Cyrano De-Up-sidedown Cake

This weekends episode of Desperate Housewives...

Progression I Believe In

When the Office Command Center is at the hotel, in your room sprawled across a dinky faux wood desk with a lamp from 1986, you know you're a business, man.

After experiencing the generosity of small-town America, I am even more compelled to care about small businesses and I also have an un-satiated desire to help them move into modern digital advertising. Also, grilled-cheese and some soup would be good.

That being said, it's like this: if small business refuses to digitally advertise and—gasp—have a website, these small, hard-working towns with shrivel up into dusty raisins of non-commerce. I see so many God Bless America signs and Glen Beck bumper stickers, I find myself wanting to ask someone; do these small businesses see themselves as the backbone of America, and if so, do they want the backbone of America to shrivel up and crumble under the weight of big businesses and the use of evil websites and technology?

Frankly speaking, the answer would probably be a resounding NO, followed by a 21 shotgun salute and Elk jerky tasting.

It's difficult down here. Business are cutting expenses wherever they can, and unfortunately advertising is the first to go. I believe this is a mistake as Henry Ford once said, "cutting down on advertising so save money is like stoping a clock to save time."

The world will still advance as time does, and the decent hard-working folks will be literally left in the dust.

Wyoming Isn't So Bad

I've always thought of myself as a city-kid even though I more or less grew up in suburban Minneapolis. I'm fine with that, too. That being said, it has been quite the culture shock working out of Powell, WY, population 5,000. Sure, small towns are charming, but I find myself lonely and a little land locked (lakes? hello lakes?).

I was cruising down Wyoming State Highway 310 on the way to meet with a client, contemplating the next 4 months of small town work, living out of a hotel in Cody, WY, when all the sudden my oil light flashed and my car started shaking and smoking and spurting water, filling the air with a chemical odor I've never smelled before. Shit.

I pulled into the closest gas station, frantically bought some coolant and oil. The young service station boy, observing my confusion, offered to help me. City girl, in a dress and heels confused about her car. This is a little too cliche'd, I thought.

I thought we had the car cooled down, so I started it and pulled out on my way to find a mechanic, very thankful that I hadn't yet downloaded John Clease's voice to my Tomtom, "you killed your auto, you bloody idiot! Get out!" Whew.

My car started to overheat again so I pulled over and walked to Hansel and Gretel's restaurant where I had enjoying a nice club sandwich for lunch not 3 hours earlier.

"Back again?" Said the waitress.

"Should've taken those left overs with you, eh?" Said the bartender/server.

"I would've but I was going to be driving all day, until my car broke." I replied.

"Oh, what happened?" Asked the 40-something softball coach looking server.

"Well, I think my radiator blew, or something—it needed coolant. I honestly don't know." I said sipping my iced tea from a jar. Seriously.

"You from out of town?"

"Billings."

"Shweeeew. You work here huh. Well I happen to be buddies with the best and cheapest most honest mechanics in Powell and Cody... let me call em'.."

"Oh thats ok..."

Exit bartender on his cellphone.

° 5 minutes later °

Enter bartender, Chris with the chef, Chad.

"Can't get a hold of CRC's but Chad here happens to be a mechanic, he can look at yer car if you want.' Said Chris.

"That would be great! Let me pay for my iced tea."

"Ah, don't worry about it!"

We all walk out to the car and run our set of diagnostics.

"Yep," said heavily tattooed, ponytailed, but sweet Chef Chad,"it's the water-pump. You can drive it in town to a mechanic, but no further."

We went back inside as Chris tried to call every mechanic he knew. Chad got off shift and we sat in the bar watching an episode of the TV show Cops about poaching Elk. Doesn't get more Wyoming than that...

Chris came back and told me that the reason the mechanics didn't answer the phone was because NASCAR was probably on the TV in the mechanic's shop and we should drive out there and ask about the car. First, we stopped at O'Rielly Auto and asked Chris's friend, Rich, if they had the part we needed, he said he did, $60 and could overnight it, great. Now all we had to to was confirm that CRC's could do the work.

We drove about 8 miles out of town, talked to the shop guy and he said no problem. Then the greatest example of American Small Town—hell generosity in general—happened.

"Hey Naomi, I'm going to go grab my gas card and fill up the car for you. You can use it all week if you want, I have to drive my truck up to Montana tomorrow to watch my daughter barrel-race. You can follow me back out here in your car and they'll get the work done tomorrow. Do you have a business card?"

"Yep. That is too generous of you."

"Naw, no problem." He said, smiling.

Get this, the now borrowed car, sitting outside of my hotel, is a 2004 Toyota Camry. Comparable to my mom's 2003 Honda Accord, needless to say, it is a nice ride.

The fact that someone would just lend their car, albeit third car, to a complete stranger—townie at that—is beyond me.

I am very grateful and have grown a new love and appreciation for the small town mentality of community, heart and home.

God Bless my kind strangers as they have bless me.

Pretty People On Life-Endangering Dates

...I like watching crazy people mingle. It's a morbid fascination of mine...

"I just rappelled down a thirty story building! I'm in love!" Said Crazy Michelle, from this season of The Bachelor.

Ten min earlier she was saying, "I hate heights, I'm going to barf!"

ABC should re-name The Bachelor, Pretty People on Life-Endangering Dates. No. Really.

You're not in love, dear crazy one, it was adrenaline. (Haha). The chemical response of a rush you endured with someone attractive, who was no doubt even more attractive while suspended at vertigo-inducing heights above Los Angeles.

And what's with the backpacks? Did they contain parachutes?? I hope so.

Come on people–caves full of God know's what, dinner in the middle of a Costa Rico pond on a sinking island... piranhas anyone?

(SNAP SNAP SNAP).

I wince whenever they enter the jungle on a date. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like The Bachelor and The Bachelorette—I like watching crazy people mingle. It's a morbid fascination of mine. But, seriously, whatever happened to dinner and a movie or conversation over cabernet?

Maybe I am old-fashioned or terribly boring. I just don't think that an analogy can be drawn between zip-lining in the Jungle and future relationship trials. Sure, it's emotional and frightening, but, arguments happen frequently, hurling yourself toward the jungle floor at mock 0.4 does not. And if it does, you must be a Navy SEAL or something.

Experiencing life and maintaining a relationship isn't about extremes, oh contra-re, it is about keeping things interesting and functional through the mundane day-to-day activities. That is the real challenge.

Anyways, I just think my proposed title,"Pretty People on Life-Endangering Dates," would be more fitting, unless of course The Bachelor, leaves as a Bachelor. Again.

What's Your Major? (Problem)

I'm sure many non-teaching English majors experience this from time to time. But every-time, it reminds me of when I was little and would lose my, "baby," teeth. Without fail, after every tooth fell out, just a few days later I assured myself and my bloody gums that the experience was nothing to ruminate over. It was really not too bad. Besides, we got a quarter. But the next tooth's departure always hurt even worse than the last...

Tonight, while working at Dillard's Daycare Inc., I was helping two women find, "wool coats with a hood, that have a zipper," (which I hear is ultimately impossible unless you shop at Eddie Bauer... whose fashion brains have apparently been eaten by modern eclectic zombies... or something) and one of them asked me which high school I went to. Cringe.

Now, my boyfriend Patrick says that this is not as, "uncomplimentary as you might think it is," but I still take offense, especially when I am wearing a power suit, glasses—and sapphires.

I replied that I was not under 18, go to bed at 2am and had recently obtained a degree from Rocky Mountain College.

"What was your major?" She chimed.

"English... Creative-Writing." I said, picking rouge feathers from my new goose-down coat.

She then tossed out the excruciating, "oh, so why aren't you teaching?"

My jaw tightened and the down feathers ruffled.

"Well, I don't like kids—or teaching, for that matter."



Thanks... thank YOU for basically saying that I am a sub-par writer, and all I can do with my degree in Creative-Writing is teach creative-writing.

When They Can't Fire You

I'll admit these activities might be passive-aggressive, but sometimes that can be fun. Just like the passive-aggressive way the manager gets her jollies by giving your Sunday off to the atheist who could care less about days off, simply because she doesn't like you.

(BTW, the atheist doesn't care for the manager either).

1) The most recent idea I had occurred this morning when I discovered all of my formal tops were in the laundry pillowcase (yes, I don't have a laundry basket).

I figured, hey, they won't give me a day off, so I can't do laundry, why not wear a freaking t-shirt to work!

Eyeliner pencil in my mouth, cocked like a pipe, I went to the dresser drawer, rummaged around and found a MN Twins T-shirt and and my, "Hi" shirt which sports big pink letters along the bust spelling,"Hi." My brother got this for me for college graduation, he said it would, "help you make friends in the real world." He's so thoughtful.

So, instead of a nice knit top beneath my business skirt-suit, I'm sporting a very friendly cotton t-shirt. It's customer service oriented... right? Right.

2) Bring your dog, or weed. Both work for, "medicinal purposes," and are probably more acceptable in Montana than anywhere else.

3) Abuse breaks as much as possible. Start smoking if you don't already. Shred the time you have to spend with customers and especially managers.

Or even go to the dollar store and buy some candy cigarettes and stand outside, "smoking," with the real smoking crowd. This especially works in winter where you can already see your breath in the air. Plus, you get a candy treat!

3) Abuse candy. Most department stores will write you up for having candy on the floor or for having a life in general.

Buy the noisiest, chewy candy you can find. Chew obnoxiously. Constantly.

Bring those candy cigarettes inside. You might not be able to legally smoke inside (lame), but you'll look so bad ass with that candy in your mouth.

They can't write you up if they still need you and can't fire you. If you put in your two weeks notice, you can be taken off of the schedule, but they can't necessarily fire you. Besides, re-scheduling is a pain in the ass, or it seems that way since it takes, "so long," to make a schedule for four people.

4) When damaging out defective items, use medical terms to describe what's wrong. I.E. the stuffed Gund bear that recites, "The Night Before Christmas," (yes the whole damn thing), but can no longer talk due to a defect, say that he has Laryngitis. (Yes I did this. No one has noticed yet). Tape some cough drops to his body as well as a get well card.

Defective talking Gund bears also work for pen holders. Put that annoying fake flower pen in his mouth and tell your manager that, "all he ever wanted to do was tango." Include this in the get well card.

5) Drink on your lunch break. You're not doing surgery later, so why not have some gin and tonics, maybe an Manhattan on your break. In most industries, it is perfectly legal to have two drinks during lunch.

6) Start parking in your managers favorite spot. Smile a lot.

7) When other retailers come head-hunting for your manager, give large hints that your manager is a bad idea. Even if you want to get rid of them.

8) Whenever your manager gives you a project, goose-step as much as possible while doing it. Mumble in german.

9) Quote Spock, Picard and Kirk.

"Please go put the freight away."

"Engage!"

"Why is all this stuff on the cash-wrap?"

"I am endeavoring, ma'am, to construct a mnemonic circuit using stone knives and bearskins..."

10) Bring show-and-tell items to those morning, "credit app," meetings. You already get tardies, write-ups for candy and are talked to like a special needs 3rd grader, why not play along?

"So, this is my bubble-gum universe diorama. These are the gumbots, they serve the supreme despot, Bubbloch."

It helps if Bubbleoch's statue constructed in the Gumistan courtyard has a striking resemblance to your manger.

Have fun.

Nixon Said it Too

Dillard’s Daycare Inc.
24th St. West
Billings, MT 59102

To whom it may concern:

Effective two weeks from today, January 17th 2011, I hereby resign my position as sales associate. I would like to take this opportunity to thank lower-management for treating me like a special-needs toddler.

I would also like to thank the company for not training me, yet expecting me to know every in and out of retail sales and when I fail to get something right, encouraging my co-workers to give me a, “hard time.”

Thanks for setting impossible goals for one person to achieve as well as ignoring my requests for the Sabbath as my day off. Also, thank you for not giving me an inconsistent day off something like every 8 to 9 days.

It has been a great experience working here, and my therapist will be billing you within the month.

Have a nice day,

Naomi J. Myrick



P.S. Celexa and Valium are not cheap.