Cultural Survival

Today is the feast of Bona Dea, the goddess of fertility, healing, virginity, and women. She's also known as Fauna, for her father, the goat-legged Faunus (Greek name Pan). She was especially popular with lower-class citizens, slaves, and women, who would pray to her for healing or fertility. She was also the patron of freedom from slavery, hence the popularity with slaves.

Her festival was celebrated with secret rites held in the home of a prominent Roman magistrate. Only women were allowed, so I guess the magistrate himself was kicked out, and his wife ran the show (with the Vestal Virgins' assistance). You couldn't even have a male animal or a picture of a man with you. The words "wine" and "myrtle were forbidden, as there was a myth of Faunus beating Bona Dea with a myrtle stick when she got drunk, and it seems she didn't want to be reminded (this may be one of the few Roman festivals and/or ceremonies with no use of alcohol in copious amounts).

She was frequently depicted on Roman coins, often with her symbols, the cornucopia and the snake (a symbol of healing). Snakes were also kept in her temple in Rome.

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Last night my dad picked me up late and took me back home for the night; we ate Chinese food, watched a Christmas movie and had a nice fire, and I got to bed waaaaaay late, which is a bad habit I need to break...

The reason for this was this morning, when we drove down to Boston for the Cultural Survival Bazaar (after a stopover in. If you live in the Boston area, you should check this out; it's very cool. Merchants who do fair trade practices with indigenous/impoverished peoples will come to sell the crafts and foods (coffee, chocolate, and olive oil mostly) at the bazaar, and 40% of the profits go to help preserve indigenous culture. Whatever you think of the politics/idea, though, it's a great place to poke around, and the timing (first three weekends in December) make it good for Christmas shopping for the people who don't actually need anything, or who might find it interesting.

There's a lot of sub-Saharan African stuff, especially wooden decorated bowls and utensils; toys; and instruments. There are woven rugs from Peru and woolen hats from Nepal; Ojibwa dreamcatchers and singing bowls from Tibet. And lots and lots of jewelry, from pretty much everywhere. I actually got almost all my shopping done there; I had only three presents left (for my mom, my brother, and a little gift to give Ryter on Christmas Eve). We also ate lunch from the Indian food stand that was there; it was really good (mmm, chicken masala).

Then we went to the BU bookstore, because Shrewd has an employee discount (she works for BU Hillel) and we wanted to kill time before we checked out her place of employment (which wasn't open yet). There, I got my present for my brother, who asked for math books for Christmas (weirdo).

We then went to Hillel, where Shrewd works. She serves kosher food in a little cafe overlooking the Charles River. It's a very pretty place. We got the 20-second tour and ran into my cousin's boyfriend, who helped Shrewd get the job there (yay nepotism).

Then they took me back to campus, as there's supposed to be a blizzard tonight and none of us wanted to be caught in that...

I did get to see Loquatia again, at dinner, so today wasn't all that bad.

I've been trying to regulate my caloric intake (the dining halls post nutrition facts this year). While good for teaching me to add large numbers in my head quickly, it is posing many challenges. Yesterday the challenge was my Latin teacher bringing in homemade baklava. Today it was the fact that it was a festival day and the special foods don't list nutrition facts. And then there was the caramel apple pie.

I suck at this. But I did at least manage only about 2400 calories yesterday, which considering that I estimate I burn 2800 (lots of walking around) is kind of good. My goal is 2000 a day.

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So yesterday I had recitation for Biostats. Determined not to be as confused as last time, I took copious detailed notes on my laptop, step-by-step instructions and a guide in Excel itself. At the end of the class, she handed back quizzes (I got a 59 on mine. Yikes) and I rushed to pack up and get mine before the crush of half the class (of 125) got theirs. I then went to Hoco and to Ryter's for the evening, watched the first season of Heroes and speculated wildly as to the nature of the next season (but it looks like there will be superhero-teen lovin', so it's gotta be fun).

Then I got home, opened my computer, received a "YOU HAVE FLAWS ON YOUR DISK" message, clicked "fix" and came back in five minutes...

It rebooted my computer. Completely. What's more, in my rush I neglected to actually save my notes, figuring they would be there when I next opened the laptop. I lost everything.

So I grabbed some stuff off the website and frantically IMed Maritima, who is also in Biostats, and asked her for help. She's basically walked me through half this stuff. My lack of notes made this assignment take me a total of five hours, four of which were spent on one problem which I couldn't figure out at all.

But thanks to Maritima and my willingness to accept defeat on one problem, it was finished in the end. Thank god.

The thing is, I like statistics in itself; I don't like the fact that my TA has a new baby so she doesn't give a shit about teaching us, or grading us. My last assignment? She didn't grade the graph because I put it on a separate page. I mean, come on. Take off a point if it bugs you. But don't just not grade it. She claimed that she couldn't find things so if she had to hunt for it she gave it a 0, but honestly, how hard is it to get to that question where the graph should be and read "See page 3," and turn to page 3, where the graph is?

And that's not all she did that on-- I got a sixty, seventy with scaling, and I bet if she had spent more than a minute on each paper I could have gotten at least ten points higher. And she didn't bother to tell me what I did wrong, either. I guess I have to guess.

She says repeatedly that she hates statistics, hates grading, won't come in except for her very limited office hours, and is only doing this for the money because of the baby and because she's a graduate student. Okay. I get that she needs money, but really. This is all my stats professor could find???

Bah...

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Meanwhile I am debating how to ask my dad for a small allowance so I can do fun things on the weekends sometimes, or go out to eat once in a while. I mean, he knows I can't work with school stuff, and I do like to do things for fun besides surf Fark, read blogs and pester Ryter. I think I'll ask for $15 a week but hope for $10 and settle for $5 if I must. $5 would mean I get to eat out once a month and go on an (inexpensive) trip once a month. $10 would mean the same but eating out twice a month, or saving it; $15 would mean I could actually save up some money for the holidays.

My biggest concern is that the geniuses at UNH decided this year that finals end the week before Christmas. My last one is the 21st. Sure, vacation lasts until the 21st of January but guess what? Stores don't need help in January. They need help in December. If I go to a store and say I can start work on the 26th they'll say, "Sorry, no can do." Last year TJ Maxx really didn't need me after the ninth.

So that means I won't make any money at all over the winter break, and I don't really know what to do. I need a source of income, but I don't have the time to work during the year... The only thing I can think of is baby-sitting, but I hate, hate, hate advertising myself as a baby-sitter, and I don't really know any families in the area. Financially, I am screwed unless Daddy gives me an allowance.

He probably will understand. So what is my concern? I bet he ties it to my grades, as in, "Get a B or higher or the money goes away." And seeing as I am in Organic and Biostats, that means that it may very well go away and I'm screwed again.

Maybe if I suggest that I may need to take a year off and work otherwise... The only thing worse for Daddy than failing grades would be skipping a year. Something about "never going back."

Vicious Cycles

It's my last night at home, and I think it's sort of fitting that my dinner is a glass of Crystal Lite lemonade and whatever I can scrounge up from the kitchen, as I clean my bedroom post-packing.

I'm gonna come right out and say it. This was a miserable summer. Pretty much the only bright points were the times I got to spend with Ryter or the even rarer times I was with Vivacia; the rest of it just seemed like a long parade of obligations and chores. I spent at least 50% of the time just frantically trying to earn money, most of which I spent on gas to see Ryter or going out to eat with him. To which my mother points out that he could come visit me, and we could eat at my house.

Except, of course, that she insists that the house be clean before anyone comes over. So that's a day and a half of cleaning, which you know I don't get paid for or even the satisfaction of the cleanliness since it's a sty again in 24 hours. And then I have to make something for dinner, thus making myself messy before he comes. And then my dad comes home and takes the TV in the family room, sending us downstairs, which I had to pick up as well, and people will wander downstairs sometimes so we're not really alone. So we'll go to the orchards, but we're still in public, there. AS much as I love going to the orchards, it's sometimes buggy or the weather's bad. Basically, if I want to spend time with Ryter I have to go to his place because my own house is annoyingly occupied.

So thus I've spent the summer in a cycle-- work my ass off to earn money either at the Discovery Store or by doing exhausting work in the hot sun at home, then go visit Ryter to relax, thus using up my money, requiring me to earn more.

Meanwhile, there were only two real reasons I wanted to come home this summer instead of doing and internship or summer school or something-- one, I wanted to spend time with my family, and two, I wanted to be able to go to the Cape.

This summer I have spent a total of five days at the Cape. Five. And it's the last summer I will be able to go. I've always had chores to do or work. And spending time with my family? Most of the time they're at work or at the Cape, and anyway, my dad's been driving me crazy and my mom's been worrying me sick.

I bet by May I forget I felt this way, but I honestly think next summer I should just go to summer school on campus. My family was all gung-ho for taking me back and seeing me off, but I don't really care about that, I just would have liked to have a real dinner that I ate at the table on my last night at home. Is that too much to ask? Instead they're at the Cape and I'm packing, cleaning, and wondering what I can reheat.

At least it's over.

I'm all aloooooone...

Today was quite a day... It started when I woke up at 11:03 and was supposed to be at work at 11:00.

I rushed out the door, using perfume instead of showering and frantically calling my manager to tell her I wasn't going to be on time... She didn't answer the phone, so I was really freaking out because I thought I might have the wrong number and wasn't going to be able to contact her.

So I finally got to the mall and rushed in and the store wasn't open. Like, it was locked down and everything. I was confused. My first reaction was, "Holy shit, if the manager's the only one there are they not allowed to open the store?"

But I couldn't see my manager at all, so I asked at a nearby kiosk, and found out that she had apparently got all the way there and realized she forgot her keys, so she had to drive an hour round trip to go get them. This sort of incredibly convenient coincidence happens to me all the time, which is why I believe in a god...

So instead of being half an hour late I was half an hour early, and got to relax with a muffin and a Coolatta and laugh at the people who looked very, very confused that the place wasn't open yet.

But my manager, alas, was pretty frantic about the whole thing, so she had to work in the back room the whole morning and I was basically alone in the front of the store for the first hour. And then another guy didn't show up at all for his shift, no phone call, nothing, so I had to stay an extra hour. But I got a DVD about mitochondrial Eve so it's all good. Today was really, really not my manager's day though.

Graduation #3...

Today was Bisobrina's graduation party. I baked a batch of cookies that didn't come out quite right but were close enough, grabbed my swimsuit and my work clothes for afterwards, and headed out. I stopped to get a card in which to put the $40 my parents pulled together as a graduation gift, and headed up to Bow, NH. On the way I realized, a bit late, that I was on a toll road. I proceeded to spend way too much time digging 75 cents out of my coin purse, swerving all the way, and in this manner I passed a parked state trooper.

I have no idea why he didn't stop me...

Anyway, I made it safely to her place, where I proceeded to spend several hours standing around awkwardly and talking to either Bisobrina (when she was available), her biological mother who I had never met before, or some of her female friends with names I promptly forgot except I think one of them was Millie, which I thought was a funny name for a 17-year-old. I left when the female friends had all left en masse to be replaced by the second wave of friends, all male.

It wasn't too bad. I did overhear something interesting, too. See, I was really confused as to why Bisobrina's birth mother was so keen on reentering Bisobrina's life, considering that she gave her up because she was a teen mother and that's not the sort of thing one usually wants to be reminded of. But then I heard her talking to another woman there, and the woman said, "Oh, you must be so pleased to see how well she's doing," and Bisobrina's birth mother replied, "Oh, yes, very much. This is what you always hope for, you know?" and all of a sudden I understood.

I can't imagine someone giving up a child, for any reason, and not second-guessing their choice, or at least feeling a little guilty or worried that the kid's not well taken care of. It must be nice, all these years later, to learn that they were adopted by a doctor's family with an enormous house with an incredible view, and sent to private school, and that they're graduating with good grades and going on to university. It means that she can absolve herself of all guilt and know her daughter was better off. Considering the horror stories told about kids who get dumped into the foster system or adopted and then abused it must have been the biggest relief ever to know that her decision was undeniably for the best.

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After the party I went to work. I wore a pair of old slingback flats in, and considering that I had issues with losing them as I walked across the parking lot, I figured this was a bad idea. Luckily, Payless is two stores down. I went in and got a pair of black heeled pumps that were so unbelievably comfortable (for 2 1/2 inch heels, especially) that they were preferable, and I broke them in at work. This may have been a bad idea. Two hours later, I had blisters on the tops of my feet where the shoes rubbed as I walked and my feet were sweating.

So, on my 15 minute break, I raced over to CVS, then Payless, to try to find those socks that don't show over the edges of your shoes. That was much better. I mean, my feet hurt after I got done with work but that can only be expected when the only time you sit down in 4 hours is to put socks on.

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You can tell it's summertime because I consider the status of my footwear to be interesting. I think I shoudl stop writing every day...

I owe my mom like $500 right now.

Today is the Quinquatrus Minores, a festival sacred to Minerva/Athena of the Flute-players. On this day the tibicines, flute-players, went through the city in a procession that ended at the Temple of Minerva.

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Yesterday was Ryter's birthday, so I headed up to visit him, complete with my gift of wood for Jesus (his lizard, not the Messiah. You know, the name hay-ZOOS works better when you're talking than writing). The gift was technically for Ryter but Jesus was the one who would benefit from it.

The lizard's very cute. He's spiky and looks grumpy lots of the time but cute-grumpy and he's very gentle, peaceful, and friendly, and he seems to really like Ryter. He eats right out of his hand already.

I also gave Ryter cupcakes that spelled out "Happy Birthday" because this one time we were talking about birthdays at school as a kid, and he mentioned that he never got to have cupcakes with his classmates because he has a summer birthday. So I decided that while I was not going to be able to provide him a chance to eat cupcakes with snot-nosed youngsters, that was probably for the best anyway and eating cupcakes with Loquelo, Nonaestima, me, and a bearded dragon observer was probably just as good if not better.

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Today was my first day of work. It was okay, but a little boring. There was the obligatory awkward sexual harassment video, followed by a short film on How To Be An Obnoxious Salesperson. Then they stuck me out on the floor and said I was to greet people, assist as needed, try to push the stuff, and meanwhile look around and try to memorize the contents of the store.

But hey, eight bucks an hour, and the other people working there seem really nice, and I do know the merchandise there pretty well, since every time I went to the mall for job applications I stopped in, and my manager actually said I looked familiar, which was both interesting and kinda sad. Okay, really sad. Really, really, really...

A Crisis of Whatever

Oh, hey, it's Saturnalia! I haven't been checking my Roman calendar much lately, so I didn't mention it earlier, but Saturnalia started on the 17th. Saturnalia was a festival honoring the god Saturn/Cronus, the father of the great Olympians.

The festival lasted from the 17th to the 23rd, and consisted of some public religious rites, but also a school holiday, the making and giving of small presents, and a special market. They legalized gambling for the week, even for slaves, but that wasn't saying much since gambling wasn't exactly rare the rest of the year. There was much feasting and merriment.

They also basically excused slaves from punishment and let them treat their masters with disrespect, and the masters either served their slaves a banquet, ate with them, or allowed them to have one before the masters' own. Everyone wore casual clothes, not togas, so it further blurred the master/slave boundary. One person was elected master of ceremonies and directed the partying in his circle.

Saturnalia is a source of many Christmas traditions common in the middle ages- masters and servants switching places for the day, a master of ceremonies, that sort of thing. This major holiday was probably why it was decided that Jesus was born in late December, despite there being pretty much no evidence of any time of his birth- I mean, at his birth, even if you believe in him, he wasn't known to be a prophet of messiah or whatever you think he is. So they didn't really record anything. But the early Christian leaders weren't stupid, they knew that the best way to get people to stop celebrating the pagan holidays was to replace them with events that happened at the same time and were kinda similar in nature. Luckily, there were a lot of holidays that fell at around the same time, in different non-Christian religions, so lots of birds with one stone.

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Speaking of Christianity, interesting thing happened today. I was working at the register and a customer noticed my necklace- my prayer box necklace that my little cousin gave to me- and started asking me about it. "What's in your little box?" she asked. "My daughter has one like it."

"Oh, it's a prayer box," I explained. "You write your prayers on little slips of paper and put them inside."

"Ah, yes, that's what my daughter's is too- but hers is a little different. where did you get it?"

"My little cousin gave it to me for Christmas one year," I answered, omitting the fact that said little cousin is almost a teenager at this point.

"Oh... Are you Catholic? Do you know if those are mostly a Catholic thing? I heard they might be."

Uhm... okay. Here's the thing. First of all, I'm not positive what religion my aunt, uncle, and cousins are, just that it's Protestant and I don't think it's Baptist. I want to say Methodist, but that's irrelevant. The thing is, my cousin is really active in her church and sings in the choir and all- and I know that whole family looks down on ours. I mean, my aunt was a born-again Christian, and my mother- her sister- is an atheist. Meanwhile Shrewd knows more about what she doesn't beleive in than what she does (though I don't think she considers herself atheist anymore) and I'm... well, I'm complicated. Now, I don't think that my cousin understands that I'm not Christian, because I doubt that's the sort of thing my aunt and uncle would talk to her about. She at least should know that I'm not as religious as her family is. But I still kinda felt like giving someone a prayer box is essentially saying, You should put your faith in my God and my religion, and be more religious, like me. It's a bit like giving a cross pendant. A lovely gift, if you know for sure that the person is a Christian and will appreciate wearing their religion around their neck.

But I beat the system. I wear the box and I even put prayers inside of it, though they aren't serious prayers for the health and happiness of my family- those I say myself, since anything important ought to be said in person, and not written down. Right now my box contains prayers for success in school and for a Prince Charming to come along. Things that I could accomplish on my own with minimal divine intervention if I had the nerve and made enough effort. Still, they're prayers. They're just to a radically different god than the one the box was originally made for.

Anyway, back to today, and the conversation. It kinda went downhill from there. I told the woman, "Oh, my cousin is Protestant. It's not just a Catholic thing," thinking, It's not just a Christian thing, and she said, "Oh, good... Are you religious yourself?"

Uhm, lady? I don't even know you, I'm the girl who's ringing up your wrapping paper at 25% off. Why are you getting into a theological discussion?

"Oh, no, not really... My dad's Congregationalist, but we never really go to church," I answered, deciding that I would not explain the complexities of religion in my family to a total stranger, nor would I let her know that I was not only not Catholic, but not Christian at all, since she seemed the sort to smile sympathetically, offer some story about how Jesus saved her, and inform me of services at her church of choice with an excellent pastor who could "help me through my religious turmoil."

In fact... Next thing you know she's standing there talking about this Christian camp thing that she went to, and how "most of the people who go there have already had some horrible event in their lives, but really, you shouldn't wait that long," and I'm thinking, Right, because there's no way that a 19 year old could have already had horrible events, like, you know, a suicide attempt, and she's telling me how the experience changed her forever and made such an impact on her life and I should look into it, really, if I want to get in touch with my faith...

Meanwhile I'm trying to figure out when she's going to leave. I was trying to be nice and smiley and friendly but honestly, it was getting hard. I mean, come on... Maybe I should have just said "Oh, I'm not Christian," but I think that would have dragged out the conversation longer, and ended up with her suggesting that I correct my "crisis of faith" at her church. Because honestly, that's what everyone says. I say I'm not Christian. They ask what religion I am. I say I have a collection of beliefs that are hard to explain and that don't fit into an organized faith. They assume that means I'm looking for a faith, specifically theirs, and start suggesting that I check out their church/temple/whatever.

But honestly? I am actually pretty religious. My faith is mine alone, but I adhere to my beliefs stronger than many Christians and Jews I know (I'd say Muslims too but this is New Hampshire, we have like ten Muslims total, and fewer of any of the other religions). And the important things- a strong moral code that fits with most of my society's customs, a sense of right and wrong, and a general sense of personal self-worth and acceptance of life and my place in it- that's all covered. I'm not in the market for a new faith, though I am in the market for followers, that'd be awesome. Starting a cult is twenty-third on my list of Things To Do To Ensure Immortality Among Geeks, and that's a joke, so no hate mail, please.

I talked about this for a long time with my sister and what we concluded was this: One of the central themes of our morality training as children is that it doesn't matter what you believe, so long as you're a good person. For me, being a good person is defined as following the five most basic morals in the world: Don't kill, love/protect/nurture your family, honor your vows, respect your fellow man, and care for your body and your soul. #4 is pretty significant here- because part of it's definition is "don't judge if you disagree."

I respect the beliefs of even the crazy uber-Christians. I agree with some of their beliefs, even. But the fact that I respect them is cheapened by the fact that they don't respect me, and think I am incapable of creating my own belief system without a church to guide me. So it doesn't matter what they believe- as long as they're a good person... which means that it doesn't matter what they believe, as long as they respect me. And everyone else.

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Oh, and I bought Harley Quinn. She is AWESOME. And bald. She's a bald Barbie. That makes her AWESOMER.

Blue Light Special on Defibrillators, Aisle 12

Another day at the job. They finished teaching me (mostly) how to use the register, though that woman who paid with a traveler's check threw me for a loop. It was crazy-swamped, so I basically was ringing people up non-stop all day. This was good as I had a really bad ache in my lower back and abdomen that you'll either understand, or you won't, and not having a chance to catch my breath was a convenient way to avoid thinking about it. Unfortunately, the pain started at about 3:30 this morning, woke me up, and refused to let me go to sleep again until 5:30. My alarm went off two hours later, and oh yeah, I went to bed at 1 AM last night. So yeah, four hours of sleep. I managed to stay focused thanks to orange soda, vanilla Chai tea, and diet coke. That and the fact that interacting with people causes my heart rate to increase precipitously and I act like I'm on a caffeine high anyway.

But not too bad, all said and done. I think I did pretty well learning the ropes of cashiering.

But... This one woman brought up a tall ceramic vase but noticed that it had a large chip in the side, so she didn't buy it after all. It was pretty big so I stuck it in the corner of my little cashier stand thingy where I didn't think I'd trip over it, planning to bring it over to the service desk at the first available moment to ask if it was going to be returned or marked down to clearance or what.

Problem was, there wasn't really an available moment, and the next thing I knew I was calling over one of the other employees who was working up front, a middle-aged woman who is a regular employee, to help me with something I didn't understand on the register, and as she left, she brushed the vase and knocked it over. The top broke clean off. She immediately looked at me and said in the darkest voice you can imagine, "Why was this here?"

I swear to god my heart stopped. That tone of voice is the exact same tone that a certain teacher at the daycare I used to work at used with me when she thought I wasn't properly supervising the kids, despite the fact that you can't always sprint across sand fast enough to stop a kid from kicking sand in another's face. It always made me feel like the world's biggest idiot, and like I had done something wrong, despite knowing full well that it wasn't entirely my fault. I swear, I have nightmares about that woman and the way she treated me. She gave me the respect a Southern plantation wife would give to a particularly clumsy, uneducated slave girl that she regrets wasting her husband's money on. She sort of treated me like one of her kindergarteners, except she was allowed to make me do work- despite the fact that my job was not, and never was supposed to be, working for her in the kindergarten room. I hated how that woman made me feel.

And then, to hear that same sort of inflection in my co-worker's voice today... It scared me, and I kind of had a panicky moment. So I did the only thing I could, I told her why I had put it there- it was chipped and I hadn't had a chance to bring it to returns- and the weirdest thing happened to her. It was like total change of attitude ("Oh, it was chipped? That's okay then, we wouldn't have resold it anyway," sort of cheerful but still matter-of fact), and she morphed from Scary Kindergarten Teacher back to a normal human being, and I calmly debated buying myself a defibrillator for the future.

I bet they sell them at Wal-mart. I'll ask Mack.

And in other news, that Harley Quinn doll that I kinda really want despite being much too old for Barbies is in fact only $8.00, which means I only would have to pay $7.20, but I still can't decide if I want to be the sort of girl who buys a supervillain Barbie for herself. I definitely want to be the kind of girl who owns one, it's the buying that I question.

Toys!

Today was my second day of work. It was a day of bumbling around trying to learn the ropes and wishing people would stop assuming that it takes me twice as long as normal to do simple tasks, or even better, give me a longer list of stuff to do so I don't have to hunt them down to get my next set of orders.

See, I'm supposed to be doing registers, but it's so crazy busy in the afternoons while I'm working that they can't finish training me. I started today, but it wasn't very long before I was holding up the line and they had to send me away. I keep forgetting stuff- there's a lot of little steps. I mean, I basically know what to do, but sometimes if I feel rushed I make mistakes. And fixing them takes a while. It's not like I won't learn, I mean, it's just a matter of doing it until I get used to the system. It's just frustrating, right now.

So instead I was sent back to help in the Housewares department, unpacking boxes and restocking shelves, and then going through and making sure all the Christmas stuff was on the proper sale racks (This is good to have done, because one of the problems I had at the register was knowing what counted as "Christmas themed." Now I know, so I won't have to check all the time). Then there was general picking-up-and-returning-to-the-proper-location stuff to do, since shoppers tend to grab something, change their minds, and leave it randomly on a shelf somewhere. The problem was, as I was unpacking the boxes, I'd finish a set of them in no time at all, and then I'd have to go hunt down the woman supervising me and get her to tell me what to do next. I felt like such a little nuisance, but I hate sitting around and doing nothing, especially when I know that's not what I'm supposed to be doing.

But after I had checked the aisles about five times for things that needed straightening, picking up, or returning, I was snagged by the store managers, who were trying to figure out how to move new merchandise out into the toy department. So I was recruited to rearrange the shelves, which were half-empty anyway, and then move toys out. This was at least a department which I am a little more familiar with, since I recognized most of the toys from my last job working at a daycare. So I was basically arranging the toys in displays and bringing them out from the back room all afternoon.

I have one thing to say: I know that everyone says this, but I feel I need to say it anyway. Bratz and MyScene dolls are the worst possible gift for a young girl. Barbie says "I'm a docile female, a stereotype of the fifties generation who badly needs a hamburger and some cute flats," but at least the company tries to give her roles as a doctor or a teacher or an athlete (and not just cheerleading) so concerned parents can try to make the dolls represent what they hope their daughter aspires to be. Bratz and MyScene (Mattel's answer to Bratz) just say "I'm a hip young socialite who wears very little clothing and looks like the sort of girl who would get plastered at a party and wake up in some strange boy's room with no underwear." Alternatively, they say, "That will be a hundred dollars, please."

Honestly. I don't even believe that Barbie is emotionally damaging to girls and I think that Bratz and MyScene is ridiculous. If they're still around if/when I have a daughter, I'm issuing a Christmas-gift warning: stereotypes of women okay, teenage pseudo-whores bad.

That said, I was stocking the Barbies today and I noticed two things. First, Mattel has given Barbie a new movie, in which she is one of twelve sisters who love to dance. Yes. They have made a Barbie version of the Grimm fairy tale, The Twelve Dancing Princesses. I am completely affronted by this attack on my childhood memories. That was my favorite story when I was a kid. However, at the same time, I kinda want to watch that movie, despite it being a badly animated movie based on a doll. I just want to see how badly it's butchered. And if they made Ken into the Old Soldier who marries the eldest sister (presumably Barbie) against her will, stealing her from the gorgeous enchanted man whom she was sneaking away to dance with each night. Don't worry. I don't actually think they used that version. In part because the dolls all wear ballet shoes, so I think they dance solo.


Second thing: There was on the shelf a Harley Quinn Barbie doll. Yes, the DC Comics villainess. Apparently there is also Batgirl, Supergirl, Lois Lane, Poison Ivy and the Invisible Woman (complete with clear plastic "invisible" arms). Now, I realize I'm 19 years old and I am supposed to be mature or something. That said- I really, really want a supervillain Barbie doll. Like, passionately. Like, I might actually go buy it if it's still on the shelf tomorrow.And if it isn't, I might just go to Toys R Us or something and find a Harley Quinn or a Poison Ivy Barbie. They look really cool, as you can see in the images, and come on, it's a supervillain Barbie. I'm wondering if I can convince my parents to get me a Barbie doll. They're like $20 each. And having a supervillain Barbie on my desk would like, make my life.

I am officially the world's biggest loser. AND I LIKE IT!

I also have decided that I strongly dislike the fact that the law says I have to take 15-minute breaks once in a while. Because honestly, there's nothing to do on 15-minute breaks. Can't go anywhere- not enough time. Can't shop- not enough money (Just enough to buy a Barbie). I basically sit in the break room, drink a soda, and read the posters on the walls warning you against shoplifters. Whoa, 'bout killed myself with the excitement there.

Ugh, I want to go to bed.

Yesterday was my first day of work. It was pretty standard- sign a bunch of forms, watch some training videos, get a tour of the store... Then they stuck me at the fitting room, which isn't as easy an assignment as it sounds, because besides sorting the clothes that are returned and getting them ready to go back, they also have the fitting room person put security tags on new items and hang them up to go out to the racks. So always busy.

Mummy, Daddy, and the Brother met me after work and we went Christmas tree shopping. The very first tree the guy grabbed for us was absolutely perfect, so the trip was easier than most. Then we checked out the inside of the nursery there, and Daddy saw a miniature key lime tree that came up to my hip and produced real, edible fruit. He was raving about it. Mummy was all set to buy it for him but I had to remind her that a) the tree requires to be placed by a window that gets direct sunlight, of which we have almost none, and b) the chances that Daddy would actually remember to take care of it are pretty slim. Ah, reality checks. Always fun.

After the tree was up and Mummy had gone to work lighting it, I made dinner for everyone (I always cook dinner one of the first three nights after I come home) and then after our 9:00 meal (oops) we watched the movie I mentioned yesterday.

Then today, I woke up at noon, wandered downstairs for breakfast with every intent of going back upstairs afterwards to finish that biology paper that was due today, and the next thing I knew I was hanging wreaths out the windows, then decorating the tree, then planning dinner, then at Home Goods getting a set of burgundy glasses with my dad, god knows why, he drinks burgundy maybe once or twice a year, then I was getting groceries- and then at 5:30 pm I realized as we drove back with the groceries that I still had a paper to finish.

Oops.

It didn't take very long, though, and I was still able to be roped into helping with dinner again. Except we had rotisserie chicken, and no one thought to explain to me in my rotisserie virginity that it takes forever. We had dinner at 10:00. Tomorrow, I intend to serve dinner before my normal bedtime.

It's important to set goals for yourself, you know.