06/04/2004 - 3:43 p.m. | GAZE OF STONE, BRAIN OF MISCHIEF

So I finally got up from posing all sexy on the bed in just my skivvies. I have the body every women wants (minus penis, plus breasts, of course). I had a dream that I was employed at my old position as your second string in Chicago with Dank. I guess we discovered that somehow candy allowed us adequate lubrication to roll down big hills safely, so we were freaking people out. Flaming pie was there. And Nicholas Brendon was there (or at least a lookalike). I believe LL Cool J was supposed to make a cameo, but he didn't show up 'til later, and when he did, he mostly just smiled with his eyes closed and stroked his chin. Or was that Malcom Jamal-Warner? I can never tell the two apart. But - it's been delayed long enough! Let's get down to business:

Weeklong Candy Store Extravaganza

When Toy and I were looking at hours last week, he pointed out that I had three days straight where it was just me and the manager Jane. "She must be wantin' to get some of that white ass," he said. He wasn't far off. I dunno how the fuck this happened, but Jane is God damn in love with me. I mean, I just do what I'm told or whatever, but she acts like I'm the second coming... of candy store employees. She's always giving me praise. And I guess it's not just to me. I called one of the Indiana stores the other day to ask a question, and they were like, "Oh, you're Nate from the Champaign store? Jane has been saying that you've been such a huge help blah blah blah." If you'll recall, I don't take praise very well... Actually, I don't really take criticism very well either. "Leave me the fuck alone" is a good basic strategy to follow. So is, "If they can't take a joke, fuck 'em." There's no such thing as going too far in my mind, and if there is in yours, well, I don't expect we'd work out then. Anyway, I think I'm like steps away from becoming Jane's junior manager - except that position doesn't exist, so I'm more like a deputy. But yeah, she's having me train the two new girls who are starting here (Fresh meat - RAWR! No doubt they will be mutants now), and I'm doing all this grownup inventory junk, and she even had me build the entirety of our front window display. The latter of course filled me with giddy pleasure because I get to be creative for twenty minutes. "I will need ten sheets of tissue paper." JUNGLE THEME! It's weird being a confidant. I was talking about it with Spritz, and he says that I do have a managerial look about me. Funny, I didn't think I was fat enough. But, if that's the case, might as well play it up, right? I had already half-decided - and Spritz agreed - that I should wear a tie to work. Swear to God, like three people came up to me, "So, are you the new manager they hired?" "No, I'm just some pud who decided to wear a tie today." I thought it was pretty funny to try and look professional. And I look hot in ties:

So, work work work, sleep sleep sleep. I'm in fucking adult mode again, and I hates it. I'm always sleepy and bitter, and there's never any time to do anything. Actually, I dunno if I am really all that bitter, but I feel that since I am a creepy loner mall employee now, I better at least act the part by hating every single person that comes into my candy store. And taking copious notes about them. See, part of the reason I never wanted to work in food service (besides the fact that food is fucking gross, and I hate cold anything, especially meat!) is that supplying gluttons with their fix kind of makes me sick to my stomach. That, and the fucking different types of malted milk balls I was told to try for differentiation's sake. They all taste like crunchy stale milk ass to me! *cac* But, as I was saying... types of people. You kind of wish the cute girls would come in, but they of course know better than to spend their time in a shitty ass candy store, so the best - THE BEST, the cream of the crop - I get are the Abercrombie bitches. And while their breasts are enormous and their skirts are shorter than my patience (was gonna say penis, deemed it too easy), their personalities leave much to be desired for. Ah, but were I a shallow man. Well, an extremely shallow man, then. But, like I said, they are the best people I see. And it's all downhill from there.

I was so proud of this one candy for listing "Saliva activated!" as one of its key features. So excited, in fact, that I am changing it to one of my own characteristics. The excitement didn't last long, however, because then another stereotype came in (The Horny White Trash Italian Guy!) came in with Lowtits McGirlfriend and started being audibly lewd. For my pleasure, I suppose. "And after you put them Pop Rocks in your mouth, there's something else you can put in there, too! ;)" I hope your penis just explodes off, sir. Just POW. And then you'll have no more goals in life. Fuck. Seriously, though, if you didn't come into this place a racist, there's a good chance you'll come out as one. Please, black people. I want to get along, OK? Do not steal my candy and ask for samples just 'cause you're hungry and be bitchy and sassy and loud and do pretty much everything in our little manual that says people should not do (including, no lie, rubbing your faces on the candy bins). No one else does that, swear to God, and I'd hate to blame it all on your race. Maybe you're normal in other stores, and the smell of flavored sugar just thrills you to ecstacy, but calm yourself. You're losing votes. And once I finally do go all badass (I feel it is inevitable that I will one day snap and become some sort of Res Dogs Steve Buscemi psycho killer thief), y'all are screwed. And doorbusters? FUCK DOORBUSTERS. Hate that God damn word. And Beyonce? Thinkin' you all hot shit! Because maybe everybody tells you that all the time, but you must be thinkin' it yourself, too! Acting all sassy and fucking shaking your ass in your varying little outfits with your God damn horn part like we just have to fucking melt for you. Fuck that! Give me Jay-Z any day! "I got 99 problems, but the bitch ain't one!" Sing it, brother.

Ahem. I found some crayons and calmed down for a while. I'm actually pretty happy right up until around 8:30 when I just got finished cleaning all the bins and making sure everything looks great. Then if anyone comes in, I start internally seething because I know they are going to fingerprint everything up and put the scoops in the thing the wrong way, and it eats away at me like a CANCER. But, as I was saying, it's just certain groups who come in. The disturbing too old for stuffed animals stuffed animal people who act like little Moo Cow is making them come right then and there. LOOKIT HOW CUTE!" God in heaven, I don't want to clean up your ejaculate. And the little chubby girls who come in and blow all of their allowances on fucking plastic junk candy. I know your parents think it's still baby fat, hon, but that usually starts to go away around 5th grade. This is the real deal, and I think I may have found a cause-and-effect scenario that explains a lot of this for ya: Stop pouring the candy powder into your face! That's our biggest selling, no doubt. The tubes you fill with colored, flavored sugar and pour into your face. It's like Russian roulette with diabetes. Will this tube of sour apple Pucker Powder be your last? Well, I'm just here to clean it up when you start foaming at the mouth on the floor. And then I'll be ready for your replacement. And the moms who come in with like five kids, all yelling at her from different directions, trying to subtly indicate that, yes, this Ring Pop is the one for them. "Look, Mom! Grape!" "Yes, sweetie - that's very pretty." "No, bitch! I want you to buy this for me!" And the one who has just stumbled upon the notion of guilt and is using it to full effect. "I guess I'll just have to go without a Push Pop... even if they are my favorite. *sigh*" And the one spaz kid ("Oh - and of course his name would be Crayton" - that really is too good) is trying to stick his hands into every bin in the store - I think he's made it a personal vendetta, really. Bet she's regretting the miracle of childbirth. But don't worry: No woman could ever compete with you, Enviro Duster. See, I'm a good employee - not a great one. To clean out the aforementioned Pucker Powder machine, I use one of those canned air things like Lisa and I used to spray each other in the face with. It creates a whirlwind of destruction, and that makes me happy for a while again. But then, just as I'm about to close, just as I'm closing, PAST CLOSING, this God damn moron couple will come in and stare at the Jelly Bellys for 10 minutes, conversing stupidly about each flavor. "OH MAN COTTON CANDY! I BET THAT ONE'S BAD!" "CAN BE NO WORSE THAN BUTTERED TOAST AH HA HA!" And they aren't going to buy anything, and I can't force them out, so I just stand behind the counter and hum Hoobastank's "The Reason" because I haven't heard that enough times today. If you were paying close attention, you'd have noticed that there were some pen lines on my arm last night. Why, you ask? Because I was trying to stealthily slit my wrists with a ballpoint pen whilst waiting for those hipster fucks to get the hell out of my store.

Now, that is a rant.

Is he really this bitter? No, probably not. But I can imbibe it pretty well, don't you think? Anyway, as summary for the last few days, I'd like to introduce one last character. I liked him just fine, even if I was still burning with rage at the others. It was close to closing time, and I was sweeping up for the night when this old man comes in on a walker. "How are you today?" I ask automatically, accent firmly in place. He kind of shrugged his shoulders. "I can't get around too well anymore." I guess he took my question as more of a state of the nation sort of thing. That's fine by me; the non-automatic answers are always more interesting. I helped him find a couple of things, and then he took a lap around the store while I continued sweeping. I'm supposed to stop while customers are in the store, but I'm sure neither of us really minded. He couldn't really make it too fast around the store, but I didn't feel sorry for him. He didn't feel sorry for him either. He was just... a beaten man, I guess. We talked while he was in there, and he was a nice guy, and you could tell he could be very funny if he tried, but he just didn't care anymore. He was old, and he vaguely knew that that sucked, but what was there he could do about it? And while I watched him making the loop past the gummi shit, I looked outside the store and watched all the consumers heading out for the night. The girls with their tiny t-shirts and and long blonde hair and perky breasts, secretly loving that guys can't help but look. The frat guys walking so confidently with their Hollister bags, status symbol so firmly in place (How do they even decide which clothes they like there? "Should I get this blue shirt with HOLLISTER written on it in giant white letters or this white one with HOLLISTER on it in giant blue letters?"). And they're all going to turn old someday, too. Have to use walkers and canes and wheelchairs and endure pitying looks from kids who look like they do now. And that's at best. This old guy could be me someday. Hell, this old guy is me someday. I felt sure of it, actually, and while I was deciding then and there that I would off myself by 40, no, 30, I rang up his candied almonds or whatever. I would have liked to have given him a hug, let him know that I at least partially understood, that youth wasn't completely wasted on the young and that I was enjoying being spry and lucid, if not handsome. Instead, I asked him if he'd like a bag. "It's already in a bag," he said. One of those little jokes that people never think I've heard before. And then he loped out while I got ready to mop for the night. I feel like I owe him something.

I cheered up on the drive home, like I almost always do, and had myself a pot of Aldi stuffing when I arrived. Andrea called from Tennesse, and we talked for a while. It was good to hear her voice. She might be visiting this Wednesday, and I realized I had missed her more than I thought. Oh God, did I pick up that attribute as well? Our differences are approaching zero, even as our distances are growing ever wider. Sorry, I'm just thinking out loud. I've been doing that a lot lately. Loner time and all. The unique combination of candy powder, vinegar, mop water, sweat, and stuffing mix may have made me smell like fish. Kyle didn't seem to mind. We went for a pre-emptive strike on Harry Potter, Kyle and I in the front row (He with his smuggled in LoCarb juice - Vodka is the next step), just in front of some movie reviewer fag. Ever notice how often other people's opinions are just absolutely stupid? (Source - July 20th entry). And on that note, let me tell you what I thought of the movie: It was good. Add an hour to it, and it could have been great, but that's going to become an ongoing problem with this series. How are they going to adapt the fourth book - somewhere around 700 pages - and not turn it into a ten hour epic? But, that's getting ahead of ourselves. Cuaron did an excellent job - I especially liked the early scenes at Harry's uncle's. Gritty and right in the action... and then more sublime as he moved into the world of magic. And not even one ridiculous reaction shot (a staple of Chris Columbus' work). "Let's see what Hermione thinks about this! And now Ron! And what about Neville? And now a quick shot of Snape! And then Hagrid! And then Malfoy!" Hack. I also liked he kept it vague about the whole Harry-Hermione-Ron love triangle because no one knows where that's going, right? He left a lot of the things in the movie open-ended, which I think was awesome of him. Hints at Harry being a pissy teen and all that. But anyway, I liked the way this movie was made a lot more - I just wish not as much of the source material had been cut. But that's just 'cause I'm a bitch. Actors? Well, Dumbledore is a crazy hippie now, I guess, which is all right. Lupin wasn't as I had pictured him, but he was decent. How did he and Harry keep ending up on those long walks together, though, hmm? Trelawney was dead on, but I didn't really get her place in the movie. Then again, I never got her place in the books either, so forget that. Gary Oldman was perfect as Sirius, but Pettigrew was way too over the top. I always imagined more of a used-car salesman. As for the returning actors, I <3 Alan Rickman, of course, but he and everybody else got fuxed for screentime. Again, add an hour. Harry and Ron were servicable as always - Harry's getting to be a fox, but neither of them are great shakes as actors. Not enough Weasly face (Kyle and I kept making it back and forth). Malfoy is this fucking giant now, which is hilarious, but I still think they should keep all the actors for the rest of the series (Barring more unseen deaths, of course). And ah, Hermi1. Emma Watson is turning into a right fox, so maybe I'm a little biased, but I think she definitely has screen presence. She has the best chance of the three for an outside career. And as my bride.

OK, final thoughts? Dank agrees, Rentertainment Chick is hot. Actually, everyone seems to agree. If I'm going to make a move, it better be fucking fast, right? So, either put up or shut up on that. Just take one for the team, Nate. And if you get shot down, well, what the fuck is new about that? Moving on.

mstanmsta n: nice profile natey

Matt is sort of my hero, so any praise from him is golden. I rediscovered his blog not too long ago, so I'm taking today's title from one of his more brilliant lines. <3, let's hang out more, please, OK? I be extra supa cool, I promise!