Attitude and Heidi: The welcome wagon crew

There are two new hot guys at the pool. One wears red and the other wears black. We like their yummy muscular backs and thighs. We approve and may or may not swim faster when they enter the pool.

We also busted one of the female lifeguards checking them out. We called her on it. Tee hee.

Not much of a church secretary

Sometimes I like to spice it up and push some boundaries. I've always been like that. I did this when applying for a position as a church secretary. Halfway down my list of work experience on my resume I inserted: "2006-2007 Narcotic's Distributor. Specialized in cocaine sales and marketing. Excellent people skills and self motivation." Something like this anyway.

You might be rolling your eyes right now, but I got a call back. The interviewer thought it was pretty funny. Unfortunately though I didn't want to work as a secretary for longer than the summer, so I didn't get the job, but it had nothing to do with my resume. Crazy eh?

How to make money off of being single

Ever wonder how to get involved in a money scam? One that doesn't involve e-mailing people about Viagra? Let me help. First of all, you need to be single and complain to some friends a bit. They will work hard to try and encourage you and assure you that you are amazing and will find someone. This is where you have to act fast.

Bet them $50 (or more) that you won't find someone before you're 'x' years old. This forces them to put their money where their mouth is. Bam! You got 'em. They can't very well refuse or they're admitting that they think you're a single loser with no hope. So shed a tear, make some bets, and when age 'x' comes and you're not married, you can take yourself on a trip. I'm thinking somewhere with a beach. However if you do find someone special, you can get married *after* age 'x' and use the money from your bets to pay for your honeymoon.

Good work.

Cheapskate Tuesday: Let them eat cake

Ever wonder how to save money on groceries without having to bother with a garden? Simple: be broke. Yep, just don't have money, then one morning you will open up your mailbox to find that someone (or some people) care about you enough to leave a stack of grocery cards, and a gas card.

I may or may not have bought a piece of cake with it.

Dyslexia

Lame. Sometimes when I'm tired or nervous (or tipsy), I mix up my words. There was one point during my resume-handing-out adventures that an employer asked me if I was looking for part time or full time employment. I said, "Fart time."

I didn't get a call back.

Bitching about bitching

Another thing that irked me when I was job hunting, was hearing people complain about their jobs. At least they had one. At least they had some sort of income. At least they didn't have to freak out about gas and groceries.

Heh heh, now a few months later I complain about my jobs too. I wonder if there are any unemployed people hating my guts right now.

Too much info

How could I forget to blog about the super sweet lame move I made while handing out resumes?! Okay, pause. First let me explain how desperate I was to get a job. I wrote a cover letter, used coloured paper, coloured ink, and a butterfly hole punch to cut through all three sheets of paper. I slowly built up to this. At first it was just a regular resume and a cover letter. I digress.

One of the days that I was at my resume factory (aka my living room), I came across some fantastic literature about divorce-proofing marriages. There was a brilliant bit in there that had something to do with wild bears attacking. In context, it made more sense. Anyway, I printed off a copy of the article to give to five married couples I know. Awesome.

However, I accidentally ended up stapling a copy to one of my resumes. I didn't realize this until the next day after they had been handed out. Not so awesome. Probably cancelled out my claim to have "attention to detail." Shit.

Fartboxing

The other day I was working at The Gonch where a middle aged lady was trying on bras. Cool. I found more of them that she might like and brought them to her change room. As I knocked on the door, I noticed it smelled a little nasty. Maybe someone farted and walked away. Nope. When the lady opened her change room door- BAM!- I got punched in the face by the most putrid smell. I'm not kidding, this lady was foul. I almost died. Okay, I didn't almost die, but I did nearly vomit. I've got a weak stomach when it comes to raunchy odors.

Fartboxing: The act of passing gas in an enclosed area and exposing some unfortunate (and usually unsuspecting) person to the toxic fumes.

Emo post

I was thinking of getting a breast reduction; then maybe guys would get to know me for who I am instead of what I carry around. Maybe they would discover that I'm actually intelligent, serious, thoughtful, and deliberate.

Lost in cultural "norms"

Working with the latino ladies at the hotel has been interesting, not just understanding one another, but communicating in other ways. As a bit of background, the ladies have been working there for about 20 years and trained me when I worked as a housekeeper at 19. Wow.

While we were waiting in the lobby, here's how a conversation went:

Ju juiced to be so pree.

I used to be so pretty?

Jess, ju ahh juiced to be ahh skeeny.

I used to be so skinny?

Ja, wha ahh appen ju?

What happened to me?! [shock/horror]

Jess, ju ee tuah mush?

No, I don't eat too much, maybe I have too much Starbucks and chocolate though.

Jess, ju ee tuah mush ahh da sucre.


Wow.

Lost in translation

Has anyone seen the movie, "Lost in Translation"? If you haven't, don't- it's horrible. Anyway, this post has nothing to do with that movie.

At the hotel I clean with three older ladies from Ecuador. It's a lot like having three moms. One day one of them told me "Jews penis all." Er... what? "JEWS PENIS ALL!" Whoa, is she going all angry racist on me? Awkward. "PENIS ALL! PE-NIS ALL!"

Then she handed me a bottle of Pinesol and a rag. Use Pinesol. Got it.

Baby's got back

Not sure how I forgot to post this one earlier. It's a gooder.

My first day of training at The Gonch was intriguing. For starters, the manager wasn't there and no one else knew I was coming, therefore, I did my own thing. Fortunately I'm a lingerie guru (ish) and was already familiar with their store and product (cough cough, not that I shop there lots, cough). My first customer was a cute little old Asian lady, who was looking for a sexy outfit. No probs. Fun housecoat? Check. Stockings? Check. Garter belt? Def check. A slap on my butt? No check. That's an anti check actually. What the heck?! Awkward.

My second day of training went better.

Best facebook status of the day

"She thinks she's 'all that and a bag of Skittles', but I'm definitely not tasting the rainbow."

Age shmage, ass shmass

So, turns out there is something to that whole "your metabolism slows down as you get older" crap. Lame. Not a big fan of getting up at 5, working out for an hour and a half five times a week, only to see little, if any results. I took my measurements and weight before I started, and I'm actually heavier and bigger. Arg.

I ate ice cream and was grouchy about this discovery. I know there's the whole "muscle weighs more than fat" thing, but this still doesn't account for why my measurements are all higher.

Options:
1) Scrap the whole thing and resolve to eating ice cream every day and feeling sorry for myself (most tempting option I might add)
2) Pick up an eating disorder (cheap and easy)
3) Get a personal trainer and/or diet coach (kind of ridiculous and er... not sure my minimum wage job at The Gonch is going to support this)
4) Take up smoking, drink weird diet teas, and consume that green guck that is supposed to help a person lose weight (ick, ick, and ick)
5) Suck it up, keep doing what I'm doing, and hopefully I'll see results soon... maybe even curb the treats a little more (sigh)

Seeing double

I see so many breasts a day at The Gonch, it's ridiculous. Old ones, young ones, big ones, saggy ones- whoa how Dr. Seuss did that sound? Seriously though, sooooo many of them. I'm sure if someone streaked across the park or my landlady answered her door topless, I wouldn't even notice.

I wish I helped with men's underwear. (Okay, maybe I don't, it just seemed like the funny thing to say. Can you imagine how many creepers you'd get as a woman at a men's undie store? Ick.)

How to travel poorly on a ferry

1) Rush directly from work, to home, to your sister's truck (Attitude), to the ferry.
2) Leave yourself only an hour for all of this.
3) Try it on a Saturday in the summer.
4) Forget your purse and turn back.
5) Get in the line-up with the slowest cashier and watch people zoom by you in the neighbouring line.
6) Realize you'll pee your pants if you don't use the washroom stat.
7) Before boarding, lock yourself in a bathroom stall with a door that jams.
8) While wrangling with the door, it should snap open and hit you. Awesome.
9) Realize that *everyone* boarded already and you need to run.
10) Congrats, you barely made it. Hungry, go up a deck and realize that it is not the ferry with the cafeteria on that floor. Lame.
11) Return at snail speed to the previous deck amid a sea of wanderers. Hopefully a kid should be screaming.
12) Renew your vow not to have children.
13) Inch your way to the caf. The line is huge and outweighs your urge to eat. Say no to yam fries.
14) Shuffle back to the deck above (arg) to get some peace and quiet.
15) Suckah! It's already full. Sit next to some scary guy.
16) It's loud, so put on your MP3 player.
17) Suckah! Batteries are dead.
18) Resort to journaling.
19) Heh heh... too bad your left your *favourite* pen at work, which also happens to be your only pen.
20) Ask the scary guy to borrow an extra pen. After you ask, you should notice that he's chewing the end of his. Gross. Talk yourself into believing that that is the only pen he chews. The one he gives you, he doesn't... right?
21) Maybe not. The pencil he gives you is sticky, and not just a little bit.
22) After trying to relax, a group of preteen girls sit both beside you and behind you. Awesome.
23) The one right beside you smells like urine and keeps bumping your seat to turn around and talk to her friends.
24) The girls screech and squeal in gossipy delight.
25) Try not to hate your life.

Whoa... what happened?

Practically overnight, I went from having endless time to myself to wondering how it became July already.

1) I work at the hotel (perfect example of why you should never say never). Mostly I just cover everyone's holidays.
2) I also work at a lingerie store that I'll call, "The Gonch". It's wicked and I rock the sales. Big time. There are def some blogworthy stories coming out of this experience. Ha!
3) In case two jobs aren't enough... I've got a third one selling clothes. I'm good at it too. Truth be told, I think I'm the manager's pet. I think I'll call the store: "The Blouse".

So if you were wondering why I haven't written a blog in a long time, that's why. On the positive side, my kitchen is clean because I'm never there :)