The French Embassy church in St. Petersburg. Really? Okay. I just looked up the word there for church and it seems to specify the Catholic church. That makes sense. It’s also kind of annoying, isn’t it? Eastern Orthodox is bad enough, but papists? For a country full of atheists, it’s amazing how many fucking churches there are in Russia. I swear we were taken on a tour of a stupid church like every other day when I visited. Unless it was only once or twice and it was sooooooooooooooo boring that it just seemed like it was happening all the time.
Well, France, you go ahead and enjoy your dumb little church.
This is another stupid one. The Nightmare Begins. That’s dumb. I liked being 30 and being in my 30s. It was much better than my 20s. I wish I could remember what I did when I turned 30, and unfortunately, I don’t think there’s anyone who can remind me of what I did. I have a sense that I went to The Earle in Ann Arbor, but that might just be because I was recently in Ann Arbor and walked by The Earle. I remember exactly what I did for my 40th and 50th birthdays, but I don’t have any pins for those days.
As you may recall from an earlier post, I used to work at Sprint. Remember? It was GTE Sprint and then US Sprint and now it’s Sprint. Prediction: in 2050, it will be known simply as Sp.
My supervisor at Sprint, hmmm, let’s call her Delores, was a woman in her late 30s (I was in my late 20s then) with, hmmm, let’s say “freethinking,” morals. Now don’t get me wrong. I LOVE women who sleep with lots of men, or other women for that matter, and still think it’s pretty progressive. In this respect, I am a true feminist!
Anyway, Delores was the person who taught me how to be completely inappropriate at work. And here, I issue a warning that the following anecdote mentions dildos and gaping assholes, so if that kind of thing offends you, please remove yourself so you do not become disgusted by reading about dildos and gaping assholes.
So anyway, Delores was a freethinking, divorced, modern woman. Well, not necessarily modern, but she certainly drank and fucked a lot which is about as modern as you could get in Detroit in 1985. We would go out drinking after work sometimes and she told the most interesting stories about her ex-husband.
Whenever she spoke of her ex, I would imagine a toothless, gaunt, old man from Deliverance. If she went out with friends at night, or was even late from work, upon arriving home, he would make her pull up her skirt or pull down her pants, pull down her underwear and he would feel her genitals to determine if she had been out having sex. True Michigan liberation!
Delores often speculated if her ex was gay. He LOVED to get on all fours and have her shove a VERY LARGE dildo up his ass. She would describe how large his gaping asshole would open by holding up both hands (she had small hands, mind you) to show a circumference of about 8 inches. I speculated that he was one of the many straight men who loved having large dildos shoved up his ass.
She also gave me a great recipe for sugared and roasted pecans.
Old Russia. I don’t got much here. It’s Russia. It’s old. And what the hell is the blobby thing on the right. This has to be Soviet for the production value to be that bad. Oh. I guess another hint would be the hammer and sickle.
I had the unfortunate luck to work at Blockbuster during the height of their censorship era in the early 90s. Having just moved to LA during the last major recession in 1990 — or was that two recessions ago? — I had some difficulty finding a job. My then-partner, Jim, was working, and I really didn’t need to get a part-time-minimum-wage-paying job like at Blockbuster, but who could resist the allure of the “Cast Member” job title??!!
Blockbuster was the only job EVER where I was written up for disciplinary reasons. One of my functions there was to call people to remind them of overdue movies. It was considered a courtesy and not a nag-y thing. So I called this one lady and she was adamant that she had never checked out the movies I called about. I told her I would give the account to the manager, but she would have none of it. She was being a shrill, fucking, bitch and I hated her intensely, and she would NOT let me get off the phone. Obviously, I was just a peon, and obviously, she was just an abusive cunt. Oops. So anyway, I hung up on her and she called back and complained about me and the manager wrote me up.
Now guess what happened about two months later? The manager was FIRED for checking out movies to random accounts and STEALING the movies. So that woman who was a bitch to me was telling the truth, but taking it out on the wrong person. So I not only hate the manager for putting me in that position, but hate her very guts as well for her inappropriate anger towards me, a peon.
And in conclusion, I hate Blockbuster. However, I will not get rid of the keychain.
I’m pretty sure I’ve had this stupid pin since high school so that would place it somewhere in the late 70s. Who would ever wear such a stupid fucking pin. And how poorly drawn are these monkees anyway? The End.
There must have been a glut of pins leftover from the 1980 Olympics. I think this one is kind of ugly, actually. I don’t like the shape. I think the colors are a bit off in that cheap way that was unique to the Soviets and their satellite countries. It kind of looks like the enamel equivalent of a shitty color picture from a 1960s cookbook.
Pins should be presented unadulterated, but Lenin practically screamed for a pork pie hat. I mean, look at him. He is a total hipster. I can just imagine him rummaging through the bins of used records at Amoeba or reading David Foster Wallace. Actually, I just thought it would be fun to put a pork pie hat on Lenin’s head. And wasn’t that the dream of every Russian peasant in 1917?