Okay. The Dad is going a bit nuts here.
I mentioned to him yesterday (we both ended up at the school making copies of PTA stuff & nonsense) that my neighbor is NOT my buddy. And that, since she believes him to be one of her great-known-him-for-years friends (HAH!) he is going to be who she goes to.
I also learned that everyone else finds it odd that she hangs and hangs and hangs around after the meetings. We're trying to get stuff finished up--who's doing what, etc--and there she is. Now, if we had some things to discuss that would be for the general membership, we'd have brought it up during the meeting, duh. Not that we're trying to be exclusive, but, as you know, with any group, there's behind the scenes planning and deciding that gets done, and unless you're on the board, you should not a) hear about it until & unless it's discussed at a meeting and b) expect to have everyone holding yer hand and begging you to stick around.
As I've said, I'm sure I've done just this sort of thing (without the huge-mongous boobs and pierced tongue) before, but, seriously. I think if she could learn when/if we have executive board meetings, she'd show up for them, too.
I'd like to think that part of it is that she sees me as this mover-and-shaker friendly person, and I have been working on not totally putting off the "I hate people on general principal" vibe, but c'mon! Pay attention and back up!
I told The Dad that HE could discuss her makeup choices with her. And she could glom onto HIM. He said he barely knows her--she worked at the smoke shop over a year ago, and that's where she knows him from.
For the record, I have some customers whom I am on a first name basis with--after NINE years. And I may see them when I'm not at work, but it's a "hi. haven't seen ya in a while" kind of thing--not a friend thing. We don't send Christmas cards, and we don't hang out. I may tell people "I know him/her" but I'm not going to say, "Oh, yeah, I've known him for years and we're friends."
It's just weird--or is it a woman thing that I seem to have missed catching?
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Rant On
Yes, there's more about my neighbor-new best friend.
These are timeless questions, I'm asking here.
First, I'm still looking for the answer to "Is there a polite way to tell someone to crawl out of your ass?"
Second, what kind of insanity inspires a woman to talk about her failed make up choices to a woman who so obviously doesn't wear so much as eyeliner?
Yeah. I don't wear make up (okay, maybe 2x a year I do, but every day? I don't have that kind of time or energy) and yet, during the Fall Festival, whenever she was able to attach herself to me, she would talk about Avon's newest, or Cover Girl's something or other.
I kept saying, "I don't wear make up, so I wouldn't know." and that's when she switched from Avon to Cover Girl. Even telling her that the extent of my cosmetic expertise begins and ends with my choices for Revlon hair color and Clairol Nice 'n Easy hair color didn't deter her.
What possesses someone to do that? I mean, if you've tried ONE brand as the topic of conversation, and the ass you're trying to crawl up doesn't respond at all, why would you stick to that topic, but start blathering about a different brand?
It's a form of insanity, isn't it?
These are timeless questions, I'm asking here.
First, I'm still looking for the answer to "Is there a polite way to tell someone to crawl out of your ass?"
Second, what kind of insanity inspires a woman to talk about her failed make up choices to a woman who so obviously doesn't wear so much as eyeliner?
Yeah. I don't wear make up (okay, maybe 2x a year I do, but every day? I don't have that kind of time or energy) and yet, during the Fall Festival, whenever she was able to attach herself to me, she would talk about Avon's newest, or Cover Girl's something or other.
I kept saying, "I don't wear make up, so I wouldn't know." and that's when she switched from Avon to Cover Girl. Even telling her that the extent of my cosmetic expertise begins and ends with my choices for Revlon hair color and Clairol Nice 'n Easy hair color didn't deter her.
What possesses someone to do that? I mean, if you've tried ONE brand as the topic of conversation, and the ass you're trying to crawl up doesn't respond at all, why would you stick to that topic, but start blathering about a different brand?
It's a form of insanity, isn't it?
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Back Up
On Rant:
So, in my neighborhood, as we all know, there are some interesting people. I use the word interesting in the loosest possible way.
The one family--the one with Dolly and Urchin--are baaaa-aack. And I'm her bestest best friend EVER. Whether I want to be or not.
Bleah.
Let me explain. Late last winter, she & Urchin moved back. Yippee. Dolly & Urchin spent Memorial Day weekend raiding my cupboards & fridge. Then they spent June & July rooting through our non-edible stuff. No matter what kind of snit I pitched, the next time they were up, it was like a free-for-all, and no matter what I banned them from before, they were onto bigger and better things later.
I also didn't like the group trips to the bathroom--that's a sure-fire way to have children where children don't belong. Meaning, "In MY Stuff."
Anyway, both the Grocery Gobblers (or G-Squared as my Sweetie has been calling them) are in the Howler's school this year. And, Dolly is in her class. Great. Like I need this stress.
The Incident of August had already prompted us to put an end to the free-for-all time the Howler spent with these girls. (In a nutshell, mine took a dare--a dare that was waaaay inappropriate for this age group to have made; of course, mine had consequences for taking a dare such as this, even though I understand fully that at 7 years old, NOT taking a dare is like NOT breathing.)
The Howler was happy to be in Dolly's class, but I've noticed, whether because of my edict or because the Howler has other fish to fry, they don't hang out much at school. Alleluia!
With school starting, this Mom of the Year has decided to be more involved--in the girls' lives, and their school. Great. I've urged and urged her to concentrate on her own daughter's class (4th grade) and so far, it's not working.
She's up my ass like ugly on an ape. I can't get rid of her at PTA meetings or at parties and things at school.
I'm sorry, but at the meetings, particularly AFTER the meetings, I have other people I want or need to talk to, and in all honesty, some of what may need to be discussed are NOT things for just any-ol'-body to hear. With privacy issues being a hotbed of pissiness, I do not need an extra appendage with size Double D hooters hanging on to me.
And, then, two days later, at the Fall Festival, I got there early as the 2nd in command for our room, and there she was. Up my ass. Again. I couldn't hardly get away from her. I actually took my camera, and handed her the PTA's camera, and told her to take the camera, and take whatever pics she could get of whatever classes she could. (We, the PTA board, are trying to get plenty pics taken throughout the year for the yearbook.) I deliberately ditched her and headed the opposite direction.
As soon as she saw me again, she glommed onto me and wouldn't let go again. If I moved across the room to see what the kids were doing, she was there. Her "own" child was opposite in the room of mine, and yet, there she was, attached to me.
There's no polite way to tell someone to get out of your ass, is there? I've tried to find one. It doesn't exist. I'm afraid I may need to contact the homeroom parent of her actual daughter's class and BEG her to keep this woman busy--and an entire floor away from me.
Either that, or I can only hope that she gets bored well before the end of the year, because somehow, I think that telling her to "back the f&k up, and get out of my ass" isn't going to go over well.
So, in my neighborhood, as we all know, there are some interesting people. I use the word interesting in the loosest possible way.
The one family--the one with Dolly and Urchin--are baaaa-aack. And I'm her bestest best friend EVER. Whether I want to be or not.
Bleah.
Let me explain. Late last winter, she & Urchin moved back. Yippee. Dolly & Urchin spent Memorial Day weekend raiding my cupboards & fridge. Then they spent June & July rooting through our non-edible stuff. No matter what kind of snit I pitched, the next time they were up, it was like a free-for-all, and no matter what I banned them from before, they were onto bigger and better things later.
I also didn't like the group trips to the bathroom--that's a sure-fire way to have children where children don't belong. Meaning, "In MY Stuff."
Anyway, both the Grocery Gobblers (or G-Squared as my Sweetie has been calling them) are in the Howler's school this year. And, Dolly is in her class. Great. Like I need this stress.
The Incident of August had already prompted us to put an end to the free-for-all time the Howler spent with these girls. (In a nutshell, mine took a dare--a dare that was waaaay inappropriate for this age group to have made; of course, mine had consequences for taking a dare such as this, even though I understand fully that at 7 years old, NOT taking a dare is like NOT breathing.)
The Howler was happy to be in Dolly's class, but I've noticed, whether because of my edict or because the Howler has other fish to fry, they don't hang out much at school. Alleluia!
With school starting, this Mom of the Year has decided to be more involved--in the girls' lives, and their school. Great. I've urged and urged her to concentrate on her own daughter's class (4th grade) and so far, it's not working.
She's up my ass like ugly on an ape. I can't get rid of her at PTA meetings or at parties and things at school.
I'm sorry, but at the meetings, particularly AFTER the meetings, I have other people I want or need to talk to, and in all honesty, some of what may need to be discussed are NOT things for just any-ol'-body to hear. With privacy issues being a hotbed of pissiness, I do not need an extra appendage with size Double D hooters hanging on to me.
And, then, two days later, at the Fall Festival, I got there early as the 2nd in command for our room, and there she was. Up my ass. Again. I couldn't hardly get away from her. I actually took my camera, and handed her the PTA's camera, and told her to take the camera, and take whatever pics she could get of whatever classes she could. (We, the PTA board, are trying to get plenty pics taken throughout the year for the yearbook.) I deliberately ditched her and headed the opposite direction.
As soon as she saw me again, she glommed onto me and wouldn't let go again. If I moved across the room to see what the kids were doing, she was there. Her "own" child was opposite in the room of mine, and yet, there she was, attached to me.
There's no polite way to tell someone to get out of your ass, is there? I've tried to find one. It doesn't exist. I'm afraid I may need to contact the homeroom parent of her actual daughter's class and BEG her to keep this woman busy--and an entire floor away from me.
Either that, or I can only hope that she gets bored well before the end of the year, because somehow, I think that telling her to "back the f&k up, and get out of my ass" isn't going to go over well.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
It's a Time Suck
As if I have the energy for this sort of thing:
The PTA is a time suck. I feel like I spend my life making lists of all the crap I have to get done in a day. At least 1/2 of it involves the PTA. Time Suck doesn't begin to cover it. Seriously.
The computer dying didn't help. I had templates done and stuff that would be reused (lists and such) every month. That would avoid the Time Suck and let me concentrate on the parts that needed done as new every month. Getting a new 'puter and changing the program I was using involved learning the new program, as well as retyping everything.
Not helping the Time Suck.
Add to it how freaking exhausted I am all the time, and the various events and activities we've got going on...the Howler's two activities a week (soccer and AWANAS) are a Time Suck themselves. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.
Anyway, I still have all this stuff to do, and what am I worried about? Posting on the ol' blogs. Why? Because then all 2 of my faithful readers will know that I did not, contrary to what I had hoped for, crawl under a rock to die.
I'm still alive, barely kickin', and now, I'm typing a whinging post.
But, hey, at least I'm not complaining about work.
The PTA is a time suck. I feel like I spend my life making lists of all the crap I have to get done in a day. At least 1/2 of it involves the PTA. Time Suck doesn't begin to cover it. Seriously.
The computer dying didn't help. I had templates done and stuff that would be reused (lists and such) every month. That would avoid the Time Suck and let me concentrate on the parts that needed done as new every month. Getting a new 'puter and changing the program I was using involved learning the new program, as well as retyping everything.
Not helping the Time Suck.
Add to it how freaking exhausted I am all the time, and the various events and activities we've got going on...the Howler's two activities a week (soccer and AWANAS) are a Time Suck themselves. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.
Anyway, I still have all this stuff to do, and what am I worried about? Posting on the ol' blogs. Why? Because then all 2 of my faithful readers will know that I did not, contrary to what I had hoped for, crawl under a rock to die.
I'm still alive, barely kickin', and now, I'm typing a whinging post.
But, hey, at least I'm not complaining about work.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
R U Sayin' I'm Fat?
The past few days at work have been cold. Not cool, COLD. As in, numbing. I refuse to break out the Orange (and deal with the Great Pumpkin references) until October, so I stuck with my spring and summer attire: Ol' Yeller.
The yellow rainslicker, in and of itself, other than being very very bright yeller, isn't bad. But when paired with the yeller pants, it's quite a sight.
And, apparently, when paired with my standard issue uniform (a red vest) I look like Winnie the Pooh on the LP cameras. I asked if LP was calling me fat. She said no, but I am choosing to blow this out of proportion anyway.
Luckily, years ago, during the cold weather, I gave up my dignity and vanity for warmth, and opted to keep all 10 fingers and toes, so I can laugh about this.
Besides, other than the apparent physical likeness for a few days, (and the obligatory dum-de-dum-dum humming) I am nothing like the Silly Old Bear. I am not stuffed with fluff, nor am I chubby, tubby, or silly. If the Gnome or Frodo decide to make references to the likeness, I will begin using phrases such as "Oh, bother" and "smackerel of honey" on a regular basis.
Now that I think about it, this is going to get ugly.
Thankfully, the Great Pumpkin arrives tomorrow.
The yellow rainslicker, in and of itself, other than being very very bright yeller, isn't bad. But when paired with the yeller pants, it's quite a sight.
And, apparently, when paired with my standard issue uniform (a red vest) I look like Winnie the Pooh on the LP cameras. I asked if LP was calling me fat. She said no, but I am choosing to blow this out of proportion anyway.
Luckily, years ago, during the cold weather, I gave up my dignity and vanity for warmth, and opted to keep all 10 fingers and toes, so I can laugh about this.
Besides, other than the apparent physical likeness for a few days, (and the obligatory dum-de-dum-dum humming) I am nothing like the Silly Old Bear. I am not stuffed with fluff, nor am I chubby, tubby, or silly. If the Gnome or Frodo decide to make references to the likeness, I will begin using phrases such as "Oh, bother" and "smackerel of honey" on a regular basis.
Now that I think about it, this is going to get ugly.
Thankfully, the Great Pumpkin arrives tomorrow.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Stupid Is As Stupid Does
While I was not tethered to the etherworld of the internet, I had dozens of ideas about things I could post--if I were still connected.
As you can see, I can only remember (or find notes about) a few of them.
I'm going to bore you now with a story about love, and marriage. Or at least, mumplelove and mumple marriage.
A week or so ago, I was miserable. I'm tired all the time right now, and the aches and pains in joints just shifts, it never really goes away. Stupidly, on top of this, I agreed that we could keep Missy for the weekend. Dude had to go pick up his parents (neither drives) 6 hours away.
Of course, the Howler looooooooves Missy. On Saturday night, the Howler showered earlier, because Missy was not with us at that point (she's a cheerleader for the flag football league) and she was at a game. When Missy came *home*, she needed a shower. So I troop upstairs with Missy to get her showered. My Sweetie stayed downstairs with the Howler.
While Missy is in the shower, I find a movie on TV. It's not a must see movie or anything, and My Sweetie certainly wouldn't be interested in it at all--no nudity, no explosions, no screaming, etc.
Anyway, I end up watching this entire movie, except for maybe the first 5 minutes. I miss a bit here and there while getting two 7 year olds ready and into bed.
With 5 freaking minutes to go, My Sweetie comes upstairs and asks (while looking all haggard and exhausted) if I want him to turn off all the lights and stuff, or am I going to do it later?
I go immediately into high-piss off mode, because, well, I don't watch that much TV or anything, but in the nine years we've been together, the only things I'm allowed to watch start-to-finish (either by Howler or by him) have been Buffy the Vampire Slayer (and even that was touch-and-go for about 2 seasons.)
I've commented before: the Howler's plan is that I shall never be allowed to both hear and see--at the same time--a movie or TV show. His plan is that I am allowed to see the beginning, the middle OR the end. But never an entire movie or show, no matter how much I've already seen, nor how interesting it is to me. It's annoying.
And I would've gotten away with it, if it hadn't been for those meddling kids.
So, I'm in high-piss off. Stomping, slamming...you name it.
He decides that now would be the best time to try and discuss it. HAH! I'm in high-piss off. I go around the house, shutting off lights, locking doors (slamming those that need closed first, of course) and generally closing up shop for the night. At one point, I slam a door in his face (in my defense, it was after he all-but demanded that I stop stomping and LISTEN to him. When I continued my stomping and ignored him, he swore at me. Yeah, we're nothing if not mature when we're mad.)
I literally shut off every light in the house and go bed. He comes upstairs, enters our room, and says, "I'm sorry for making you mad. I wasn't trying to. I just wanted to know if you were going back downstairs because I didn't want to shut off all the lights and everything and have you be mad at me. I'm also sorry for what I said. I shouldn't have said it. Now, I'm going to sleep downstairs."
First, I did accept his apology. Second, I did the mature thing, and out tantrumed him. I got up, took my pillow and announced, "If anyone is sleeping downstairs, I am." I tried to leave the room. He wouldn't let me. (He realized how stupid he was being at that point, and that he could NOT out immature me.)
Finally, I made it clear to him that in the entire time we've been together, we've never done that sort of thing--no matter how mad either, or both, of us are, we still sleep in the same bed. No matter what. He's never let me not sleep there, no matter how irrational, crazy, or angry I am. We sleep together. We don't have to snuggle up, there can be no spooning, we don't even have to kiss goodnight, but no matter what, we're both in there, together.
We ended up laughing a little bit about it (but of course, by that time, we were both exhausted.)
So, that's my marriage: Even if we're mad at each other, even if we can't stand each other, we're together--and that means that if it's not bad enough to pack your bags and really leave, then get yer ass to bed and we'll be mad at each other tomorrow (if we still feel like it.)
As you can see, I can only remember (or find notes about) a few of them.
I'm going to bore you now with a story about love, and marriage. Or at least, mumplelove and mumple marriage.
A week or so ago, I was miserable. I'm tired all the time right now, and the aches and pains in joints just shifts, it never really goes away. Stupidly, on top of this, I agreed that we could keep Missy for the weekend. Dude had to go pick up his parents (neither drives) 6 hours away.
Of course, the Howler looooooooves Missy. On Saturday night, the Howler showered earlier, because Missy was not with us at that point (she's a cheerleader for the flag football league) and she was at a game. When Missy came *home*, she needed a shower. So I troop upstairs with Missy to get her showered. My Sweetie stayed downstairs with the Howler.
While Missy is in the shower, I find a movie on TV. It's not a must see movie or anything, and My Sweetie certainly wouldn't be interested in it at all--no nudity, no explosions, no screaming, etc.
Anyway, I end up watching this entire movie, except for maybe the first 5 minutes. I miss a bit here and there while getting two 7 year olds ready and into bed.
With 5 freaking minutes to go, My Sweetie comes upstairs and asks (while looking all haggard and exhausted) if I want him to turn off all the lights and stuff, or am I going to do it later?
I go immediately into high-piss off mode, because, well, I don't watch that much TV or anything, but in the nine years we've been together, the only things I'm allowed to watch start-to-finish (either by Howler or by him) have been Buffy the Vampire Slayer (and even that was touch-and-go for about 2 seasons.)
I've commented before: the Howler's plan is that I shall never be allowed to both hear and see--at the same time--a movie or TV show. His plan is that I am allowed to see the beginning, the middle OR the end. But never an entire movie or show, no matter how much I've already seen, nor how interesting it is to me. It's annoying.
And I would've gotten away with it, if it hadn't been for those meddling kids.
So, I'm in high-piss off. Stomping, slamming...you name it.
He decides that now would be the best time to try and discuss it. HAH! I'm in high-piss off. I go around the house, shutting off lights, locking doors (slamming those that need closed first, of course) and generally closing up shop for the night. At one point, I slam a door in his face (in my defense, it was after he all-but demanded that I stop stomping and LISTEN to him. When I continued my stomping and ignored him, he swore at me. Yeah, we're nothing if not mature when we're mad.)
I literally shut off every light in the house and go bed. He comes upstairs, enters our room, and says, "I'm sorry for making you mad. I wasn't trying to. I just wanted to know if you were going back downstairs because I didn't want to shut off all the lights and everything and have you be mad at me. I'm also sorry for what I said. I shouldn't have said it. Now, I'm going to sleep downstairs."
First, I did accept his apology. Second, I did the mature thing, and out tantrumed him. I got up, took my pillow and announced, "If anyone is sleeping downstairs, I am." I tried to leave the room. He wouldn't let me. (He realized how stupid he was being at that point, and that he could NOT out immature me.)
Finally, I made it clear to him that in the entire time we've been together, we've never done that sort of thing--no matter how mad either, or both, of us are, we still sleep in the same bed. No matter what. He's never let me not sleep there, no matter how irrational, crazy, or angry I am. We sleep together. We don't have to snuggle up, there can be no spooning, we don't even have to kiss goodnight, but no matter what, we're both in there, together.
We ended up laughing a little bit about it (but of course, by that time, we were both exhausted.)
So, that's my marriage: Even if we're mad at each other, even if we can't stand each other, we're together--and that means that if it's not bad enough to pack your bags and really leave, then get yer ass to bed and we'll be mad at each other tomorrow (if we still feel like it.)
Jokers Wild
I tell a lot of stories about work. Some of them about the weirdness that seems to find me no matter where I go, and some of them just ranting.
This time, I'm gonna tell you a story about a funny little Gnome.
Let me say in my defense, anyone who thinks I'm mean for picking on the short guy at work just hasn't been paying attention. Said Gnome makes jokes at my expense all the time, so anything I can do to repay the favor is only fair.
Even he thinks it's funny when Frodo gets a phone message from Ron Popeil about his late shipment of spray-on hair. And the back hair jokes slay 'em in the aisles. But the Gnome, well, he usually thinks faster than I do, and one-ups me.
A few weeks ago, My Sweetie and I were in to look at flooring for the bathroom. The Gnome says "hello" and then asks me what the weather's like outside. I answer honestly--it's sunny and nice out. "It's not windy or anything?" No, it's not, you weirdo.
"Oh, so there's no chance of a house falling on you then, is there?"
A day or so later, we continue that conversation: They're hosing down the floor in the garden center, and I'm getting spritzed no matter where I move to. I call him, knowing he'll laugh his funny little gnomish head off over it, and tell him, "They're hosing the floor out here. I'm getting wet."
"Okay. And....?"
"I could melt!"
He turns around and sends someone else out on the next dampish day to ask if I'm okay...it's wet out here, and blah blah blah.
Ah, yes. A funny funny little gnome. I can't wait to see his reaction to what I've currently got planned.
This time, I'm gonna tell you a story about a funny little Gnome.
Let me say in my defense, anyone who thinks I'm mean for picking on the short guy at work just hasn't been paying attention. Said Gnome makes jokes at my expense all the time, so anything I can do to repay the favor is only fair.
Even he thinks it's funny when Frodo gets a phone message from Ron Popeil about his late shipment of spray-on hair. And the back hair jokes slay 'em in the aisles. But the Gnome, well, he usually thinks faster than I do, and one-ups me.
A few weeks ago, My Sweetie and I were in to look at flooring for the bathroom. The Gnome says "hello" and then asks me what the weather's like outside. I answer honestly--it's sunny and nice out. "It's not windy or anything?" No, it's not, you weirdo.
"Oh, so there's no chance of a house falling on you then, is there?"
A day or so later, we continue that conversation: They're hosing down the floor in the garden center, and I'm getting spritzed no matter where I move to. I call him, knowing he'll laugh his funny little gnomish head off over it, and tell him, "They're hosing the floor out here. I'm getting wet."
"Okay. And....?"
"I could melt!"
He turns around and sends someone else out on the next dampish day to ask if I'm okay...it's wet out here, and blah blah blah.
Ah, yes. A funny funny little gnome. I can't wait to see his reaction to what I've currently got planned.
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