Work retail? Me? How'd you guess.

Floating around the internet for a while- always reappearing at about this time each year- is a photo of a sign at Nordstrom. There's actually multiple versions of this photo, taken in different years. It essentially says... well, here:

(Courtesy A Little Ditty and Apartment Therapy, respectively. I know nothing of either of these sites, except they are, as it were, pro Nordstrom signage.)

At first, I was all for this. And then I thought, hang on... the reason stores put up Christmas stuff early is to get your bucks before you give them elsewhere, by reminding you that 'tis the season, bitches!

This, I think falls into the same line of thinking as car manufacturers who keep putting their vehicles out earlier and earlier. These days, you buy a 2013 vehicle in February of 2012. Same with magazines. Weekly magazines can be pulled from the rack a week before the date on the cover. Monthly magazines come out two months before their date.

So, sure, Nordstrom isn't putting up decorations. They're just putting a goddamn sign in your face. "Look at us! We're better! See how we're not mentioning Christmas to you? We're not mentioning Christmas! (Or Black Friday!)"

Back-handed bitch slap, that is. You don't know you've been hit until after the forehand is already on trajectory back to you.

So, yeah, my first objection was my slow realization that I had just been psychologized. And then it hit me. How in the hell do they go from day-before-Thanksgiving-NOT-Christmas to day-after-Thanksgiving-CHRISTMAS? And they prep for Black Friday? Because, I will tell you, Christmasing a store takes hella long. It's an intense process... Please, someone correct me; I want to be wrong on this. I want there to be a way that this store magically converts itself- without making their employees work crazy hours the day before Thanksgiving, or, worse, on Thanksgiving itself.

I'd rather see decorations too early.

Just don't play the music.

Do the right thing, New York Senate.

A little over a year and a half ago, I sort of ripped NYS a new one because of a defeated gay marriage bill. I swore and called names, threw in a minor threat or two...

Today, I am calmly calling for the Senate of New York State to simply look around, notice what the House has noticed. The majority of New York State residents are in favor of gay marriage. This is not a "gay" issue. This is a civil rights issue. This is not a religious issue. This is a civil rights issue.

Do not hide behind arguments of "forcing" churches to provide health care for the spouse of a gay employee. You can take all the semantics and bicker behind closed doors later. For now, recognize that his-and-her marriage is no more valid than his-and-his or her-and-her marriage.

Now's the time, New York.

It's not my least favorite question, but it's in the top ten.

All the damn time:

Me: Emily, can you please go find the XYZ?
Emily: *sigh* Where is it?
Me: Really?

We got dry ice packed in with a shipment at work today.

Apparently I'm rather odd, in that as soon as I saw it, I claimed it. "Oh, I am taking that home!" My coworker looked at me oddly. "You know, you can freeze fruit, shatter it. You can make a spooky cauldron. You can even make root beer!" He gave me that look; you know the one. It says, Okay, sweetie. I'm glad you're excited. You're weird for it, but hey, I'm happy that you're happy.

This is the same reaction I got from a second coworker.

Then, as I was walking out of the building, I passed Kevin. I do so adore Kevin. He gave me the curious look: You have a box. That's not one of our normal boxes. The box has frost on it. Tell me about the box!

I had just the slightest hesitation before telling him about it. Twice bitten, whatnot. But this was Kevin! He did not let me down.

"Ohmygod, dry ice is. so. cool! You can do so many things with it! Like a spooky cauldron. Do we get this in a lot? Where can you even buy dry ice?*"

I love Kevin. But he was not getting my dry ice. He can have the next batch, though, I swear.

I'm gonna stand on this side of the normal line, with Kevin. Life's always more fun over here.

Me, enjoying one of those cool things you can do with dry ice. This is kind of in real time because Sam is taking this photo while I'm writing this post. Also, my husband is a kick-ass bartender.

See the fog? See the frozen lemons? See the tequila?

*Dear those closer to the west coast (okay, mostly Utah). You cannot buy dry ice in supermarkets in the east. I know, this is odd to you. It is, nonetheless, a fact.

I did the friendly thing and did not post this without giving them ample opportunity to respond.

A copy of an email I sent to a company:

Dear Martin's,

What the heck.

Sincerely,
So-Sad-Sarah

And they did nothing! That's it, Martin's! I'm calling you out, for the entire internet to see! For shame! Writhe in the muck that shall now be your reputation!

Sincerely,
So-Sad-Sarah

When is the last time you got excited by mail delivery?

The answer is "not since bills started arriving with my name on them". Who gets excited by mail, past age 13? I'll tell you who- this girl, that's who.

I present to you what I got from one of my fabulous readers (my mom!):

That's right. An entire case of Spreeeeeees!

Of course, Mom is earning herself a reputation. Substitute "waffle maker" for "Sprees", and you get this post from my sister, Lindsey. We really lucked out with that mom of ours.

I had to eventually throw the roll into the back seat of the car.

I was going on a bit of a drive to pick up the kids- off visiting the grandparents. I don't know how it was when you were growing up, but for me, the drive was all about the snacks. As I have zero self-control when it comes to food that is in my vicinity, I knew I was going to stop at some point and stock up on goodies of some sort, so I went with a preemptive strike and stopped before I left town. I got baked chips and Sprite Zero (which is kinda feh, but so is Sprite, thus it's actually somewhat close to the original flavor and is not nearly as aspartamey as a lot of those "zero" or low cal drinks (I'm looking at you, Ocean Spray Sparkling Cranberry.)).

I also got some SweeTarts. What I really wanted were Sprees, which, when I was a kid, was a competing brand to SweeTarts, but apparently Wonka owns them both now? Either Wonka (which I think of as a "he" instead of an "it" or "they") (and the "he" is Gene Wilder, not Johnny Depp) (much as I want to eat him normally) (Depp, not Wilder), is phasing out Sprees, or they are atrociously loathed in my small part of the world. They are not to be found anywhere. So, fine, I bought the SweeTarts. They were my absolute favorite as a child.

I categorically hated them.

I don't think they've changed since I was a child. I think this is my fault. No, wait. I take it back. It's Sam's fault. You see, those SweeTarts tasted oddly similar to those cheap, neon-colored, fruity drinks you get in restaurants that have a "bar". Mind you, I'm not talking about restaurants that have a bar, but a "bar". You know, cute young chick behind the taps who is excellent at twisting a cap off a beer bottle, but you order a martini, and she cocks her head to one side like a confused dog and asks, "Uhm, do you mean an appletini?" No, bitch, I do not.

So then she goes to pull the bartender's guide out from under the bar and you know you're up shit-creek. Here, sweetie, let me teach you an essential life skill. This is a jigger. No, seriously, even if you do find a bottle marked "martini mix", you just leave that where it is.

Now, I admit that there was a short time in my young life when I would have been, "Ooh, yummers! Appletini! Or maybe do you have something pink?"

And then Sam became deeply interested in all things alcohol- including how to mix virtually any cocktail, and stocked our cabinet with thegoodstuff, and now I'm known for returning improperly made margaritas, y'all. Also, there's the possibility that, sometimes, every once in a while, rarely, you might catch me instructing the waiter to have the bartender "taste this" with a sneer on my face.

This takes us back to my car drive and the disturbingly dissatisfying SweeTarts. I taste the first one. Ew, gross. I try a different flavor. Okay, gross, too. Hate blue, skip that. Nope, gross and gross. Okay, lesson learned. I don't like any of the SweeTarts. I know, let me have another one. Yuck. Let's have another. Ohmygod, what is wrong with me? I have no self-control!

Let's have one more.