Oh...It's Youuuuuu.

Ho. Lee. Shit.

I am in shock right now. Absolute shock!

I came to campus to do a little studying before my class. I had to pick up my critique on my school observations. I actually didn't have to pick them up. I wrote to the teacher asking her for her input on them and she said she'd reread them and leave comments and I could pick them up today in her office. That makes me sound like a big nontraditional student brown-nosing loser, but she did tell us on the last day of that class we could write to her and ask for additional input. So I did. I really just wanted what I had written. I wanted to keep it and reread the forms.

Which brings me to what just happened to me. I stopped in the bookstore and wandered around aimlessly for a while. Then I went to buy a bottle of water in Starbuck's. On the way in to the Student Union, I saw a table outside with Obama paraphernalia. I told y'all I wanted to buy a bumper sticker. So, on the way out I stopped at the table and checked out the shirts and stickers and buttons and such. The man said, "It's a two dollar donation for the stickers and a ten dollar donation for the tee shirts." I said, "I'll take a sticker." I got two dollars out of my wallet and handed the money to him. He said, "Thank you." And then the craziest thing happened. He said, "Take off your sunglasses." I had just started to look up at him, because I actually hadn't looked at him once during our entire interaction, when he said, "Are you Jennifer?" We made eye contact and I said, "Yes. (jaw drops) Hi." He said, "I think I had you in class." I said that yes, he had...ELEVEN YEARS AGO. I said, "Wow. You're good." He said, "Even with the sunglasses on." I asked if he was still teaching here, even though I know he isn't. He said, "No. I have my own business," and gave me one of his cards. It is currently burning a giant hole in my pocket.

Holy shit.

Holy double shit.

I had this man for Creative Writing II my junior year and Poetry Writing my senior year. I kept the same journal for both of his classes. I consider the writings in that journal to be some of the best writing I've ever done in my life. It may be, in fact, some of the best writing that has ever been done in the history of the free world.

He told the class on the last day that we could come up over the summer and pick up our journals if we wanted them. A few weeks after graduation, I called him to ask when would be a good time to come and pick up my journal. He said, "Oh. You're too late. I threw them all away last week."

WUT???

I could've killed him. I ran in to a girl from my class a few weeks after that at the grocery. She commented how she needed to pick up her journal. She was in all my writing classes and nearly all my journalism classes. I think she was a journalism major and an English minor. I did a writing minor. I had to break the news to her there in frozen foods. She actually let out the most blood curdling scream. Scared the living bejeesus out of me and everyone in a four aisle radius.

I have cursed that man's name numerous times in the last eleven years. I have wished horrible things would happen to his computer. Then I heard he got fired. He should've been fired when I had him the first time; handing out his own poems for us to critique. Green beans and their greenessity do not a good poem make!

And here he is. His office is down the street from my apartment. And after all these years he can recognize me even with my sunglasses on. Either I look just as good as I did when I graduated years ago, or this man has taken all my writings, passed them off as his own and is now pretending to be me.

Where'd They Get a Camel and Four Joeys?

I'm not...I mean...She's Not Ready.

So the past two nights, Huddy has asked to go to bed. The first night she said, "Nigh-night baby," and patted her leg over and over again while I was changing her diaper. Then she said, "Bobble," which means 'bottle,' of course...which I never give to her at home. We still nurse here and bottles are for school, grandma and the sitter. Then the clincher...she started singing her lullaby to herself. "Daisy daisy...." I cried.

Last night, grandma watched her. Huddy walked into her room, grabbed the railing on the crib, put her forehead against it and closed her eyes. "Nigh-night," she said. Dear Lord. I cannot believe how big she has gotten.

Well, I just took her to school and her teacher said, "Starting next week, she needs to just have her sippy cup of milk. No more bottles." What? Is this normal? She moved over to the next section at school. She loves it with the big kids. Today, they're going to try to get her to sleep on the cot for the first time instead of her normal crib.

Oh my GAWD. Someone please hold me.

Happy Fall!

Better Late Than Never

I'm a bad person. I have never really cared about politics or given it much thought. I'm pretty much one of those "I don't care who's in charge, as long as I know what the rules are and I don't break them" kind of people. I am just like my little friend Kara Loo. Prison scares the everliving shit out of me. I would most certainly die that first night of claustrophobia. Or I'd be murderated because I would be able to hear other people breathing/snoring/talking and I wouldn't be able to sleep and I'd yell at them to PIPE DOWN and then one of them would be confused and instead put the pipe down on me. No prison. Please, baby Jesus, no prison.

I remember my political science professor rambling on the first day of class about something or such. He finally got this look on his face and asked, "Does anyone know what it means to be a Democrat?" *crickets* "Republican?" *double crickets* "Okay. Let's start at the very beginning. Once upon a time...." I was so embarrassed for all of us. Sadly, I forgot my book in class that day and instead of paying over $100 for a new one...I dropped the class. Hence, my future as a freshman senator from Kentucky was brought to an abrupt halt. Oh, who am I kidding? I ruined that for myself in high school.

I am so very scared of this election. I thought, many years ago, that John McCain would make a great President. I always had the feeling that if you were going to be President and "Commander in Chief" that you should have served in a war. He did that, of course, and wears that badge of honor everyday. There are many people now who could fit this profile if you count Desert Storm, Vietnam, Korea, Afghanistan, Iraq, Bosnia. Of course, I thought this when John McCain wasn't four hundred and eleven years old. Oh mah gawd! Please! He's too old. And not well. And if he died...we'd get...her. How is learning on the job a good thing now? I mean, if you've never been a server before then that's is a great opportunity to learn on the job. You're boss can mold you into the perfect little worker bee. Every skill you pick up there you will most certainly take with you to your next 10 serving jobs (no one ever stays at one restaurant forever). You'll annoy the people at your next serving job by telling them stories of how you did things at your old job. People love those stories. NOT. Where would Palin go after she was VP? Would she run for President? If McCain dies, would she be reelected? She scares me. Who is Joe Six Pack? Does he drink a lot of beer or does he work out a lot? Who is Todd Palin? The name alone is a red flag to me, but that is a story for another day.

I want an Obama sticker for my car. I want an Obama life size cardboard cut-out that I can hug everyday and wish him well. He has the potential to be one of the greatest Presidents our nation, the world!, has ever known if it wasn't for the ginormous pile of horse turds he'll be left to clean up. It's so sad.

I almost want McCain/Palin to win so I can say "I told you so!" to anyone who will listen.

I almost want Obama to lose because Al Gore's not winning was the greatest thing that ever happened to him.

Please...let the best man win.

Brains. Not Just for Mommies.

Why do I always forget I'm cooking something? Damned burnt biscuits. Stupidstupidstupid.

Don't MAKE Me Get All Caps on You!

Dear people of my town,

Stop stealing my stuff, yo! Jaysus. Now Huddy can't listen to Skippyjon Jones and the Big Bone. Now she will cry.

But thanks for not taking my $175 parking pass or Huddy's car seat.

Love,
Jennifer

P.S. Thanks for finding my sunglasses case. Thought I'd lost that.

Calgon, Take Me Away

Okay. Let's recap.

My purse was stolen from work. And the shirt I wore to work. (I walk there and don't like to advertise that I might possibly have a pocket full of sunshine, i.e., hundred dollars or so...mostly "or so," so I would wear a different shirt and change at work.) Ever since, and if we're being completely honest...before as well, the place has been shaded by a black cloud.

Yesterday, I get to work and one of the servers looks like he has been crying. His face is blotchy and he doesn't seem...human. (Warning: I will probably be using a lot of ellipses in this post.) One of the bartenders was telling Him to "sit down" and that she would deliver his drinks to his table. He sat there for a minute and then got up and wandered off into the dining room...and then into the kitchen...and the pantry.

I went to set up the patio. I took the place mats, napkins and forks with me because it was all I could carry. Halfway through, the dude came out and put place mats and silverware on one table. I said, "What? Are you just going to do your own tables?" He said, "I saw you out here and thought I would help you." ...with one table. I said, "Well, all the tables need knives if you want to do that." Guess he didn't; he never came back out.

The other bartender came up and told me, "He just walked up to me and said 'I have a roll of quarters for laundry if you want to do 'em'. He repeated it and I told him I still don't know what you're talking about."

Well, the manager was oblivious to all of this. So I told her something seemed a little off with Him. She wanted to know what was wrong and I said, "He's on something. I don't know what, but he's a mess." She said, "I'm so tired of these people and their issues. Why can't we all just be adults?"

She finally went up to discuss what was going on with Him. In the meantime, the food runner came up to me to ask where a table of his was. I said it was the one with the drinks. She said, "I think those people are gone." One of his tables had ordered and left before their food came. I saw him wobbling around at the table. He probably scared the crapola out of them.

(The same thing happened the day my bag was stolen. A server was admittedly on pills and she so offended her table that they left without paying or tipping. She was going to run after them to ask what the problem was. That never goes well.)

I saw the manager following Him around asking him what was going on and where his tables are and if he feels okay and does he want to leave. Later I saw them at the computers and he yelled, "Get OFF my BACK!" She was hardly giving Him any breathing room. This was not the time to discuss the problem. Take his money, tell him he could have his tips later, send him home.

(In the meantime, the busser called and said he was hungover, had overslept, and was on his way.)

I see Him sitting and talking to the manager trying to sort out his money. A few minutes later, I see Him leaving. He evidently called the manager a "fat bitch" and walked out. Ooh. I am thinking that was a bad move.

About 20 minutes later we get a call from the front desk of a condo down the street. They found Him trying to get on the elevator. No, he doesn't live there. He still had on his work shirt so that's how they knew to call us. No one had seen him since. Police were notified. Obviously not good for a man with a prison record. : (

(I ask the bartender where the busser was. He had texted her "I quit.")

I have found a new job that I can do from home, pretty much. This will allow me more Huddy time, since I don't have one whole day with her by myself. And I won't have to worry about taking up granma and my friend's weekends sitting for her.

Now...how do I tell them I need to quit? Ugh. Maybe I should just load up on Benadryl and Red Bull, go to work and let that take care of itself.

Foreshadowing

I'm going to cut my hair. Myself. Right now.

Don't Mind Her. She's a Dumbass.

I got to go out with a friend on Sunday night. The same friend who watched my child all day whilst I worked. Miraculously, she wasn't too tired. My upstairs neighbor has been borrowing my parking pass on Thursday nights and offered to sit with baby some time so that I could go out. So I did. For the...let's all keep track...sixth time since she's been born.

Friend and I went to a total dive that has the best burritos and the greatest juke box in all of the Midwest, if not THE WORLD. Friend doubted me. "Vampyros Lesbos?" But underneath it is Charlie Parker. And across from it is Chet Baker! Come on!

We had barely made it in the door when a guy came up behind us and started breathing down our necks. "Get the jerk tofu." Uh...dude. I've been here a million times. Shut it.

...so we got the jerk tofu. It was damned good.

When the burrito arrived, he came over and said, "How is it that you all have your burrito and I don't have mine yet?" Remembering he was behind us at the bar, Friend asked when he placed his order. "An hour before you did." And then he didn't leave. He kept standing there, as we were sitting; talking to us, drinking his beer. He's 24 years old. Lives with his parents. Had been traveling the U.S. Was there with his dad (who looked like he was my age) and his brother. Small talk. Small talk. Blah. Blah. Blah.

His friend came over about 20 minutes later. "Do I know you?" he asked me. Um...I don't know. Do you go to NKU? "No." Where did you grow up? "Iowa." Iowa. I don't know a lot of people from Iowa. Turned out he was at a party I had attended over the summer and is best friends with the husband of a friend of mine. Small world.

I got up and went to the bathroom hoping that he would be gone by the time I got back, but...no.

Finally, we were left alone (except for the strangers we were sitting with so that we wouldn't have to stand and eat) to chat and bond over our beers. My measly little half pint of Guinness.

As he was leaving, he came over and said goodbye. (My friend said the other dude would have totally asked me out if the first guy hadn't pissed all over me the minute I walked in the door.) He leaned down and asked, "Would you like to hang out sometime?" I'm very busy.

Oh...if I could rewind and delete that? What a horrible answer, even if I was biologically able to be his mother. Dude. I seriously could have been his mother.

Message in a Bottle

Dear Dad,

Boy...do I ever miss you?

Six years today and the world has gone to complete shit. It knows you're not here.

Huddy talks to your picture at mom's. Thanks for sending her to us.

Love, your daughter,
Jenni

Where Am I Going? And Why Am I in This Basket?

So, I went to the grocery store yesterday and forgot my debit card. I didn't have enough money on me (lucky I had any at all, actually) and had to put some things back. Oh mah gawd. So ridiculous. I was grabbing things that I thought would be the quickest way to lose forty dollars. Licorice. I certainly didn't need it anyway. I've eaten three huge bags in under two weeks. Almondina. I love them and like to snack on them when I'm feeding baby her brekky. All the baby books say you should eat your meals with your child so that they understand it is meal time and not play time, etc. Well, the authors of those books are drug addicts who only hallucinated those things happening under a rainbow. Two Amy's frozen vegan pizzas. I left one for the sitter. One frozen organic squash. Still got two. For some reason, it's only taking off mere pennies. I KNOW those pizzas were nearly five dollars on their own.

Now...here's where it starts to look like a scene from Terms of Endearment. I had to put back the formula. I needed to get rid of twenty dollars fast and that was the quickest way to do it. I was at the self-checkout lane. It's a whole lane, not one of those little tiny cubby thingos with no belt and every time you put something down the computer yells ALERT! ALERT! UNIDENTIFIED OBJECT IN BAG! STEP BACK AND READY YOURSELF FOR DEATH BY FIRING SQUAD! I thought I could just delete one item at a time. Luckily there was no one behind me. It was taking forever. Finally, the girl who works the self-checkout lanes (which is a whole different ridiculousness that they clearly haven't figured out how to not have to use a cashier at the self-checkout) came over to help me. She went through the menu items, sometimes clicking the wrong button so we would have to wait for the comptuer to think its thinking stuff. I kept trying to make small talk and let her know how much I appreciated her help. She seemed frustrated, maybe for me, maybe for the person who was going to have to put back all of my groceries. Thank GOD I put back the licorice and the cookies and didn't keep them and still toss the formula. That would've been a black mark on the whole experience, I am sure.

I just want to say that of the three people who are ever working the self-checkout register when I am at the grocery two of them have only one arm. Not one arm between them but one arm each. One man is missing his right arm. Well, he has something there, but it's not a functioning arm (if you haven't read David Sedaris' Who's the Chef, you must). And the lovely girl who was helping yesterday is missing her entire left arm. I had to wonder, why stick them on self-checkout? I mean, they're still alive, right? They must dress themselves, button their shirts, go to the bathroom, cook, drive, shower...all the things one must do in an average day. Why does only having one arm mean they can't work the regular lanes? Customers bag their own groceries. I am sure they could do that job just as they can do this one. Then it hit me. It is the one place where someone said, "Man! I could do this self-checkout and hold my baby and bag my groceries and put shit back because I don't have enough money with me if I just had three hands..." and God answered.