Seriously. Enough with the porn before 10 a.m.

God. Really.

The internet, baby. Learn to love it. And leave me the hell alone.

Links today, because I have to go study, but I'm too anal retentive to lose NaBloPoMo on the third day.

Most importantly, Sweeney Todd in EW. *is dead*

Cate Blanchett is pregnant. My sister was so excited about this she had to tell me over the phone, because, in her words, "More Cate Blanchetts in the world make it a better place!" In related new, The Fuggen Age. Hahahaha.

Yes, Hayden, in this world of Sudanese genocide, mass terrorism, famine, and AIDS, those dolphins really need your help. A round of applause, people. She's doing some good.

I want this coat. Yes, I now cannot afford Target. *sigh*

I'm going to go figure out what the hell a GABA receptor is.

Being witty is overrated.

I worked this weekend.

All weekend.

And let me tell you, seventeen hours of the crazy? By Sunday night I was ready to start throwing books at people who dared look me in the eye. And not fluffy stuff, either. I'm talking Mitchner.

Oh, where shall we begin? The THREE porn orders I had to do before ten o'clock on Saturday morning? (If you need gay porn- or indeed any porn- at nine thirty a.m., please have the decency to download it. I don't need to deal with you.)

Or reading the ENTIRE 34 track listing of some random Elvis CD to an old woman over the phone?

Or the person who told me they didnt' like the way we rearranged the store? (It's been the same since I started fifteen months ago.)

Or perhaps the woman who yelled at me because we didn't have a sufficient selection of bar mitzvah cards? (I'm sorry, my name is Kathleen and I have curly red hair. I don't feel your pain.)

I think the porn bugged the most. Definitely.



Then I got home, and Colleen had gone shopping. And I clearly wanted to go shopping too. So I took my trusty debit card (okay, it's real money, but you don't see it, so it feels better), and went to Kohls. Found some lovely tops, but can I comment for a moment on this fall's fashion only thing you can find trend, the baby doll/empire-waisted look?

First, I'm not complaining. Those of us who have huge boobs and no waist are more than happy to usher the Regency era back in and about time too!

However, it does have the tendency to make one look, just slightly, enceintes. Somewhere, there is a poor knocked up teenager who is SO THANKFUL that she chose this year to screw up, because her parents won't be able to tell until May.

Oh, and Dumbledore's gay and there's a new Sweeney Todd trailer that I can't find the link to. But it's good.

Oh Lord is it good.

About the Dumbledore thing, eh. I'm kind of pissed that she's changing things now, *months* after the final book came out and we've all had time to formulate opinions and feelings. But I am equally as happy that this happened after everyone has their book and don't feel the need to let me know how they feel while they're annoying the hell out of me at work.

Again, customer service is amazing, right?

I is planning revenge. Awww.

Egypt test tomorrow. I'd appreciate it if you all would offer sacrificial lambs, because I'm pretty sure praying's not enough. Instead of studying last night? I watched Secrets of Egypt's Lost Queen on the Discovery Channel. With who has to be the prettiest historian ever (My dad: "That's because you don't have your degree yet." Sure it is.) who has time to reapply lipstick while hunting for Hapshepshut. It's kind of the same thing.

Why I Need to Go To Grad School So I Don't Have to Deal With These People All Day Long For The Rest Of My Life (Capitalized For Emphasis. So There.)

Morena, Barista Extraordinaire: May I have a name for the order?

Crazy Guy: No.

Morena, Barista Extraordinaire: Umm. Okay.

Crazy Guy: I'm worried about Big Brother.

Morena, Barista Extraordinaire: *laughs nervously*

Crazy Guy: No, really.

Morena, Barista Extraordinaire: *is scared* Oh. That'll be $3.48.

Crazy Guy: *hands over credit card containing all his personal identity*

Morena, Barist Extraordinaire: *almost chokes on the irony*

Crazy Guy: You're mad at me aren't you? For not giving you my name?

Morena, Barista Perhaps-Not-So-Extraordinaire: No. I'm really not. I have other things to worry about. The name thing was not my idea, believe me. Here's your latte.

Crazy Guy: Oh. Okay.

Morena, Barista Perhaps-Not-So-Extraordinaire: *mentally purchases LSAT review book*

If you ever needed a reason to consider law school or make staring down a dissertation seem like a good time, try working part time against your will in a cafe.

Because, trust me, when all you really want to do is throw the hot chai that "oh I thought was iced!!!" at someone's face? Prostitution looks good. ANYTHING.

Why Jack Keruoac, Joel Osteen, and Marvel Comics can take all their books and shove them up their road-tripping, stupidly grinning, zombie asses.

AND LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE.

*ahem*

I worked yesterday. Supposedly in the cafe, and supposedly with people all day long, thus freeing me to drink free iced tea, play my cell phone, and debate the various shortcomings of UWM's Foreign Language Department. (And there are many, let me tell you. In one afternoon, Kim and I came up with like seventeen.)

But Pam was in a tasking mood, and instead I was pulled from the cafe and was shown to a display, handed a piece of paper with a bunch of titles on it, and told to redo it. Sounds easy, except there was no room on any shelves for the eighteen thousand titles currently on the display. Resolving that issue involved about an hour of me perched on top of a ladder up at the overstock shelves trying to alphabetize Jodi Picoult's thirty-second title (I swear to God, that woman is the most prolific not-that-great-author of our generation. Shelves and shelves have been devoted to her drivel.) while bemoaning the fact that Nicholas Sparks is allowed to live and write in our world.

Because Nicholas Sparks is evil.

He is everything that is wrong with women in general today. He is sappy, and mopey, and love-sick, but not in a good way, just in a way that makes me want to retch.

And I'm convinced he is a woman.

(Halfway through my hour-long internal tirade against Mr. Sparks, a sweet little girl who was probably about eleven or twelve came up and asked me where The Notebook was. I showed her the cheapest copy I could find, and tried desperately to find a way to let the clueless father accompanying her that this was a VERY adult book, with actual not just and-then-they-kissed sex scenes, and that perhaps a little girl dulled by the Ryan Gosling/Rachel McAdams cutsiness shouldn't be reading it, but there is no way to say that without sounding like a creep. So he's just going to have to deal with the questions later on...)

Finally, I got all the crap back on the shelves, and went off to find the new books that would fill the display instead of Nicholas an his ovaries.

This posed a problem. Because they were all graphic novels.

I don't read graphic novels.

When someone asks for one, I either pawn it off on somebody else or just point vaguely at the corner of the store that houses slim books whose names are in Japanese. I think that's where they are

Except now I was being asked to find twenty different, very specific titles in that scary section. And I almost cried.

And our graphic novels are not organized in a normal, alpha by author thing that I may conceivably have a chance of figuring out. No. They're organized by character. Character? You can't always tell the character by the title. Like something called Marvel Zombies. Not under Marvel. Or Zombies.

Two hours later, when I finished the damn thing, my tubes had tied themselves for fear that they would one day give life to something with a penis who liked to read graphic novels.

Task #2 was a 50th Anniversary of On the Road endcap. By Kerouac, whose last name none of us ignorant fools staffing the bookstore could pronounce.

Except we were out of all the books that were supposed to go on it.

Leaving me to come up with titles that go with it to fill the numerous empty spots.

Oh. Lord. No.

American lit is NOT my thing. French, Russian, British, sign me up. I can even tell you who liked whose writing and who thought who was a crock. But anything written by an American I probably haven't read and if I have I probably hated it.

So do you know what's on my Jack Kerouac endcap??? The two solitary copies of On the Road that we did actually have, travel journals, and Kurt Vonnegut, who has nothing to do with anything except he's also weird and dead.

When I go in on Tuesday, I really hope someone has taken it down.

In the last twenty minutes before I got to leave, I had to do a teensy tiny Joel Osteen display. Which wasn't too taxing, except that I really, really hate Joel Osteen and his smileyness and his hot wife. Although with the number of his crappy books I've sold I think I know why he has a hot wife. There's a lot of money in faux spiritualism, apparently.

Just one link today, because I'm sitting outside (yay for notebooks!!!) and it's starting to get windy. Also, my tirade against the publishing world has taken up about half of my battery power.

Holy Christmas on an ocean liner, Josh sings Ave Maria on Noel. *is dead now*

ETA: My quest for correct grammar may be going too far. Our neighbor is teaching his son-in-law to use the dirt bike (don't ask) and just said "You're doing very good." And I had the almost uncontrollable urge to yell across the lawn, "WELL!!! HE'S DOING WELL!!!" *sigh* As though we aren't unpopular enough.

Adventures in Staff-Picking

So I walked into work this morning. I was on time, which is about five to ten minutes earlier than I prefer to be when I open, because there is precisely nothing required to open a bookstore. (This could be why our morning meetings are like half an hour long, and today included "Yeah, this is the new book by this woman, she used to do Navy SEALS," "She did Navy SEALS? Really?" and "I'd like to go to storytime..." as well as I think maybe some sales numbers, but they were lost in the shuffle.)

I usually kill the first half hour hiding in the history section salivating over all the Alison!Weir!Goodness! or organizing the stuffed animals in the kids section by character. God knows what would happen if Big Bird and Elmo weren't in the same bin, across from Dora the Explorer, completely separate from Spongebob!

Le anyhoodles, today I am assaulted practically at the door by Pam, in a tizzy because they need to redo the staff picks selections.

Otherwise known as, The Corner With All of Kathleen's Books. Perhaps because I'm disarmingly sweet, or I read a lot, or I'm really good at bullshit (Debutante Divorcee? Sucked majorly, but you wouldn't know it!!!), Pam recruits me for staff picks pretty much every day I work. I don't really mind, but this led to the inevitable "Hmm. What shall I review today???"

I read such a variety of stuff, from chick lit fluff to Russian tomes, and I always struggle to choose.

See, part of me wants to pick a popular book and just be all annoyingly mainstream.

But another part of me wants to be all "No, you will read Bleak House and you will like it, dammit!!! Don't make me pull out my Tolstoy! You want fun? I've got 1300 pages of French Revolution for you courtesy of Mr. Hugo! How's that for summer reading!" *ahem*

I compromised and picked The Kitchen Boy, Girl Sleuth, and The Other Boleyn Girl. Kind of a mix.

So if you're in the neighborhood, please stop by and check them out. Of course, you'd have to know my entire name, because we have to use different names on each one to make it look like more employees are participating.

Good thing I have two middle names.

5 Days. For the next four minutes.

Gurgh. (Yes, that is a sound.) So. Freaking. Hot. It was 82 degrees when I left work at quarter after ten. 82 I TELL YOU!!!!

The parentals and owners of my house have discovered that I have been covertly lowering the air conditioner temperature under cover of night and they are, to put it lightly, rather annoyed.

And I have been forbidden to touch it again. Under penalty of being thrown out. I have no money. This is a scary thought.

(I kid. They didn't really *say* they were going to throw me out. But they really hate that air conditioner.)

So haven't done ANYTHING for tomorrow yet. Like pick out clothes, make my bed (in a burst of industriusness, I washed the sheets. Yeah. That backfired. Now I have to put them back on.), or pack. Instead I worked until after ten, and then ate my chili rice that I hid in the crisper to prevent other people from eating first. I'm an evil genius. No one in my house goes in the crisper. Ha!

I'm choosing to ignore this, and am instead watching Frasier on Lifetime and eating baking chocolate chips (only chocolate in the house), and 11:28 at night. That's healthy.

As mentioned above, I did have to work today. Supposedly in the cafe, but ended up in books reshelving self-help and erotica.

Yes. We have a sex section. And a Gay/Lesbian/Transgender section, a Lesbian fiction section, regular erotica, and special erotica series sections.

After twenty minutes of shelving that stuff, I may never feel clean again. Mary stopped by to pick some stuff up, and when she saw what I was holding she just went, "Oh, God. What the hell is that?"

They're so not paying me enough.

Also not paying me enough to work in the non-air conditioned store. It was so freaking hot. I had a ton of overstock, too, so I was up by the ceiling all night (except when I was in sex...*shivers*), you know with all the hot air and lights. Grrr.

Totally changing subjects, Mickey's house is coming along well. Apparently she's taken to driving by and watching the workers, because she gets off on people doing work for her.

Her words. Not mine.

I have so many different comments, I'm just going to shut up.

Entertainment Weekly is doing a thingy on the top 25 tearjerkers ever. (26-50 are here.) Or, My DVD Shelf.

Because I think that unless a movie a.) has Alan Rickman/Johnny Depp/Whomever I Am Secretly Obsessing Over That Week in it, b.) makes me cry, or c.) Johnny Depp ever even looked at someone who is in it, then I should not buy it.

And, OMG NUMBER 45!!! This one fulfills like, ALL of the requirements above!!!

One more link for you---adorable!lily and arrogant!james from an OOTP extended scene of Snape's worst memory. I cannot wait for the DVD. Meanwhile, pigtails? Um. She's not nine.

Okay. I really need to go find something to wear. Have a good weekend, and I shall see you all on Monday.

7 Days

They're watching Mass in the living room. And I feel like a bad person because I'm in here blogging and, well, not watching Mass.

I'm evil.

The second one is incorrect (it should be whom), which is usually enough to get an icon banned from my blog to the fiery depths of grammatically incorrect hell forever, but I liked it too much.

Worked last night. Ugh. So. Not. Busy. At. All. Somewhat thankfully, Pam was having a slight existential meltdown upstairs because the store kind of hasn't recovered from Harry Potter yet, and there are piles of books waiting to be reshelved, and nowhere near enough people to do it, what with the contingent that must be in the cafe AT ALL TIMES OMG. So I was recruited to help.

First I got to put CDs in those little anti-theft thingies, which is massive amounts of fun. I highly recommend it if you ever get the chance.

Then I was handed two baskets full of overstock and told, "Oh, yeah, they go up there somewhere *gestures vaguely towards the ceiling*". So I got to play on the ladder by the overstock shelves. And let me tell you, not so easy to balance twenty-eight copies of Tim Russert's book that IS NOT SELLING AT ALL while perched somewhere over the music secion.

Very dusty. And hot, what with the being right under the lights and all. I don't recommend this
so much.

Finally, the children's section. *organ music plays*

Reason #438 Not To Have Children: Those little buggers are MESSY. Seriously. I'd clean up the spinners, and then go over to the actual shelves to put away some books. Five seconds later, the spinners would be DESTROYED again.

Pam actually called them "little bastards". I found that rather amusing, whilst suggesting that she not refer to them as that in front of their obnoxious parents.



While I was waiting for Mom to be off the phone yesterday (I don't remember why. I'm sure I had a good reason, though.), I started going through her pictures, from the 1970s.

I'll spare you all the customary lecture on Why White Men Should Not Have Afros and Porn Mustaches Actually That One Applies To All Races, Creeds, and Colors Because It Is Not Of The Lord, Y'All. You've all heard that.

I shall instead comment briefly upon my mother's absolutely gut-wrenchingly deplorable taste in men, at least until she met my father.

Shall we begin with Chet? Who had the same creepy-ass smarmy grin under his porn mustache in every picture? The pictures that spanned like then ENTIRE decade, because again, DEPLORBLE TASTE!!! One should not look the same in 1978 that you do in 1975. It's not right, y'all.

Also, why was she at so many damn Democrat functions? I mean, I know she was dating him, but couldn't she have been like, "Um, you know honey, I'm gonna sit this one out. I don't feel like KILLING BABIES TONIGHT!!!" Sheesh.

Or the bastard whose name she didn't even remember, but the mere memory of which sent my aunt into hysterics?

Not quite the hysterics I was in when I saw a picture of her (My aunt, not my mom. Don't worry, Dad.) old fiance. They looked like a very typical lesbian couple. My mom was trying to explain that he was considered attractive back in the day. Um. Yeah. If you like chicks.

(Also got the actual story on my mother's retarded friend who apparently didn't realize that she was having sex. It was gross. But intriguing.)

Finally arrived in the 1980s, when my Daddy showed up. Accompanied by Baby Mr. Mickey, and several overweight friends in short-shorts. I'm not sure that I'll ever feel clean again.

Still better than Chet. *gags*

Nobody expects spanish inquizishun.

Oh, good. I like them. I was worried I'd have to stop watching in order to quell my feelings of homicidal rage towards Barbara Walters.

Speaking kind of of The View, well, duh. How stupid did she think we were???

Molly Weasley, pwner of bitches.

I. Do not. Like working.

At all.

Thursday I worked all freaking day, in the cafe no less. And it was not pleasant. *TMI warning* With about two hours left, my bra snapped, and from then on every time I took a breath there was an underwire jabbing me in the rib. This forced me to stop at Target on the way home and actually shop for a bra, which surely must be in the top three things I hate doing, along with cleaning toilets and pulling the hair out of drains. *eww* Also, Colleen's friend was the cashier, thus foiling Colleen's grand plan to never, ever let any of her friends realize that she or anyone in her family has breasts, a uterus, or underarms.

Today was just a lot of smelly people (No, really. The body odor was overwhelming at times) who wanted me to magically know the title of the book they wanted, even though they were unwilling to give me a word in the title, an author, or indeed anything other than, "Oh, but I really enjoyed it!" or "The cover is blue." Uh-huh. That's totally going to help me. I'll just direct you to our "blue cover" section. Right next to the "non-fiction" for the morons that have yet to realize that by virtue of not being classified "fiction", EVERYTHING ELSE in the freaking store is non-fiction. *bangs head against table*

And I have to work Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday this week.

*more head banging*

But then on Friday, we get to go to Galena-yay!!!

Happy, happy, joy, joy.

Although I will probably forget something basic like a toothbrush because I will have had no time to prepare, as I am working like a communist. Grrr. So mad about that.

Really looking forward to it. Well, except the part about sharing a double-bed with Imladris. Who is a territorial sleeper.


Ooh, wait, I just remembered another crazy person story from this morning. This woman comes up holding Harry Potter and goes, "When did this come out?"

No.

Really.

She wasn't kidding.

I am forced to presume that she has been incommunicado, studying penguins in the arctic for the past six months.

In ur orchestra... I cannot help myself from all the LOLcats goodness. I apologize.

*More TMI Warning* I am having an inappropriate and confusing reaction to this Sweeney Todd poster.

Well, okay, not so confusing. The confusing part is a mere cursory "No! He's evil! This shouldn't be attractive to you!" being whimpered by my Inner Good Girl, who is kept chained in a corner when it comes to Johnny Depp.

The inappropriate part is winning by a long shot.

Want more Johnny goodness (and some Imladris-hate)??? I thought so.

People magazine came yesterday, and this picture was in StarTracks.

I'll pause here a minute so that you may pick your jaws off the floor. Oh. Just me? Okay.

I'm understandably screeching and maybe ovulating a little, and Colleen scoffs and goes, "Eh. He's kind of getting old."

BLASPHEME!!!

I'm not sure I want to be in her Squishy Court anymore.

We have meat. Wrapped in bread. And lemon cake. I'm going to go eat all of it.

I Don't Feel Much Like a Title Today.

So I know this guy who doesn't have a stove. Or rather, he has a stove, but it's located right under the freakishly sensitive fire alarm and so as a qualification of the lease he is not allowed to actually use it. Previously, I assumed that this would be a minor incovenience, I mean, how much do you really use a stove?

Now I feel like calling him and asking what he's making for dinner.

Because our stove has been out for days, and I'm starting to get really annoyed with pancakes and grilled cheese. Maybe if someone would listen to me about buying some canned chicken, we wouldn't have this problem, but they never do. *sigh*

It was actually easier to stop at Alterra than come up with something to eat this afternoon. I'm not even kidding.

A very funny HP 7 parody:No way should a nine-year-old boy sound like Alan Rickman.

Also? Apparently after I have an adorable baby boy who looks just like Baby Neville, he's going to grow up to be wicked sexy.

I officially give Colleen my approval to marry him. (I'd do it myself, but he's a little young. I'll pause here for a "Yeah, he was born *after* the Nazi cause was defeated" joke or something from my faithful friends...)

I have to work all day tomorrow, and frankly this is putting a crimp in my plans of going to Starbucks. *sigh* But I do get to watch The Office at night. Whee!!!

If only I had real friends...

All You Need Is Love

Oookay, so I guess when I suggested that my last entry (a mere fifteen hours ago) would be the only one all weekend, I forgot that I have so much to say and so few real people to listen to it!!!

Obviously, DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T WANT DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILED FOR YOU!!! Okay?

Did you hear me?

No longer my fault.

*ahem*

My inner fangirl is in a sleep-deprived tizzy. Even if she was kind of disappointed by the fact that the most gut-wrenching non-Snape death in the book was Fred (of Fred and George), and she was all geared up for a pile of bodies ala the Bard, but whatever.

Because the whole Snape/Lily thing (that I was totally going for)??? Amazing. I was reading, and it was like six hundred pages of fighting and angstiness and battle crap, and like two Snape lines (boo!!! poor form!!!), and then it's like God went, "Okay. You had a tough day at work. And it is four-thirty in the morning. I'll perk this up a little for you." And then spewed fangirly pleasure all across the page.

And thank God, it makes way, WAY more sense than the being teased thing. That was totally just not flying.

Harry lives. Yay.

He marries Ginny, and they have adorable children (named after Snape. Awww...). Ron and Hermione made it out alive, too. Yay.

Neville's a professor. Awww. I love Neville.

And Draco's losing his hair. Ah. All is right with the world.

I did get a teensy bit emotional. But I'm pretty sure that's because it was five-thirty in the morning.

So work was...um...interesting. I started at six, and while there weren't that many people there, the phones were ringing off the hook. Mostly to ask "What time do I have to be there?" (I don't care, leave me alone.) I was actually more considerate to the customers with inane Harry Potter questions than the ones who called and wanted to know where A Million Little Pieces was or something, because I had to strangle the urge to scream, "You dare interrupt someone working at a bookstore on HARRY POTTER NIGHT??? HAVE YOU NO SHAME!?!?!?", and that probably wouldn't have been good.

After things got going, I was giving away glowsticks (Erin and I were being fast and loose with the glowsticks---we weren't even asking questions), and then did sampling of hot coffee to the twenty-five thousand people shoved into a teensy space upstairs in order to drum up sales for a cafe that was so busy I had to go help twice. Frankly, I think that was a waste of my time.

Once we actually started selling them, my register broke twice and I almost had a stroke, but other than that it was good.

Finally got wrapped up around one fifteen, and then for some reason were kept around until closer to two, at which point Sarah redid her corset (locked and loaded) and her boob popped out. Yeah. That was fun.

And I totally looked at the ending as soon as I got it.

All in all, an eventful and rather fun evening. Although I think I should have been getting time and a half after midnight, but that's just me.

Didn't Ben Franklin have syphilis???

The Snape stickers I took from work a couple days ago-



Because I will clearly take any opportunity to say "very bad man" with a straight face and not be kicked off of a message board for inappropriate behavior. (Don't worry, Mom, that's never happened. My cousins tend to take care of pissing off the ISP's in the family.)

Colleen and I were laughing so hard last weekend when she stopped in, because really, what marketing genious who never saw a CSI or Law and Order thought this up??? I'm almost embarrassed to be employed by such a naive corporation.

Speaking of Alan (and really, when are we not?), I was watching Something the Lord Made yesterday (Colleen: Ugh. You're watching that again? Me: Did you even ever see the whole thing? Colleen: Yes. It made me cry. WITH BOREDOM!!!), and there's this one part with lonely, sexually frustrated Kyra Sedgewick fixing and lamp, and he goes, "I don't remember you wearing a tool belt at your coming out party."

A normal line, until you realize that he's like twenty years older than Kyra Sedgewick, so if he was at her coming out party he'd have been the creepy forty-year-old in the corner getting drunk. And I find that amusing.

He can come to my coming out party. You know, if I owned a dress and had friends.


This will probably be my last entry until Sunday, as I have to leave in a matter of hours for work, and then I work all day Saturday. By the time I get home at six, I'm pretty sure I'm going to feel less like talking to any of you and more like throwing things at the head of anyone who asks me anything. That's just the kind of customer service that I specialize in.

I'm half dreading, half excited for work tonight. I'm sure it'll be fun, especially since I tend to absorb excitment. So by eleven, I'll probably be WIRED. And not just because I've had a frappuccino today.

Emmy nominations were released yesterday morning. Overall, I'm happy. Neil Patrick Harris got a supporting actor nom for HIMYM (YAY!!!), and Jenna Fischer for The Office (YAY!!! 2.0). Also gotta love the Ugly Betty love. I love that show.

How I Met Your Mother is so. much. funnier. than 30 Rock, though. Booo!!!

Also, I've had inappropriate daydreams about almost all of the Lead Actor-Drama people. In the interest of saving what's left of my dignity (um...I'm sure there's some left), I'll not specify if it was three or four of them. Still, majority. I seriously need to watch less TV.

lolcat of the day. Hand me a towel! Ha! I love those cats.

Maybe he'll grow up to be a felon, like his godfather.

I haven't worked in a couple of days, and frankly I've just barely had time to decompress. It was not a good work two days week, my friends. Not at all.

After the marathon awakeness that constituted Tuesday/Wednesday, I was no mood to deal with customers all day Wednesday. Apparently, it had been busy on Tuesday (frankly, I think it was less that than the managers just really wanted to leave and go to Harry Potter), so there were huge stacks of books to be reshelved, and I really did not feel like doing it.

I was so tired I got very emotional when the book being read during toddler time was about this squid that gets eaten because he's conceited. Why must all children's books be cruel???
*tear*

And I was even in less of a mood to deal with a guy who asked me if Crohn's disease and irritable bowel syndrome were the same things, and then asked if I thought this cookbook, specified for those dealing with IBS, was any good. I'm sorry. What part of "I'm a nineteen-year-old who doesn't care what's going on in her body" did you not get??? New IPT Guy who wa shelving in the corner and smirking politely at my embarrassing predicament was enjoying himself, though.

So Thursday, I'm thinking I'm golden. I'm all alone, the cafe is dead on Thursdays, and I can play my cell phone. But no. The god of free drink coupons have it in for me, and it ws hugely busy all freaking night long. I had like ten minutes to breath, and I know I didn't get everything finished on the closing list. I really, really did not care.

They felt so badly for me that they let me make myself a drink for free. Yay.

I'm not conceited enough (like that poor little squid...) to think that you all really care about what I've been reading, but it is my blog, so I'm just going to run down some of the latest.

Most importantly, Green Darkness, by Anya Seton, which teaches us the valuable literary lesson that you should never ever have guilty sex with a priest because in five hundred years when you are reborn you're still going to be paying for it.

The Secret of Lost Things was very good, as was The Starter Wife (chick lit), and Forgive Me, in that forgettable way.

Some links (mostly stolen), that I feel compelled to comment upon.

All right, these kids are just adorable. My favorite part was the "What do the little letters at the end mean? Those are the states. Oh, I'm impressed. I don't know what "wi" means..."

Teehee. Orlando Bloom laughing like a girl. Eat shit Jennifer, it's carrots!!! Seriously ROFLMAO. And I don't do that often.

Okay, so this doesn't look like it's going to suck as much as I originally assumed. I'll be there on September 21.

Not as there as I will be for Invasion, though. The creepy saint-love will not die, my friends, it will not die.

My Lolcat of the day-Hay be nice, Emokitteh is sensitive. omgsofunny.

We have muffins. I go in search of them.

We've been going for hours! I need a break!!!

Harry said that to Snape in the movie last night. I'd like you all to take a moment to consider what kind of comments a loopy Colleen would come up with at three in the morning. And you've just pictured our car ride home.

Yeah.

The Boy is scarred for life.

As usual, one of the best parts of a midnight movie is the anticipation, and waiting in line with all the crazy people who dress up. (BTW, there's a Gryffindor robe hanging in the break room at work. And it bothers me immensely.) We tried playing bullshit with Mary's very interesting NASCAR cards, but finally all the white-trashiness got too much for me to handle and it was throwing me off my game.

Apparently I'm no good at bullshit. Tell that to my boss, who thought I had a family obligation that night. Which may, in fact, come back to bite me in the ass, because I ran into her and another manager and several store employees, who were not happy that I had far better seats than they did. I didn't really feel like pointing out that while they were closing the store (typically my job on Tuesdays), I was hanging out at the theater. :D

One of the women also opened with me this morning, and we were both just kind of staring at the wall we were so tired.

So the movie was really good---definitely way darker than the first couple, and rather confusing, I thought. I'd just read the book like a week ago, so I could follow (and annoyingly point out "oh, that's wrong!" in my head), but my sister said that she was having trouble following it. I kind of felt that the ending scene with the death and the whole prophecy thing was rushed, though. I wasn't that attached to Sirius, so it's not like I needed time to grieve or anything, but they didn't really explain the whole scar thing.

But they *finally* gave Snape something to do! Rather than just stand in the back of the scene. A couple of funny lines, too. "Obviously." "I may vomit." "No idea." Teehee. Alan's funny.

Also, the occlumency scenes??? In the dungeon? At night? *fans self*

Other than Snape, the insanely overqualified adult actors did well. Luscious Lucius lived up to his name, Jason Isaacs is Teh Sexor, and Imelda Staunton was just great. I wanted to beat her over the head twenty minutes in. I actually like New Dumbledore, even if the die-hard fans don't.

My favorite character that I haven't been stalking for three years was Neville, though. Who shot up over the past eighteen months and now looks like he could take out any one of the three main actors, and yet is still playing a hapless dolt. I don't care. I love him and I want my sister to marry him. I think they'd be cute together.

I know by now I'm kind of just listing characters, but the ENTIRE Weasley clan I just adore. I love the parents, Ron is so adorable, Ginny's grown up and isn't really annoying anymore like in Chamber of Secrets, and those two older boys? So funny! "I've always thought that our futures lay outside the realm of academic pursuit." Heh.

And somehow Bellatrix escaped Azkaban and found an abandoned dominatrix outfit. That struck me as funny. A Neville and his plants picture for my sister. Who was laughing deliriously about that when she wasn't cracking "bum hip" jokes about Alan. I told you, it was an interesting ride home.

Found out that I am working next Friday when the book comes out. Not that I really had any doubt, because EVERYONE is working, but I did end up in books, which is good. I'm kind of excited, so long as everything goes all right. The part I'm not so excited about? I have to be back at nine o'clock the next morning to work a nine-hour shift in the cafe. Ugh. She must have been really pissed about those seats.

Okay. I've been up for thirty-six of the last thirty-eight hours, so I'm gonna go crash.

Adventures in Pancake-Making

Oh yes. I now make albums of my lunch preparations. How cool am I???

The reason I was forced to griddle something for lunch (Yes, it's a verb, and no, I don't love it as much as Imladris.) was that the stove (Yes, the one that costs more than my education.) has gone the way of the washing machine, van, and now other car (Yes, our new car died. Yesterday. While I was in it. On my way to work. On the expressway. Morena was NOT amused.), and is refusing to turn on or do anything remotely stove-like.

Freaking appliances. I'm going to line them up and shoot them all.

Just a little TMI warning, y'all.

I'd personally like to thank the creators of Secret Clinical Strength deodorant. I do not have a perspiration issue in the least. But hey, if it's one less thing to worry about, I figured I'd try it. Yesterday was the first full day I used it, and this is what happened.

-I woke up after having a nightmare that I was being attacked by someone who shall remain nameless but was very much named in my dream (and my head---although I'm not sure I can use that language on a family blog)

- spent some time at an oncologist's office, always a good time

- ran errands in the 90 degree heat

- had my car die on the expressway in rush hour

- have to call work and tell them that I was sitting on the edge of the expressway trying not to be hit so I'd be a little late

- switch cars with my dad so that I wouldn't be fired

- worked for four hours in a teensy cafe with three other people and NO AIR CONDITIONING

And I still smelled baby fresh at ten-thirty when I got home.

It is now right up there with McDonald's iced coffee in my book.

Harry Potter tonight.

And I'm actually really excited. All the crazies are out.

And then next Friday already is the book, which I only know because I no longer have place to put my apron in my mailbox, because it's full of random Harry memos. That I know are not going to help, because I just know something is going to go wrong and somebody won't a get a book or something and threaten to sue.

Yes, you heard me right. This is now causeing me NIGHTMARES. Gah, I should not be in customer service. I don't like customers, and I don't like servicing them.

Title Muse is Bloated and Sick

The Pod has been christened Larry. Larry the Pod. We now refer to it as Larry, as though it were more than an insanely huge inconvenient mouse-attracker (Yes, there was scratching in the wall yesterday. No, I' don't know why the exterminator- TO WHOM WE ARE FREAKING RELATED has not been called. Yes, I am looking for an apartment. No, you can't come, I don't like people.), and it is infinitely amusing.

I don't know. We were drinking.

Because how else can you watch fireworks? Clearly you need margarita wine coolers and a bottle of Arbor Mist.

Okay. I really am not a sexually frustrated soccer mom. Really not.

Speaking of sexually frustrated (and I promise we'll stop soon, because my dad reads this), I finished the Harry Potter books, and I completely understand why it runs all the crazy-ass Livejournal-ists' lives. They're flippin' amazing. I mean, not run-my-life amazing, but really good. I was up until twelve-thirty last night finishing Half-Blood Prince because I could not put it down.

And I have some theories.

Harry is totally a Horcrux. And he will die.

Dumbledore could possibly not be dead. Maybe. They didn't really bury him, and you know it's a better indicator of mortality if they bury somebody.

I honestly don't know whether Snape is evil or not, but I don't really care. I saw this and haven't been able to form a coherent thought all afternoon. Good, evil. Doesn't matter.

Sort of off the subject- best birthday present EVER. Borders had better carry it, because there is no way I'm waiting for amazon to ship it.

Here at chez Morena, things are going just a teensy bit strange. The Empress is barking at me, and acting inebriated. I think somebody slipped something in her drink.

Also, it is rainy and thunderstormy.

Despite what the time stamp is because I started this earlier, it's pretty late, and, as I stated above, Collee is on all fours, so I'm gonna go. Also have to work freakishly early and then I'm going to go celebrate the birth of my nation and the regrettable loss of the ability to call myself British with some rum. Woot.

Are they really going to build them a house?

I worked last night. In books. Jason came up to me and was like, "Wow, it's really weird to see you in real clothes!"


Great. Now when people think of me, they think horrible black polo shirt-ness. Awesome. I needed help in the "make me more unattractive" department.

And then I had to sign a contractual agreement saying "OMG YOU WILL NOT TOUCH, BREATH ON, LOOK AT, OR BLINK WITHIN TWENTY-FIVE YARDS OF THE HARRY POTTER BOOKS OR WE WILL SUE YOUR ASS OFF AND STEAL YOUR CHILDREN AND YOU WILL NEVER WORK AGAIN OMG". Yes. That was the legal language present in the document. I found it quite amusing.

Went out for coffee at Smith Bros. with Mom and Colleen and had an existential career crisis. Again. That happens a lot there. But this time I had good reason. I discovered another person at work holds a masters degree. MASTERS. I'm going to die alone, poor, and grossly overqualified to work at Seattle's Best.

I'm going to go drown my sorrows in DVDs. Ciao, bella.