A Random Story

A few weeks ago I read a story on The Awl (that's not unusual, they post 20,000 times a day.) The post was a funny invitation for The Awl's normally liberal readers to ask a few questions of a conservative in the name of open dialogue, furthered mutual understanding, and to un-wad some panties over conservatism in general. This particular conservative happened to be a Mormon originally from Utah. I posed my own question and then followed the link to the blog he runs with his brothers: Don't Do Dumb Things. (Seriously solid and funny writing right there; you should probably subscribe.)

I recognized one of the brothers from some guest posts he'd done on other websites. I followed a link to his wife's blog where I read that they were moving back to the UC from another state because he'd accepted a new job and definitely Did Not Want to Move to P-Town. You know me, I had to defend P-Town, it's a requirement of my not-shut-up-ingness. This sort of thing happens all around the internet all the time (usually by me.) So that was nice I did that.

Hey, remember that job I started a month ago? It's pretty sweet. I like it, and yes, they actually do stuff and it's an actual business (because I know some of you Kacy were worried.) My team is five people, including me, and that's great. On Tuesday a new guy came over to our area and introduced himself. He and I stared at each other for about 30 seconds before we simultaneously said, "NO WAY."

Turns out it's the brother. I was giving moving advice to my new co-worker. THE INTERNET, EVERYONE!

That night I told Other Half the story as I brushed my teeth. "Isn't that random?" I said.

"No," he responded, "It's coincidental."

"Sure, but what are the chances, right? Then again, I got to thinking about it and the chances probably aren't as astronomical as you'd think because they're originally from Utah, went to the B.Y., and we probably have a lot of connections."

"The probabilities are incalculable; the variables aren't measurable."

Gang, this is what it's like being married to Math Guy. He starts talking absolute and existential and then pretty soon he's proving unicorns don't exist again and I don't need that heartache.

Run free, brave Unicorn Kitten Pegasus that I know exists.

source

And go read DDDT.

I Surrender

I hit my zenith on Friday morning when I made the from-scratch candy cane cupcakes for El Guille's birthday at preschool. At 8:49, as the last candy cane slid into the cake, I gave up. No more.

It only took me two dozen months, but I'm joining Oh, Judy on her quest to lower the bar and be awesome.

This morning for breakfast the kids ate candy canes, some flat Sprite they found in the fridge, caramels, and dry Honey Nut Cheerios.

Instead of nutritious peeled apples, cheese crackers, or dried cranberries to buy their silence in church services, I doled out chocolate. You know what? They were just as bad as they always are, only WAY more quiet when I threatened to take the chocolates out of their mouths if they budged off the pew.

Yes, I even gave the toddler chocolate. I felt a little pang of guilt as I crammed a raspberry chocolate ball into his mouth, but sucking on that thing was the only thing that would shut him up. Don't get me started on the look the guy in front of me shoot us after Proximo made a resounding bang on the pew in front of us--with his head.

In full knowledge that my mother-in-law was coming to my house, I only cleaned the front half. I did not touch my bedroom. Well, that's not true, I made it worse by shoving all the things I couldn't figure out where to put from the kitchen/living into the bedroom. I even let the mother-in-law take us to Olive Garden and I didn't make a peep (about the wretched breadsticks, boring salad, or mushy pasta.) No, I gave up. Go ahead, let's order the "lasagna."

I bought a whole bunch of presents for friends that are not going to get mailed out before Christmas. Hey, they're purchased, they're just sitting on a shelf waiting until I get past this week of madness.

The tree. I quit.

I pasted a piece of paper to a card instead of hand-lettering it. I bet no one will notice. OK, let me change that, I bet everyone will notice, but they won't care.

So instead of getting working up and in a total panic because I have in-laws in town, sister's birthday, El Guille's birthday, work, wedding, sewing my dress, a hand-painted fondant wedding cake complete with spun sugar nest, flowers, presents to wrap, Christmas to pull off, and a household to keep running, I am raising the white flag.

And taking a deep breath...

Chill in the Air

You’d think you’d be safe from Nature when you’re ensconced in a generic cubicle, but think again.

I was working on some documents for my real job when across my desk crawled an earwig.

Gross.

Really, eww.

I may work in a boring gray cubicle year round, but I can’t forget the garden where we, as children, were forced to labor all summer. I especially can’t forget the disgusting image of earwigs crawling out of our sweet corn: long, black and wiggly with those evil looking—I don’t know what they’re called—Wigs? Horns? Pitchforks of Doom? And no, I won’t go google earwigs to find out the proper name because then I’d see more pictures for sure.

Look, I’m not a generally squeamish sort of person. I am perfectly capable of thinking something is creepy and gross, yet being able to kill it or at least usher it to another spot on this planet. I stood up at my desk and asked everyone around me if they were responsible for the piece of nature earwig at my desk. When no one claimed responsibility I picked someone to blame (Nate.) I’m good like that.

Then I backed away from the creepy-crawly. That’s when Ryan walked over from the cube next door, went to my workspace, and killed the earwig with one fell blow.

At that very moment I suffered simultaneous pangs:

1. Post-feminist guilt—I can kill my own earwig, thank you very much
2. Gratitude of realistic action taken—Yes, please, kill whatever you like since you seem to want to do it and I seem to just want to complain about the thing
3. Hunger – I think I’d really like the last of the summer sweet corn for dinner tonight

This leads me to the other evening in the kitchen when I was working on some paper garlands. I stood up to arrange the flowers and felt a little normal itch you feel on your skin, except it wasn’t a normal itch, it was a spider, a big one, and it was crawling on my leg. I killed it with my bare hands (no Ryan.) Isn’t that one of the hallmarks of the weather turning? Your home’s population of life forms grows exponentially? I’m ready to say goodbye to summer, but I’m not yet ready for all the bugs and insects to move back inside with me.

Gross.

Notes From Two Mediums and a Specter

Before I could stop him, El Guille threw his ambulance into the tub to play with during a bath. So now, the ambulance is possessed. It will periodically start flashing and making WAP WAP ambulance noises.

In the middle of the night WAP WAP.

As I'm cutting out fabric, WAP WAP HONK HONK.

My nerves do not need this.

WAP WAP SIREN!


I'm a child of the 80s, possessed toys are scary.


*******************************


During the Jonas Brother's performance on the American Idol Finale:

Other Half: Is this a boy band or something?

A: No, WORSE!

OH: A pre-op band?

A: I believe they have a Disney channel show

OH: Who doesn't?

A: You.

OH: Who doesn't have one that WANTS one?


******************************************

Heard on the radio: "The Iraqi athletes on their way to Beijing may not be able to participate in the Olympics."


Are they literally on their way?



Like, they're on a slow boat to China?

I’ve Been Hit Up Lately

Not hit on, hit up, those prepositions can be so tricky.

I got a phone call today from someone soliciting money for a cause. I was struck by the lackadaisical tone my solicitor employed trying to convince me to give her money. I had to applaud her almost deadpan delivery; it was a choice that clearly went hand in hand with fighting cancer (which, judging by her delivery, is a losing battle, so why bother?)

She ended her spiel with, “So, can the cancer patients count on you?”
To which I replied, “No, because I hate cancer patients.”

“Wait, no, I hate cancer. I get so confused at times.”

I wish I’d said that. Instead I said, “We’re broke,” and left it at that.

Speaking of acting jobs, and interesting choices, I’m a little conflicted about a performance I gave just the other day.

I decided to take El Guille to the grocery store alone, leaving the baby with my sister. El Guille and I don’t get much time alone these days, so it was a bit of a treat to escape, even if it was to the store. As I drove into the parking lot, I noticed a woman who looked a little down on her luck pacing the stalls. She was walking in between cars with a mean look on her face. She made eye contact with my vehicle and followed me to where I parked.

I am such a wimp sometimes. I just didn’t feel like a confrontation that day. I knew she was going to ask me for money, of which I probably had none, or ask me for something else I didn’t have or want to give. I sometimes give to homeless people on the street, but not in this case; it was her method that ticked me off.

The woman came and stood next to my driver’s window, just standing there, staring at me slack-eyed. Creepy. I do not want to be accosted in the parking lot of the grocery store in that way (or in any other way, to tell you the truth.)

I had seen her sidle up to the car in my peripheral vision so I decided to turn around and ‘discuss’ our shopping trip with El Guille. At that moment I ‘accepted’ a phone call. In very animated language I started ‘discussing’ my preschool plans with my ‘mom.’ That’s when the lady tapped on my window. She TAPPED ON MY WINDOW, for the love. So I gave her a quick smile and the ‘one minute I’m on the phone’ finger.

That’s when the conversation on the phone took a turn for the worse. I vigorously said “No, that’s not going to work! No!” It seemed like forever that I was ‘on the phone’ and the aggressive woman was at my window. The minutes ticked past as she stared at me. She eventually gave up, deciding that the senior citizen four cars away might be a better mark.

OK, I felt a little bad. People get down on their luck, and I shouldn’t be judging who I’m helping and who I’m not helping, I should just be offering help if I can do it. It’s my duty.

On the other hand, I hate being accosted in that way especially when I’m with my child. The mama bear comes out trying to assess the threat of danger; in this case I had the weird feeling (the one Oprah tells you about.)

I have to tell you, down on your luck aggressive lady, stalking people in a parking lot and tapping on their car windows doesn’t make me feel safe. In this case, the path of least resistance was probably the appropriate one. Plus I got some good drama practice in for my next role: Great Big Phony.