PICS
It's picture time!
Ugh. Orange is not my colour.
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Oh yeah, Ryan resigned today. I am so fucked.
Ugh. Orange is not my colour.
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Oh yeah, Ryan resigned today. I am so fucked.
Fucking fabulous.
A few nights ago my co-shift manager, Ryan, dropped off his nightly deposit at the bank, as you do, and by the time I showed up for my shift the following day it had dropped off the face of the earth. Much freaking out and phone calling ensued, the end result of which was that the deposit was still hiding somewhere up the bank's ass.
Yesterday I wake up to the sound of Ryan knocking at my door in a very insistent manner and open it only to have him declare that he's just had a yelling match over the phone with the district manager and is afraid that said manager will carry through on his threat to sue for theft, despite the fact that everyone who knows about this can state (and most likely already has stated) with absolute certainty that Ryan did not steal that fucking deposit.
So we hang out for a few hours. Talk, seek legal advice, get Thai food to prove to Ryan that his newly adopted vegetarianism doesn't leave him with a lack of food options, play some DDR, talk some more. In the middle of eating Thai food the manager on duty at our store calls and asks if I'd be willing to work the closing shift. Ryan's shift. On my day off. I think about it for a good 15 minutes and reluctantly agree, fully aware of the implications of this request.
Ryan and I decide to show up at work together, get a last hug in outside the front door, and go to face our respective bullshit. On my end it's lots of "Oh, thank you so much! We really appreciate this. Seriously." Meanwhile, Ryan is taken to the unofficial meeting corner for a stern talking-to. 20 minutes later Ryan is on suspension and Todd, the manager we're borrowing from a neighboring store because ours was canned after philandering with the cute redheaded waitress, proceeds to rewrite the schedule, leaving me with enough hours to net with one paycheck what I'd normally amass with 2 or 3.
I do not need this much money.
I don't even want this much money if it means I'll be at work 50 hours a week. I want Ryan to be unsuspended. I want our proposal to be promoted to co-managers to be accepted. I want time to finish my mother's fucking birthday present in time for her birthday. I want the fat douchebag of a district manager to stop sticking me with more responsibility than he pays me for because he's told me that this month is the trial period to determine whether or not he accepts our proposal. I most of all do not want to be married to my job.
Now if you'll excuse me, I having a fucking camisole strap to finish.
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And finish it I did. Then, because I'm running sort of short on time, I drenched the Butterfly and pinned it to the floor so that it no longer looks like a pile of orange ramen. You get pictures tomorrow.
A few nights ago my co-shift manager, Ryan, dropped off his nightly deposit at the bank, as you do, and by the time I showed up for my shift the following day it had dropped off the face of the earth. Much freaking out and phone calling ensued, the end result of which was that the deposit was still hiding somewhere up the bank's ass.
Yesterday I wake up to the sound of Ryan knocking at my door in a very insistent manner and open it only to have him declare that he's just had a yelling match over the phone with the district manager and is afraid that said manager will carry through on his threat to sue for theft, despite the fact that everyone who knows about this can state (and most likely already has stated) with absolute certainty that Ryan did not steal that fucking deposit.
So we hang out for a few hours. Talk, seek legal advice, get Thai food to prove to Ryan that his newly adopted vegetarianism doesn't leave him with a lack of food options, play some DDR, talk some more. In the middle of eating Thai food the manager on duty at our store calls and asks if I'd be willing to work the closing shift. Ryan's shift. On my day off. I think about it for a good 15 minutes and reluctantly agree, fully aware of the implications of this request.
Ryan and I decide to show up at work together, get a last hug in outside the front door, and go to face our respective bullshit. On my end it's lots of "Oh, thank you so much! We really appreciate this. Seriously." Meanwhile, Ryan is taken to the unofficial meeting corner for a stern talking-to. 20 minutes later Ryan is on suspension and Todd, the manager we're borrowing from a neighboring store because ours was canned after philandering with the cute redheaded waitress, proceeds to rewrite the schedule, leaving me with enough hours to net with one paycheck what I'd normally amass with 2 or 3.
I do not need this much money.
I don't even want this much money if it means I'll be at work 50 hours a week. I want Ryan to be unsuspended. I want our proposal to be promoted to co-managers to be accepted. I want time to finish my mother's fucking birthday present in time for her birthday. I want the fat douchebag of a district manager to stop sticking me with more responsibility than he pays me for because he's told me that this month is the trial period to determine whether or not he accepts our proposal. I most of all do not want to be married to my job.
Now if you'll excuse me, I having a fucking camisole strap to finish.
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And finish it I did. Then, because I'm running sort of short on time, I drenched the Butterfly and pinned it to the floor so that it no longer looks like a pile of orange ramen. You get pictures tomorrow.
I'm almost done with another one of those Butterfly lace camisoles and have just realized that if I hadn't had to stop knitting for a couple days to let my tendonitis settle down I could have cranked this thing out in the space of a week. Additionally, I have memorized the ridiculously complex double-sided lace pattern for the hem frill and have only had to refer to the pattern at all to be certain of size-related numbers. Did I mention I learned to knit backwards just so I could knit the straps for these things faster? 
For all of you who don't knit, that basically means I've become the absolute master of this goddamned pattern.
You can have a picture when it's done, because lace looks like shit before it's blocked.
For all of you who don't knit, that basically means I've become the absolute master of this goddamned pattern.
You can have a picture when it's done, because lace looks like shit before it's blocked.
Today is official half price Cadbury Eggs day.
There is now a diabetic coma waiting to happen in my fridge.
There is now a diabetic coma waiting to happen in my fridge.
So this guy sort of limped into the store tonight and offered to buy a slice of pizza off of my waitress's friend. The friend refused and as soon as the guy limped away he jetted up to the counter to warn us about the guy who was, in all likelihood, very drunk. A moment later the limping guy comes up to the counter and tries to order a single slice of pizza from my waitress, who is running the counter because I was on break. She explains that we don't sell pizza by the slice, but offers him a personal pan pizza. He agrees, orders that, then tries to order a pitcher of beer as well. We don't sell pitchers of beer to individuals, and she tells him as much. He argues about it for a bit and settles on a pint of lite beer.
He pays, she tells him to go sit wherever he likes, and asks me to pour him the beer, as I'm the only one working at my store who has an OLCC permit. I ask if he seemed drunk to her and she says that he sounded sort of slurred and was limping, but didn't smell like booze at all, so I decide to serve him the one beer. I pour it and head over to his table, noting aloud that he's unscrewed the lightbulb in the lamp hanging over his table. He explians that he didn't want it to be so bright, which sounds sort of fishy to me, but I can't see his pupils very well and I'm already holding the beer, so I mentally decide to serve him the single beer and no more.
I go back to my knitting and things are quiet for a few minutes, but when my waitress goes off to use the bathroom quickly he stops her on her way back and asks for another beer, despite the fact that his first one is still nearly full. I tell her to tell him that we don't stack drinks and that he's welcome to any beverage other than beer, but that we cannot serve him another. She explains that he wants the second beer when his pizza is served. At about the same time that I'm telling her this my driver, who is also on break, comes back inside and heads to the bathroom. The guy tries to stop him, but my driver refuses to have anything to do with him because he's on break. ^_^
A few minutes later the guy comes up to the counter with his all-but-empty beer glass and asks for another. My waitress, not wanting to have any part in this nonsense, shoots me a pleading look and I get up again to talk to the guy. He tells me that he wants another beer to drink with his pizza, and I explain, calmly and as politely as I can, that I can't serve him another. He demands a refund and I tell him that I'll gladly refund the money he paid for his pizza, but can't do so for the beer. He agrees, so I go back to the kitchen to grab his ticket, noting that his food is almost ready.
I go back to the register and start writing out the refund slip and he starts getting really, well, pissy. He asked if I was in A.A., to which I replied "no," and complained quite a bit about how unfair I was being. I explained, again, calmly and politely, that I wasn't discriminating or being mean, but that I would refuse to serve alcohol to Any visibly intoxicated person. That set him off on a tirade about how visibly intoxicated he wasn't, during which time I attempted to continue my explanation, but he apparently didn't want to hear it. After demanding a card with the store manager's information on it, my waitress pointed me out as the store manager (well, sort of, in lieu of the fact that my store's manager has just been fired and a replacement has not been found and I'm plenty capable enough, thankyouverymuch) and he replied with "No, not her! I want to talk to someone else because she's being a bitch!" and promptly staggered out, threatening to go next door instead.
I was baffled by that threat for a moment until my waitress's friend called me over to the door and told me that the guy had gone over to the restaurant across the parking lot from us, which was long since closed, and then staggered off towards the road. I watched him for a moment and concluded that I'd feel sort of screwed if he got hit by a car, but not even remotely guilty.
Motherfucking drunk people. >_<
He pays, she tells him to go sit wherever he likes, and asks me to pour him the beer, as I'm the only one working at my store who has an OLCC permit. I ask if he seemed drunk to her and she says that he sounded sort of slurred and was limping, but didn't smell like booze at all, so I decide to serve him the one beer. I pour it and head over to his table, noting aloud that he's unscrewed the lightbulb in the lamp hanging over his table. He explians that he didn't want it to be so bright, which sounds sort of fishy to me, but I can't see his pupils very well and I'm already holding the beer, so I mentally decide to serve him the single beer and no more.
I go back to my knitting and things are quiet for a few minutes, but when my waitress goes off to use the bathroom quickly he stops her on her way back and asks for another beer, despite the fact that his first one is still nearly full. I tell her to tell him that we don't stack drinks and that he's welcome to any beverage other than beer, but that we cannot serve him another. She explains that he wants the second beer when his pizza is served. At about the same time that I'm telling her this my driver, who is also on break, comes back inside and heads to the bathroom. The guy tries to stop him, but my driver refuses to have anything to do with him because he's on break. ^_^
A few minutes later the guy comes up to the counter with his all-but-empty beer glass and asks for another. My waitress, not wanting to have any part in this nonsense, shoots me a pleading look and I get up again to talk to the guy. He tells me that he wants another beer to drink with his pizza, and I explain, calmly and as politely as I can, that I can't serve him another. He demands a refund and I tell him that I'll gladly refund the money he paid for his pizza, but can't do so for the beer. He agrees, so I go back to the kitchen to grab his ticket, noting that his food is almost ready.
I go back to the register and start writing out the refund slip and he starts getting really, well, pissy. He asked if I was in A.A., to which I replied "no," and complained quite a bit about how unfair I was being. I explained, again, calmly and politely, that I wasn't discriminating or being mean, but that I would refuse to serve alcohol to Any visibly intoxicated person. That set him off on a tirade about how visibly intoxicated he wasn't, during which time I attempted to continue my explanation, but he apparently didn't want to hear it. After demanding a card with the store manager's information on it, my waitress pointed me out as the store manager (well, sort of, in lieu of the fact that my store's manager has just been fired and a replacement has not been found and I'm plenty capable enough, thankyouverymuch) and he replied with "No, not her! I want to talk to someone else because she's being a bitch!" and promptly staggered out, threatening to go next door instead.
I was baffled by that threat for a moment until my waitress's friend called me over to the door and told me that the guy had gone over to the restaurant across the parking lot from us, which was long since closed, and then staggered off towards the road. I watched him for a moment and concluded that I'd feel sort of screwed if he got hit by a car, but not even remotely guilty.
Motherfucking drunk people. >_<
Today I managed to find not one, not two, but THREE bras that actually fit me! The best part is that they don't make my boobs cone-like at all. Granted, theyre the most boring, basic black contour bras ever, but I've learned that a decent fit and aesthetic appeal is too much to ask for when shopping for bras around here.
No, you don't get pictures. They're boring, remember?
No, you don't get pictures. They're boring, remember?
Okay, I'm finally bloody well finished with that lingerie I was knitting. I had the brilliant idea of trying to make the top large enough in this bizarre improvised way and, well, the lace pattern foiled it. Plus there was that whole 4 days wasted by me realizing that I'd been using the wrong size needles, making half of the knickers with the correct size of needles, and then figuring out once I'd done that piece that I ultimately preferred the fabric produced by the smaller, wrong needles. R-I-I-I-I-I-P went that piece I'd just laboured on for 3 days, and I started over. Things worked out well after that point, but the top took me far longer than it had any right to.
Yeah, I know. Pictures. Well, the light was fading fast and this stuff was too big for me, so you get exactly one, not terribly good picture.
Yup. This was fun to make, but I'm not going to be making another incarnation of it for myself any time soon. Halter tops and my boobs don't get along, in case you were wondering about the bra I'm wearing under the knit bra. It also seemed sort of inconsiderate to model lingerie that wasn't for me without wearing something under it, so yse, I am wearing my own knickers under that.
I hope she doesn't mind that this is going to be 2 weeks late.
Yeah, I know. Pictures. Well, the light was fading fast and this stuff was too big for me, so you get exactly one, not terribly good picture.
Yup. This was fun to make, but I'm not going to be making another incarnation of it for myself any time soon. Halter tops and my boobs don't get along, in case you were wondering about the bra I'm wearing under the knit bra. It also seemed sort of inconsiderate to model lingerie that wasn't for me without wearing something under it, so yse, I am wearing my own knickers under that.
I hope she doesn't mind that this is going to be 2 weeks late.
_DictionaryGirl_ tagged me for this survey, damn her, so to appease the hottness I'll do it. But I'll spoiler it, because it's bound to be somewhat dull.
