Maybe Marie's Not In A Good Mood (The Maybe Post)

   I dislike corn season. I mean, I like fresh corn as much as anyone, but I dislike being a checker during corn season. People don't like you to count corn. They have a cart full of the shit (and sometimes, this is literal) and they want to tell you something like, "I have one hundred", and they don't want you to count it. They get PISSED. Don't even think about the fact that counting out what you're buying is part of a cashier's job - just automatically jump to the conclusion that the cashier is accusing you of being dishonest. If I ran a business that sold items in quantity, I would want my employees to verify the quantity the customer had. But maybe that's just me; maybe the rest of the world wouldn't care if their employees were not doing their job to the fullest of their capabilities and the entire extent of their job description. Maybe a half-assed work ethic has become the new hot commodity in retail. 

   I also dislike customers who are douche bags. Full on, rude, I-have-no-respect-for-anyone-but-myself douchery. Fantastic. There is nothing like telling a customer that you're sorry, but you don't have any tape at your checkstand, and having that customer respond, "Do you even know what tape is?" Hmmmmmm. Maybe I don't know what tape is. Maybe, somehow, in my thirty-two years of life, I have managed to completely avoid all contact with tape. Or maybe you need to realize that this is a checkstand, and not the package counter at the post office, and that even if we did have tape, it would probably just be plain old scotch tape and not the packaging tape required to hold your freaking big-ass box shut. That's not exactly a donut box, dude. Or maybe I just don't know what tape is, and really, I have a full drawer full of packing tape.

  Banana peels; you do realize that when you hand me a banana peel at the point of checkout, you are now digesting the heaviest part of that fruit, and I can't correctly charge you. Same with apple cores, peach pits, and so-on and so-forth. I really dislike this. What am I supposed to do? Heimlich the rest of the fruit out of you and try to get the weight? Really, what am I supposed to do here? Just be like, oh well, you just stole from my company, and let it go? No big deal. It's just fruit. Maybe, if you were the only person doing that garbage. Do you really think you are the only person? Why is it, that when people want a snack, and they just can't wait until the shopping is done, why do they tend to choose the items that are sold by weight?

    To add to this list of things that I dislike; let's go with not being able to breath. Men! You don't need the whole bottle of Axe poured over your body. That's not sexy. Women are not passing out because of your inconceivable hotness; they are passing out because your cologne has defeated all the area's oxygen. And your poor, poor checker; that person can't even run away. That person has to try and hold their breath until you've moved on. Seriously, can't breath here. Maybe you don't need so much. Maybe, if you are buying cologne in bulk, that's a sign. Maybe, if you come through my line with five bottles of the shit, I'm going to grace you with Marie's-Ultra-Special-Glare-Of-Death - you know, on behalf of all of the people who have suffered. Maybe too much cologne should be considered chemical warfare.

   Maybe I'm kinda grumpy today. I dislike being grumpy, but hey, I'm human. Grumpiness comes to all of us. Probably, I shouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning, but I have responsibilities. I have things that need to get done. But maybe, after I'm done baking this box of Betty Crocker's cookie brownie that I just happened to find in the cabinet (how did that get there, I wonder?), maybe I should manage to refrain from eating the whole damn thing, because even though I like to eat my feelings, I know it isn't healthy. Or maybe I should eat the whole thing. We only live once, and maybe this brownie is the only thing standing between me and happiness. 

One Direction Woes

   Ahhh. Christmas time is coming. I love Christmas. My family loves Christmas. My sister has had her apartment decorated for Christmas since Halloween, which is nuts. But it's her apartment, and this is her right. However, I feel like a Grinch whenever I walk into her apartment, because while her apartment looks like a Christmas-y wonderland, I have a tree. And that tree was decorated by my daughter, because I didn't want to do it. If my daughter hadn't gleefully accomplished this task, we would just have a bare tree. Someone should just follow me around playing "You're A Mean One, Mr. Grinch." Except I really do love Christmas -- I just don't like decorating. Everything you put up must eventually come down, and I don't feel like doing all this extra work.
    Anyway, we do the whole gifts at Christmas thing. I know that I have heard some people express that gifts take away the meaning of Christmas, and that Santa has taken over a day made for Christ, but I think that both can coexist. They do in my home at the least, so I leave this how I always leave issues such as this, you do what you want, I will do what I want, and we won't hurt each other and call each other nasty names, and all will be well. And to those of you who don't celebrate, Happy whatever-you-do-celebrate. I wish you much joy. My family just happens to celebrate Christmas, and my story today revolves around our tradition.
    Some families wait until Christmas Eve to put out gifts, but we don't do that. We generally place all the gifts out except the ones specifically from Santa (who is based off a Catholic Saint, Saint Nicholas, who is the patron saint of children, and others but I'm not giving a Catholic history lesson here) and the presents from Santa are the ones that are placed out on Christmas Eve, after the kiddos go to bed.

This is what our tree looks like right at this moment.

   Which leads us to the fact that my daughter has seen some of the wrapped presents under the tree, and she began to playfully try to guess what they were. So I began to playfully suggest things that they could be, but I picked things that she would absolutely hate to get. In doing this, I hit on One Direction. My daughter hates the boy-band One Direction. She doesn't like the music, doesn't want the assorted items with their faces plastered all over, and doesn't wanna watch the 'movie' of the tours. So I started suggesting that these gifts under the tree where things like One Direction CDs, One Direction action figures, One Direction pajamas, and a One Direction poster, that I suggested that she could tack to the ceiling of her room, right above her bed, so that when she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw would be their faces.
   This horrified her, which was so much fun, that I followed around after her for days, suggesting every time she looked at the tree, that perhaps she was excited to get all of her One Direction presents. She would put her face in her hands, and pretend to cry, while laughing, because after all, she knows that I would no more do this than set the house on fire. I don't care for One Direction any more than she does, and giving her all this would place me in direct contact with all of their music. Plus, that would just be mean, and while I like to do a little teasing, I abhor meanness.
    However, today my little kiddo had a really bad day. And for a few moments I didn't quite realize how bad she felt, and I fell into teasing her. Her response, "If it's really all One Direction, just burn it. I don't want anything." Poor little silly-head. Momma's done teasing you. At least for a while. (And she got a giant hug and assurances that she was NOT getting One Direction.)