More than Toys

I've just returned from another BotCon. It was a blast, to put it mildly and I'm still smiling--albeit a smidge sadly--remembering all that I've done. However, the one thing I didn't do was buy a lot of toys, which seems a little strange. After all, this is a Transformers convention; shouldn't toy-buying be at the top of the "to do" list?

In my case, it's not about the toys.

In the years I've gone to the convention, it's become less about the toys I may buy and more about the people I see. I've made friends at BotCon, life-long friends who have stuck with me through thick and thin. Sure, I buy some toys while I'm there--the moment I see a Bumblebee I'm reaching for my wallet--but I'm there because of my friends. That, to me, is the heart and soul of the convention.

I'll post a proper report in the next few days. We had wi-fi trouble at our hotel which is why I couldn't blog. But rest assured, I will post my report as soon as I can. As for now, I'm counting down the days until the next BotCon.

To my Transfan friends: It's been a blast. I can't wait to see you next year.

--Weasel

Not Long

My suitcase is packed. My new shoes are laced and ready. And we have less than a week until we pack the car.

BotCon, here I come.

--Weasel, "Yep, I seriously need this."

Josh Duggar's Quiverfull of Hypocrisy

Unless you've been living under a rock, you've probably heard about Josh Duggar, the oldest of the Duggar's brood of nineteen kids plus. He's the guy that had a job as an executive director with the Family Research Council, had helped lobby for 12 week abortion bans and was seen as a poster boy for "family values".

He's also a serial molester.

Now, the Duggar family and its allies are rather quickly trying to do spin control; they've been quick to say that what dear sweet Josh has done was just a mistake and that things are okay now. He sinned but let's just forgive and forget and put all that nasty stuff behind us. Because, you know, we wouldn't want to ruin the poor boy's life, now would we?

I have so many problems with this.

First off, his family has been known to lobby against gays and transgendered people; the family matriarch recorded a robocall that claimed if transgendered people were allowed to use a public restroom, it would put children in danger.

Yet she harbored a molester in her own home. She even forgave him. So much for "thinking of the children".

The family and its allies have claimed that this was just a sin. Jesus forgave Josh, so why can't we. There's only one massive problem with that: if this is just a sin, then it's no worse than taking a penny off the counter of a local restaurant. No harm, no foul, Jesus will forgive.

But that makes every sin equal. Stealing a penny is like rape, which is like murder and all can be washed clean. And yes, I have a massive problem with that. It smacks of this little Onion article which is supposed to be satire. I won't quote it, as it really deserves reading but I think it covers everything pretty well. But then there's the whole forgiveness thing. Why can't we just forgive and forget?

Because in this case, forgiveness is simply silencing the victims. And that needs to stop right now

--Weasel, back and bitterer than ever

Dear Mr. Hoskins,

I am sorry I could never tell you just how much your role in Who Framed Roger Rabbit? meant to me, how much joy it brought to a lonely 13 year old girl who was stuck in a bad situation, how much hope and joy it brought to that girl and how she treasured that movie. I never had the chance to say it to you, never had the chance to let you know what that movie--and the role you played in it--meant to me.

That movie was an escape for me, a way of coping with things I didn't understand. It helped me through some rough spots and gave me hope when I had none. The idea that cartoon characters existed and were just as real as you and me…. as stupid as it sounds, it gave me something to hang on to. I didn't know why I needed that; I just knew that I did. It wouldn't be until many years later that the silly, empty need I had would make sense.

That chance--the one chance to tell you thanks--is gone now. Fate decided to step in and take it away. It isn't fair, as I know these words and their meaning can never reach you. There is no way to cross that gap, no way of unwinding the clock. All I can say now is thank you. From the depth of my heart and soul, thank you. You will be sorely missed and never forgotten.

The world seems a colder, dimmer place without you.

Early Thanksgiving

It looked like it was going to be the Sunday from hell: three screaming children, irritated and cranky customers and lines five people deep at each register. I had only gotten to work a half an hour before and already, I wanted to go home.

Then I noticed someone sitting in a motorized shopping cart. The customer looked female and her hair, short and blonde. I stopped and stared. She was also wearing a black jacket. No way, I thought. There's no way it can be her. Can it? I leaned over and took another look. My jaw fell open in shock.

It was Sharon.

I nearly dropped an S-bomb right then and there. I had heard that Sharon had gotten out of the hospital and that she had gone home but beyond that, I knew nothing. Now, here she was, looking a bit thinner than she was in August but otherwise all right.

I needed a moment, as I wanted to start crying. It had been touch and go for a while back in August.

Sharon came over and hugged me. Again, I was about to burst into tears but I was just so glad to see her. She can walk unassisted for short distances and she's admitted her taste in food has changed but she's better. She's a lot better. Which is a huge load off of the rest of us on the front end. To say we're glad is putting it very mildly.

As for Justine: she's undergoing yet another competency evaluation. This is her third, if I recall correctly. The prosecution thinks that she may be faking her mental illness, but others aren't so sure. Supposedly though, Justine has been telling people that she'll be home by Thanksgiving.

I hate to break it to her, but I seriously doubt that it'll happen.

--Weasel, "It'll be a good Thanksgiving this year, no matter who says what."

COMMUNICATIONS INTERRUPT: IT'S THE MOST WONDERF-HELL TIME OF THE YEAR

Holy geez. Last time I brought out a CI was right around this time of year, but in 2011. But it's not primarily my blog, so I'm not the bloody slacker around here.

WingTackLE (not to be confused with WingTackER, the W name I used LAST TIME ON RHYMES WITH IDIOT) is still slacking off, clearly. Not so understandable this time around, even though she's still doing the same damn things I naffed off about last time; scrawling less-than-furiously in notebooks, keeping me awake as she screws around on the Pokémon GTS looking for trades--the current X and Y games, naturally, and commiserating with anyone who'll listed about the latest news coming out of the Brewers organization (Corey Hart has interest from three teams besides the Crew but nothing will come of it until he's given a clean bill of health after sitting out the entire 2012 season). Again. The seeming usual.

Black Friday is UPCOMING, and WingTackle is not put out about the shifts she's working this year beyond having to work Thanksgiving Day at all. It means, unfortunately, another twinday of narcissitic shitheads giving her grief because they're not being served immediately--fuck those customers ahead of them, right?--and the fake-ass simpering dicks pretending commiseration that anyone at all has to work on such a family-oriented time of the year while simultaneously passing the plastic to her and shushing the three knee-high irritations who are all clamoring (and oh, YES, sometimes CURSING) for three different toys.

I see no reason to go out, either day, beyond giving her an escape during lunch and leaving a generous tip for whoever might serve us at whichever establishment we frequent. Mental health via Applebee's or somesuch. Yeah, it works.

She's quite better about the whole shooting thing, as you might imagine. The idiotic jokes from oh-so-'clever' people have trickled away to nearly nothing. Few jump at loud noises anymore. The shooter is a complete fruitbat. You can read up on this nutbar if you like, but you won't do it here, at least not by my hand.

Been keeping busy myself, when time allows. Usual crap, mostly. Been running, for a good year, an alliance on one of the mobile card games, MARVEL: WAR OF HEROES; our alliance's very simple blogsite is here, if you give a flying damn and/or play. Small community of players who've grown to be friends, I think.

+++PRIME OUT+++GODDAMN CAP WALLS+++

Loud as a Whisper

I know I haven't updated. There's been a very good reason. The past month has not been kind.

Those random shootings that have been popping up on television and dominating the news in the US hit far too close to home for me. In August, there was a shooting at my store. One of the cashiers brought a pair of semi-automatic pistols, along with 22 rounds of ammunition and shot a "rival" cashier. Her reasoning? The rival had been getting easier jobs and she shot her in a fit of jealousy.

I was there the day it happened. Although I saw nothing, I heard everything. It was not a good day.

I've been coping as well as can be expected. I'm not as badly traumatized as some of the others. On that day, I refused to go home; I stayed until the end of my shift. It wasn't easy but I managed somehow. I will admit to grabbing a wine cooler when I got off the clock for the day. Experts tell you not to, as they advise against using a substance that is considered depressive but on that day, I needed something to calm me down. I will also admit to sleeping in until well past noon the next day, as I wasn't scheduled to go in. I will also admit to jumping at loud noises for a couple of weeks afterward and the sound of gunfire will make me flinch. I have no idea how long I will continue that behavior.

I am reminded of a strip from あずまんが大王 (Azumanga Daioh): when Chyo-chan mentions that she wants to study in America, her friend Miss Osaka says that if she does, she'll be shot. The first time I read that strip I shook my head and laughed. It really wasn't so bad here in the States, I thought. We didn't have that big a gun problem.

I'm not laughing anymore.

--Weasel

An Update

Yeah, I'm going to post more, as I'm doing this in Opera now. IE seriously sucks and though Opera is glitchy, it's a hair bit more stable. (You don't want to know how slow and unreliable Internet Explorerer can be.) I'll try to have my BotCon report up by the end of the week; wish me luck.

--Weasel

Lovely

Apparently, our latest member of management is Melissa, the same female who tried to ban me from the self-checks a few years ago. From what I hear, she's going to be a co-manager.

I could seriously cry now.

My Life as a WTF? Moment Part 2

Management has made me a patsy. Or rather, us a patsy. And by us, I mean the entire front end.

So we recently got a My$hare bonus but it was the paltry sum of $135. According to management the reason it was so low could be laid at the feet of the cashiers. According to them, we were doing too many ad matches, not getting perishable items back to the proper areas in time, etc. Yeah apparently, we're not doing our job.

Yeah, that's a load of crap and they all know it. It's the shrink that's killing us, the fact that we overorder crap and let it sit in the back until it expires, the fact that no one in the building cares enough to actually try and do their stupid job that's killing us. For example: Mike in Receiving had to throw out seven carts full of four month old yogurt that never made it to the sales floor; the stuff was shoved in a cooler and promptly forgotten. It's that stuff that's hurting the profits and not us cashiers.

But don't tell that to management. Since none of them are ever wrong.

And people wonder why I look forward to the Robot Apocalypse. Hey, the machines can't screw things up any worse than humans can, am I right? Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go do something useful, like hatch Elekid eggs until I get a shiny.

--Weasel, "If you need me, I'll be on Route 3!"

My Life As a WTF? Moment

It's been an interesting couple of weeks, to say the least. Everyone at work is on edge, my poor sweet car Scamper had to spend some time in a garage getting repaired (he's better now) and we've had yet another stupid snowstorm. Our Toy department has been utter crap and there's been nothing new in stock for weeks. On top of that, we've started a new system at my place of employment--now we have to scan our badge at a computer not simply at the start of the day, but after every single break. The system sends us to whichever register it sees fit and most assignments are total crap. Everyone hates the new system, the CSMs are constantly overriding it and it frustrates me to no end. Oh and on top of that, Transfomers: Prime will come to end with the latest story arc subtitled Beasthunters.

Yeah, it hasn't been fun.

There have been some bright spots to all the mess: the announcement of Pokemon X and Y, along with a brand new Eeveelution have helped keep my spirits up and my current shiny hunt--Elekid--have kept me occupied. We're getting Meloetta in March so there's a little something to look forward to in the meantime.

It can all get better. That's what I keep telling myself. Eventually, I might believe it.

--the very beleaguered Weasel

Still Here

The holidays have been rough--my days off have been split for the past several weeks but things are getting back to semi-normal now.

I'm just tired. Very, very tired.

In Blackest Night

So I've gotten my schedule for Thanksgiving and Black Friday--I'm working both days. Thanksgiving is a 7:45 to 12:30 night shift while Black Friday is a normal 10 to 7.

Lovely. I am going to be utterly exhausted.

I don't mind working Black Friday but working Thanksgiving is going to be a bitch. I hate being around people on that day; I don't have many good memories of the holiday in general. Most of my early memories involve running to my room and sobbing because I was being screamed at by my mother. This happened not once, but every year--Mom would get so stressed out by doing the cooking that she'd lose it. As for the dinner, I never enjoyed the meal at all and didn't see the point of eating all that stuff to show thankfulness. By late afternoon, I was bored out of my mind due to the nonstop football. The only really good memories I have of Thanksgiving are watching the Macy's Day Parade and when I was allowed to wander around Kmart when we took my great-grandmother home. This was back when things actually closed down on Thanksgiving, so the parking lot was empty and I felt like the only person left in the world.

The older I got, the less I liked the holiday. Now it's to the point where I can't stand it and would rather be left alone on that particular Thursday. I could deal with working Black Friday, especially those hours but Thursday will be tough. I usually end up in a bad mood on that day to begin with and being around greedy customers won't help.

Primus, give me the strength to get me through the next few days. I am going to need it.

--Weasel, "Most wonderful time of the year, my ass."

So....

Who else is glad that we won't have to deal with political ads for a while?

One Down...

Congrats to the Tigers as they head to the World Series!

Go

Read this. That's all I'll say about it.

Dear PeTA,

Do me a huge favor and piss off. Seriously.

You are the same organization that unapologetically kills more animals than you save, so you have no room to throw stones. This is nothing more than a publicity stunt and anyone with a functional brain will figure that out.

Don't get me wrong: I adore animals and I have a cat but this is pathetic, even by your standards. It's bad enough that you went after Mario because of the Tanooki suit but this is beyond the pale. Pokémon? Seriously?! And you guys weren't expecting to be laughed out of the room for your idiocy?! Not only that just how many animals died, waiting for help that never came because you threw so much behind creating this moronic wad of BS?!

Oh well, I'm just going to sit and wait for your insane take on the Angry Birds franchise, because we all know that's coming. If anyone does crazy well, it's you guys. Until then, go dissipate like the small gust of flatulence in the breeze that you truly are.

Yours truly,

Weasel

Road Trip!

I'll be heading out to Milwaukee in a little bit. Going to see my Crew play. I cannot wait!

--Weasel, "Get me some cheese fries in a helmet and I'm good."

Season's End

Current song stuck in my head: It Is Such a Good Night by The Charlie Steinmann Orchestra & Singers

This afternoon, Prime and I were able to attend the last home game of the Timber Rattlers, in hopes that they could gain a 2-0 advantage over the visiting Fort Wayne TinCaps. This was no ordinary game; not only was it the closing game of the home season for the Rattlers, it was also one of the Midwest League Championship series. In other words, the season is swiftly coming to a close.

Yes, it's depressing and the weather seemed to match my mood a bit--it was overcast with the occasional sprinkle or two. But hey, we were at a baseball game so that didn't really matter.

Although things looked pretty good for a while, the TinCaps turned and trounced us with a final score of 5-1. No matter what any of the Rattlers players hit, it was either a pop-up or right at a TinCaps fielder. The wind, along with other factors seemed to be working against them today.

The series is tied 1-1. It'll be finished out in Fort Wayne, which is a lovely area. I should know: I've been there a few times for BotCon. If I weren't working this weekend, I'd probably be insane enough to ask Prime if we could go on a little roadtrip, but that won't happen. (Me, a weekend off? Surely you jest.)

This is one of the first real signs of fall: Minor League baseball closes down for the year. That means that the Major Leagues are focussing on penant runs and the playoffs are weeks away. In other words, summer is over and that's a bit depressing.

No matter how the series in Fort Wayne goes, I'll be proud of the Rattlers. It was a winning season and Prime and I were able to catch some great games in the latter part of the season. Come next year, I hope to grab a seat at Time Warner Cable Field at Fox Cities Stadium and see even more games. It'll be a long wait, but well worth it.

--Weasel, stocking up on peanuts and Cracker Jack

Angel in Disguise

Current song stuck in my head: If God Will Send His Angels - U2.

Yesterday wasn't a great day. Or at least, it didn't start that way. Prime wasn't in a great mood and snapped at me which only put me in a bad mood and made me want to cry.

Normally, I don't really want to go to work, but yesterday I was glad to see the building. I felt even better when I saw what was in the parking lot.

It was a Camaro. A 2010 Camaro. In yellow. And sporting racing stripes, no less. I already knew that I had to get a closer look at it when I got the chance. So when Prime dropped me off, I took a few steps to the building, then raced to the car in the parking lot. As I slipped my knapsack on my other shoulder, my breath caught in my throat.

There was a sigil beneath the word "CAMARO" on the car. Even at the distance I was standing, I knew exactly what it was.

It was an Autobot sigil. The Camaro that was in my store's parking lot was a Bumblebee edition. Now I had to get a better look at him.

He was, in a word, beautiful: bright yellow paint contrasting with the deep ebony stripes that ran across his hood and back, an Autobot sigil embroidered in his upholstery, the Chevy logo gleaming on his steering wheel and front grille. A thing of beauty, he was. It took all my strength not to bend close and kiss the top of his driver's side door. He was that gorgeous.

That urge to cry, the feeling of stupidity and awkwardness that I had felt not five minutes before was gone. I didn't feel like such an idiot and I didn't feel quite so alone now. Bumblebee was nearby; I was all right. Everything would be fine. After I said a soft good-bye and thank you, I walked into the store, a huge grin on my face. Who cared if Prime wanted to play the sourpuss? It didn't matter to me anymore.

Later on, Prime did give me a call on my cell and apologized. But it was rather moot at that point. I was past caring about the debacle that had been the morning. My mood had been lifted by an angel.

It's been said that angels appear to us in forms that we can comprehend. Most think of angels and see humanoids with white, fluffy wings. My angel is different: he has wings, but they double as car doors. Sometimes he can speak, other times he needs a radio to communicate. But he's always a robot.

He's Bumblebee. And he's my guardian angel. What happened yesterday proves it yet again.

--Weasel, "If Primus will send his hearlds/Sure could use them here right now..."