Dude, I can not believe that today is the last day of 2009. I can remember this time last year, texting Justin and both of us deciding that ‘09 was going to be OUR YEAR. This was the year we were both going to grow as actors, get more roles, feel more accomplished. I had a dream January 1, 2009 that made me think everything was going to happen this year:

So, I had this dream last night. Tom Hanks & Rita Wilson were sitting on my couch in my living room, just chillin. Tom had one of my Stanislavsky books and was flipping through it. He looked up at me and said “You wanna be an actor?” I said “Yeah, I do.”

Tom went back to flipping through the book and said, “It’s hard,” and then looked back up at me. “But you can do it.”

And . . . well, I did do some stuff!

But hey, I totally janked this survey off of one of my favorite blogs, Sundry and decided maybe that was an easier way to think about the past year I’ve had. You know. Easier than pouring over all of my past journal entries on various websites and trying to piece together old text messages and emails to see what the hell I was feeling.

And here . . . we . . . GO!

1. What did you do in 2009 that you’d never done before?
Oh dude. A ton. I went to Knoxville, had two mini-vacations in Greenville, drove to Tupelo, MS to surprise Kenny at his opening improv show (and also did a 360 on a rainy exit ramp on the way). Had sushi and totally became obsessed, had a Reuben and TOTALLY BECAME OBSESSED. I actually camped out in the woods by a huge waterfall (which also means I HIKED). I auditioned for “As The World Turns” and co-hosted the morning program on 94.9 The Bull. And . . . wow, I did a lot.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I had four last year: 1. Get an agent, 2. Be happy, 3. Get two paid acting gigs, 4. End my debt forever. Numbers 1 and 2 were accomplished! Number 3, not so much (I did a lot of acting, but no pay) and I did make some headway on number 4.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Uhhh . . . nope!

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Nope, praise Jesus.

5. What countries did you visit?
Sadly, none. I visited a lot of states and a lot of new places, but no countries this year.

6. What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009?
More confidence in myself. I let myself get too dependent on others and forget who I am and what I’m doing. I also need to let go of my fear. “What would you do if you knew you could not fail?” Well . . . dude. An ass-ton. Fear holds me back way more than it should. I would also like to stop being so passive-aggressive AND to stop worrying what people think of me. It’s a toughy, but I want it. Badly.

7. What dates from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
February 11th was my first date with Jason! July 9th was, naturally, my birthday, but it was my 21ST BIRTHDAY. Which means July 10th will always remain etched upon my memory as the Couldn’t Lift My Head Off The Pillow And Puked In A Birthday Bag In The Car Day.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Hmm. Being on the radio! Because I totally did not expect to be called. I also became a main stage player at Sketchworks AND I am represented by a talent agent. I also lost nearly 30lbs. since the beginning of the year and I worked really, really hard to do it. And I’m maintaining that weight! That’s the best part.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Oh my. Um. Holding everything in and letting it result in a huge breakdown where I can’t stop crying, my eyes are swollen shut and I spend the rest of the night waking up every five minutes from super bad dreams and grinding my teeth. That only happened once or twice . . . times six. Also, not taking better care of my money. Talk about feeling sick yeesh.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Not at all! I’m rarely sick (knock on wood), but I usually get a flu-esque cold once or twice. Nada this year.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
Well, any of the cardigans I’m currently living in. Emily Giffin’s novels, definitely.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
My younger brother, Tyler’s. He is the most cool-headed, laid-back guy until he HAS to get in someone’s face to fix a wrong. I wish I could be more like him.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Kanye West? No, um. To be honest, I was appalled and depressed by a lot of people, but I was also appalled and depressed at myself for the way I have acted.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Coffee? Going out to eat and to the movies. You know, the important things in life.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Oh my God, co-hosting the radio show! And then other random things like the season finale of “Hell’s Kitchen” . . .

16. What song will always remind you of 2009?
“Sweet Thing” – Keith Urban

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? happier
b) thinner or fatter? THINNER, woo!
c) richer or poorer? Ooh . . . uh. Financially? The same. In all other aspects? Richer.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Auditioning, being creative, self-reflection (sorry, that made me throw up, too)

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Holding everything in until it POPS.

20. How did you spend Christmas?
With Jason’s family in Knoxville. Still waiting on the family Christmas here!

21. Did you fall in love in 2009?
I did and guys, it’s such a healthy love (GAAAAAG, I know, I know, I KNOW). He is somebody that wants me to succeed and believes I will succeed. He has taught me that there are “no rules” and that it’s okay to not be jaded and to still believe in the magic. He is awesome.

22. What was your favorite TV program?
“Hell’s Kitchen”! I also won 25 bucks after placing a bet with Jason about who would win, but that’s only PART of the reason it’s my favorite.

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
Nope. I HATE ALL THE SAME PEOPLE! . . . kidding.

24. What was the best book you read?
ANY of Emily Giffin’s books: Something Borrowed, Something Blue, Baby Proof and Love The One You’re With. I also really loved Melissa Gilbert’s A Prairie Tale. Shut up.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
A buhhhh . . . Jason turned me on to Bloc Party!

26. What did you want and get?
An agent, happiness, a cute guy when I wasn’t even looking for him. You know. The basics.

27. What did you want and not get?
Paying acting gigs, more confidence, debt-free.

28. What was your favorite film of this year?
Inglourious Basterds. Man.

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 21, bitchessss! I had Cracker Barrel with Dad, Jason and Granny, I went to the World of Coke with Jason, I had cake with my family at home and then I invited a bunch of my friends to Twisted Taco where I got sloshed and had to piece the rest of the night together with pictures.

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Feeling like I was actually getting somewhere with this dream of mine. I’m not worried about achieving it, I’m just impatient, you know?

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009?
A little of this, a little of that. I wore a LOT of tank-tops in the summer. I was a big fan of mini-dresses. In the winter, I’m attached to skinny pants, cardigans, scarves and my boots. I’ve also rediscovered hats and feather hair pieces. SHUT UP.

32. What kept you sane?
Honestly? Besides family and theatre and Jason and creativity, “The Tonight Show” with Conan. That man can always turn a day around.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Gordon Ramsay! Huzzah.

34. What political issue stirred you the most?
I still can’t believe we’re arguing over whether people in love should be allowed to marry or not and whether we need to take care of our country’s citizens. BUT YOU KNOW.

35. Who did you miss?
I missed Granddad a lot, actually. I wish I could talk to him about these dreams and thoughts I have.

36. Who was the best new person you met?
Jason

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2009.
I’ve said it a million times in this survey and I’ll say it again: To stop being so damn passive-aggressive. To quit being so sensitive and taking everything to heart.

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
Oh, we’re halfway there,
Ohhhh! Livin’ on a prayer!
Take my hand, we’ll make it I swear,
Ohhhh! Livin’ on a prayer!

And although it doesn’t sum up my year, one particular song inspired me:
Oh watch me go,
I’m a happy girl,
Everybody knows, that the sweetest thing that you’ll ever see,
in the whole wide world,
is a happy girl.

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - –
New Year’s Resolutions 2010
1. Cook something new once a week
2. Read at least two new books a month
3. Set deadlines for creative projects and get them done
4. Stop with the passive-aggressiveness, the repressing and the bottling up
5. Put money in savings each paycheck
6. Work hard at those dreams of mine ’cause they won’t come true by themselves

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

When Jason and I spent Christmas with his family, his mom asked me if I used coupons. I told her, no, what’s a coupon, what are savings, what is money, what are groceries, what is food, etc. So she gave me an extra coupon holder . . . book . . . folder . . . thing. You know! The plastic thing with the little plastic divider things inside with the button-like thing on the outside and a rubberband thing?

Anyway. She gave me a cute little white one and then went through HER coupons and the paper’s, asking Jason and I what we buy and do we need a coupon to save .55 off of eight gallons of Ocean Spray Cranberry Oatmeal WHAT A BARGAIN!

We ended up taking a bunch, however, and last night we went shopping at Kroger. Usually, Jason’s pretty low-key with the whole groceries thing. He buys stuff to make the next couple of meals, some fruit and the good ol’ 2-ply and calls it a success. But with this wondrous addition of COUPONS to the buggy, we were buying shit like we just spent a year and a half in the organic section of Trader Joe’s and now we could get to that damn Hostess cupcake aisle at Kroger.

Sidenote: Ever noticed that a lot of people call it Kroger’s? It makes me laugh. I know, that was not necessary to share. CUT, PRINT, CHECK THE GATE, MOVING ON.

Where was I going with this? Oh yes, coupons. So we magically filled the buggy! With things like brownie mix, ’cause we could save a dollar! And two boxes of cereal ’cause they were on sale! And tried a new brand of ice cream (We’re connoisseurs, did you not know?) ’cause HEY LOOK A COUPON.

All the savings were making me a wee bit bananas (which are only .49 a pound, DID YOU KNOW), because I tried to convince Jason that we DID need two half-gallons of Aunt Jemima’s syrup, I have a coupon to take .60 cents off, what do you mean we never use syrup, is there sugar in syrup THEN YES, I LIKE SUGAR. You know we elves try to stick to the main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corn and SYRUP.

He insisted that we did not and I obliged, my hands sticky from choking all of the Aunt Jemima bottles we would need in order to get the SAVINGS.

As ridiculous as it sounds, when we went to check out, we waited until the end of the scanning to hand the cashier Jason’s Kroger card and all of my coupons. You know, to be surprised! WHAT AN EXCITING AND THRILLING LIFE WE LEAD! “Oh, honey, I can’t WAIT TO SEE HOW MUCH WE SAVED AHHH I WANNA GIVE HER THE COUPONS NOW! I CAN’T WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIT!”

And dudes. Wanna know how much we saved?

17.88

That’s almost 20 bucks! We were like, giddy, about it. That’s a lot of mother effin’ savings, dude. I started thinking about the 20 dollars we would’ve lost by not paying attention, by not picking up a different brand, by not having a savings card. It made me a little sick to be honest. I’m not all Frugal Franny over here, but it did stir something up inside of me. So I immediately signed up for online coupons and I can’t wait to save more. I’m all about the savings now. We need to conserve incomes and clip coupons and slice 20 bucks off of every grocery bill.

‘Cause spending unnecessary money is stupid.

Besides, I can buy something cute with that $17.88.

A new feature here at badabang: Retail Tales. And today’s edition is one I like to call “Boozin’ For a Bruisin’”, where customers make me want to beat my head against a wall, rub it until it bleeds with sandpaper and then have Alec Baldwin call me a disgusting pig on my voicemail.

Customer: Gimme dat Crown.
Me: . . . Which Crown? Hi, hello, how are you? Learn any manners lately?
Customer: That one.
Me: There’s two sizes, which one do you want? You dumb asshole, learn how to read.
Customer: Uhhh . . . that one, um . . . uh . . . in the blue . . . uhhhhh suit.
Me: . . . . . .
Customer: THE BLUE SUIT is the one I want!
Me: . . . You mean THE PURPLE BAG? Motherfucker, LEARN YOUR COLORS AND OBJECTS AND THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.

—————————————————

Customer: Ooh, what’s this?
Me: Uh, tequila. It really bothers me that I spend so much time making cute little liquor signs and NO ONE CAN READ.
Customer: How much is it?
Me: A dollar. I know, I know, those big numbers in black sharpie on a brightly colored piece of paper attached to the bowl you fished that miniature out of is SO HARD TO UNDERSTAND.
Customer: What is it?
Me: . . . I’m sorry? Didn’t we just go over this, idiot?
Customer: WHAT. IS. IT.
Me: . . . It’s tequila? Oh I love it when you talk to me like I’M the stupid one.
Customer: Yeah, but is it like vodka or like rum or what?
Me: . . . . . .
Customer: *drooling and probably pissing her pants*
Me: No, it’s like tequila. It’s a totally different liquor. Kinda like you’re a totally different dumbass.
Customer: Oh. Oooh, what’s this?
Me: That’s Seagram’s Rum. LIKE THE SIGN SAYS, JESUS CHRIST, DID YOU PASS THE FOURTH GRADE?!
Customer: Oh! Like an air freshener for your car?!
Me: No . . . like a bottle of liquor . . . YES, LIKE AN AIR FRESHENER. IN A LIQUOR STORE. Please, please, open it up a little bit so the scent gets out and leave it in your car. That DUI judge has never even IMAGINED a moron like you.

—————————————————

Customer: Excuse me? Ma’am? Excuse me? EXCUSE ME, MA’AM!
Me: . . . Yeah, I’m helping another customer, hold on a second. I know, you couldn’t see me ringing someone up and talking to them about their purchases with all that stupid welling up inside of you.
Customer: I just wanted to know what these was.
Me: Yeah, hold on a second and I will help you. Dude, I see the bottles in your hands. WHAT AISLE DID YOU GET THEM FROM?! That’s how you know what the hell they are.
Customer: I got these! *holding up a bottle in each hand* What are they? What’s the difference?
Me: Well, that one is vodka and the other one is rum. You have about five seconds before I leap over this counter and break your neck so you can constantly kiss your own ass or I have about five seconds before my insides RUPTURE.
Customer: Yeah, but what’s the difference is?
Me: Y’know, they’re just . . . different. One’s vodka, one’s rum. It’s like apples and oranges. You have a choice here: Walk away with that answer or risk KILLING ME WITH YOUR MORONIC ESSENCE WAFTING OFF OF YOU. Did you get that fragrance at Big Lots? The Essence of Moron Eau de Toilette?
Customer: Which one tastes like apples?!
(For the record, I exploded.)

I love my job.

I don’t know what it is about pimples or zits or blackheads or bumps, but Jason is obsessed with them and can NOT rest until he has popped every single one.

Especially when they are on my face.

On more than one occasion he has begged and pleaded to get at my face with his grimy paws and then tried to wrestle me to the ground with a hot towel and an evil glean in his eyes.

WHAT IS THE DEAL? I totally don’t get it because I don’t even pop my own zits/pimples/blackheads/bumps/WHATEVER IT IS THAT HE’S AFTER. Does he think gold will come pouring out of these things? (“IT MIGHT!” he just told me) Is he Super Popper and will rid the world of evil if only he could grab hold of them?

Is he the only person in the world who enjoys this?

Things to ponder.

ALSO I made my very first homemade pies! Jason’s mom showed me how to make homemade pie crusts yesterday, so I made two and then made one into a pumpkin pie and the other into a pecan pie. Dude . . . so good. I am so proud of myself. Kiss my ass, Martha Stewart, I’M COMING FOR YOU.

But then, I had the bright idea of making some holly out of the dough and decorating the side of the pie. Jason cut out the leaves and I made some berries and we each decorated a pie.

I was just a weee bit excited about how mine might turn out.

Seriously, how awesome is that? I MADE IT.

I should open my own bakery. I mean, LOOK at that pumpkin pie!

Except for the part where it looks like an alien massacre happened in one area . . .

So then, I made a pecan pie and poured it into Jason’s pie crust. When it came out of the oven, looking DELICIOUS I might add, he decided to paint his holly just like I did! Except . . .

His came out looking like a Food & Wine magazine spread rather than a suicide clean-up like mine . . .

I was SO proud of him! And so happy! I mean, what a gorgeous pie. It’s a shame mine didn’t look that great, but I did actually bake the pie and create the yummy-ness of it, rather than just decorating it. But seriously, his decorating was wonderful and I was just so pleased for him.

. . .
See if I let him pop any of my zits AGAIN.

Last night, Jason and I watched Taking Woodstock and it was . . . lackluster. I just couldn’t get into it! It was slow and a loooot of talking. I guess I just had different expectations for it. I thought it was going to be about the music and the concert, rather than all the logistics it took to get there and to make it happen. I’m just not a logical person.

However, it did get the hamster rollin’ in his wheel inside my cranium last night. I was thinking about how my dad probably remembers a little about Woodstock and maybe he remembers watching Neil Armstrong take those famous steps on the moon. He remembers when stores were closed on Sunday and when everything moved at a much, much slower pace.

I want that world back. I’ve always been fascinated with the past, mainly the 40s-60s and I have no idea why. When I was in high school, I desperately wanted to be transported to the 40s, to go to high school in the 50s and share a chocolate malt and a cheeseburger with my beau (and I swear, that’s only PART of the reason Back to the Future is my favorite movie of all time. OF ALL TIME). I wanted to have a frilly apron to wear when my husband came home from work and I wanted a yard full of babies and swing dancing on the weekends.

I wanted to sit in my living room with that dashing husband of mine (who, strangely enough, looked EXACTLY like Cary Grant) on July 20th, 1969 and watch with our mouths open, my hand gripping his, as Neil descended out of Apollo 11, his radio crackling. I wanted to be part of this beautiful Americana. I wanted to live in a Norman Rockwell painting.

And part of me still does. Part of me wishes I could go back, just to see what it was like. And part of me is happy right here. Right here with iPods and internet on my phone and Kindles still reading REAL books. Right here where I’ve already witnessed some incredible events. Like, watching my vote count to nominate the first black president. And watching patriotism rise from the ashes like a phoenix after 9/11 (I will ignore the fact that prejudice, paranoia and stupidity also rose from those ashes). Hopefully, watching this country learn that we have to take care of each other and hopefully, watching others realize that a universal health-care plan wouldn’t be so awful, because who knows what would happen to you if you lost your job and your insurance and your wife was sick and OKAY, THAT’S ENOUGH POLITICS FOR ONE DAY.

Last Friday, I skipped out on work to go read books to my sister’s toddler class at a private, up-scale, all-the-parents-make-six-figures-here-and-pack-organic-lunches pre-school.

And oh my God, I had so much fun.

I don’t know if it began with one spunky little girl scooting closer and closer to me when I started reading, or the one chubby little blond boy who had the most life-like cat meow I’ve ever heard or the baby girl with the six feet long eyelashes that just blinked and smiled.

Maybe it was the little girl that insisted I sit next to her during lunch and then offered me each item off of her plate. “Dis?” She’d ask, her eyes wide and her finger pointing to her macaroni and cheese. I’d laugh, shake my head and say “No thank you!”

“Summa dis?” A point to the peas, piled high on her plate.

“Nope, thank you!”

“Dis?” She’d hold out her half-eaten pizza, cheese and sauce down her hand and across her face.

“I’m okay! Thank you!”

“Hm?” She tipped her milk towards me, offering the first sip.

“No, silly! You eat!” I would laugh and she’d give a big sigh, smile and then start offering me her food all over again.

Or maybe it was the snot and boogers.

Because, MY GOD, PEOPLE. The amount of snot that can dribble from an 18 month old’s nose is a wee bit ridiculous. And cute. WHY IS IT CUTE?! It’s snot. Liquid boogers. A gushing Ol’ Faithful of mucous. And yet, I couldn’t stop smiling. One little girl tried to eat her pizza and as she opened her mouth, the snot would dribble down to her lips and smack in with the pizza. And now I can never look at Domino’s the same . . .

Nasal cavities aside, one of my favorites was a little girl with spiky hair that giggled throughout the entire story. The teachers tried to calm her down, to let her know that it’s “rude” to laugh when someone is giving you their attention, but I couldn’t help but laugh with her. I wanted to tell her, no, no! Laugh! It’s okay! Don’t let anyone tell you to calm down or to stop laughing or to chill out.

Because I remember taking a long, long time to get out of my shell. And then I remember taking a long, long time to get halfway back in it, because everyone was always telling me to calm down, to stop, to chill out, to give it a break. And that feeling has stuck with me. When out in public, I repress my movements, my laughter, my attitude. I don’t want to be obnoxious, I don’t want to make people feel uncomfortable, I don’t want to be too loud. And that’s dumb. Why should I repress? I can scream as loud as I want and run up and down the aisles and jump on Jason’s back at Home Depot. Why do I hold back? Because when I would laugh and laugh during story time over nothing in particular, someone told me to stop. And I did.

I know, there’s a time and place for everything and granted, you should have manners and proper etiquette when necessary, but the world has got to lighten up just a little bit. People have got to stop feeling intimidated when they walk into a place they’ve never been before. They have to stop feeling anxious when meeting new people because they don’t want to look dumb. They have to smile and laugh when they trip up the stairs, rather than feel miserable and blush because everyone else stared at you.

And of course when I say they, I mean me.

I was so much braver as a kid. I didn’t care what anyone said about me. I refused to play with make-up because I’d rather climb trees and hang out with the kindergartners during recess. I proudly carried my books about Lucy and acting and history. I told anyone who asked me, “I’m going to be an actor” and didn’t listen to their negativity.

Where did that bravery go? Granted, it’s coming back in spurts and I’m hoping to have that same philosophy, I don’t care what anyone says about me very, very soon, but why did it ever leave me? I can’t wait until I become that little girl again, full of life and euphoria, telling anyone who will listen that their negative energy is NOT going to influence me.

I can’t wait to become that little girl who refuses to stop laughing, no matter what they tell me.

Work today was kind of wacky. And since I work in a liquor store, that adjective is a bit misleading. Because we have so many variations, such as the “Not A Single Soul Asked Me If We Had Free Samples” wacky and “Did I Really Just Eat My Lunch While It Was Still Hot” wacky.

But today. Today was “Someone Left The Gate Open” wacky.

That phrase, those five words, that barely, barely barely scraped surface of the English language is liquor store speak for WHERE THE HELL DID ALL THESE CRAZIES COME FROM? Oh, they must’ve left the gate open at the nut house. Clever, ain’t it?

The sad thing is, we have these days quite often. And all it takes is a strange customer request, like the girl about two months younger than me (as in, JUST turned 21) asked me what she could buy for “516″. I heard this and, since she needed my help, assumed she had 516 dollars and needed to buy things for a big party. No. She had $5.16 and said to me “How much can I get with this? I wanna get as fucked up as I possibly can.”

*blink blink*

Or sometimes, it’s something we see happen in the store, an event that is so totally disbelieving that I sometimes laugh out loud and embarrass myself. Like the day an extra-large woman tried to squeeze between a buggy and a display. Her left Popeye-esque arm (minus the anchor tattoo) caught a bottle of Parrot Bay rum and sent it on a warm and enjoyable flight to the concrete floor. As the bottle smashed into a million pieces and coconut rum filled the air, she turned to stare at all of us (ALL OF US, seriously FOUR EMPLOYEES WATCHED THIS HAPPEN) and then made a face at one employee who was standing at least five yards from the coconut lake and walked away from the mess without a single word. A. Single. Word. A SINGLE WORD, PEOPLE. And I immediately busted into a fit of laughter. Because I’m that concerned with the well-being of this world.

And whenever something like this happens, I always turn to my co-worker and stare at her with my mouth open and my eyes wide. She’ll throw a sassy hand up in the air to block my face and say “I’m tellin’ you, someone left that gate open and now they’re just roaming free.”

I did this twice today. Twice today, I had an encounter with someone so fictitious, so ludicrous, so DUMB, that I had to assume someone had left the gates open at Crazy Land and laid gold arrows with THIS WAY TO YE OLDE LIQUOR STORE written on them. And then they gave these crazies MONEY TO SPEND ON LIQUOR. Because that will obviously clear those crazy minds.

One customer approached me and our interaction was such:

Customer: Uh, what do you have for fiddy.
Me: …I’m sorry?
Customer: Fiddy. Fiddy cents.
Me: OH. Fifty. Um. The only miniatures I have for .50 is the rum over here and this tequila. I point to where an entire bucket of tequila miniatures should be, but aren’t. Well… I did. Hold on, I’ll check.
Customer: Oh, Shequila? It’s a pretty known fact: People ALWAYS mispronounce liquor, because they don’t drink it. If I didn’t work in a liquor store, I wouldn’t know the difference between vodka and rum either, but since I do, I can look down on these people and be condescending (not really, but work with me). I ignored this “shequila” thing, because I figured he just stumbled over his words or has a speech impediment.
Me: Umm… yeah. Hold on, I’ll get some, I don’t know where the display went.
Customer: So the shequila’s .50?
Me: …yes. BECAUSE WHAT DO YOU SAY TO THAT? No sir, that Maury guest is NOT .50. I just have to find it.
Customer: Aw man. So you’re out of shequila?
Me: …I’m sorry, what? Okay, he really thinks this stuff is called SHEQUILA?!
Customer: Shequila!
Me: Listen here, crackhead, don’t yell at me like I’m the dumb one. SHEQUILA DOESN’T WORK HERE ANYMORE. TEQUILA?!
Customer: Yeah!
Me: I have some RIGHT HERE. I’m holding up two sleeves I’ve found of the liquor and slam them on the counter.
Customer: So the shequila is .50, right?

My second exchange of the day was with Captain Ridiculously Crazy Locopants of the Crazy Clan Brigade. This man must’ve been in his 80s and was seated in a motorized wheelchair. He had a little backpack on the back of his seat and took up roughly two feet of space in the damn thing. Now, generally, when customers in wheelchairs or customers using canes or customers with oxygen tanks come in the store, I try to be extra helpful. I offer to take things outside for them, I offer to get something off a shelf, I’m generally extra pleasant (and for me, that goes a long way in retail). But, when this guy came flying (I MEAN, FLYING. Sent my hair back like a flag.) in the door being used by our delivery guys (meaning, THE EXIT, because you know, propping a door open for your deliveries really means COME ONE COME ALL COME ALL YE CRAZY FOLK) and immediately started weaving his huge ass motorized throne through cases and cases of wine (have I mentioned it’s the week before Christmas and all through the liquor store were TOWERS AND TOWERS OF LIQUOR/WINE/BEER TO BE PUT AWAY), I knew he was trouble.

And after I heard boxes being smashed and bottles being rattled by his driving techniques, I knew he was also going to be an asshole. I watched him yell at other employees about the shelf being empty of his favorite 8.99 12pk of beer and how he should get two six packs for the same price. I watched him bump into other customers without so much as a “Sorry” or even a “Get the crap out of my way”. I watched him slam his wheelchair into a pile of boxes and yell about things being in his way when he could easily have gone around.

And then I watched him stand up. I watched him step out of the wheelchair, walk down an entire wine aisle, come up to the front counter and tell our manager “I’m stuck. Get me out.”

Obviously, miracles happen in the liquor store. This man walked like nobody’s business! He didn’t have a cane! He wasn’t limping or even slow! He walked fine! The dude’s just lazy!

I watched our manager walk over to his chair and move it in and out of boxes. When it was near the register, the old man sat back in it and drove the TWO FEET to the counter, all the while bitching about how his business pays our salaries. When he got to the counter, he GOT OUT OF THE CHAIR AGAIN, walked around the back of it to the backpack, retrieved money and then paid me. He had our manager stack his beer in the footrest so he could prop his feet on top of it. Then he made a 27-point turn and flew out of the store again, cursing all of us as his Old Milwaukee lay resting at his feet.

And I swear to God, when he left the store, I heard the clang of the gate shut. Because I knew they would need to close down for remodeling; someone’s gotta build that man a damn wheelchair ramp.

I don’t like complainers. I can’t stomach the whining and the blame game and the bitching. And okay, yes, naturally . . . I do it, too. But people, it’s different when I do it. My concerns and complaints are legitimate and usually have an entire room full of James Liptons stroking their beard and nodding in agreement with me. That’s how it works.

Sometimes I complain about my job. When you work in retail, there’s a chart to follow. It goes from light green “This May Not Be My Career Choice, But I Can Deal” to Satan’s bedspread in the inner depths of Hell red “HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, NO WE DON’T CARRY THAT PRODUCT, I’M SORRY. WHAT THE SHIT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO”.

However. When you work in a liquor store, the chart varies a bit. It generally includes “I Can’t Sell This To You, Because I’ve Seen You Four Times Today” to “What A Fancy Party You Must Be Having With Three Bottles Of 4.99 Sparkling Wine”.

And I’m aware, I should consider myself blessed beyond belief (buh buh buh) to have a job in these economic times. I should kiss the threshold of that store every time I walk in before tossing holy water onto the time clock in the back so it will always punch my card (holy water and electronics . . . probably not the best mix). But guys, you don’t understand. This is RETAIL. The fact that my customers are sometimes less than stellar is just icing on the cake.

I don’t want to complain about my job. It’s not so bad, really. I have a very flexible schedule with co-workers and bosses that support my acting career completely. There is free hot chocolate in the break room and they bought me colored pencils yesterday after asking if we had any upstairs. It’s not a bad gig, seriously. But I feel like I’m allowed to complain. I’m allowed to say “I hate this place” when a customer argues with me over whether or not they’re allowed to use our non-public bathrooms. I’m allowed to say “What the . . . ” when a customer smells like they have rolled around in five or six ashtrays and haven’t bathed since that wall fell down in Germany. I’m allowed to say “I so do not want to be here” when I clock in because this store does not include a stage, a dressing room and a room full of scripts.

I honestly think the hatred I have for my job stems from the fact that it’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life. It pays the bills and sometimes it’s inspiring (only for comedy routines and journal entries), but for the most part: IT’S NOT WHAT I WANT TO DO. I’ve had the same goals and dreams since I was three (see also: being a professional actor) and it stresses me out to know I’m not there yet. Mainly because I’m an impatient asshole. Because I really do think I’m going to make it. I really, really think that being an actor is what I’m destined to do. I know it. I’m supposed to create stories and send people to another place, if only for 90 minutes. My imagination is way too big and way too consuming to ignore.

I complain because I’m tired of waiting for these dreams to come true. Which is bad. Because when I’m tired of waiting, then I’m tired of working for them and when I’m tired of working for them, then I’m tired of wanting them. That needs to stop. I need to savor these times of struggle (ugh) and discover more about myself and work hard so I can appreciate it more.

I also need to strike eating granola and starting yoga off my to-do list, ’cause that was too hippy even for me.

God, growing up really sucks. I mean, really really sucks. And I know this is a new development, a crazy thought, something NO ONE BUT ME has ever felt, so here’s your PSA: Growing Up Really Really Sucks.

Honestly, I’m not sure how I ever really went this long without realizing it. I’m 21 now and I know that’s not a big huge honkin’ number, but to me, that’s pretty old. Five years ago I was 16 and I was a junior in high school and cried myself to sleep a lot over a boy and AP US History outlines. Ten years ago I was 11 and I went to horseback riding camp at the YMCA and didn’t make a single friend and ate lunch by myself, but I did have a huge crush on my counselor Eugene and then looked his email up in the Emory University directory to say hi to him. Fifteen years ago I was six and Mom didn’t work and when I got off the bus on Wednesdays and saw her standing at the car I used to pitch a huge fit because I knew it meant we had to take Jamie to her piano lessons.

The worst part about growing up is how these things don’t feel like they happened to me anymore. All of these events, these heartbreaking moments, these times of pure joy all seem like something I saw in a movie or read in a book or heard through the grapevine. It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around all of it; I don’t feel like the little girl who used to pick “berries” off the trees and read Beauty out loud, pretending to be a princess. And God, what I would give to be her right now.

Because I never wanted to grow up. Ever. I was not that kid that dreams wistfully about high school after watching “Saved By The Bell” or the kid that can’t wait to get her period so she’ll be a real woman (unless they were a marionette, then I totally get it) or the little girl who begs her mom for a bra. The last thing I wanted was to grow up. Growing up meant giving up baby dolls and growing up meant leaving Mom and Dad and growing up meant I had to stop believing in Santa Clause.

Christmas is so different this year and it’s affecting me more than I thought it would. I’m not good with change, anyone in my family will tell you that. I resist it, I fight against it and I try really really hard to pretend like it’s not happening (I never gave up the make-believe part). Jamie actually asked me if I would mind her making a new dish for Thanksgiving because it would mean a change in the normal casserole selection. Seriously, I can’t get a grip on CHANGE. It’s a big C-word and it means people leave me and they don’t come back. However, I crave it. I crave a break in the routine, a chance to learn more about myself, a cornucopia of adventures and did I mention the big C-word rattling around in my brain is Contradiction? You can blame the Cancer in me (the zodiac sign, not the disease) as that big C-word is the cause for the other two.

I know Christmases change and that when your sister has a serious boyfriend, she has to visit his family, too. And I know that when your mom really wants to see her mother for Christmas when she lives 4200 miles away, you should stop being so damn selfish and let her. And I know eventually the magic of Santa and of Christmas and of finding the perfect tree and loading it with icicles will start to fade. I know that. I just didn’t know it would happen so soon. Actually… no. I never knew any of that. Magic doesn’t wear off on girls like me, it thrives in my heart and runs rapid through my bloodstream.

I blame change for all of this. I blame growing up. Because Christmas is still so special to me, but it’s so different this year and I just CAN’T DEAL. I know, I’m a selfish brat. So what if I have to enjoy Christmas a few days late this year, at least I still have my mom around to celebrate with me. And so what if the flailing economy has all of us stressing about presents, is that really the point? Shouldn’t I be elated to spend an entire day with my whole family feasting on turkey and Yorkshire pudding and parsnips and potatoes and opening crackers and reading the corny jokes and wearing the paper hats? Shouldn’t I be excited that my boyfriend has a five-year-old who can’t WAIT for Santa and who will love anything given to her as long as it’s pink? Shouldn’t I relish in the fact that I may be growing up, but there are no rules to this game and who says I can’t ask for a baby doll for Christmas or play dress-up or read books out loud to myself while pretending to pick berries?

I should.

• Tweet!

• Entries

  • Internet, meet my little brother
  • Sick day
  • PSA
  • To prove to Dad I’m not a fool
  • Our kind of love
  • A List: 7/52
  • Danger, Will Robinson!
  • Lazy bones
  • In sickness and in health
  • A List: 6/52
  • Security breach!
  • Creative stalling
  • Hitklumdashruise
  • A List: 5/52
  • Bipolar Betty