I am training for a half marathon. UUUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH.
It's hard. Running is hard. And I'm starting my for real training this week. It's totally baby training though. My big run is 4 miles **woooooaaahhhh four whole miles, big whoop** but it S. U. C. K. S. And I'm being a big fat baby.
Get ready for a whole series about this running nonsense. But right now I'm off to run 2 miles. (It's 10 pm jsyk).
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Oh kids these days
So I read and judge poetry for my second job. I know, it sounds great, especially for me, but it actually sucks pretty badly. It's a couple hours a day of reading mostly crappy poetry. But I have to accept two-thirds of it because that's the rule. PLUS I can only really reject things that are graphic, profane, or, to quote my boss, "concretely stupid." Concrete stupidity is not a thing. The only thing that is concretely stupid is the idea that something can be concretely stupid. Whatever.
Anyway, the things kids write about are crazy. Every single thing you can think of, I've read a poem about it. Bulimia, overalls, violence, ceiling fans, World War II, eczema (that one was a love poem including the line "you'll always be with me") and on and on. They write about the weirdest crap sometimes, which is a great break from "Red is the color of a rose," and "I need you like plants need water to grow," and different versions of The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams. One of my favorite poems of all time was when a girl wrote about being a "Christian Gangsta, yo," complete with lines about how she's chillin' wit her boy Jesus and his disciples. It was so fantastic.
Another thing about these kids is their names. Most of the names are normal: John, Alyssa, Nicole, Jacob, Nathan, Ashley, etc. But then every once in a while you get something totally whack that makes you hate that kid's stupid parents (here I have to add a disclaimer: My name is fairly normal but it's spelled terribly. It's not my fault). A little girl named Zelly wrote about the color yellow. Lovely wrote a love poem as did Kemoore. Griffin wrote a terrible limerick that (inevitably) started with "there once was a man named Bob." I can't even remember what Xitlatic or X'Zavion wrote about, but c'mon! Those aren't names. There was also a kid named Justyn; why do people ruin perfectly good names with stupid spellings like that?? But, like I said, most people name their children normal things.
Aside from stupid names and reading the same things all the time, the job is pretty great. I get to read some of the most ridiculous things. Here are some examples:
If I were in charge of the world I'd cancel abuse, drama, cheese and drugs.
Brown is the color of the inter-racial couple's wedding
Math is fantastic subject for Asian (the whole poem read like someone straight out of China was talking to you about how he's good at math but bad at english. Hilarious)
I used to be a pig, soft and loud. But now I am a delicious pack of bacon, sizzling on the grill.
I am as beautiful as a piece of fried chicken
Those were not just ordinary fish eggs...well ok, they were.
We couldn't be Amish because we text all the time
You are the missing puzzle piece to my body (written by a girl, entitled "Anthony"...)
What is happiness?? Is it on your wedding day, blissfully reciting your vowels?
Just a few other funny things from the job: I read a whole bunch of poems from a school in New York called the Schermerhorn academy. Say that out loud. There is also a Canadian Martyrs school, you know, celebrating and remembering all those martyrs in Canada. And somewhere in Michigan there is a Vulcan Middle School. The poem I read was a love poem, so I doubt they are teaching standard Vulcan beliefs.
Finally, my most favorite poem ever in the whole world is called "High Coo":
A morning dove feeds
on a marijuana bush
singing a high coo.
Anyway, the things kids write about are crazy. Every single thing you can think of, I've read a poem about it. Bulimia, overalls, violence, ceiling fans, World War II, eczema (that one was a love poem including the line "you'll always be with me") and on and on. They write about the weirdest crap sometimes, which is a great break from "Red is the color of a rose," and "I need you like plants need water to grow," and different versions of The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams. One of my favorite poems of all time was when a girl wrote about being a "Christian Gangsta, yo," complete with lines about how she's chillin' wit her boy Jesus and his disciples. It was so fantastic.
Another thing about these kids is their names. Most of the names are normal: John, Alyssa, Nicole, Jacob, Nathan, Ashley, etc. But then every once in a while you get something totally whack that makes you hate that kid's stupid parents (here I have to add a disclaimer: My name is fairly normal but it's spelled terribly. It's not my fault). A little girl named Zelly wrote about the color yellow. Lovely wrote a love poem as did Kemoore. Griffin wrote a terrible limerick that (inevitably) started with "there once was a man named Bob." I can't even remember what Xitlatic or X'Zavion wrote about, but c'mon! Those aren't names. There was also a kid named Justyn; why do people ruin perfectly good names with stupid spellings like that?? But, like I said, most people name their children normal things.
Aside from stupid names and reading the same things all the time, the job is pretty great. I get to read some of the most ridiculous things. Here are some examples:
If I were in charge of the world I'd cancel abuse, drama, cheese and drugs.
Brown is the color of the inter-racial couple's wedding
Math is fantastic subject for Asian (the whole poem read like someone straight out of China was talking to you about how he's good at math but bad at english. Hilarious)
I used to be a pig, soft and loud. But now I am a delicious pack of bacon, sizzling on the grill.
I am as beautiful as a piece of fried chicken
Those were not just ordinary fish eggs...well ok, they were.
We couldn't be Amish because we text all the time
You are the missing puzzle piece to my body (written by a girl, entitled "Anthony"...)
What is happiness?? Is it on your wedding day, blissfully reciting your vowels?
Just a few other funny things from the job: I read a whole bunch of poems from a school in New York called the Schermerhorn academy. Say that out loud. There is also a Canadian Martyrs school, you know, celebrating and remembering all those martyrs in Canada. And somewhere in Michigan there is a Vulcan Middle School. The poem I read was a love poem, so I doubt they are teaching standard Vulcan beliefs.
Finally, my most favorite poem ever in the whole world is called "High Coo":
A morning dove feeds
on a marijuana bush
singing a high coo.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
SACRIFICE!
For Lent this year I gave up two things with two different people. I thought it important to give something up for Lent, seeing as how I am such a devout catholic...well I have a catholic-raised boyfriend. So same thing, right?
Anyway, my boyfriend and I gave up swearing. It's d*** hard. I don't swear that much, but it's enough that it's been pretty hard these past few weeks. The first week was so hard that we started tallying swears and made a bet: if he swears fewer than or equal to 25 times he gets a prize from me (heaven help me figure out what the surprise should be) and if he swears more than 25 times I get breakfast in bed for seven days. As of right now he has 23 swears and more than two weeks to go. I'm hoping for that last three so that I don't have to come up with a great prize. Plus, who doesn't love breakfast in bed? I swear you're full for the whole rest of the day after.
The second thing I gave up was with my roommate Amanda. We have a difficult time keeping our tiny bedroom tidy. It's so small we have bunk beds, and barely adequate space. (Yeah, I'm a twenty year old person sleeping on the bottom of a bunk bed. And it's the bottom because I'm too afraid of heights to sleep four feet off the ground. Whatever). Anyway, our bedroom is a riotous mess, our bathroom a germ haven and our cars explosions of filth. So we gave up slovenliness, at least in our bedroom. And we're doing pretty good. Right now there are two pairs of shoes, slippers, a coat, two notebooks, a coat and a pair of pants on the floor and neither of our beds are made. We're proud. We've come miles from where we were. Plus it's spring break (WOO!) so we get a bit of a break.
Anyway, my boyfriend and I gave up swearing. It's d*** hard. I don't swear that much, but it's enough that it's been pretty hard these past few weeks. The first week was so hard that we started tallying swears and made a bet: if he swears fewer than or equal to 25 times he gets a prize from me (heaven help me figure out what the surprise should be) and if he swears more than 25 times I get breakfast in bed for seven days. As of right now he has 23 swears and more than two weeks to go. I'm hoping for that last three so that I don't have to come up with a great prize. Plus, who doesn't love breakfast in bed? I swear you're full for the whole rest of the day after.
The second thing I gave up was with my roommate Amanda. We have a difficult time keeping our tiny bedroom tidy. It's so small we have bunk beds, and barely adequate space. (Yeah, I'm a twenty year old person sleeping on the bottom of a bunk bed. And it's the bottom because I'm too afraid of heights to sleep four feet off the ground. Whatever). Anyway, our bedroom is a riotous mess, our bathroom a germ haven and our cars explosions of filth. So we gave up slovenliness, at least in our bedroom. And we're doing pretty good. Right now there are two pairs of shoes, slippers, a coat, two notebooks, a coat and a pair of pants on the floor and neither of our beds are made. We're proud. We've come miles from where we were. Plus it's spring break (WOO!) so we get a bit of a break.
Monday, January 26, 2009
I am a snob, and I know it. Sometimes I'm even OK with it. This snobbishness is manifested mostly in my association in Gap Inc. I love Banana Republic way more than I should. I worked there for my entire senior year of high school and the summer before I moved to college. When I moved to Logan, a bohunk town in northern Utah that doesn't even have a Target (it does have a Wal-Mart, though), to go to Utah State University, I made a downward transfer to work at Old Navy.
Perhaps I should explain the Gap Inc. Hierarchy. Gap, Banana Republic, and Old Navy are all owned by the same company (hopefully you are intelligent enough to figure out that this company is the aforementioned Gap Inc.). Employees at Banana Republic are generally clothes whores (sorry mom) who are slightly persnickety and elitist and like fashion. They think they, and the clothes they sell, are better than the employees and clothes at both Gap and Old Navy. Gap is for the trendy person, who still likes clothes but is not willing to spend a lot of money on them. Gap employees look up to and resent Banana employees for thinking they are better than the rest. They also recognize that they are better than Old Navy. Old Navy employees are more frugal and love a good deal, even if it means they are buying lesser quality. They resent both Banana and Gap because of their superiority complexes.
I never really believed in the Gap Inc. Hierarchy until I started working at Old Navy. Sure, when I first let my BR coworkers know I would be making the transfer when I moved to college they made snide comments, the least of which was, "Can't you at least work at the Gap?" I would just brush them off or tell them that I Old Navy would be a good choice for my college lifestyle (I wouldn't have to change into business-casual clothes before work, the clothes are more appropriate for being in college, I would get to keep my pay rate, it is very close to campus, etc). When school started and I started working, I tried to have a good attitude. Really, I tried.
I somehow managed to impress all the managers but none of my fellow employees. The managers said I have good customer service, the employees said I need to focus on recovery. The managers said I am good at recovering, the employees said I take too long, am a perfectionist, and need to worry about recovery "quantity, not quality." The managers even asked me to teach standards classes (that is, how to fold, hang, replenish merchandise, and generally keep the store clean and presentable) to pretty much the entire staff. That's right. People who had been at that Old Navy, even gone through the Leadership Development Program, had to learn the proper way to fold from me, the girl who had been there for 5 weeks.
After I taught the classes, we, that is to say the managers and I, hoped that the store would be much neater and more uniform. This did not happen. For some reason, the employees reverted back to the way they had always folded. Here is my gripe with Old Navy: why the heck don't they train their employees in the first place?! This problem could be avoided if each employee was taught the proper way to fold from the beginning. Not only were they never trained on folding, they weren't trained on customer service on the sale's floor or in the fitting room or how to sell the Old Navy Card. Ask any Old Navy employee the benefits of an ONC and they will only be able to tell you how much you save on that day's purchase and the 5% back in rewards to Gap Inc. It's an outrage.
The final straw for me was last week. I was informed that on Saturday, January 24, we were supposed to wear Yoga clothes to work for a Yoga Event. (Heaven only knows what a Yoga Event is.) I don't care whether you call them yoga clothes, work out clothes, jammies, or space pants, the "yoga clothes" we were supposed to wear are sweats. Period. Sweats, dear reader, should not be worn to work, unless your place of employ is a gym.
Luckily, I did not have to work that day. If I had, you can bet I would have showed up in a skirt just to stick it to them.
Perhaps I should explain the Gap Inc. Hierarchy. Gap, Banana Republic, and Old Navy are all owned by the same company (hopefully you are intelligent enough to figure out that this company is the aforementioned Gap Inc.). Employees at Banana Republic are generally clothes whores (sorry mom) who are slightly persnickety and elitist and like fashion. They think they, and the clothes they sell, are better than the employees and clothes at both Gap and Old Navy. Gap is for the trendy person, who still likes clothes but is not willing to spend a lot of money on them. Gap employees look up to and resent Banana employees for thinking they are better than the rest. They also recognize that they are better than Old Navy. Old Navy employees are more frugal and love a good deal, even if it means they are buying lesser quality. They resent both Banana and Gap because of their superiority complexes.
I never really believed in the Gap Inc. Hierarchy until I started working at Old Navy. Sure, when I first let my BR coworkers know I would be making the transfer when I moved to college they made snide comments, the least of which was, "Can't you at least work at the Gap?" I would just brush them off or tell them that I Old Navy would be a good choice for my college lifestyle (I wouldn't have to change into business-casual clothes before work, the clothes are more appropriate for being in college, I would get to keep my pay rate, it is very close to campus, etc). When school started and I started working, I tried to have a good attitude. Really, I tried.
I somehow managed to impress all the managers but none of my fellow employees. The managers said I have good customer service, the employees said I need to focus on recovery. The managers said I am good at recovering, the employees said I take too long, am a perfectionist, and need to worry about recovery "quantity, not quality." The managers even asked me to teach standards classes (that is, how to fold, hang, replenish merchandise, and generally keep the store clean and presentable) to pretty much the entire staff. That's right. People who had been at that Old Navy, even gone through the Leadership Development Program, had to learn the proper way to fold from me, the girl who had been there for 5 weeks.
After I taught the classes, we, that is to say the managers and I, hoped that the store would be much neater and more uniform. This did not happen. For some reason, the employees reverted back to the way they had always folded. Here is my gripe with Old Navy: why the heck don't they train their employees in the first place?! This problem could be avoided if each employee was taught the proper way to fold from the beginning. Not only were they never trained on folding, they weren't trained on customer service on the sale's floor or in the fitting room or how to sell the Old Navy Card. Ask any Old Navy employee the benefits of an ONC and they will only be able to tell you how much you save on that day's purchase and the 5% back in rewards to Gap Inc. It's an outrage.
The final straw for me was last week. I was informed that on Saturday, January 24, we were supposed to wear Yoga clothes to work for a Yoga Event. (Heaven only knows what a Yoga Event is.) I don't care whether you call them yoga clothes, work out clothes, jammies, or space pants, the "yoga clothes" we were supposed to wear are sweats. Period. Sweats, dear reader, should not be worn to work, unless your place of employ is a gym.
Luckily, I did not have to work that day. If I had, you can bet I would have showed up in a skirt just to stick it to them.
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