Lyns arrived Friday night, much to my delight. She brought New Moon, for us to watch, since last weekend we got too sleepy after watching Twilight. We were going to play catch-up. And MOST definitely watch the movie this weekend.
But before we could settle into any movie-thon....We went firstly to the commissary to load up on mounds of junk food, which any good calorie free movie watching weekend demands.
Lyns & I walked around and around the commissary, dodging the hoverround gang that seemed to gaggle it's way into our aisle at every turn.
We couldn't decide on anything definite....everything looked good, but yet, nothing looked good. It was a hard decision but we settled on a chocolate peanut butter cake and some molly mcbutter. (Ms. McButter was for future use in Hobo Popcorn.)
AND some Lay's Pepper Relish Potato Chips (Mmm. Mmm. Deeelish!)
We came home, ate a non delivered Digorno...supreme. It lived up to it's name...it was Supreme...in deliciousness.
The Two of us, did not, in fact, make it to New Moon. Nay. Instead we laughed until we cried at Dane Cook's Vicious Circle.
We called it a night, and woke up saturday for shopping/junking/coffee drinking.
I made the world's strongest coffee, because that is how I like it.
We drank a cup, and headed to Dunkin Donuts...were we got MORE coffee and a delicious breakfast of Donuts.
Next stop? Goodwill Jessup.
There was treasure to be found...and Lyns had a new surname given to her. Trayvon, her robust cashier with sausage link fingers decided, that her last name was Goodwin.
Lyns said "GoodNo...It's Goodno."
Trayvon said "Oh...looks like...an E in there..."
This is just one more knotch in the running tally of "how many people can mispronounce our last names..."
Her running tally/My Running Tally:
Good-now/Shuman
Goodwin/Shoe-MON
Goody/Shumaker
Goodluck/Shultz
Good-n-plenty/Schwartz
GoodnessGracious GreatBallz of Fire/Shooweeisthatthelitterbox
We took our hard-to-understand surnames & carried on with our day, which took us less than a mile away to the wonderously amazingly mothball smelling Salvation Army.
There was very little debachery in the Army of Salvation.
We spotted some oh-so-lovely wedding gowns.
Some glorious acid washed jeans
And some sexy lingerie....circa 1962.
We passed on everything....
Even though Lyns found it positively heartwrenching to walk away from the acid washed Jeans.
We promptly went straight to the showrooms of Ikea.
Our mission? To get the basket, lamps, arty prints, organizers and cinnamon rolls on Lyns' list.
And to count up the number of fat pregnant women. (Any pregnant woman got on our tally of fat pregnant women)
We instantly found 2 pregnants, and what is without doubt the ugliest baby on the face of the planet...in it's division. (being the college park area of MD) Possibly the WORLD.
First of all, don't judge for me calling that baby ugly. Because, If I'd had my camera, I'd have proof. But I did NOT have my camera, so You will absolutely just HAVE to take my word for it.
She was blonde. Her hair was in sweat curls hanging limp around her head. She was fat. And that wasn't her downfall per se. I love fat babies.
But she wasn't just "hey, i'm a baby with some good old fashion chub-a-lub" fat. NOR was she "Look at my buddha belly isn't that cute?" robust?
No. She was a "I-can't-get-out-of-my-crib-due-to-my-girth-so-bring-me-a-box-of-fish-sticks-and-some-tartar-sauce-stat-then-call-Maury-and-book-me-on-an-episode" lard.
She was asleep in her Chicco stroller.
The bulk of her fat head was resting calmy on her fat fat face. She had the biggest weirdest cheeks I'd ever seen. They were bright red. I was only sure that it could be, getting too hot while she slept, Alcohol Abuse, Balsam Apple Poisoning, Barber's Rash, Rosacea, or Exercising.
(Although...I think it's safe to eliminate the last from the list)
Her siblings were equally annoying. The Brothers were throwing "juice" from their sipper cups, at each other, except...it was going everywhere.
The parents...well, they were trendies. And proceeded to ignore the fact that Zoey was bitch slapping her brothers with a sense of glee. And I would've felt gleeful watching, except the older sister was on my nerves with her face.
The mom said "Trevor...Alex...I don't want JUICE on my things."
I thought..."Well, neither do I, lady...but you're the one with 4 spawn...so...might I suggest a Tubal Ligation/Vasectomy/NuvaRing/Depo Provera/IUD since barrior methods apparently have no appeal to you two horndogs?"
Lyns sneered at the 2nd to the youngest of the Poop-in-Your-Pants Brood as he grabbed our buggy and tried to do-si-do while we waited for employee assistance.
On our way out, we did indeed pick up a box of their Glorious Cinnamon Buns....FOR Sunday Breakfast...not for right now...
However, it must be said that We worked up an appetite in all the kid hating....and went to the Ghetto Fabulous Laurel Chic-Fil-A.
Lyns told me a story about someone she knows. I said "yeah. but who cares...she's fat."
Lyns said "Yeah...but she lost like 37 lbs. She's on the biggest loser diet.."
I said "She IS a loser."
She laughed. I munched a waffle fry.
Post Chic-fil-a-ing we went across the parking lot to Target. We debated on Baby Binks, but just said NO! To the potential calories lurking inside the bunny's two glorious sugar eyes.
Relying instead on the many calories that were provided in the Dark Mocha Cherry Jubilee we found at Starbucks.
First of all, the sign on the chalkboard says "Admit it, you WANT to try the new Dark Cherry Mocha Latte!"
And I'm the first one here to admit that NO. You don't.
It's gritty.
It's bitter.
It's....nasty.
The two coffeed up sisters returned to the apartment, wherein the brother-in-law and chloe came for slumber party parte deux.
We had subway, and yes, we Finally watched New Moon, and lounged around in our calorie infested day...It was glorious...
The only sad part?
When they loaded up their loot, and new found treasures and went back to PA.
And I am going back to a low-calorie week :)
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Sunny Weekends
Spring is springing forth as I type. This past weekend was positively lovely. I was happy to see the yellow blossoms on the Forsythia, even if it makes my eyes ooze icky stinky gunk.
No matter...it's SPRINGTIME! The weather is warming up, and I'm actually wearing flip flops without cold toes!
It's amazing to me that just a mere...what....2 and a half weeks ago, the ground was covered in snow, and I had no hopes of seeing a daffodil anywhere.
This weekend, I went to PA to spend time with my Lovely baby sister, and her husband and pup.
We made homemade pizza, laughed too much, and sipped Mango Margaritas.
The only thing missing was Michael.
It is so very difficult to live your newly married life miles and miles apart. Especially when it seems as though there is no end to the gap between us.
Boarding a plane headed towards Nurnberg seems like a dream. It seems like a fairytale.
Hearing his voice on the phone makes me very feel very Kim Wilde. It keeps me hangin' on.
I think about how fast the butterflies will be flying around and around in my stomach when I'm on the plane inching closer and closer to him.
How excited I will be to throw my arms around him, and actually hug my husband.
That is what I want. I want to HUG my husband. I want to see his smile and look in his beautiful eyes.
But until then, I have weekends with Lyns and sunny days that are only growing warmer!
No matter...it's SPRINGTIME! The weather is warming up, and I'm actually wearing flip flops without cold toes!
It's amazing to me that just a mere...what....2 and a half weeks ago, the ground was covered in snow, and I had no hopes of seeing a daffodil anywhere.
This weekend, I went to PA to spend time with my Lovely baby sister, and her husband and pup.
We made homemade pizza, laughed too much, and sipped Mango Margaritas.
The only thing missing was Michael.
It is so very difficult to live your newly married life miles and miles apart. Especially when it seems as though there is no end to the gap between us.
Boarding a plane headed towards Nurnberg seems like a dream. It seems like a fairytale.
Hearing his voice on the phone makes me very feel very Kim Wilde. It keeps me hangin' on.
I think about how fast the butterflies will be flying around and around in my stomach when I'm on the plane inching closer and closer to him.
How excited I will be to throw my arms around him, and actually hug my husband.
That is what I want. I want to HUG my husband. I want to see his smile and look in his beautiful eyes.
But until then, I have weekends with Lyns and sunny days that are only growing warmer!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Retro Post.
I found this post from my other blog. It was from Michael & I were dating.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Farts...Hey..everyone does it.
Current mood:Down for the Count
Last Night, I visited Michael. In Augusta. I put my hair in low Marcia Brady Piggy tails per glamour magazine. (They suggested that men find loose low pigtails/ponytails very alluring..and yes..I do feel like an idiota for even admitting to reading glamour..but there..I said it.)
You'd have thought I have a bladder of a 2 year old on potty training. I stopped in Smyrna. Covington. Eatonton/Madison. Sparta. AND exit 190. Which is AFTER the Laurel & Hardy Museum exit.
I arrived in a very non prompt fashion. Pony/piggies in place. Lip Gloss in check.
When I pulled into our ritual meeting place, he pulled in shortly after. Smiling he jumped out of his quickly parked truck, and ran around to me. He enthusiastically put his arms around me and kissed me all in one sweeping fashion. (Hoorah Marcia Brady Hair!!)
Apparently he was as happy to see me, as I was to see him.
We found a hotel room. The girl behind the counter (who was quite avant-garde with the body glitter) said "well, I just gave away the last non smokes room to the man who was just standing here."
I said "Ah..yes.."
She said "I got a smoker room."
We both looked at each other with grimaces (Not the purple mcdonalds kind) but before we could make any comments, she piped in with 'Our maids is real good. Which means they clean out all the smoke smell."
Mike said "Mind if we go check it out first?"
I tried to make her laugh with some "Is it just me, or does this room smell like Camels?" joke.
I had to tap my invisible microphone and say "Is this thing on?"
We went up to room 209. Opened the door, and were whafted with what smelled like the Marlboro man had just been in this nice room.
We turned around, and went back to the 'office'.
She referred us to their sister. (Hotels have relatives).
Turns out, this place was nice---er. And smoke free. It came complete with everything. Alas, we JUST missed the round bed suites. And all the jacuzzis were spoken for.
We put down our junk and turned on the a/c.
As it was getting quite late, we decided definitely dinner should be at Firehousesubs.
While we're sitting at our little table, eating and talking, and munchin' on these delightful sammiches, the tiniest little girl walks up to our table. Specifically looking and directing her conversation at Mike.
He has a way with kids. They like him. They flock to him.
I topped off the dinner with my kosher dill. I have barely any resistance to those. I decide to save my chips for 'tomorrow' thus reserving room for Cold Stone.
We stand up to leave, and it hits me. The biggest ball of gas. Right in the stomach. NOT the kind you can burp out.
I thought..Oh man..I sooo don't want to fart in his truck. Or the air outside of his truck. Or around him in general. I don't want this man to think that I fart.
In the car we play "name that band". He played a tidbit of a song, and I had to guess the musicians. All the while I'm willing away the gas. Telling my stomach that she does NOT have free fart reign. I could see in my mind, that woman "Take Beano now, and there will BEANO gass later." I wanted to bitch slap her. Had she been en route to Cold Stone, I'd have instructed the driver to pull over.
Despite my airy situation, I did rather well on the guessing game. He even played my favorite Candlebox song. (Far Behind). Loud. Which was fine by me.
In Cold Stone, we were trying to decide what to choose. He said he was "definitely going for real ice cream, this time."
I said "I think I will too."
I had my eye on the cotton candy one. It's how I'll never grow up. I'll always have a part of me that is 5. I wanted it for the blue color.
Mike chose the birthday cake ice cream bonanza. I'm not sure exactly it's name. I saw that it had a whole brownie in it. That they crush up. BROWNIE may as well have been a boston baked bean. I knew if I ordered that, I'd fart him into oblivion.
The girl behind the counter kept trying to get her fellow employees into sing alongs.
I ordered my "Like it" cotton candy sans add-ins. Add-ins would just encourage the air-outs.
While we're waiting an adorable baby girl (Maybe a year and a half) stands up in her chair. Looks at Mike and dances saying "Mmmm MMMM" in reference to her ice cream.
Kids love him. He was enamoured with her. I told him her dress was 'no bigger than a minute."
He looked at me and said "I've never heard that before."
The moment he was handed his "love it" birthday cake. I knew I wanted it. It looked like a party. It smelled like a party.
He let me eat it. First it was "Just a bite."
I offered him some of my blue. He declined.
Mike smiled as I took another bite.
He asked "Like it, huh?"
I said "Yep! It's like a real party. With Cone shaped hats and everything!"
He was extra generous and let me eat the majority of it.
After the ice cream we went to his barracks to collect his Dvd's. He showed me where he talks to me on the phone. And then up to the top floor to his room. Before entering the barracks he said "Hold your breath, it smells like a huge Fart in there."
I have to admit thinking "Ah..my clever disguise!"
It made me smile thinking of him walking all that way for cell service, just to talk to me, and hear me ramble on in nonsense.
I must say, Mike & his roomie keep their area so nice and tidy. He gave me the grand tour, showed me where the too-packed carnival was happening. Where he sits when he's on duty..the whole nine.
Then we headed back to our big room, to climb into our big bed, and watch Me, Myself & Irene (my choice).
Except, lounging on him while we watch movies (ritualistic of us) was just encouraging the gas. And it was making it highly difficult to hold it in. When you add in the humor factor, I was literally just hoping I could hold it.
Later on, I was dozing off. Almost to that glorious deep sleep. And I hear it.
LOUD.
PFFFFFT!!!
I pop open my eyes. Thinking 'OH geez. Oh good lord. OH MY Sweet Sweet Lord!" Almost certain it was moi.
Then I hear him say my name, quietly, as if he was testing the water to see if I'd heard it. And I realized it wasn't me. I pretended to still be asleep. Trying so very hard not to burst into my 11 year old glee and giggle.
So, apparently, Firehouse gave him the same issue.
This morning we had a WaHo breakfast and non stop conversation. Promising to see each other as much as humanly possible before he leaves Georgia. It was just soo hard to say goodbye.
But 3 hours later, we were yakkin' it up on the phone again...
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Farts...Hey..everyone does it.
Current mood:Down for the Count
Last Night, I visited Michael. In Augusta. I put my hair in low Marcia Brady Piggy tails per glamour magazine. (They suggested that men find loose low pigtails/ponytails very alluring..and yes..I do feel like an idiota for even admitting to reading glamour..but there..I said it.)
You'd have thought I have a bladder of a 2 year old on potty training. I stopped in Smyrna. Covington. Eatonton/Madison. Sparta. AND exit 190. Which is AFTER the Laurel & Hardy Museum exit.
I arrived in a very non prompt fashion. Pony/piggies in place. Lip Gloss in check.
When I pulled into our ritual meeting place, he pulled in shortly after. Smiling he jumped out of his quickly parked truck, and ran around to me. He enthusiastically put his arms around me and kissed me all in one sweeping fashion. (Hoorah Marcia Brady Hair!!)
Apparently he was as happy to see me, as I was to see him.
We found a hotel room. The girl behind the counter (who was quite avant-garde with the body glitter) said "well, I just gave away the last non smokes room to the man who was just standing here."
I said "Ah..yes.."
She said "I got a smoker room."
We both looked at each other with grimaces (Not the purple mcdonalds kind) but before we could make any comments, she piped in with 'Our maids is real good. Which means they clean out all the smoke smell."
Mike said "Mind if we go check it out first?"
I tried to make her laugh with some "Is it just me, or does this room smell like Camels?" joke.
I had to tap my invisible microphone and say "Is this thing on?"
We went up to room 209. Opened the door, and were whafted with what smelled like the Marlboro man had just been in this nice room.
We turned around, and went back to the 'office'.
She referred us to their sister. (Hotels have relatives).
Turns out, this place was nice---er. And smoke free. It came complete with everything. Alas, we JUST missed the round bed suites. And all the jacuzzis were spoken for.
We put down our junk and turned on the a/c.
As it was getting quite late, we decided definitely dinner should be at Firehousesubs.
While we're sitting at our little table, eating and talking, and munchin' on these delightful sammiches, the tiniest little girl walks up to our table. Specifically looking and directing her conversation at Mike.
He has a way with kids. They like him. They flock to him.
I topped off the dinner with my kosher dill. I have barely any resistance to those. I decide to save my chips for 'tomorrow' thus reserving room for Cold Stone.
We stand up to leave, and it hits me. The biggest ball of gas. Right in the stomach. NOT the kind you can burp out.
I thought..Oh man..I sooo don't want to fart in his truck. Or the air outside of his truck. Or around him in general. I don't want this man to think that I fart.
In the car we play "name that band". He played a tidbit of a song, and I had to guess the musicians. All the while I'm willing away the gas. Telling my stomach that she does NOT have free fart reign. I could see in my mind, that woman "Take Beano now, and there will BEANO gass later." I wanted to bitch slap her. Had she been en route to Cold Stone, I'd have instructed the driver to pull over.
Despite my airy situation, I did rather well on the guessing game. He even played my favorite Candlebox song. (Far Behind). Loud. Which was fine by me.
In Cold Stone, we were trying to decide what to choose. He said he was "definitely going for real ice cream, this time."
I said "I think I will too."
I had my eye on the cotton candy one. It's how I'll never grow up. I'll always have a part of me that is 5. I wanted it for the blue color.
Mike chose the birthday cake ice cream bonanza. I'm not sure exactly it's name. I saw that it had a whole brownie in it. That they crush up. BROWNIE may as well have been a boston baked bean. I knew if I ordered that, I'd fart him into oblivion.
The girl behind the counter kept trying to get her fellow employees into sing alongs.
I ordered my "Like it" cotton candy sans add-ins. Add-ins would just encourage the air-outs.
While we're waiting an adorable baby girl (Maybe a year and a half) stands up in her chair. Looks at Mike and dances saying "Mmmm MMMM" in reference to her ice cream.
Kids love him. He was enamoured with her. I told him her dress was 'no bigger than a minute."
He looked at me and said "I've never heard that before."
The moment he was handed his "love it" birthday cake. I knew I wanted it. It looked like a party. It smelled like a party.
He let me eat it. First it was "Just a bite."
I offered him some of my blue. He declined.
Mike smiled as I took another bite.
He asked "Like it, huh?"
I said "Yep! It's like a real party. With Cone shaped hats and everything!"
He was extra generous and let me eat the majority of it.
After the ice cream we went to his barracks to collect his Dvd's. He showed me where he talks to me on the phone. And then up to the top floor to his room. Before entering the barracks he said "Hold your breath, it smells like a huge Fart in there."
I have to admit thinking "Ah..my clever disguise!"
It made me smile thinking of him walking all that way for cell service, just to talk to me, and hear me ramble on in nonsense.
I must say, Mike & his roomie keep their area so nice and tidy. He gave me the grand tour, showed me where the too-packed carnival was happening. Where he sits when he's on duty..the whole nine.
Then we headed back to our big room, to climb into our big bed, and watch Me, Myself & Irene (my choice).
Except, lounging on him while we watch movies (ritualistic of us) was just encouraging the gas. And it was making it highly difficult to hold it in. When you add in the humor factor, I was literally just hoping I could hold it.
Later on, I was dozing off. Almost to that glorious deep sleep. And I hear it.
LOUD.
PFFFFFT!!!
I pop open my eyes. Thinking 'OH geez. Oh good lord. OH MY Sweet Sweet Lord!" Almost certain it was moi.
Then I hear him say my name, quietly, as if he was testing the water to see if I'd heard it. And I realized it wasn't me. I pretended to still be asleep. Trying so very hard not to burst into my 11 year old glee and giggle.
So, apparently, Firehouse gave him the same issue.
This morning we had a WaHo breakfast and non stop conversation. Promising to see each other as much as humanly possible before he leaves Georgia. It was just soo hard to say goodbye.
But 3 hours later, we were yakkin' it up on the phone again...
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Losing The Great Baby Race
When your husband is on another Continent, it becomes completely impossible to even jog in the amazing baby race. It's more a standstill situation.
Biological clock is ticking crazy fast, my husband is shipped away from me, and I'm told I can join him....later.
It gets frustrating, because every person in the universe is pregnant, looking for cutsies in the line for the bathroom, looking for some poor tired soul to ride the train standing up so she can sit, getting her primo parking spot as though she is handicapped. They are everywhere in the commissary, shopping with their toddler running amuck, one in the baby seat, one in the baby bjorn, and pregnant again.
There is even a tv show about teen girls who can get pregnant.
And time keeps flying by for me. Fertility in a woman's 30's drops quickly and rapidly.
And I'm not blessed with 'hey my husband sneezed in germany and whoopsy poopsy! I'm now preg-nant.'
So, having said all that, I have been having recurring dreams about a baby boy. When I dream reocurringly of a baby, someone is going to have a baby. The dreams stop once I know who is pregnant.
It's like clockwork. I can't explain it, and I've never been wrong...
Process of elimination is that it isn't Lynsey...so there I am sitting on the sofa, and it hits me...maybe what if it was me? It could be me. I'm not every month regular. I'm every other month regular. So who knows...it could in theory be me, right?
So I take a test.
I'm used to the tests that only show ONE line when I pee on them. And of course
One line= Hahahahahaaha! Wahahahahaaha! You really thought you were pregnant?
Two lines=Are you sure you didn't borrow pee from that extra fertile girl you know and sprinkle HER pee on this stick? Cause sister, you did it.
I"ve never seen two lines. Ever.
The one line dealio..that's my middle name.
This test...well this test had TWO lines on it!
I looked at it.
I rubbed my eyes.
I looked at it again.
I thought "No. Surely...No. Can't be. That' can't be TWO lines, I didn't sprinkle anyone else's pee on this."
I chewed my lip.
Yeah...that's two lines alright.
I smiled. MY pee made two lines! MINE.
No. No, it can't be.
Then I looked at the instructions.
Three lines. For this test. It takes Three Lines to be pregnant.
Again. One line short.
The reality of how pathetic I actually am coursed through my veins.
I wanted to throw it. I wanted to throw that pee covered stick as hard as I possibly could. I wanted to throw it so hard it would land on some pregnant woman.
Except, I didn't throw it. I just dropped in the trash...Turned off the bathroom light, got in bed and thought
"I quit."
And I didn't even cry.
Biological clock is ticking crazy fast, my husband is shipped away from me, and I'm told I can join him....later.
It gets frustrating, because every person in the universe is pregnant, looking for cutsies in the line for the bathroom, looking for some poor tired soul to ride the train standing up so she can sit, getting her primo parking spot as though she is handicapped. They are everywhere in the commissary, shopping with their toddler running amuck, one in the baby seat, one in the baby bjorn, and pregnant again.
There is even a tv show about teen girls who can get pregnant.
And time keeps flying by for me. Fertility in a woman's 30's drops quickly and rapidly.
And I'm not blessed with 'hey my husband sneezed in germany and whoopsy poopsy! I'm now preg-nant.'
So, having said all that, I have been having recurring dreams about a baby boy. When I dream reocurringly of a baby, someone is going to have a baby. The dreams stop once I know who is pregnant.
It's like clockwork. I can't explain it, and I've never been wrong...
Process of elimination is that it isn't Lynsey...so there I am sitting on the sofa, and it hits me...maybe what if it was me? It could be me. I'm not every month regular. I'm every other month regular. So who knows...it could in theory be me, right?
So I take a test.
I'm used to the tests that only show ONE line when I pee on them. And of course
One line= Hahahahahaaha! Wahahahahaaha! You really thought you were pregnant?
Two lines=Are you sure you didn't borrow pee from that extra fertile girl you know and sprinkle HER pee on this stick? Cause sister, you did it.
I"ve never seen two lines. Ever.
The one line dealio..that's my middle name.
This test...well this test had TWO lines on it!
I looked at it.
I rubbed my eyes.
I looked at it again.
I thought "No. Surely...No. Can't be. That' can't be TWO lines, I didn't sprinkle anyone else's pee on this."
I chewed my lip.
Yeah...that's two lines alright.
I smiled. MY pee made two lines! MINE.
No. No, it can't be.
Then I looked at the instructions.
Three lines. For this test. It takes Three Lines to be pregnant.
Again. One line short.
The reality of how pathetic I actually am coursed through my veins.
I wanted to throw it. I wanted to throw that pee covered stick as hard as I possibly could. I wanted to throw it so hard it would land on some pregnant woman.
Except, I didn't throw it. I just dropped in the trash...Turned off the bathroom light, got in bed and thought
"I quit."
And I didn't even cry.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
The Gorton's Fisherman, Chef & Hobo Popcorn.
My To-do list today had two must accomplishers on it.
1. Get taxes done at 9am
2. Get Passport Photo made at 12pm.
I woke up early, shuffled into the kitchen hair an albatross nest, one eye only half open, the other still too foggy to focus. Even my blue and white night gown was asking for 15 more minutes of sleep. The cats didn't move from their posts on the foot of the bed.
I opened the freezer to get the coffee out, because I was in dire need of the beautiful strong Black Silk that only Folgers makes.
Only, I had used the last bit of it, yesterday. (Yes, I scraped out the very last ground, like a junkie grabbing for any tiny bit of his poison)
In my dismay, I groaned "Really?!"
The contents of my freezer looked back at me. Mocking me.
The Gorton's Fisherman tried to come on to me. He was so egotistical in his yellow rain slicker and his burly grey beard. I told him it was too early for fisherman monkeyshines, and I wasn't interestd in his goods this morning.
The Jolly Green Giant taking offense at my rejection of that sauve man of the sea, insulted my virture. Signature phrase, my tailfeathers!
Lindy's Pistachio Gelato Man made a scathing hand gesture in my general direction.
They're a touchy crowd in the Am.
I shut the freezer door in disgust. I didn't need to be insulted by products, when I was already injured by the lack of coffee goodness.
I had to do what no woman wants to do...No...it didn't involve that schmoozer fisherman...
I resorted to the 'emergency coffee stash...AKA...Taster's choice.
After downing the coffee....
I went to the ft. meade tax office...and even though it seems impossible...I got lost. Totally lost looking for the tax office.
Nevermind that I went there with my husband. That was way back in January. And all those buildings look exactly alike. Regardless...I DID find it. Eventually. And the taxes were done.
I had just enough time to dust off my hands and then it was on to the Photo lab...
This building looked like it truly WAS there when Ike had his day in the sun at Camp Meade.
It was old. It was rickety.
Walking in, I felt like I was entering no man's land.
I followed the signs that pointed the way to the PHOTO LAB.
I walked to the window.
A man who looked like Chef, complete with red tee (no hat) was sitting there, chewing his food. I said " I have an appointment."
He nodded and swallowed and said "Yeah. He's not in right now. He's at lunch. He'll be back."
I nodded ok and took a seat.
Two other would be travelers came in. In Uniform. One was Jack Black, the other Richie Cunningham. both carrying shirts.
Five minutes later music comes on. Babymakin' music. Chef sticks his head out of the window, clears his throat and says "Ok. I'm back. Ma'am. You ready?"
Apparently when Chef is out-to-lunch, he refers to himself in 3rd person.
He asks the men if they brought shirts. They start taking off their uniform top to put their regular shirts on. I had to stifle my laugh and bite my smile.
It is very personal to watch someone put on a shirt. And I could just picture them in their homes. The Jack Blackesque guy stretching the shirt as he slides it on. The skinny guy singing while attending to the buttons...
I looked away to give them privacy. And so they wouldn't see me giggle.
I got to be first to mug for the camera.
It was very very middleschool year book picture.
Little stool to sit on.
Background.
Move my head a little this way.
Up just a little this way
and one two three say "My grandma's a monkey's uncle!" and click.
This picture will haunt me.
Nothing Chef can do to change it.
Then I raced back to my apartment to meet my sister. We lunched. We laughed. We visited our good friend Ollie. We had coffee...ahhh...alas. the good stuff.
She brought me a box of thin mints, & a cadbury egg.
We came back to my apartment, watched possibly the BEST episode of Gilmore girls, and made Hobo Popcorn.
Good day indeed.
1. Get taxes done at 9am
2. Get Passport Photo made at 12pm.
I woke up early, shuffled into the kitchen hair an albatross nest, one eye only half open, the other still too foggy to focus. Even my blue and white night gown was asking for 15 more minutes of sleep. The cats didn't move from their posts on the foot of the bed.
I opened the freezer to get the coffee out, because I was in dire need of the beautiful strong Black Silk that only Folgers makes.
Only, I had used the last bit of it, yesterday. (Yes, I scraped out the very last ground, like a junkie grabbing for any tiny bit of his poison)
In my dismay, I groaned "Really?!"
The contents of my freezer looked back at me. Mocking me.
The Gorton's Fisherman tried to come on to me. He was so egotistical in his yellow rain slicker and his burly grey beard. I told him it was too early for fisherman monkeyshines, and I wasn't interestd in his goods this morning.
The Jolly Green Giant taking offense at my rejection of that sauve man of the sea, insulted my virture. Signature phrase, my tailfeathers!
Lindy's Pistachio Gelato Man made a scathing hand gesture in my general direction.
They're a touchy crowd in the Am.
I shut the freezer door in disgust. I didn't need to be insulted by products, when I was already injured by the lack of coffee goodness.
I had to do what no woman wants to do...No...it didn't involve that schmoozer fisherman...
I resorted to the 'emergency coffee stash...AKA...Taster's choice.
After downing the coffee....
I went to the ft. meade tax office...and even though it seems impossible...I got lost. Totally lost looking for the tax office.
Nevermind that I went there with my husband. That was way back in January. And all those buildings look exactly alike. Regardless...I DID find it. Eventually. And the taxes were done.
I had just enough time to dust off my hands and then it was on to the Photo lab...
This building looked like it truly WAS there when Ike had his day in the sun at Camp Meade.
It was old. It was rickety.
Walking in, I felt like I was entering no man's land.
I followed the signs that pointed the way to the PHOTO LAB.
I walked to the window.
A man who looked like Chef, complete with red tee (no hat) was sitting there, chewing his food. I said " I have an appointment."
He nodded and swallowed and said "Yeah. He's not in right now. He's at lunch. He'll be back."
I nodded ok and took a seat.
Two other would be travelers came in. In Uniform. One was Jack Black, the other Richie Cunningham. both carrying shirts.
Five minutes later music comes on. Babymakin' music. Chef sticks his head out of the window, clears his throat and says "Ok. I'm back. Ma'am. You ready?"
Apparently when Chef is out-to-lunch, he refers to himself in 3rd person.
He asks the men if they brought shirts. They start taking off their uniform top to put their regular shirts on. I had to stifle my laugh and bite my smile.
It is very personal to watch someone put on a shirt. And I could just picture them in their homes. The Jack Blackesque guy stretching the shirt as he slides it on. The skinny guy singing while attending to the buttons...
I looked away to give them privacy. And so they wouldn't see me giggle.
I got to be first to mug for the camera.
It was very very middleschool year book picture.
Little stool to sit on.
Background.
Move my head a little this way.
Up just a little this way
and one two three say "My grandma's a monkey's uncle!" and click.
This picture will haunt me.
Nothing Chef can do to change it.
Then I raced back to my apartment to meet my sister. We lunched. We laughed. We visited our good friend Ollie. We had coffee...ahhh...alas. the good stuff.
She brought me a box of thin mints, & a cadbury egg.
We came back to my apartment, watched possibly the BEST episode of Gilmore girls, and made Hobo Popcorn.
Good day indeed.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Sunshine and 60 degrees!
The sun is out, sky is blue, birds are singing and Rita's is open....Which means spring is here! (Even if not by calendar standards yet.)
Yesterday it was so lovely. I had the balcony door open much to the delight of the cats. I cracked the windows. Even though there was a still a chill in the air, it was refreshing.
I played Mariah Carey and cleaned the apartment.
I had to run to Harris Teeter, as my supply of diet coke with lime was running low. I had two options, walk over or drive. And in lieu of the crazy eyed red car man incident the other day, I decided to drive.
(Note: A man who probably gets paid by the government for his being touched by an angel, came staggering up to me last week in the parking lot of our complex. I was unloading groceries from the back of the car, and he just stood staring at me. His tobbaggan was askew and looping off his head at the top. He was smiling, as he swaggered my way. I knew some of his crayons were missing from his 64 pack box o' crayolas, but he didn't care. He looked like he'd hug too hard and once he broke into laughter, he wouldn't be able to stop. His eyes were dark an unsettling, and lo and behold, I was parking right beside his little red.....honda? Anyways, I was so startled by his staring, his somewhat sinister smile, and his toboggan hat that I actually got back into my car, and locked the doors. I was ready to pull off if Mr. Crazy-go-Nuts tried to pull a fast one. I don't know if he took that to mean that I was revving my engine for an old school drag race, but he hopped in his car and drove away. Yeah, I was shocked, too, that Maryland granted him a drivers license. Since that incident, I've decided to drive, not walk to the H.T.)
Anyway, I made it to my car, and over to Harris Teeter without so much a sniff of Mr. Looney Tunes. I walk into the H.T. and right before my eyes in all it's pastel array of beauty, are the Easteries, and the Passoveries that they have on magnificent display.
All located right by the floral department, where bouquets of springy flowers seemed to burst forth out of their water filled holding buckets. The Hydrangea and the daffodils seemed to be singing sweetly to the reese's eggs, the hershey's variety packs, the mooshy gross marshmallow eggs only Michael and my Grandma buy.
I was torn away from the candy to admire the floral displays.
It made me miss Michael, and the way he always brings me 'just because' bouquets. The sweet way he presents them to me, sometimes holding them behind his back, sometimes holding them out like a little boy.
I admired the flowers, the bunnies, the kosher macaroons, the cadbury eggs, the big boxes of Matza.
There I was, so giddy. I love spring. Everything seems so.....new. Like the world is reborn. Not a hustle-bustle like in Autumn, but a slow moving burst of color. People crawl out from under their winter bunker blinking in the sunlight and stretch off the cold.
The old man sniffing stinky cheeses at the obnoxiously expensive cheese corral didn't annoy me. Even though he stood in my way. The kid telling his dad the he wanted chocolate carrots, and the dad told him that there was no such thing didn't annoy me. (Althought I did want to say "There is too sucha thing! Lindt makes them, which means your kid has good taste in chooclate. They are shaped like little delicious umbrellas. Did you NOT see the Easter Candy explosion that greeted you as you walked in the door? Get the kid a chocolate carrot, man!")
Nothing or nobody was gonna break-a my stride, and nobody was gonna hold me down, oh no.
Even the fact that I had to choose Diet Pepsi with Lime didn't truly make me upset. Despite the fact that it is dis-gust-ing.
I paid for my purchases, and walked back out into the sunny day.
It was then that I saw the hubbub. The commotion. The ballyhoo. The hullabaloo. And I wondered, "What's all the the big stink about?"
It was pandemonium, people were walking, power walking, and a dad & his 4 year old daughter were skipping with the pompatus of joy.
I decided that I needed, no I HAD to uncover the root of the cause of this bruhaha.
But it did not take me long, nay. Not long at all.
Because as soon as the word bruhaha entered my mind, the answer, like a light bulb appeared over my head.
RITAS.
I didn't even have to see Ritas in her little nook of the shopping center. I just knew.
It had lay in abandon since labor day, forgotten and silent.
But they were open. I threw Pepsi's lame attempt to cash in on Diet Coke with Lime's masterpiece into the back seat of the Escape, and I ran in slow mo to the Ice-Custard-Happiness Stand while Chariots of Fire's Theme played... in my head. (Ok, ok, I'm glamourizing it. I didn't run. I just walked, but I tell you, I did so gingerly.)
I stood in line behind other equally excited patrons. Some people sticking to traditional flavors keeping it gloriously simple, while some went right in for the middle of summer mix up. (
Which personally, I think mixing flavors should be worked up to, not diving in head first at the inauguration of the season, but when it comes to Italian Ice/Frozen custard/gelati/blendinis....anything goes.)
I ordered my regular sized Frozen Vanilla custard, with a lid. No sprinkles this time, baby steps.
And I drove it back home, keeping my eyes shifting to sniff out ol' Mr. Shifty Eyes himself.
I went up the stairs carrying my dessert like it was a trophy, proud despite of the fact that in the other hand, I was holding diet soda.
Yesterday it was so lovely. I had the balcony door open much to the delight of the cats. I cracked the windows. Even though there was a still a chill in the air, it was refreshing.
I played Mariah Carey and cleaned the apartment.
I had to run to Harris Teeter, as my supply of diet coke with lime was running low. I had two options, walk over or drive. And in lieu of the crazy eyed red car man incident the other day, I decided to drive.
(Note: A man who probably gets paid by the government for his being touched by an angel, came staggering up to me last week in the parking lot of our complex. I was unloading groceries from the back of the car, and he just stood staring at me. His tobbaggan was askew and looping off his head at the top. He was smiling, as he swaggered my way. I knew some of his crayons were missing from his 64 pack box o' crayolas, but he didn't care. He looked like he'd hug too hard and once he broke into laughter, he wouldn't be able to stop. His eyes were dark an unsettling, and lo and behold, I was parking right beside his little red.....honda? Anyways, I was so startled by his staring, his somewhat sinister smile, and his toboggan hat that I actually got back into my car, and locked the doors. I was ready to pull off if Mr. Crazy-go-Nuts tried to pull a fast one. I don't know if he took that to mean that I was revving my engine for an old school drag race, but he hopped in his car and drove away. Yeah, I was shocked, too, that Maryland granted him a drivers license. Since that incident, I've decided to drive, not walk to the H.T.)
Anyway, I made it to my car, and over to Harris Teeter without so much a sniff of Mr. Looney Tunes. I walk into the H.T. and right before my eyes in all it's pastel array of beauty, are the Easteries, and the Passoveries that they have on magnificent display.
All located right by the floral department, where bouquets of springy flowers seemed to burst forth out of their water filled holding buckets. The Hydrangea and the daffodils seemed to be singing sweetly to the reese's eggs, the hershey's variety packs, the mooshy gross marshmallow eggs only Michael and my Grandma buy.
I was torn away from the candy to admire the floral displays.
It made me miss Michael, and the way he always brings me 'just because' bouquets. The sweet way he presents them to me, sometimes holding them behind his back, sometimes holding them out like a little boy.
I admired the flowers, the bunnies, the kosher macaroons, the cadbury eggs, the big boxes of Matza.
There I was, so giddy. I love spring. Everything seems so.....new. Like the world is reborn. Not a hustle-bustle like in Autumn, but a slow moving burst of color. People crawl out from under their winter bunker blinking in the sunlight and stretch off the cold.
The old man sniffing stinky cheeses at the obnoxiously expensive cheese corral didn't annoy me. Even though he stood in my way. The kid telling his dad the he wanted chocolate carrots, and the dad told him that there was no such thing didn't annoy me. (Althought I did want to say "There is too sucha thing! Lindt makes them, which means your kid has good taste in chooclate. They are shaped like little delicious umbrellas. Did you NOT see the Easter Candy explosion that greeted you as you walked in the door? Get the kid a chocolate carrot, man!")
Nothing or nobody was gonna break-a my stride, and nobody was gonna hold me down, oh no.
Even the fact that I had to choose Diet Pepsi with Lime didn't truly make me upset. Despite the fact that it is dis-gust-ing.
I paid for my purchases, and walked back out into the sunny day.
It was then that I saw the hubbub. The commotion. The ballyhoo. The hullabaloo. And I wondered, "What's all the the big stink about?"
It was pandemonium, people were walking, power walking, and a dad & his 4 year old daughter were skipping with the pompatus of joy.
I decided that I needed, no I HAD to uncover the root of the cause of this bruhaha.
But it did not take me long, nay. Not long at all.
Because as soon as the word bruhaha entered my mind, the answer, like a light bulb appeared over my head.
RITAS.
I didn't even have to see Ritas in her little nook of the shopping center. I just knew.
It had lay in abandon since labor day, forgotten and silent.
But they were open. I threw Pepsi's lame attempt to cash in on Diet Coke with Lime's masterpiece into the back seat of the Escape, and I ran in slow mo to the Ice-Custard-Happiness Stand while Chariots of Fire's Theme played... in my head. (Ok, ok, I'm glamourizing it. I didn't run. I just walked, but I tell you, I did so gingerly.)
I stood in line behind other equally excited patrons. Some people sticking to traditional flavors keeping it gloriously simple, while some went right in for the middle of summer mix up. (
Which personally, I think mixing flavors should be worked up to, not diving in head first at the inauguration of the season, but when it comes to Italian Ice/Frozen custard/gelati/blendinis....anything goes.)
I ordered my regular sized Frozen Vanilla custard, with a lid. No sprinkles this time, baby steps.
And I drove it back home, keeping my eyes shifting to sniff out ol' Mr. Shifty Eyes himself.
I went up the stairs carrying my dessert like it was a trophy, proud despite of the fact that in the other hand, I was holding diet soda.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Lerory Sanford and the lingering smell.
The Cartwright movers were supposed to be here bright and early this morning, or so said Orlando, the voice of the moving company. Yeah, we've talked. We were on first name basis cause me and Orlando go all the way back to Monday.
Orlando, or Landy as I like to call him, said the movers would be here at 8am. Sharp. And stay no later than 10am. Exactly
So, I cancel walking the kids, I set my alarm for 7am to get my two cups of coffee in, and to attempt to wake up properly.
I was sure they'd come a-knockin' and everything would be "mission a-go."
At 10:30, I was munching on a fiber one bar, tuning into the biography channel. Wondering if Orlando stood me up.
Another hour passed, when there was a thundering knock on the door. So much so that Jessie bolted to the safety that can only be found under the sanctuary of the sleep number. Allie ran willy-nilly looking for a fast escape, which lead her to the not so concealing spot behind the Tv. It's skinny, she's bumply. She kinda stuck out, but at least she thought she was hidden.
I opened the front door, and before me stood, not Landy (I reason he was just the receptionist, no heavy lifting for him. Who knows, maybe he had a hernia which keeps him off heavy liftin' duty) But before me was Fred G. Sanford.
In the flesh.
With his hair haphazardly sticking out from the sides of his truckers cap.
He says "Mornin'. You got some shipments going to Ger-min-ney?"
I say "Yes. Right this way."
He says "I'm Lerory." stressing RORY.
He walks into our spare bedroom, where I've piled the footlockers and various other Michael things.
He assesses the situation by cocking his head left then right.
He chews his lip and says "K. I be right back."
I think he's going down to the truck to tell the big dummy to come up and lend a hand, and if not Lamont, then AT least Grady or Melvin.
Instead he comes back up, with brown shipping paper, boxes, tape and a dolly...smelling distinctly of cigerettes.
I'm shocked that the company would send Redd Foxx...and I was terrified I'd hear him in the sparebedroom calling out to Elizabeth. Oh this is the big one...I'm coming to join you!
Lerory is working hard in the spare bedroom, and I feel guilty for just sitting on the sofa watching tv. I offer him a bottled water.
I offer him a Diet Dr. Pepper.
He declines.
He says he has to go back down to the van.
And comes back smelling strong of cigerettes.
It hits me, LeRory is taking smoke breaks.
I half think of febreezing our apartment, but think it may be too rude to Air Effects the apartment while Lerory is still inside of it.
Finally he takes our load down, comes back and has me sign off on the little list of things that are now en route to Mikely.
While I'm standing there, looking for where I need to sign, I imagine if he was a cartoon character, he'd have been PigPen. because the smell is radiating off of him. In little clouds.
But it's not just cigerettes....it's more...involved....more....drastic.
It's...butt.
Cigerettes and Butt.
He says "So, all this stuff is goin' to Ger-min-ney?"
I breathe through my mouth and nod while signing the stack of paperwork, "Yes, eventually, all of it."
He shakes his head and says "Well, I got off easy, that's for sure."
I say "Yeah, it's going to be a lot of work."
He said 'Yeah, I already feel them 3 flighters of stairs. Three flighters of stairs is a lot for anyone."
I thought "oh no. here it is, Elizabeth, he's coming to join you, and it's all because of me."
I offered him a water, again. A baby aspirin, anything.
He again said "No, honey, I be ok."
Lerory's endearment made me feel guilty for breathing through my mouth, and for counting the steps to the cabinet to where the Air Effects was gearing up to perform it's job.
He said "But I do tell you this, they gonna earn they keep when they move this stuff to Ger-min-ney. You gonna have to feed them chicken wings for climbing those three flighters of stairs"
He left, taking a little piece of Michael with him, and leaving a little piece of his smell behind...
I googled to see if Dominos has wings.
And I realized....I hoped Lerory had a good day for his troubles on our three flighters of stairs, because really, he IS too old to have to work so hard.
Orlando, or Landy as I like to call him, said the movers would be here at 8am. Sharp. And stay no later than 10am. Exactly
So, I cancel walking the kids, I set my alarm for 7am to get my two cups of coffee in, and to attempt to wake up properly.
I was sure they'd come a-knockin' and everything would be "mission a-go."
At 10:30, I was munching on a fiber one bar, tuning into the biography channel. Wondering if Orlando stood me up.
Another hour passed, when there was a thundering knock on the door. So much so that Jessie bolted to the safety that can only be found under the sanctuary of the sleep number. Allie ran willy-nilly looking for a fast escape, which lead her to the not so concealing spot behind the Tv. It's skinny, she's bumply. She kinda stuck out, but at least she thought she was hidden.
I opened the front door, and before me stood, not Landy (I reason he was just the receptionist, no heavy lifting for him. Who knows, maybe he had a hernia which keeps him off heavy liftin' duty) But before me was Fred G. Sanford.
In the flesh.
With his hair haphazardly sticking out from the sides of his truckers cap.
He says "Mornin'. You got some shipments going to Ger-min-ney?"
I say "Yes. Right this way."
He says "I'm Lerory." stressing RORY.
He walks into our spare bedroom, where I've piled the footlockers and various other Michael things.
He assesses the situation by cocking his head left then right.
He chews his lip and says "K. I be right back."
I think he's going down to the truck to tell the big dummy to come up and lend a hand, and if not Lamont, then AT least Grady or Melvin.
Instead he comes back up, with brown shipping paper, boxes, tape and a dolly...smelling distinctly of cigerettes.
I'm shocked that the company would send Redd Foxx...and I was terrified I'd hear him in the sparebedroom calling out to Elizabeth. Oh this is the big one...I'm coming to join you!
Lerory is working hard in the spare bedroom, and I feel guilty for just sitting on the sofa watching tv. I offer him a bottled water.
I offer him a Diet Dr. Pepper.
He declines.
He says he has to go back down to the van.
And comes back smelling strong of cigerettes.
It hits me, LeRory is taking smoke breaks.
I half think of febreezing our apartment, but think it may be too rude to Air Effects the apartment while Lerory is still inside of it.
Finally he takes our load down, comes back and has me sign off on the little list of things that are now en route to Mikely.
While I'm standing there, looking for where I need to sign, I imagine if he was a cartoon character, he'd have been PigPen. because the smell is radiating off of him. In little clouds.
But it's not just cigerettes....it's more...involved....more....drastic.
It's...butt.
Cigerettes and Butt.
He says "So, all this stuff is goin' to Ger-min-ney?"
I breathe through my mouth and nod while signing the stack of paperwork, "Yes, eventually, all of it."
He shakes his head and says "Well, I got off easy, that's for sure."
I say "Yeah, it's going to be a lot of work."
He said 'Yeah, I already feel them 3 flighters of stairs. Three flighters of stairs is a lot for anyone."
I thought "oh no. here it is, Elizabeth, he's coming to join you, and it's all because of me."
I offered him a water, again. A baby aspirin, anything.
He again said "No, honey, I be ok."
Lerory's endearment made me feel guilty for breathing through my mouth, and for counting the steps to the cabinet to where the Air Effects was gearing up to perform it's job.
He said "But I do tell you this, they gonna earn they keep when they move this stuff to Ger-min-ney. You gonna have to feed them chicken wings for climbing those three flighters of stairs"
He left, taking a little piece of Michael with him, and leaving a little piece of his smell behind...
I googled to see if Dominos has wings.
And I realized....I hoped Lerory had a good day for his troubles on our three flighters of stairs, because really, he IS too old to have to work so hard.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Poopstained Sidewalks, The Commissary, Unaccompanied Baggage, and EFMP.
My day was full of it.
In fact, I should've taken it as a sign all the dog craps along the sidewalk that I was dodging this morning, when I went over to walk the kids to their bus.
I mean SERIOUSLY shelter cove apartments, you can't get a leash or a diaper on that renegade pooping dog?
SO glad we don't live there anymore.
It was exactly one hour after poop dodge that everything got really shitty.
First stop...the commissary. Of course.
I had my little list.
I had my coups.
I was careful in picking the greenest of the green bananas.
It wasn't going too bad, until I got to the condiment aisle.
I needed salad dressing, and it was buy two get a dollar off. Which, excuse me, but where is the deal in that?
What if I only need ONE? Why can't I have 50 cents off my solo adventure? I hate those coupons. I absolutely hate them.
I had just safely tossed my Romano Basil Vingerette into the buggy, and I heard it.
One of thoses moms that I want to gut punch.
The kind of mom I call a talky-talk. The tone she uses with her kid, makes her think that YOU think she's in the running for mom-o'-the-year...in reality YOU know she spends zero time with the kid because she's talking to him like he's a stranger's child.
His name was Jackson. (That's 2. I hate that name. They probably spelled it with an X to be different.)
He runs in front of my buggy and dive bombs himself onto the lowest shelf. And apparently there was a sale this past weekend, because it was empty.
He yells "BET you can't FIND me, Mommy."
And she says "Oh dear me! goodness! I think I've lost Jackson. Oh where oh where could he beeeeeeeeee?"
Any real mom would've said (and I quote) "What is WRONG with you, get OFF of that shelf."
Jackson laughs and says "Can't find me toilet paper head."
And I thought for half a second that kid may have a point she probably could benefit from a charmin treatment to the forehead.
The mom didn't correct him for saying her head was something beneficial to cleaning your nethers post 'usin' it'. Nope. She played along.
I stood there thinking I'll see them on an episode of Supernanny in 2 years when he is punching her and calling her toiletpaper head, and the mom is crying saying she doesn't know where she went wrong.
I went to fetch the pets some fancy feast.
Lo and behold, they followed me. Jackson said that he wanted a dog toy. His mom said "Oh Jackson, that is not appropriate for a little boy, and that is what you are, my little boy."
He said "Well. I want it."
She says "Why do you want a toy that was manufactured for a dog?" (YES, she said that.)
He said "I want it." squeaking it to the beat of the band.
She said "No. Not a dog toy, you can pick out a human boy toy at another store."
He says "Why can't I HAVE IT??????"
She says "Because, Jackson-boo, I say no, and that has to be good enough, ok? Is that okay?"
An old man looked at me like "I'd make him pick out his own switch."
A woman with a baby rolled her eyes.
I farted.
Well, ok, I didn't, but I wanted to.
The day only got better....
I go to Transportation, only for the millionth time. In fact, I didn't have to say a word to the lady at the welcome desk. Upon seeing my red head waltz in, she said "Lemme guess....transportation?" I nodded.
So, I take my number (F716) To tell Friendly Mustache that I didn't think the unaccompanied baggage shipment was going to work for my husband, since it's supposedly going to take a month and a half to get to him, and he kinda needs it pronto. And I really wanted to use the word PRONTO with authority. Because it IS a good word.
The waiting room is crowded. With two TVs. One on CNN, one tuned into Regis and Kelly. I find a chair and sit.
A woman, with her kids in tow, decides that since she has 2 children, she has somehow gained expemption from waiting.
I blame those grocery store parking spaces they've designated for people who can procreate.
And people everywhere who give up their space in line for the bathroom to a pregnant woman.
She says to the window, and to anyone who will listen, "Excuse me, why I gotta wait? I got 2 kids."
The lady in the window says "Well, it's first come first serve."
The mom chomps her gum and says "Yeah, well, I got two kids. I shouldn't HAVE to wait. Can't you fix something and let me go on on?"
She's hit with a first come first serve answer, yet again, much to her dismay.
So, to protest that she has been sentenced to wait for her number like the rest of us childless peons, she allowed her 2 buck wild kids to jump on the chairs, and beat themselves in the chests like tarzan.
Finally, it was my turn, before hers, and I admit I cast her a smug smile. Friendly Mustache tells me there is nothing he can do to get the unaccompanied baggage to my husband faster. It is what it is.
Yep. That is what he said.
I didn't even get to say Pronto.
So, I come home after filling up at at cost of 2.69 per gallon (Where are the gas tantrum throwers now? Or doth I protest alone??)
I am greeted by a lovely little email...
My EFMP, the screening I have to have before the army deems me ok to go to Germany to be with my husband is wrong.
The doctor who signed off on it, wasn't the right doctor to sign off on it. AND my sponsor (Mike) needs to redo the paper for me.(Except he's already IN Germany.)
I have to have a do-over.
The Offiical passport that allows me to travel to and live in Germany? Yeah, The Crazy Angel Lady? she told me the wrong form to complete. She insisted I fill out the minor official passport form. NOT the spouse passport.
Which is par for the course so far, considering how many times has my husband told them he has a spouse? And how many times has his paperwork stated he only has one dependent and that's his kid?
So...I have to start that over from scratch, as well. An Official DO over for my Official Passport.
And oh yeah, did I mention I have to vacate the apartment on April 15th?
In fact, I should've taken it as a sign all the dog craps along the sidewalk that I was dodging this morning, when I went over to walk the kids to their bus.
I mean SERIOUSLY shelter cove apartments, you can't get a leash or a diaper on that renegade pooping dog?
SO glad we don't live there anymore.
It was exactly one hour after poop dodge that everything got really shitty.
First stop...the commissary. Of course.
I had my little list.
I had my coups.
I was careful in picking the greenest of the green bananas.
It wasn't going too bad, until I got to the condiment aisle.
I needed salad dressing, and it was buy two get a dollar off. Which, excuse me, but where is the deal in that?
What if I only need ONE? Why can't I have 50 cents off my solo adventure? I hate those coupons. I absolutely hate them.
I had just safely tossed my Romano Basil Vingerette into the buggy, and I heard it.
One of thoses moms that I want to gut punch.
The kind of mom I call a talky-talk. The tone she uses with her kid, makes her think that YOU think she's in the running for mom-o'-the-year...in reality YOU know she spends zero time with the kid because she's talking to him like he's a stranger's child.
His name was Jackson. (That's 2. I hate that name. They probably spelled it with an X to be different.)
He runs in front of my buggy and dive bombs himself onto the lowest shelf. And apparently there was a sale this past weekend, because it was empty.
He yells "BET you can't FIND me, Mommy."
And she says "Oh dear me! goodness! I think I've lost Jackson. Oh where oh where could he beeeeeeeeee?"
Any real mom would've said (and I quote) "What is WRONG with you, get OFF of that shelf."
Jackson laughs and says "Can't find me toilet paper head."
And I thought for half a second that kid may have a point she probably could benefit from a charmin treatment to the forehead.
The mom didn't correct him for saying her head was something beneficial to cleaning your nethers post 'usin' it'. Nope. She played along.
I stood there thinking I'll see them on an episode of Supernanny in 2 years when he is punching her and calling her toiletpaper head, and the mom is crying saying she doesn't know where she went wrong.
I went to fetch the pets some fancy feast.
Lo and behold, they followed me. Jackson said that he wanted a dog toy. His mom said "Oh Jackson, that is not appropriate for a little boy, and that is what you are, my little boy."
He said "Well. I want it."
She says "Why do you want a toy that was manufactured for a dog?" (YES, she said that.)
He said "I want it." squeaking it to the beat of the band.
She said "No. Not a dog toy, you can pick out a human boy toy at another store."
He says "Why can't I HAVE IT??????"
She says "Because, Jackson-boo, I say no, and that has to be good enough, ok? Is that okay?"
An old man looked at me like "I'd make him pick out his own switch."
A woman with a baby rolled her eyes.
I farted.
Well, ok, I didn't, but I wanted to.
The day only got better....
I go to Transportation, only for the millionth time. In fact, I didn't have to say a word to the lady at the welcome desk. Upon seeing my red head waltz in, she said "Lemme guess....transportation?" I nodded.
So, I take my number (F716) To tell Friendly Mustache that I didn't think the unaccompanied baggage shipment was going to work for my husband, since it's supposedly going to take a month and a half to get to him, and he kinda needs it pronto. And I really wanted to use the word PRONTO with authority. Because it IS a good word.
The waiting room is crowded. With two TVs. One on CNN, one tuned into Regis and Kelly. I find a chair and sit.
A woman, with her kids in tow, decides that since she has 2 children, she has somehow gained expemption from waiting.
I blame those grocery store parking spaces they've designated for people who can procreate.
And people everywhere who give up their space in line for the bathroom to a pregnant woman.
She says to the window, and to anyone who will listen, "Excuse me, why I gotta wait? I got 2 kids."
The lady in the window says "Well, it's first come first serve."
The mom chomps her gum and says "Yeah, well, I got two kids. I shouldn't HAVE to wait. Can't you fix something and let me go on on?"
She's hit with a first come first serve answer, yet again, much to her dismay.
So, to protest that she has been sentenced to wait for her number like the rest of us childless peons, she allowed her 2 buck wild kids to jump on the chairs, and beat themselves in the chests like tarzan.
Finally, it was my turn, before hers, and I admit I cast her a smug smile. Friendly Mustache tells me there is nothing he can do to get the unaccompanied baggage to my husband faster. It is what it is.
Yep. That is what he said.
I didn't even get to say Pronto.
So, I come home after filling up at at cost of 2.69 per gallon (Where are the gas tantrum throwers now? Or doth I protest alone??)
I am greeted by a lovely little email...
My EFMP, the screening I have to have before the army deems me ok to go to Germany to be with my husband is wrong.
The doctor who signed off on it, wasn't the right doctor to sign off on it. AND my sponsor (Mike) needs to redo the paper for me.(Except he's already IN Germany.)
I have to have a do-over.
The Offiical passport that allows me to travel to and live in Germany? Yeah, The Crazy Angel Lady? she told me the wrong form to complete. She insisted I fill out the minor official passport form. NOT the spouse passport.
Which is par for the course so far, considering how many times has my husband told them he has a spouse? And how many times has his paperwork stated he only has one dependent and that's his kid?
So...I have to start that over from scratch, as well. An Official DO over for my Official Passport.
And oh yeah, did I mention I have to vacate the apartment on April 15th?
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