And in case you aren't able to grasp the joy.
Can't you almost taste the bananas?
Monday, June 30
And I Encourage This Because...?
And in case you aren't able to grasp the joy.
Can't you almost taste the bananas?
Sunday, June 29
I'm at a Loss for Words.
Yesterday at work, the owners passed out a two-page single-spaced typed letter that had been mailed, I guess, to the salon. It was from a client I had massaged complaining about her day of services. Oh, she liked her massage from what I heard but she did not like her facial at all. Her facial was done by my friend. She had been scheduled to do a pedicure in the middle of this client's facial. The owners/receptionists do this crap all the time. Make the aestheticians leave one facial to do a waxing or another facial; poor girls, running around like crazy people. I'd be so confused I'd probably give someone's butt a facial and accidentally wax off their eyebrows.
My friend reminded the owner that she had been booked a pedicure during that facial (the client had complained about being left alone for so long) and he said, "We would never do that." She said, "Yes, you did. It was a regular client of mine (a client that had had such a horrible experience there on her first visit that she swore to never come back, but my friend offered to fix the problem and now this woman is a regular of hers)." He said, "I'll have to go back and look at the appointment book." Customer's always right, I guess, and my friend is a big fat liar.
I couldn't believe they had made five copies of this letter and were handing it out for everyone to read. It was no one's business but the people mentioned in the letter. They should've pulled us, or just my friend, aside privately and discussed it with us. My friend was so upset. The owner said, "Did you read the letter?" to me. I said, "Nope." A girl reading it said, "She liked her massage." I said, "Well, I'm a healer." I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of reading that crap.
So here's the question:
1) Do I quit with two weeks notice knowing that they'll either:
a) tell me to leave right then and not come back, and jeopardize not getting tips or my paycheck,
b) not book me any clients for the last two weeks, book me nonstop for the last two weeks, book me fake clients who just happen to not show up/I don't know where she could be, I confirmed this appointment myself blah blah blah, or book me a client a day at a random hour and make it very difficult on me to enjoy my last two weeks, if that is even possible.
2) Or do I quit on a Wednesday when the pay period ends and not give two weeks notice and go back two days later for my check?
Recently a receptionist put in her two weeks and they called her a few days into those two weeks and told her not to come in to work. Usually when salon or spa people quit, my friend told me they pretty much say get your stuff and get out.
My friend recently asked off for Wednesdays because they're not busy and she could pick up and extra day of babysitting. They've since treated her terribly, yesterday's drama is a great example of that. I am convinced the client is a friend of the owner's and they asked her to write a letter complaining about my friend. I told her to type up a list of all the wonderful things she's done for them and hand the list out to everyone at work and then tell them to suck big hairy dog balls and walk out. But not before she calls me because I don't want to miss it. And I want to quit as well. It'll be too boring without her there.
You decide. 1 or 2?
My friend reminded the owner that she had been booked a pedicure during that facial (the client had complained about being left alone for so long) and he said, "We would never do that." She said, "Yes, you did. It was a regular client of mine (a client that had had such a horrible experience there on her first visit that she swore to never come back, but my friend offered to fix the problem and now this woman is a regular of hers)." He said, "I'll have to go back and look at the appointment book." Customer's always right, I guess, and my friend is a big fat liar.
I couldn't believe they had made five copies of this letter and were handing it out for everyone to read. It was no one's business but the people mentioned in the letter. They should've pulled us, or just my friend, aside privately and discussed it with us. My friend was so upset. The owner said, "Did you read the letter?" to me. I said, "Nope." A girl reading it said, "She liked her massage." I said, "Well, I'm a healer." I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of reading that crap.
So here's the question:
1) Do I quit with two weeks notice knowing that they'll either:
a) tell me to leave right then and not come back, and jeopardize not getting tips or my paycheck,
b) not book me any clients for the last two weeks, book me nonstop for the last two weeks, book me fake clients who just happen to not show up/I don't know where she could be, I confirmed this appointment myself blah blah blah, or book me a client a day at a random hour and make it very difficult on me to enjoy my last two weeks, if that is even possible.
2) Or do I quit on a Wednesday when the pay period ends and not give two weeks notice and go back two days later for my check?
Recently a receptionist put in her two weeks and they called her a few days into those two weeks and told her not to come in to work. Usually when salon or spa people quit, my friend told me they pretty much say get your stuff and get out.
My friend recently asked off for Wednesdays because they're not busy and she could pick up and extra day of babysitting. They've since treated her terribly, yesterday's drama is a great example of that. I am convinced the client is a friend of the owner's and they asked her to write a letter complaining about my friend. I told her to type up a list of all the wonderful things she's done for them and hand the list out to everyone at work and then tell them to suck big hairy dog balls and walk out. But not before she calls me because I don't want to miss it. And I want to quit as well. It'll be too boring without her there.
You decide. 1 or 2?
Saturday, June 28
Hi, 1979. Um...You Suck.
I went to the gas station today to fill 'er up, which means, I got three quarters of a tank of gas. I had cash with me and I couldn't pry more than $30 from my paws. I noticed that the person who had used my pump just before got five dollars in gas; a mere 1.2722 gallons of gas. When I got my license gas was seventy-four cents a gallon at Thornton's on Industrial Road. Don't believe me? Watch Die Hard. It was made in 1988. Look for the sign at the gas station. French toast! Here I go again. Acting all old and stuff. Last time I went to the movies I was appalled at the price of one ticket. I told the kid at the window, "You know when I was your age...." That's about as far as I got before she walked away.
I went inside to pay, because I could. Baby was with grandma and I didn't have to leave her in the car while I hung out inside the air conditioned gas station to cool off with in front of the beer cooler opening the door and fingering all my favorite six packs I never get to drink anymore. I glanced over and spotted the fountain drink machine. Ooh. I loves me some fountain drink. On my way over, I noticed this particular fountain offers a choice of fifteen different drink options. But right before you reach the counter, the sneaky little shop owner installed an Icee machine. Holy moly! I haven't had one of these since I don't know when. I got a small one, stuck my giant straw that's nearly as wide and tall as me into the cup and took a huge gulp. And boy...did it ever taste like yesterday's finished toilet paper roll. Good gravy. (If yesterday's post didn't tip you off, I've taken to replacing all swear words with food items. Think of it as culinary sabotage for baby.) I got up to the counter and said, "This isn't as good as I remember it being when I was a kid." The woman said, "It's better with vodka." I'm sure it is. I told her I'd pay for it but that I couldn't drink it and went and got a fountain Mug root beer instead. She was very nice. Didn't make me pay for the Icee. I wanted to tell the woman that one day I'd most likely be back with a child who would be screaming her head off to have one of those Icees and for her to please remind me it's better with vodka then, too.
On my way to pick baby up from grandma's, I drove on the highway behind a Blazer with its back window rolled down. (I didn't know they still designed them that way, so I'm thinking it was about as old as it looked.) Five kids were piled in the back, without seat belts, jumping around and waving to cars. Good gourd, people! Have you no sense? My cousins and I did this when we were kids, reenacting murder scenes we'd planned out for the cars driving behind us. My aunt had something with a hatchback. Was it a station wagon? I can't remember. Anyhoo, we'd stab each other and fall over and then crawl around to change positions for our new characters. I'm sure it wasn't the least bit distracting for my aunt and uncle, and whoever was driving behind us. What did we know? It was before 1980, when the world was just lucky to still be populated.
I went inside to pay, because I could. Baby was with grandma and I didn't have to leave her in the car while I hung out inside the air conditioned gas station to cool off with in front of the beer cooler opening the door and fingering all my favorite six packs I never get to drink anymore. I glanced over and spotted the fountain drink machine. Ooh. I loves me some fountain drink. On my way over, I noticed this particular fountain offers a choice of fifteen different drink options. But right before you reach the counter, the sneaky little shop owner installed an Icee machine. Holy moly! I haven't had one of these since I don't know when. I got a small one, stuck my giant straw that's nearly as wide and tall as me into the cup and took a huge gulp. And boy...did it ever taste like yesterday's finished toilet paper roll. Good gravy. (If yesterday's post didn't tip you off, I've taken to replacing all swear words with food items. Think of it as culinary sabotage for baby.) I got up to the counter and said, "This isn't as good as I remember it being when I was a kid." The woman said, "It's better with vodka." I'm sure it is. I told her I'd pay for it but that I couldn't drink it and went and got a fountain Mug root beer instead. She was very nice. Didn't make me pay for the Icee. I wanted to tell the woman that one day I'd most likely be back with a child who would be screaming her head off to have one of those Icees and for her to please remind me it's better with vodka then, too.
On my way to pick baby up from grandma's, I drove on the highway behind a Blazer with its back window rolled down. (I didn't know they still designed them that way, so I'm thinking it was about as old as it looked.) Five kids were piled in the back, without seat belts, jumping around and waving to cars. Good gourd, people! Have you no sense? My cousins and I did this when we were kids, reenacting murder scenes we'd planned out for the cars driving behind us. My aunt had something with a hatchback. Was it a station wagon? I can't remember. Anyhoo, we'd stab each other and fall over and then crawl around to change positions for our new characters. I'm sure it wasn't the least bit distracting for my aunt and uncle, and whoever was driving behind us. What did we know? It was before 1980, when the world was just lucky to still be populated.
Friday, June 27
What the Celery, Yo?
For the past few days, my clients have been handing me my tips. What gives? Am I being tested? Is this some kind of sick joke? Are the owners going to call me one night and tell me that I client mistakenly gave me a $40 tip when she actually meant to give me nothing? She didn't lay it on the bed to make me feel like a cheap prostitute and I didn't take it and say if this is hooking then call me a felon? Well...I'll admit it. I'm thrown. Four clients in a row hand me four tips. Come on!! What is the problem with these people?
So the first lady slept the whole time and snored really loudly. She kept waking herself up and playing it off like she hadn't just sawed down a Redwood. She left the money laying on the table and walked out. She was getting a manicure after. I felt like I should go out and ask her if she'd made a mistake. I did this once with a table I was waiting on when I was serving. The guy gave me an outrageous tip and I thought for sure he'd miscounted. I think he was offended I tried to give him some of it back.
The second client didn't say a word the whole time, which was a surprise because the owner said she was a real talker. She came out of the room and handed me the money and left. I found her to be of few words.
The next client was a man. He did the we'd-like-a-table-here's-20-bucks-see-what-you-can-do-maitre d' slimy handshake where I walked away and looked down to find a sweaty bill stuck to my palm.
The last client was a...it has to be said...weirdo. But very nice. She was wandering around lost in the nail area. I was finishing my bbq chips and pretzel lunch. A coworker came back and told me my client, who would be her client for a manicure later, was very...confused. Great. I said, "Five dollars says I see this woman's vagina before the end of the massage." And sure enough, if I hadn't told her to leave her underwear on--because I've been through this before, you see--I certainly would have seen her danger zone. She laid on the bed and left the covers in a pile down by her feet. People! I give EXPLICIT directions! What are you doing???? It's only the two of us in here. How can you not follow along?? Ugh. Yet, she too handed me a tip.
I need to get to the bottom of this. Something is not right. I just know it. And don't you love how when something good happens I just assume it has to be evil in disguise. Do you see what this place has done to me?
So the first lady slept the whole time and snored really loudly. She kept waking herself up and playing it off like she hadn't just sawed down a Redwood. She left the money laying on the table and walked out. She was getting a manicure after. I felt like I should go out and ask her if she'd made a mistake. I did this once with a table I was waiting on when I was serving. The guy gave me an outrageous tip and I thought for sure he'd miscounted. I think he was offended I tried to give him some of it back.
The second client didn't say a word the whole time, which was a surprise because the owner said she was a real talker. She came out of the room and handed me the money and left. I found her to be of few words.
The next client was a man. He did the we'd-like-a-table-here's-20-bucks-see-what-you-can-do-maitre d' slimy handshake where I walked away and looked down to find a sweaty bill stuck to my palm.
The last client was a...it has to be said...weirdo. But very nice. She was wandering around lost in the nail area. I was finishing my bbq chips and pretzel lunch. A coworker came back and told me my client, who would be her client for a manicure later, was very...confused. Great. I said, "Five dollars says I see this woman's vagina before the end of the massage." And sure enough, if I hadn't told her to leave her underwear on--because I've been through this before, you see--I certainly would have seen her danger zone. She laid on the bed and left the covers in a pile down by her feet. People! I give EXPLICIT directions! What are you doing???? It's only the two of us in here. How can you not follow along?? Ugh. Yet, she too handed me a tip.
I need to get to the bottom of this. Something is not right. I just know it. And don't you love how when something good happens I just assume it has to be evil in disguise. Do you see what this place has done to me?
Thursday, June 26
Awww. No. But Thank for Asking.
This was the unplanned, unrehearsed, off-the-cuff response I gave to a friend who asked me if I'd like to go see The Color Purple. She said, "Okay," and kind of laughed. Then she thanked me for my honesty. A few weeks later, I asked how the musical was and told her I was really sorry about my response. It even took me by surprise. I'm not a huge fan of Oprah and I know I shouldn't say that in case I ever publish my book in which case I am a gigantic fan of Oprah's and would be honored to be a guest on her show prior to her Favorite Things episode where she will gladly give away free copies of my book to an audience full of women who will be so overcome with joy and gladness that they fall into the aisles and genuflect at her feet which won't phase her because she's already used to people doing that but my book gift will make it all the more special. Anyhoo...
My friend said, "Oh, it was great. And I got three more responses just like yours after that." Whoa. So it wasn't just me. Awe. Some.
The lesson to be learned here, children, is that I said 'no' when I didn't want to do something. Not "sure" and then stressed about how much I didn't want to do it for days until that evening came and I laid on the bed crying wishing I could somehow get out of it only to have my mom stand at the door and tell me how my date is on his way and that she didn't spend all that time sewing my prom dress for me to stay at home because I didn't like my date anymore. Wait. What was I talking about? Oh yeah. Oprah. No. Wait....
Well, I've clearly got a lot to learn about other things, too. Like promising to do something without really thinking it through first. Wednesday morning I had an appointment at 9 a.m. to have the certified car seat fireman correctly install baby's new chariot. After I left I thought was I supposed to tip him? I mean, I know it's a service they offer, but I'm so wrapped up in people being completely and utterly socially inept where tipping is concerned that I got all cloudy and disoriented. I dialed the number of the fire department and found myself telling Adam, The Car Seat Whisperer, that I would like to treat them to lunch on Friday.
This leads me to my first question: Why do I talk with my mouth? What don't I ever shuttup? That's two questions. What's my freaking problem? Three questions.
So, tomorrow is D-Day. Delivery Day. Only, when I called to see how much it would be to order pizzas from my favorite pizza place, they informed me the fire house is out of their delivery range. I panicked. Noooo! But you have the best pizza!!! Kid said, "Okay. We'll do it." Oh? Really? That was easy. Let's try this. It's for the firemen, as a kind gesture. "Okay. $75." Holy mother of God. I've gone without dairy for so long that I've completely forgotten that pizzas are like...not free. Holy shit. $75? I told him that was a little steep. How about cheese pizzas? Two cheese and three pepperoni? "Okay. $55." What? Argh. "Will you be there to sign the credit card slip?" Erm...no. Alright. This is clearly not the way to go. And by the way, Okay? Your pizza isn't that good. I was just being nice.
On to the next idea. Coneys! Yes. Skyline! Firemen love Skyline. I saw them eating them in the commercial. Though...I'm pretty sure it was a commercial for Gold Star. Maybe not. No. It was definitely Skyline. I know it wasn't Dixie Chili. That's the place that makes you puke thirty-six times in four hours all over the brand new carpet your parents just had installed in your bedroom and when you tell your mom you need to go to the hospital and she tells you to 'Get ready' and you say you are ready and then she says 'You must be sick' and then you're catheterized in one hospital and moved to Children's where you refuse to stay because you hate hospitals and the nurse tells your mom she doesn't advise your leaving but she can't force you to stay and then the nurse tells you you can keep the Care Bear she gave you as long as you don't tell anyone and you inform her that you're freaking fifteen years old and her secret will remain unspoken inside those hospital walls. Forty coneys: $63.60 + tax. Next.
Pulled-pork sammiches from the famous Montgomery Inn...famous? Anything thought of as "famous" won't be cheap. Place call to fire department. How many firemen will be there at lunch time tomorrow? Eleven?!? Eleven sammiches: $93.50 + tax. It's for the firemen. It's a kind gesture. "Oh? You didn't say firemen. They could eat two a piece." Moving on.
Dude. Eleven firemen? I was thinking five, tops. Eleven? Nothing ever happens in Ft. Mitchell. Eleven? Crap. Okay. How about White Castles? What guy doesn't love White Castles? They have those huge boxes of burgers. How much could that cost? I think the lady said $36 and some change for thirty burgers. May I ask you another question? "Yes?" How many burgers does the average man order when he comes in by himself? Ten? Six? "(muffled laughter) Yes. Somewhere between six and ten." I'm trying to do something nice for some firemen. Great. Thirty in one box. Ten per fireman. What the hell!!! Come on people! Work with me!!!! Someone needs to just give this shit away! Hasn't anyone heard of CHAIR. IT. TEA??? Jaysus. Where are the damned Charitable Person Discounts? Now that I think of it...I know what White Castles does to my insides. I don't know if it does it to anyone else, but leave it to me to buy them on the ONE day there actually is an emergency in Ft. Mitchell and the firemen can't come because they're all in the bathroom curled up in the fetal position. I don't want that on my conscience.
So I caught a couple of friends online. We instant messaged back and forth forever and decided maybe something homemade would be better. Sandwiches. Cheap. Bologna? I cannot show up there with bologna. Salami? Lettuce? Banana peppers? Cheese? All good. Then you have to buy mayo, mustard. Chips. Bread. Maybe a bundt cake for dessert?
Bundt cake? What the hell? They're firemen not flaming drag queens. No guy wants a cake in the shape of a freaking flower. Ugh. I cannot take it!
Meatloaf? Crimeny. I'd have to make at least three. Chili? It's freaking 90 degrees. Though I do make a damn good chili (Thank you, mom.) and my grandmother taught me when it's hot outside you should eat something hot because it will cool you off and she was right. Ask my cousin, Theresa. Alas, it's a no-go. I don't have a pot big enough for the appetite of eleven men, and they'd certainly want seconds.
Finally, I settled on store-bought lasagna. Two of those huge things. A bag of bread sticks. And Reese Cups or cookies or something. Actually, I didn't settle. My friend suggested it. And since I now have a client when they should be getting their lunch, and baby's is already fast asleep dreaming of being the queen of her daycare, my dear friend offered to go buy the lasagna, etc., heat it for me tomorrow morning, leave her work and deliver the food herself. Now that's a good friend. She is hot and single. I told her to get a date or seven while she's there. Maybe she will meet a hot fireman. They're all hot, right? I've seen the calendars. They're smokin' hot (pun intended). Perhaps she'll meet someone and all this madness will have been for a good reason.
And now I'm going to drive myself crazy coming up with a way to thank her. I'm thinking PB&J with the crusts peeled off. (inside joke)
edit: A friend offered to get the pizzas for the firemen so our poor friend wouldn't have to do something so ridiculous. I honestly don't know how my poor friend got dragged into this fiasco in the first place. Oh yeah. I did that. Anyway, massages all-around for everyone involved. Five alarm situation extinguished.
Someone please remind me charity starts at home. Mom? Are you there?
My friend said, "Oh, it was great. And I got three more responses just like yours after that." Whoa. So it wasn't just me. Awe. Some.
The lesson to be learned here, children, is that I said 'no' when I didn't want to do something. Not "sure" and then stressed about how much I didn't want to do it for days until that evening came and I laid on the bed crying wishing I could somehow get out of it only to have my mom stand at the door and tell me how my date is on his way and that she didn't spend all that time sewing my prom dress for me to stay at home because I didn't like my date anymore. Wait. What was I talking about? Oh yeah. Oprah. No. Wait....
Well, I've clearly got a lot to learn about other things, too. Like promising to do something without really thinking it through first. Wednesday morning I had an appointment at 9 a.m. to have the certified car seat fireman correctly install baby's new chariot. After I left I thought was I supposed to tip him? I mean, I know it's a service they offer, but I'm so wrapped up in people being completely and utterly socially inept where tipping is concerned that I got all cloudy and disoriented. I dialed the number of the fire department and found myself telling Adam, The Car Seat Whisperer, that I would like to treat them to lunch on Friday.
This leads me to my first question: Why do I talk with my mouth? What don't I ever shuttup? That's two questions. What's my freaking problem? Three questions.
So, tomorrow is D-Day. Delivery Day. Only, when I called to see how much it would be to order pizzas from my favorite pizza place, they informed me the fire house is out of their delivery range. I panicked. Noooo! But you have the best pizza!!! Kid said, "Okay. We'll do it." Oh? Really? That was easy. Let's try this. It's for the firemen, as a kind gesture. "Okay. $75." Holy mother of God. I've gone without dairy for so long that I've completely forgotten that pizzas are like...not free. Holy shit. $75? I told him that was a little steep. How about cheese pizzas? Two cheese and three pepperoni? "Okay. $55." What? Argh. "Will you be there to sign the credit card slip?" Erm...no. Alright. This is clearly not the way to go. And by the way, Okay? Your pizza isn't that good. I was just being nice.
On to the next idea. Coneys! Yes. Skyline! Firemen love Skyline. I saw them eating them in the commercial. Though...I'm pretty sure it was a commercial for Gold Star. Maybe not. No. It was definitely Skyline. I know it wasn't Dixie Chili. That's the place that makes you puke thirty-six times in four hours all over the brand new carpet your parents just had installed in your bedroom and when you tell your mom you need to go to the hospital and she tells you to 'Get ready' and you say you are ready and then she says 'You must be sick' and then you're catheterized in one hospital and moved to Children's where you refuse to stay because you hate hospitals and the nurse tells your mom she doesn't advise your leaving but she can't force you to stay and then the nurse tells you you can keep the Care Bear she gave you as long as you don't tell anyone and you inform her that you're freaking fifteen years old and her secret will remain unspoken inside those hospital walls. Forty coneys: $63.60 + tax. Next.
Pulled-pork sammiches from the famous Montgomery Inn...famous? Anything thought of as "famous" won't be cheap. Place call to fire department. How many firemen will be there at lunch time tomorrow? Eleven?!? Eleven sammiches: $93.50 + tax. It's for the firemen. It's a kind gesture. "Oh? You didn't say firemen. They could eat two a piece." Moving on.
Dude. Eleven firemen? I was thinking five, tops. Eleven? Nothing ever happens in Ft. Mitchell. Eleven? Crap. Okay. How about White Castles? What guy doesn't love White Castles? They have those huge boxes of burgers. How much could that cost? I think the lady said $36 and some change for thirty burgers. May I ask you another question? "Yes?" How many burgers does the average man order when he comes in by himself? Ten? Six? "(muffled laughter) Yes. Somewhere between six and ten." I'm trying to do something nice for some firemen. Great. Thirty in one box. Ten per fireman. What the hell!!! Come on people! Work with me!!!! Someone needs to just give this shit away! Hasn't anyone heard of CHAIR. IT. TEA??? Jaysus. Where are the damned Charitable Person Discounts? Now that I think of it...I know what White Castles does to my insides. I don't know if it does it to anyone else, but leave it to me to buy them on the ONE day there actually is an emergency in Ft. Mitchell and the firemen can't come because they're all in the bathroom curled up in the fetal position. I don't want that on my conscience.
So I caught a couple of friends online. We instant messaged back and forth forever and decided maybe something homemade would be better. Sandwiches. Cheap. Bologna? I cannot show up there with bologna. Salami? Lettuce? Banana peppers? Cheese? All good. Then you have to buy mayo, mustard. Chips. Bread. Maybe a bundt cake for dessert?
Bundt cake? What the hell? They're firemen not flaming drag queens. No guy wants a cake in the shape of a freaking flower. Ugh. I cannot take it!
Meatloaf? Crimeny. I'd have to make at least three. Chili? It's freaking 90 degrees. Though I do make a damn good chili (Thank you, mom.) and my grandmother taught me when it's hot outside you should eat something hot because it will cool you off and she was right. Ask my cousin, Theresa. Alas, it's a no-go. I don't have a pot big enough for the appetite of eleven men, and they'd certainly want seconds.
Finally, I settled on store-bought lasagna. Two of those huge things. A bag of bread sticks. And Reese Cups or cookies or something. Actually, I didn't settle. My friend suggested it. And since I now have a client when they should be getting their lunch, and baby's is already fast asleep dreaming of being the queen of her daycare, my dear friend offered to go buy the lasagna, etc., heat it for me tomorrow morning, leave her work and deliver the food herself. Now that's a good friend. She is hot and single. I told her to get a date or seven while she's there. Maybe she will meet a hot fireman. They're all hot, right? I've seen the calendars. They're smokin' hot (pun intended). Perhaps she'll meet someone and all this madness will have been for a good reason.
And now I'm going to drive myself crazy coming up with a way to thank her. I'm thinking PB&J with the crusts peeled off. (inside joke)
edit: A friend offered to get the pizzas for the firemen so our poor friend wouldn't have to do something so ridiculous. I honestly don't know how my poor friend got dragged into this fiasco in the first place. Oh yeah. I did that. Anyway, massages all-around for everyone involved. Five alarm situation extinguished.
Someone please remind me charity starts at home. Mom? Are you there?
Wednesday, June 25
Oh, Dear God. Someone Hold Me.
Huddy started daycare today. It's right up the street. It's inner city, but absolutely the loveliest little school ever, with the sweetest teachers and the cutest kids! I had it narrowed down to this school and another school in a more chic neighborhood, who named themselves after the neighborhood which they believe gives them license to charge a ridiculous amount of money, even though I am sure the majority of the kids attending do not live in that area.
I was all set to take her to the more ritzy school, until I called to ask a few questions from my list of 167 questions and was promptly hung up on...five times. Finally got an answer and I asked if something was wrong with their phone. The director said, "No. I was on the other line with a doctor and I didn't want to hang up on him." Okaaaaay. Understandable. Why not just say, "Hello? Ritzy Overpriced School. Is this an emergency or can you hold please?" I told her that concerned me. What if I'd had an emergency and my child was there? She said, "Well, I didn't want to hang up on him, so what can I do for you?"
This was the topper, the straw you might say. I just had a feeling. I think I chose the right school in the end.
Last night, Huddy went to bed at 8 p.m. She woke up three times before 11 p.m. I got her back down each time until she finally woke at 1 a.m. Then again at 4 a.m. And that was the worst. She was NOT going back to sleep. omg I was so tired. I nursed her. Talked to her. Scratched her back. Rocked her. No go. I was terrified that we'd be up for the rest of the day. I, unlike baby, am not used to not sleeping, even though I haven't slept through the night in over 19 months.
Then it hit me! She has First Day of School Jitters! Just as her mommy always did! So I didn't fault her, even though she got up close to 8 a.m. finally, and I had to be at the fire department for help with the new car seat at 9 a.m. I jammed food into her little noggin and ran out the door. No wonder the poor thing is sleeping already. I honestly don't know if she has any clue what the hell happened to her today.
I went today and hung out with baby for an hour. She started playing immediately. There are only four kids in her section, though I've only seen two boys there the two times I'd been inside to check the place out. Huddy really took to a woman who has three grandchildren. I think she can smell a grandma from a mile away. Speaking of which, she now smells like powder and vanilla. Must be that woman's perfume, because a little boy smelled just like it. I held him for a bit and he was so snuggly. Two months younger than baby and honestly three times her size. As is the other boy. She is the only one crawling and standing in her section.
Finally, I decided I should go so she could get used to not having me there. I picked her up to give her a big smooch and she said, "Put me down, woman! I was playing with that and you're embarrassing me!!" So I set her back on the floor and walked to the door. All the teachers were saying, "You'll be alright. She's going to be just fine. I know it's hard." So I said, "Baby girl. I'm leaving. I love you so much." And blew her a kiss. She took her pacifier out, put her hand to her mouth and blew me three kisses. Everyone went crazy yelling Oh my gosh! and Did you see that? She blew her a kiss! It was pretty adorable.
So I walked out the door, to my car and didn't even cry. I am such a big girl!
I called to check on her an hour later and she was sleeping, which is a great sign because it's kind of loud and crazy in there. But I really think she loved it. When I got there to pick her up she was getting a diaper change. I kissed her little toes and poked her on her belly and she didn't even look at me. She was too busy watching the toddlers.
I feel so good about this place. I think I made the right choice. I have to have her there by 9 a.m. and my first client isn't until 1 p.m. What the hell am I going to do with myself? Baby's godmother told me today to get out of my apartment and go run errands because if I'm home I'll just keep saying I might as well go get her if I'm here. Which is exactly what I was saying. Why am I here letting someone else raise my child? Dear God, help me when she has to go to kindergarten. What will I be like then?? I don't even want to think about it. Hopefully, I'll be teaching in her school district. Maybe even her school. That would be great! Maybe not for her, but definitely for me. Then I won't feel like I never see her but for four hours a day.
Which is all I've seen her awake today. She's sleeping in her crib right now. She fell asleep in the car and didn't wake up all the way into the apartment. Which has me a little freaked out. Please don't sleep all night and wake at 3 a.m. thinking it's 7 a.m.
I will certainly cry then.
I was all set to take her to the more ritzy school, until I called to ask a few questions from my list of 167 questions and was promptly hung up on...five times. Finally got an answer and I asked if something was wrong with their phone. The director said, "No. I was on the other line with a doctor and I didn't want to hang up on him." Okaaaaay. Understandable. Why not just say, "Hello? Ritzy Overpriced School. Is this an emergency or can you hold please?" I told her that concerned me. What if I'd had an emergency and my child was there? She said, "Well, I didn't want to hang up on him, so what can I do for you?"
This was the topper, the straw you might say. I just had a feeling. I think I chose the right school in the end.
Last night, Huddy went to bed at 8 p.m. She woke up three times before 11 p.m. I got her back down each time until she finally woke at 1 a.m. Then again at 4 a.m. And that was the worst. She was NOT going back to sleep. omg I was so tired. I nursed her. Talked to her. Scratched her back. Rocked her. No go. I was terrified that we'd be up for the rest of the day. I, unlike baby, am not used to not sleeping, even though I haven't slept through the night in over 19 months.
Then it hit me! She has First Day of School Jitters! Just as her mommy always did! So I didn't fault her, even though she got up close to 8 a.m. finally, and I had to be at the fire department for help with the new car seat at 9 a.m. I jammed food into her little noggin and ran out the door. No wonder the poor thing is sleeping already. I honestly don't know if she has any clue what the hell happened to her today.
I went today and hung out with baby for an hour. She started playing immediately. There are only four kids in her section, though I've only seen two boys there the two times I'd been inside to check the place out. Huddy really took to a woman who has three grandchildren. I think she can smell a grandma from a mile away. Speaking of which, she now smells like powder and vanilla. Must be that woman's perfume, because a little boy smelled just like it. I held him for a bit and he was so snuggly. Two months younger than baby and honestly three times her size. As is the other boy. She is the only one crawling and standing in her section.
Finally, I decided I should go so she could get used to not having me there. I picked her up to give her a big smooch and she said, "Put me down, woman! I was playing with that and you're embarrassing me!!" So I set her back on the floor and walked to the door. All the teachers were saying, "You'll be alright. She's going to be just fine. I know it's hard." So I said, "Baby girl. I'm leaving. I love you so much." And blew her a kiss. She took her pacifier out, put her hand to her mouth and blew me three kisses. Everyone went crazy yelling Oh my gosh! and Did you see that? She blew her a kiss! It was pretty adorable.
So I walked out the door, to my car and didn't even cry. I am such a big girl!
I called to check on her an hour later and she was sleeping, which is a great sign because it's kind of loud and crazy in there. But I really think she loved it. When I got there to pick her up she was getting a diaper change. I kissed her little toes and poked her on her belly and she didn't even look at me. She was too busy watching the toddlers.
I feel so good about this place. I think I made the right choice. I have to have her there by 9 a.m. and my first client isn't until 1 p.m. What the hell am I going to do with myself? Baby's godmother told me today to get out of my apartment and go run errands because if I'm home I'll just keep saying I might as well go get her if I'm here. Which is exactly what I was saying. Why am I here letting someone else raise my child? Dear God, help me when she has to go to kindergarten. What will I be like then?? I don't even want to think about it. Hopefully, I'll be teaching in her school district. Maybe even her school. That would be great! Maybe not for her, but definitely for me. Then I won't feel like I never see her but for four hours a day.
Which is all I've seen her awake today. She's sleeping in her crib right now. She fell asleep in the car and didn't wake up all the way into the apartment. Which has me a little freaked out. Please don't sleep all night and wake at 3 a.m. thinking it's 7 a.m.
I will certainly cry then.
Monday, June 23
RIP George Carlin. Profanity to Follow.
I'm so sad he passed away, but so proud of him for going to the doctor when he realized he didn't feel well. So many men ignore problems and "brush it off" or "tough it out." I wish it would've ended positively.
I really liked his sense of humor. I loved him in years ago in The George Carlin Show and more recently in Aristocrats and Jersey Girl. In the latter, as Ben Affleck's father, he really tugged at the heartstrings. I would've probably cried several times if it weren't for all the kiss kiss kissy face I was doing on the sofa pillow pretending Bennyboo was there to keep me company. (I am a big fan of Ben's and tried to have baby on his birthday, but alas, came in a day under target.)
I heard a lot about George at university while studying journalism. FCC vs. Pacifica Foudation, 1978 involved the "Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television". He was arrested for disturbing the peace for performing this bit at a club. The next year, he modified the material and it was aired on the radio. That bit of stand-up got Mr. Carlin, and the FCC, into a lot of hot water by a father who was driving in the car with his son. The father called the FCC and complained that his son had to hear such filth.
This brings me to another reason to love George Carlin. He once said something to the effect that it's amazing how someone who drives slower than you is an idiot, and someone driving faster than you is a maniac. This is so true! The radio station, WBAI-FM, which aired the Filthy Words routine by Carlin, uncensored, is in NYC. Are we supposed to believe that the son of that man had never heard those seven filthy words uttered in the car before that moment? I seriously doubt it. If his father wasn't already complaining about the bumper to bumper traffic I can just imagine he was saying minimum five of the seven words everyday, as I heard at least one of them hurled from car windows nearly every minute walking the streets of NYC.
I yell those words all the time. I can't help it. I was raised by a sailor. (He actually never swore, and the only time I heard him say the big one was when our house was robbed.) I will try very hard to stop using these words in the near future for Huddy's sake. One year for Lent, I gave up swearing. I seemingly replaced it with "God bless America." People thought me very patriotic. That ended up being more annoying to me. I still say it sometimes. I'm going to give that up as well, I hope. I think I'll be successful. My mom used to beg me to omit 'totally' from my vocabulary. I think I have. So wish me luck. (Of course, I have noticed I say 'evidently' a lot. It was brought to my attention and now every time I say it I kick a puppy to remind myself that it's not okay.)
George was right. That's exactly what I say when people slow me down or nearly run me off the road. "What are you doing, idiot? Get off the street!" "Freaking maniac. You're going to kill someone."
I drive a 1995 Jeep Cherokee Sport. It is not very sporty. Nor is it very fuel efficient. The only thing that makes me somewhat okay with driving it, is that it's old. And old equals vintage. I like to think of it as recycled. And that makes me green, so shuttup.
I cannot go very fast in this car. I often see people speeding past me, some looking at me as they do. I don't care. Be my Bandit. I'm going to take my sweet old time and leave my Baby On Board sign where it is and wave my cane at them yelling "God bless America, nice person!!" out the window. I honestly have to say, the majority of the crazy drivers out there are women in minivans. I do need to state for the record that some of my very dear friends and relatives drive minivans and they are excellent drivers and would never exhibit road rage, but I'm going with this theory for the sake of this post so let's leave it at that. Women should not drive minivans. The end.
I really liked his sense of humor. I loved him in years ago in The George Carlin Show and more recently in Aristocrats and Jersey Girl. In the latter, as Ben Affleck's father, he really tugged at the heartstrings. I would've probably cried several times if it weren't for all the kiss kiss kissy face I was doing on the sofa pillow pretending Bennyboo was there to keep me company. (I am a big fan of Ben's and tried to have baby on his birthday, but alas, came in a day under target.)
I heard a lot about George at university while studying journalism. FCC vs. Pacifica Foudation, 1978 involved the "Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television". He was arrested for disturbing the peace for performing this bit at a club. The next year, he modified the material and it was aired on the radio. That bit of stand-up got Mr. Carlin, and the FCC, into a lot of hot water by a father who was driving in the car with his son. The father called the FCC and complained that his son had to hear such filth.
This brings me to another reason to love George Carlin. He once said something to the effect that it's amazing how someone who drives slower than you is an idiot, and someone driving faster than you is a maniac. This is so true! The radio station, WBAI-FM, which aired the Filthy Words routine by Carlin, uncensored, is in NYC. Are we supposed to believe that the son of that man had never heard those seven filthy words uttered in the car before that moment? I seriously doubt it. If his father wasn't already complaining about the bumper to bumper traffic I can just imagine he was saying minimum five of the seven words everyday, as I heard at least one of them hurled from car windows nearly every minute walking the streets of NYC.
I yell those words all the time. I can't help it. I was raised by a sailor. (He actually never swore, and the only time I heard him say the big one was when our house was robbed.) I will try very hard to stop using these words in the near future for Huddy's sake. One year for Lent, I gave up swearing. I seemingly replaced it with "God bless America." People thought me very patriotic. That ended up being more annoying to me. I still say it sometimes. I'm going to give that up as well, I hope. I think I'll be successful. My mom used to beg me to omit 'totally' from my vocabulary. I think I have. So wish me luck. (Of course, I have noticed I say 'evidently' a lot. It was brought to my attention and now every time I say it I kick a puppy to remind myself that it's not okay.)
George was right. That's exactly what I say when people slow me down or nearly run me off the road. "What are you doing, idiot? Get off the street!" "Freaking maniac. You're going to kill someone."
I drive a 1995 Jeep Cherokee Sport. It is not very sporty. Nor is it very fuel efficient. The only thing that makes me somewhat okay with driving it, is that it's old. And old equals vintage. I like to think of it as recycled. And that makes me green, so shuttup.
I cannot go very fast in this car. I often see people speeding past me, some looking at me as they do. I don't care. Be my Bandit. I'm going to take my sweet old time and leave my Baby On Board sign where it is and wave my cane at them yelling "God bless America, nice person!!" out the window. I honestly have to say, the majority of the crazy drivers out there are women in minivans. I do need to state for the record that some of my very dear friends and relatives drive minivans and they are excellent drivers and would never exhibit road rage, but I'm going with this theory for the sake of this post so let's leave it at that. Women should not drive minivans. The end.
Sunday, June 22
Things I'm Loving Right Now
American Eagle bag
Originally $49.50. $19.95 online. $14.95 in store
Coffee! I'm obsessed with my Senseo. I've been thinking about the coffee we had at the bakery where I worked in massage therapy school. We would call the French Sumatra "Frank Sinatra". The Ethiopian Yirgacheffe "Etharopian" like the poor little Starvin' Marvin character on South Park. The Highlander Grogg was "Mel Gibson." I don't know where that came from. Maybe Braveheart. I say 'we' called it that. It may have just been me. I can't really remember. I was eating a lot of baked goods back then. Anyhoo...Archer Farms, at Target, makes really tasty coffee pods. They even have a Fair Trade Organic roast. Very nice. I especially like the French vanilla and hazelnut.
If you're a dude, you may not want to read this paragraph, though thank you very much for being here if you are a dude. --The wearing of white to work pisses me off for many reasons, mostly because I've yet to "start". I'm sure I'll do it at work in white pants. If it does happen I'm just going to act like I don't care and walk around all day and not change clothes. (Kidding. I'd be mortified. Sixth grade all over again.) Well, lately...I've been eating like I'm PMSing. Maybe I am just without having my TOTM. These are my main snacks:
Cold and delicious.
Friends or foe? I say...off with their heads! Then tails!!
Yummo!
Lemon lime Emergen-C mixed with cranberry juice. It tastes like a Cosmopolitan. Genius.
Originally $49.50. $19.95 online. $14.95 in store
Coffee! I'm obsessed with my Senseo. I've been thinking about the coffee we had at the bakery where I worked in massage therapy school. We would call the French Sumatra "Frank Sinatra". The Ethiopian Yirgacheffe "Etharopian" like the poor little Starvin' Marvin character on South Park. The Highlander Grogg was "Mel Gibson." I don't know where that came from. Maybe Braveheart. I say 'we' called it that. It may have just been me. I can't really remember. I was eating a lot of baked goods back then. Anyhoo...Archer Farms, at Target, makes really tasty coffee pods. They even have a Fair Trade Organic roast. Very nice. I especially like the French vanilla and hazelnut.
If you're a dude, you may not want to read this paragraph, though thank you very much for being here if you are a dude. --The wearing of white to work pisses me off for many reasons, mostly because I've yet to "start". I'm sure I'll do it at work in white pants. If it does happen I'm just going to act like I don't care and walk around all day and not change clothes. (Kidding. I'd be mortified. Sixth grade all over again.) Well, lately...I've been eating like I'm PMSing. Maybe I am just without having my TOTM. These are my main snacks:
Cold and delicious.
Friends or foe? I say...off with their heads! Then tails!!
Yummo!
Lemon lime Emergen-C mixed with cranberry juice. It tastes like a Cosmopolitan. Genius.
Friday, June 20
Happy Birthday, Fungi!
My friend is the funniest guy I know. There have been times he's made me laugh so hard that the back of my head gets a shooting pain in it and I think I'm going to have a heart attack. He informed me that would be like saying, "My ear hurts. I think I broke my foot." I've actually put the phone down before because he's made me laugh so hard that I've begun the ugly cry and need to compose myself. When we first met, we would sit on the phone and watch movies together and play Mystery Science Theater 3000. We would turn on the same program, some obscure show on cable, and turn down the volume, and make up our own dialogue. He was so much better at it than me, but I tried to keep up. He moved away to Austin and I told him he needed to be famous. That Matthew McConaugheyHEY was discovered having a beer at a bar. My friend said that would probably just turn him into an alcoholic. Oh well....
He's since gotten married to an equally funny and loverly little longhorn and they have two beautimous chittlins.
I am so happy for him/them. And happy for me! I pick great friends. And come on...who really needs to be recognized on this day? Yours truly. That's who.
Thursday, June 19
Big Brother
I arrived at work today and the receptionist told me my client was ready but that she was told to come in early to meet with the owner about getting a perm. The poor woman was sitting in her robe in the reception area. Not in the back. Not in the owner's chair at her station, but with fully clothed people waiting. The owner didn't show up until 10:10 a.m.. My client was there at 9.30 a.m. because she was told to be there early. So her consultation lasted all of five minutes. The owner (who I will now, and from hereon out, refer to as The Debil) came over to me and said she was ready and that she "threw her into the first room. I don't know. Is that where you're going with her?" I opened the door to the massage area and the first room was empty. I opened the door farther and there was my client standing in the hallway. I said, "Hi. Ready?" I'd already introduced myself to her in the lobby. She said, "Well, actually I'm freaking out. That lady (The Debil) said, "Well, I've already gone 15 minutes into your massage so we're done". I don't want to get a short massage. That is the whole reason I'm here." I assured her she was fine. WTH? Why would The Debil say that as if it was the client's fault they were running so far behind? Whatever. So I went out to the desk and told the receptionist that I would be giving my client the full hour.
I go back in and my client said, "I want to get a perm. I haven't had one in years and I've grown it out just for the occasion. I sat in that woman's chair and the first question she asked me was how often do I color my hair. I don't color my hair. She told me she's been doing hair for 40 years. Forty years and she can't tell I don't put color on my hair? I don't think I want her giving me a perm. And how can you tell someone 'Well...what I don't want is my hair to look like...yours' without sounding rude?"
Me: nervous laughter followed by an...um...and a...erm...and finally a...yeah.
Then she said, "Who does your hair?" I said, "My mom." She said, "Could she give me a perm?" Oh God. This sucks for many reasons. Two of them being, my mom will kill me for drumming up more business for her. And secondly...um...is this a trap? Am I being filmed? Is there a camera hidden in my oil? Perhaps that awful painting The Debil did (the whole salon is dripping in hideous paintings The Debil did and most clients say 'That is awful!' or 'That's um...interesting') has a hidden voice recorder in it. I began to freak out and my heart was racing.
Many questions and insults later I finally said, "Well, I'm sure The Debil (I said 'she') does a great job. I don't know much about what goes on in the salon, but she's been in business a long time and I've never heard anyone complain." Hell! I don't know!! Finally, she begged me for my mom's work number. I said, "Well, okay. As long as you're not like...The Debil's niece and you're setting me up." She said, "Oh my God. You aren't her daughter or something, are you? And I've done nothing but bitch the whole time I've been in here." I said, "NO!" God no.
I gave her my card and wrote my mom's work number on the back (sorry, mom) and went to where my friends were sitting and said, "Yeah. So I'm going to be fired today." I told them the whole story. They informed me that The Debil doesn't even give perms. That in fact, one bride hated her hot rolled updo so much they had to wash her hair and start all over again and she just ended up wearing it straight. "That bad, eh?" I asked. I ran and told my client's facialist to tell her to tell the desk she'd changed her mind. I didn't know people still got perms, but it wasn't going to be cheap and I'm pretty sure she was going to hate it since The Debil's husband told her on the phone when she made her appointment that, "...they can start you off in rollers and then switch you over to these other rollers the size of beer cans." Dear Lord.
My client was also pretty miffed that the receptionist asked, "Have you ever even had a manicure or pedicure before?" She said, "I wanted to say, 'Lady. I spend sixty dollars a week on my nails'. This place scares me."
Me: more nervous laughter...looks under massage table for recording device
My friend was telling me that her client was about to have lunch the other day and noticed it was chicken salad. The client was allergic. My friend told the The Debil. The Debil's husband just happened to have a salad he was going to eat. They gave that to the client, opened the dressing...big fat hair in it. The Debil asked my friend if it was her hair. Uh!! Then she got furious and took back a bottle of vinegar and a bottle of oil and told the client, "You really should've told us you were allergic to chicken. You're lucky we had something else for you to eat." Hello! Bitchy much! Who does that? How was she supposed to know we were going to serve her chicken? I guess if you're allergic you should always ask ahead of time, but come on!
So my fear of being fired waned when I remembered I won't have to work there for long. Ahhh.
I go back in and my client said, "I want to get a perm. I haven't had one in years and I've grown it out just for the occasion. I sat in that woman's chair and the first question she asked me was how often do I color my hair. I don't color my hair. She told me she's been doing hair for 40 years. Forty years and she can't tell I don't put color on my hair? I don't think I want her giving me a perm. And how can you tell someone 'Well...what I don't want is my hair to look like...yours' without sounding rude?"
Me: nervous laughter followed by an...um...and a...erm...and finally a...yeah.
Then she said, "Who does your hair?" I said, "My mom." She said, "Could she give me a perm?" Oh God. This sucks for many reasons. Two of them being, my mom will kill me for drumming up more business for her. And secondly...um...is this a trap? Am I being filmed? Is there a camera hidden in my oil? Perhaps that awful painting The Debil did (the whole salon is dripping in hideous paintings The Debil did and most clients say 'That is awful!' or 'That's um...interesting') has a hidden voice recorder in it. I began to freak out and my heart was racing.
Many questions and insults later I finally said, "Well, I'm sure The Debil (I said 'she') does a great job. I don't know much about what goes on in the salon, but she's been in business a long time and I've never heard anyone complain." Hell! I don't know!! Finally, she begged me for my mom's work number. I said, "Well, okay. As long as you're not like...The Debil's niece and you're setting me up." She said, "Oh my God. You aren't her daughter or something, are you? And I've done nothing but bitch the whole time I've been in here." I said, "NO!" God no.
I gave her my card and wrote my mom's work number on the back (sorry, mom) and went to where my friends were sitting and said, "Yeah. So I'm going to be fired today." I told them the whole story. They informed me that The Debil doesn't even give perms. That in fact, one bride hated her hot rolled updo so much they had to wash her hair and start all over again and she just ended up wearing it straight. "That bad, eh?" I asked. I ran and told my client's facialist to tell her to tell the desk she'd changed her mind. I didn't know people still got perms, but it wasn't going to be cheap and I'm pretty sure she was going to hate it since The Debil's husband told her on the phone when she made her appointment that, "...they can start you off in rollers and then switch you over to these other rollers the size of beer cans." Dear Lord.
My client was also pretty miffed that the receptionist asked, "Have you ever even had a manicure or pedicure before?" She said, "I wanted to say, 'Lady. I spend sixty dollars a week on my nails'. This place scares me."
Me: more nervous laughter...looks under massage table for recording device
My friend was telling me that her client was about to have lunch the other day and noticed it was chicken salad. The client was allergic. My friend told the The Debil. The Debil's husband just happened to have a salad he was going to eat. They gave that to the client, opened the dressing...big fat hair in it. The Debil asked my friend if it was her hair. Uh!! Then she got furious and took back a bottle of vinegar and a bottle of oil and told the client, "You really should've told us you were allergic to chicken. You're lucky we had something else for you to eat." Hello! Bitchy much! Who does that? How was she supposed to know we were going to serve her chicken? I guess if you're allergic you should always ask ahead of time, but come on!
So my fear of being fired waned when I remembered I won't have to work there for long. Ahhh.
Sunday, June 15
You Say 'Sarong.' I Say 'So Wrong'. Let's Call...Stacy and Clinton.
I ran a bunch of errands today with a friend and babykins. Our last stop was Mecca. I mean...Target. It's my happy place. Baby...not so much. She loathed Target when she was a wee little sprite. It must be the lights. Or the fact that my attention leaves her for a millisecond as I take in the smell of popcorn and mass produced crap I didn't know I needed. She's gotten better. One time, when I actually left the house and drove with her (I didn't drive with her for a long time unless it was the required doctor's appointment), I went to Target. Walked in. She lost her grip (i.e., when batspitcrazy). I walked straight back to the dressing room and told the woman I didn't have any clothes I just needed to nurse my child. She said, "Fine," which was Stranger for "Thank you for not doing that in public". About five minutes into her meal, baby soiled her diaper like she'd just scarfed down a juicy hamburger and an extra-large chocolate milk shake. I walked out of the dressing room (she was no longer crying) and straight to the bathroom where I proceeded to remove her diaper and toss it over into the garbage can. It wasn't until I reached in my bag that I discovered I hadn't brought any diapers with me. Ugh. Thank the gods I had a cloth prefold diaper I had been using as a burp cloth. I wrapped it around her and we left. I was in Target for all over 20 minutes and didn't even get to buy a single thing. I bet the staff all had to take a 15 minute break when they saw me leave empty-handed.
Well, today, baby was almost excited about being at Target. She enjoys going there now I think because a minimum of 14 people tell her how pretty she is whenever we're there. She rode in the cart and chewed on my keys. Yes...I tried to take them away from her about 20 times. She wasn't budging. And I decided that I would let her have them instead of screaming like she did each time I reached for them because with every scream people looked at me like take that baby home, lady and I wanted to say shuttup hoors, I just got here and I've only been out three times at night in ten months without her so DEAL but instead I just kept saying mommy really wishes you wouldn't chew on the keys and Hudson said get over it so I did.
So picture me beaming like a proud mom at a piano recital as my child was content and I was envisioning myself getting everything on my list. Then picture me coming to a screeching halt four feet inside the door. Up ahead in the $1 bin section I see a lot of leg. I notice a woman with a skirt on with a huge slit up the side. I look up. She has on a tank and it's then I realize she...is wearing...her BATHING SUIT. And a sarong! A black see-through one!! That stopped well above her knees!!! omgomgomg
We do not live in Daytona Beach, where I was once forced by a local to go into McDonald's in my bathing suit and no shoes. I was mort. i. fied. He said, "What's the problem?" I said, "People are eating in here." He said, "And?" Clearly this is done in Florida. But NOT Kentucky. I was shocked. And appalled. Just as I looked at my friend to say, "This woman needs help. She's clearly suffering from exposure or sun poisoning or something," the woman headed toward the check-out. I thought oh good, she's leaving but NO! She went past the check-out lanes and on back toward the makeup and magazines.
People...this is NOT acceptable. I do consider myself a Libertarian, but this is even too much for me to handle. Later, my friend asked, out-of-the-blue, which proved to me her mind's eye had been poked out as well, "Is that the equivalent of me coming here in my gym clothes?" I informed her, "No. It's the equivalent of you coming here in your bathrobe with your hair still wet and in a towel. It's just not done. That lady is off her rocker."
We were still talking about the whole scene when I pulled into my parking lot. Still wondering what the hell she was thinking. Did her friends/spouse/children know she was planning on doing that? Was she on her way to the pool or coming home from the pool? Hell. Had she even been to a pool? It was five o'clock at night for crapsake. Egads! Was this her casual wear???? Could it be? Is that what she wears when it's 90 degrees outside and the rest of us are sweating all bundled up in shorts and T-shirts? And as I'm typing this, I'm thinking...hmm...that lady has balls. I like her.
Well, today, baby was almost excited about being at Target. She enjoys going there now I think because a minimum of 14 people tell her how pretty she is whenever we're there. She rode in the cart and chewed on my keys. Yes...I tried to take them away from her about 20 times. She wasn't budging. And I decided that I would let her have them instead of screaming like she did each time I reached for them because with every scream people looked at me like take that baby home, lady and I wanted to say shuttup hoors, I just got here and I've only been out three times at night in ten months without her so DEAL but instead I just kept saying mommy really wishes you wouldn't chew on the keys and Hudson said get over it so I did.
So picture me beaming like a proud mom at a piano recital as my child was content and I was envisioning myself getting everything on my list. Then picture me coming to a screeching halt four feet inside the door. Up ahead in the $1 bin section I see a lot of leg. I notice a woman with a skirt on with a huge slit up the side. I look up. She has on a tank and it's then I realize she...is wearing...her BATHING SUIT. And a sarong! A black see-through one!! That stopped well above her knees!!! omgomgomg
We do not live in Daytona Beach, where I was once forced by a local to go into McDonald's in my bathing suit and no shoes. I was mort. i. fied. He said, "What's the problem?" I said, "People are eating in here." He said, "And?" Clearly this is done in Florida. But NOT Kentucky. I was shocked. And appalled. Just as I looked at my friend to say, "This woman needs help. She's clearly suffering from exposure or sun poisoning or something," the woman headed toward the check-out. I thought oh good, she's leaving but NO! She went past the check-out lanes and on back toward the makeup and magazines.
People...this is NOT acceptable. I do consider myself a Libertarian, but this is even too much for me to handle. Later, my friend asked, out-of-the-blue, which proved to me her mind's eye had been poked out as well, "Is that the equivalent of me coming here in my gym clothes?" I informed her, "No. It's the equivalent of you coming here in your bathrobe with your hair still wet and in a towel. It's just not done. That lady is off her rocker."
We were still talking about the whole scene when I pulled into my parking lot. Still wondering what the hell she was thinking. Did her friends/spouse/children know she was planning on doing that? Was she on her way to the pool or coming home from the pool? Hell. Had she even been to a pool? It was five o'clock at night for crapsake. Egads! Was this her casual wear???? Could it be? Is that what she wears when it's 90 degrees outside and the rest of us are sweating all bundled up in shorts and T-shirts? And as I'm typing this, I'm thinking...hmm...that lady has balls. I like her.
Saturday, June 14
Friday, June 13
I'm Rodney Dangerfield
Yes. That's right, kids. I'm going back to school. August 25, first day of class. I'm going to get another bachelor's in elementary education. I come from a family of teachers and hairdressers, so it only seems right. My long-term goal is to get my master's in library science and be an elementary school librarian. I remember my elementary school librarians. I went to two different schools. I loved them both. The first school didn't have any walls between classrooms. Book shelves made half-walls, which is probably where my obsession with books came from. The second school had a tiny little library. The librarian's name was Amanda Sue Shelton. She was probably in her 40s or early 50s at the time. I remember she had a monogrammed sweater with sAs on it. I knew her name was Amanda Sue from the yearbooks. I asked her why it was like that on her sweater, because I myself was a good Southern girl and had one of my very own; wore it in my 2nd grade photo. She tried very hard to explain it to me that having it the correct way aSs would not work. I think I would've just skipped the sweater and accepted it was something I could never have...like height or perfect skin. Or capped sleeves. I wish I would've written down the book I used to check out. I was the only person to ever read it. I never returned it, I just checked it out again and again. It may have been the Bobbsey Twins, but I just can't remember. I'll have to check it out at my local library, which by the way I'm totally addicted to right now.
I went the other day to return a book. Huddy slept for a record 2.5 hours and the library closes at 5 p.m. on Sunday. It's only a block away so I ran over there (and was flashed by a young man..disgusting...trying to block out that image....) and the girl said they were closing in five minutes. I ran to the new arrivals and a cop came over and said, "We're closing up so it's time to go." I wanted to say, "Dude. Five seconds ago I had five minutes. Get off my back and stop breathing donut breath and coffee on my child." But I didn't. I left.
So anyway...the point of my story is...I cannot WAIT to quit my job and work at Starbuck's. The end.
I went the other day to return a book. Huddy slept for a record 2.5 hours and the library closes at 5 p.m. on Sunday. It's only a block away so I ran over there (and was flashed by a young man..disgusting...trying to block out that image....) and the girl said they were closing in five minutes. I ran to the new arrivals and a cop came over and said, "We're closing up so it's time to go." I wanted to say, "Dude. Five seconds ago I had five minutes. Get off my back and stop breathing donut breath and coffee on my child." But I didn't. I left.
So anyway...the point of my story is...I cannot WAIT to quit my job and work at Starbuck's. The end.
Tuesday, June 10
Tasmanian Devil With A Beer Mug
I gave a massage to a woman today who had four tattoos.
One ankle had a sun with a profile of a man's face in it. Looked like she did it herself. Next to it was a giant heart with a ribbon through it. I could see writing in the ribbon so I got really close and read that it said "Tom Petty" on one side and "Heartbreakers" on the other. The other ankle had what looked to be a tampon with legs, but I think it was Mr. Peanut. Or neither. The last one I saw was a monkey. On her back. More specifically, a baboon. Is she a druggie? Or does she have a thing for primates whose asses look like Angelina Jolie's mouth in a very wrong shade of pink? I didn't dare ask. Not appropriate.
One ankle had a sun with a profile of a man's face in it. Looked like she did it herself. Next to it was a giant heart with a ribbon through it. I could see writing in the ribbon so I got really close and read that it said "Tom Petty" on one side and "Heartbreakers" on the other. The other ankle had what looked to be a tampon with legs, but I think it was Mr. Peanut. Or neither. The last one I saw was a monkey. On her back. More specifically, a baboon. Is she a druggie? Or does she have a thing for primates whose asses look like Angelina Jolie's mouth in a very wrong shade of pink? I didn't dare ask. Not appropriate.
Friday, June 6
Sinus Infection: The Road to Recovery
Baby no longer sneezes and wipes huge globs of snot in her eye as she tries to crawl across the room stopping every two seconds to try and figure out what the hell she just wiped in her eye. Breathing through her nose again; no longer a mouth breather (e.g., Puff Daddy/P. Diddy or John Mayer).
Mommy is doing much better. Still the occasional coughing fit that forces her to leave the room during a massage as tears are pouring down her face. When this happens at work she gets no sympathy. Prefers for it to happen in the presence of loved ones or not at all. No longer sounds like Lauren Bacall.
Baby has stopped blowing giant snot bubbles. Diaper rash has cleared from the excess saliva/mucus. Can nurse for minutes at a time without coming up for air. Takes better naps.
Mommy can breathe mostly through her nose. Cannot taste anything. Nearly gags only getting the texture of things. Regrets Jell-O and Burger King veggie burger. Needs a nap.
Question for the ages: How can one nose make so much noise while being blown yet produces an empty Kleenex?
Mommy is doing much better. Still the occasional coughing fit that forces her to leave the room during a massage as tears are pouring down her face. When this happens at work she gets no sympathy. Prefers for it to happen in the presence of loved ones or not at all. No longer sounds like Lauren Bacall.
Baby has stopped blowing giant snot bubbles. Diaper rash has cleared from the excess saliva/mucus. Can nurse for minutes at a time without coming up for air. Takes better naps.
Mommy can breathe mostly through her nose. Cannot taste anything. Nearly gags only getting the texture of things. Regrets Jell-O and Burger King veggie burger. Needs a nap.
Question for the ages: How can one nose make so much noise while being blown yet produces an empty Kleenex?
Tuesday, June 3
The Day's Developments
This morning, my friend watched baby for me because my mother is out-of-town and she usually watches her. My friend is a teacher and had to go clean her classroom this morning, so she had to take baby with her to school. I have a lot of sucking up to do because I've never let my mom drive baby around without me in the car. As a matter of fact, my mother hasn't ridden in the front seat with me driving in nine and a half months. She always sits in the back with the bundle of love. It's especially magical when baby is sleeping and doesn't realize we've gone to pick up Gramma and then wakes up at our destination and the first thing she sees is the face of her best buddy in the whole world. Baby and Gramma are thisclose, as they should be. The look on Huddy's face is priceless. There's usually a lot of squealing involved. So I really don't think mom minds too much about not driving her around. I think she'd miss being in the back seat with her.
When my friend got here this morning a huge downpour had just let up. I finished getting ready and right as we were walking out the door it began raining buckets. Sideways. Needly rain. I, of course, was dressed head-to-toe in white stupidstupidstupidjob and was so soaked through after loading the car seat into my friend's car. I had on white linen pants. And a rain coat that should never have been marketed as such, unless I misunderstood and it meant it rains inside this coat. I had given my house keys to my friend and had to chase her down running through the parking lot to get them back from her so I could go in and change clothes. I was a mess.
On my way to work though, the guy upstairs called to tell me that our neighbor saw the two men who stole my catalytic converter a few weeks ago. He got their license plate number. This makes me very happy. Not that they'll get a life sentence or anything but just that maybe some other poor mom with a tiny baby won't suffer one day while these guys are locked up for a few hours. Dear karma, please ignore me and my need to BUST THESE PERPS! Love, me
Once I got to work and changed into yet another all-white outfit stupidstupidstupidjob I was met by a very strange client. I gave her my spiel about getting undressed, starting face down, take your bra off, you can leave on your underwear, blah blah blah, I'll knock before I come in, etc., etc., I said, "Do you have any questions for me?" She asked, "Do I take off my top?" I'm sorry. I shouldn't do this, but...WTF? No. Take off your bra, but leave your top on. And I mean it. You MUST unhook your bra and reenact that scene from Flashdance (where Jennifer Beals boggles her boss's mind by taking off her bra under her sweatshirt). And we'll be watching on hidden camera so NO CHEATING! "Yes. Take off your shirt and your bra."
After her massage she was supposed to get a facial. I told her how to put the gown on "the way you would a towel when you get out of the shower." I demonstrated for her and showed her where the snaps were. I told her to lay back down just as she was and the esthetician would be right in to do her facial. She looked up at me and said, "Oh. I put that gown on?" No. I put it on. I'm just telling you this because I need to waste 17 seconds. Yes, you. *smack*
Later, I heard the esthetician taking her out into the salon and telling her that someone would be coming back to do her manicure and pedicure and that she could pick out any of the polishes on the wall. She said, "Wow. Any of them?" I think she may have been drunk. I'm not sure. She didn't expose herself to me, so I'm going to let it slide.
Anyway...moving on. My last two clients were girlfriend and boyfriend. He was last and gave me a HUGE tip from the both of them. Finally. Someone who knows what they're doing. And he actually handed it to me. I guarantee you, if he'd given it to the receptionst at the counter I would've never seen a penny of that money.
When I got home, my friend informed me that Huddy wowed all the Montessori teachers with her ability to say "kitty cat" and sit in the middle of the floor and look as if she was really reading a book on "hard work". She's brilliant.
It was a good day.
When my friend got here this morning a huge downpour had just let up. I finished getting ready and right as we were walking out the door it began raining buckets. Sideways. Needly rain. I, of course, was dressed head-to-toe in white stupidstupidstupidjob and was so soaked through after loading the car seat into my friend's car. I had on white linen pants. And a rain coat that should never have been marketed as such, unless I misunderstood and it meant it rains inside this coat. I had given my house keys to my friend and had to chase her down running through the parking lot to get them back from her so I could go in and change clothes. I was a mess.
On my way to work though, the guy upstairs called to tell me that our neighbor saw the two men who stole my catalytic converter a few weeks ago. He got their license plate number. This makes me very happy. Not that they'll get a life sentence or anything but just that maybe some other poor mom with a tiny baby won't suffer one day while these guys are locked up for a few hours. Dear karma, please ignore me and my need to BUST THESE PERPS! Love, me
Once I got to work and changed into yet another all-white outfit stupidstupidstupidjob I was met by a very strange client. I gave her my spiel about getting undressed, starting face down, take your bra off, you can leave on your underwear, blah blah blah, I'll knock before I come in, etc., etc., I said, "Do you have any questions for me?" She asked, "Do I take off my top?" I'm sorry. I shouldn't do this, but...WTF? No. Take off your bra, but leave your top on. And I mean it. You MUST unhook your bra and reenact that scene from Flashdance (where Jennifer Beals boggles her boss's mind by taking off her bra under her sweatshirt). And we'll be watching on hidden camera so NO CHEATING! "Yes. Take off your shirt and your bra."
After her massage she was supposed to get a facial. I told her how to put the gown on "the way you would a towel when you get out of the shower." I demonstrated for her and showed her where the snaps were. I told her to lay back down just as she was and the esthetician would be right in to do her facial. She looked up at me and said, "Oh. I put that gown on?" No. I put it on. I'm just telling you this because I need to waste 17 seconds. Yes, you. *smack*
Later, I heard the esthetician taking her out into the salon and telling her that someone would be coming back to do her manicure and pedicure and that she could pick out any of the polishes on the wall. She said, "Wow. Any of them?" I think she may have been drunk. I'm not sure. She didn't expose herself to me, so I'm going to let it slide.
Anyway...moving on. My last two clients were girlfriend and boyfriend. He was last and gave me a HUGE tip from the both of them. Finally. Someone who knows what they're doing. And he actually handed it to me. I guarantee you, if he'd given it to the receptionst at the counter I would've never seen a penny of that money.
When I got home, my friend informed me that Huddy wowed all the Montessori teachers with her ability to say "kitty cat" and sit in the middle of the floor and look as if she was really reading a book on "hard work". She's brilliant.
It was a good day.
Monday, June 2
Parenting 101
So baby has had a runny nose since early last Thursday morning/late last Wednesday night. She woke up congested and has been snotting on me ever since. Well, Saturday, it turned into a bit of a cough so I made an appointment for her to see the doctor. The receptionist didn't tell me on the phone that she wouldn't be seeing her regular physician. He's a resident so he isn't in the office much anymore and hasn't seen her for awhile. Nevertheless, I won't hold it against him. My c-section scar is nearly undetectable. He gets a few free passes.
The nurses at the office love Huddy. They always go crazy over her. Today's nurse was no exception. She said, "Oh my gosh. I want to kidnap you. There's going to be an Amber Alert today." Yep. Close your mouth. You heard me right. Then she added, "I don't want to kidnap the ugly babies." (This brought to mind the time I was on a flight to Denver and the flight attendants were coming down the aisle with the food cart. They got to the row in front of me and one said to the other, "I'll be right back." After a few moments, she came back and said to those of us watching the goings-on, "Have you read The Left Behind series? I thought we'd lost a couple of passengers." Uh...not funny, lady.)
Anyhoo, the doctor she saw today was a real piece of work. He came in and sat down and asked what the problem was. I told him she had developed a [melodramatic] cough. WHEEEEZE. *cough cough cough* WHEEEEZE *make people stare at mama in Target* So he says to me, "There are smokers in the home." I said, "No." He asked, "Is there smoking at all?" I must've given him a weird look, like no, dude...I'm not a pothead. He said, "Do you smoke outside the home?" I said, "I am NOT a smoker." He said, "Well, some people say no, there are no smokers IN the home, but then they'll say they smoke on the porch and I'm like...that's still smoking." Okay, judgy. Simmer down.
He looked over at baby and she had a Matchbox car in her mouth. He said, "Don't let her put that in her mouth." I said, "It's okay." He said, "I'm sure it's dirty." Thinking that he must've thought I'd picked it up in the examination room, I said, "It's hers." He said, "Well, it's probably been on the floor." Uh...yeah, dude. It has been on the floor. So have her hands and feet, but she still puts them in her mouth. She's a freaking baby. Do I need to wash her hands and feet every time she touches the ground? She puts the furniture in her mouth too. Do I need to get rid of that? WTH?
I didn't bother to tell him that I found that Matchbox car in the cart at Kohl's the day before she got sick.
The nurses at the office love Huddy. They always go crazy over her. Today's nurse was no exception. She said, "Oh my gosh. I want to kidnap you. There's going to be an Amber Alert today." Yep. Close your mouth. You heard me right. Then she added, "I don't want to kidnap the ugly babies." (This brought to mind the time I was on a flight to Denver and the flight attendants were coming down the aisle with the food cart. They got to the row in front of me and one said to the other, "I'll be right back." After a few moments, she came back and said to those of us watching the goings-on, "Have you read The Left Behind series? I thought we'd lost a couple of passengers." Uh...not funny, lady.)
Anyhoo, the doctor she saw today was a real piece of work. He came in and sat down and asked what the problem was. I told him she had developed a [melodramatic] cough. WHEEEEZE. *cough cough cough* WHEEEEZE *make people stare at mama in Target* So he says to me, "There are smokers in the home." I said, "No." He asked, "Is there smoking at all?" I must've given him a weird look, like no, dude...I'm not a pothead. He said, "Do you smoke outside the home?" I said, "I am NOT a smoker." He said, "Well, some people say no, there are no smokers IN the home, but then they'll say they smoke on the porch and I'm like...that's still smoking." Okay, judgy. Simmer down.
He looked over at baby and she had a Matchbox car in her mouth. He said, "Don't let her put that in her mouth." I said, "It's okay." He said, "I'm sure it's dirty." Thinking that he must've thought I'd picked it up in the examination room, I said, "It's hers." He said, "Well, it's probably been on the floor." Uh...yeah, dude. It has been on the floor. So have her hands and feet, but she still puts them in her mouth. She's a freaking baby. Do I need to wash her hands and feet every time she touches the ground? She puts the furniture in her mouth too. Do I need to get rid of that? WTH?
I didn't bother to tell him that I found that Matchbox car in the cart at Kohl's the day before she got sick.
Sunday, June 1
Diagnose Me
Whenever a movie I like comes on television, I watch it. Right now I'm watching 13 Going on 30 with Jennifer Garner and the hot hott hottt Mark Ruffalo. I own this movie. Why don't I just get up and put it in the DVD player and watch it sans commercials? Why do I do this? My old roommate after college would get irrationally upset with me whenever I watched a movie I'd seen before, whether it was on TV or on video (we had VHS back then for all you youngin's). One day he said, "You know what they say about people who watch the same movies over and over again?" I said, "No. What?" He said, "I don't know. But I can guarantee it's not good." I did watch my When Harry Met Sally video so many times that it was all sound. No picture. I have the movie memorized pretty much. My friend dared me once to say, "...I'd like the pie heated and I don't want the ice cream on top, I want it on the side. And I'll have strawberry instead of vanilla, if you have it. If not, then no ice cream just whipped cream, but only if it's real. If it's out of a can then nothing" to our waitress. I can't do it. I'm a chicken. WHMS was on cable a few weeks ago. I DVR'd it. WHAT THE HECK IS MY DEALIO?? I own it. The next roommate I had bought me the DVD when my tape went bust. So I sat here and watched WHMS while I was DVR-ing it.
I guess I just find comfort in the sameness of these movies. Like they're my friends I check on every now and then. I usually put in You've Got Mail as background noise. This admission annoyed another friend. Just the thought of my doing it drove her crazy. That is until she spent the night, couldn't sleep and watched it. And I am pretty sure she cried.
Sleepless in Seattle is another one. It creeps me out though when I see the kids from that movie all grown-up. It makes me uncomfortable. It's clear I have a Meg Ryan addiction.
I guess I just find comfort in the sameness of these movies. Like they're my friends I check on every now and then. I usually put in You've Got Mail as background noise. This admission annoyed another friend. Just the thought of my doing it drove her crazy. That is until she spent the night, couldn't sleep and watched it. And I am pretty sure she cried.
Sleepless in Seattle is another one. It creeps me out though when I see the kids from that movie all grown-up. It makes me uncomfortable. It's clear I have a Meg Ryan addiction.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)