Viking Aggression.

So. Netflix has a groovy ass show called The Last Kingdom.. or some shit like that. It's about Vikings. Sexy sexy assed vikings with motherfucking face tattoos, who describe the sex act in words like "Plowing" and "Humping."

These things make my aggressive and somewhat pissed self happy.

Someone had the balls to suggest that I NEEDED Unconditional Love in my life. And I don't know if it's because I watched two episodes of this viking show last night, or if this is pure offense, but MOTHER FUCKER, who says I don't HAVE unconditional love in my life???

Just because my life looks like nothing this person was used to seeing, doesn't mean I'm not well rounded in my own, very unique way.

Fuck that noise.

And fuck this axe that came into the thrift store, that I DIDN'T buy, because the weird grade-2 style skull put me off. WHO am I going to SMITE with that thing? They'll laugh me off the battle field.

Just fuck it.

G.

Extra Hours. Ribbit.

So. The Ex Man is going to be running a hot dog cart this summer. (actually, the plan is for this to happen from April till end of October.) This means he won't be working in the store. This means the Boss Lady gave me dibs on more hours.

And I took them. Instead of being 2 days a week, and one weekend a month, It looks like I now have 4 days a week, and definately the one Saturday or Sunday, but maybe more. And the hours are extended from a 5 hour shift to a 6 hours shift. I am good with this. So is my Visa and Mastercard. Which I lived off of all winter long.

It was pointed out to me that, although I earn $60 an hour when doing tarot, and $45 an hour with Reflexology... and this job is about $11.50 an hour... that THIS JOB is the one I can plan around. This is the one I can count on. The other two things I do are lovely, but I never know when I'll have work.

Did I lose you with all of the numbers?

Look. Here's a Kitchen Bull Frog.

Bull Frog. Get it?

All you gotta know is that it means I'll have more opportunity to find wacky ass shit to take photos of, and maybe I'll be inspired to feel connected again. (I've sort of had my head up my own ass at the Thrift Store lately. Don't feel like playing. Almost no bad behaviour at all...)

Also. The Bull Frog totally came home with me.

Grace.

More Effin Stairs.

I fell UP the stairs. UP THE BLOODY STAIRS.

The last stair at the top is a little smaller then the rest, shorter. I think what happened is I was LOOKING at the shorter top step and tripped on the second last step to fall on my THUMB. On my THUMB.

It went all awkward and crooked and I thought BOLLOCKS I've broken my thumb.
I have a reflexology client in 2 days. Where the MAJOR movement is called Thumb Walking.

THUMB.

Eff.

All the good mojo needs to go into this thumb.

Stairs are assholes.

G.

Where's The Beef?

Where's the Beef?

I totally bought a $3 bag of buttons, because THIS ONE was in it. I've been wearing it on my green corduroy jacket. An original 1984 Where's the Beef button. I mean, come ooonnnn.

There were a lot of local old buttons in the bag. Most of them "vote for" someone I don't know, or for the library. There were also quite a few of those popular "I don't smoke" ones. I should get a pic of the bag....

Anyway. I'm like a damn superstar when I sport this button. Aw Yeah.

Grace.

Willie Nelson.

There's a man who comes into the store who looks so much like Willie Nelson, that in my head, that's just become his name. Willie Nelson.

Normally, Willie Nelson keeps to himself. Rarely smiles. I have to coax a "hello" out of him on a normal day. He's quiet.

Except for the days I wear a corset in to the Thrift Store.

Then, Look out. He's a Chatty Cathy. or Chatty Willie.

The first time he saw me in a corset, he had been coming to the store for at LEAST 2 years. Never said more than the minimum I would let him get away with. I'd have to nearly force the "Thank you" out of him at the end of a transaction.

The first time he saw me in a corset, he came out with a resounding "Nice figure!" Which made me cackle.

I've put this to the test. No corset, no wording from Willie Nelson.

With Corset:

"How are you? Oh, can you believe this weather? I'm looking for a such and such. How's it going around here? Things look great in the store! What's new upstairs?" on and on and ON.

I just don't know what to make of him. He's Always On My Mind.
But Only when I'm corseted.

Grace.

Buns of Steel.

I just spent 10 minutes looking through old photos of the Thrift Store, for a picture of the stairs. I don't have one! I'll have to get one on my next shift.

We have a second floor. With the reworking of the store, a lot more shit has moved upstairs.
Dishes. Books. The entirety of the kids section. More dishes. Kitchenware. Heavy ass breadmakers. Picture Frames. An ungodly amount of them. Puzzles and games. More fucking dishes. Lamps. Up the effing stairs.

I'm doing those stairs, on a SLOW stair day, about 10 times. Putting things away. Helping customers up and down them, either physically or helping them carry dish sets and piles of books or arms of kids clothing down them. On a busy stair day, I've done them about 30 times.

They are narrow. By this I mean both that there is only room for one person on them at a time. AND that my entire size 7 ladies foot doesn't fit on the stair.

By the end of the day, I'm doing them 2 at a time. Both because I'm impatient, and I'm working on my Ass of Steel.

To be fair, though, I DO sometimes go up there to get WARM. All the heat from the first floor fills up the upstairs first. I have been wearing a sweater over a long sleeved shirt, and usually my scarf and a hat until It warms up half way through the day. So, I could probably be doing them one or two less times than I do them.

I may start to wear ankle weights to work, though. So the ass will get steelier, faster. 

I'm not sure the ankle weights I have will match any of my corsets, though.
I could totally just put them underneath my legwarmers though. 

ASS OF STEEL!

Grace.

Thor. Cracking Skulls and Crunching Nuts.

So the store has had a facelift. Paint, new shelves, all cleaned, a tonne of stuff moved up the stairs. (I do the Gawdammed stairs 35 times a day. Where is my ass of steel? WHERE IS MY ASS OF STEEL?)  Anyway..

The shelves give more room to display shit. But the Ex-Man has been putting things on there that are sort of hoity toity. Mostly.

I walked by this guy today. And he made me SO happy. As he was very much Thor energy for me today. And he was all about cracking skulls and crunching nuts, if that's what The Queen required.

Cracking Skulls and Crunching Nuts. As You Wish It.

And I let him know, NO, I do not need anyones nuts crushed at the moment, but that's it's lovely to know that if I needed him in a pinch, it would be a very straightforward thing him to do for me.

Thor is always there for me.

(see what I did there? In a pinch....)

This One Time, I was Monogamous.

Sooo... It's been a while. All of my energy was going into shovelling snow and Monogamy Man.  I know. I know. I didn't even really TELL you about Monogamy Man.  He's the fellah who knows all the lyrics to every 80's song in my head that I use in place of a punchline and he's the fellah who closed down the coffee shops with me excitedly chattering and writing on napkins, and he's the fellah that came all the way from 24 years out of my past to make me laugh until my guts hurt and fill my eyes with sparkles just with his smile. He's the fellah who wore the cologne that drove me crazy.

Crazy enough to say to my other lovers, "Guess what! I'm going over here with Monogamy Man, and I am going to be MONOGAMOUS! Can you believe it??" Yeah. That's some powerful cologne.

Two out of Three lovers said "I love you! Go and explore this thing! I am excited for you, and you are in my heart always."

One said "Oh hell no, I refuse to accept that you are doing this at all."

Hagrid knows The Power of Love.

So, that was at the very end of October. It's the beginning of February, and Monogamy Man and I have already run our course. ALREADY. What the fuck? Does three months even COUNT? It was fast and it all made sense, and the Universe had my BACK! Everything lined up beautifully.

I have the sads. I'm disappointed in my inability. I'm mourning. But I'm deep in thought about the whole thing too.

I wanted it. I wanted the promise and I was asking the Universe for stability and a PARTNER that I could DO big life things with. And then MM showed up, and promised ALL THE THINGS. And I changed my whole path. I made plans.

I love that man. And that doesn't go away with the return of his apartment keys and the collection of my slippers from his doorway. I miss him. But I wonder, is it only because he's removed himself from me? My previous loves never really went anywhere in spirit or thought. I knew they were out there loving me. MM is really withdrawing himself from me. THAT'S painful. I'm not used to that at ALL. I'm friends or at least on friendly terms with all of my ex lovers. (Except for that ONE dude. ) I just don't go around severing connections all willy nilly. A sharing of heart space is IMPORTANT and everlasting to me.

Sigh.

My friends were concerned about me, when I told them I was going to go all Monogamous. Because they KNOW me and LOVE me. ALL of them even after seeing how crazy I was for MM asked me "are you SURE?" with concern in their eyes. (I'm the only one among them who has ever called themselves poly, by the way. They are all monogamous or are monogamous when in relationships.)

Anyway. I'm not ready for adventurous or bad behaviour yet. I'm not even ready to be vulnerable in the arms of any of the former lovers who would be willing to cradle me in their comfort zones.   I've been talking this shit out to try to heal. Or find the big answers. The big reason for all of it.Why would the Universe allow me to fall so desperately and deeply in Joy and Love with someone, just to take him away? Fuck, I hurt.

The book in the pic above came in to the thrift store today. A tiny little thing, from 1904 or some damn thing. Written by a religious man, so there's lots of GOD in there. I still flipped through it looking for clues.

Grace.


 

I'm a Ruin.

I have a young friend (She's nearly 20 I believe.) She is named after a Goddess. She sent me a message today saying "This song reminds me of you."

I'm angsty and weepy and THIS was effin perfect.

Thanks be to the Goddess.

I'm a Ruin - Marina and the Diamonds

(blogger is NOT letting me embed the video. )

 I noticed from this version, there are lyrics missing:

I've had my share of beautiful men
But I'm still young and I want to love again
It's difficult to say goodbye
And easier to live a lover's lie
Yeah.  Angst loves this shit. I love FEELING, it reminds me I'm alive.

Lemme See Your Package First.

My co-workers are funny as fuck. It's always the Ex-Man that finds this shit, and immediately thinks of me. 

Ah well. At least he's thinking of me.

It's a good thing he's got no baggage. With all of mine, there's no damn room for anyone elses.

I checked out his package. Then I put him on the shelf. And I walked away, leaving him for someone else.

Yup. That's about the way it's been.

Assholery.

Grace.

My Pants. My Pants. My Pants are on Fire.

Ahhh, this made me laugh so much, that all the photos I attempted to take of these pants turned out like CRAP. 

 

 So, they are this faux crushed velvet things. Brown. BROWN. With white stitching. I wish I had gotten a pic of the pockets on the arse. They made them even worse. Just, tackalicious.  I mean, maybe a bit sexy in their softness. Nice to rub up next to if your DRY, but the minute ANYONE gets wet, you just know they are going to SQUEAK. But heaven forbid things start getting hot and heavy, and the dry rub creates any HEAT, because....

...there's THIS.

 This means YOU, 43!

Seriously. I laughed so hard. 

I just pictured the spontaneous combustion, and how that would put a real damper on any sexy faux crushed velvet action. And then Erotic City by Prince was in my head and... well, that was it. No clear pictures. 

Grace.

P.S. The Universe has an AMAZING sense of timing and humour, too. 

Squeeching.

Sooo. Sometimes the thrift store gets perfumes. Or purfumey things. And, never knowing what I will react to, it's a good idea for them to NOT be sprayed around me. We USED to keep them behind the counter. But then you'd get the woman who wants to sniff every single one, while there's a line up.

So, Boss Lady made a sign. And then I made another:

I hoped that the RED warning, with the drawn yellow warning liney signs would make people understand. ASTHMATIC on staff. PLEASE DO NOT SPRAY PERFUMES!!

But there's always that ONE. She'll be old, stubborn, and give me the whole "how do you expect me to smell it to see if I like it?" My response is "smell the cap."

We sell the fuckers for no more than $1 for the cheapie ones, and $5ish for brand named ones that come in.

But she'll spray it anyway when she thinks I'm not looking. As if I'm not going to NOTICE. And the stink invades the whole store, and I start choking. Sometimes I AM a little more dramatic than I need to be - What, with the doubling over and red faced gasping coughs while I hang onto the counter for dear life, and the loud squeeching use of the inhalers. (Squeeching. I just made that up. It's mine. It's like squealing, but backwards, because you are trying to breath IN.)

It freaks peoples shit out. But I totally do it. Because even though mostly I am SO. FUCKING. CUSTOMER. SERVICE. AWESOME.... Sometimes there's just no other way to SAY a thing to stubborn ladies who want to smell ALL THE FUCKING PERFUMES at once.

And yet. There's a boy I've been spending time with who wears a very distinct cologne, and I seem to be JUST FINE with getting my nose all up in that without wheezing even a little.


Grace.

Adam and Eve. He's Got Balls.

Dirty Old Man (aka DOM) and the Ex Man (Boss Lady's Ex, who for some reason EVERYONE assumes is MY husband. Weird. *shivers*) were in the back room today, while Ex Man was going through STUFF. I hear manly yet goofy laughter come from the back room, and then out on the floor "We found something for you!!!"

What a big dowel you have. Hubba Hubba.

A bottle opener, and a can opener. They fit together sooo nicely. and LOOK at the balls on Adam. I think that's my favourite bit. I don't even drink beer or cola, so never have occasion to NEED an Adam. I DO however drink a bit of apple or pineapple juice from a can, so an Eve would come in PRETTY HANDY.

Eve would come
in pretty handy.

There's a bit of beautiful dirty poetry in there. 

Anyway. It was a longish day today. Still the same amount of hours, it's just for the SECOND time this year, I'm slightly under the weather.

It's my own fault, I know. My adrenals have been racing with all the adventure.  Did an improv night, I was on stage being silly! Met my Steve Martin! Did I tell you about my Steve Martin dream back on Dec 30? Probably  not. Anyway. I met him. Went dancing with the Boss Lady and some other girls, got hit on by drunk ladies of a certain age. But I stayed up too late. (And I only drank water!)

The next morning, connected with a man who used to be a boy when I was a girl, and THAT was thrilling! We spent 5 hours chatting in a coffee shop, and could have gone longer except the shop had to CLOSE. They totally kicked us out. Heh. 

I'm working on getting the use of my sinuses back, and my voice is pretty much just a hissy squeak.

Good times.

Maybe I need a little Adam to loosen things up. Or maybe some Eve. But probably Adam. Yes. Adam.

Grace.

Shit That SHOULD Be In The Thrift Store!

Today I went out for Poutine and Tea. All by myself. Yes I did.

You'd think I'd be weirder about a secretish current addiction, but I'm not really. It will pass. I'm sure.

Anyway, I sit alone and write. I do this probably more often than the average bear. I like sitting by myself.

Today, the little dish that the milkers for my tea arrived in was... bizarre and cute.

 I swear. I glanced at them, and then really LOOKED:

 OMG. Little Ping Pong players. And, all different. And then I imagined some woman sitting in a factory, painting these little guys on. Day in, day out. Over and over. I totally almost asked the waitress if she'd sell it to me. And if this ended up in the thrift store, I would TOTALLY buy it. But, my girlfriend Gigi just came over to the house and purged a bunch of my kitchen STUFF, so filling it all back in would probably not be productive.

 I finished the entire plate of poutine. I think this is supposed to be a family sharing serving. What Evah. I do belly dancing tummy rolls while I sit here and type all the time anyway. Totally makes up for it.

Grace.

Reindeer Hooves.

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Pretty Men in Corsets.

What do you do when a Pretty Young Man comes into the Thrift Store and inquires about corsets?

Well, first you tell that Pretty Young Man in your sexiest voice that yes indeed you own corsets personally, but there are none in the store. Then when that Pretty Young Man asks you many questions, you give him ALL the advice, and then some. And when he gives you a website to check out, you do that. Being sure to maintain eye contact.

And when the Pretty Young Man comes back the next day, and you are OFCOURSE NOW wearing your corset and he tells you it is very sexy, you purr and smile. And when that Pretty Young Man shows you his tablet and all sorts corsets to choose from on an online store, you help him make a purchase based on what will fit his delightful torso, and what will give him the waist training results he's looking for. From as close to his person as you can reasonably get, all the while trying to quietly breathe in the smell of his skin and sweat.

And when he comes back AGAIN on the same day to show you what he has chosen, and to thank you for being SO cool and knowledgable, you flirt just a little, breasts jutting out thanks to an amazing push up bra and the lift of your own sexy steel boned corset.

And then you tell him that he MUST show you the end result, and he agrees completely. And you suggest very casually that you would gladly help him lace it up for the first time and get it ready for conditioning, and squeal a little inside when he agrees that would be wonderful help. 

And after that, you try to encourage him to put on a pair of heels. And pray to the Deviant Goddess that drives you like a sleek sexy car, that the Pretty Young Man is of legal age.

I fucking love my job. I love adventure. And I love a beautiful man dressed in sexy women's garb.

Ann. Tissa. Pashion.
Frankenfurter, you've RUINED me. Or made me better. 

*shivers*

Grace.

Summer is Busy as Tits.

I live in cottage country. We rely on the money from the TOURISTS in the summer (And in winter, we rely on the money generated by moving ridiculous piles of snow... but I digress.)

So, I haven't made a post in ages. Also, my hosting was expiring. I got my domain and hosting through a godaddy special. Hosting was, like, A-buck-fifty for the year. I get my renewal notice, and it's OVER A HUNDRED BUCKS. Bastards.

So, I just (like, JUST) transfered all my entries that were on the wordpress blog hosted there over to Blogger. As it's FREE. Renewing the domain (so I could point it to blogger.) was about $17 Canadian.

THAT I could afford. As I had some PayPal cash.

Riveting shit. I know.

Anyway. I had held off on more blog entires, also, because I wasn't sure I was going to continue. I mean, I'm all about the positive affirmations and shit, and this blog is ranty and sometimes ugly and definately an asshole. How can I manifest all the POSITIVE ABUNDANCE If i'm swearing and being a jerk?

But then I had the urge to write a blog about how many VHS movies I watch in a day at the Thrift Store, and I knew I'd miss it. I also created some hair art in the shower a few days ago, and thought "I really do need a place to SHOWcase this effing brilliance."

So. Give me an awkward moment to breathe. There will be more pics of epic Thrift Store shit, and Conditioned Hair Art! Summer is almost over, the tourists will be gone, and I will require entertainment.

Grace.

Bitch Bitch Bitch.

Do I even have a pic to post on a rant entry? Lemme check…..

There. It’s a Cock towel. Did I ever show you my Cock towel? I totally embroidered that shit. Not listed for sale yet.

I wouldn’t use it for drying dishes. It’s a flippin COCK towel.

Okay. So, there are good things happening. And yet I’m bitchy.

I’m 2 days a week at the thrift store. The Universe wants me there for reasons I’ve yet to fully work out. I’m trying to just TRUST that shit, and let all the good things happen. What I’m HOPING the good thing is, is that a rich dude comes in and gives me riches, and I can pay off debts and live happily ever after, in a gypsy wagon, touring the country reading tarot cards with a beautiful man and a tambourine, and writing the novel.

However…

I’ve mentioned I have other jobs, right? Part time/occasionally I work at a wellness centre. Touching feet.

And, I read Tarot Cards. Anyway, every other day this work week has been filled with the feets or the cards. And that IS awesome (see previous sentence re: debts.) however, it is also SUMMER.Why can’t they fill up like this in winter?

Summer. In cottage country. It’s when all the best stuff happens, but also all the best MONEYS to be had.
I may just be bitchy because I’m effin’ too tired to take part in the fun stuff. Or to cook foods. Which in turn makes me too tired. Viscious. I’ve been in jammy pants since 6:30 pm.

Also, I have no idea where my mentsrual cicle. Wait. Cycle. Holy Cock Towel, I’m so tired I’m forgetting how to spell.

Dear Universe: I know you’re listening. I KNOW it. Thanks for the money. I appreciate it. How about a few BIG reveals soon, kay? Awesome. And, show me where the millions are coming from. I know they are out there just waiting for me!

Okay. This was supposed to be far more rewarding. Or revealing. I dunno.

Grace.

Thinkin 'Bout a Life of Crime.

So. A few weeks ago I got myself a new tattoo. Queen of Hearts, on the inside of my left finger. You know. The ring finger. The MARRIAGE ring finger.

Queen of Hearts Finger Tattoo. Yeah. I did it.

All by myself. I was asked if there was gonna be a K of <3 tattoo coming. I said no. But if anybody showed up wanting one because of me, to charge them double. Ha!

I was supposed to be off from the Thrift Store from the summer. But, Boss Lady had to let go of the lady who was supposed to ‘replace’ me over the summer. And because I love my Boss Lady, I’m staying a few days a week.

I’ve been told that this colour, in this placement, is going to need a shit tonne of touch ups. So you know, it was either keep on at the thrift store, or take up some life of crime.

And I mean, come on. As if I could ever be replaced. Hehe.

Grace

Swords and Dragons

It was a sword. It was pretty good too. And fast to create. However, I did it about 4 days ago. It probably shouldn’t still actually be stuck there, but because I’ve been having Whore Baths** instead of full-on-showers for the last 4 days, there it is.

And I figured since I’ve been slacking with the Conditioned Hair Art, I probably shouldn’t let this one get away.

Dragons. Then Swords. Next, I’ll have armor. And THEN we’re all going on a proper adventure. It’s been some months since proper adventure, after all.

You know too much. Lucky You.

Grace.

**Whore Baths: When you get naked with your hair tied up, in front of the running bathtub faucet. Splash, soap, and rinse ONLY your Pits, Ass Crack, Cunny, and then get the fuck out of the tub to start your day.