />
<b>Freshman Girl #2: Um I think it was yesterday.</b><br />
<b>Girl#1: Oh I don't usually come to this class because I'm so hungover. I go to a lot of parties. With like, Seniors and stuff. Like, we get hammered all the time.</b><br />
<b>Girl #2: Well how much does one midterm affect your grade anyway? I mean, it's not like Biology is a huge part of Occupational Therapy anyway. And socializing is a more important part of college than grades anyway. I mean if I just wanted good grades I would take online classes like losers do.</b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">4.</span> Colleges are being marketed <b>not</b> for the quality of education they provide, but for the experience you will have there.<br />
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<b> This annoys me to no end.</b> </div>
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Thanks to new technology and a growing demand, almost every college has online versions of most of their classes, including lectures by their most revered professors. Harvard and Stanford (among other prestigious schools) offer <b>FREE</b> versions of many of their classes online.<br />
When I attended my local community college, I found that many of the classes were taught by the same professor that teaches that class at the University in town. You are essentially receiving the same education for 1/3 the cost.<br />
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So what are you paying for to attend a State University? According to their <a href="http://www.otp.colostate.edu/fy-outdoor-orientation.aspx" target="_blank">orientation activities</a> and website photos, you're paying for the social interaction, the chance to make friends and connections, the new experiences, and the volunteer opportunities.<br />
All of these things are awesome. Except that I can do all of these things for free. On my own time.<br />
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<i>"Ok, Miss Know-it-all-cynic-dream-crusher, then why are you attending a State University?"</i></div>
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What a coincidence! I asked myself this same question earlier today, inspiring the writing of this very blog post! Are you guys psychics? Golly!</div>
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The answer came to me in the middle of a class discussion about whether or not an online degree should be considered as valid as a "regular" degree by employers. The discussion went something like this:</div>
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<b>Student: "Well it's just so easy to get an online degree without doing the work or learning anything. So there is no guarantee the person knows anything."</b></div>
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<b>Me: "Ok, but it's just as easy to skate by at a university without doing your own work or learning anything."</b></div>
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<b>Professor: "Ok so then why pay so much more to attend a university?"</b></div>
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<b>Student: "Well obviously the social interaction and experience."*</b></div>
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<b>Me: "I don't know about you, but I can socialize for free. I'm paying for an education not friendships."</b></div>
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<b>Professor: "So, it is worth it so far?"</b></div>
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<b>Me: "Honestly? No."</b></div>
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<b>Professor: "Aren't you the cynic?"</b></div>
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<i>Yes sir I am. But unlike my fellow classmates, my opinion seems to be based on experience, research, and common sense. </i></div>
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Before anyone jumps down my virtual internet throat, let me point out that there are obviously some huge exceptions to this opinion- I for one don't want my appendix removed by a surgeon who got their degree from Phoenix Online University. </div>
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I would also prefer the lab tech drawing my blood to have done it on a real person a few times before me.</div>
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<i>I'm just saying</i>- anyone paying $30 thousand bucks a year to earn a degree in European History is getting straight-up screwed.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">So, the Ultimate Question: </span></b>Why am I continuing to attend an over-priced university that provides no significant difference in education while providing a host of unwanted costs, "experiences", and the inconvenience of having to leave my couch and trek through the snow to sit through a lecture?</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Answer: </span></b>Because I already took out the loans and paid tuition and if I drop out now I lose like $15 thousand bucks. So I might as well finish the year. </div>
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But I don't have to be joyous about it. And, as the mere existence of this blog post proves, I'm more productive when I'm grumpy anyway.</div>
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<br />Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-59598806233860063872013-05-17T18:35:00.000-07:002013-05-17T18:35:41.749-07:00Corporate Sagas- The Final Straw<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">From:</span></span></b><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Baylee Steele<br /><b>Sent:</b> Friday, 3:28 PM<br /><b>To:</b> Lindsey Gustad<br /><b>Subject:</b> the voice in my head wants me to break things.</span></span><u></u><u></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I apologize in advance for this. If you want to just sort of skim that’s fine.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I’m writing you this email on Friday afternoon because I am so horrifically bored I want to cry because I’m at reception dealing with a tiny voice in my head that’s going <i>“just punch someone in the face Baylee… you’ll feel so much better…”</i><u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I truly think we should have a room with a few punching bags in it. That is the healthiest way to relieve stress and anger. I mean think about it… every doctor and therapist in the world agrees that bottling up your anger and stress and not expressing it is the LEAST healthy way to deal with it.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">And yet.<u></u><u></u></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Company policy pretty much dictates that that is how employees should in fact handle these issues. The benefits of having a punching bag room are numerous.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">All employees would be able to express anger and frustration as well as relieve stress through physical activity. And since we all have like a ton of those things, we would all be using the room a lot and be in much better shape.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Studies have shown that this type of outlet actually prevents the proverbial “going postal” event where someone has a meltdown and either lashes out at another employee violently enough to receive a restraining order, or at the very worst brings an assault weapon and mows us all down.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I’m just saying.<u></u><u></u></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Because I have wanted to hit something ALL DAY and I’m not allowed to even though it would make me a better person. If I could have just gone into a back room for ten minutes and worked up a little sweat hitting a punching bag the rest of this day would have been better for everyone.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">But nooooooooo any sort of inclination toward violence even if it’s not towards an actual person is a) unacceptable in a “business environment” and b) considered highly unattractive in a female.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">SO DUMB.<u></u><u></u></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><i>*You should all know I put my two weeks in today. I'm going to be a Nanny now. I know, you're like "What Baylee? You..... kids.... that doesn't seem safe...."</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><i>More on this career change to follow.</i></span></div>
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Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-68384981874198288362013-05-06T18:35:00.002-07:002013-05-06T18:35:37.963-07:00Corporate Sagas: Monday Edition<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">From:</span></b><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> Baylee Steele<br /><b>Sent:</b> Monday 8:32 AM<br /><b>To:</b> Lindsey Gustad<br /><b>Subject:</b> Morning saga</span></span><u></u><u></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Here’s how out of it I am. Halfway through my cup of coffee I was like “This tastes kind of funny”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">That’s because there’s protein powder in it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I have no recollection of how this occurred.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b>And I’m still going to finish this coffee.</b></span></div>
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Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-8199990046970465482013-05-02T20:46:00.000-07:002013-05-02T20:52:19.087-07:00We Apologize for the Convenience: 'Merica- An Open Letter to BarryLast week we sent out a mass email to all of our customers advertising our new summer fliers. Because of the growing demand for bilingual material, most of our fliers are in English on one side and Spanish on the other. Just like 80% of everything in most of the United States.<br />
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Because most of our customers are schools, and roughly a jillion* elementary school students and their parents speak primarily Spanish, this just makes sense. It's not really to be nice. It's just for marketing. You know, to make money because that's how capitalism works.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*I did a ton of research on this.</span><br />
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So it's no big deal and it's pretty normal. That's what I'm saying.<br />
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This morning when I got to work I had this lovely response to our friendly, colorful email from one of my favorite Southern States:<br />
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<b style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">From:</span></span></b><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"> barry </span><br /><b style="background-color: white;">Sent:</b><span style="background-color: white;"> Wednesday, May 01, 2013 8:01 AM</span><br /><b style="background-color: white;">Subject:</b><span style="background-color: white;"> Re: Summer Flier!</span></span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>We live in the <u></u>United States<u></u>, and in the <u></u><u></u>United States<u></u><u></u> we speak English, and only English.<u></u><u></u></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>You want to be "bi-lingual"? Move to <u></u><u></u>Mexico<u></u><u></u> and see how well that works out for you.<u></u><u></u></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ok Barry, couple of things here.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Let's start off with the fact that a super colorful email full of flowers and pictures of racially diverse children smiling with their hands in the air got you this hopped up. Are you just going through your email finding things to be angry about and sending nasty responses to poor customer service reps all over the country who are just trying to pay for college? You lead a sad, empty life Barry. Also you forgot to capitalize your own name.</span></span></div>
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Everyone has the right to free speech Barry, I'm not arguing that. you have the right to your opinion and the right to state it loudly and bluntly for people like me, who just don't care. </div>
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But guess what Barry? We also have that right. If we choose to print our happy little fliers in Spanish, French, Japanese and Swahili, we totally can. We probably wouldn't get a ton of orders for Swahili fliers in North America but somebody, somewhere, would probably really appreciate one.</div>
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Also Barry, get with the times. The "We speak English here" argument is so 2009. Nobody cares Barry. We care about Gay Marriage now. Which I'm sure you also have super strong opinions on.</div>
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Now let's break it down.<b> "in the United States we speak English, and only English."</b></div>
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Well Barry, that's just not true. We are the great American melting pot. We speak English. We also speak Spanish, Mandarin, Hindi, German, Swahili, Farsi, Swedish, and whatever that one with all the clicks in it is called. So no. </div>
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<i>(I'm willing to bet based on your last name that I can't reveal here that your Grandfather did not speak English at all. I'm going to hazard a guess and say he spoke German. I'm also going to assume he was a Nazi. Because I just get that feeling from you Barry.)</i></div>
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<b>"You want to be "bilingual"? Move to Mexico..."</b> Why is bilingual in quotes Barry? It's a real word you know. It's not something we made up to sell a new idea. Now you're just misusing quotations and I really hate that. Also I think it's funny that you think Mexico is bilingual but not America. I don't think you know what bilingual means. </div>
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Ok last thing here Barry. I know who you are. You sent that message from your company email. I know where you work, I have your address and phone number. That's just not smart Barry. Because I'm going to send you a present on your Birthday.</div>
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It's going to be a note that looks like a bomb threat but is really a birthday card but you won't know. And you'll be really embarrassed when the fire department shows up and the fireman (who looks like Mario Lopez) has to translate it because you don't have any bilingual friends.</div>
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It's also going to include a ton of glitter. Because that's just how I roll.</div>
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Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-15373154416447759882013-04-25T20:01:00.001-07:002013-04-25T20:03:10.092-07:00Corporate Sagas - Poems of Quiet Desperation<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">From:</span></b><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> Baylee Steele<br /><b>To:</b> Lindsey Gustad<br /><b>Subject:</b> Too Much Crack-Gym?</span><u></u></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">Customer Service- a poem by Baylee Steele<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">Today a lady asked<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">If I thought she was an idiot.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">I paused too long before<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">I replied.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">I wasn’t trying to be rude.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">It was just the shock of it.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">And the lack of coffee in the corporate breakroom.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">Devoid of anything joyous or motivating.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">I wonder<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">Would we be better off<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">With a different kind of coke<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">In our machine?<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">The End.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">BAM. Wrote a poem in 30 seconds. I’m a genius.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;">Want to go to the gym later?</span></div>
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<b>*Tune in next week for: "Why Baylee Changed Her Major" or "When to Expect the Next Full-Fledged Meltdown." <i>(Hint: It's soon)</i></b></div>
Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-13326447446208577082013-04-19T20:35:00.000-07:002013-04-19T20:35:19.155-07:00Corporate Sagas I mentioned that I got a new job doing customer service over the phone. This is awesome for many reasons.<br />
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<b> First reason:</b> Customers cannot see hand gestures or facial expressions over the phone. As long as I keep my voice up in that annoying octave that girls in pigtails and pink tank-tops tend to use no one can tell that I'm fake vomiting and drawing pictures of unicorns on my notepad instead of writing down their information. It's a serious plus.<br />
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<b>Second reason:</b> I now work for a large, rather important corporation. This means a pretty awesome benefits plan as well as exposure to the sort of nonsense that suddenly makes the plot of the movie Office Space seem not only plausible, but a likely conclusion to my year of employment.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2mumM4XKPdw/UXIMFJWCdEI/AAAAAAAAAU8/RGGo0hpTty8/s1600/office_space_stapler_round_sticker-r3562ec514e4e487094eebe043a4e204f_v9waf_8byvr_512.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2mumM4XKPdw/UXIMFJWCdEI/AAAAAAAAAU8/RGGo0hpTty8/s320/office_space_stapler_round_sticker-r3562ec514e4e487094eebe043a4e204f_v9waf_8byvr_512.jpg" width="320" /></a> -The subject lines alone of some of the company-wide emails I get make me want to take a baseball bat to the fax machine.<br />
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<b>Third reason:</b> I work for the same company as my older sister* and get to send her emails all day expressing my frustration and general level of apathy at any given time. These email counseling sessions are most likely the only reason I am still employed and will also be the number one thing that gets me fired should upper management discover them.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Yes she got me the job. No I am not embarrassed by this, as I have no pride. I also lived with her and her husband for a summer and continue to mooch meals and various other things off them, with no intention of stopping.</span></i><br />
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And so dear friends,** while I will continue to have a section of this blog for Customer Service stories entitled "We Apologize for the Convenience" I'm now starting the section "Corporate Sagas" where I will share with you some of the most tragic, desperate, and self indulgent emails to my ever so patient sister (also known as my free therapist).<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> **Some of you aren't my friends. I'm saying that to be nice and because it's a thing people say. It's not that I dislike any of you, it's just that I barely know you and I'm just calling it like it is. Don't get all in a huff about it.</span></i><br />
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We're going to start today with this lovely gem sent last week, the morning of my Birthday.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">From:</span></span></b><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Baylee Steele<br /><b>Sent:</b> Tuesday, April 09, 2013 8:45 AM<br /><b>To:</b> Lindsey Gustad<br /><b>Subject:</b> SADNESS ON MY BIRTHDAY</span></span><u></u><u></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Good Morning- what’s left of it now that you finally decided to show up to work.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">(I’m kidding)<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Have you seen my desk though? It’s awesome. there's a balloon. And I got Starbucks. So that’s nice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">My leg is still all jacked up and I’m worried about it.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">What time is your appointment today? Are you even coming in at all? </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Are we still going to Red Robin today? I want to… but also if it’s still snowing and yucky idk if it will be worth it. Omg unless they can make me a hot chocolate with alcohol in it. I bet they could if I told them it was my birthday.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I’m bored and it’s snowing on my Birthday. *<b>sigh</b>*<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I’ve had too much/not enough coffee. It’s hard to tell.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Also I know I’m old because I forgot <i>how</i> old I am turning today… I told Brandon 22 and Kim 24.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">But 23 is a better number than 22. I like it better. 22 is dumb.. like 11. 11 is a dumb number.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I just realized this is turning into a conversation with myself. Like something I would write in a journal. I guess I’ll send it to you anyway.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">OMG YOU’RE MY JOURNAL. Which is better because you actually reply.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">OMG I’m so tragically lonely I want a journal that talks back?<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME.</span></span></div>
Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-27183312258542852302013-04-09T20:28:00.001-07:002013-04-09T20:28:59.033-07:00Well This is Awkward...<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I just read the last post I wrote on here and realized several things.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">1.</span> It's been almost a year since I've updated this blog. More on that later*.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">2.</span> I promised to update as soon as I got back from Africa and that I would not let you down again.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">3.</span> Based on that promise, one can only assume that I died in Africa, because I always keep my promises.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">4.</span> I'm a filthy rotten liar.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pK7B8wKjPyI/UWTa0lB9zVI/AAAAAAAAAUk/ZC-sIaCTQxQ/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pK7B8wKjPyI/UWTa0lB9zVI/AAAAAAAAAUk/ZC-sIaCTQxQ/s320/2.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I offer this embarrassed pony as an apology. You've seen him before. <br />I don't have time to draw you new ponies every time I lie to you.<br /> That would be a lot of ponies.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">SO.</span></div>
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I could go into great detail on exactly what I've been up to in the last year and why I haven't been blogging.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">OR</span>.</div>
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I could just proceed as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, and <i>what do you mean "where have I been?"</i> I've been here all along, blogging and shit.</div>
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<i> </i><br />
<i> </i> *For those who are super curious here's a 10 second rundown of the last year and where I stand in life as of right now.<br />
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Went to Africa- felt awesome and blessed and adventurous. Returned to Colorado- slipped into hardcore depression- sucked at life for a while.<br />
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Quit retail job, got slightly better job with a desk and a phone and health insurance, and a spiffy new apartment and boyfriend. Felt awesome- Stopped sucking at life for like two seconds.<br />
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Relationship crumbled in the midst of the annual breakdown mentioned <a href="http://thoughtsbeforecoffee.blogspot.com/2011/10/so-heres-what-happened.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://thoughtsbeforecoffee.blogspot.com/2011/08/college-is-fun-she-said-only-half.html" target="_blank">here</a>. Sucked at life more than usual, resulting in more depression and a series of self destructive incidents eventually culminating in time off work and prescription medication**.<br />
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In a last ditch effort to stop sucking at life, made last minute decision to transfer from community college to CSU, where I aim to learn things and have a purpose and make new friends and whatnot and stop sucking at life permanently.<br />
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(That was more than 10 seconds probably. Unless you read really really fast.)</div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">**I was going to keep this a secret from the world, because it's a sensitive subject. But I know it's going to come up sooner or later anyway since I have a tendency to over-share. So we might as well get that out in the open.</span></i><br />
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So I'm back to being my mostly normal amount of crazy, and my new job as a corporate office drone has turned out to be as chock full of comedic material as my retail job was.<br />
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<i>"Are you sure Baylee? Because most of the funny stuff on this blog was because of your job, not because you're naturally humorous."</i></div>
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I'm sure. I do customer service over the phone now. So it's basically the same only I get to roll my eyes a lot.<br />
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So I hope you'll all keep following as I reconstruct this blog and move on to a real college and continue to share anecdotes about my conversations with church secretaries in Missouri and how too many people in 2013 still don't understand how email works. It's going to be hilarious you guys.<br />
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Because at the very least you'll want to tune in for the occasional breakdowns and ultimately feel better about your own lives and how much you don't suck at things most of the time.<br />
<br />Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-3848811939308955532012-05-15T19:41:00.001-07:002012-05-15T19:41:12.939-07:00A post telling you what you probably already figured out because you aren't a complete idiot most of the time. So basically I went on hiatus without telling you all. I feel really bad and I've been avoiding confessing it out of shame. If it helps I totally have a for real legitimate excuse this time-<br />
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I'm going to Africa.<br />
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As in, I am getting on a plane in 16 hours and heading to Rwanda for a month. To live at an orphanage.<br />
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And help real orphans.<br />
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To be fair, they don't really need <i><b>my</b></i> help, they already live at a super awesome place with some really great people and get to play soccer all the time, but you get the idea.<br />
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I tried Googling "route to Kigali, Rwanda from Colorado" in hopes of finding an Indiana Jones-type map with a little red line bouncing across the Atlantic Ocean to include in this post, but for some reason someone has yet to make that and I for real don't have time to photo-shop it. Someone should get on that.<br />
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So I have been crazy busy getting (I kid you not) eight shots, three oral vaccines, and two blood tests along with trying not to hyperventilate on a regular basis and pass my classes* to focus on hilarious anecdotes from my retail work-place.<br />
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I can however promise you this: when I get back I will have nothing better to do for at least the rest of the summer other than to find horrifying situations to pick through for comedic gems. For real, I will not let you down again.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span>*I did pass my classes, with some serious help from my Sister and her husband. For real, between the three of us we could get any degree in record time. Also my English Instructor had this comment on my final-<br />
<i> "You make great observations and have a wonderful feel for writing. You seem to struggle with remaining impartial and your editing skills need more work- you don't have to make everything humorous." </i><br />
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<i> </i>I choose to take that as a compliment.</div>
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<br />Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-15691382503528830912012-04-13T16:51:00.001-07:002012-04-14T07:33:10.301-07:00We Apologize for the Convenience: The customer is always right, unless they're a dumb racist. Today someone broke the cardinal rule of Customer Service. That one golden nugget of retail sales that has existed since the world's first salesman invented the wheel and attached it to his box of wares, thus becoming the world's first <i>travelling</i> salesman.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Customer is Always Right*</span></b></div>
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You'll be astounded to know that is wasn't even me who broke it, but my boss. That's right- one of the L<i>ifers</i>- who's only job is to make customers happy and employees miserable and who- through an overabundance of unnecessary training workshops- have been conditioned to never, EVER, say no. </div>
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But today they did say no, and for that I will always have at least a tiny bit of respect for them.</div>
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Manager: <b>Mam I can ring you up over here if you're all set.</b></div>
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Customer: <b>Oh thank you! This trash-can you have, I found it for forty dollars cheaper at another store- can you price match?</b></div>
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Manager: <b>Of course! Let me just verify the price at the store you found it and we can do that for you!</b></div>
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Customer: <b>Fantastic. Also I would like to use my coupon on that as well.</b></div>
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Manager: <b>Unfortunately I can't do a price match and the coupon, but don't worry you're still saving way more by just doing the price match than if you had used your coupon!</b></div>
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Customer: <b>I was told I could use both, and if I can't I'm going to leave!</b></div>
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Manager: <b>I'm sorry it's company policy, so if a friend told you that they misunderstood...</b></div>
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Customer: <b>It wasn't a friend, it was one of your employees!It was that colored lady over there! (points to an employee)</b></div>
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Manager:<b> ........ Excuse me? Mam I am definitely NOT going to take your coupon. Have a good day. </b></div>
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So from now on the Golden Rule of retail gets an asterisk- </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <i><b> *unless you're a dumb racist</b></i></span></div>
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<br />Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-59215108985976112422012-03-21T19:21:00.001-07:002012-03-22T07:56:08.062-07:00We Apologize for the Convenience: My Name is Not "Where-Are-the-Can-Openers" Hello Everyone! <span style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Welcome to another edition of customer service stories that you can all enjoy, identify with, and utilize as guidelines on how to make (or ruin) your cashier's day. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><b> Today's lesson: <i>Respect.</i></b></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7D6nEJ9Q3tM/T2qMBW_i3oI/AAAAAAAAARU/gAUVHO2WUhA/s1600/nametag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7D6nEJ9Q3tM/T2qMBW_i3oI/AAAAAAAAARU/gAUVHO2WUhA/s320/nametag.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"> I know it may be difficult to understand, but retail employees are actually <i><b>people</b></i>. Sure, some of them are poor excuses for people, barely passing for normal even with the grading curve brought so low by the <i>Creatures of Wal-Mart</i>, but most of them are regular human beings. They have lives outside of work, families, friends, favorite foods. The <i>really</i> lucky ones<i> (who haven't been completely hollowed out by years in customer service) </i>even have emotions!</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"> This is quite the revelation, I know. Feel free to take a few minutes to adjust to this new reality. You may be experiencing one or more of the same reactions people had to the proposal that the world was round- </span><span style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Disbelief, Anger, Confusion, Denial- Take a moment to process these things. Have a cookie and get back to me.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"> Feel better? </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><i> Excellent.</i></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"> Now that you've come around to the idea that retail workers have souls, let's take a little pop-quiz on the basic etiquette to follow while you're shopping for those extra super important items <i>(You know, like refrigerator magnets)</i>. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"> 1.</span><b style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">When you first enter a store, sometimes you will be greeted by an employee. An example of an acceptable reaction would be:</b><br />
<span style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"> a) Glare at if they have said something incredibly offensive.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> b) Ignore them. They are obviously not worthy of your attention.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> c) Respond pleasantly, either with a smile or a verbal acknowledgment of their existence. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px;"> 2. </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px;">An employee approaches you and asks if you need assistance, which you don't. An acceptable response would be:</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> a) "Get me a cart."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> b) ".......... *eye roll*....."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> c) "I'm fine, thank you though."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px;"> 3. </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px;">You need help getting an item off a high shelf, but can't seem to find anyone in the immediate area. You should:</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> a) Start yelling for help while simultaneously trying to climb up the side of the fixture because let's be honest, if you fall and break something you would get a sick kick out of a lawsuit.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> b) Wander into the stockroom looking for help, ignoring the <b>Employees Only</b> sign because signs and rules don't apply to you.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> c) Head up to customer service, the place where customers go if they need service. Explain your situation and respond positively to subsequent apologies and offerings of assistance.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px;"> 4. You are told someone will meet you by the item in question with a ladder to assist you. You head back, only to find that they aren't there yet. You- </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> a) Turn around and stomp your way back to customer service to berate the employee there- this is obviously their fault.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> b) Storm out of the store yelling that you're headed somewhere where the employees aren't a bunch of lazy fat-asses.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> c) Assume they went to retrieve a ladder and wait patiently for an acceptable amount of time.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px;"> 5. At the checkout, your cashier asks "How are you today?" Your response should be:</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> a) " Where are your toaster ovens?"</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> b) " <span style="font-size: large;"><b>Terrible.</b> This store doesn't have a single thing I need, my husband cheated on me and I need new sheets for our bed because ours are obviously ruined and my kid puked on my coupon but you have to take it anyw</span>ay I know because that's what I was promised over the phone by your manager <i>Meererppernurf </i>and they said you always, always have to take all my coupons no matter what and I forgot a fe<span style="font-size: x-small;">w things- Imma go get 'em- but hold my spot because I was here before that little old lady</span> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">with the vegetable peeler and I matter more because I can be louder and it's all about me and I....."</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> c) "Fine thanks, how are you?"</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
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</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><i>*In case you haven't caught on, the answer is C. Always. If you answered anything <b>but</b> C to any of these questions, you fail the entire quiz.</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span> </b>For the record, I am totally aware that not all retail associates seem like people. I understand that sometimes the example above instead begins with you being ignored and any requests for help met with an eye-roll. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> A lot of the time the cashier isn't some sweet girl just trying to pay her way through college*, but a greasy-haired neanderthal** with too much eye-liner and a blank expression caused by long-term overexposure to <i>The Real Housewives of Miami</i> and microwave radiation.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px;"> So be sucky to that person. Be mean and do whatever it takes to ruin her day just a little more. I know that girl, and she totally deserves it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> * Just so you don't think I'm tooting my own horn or whatever, this girl is not me. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">** But neither is this girl.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> But please remember that not every retail employee is of the greasy variety. Most of them are actual people who are just trying to do their job so they can pay their cable bill on time and not miss any episodes of <i>Cougar Town</i>.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><b> </b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"> - </span>Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-87992962292769754822012-03-01T20:06:00.000-08:002012-03-01T20:06:37.186-08:00Flowers in February or, how I'm a failure at yet another thing. So Orchids are in bloom right now. This is awesome for flower lovers and plant whisperers everywhere, and not awesome for me. It wouldn't have mattered except the Flower Lady at King Soopers convinced me I could keep one alive and she is about to be proved wrong.<br />
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Anyone who knows me could probably guess (if not by experience then by my personality in general) that I shouldn't have house plants. The only reason I remember to feed my cat regularly is because he reminds me, loudly and often.<br />
But plants are like fish in that neither of them can speak and that I have accidentally killed several of them.<br />
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Usually I can accept this but every so often I get in my head that I can handle caring for a delicate living thing and the end result is always the same: Little fish bodies in the toilet, tiny plant corpses in the trash, and a renewed sense of failure.<br />
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The last plant I had was a gift from my mother, who is one of those annoyingly nurturing people whose motherly essence alone can bring dying things, be they tulips or kittens, back from the brink. She claims it had no deeper meaning, but I still think it was a test to see if I really was a grown-up and whether or not there was any hope at all that I would one day be responsible enough to raise children. <br />
I accepted the challenge with relish and purchased a cute pot and soil.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N8WhmPVi_vk/T1A6wVPfZVI/AAAAAAAAARE/43v1m0rG7o4/s1600/daisy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N8WhmPVi_vk/T1A6wVPfZVI/AAAAAAAAARE/43v1m0rG7o4/s320/daisy.jpg" width="283" /></a></div><br />
<b> Pretty pink daisy: $0</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> Purple flower pot: $5.00</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> Potting soil: $8.00</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> Daisy food: $6.00</b><br />
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<b>The overwhelming sense of failure both real and symbolic when aforementioned daisy dies within the week, either from too much water, not enough water, too much sunlight, or not enough sunlight:</b> <b><i>Priceless</i></b><br />
<b><i><br />
</i></b><br />
So I should have known better, but last week when I walked into King Soopers I was greeted by a gorgeous display of pink and purple orchids which, in this colorless and dead winter with no snow, I felt emotionally and physically drawn too. The woman working the flower stand noticed me admiring them and mentioned how much she loved them too. In an effort to make conversation I told her that I had heard they were difficult to care for.<br />
<br />
People with a natural ability to care for plants cannot and will not ever understand people like me. This woman was obviously one of these people.<br />
<i><b>"Oh no,"</b> She said....</i><br />
<i> <b>"They are very easy" </b>She said....</i><br />
<i> <b> " I have six or seven of them and they are perfectly healthy"</b> She said....</i><br />
<br />
So I bought one because it was purple and matched my bedspread and would look just adorable on my nightstand.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d_OqWiPhxDw/T1A82PpcI1I/AAAAAAAAARM/YCzV_3QFxVw/s1600/IMG-20120229-00020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d_OqWiPhxDw/T1A82PpcI1I/AAAAAAAAARM/YCzV_3QFxVw/s400/IMG-20120229-00020.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> At first glance this is an adorable picture. Please take another look. Notice the flowers are already wilting. Also notice the paper towels underneath the pot. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> The paper towels are because I'm cheap and quickly discovered that plants are like children in that they are practically free but the things you need to keep them alive are ridiculously overpriced. Allow me to break this one down for you.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> <b> Orchid: $7.00</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b> Flower Pot :$4.00</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b> Orchid Bark: $9.00</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b> Orchid Food: $8.00</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b> Impending sense of doom as I watch said orchid slowly die despite hours of research and heroic attempts to keep it alive: <i>Priceless</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i style="font-weight: bold;"> </i>So price-wise it came down to the "food" or the drip pan for the pot and clearly I made the wrong choice.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i style="font-weight: bold;"> </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> Okay and seriously, why do flowers need food? No one's out feeding wild flowers and they do just fine, but Flower Lady insisted it was necessary. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> I did have fun painting that adorable owl, which I did while Googling things like <i>"How not to kill an orchid"</i>. I discovered they need humidity, which apparently isn't an issue for Flower Lady who must have like twelve humidifiers because Northern Colorado is straight up nosebleed country. I mean seriously even selling orchids here is just irresponsible. It's like sending a husky to the equator or a hairless cat to Canada- it's just cruel.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> The internet was full of helpful advice which I have been following religiously. I move it to certain places depending on the sun, I even used plant-safe paint on the pot and followed a step-by-step transplanting tutorial. This plant hangs out in the bathroom while I shower for crying out loud.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> But the thing just keeps on dying. It's on a kamikaze mission and no amount of love and attention can save it. Not even the kind of tender love and care that includes special plant steroids and Jack Johnson music softly playing in the background.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> So if anyone has any advice, or just wants to offer condolences in advance, please do so. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> And I'm sorry Mom but clearly the Universe is telling me I will never be responsible enough to keep a baby alive.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-54669875450191552842012-02-24T18:18:00.001-08:002012-02-24T18:20:23.780-08:00Scenes from Retail. <b>Me: </b>Hi! Are you finding everything okay today?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d5WU-iaXMCQ/T0hDy1JKrHI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/Mjp-Rdbi6LA/s1600/Fun_House_Mirror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d5WU-iaXMCQ/T0hDy1JKrHI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/Mjp-Rdbi6LA/s320/Fun_House_Mirror.jpg" width="315" /></a><b> Customer:</b> Yes, thank you. *Dramatic Sigh*<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Um. Okay, well let me know if you have any questions.<br />
<br />
<b>Customer:</b> Well obviously I have a question!<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Right, of course, I'm so sorry. How can I help you?<br />
<br />
<b>Customer:</b> I'm shopping for a mirror for my granddaughter's room.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Well we have these ones for 19.99...<br />
<br />
<b>Customer: </b>Yes but the reflection isn't as good, see?<i> (proceeds to hold mirror in front of her, facing me)</i> Don't you look kind of fat in it?<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Ummm...<br />
<br />
<b>Customer:</b> I mean in general. Don't you look fatter in cheaper mirrors? You see, my granddaughter has some self-esteem issues.<br />
<br />
<b>Me: </b>Well how much did you want to spend?<br />
<br />
<b>Customer:</b> Well I don't want to spend more than twenty dollars, but I want a high quality mirror. My granddaughter is 8 but she is kind of husky and I don't want to hurt her self-image.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Uh-huh. But you're buying her a full-length mirror because...<br />
<br />
<b>Customer:</b> Oh I'm going to glue little pink hearts and princess crowns and jewels all over it so she is inspired to look like a princess!<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Well, we have these ones for 49.99 but I don't think you would want to glue things to this frame.. it's really nice.<br />
<br />
<b>Customer: </b>Exactly! I want a cheap, high quality mirror that will make her look thinner, with princess things on it to build her self-esteem. Why doesn't anyone carry that?<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Unfortunately, we can't really sell products for less than it costs to make them... so the high quality stuff is more expensive. That's generally how retail works.<br />
<br />
<b>Customer: </b>That's a load of crap! I saw this same mirror at Wal-Mart for fifteen dollars! <i>(pointing to 50 dollar mirror)</i><br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Wow! That is a good deal! Really, it's pretty miraculous! You know what? Why don't I just call them to confirm that, and if so, I will sell you this mirror for fifteen bucks!<br />
<br />
<b>Customer: </b>Oh well, maybe it wasn't the same one... now that I think about it, that one kind of made everyone look fat too.....<br />
<br />
<b>Me: </b>Oh. Bummer.<br />
<br />
<b>Customer:</b> <i>(holding both mirrors side by side, facing me)</i> I guess you only look a little fatter in the cheap one... <i>(puts it in her cart)</i><br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> You have a lovely day Mam... <i>(analyzes own reflection a bit longer, slinks away to break room to eat cheese and cry a little)</i><br />
<br />
<b> <i> *No wonder this Woman's granddaughter has self-esteem issues. </i></b>Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-43930694515426820982012-02-16T18:41:00.000-08:002012-02-16T18:45:32.933-08:00Let's Just Continue as if Nothing Ever Happened... <span style="font-size: large;">Hey Everyone! So the other day I was at Vitamin Cottage and this lady in sweatpants totally...</span><br />
<br />
Okay not good enough?<br />
<br />
What? You want some sort of explanation as to my absence and perhaps an excuse concerning the desolate wasteland that this blog became last month, littered with nothing but the skeletal remains of retail related rants and a half-assed cartoon?<br />
<br />
Well the truth is I don't have one. Also a self help blog once told me that the number one thing you should never do on a blog is apologize for not blogging, and I'm using that as my excuse for not having an excuse<i> (I'm so freaking Meta)</i>. <br />
<br />
I wish I could tell you something HUGE happened in my life. Like I had a baby, or was on a Cruise ship when it sank and I single-handedly saved like twelve people and have been too busy shaking hands with the President and pretending to be annoyed by all the publicity to blog about it.<br />
But the truth is I have just been horrendously busy with normal life things.<br />
<br />
<i>"What? </i><i>How dare you sacrifice your very successful and financially practical career plan to become a famous blogger for <b>College</b> and a <b>Job</b>!"</i><br />
<br />
I know, I'm so irresponsible, I simply cannot prioritize.<br />
<br />
While I refuse so apologize for my absence, my pathological need to be liked and my shame-gland have kicked into high gear and so, to the four followers who actually noticed I was gone and give a crap, I present to you:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Apology Pony</i></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BmOAW8ruG_A/Tz28AwVm-JI/AAAAAAAAAQo/OoyNb9jJEnA/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BmOAW8ruG_A/Tz28AwVm-JI/AAAAAAAAAQo/OoyNb9jJEnA/s400/2.jpg" width="390" /></a><br />
<br />
<i>You can tell he's really sorry but his pride won't let him say it.</i></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table> So even though this isn't a real blog post, and as my friends will be quick to point out, that's a "recycled" horse from my sketchbook, I'm just letting you all know that I'm totally back, I haven't abandoned the blog, and you can all expect a real post* within the next few days.<br />
<div> </div><div> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> *I would promise that it will be totally hilarious but I don't like to set the bar too high for myself.</span><br />
<br />
<div> If it will help, I can totally finish the story about Vitamin Cottage Lady.... that place is a <b>Goldmine</b> for strange.<br />
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</div></div>Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-83683461608390951382012-01-19T19:13:00.000-08:002012-01-19T19:20:05.730-08:00How I'm Winning at College: Part 2 Classes started up again this Tuesday and I, in my regular fashion, am already rocking them.<br />
<br />
"<i>By 'rocking' do you mean you made it to class on time, with the proper supplies, with your hair fixed and dressed in some adorable outfit that you picked out the night before?"</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Unfortunately, huge mass of internet fans hanging on my every word, by "rocking" I mean I showed up five minutes late carrying only a dried up sharpie and the temperamental asshole otherwise known as my self esteem, who was busy informing me that only really <i>REALLY</i> cool people can pull off sweaty workout clothes outside the gym (<i>and am I really delusional enough to believe I'm that cool? Really Honey?).</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> </i> While more motivated people are taking classes like <i>Biochemistry</i> and <i>Business Management</i>, because I'm a Communications major <i>(I know, shocker right? You all can't even believe I'm not in the Physics department)</i> I get to take things like <i>Art History</i> and <i>Psychology of Death and Dying</i> <i>(so, so fun you guys)</i>.<br />
While these classes have their perks, namely that I find them incredibly interesting and also that showing up and occasionally mentioning the Holocaust is all it takes to pass, they also come with a particular set of challenges involving the type of people that tend to teach them.<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cthGrA0ScSo/TxjYzhJETVI/AAAAAAAAAP4/0VhUfr_MPgM/s1600/funny-graphs-community-college.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cthGrA0ScSo/TxjYzhJETVI/AAAAAAAAAP4/0VhUfr_MPgM/s320/funny-graphs-community-college.jpg" width="320" /></a> I'm a pretty open minded person. Sure I was raised with certain viewpoints and am genetically predisposed to eventually fall into an "extreme" category of some kind as I age, but I enjoy hearing all sides of an argument and consider myself a pretty sensitive and culturally aware individual. So now you have some context for this joyous little anecdote.<br />
<br />
As I mentioned earlier, I showed up five minutes late to my first class, which happened to be <i>Intercultural Communications</i>. As I quietly slipped into a seat as close to the door as I could find, I heard my name.<br />
<br />
"Baylee Steele?"<br />
I looked up to find the middle-aged female* instructor staring at me with a giant <i>"I accept everyone for who they are and don't judge them for anything"</i> smile. These smiles are dangerous because they almost always mean the opposite. Let's be honest, if you have to work that hard to convince everyone you're a nice person, you probably aren't.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span> </i>*"<span style="font-size: x-small;">Why does it matter that she's female Baylee? Aren't you being reverse sexist?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Maybe I am, let's keep reading and find out....</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Thankfully she moved on quickly and after watching a clip from the original <i>Bad News Bears </i>I soon found myself involved in a class discussion concerning the possibility of actual worldwide peace.<br />
<i> "How does The Bad News Bears relate to World Peace"</i> you say? I have no idea. I wasn't really listening because I was busy reading this little excerpt from the <i>Behavior Policy</i> section of our syllabus:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<i> <b>"Please avoid using any derogatory or offensive language or terms that could hinder healthy discussion and expression of feelings. Please do not use any terminology that would indicate that another person's opinion is Wrong in any way, as the idea of Right and Wrong is an expression of ignorance. Don't deny anyone else their reality."</b></i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><i> </i>While I was trying not to physically roll my eyes at this statement I looked up just in time to make eye contact with <i>Professor No-Judgment </i>who took the opportunity to ask me my opinion. The discussion went something like this:<br />
<br />
<b> Prof No-Judgment:</b> Baylee right?<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Uh, yeah.<br />
<br />
<b>Prof NJ:</b> What do you think about the relationship between religious freedom and world peace?<br />
<br />
<b>Me: </b>This is the first day of this class, right?<br />
<br />
<b>Prof NJ:</b> Ha ha! Yes, but we don't waste any time when it comes to opening our minds!<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Uh-huh. Well um, I think that unfortunately it's not a realistic expectation. I mean even if all of Mankind-<br />
<br />
<b>Prof NJ:</b> Let me stop you there- we don't use the term "mankind" okay? It's exclusionary and very offensive to women.<br />
<br />
<b>Me: </b>Uh, I'm a woman, so can't I say it?<br />
<br />
<b>Prof NJ:</b> No I'm sorry we prefer you use the term "humanity" or "people"<br />
<br />
<i>At this point there is an awkward pause while I try to decide which is less argumentative- "Who is this 'we' you speak of" or...</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i> <b> </b></i><b>Me: </b>Well "humanity" has "man" in it too.. so I guess I don't really see the difference.<br />
<br />
<b>Prof NJ:</b> That's true! Isn't it interesting how we just can't get away from it? Even our language excludes people! So how can we expect equality when the very words we speak force us to declare inequality?<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Uh. Well I just meant it as a general term and I wasn't offended by it....(<i>It should be noted for the record that at this point my brain actually screamed "SHUT THE HELL UP THAT'S ENOUGH" but my mouth just says things)</i>............. and that's my reality. Are you saying it's wrong?<br />
<br />
<b>Prof NJ:</b> Unfortunately that's all the time we have today! But let's continue this discussion on Thursday okay? *<i>Continues to smile but it's now accompanied by crazy "I will have your liver" eyes*</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><i> </i>So today I got home from work with the intention of relaxing for a few minutes and then heading to class to see if day two was any better, but then I fell asleep for two hours and missed it completely. So I dropped it and signed up for <i>Intro to Dance</i> because what the hell all elective credits look the same on a transcript anyway.<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i> Also if you're white and live in Colorado wearing a Kimono doesn't make you multi-cultural, even if you lived in Japan for three years. It makes you an idiot. Take <b>that </b>Professor No-Judgement.</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-18222011749679937372012-01-02T21:18:00.000-08:002012-01-02T21:18:39.344-08:00Keeping Up Appearances<div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">What I told everyone I was doing for New Years:</span></i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BdJ4621QsX4/TwKOHiJhogI/AAAAAAAAAPE/MJTavYJba7E/s1600/001+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BdJ4621QsX4/TwKOHiJhogI/AAAAAAAAAPE/MJTavYJba7E/s400/001+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>What I actually did for New Years:</i></span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZrQGMW16DUw/TwKPWk8WTiI/AAAAAAAAAPc/tDNRXKuCBtI/s1600/001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZrQGMW16DUw/TwKPWk8WTiI/AAAAAAAAAPc/tDNRXKuCBtI/s400/001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Here's to a New Year of accepting ourselves for who we really are.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br />
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</div>Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-71486515862450931152011-12-17T08:12:00.000-08:002011-12-17T09:00:55.656-08:00We Apologize for the Convenience<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i>- A Comprehensive Guide to Shopping, for the Woman at the Center of the Universe: Holiday Edition.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span> Hello there! remember <i><a href="http://thoughtsbeforecoffee.blogspot.com/2011/05/we-apologize-for-convenience-special.html">this post</a> </i>a while back where I told you about all the sordid secrets of customer service people and how they are selfish and want to keep you from getting the things you deserve? I walked you through shopping for towels and how to get the best ones at the best prices. After all, you deserve them because of your rich Husband and tiny dog!<br />
Well in case you didn't know, the Holidays are here and you know what that means: Shopping! Mostly for yourself but you are also required to buy a few trinkets here and there for other people. I know, it's a huge inconvenience. I mean really, who wants to spend their own money on <i>other people</i>? It's just not right.<br />
Thankfully, I am here to help you through this experience. I'll show you all the loopholes in that horrid system designed to keep you from getting everything you want. Ready? Great! Shove your swollen feet into some pumps, grab whichever one of your several Coach purses match them best, and let's get started!<br />
<br />
<b>Step 1: </b><i><b>Appropriate use of the Internet.</b></i><br />
<b style="font-style: italic;"> -</b> You and I both know the internet is a scam. It's made to appear like the more convenient option- who wouldn't want to lounge about all day in their designer velour sweatsuit drinking exotic lattes, all the while avoiding crowds by picking out all the best gifts from their iPad screen? But you know what they say:<i> "anything that sounds to good to be true probably is"</i>.<br />
Here's the catch- Shipping & Handling fees. So stupid right? Charging six dollars just to ensure that your item is packaged correctly and then shipped, flown, trucked, and hand delivered from China to your front step, and it's going to take 5-7 days? Ridiculous.<br />
Here's what customer service minions don't want you to know: You can beat this system, avoid shipping fees and have your item exactly when <b>You</b> want it.<br />
<br />
The trick is to use the internet for browsing. Shop around and find an item you would like. Then, instead of ordering it on Amazon.com for a reasonable price, proceed to step two.<br />
<br />
<b>Step 2: <i>Calling the Store.</i></b><br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;"> </i>- Don't worry about which store, just pick the one closest to your house that you like the best and give them a ring.<br />
When they answer they are going to say a whole scripted message involving something like "Merry Christmas and thank you for calling! This is (<i>insert name you will never remember</i>).... "<br />
Just go ahead and interrupt them. This throws them off just enough that they will pay more attention to you. Don't bother being polite either, just tell them what you want and why.<br />
<i>Hint: If you already sound slightly annoyed they will try even harder to help you because they want to make you happy. It's their job.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> </i>After you tell them what you are looking for they will try to transfer you to another department. They will make something up like-<br />
<i> "Let me get someone in the correct department who can help you find what you need."</i><br />
<i> </i>This is just an excuse to put you on hold. They just don't want to help you because they can tell how special you are and they are jealous.<br />
<br />
<b> Step 3: <i>Greatly Exaggerate the Amount of Time Spent on Hold.</i></b><br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;"> </i>Hang up, call them back and complain that you literally just spent twenty minutes on hold. It doesn't matter that you are talking to the same person who put you on hold less than 30 seconds ago. These people are not very smart. They will probably believe you.<br />
This time, tell them that if they put you on hold you will <b><i>file a complaint</i></b>. That is the magic phrase that let's them know that you know all their tricks and secrets. They will then look up the item for you, regardless of whether or not they were already in the middle of helping a customer who is actually standing at their counter. Don't worry, that customer is less important than you and can wait.<br />
The employee will then ask you a few questions such as<br />
<i> "Did you see the item on our website?"</i><br />
<br />
<b>Step 4: <i> Lie. </i></b><br />
Telling them you found it on a completely different site just gives them an excuse to say they don't have it. Tell them you are looking at it on their website <i>as you speak</i>.<br />
When they admit to not being able to find the item, accuse them of lying. This always gives them the right incentive to take that extra step to help you.<br />
Unfortunately, sometime you are going to get an employee that is just too stupid to get you what you want. They will say things like <i>"I am unable to locate that item on our website"</i> or <i>"I have never even heard of that device and neither has my manager, are you sure you are looking at our website?"</i> or <i>"I know for a fact that we don't carry that but Target does"</i>.<br />
<br />
<b>Step 5:</b> <b><i>Be Very Loud and Very Angry</i></b>.<br />
No one ever get's what they want by being nice. Nice people get taken advantage of. If you act like you are better than everyone and and <i>DESERVE</i> to have everything you want, people will respect you and do everything they can to make you happy.<br />
The employee is going to tell you that they simply do not carry that item. At all. Not a single store or warehouse in the entire world that is at all connected to that company has a single one of them.<br />
<br />
<b>This is an obvious lie.</b><br />
<br />
They have one, you know they do. They are just trying to keep you from getting what you want because they are so jealous of you.<br />
<br />
Hang up and go to the store. Walk in and demand the item. The employee will then have no choice but to go find the item you are looking for, and just like that they will bring it to the counter.<br />
<br />
It might not look just like the one you saw online. It will be a different brand and probably a different color, and instead of being a blender it will be a microwave, and at first you will be a little confused. But the employee will assure you that this is in fact the item you wanted for your sister-in-law's Christmas present and wouldn't you know, this one comes with a complimentary 10% off coupon!<br />
<br />
And just like that, you've outsmarted those sneaky Customer Service Associates. In the span of only a few hours you tricked them into giving you the item that you're pretty sure you secretly wanted all along, and that they had been trying to keep you from getting. And you got a coupon on it that almost paid for the tax! You truly are a special and intelligent woman who deserves to have everything she wants.<br />
<br />
And just between you and me, that employee probably doesn't even realize she got tricked. She probably thinks she got the best of you and is just happy you're gone. But you and I know the truth.<br />
<br />
It will be our little secret.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nc__30JRCjE/Tuy-kYNlwiI/AAAAAAAAAN8/alZdlEB01G4/s1600/1_1287522081_50295.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nc__30JRCjE/Tuy-kYNlwiI/AAAAAAAAAN8/alZdlEB01G4/s1600/1_1287522081_50295.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span>Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-65508414720089262012011-12-09T14:20:00.000-08:002011-12-09T14:20:13.320-08:00The Dangerous Combination of a Final Exam and Over-the-Counter Medication...<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Today I managed to make it to class wearing that oh so stylish combination of sweatpants, snow boots, and several layers of t-shirts and hoodies (having misplaced my coat, an appropriate thing to do in the middle of a <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">Colorado</st1:state></st1:place> winter).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Somehow my brain thought that the only necessary make-up for my sick-white-person-in-the-dead-of-winter complexion was mascara, and a shower would have required getting out of bed 10 min earlier, which wasn’t worth it either. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Since I had only managed to bring a pen and my water bottle(which contains an in-genius mixture of Cough syrup and Emergen-C probably not technically legal on campus) I had to borrow paper from the cute guy sitting next to me, who looked me right in the eye and asked ever so innocently,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"> “How’s your day going?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TxTf7nf2YlU/TuKIXc8TL1I/AAAAAAAAANw/6bM0uspTjLc/s1600/nyquil9kz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TxTf7nf2YlU/TuKIXc8TL1I/AAAAAAAAANw/6bM0uspTjLc/s320/nyquil9kz.jpg" width="320" /></a>I can think of a dozen semi-normal responses. But the one that my brain decided most appropriate at that moment was “I’m not wearing any deodorant.”<br />
<br />
</div>Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-10723491704082001662011-12-05T22:19:00.000-08:002011-12-06T13:53:00.890-08:00How I became a Scrooge and Cindy Lou-Who became an Alcoholic. Let's not kid ourselves. Last month was not about Thanksgiving. Right after Halloween we begin to tout an ideology of thanks and giving lots of it and whatnot, but we Americans know which day is really the most important come November: Black Friday.<br />
I used to think it was inappropriately named, since it sounds so dark and sinister. Black Friday. Surely something horrible must have happened on this day in history right? Similar to Bloody Sunday only having to do with Native Americans.<br />
Well, I totally Googled that shit and it turns out Black Friday got it's name because of the horrors of pedestrian traffic in Philadelphia due to all the crazy sales and people trying to get to the airport.<br />
<br />
I'm going to pause and let that sink in for a minute....<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> ***</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"> So Black Friday got it's name long, long ago, when a bunch of crazy people flooded the streets in search of the perfect transistor radio for their boyfriend's Christmas gift. That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EtRXFhCrgd0/Tt2x_iRgGjI/AAAAAAAAANo/fUPDzEkRy0E/s1600/m222761999.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EtRXFhCrgd0/Tt2x_iRgGjI/AAAAAAAAANo/fUPDzEkRy0E/s320/m222761999.jpg" width="291" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obviously Scrooge worked in retail.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"> Speaking of dumb things, customers<i> ( I know, nice segue). </i>Most people don't seem to realize this, but the crazies don't disappear after Black Friday. Nobody gets all their shopping done on Friday and because of that they are angrier than ever by mid December. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Retail workers have always known that people get crazier around the Holidays. They also get meaner, sneakier, dumber and more violent, which makes for an all around interesting workplace. People who are perfectly sane eleven months out of the year are suddenly willing to bash a stranger's head in for a marshmallow gun or an electric razor come December. Sales Associates spend the entire month of December just hoping the next person in line isn't the one willing to curb-stomp them over a Special Edition Wii. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Folks, I love Christmas. Like, <i>REALLY</i> love it. I'm a regular Cindy freakin' Lou-Who. I started listening to Christmas music back in October, I force people to go caroling and as I'm writing this I'm also drinking hot coco, listening to <i>Carol of the Bells</i> and gluing glittery pine-cones to the tops of Christmas presents. This season is like crack to me. All the giving, and caring and love and whatnot. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> But retail can ruin all that for just about anyone. Yesterday I spent twenty minutes on the phone being berated and verbally abused by a customer until I finally put them on hold and yelled <i>"You're ruining the magic of Christmas!"</i> into the receiver before transferring them to my least favorite manager.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> You know what would have been an even better Dr. Seuss story? One where Cindy Lou-Who worked at a customer service counter and the Grinch just kept coming in and trying to return all the Christmas decorations he'd stolen from her the day before.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pWiGwVmOdr0/Tt2sdIMkUgI/AAAAAAAAANg/q9ieLI7CyQg/s1600/2995-3-how-the-grinch-stole-christmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pWiGwVmOdr0/Tt2sdIMkUgI/AAAAAAAAANg/q9ieLI7CyQg/s1600/2995-3-how-the-grinch-stole-christmas.jpg" /></a> That story wouldn't have ended with a hand-holding sing-a-long. It would have ended with Cindy going all <i>Psycho </i>on a blow-up Santa lawn ornament and drinking an entire bottle of Peppermint Schnapps in a tragic attempt to get Mariah Carey's version of "O' Holy Night" out of her head. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> I'm just saying, it's a lot harder to get into the true spirit of the Holidays when every Who down in Who-ville is rushing the mall with a can of pepper spray just to get their hands on an Xbox.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> </i></div>Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-9464631344908039902011-11-22T21:17:00.000-08:002011-11-22T21:17:49.987-08:00Why I'm considering a coffee-can under the mattress type of savings account.. I had my Debit card information stolen this week.<br />
Rather, it was stolen about a year ago along with half of the population of Loveland, Colorado and I just found out about it this week. Apparently anyone who used a card at the movie theater in town in the last few years got their information stolen whether they know about it yet or not. So if you live in Northern Colorado and happened to go see Harry Potter or something last year.. I don't mean to freak you out or anything but yeah, you're pretty much screwed.<br />
<br />
Anyway, what happened was I was using my money to do super responsible things like get the oil changed in my car and buy a totally cute hoodie, which was on sale for crazy cheap and how could I not take advantage of what was obviously a huge mistake on the retailer's part, when my debit card got declined.*<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">* Nobody panic I still got my hands on the hoodie. Even I will humble myself enough to use a checkbook out of materialistic desperation.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
However, the consumption of some Birthday-Kahlua and a severe cold combined with my already non-existent attention span meant that I didn't remember this issue until around 11 pm that night.<br />
The following is pretty much an exact transcript of my multiple conversations with bank employees, illustrating why having your account compromised ends up making you angrier at your own bank than the thieves themselves.<br />
Also please note that this conversation starts after several minutes of trying to get an automated system to understand my wheezy flu-voice.<br />
<br />
<b> Automated telephone system <i>(I named her Phyllis after the first few minutes)</i>:</b> Thank you for calling <i>Merp-a-derp</i> Bank-that-shall-not-be-named customer service line. What are you calling about today?<br />
<br />
<b>Me</b>: Uh.. <i>*cough cough*</i> account fraud?<br />
<br />
<b>Phyllis:</b> I'm sorry, that is not one of our options. Please state why you are calling. Your answer could include things like; "What is my account balance?" "I would like to transfer funds" or "How can I"-<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> My account has been compromised<br />
<br />
<b>Phyllis</b>: I'm sorry, please say again.<br />
<br />
<b> Me:</b> My account <i>*cough hack*</i> has been compromised.<br />
<br />
<i><b>*This continues for several minutes. I hope they don't record that portion of the call because Phyllis got a piece of my mind*</b></i><br />
<br />
<b>Phyllis:</b> Please hold.....<br />
<br />
<b>Michael:</b> Thank you for calling <i>Merp-a-derp</i> Bank my name is Michael how may I assist you today?<br />
<br />
<b>Me</b>: Yeah, I think my account has been compromised.<br />
<br />
<b>Michael: </b>My goodness I am so very sorry about that Mam! Let me pull up your account and take a look.<br />
<br />
<i><b> *At this point I realize that because of my gravely flu-voice Michael thinks I'm a 65 year old smoker. Now he's pulling up my account and seeing that I have the financial history of a 21 year old coffee addict. While this is awkward, I'm far to tired and lazy to explain.*</b></i><br />
<br />
<b>Michael:</b> Ok I'm looking at your account right now, which transactions are you looking at?<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Uh.. all the ones in Nebraska.<br />
<br />
<b>Michael:</b> I see, any reason these raise red flags for you?<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Well Michael, for starters I don't live in Nebraska. Also it would be really hard to buy gas in Colorado and Nebraska in the same 20 minutes....<br />
<br />
<b><i>*I wanted to add: "Unless I've got a time machine, but those are pretty hard to come by, and from what I can see they only really give those out to British people." but I didn't... *</i></b><br />
<br />
<b>Michael:</b> Oh I see well that is a very good point Mam. I'm going to give you peace of mind today! What I am going to do is file a report concerning these transactions.....wait...... ok well our system is down so I can't actually file your claim right now.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WqYucfbu7rw/TsrkXOeEKlI/AAAAAAAAANQ/GH0__xzVlbk/s1600/customer-service-300x213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WqYucfbu7rw/TsrkXOeEKlI/AAAAAAAAANQ/GH0__xzVlbk/s200/customer-service-300x213.jpg" width="200" /></a> <b>Me</b>: Ok.... so now what?<br />
<br />
<b>Michael: </b>Well, if I were you, I would call back in a few minutes..... or a couple hours...<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Really? That's your "Peace of Mind"? Can't you at least, I dunno, write someone a note?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<b>Michael:</b> What I can do is transfer you to someone at <i>Mer-hurrrpaderr</i> Financial who will help you make sure this never happens again..<br />
<br />
<b>Me: </b>Well no actu-<br />
<br />
<b>Megan</b>: Hello, this is Megan at <i>Mer-hurrrpaderr</i> Financial! I understand you are interested in signing up for identity theft protection! Let me get your information and we will start your no risk trial for only a dollar!<br />
<br />
<b> Me:</b> Megan, it's midnight here. I'm just trying to get my debit card frozen so no one can buy any more candy-bars in Grand Island. So if you could transfer me back...<br />
<br />
<b>Megan:</b> I am sorry for the inconvenience and I do hope you reconsider my offer!<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Uh-huh...so if you could just-<br />
<br />
<b><i>"click"</i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i>*This results in yet another painfully long conversation with Phyllis, after which I am finally transferred to a different employee...*</i></b><br />
<br />
<b>Anthony:</b> HellothisisAnthonyhowmayIassistyoutoday?<br />
<br />
<b><i>*At this point I should point out that I can barely hear poor Anthony. This is not because of his accent, which I am very good at understanding, but because he talks so fast it makes you think his calls are being timed. I'm sure my slow, Nyquil affected speech was not helping him meet his productivity quota.* </i></b><br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Um... my account has been compromised.<br />
<br />
<b>Anthony</b>: IseeIamsosorrywhydoyouthinkthishashappened?<br />
<br />
<b>Me: </b><i>*sigh, cough*</i> Someone is using it in Nebraska...<br />
<br />
<b>Anthony</b>: Okletmepullupyouraccountinfo..ok... yesIcanclearlyseetheproblemletmefileaclaimforyou?<br />
<br />
<b>Me</b>: Um, I'm sorry?<br />
<br />
<b>Anthony</b>: OhIwasjustsayingIamgoingtofileaclaim?<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Could... could you repeat that?<br />
<br />
<b>Anthony</b> <i>*sigh*</i> I...amgoingto...file..a...claim.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Oh Ok cool.<br />
<br />
<b>Anthony:</b> It looks like our systemsaredown so I wouldhavetofile an actualpaperformso.. thatwouldtakemequiteawhile...<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Anthony?<br />
<br />
<b>Anthony:</b> Yes Mam, howcanIhelpyou?<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ikp6DQ-0Cr0/TsrlZ8rFS8I/AAAAAAAAANY/rD8vh5QDfAI/s1600/wells-fargo-what-the-f.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="109" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ikp6DQ-0Cr0/TsrlZ8rFS8I/AAAAAAAAANY/rD8vh5QDfAI/s320/wells-fargo-what-the-f.gif" width="320" /></a><br />
<b>Me:</b> Do you have a pen?<br />
<br />
<b>Anthony:</b> Um... yes?<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Cool. I'll hold.<br />
<br />
I am absolutely positive Anthony hates me a little bit, but there is just a certain time of night, after a few doses of cold medicine and one too many arguments with Phyllis when I just don't give a rat's ass.<br />
<br />
Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-36048925878586824032011-11-19T21:35:00.000-08:002011-11-21T19:36:34.875-08:00Baylee's Totally Deep Movie Review Time <i> </i><br />
<i> *<b>Disclaimer:</b> I know I'm making a fool of myself even writing about this, but I think a lot of you, deep down inside, also have a mild, sick fascination with these films. I'm here to save you the cash that you were about to spend out of curiosity*</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Due to circumstances quite out of my control (A birthday wish from someone who shall remain nameless for their own well-being), I was coerced into watching the latest installment of the Twilight series. In the Theater. The Saturday directly following it's release. Watching a Honeymoon scene with a room full of tweens is officially my 3rd circle of Hell.<br />
I know movie reviews aren't really my thing but there are just some things I really need to get off my chest here folks, so hang in there.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UUmW3d4-dZ4/TsiPQyN2zDI/AAAAAAAAANA/r4gebGmHvbI/s1600/Twilight_Breaking_Dawn_Part_movie_poster_August.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UUmW3d4-dZ4/TsiPQyN2zDI/AAAAAAAAANA/r4gebGmHvbI/s320/Twilight_Breaking_Dawn_Part_movie_poster_August.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"All of these people are about to have<br />
some serious <b>feelings</b>"</td></tr>
</tbody></table> This is going to be the shortest movie review ever I promise.<br />
<br />
In fact, I'm not even going to review it, I'll just summarize it and let you decide if it was worth the $6.50 Matinee price I paid for it.<br />
<br />
First of all, we are all too familiar with the 80's training montages set to ACDC songs or the like. I have nothing against these, in fact I'm rather fond of them. Pretty much every ACDC song I own conjures up some sort of training montage in my highly impressionable mind. So imagine my distress when I was forced to sit through the fantasy-romance version of this scene: <i>The Emotion Montage</i>.<br />
<br />
Rather than a bunch of weight-lifting and cool martial arts moves set to a sweet rock anthem, the <i>Emotion Montage</i> features a bunch of slow motion flashbacks and close-ups of faces sporting that "slightly tormented" downward gaze, set to a bunch of Iron and Wine songs. Oh and there wasn't just one. There were about twelve.<br />
<br />
<br />
So here is a scene-by-scene breakdown of <b>Breaking Dawn Part I:</b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <i>Monotone voice-over that begins every film</i>......Wedding.............<i>. Emotion Montage</i>........................Honeymoon-very awkward not-so-sexy-time- <i>Happiness Emotion Montage*</i> .... ............................ <b>Pregnant!</b>...... <i>Emotion Montage</i>..........................................Jacob is here!....... ................................ <i>Emotion Montage</i>..........................Disney-esque wolf argument............... <i>Emotion Montage </i>.............................Bella is sick! <b>Worry! </b>..................................... <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Emotion Montage</span></i>.... .........................Acceptably gory C-section...................................Bella is <b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">dead</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">! </span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Emotion Montage</span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b>!</b></span>. ...........................Slow close up of dead-Bella's face.......... ... <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Eyes open!</span></b> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b></b><br />
<b></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Credits</b>.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> *This differs from other Emotion Montages by replacing "slightly tormented" downward gaze with "bashfully twitterpated" downward gaze</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Basically what I'm saying here is, nothing happens in this movie..... except lots and lots of feelings. Oh and one weird scene with some poorly animated wolves and dramatic voice-overs.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ok9x1RFcO3w/TsiOTKklyPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/XUSJ8eT8c_A/s1600/the_twilight_saga_breaking_dawn_part_1_2011_movie_posters_wallpapers_background_03-t2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ok9x1RFcO3w/TsiOTKklyPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/XUSJ8eT8c_A/s1600/the_twilight_saga_breaking_dawn_part_1_2011_movie_posters_wallpapers_background_03-t2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"We're having <i>emotions</i>."</td></tr>
</tbody></table> I hope you enjoyed the movie review. It was about as deep and well thought-out as the movie itself.<br />
<br />
P.S. I'm way too lazy to do any sort of research on this but if I had to guess I'd say this film was directed by a girl. If I'm wrong, then he's gay. Even if he says he's not, he is. Just wait and see.<br />
<br />
<br />
Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-20683657833424917622011-11-08T09:59:00.000-08:002011-11-08T09:59:42.609-08:00Why I could totally be the next Crocodile Hunter- Rescuing small, fluffy, sharp-toothed animals like a total bad-ass. <br />
<i> *This actually happened awhile ago, but I'm just getting around to posting it because of that whole month of being really busy and stressed and also a wee-bit depressed. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i> </i>I live in a neighborhood with a higher population of rabbits than actual people. Seriously it's like <i>Watership Down </i>around here. Driving down the street after dark is akin to a very stressful game of wack-a-mole only you're trying <i>not </i>to hit the tiny fluffy creatures jumping out in front of you.<br />
The rabbits, though not tame by any means, are surprisingly nonchalant. One day this summer I narrowly avoided flattening a large rabbit that was lying on it's back in the middle of my driveway.<br />
Because of it's position and complete lack of awareness I at first assumed it was dead. I got out of my car with the intention of finding a shovel and discreetly depositing it's sad little body in my neighbors yard<i> (because I don't have the heart to throw it in the trash but am also far too lazy to bury it, and also my neighbor is INSANE and it would have been funny)</i>. As I got closer the rabbit lifted it's head and stared at me as if to say <i>"What? see something you like here? *wink*".</i><br />
<i> </i>It wasn't until I got about four feet from it's upturned belly that it finally rolled over and hopped into the yard. I finished pulling my car into the garage and then watched from my window as it hopped back onto the pavement and flopped over to continue his sunbathing.<br />
<br />
My point is, there are a lot of rabbits and they do not fear death despite one of their brethren occasionally ending up flattened on the road or eaten by a dog. So it came as a rather large surprise when I found out that my house possesses a death trap that they have not figured out how to avoid or escape from.<br />
<br />
When we first moved in I vaguely remember having a conversation with our landlord about the window-well that went something like this:<br />
<b>Landlord:</b> "So there's just the one window-well and it doesn't have a cover, is that a problem?"<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> "Yes it is, someone could fall in!"<br />
<br />
<b>Landlord:</b> " Oh you mean like a small child? Ok I can put a cover on it."<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> "Err.. yes.. a child! Totally. A kid would fall in there. Not grown-ups though because they are more graceful. Yes, cover it... for the children."<br />
<br />
<b>Roommate:</b> "Uh, we don't have any children. It's fine, the dog is smart enough not to fall in."<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> "Yes.. right, the dog. That's what I was worried about. Not me or anything haha."<br />
<br />
Then one day I was down in the basement doing laundry when I heard thumping and scratching noises coming from the window. I pulled back the curtain to find this little dude attempting to claw his way up the metal wall.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X7o_T7aMJB0/TrlVXo0RNXI/AAAAAAAAAMY/dEjy4gvGMz8/s1600/bunnyy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X7o_T7aMJB0/TrlVXo0RNXI/AAAAAAAAAMY/dEjy4gvGMz8/s400/bunnyy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I shall give him carrots and call him Fortinbras.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
I guess I'm less compassionate than I thought because my first reaction was to mock him for being dumb enough to get stuck in this giant hole. It was funny until I noticed something that I'm sure was far more upsetting for the bunny than me- a tiny bunny skeleton half buried in leaves a few feet away.<br />
I realized this rabbit, however dumb he may be, did not deserve to die a slow lonely death like that and also I named him Fortinbras, so I couldn't just leave him there.<br />
First order of business in any rescue mission is to gather intel. For this I went upstairs, where I discovered two bunny cohorts observing the whole situation from the backyard. They were both munching on grass and occasionally peeking over the side of the window-well as if to say:<br />
<br />
<i> "Sucks Bro. keep jumping.. you'll totally get out."</i><br />
Then they turn to each other and whisper things like:<br />
<br />
<i> "It's never gonna happen." </i><br />
<br />
<i> "He's a gonner for sure."</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i> </i>Poor little Fortinbras had no hope of being rescued from the outside. Not only is the hole incredibly deep, it was also basically impossible to see him. Camo-fur was not paying off in this particular situation-<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Hx395W5iMck/TrlWX_DR6rI/AAAAAAAAAMg/DZWQ0RKfHE0/s1600/image+%25282%25292.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="512" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Hx395W5iMck/TrlWX_DR6rI/AAAAAAAAAMg/DZWQ0RKfHE0/s640/image+%25282%25292.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table> I decided to attempt my rescue from the basement where Fortinbras is within arms reach, and somehow transport him upstairs into the yard.<br />
<br />
While I have rescued plenty of small rodents and birds in my lifetime, I decided to consult an expert on this one. Fortinbras was happily munching on carrots at the moment, but I knew the second I opened the window the odds of him voluntarily hopping into my arms were probably pretty slim.<br />
I texted my cousin Erin who works at a Wildlife Rescue, thinking she would have some good advice.<br />
<br />
<b> Me:</b> "<i>About to rescue a bunny from my window-well. Any advice?"</i><br />
<br />
The problem with people who spend their days putting splints on bear cubs and repairing golden eagle wings is that to them, rabbits are the things they feed to the baby mountain lions to make sure they can hunt before releasing them.<br />
I'm not saying small animals don't matter, nor that they don't also rescue squirrels and whatnot on a regular basis, only that real Wildlife experts have an annoying habit of seeing the big picture, food-chain-wise.<br />
<br />
Also they are a little spoiled with their rescue gear.<br />
<br />
<b>Erin:</b> <i>"Use some thick gloves rabbits bite and scratch. Also a pole and net. Also rabbits tend to panic and flail and break their own backs. so just be aware of that."</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i> </i>Very helpful dear. A list of things I do not have and a piece of information for which there is no solution. I immediately began to panic over the thought of poor little Fortinbras breaking his back. Not so much his death, Lord knows I have witnessed enough fluffy tragedies to deal with that. No, I was panicking over the thought of him breaking his own back and staying alive. What would I do then? My cousin, with her fancy gear and veterinary-type skills would probably have a syringe and just let him slip away quietly, mercifully ending his self-induced pain.<br />
But what am I supposed to do? Take him out back and hit him with a shovel?<br />
<br />
But I also couldn't leave him to die so I mustered up all my courage and headed to the garage to search for supplies.<br />
In lea of gloves and net I went with: Long sleeved shirt, old blanket, and a cardboard box.<br />
<br />
I had the forethought to lock my roommate's dog in a bedroom before I potentially released a wild rabbit into our basement, but I forgot about my cat, who took up watch from the Futon a few feet away with a look on his face that can only be interpreted as:<br />
<br />
<i> "Oh this is going to be such a good show..."</i><br />
<i> </i> From my position in the basement I could also see two bunny noses peeking curiously over the edge of the wall above.<br />
Despite the stares of my skeptical audience I managed get the box over the top of the rabbit fairly easily and felt a wave of relief when he decided to deal with his panic by freezing up completely instead of the wild flailing Erin warned me about.<br />
However, anytime I attempted to slide the box towards me, the flailing would start, along with some sad squeaks I was previously unaware rabbits could produce. So we sat there for a few moments in Limbo. Me unable to move the box but unwilling to set him free, his bunny friends watching unsupportively from the yard, and my cat smugly grooming himself on the futon.<br />
Finally I decided to do it in one quick move hoping to get him up the stairs and outside before he had time to snap his fragile little spine. I slid the box inside, flipped it over and closed the flaps in a much-less-than-fluid movement, sustaining several scratches on my arms and somehow succeeding in hitting myself in the face<i> (something that happens a little to often considering I am an adult with relatively good hand-eye coordination)</i>.<br />
<br />
Anyway I totally got Fortinbras upstairs and outside all on my own, proving that you don't need fancy equipment to rescue rabbits LIKE A BOSS.<br />
<br />
The scratches I sustained were deemed minor and undeserving of a rabies shot <i>(I came to this diagnosis on my own by factoring in my fear of needles with the fact that Fortinbras did not appear rabid)</i>, and we got a cover for the window well to prevent future tragedies.<br />
<br />
And now here is a completely unrelated picture of a bunny to distract you from the fact that this very long blog post has no climax, pay-off, or conclusion of any kind.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4fprx3Lykmg/TrltubV7byI/AAAAAAAAAMo/yXgBxC975GQ/s1600/baby-bunny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4fprx3Lykmg/TrltubV7byI/AAAAAAAAAMo/yXgBxC975GQ/s400/baby-bunny.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-87246407911386554442011-11-04T20:14:00.000-07:002011-11-04T20:14:04.341-07:00We Apologize for the Convenience: The Check Writers- an observational essay on why it's not 1994. <b> Handwritten checks.</b><br />
<div style="text-align: right;"></div> I know right? The very fact that they still exist is laughable, but the sheer amount of people that still use them to pay for anything is downright astonishing. Yet on an average day I process around twelve of these things.<br />
Everything will be going smoothly in <i>Toaster-land</i> until that checkbook pops out.<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Md15HCuM3xc/TrSVNyzgSxI/AAAAAAAAAMA/wFjG8mRXh8g/s1600/d4191259r.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="155" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Md15HCuM3xc/TrSVNyzgSxI/AAAAAAAAAMA/wFjG8mRXh8g/s320/d4191259r.jpg" width="320" /></a> The second a customer opens up a checkbook, times comes to a halt and customers and employees alike have to hold back the simultaneous groan that involuntarily bubbles up inside their throats.<br />
<br />
By the time the offender has finished the process of opening said checkbook, finding a new check, folding down the crease and putting on their glasses, I'm already waiting with an amazingly patient and understanding smile plastered on my face and a pen at the ready.<br />
That pen never works though, or it's the wrong color, or it has germs, and the entire store has to continue their excruciating flashback to 1994 until a better pen has been located.<br />
The check is then filled out and after gathering every single bit of information from current address and phone number to blood-type, I begin to process the check.<br />
<br />
Provided everything goes smoothly this process can take upwards of six or seven minutes, which in retail time is around forty years (give or take part of a lunch break and factoring in the tax-rate). However, everything rarely goes smoothly because even our check processing machine is upset that it's being used. Every time a check is inserted it makes a grinding noise as if to say:<br />
<i><b>"What the hell people? I should be in retirement! Somebody call President Reagan and tell him the labor laws need changed, this is outrageous!"</b></i><br />
<i> </i>And then it just spits it back and beeps out an <i><b>"Eff that."</b></i><br />
<br />
Perhaps the most amazing thing is that usually only around 75% of the offenders are over the age of sixty-five. The others are upsettingly young. Young enough that I am beginning to worry the Hipsters are going to embrace them, and if that happens the efficiency of the check-out process is completely doomed.<br />
<br />
I understand that most Senior Citizens can't be expected to learn how to use the debit card machine. I still weep with joy every time I see one of my Grandparents successfully operating a cell-phone. Seniors get a pass on this subject for the very same reason that I will expect a pass fifty years from now when I'm still rocking an iPod and haven't gotten around to micro-chipping my iTunes library into my brain-stem.<i> (Plus, in those cases, the check writing isn't the only thing that slows down the process. Payment is constantly interrupted anyway when I have to keep reminding them where they are and why they are buying a cheese-grater.)</i><br />
But I'd like to give a shout-out to the thirty-something business woman with her iPhone and practical heels:<br />
<br />
<i> You Mam, should be ashamed of yourself. You are obviously very businessy since you are wearing dress-pants and can work Excel on your smart-phone just fine. I get that these items, which include a space heater and Genie-Bra, are going on the "Business Account" but for the love of VISA: God of Materialism, get yourself a damn credit card.</i><br />
<i> Did you time-travel all the way from the 1900's just to mildly inconvenience everyone around you? Do you actually prefer handing over what is essentially an IOU and spending the next several weeks wondering if it's been cashed? Are you aware that there are faster, more convenient ways to handle money, or did you miss the transitional decades in between 1985 and the Present?</i><br />
<br />
I use checks for two things only:<br />
<br />
1. <b>To pay rent</b> - and this is only because my landlord won't get with the times and acquire his own personal debit card machine. Completely out of my control.<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i> </i>2. <b>To reimburse my parents for things</b> - this is my own personal IOU system. I write them a check for the amount I owe, and mail it (I know right? Like, in an <i>envelope.</i>. with a<i> stamp. </i>It's adorable) to them with a sweet little note that says something like : <br />
<br />
"<i>Hey Mom, </i><br />
<i> Here is the money I owe you, thanks again for paying that hospital bill and all.</i><br />
<i> Only, could you do me one favor and just not deposit this until I tell you? I totally have the money and everything it's just I would hate to have to dip into my saving account right now, I'm trying to keep that money safe for my mission trip next year. For the children. </i><br />
<i> Anyway, I love you so much and I will so totally text you when you can deposit this, and it's going to be totally soon!</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KyJtS90ciZ8/TrSo7p96HGI/AAAAAAAAAMI/8kcUdc3eonY/s1600/stock-vector-scratchy-ink-drawing-of-a-happy-smiley-face-46832209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KyJtS90ciZ8/TrSo7p96HGI/AAAAAAAAAMI/8kcUdc3eonY/s1600/stock-vector-scratchy-ink-drawing-of-a-happy-smiley-face-46832209.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Love, </i></div><i> Baylee " </i><br />
<br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> </i>Other than those two very logical examples, I can see no good reason to write a check in this day and age. I'm confused about why the Banks still print them.<br />
This problem directly ties in to another serious issue everyone seems to have: The inability to work a debit card machine even though they all follow basic protocol and have been around for well over ten years. I assure you there will be a post dedicated to this subject very soon. Until then, I ask only one thing of anyone still rocking the checkbook.<br />
The next time you pull that thing out in line at Target, hear the groan from the person behind you, and notice that ever-so-slight deadening of your cashier's eyes, ask yourself this:<br />
How would you feel if you were a cashier and when you asked for a check, someone handed you a bag of gold doubloons?<br />
<br />
<i><b>*This post is dedicated to my Mother, who is under the age of fifty but still uses checks to buy groceries. </b></i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> P.S. There's a prize for anyone who can guess who's check that is a picture of.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> P.P.S. There isn't really a prize, I just want to prove my point about checks being obsolete.</span></i><br />
<br />
Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-19908518207549651132011-10-24T20:40:00.000-07:002011-10-24T21:19:15.997-07:00So Here's What Happened... Remember <a href="http://thoughtsbeforecoffee.blogspot.com/2011/08/college-is-fun-she-said-only-half.html">this post</a> from the beginning of the semester about classes starting and how you should all expect a stress meltdown around late October?<br />
<br />
Well anyhoo, I'm totally back now and the only casualties were a jar of peanut butter and my blissful ignorance regarding whether or not I could in fact fit an entire bottle of wine in my purse.<br />
<br />
I've decided to begin referring to these meltdowns as <i>"Baylee's Bi-Annual Breakdowns"</i> because it happens right on schedule right around midterms every semester and also because, you know, alliteration.<br />
I'm going to have to do some fact checking with my parents, but as far as I can tell this has been happening on a regular basis since kindergarten.<br />
Many kids are born with disadvantages of one kind or another. I was born shouldering a figurative satchel of stress* disproportionate to my level of awareness. I may have mentioned this before, but I popped out with dark circles under my eyes, biting my lower lip as if to say <i>"Was that ok? Did I do it right? I'm sorry I'm early I was just so concerned about being late you know..."</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i> *</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Look at me with the alliteration. If I add more spaces I could pass this off as post-modern poetry.</span><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>Stressed-and-Anxious</i> was kind of my default mode as a small child. Take that and throw in the need for perfection and it wasn't long before the professionals thought it was best to medicate me in what I think was a preemptive attempt to prevent me from going all <i>Carrie</i> on my third-grade class.<br />
<br />
Over the years I have learned to deal with these tendencies and as a result I have become an expert in all things relaxation. Seriously, if you could get a degree in "Stress Relief" I'd be all over it. I should be the most relaxed a person could be without the addition of narcotics. I'm thinking of opening a Relaxation Clinic <i>(it's like a spa but everyone wears sweatpants and carries around a fluffy pet and we serve pumpkin spice lattes and watch HGTV all day).</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
So perhaps the most annoying thing is that even though I know what's happening and have every trick in the proverbial "meltdown prevention book" at my disposal, I can't seem to avoid them. I have tried to pinpoint certain triggers but had to give up because either I have none at all or too many to bother counting. Here are triggers I identified before I realized identifying them was itself a trigger:<br />
<br />
<b> - Not going outside enough</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> - Going outside too much</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> - Not enough socializing</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> - Too much socializing</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> - Not enough exercise</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> - Setting high goals</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> - Too much exercise</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> - Having only trivial goals</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> - Too much coffee</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> - Swimsuit shopping</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> - Not enough coffee</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> - Too many classes</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> - When the special strawberry you've been saving for last is actually rotten</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> - No classes at all</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> - Losing a game of Peggle</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b> - Too much Law and Order: SVU</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
Before anyone becomes overly concerned about my mental health I feel I should argue that these are all valid points and really the disturbing/admirable thing here is my ability to micro-analyze my issues with such attention to detail.<br />
So because I have so many/zero identifiable triggers it's hard to tell exactly when these meltdowns will occur, how long they will last, or what form they will take.<br />
Sometimes I can feel them coming several days in advance. Last semester's meltdown began slowly, but it's severity increased exponentially over the course of a week eventually culminating in a nervous breakdown in the doctor's office when a lab tech tried to draw blood to test for the thyroid problems everyone was positive I had. Turns out, it was just the <i>Bi-Annual Breakdown</i> manifesting as serious illness, inability to concentrate, insomnia and lack of energy.<br />
<br />
This semester's meltdown took me completely by surprise. It appeared out of nowhere a few weeks ago, smacked me in the face and then skipped away having left me with a lingering feeling that it wasn't quite finished with me yet. That's when the jar of peanut butter was consumed, as per usual, and the stress of waiting for a relapse is what facilitated the wine bottle-purse discovery.<br />
Then I was driving home after an average day at work<i> (meaning mostly terrible but not quite horrifying)</i> listening to some new music and generally just enjoying the fact that all I had to do that evening was eat dinner and trim the cat's claws <i>(not that that's a fun activity, but I do sort-of enjoy the challenge)</i>.<br />
As I came over a hill I passed a a truck driving the opposite way. Just a regular truck, driving in his lane doing everything perfectly safely and following all traffic laws. That is exactly the moment when stress-induced full on crazy-town moment went down in my brain completely unprovoked. This is a play-by-play:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> <i>Did that guy swerve a little?</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>...</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Was he drunk? He could have hit me!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>...</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Crap I'm out of milk.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>What if he had hit me?</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>What if I had died?</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>....</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>I'm going to die someday.</b> </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Maybe not soon, but eventually.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i> Death is inevitable for everyone.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>......</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>What if there is no Heaven and we all just cease to be?</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>There is no consciousness before life, why should there be any after life?</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Steve Jobs died. That was sad.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I hear soymilk is better for you, maybe I should switch to soymilk... <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">or almond milk</span>....</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Seriously though, we all just die.... so what's the point achieving anything?</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>What's the point in even trying to be happy if you aren't going to be able to remember that happiness after death? Everyone works so hard to be successful but what is the point of it all?</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I'm going to die someday</span></b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>........</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
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</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>.............................................</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
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</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>............................................<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">What if there's no God?</span></b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><br />
</b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"> This last thought was immediately followed by a panic attack that included an overwhelming feeling of despair and terror so great it physically hurt me and I stopped breathing for a good thirty seconds. Then right as I was about to pull over and find a paper bag, the moment passed, a new song came on the radio, and I spent the rest of my drive filled with an odd kind of serenity that I can only imagine was a subconscious defense mechanism that people have to stop their brains from exploding while over-philosophying.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> I'm not exaggerating about the panic attack either. I Googled the symptoms and I assure you it's as horrible as it sounds on Wikipedia.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> At any rate I think it's over now, until spring semester anyway. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Oh plus I found this really helpful diagram in case it ever happens again and one of you is near me:</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OHzbQaTzyAs/TqYtHwuZKCI/AAAAAAAAAL0/TTXo_LrKpWI/s1600/wikipedia-panic-attack-diagram.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OHzbQaTzyAs/TqYtHwuZKCI/AAAAAAAAAL0/TTXo_LrKpWI/s320/wikipedia-panic-attack-diagram.png" width="251" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks Wikipedia, <br />
I never would have thought of that.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Also, I'm kind of glad I was right about the relapse or there would be no way to justify the wine bottle thing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><i> </i>Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-59835257946978214862011-10-07T14:56:00.000-07:002011-10-07T21:38:34.992-07:00"Die, Childlike Sense of Wonder, Die!" - The dark side of the Holidays Every year, retail tries it's hardest to kill my childlike love of Christmas. I love the Holiday season, probably more than is healthy for someone my age. I can't help it, I love the music, the smells, the food, the emotions... <i>(not the real ones like Resentment and Jealousy, but the ones in the movies, like Love and Selfless Joy)</i>. I spend October through December obsessively collecting harvest scented candles and pumpkin-pie recipes. I pretend to be annoyed by the carols blasting over the loud speaker all day and then hop in my car and sing a-long to them all the way home.<br />
But this week blatant and unrepentant materialism tried it's darnedest to kill the child in my soul.<br />
<br />
It started early in the morning with a migraine and the horrifying discovery of an empty shelf where the espresso should be. On a regular day I can handle these things with some semblance of decorum but today also happened to be Christmas Freight day.<br />
You see, the retail world runs on a different schedule than the rest of us and not even baby Jesus himself can seem to keep up. This means that for us the Christmas season pushes it's way into our lives on October 1st and makes our stockroom resemble Santa's post-earthquake workshop before regular people have even had a chance to pick out a Halloween costume.<br />
So I faced a day of unloading boxes of items like this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AtmcVRKbXfg/TovTa-8ijCI/AAAAAAAAALg/KUki6Py3NKM/s1600/14738417472518P.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AtmcVRKbXfg/TovTa-8ijCI/AAAAAAAAALg/KUki6Py3NKM/s320/14738417472518P.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>That's right, it's a toilet seat cover. Because everyone want's to tinkle on Santa.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"> .........with no coffee and a throbbing head-ache. These items don't trickle in over the course of several months either. Instead they all arrive on one day and you suddenly find yourself faced with a stockroom that looks like a reindeer ate some elves and then crapped glitter all over the place. Even for someone who loves the Holidays, it's a hard thing to take.<br />
Even Hanukkah tries it's darnedest to get in on the misery. I'm not very familiar with all of the history involved with this Holiday, but if I had to piece it together based solely on the items we sell in our store, I'd say it has something to do with tacky LED candles and the worshiping of Dreidels. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> It doesn't help that roughly 98% of my co-workers are already shamelessly bitter about the Holiday season. I can hardly blame them for this. Even thinking about the abuse that I have taken on past Christmas Eve's from the woman who holds me personally responsible for running out of mini cupcake makers, or the gentleman who thinks I should already know the perfect gift for his estranged son, makes me want to hide out and not show myself till February.<br />
<br />
This week almost broke me. After nothing but negative rants about the Holidays from every person you talk to, and being faced with the undeniably tacky decorations that we manage to convince the public they simply must have, it's hard to keep that childlike sense of wonder.<br />
It was in the middle of listening to my boss rant about how stupid and pointless Christmas is and wading through our stockroom trying not to trip over items like this:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-plHLrRMT6fM/To9sqrD-2xI/AAAAAAAAALo/FwFzjMShyHk/s1600/lens15635371_1290369892Santa_Cake_Pan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-plHLrRMT6fM/To9sqrD-2xI/AAAAAAAAALo/FwFzjMShyHk/s1600/lens15635371_1290369892Santa_Cake_Pan.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Hey kids, if you love Santa so much, why don't you eat him?"<br />
<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Or, if you're Jewish:</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iTEkJCInpHM/To9tvsoBCWI/AAAAAAAAALs/TMJ97Z6AtiQ/s1600/dreidel_cake_pan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iTEkJCInpHM/To9tvsoBCWI/AAAAAAAAALs/TMJ97Z6AtiQ/s200/dreidel_cake_pan.jpg" width="193" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The blessed dreidel.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> ... that I finally had to agree that as far as retail is concerned, the Holidays just aren't that great. Capitalism and consumerism have almost ruined the whole thing for me, and I suddenly understand why other people hate it so much. Starting in October, retailers start pushing you to buy tons of crap in the name of Santa and/or The Almighty Dreidel. It's hard to find the joy in that.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> So I settled on the age-old sentiment popularized by losers and turncoats: <i>"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em"</i>.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> I still love the Holidays and, outside of work, will continue to revel in the season. I will continue to watch movies like <i>Prancer</i> and bawl my eyes out, and will unabashedly indulge in binge-caroling while peer pressuring friends to join in.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> But at work I'm just going to go ahead and Grinch it up. I can't take the pressure of assuming the role of Cindy-Lou Who. I'm just not that strong, and besides, who can truly love the holidays every minute while simultaneously listening to this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/vls7JTaOBeo?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">......over and over....and over...and over again, all day long. About twelve of them. All singing at once. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">With Back-up singing by this guy:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/ym1SIxGTawc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">From now until January.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <i><b>*For the full effect, play both videos at the same time. Then open this page in 12 new windows and press play on all the videos. It's like singing in a round on cocaine!</b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8004875631056064556.post-26045482219004313532011-10-04T21:34:00.000-07:002011-10-04T21:34:30.222-07:00Discoveries made during a lengthy stretch of self-pity.<div style="text-align: center;"> <i><b>This commercial makes a good point...</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>But I can fit an entire bottle of wine in my purse. I'd like to see a kindle do that.</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><br />
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</i></b></div>Bayleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283911625745201414noreply@blogger.com0