Since I’m on a rant about the loss of gentility in the world, how about we discuss that insanity known as…
Really? Really people?
Do I absolutely have to know that you had oatmeal for breakfast?
Or that you pooped today?
Is that the legacy you wish to leave?
Is this your tombstone?
Here lies Mortie Schnozzola, he pooped today. And then he died.
GAAAHH! I don’t need to know this, and I’m pretty sure that 40 million other people don’t need to know either.
Now, I use Twitter but only to tweet a new post. For advertising I find it a useful tool. I have no idea if I have “followers” or even what a “follower” would be doing following me…unless they have some obsession over my personal habits or breakfast preferences or fangirl crushes. And, I don’t follow people…or if I do it’s inadvertent and I’ve no idea how to stop…because I don’t remember my Twitter password and WordPress is set up to auto-tweet when I put up a new post.
Other than that, call me a twit but I don’t tweet.
I think my hubby is trying to off me in some kind of spectacularly weird way that will in no way implicate him.
Or I’m just paranoid.
Definitely one of those.
You decide after reading the following text convo between us earlier this week, and keep in mind the man never texts anything more than one or two letter words…and here he is having an actual conversation with me.
I haz a suspicious.
Hubby: Guess u should know I told baby girl and her hubby we’d watch the kids if they wanted to go out of town this weekend.
(they have two girls – aged 4 and 2 months, and the 2-mo. old does NOT sleep through the night yet)
Me: This weekend?!?
Me: But aren’t we also having other grandson’s third birthday party at our house this weekend?
Me: Are u just trying to kill me? Cuz if u are u should know I canceled that insurance policy.
Hubby: What insurance policy?
Me: Oh don’t act like u don’t know what I’m talking about. Anyway, this is a waste of effort.
Hubby: Did u really cancel the policy?
Hubby: No reason..besides u used to watch 4 little ones when our kids were young. What happened?
Me: 30 years!!!!
Hubby: So, about that insurance……..
“We’re a group of volunteers and starting a new scheme in our community. Your site provided us with valuable info to paintings on. You have done a formidable activity and our entire neighborhood might be grateful to you”
Normally I click the “Delete Permanently” button on these spammers faster than a speeding bullet.
This one, though, this one was clearly different.
It was fraught with import, intrigue and other words that start with “in”…most prominently, given the information contained might be “incarceration”.
Unless I am mistaken, I’ve just been told that my entire neighborhood is about to be tagged with graffiti by these “volunteers”.
And it’s all my fault.
No, wait..it’s all my formidable fault.
I haz a formidable.
And, I seriously doubt that “grateful” will enter into the conversation if my entire neighborhood has me to *thank* for their ‘paintings on’.
It’s like I’ve instigated a splash mob or something….without even trying.
A few years ago hubby and I decided it was finally time to upgrade our living room furniture. What follows are the true conversations surrounding said purchases, and the disposal of the old stuff.
Hubby: I think we need new furniture.
Me: (looking at our old set and remembering the 20 years of child-abuse it has taken) I guess, but it still looks pretty good and sits nicely.
Hubby: Yeah, but I’ve got my eye on those big, fluffy reclining couches at the furniture store.
Me: (smiling) Yep, they are pretty sweet and reasonably priced if we get the whole set.
So, we trot on down to the furniture store and buy the set. On the way home we discuss what to do with the old stuff. I assure hubby it will find a new home with the Salvation Army who will send a truck to pick it up.
The day before the new stuff is set to arrive I call SA for a pick-up. I have a couch, loveseat and chair. All matching and all intact…they were even clean (we’d cleaned them up so they’d look nice in their new home). The dispatcher seemed less-than-enthusiastic about the age of the furniture and my report of the condition.
Dispatcher: Are you sure the furniture is in good repair?
Me: Of course, up until tomorrow we will be using it in our own home.
Dispatcher: Hmmm…okay, we’ll send a truck next Tuesday.
The next day the new stuff was delivered and while I admit a fondness for the old furniture, to be able to recline and immediately fall asleep in the downy-softness of plush microfiber is heavenly.
Old couch, loveseat and chair sat in the garage, no doubt discussing this turn of events and (I hope) excited at the prospect of a new home.
The day the SA truck was schedule to pick up the furniture I took off work and waited for them to arrive.
They showed up on time and informed me that they would be “inspecting the merchandise before taking delivery”.
The two guys walked around, poking, prodding and sitting on my old set.
Guy #1: I’m sorry, this is just not acceptable.
Guy #2: He’s right. You see, with so many people giving us like-new furniture, we just can’t use this.
With that they got in the truck and left.
I stood there, utterly shocked that the furniture I’d used up until one week prior wasn’t good enough to donate to charity. And, much as I admire the SA and its good works, I was more than a little disappointed in that attitude.
I called the regional office and talked to Maj. Something’s assistant. She was not sympathetic, echoing the drivers’ sentiments almost word for word.
Eventually we got rid of the big couch, and kept the loveseat and chair to use in other rooms as the kids moved out. We’re still using them, they still sit well and are still clean.
And now, thanks to SA, there’s some family out there watching television from the cold, hard, floor of their apartment.
…..between me and hubby…
Me: (coming in the door from work one day last week) So, I only have about elebenty-bazillion things I need to talk to you about
Hubby: Okay, but can it wait just a little while? I’ve got a draft (insert appropriate fantasy league time of year here) in ten minutes.
About an hour later…
Hubby: Okay, what did you want to talk about?
Me: Ummm….I don’t remember.
This my friends is why we never seem to get anything accomplished in a timely manner.
I have no memory, at all, none..nada..
I should do like he does, and write random thoughts (in unreadable handwriting) on post-it notes and then stick them on the counter so I will see them.
Me: What does ‘Bilge Devrop Sever Dip’ mean?
Hubby: (taking post-it from me and scowling) I think that says, ‘what time are the kids coming’.
Me: The kids are coming?
BabyGirl: Mom, what is the difference between Christian and baptism?
Me: (utterly speechless for once) Wha–?
BabyGirl: Baptism and Christianity. What is the difference?
BabyGirl: Mom, this isn’t a hard question, is it? What is the difference?
Me: I don’t understand what you are asking.
BabyGirl: Really? I thought you knew about different religions. So, is Baptism like a form of Christianity?
Me: (stifling a giggle now) Bap-TIST…you mean “Baptist” not baptism.
BabyGirl: Right, whatever.
I haz a headache now.
I have them a LOT.
However, most of them fade into the chaotic cloud that is my life and I quickly forget about them.
Sometimes, though..sometimes they stick.
This was one of those times.
Presented for your entertainment…my trip into the Twilight Zone, circa 2006.
This was a phone conversation between me and the owner of a local landscape company that occurred after the drunk drove through my yard and took a rather large oak to the ground with her heavy Taurus.
(Remind me later to tell you that story)
The insurance company gave us about $1,100 to replace that tree and since it had been all but destroyed in the Taurocolypse I called around to see about getting a replacement.
Most of the companies I spoke to were polite and quoted me pricing on tree removal and replacement in conversations that lasted maybe five minutes, tops.
And then I called *Steve at *Bitter World Landscaping.
“Bitter World, this is Steve”
“Hi Steve, my name is *Xenia and I’d like to get a quote on tree replacement.”
“Replacement? What happened?”
“Well, it’s a long story but basically a car was driven through my front yard and it took my oak tree to the ground.”
“And now you got the insurance money and are going to see how much it would cost to replace the tree, right? Hmmm?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Of course, you won’t actually pay me to replace the tree. What you’ll do is get your estimates in case anyone asks you about it later and then do nothing.”
“And then I’m stuck doing all this prep work, coming out there, giving you an estimate, and you are NEVER going to hire me!”
Steve’s voice was getting shrill.
“And then the wife will ask why *Babs can’t go to private school and *Tabs can’t go to Europe, and I’ll say it’s because of deadbeats who WASTE MY TIME by having me come give estimates for work they never intend to hire me to do!”
I was inclined to agree with him about the last part, but since he was on a rant I didn’t say anything. As far as Steve knew, I could be eating a ham sammich and watching the People’s Court, but it didn’t matter he was talking to himself now.
“And we’ll get a divorce, and NO that won’t cost me any money at ALL. Babs still won’t go to private school and Tabs will go join a cult of some kind, shave his head and walk around barefoot in a sheet, for chrissakes!”
I cleared my throat and that seemed to break his train of thought. He took a deep breath and in the most soothing of voices said, “So, will Tuesday be a good day to come out?”
*Not anyone’s real name…except mine just might be Xenia.
Wednesday is my grocery-shopping day, so after spending way too many hours sitting in front of a computer I drag my exhausted ass to the local store and buy a week’s worth of groceries.
I have such an exciting life.
This Wednesday was no different….except I did score a sweet deal on two-for-one pricing for Oscar Mayer bacon.
Note to Oscar Mayer – I don’t know what you are using for bacon advertising, but here’s a free catchphrase from me to you:
“Because everything’s better with bacon”
So, as I was saying, this Wednesday was no different.
That is until I tried to leave the store.
I got halfway through the automatic doors and this boot-lock-thingy on my cart snapped shut and stopped me in my tracks. I hit the handlebar I was holding with an “oof”.
I looked down at the cart’s contents. I suppose I was expecting the lettuce to confess it was hiding contraband in its leaves and the cart knew it and was having none of that foolishness. Or maybe the two-fer bacon was having second thoughts. Whatever the reason, it was obvious I wasn’t getting any answers from the sea of brown bags before me.
I looked around and at first all the other patrons going in and out just politely stepped around me.
Then, it happened.
First one man, then another and then kids, moms, grandmas and trolls all stopped to gape at me and my stubbornly-stuck cart.
“I…uh….” Was my oh-so-witty observation as I turned to go get help from the manager who’d put my groceries in the cart-from-hell in the first place.
“My cart,” I began, pointing to the circle of people surrounding my cart, “it won’t budge.”
Manager looked at me and then realizing that unsticking a shopping cart was way beneath his pay grade, grabbed the first teenager in a store uniform he saw.
“Go help her, will you?”
So, teenager and I went back to the cart and its adoring crowd.
Teenager bent down and looked at the wheel. As soon as he did he began to get all kinds of helpful advice from the crowd.
“Ya gotta lift that thingy….”
“No, I think you push down on it…”
“No, no…lift the cart…”
(okay, that last part may not have really happened)
Finally, teenager lifted the cart and pushed something on the wheel.
Voila! I was free.
The crowd dispersed amongst mumbles of “See…I told you…”
Teenager grinned at me and said, “Wow…that has never happened before. Ever.”
“Of course it hasn’t.” I replied, “and, just in case that once-in-a-lifetime happens again between here and the car…”
“Sure, I’ll take these for you.”
The rest of the grocery experience was uneventful, but I eyed the empty cart as teenager wheeled it away; looking for any identifying marks.
I want to be able to avoid using possessed shopping carts whenever possible, but knowing me I’ll be the one to find this beast again.
Of course I will.
I still can’t figure out how the man turned that voice into millions, but I do know that awesomesauce was applied.
Excuse me while I go stop the bleeding from my ears.
Today is Boxing Day in some places outside America.
I’m a citizen of the United States, so I don’t know what Boxing Day is.
I looked it up.
Apparently, it’s a bank holiday.
I was hoping it was a day I could go sock some asshat who’d been irritating me.
I haz a disappoint.