EFFING Craft Section ATTACKED Me.

Boss Lady and Ex Man were deep in discussions about what they should do with the store. How they should move stuff, what they should promote… About an hour in, I stopped participating, and the Boss Lady said “Clean up the craft section.”

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh.

I like crafts. I am an artist. I see potential in all the things! But cleaning this wall is a total pain in the ass. 

AND I got attacked by a pink wicker basket that was shoved in here, RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE FINGER.

And although it was fun to show my “Eff You” finger with a tiny pink splinter all day, it was all the Sweet Effing Painful. And I still had to clean this fucking disaster.

I did it. But there was a cartload of garbage in there, and shit that was shoved in there that didn’t belong in crafts at all. But I touched all the damned things! ALL THE DAMNED THINGS!

This is how I spent my last day before Christmas horrordays, and before layoffs.

Luckily, a handsome man who loves me helped me attack the pink splinter in my “Eff You” finger and we got that fucker out.

Eff You, Pink Splinter. Eff You.

Grace.

Dat Devil's Got Back

Whole lotta Mary’s goin’ on.

Everybody prayin’ for the cutest little bowling devil you ever did see. Got his golden bowling ball, with a lotta wear and tear on it. Steeee-rike!  The Mary’s and Jesus stayed at the thrift store. But, the little Devil came home with me. Why?

Dat Ass

Nearly lay off time. I’m done on Friday. What the FECK am I going to write about then????

Grace.

A Merry Shit-Less Christmas.

So, all year long, I’m pretty much on the “De-materialize Christmas!” soap box. Loudly.

And all year, I do pretty awesomely with it. I mean, I really MEAN it all year long.

And then THIS fucking week happens. This week, before Christmas, where I sort of freak out a little bit. Because, I feel pressured to get SHIT for PEOPLE.

I’ve been doing Christmas pretty much “shit-less” for about 4 or 5 years. But still. There are children in the family. And then I feel like a cock. I mean, I bake them cookies. But that’s it.

Anyway. Luckily I had a Beautiful Man with me when the urge to get out my credit card hit, and he reminded me  who I am.

And, I’m fucking PAGAN. I don’t know why I let this shit get to me at ALL.

When I am independantly wealthy, I will TOTALLY be that bitch that either:

a) leaves town during the holidays, or

b) just TELLS everyone I’ve left for the holidays, but really I hide out at home reading and having long hot baths till it’s all over.

Grace.

Hulk Smashy Smashy

So, I whip around the corner and almost run into THIS:

Are. You. Fucking. Kidding.

?????????

Incase you are not sure of what you are seeing, just as I was, THIS, my friends, is a TOWER OF PLATES. Also known as TOWER OF SMASHY SMASHY ALL OVER THE TILE FLOOR.

Now, the Ex-Man in general is PRETTY good at displaying shit. He’s good with moving shit around so it all fits, and deciding where to put the big stuff, and sometimes he’s pretty ingenious. But, What The Fuck? Sometimes.. no. Just no.

The plates are wedged into a thin and light metal stand intended for DVD’s or maybe video games. And just barely. If you take a good look at the pic, you can see that the little black metal piece hangs on to basically a little more than the lip.

No one is going to shop for plates this way. I know I wouldn’t. And I’m going to bet the first person who DOES try to remove some plates from this monstrosity will surely take them from the bottom, making this bitch top heavy, and SMASHY SMASHY. All over the tile floor.

I just can’t go on. I mean, I COULD, but it would be more of the same.

Grace.

Cock In Hand.

THIS came into the thrift store. Ex Man, the Boss Lady’s Ex, was working with me when it came out of a box. We laughed our asses off. Because seriously. It’s a statue of a guy with his cock in his hand. LOOK.

He’s just standing there, contemplating the world… maybe what he’ll have for lunch, or what chores he’ll do today.. with his cock in hand. LOOK. That’s not a bottle. it’s even stained the same colour as his arms. Cock poking out of his pants.

What was even BETTER? Ex Man put a price on this dirty fuck, and put it on the shelf. At least 4 little old ladies picked it up and oohed and aahed over how it was a REAL wood carving. Do you know how HARD it was to NOT lose my shit when they all said “Real Wood.”????

Life is Good.

Grace.

P.S. I’m pretty sure I get laid off from the thrift store in a week. After Christmas, it gets pretty quiet over there. They are gonna close for the week of the 23rd to the 27th for Christmas holidays. I have no idea how I’ll entertain myself until Spring.

Merry CHRIStmas and Yule Tide Greetingz. With a Zed.

So, I arrived at work to see that the Boss Lady broke out the window crayons, and decorated the front door. With “Merry Chrismas.” I laughed. Because there was no T. Personally, I thought it somewhat appropriate that she should wish me to have mass over Chris’, but I fixed it anyway. Because I knew we’d catch flack from the Jesus People.  Check out how artistically I squeezed in that T.

Then, I decided, since I’m pagan, I should add my own sentiment. Yule Tide Greetings! And I laughed equally at myself for fucking up the S.  I totally left it there. Like a Zed.

Also, if you look, you’ll see my reflection in the window. Those are some sexy little work boots I have going on with my jeans. It’s a wonder I leave work without a date every day. Ha!

Grace.

Sweet Fucker and Corn and Beet, Oh My!

I have started referring to the Violin, as “Sweet Fucker” as opposed to just “Fucker.” I’ve been told that If I continue to just swear at her, she’ll never play beautifully for me.

So, when I make horrible noises from her, I yell “SWEEET FUCKER!” or sometimes whisper it to her. I think it’s working! The notes sound a little less irritating to me.

And, here are a couple of OTHER Sweet Fuckers I found at the thrift store.

 

A little vintage salt and pepper set. I’m sure it’s Sweet Corn and Sweet Beet. The Beet caught my eye, because, she’s playing a Sweet Fucker too! The Corn blowing a flute couldn’t be MORE phallic, without being an actual cock. Made me laugh, all by myself in the thrift store. Ha!

They are dirty lovers, I’m sure. And, check out the Sweet Beet’s face:

I KNOW that Sweet Corn is in a dress… but there’s something else going on under there. Sweet Corn blew a load onto Sweet Beet’s chin and cheek. I mean, LOOK at her face!

And still, she plays on.

Grace.

The New Bo.

So, Bo the Asshole Cat ran away. Again. And we haven’t heard from him since… well, it’s been a while.
I’m not sure he’ll be back. He never really liked the store anyway. However, it’s -14 (that’s celsius) so I hope the jerk has found somewhere to keep warm.

Anyway, meet the NEW Bo.

He’s just chilling with Angelic Garfield. He’s QUIET and lets me PET him, and hangs out at cash NICELY.

I suppose he’ll probably be sold before too long. That’s how it works around here anyway.

Grace

Wicked Witch of the North

eeling like a bit of a Wicked Witch today. For a few different reasons. I’m pretty sure I’m doing what is right for me, and everyone involved…. others around me are not feeling it as much as me, though, I guess.

Can’t please everyone. Not immediately anyway.

Now, If I only had some flying monkeys. Fuck yeah. Flying Monkeys would be the shit.

 

Grace. Cackle Cackle. Sigh.

VHS Movies, Take Out, and Dirty Old Grace.

At the thrift store, we get a butt tonne of VHS movies in. (You know, tapes. Big bulky things, containing movies magically on the inside.)

We get some really awesome throw back films. And some films I’ve never seen, and I go all “Whaaat? How have I not seen his yet?” And then it gives me VCR envy. As I don’t own a VCR. (VCR’s. Big blocky things with buttons. Eats VHS tapes. And grilled cheese sammiches and hot wheels if kept too close to the floor with toddlers in the house. Follow along.)

Anywhere, there’s one particular fellow who comes in the store. Almost always comes in near the end of my shift, and routinely purchases, like, 15 movies at a time. We sell them 3 for a buck. So, it’s not about him being a big spender. This is about me thinking:

“Hey. This guy is in work clothes. So, I’m gonna assume he’s got a job. Also, he buys a butt tonne of films. Meaning, he’s got a lot of time on his hands. He’s also wearing no wedding ring. And he’s handsome, in that work-hard-get-dirty, 50-year-old kinda way. Clearly, he’s lonely and would be eager for company. And he’d probably also spring for take-out. So, I wonder if I ask him, if he’ll let me come over and watch cool VHS movies on his VCR. Since I don’t have one.”

But ofcourse, that trails my dirty mind into all the shenanegans I’d get up to that probably have nothing to do with watching VHS movies from the 80′s. It has everything to do with MISCHIEF. And adventure. And Butt Tonnes.

And THEN I hear the phrase “You don’t shit where you eat.” in the voice of a dear friend. Which translated means “Grace, you do NOT get up to shenanegans with customers. In their lonely lonely homes or otherwise.”

Gah. Do you know how hard it is to keep this stuff in my HEAD all day?

Grace.

P.S. Now I want take out.

Sock Monkeys

I’ve been making a titload of sock monkeys.

(Go ahead. Ask me how much a titload is.)

I sell them in a little shop downtown. I can’t sew fast enough to make any fucking money at it.

This blurry little bastard is watching me shower.

 

Titloads.

Grace.

Awesome. Shit.

The last few days have been Awesome. Then Shit. Then Awesome. Then total runny fucking tear streaked booger shit.

• I broke a teapot. Bad bad juju in my world. Shit.
• My period kept trying to start. For, like 3 days. Non-stop tit-tenderness. And then NADA. Shit.
• I completed some sock monkeys for my little kiosk in a shop downtown, with help from a friend. Awesome.
• I broke the ‘a’ string on the F*cker (Violin) while trying to tune it. As it was out of tune. F*cker.
• Then, I got my tower garden in the house! This was Awesome.
• Then, my tire was suddenly and mysteriously flat. Before having to go to work. Shit.
• Called CAA. They put the donut on, in my driveway. So I got to JOY. Awesome.
• My period actually started. And I was in ALL the fecking pain during my work JOY shift. Shit shit fecking leaking bloody shit.
• Got a hold of my mechanic, he took my tire and checked it. Turns out it was only a leak and fixed it for me, and put it back on! Awesome!
• And then there was some other stuff that was both Awesome and Shit Shit SHIT  – This is romantical stuff that I don’t know that I’m quite ready to try and explain. Polyamoury. It’s Awesome… and then it’s Shit. But not really. But totally. I’ll explain some other day.

Anyway. This is the F*cker. This is what a MAD $400+ crisis looks like. With a broken string. Fack.

 Yes. The stickers are pricing stickers. So I know where 1st and 3rd finger are supposed to go. But, we all know where 3rd finger goes when you break a facking string, and can’t get it fixed just now, so you can’t practice making terrifically horrible noises.

 

Grace.

P.S. I totally just found a chocolate chip on my keyboard. And ate it. Awesome.

Happy Phantom

Had the Tori Amos song “Happy Phantom” stuck in my head in the shower…  And I’ll go wearing my naughties like a jewel!

However, I MAY have given myself boy-naughties under that dress. Don’t over analise it.

And then, the Phantom showed up. He wasn’t entirely happy though.

And, my camera is an asshole, so I had to frig with the photo so you could SEE the ghost.

Anyway. I was ALMOST late for work today. Mainly because I spent too damn much time in the shower doodling this.

Grace.

Harley to Scooter. VROOM.

What started off as a big bald dude on a Harley…

 

Ended up becoming a bent over old lady on a scooter.

I don’t want to overanalyse this at all. AT ALL.

Grace.

Cold As Tits

The Thrift Store is basically a big industrial warehouse, with the front half drywalled and painted. It used to be.. shit, all kinds of things. A wood furniture warehouse and production place, and a storehouse for cars… probably other shit. ANYWAY.
If it’s hot outside, it’s friggin BOILING inside. And when it’s cold out, it’s a gawdamn freezer.
My shift is 10am to 3pm. I wore my winter coat until 1:30. COLD AS TITS in there. My  hands were like ice and I couldn’t count change or pull plastic bags apart with ANY grace at all. My nose felt like it was on constant DRIP. Just gross.
These two little beauties were “rubbin’ noses like eskimoses”… They’ve got the right idea.

 

And yes. That is a Muthafeckin’ Marble Llama behind them. Schwing.

Oh, and I’m PRETTY sure these little Salt and Pepper Shakers are both GIRLS. Go Girl Love!!! SMOOCH! That’s how you heat up a room.

Still. It was truly fecking ridiculous today. I will need to invest in some Hot Shots or something. Remember Hot Shots??

Boss Lady bought me a chocolate donut today from a bakery though, so that made up for it. Somedays I am soooo easy.

Grace.

Girl Needs Dress

I have been invited to not one, but TWO Christmas parties. It’s been a long while since I’ve been to a corporate Christmas party. I am going to need a dress. I want something fancy and long and slinky and GAWJUSS.

Also, I will most likely need a pair of shoes.

I am a little freaked out about the whole situation. Mainly because the LAST corporate Christmas party I was too was somewhat formal… and I am so AWKWARD. And Dorky. I will have to decide between being all ME, or being the prettiest, most perfect version of myself. (Does anyone even REMEMBER the song “The Sweater” by Meryn Cadell? I loved that flippin song.) One of them I’m expecting to be somewhat phancy pants. Good Goddess above, don’t let me fall in heels.

I’m at the Thrift Shop today. Hopefully something will come in soon. I have a few little black dresses… but I’ve worn the shit out of them, owned them forever. Maybe I could alter one of them? Meh.

Grace

Of Pigs and Men

Yesterday was a bit challenging at first. I’m not quite sure why. Maybe it was having an extended long weekend, and then getting back to it. Really, I think it was more everyone’s energy at the beginning of the day was SO inside themselves. No one was willing to play with me. I had to be customer service FACE all morning long, instead of playful me. That thing usually doesn’t happen for me at work. Not often.
And it was busy as shit after the first lazy hour.
Until not one, but TWO fantastic finds came in. Oh happy day! This first one, I MISSED, because it was surrounded by a pile of OTHER pigs from a collection that came in. (Or part of a collection. I just KNOW the lady who brought this in has a whole HOUSE full of pigs. )

I think it’s made of carved marble. Fucking Pigs. yeah buddeh. It was pointed out by a regular custie, who I’ve begun to flirt mercilessly with. WITHOUT MERCY! lol. He pointed this out, and I promptly whipped out my camera to shoot pig porn. Aw yeah. It’s an orgy. You can tell.
Aaaaanyway, the second thing that made my day…

Just LOOK at him! Is he not FRIGGIN DELIGHTFUL? There’s a special place in my heart for dirty old men.
It’s in my pants.
Cackle.
Anyway, Maybe I should start referring to this customer who I flirt with mercilessly as D.O.M. (For Dirty Old Man… don’t be a complete moron. Follow along.) Although, he’s not really THAT dirty of a guy. I’ve defiately met worse. (This is not a challege, by the way, to become worse.)
When I showed him my new statue, he agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly. With up and downy wiggly eyebrows and everything.
Life is fucking pigs. I mean, Good. Life is fucking Good.

Grace

Bo. Again.

SO. It’s BO. The Asshole Cat. I think he needs a theme tune.

 

He’s got Big Hairy Cat Balls. On my walls. Balls to the Walls.

And Look. He’s scaring the shit out of the Ghost, that I hadn’t zamboni’d off the wall yet.

Grace.

Boo!

Boo!

Because it’s all fecking Halloweenie every where there is retail. And 3 days of the week, I’m JOYING in Retail.

Camera is still an jerk. This was the best pic out of around 15 shots. I will own this shite yet.

 Grace.

Bo May Be An Asshole.

This is Bo. He is SUPPOSED to be the Thrift Store Cat. He’s an outdoor stray, that was hanging around a business on the highway, about a 5 minute drive away from us. Scared shitless of cars and traffic. Anyway, the Boss-Lady took him, introduced him to the store. He’s supposed to eat and kill kill kill the chipmunks that are constantly making their way into the store.

He and I met last week. He LOOKS like he should be lovely. One blue eye and one yellow. Biggest Balls ever. White and pretty. And a Male. Usually they are friendlier, right?

So far, he’s been a bit of a jerk. Doesn’t like anyone. Won’t talk to me at all. I’m offended. Last week, he ran away. braved our busy road, and the busy highway to get back to the place he was formerly hanging around. How do they know how to get back to where they used to be, without a GPS is what I want to know.

Anyway, today the Store-Kids (Boss-Lady has 4 kids, of various ages, and they were in store today because it was a PD day off from school.)… came running out of the back, yelling “Bo is doing something BAD!” All I knew is, there was no fecking way I was cleaning up cat spray/shit/piss/barf from any of the donations. This is what I found:

Bo. Making himself comfy on a giant pile of presorted clothing, due to be put on hangers and out on the floor. Doing that cat kneading thing… which was causing all the clothing to sloooooowly fall to the floor.

Just after this photo, he kneaded the mountain just enough, to completely topple the top layer, and himself to the floor. It was a 7 foot fall to the floor. (I don’t know how Boss-Lady gets the clothing piled that high in the first place. I try to stay the hell out of the back sorting area.)

Bo. He just might be an asshole.

Grace.

P.S. I didn’t pick that pile of clothing up. So, there’s a very good chance I might be an asshole too.

Grace.

Sads.

Today, I think I have the Sads.

This is a fecking AWESOME post! People LOVE this shit, right? Drama that belongs to someone other than themselves! WOOT!

So, I haven’t brushed my hair in a day or two… maybe three. Don’t know. I’ve been busy eating chocolate.

Anyway, more hair than usual came out with the conditioner. And her face just sort of formed. And then BOOM, I heard my ex-almost-sister-in-law saying to me “Do you have the saaaads?” in her cute baby voice that she uses with my ex-almost-niece-in-law. Which made me even sadder.

Anyway. Yay for art. And clean hair.

Hiss Boo for cameras that don’t pick up details of Conditioned Hair Art, but pick up EVERY fucking gross line of grout that STILL needs to be scrubbed.

Gross.

Grace.

P.S. My heart and my vagina are conspiring against me. Don’t they understand I’m ON THEIR TEAM???
P.P.S. I will eat copious amounts of junk food in an attempt to feel better. It’s not RIGHT, I know, but it’s TOTALLY what’s going to happen.

Jayzus, Mary N Joseph, Make it STOP!

I was putting away some shit at the Thrift Store, and this cute trio made me laugh straight from my guts.
The little girl has a violin. And a jaunty hat, just like mine. Her little boyfriend however, told me PLEASE for the love of FUCK, could you make her STOP making those awful noises with it ?
And behind them, MARY is actually PRAYING for it.

 Laughed my ass off. Her bow looks like a fucking baguette. I bet she has NO idea her little boyfriend (who is clearly the Joseph in this trio.) is rolling his eyes behind her back.

Grace.

Crisis-oline. Aka The F*cker

I’ve realized I may be having a crisis of sorts. It really didn’t become very very apparent, until I realized that there was a $400 violin in my trunk. And I have no idea how to play. And it had been sitting in there for 24 hours after the initial purchase. Also, the same day I bought it, I got a new tattoo. I’ll work on getting a decent pic of that. With my asshole camera. Which is also new.

Have I mentioned that I work in a thrift store, part time, at minimum wage? When I’m not very casually touching feet as a reflexologist, oh, maybe once or twice a week. When I’m not very very casually reading tarot cards?

Crisis.

Some shit had gone down last week. Big hairy stupid dramatic shit. But it’s all good. Because I bought a Crisis-oline. And I will survive. I’ll tell you all about it when I’m not fucking raw and losing my shit.

There’s a happy dude dancing beside The F*cker. That’s what I call the Crisis-oline when it makes that horrific squeaky noise… mostly on the e string. So, Crisis-oline is also sometimes referred to as The F*cker.
eeee! eeeee! eeee! It’s terrible. I can’t believe I bought it. I’m a gawdamn SINGER. How does one sing and play the violin? I should take a picture of The F*cker. But not in the shower. To show you what throwing away $400 looks like.

Anyway. Happy Dude.

And, grout still not clean. Don’t care today.

F*cker.

Self Portrait

So. It’s a self portrait today.

 

And it’s clear to me that I’m pretty happy today – joy! AND that my grout needs scrubbing. *swears*
And also, that I blame my arsey camera for the crappy pic. (It’s new, and I haven’t figured out how to use it. fifty thousand options, and not one of them can focus on the hair.)

Grace