I love details. The things that tend to go unnoticed. I love the world through youthful eyes; their thought-through, confused and simple explanations. So honest. I also love slowly creeping up behind them, and then making a booming "BLAHHHHGHRJOFJK!" and watching their jaws hit the floor as their body shudders. Nothing is funnier than that. Nothing.

ebbing and flowing

Today a girl came into my store and asked how much our shoes were. When I replied that it depends on the style and how well it's done (sales-wise), she reacted as if the heavens had been revealed to her.

"Wait, what?? You guys make more than just one shoe? Like... It's not just one Vans shoe?!"

I was worried she might pee all over the floor. I hate cleaning up after people pee in my place of work. (I've had it happen twice.)

I'm not going to lie, at the time I was dumbfounded that somebody really thought a company could last for fifty years, and soar above the competition at that, off of a single style of shoe. In retrospect, I'm glad that people can get so euphoric over such little things.

Despite my continual Facebook rampages about every little thing that I hate about people, there are a mass amount of things that make me happy. And despite my catch phrase of "I hate humanity" with variants such as "everything", "everyone" or "anything that breathes", I like to think of myself as a very understanding person. Not so much compassionate towards humans, it takes quite a situation to make me feel sympathetic, but understanding is definitely a strong point of mine. I get that things make us upset. I don't care if you got a paper cut, your dog killed itself, your house burned down or you broke a nail -- if you're upset, you're upset. If the sad encounters from your life were to happen in mine, I can't guarantee they would make me upset. Different lives, different personalities, different morals, point of views, priorities... I could go on forever. Emotions are the constant.  I am not the type of person to tell you that you can't tell a man you love him because you've only known him a few weeks, I will never tell you that what you're upset about is stupid and small or pointless, and I will never tell you that you're a pussy because you're freaked out your girlfriend was almost raped, even though she is totally fine with the situation. This is true with any emotion (I feel sadness is the most criticized, second maybe to love, thus it is 'exhibit a' in this... blog.)

I will tell you though, that life sucks every now and then, and to suck it up. Do everything you can to aid the situation, and let the rest work itself over. The bad times don't last forever. Sometimes it feels like it, and issues can drone on for months; years, even. You always have the choice to fade into the sorrow, or to hold your ground with a smile on your face. Always. Regardless of the situation. Life is 10% what happens to you, and 90% how you react to it.


PS: There is nothing wrong with crying. It feels nice to sob your life to a friend through a phone and let that energy be released.


"I just wanted a make-up bag and a notebook!"

Well,

I'm not really sure how to go about this. Dive in naked and honest, I guess?

I don't know how there are so many blogs with intricate writing, a strong, moral lesson and an exciting story from each and every day. I often feel like I live the same life, day in and day out. Actually, I always feel that way. I feel as though I spend the good portions of my days, at work, earning money so that I can afford to do fun and interesting things with my friends and family. The irony is, I work so much that there is hardly time for any entertainment or adventure extending past the virtual world of Facebook, Bing, Wikipedia, YouTube, Tumblr and the new addition, Blogger. (I'm really branching out. When I first took this manager position, the little free time I had I spent solely on searching obscure parts of the world. One morning I spent learning about the different types of stinkhorn mushrooms -- in detail.)

My entire lifetime,I've dreaded turning eighteen. The American rite of "responsibility" (though many, well past this milestone, lack it). I hate the idea and necessity of credit. I hate literally everything about money. I hate that anyone and everyone, has to work to earn paper that allows them a certain amount of goods; be they as vital as water, shelter and food, to any and all materialistic wants. It dawned on me not long ago (no, really, like a few hours ago) that despite my Peter Pan complex, I started working the day after my sixteenth birthday. I had crappy jobs before then, too (custodial). I've given myself this strange ultimatum, only forced upon myself by myself, that I MUST have a job at all times. the longest I've been unemployed since then was a month and a half. I now work nearly full time although I have a family I can depend on for my needs. Talk about facing fear head on, right?

I must say I do regret not continuing my education. It's never too late, I plan to try as soon as I get a car (very stupid situation, being nearly twenty and having never had a mode of personal transportation). I'm thinking majoring in marketing, minoring in English, and going to art school. Or something. A routine job, without making an impact on the world (other than in the CEO's bank account) is hardly satisfying. Although I love it where I work, I don't want to spend my whole life making sure I lead my $7.50-an-hour team into an otherwise unrewarding working frenzy. It's cynical, really.

I may ramble, but that's part of my thought process.
Earlier, leaving the grocery store, from the time I walked through the automatic doors to the car (parking distance being what one would call a 'good spot') my mind had traveled, somehow, from R. Kelly to how strange it is that humans don't have tails. I'm not the only one to have that same thought, either; boyfriend confirms he has also.

Let's wrap up this burrito then?