Creepy?

I just checked the email account I use for blogging for the first time in a while. I have it set up for my myspace account to alert me when I have a new message or friend request. One said that I had a message from Ryan, and another said I had a friend request from Ryan. My heart leapt as I rushed to my myspace page, thinking it was a dear friend of mine from high school that is now in the Navy. Him and I don't talk nearly as much as I'd like.

When I clicked on Ryan's picture, a man that I had never seen came on the screen. Sometimes I get those band starter wannabes requesting me so they can just have another person to listen to their music. So I started looking at the page to see if I could conjure up some memory of this person. And I saw a banner that said, "Embrace Us All" with transgender stuff all over. WHAT? Nope, I didn't know this person.

So I went and read the message from Ryan and it said something like, "Hey, Erin. Remember me? We were in Ms. ____'s class together. But my name was ______ back then. A few things have changed."

And the memories were suddenly conjured.

There was this girl in my Psychology class that seemed really sweet, but off somehow. One day, I caught her staring at me in a way that only seemed normal coming from 15 year old boys. I had a short-ish skirt on (and I must admit, I had great legs in high school. Who didn't, I guess?). Every time I looked over at her, she was staring at my legs, and then would look me in the eye without looking away. From then on, I was convinced she was a lesbian.

And now she's a dude. Well, I don't know if she's technically a dude, but she's living as one. I don't even know what to say back to him. Uh, her. Him. See? What do you say?

Great Site

Again, thanks to Sarah, I've found a great site. Go here to see that not all the stories you hear about Pits are bad.

Given the chance, Pit bulls can be amazing pets. And they are oh-so-photogenic.

Five Questions from Dick (Finally)

1. Describe the feelings of a wife who's husband has been called off to a war.

Argh. I hate talking about this.

My feelings range anywhere from despair, hopelessness, fear, and pride. It's a part of our life that has been the thing closest to tearing us apart. When Scout and I are together, we are the best team ever. When he's gone, it's like someone busted out our kneecaps. We're a mess.

But what makes it all worth it is knowing that Scout will kill as many enemies of the United States as humanly possible. Without blinking. And if he can help it, will come home to me at the end of it all.

But then, when I let my mind wander, I contemplate what I would do should he not come home. How would I react to the men in Class As standing at my door? Would I stay here, run away to Kansas, or go home to Seattle? Would I ever really be able to move on? Would I hate myself for letting Scout re-enlist? Would I still think that freedom for Iraqis and other Americans is worth my soldier's life? What kind of memorial would I plan for him? Who is the first person I would call? Where would he be buried? See, I gotta stop now.

2. Tell us of just one of the hardships you face as a military wife.

Job selection (see all previous posts). A girl with a degree in a normal town could score a decent job, but it seems that in military communities, there is a shortage of good-paying jobs, and a plethora of shitty paying ones.

3. If you had one thing that you could change in your past life, would you, and why?

My college major. I should have finished my Nursing degree. Instead of finishing school just for the sake of finishing, I should have waited and done something I actually wanted to do. Now I have a Business degree and I'm not using it.

4. Can you cook? If so, just how far along are you on the culinary scale?

Although I'm fairly sure I couldn't hang in the kitchen with your Kelly, I'm not the least bit intimidated by new recipes or labels that suggest one should be an "advanced" cook. All three of my good friends are culinary geniuses, so I've been able to learn a lot from them as well. One of my favorite holidays is Thanksgiving; I love being able to cook with and for others.

But I also love the simplicity of Rachael Ray and Rueben Night at our house. Sometimes the simple things taste the best.

5. What do you think about the Liberals who can't understand the concept of freedom?

Hmm. What do I think about them? When it comes to war and ugly things like killing the enemy, they are pansies.

I assumed that moving to Texas would mean big belt buckles and a serious shortage of liberals. Unfortunately, the latter seem to be more common than the former.

So the other day I was pricing movies at work and came across Fahrenheit 9/11. I simulated puking while pretending to throw the movie in the trash (which I have seriously considered every single time I come across the movie). I used a very politically incorrect name for Michael Moore; a co-worker of mine got extremely offended and wouldn't talk to me for a few days. I couldn't believe it. Later, I found out that my co-worker essentially agreed with everything Michael Moore said in this film.

Another co-worker of mine is always talking about our exit strategy in Iraq. And he's one of those guys that kind of tilts his head from side to side when he talks to make what he's saying seem smarter. And don't get me wrong, he's a smart guy, but his politics are totally incompatible with mine (he also thinks Taurus is superior to Glock. Maybe he's not so smart after all).

Politically, these two guys are pansies. And (in my humble opinion) any person who thinks bailing out of war when shit gets ugly is better than finishing what we started is a pansy too.

Having said that, I'm not a hard-core Republican. On most things I lean right, on some things I lean left. I actually refuse to talk politics with anyone I have no common ground with (ie people that think Michael Moore is a hero, Bush=Hitler, 9/11 was a conspiracy planned by our government, hard-working tax payers need to pay for the lazy fucks who refuse to work, and homosexuality/sex before marriage will plunge you straight into hell).

Let me know if you want me to ask you five questions.

Fuck Work

My boss scheduled me for 50 hours this week. I made it through about 15.

I walked out when I found out they were screwing me out of my well-deserved bonus for the month (even though I would have been there all 31 days of August).

Those greedy bastards always have a way around paying people what they earn. And I'll be damned if I'm going to stick around in a place like that.

I hit my limit; I could no longer politely eat the shit they were spoon-feeding me.

So after eight months of selling my soul for $8.00 an hour, I looked like the asshole. I regret the way it ended, but at the same time I feel an extraordinary amount of freedom.

On to bigger and better things...

BadAss Marine

Sarah emailed me this last week; I then saw it via Count. I couldn't help but share it with the rest of you.

Girls CAN Pee Standing Up

I was just on cabelas.com looking around for some cammo clothes for our upcoming hog-hunting trip ("upcoming" meaning November. I'm so excited I can barely stand it). Anyway, I found the coolest thing ever:



And the item description is even cooler:

A complete palm-sized personal rest room system for women. Convenient, easy to use funnel is great for traveling or when unsanitary conditions are present. Fits discreetly into storage pouch for travel or backpacking.

So ladies, we finally have the opportunity to pee like men. I've always said how nice I think it would be to have the ability to pee standing up. Now, I was a Girl Scout and can squat like a champ, but I may just have to buy this thing anyway. And bonus: it's pink.

Awesome

So we all know that I suck at baseboards and gutters, but I pretty much rock at the stuff I'm about to show you (and before Scout even gets to see it - y'all should feel special).

Here's a table and four chairs I bought on craigslist.com for $100:



The upholstery, paint, and homemade tablecloth set me back about $150 (I gulped as I paid $20.99 a yard - after the 30% off, for the fabric I absolutely loved). I used two chairs I already had and voilà - a brand new dining set:

Oh yeah. You might notice I got some more of the flooring done. I can't wait for it all to be finished...

Clarity

When my boss fires someone, he tells them, "I'm freeing up your future. You are no longer employed by Action Pawn."

Today, I called him and said, "I'm freeing up my future. As of August 31st, I will no longer be employed by Action Pawn."

It's been a series of events, really, that have led me to consider the chance that Scout and I will be eating Ramen and cancelling our subscription to Direct TV, but they're all mundane details that really aren't worth going into. The bottom line is that I'm just not happy. And at the ripe ol' age of 27, I feel too old to be bothered with the bullshit I deal with every day at work. It's time to be happy.

And so, with the balls I've built up by being a Pawn Broker (the eight months there hasn't been a total waist), I've decided that it's time to stop saying, "Maybe someday I'll..." and actually start doing what I've been putting off.

I've realized two things about myself in recent months: 1) I hate being told what to do, how and when to do it, and then being critiqued on it anyway. I want to be the one giving orders, not following them. 2) I've always wanted to dictate how much money I make. No more eight bucks an hour, thank you very much. I'm ready for (and worth) more.

The only way I figure both of these will happen is to go into business for myself. It's taken a long time for me to come to a decision about what one thing I actually want to commit myself to. I've thought about a yarn shop (not a big enough market here), an Alpaca farm (too expensive), and a coffee shop (too much competition). However, I've always known that when times are tough, people always need food and shelter. Food and shelter. Not yarn, not cute fuzzy llama lookin' things, not coffee.

I've realized that when 80 people tell you that you're good at something, you should listen. I should have figured this out years ago when people would walk into my house and tell me how beautiful it was. Even today, with half of my house in "being remodeled" status, friends gasp when they walk in the front door.

I've always loved taking something hideous and making it beautiful. I must admit, Scout tested me a bit when he bought our house without me seeing it first. I was scared when I walked in and things he saw as awesome were things I saw as daunting "this has to go now" projects. But I must say, with all the work we've done, I love our home. Even with all of the things needing to be done, we have transformed something ugly into something pretty sweet.

And so, shelter it is. I'm venturing into the world of house-flipping (taking a hideous - yet structurally sound- house, making it beautiful, and selling it for a profit). I'm still doing my research, and will most likely be applying for an office job of some sort in the meanwhile, but I actually feel like I can do this now.

One can't be a Pawn Broker forever. Well, at least this girl can't.

Wish me luck.

Wheel Chair

So yesterday was a busy day. As usual, I don't have enough people scheduled to accomplish the tasks my boss is always up my ass about. "Have you done PFIs yet, Erin? Have you merchandised such and such, Erin? Are all of the customers taken care of, Erin? Have you counseled so and so about being late to work today, Erin?" (PFI stands for "pulled for inventory": merchandise that customers took loans out on but didn't come back for after 90 days.)

So one of my guys was at lunch, and the other one is a wanderer; I was all by myself. Over the intercom, I hear, "I need a layaway pick-up at register four." That would be my job.

On my way up to what we call "The Mansion," which is a total exaggeration of our storage facility, I looked at the layaway slip and realized it was an electric wheelchair. Great.

So it took me about ten minutes to find the damn thing, considering we have three electric wheelchairs and the location on the slip was wrong. Way wrong.

So I finally find the damn thing, sit down in it, and wheel myself back out to the main part of the store. Over the intercom I hear, "A customer needs assistance in electronics with radar detectors." I made a note that once I was done wheeling this thing around that I would get back up to my department and help that customer. But I was running into stuff with such frequency that I was getting irritated. But I finally got down the ramp and passed the gun department, as I nearly crashed into the jewelry counter. This new guy, who is the biggest redneck ever, says, "Hey, Erin. Someone needs help with radar detectors." At this point, I was so terribly annoyed that I just growled, "WELL, they will just have to WAIT." His face turned red (apparently, the customers-who were black- were standing right next to him, which I didn't realize) as I had my next accident at register four. I asked the guy picking it up if he would like help out, and of course he did. I had to drive that thing out in the parking lot to his pickup, which I swear had a ten foot lift. I told him that I would have to go get help picking it up (after I about dislocated both of my shoulders trying to get it up there myself).

So when I came back in, The Redneck introduced me to his father, who had just driven in from Kentucky to visit. He said to me, "I thought the only reason you could get away with talkin' like that is because you's crippled! And now look atcha - you're walkin'!" Hilarious.

And then later, I heard The Redneck telling the story to someone else. He said, "Yeah, them colored people weren't too happy when she screamed, 'WELL, they will just have to WAIT."

Ahh. The people I work with. Just another day in the life of a Pawn Broker.