it's 2:00 a.m.

So sorry, regular readers, that I have been so lax in posting lately. Long hours (and no days off) at Coach make for a less-happy blogging experience. I write you know, even, mere hours before I must rise to do the things I must do prior to heading off to sell some handbaggy goodness. Last week I somehow managed to have the second highest sales volume in the store, so I'm pretty proud of that, and think it goes to show just how far from my super-shy, super-reserved, super-quiet, non-gregarious days I have come. Well, maybe I could still do to talk a bit louder, but it's been working for sales so far.

Fred Savage (from The Wonder Years) stopped in Coach on Saturday, which was quite the treat for me (as one of the only associates who knew who he was), and I talked to him just enough to find out that, no, he did not need help finding anything.

Jewel's "Hands" is fast becoming one of my favorite songs. Or maybe I'm lying. I hear it several times a day, which usually happens only to songs I particularly enjoy; but being on the Coach Holiday playlist, it is one of about ten songs that play repeatedly, and for which I now know note-by-note.

Christmas Muzak already? It is after Thanksgiving, after all.

I'm now listening to some J.S. Bach (The Goldberg Variations) before going to bed...hoping that my children will be smarter because of it. Or at the very least recognize some classical music when they hear it--unlike much of the population, who couldn't tell you the difference between Stravinsky and Tchaikovsky if their life depended on it.

Tragedy, I say. Tragedy.


Books I will one day write:

I Respect That You Like That, But You Should Know It Is Crap

and

I Know You Think It Sucks, But You Are Wrong




my hands are small, I know, but they're not yours, they are my own