Tainted Love

The internet is a strange and wonderful place. I'm sitting at the table trying to put the postage on the Halloween cards for my family (or in my Mom's case, her Halloween "cod"- hilarious!) so I can have them arrive PRIOR to the holiday for the first time ever. The card that I got for my sisters has that stupid little "Requires Extra Postage" mark in the corner. Typically I just stick an extra stamp on and send whatever on its way...I hate going to the post office so whatever why not. However, because this card will be going to my parents' house- where my Dad the former postal worker lives- I was a little leery of the lecture that might accompany the wasting of an extra stamp where maybe a 3 cent will suffice.

So, because my father isn't answering the phone this afternoon (most likely because the subject of our last conversation was one Barack Obama) I decided I would google how much postage actually is warranted when "extra" is indicated. I believe my exact google search term was "extra postage required" how much. I clicked the first return. And immediately I was taken to this website.

That's right. PRISON TALK! Just the single page of the forum (which, bt-dubs did not give me the answer to my query) is full of amazingness.

One user had the following signature:

Tell me He's Lazy, Tell Me He's Slow, Tell Me He's Crazy, Maybe I Know...Can't Help Lovin' That Man of Mine!

What is that emoticon doing!???

AUGH God I love the internet.

Really Universe?

So this afternoon I went to pick up this hammock stand:

Whaaaaaaaaaaat??!???!!!

From a dude named Cesar that looked a lot like this:

So not kidding. Thank you Craigslist.

So I think we can all agree, my day was going pretty well. And then I drove home.

It's gorgeous out, not as warm as yesterday (86 degrees in April? Yes please.) but definitely nice enough to have the windows down. I have a ton of hair that is easily blown into knots, so I rarely have my window down further than an inch- as was the case today.

So I'm driving with my sunglasses on, I hear something like a rock hitting the windshield, and all of a sudden it feels as though the glasses have moved on my face. You know what happened?

A ROCK CAME IN THROUGH THE 1-INCH CRACK IN THE WINDOW, PLINKED ME IN THE FACE, AND BROKE MY SUNGLASSES!

Look at these things!!! That missing chunk could easily have been my forehead. Or cornea.

Seriously what the hell?! How does that happen?! I couldn't find the assassin rock, or the missing piece of plastic. I guess they both disintegrated. There's an entire windshield for minerals to target, but instead they choose my face. Either this kind of thing happens to everyone and I'm just better with documentation, or there's an entire Kingdom that is out to destroy me. So now I am without sunglasses (AKA much-needed armor for my eyeballs.)

I guess I'll be parking the hammock in the shade.

Low Sodium

I'm looking for appetizer recipes to serve at our BONYE Mafia party. I was just thumbing through a Crock-Pot cookbook my mother gave me a couple years ago (bc I just unearthed it from the upstairs bookcase.) I like the health tip at the end of it.

Mexican Bean and Cheese Dip

15-oz can refried beans
8 oz jar taco sauce
1 lb. velveeta cheese, cubed
1 pkg. dry taco seasoning

Combine ingredients in slow cooker. Cover, cook 2-3 hrs. Serve warm from the cooker with tortilla chips.

Note: If you're cautious about salt, choose minimally salted chips.

Let me translate this recipe for you.

Mexican Salt Dip

15-oz can beans dredged in salt then fried
8 oz jar liquid salt, taco style
1 lb. gelatinous cheese-flavored salt lick
1 pkg. taco-flavored salt

Combine ingredients in slow cooker. Cover, cook 2-3 hrs. Serve warm from the cooker with tortilla chips.

Note: If you're cautious about salt, maybe skip this recipe.

Flushed Away

Mom: "Ugh, my pager's going off. I wish I hadn't replaced it."
Me: "What happened to your other pager?"
Mom: "Oh, I flushed it."
Me: "Is that a euphemism?"
Mom: "Oh no. I flushed and then noticed 'OH MY GOD THAT'S MY PAGER!'"
Me: "Very astute. How did you manage that?"
Mom: "Well, you know, it fell in the toilet! And I didn't notice until it was too late. So, I plunged it thinking that maybe it would float to the top. But it must've really been far in there! I was actually pretty impressed- it's just a normal household toilet. Pretty powerful. So, I flushed it like 5 more times and hoped for the best."
Me: "Wow. Quite a solution."
Mom: "Yeah. So then I told Karen* that I'd flushed my pager so she'd have to call me at home if she needed anything because my pager was gone."
Me: "Good idea."
Mom: "And then she said it hadn't gone far enough. The toilet almost overflowed yesterday. It is really jammed."
Me: "Wow. That is totally embarrassing."
Mom: "Yeah. I hope I don't have to pay a plumber to go fishing for my pager."

My only hope is that slugs are dancing around with it.



*Mom's co-worker
*Felecia, C&C Music Factory is BACK

The Kid Is Not My Son

I promise that some day my blog will become something more than a repository of hatred for my landlady.

But not today.

So yesterday I was working at a hospital until about 5 PM. I got home, changed clothes, and received a phone call from my landlady. It's 5:15.

Her: "Hey, there might be someone coming to see the apartment."
Me: "Okay, when?"
Her: "Possibly at 5:45."
Me: "You couldn't give me any more notice than this?!"
Her: "Well, they called this morning and I told them to call back to confirm and they haven't called back. So I'm not even sure whether they're coming...I'd say it's about 50/50."
Me: "Okay, well I have to clean up."
Her: "Well, don't do too much, I don't think they're even coming."

So I get up and dump out the bucket of mop water that's been sitting in the kitchen since the day before. Try to wash the dishes really quickly. Take the giant pile of laundry that I was going to do prior to being called into work and stuff it into a hamper. Try to start cleaning the tub a little when the doorbell rings. Awesome. It's the landlady, and her totally annoying 3 year old. It's 5:20.

Her: "They're definitely coming."
Me: "When?"
Her: "They said they'd be here by 5:30."
Me: "Awesome."

So she's standing in my living room and I can hear her scolding her kid to quit touching things. Meanwhile I am STORMING around upstairs, throwing things in closets, making up the bed, slamming doors, muttering. I go downstairs and she's just staring out holding the kid who is making a fuss. He wants to rip all the DVDs off my shelves. She's grabbing him and telling him to stop but he's still having a tantrum. Also he's wearing nothing but a shirt and a diaper, his face is filthy, and he has some dirty little bootie things on.

Her: "Nobody's going to rent this place if he starts screaming."
Me: "Yeah. Want me to turn on a movie for him?"

Keep in mind that I have a vested interest in this apartment being rented. If she doesn't find a renter by the end of July, I'm paying for August even though we'll be living in the new house by then. I have no desire to pay for this friggin' apartment when I'm not even living here. I can barely bring myself to pay when I am.

Her: "Yeah, if you don't mind, that'd be great."

Of course he wants to watch Monsters Inc, which is not in its case. I try to talk him into any one of the 50 other children's movies I have (Muppet Movie? Madagascar? Alice in Wonderland? Babe? How old am I again?) and he is not having it. The landlady finally says to throw on Little Mermaid and he'll watch it. So I do. As I'm turning on the DVD, the potential renters park on the street. Meanwhile her child is still fussing and yelling that he'd rather watch "Monster movie!"

Her: "Here they are."
Kids still fussing.
Her: "He's not my kid..." (I think she's joking)
And greets the potential renters.

My plan at this point is to turn on the movie, hop in my car, and come back in a half an hour as I've done with every other showing.

The people walk in, the landlady introduces herself to them, and then steps over her kid and I and says "I guess they're going to watch a movie." Then takes the renters upstairs.

I am stuck downstairs and she has just passed her child off as mine. How did that just happen?!??

She's upstairs with them, kid is watching the movie with occasional bouts of "I hate this." I'm wondering if there's any way I can leave this kid sitting here alone without him tearing apart everything I own. 5 minutes in, he hops out of his chair and takes off out the front door. I run after him, grab him, and tell him to plant his butt back in the chair. He behaved the rest of the time. But clearly, if I'd ditched him he would've run into traffic.

The renters have no interest in the apartment and leave. The landlady turns to me and says, smiling:

"They thought he was yours. He looks more like you anyway." And leaves.

I am living in some kind of surreal nightmare world where my landlady is on crazy pills and has no idea how incredibly inappropriate she is. Her poor kid.

Things That Have Happened to Me Lately

First, I was completely tricked by Tom's entire family. A few weeks before Mother's Day, Tom's sister calls and says she's planning a Mother's Day brunch. She's making all the arrangements, she just wants to see if I'd be off work. I told her I was off that weekend, and would plan to at least make an appearance. My sister was going to be in town and I didn't want to make her go to Tom's family function since she doesn't really know them very well. However, the time comes and she seems fine with going. I have a gift for Tom's mother, wrap it, and we show up at the restaurant. There are gifts and a couple tables full of people. I walk up and Tom's sister says, "This is for you. SURPRISE!"

I totally don't believe them. Also, I'm holding my new nephew Jimmy who I looooove.

It was actually a surprise bridal shower that I had NO idea was coming. I actually didn't even believe them until I saw a couple of my friends there. It was totally awesome, and I cannot BELIEVE they fooled me so completely. My sister is evil, and Tom's family is surprisingly sneaky.

I just realized they weren't kidding. And poor Jimmy's losing his hat.

Later that night, we had my bachelorette party (which I did know about) and this happened.

Enough said.

So, partying done, Tom and I began seriously house hunting. I hate my landlady with the fire of a thousand hells, and want to get out of here. We figured, might as well buy a house instead of having to stuff all our belongings into yet another apartment. Can I just tell you? Open houses SUUUUUUCK. We must've gone to 30 of the stupid things. And apparently the people most affected by this recession are those who 1. own cats, 2. never clean up after said cats, 3. smoke lots of cigarettes while watching the cats pee on every inch of their home. I would leave every house sneezing and retching. It was awful.

So, Tom and I found a house. We walk in, it doesn't smell like cat pee, sold! We actually sign the purchase & sale agreement on the house today, and close July 29th. So, those of you who are coming to our wedding can see the house while you're here. Because I will be living there. And it will be awesome. I have a bunch of photos, but I feel bad posting them here since most of them are full of the current owners' stuff. So, I'll just post a photo of the front.

My crib.

Besides home-buying and wedding planning, it's also been crazy at work. Which of course, means that I have another lovely tale of truckdom for you. As you know, every wheel on my car has fallen off and been reattached at some point. So the other day I was driving home (after using an entire tank of gas in one day...I drove to almost every state in New England) and all of a sudden I hear a clatter. I think that maybe I've run over a bottle? I look in the rear view mirror and see....my spare tire. It has fallen off of the bottom of my truck (apparently the cable that holds it there had rusted through) and is rolling around in 4 lanes of traffic. People are swerving left and right. I am soon going to be responsible for someone's death. Of course by the time I notice it, I'm 5 cars ahead of the tire and can't turn around because I'm on a one-way street. I take a left on the next street so that I can loop around, but it's taking awhile. Of course, this happened to me right at 5 PM. I call the police and tell them the situation.

Operator: "Ma'am, I need to know exactly what street you're on so I can dispatch an officer."
Me: "Umm...I have no idea. It's near the Mass pike, I don't know what street. Hang on. When I circle back I'll read you the street sign."
Operator: "Okay."
Me: "Ok! It's Center Street. Hang on...the cars are stopped at a light, I think I can get the tire."
Operator: "Okay, just let me know."

So I jump out of the car, still on my cell phone, did I mention it's pouring rain? Cause it is. And of course the tire is in the middle lane of traffic, I go to lift it and HOLY CRAP SPARE TIRES ARE HEAVY. Probably doesn't help when they're wet and caked with mud. I can't really pick it up, so I roll it toward the bed of my truck. But then I really do need to lift it because cars are coming, i'm still on the phone, it's still raining, and I'm going to die soon. I heave it up over the side of the truck, toss it in the bed, and get back in the car. I tell the operator that I got the tire and the cops get to stay out of the rain.

And that is how I got a tire track across my arm. It has been a loooong month.

Marriage Favors the Prepared

This weekend Tom and I are attending a required marriage prep course thingie. Woo Catholicism! So, when I signed us up, they emailed directions to the retreat center, and a list of "Questions for the Engaged Couple." The instructions were to answer the questions and share the answers with one another prior to attending the retreat. So, I forwarded the questions on to Tom. The following is what I got back from him.

Q. What do I hope to gain from the marriage Preparation Weekend and how do I feel about making it?
A. Making what? This is a poorly written question.

Q. How do I feel about moving from my individual personal life to a committed relationship in marriage?
A. Better than I feel about moving all my individual stuff into a shared apartment, I'll tell you that.

Q. What do I mean when I say "I love you"?
A. Who am I addressing? The meaning of the phrase differs dramatically if I'm yelling it at the TV after Lowell homers in a tie game in the bottom of the ninth.

Q. How do I feel about my relationship with God?
A. I feel with my hands.

Q. What particular special (concern, issue, dream) do I want to share with you?
A.
Concern: Whoever wrote these questions wasn't taught proper proofreading skilz.
Issue: My mint condition 100th issue of The Amazing Spider-Man with hologram cover.
Dream: The one where I'm flying and then Peter Pan is there.


I have a bad feeling about this weekend.

In Which Meatloaf Conquers My Fear of Death*

I've always been totally freaked out about dying. Not really the best fear to have when your job is dead people. I'm constantly spending time with the family members of people who are dead/dying in the hospital, and it's awful. I enjoy it, because it's my job to give meaning to death. Yes, your loved one died, and it totally blows. Now, let's use this senseless tragedy to save someone else's life, and tell the Grim Reaper to go screw himself. I have to have these internal monologues to do what I do, and it works. I love my job.

But, when the eye turns inward, things are a little tougher. When I watch a fiance falling apart at the bedside of her future husband's deathbed, I can't help but be a little selfish. I think that if it were my fiance in that bed, I would die. I would just die. And I'm sure that's what she's feeling. When I see parents at the bedside of their child, I think that when I have kids, they will live in a padded room, wear a helmet, and drink their meals through a straw. I know how incredibly easy it is for something simple to kill someone. And it freaks the living hell out of me.

And I've always wondered...when you're like 70 years old, do you just constantly think about death? I know a lot of really happy-seeming old people. They enjoy themselves, don't seem to have a care in the world, and I think if I were them I would be on constant death-alert. You see it on television and people say "I'm ready" or "let me go" and I've always thought, "YOU'RE CRAZY!! BREATHE!!!" I really don't understand people that are okay with death.

So last week I was watching "House." And yes, the show is ridiculous and it's never lupus and all that jazz, but I love Hugh Laurie and find the show diverting. So I'm watching, and the story is that Meatloaf is going to die of lung cancer. In the opening scene. He's on his deathbed, he's telling his wife goodbye, I'm thinking what a waste it is of a perfectly good Meatloaf cameo, and he looks like he's slipping away. And I mean, it really looks like he's going. You know when you're sooooo tired that you're falling asleep in spite of yourself? And you know how good it feels when you finally give into it? Like when you're sick and you knock yourself out with Nyquil?

That is the exact look that Meatloaf had. I felt that peaceful sleepy feeling just looking at him. And then I realized. That's how you feel when you die. (You know, unless you have some horrible traumatic accident and in those cases you're gone so fast you never feel anything anyway.) It's like the longest nap ever. And I thought, I love naps. This is how older people deal with death. They're so tired from doing their jobs, cooking, cleaning, and dealing with a-holes at Dunkin' Donuts, that death looks like a vacation. And now when I think of that wonderful slipping off to sleep feeling, I think that death will eventually be okay.

And that is how in one brilliant guest appearance, Meatloaf conquered my fear of death.

*This post is dedicated to Donny. The only person I know who appreciates the true genius that is Meatloaf.

Earth Day Resolution

This morning I had a presentation to give at a hospital. I needed to be there by 8 AM, so I woke up at the crack of dawn, sat in traffic, and arrived to the hospital 15 minutes early. This punctuality meant that I deserved a trip to the Dunkin' Donuts situated on the ground floor of the hospital. Woo coffee and croissanwich (which I don't think is what they call it, but that's what it is.) I walk in and take my place in line. Ahead of me is a woman of petite stature, and not so petite proportions. She is wearing gigantic sunglasses, texting incessantly, and looking completely ridiculous.

DD Employee: "May I help you?"
Ridiculous Woman: "Yeah, can I get a bagel with cream cheese, and a coolata?"
DDE: "Yes ma'am, would you like the cream cheese on the bagel?"
RW: "Yeah!"
The DD lady grabs a bagel and starts toward the prep station. The ridiculous woman basically runs after her yelling,
RW: "Can you make it a coconut coolata? COCONUT COOLATA!"
DDE: "Sure."

Apparently she then orders a waffle breakfast sandwich. First of all, there is no reason to order a breakfast housed between two blueberry hockey pucks, but I doubt reason comes into play in RW's daily life at all.

DDE: "I'm sorry ma'am, we're fresh out of waffles."
Me muttering: "Omg there is nothing fresh about those waffles."
RW: "Hang on a second, I'll be right back."

Now, to get a good picture of this, you need to remember that throughout the requests, the stalking up and down the store following the poor Dunkin' Donuts chick behind the counter, the being INDOORS, this ridiculous woman has yet to:
1. Take off her ginormous sunglasses or
2. Stop texting for a single frikkin' second.

So, she goes to the door. She opens the door, and keeping one foot in the store at all times as if she would be melted by lava if she stepped all the way out, she starts yelling.

RW: "Wanda!"
RW: "WANDA!"
RW: "WANDA!!!!"

Everyone in the store flinches, but apparently she's gotten Wanda's attention. Bully for her.

RW: "They're outta waffles!"
RW: "THEY'RE OUTTA WAFFLES!"
RW: "THEY AIN'T GOT NO MORE WAFFLES!!!"

Sweet baby Jesus Wanda there is a waffle crisis, DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?!

So wouldn't you know it, the impending waffle famine spurs Wanda indoors to make the decision of a lifetime. She walks in, and I'm seeing double. She's the exact same size and shape as RW, and apparently they took a trip together to the Sunglass Hut. At least Wanda has the good sense to remove her blinders indoors.

They walk in together and move toward the food prep station where RW had previously been barking orders over the barricade. Then they promptly stop. Right in front of me. They're standing right in front of me, and they're texting. Not moving, not making decisions, not getting the hell out of my way. The lady at the counter is asking for the next customer and I am trapped behind a waffle-lovin' wall of stupidity. I finally make my way around the T-mobile twins and ask for a cup of coffee. I'm about to order my breakfast sandwich when I hear Wanda ask whether she can add bacon to her sandwich and whipped cream to her Coolata.

DD Employee: "And can I get you anything else?"
Me: "Oh my God, just whatever you can reach the fastest."

She smiled, glanced at me sympathetically and threw a Boston creme donut in a bag. I paid and left as quickly as possible as Wanda and RW's food sat on the counter unclaimed while they texted.

Screw the earth. From now on I'm using the drive-thru.

In Which Graduation Can't Come Soon Enough

My Sister: "Someone called and said that they'd planted a bomb on the football field."
Me: "Cripes. So that's far enough away from the school they won't even let you out of class or anything?"
MS: "Nope. The principal said that it was a trick to get us to stay in the school where they'd really hidden the bomb."
Me: "So what did they do?"
MS: "They evacuated us to the football field."

First Pug

I am in a hospital basement. I've just left the cafeteria and am taking the elevator to the 8th floor. The elevator stops on the first floor. A woman walks in with a dog. The dog is wearing a pearl necklace with a pink bow, and pearl "bracelets" around each of her(?) front paws. The dog is running laps around the woman and tangling her up in the leash.

Me: "Your dog is dressed to the nines"
Dog Lady: "Yes. Today she's Barbara Bush."

And then she and Barbara walk off the elevator.












I assume the 1st floor houses the psych ward. Primarily because if you're going to dress your dog as someone, I think we all know the obvious choice:

In Which Relics Are Defaced

Mom: So, I've been thinking, and you just can't wear green shoes with your wedding dress.
Me: I know. You told me that as soon as I mentioned it.
Mom: It's just not going to look good. Tell you what we can do- your dress has rhinestones on it, right?
Me: No.
Mom: It has something though, right?
Me: Yes. It has tiny glass beads around the waist.
Mom: Okay, so what we can do is go to the craft store and buy some green beads, and then attach a few of those to your shoes.
Me: I can buy shoes with green beads. I saw some yesterday.
Mom: Yeah, but we can just add them and it'll be easier.
Me: No it won't. Buying shoes with beads is one step. Bam. Beaded shoes. Your plan involves a craft store. Not easier.
Mom: Yeah, but you haven't heard my whole plan! Have you thought about how you're doing your hair?
Me: I figure it'll be hot in August, so....up.
Mom: Okay, so I have one of Granny's old combs that's decorated with rhinestones. What we can do is pop the rhinestones out and put in the green beads that we get at the craft store!
Me: I'm not going to let you deface some family heirloom with craft-store beads.
Mom: No, it's okay! I think we can just pop the rhinestones back in when we're done.
Me: You can't just "pop" things in and out of 90-year-old antiques.
Mom: I think you can.

My mother is the little-engine-that-could of bad ideas.

In Which the Word "Majestic" Loses All Meaning

Mom: I was talking to a girl at work about her daughter's wedding. She said that for a centerpiece they had a big majestic vase that they filled with apples, and then put some flowers on top.
Me: How is that different from what I said last week about filling the bottom of the vases with limes and then putting flowers in? You didn't like that idea at all.
Mom: No, you don't understand. They had a big majestic vase filled with apples, and that's it!
Me: Oh...one big majestic vase. I get it.
Mom: One majestic vase! In the middle of the room, and everyone could look at it.
Me: Wait...one? Like, one centerpiece.
Mom: Yeah! A majestic one.
Me: So what was on the tables?
Mom: Nothing! The big vase was so pretty that everyone just looked at that!
Me: So, you want me to have white linens...and one giant majestic apple-filled vase that everyone will spend the entire reception staring at?
Mom: What? You don't think that will be nice?

This is why when people ask me, "How's the wedding planning coming?" I just walk away.

Why I Miss My Family

Because all good holiday pictures should include monocles.Because every year the Christmas tree gets bigger. Seriously- next year they'll have to cut a hole in the roof.Because you send my sisters outside to put up the Nativity scene in the yard, and this happens:Because they make holiday cookies representing "Peace on the Mothership."Because who else's tree features the Christmas germ?Because they're crazy in all the best ways.

Merry Christmas everyone :)

Olympic Spirit

While I was in Alabama, my sisters invented a new sport.

It all began with the genocide (mass suicide) of the amphibian population in my parents yard. Every day when we go out to swim, my sisters first clean out the pool filters. There are various reasons for this, not the least of which that we have found on separate occasions both a giant rat and a snake in the filters. No one wants to swim in snake-infested waters. So, we check and clean out the filters before we hop in. The first day that we were going to swim in the completely-filled pool, the girls went out to check the filters. They found frogs. Lots of frogs. 17 to be exact. Actually, 19 total- 2 alive, the rest not so much. We're not really sure if it was the pool chemicals or the inability to get out of the water that killed them, but there they were. So, they pulled the filter out, trying to balance the stack of frogs all the way to the fence. What we usually do when we find creatures in the pool, is throw them out into the yard. Far out into the yard because that way they won't be right near the pool smelling bad and attracting more creatures that could fall into the pool and drown. So, we kind of fling them.

Thus "frog-flinging" was born.

Jo would first load the frog up into the catapult:
And then Bear would fling it into the yard:
By the end, she had a whole method. According to Bear, when it comes to frog-flinging, it's all in the legs. She's pretty sure she's going to medal in this event.In the end, all the frogs were dispatched to their final resting place and then we all went swimming.
Tom celebrated by diving headfirst into the part of the pool that's only 5 feet deep. :-p

Won't Somebody Think of the Children?!?

Our plane was set to land in Atlanta Friday night, and my mother and sisters were supposed to pick us up. They had NO idea what they were in for.

I'd forwarded our itinerary to my mother 2 months before the trip, but apparently she didn't look very closely at it. Our plane set down right on time, and I called my mother as we taxied down the runway.

Me: "Hi Mom...we're here. Probably be off the plane in the next 10 minutes or so."
Mom: "What airline are you on?!"
Me: "AirTran, why?"
Mom: "Because your itinerary didn't say what airline you were on, so I dropped Bear off at the curb to go in and see if she could figure it out. But now this stupid cop keeps honking at me, and Bear isn't back."
Me: "Just circle around! Bear's 20 years old, she'll be fine, and we'll be out soon."
Mom: "I just let Jo out of the car to look for her!"
Me: "Why would you do that?! Bear will be fine! Jo's too little to be wandering around the Atlanta airport alone!"
Mom: "Oh my GOD this idiot police officer keeps honking at me. I have to go."
Me: "OK...I'll call you when we get out."

So, we get off the plane and head toward baggage claim where Bear is probably waiting for us. Because the Atlanta airport is an absolute monstrosity, we actually have to take a tram to get there. So, I call my Mom again while we're on the tram.

Me: "We're off the plane. Did you at least get Jo back in the car?"
Mom: "Yes. I have Jo, but Bear's still missing."
Me: "Well, just keep circling and we'll find Bear when we get to baggage claim."
Mom: "Well, I would IF THIS ASSHOLE WOULD GIVE ME MY G_DAMN TICKET!"
Me: "MOM! What are you talking about?!?"
Mom: "That jerk cop is taking his sweet time instead of just writing my damn ticket and letting me go."
Me: "What ticket?!"
Mom: "The one he's writing me because he's a jerk. God, what a jerk. I can't believe nobody's killed this guy! Isn't this Atlanta? People have guns here, right?"
Me: "Wow. Okay, we'll be there in a couple minutes."

My Mom never swears, and I'm pretty sure she was hanging out the window of the car while yelling about the cop, so we tried to get out there as fast as we could.

Tom: "What's going on?"
Me: "My Mom's probably going to be arrested for terrorism."

We get off the tram, and of course Bear is waiting right at the top of the escalator for us. We grab her, head out the door, and spend the next 20 minutes trying to find my mother and Jo. Turns out they've parked in the deck and are looking for us on the curb. The curb a full floor below us. We finally figure it out when Tom calls Mom's cell phone and asks, "Look up. Do you see sky or cement? Cement? Okay. We see sky. Don't move." After trudging with our luggage up four flights of stairs, and then back down one because Mom forgot what level they'd parked on, we were in the car. I elected to drive because my Mom couldn't afford another ticket that night, and asked for the story.

Mom let Bear out of the car to figure out what airline we were on, but Bear left her purse and cellphone in the car. So Mom called to tell her that the cop was making her move the car and instead heard the phone ringing right next to her. So, she sent Jo to the entrance where she'd dropped Bear to find her and bring her back to the car. (All the while letting every pedestrian known to man cross in front of her so as to give the illusion of not parking.) Jo couldn't find Bear, and the police officer didn't like the speed with which Mom was moving her car. He followed her and honked his horn over and over yelling "MOVE YOUR CAR!" Finally, he pulled up next to her and told her that if she didn't move right now, he'd give her a ticket.

Mom: "I can't move my car. My daughters are in there."
Cop: "I SAID MOVE YOUR CAR!"
Mom: "I SAID MY DAUGHTERS ARE IN THERE! I CAN'T LEAVE MY DAUGHTER! DO YOU HAVE KIDS??"
Cop: "MOVE THE CAR OR I'M WRITING YOU A TICKET"
Mom: "THEN I GUESS YOU'LL HAVE TO WRITE ME A TICKET!!"

So he goes to write my mother a ticket. She ended up with a $103 violation and is planning to drive all the way to Atlanta to fight it in court. She insists that she did move the car, and so was never technically parked. The ticket says that she repeatedly ignored the officers instructions, so we'll see what the judge thinks. :-p

We all promised not to tell Dad about it. The next day as she had one foot out the door to go to work, she turned to him and said, "Umm...I got a ticket last night. It's by the phone. Love you, bye." Nicely handled, Mom.

Blogpage.

My 93-year-old great-grand-aunt died last week. As a result, my mother has been very busy making arrangements and taking care of estate issues. Unfortunately this has resulted in a lot of back and forth between the bank, lawyers, and funeral home. The funeral has actually been the worst.

Initially my Mom went to the funeral home and asked if my Aunt had made pre-arrangements. The funeral home said no, so my mother went ahead and set everything up and planned to come in a hour before the service the next day to pay for everything. However, when she got home and started going through some of my Aunt's papers, she found where my late Uncle had made arrangements for the two of them in 1984 with this same funeral home. He had recorded the date, time, contact person, exact arrangements, and amount paid. So, my Aunt had ended up re-paying for my Uncle's funeral because the funeral home had denied having any records at the time of his death in 1998, and now they were trying to bilk my Mom for my Aunt's funeral. Unfortunately for them, my Mother is not someone you want to try to rip off...and she's really not someone you want to mess with when she finds out you've already pretty much robbed her sweet elderly Aunt who is now recently deceased. She's gathering her papers for a lawsuit, but in the meantime, she really wants to vent. So she called me last night.

Me: "Hey Mom"
Mom: "Listen: I think I need a blogpage."
Me: giggling my head off "I think that's a great idea. You should absolutely get a blogpage. Why the sudden interest?"
Mom: "I need one so I can warn old people about all these jerks who try to take their money!"
Me: "I'm not certain that a blogpage is the best way to reach that audience, but you should definitely try. I'll set one up for you."
Mom: "It's free?"
Me: "Yup."
Mom: "But I need one that'll be publicshed."
Me: "Are you drunk?"
Mom: "No. I need one that'll be published and read by the public. I just smashed it into one word."
Me: "Like blogpage."
Mom: "What?"
Me: "Nothing. So, make a well-written blogpage and then send the link to AARP."
Mom: "Oh, not AARP. I hate those people."
Me: "So, you only want to help the old people who are not members of AARP? Every old person's in AARP!"
Mom: "I'm not!"
Me: "Why not?! I remember when you were dying to turn 50 just so you could join and get discounts on crap you didn't need."
Mom: "That was before I found out they take your dues and use them to fund political campaigns."
Me: "Ah. I should've known that only your rabid Republicanism could outweigh your love of discount movie tickets."

So, I've created a "blogpage" for my mother, and I'm really hoping and praying that she writes on it. Because I think it would be hilarious. My mother is a riot.

BLOGPAGE!

Good Advice Hotline- We're Open All Night

I have a sister who is a perfectionist. This isn't a bad thing, but when you're in college and there is the remotest chance of you not making a perfect score on every exam, evidently life can get a little stressful. So, my sister was having some issues yesterday after doing slightly less than stellar on an exam. I called her as soon as her Facebook status alerted me to the situation (I'm really getting too old to admit I have a Facebook account. And I'm way too old to be constantly motoring around on that site checking up on everyone. Note to self: Get a hobby.) Anyway, so I called her around midnight. She didn't answer, I left a voicemail and went to bed. I was asleep for probably 10 minutes before she called me back. I almost told her I'd call her back the next day, but she sounded so exasperated I decided I'd get on board for the long haul.

I didn't get to sleep til 2 AM. But it was okay, because geez did she need to vent. And not in a Coors Light kind of way. (Brief aside- WTF Coors Light? Those are the dumbest commercials advertising the dumbest concept ever introduced to beer cans. Venting? The beer doesn't get enough air on its way into the glass? Also, keep talking about how cold the beer needs to be. Really. If the number one asset of your beer is its temperature, you should maybe think about what you're doing with your life.)

Basically our entire conversation was one long run-on sentence. Including this exchange:
My sister: "So my friend keeps complaining that she's fat and I try to be a good friend and I always say "aw, you're not fat" but today was just such a horrible day so she said "I'm so fat" and it was the last straw and I said "You're right! So get off your fat ass and go running with me, or shut up about it!" and she did go running with me, and then we went and got coffee and I'm pretty sure her boyfriend is gay. Hey! Did you know that "expresso" is actually "espresso"?"
Me: "Yes."
My sister: "Oh. Well I didn't. And when I call it "espresso" I feel like I'm talking with a lisp. But if I say "expresso" I sound like an idiot! But then I thought I'd rather sound like an idiot than feel like I have a lisp, so I'm just going to keep calling it "expresso."
Me: "You should probably say "espresso"...or quit ordering it."
My sister: "Yeah...you're probably right. And then there's this guy I like but he doesn't like me and I don't even need or want a boyfriend right now! But then I meet a guy who's smart and doesn't have a Southern accent and I think "I better jump on that before someone else does!" and then I get all neurotic."
Me: "Wow. Yeah...you should probably at least wait for finals to be over before you worry about jumping on anything."
My sister: "That's a good point. Okay...well I'm going to bed."
Me: "Okay...g'night."
My sister: "G'night."

In Triplicate

At about 5 this morning, I awakened to the sound of glass being rummaged through. I opened my eyes and tried to concentrate- is the sound coming from thieves rifling through my kitchen cabinets, or is someone stealing beer bottles out of my recycle bin by the curb for deposit money? I weighed my options- thought about the clarity of the sound, the proximity of my bedroom window to the curb, the likelihood that someone would want to steal serving ware consisting of 6 mismatched plates and 4 forks that I just wash over and over again by hand- and decided that someone was stealing beer bottles. I'm okay with that and decided to go back to sleep. Mis-take.

As I fell back to sleep, noises became amplified and meaningful. The sound of the furnace coming off and on suddenly had a story in my dreams. A story that included the washer and dryer being stolen from the basement. A story that included all of my landlady's possessions (that I promised to call 911 to protect if necessary) being stolen. In my dream I awakened to find police and my landlady's family members all over the place. They wanted to question me- had I heard anything? Why didn't I call the police when I heard things in the basement? The answer that I thought it was the furnace was really not going over well. In the end, the stress of it woke me up for real. I can't handle feeling guilty- not one bit. So, woke up, realized it was a dream, also realized that my ongoing alarm set for the daily 9 AM meeting had somehow changed itself to 8 AM to account for daylight savings time. Really Treo? A meeting scheduled for 9 AM everyday will now be at 8 to accommodate the farmers? I believe my "smartphone" to have been grossly overestimated.

So, bravely I fell back asleep. Stupidly rather. Because when I fell back asleep, I awakened back in my dream. The dream in which my landlady has been robbed blind and I have no way to wash clothes. Also featured in this dream is me living across the street from a lake. No idea why. So, due to the stressful events of the last dream, I decide to go sit by the lake in Tom's videogame rocking chair and watch the water ripple. Apparently I also decide to fall asleep. I awaken the next morning on the pier feeling tired and salty- saltwater lake? Who knows.- and walk back to my house. As I approach the front door, I realize that I don't have my keys. OH wait- no problem. I've left the door unlocked. Which was very handy when the robbers came back. That's right, I walk in to find almost everything gone. And I'm freaking out. Primarily because all of Tom's gaming systems are gone and he is going to be one unhappy duck. Plus I left his chair out by the lake, so that's probably gone now too. My couch is gone...my $25 thrift store coffee table is gone, but all my DVDs are still there. The dining table is gone, but the stereo is sitting there mocking me. Tom's Mac is gone, but my work laptop is still sitting right next to the Apple's former home. I was going to say that it was sitting by the Apple's imprint in the rug, but they stole the rug.

This version of reality again woke me from my slumber, mainly because after all these dreams I figured there had to be some reason I was having them. My assumption was that I probably had been robbed. So I dragged my butt out of bed and came downstairs. Primarily because I was afraid of falling back asleep. So now I'm sitting on my sofa, typing on Tom's Mac, with my feet on the coffee table.

Maybe it's harder to steal the couch in my dreams when I'm sleeping on it. I think I'm going to find out because I'm exhausted. Laters.

Special Delivery

My landlady is out of town for 3 weeks. It has thus far been the best time I've ever had in my apartment. I run up and down the stairs at all hours without fear of waking anyone, I've had people over and played "Rock Band" long past the curfew I'd set for the benefit of her child, and *gasp* I've even been parking on a paved surface (despite her instructions to remain parked on the muddy knoll during her absence.) It's been great.

In return for this peaceful little slice of nag-free heaven, I agreed to collect my landlady's mail and toss it in a box in her basement. Totally worth it.

So Saturday I went and grabbed both sets of mail. Included in my mailbox was a magazine packaged in a plastic bag. It was addressed to a house down the street- apparently the mailman made a mistake. The only part of the magazine I could see was a vodka ad- the magazine's cover was concealed by the bag in which it was sealed. I decided that rather than walk all the way down the street, I'd just put the magazine in with my landlady's mail next time I ventured down to the basement and let her deal with it. So, for the time being I tossed it on the desk without a second thought.

A few minutes later, Tom is standing by the desk with the magazine in his hand trying to push the magazine closer to the top of the plastic bag.

Me: "What are you doing?"
Tom, eyeing bag: "This is porn."
Me: "HUH?"
Tom: "That's why the front of the bag is black! You can't mail porn without blocking out the cover."
Me: "Oh. Why are you messing with the bag?"
Tom: "I'm trying to see which magazine it is."
Me: "Why do you want to know WHICH magazine it is?! It's porn!"
Tom: "I can't believe you didn't know this was porn!"

So, what we've learned is that:
1. I'm naive, and
2. My boyfriend is well-versed in the US postal regulations that govern pornographic materials.

I'm still putting it with my landlady's mail.