YOU ARE HERE

At the workplace is it expected that the majority of the employees have a reasonable amount of intelligence. They went through the process of filling out an application, an interview and they managed to drive themselves to said place of employment. One would have to come to the conclusion, no matter how hard it is to say, that the office is not filled with a bunch of morons. It may not seem that way but there are sparks of intellect flying around most of the time. We were all taught at a young age the process of walking into a building, retaining that information, making a mental picture, so to speak, of the door we just walked through. Day after day we walk into the door and then, even after a long trying day, we are able to find our way out of the building by walking through that very same door we had, hours ago, walked into. If for some reason that information loses it's place in our head, we don't panic because above all the doors leading to the outside world there is a big sign above that reads, and we all can read, EXIT.
So I ask you, because I am a curious person, and I would really like to understand this:
Why, in the name of Zeus's butt hole, do we have to have maps of the interior of the building plastered on the walls telling us "YOU ARE HERE" and a red arrow leading us to the nearest exit?
I will await your response, thank you.

This might be a disaster.

Okay here is my latest assignment: Select an article in your local newspaper, read it thoroughly. Outline a fictional short story or a nonfiction article based on the account. I went for fiction because I never do fiction and wanted to see if I could do it. It's over 1,000 words.

____________________________________

“This is going to be a disaster. A farmer, do you have any idea how hard it is to interview a farmer?”

“But, do you have any idea how much fun it will be to watch you try to interview a farmer?”

Paula gave Victor a glance, squinted her eyes, opened her mouth then shut it again. Why give him the satisfaction, she turned her head and watched the big city disappear.

Paula Swagger had chosen the profession of a TV news reporter. In her mid 30’s, she was still waiting for her big break. On her way to a dairy farm, she knew today wasn’t the day. She held a picture in her hand, it was a picture of the farm she and her cameraman, Victor, had their GPS set for. Out to the middle of nowhere then hang a left.

She studied the picture, apparently this farmer’s farm was being over-run by rabbits. The picture showed twenty or so crates with bunnies in them. She rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

“Why me?”

“Boss said it would be a great human interest story, what with the Chinese New Year and all.”

Paula looked at Victor, actually stared blankly at him.

“You didn’t do your homework did you? You weren’t even paying attention in this mornings meeting?” Victor’s eyes were full of mischief, this was going to be better than he thought. He could barely sit still, his foot pressed on the accelerator just a little bit more.

“The Chinese New Year? The year of the rabbit?”

“Uh huh.” His grin widened. “People thought it would be a good idea to buy a bunny, you know for good luck. Thing is they didn’t realized what a chore it would be to take care of them.”

“So they’re dropping them off at this farm. What a mess.”

“Not only his farm, other farms and pet stores too. We’ll be there in 10 minutes.” You couldn’t wipe the grin off his face no matter how hard you tried. Paula’s head started the pound. She closed her eyes and drifted off.

“We’re here!” Paula snapped to attention.

“Would you look at that? Look at all those crates. There has to be 100 of them.”

They both sat in the stations van staring out the window. There was a fruit stand in the small parking lot where they stopped to park and behind that, a weathered barn, off to the left a farmhouse after that nothing but fields as far as the eye could see.

Paula opened her door, “Oh! Holy Mother of …..do you smell that?”

“Farms smell like poop 24/7.”

“Hello! Hi!” A man was running towards them, waving his arm. “Hello, thank you all for comin’. Are you the TV people?”

“Yes sir, we surely are.” Victor was getting into character, Paula shot him a warning look. “Hello, I’m Paula Swagger and this is my cameraman Victor. And, I’m sorry, your name?”

“Peter McGregor ma’am. I sure am glad to see you.” He shook both their hands until their teeth rattled. He pointed to house farmhouse, “That there’s my wife Elsie.” He vigorously waved to her and yelled, “These are the TV people.” Victor and Paula waved to Elsie. Peter McGregor continued to yell, “They’re gonna put me on TV, go on in and watch.”

“Oh Mr. McGregor, we’re just going to get some footage and …….” It was too late, Elsie was back in the house.

Paula whipped her head around, directed her clenched teeth towards Victor, “Get the camera, film this and let’s get the hell out of here.” He grinned at her and ran to the back of the van.

“Now Mr. McGregor how about you and I stand over there by the barn with all your bunnies.”

“They’re not my bunnies! That’s what I’m trying to tell everyone! People are dropping them off in the middle of the night. Ma’am this here’s a Dairy Farm, I can’t have a hundred bunnies hoppin around here, I got cows to milk.”

Victor arrived with his camera and handed Paula her microphone, “Ready?”

Paula glanced at Mr. McGregor, who was visibly upset. This man was looking for help and he got her. “Let’s see if we can’t get this problem taken care of sir.” She nodded to Victor, who then hoisted the camera up on his shoulder and a little red light went on. Mr. McGregor’s eye grew big as saucers and the corners of his mouth went up.

“Paula Swagger reporting from WTRX News. We are here at the farm of Peter and Elsie McGregor. Their farm has been inundated with bunnies. These bunnies are being dropped off in the middle of the night by thoughtless seekers of good fortune. You see it’s the Chinese New Year, the year of the rabbit.”

“The Chinese?”

“People have been buying bunnies in hopes of them bringing good luck to their families. Then realizing they are too much work, they drop them off at local farms and pet stores. Ladies and gentlemen these animals are not good luck charms and they can’t take care of themselves.”

She turned her attention to Mr. McGregor, “Sir, can someone who wants to adopt a bunny come by and pick one up?”

“Why sure they can. I gotta get rid of them, they’re cute and all but you know how fast they, huh, multiply and I got some gal named PETA calling me sayin I have too many bunnies, that there ain’t no way I can take care of them all. She’s right, Elsie’s been runnin back and forth to the store buyin carrots, we’re running outta room.”

“There you have it ladies and gentlemen, WTRX News will post information on our website regarding adopting a bunny from Mr. McGregor. I’m Paula Swagger at the McGregor Dairy Farm from WTRX News, thank you and good evening.”

And the little red light on the camera went off, Mr. McGregor relaxed. “What we’ll do sir, is take this tape back to the station, do a little editing and we should have it on the 6:oo news.”

“You all leavin already, we thought maybe you’d stay for supper.” Paula was moved. “I’m sorry, we have to go if you want to see yourself on TV, okay?” They exchanged smiles, real smiles and Victors stupid grin turned into a smile.

On the way back Paula, again drifted off to sleep. When she felt the van stop, she opened her eyes and looked at Victor, “We’re back sleepy head.” They both turned and looked in the back of the van at the crate with the bunny in it, “What are you going to name him?” Victor asked. It was Paula’s turn for the mischievous grin, “Peter Rabbit, of course.”

WILSON!!!!!!!!!

If you've been paying attention you know that the dog has an unhealthy obsession with her mini basketball. An unhealthy obsession that we've encouraged, we named it Wilson. She will now run to find it when we say, "Where's Wilson?" It's 7 degrees outside, we're bored. "Hey?" I asked, "Should we be worried if we find a bloody paw print on that thing and it looks like a face?"

Wilson disappeared, I'm going to say Thursday. The entire family would take turns looking under things. Checking her usual hiding places and discussing at dinner, where the hell is Wilson? The dog didn't look upset but we kept the conversation quiet and referred to Wilson as "it" as we tried to figure out our next move. Can we trick her and buy a new one? Let's face it, we were more upset than the dog. Our new source of amusement went missing. WILSON!!!!!
Boy #3 and I, the stubborn ones, started to look again, Saturday I think. "The last place I saw it was in my room, on the bed." Because not only do I share a bed with a Restless Leg Syndrome/Sleep Apnea husband, but also a dog with her squeak toy.
Boy #3 started hitting the bed thinking it was under the covers somewhere, the dog watched with interest. "We're looking for Wilson, baby, we'll find him." She cocked her head to the side and walked off down the hall.
"You upset her mom."
"Look under the bed, she's fine."
Then, swear to God and all that's holy, the dog jumps up on the bed with Wilson in her mouth and gently lays him between her paws.
Boy #3 was talking to me but I wasn't listening. I just stood there with my mouth open, I was trying to speak but couldn't.
Then syllables started to come out of my mouth, "Wha, di, ha, ti?" I was trying to get Boy #3's attention. He popped up from under the bed and looked at me.
"What?"
I pointed to Wilson.
Boy #3 was stunned, rocked to his core. "Where did that come from?"
"She just brought it in here, I swear."
"We looked everywhere for that."
"She came from the living room."
"Dad's in there."
We sprang to the doorway, momentarily getting stuck in the door jamb like a 3 Stooges movie and ran down the hall.
"The dog found Wilson, did you see where.................."
"Huh?"
We stopped in our tracks, the husband was thumbing through a Victoria Secret Valentine's Day Flyer, he saw nothing, I'm sure of it.
"There's only one explanation mom, you know it and I know it."
I rubbed my temples and eyes, pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut really tight.
"She's found a doorway to the second dimension."
"Yeah, I know, she's a very smart dog."

What color are you?

I almost got the crying baby out, then I put on my big girl panties and trudge through my next assignment:

Choose a color to write about. Use the thesaurus function on your software or a printed thesaurus at least ten times during this exercise. Work to focus your writing and write tight. Make the assignment no more than 250 words.

_________________________________________

Inside the crayon box, the big one with 72 colors, the one that makes all the kids in your first grade class jealous, yep that one with the sharpener on the back, you will find me in the purple section. They call me lavender. I’m a free spirit that goes with the flow, wherever the wind takes me and boy do I smell good. People will stop me and say,

“Hey, I know you, don’t I? Where have I seen you before?”
“The lavender field off of Route 82.”

”Right! That’s it!”
It happens all the time. I don’t want to sound pretentious or anything but I have a calm, mitigating effect on people. I’m easy on the eyes and bring a smile to a face. Sometimes a face that’s had a particularly rough day at work, a face that’s belabored after a trying day with a family member or a face that’s sitting in front of a computer endeavoring to finish what they may think is a difficult task and they are stuck to their chair until they are done.
I roll with the punches and go on forever. You can see me wave ever so gently in the wind and then I can disappear, leaving you wondering what you just saw. Leaving you with a sense of contentment.
“What the heck? Was that a ghost or just a shadow?”
No it was I, and they call me lavender.

Please wait. Be back in 2 minute.

Would it be writing genius of me to combine a McDonald's post and a Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude post together or just all together crazy? Can it be done? Sure it can. Will it be good? I don't know.
So when last we spoke I told you the story, in 300 words or less, of my Egg McMuffin Friday. Being limited to 300 words or less because it was my assignment some things were left out of that morning. Some things that were probably best left unsaid, especially with it being my my first assignment and all. I used the word pee twice, had to change damn to darn and hell was in there too, I didn't need to bring up my bra strap like I'm going to now. Don't worry Erv, it won't be that bad, the entire post is not about your sisters bra.
On my way to McDonald's, remember scarf wrapped around my neck 27 times, big leather coat and gloves, I felt my bra strap slide down my shoulder. This was shortly after I left the house and I knew it would have to stay there, uncomfortably on my shoulder until I got to work. It was unsettling because there was no way to get to it. I began to wonder,
"Which bra did I put on this morning?" I keep the uncomfortable ones in the back of the drawer.
"Maybe one of my 'good' bra's has crossed over to 'uncomfortable' I hate when that happens."
I continued on my way to my glorious breakfast with my bra strap askew, glancing at my passengers side where the husband shirts lay in a heap waiting to be taken to the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dudes. That is my after work errand, there's a better chance of seeing him in the evening and what better way to start off the weekend than with an encounter with Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dudes grin like a prison guard in a Chuck Norris movie? My Friday dragged on like most Friday's do and at 4:30 I made my escape. Checking to make sure the bra was is place before donning my winter wear.
"I have to check that bra when I get home." I made a mental note.
I arrive at my most favorite place in the world as a blogger, grabbed the husbands shirts and marched in. Huh, where is everyone? And when I say everyone, it's where are the two of them?
Oh, look there's a note being held down with a stapler right next to the cash register. "Please wait. Be back in 2 minute."
The angel on my right shoulder said, "You should stay and watch that cash register for dweedle dee and dweedle dum, it's only 2 minute." I waited. I waited longer than 2 minute when the devil on my left shoulder said, "Isn't it about time to go home and start your weekend? Seriously, I'm sure they have the cash register locked and who is going to mess with the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude, would you?"
The little devil with the pitch fork had a point. Although he's probably the one that slid my bra strap down my shoulder this morning.

I’ll scrape those windows until my fingers bleed

Here is my first writing assignment. I had five beginning phrases to pick from, tell a short story with 300 words or less in five minutes. I submitted it and am awaiting the evaluation. I'm putting my thick skin on now. Mommy.

__________________________________________

They called it a near miss, but I called it poor planning on my part. It was Egg McMuffin Friday, my reward for dragging my butt out of bed five days in a row and getting to work on time. Several things factor into accomplishing this goal, a quick shower, the dog taking a quick pee, a great cup of coffee, minimal conversation with the rest of the household, the contacts going in without incident, a good hair day, the moon in the seventh house and Jupiter aligning with Mars. When this happens, drive-thru here I come.
I had my one sided conversation with the quick peeing dog, “You be a good girl today, mommy has to go to work.” She cocked her head to the side, wagged her tail and conveyed to me that all would be well. Satisfied that she had the house under control, I wrapped my scarf around my neck several times, put on my coat and gloves, grabbed my purse and opened the door. “Son of ………….” I knew it was too good to be true, I was moving a break-neck Egg McMuffin speed, I had to have forgotten something. Snow. Four inches of freshly fallen snow. I looked back at the dog, “I forgot to start the car, now I have to scrape if I’m going to make it to my Egg McMuffin. It’s what? Fifteen degrees out there?” I thought of that delicious Egg McMuffin and the large piping hot mocha cappuccino with caramel, “I’ll scrape those windows until my fingers bleed, this is my reward darn it and I shall have it come hell or high water, or a frozen windshield.”

It just popped open on it's own

"You have to take my truck to work tomorrow, I'm taking your car in to get the trunk fixed."

My trunk? Why that hasn't worked since summer, June I believe. I've adjusted my life in such a way that I don't need a trunk anymore. What will I do with a fully functional trunk?

It popped open while we were out of town, just popped open on it's own and it took the husband several tries to get it to stay closed. "Don't open that until I get it looked at." Yes that was June. I remember now. Are our lives that busy that we can't sit at a dealership wait for our car to be fixed? Apparently.

We went out of town again in September, suitcase in the back seat. While driving home the husband pulled over, "What?"

"The trunk just popped open."

"Get the hell outta here."

We got out of the car, "Hey, look there's your new shoes we've been looking for all this time." I was excited. "I never thought to look for them in the trunk, funny isn't it?"

"Hold the shoes, I'll close the trunk."

When he was satisfied the trunk was secure we continued on our way. "Don't open that until I get it looked at." Yes that was September.

Now my trunk is fixed because the husband sat at the dealership for an hour and a half. He took a vacation day.

I'll need to adjust my way of life for the better, I'm sure. I can put my groceries in the trunk now and I have a place to transport the dead bodies again. It's a win/win.

_________________________________________

I have enrolled in a creative writing class which starts tomorrow, I'm very excited about it. I'm telling all that read my blog so I push myself to achieve greatness. I won't settle for anything else. But on the off chance I have a bad day I will post this picture of a baby crying on FaceBook and you can offer words of encouragement if you would like. I also have no idea how much time it will take out of my day so I'm not sure when I will be able to post. Be patient, I'm sure the posts will get much better.

One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just isn't the same.

Generally I like to sit by myself when I go to lunch, find a secluded table, eat and write. Problem was, I walked into McDonald's with a blank slate in my brain. 'I have to sit by someone weird.' I told myself. Eureka! A table full. A table full of a really out of place, over dressed, family, 3 generations of the entitled. And when I sat near them, they kicked it up a notch.

'Awesome, please try to impress me.' Inside voice. In fact my inside voice was going a mile a minute.

I quickly arranged my lunch tray. For some reason McDonald's has stopped asking me "for here or to go" and they automatically put my food in a bag. Then I say, "I was planning on staying is that okay?"

"Of course." And they put my bag of food on a tray. I look like a swindler trying to get out of the "for here" tax as I go find a table.

There was grandma and grandpa, mom and dad and two daughters. The daughters had a few years between them, the oldest never stopped texting and the chubby younger one loved every food that came up in conversation. Grandma and mom were bejeweled, made up, half a can of hair spray on each head and in designer clothes, their purses were probably expensive but I'm not schooled in the designer purse world, and every once in a while I could get a whiff of grandma smell. Dad and grandpa discussed at length a deli menu, "The sandwiches are this big. And the Matzah balls.............."

"I love Matzah balls." Chubby girl chimed in.

When the deli menu conversation was exhausted the dad started to try and impress the grandpa with his job. Grandpa didn't seem too interested which made dad try harder. The mom discussed dinner for the weekend, "I thought I'd make a pot pie tomorrow."

"I love pot pie." Of course you do.

One has to wonder why these people ended up in McDonald's when the could have gone to the deli that had sandwiches 'this big' and Matzah balls. It's going to bother me for a little bit. I hope I don't waste too many brain cells mulling this over.

Someone! Please take the pork chops out of the freezer in the garage!

Forcast: Buckets of snow

Cause: Lake effect

Why: Cuz it's winter

Attitude: Pissy

I ran out of the house this morning knowing it would take me longer to get to work. So I hastily wrote a note and left it on the kitchen counter, "Some one! Please take the pork chops out of the freezer in the garage!" I grabbed my coffee and ran out the door. I didn't even sign it, "Love, mom." I was that stressed. So as I sit eating my lunch I'm really not sure if we are having pork chops or grilled cheese tonight. Bread! I need bread! I must stop for snow storm provisions.......again. Do we need milk? At this point who the hell cares. I'm so over these snow storms.

Anyway, Buckeye is enjoying it. She buries her nose in the snow and eats it.

It is now 9:00 pm, still snowing and we had pork chops.

Help, I've fallen and I can get up but would like some assistance

Anyone? No? Ouch.

See when a child falls, they bounce. When an adult falls, it's kind of like a thud. A child will completely forget they fell almost immediately especially if they are on their way somewhere. Now when an adult goes down with a thud they lay there for a while accessing the damage. And waiting for the rest of the household to come running to their aid. Except in my household.

The husband wasn't feeling well, I made him some hot tea and took a look at the blanket he had wrapped himself in. This is the "living room" blanket, the one we keep handy if we need it. It's also right there for the dog to destroy at her leisure. She has a thing for blankets, especially comforters. I'm certain she thinks we have any endless supply, but we are starting to get low on the ones the kids use to have on there beds. It was time for a new "living room" blanket so I went to the closet. And since I'm a FaceBook addict there is crap all over the place and on my way out of the spare room I tripped over the collage frame I've been meaning to fill with pictures. I almost regained my balance but stepped on the colorful, sports themed comforter and down I went, with a thud of course.

I lay there waiting for something to start to hurt, the shoulder was first, see that went into the wall and then I slid down from there. I'm happy to say I didn't hit my head, so no brain damage, thank God. I began to swear, moan, say ouch, the only movement in the house was the dog trying to find a way over me to get down the hallway. I was sure she was going to get help. The husband was right at the end of the hall in his recliner watching football oblivious to my plight. I could be dying here, unconscious and in a puddle of blood and he'd be wondering if I was going to make him a sandwich.

I got up on my own and managed to walk down the rest of the hall carrying the damn blanket. "Here."

"Wha...?"

"I got you a new blanket and fell in the hallway."

"I didn't ....."

"I know you didn't."

Things are starting to hurt today, but I think I'll survive. I'll probably start wearing a helmet in the house since I know now I'm on my own and have to protect my brain but also embarrass my family.

When the damn diabetic makes pudding in the wrong bowls

"I see we're throwing caution to the wind again, ay?" A little Canadian lingo there. The husband looked at me with his 'one eyebrow up' look. "I thought you were going to bed."

"You are making a mess. I can't go to sleep knowing there will be pudding splattered everywhere when I wake up. Is that chocolate pudding dripping down between the dishwasher and counter? This is going to be worse than I thought. You're making vanilla too?"

Most people are going to bed at 11:00pm ish and not clanging around in the kitchen but that's when the damn diabetic makes pudding in the wrong bowls.

"So you're making parfaits then? How can you not stir neatly? Why does half of it have to be on the counter? Look at my counter, look at it."

A 10 second stare down began. And we started to speak to each other in hush tones, with our eyes squinted and our teeth clenched, "I'll clean it up, go to bed."

"I can't go to sleep knowing you may go into a diabetic coma. That's something that's needs to be addressed quickly and every one's in bed."

"I'm only having one in this small glass."

"Then you will save one for me for lunch tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to bed."

"Good night."

I might need a dog therapist

I took the dog for a walk yesterday, she needed to get out of the house. She doesn't seem to be doing stir crazy well. We exchange Christmas cookies with our next door neighbors and Buckeye and their dog, her boyfriend, exchange gifts. Now, we have banned squeak toys from our house, we just don't see the point. After raising three boys with annoying, noisy toys we put our foot down with the squeaks.

Her boyfriend presented her with a squeak basketball. We let it go because when she opened it the fun ensued. Maybe being stuck in the house during the blessed holiday season has messed with her head slightly because she grabbed the ball, it squeaked and she freaked. She heard the squeak and stopped in her tracks with a WTF look on her face. This went on for days, a continued amusement for the entire family. Then her attitude toward the ball started to change. She started to carry it around with her everywhere, ever so carefully so's not to squeak it. It was never out of her sight, becoming an object of her affection. It was now hers and her boyfriends baby. When Erv, and you never trust Erv, came over on New Years Day, she carried her ball/baby and cried the whole evening. Trying to find a place to hide it so Erv wouldn't get it. She brought it to bed with us that night and we, of course rolled over it several time during the night to awake with a start to a squeak. It's too late to ban this ball, she has an unhealthy obsession with it. Stir crazy I tell you. The boys are having their fun with her, they squeeze it when she's not looking and she comes running. "Where's your baby? Get your ball!" But they don't have time to take her for a walk. Huh.

"Mom, she thinks it's her baby."

"Did you get a picture?"

"We have to take a video, put it on YouTube."
This is when I stepped in to introduce reason and logic into the situation.

"We have to name it Wilson."

Farvel Cargo's 10 Greatest Posts of 2010

Let me tell you, it was very hard to narrow them down to 10. What you should do is review the entire year of 2010, there are only 62 posts. That embarrasses me a little, I should have posted more.

But let's start the list:

1.) I'm just here to observe

These are in no particular order of greatness, that would take too much effort.

2.) Don't put Dad in a coma This one is my brother-in-laws favorite.

3.) Usually my alcohol comes in a plastic cup

I based my list on 3 factors, my own valuable opinion, the comments the post received and the feedback from around my sister-in-laws dining room table.

4.) Try to keep up!

5.) There are things out there, things

6.) Who peed in grandma's toilet?

7.) Shopping with mother and the two areas I must avoid to maintain my sanity

8.) The Jury Duty Series

Jury Duty Part 1, maybe the only part

Meanwhile back in the Jury Assembly Room holding tank

Before the Benadryl kicks in

9.) From the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude files, #1675 section B

The list could not be complete without mention of the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude.

10.) Ladies and Gentlemen the douche has left the building

You have a lot of reading to do, you better get started.

Have a wonderful 2011!

Happy New Year and thank you for reading my blog.

I think I might detect a note of sarcasm

Since Ma and Pa refuse to own a computer they are missing a lot not being able to read my blog. So I copy and paste the posts and send them to their email machine. This seems to have made mother happy, now she can join in the blog conversation. Except she tells me not to use the word snot in my posts. Apparently snot mildly offends her. What really offends the hell out of her is when I use the word twat. So I stopped sending her my offensive posts that have the words snot and twat in them. Also my dad is still trying to figure out which side of the family Aunt Flo is from.
I have been lacks in sending posts to the email machine lately and when my Aunt and Uncle called they mentioned to mother how funny they thought this post was:
Shopping with mother and the two areas I must avoid to maintain my sanity.
Yikes, I guess I have to send that one over. Thirteen days later mother and I went Christmas shopping. "I want to go to Macy's."
"We'll go there first mom." It's her favorite store, she loves it.
We browsed, we consulted, we bought, we laughed, we discussed lunch, we heard, "Attention Macy's shoppers, spend $25.00 at our Lancome` counter and get a free gift."
"That's in the perfume section, isn't it honey?"
"So you read it then."
"Let's go to the lingerie section next."

I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer but I can tell when I'm being set up.

"Huh uh, I'm hungry, let's get lunch."

"You know I think you exaggerated some."

"Maybe, a little, but that's what humor is, right? You're not mad are you?"

"No," she says on the way to lunch, which I'm probably going to pay through the nose for. "Oh look, there's Victoria Secret. Want to go in there, that ought to be worth a couple paragraphs."

Ladies and Gentlemen the douche has left the building

Went to WalMart. WooHoo. Got a WalMart post.

First of all I knew there was a WalMart post brewing when I walked into the Exit door. WalMart post after WalMart post I've continually looked down upon the mindless shoppers that cannot or will not read the huge signs above the two big doors, "EXIT" and "ENTRANCE", creating pandemonium with every step they take. But today I walked up to the ENTRANCE and the door wouldn't open. "Huh?" I said to myself. "Did I lose weight?" I jumped up and down a little bit. The door didn't open and I looked like a WalMart idiot, then I walked in the EXIT door. Of course I got a look from a woman that is probably blogging about me right now.

With our second major snow event of the blessed holiday season breathing down our necks, ready to create havoc on my "only 14 shopping days left until Christmas" plans, it was necessary to stock up on provisions. We needed everything and if I wasn't going to be able to shop then I'd have to bake. I needed flour and nuts.

I meandered through the aisles, checking everything off my list, even "D". That's what I write on my list when I want to remember to buy douche, a four pack. By the time I got to the check out I started to wonder why I hadn't had my blogging epiphany yet. Was I just a pawn in the WalMart blogging world? Someone else's blogging fodder? And then it happened, oh it was a good one. I loaded my provisions onto the conveyor belt so my male cashier could "ring me up". As he swiped away, I unloaded, he bagged and I unloaded, it's suppose to be a big storm. I grabbed the box of "D" and the box broke open on the bottom. Huh. The young man continued to swipe my big snow storm provisions, oblivious to the embarrassing moment quickly approaching him on the conveyor belt. I carefully slid the box to the end and locked eyes with the woman behind me. She followed my eyes to the broken box. "How can I avoid certain embarrassed to that poor kid? How do I stop these douche bags from tumbling out all over the conveyor belt?" This, I had to whisper to her as she had her young son with her. Let me tell you she was no help at all as she tried desperately to suppress laughter.

The douche got closer.

Certain embarrassment for that poor kid, not me, I'm passed that stage, but him, I was sure he'd be scared for life if I didn't do something quick. Think, think......tape. I locked eyes again with the woman behind me and she came up with the same idea.....tape. Our eyes darted back and forth, up and down. There should be tape on display everywhere, it's Christmas, we have to wrap. No tape. Dear God there was no tape. Okay, here's what we'll do:

With the box in hand I said, "I'm going to swipe this open box for you and save you from the inevitable embarrassment, is that okay?"

"Yes, yes thank you."

Awkwardly I wrapped my arm around the register.

"Ma'am, you swiped it twice, let me just...."

"That's okay, I'll pay for it twice."

"No, just let me push this button and you swipe it again."

"Oh, okay."

I swiped and bagged in one felt swoop.

Ladies and Gentlemen the douche has left the building.

The bucket and the bell ringer

Is it just me or has anyone noticed that there is a bucket and a bell ringer at every store in America? Every drug store, every grocery store, WalMart, Target, Kohl's. I'm as charitable as the next person but I'm down about 10 bucks this blessed holiday season so far. I worry when I drive into a parking lot, break out into a cold sweat wondering if I have any singles in my wallet. It's affecting my every day life, "Wait! That's my last single, I need it for the bucket!"

Try explaining that to her at the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dudes fine establishment. If she goes to "ah Casino" for Thanksgiving how do I get the whole bucket and bell ringer concept across to her? She made it all to clear a few years ago, exact change is highly recommended. I tried to explain I needed my singles for the boys lunch money. She didn't care if my boys had lunch, why would she care about the down trodden and destitute? I'm frightened. I need to go to the bank.

I've started looking for stores without that red tripod with the red bucket dangling from it or better yet, sit in the parking lot and wait for the bell ringer to go on break, or sometimes you can see the tripod but the bucket is missing that's when you make a break for it. Run into the store during a terrible blizzard, bad weather chases away God's chosen ones, the people that give up hours of their day to stand out in the cold ringing a bell to get you to donate.

I'm a horrible person. I have to go check my wallet and make sure I have enough singles in there for when I go shopping tomorrow. Because I won't pass up a bucket without making my deposit. God bless the bell ringers. I think I'm going to hell, damn it.

Sell crazy someplace else, we're all stocked up here

And the snow continues to fall, documented information of the great snowfall of December, 2010 :

I took two vacation days on Dec. 6th and 7th to hang out with mother, you know, Christmas shop and to do lunch. Instead the snow began to fall Sunday and has not stopped. Mother and I, via a telephone conversation decided Monday to stay home, off the treacherous roads. Tuesday our AM conversation consisted of a little bit of swearing, she's the one that taught me how to swear but will deny it, bad mouthing Mother Nature and a general pissy attitude where we decided to try again Saturday.

"Saturday?" She said, "Why don't you just quit that job?"

"Then you'd have to pay for lunch mom."

"Oh, let's try Saturday then."

I stayed in the house all day Monday and all day Tuesday. So I feel I have a jump on cabin fever. See, I'm going to go crazy first. Being cooped up in the house for long periods of time seems appealing to you at first. You can get stuff done like, catch up on all the sitcoms you recorded over the fall and never got around to watching. Eat ice cream for lunch. Stay in your jammies all day or at least late in the day and just hurry up and get dressed before anyone gets home from work, that way the won't suspect you are on you way to going off the deep end sooner than usual. The trick is to keep crazy to yourself as long as possible, wait for everyone to catch up to you, because they will. It's a natural transition from our carefree 2, maybe 3 weeks of summer in Northeast, Ohio to Almost Winter, Winter and Still Winter. Once we all catch up to the same kind of crazy, we can start to climb the walls, throw on a pair of boots while still in our bathrobes to get the mail, flip off the snow plow that sends snow from the street back into your driveway you just got done shoveling, stop caring whether our hats, gloves and scarves match, hell as long as you have a left and right glove it really doesn't matter what color they are does it? Yeah we have some good times coming our way baby. Northeast, Ohio weather, yeah wonderful, really.

Don't mess with the lemon lady

Sitting in the Arby's parking lot eating my lunch, I came to the realization that it may be some time before I ever breath through my nose again.

I sit in my car to eat lunch instead of inside. Yes, it's 30 degrees outside and I will be forced indoors soon but I'm generally an antisocial person and I don't want to talk to anyone if possible.

During the blessed holiday season who in the name of Zeus's butt hole has the time to go to the doctor? My nose has been put on hold while I shop, bake, decorate, wrap and play FarmVille. Unless of course I get a bad cough, then I'm going in to get that wonderful cough medicine that makes you high.

I can watch people just as well in the parking lot as I can inside Arby's, it's a little cold out here though. Some lady just parked her car, got in another car with a man in it and they drove off. Hmmm.........

I mentioned in my last post, here if you don't feel like scrolling down a few inches, that I tried Breath Rite Extremes and they stretched my nose in such a way that air got in and out. It was wonderful and I thought, "I'm going to buy a case of these sticky little miracles." Until I tried to get it off my face.

I like to go into Arby's on the drive-thru side, park there and watch almost accidents. Because for some reason people rounding the drive-thru, paying for their value meals, grabbing their value meals, well they seem to forget that there are any other cars moving in the parking lot. It's a hoot to see them come out of the fast food coma when they almost hit another car, they're clueless.

Breath Rite Extremes have enough adhesive on them to rip off your entire nose if you're not careful. In the morning-ish, I looked at my fat nose in the mirror. The Breath Rite Extreme was trying to break free on it's own, the corners were popping up. I have to tell you, I really looked like hell. I decided to take the thing off but wanted to keep my skin, it was proving to be quite a challenge. Water? Yes water. Ever so slowly the damn thing came off and I had a red welt across my nose. Very attractive.

The other reason I park on the drive-thru side of Arby's is that inside the restaurant they have a big bell that you can clang if you receive good service. When you clang it, all the employees say, "Thank you!" It's cool. One time I didn't clang it on my way out because I had to wait for them to slice a lemon for my ice tea and I had to ask them twice for my cherry turnover. I'm there almost every Friday, they should have my lemon ready.

So I'm quite certain I won't be buying a case of Breath Rite Extremes. After my shower I checked out my face again, specifically my nose, "Is that a booger?" No, it's adhesive. Holy crap, I washed my face with Biore Facial Scrub and there are still traces of the damn Breath Rite Extreme. Get the hell out of here, I'll just get addicted to nasal spray.

Today when I ordered my Arby's lunch, they had lemon sliced, ready and now call me the lemon lady. Clang, clang, clang!

And the family rejoiced

"Mom?"

What's this? I sense fear. Twenty-four years of mom training under my belt, I can sense the trepidation in Boy #3's voice. Hmmmm..... let's see where this goes.

"Yes?"

"Ummm... wha.... what's for dinner?"

"Not turkey."

And he smiled, a smile like the old days, like when he heard the ice cream truck down the road. His eyes lit up like two bright stars in the midnight sky. Relief fell over him in a gentle wave of happiness.

This could be my fault, I did make a 20 pound turkey for five people. I thought it was excellent planning on my part. I had a sick husband in the house, the reason I had to cook by the way, I had a major head cold brewing around my brain and for God's sake a four day weekend to enjoy. And enjoy it we did. I got to take Nyquil.

"I'm going to WalMart for more tissues" I said to the husband, "Will you be okay?"

"I'm hungry."

"Make a turkey sandwich."

"Mom, I'm hungry."

"Make a turkey sandwich, I have to irrigate my nasal passages." And then take a nap.

I had apple pie for breakfast Saturday morning. Was it morning? It was my first meal of the day so I guess it was breakfast. The husband was popping aspirin like candy and was walking around the house wrapped in an old comforter from one of the boys beds, it had footballs on it.

At WalMart I grabbed a variety of cold and flu remedies. One, not pictured, was Breath Rite Extremes. I followed the instructions on the sample box, large strip on the bottom, small strip on top. Yes, there were two strips because they are Extremes. With the Breath Rite properly placed I looked in the mirror, my nose had grown twice it's size and air was getting in there. With my enlarged nose and Nyquil, I settled in for a long winters nap. I'm just going to sleep this off. Except the snot had other plans and today, has unleashed holy hell on my sinus cavity, I have to carry a box of tissues with me where ever I go. I could have easily dragged out the leftovers after work, but that would have been pushing it. Pushing it to the Extremes.

The husband came home and asked, "What's for dinner?" No fear in his voice, his filter is screwed up because of the flu.

"Not turkey."

"Thank God!"

From the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude files, #1675 section B

Friday, November 26, 2010:

"I'm out of shiiiiirrrrts!" the husband exclaimed.

Eff

"There are none in the closet."

"I'll run to the Scary Asian Dry Cleaners and get your shirts."

"Have you seen your hair?"

I was willing to run to the Scary Asian Dry Cleaners after just emerging from the shower, that's how much I love him.

"Okay, don't panic, we still have time. I'll run this shirt through a rinse cycle with fabric softener, throw it in the dryer and iron it. No problem."

I was just that simple and off to work he went.

I dried my hair, slapped some make-up on my face and drove to my constant source of blogging fodder.

The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude reminds me of a Vietnam prison guard in a Chuck Norris movie, that's where he got his nickname. He has a Vietnam prison guard in a Chuck Norris movie grin, it's unsettling. I didn't see him when I walked in, that meant he was lurking in the back of the store with those hot shirt presses. Shivers went up my spine. She was there. Always smiling. Our conversations are kept to a minimum.

"Hello."

"Hi." Sometime I say Hi and sometimes Hello, I try to mix it up a bit, this time I said Hi.

"Four more shirt?"

"Yes."

"Seven ah twenty. Have nice day."

"Thank you."

And that's it, week after week. I'm sure she has a larger English vocabulary, but I haven't delved into it. I don't want to be misunderstood, what with the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude lurking in the back and all.

You can imagine my surprise when she asked if I had a nice Thanksgiving. I was dumb-struck. Holy Crap what do I say?

"It was good, how about yours?" Right then I realized, Asian - Thanksgiving, I don't think so, whoops.

She responded, "We ah went Casino."

See, yet another reason Ohio needs Casino's. We have to keep those senior citizens and their social security checks here. And we have to keep the dry cleaners from crossing state lines with there hard earned American dollah.