Buckets

I've heard that everyone has a "Bucket List." I don't actually have mine written down, but there are a few things I've wanted to do, and I realize over the past few years, I've been able to do them.

They're not big things. They're not world-changing things.

But they've been things I wanted to do, and I've gotten to do them.

One of them was this:

See Nick Lowe perform. A year ago last September, that happened. A friend from work, who actually knew who he was and I drove 2 hours to see him. He performed my favorite song (I Knew the Bride) and hers (Allison) Also, heard a few songs I either didn't know were his, or hadn't heard before.

Two:

See Lynyrd Skynyrd. Did that this summer, with My Sweetie, the Toad, and the Howler. They also knew I was in the audience, because they also played my favorite song (Gimme Three Steps) the Howler's (Sweet Home Alabama) and the Toad's (Simple Man) The Howler got the T-shirt, because as parents, we're pretty great that way.

Three:

At first, it was to get myself to Conneaut Lake Park and ride the Blue Streak--one of the oldest wooden roller coasters in America--then it was to take the Toad so he could ride it. Did that several years ago. Gave up being able to take the Howler, because CLP is in sad shape these days. Discovered that it was open this summer, and took the Howler. (She absolutely loved it!) Does that count as 3 items, or one with sub-categories? I think it's a 3-fer, and it's my List. So nyah nyah nyah.

Four:

Eat John's Wildwood Pizza. Ate a LOT of it in 3 years at Edinboro University, but haven't had it since 1992 or 1993. Did that at the beginning of this month. We were in Edinboro anyway, and My Sweetie (always a good sport about my insanities) got ourselves a pizza. It was as good as I remember! Not sure if that counts as a Bucket List item either, but again, nyah nyah nyah.

Five:

Design & build a store display window. A good friend of ours has her office downtown, and I asked if I could do her window for Christmas. Luckily, she was ready for a new thing--and I got to do it! Of course, My Sweetie was, as always, a very good sport about it, and built the fireplace (in 2 days!) and was a good-natured pack-mule for hauling, lifting and moving. He also decorated the tree, helped with the higher stuff this short girl couldn't reach, and in general was helpful and non-grouchy about it. I'm pretty pleased with my first effort and will spend the next month gearing up to do it again in January!

In 14 months, I've completed 5 things I've always wanted to do. Now if I could just get my damned poetry manuscript published, I'd have to start over on with a new Bucket!

Middle School Rant 2

I've been holding this in, and I ain't gonna hold it in no more!

Our middle school is like the sweaty armpit of the district. Sure, in every school there are crappy teachers, and crappy principals. Horrifyingly lazy substitutes and self centered oblivious parents. Mean OPK and weird OPK and just OPK.

But the middle school is like hell. Right here, easy to find, just off the Boulevard. So far, I like the school nurse.

The school itself is set up in pods, or "teams." There are 3 teams for each of 3 grades. There are 5 rooms per pod. If imagining just over 100 students scrambling thru the "hallway" between these 5 rooms wasn't horror enough, you get to live it by going to Open House.

The science teacher, described as "yelly" (she yells a lot) by the Howler is downright grumptastic. She had nothing to say to us, really, beyond a greeting as we introduced ourselves and the 150 other parents for Team T that were also crammed into the small "hallway." It's my opinion, as someone who could never ever make an effective teacher, that if, as a teacher of 11 and 12 year olds, you spend regular time at the beginning of your day yelling at the students, you don't have control of your classroom AND you're not a morning person. I'm not impressed by that.

I don't understand why these teachers were so damned determined to stand in the "hallway" crammed, jammed, and hammed up with all those parents and students instead of being INSIDE their respective rooms so that they could actually be approached by parents (I walked into her homeroom/science room and had no clue WHO the teacher was--and the Howler couldn't see her either. We found her, by accident, when leaving the room before I started spouting off about how much I hate the middle school) and could actually focus on the parent(s) she was speaking with.

I was also totally annoyed by other parents. Miss Priss is, of course, on Team T--I couldn't be lucky enough to have FINALLY ditched that little bitch and her self involved smugass mother and step grandmother. I spent part of my evening trying not to trip Granny, since, as oblivious to anyone else around her meant that every step I took meant she was dodging in front of me. She was one dodge away from going down.

Also on Team T is the Princess' daughter. I work with the Princess, and honestly, I get enough of her own junior high attention whoring ways at work. I don't need to see her flip her hair, bat her eyelashes, cut me off when I'm speaking to someone....and the bitch sure as shit did not need to walk in front of me & mine as we waited in line. Apparently, she was absent the day the rest of us learned those lessons we all supposedly learned in kindergarten. When trying to talk with the Howler's social studies teacher, the Princess actually made it a point to direct Mr. Social Studies attention to her by flipping her hair and swinging her fat ass as she left. I can't find a way to even laugh, since her fat ass has been negatively impacting my life all over the place these days.

The only saving grace of Open House was that the Book Fair was also being held that night, and of course, we had to go look. I was happy to do that, as my love affair with libraries has FINALLY FINALLY carried over to the Howler (who has never been impressed with any room full of books before.) While waiting in a very long, slow moving line to pay for the Howler's choices, after being almost knocked over repeatedly by a very chunky monkey & her spawn, I spied the the Troll.

Yes! My Sweetie's ex-wife, which the Howler now knows about. The Howler is not impressed to finally be getting to have a good long look at the thing. When we finally make it out into the hallway, she has successfully located My Sweetie and is being sweet-as-sugar. She's dragging her latest victim husband and her beady eyed, rat faced, blobby daughter with her.

As cruel and unChristian as it is, seeing the Troll (she's really showing her age, btw) made the horror of Open House almost worth it. I say almost, because the aura of pure misery coming off her latest husband (#8, I believe) was enough to kill any happiness--much the way dementors are described in the Harry Potter books. I don't feel guilty about it, because we have mutual friends and thru his family and friends he was warned to get away while he could, and he willfully and knowingly married the succubus anyway. (Hint:  when everyone who knows you, and even her own family warn you to run far, far away from her--and they make it clear they are NOT in any way kidding--and you marry her anyway, you got what you bargained for. And you'll get little sympathy from me for it when you discover your mistake.)

I never said I was a nice person.

As the Middle School Sucks

It sucked the first time through, when I was 12-13 years old.

It sucked the second time through, with the Toad.

It sucks now with the Howler.

The Howler doesn't know how bad it sucks though. Or she's choosing not to notice, probably a mixture of both.

About 2 weeks before school started, the district had orientation(s) scheduled. Thankfully, it was all divided up by alphabet, and there were at least 3 times across 2 days, so it wasn't everybody all at once (and that, friends, is the sum-total of the good there.)

The Howler and I get there just in time to not be late. A woman approaches the microphone, and begins talking. She tells us, 3 minutes into her not really welcoming speech, that's she the principal. Her name is Wendy *muttermutter*. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think if you're speaking into a working microphone, you should be able to be heard.

She proceeds to introduce the Assistant Principal, Mike *muttermutter2*. I assume they're not related. She introduces the 6th grade guidance counselor. Wanna know what that woman's name is? SO THE FUCK DO I. Yuppers, still talking into the microphone, and still not being heard.

Principal Muttermutter continues to introduce the resource officer, and the district's athletic director. I know the athletic director's name! She managed to say his name, first and last, into the microphone! YAY! Because he's the ONE GUY in the entire school district my daughter will absolutely be having contact with every day! He'll be totally involved in helping us navigate this crazy world called middle school!

NOT.

Assistant Principal Muttermutter (no relation) and Ms. FuckifIknowhername guidance counselor got up and had a lovely power point presentation on expectations and some of the finer points of arrival and dismissal. Neither one bothered to say their names again.

Maybe I'm just an old grump with too-high expectations...but REALLY. When having an Orientation, don't you expect that the people who show up are there because THEY HAVEN'T FUCKING DONE THIS SHIT BEFORE (or in my case, not in over a decade, which amounts to the same thing), and you really should make sure that by first speaking clearly into a functioning microphone and by second repeating the names of the faculty and staff who will be having contact with my daughter I know who you are and what your responsibility/authority is. "I expect to be having a conversation with you about my daughter at some point this year and I'd like to know your name so I recognize the importance of your call when it comes" also plays a part in my annoyance.

Expecting me to follow along in the student day planner/handbook would go a lot further if, as you chatter about procedures in no discernable order, you tell me what page to look at. I barely found the arrival information when you skittered off into no-man's land to cover the lunchtime procedure.

I'll rant and rage about Open House on the next installment of As the Middle School Sucks (it's sad and funny at the same time that in the 6 weeks or so school's been in I'm already THIS annoyed.)

Phone Home

I rant a lot about the stupidity that I encounter at work. Especially with the phone calls. I don't know if I get an inordinate number of these stupidity calls, or if it's my perspective on them, but either way, here's several years worth of 'em:

• When dialing into our store, the first voice you hear is automated, and the first thing it says is, "Thank you for calling " I realize that it probably pays a lot of businesses to put the wrong name in there, so once you get a real live person, it makes perfect sense to say, "Is this ?" You can justify it by telling me that because the real live person is required by company phone protocol to say, "How may I direct your call?" without identifying the store (again) but seriously? You dial the store's number, and when it connects to us, we identify ourselves...you still need to ask? Really?

• Our store has the words "Home Improvement" in it's official name. Do you really think it's helpful, when asked, "How may I direct your call?" to ask for the "Home improvement department" and to get pissy when asked for more specific information?

• I do know that there are entire stores devoted wholly to plumbing and heating supplies. I understand that many places who carry those kinds of things lump those two things together. But when you call and ask to be connected with "plumbing and heating" and I tell you that in our store, those are in two separate departments, and you argue with me over needing to speak to plumbing AND heating, there's a 50-50 chance I'm gonna guess wrong in which one you really need. Play along and pretend that, because I work there, I actually do know which is kept where.

• Along that with that thought...if you ask me for something (say, caulk or glue) that is in a department that doesn't make sense to you, can you, just for shits & giggles, accept that when I connect you with the paint department, and you don't tell them what you need, and they transfer you back to me, and I explain that it's in the paint department, and then send your call back to the paint department, that I just might know more about what's in this store and where it's kept, you know, because I work there. If you must insist that it's not going to be where you're told it's going to be, don't get mad and call Customer Care and report me as unhelpful--it's not me with the problem understanding English.

• If you're going to assume that everything we say to you is lie anyway, why do you bother with us? Do you enjoy the stress? 'Cuz quite honestly, even if you do, I don't, and I think, in this instance, it's not nice to share.

• If for some reason the gods of retail personally have a grudge against you, and we have collectively managed to piss in your oatmeal every blessed time you call or come in here, take the hint: stop shopping here. Stop calling. Stop. Just STOP. If it's THAT bad, you can control where you go to get whatever the hell it is you need. (and the flip side of that is if you're asshole enough to make every person you've ever been in contact with hate you and feel ill when they see you, please consider whether or not the problem is really YOU. 14,000 others in your community can't be all wrong.)

Beggars Can't Be Choosers

Again with the Chaos.

Michelle shows up one day last week--she doesn't usually just "drop in"--so we knew something was up.

She begins the conversation with, "I was just hit on." there's a long pause, then, "at the soup kitchen!" And she's disgusted that this happened.

Apparently even the indigent & disabled have cellphones and are clamoring for her number. She has steadfastly refused all this guy's (gawd, I'm hoping it's a guy, although, now that I'm thinking about it, she was never actually stated that "he" was) advances. Even when "he's" tried to get her mother to stage a celibacy intervention.

Chaos loves to tell stories backwards--meaning she starts at the end and then works her way to the beginning. And then, it just gets stranger.

It's sloppy joe night at the soup kitchen, and Omi, who spawned this Chaos, donates cash so they can "eat out."

Chaos is a germophobe, so even the idea that she's eating in a church basement soup kitchen is laugh worthy. She also questions the contents of any meal not prepared at the local supermarket deli, and "loose meat" sammiches are always in the questionable content category.

So they find seats, and the soup kitchen helpers--who were all cafeteria ladies in previous lives--send over their sammiches. The lady plunks the plate in front of Chaos, Queen of Germophobes, and pats the sloppy joe. Yes, she manhandles a severe germophobe's sammich.

Later in the meal, the cafeteria lady offers coffee. Chaos accepts, thinking that scalding liquid will kill any lingering germs in her stomach....cafeteria lady pulls the coffee mug close enough to pour...with her finger entirely inside the mug.

Poor Chaos. Her one fancy meal of the month...covered in cafeteria lady cooties and illicit indigents.

Chaos Thy Name is Michelle

So, I've told stories about my neighbor, and I'm not even bothering to give her a nick. Of course, I'll end up referring to her as "Chaos" in the future, but until then...it's all bets are off.

This is the friend who came to my house after having a hysterectomy and after commenting how itchy the healing process had become, asked, "We're good friends, right? You and I are good friends, not just neighbors, right?" I knew where THAT was going and refused to answer any further questions.

Later, when she started to admire my spatulas, I ran.

Mostly, I think she does this for the effect--I'm used to being the totally unpredictable one and here she is, stealing my thunder. Yes, she leaves me speechless at times. Most times, it's speechless from laughing, but still. Speech. Less. Me. Be afraid, I'm buying her a bus ticket to visit you.

A week or so ago, she shows up at my house. I'm sitting on the patio, minding my own bees wax. She's on her cellphone, in the middle of a conversation. She walks over to me and mid-sentence in her conversations with I-don't-even-begin-to-know, leans over and says, "Motorboat me baby!"

As I sit there, totally flummoxed, she stands up, and continues her conversation about her cellphone provider account.

I manage to ask, "You were on hold, right?" She shakes her head "no."

She's weird as hell, but she makes me laugh for all the wrong reasons. And I rejoice that I actually do have friends.

Hi! I'm Mumple, and I'll Be Blogging Again

Hi! I know I fell off the planet at some point. Mostly, it was an intensely stressful funk (also known as depression) and luckily, with sunshine and listening to The Talking Heads, I am trying to crawl back out of it without medication. Yay me.

So very much has happened, mostly stress inducing, and while most of it is blog-worthy, I just wasn't up to making it funny. Absolutely because I wasn't finding the humor in it. I've now hit the proverbial wall, and, well, FUCK IT. Fuck the stress--and those assholes causing it--I'm going to find the funny if it kills me, and I while I don't actively want it (or anything/anyone) else to kill them, I won't mourn their passing from my universe.

I guess what I'm saying it Fuck It, and Fuck Them. Watch out world, I'm baaaaa-aaaaack (for reals)!

1-800-IR-ID10T

Saturday at work, I had a lovely experience with couple from the inbred county to the north.

They come to my register, and tell me "I got a thing in there." He jabs a finger at the register screen. I scan the few items they are also carrying, then ask for their phone number.

"000-IR-ID10T" I dutifully type the number...and nothing. I get a listing of nothing. I ask if that's the phone number he gave to "them" back in appliances. He says, "That's my number."

"There's nothing coming up under that. I'll have to call back and see..."

He says, "That's not the number I gave them, though."

"OooooooooooooooKay. What's the number you gave them?" I'm ready to retype a number.

"My contact number. Like they asked for."

"OOOOooooooooooooooooKay. What would that number be?" Still ready to retype the number.

"My cellphone."

"Could I have that number then, please?" Still ready to retype the number.

"IR-ID10T-000" I type that in, and whaddaya know...it's there! What a concept.

He adds, "I don't know why it didn't come up under my home number."

I can't help myself...."Did you give them your home number?"

"Nope."

Is it really this hard? Really?

That Sucking Noise

I am vulgar. Just ask my mother. And that's your only warning.

I work with some great people. And I work with some lazy, disgusting, stupid people. Two of the worse ones are also fat, and getting fatter. I don't mean they have a little meat on 'em, I mean, they are flat out FAT. I don't care, mostly, but they are also the laziest, back-stabbingest, and personality-less women I've ever had the displeasure to get to know.

Their fat doesn't bother me, as I was once fat myself. (OK. full disclosure, I'm still not-thin, but I ain't FAT. And I hope to never have my bubble burst that I was fat AND disgusting. Just sayin') What bothers me that as these two get fattER, as they get laziER, their approval rating with the men in the store gets higher.

For both of them, their sum-total personality aspects are that they make it clear they have no CLUE how large they are, and they will work very hard (and, from what I've observed, go to any lengths) to NOT do their jobs.

One is the spitting image, I swear it!, of Miss Piggy. The other is very blonde with blue eyes just a floating in batting eyelashes, and apparently, it's true:  blondes do get away with murder. How shallow are these guys, anyway?

I have my theories on why they get the pass on work...it involves golf balls and garden hoses.

So, I work til close last night..with BOTH of them. I am alternately pissed off, disgusted, and humored by my own vile thoughts. This culminated in ending the evening making sucking noises while waiting to be set free.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssuck. sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssuck. ssssssssssssuck.

Because they do. In more ways than one.