Her:
Ah, yes. Young Lovers.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
So, For The Record..
If you're going on vacation, and yer plans involve having amusement park tickets in advance, and you can't be amused at the amusement park unless you have the tickets, forgetting the tickets at home isn't a good idea.
It's also not fun to realize after you've been on the interstate for just shy of 40 minutes that you've left the tickets at home.
And if that happens, even the most understanding and wonderful of husbands will make fun of you for the rest of the week.
Just so you know.
It's also not fun to realize after you've been on the interstate for just shy of 40 minutes that you've left the tickets at home.
And if that happens, even the most understanding and wonderful of husbands will make fun of you for the rest of the week.
Just so you know.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Surprise! (no, not so much)
So, little miss Cry-Me-A-River has been back to work, then off work, then back, then off, then back...and now she's off again.
She usually either calls off at least once a week AND "needs to go home early" at least once a week also. There's always an issue with her pregnancy, or her toddler daughter needing to go to the ER. I'm sorry, but if I spent this much time with a 2 year old in the ER, protective services should be called.
When all else fails, she says "I think my water broke." (She's 5 months along.) Now, I know this is harsh, but I don't think she wants to work. She did the "water broke" bit last week, and this week, she's got a black-and-blue eye. She can't work, but she can sit on a bench outside work, after dropping off her doc's paperwork, for 3 hours waiting for a ride home.
This is totally whacked.
Considering we have another girl at work who is (was? the announcement was in the paper last night) pregnant, and who is about the same age, and who doesn't call off work continually, and rarely goes home in the middle of her shift. And there's no drama.
I'm getting too old for this crap.
Along with this, one of the other newbies we've got seems to absolutely HATE me, and I don't know why. I've had a grand whopping total of 30 minutes contact with her over the past 3 months, and yesterday, when I needed to buy a bottle of water, she was slamming and banging her way through the transaction. She wasn't slamming her way through the transaction before, or after me, just mine. Weird.
She usually either calls off at least once a week AND "needs to go home early" at least once a week also. There's always an issue with her pregnancy, or her toddler daughter needing to go to the ER. I'm sorry, but if I spent this much time with a 2 year old in the ER, protective services should be called.
When all else fails, she says "I think my water broke." (She's 5 months along.) Now, I know this is harsh, but I don't think she wants to work. She did the "water broke" bit last week, and this week, she's got a black-and-blue eye. She can't work, but she can sit on a bench outside work, after dropping off her doc's paperwork, for 3 hours waiting for a ride home.
This is totally whacked.
Considering we have another girl at work who is (was? the announcement was in the paper last night) pregnant, and who is about the same age, and who doesn't call off work continually, and rarely goes home in the middle of her shift. And there's no drama.
I'm getting too old for this crap.
Along with this, one of the other newbies we've got seems to absolutely HATE me, and I don't know why. I've had a grand whopping total of 30 minutes contact with her over the past 3 months, and yesterday, when I needed to buy a bottle of water, she was slamming and banging her way through the transaction. She wasn't slamming her way through the transaction before, or after me, just mine. Weird.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Some People Never Grow Up
And I am one of them.
Is it so wrong of me to bet ($1) another parent that a first grader will throw up before lunch is over?
If so, was it wrong of him to take the bet?
Is it so wrong of me to bet ($1) another parent that a first grader will throw up before lunch is over?
If so, was it wrong of him to take the bet?
Am I Really?
Okay, so this has been a year of learning stuff about myself.
I learned that I can control my attitude and my tongue. I learned that I began to grind my teeth. I learned again (like I do every year) that I am desperately and nauseatingly in love with my husband.
I also learned that I am a leader.
I spent loads of time trying to be a leader when I was younger. And I never could quite pull it off. It was pathetic in a way, the way I kept desperately trying so hard. Every election, prior to 2009, I entered, I lost (and in all honesty, not always with grace.)
This year, with no effort on my part (and not a little surprise) I was nominated and elected to the PTA Executive Board. I mean, I didn't put my own name in. I didn't ask anyone else to nominate me, and when asked if I was going to put my name in, I laughed a nervous little laugh, and said, "No. I like the cheap seats, thanks."
I had fully embraced my being an Indian, and had fully given up hopes of being a Chief. I am not Chief material, people. I don't do tact and diplomacy so well, and I have a tendancy to totally mess up and drop the ball on big important things.
I even went so far as to prove my unworthiness by offering (albeit while laughing and joking around) the other members of the PTA Smarties, asking that you "be sure to let me know when they start working." And I made fun of myself, and made moderately adult jokes about some of the Dads at school. I made it clear, I thought, that I don't necessarily play well with others, and I certainly have a ribald sense of humor--ribald, slightly vulgar, and certainly off center sense of humor.
None of that worked.
They nominated and elected me anyway.
I merely bowed to the inevitable, and am hoping that I can escape that fate with only a one year tenure.
I am alternately delighted with the opportunity for change and overwhelmed with the responsibility (not to mention the aforementioned lack of tact and diplomacy.)
What all this leads up to is that, I'm hearing more and more often that I am "a leader." First, it was at work, with a flat-out statement by the Head Cheese. Today, it was from the Howler's teacher.
How did this happen? Well, how the conversation turned to that, I can answer--how these people got this crazy idea about me, I have no clue.
As for the conversation: the magician was late in arriving at the school. Mrs N asked, not in a mean way, if it was from poor planning or what? So I gave her the Reader's Digest condensed version of the PTA Drama Trauma from February, March, and April. She asked who, then, is next year's President? I told her, and listed the executive board for her, rolling my eyes at my own name.
She said, "But that's good, right?" and I said, "Uh, no. I'm doing it because there's really no one else to do it."
And she said that it couldn't be true, "You're such a leader."
"You think? ~snort~" I replied.
"Well, sure you are. Mrs S (the principal) has commented more than once the good things you've been doing this year, and how successful they are. You're a leader whether or not you know it."
In thinking on this, it gives me the giggles--partly because I'm apparently doing a good job at whatever it is I'm doing, and partly because I'm just vain.
I learned that I can control my attitude and my tongue. I learned that I began to grind my teeth. I learned again (like I do every year) that I am desperately and nauseatingly in love with my husband.
I also learned that I am a leader.
I spent loads of time trying to be a leader when I was younger. And I never could quite pull it off. It was pathetic in a way, the way I kept desperately trying so hard. Every election, prior to 2009, I entered, I lost (and in all honesty, not always with grace.)
This year, with no effort on my part (and not a little surprise) I was nominated and elected to the PTA Executive Board. I mean, I didn't put my own name in. I didn't ask anyone else to nominate me, and when asked if I was going to put my name in, I laughed a nervous little laugh, and said, "No. I like the cheap seats, thanks."
I had fully embraced my being an Indian, and had fully given up hopes of being a Chief. I am not Chief material, people. I don't do tact and diplomacy so well, and I have a tendancy to totally mess up and drop the ball on big important things.
I even went so far as to prove my unworthiness by offering (albeit while laughing and joking around) the other members of the PTA Smarties, asking that you "be sure to let me know when they start working." And I made fun of myself, and made moderately adult jokes about some of the Dads at school. I made it clear, I thought, that I don't necessarily play well with others, and I certainly have a ribald sense of humor--ribald, slightly vulgar, and certainly off center sense of humor.
None of that worked.
They nominated and elected me anyway.
I merely bowed to the inevitable, and am hoping that I can escape that fate with only a one year tenure.
I am alternately delighted with the opportunity for change and overwhelmed with the responsibility (not to mention the aforementioned lack of tact and diplomacy.)
What all this leads up to is that, I'm hearing more and more often that I am "a leader." First, it was at work, with a flat-out statement by the Head Cheese. Today, it was from the Howler's teacher.
How did this happen? Well, how the conversation turned to that, I can answer--how these people got this crazy idea about me, I have no clue.
As for the conversation: the magician was late in arriving at the school. Mrs N asked, not in a mean way, if it was from poor planning or what? So I gave her the Reader's Digest condensed version of the PTA Drama Trauma from February, March, and April. She asked who, then, is next year's President? I told her, and listed the executive board for her, rolling my eyes at my own name.
She said, "But that's good, right?" and I said, "Uh, no. I'm doing it because there's really no one else to do it."
And she said that it couldn't be true, "You're such a leader."
"You think? ~snort~" I replied.
"Well, sure you are. Mrs S (the principal) has commented more than once the good things you've been doing this year, and how successful they are. You're a leader whether or not you know it."
In thinking on this, it gives me the giggles--partly because I'm apparently doing a good job at whatever it is I'm doing, and partly because I'm just vain.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Gak!
My chinny-chin chin hairs are growing in gray/white. And on a pasty white girl's chin, you can feel them (if she lets you) but you can't see 'em.
It's hell, because I know that once they get a certain length, they'll be blacker'n sin and everyone can see 'em, even if I can't.
Gak! I'm getting old!
It's hell, because I know that once they get a certain length, they'll be blacker'n sin and everyone can see 'em, even if I can't.
Gak! I'm getting old!
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Butt...
It seems that I am doomed to look at ass crack the rest of my life.
The crackorama at work has finally (knock on wood) ended, but now, in the neighborhood, there's crack.
The Urchins are back (Waif & Loser Lover moved out last fall...then came back in late winter) and the Urchins are officially not allowed in my house. Two weekends ago, they were rooting through my cupboards and 'fridge, helping themselves.
Now, I do not begrudge a child food when they're hungry, but these two have taken to showing up "just in time" to ask "can we eat with you"? In other words, they ain't getting fed at home, and it's now my responsibility to feed them, since last summer's free-for-all has ended.
So, they come to my house, and help themselves. A bag of chips lasts minutes, and short of using the stove, it's anything goes. It doesn't help that they've helped trash my house with toys, then disappeared. And Sunday evening, began systematically emptying the sand box into the parking area for the tenants.
Oh, I so do not think so.
Anyway, Dolly is now wearing pants that don't fit--they're too big. I'm guessing that Loser Boy is too cheap (and too busy at the bar) to buy his daughter clothes that fit. Her butt hangs out of them almost continually. She's not wearing panties with them either, so I have choice A) they're dirty and laundry ain't getting done, or choice B) those don't fit her either, or choice C) both A and B.
It's frustrating. Because it's the Howler who is sharing the 411 on what it's like at the Urchin's home, not them. If it were them, I could reasonably document and deal, but since it's my 7 year old spilling the beans, I can document, but there's not much anyone can, or will, do about it. It's also sad to think that even this kind of neglect is low on the Needs-Investigated scale, since, they attend school, get infrequent meals, and have a roof over their heads and clothes on their bodies.
Some bleeting heart will probably tell me that I'm too harsh, these are children. But you know what? I'm not responsible for opk. That's why they're OPK--they're not mine, and it's not my job to raise them. And, I don't think I should have to put up with the disrespect and mouthiness I'm now getting from said OPK.
If I am feeding you regularly, and you're not actually blood related to me, then the least you can do is not trash the stuff I paid for, follow the rules at my house, and speak to me with a minimum of respect. Don't shoot me dirty looks when I tell you about it, either.
So anyway, now that the majority of my wise cracking (HAH! Get it?) is handled at work, I now get to come home and look at it.
The only difference is, I can tell this one to pull her pants up as often as I want.
The crackorama at work has finally (knock on wood) ended, but now, in the neighborhood, there's crack.
The Urchins are back (Waif & Loser Lover moved out last fall...then came back in late winter) and the Urchins are officially not allowed in my house. Two weekends ago, they were rooting through my cupboards and 'fridge, helping themselves.
Now, I do not begrudge a child food when they're hungry, but these two have taken to showing up "just in time" to ask "can we eat with you"? In other words, they ain't getting fed at home, and it's now my responsibility to feed them, since last summer's free-for-all has ended.
So, they come to my house, and help themselves. A bag of chips lasts minutes, and short of using the stove, it's anything goes. It doesn't help that they've helped trash my house with toys, then disappeared. And Sunday evening, began systematically emptying the sand box into the parking area for the tenants.
Oh, I so do not think so.
Anyway, Dolly is now wearing pants that don't fit--they're too big. I'm guessing that Loser Boy is too cheap (and too busy at the bar) to buy his daughter clothes that fit. Her butt hangs out of them almost continually. She's not wearing panties with them either, so I have choice A) they're dirty and laundry ain't getting done, or choice B) those don't fit her either, or choice C) both A and B.
It's frustrating. Because it's the Howler who is sharing the 411 on what it's like at the Urchin's home, not them. If it were them, I could reasonably document and deal, but since it's my 7 year old spilling the beans, I can document, but there's not much anyone can, or will, do about it. It's also sad to think that even this kind of neglect is low on the Needs-Investigated scale, since, they attend school, get infrequent meals, and have a roof over their heads and clothes on their bodies.
Some bleeting heart will probably tell me that I'm too harsh, these are children. But you know what? I'm not responsible for opk. That's why they're OPK--they're not mine, and it's not my job to raise them. And, I don't think I should have to put up with the disrespect and mouthiness I'm now getting from said OPK.
If I am feeding you regularly, and you're not actually blood related to me, then the least you can do is not trash the stuff I paid for, follow the rules at my house, and speak to me with a minimum of respect. Don't shoot me dirty looks when I tell you about it, either.
So anyway, now that the majority of my wise cracking (HAH! Get it?) is handled at work, I now get to come home and look at it.
The only difference is, I can tell this one to pull her pants up as often as I want.
Crazies
You can tell that the weather is getting nicer, because people are, to put it bluntly, Batshit Crazy. More so than usual.
I spent a good portion of my 6 hour day explaining that we carry no less than 3 brands of dirt, each of those brands offers at least 3 sizes of bags, and that each brand and size has no less than 5 formulas of dirt.
Yes, dirt.
It also seemed beyond comprehension for these idiots that, yes, we do actually HAVE the dirt, and the dirt's placement within our realm of reality requires that you actually open your eyes and pay attention to your surroundings. It also means that unless YOU, the customer, have a minimum of a clue as to what you need, I, the cashier, am not going to be able to do your thinking for you.
Even though I am quite fantastic and wonderful, I am not psychic, and will not be able to do your thinking for you.
The kicker yesterday, though, wasn't about dirt. It's about out-and-out stupidity.
Imagine, if you will, a man walking into the garden center--full of brilliantly colored plant life, and asking for, of all things, "Fake Grass."
Imagine my innumerable responses.
In the end, I did not direct him to our "Fake Garden Center" and I did not punish our competitors by directing him to them--though, I wish I had, because I firmly believe that if you're stupid enough to come into a place where even it's name suggests LIVE plantsand ask for "fake" anything, you deserve to be sent on a snipe hunt. I sent him to the flooring department, where, I assume, he asked for paint or plywood.
Where do they find them, and why do they keep sending them to me?
I spent a good portion of my 6 hour day explaining that we carry no less than 3 brands of dirt, each of those brands offers at least 3 sizes of bags, and that each brand and size has no less than 5 formulas of dirt.
Yes, dirt.
It also seemed beyond comprehension for these idiots that, yes, we do actually HAVE the dirt, and the dirt's placement within our realm of reality requires that you actually open your eyes and pay attention to your surroundings. It also means that unless YOU, the customer, have a minimum of a clue as to what you need, I, the cashier, am not going to be able to do your thinking for you.
Even though I am quite fantastic and wonderful, I am not psychic, and will not be able to do your thinking for you.
The kicker yesterday, though, wasn't about dirt. It's about out-and-out stupidity.
Imagine, if you will, a man walking into the garden center--full of brilliantly colored plant life, and asking for, of all things, "Fake Grass."
Imagine my innumerable responses.
In the end, I did not direct him to our "Fake Garden Center" and I did not punish our competitors by directing him to them--though, I wish I had, because I firmly believe that if you're stupid enough to come into a place where even it's name suggests LIVE plantsand ask for "fake" anything, you deserve to be sent on a snipe hunt. I sent him to the flooring department, where, I assume, he asked for paint or plywood.
Where do they find them, and why do they keep sending them to me?
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