work

When I got out of the shower tonight I stood in front of the mirror for a good five to ten minutes just looking at myself. I was scared by what was staring back at me in the mirror.

Time to do anything but work, blog, eat and sleep these days is limited. I don't put on make up, I don't really do my hair, I never really stand in the mirror naked or half dressed. So I haven't noticed that being skinny has now become looking scary skinny. No one else has noticed either. I guess my t-shirts and baggy clothing is covering up the reality; that I have become Nicole Riche very scary skinny.

The first clue was that my bathing suit, a juniors small was kind of baggy when I put it on last weekend at a pool party. I of course covered up in gym shorts and a t-shirt so no one noticed, but I thought it was kind of odd. Clue number two was that I rubbed my back earlier today (I have my period, so I am having lots of back pain) and I didn't feel the normal layer of fat under the skin. Just my hip bone.

Today I worked a 9 hour shift at our local health food store. Tomorrow is Rosalynn's first birthday party at my sister's house and she would like us to be there by noon, for a party that's at 2 . Which means I will be getting up at 10, if the baby doesn't get up before then. I still have at least a cake to make, maybe two. Things to clean, diapers to wash and a baby to take care of. My boyfriend is busy sleeping.

Even with Nik not working (he lost his job), working part time and having a baby is a juggling act and a hard one. Partly because I am still expected to act like a stay at home mom, while at home, while I am also expected to act like an employee at work. In both cases I am thinking about other things, while in both environments. Both are causing me to space out completely. I almost charged someone $1,116.00, instead of $116.00 in groceries this morning. Oops. When I left I forgot to check my schedule for this up coming week, I hope I don't forget to call in and ask.

It has been a very long time since I have written here at AGA, and I must say that I am surprised that my blog remains here, and I am thankful that I am still able to write in it. There are many things I have observed/done/heard recently that propel me to write again.

I got a job in February at a grocery store near my house. I have made a solemn vow to never let myself work in fast food, and prior to obtaining a high school diploma, this is really the only other option for me. It isn't a terrible job, although the pay is low and the customers are sometimes... less than happy, to understate the situation. I have a great opportunity as a cashier there however, because this grocery store is the heart of the neighborhood surrounding it, and is probably the reason "the ghetto" doesn't exist in Lincoln.

It's been said that gender roles aren't really defined in children until they are four or five years old, and wouldn't be nearly so extreme if it weren't for pressure from parents and peers- e.g., a Family Almanac column in my local paper featured parents that were extremely worried over their 3-year-old son's interest in Disney Princesses. I support the notion that it isn't the kids themselves that learn these roles, and here's a small anecdote to support that:

I babysit a little girl fairly regularly. She's going through a phase now where she likes to play House, and insisted that she got to be the mommy (I got to be the daddy), and a stuffed animal of hers named Love was the baby. After these decisions and after hosting a party "for the neighbuhs," she put on a pair of fancy shoes that were impossibly large for her, some binoculars, a doctor's kit, and a hat.

Guys I realize it has been forever and a year and I intend to get back on track (it seems like I say that a lot lately)...

This month, October, has been a month of broken dreams and trying moments. First off, a dear friend of mine was arrested and incarcerated. It is not necessarily a surprise, we all saw it coming, but his troubles still hurt me deeply and I found myself somewhat depressed over it.

Secondly, I found out that someone I have known my whole life is HIV positive, and rather than being supportive, many of the people this person is close to have blamed and shunned this new status. I feel worst of all because I know how commonplace the disease is and how horrifying it can be, but I feel as though I can say nothing because I am too young and not close enough. It is a powerless feeling.

Today I woke up, and it was around 10 I beleive.

Got into some rather tense discussions with my grandmother. We have to repeat the same arguments at least twice if it wasn't the answer she wanted. She wanted me to move out a day early, which wasn't possible but I was supposed to have these psychic revelations about her making plans after knowing the day I was moving three weeks in advance. I'd just move by myself...if I could fit the boxes in my car. My car is the size of a jellybean - with only one operable door. Grandpa just kind of shook his head.

Went into work, ate something on the cheap and tried to talk to my coworker/new landlordlady while she was running around to work this all out. Decided that it was just going to have to wait until tommorow no matter how crazy my grandmother was going to get about me moving on the day I said I would.

I'm doing ok after my grandpa's death. This weekend, after a two-day romantic hiatus with my boyfriend, I will read a yet-to-be-written tribute at his service.

But remember that dirty old man at work? Who I talked to my manager about? He's yet to cease and desist. So I just composed this to corporate:

August 16, 2006
[address of office here]

Dear Sir or Madam:

Hello, I am a supervisor at the Downtown store. For the past two months, I have been intermittently working day shifts as well as at night, as I’ve been out of school. While working lunches, I have noticed some truly disturbing behavior from [dirty old man].

"We can talk about anything you want, as long as you're naked." – Striptease (1996)

In the Christian Bible, Job was a man who was tortured by his God as a test of his faith. Poor Job ended up being the pawn in a heated argument between God and Satan. Today, we use the word "job" to refer to a torture that we endure as a test of our sense of irony. We're pawns in a heated battle between very different gods: corporate masters, enslaving the masses in a whole new social division known as "the middle class."

We middle classers don't have it too bad. We are expected to possess proficient English skills, but only moderately so, and may still engage in some enjoyable slang without fearing reprimand from our fellow MC'ers. We are expected to dress in a humble Wal Mart wardrobe, and can do better if we please, but don't have to wiggle into any corsets. We can afford fairly amusing entertainment, with a constant flow of Hollywood blockbusters to satiate any discontent amongst the masses. We even get to paste little patriotic stickers on our cars, so that we feel connected to our leaders. In general, we're a fairly well-taken-care-of population.

Feeling a lack of identity reading that summary? Sort of swallowed up in a mass statistic? Read on…

I quit my job a little over a week ago and already I am bored out of my mind. The bright side is it seems like I quit just in time; with the temperature outside apporaching a 100 degrees, walking almost a mile in black pants and a dark shirt wouldn't be a good idea.

Yet, I am bored. So, I have been doing what any other unemployed teenager would be doing: watching hour after hour of TV. One of my favorate channels has always been Discovery Health. I have always found genetic conditions interesting and they do alot of speicals on such. As a pregnant woman, interest has turned into concern.

Shannon was simply put one of the best manager's I ever had. I entered this job after my stint at Denny's where the all-nighters and stress was seeming to take a toll on my then marriage. I was feeling eternally tired and drained and when I quit that job I said to myself that I "wanted a job like at that bead store". They never hired.

One day as I walked past the window there were a plethora of help wanted signs, so imagine how great it was when I got that job not knowing anything about beads and jewelry at all. I will never forget her questions during the interview. " We have a lot of different sort of customers here - do you think you can handle it?"

Too many men, and even many ladies, think that equality has been, or at least very nearly been, established.

Except for the fact that women still make less, single mothers are often punished for caring for their children, insurances cover Viagra but not The Pill, and oh yeah, that little gem of pharmacists can refuse to fill contraception/EC prescriptions.

So why is it that when sexism is so apparent, and inequality so blatantly obvious, that I'm the bad guy for pointing it out? Why do I "care too much," as one guy who was trying to date me said, when I speak on the behalf of women?

I'm so sick of feeling like I have to be apathetic, or at least muted in my exasperation.