Your popcorn is extraordinary!

Extraordinarly salty, that is. There is a Kernels in one of the malls I work in and they have some sort of half off the second bag deal going on. Fellow picture palace butt monkey, Jillian, and I indulged. And it was my dinner as well as my after work snack. I could've eaten something with some sort of redeeming nutrional value, but I did not. At least try to act surprised.

Tomorrow is my day off, as is Sunday. ANNNNNNNNNND Tuesday too! Which means, I have two days off next week! Thrilling. Minor-orgasm inducing. Perhaps I'll actually get some Christmas shopping done. Because I'm constantly bombarded by Christmas pictures and Christmas music, it seems like Christmas is tomorrow. But really, it's still November. And still disturbingly balmy. I live in Canada, by November 29th I should be freezing my bazongas off.

Brain vomit.

I've been listening to Tom Jones lately. And loving it. Unironically. In particular, I've been enjoying Sex Bomb and You Can Leave Your Hat On.

Tom Jones: Not just for old ladies anymore!

Also, this picture is clearly the sexiest thing ever. There's nothing like a fine pelt showing through your buttoned down shirt.

I meant to write a blog about my weekend and how much I love everyone in Guelph and then I forgot. So here it is: you're all awesome and your one acts made me giggle! Seeing Chris fondling his own boobies, however, was something I could probably have done without.

Spending time with humans that I'm not related to and not selling pictures to was a necessary restorative to my sanity. Mad props as usual, to Susan and Jow for being awesome. Glad we didn't all die in some sort of fog induced accident.

Perhaps something more coherent on Thursday. For 'tis my day off!

Late.

They let me out of work early today! What a joy! To celebrate, I bought myself a shirt. Having an income is a miraculous thing.

We were so behind in the morning.

Some more advice for any parent that is considering getting their family portrait taken.

1)Do not book your appointment for 10:00 am to 12:00 pm. We will not be on time. I guarantee it. Everyone tries to beat nap time.

2) If you're getting pictures taken on the weekend during the holiday season, double the time you expect to spend with us, bring provisions and maybe a little pillow. We will not be on time.

3) Don't schedule any other appointments for the day you get your pictures taken. You will not be on time.

Seriously, by the time 12:30 hit today, we were 45 minutes behind. The log jam starts in the camera rooms. Turns out, when anyone under the age of 10 is involved, it's hard to get six (or more) useable shots in 15 minutes. Yet we schedule for both camera rooms every 15 minutes.

By the time customers get to me, they've been waiting forever and are often carrying a screaming and/or poopy child. I'm expected to try and foist as many pictures and as much merchandise onto these people as possible. I don't think I'll ever be comfortable with it. Kudos to the people that come prepared to spend a bunch of money though, you are my saving grace, even if I think you're a little crazy.

I'm not cut out for a career in sales. I know, you're all shocked.

If I had a flying bison my life would be so much better. Appa comes with a giant tail with which I could thwack my enemies out of existence. Also, there's plenty of seating and leg room.

Christmas is only a month and six days away. You guys could pool your resources.

Don't punch my baby.

As lifelong customer, first time service sector employee, I never realized how friggen' needy customers were. I suppose it's the volume of customers I've been subjected to this weekend. It's all, "Can you crop this? What's on a sheet? I wish my kid was smiling. Don't punch my baby."

And no, we cannot superimpose the face of one of your kids from another picture onto the family pose you like so much. We're a digital studio, not magicians. Stop asking me. It's not really that funny.

Seriously customers, you all need to get together and talk to each other. I'm tired of repeating myself. I'm going to tell one of you our prices and sheets and then you can spread it around, telephone-game-style.

And to the babies of the world: I'm feeling kindly disposed to you, despite the fact that you're not all on your best behaviour. I feel bad for you, because your parents seem a little insane. I'm sure the indignity of having your butt sniffed in a public area, checking for poopy drawers, is hard to stand. However, please remember that I'm your friend, and I can't catch the ball you're throwing if you're tossing it at the back of my head.

My family is particularly outraged that I don't get a lunch break on the weekends. I tell them that I'm just glad that I get bathroom breaks. 'Cause even that's not a given on Saturday and Sunday. Grandpa says I should form a union.

I did, for the record, feel better leaving than I did going in. So I guess that's something.

Not Dead. Not Yet.

Just working for the man. Also, my blog isn't registering any visitors any more. So everyone ran for the hills all at the same time. I'm big enough to admit that writing in this thing holds a great deal less interest for me if no one's reading it. Why am I writing now then, you ask? Good question, dear fellow.

Nevertheless.

I'm working at not one but two picture places now, filled with scary mothers and their often adorable but sometimes inescapably ugly children. I'm definitely catching baby fever. They're small, and they mostly smell good and they all smile at me. It's my funny face, or so I've been told.

I wanted to go to a birthday party this weekend and I wanted to go see Suzie Goo. However, work and illness have conspired against me and alas, I'm stuck here. Oh frabjous day!

Today was my day off this week. And it was all foggy and gorgeous. So. Pictures!

Trick or Treat

Brian, brandishing his new nail gun: See the thing is, I'm like Tim the Tool Man.
Toni: In that your home improvement projects invariably end in catastrophe?