"...can you pass me that weed?"

It was animal weekend at Susan's house along with Abigayle's thirteenth birthday party. Very eventful! She had a bunch of her little friends over including Ben, her crushy-poo. The children carried around an ipod player and blasted Lady GaGa everywhere they went. The party was supposed to include a successful "Operation: Float the Dog", but he never made liftoff. It was still fun though even if the event I had high hopes for was a failure.

Mason and I had nothing to do the day after the party so we (I) decided that we would take Manks to the park for a day filled with romping and swimming and terrorizing other park goers. As we were getting ready to leave I decided that I might want a bunny. They are so cute and nice and cute and fluffy and cute! And plus, its animal weekend! The perfect time to think about wanting a bunny. But most of all, they are really light and could probably get lifted off the ground by 100 balloons...unlike a yorkie.

I ask Mason, "I'm sure that if I got three more tanks of helium the dog would make liftoff, don't you think?"

"Samantha, by that time you have wasted about two hundred dollars on Operation Float the Dog. Do you really think it is worth it?"

Maybe. Gah.

After that comment I think to myself about how to make Operation Float the Dog/Cat/Bunny a success. We carry on with our animal weekend.

So we retrieve the Manks- the maniacal Manks after I prep the car for her arrival. I clean it out completely and cover the backseat with a sheet and towels and secure it down do she won't strangle herself. She bounds into the car and still manages to crack a cd that I like a lot. But whatever. She rolls around and starts ripping up the sheet that I put down to protect the car. Thats what I get. But it is animal day and that makes it okay.

On the drive to the park there is a sign on the side of the road.

BUNNIES: 8$

Holy crap! Someone wants me to get a bunny! So I do. We pull over to this farmer guys house and walk through his farm/backyard to try to find him. We nervously walk up to the barn and a dang horse makes a horrible noise (a horse noise) and I jump back and grab Mason like a am a little weeny 6 year old boy. Boys are weenier than girls : )

We find the side-of-the-road, country farmer bunny salesman doing farm things in the back behind the barn and he takes us back to where the bunnies are. It was like a bunny asylum. We step into the bunny shack and a huge monster bunny throws himself against the front of the cage. I instantly wanted to help all of the bunnies in the bunny asylum. But Susan and my mother would disown me and I would have nowhere to live and I would have to roast my own pet bunnies to stay alive. So I decided to get two. Two non crazy, baby bunnies that I would raise to be the best bunnies ever.

The farmer was very rough with the little bunnies. He grabbed the first one with one hand and folded in half twice and squeezed it into a tiny hole in a diaper box that he found from the trash or somewhere. The bunnies didn't seem to mind. I guess they are very flexible and squishy with no spine. I don't know.

We take our two new bunny children to the car and Mason opens the box and they are both staring up at him. I watch Mason's masculinity melt away and he quickly turned homosexual because of the power of the cuteness. We name them Moops and Muffin. (This way all of my pets start with "M". Manks, Moops, Muffin and Mason. )

We take Moops and Muffin over to my dear Mother to show her because she loves bunnies and because I am sort of nervous about taking them to Susan's because she's Susan. Mother insists on holding one and she chose Muffin because Moops scratched Mason's neck and he is bleeding. So cute.

We all three take the bunnies to Susan's.

"What is that?"

"It's a bunny! We both have one"

"....."

"Aren't they the cutest dang things you've ever seen ever?!"

"I thought they were squirrels."

"You wanna hold one!?"

"no."

"How do you not like bunnies? Are you the devil?"

I decided that Susan was the devil because she doesn't like bunnies. Who doesn't like bunnies? little baby bunnies?! She must be the devil.

We take Moops and Muffin to the backyard so they can hop around and do cute bunny things. We are all sitting on the grass with them. Mason, Susan, Mother, Abigayle and myself. It was quite the scene of happiness. The bunnies are eating grass and flowers and looking around and Abigayle asks, "Hey, can you pass me that weed?" She wanted to feed the bunny.

Yes. I can pass the weed.

So animal weekend went swimmingly. The yorkie got over being traumatized, Manks got a park day and ham bones and Moops and Muffin got a good home. Until some dogs broke into the fence and Muffin went missing and is probably out in the world hungry, lost and scared.

The End

"...the strawberries are strawberry sized and not cantaloupe sized...sir"

SO it has been a few days after my deadline for figuring out what I wanted to do with my little life. So far I have had many ideas but still unable to decide on one. I now want to be any of the following:

A glassblower

A metalworker who makes awesome stuff

A silversmith who makes awesome stuff

A coffeeshop owner who is mad chill all day

A bar owner (a dark, moody little place) with an apartment above it.

A bakery owner that has an apartment above it that I live in.

A cake decorator

The advertising person at GarlicValley Farms

A ceramic snail maker who listens to Rush in the garage all day

A professional organizer who goes wherever

A furniture designer that makes awesome stuff

A coffee taster and critic who is sought after.

or a vagabond who lives in the forest.

This is huge progress by the way, but the only jobs that are available and that I have applied for have been the following:

Photographer of snotnosed children at LifeTouch Studios

Teller at a Credit Union

Market Development at a screenprinting place

The advertising person at GarlicVally Farms

and Head Blogger for Alicia Keys talking about women's rights and junk all day.

and other things not interesting enough for me to remember. (monster.com didn't even keep track of them so you know they are godawful.)

They were various receptionists positions.

I have one match though which is hopeful. The advertising person at GarlicVally farms! I think that would be fun. But yeah probably not going to happen because I think they are looking for an older person because the work is so slow and easy. But we shall see.

Meanwhile in the beautiful meantime, I have been going into my cushy fruit job everyday with a slight big fat hankering to walk out or either punch the Kraken "up under her froat" as it often says about whoever its talking about. Here is a snapshot of what sort of thing has been happening in the meantime:

Amanda was speaking with a customer trying to take an order. Amanda asked the customer her name so she could get the order placed and for some unknown reason this offended the customer in such a way that Amanda got verbally accosted for about ten minutes. Apparently the customer thought we were supposed to know who she was by the sound of her voice through the phone.

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHO I AM? YOU SHOULD HAVE MY PICTURE HANGING UP IN YOUR STORE RIGHT NOW SO YOU CAN SEE MY FACE EVERYDAY! YOU SHOULD HAVE MY PICTURE IN YOUR WALLET AND SEE ME IN YOUR DREAMS AT NIGHT! YOU GONNA SEE MY FACE IN YOUR WINDOW WHEN YOU'RE TRYING TO SLEEP! YOU SHOULD KNOW WHO I AM!"

Oh my Lord. Help us in this fruit shop.

Poor Amanda! I know I don't really like her that much but I would rather her not get yelled at by some crazy ghetto lunatic.

Understandably, Amanda still didn't know who this customer was so she asked the lunatic to spell her last name.

"OH YOU STUPID BITCH DON'T KNOW HOW TO SPELL NEITHER?"

Poor Amanda! The girl is only seventeen and the lunatic is making her lip quiver and giving her a lump in her throat. Amanda puts the lunatic on hold and comes in the back and asks one of us to finish the order for the nice lady on the phone. The Kraken looks at Amanda with the ugliest Kraken scowl and tells her she better get off her ass and do some work around here and suck it up and finish talking with the customer herself because she is not doing any work for her. (The Kraken isn't even allowed to answer the phone anyway. I don't know why she was so angry.) I think the woman on the phone was the Kraken's mom or something. I don't know.

So yeah. Fruit shops are hostile environments. I didn't know and I bet you didn't either. Maybe all workplaces are hostile because the majority of customers everywhere are HORRIBLE PEOPLE! If you are a decent person, I thank you. All fruit shop workers thank you.

Oh yeah- and this one guy got mad at me because the strawberries were not as tall as cantaloupe slices when they were put on skewers. I had to give him a box of strawberries for free to get him to stop crying.

"Sir, there is the same amount of fruit as the arrangement you see in the flyer, the strawberries are just strawberry sized and not cantaloupe sized....sir."

"Did you make this? I just want you to know that I know you are cheating me, and I want you to know. I'm not going to do anything about it, I just want you to know."

"Sir, I am not cheating you out of anything, strawberries are just not as tall as slices of cantaloupe. The strawberries are strawberry sized...." (?)

He looks at me angrily for about 48 minutes without a word.

"Let me go see if I can't do something for you..."

I dip a box of beautiful, free strawberries (strawberry sized strawberries) and gift wrap them for him because I am a pushover and he leaves ...but not before he tells me one last time that I cheated him.

Just crazy.

Just as this crazy guy leaves, Frank the delivery driver comes in and the Kraken puts on her fake happy masks and yells "FRANKY! Franky's here!"

I hate her.

Frank isn't that bright of a ray of sunshine either. He is an asshole to most people. He is about eighty years old and with that comes a bitter attitude to all the "youngsters" trying to "take his job". Everyone except me apparently. For some reason he likes me okay and told the owner how great I am. I've never spoken to him in the three months I've been there. I decided to say good morning to him this morning.

"Good morning, Frank."

Frank looks in my direction and scowlgrowls. He looks at me a few seconds longer. With his weird boston accent he says "Oh Hello! I thought you were that idiot, Amanda!"

"No sir, it's me, the idiot Samantha." I go back to typing the rest of the order that I was editing on the computer because I don't want to talk to Frank anymore because he is an asshole. Frank surprisingly continues to talk.

In his low, growly voice he asks me "Well how are you doing today, miss?" I look up to answer him. Maybe he is not such a angry old man. My eyes met his and the bastard winked at me.

Don't wink at me.

Don't wink at me.

Don't. Wink. At. Me.

So after this day I decided to continue to go into the fruitshop everyday. The more horrible the customers and the workers become, the more motivated I am to come home and look for jobs and write cover letters and work on my portfolio. The fruit job instills its own motivation for me. It is helping me both stay there while helping me leave.

"...I found an egg with a dollar in it today..."

SO my dear, impatient mother has given me a week to figure out my life plan. Today is day two. Quite a thing to accomplish in a five-day-alloted amount of time. Apparently she doesn't think my minimum wage paying, cushy fruit shop job is cutting it...and she may think it is embarrassing.

I agree with her.

The thing is, I can't see myself doing anything. At all. It's really discouraging. I am afraid of picking a career path because then I feel like I would be locked down (trapped) doing the same thing everyday forever until I retire or die. No thanks.
In my talks with people, I have found that this is a very common fear and concern. Most people, even successful adults are still unsure of what they want to be when they "grow up". While this is comforting for some, it is not comforting for me. I want a goal and I want it to be the right one. I don't want to waste time on the wrong one. So which one! I have five more days to decide!

Sigh.

I am aware that I am making this decision a lot more difficult than it needs to be and in turn putting a lot of unnecessary pressure on myself. (That's what I hear anyway.) So dear, sweet, impatient mother: you need not leave a comment or call me later telling me so. (unless you absolutely feel the motherly need.)

She will. *tired face*

SO this may very well be the reason I am dipping fruit into chocolate everyday while seeming to be outwardly content. It is a way for me to put off getting a real job. I can work my fruit job everyday because it is temporary and everyone knows that. They don't associate the job with me and (to me) that makes my time wasting okay.

So what do you do when you can't see yourself doing ANYTHING and you have five days to decide your life plan for your dear, sweet, impatient mother? You ask the people who know you the best what they see you doing. Surely my family and friends will have some helpful ideas for me.

Mason and I have had a beach day planned for a week so I will use the travel time and sun-soaking time there to my advantage. I will have a serious conversation with him about what I should do with myself. After all, he knows me the best. (Apart from my dear, sweet, impatient mother.)He will have helpful ideas for me.

I'm excited about beach-day-with-Mason 2010 and I want to get the fun part of the day started as soon as possible. I'm not driving so I'll start drinking. At 10:30. (The best way to get the day started) The alcohol will open my creative mind and allow ideas to flow! Or something... I have me a Mike's Harder Lemonade. It's just like Mike's Hard Lemonade. Only Harder. *winky face*

I tell Mason that my dear mother has given me a week to figure out my life's plan and he is going to help me. He agrees because he is in the car with no way to escape. He really doesn't have to do much, just sit there, drive, and sort of listen while I drone on and on about how I feel like a wasteful shell of a human. He is good at that. One of the many reasons he is my Mason.

So I go on and on. I talk about where I want to live because that is close to talking about what I want my career to be.
Not really.
I talk about funny random things I notice on the roads as we drive... because that is sort of the same as talking about me getting a job.
Not really.
I talk about the garlic tattoo that I want but am unsure about because that is really close to talking about working.
sigh.
I talk about blah blah blah and this and that and I am no closer to knowing anything more than what I didn't know at the beginning of my attempt at a conversation attempt.

My topics of conversation are becoming more sporadic and my ideas are getting more random. Hm. The Mike's Harder Lemonade might be a tad bit harder than I anticipated. I haven't even finished half of the giant can yet and I already feel like dancing the soldja boy across the sand.

"I wanna study dreams! What do you think about that? Does that sound like me?"

Mason looks out the window. I guess he doesn't know I am talking to him. I guess he thinks I am talking to the other not so interested person who is NOT IN THE CAR. I'll ask again.

He says, "Okay, I can see that. I can tell your'e definitely interested in dreams."

Woo! Confirmation! This serious conversation of ours has been beneficial!
Very minimally beneficial...but Mike's Lemonade and I think we have made tremendous progress.

"Yeah! I"ll have a dream clinic or something and do dream therapy and tell people what's going on with their subconscious!"

Mason gives me an "Okay" then I start thinking about what a dumb idea that is. Yeah...it's really dumb. Scratch that idea. I've changed my mind. Now I want to own my own coffee shop again. I've brought this idea up to him before, but I bring it up again because its appropriate.

"What about me owning a coffee shop only I serve alcoholic coffee drinks!? Irish coffees, coffee martinis...regular coffee and stuff. Wouldn't that be fun? I would call it The CoffeeSot...like Coffee Pot...get it?! ahahaha isn't that cute?! I think it's cute."

He asks,"What is sot?"

"A sot is a drunk person."

"Oh. ok. Yeah that's cute."

sigh.

I don't want to talk about careers anymore for a while. That ten minute burst of two ideas was exhausting. Mike doesn't want to talk about it anymore either. We are done. No more. Mike and I are discouraged but we ignore our feelings and continue our beach trip where we left off.

Mason, Mike, and I get to the beach and I have to keep one eye closed to focus on Mason and whatever his face is asking me. How is it possible to feel this tipsy?! I haven't even finished one giant can yet. What is going on? ...Such a giant can.

Mason's face is talking. I am still thinking to myself about what I want to be when I grow up. I don't feel like an adult. I don't feel like I am at the point of my juvenile little life to have a career. Do other people with careers laugh at fart noises and drink in the mornings on the way to the beach? Something is just not adding up with me.

We spent a few hours on the beach and got a bit tanned. Four o'clock rolls around and I hadn't even eaten breakfast. No wonder Mike is roundhouse kicking me in the face! I knew there was an explaination. Mason takes me to his favorite restaurant, Carrabba's. I eat bread until I am cured. Mike and I go our separate ways.

Until another beach day, Mike! See you later!

The beach trip continued with random, hilarious, stupid, typical of Samantha and Mason conversation, but during the rare silences I would think about what I wanted to be when I grew up. The beach trip ended with no more ideas from Mason or myself. Nothing realistically helpful anyway... (Hey! Passions is hiring!)

The next morning I wake up earlier than Mason and eat breakfast while thinking about careers. My brain is a barren wasteland and that has nothing to do with being inebriated for the majority of the day yesterday. I am blank. Yet I persevere.

When Mason wakes up we go outside to lay in the sun so get a bit more tanned. It makes us attractive. Or something. I bring my notebook to write down ideas and plans for life. We lay in the sun in silence.

Susan comes out later with her bathing suit on because she wants to try to tan also. Yeah whatever. Freckled skin doesn't tan. Yet she perseveres.

"Hey Susan! We are talking about what I should do with my life, thats why it's so quiet out here. You want to conversate and we can talk about what you see me doing with my life?"

She agrees to and proceeds to lay out on the trampoline.

There is more silence...but this silence is different. This silence is hopeful . This silence is evidence of thought happening. Someone is going to have something constructive and useful for me! I wait for it...minutes go by and the exceptional happens.

Susan breaks the sounds of distant lawnmowers and birds chirping to say, "I found an egg with a dollar in it yesterday."

We had an Easter egg hunt a few days before this and a few eggs had gone unfounded. This is what she was thinking about during what should have been constructive thought time.

I have three more days to have my life plan thought out for my dear, sweet, impatient mother.

sigh.

"...I had likededed my education..."

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