A group of "65 year-old lesbians" came into work today. I was not aware of any post-menopausal lesbian convention happening this weekend, but hey. My boss and I were working beside each other when one in particular came out (hah) and said what their "deal" was.
"We're just a bunch of old lesbians ordering sandwiches!" "..um...I'm sorry...what?" was all I could say even though my eyebrows-arched with surprise-undoubtedly expressed more. It's not everyday one dozen grandmothers attracted to the female form come into our shop. I later realized that this woman had to be hitting on my boss. She directed the "just a group of 65-year old lesbians" line at her seven times and I know we do not offer a discount for alternative lifestyles-we wont even bump off a few cents for firemen. My boss kind of humored her in a totally platonic way by saying that she "hopes she'll look that good at sixty-five."
and then they totally scissored each other.
JUST KIDDING.
So after we dished out the tenth sisterhood sammich, one woman comes up to the counter and demands that I tell her there is "Swiss cheese on [this] sandwich!!"
"there is swiss cheese on this sandwich." ...which there totally was.
Of course this was not sufficient as the woman gets all Gloria Steinem on me and shoves her Tomato and Avocado towards my face in an effort to prove me wrong. The customer is always right, and double points if you are an original bra-burner* Le lesbian informed us that the cheese was, in fact, Cheese Whiz and this experience was not her "idea of a 'fun' lunch." She should come on Wednesday afternoons when we drink menstruation blood and read excerpts from Radical Feminism. The whole situation was kind of silly. The woman did not even try her sandwich! For someone so open-minded, you would think food would not deter her beliefs. My boss and I named the woman "Barb" and came up with different scenarios surrounding her.
Some days, I really do love where I work.
*totally a myth, never actually happened in second-wave feminism.
We threw a surprise party for Patrice Jefford the other night and regardless that someone ruined the surprise, I still think it was fun. Similar to the cupcakes, the theme was SUPER BUTCH. Also, we run a feline orphanage and I am a crazy cat lady. I finally picked up one of the kittens. The cuteness melted my eyeballs.
It's Patrick's birthday so we decided to bake him some cupcakes. This is quite a feat for me, as the most complicated thing I tend to cook/bake/make is probably a Toaster Strudel. Or Soup..man is that shit difficult. I usually watch from the sidelines, or leave the room in general, as others-the more experienced and wise- whisk away. Also, being an herbivore, I tend to eat things that fall mostly in the RAW category-seriously, give me a bag of baby carrots and I'll make it a meal. Proceeding the Heist/Pattern is Movement show at ze Whig earlier that evening John and I came home where I had the idea to "bake some cupcakes!!" So at midnight, we ventured to the 24-hr Bi-Lo for some groceries. The theme of was "Super Butch," which the sparkly pink sprinkles and icing clearly indicate. What really really surprised me was how simple making these cupcakes was. I mean, there is really no effort at all. All this time, I thought my mother was a domestic goddess because of her ability to bake brownies. I mean, she totally is...but I guess some of the mystique has worn off. Thanks to Duncan Hines, I can bake while learning my place in society: the kitchen!! Anyway, I was pretty proud of the final product so I decided to document it.
Sam came back and then later the same day, another cat did as well. THE BEST THING was the following morning, however, when I peered into our backyard from my bedroom window to find four little cats. I rushed to the kitchen and poured many bowls of cat kibble for breakfast.
...and that's when I made one of many mistakes. I named them. I christened the second, grey one Chuck because he almost puked his food the previous day. You know, upchuck. The tiny kitten which resembles Sam (we have also concluded that Sam has a litter), is Tangelo because she reminds me of a Tangerine monkey. Sort of. The somewhat-larger-but-still-very-small orange one is Clementine in honor of the 2 liters of clementine-flavored Vodka we shared later that evening. Just kidding. Sort of. The second mistake: I tried to pick the kittens up. Sam would not let me near her for the rest of the day. I guess we're cool again because I have since held her and she totally mews when she sees me. In addition to the overabundance of tuna in our pantry. OH YEAH: but our neighbors are trying to steal her from me, and it's like, dude, I don't care if you want her because honestly-honestly-I just want this cat to have a good home and spay-job. They "had her waaaaaay before [we] moved in." No shit-we moved in a little under two weeks ago. Above all, however, is that this particular cat was responsible for feeding four. I cannot stand for anything to go hungry and for our neighbors to claim they care for this clearly starved cat is really very irritating. Her name is "Indie." Um. no it isn't. It's Sam.
so if you, you know, like really nice cats with a tendency to win your heart, lemme know.
As I was leaving for class this morning, I happened upon a stray cat-most likely no more than a few months old-comfortably sitting on our doorstep. I shrieked with a girlish glee as I gingerly picked up the tiny thing; which, I am sure was not a good idea, lest I wanted to risk rabies. Although I am not too keen on the feline breed, I am almost certain this particular cat is a Calico. The soft but defined light and dark toffee spots and cream backdrop perfectly suit its citrine-and-lime eyes. Feeling the delicate spine and visible set of ribs, I insisted Adrian get some of my Salmon for him. Adrian took one of those lids to a blank CD stack (which had also served as a makeshift (h)ashtray) to put the small meal in. Before Adrian could open the pack, the small creature mewed with a great need-this must have been the first real intentional meal received since birth. The hungry kitten devoured his Chicken of the Sea in seconds, and I implored for Adrian get a second packet to give the malnourished animal, which we named Sam. Short for Salmon. Sam is also a gender-neutral name and since we have not investigated in that department yet, we opted for an identity which could suit both sexes.
After returning home from class, I eagerly searched our porch, almost sure I would find a napping Sam beneath the futon. My search party was in vain as I did not happen upon our makeshift pet. I hope he comes back and he probably will as I am going to the Food Lion (how apt) for Fancy Feast.