CN and I went out last night with some of my coworkers, so he is sleeping off the beers, which means I am free to blog without him standing over me or trying to grab my boobs. Yay!
I am very excited to write this post, as it's been a long time coming. I knew within days of moving to Savannah that I would have to start keeping track of this stuff. I should have kept a list, because I know I am going to forget some things. Maybe I will just post them as I remember them.
Without further ado, I present to you a list of all the really strange things I have witnessed since moving to the weirdest town I've ever lived in -- Savannah, Georgia.
1. I was walking with MJ around my neighborhood, when we saw a guy walking in the opposite direction. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, as he is crossing a street, he busts out into breakdancing. We are confused and amazed, and so we stop to watch. Then, just as quickly, he jumps up and goes right back to walking to wherever he was going.
2. There is a guy I see on occassion downtown. He wears a white pharaoh's outfit, complete with that ancient Egyptian-style headdress. I cannot figure out if he needs to wear that for a job of some kind or what. But he never changes into street clothes before walking home. This is odd to me.
3. One morning, just before 8am, I was walking to work. To save time, I cut through an old cemetery in the middle of downtown. Usually, it is full of people walking to work or walking their dogs or tourists who read the historical markers. This particular morning, I crossed paths with a guy carrying 4 big bottles of Gain liquid laundry detergent. He was in a part of town that was nowhere near any stores or laundromats-- especially none open at 7am. And even if he was, why would you buy four at once and carry them around??? This one still puzzles me.
4. To cut through this cemetery, I have to go through a back gate and a front gate, as the perimeter is fenced in. For months, both gates were open from at least 7:30am until about 8pm. Then, one day, they started locking only the back gate at 5pm, sharp. This means I had to take a longer way to get home. I asked the security guard one day why they started locking the back gate at 5, and he couldn't give me an answer. If the front gate stays open until 8pm, what does it matter if the back gate does, too?? UGH!
5. Now that it is hot, I drive to work and park in a parking lot about 3 blocks from work. As I walk along these three blocks, I pass a Mexican restaurant. One day, there was a man standing outside of it, facing the wall of the restaurant. He was talking to himself. Loudly. And gesturing with his arms and legs vigorously. I crossed the street to avoid this wack job. That's when I noticed there were several pedestrians, and we were all staring at him. The crazy guy suddenly looked up and saw one of the other pedestrians, and immediately stopped.
6. I think I forgot to mention that I attended the festivities for St. Patty's Day a few months back. Now, it's a pretty crazy time here in Savannah. It's as important to us as Mardi Gras is to New Orleans. I mean, St. Patty's has been celebrated here for like, 130 years. Anytime you get a large group of drunk people together, you're going to see some crazy stuff. But imagine my surprise when I saw a fully grown man, wearing nothing but sunglasses and a very large diaper!
7. One day, CN and I found an empty jar of Nutella in our backyard. We have no idea how it got there. Some Nutella-flinging freak was done with it, I suppose.
8. I have a neighbor who, luckily for me, lives too far away to bother me with his habit of getting up at 5am to blare music from the 1980s from his front porch. The music is on all. day. long.
9. CN saw a fully-dressed clown walking down the street once. It was a sad-faced clown. Odd.
10. We have not received our electricity bill in two months. Luckily, the library where I work is directly across the street from the electric company's customer service center, so I just pay it on my lunch break when I know it's probably due. But the rest of our mail makes it to our house, no problem.
There are lots more, guys, but I just can't think of them right now. This is seriously the oddest town I have ever seen! I'll share more in the future.
*Yawn!* Ok, I think I will get on my bike and ride to Starbucks for some coffee. Happy 4th of July, everyone!
Showing posts with label weird. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weird. Show all posts
Friday, July 03, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
I'm Alive!
Alright, I'm sure I am now down to two readers, but that's what I get for being MIA for a month, right? Oh well. I was thinking about making this blog public again, anyway.
Let me try and summarize the last month:
My new job, like all jobs, has its good things and its bad things. I like my boss and the girl who works for me a LOT. They rock, actually. A lot of my coworkers are cool, too. Like everywhere, though, I have to deal with a couple of douchebags, like this one lazy guy who balks at helping anyone else out and Miss Passive Aggressive, who loves to come down to my office and imply that I am incompetent and/or inflexible with the schedule (this is because I will not make everyone else work around her schedule). Of course, she does this under the guise of being "concerned". Argh. If there is one type of person I don't get along with, it's passive aggressive types. That kind of behavior irks the crap out of me.
My department, which was at 75% capacity, has recently been reduced to 50% capacity with the resignation of this one girl who worked for me. I tell you what, though, she was good riddance. She did nothing but create more work for me an the other girl in my department. But her leaving means she and I have to do a LOT more work, so I will be slammed at work until further notice: working extra nights, extra Sundays, teaching extra classes....oh well. Hopefully we will find a replacement soon.
But that's all well and good. Normal stuff that is to be expected. What is really bizarre is how uber-controlling this school is. Maybe it's because I am used to working in the public sector, but I feel like I am a member of the Savannah Mafia or something. Actually, it's more like a Nazi regime. My first realization came when I had to deal with the Communications Dept. Now, I understand that the school wants to have an "image" and I completely grasp and support the notion of "branding". But to tell me that I cannot print out a flyer that would -- gasp! -- help students find something in the library because that's not the "look" they want in the library is pretty ridiculous. Last time I checked, it's pretty difficult to operate a library without any frigging signs or information for its users.
Now, this goes for everything. Signs, handouts, flyers, bookmarks we make -- everything has to get "approval" from about 3 people. Then it has to be designed by someone else (who has no idea how I need it to look in order for it to work). This process takes three weeks. If I'm lucky.
This is the same department who printed up my business cards and told me I had to pick them up at their office. The stupid part is that they are open the same times I am at work. So that meant I had to go pick them up on my lunch break. Fine. Whatever. Screw interoffice mail, right? So I spend half my lunch break walking over there, only to be informed that they have sent the cards to the library already, via interoffice mail. "Well, don't you think that as the Communications Department, you should have communicated that to me before I spent my lunch break walking all the way over here?" I said. The girl just stared back at me and blinked. I turned and walked out.
The IT department is just as bad. I am not allowed to download so much as a plugin on my computer without -- again -- getting approval and submitting forms. Heck, I can't even pick my own desktop background or screensaver. I have to use theirs. If I want Microsoft 2007 installed on my computer, I have to submit an approval form, get approved, then attend a mandatory 3 hour training session, and then they would install it on my computer. Are. You. Kidding. Me.
It took me 3 weeks to get a key to my office. Three weeks! It was just sitting around somewhere. All I had to do was sign for it. Sounds simple, right? Not really. It was held in a building so far away that I had to drive to it. And, as usual, the building was only open during the same times I have to be at work. So I had to scramble over there, the whole time wondering, "Why don't they just keep the library keys in the library, since that's where they are just going to be going to anyway??" I tell ya, the state agency I used to work for aint' got shit on the major inefficiencies going on at this private school.
I still haven't gotten my code for the photocopier (each person gets a personal code, which is odd to me, as it seems a departmental code would be sufficient) or my code for dialing long distance on my desk phone. This also is odd to me, as it's the type of phone which operates over an internet connection, so there is no such thing as a long distance number. I soon realized that this is because they want to know what numbers I am calling. Whoa.
But Big Brother goes far, far beyond my little long distance code. If you are a new employee, you are often put in touch with a particular real estate company -- they have some sort of a deal worked out. This seems like a potential conflict of interest to me. I have heard that they also have their fingers in other pies: with the police force, with city concil...
If you do a google search for my school, you will find absolutely nothing negative about it. Not a blog, not a news article, not a press release. Everything out there is positive. Don't you think that is kind of odd? Especially when the girl who had my job before me sued the school for firing her improperly? (I have yet to find out why this woman was fired. No one is giving me a legitimate answer. It sounds very fishy to me.) And the guy who used to have my boss's job was fired for stealing thousands of dollars worth of items from the library? Or that last week the president's husband, who is the CEO or something for the college, was brought up on embezzlement charges or something? And that there was a group of students who sued the school, too? How the hell is this stuff not reaching the press???
The only thing I have found that even hints at being negative is an interview between the local paper and the president of the school a couple years back. The reporter asks if she thinks the school has moved past all its problems in the early '90s. She doesn't want to talk about it. She just says she wants to focus on the future. I have no idea what all these problems were in the early '90s. Neither does anyone else -- almost everyone at my library is new. Apparently, when the last director was busted for stealing a bunch of shit, a lot of people went down with him. They bascially cleaned house. Only a couple of people made it out of the fray -- and one of them was demoted in the process. And of course, the old timers aren't saying a word about what really went down. So to say there's been a lot of turnover is putting it lightly. (And as you can imagine, makes everything that much more difficult for the new people -- we are all trying to fix departments that have been screwed up for some time.)
Anyway, that's a glimpse into the type of work environment I am dealing with. I'm sure there will be more. I will share with you then.
Let's talk about the rest of things in my life. I havent' been blogging, because I can't afford to have internet at my place, and let's face it: I would be pretty stupid to blog from work in this job. But CN is moving in very soon (the 2nd week of April!!), so we will get it then. Yay!
As far as my apartment goes....it sucks. I have very little storage and a lot of wasted square footage. Since the house is old, it doesn't heat or cool evenly, leaving me shivering on the couch most of the time. (MJ got me a snuggie, which rocks for this particular problem!) And since the windows are old, any noise made outside sounds like it is actually inside.
Which brings me to my neighborhood. Thus far, I have had to deal with the college kids next door who like to throw parties in their backyard. This would be totally fine with me if their backyard was not underneath my bedroom window and if they threw their parties on nights when I didn't have to go to work the next day. The morning of St. Patrick's Day (my only day off from work until further notice), I was awoken at 6:50am by firecrackers just outside my bedroom window. WTF. I got up, jerked up my window blinds, and scared the crap out of the college kid next door. I yelled, "Can you please stop that?!!!" He gave me a deer-in-headlights look and apologized profusely and then went inside. (Yes, I heard what he said. That's how much I can hear through these old windows.) He's lucky I didn't kick his ass for throwing a kegger in his backyard only 2 nights previously. On a Sunday night. I ended up sleeping in my bathroom that night -- it's the only quiet room in my place.
But this is child's play compared to the other stuff I have had to deal with. There have been fist fights in the street, drunk people yelling at all hours of the night, domestic violence disputes, all kinds of crazy and loud noises, lots and lots of sirens, a car chase, trash thrown in my yard and my own personal favorite: the gunshots in my backyard the other night. Yeah, my neighborhood is super fun.
I have to say, though, that the cops have a really great response time. It's impressive, actually. I know, because I peek out of my window blinds when stuff happens, and I dont' stop looking until a cop shows up. And when the cops arrive, it's not just one car. It's like, four. So that does make me feel a little bit better. But not much.
I do not go outside when the sun goes down. I might go to Target or something, but never late. and I definitely can't take walks or anything like that after it gets dark. That would be a really bad idea. Have you ever had to live like that? Let me tell you what, you feel like a prisoner. For the most part, I get home from work and do not go back outside until I leave for work the next day. It is stressful and boring and frustrating.
I know it all sounds negative, but I do love seeing all the beautiful buildings and I love walking to/from work. During the daytime, it's totally safe, even in my neighborhood. And most of my problems with my neighborhood have more to do with noise than safety. I am getting used to the noise, and the sound machine CN got me helps, too.
As soon as either CN or I can find a renter for our house(s), we are moving to a safer and quieter neighborhood. A house with enough room for both of us and storage for our stuff. And electrical outlets. (I have one outlet in my living room. It is a royal pain in the ass.) And a backyard, rather than an alley full of dirt and overflowing trashcans.
It is probably no surprise to you that I have been wondering if I made the right decision. But I think I will end up really liking my job and liking Savannah. I think that like some first dates, you just get off on the wrong foot. I've gotta give it a second chance. And that will take some time.
Thanks for reading, guys. I will hopefully be back to blogging on a more regular basis soon.
Let me try and summarize the last month:
My new job, like all jobs, has its good things and its bad things. I like my boss and the girl who works for me a LOT. They rock, actually. A lot of my coworkers are cool, too. Like everywhere, though, I have to deal with a couple of douchebags, like this one lazy guy who balks at helping anyone else out and Miss Passive Aggressive, who loves to come down to my office and imply that I am incompetent and/or inflexible with the schedule (this is because I will not make everyone else work around her schedule). Of course, she does this under the guise of being "concerned". Argh. If there is one type of person I don't get along with, it's passive aggressive types. That kind of behavior irks the crap out of me.
My department, which was at 75% capacity, has recently been reduced to 50% capacity with the resignation of this one girl who worked for me. I tell you what, though, she was good riddance. She did nothing but create more work for me an the other girl in my department. But her leaving means she and I have to do a LOT more work, so I will be slammed at work until further notice: working extra nights, extra Sundays, teaching extra classes....oh well. Hopefully we will find a replacement soon.
But that's all well and good. Normal stuff that is to be expected. What is really bizarre is how uber-controlling this school is. Maybe it's because I am used to working in the public sector, but I feel like I am a member of the Savannah Mafia or something. Actually, it's more like a Nazi regime. My first realization came when I had to deal with the Communications Dept. Now, I understand that the school wants to have an "image" and I completely grasp and support the notion of "branding". But to tell me that I cannot print out a flyer that would -- gasp! -- help students find something in the library because that's not the "look" they want in the library is pretty ridiculous. Last time I checked, it's pretty difficult to operate a library without any frigging signs or information for its users.
Now, this goes for everything. Signs, handouts, flyers, bookmarks we make -- everything has to get "approval" from about 3 people. Then it has to be designed by someone else (who has no idea how I need it to look in order for it to work). This process takes three weeks. If I'm lucky.
This is the same department who printed up my business cards and told me I had to pick them up at their office. The stupid part is that they are open the same times I am at work. So that meant I had to go pick them up on my lunch break. Fine. Whatever. Screw interoffice mail, right? So I spend half my lunch break walking over there, only to be informed that they have sent the cards to the library already, via interoffice mail. "Well, don't you think that as the Communications Department, you should have communicated that to me before I spent my lunch break walking all the way over here?" I said. The girl just stared back at me and blinked. I turned and walked out.
The IT department is just as bad. I am not allowed to download so much as a plugin on my computer without -- again -- getting approval and submitting forms. Heck, I can't even pick my own desktop background or screensaver. I have to use theirs. If I want Microsoft 2007 installed on my computer, I have to submit an approval form, get approved, then attend a mandatory 3 hour training session, and then they would install it on my computer. Are. You. Kidding. Me.
It took me 3 weeks to get a key to my office. Three weeks! It was just sitting around somewhere. All I had to do was sign for it. Sounds simple, right? Not really. It was held in a building so far away that I had to drive to it. And, as usual, the building was only open during the same times I have to be at work. So I had to scramble over there, the whole time wondering, "Why don't they just keep the library keys in the library, since that's where they are just going to be going to anyway??" I tell ya, the state agency I used to work for aint' got shit on the major inefficiencies going on at this private school.
I still haven't gotten my code for the photocopier (each person gets a personal code, which is odd to me, as it seems a departmental code would be sufficient) or my code for dialing long distance on my desk phone. This also is odd to me, as it's the type of phone which operates over an internet connection, so there is no such thing as a long distance number. I soon realized that this is because they want to know what numbers I am calling. Whoa.
But Big Brother goes far, far beyond my little long distance code. If you are a new employee, you are often put in touch with a particular real estate company -- they have some sort of a deal worked out. This seems like a potential conflict of interest to me. I have heard that they also have their fingers in other pies: with the police force, with city concil...
If you do a google search for my school, you will find absolutely nothing negative about it. Not a blog, not a news article, not a press release. Everything out there is positive. Don't you think that is kind of odd? Especially when the girl who had my job before me sued the school for firing her improperly? (I have yet to find out why this woman was fired. No one is giving me a legitimate answer. It sounds very fishy to me.) And the guy who used to have my boss's job was fired for stealing thousands of dollars worth of items from the library? Or that last week the president's husband, who is the CEO or something for the college, was brought up on embezzlement charges or something? And that there was a group of students who sued the school, too? How the hell is this stuff not reaching the press???
The only thing I have found that even hints at being negative is an interview between the local paper and the president of the school a couple years back. The reporter asks if she thinks the school has moved past all its problems in the early '90s. She doesn't want to talk about it. She just says she wants to focus on the future. I have no idea what all these problems were in the early '90s. Neither does anyone else -- almost everyone at my library is new. Apparently, when the last director was busted for stealing a bunch of shit, a lot of people went down with him. They bascially cleaned house. Only a couple of people made it out of the fray -- and one of them was demoted in the process. And of course, the old timers aren't saying a word about what really went down. So to say there's been a lot of turnover is putting it lightly. (And as you can imagine, makes everything that much more difficult for the new people -- we are all trying to fix departments that have been screwed up for some time.)
Anyway, that's a glimpse into the type of work environment I am dealing with. I'm sure there will be more. I will share with you then.
Let's talk about the rest of things in my life. I havent' been blogging, because I can't afford to have internet at my place, and let's face it: I would be pretty stupid to blog from work in this job. But CN is moving in very soon (the 2nd week of April!!), so we will get it then. Yay!
As far as my apartment goes....it sucks. I have very little storage and a lot of wasted square footage. Since the house is old, it doesn't heat or cool evenly, leaving me shivering on the couch most of the time. (MJ got me a snuggie, which rocks for this particular problem!) And since the windows are old, any noise made outside sounds like it is actually inside.
Which brings me to my neighborhood. Thus far, I have had to deal with the college kids next door who like to throw parties in their backyard. This would be totally fine with me if their backyard was not underneath my bedroom window and if they threw their parties on nights when I didn't have to go to work the next day. The morning of St. Patrick's Day (my only day off from work until further notice), I was awoken at 6:50am by firecrackers just outside my bedroom window. WTF. I got up, jerked up my window blinds, and scared the crap out of the college kid next door. I yelled, "Can you please stop that?!!!" He gave me a deer-in-headlights look and apologized profusely and then went inside. (Yes, I heard what he said. That's how much I can hear through these old windows.) He's lucky I didn't kick his ass for throwing a kegger in his backyard only 2 nights previously. On a Sunday night. I ended up sleeping in my bathroom that night -- it's the only quiet room in my place.
But this is child's play compared to the other stuff I have had to deal with. There have been fist fights in the street, drunk people yelling at all hours of the night, domestic violence disputes, all kinds of crazy and loud noises, lots and lots of sirens, a car chase, trash thrown in my yard and my own personal favorite: the gunshots in my backyard the other night. Yeah, my neighborhood is super fun.
I have to say, though, that the cops have a really great response time. It's impressive, actually. I know, because I peek out of my window blinds when stuff happens, and I dont' stop looking until a cop shows up. And when the cops arrive, it's not just one car. It's like, four. So that does make me feel a little bit better. But not much.
I do not go outside when the sun goes down. I might go to Target or something, but never late. and I definitely can't take walks or anything like that after it gets dark. That would be a really bad idea. Have you ever had to live like that? Let me tell you what, you feel like a prisoner. For the most part, I get home from work and do not go back outside until I leave for work the next day. It is stressful and boring and frustrating.
I know it all sounds negative, but I do love seeing all the beautiful buildings and I love walking to/from work. During the daytime, it's totally safe, even in my neighborhood. And most of my problems with my neighborhood have more to do with noise than safety. I am getting used to the noise, and the sound machine CN got me helps, too.
As soon as either CN or I can find a renter for our house(s), we are moving to a safer and quieter neighborhood. A house with enough room for both of us and storage for our stuff. And electrical outlets. (I have one outlet in my living room. It is a royal pain in the ass.) And a backyard, rather than an alley full of dirt and overflowing trashcans.
It is probably no surprise to you that I have been wondering if I made the right decision. But I think I will end up really liking my job and liking Savannah. I think that like some first dates, you just get off on the wrong foot. I've gotta give it a second chance. And that will take some time.
Thanks for reading, guys. I will hopefully be back to blogging on a more regular basis soon.
Friday, February 13, 2009
My New Home
One more thing about ring info: so we were worried about getting the ring, which is currently in Belgium, over to the United States without paying major customs duties. Then my mom found out that her friend is vacationing in Europe in March. So my aunt is going to just meet up with her to give her the ring while she's on vacation. Problem solved! Yay!
Ok, on to other big news: my new place in Savannah. Last weekend, I went down to Savannah with CN to look at places. We stopped at a property management place to get keys so we could go check out some places.
"Ok, which properties do you want to go see?" the lady behind the desk asked.
"510 Price....203 E. Gwinnet..." I said, reading off their list of properties for rent.
As CN and I were figuring all of this out, a girl about my age walked in with her mom and her sister. They walked up to the desk and had the same conversation with the lady.
The girl recited the same addresses we did! We laughed about it, and then decided that hey -- we might as well carpool! So we all piled into CN's car (he has GPS, which came in very handy) and started looking at places. We had SO much fun! I learned that she is a newlywed whose hubby is going to be a student at the school where I'm going to be working. She's moving up from Orlando and is just a little bit younger than me. She and I really hit it off. She's totally adorable!
Most of the places were total dumps. I'm talking visibly slanted floors, back doors that literally do not close, washers/dryers in the middle of the kitchen, leaking ceilings, wobbly staircases, you name it. It began to be really funny and we all started just making fun of the places. Each one was worse than the last.
As we were finishing up looking at places, she said she had another appointment at 2pm to look at a place I hadn't heard about. I asked her if we could tag along, and she said sure. So after we split up for lunch, we met her at the 2pm appointment. The guy there showed us around here. While it was a lot nicer than anything else we'd seen that day, he could tell that none of us were blown away. They were a little cramped for my liking. And since they were new construction, I was a little let down. I really had my heart set on living in an old house.
So after showing us around, the guy said, "Ok, I was planning on trying to sell it as condos, but I'm not getting a lot of bites in this market. So would you like to see the house I bought and restored? I've decided to rent it out. It's not part of this organization. It's my own personal thing and it's a block from here."
"Sure!" we replied.
We walked down to a yellow house, built around the turn of the century. The bottom floor has a one-bedroom place for me and a 2 bedroom place for the other girl and her hubby. There's off-street parking and the rent was about $100 cheaper than other places on the same street. We are 4 blocks from Forsyth Park and about 2 blocks from the grocery store. I can still walk to work, too. Plus, it's JUST been re-done. No creepy bathroom or old appliances.
We walked in, I took one look at the gorgeous hardwood floors and the beautiful decorative fireplaces and the normal-sized kitchen (a rarity in downtown Savannah!) and shouted, "SOLD!"
The other girl took one look at the upstairs place and fell in love, too. So we are housemates! Isn't that so weird how we just randomly met like that??? And she is so cool!
What's even weirder is that this is not the first time this has happened to her! The last time she went apartment shopping, she met a girl in the rental office and they ended up being roommates and very good friends! They lived together for 6 years before she got married last year. The girl was even in her wedding! Very strange.
So we go back to the office to sign the leases with this guy, who is extremely nice. "Oh! I need to call and cancel my next appointment. I was going to go look at a house over on Lincoln street, but I guess I don't need to now," she said.
"Wait....1003 Lincoln St.?" I said.
"Are you the 4:30 appointment?" she asked.
"Are you the 4:00 one?" I asked.
We burst into giggles.
Anyway, here are photos of our house. I'm on the bottom, she's on the top. (Ooh, that sounds pervy! Tee hee!). I took photos of the inside, but they are on her camera, and I'm waiting for her to email them to me. This is all I have for now. The first one is the front of the house, the 2nd one is the back of it:
There's hooks on the ceiling of the front porch where we can hang a porch swing! Woo hoo!
And yes, he's going to landscape/pave this so it's not just dirt. Those 2 windows on the bottom floor are my kitchen.
Yay! We have been calling and messaging each other on facebook already. She likes to cook! And drink coffee! And she has a dog!
This is so awesome.
Or so I thought. Stay tuned....
Ok, on to other big news: my new place in Savannah. Last weekend, I went down to Savannah with CN to look at places. We stopped at a property management place to get keys so we could go check out some places.
"Ok, which properties do you want to go see?" the lady behind the desk asked.
"510 Price....203 E. Gwinnet..." I said, reading off their list of properties for rent.
As CN and I were figuring all of this out, a girl about my age walked in with her mom and her sister. They walked up to the desk and had the same conversation with the lady.
The girl recited the same addresses we did! We laughed about it, and then decided that hey -- we might as well carpool! So we all piled into CN's car (he has GPS, which came in very handy) and started looking at places. We had SO much fun! I learned that she is a newlywed whose hubby is going to be a student at the school where I'm going to be working. She's moving up from Orlando and is just a little bit younger than me. She and I really hit it off. She's totally adorable!
Most of the places were total dumps. I'm talking visibly slanted floors, back doors that literally do not close, washers/dryers in the middle of the kitchen, leaking ceilings, wobbly staircases, you name it. It began to be really funny and we all started just making fun of the places. Each one was worse than the last.
As we were finishing up looking at places, she said she had another appointment at 2pm to look at a place I hadn't heard about. I asked her if we could tag along, and she said sure. So after we split up for lunch, we met her at the 2pm appointment. The guy there showed us around here. While it was a lot nicer than anything else we'd seen that day, he could tell that none of us were blown away. They were a little cramped for my liking. And since they were new construction, I was a little let down. I really had my heart set on living in an old house.
So after showing us around, the guy said, "Ok, I was planning on trying to sell it as condos, but I'm not getting a lot of bites in this market. So would you like to see the house I bought and restored? I've decided to rent it out. It's not part of this organization. It's my own personal thing and it's a block from here."
"Sure!" we replied.
We walked down to a yellow house, built around the turn of the century. The bottom floor has a one-bedroom place for me and a 2 bedroom place for the other girl and her hubby. There's off-street parking and the rent was about $100 cheaper than other places on the same street. We are 4 blocks from Forsyth Park and about 2 blocks from the grocery store. I can still walk to work, too. Plus, it's JUST been re-done. No creepy bathroom or old appliances.
We walked in, I took one look at the gorgeous hardwood floors and the beautiful decorative fireplaces and the normal-sized kitchen (a rarity in downtown Savannah!) and shouted, "SOLD!"
The other girl took one look at the upstairs place and fell in love, too. So we are housemates! Isn't that so weird how we just randomly met like that??? And she is so cool!
What's even weirder is that this is not the first time this has happened to her! The last time she went apartment shopping, she met a girl in the rental office and they ended up being roommates and very good friends! They lived together for 6 years before she got married last year. The girl was even in her wedding! Very strange.
So we go back to the office to sign the leases with this guy, who is extremely nice. "Oh! I need to call and cancel my next appointment. I was going to go look at a house over on Lincoln street, but I guess I don't need to now," she said.
"Wait....1003 Lincoln St.?" I said.
"Are you the 4:30 appointment?" she asked.
"Are you the 4:00 one?" I asked.
We burst into giggles.
Anyway, here are photos of our house. I'm on the bottom, she's on the top. (Ooh, that sounds pervy! Tee hee!). I took photos of the inside, but they are on her camera, and I'm waiting for her to email them to me. This is all I have for now. The first one is the front of the house, the 2nd one is the back of it:
There's hooks on the ceiling of the front porch where we can hang a porch swing! Woo hoo!
And yes, he's going to landscape/pave this so it's not just dirt. Those 2 windows on the bottom floor are my kitchen.Yay! We have been calling and messaging each other on facebook already. She likes to cook! And drink coffee! And she has a dog!
This is so awesome.
Or so I thought. Stay tuned....
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
What's in a Name??!
If you know me in real life, you know that I always have a project. Almost like a temporary hobby. It will stick around for a few weeks, and then I move on to something else. Every time, I either become bored with it or I find something new. It's like I'm OCD, but also ADD at the same time. Now, I don't know if that means there's something wrong with me, but it's definitely not out of the question.
Some of my former projects include: cake decorating, scrapbooking, learning anything and everything about NYC, home decorating, learning about the trucking industry, foreign languages...I could go on and on, but I won't bore you. I will be the first to admit that many of my projects are on the boring/geeky side. And my friends enjoy some projects more than others -- the cake decorating one was especially popular.
My current project? Genealogy. My training as a librarian comes in very handy for this. And I have learned that you can never really finish genealogy, because there's always another relative to look up. Which is probably why this is the 2nd or 3rd time I have tackled this project. This time around, I am even helping coworkers and friends look for their families online. It is super fun!!! (And yes, if you want me to see what I can dig up for you, just email me!)
It is also a genetically inherited interest, I believe. My dad, WLF, was also bitten by the "genie" bug. He actually researched both sides of his family, all the way back to our first immigrant ancestors to America. Which is pretty amazing, considering my first ancestor came over on the Mayflower. That's a lot of work! I remember when I was a kid, WLF and his sister went up to New York state to do research. Even as a kid, I thought it was so cool and wanted to go with them.
Eventually, WLF had the family trees written out and framed. They now hang in the basement at The Czarina's house. Every time I go to visit her, I stare at them. I wonder what these long-dead ancestors were like. Do I have their nose? Their sense of humor? If I could ever talk to them, what would I want to ask them? What amazing events had they witnessed? What would they think about the world today? (I guess even as an adult, I still have a kid's imagination and inquisitiveness!)
The Czarina, on the other hand, doesn't have much interest in all of this genealogy stuff. Maybe that's because her family just arrived in the United States in the mid-to-late 1800s. Her family tree is just so short and so simple -- 3 generations on each side, mostly Irish, with a generous glob of German thrown in. She pretty much already knows everything. Her father's side -- the Irish side-- is the part of my family I'm most interested in. We are pretty sure they fled the Potato Famine of the 1850s, but we've never been positive. Most of my time working on this "genie" stuff has been spent looking up info on Irish-American immigrants, or, as I like to call them, "my people". LOL. I'm even now trying to learn more about the history of Ireland so I can understand "my people" a little better. After all, I am genetically more Irish than anything else. (My dad was a total mutt!)
Although I do know a lot about both sides of my family, it's still fun for me to look things up. I like to see if I can find any undiscovered bits of information lurking out there in the old census records and other resources. What I have found is that it must be really easy to avoid the census takers, because there are entire branches of my family that are not even listed. I can't even find one of my grandfathers! This makes researching even more challenging and fun for me. I am determined to find stuff! So that's what I've been into lately.
What I want to share with you are some of the really weird, out-of-style, old-fashioned names in my family. Here is a list, drawn from both sides of my family:
Wilbur
Harold
Ephraim
Elijah
Ebenezer
Chastity
Prudence (can you tell I have some Puritanical roots? LOL)
Eulella
Euphemia (my whole family agrees this sounds more like a disease than a name!)
Gertrude (this name is VERY popular on my dad's side, for some reason)
Elmer
Mabel
Ida
Sylvester (UGH! horrible name!)
Arabella
Florence
Agnes
Cordelia
No offense to anyone with those names. I just think they are...unusual. I actually like some of them -- Arabella and Cordelia and Elijah are all fine by me. It's just interesting to see how names fall in/out of fashion. Sometimes WAY out. LOL
Of course, in my family we have a lot of perfectly normal, common names, too. Lots of Thomases, Josephs, Benjamins, Sarahs, Catherines, Marys, Pauls, Henrys, Jessies, Jameses and Marthas.
But it's no fun to talk about normal names! Let's talk about the weird ones! Do you have any unusual or old-fashioned names in your family? Share with me! I love learning about this stuff.
Some of my former projects include: cake decorating, scrapbooking, learning anything and everything about NYC, home decorating, learning about the trucking industry, foreign languages...I could go on and on, but I won't bore you. I will be the first to admit that many of my projects are on the boring/geeky side. And my friends enjoy some projects more than others -- the cake decorating one was especially popular.
My current project? Genealogy. My training as a librarian comes in very handy for this. And I have learned that you can never really finish genealogy, because there's always another relative to look up. Which is probably why this is the 2nd or 3rd time I have tackled this project. This time around, I am even helping coworkers and friends look for their families online. It is super fun!!! (And yes, if you want me to see what I can dig up for you, just email me!)
It is also a genetically inherited interest, I believe. My dad, WLF, was also bitten by the "genie" bug. He actually researched both sides of his family, all the way back to our first immigrant ancestors to America. Which is pretty amazing, considering my first ancestor came over on the Mayflower. That's a lot of work! I remember when I was a kid, WLF and his sister went up to New York state to do research. Even as a kid, I thought it was so cool and wanted to go with them.
Eventually, WLF had the family trees written out and framed. They now hang in the basement at The Czarina's house. Every time I go to visit her, I stare at them. I wonder what these long-dead ancestors were like. Do I have their nose? Their sense of humor? If I could ever talk to them, what would I want to ask them? What amazing events had they witnessed? What would they think about the world today? (I guess even as an adult, I still have a kid's imagination and inquisitiveness!)
The Czarina, on the other hand, doesn't have much interest in all of this genealogy stuff. Maybe that's because her family just arrived in the United States in the mid-to-late 1800s. Her family tree is just so short and so simple -- 3 generations on each side, mostly Irish, with a generous glob of German thrown in. She pretty much already knows everything. Her father's side -- the Irish side-- is the part of my family I'm most interested in. We are pretty sure they fled the Potato Famine of the 1850s, but we've never been positive. Most of my time working on this "genie" stuff has been spent looking up info on Irish-American immigrants, or, as I like to call them, "my people". LOL. I'm even now trying to learn more about the history of Ireland so I can understand "my people" a little better. After all, I am genetically more Irish than anything else. (My dad was a total mutt!)
Although I do know a lot about both sides of my family, it's still fun for me to look things up. I like to see if I can find any undiscovered bits of information lurking out there in the old census records and other resources. What I have found is that it must be really easy to avoid the census takers, because there are entire branches of my family that are not even listed. I can't even find one of my grandfathers! This makes researching even more challenging and fun for me. I am determined to find stuff! So that's what I've been into lately.
What I want to share with you are some of the really weird, out-of-style, old-fashioned names in my family. Here is a list, drawn from both sides of my family:
Wilbur
Harold
Ephraim
Elijah
Ebenezer
Chastity
Prudence (can you tell I have some Puritanical roots? LOL)
Eulella
Euphemia (my whole family agrees this sounds more like a disease than a name!)
Gertrude (this name is VERY popular on my dad's side, for some reason)
Elmer
Mabel
Ida
Sylvester (UGH! horrible name!)
Arabella
Florence
Agnes
Cordelia
No offense to anyone with those names. I just think they are...unusual. I actually like some of them -- Arabella and Cordelia and Elijah are all fine by me. It's just interesting to see how names fall in/out of fashion. Sometimes WAY out. LOL
Of course, in my family we have a lot of perfectly normal, common names, too. Lots of Thomases, Josephs, Benjamins, Sarahs, Catherines, Marys, Pauls, Henrys, Jessies, Jameses and Marthas.
But it's no fun to talk about normal names! Let's talk about the weird ones! Do you have any unusual or old-fashioned names in your family? Share with me! I love learning about this stuff.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Nightmare
Last night, I had what was one of the worst dreams of my life. I've had dreams where my parents die or where my dad was cheating on my mom. I've had dreams where my friends and family are upset, or that someone is harassing me. But last night, my dream played out more like a horror movie than a personal drama. It really freaked me out!!
MJ and I were trying to get to Philly to meet up with The Rat Pack. (This is the same group of 4 guys we hung out with on last year's NYC/Vermont trip. And we are trying to plan a trip to Philly next month, since two of The Rat Pack members live in Philly. So I'm assuming this is what my subconscious was thinking about when I had this dream.)
In the dream, for some reason, MJ and I didn't have access to our credit cards. We were stuck with just whatever cash we had on us. And it made more financial sense for us to take a Greyhound bus to Philly, rather than drive in MJ's car. So we got on the bus, where we were joined by KT and a couple members of The Rat Pack. (This makes no sense, because MJ and I are the only ones who do not live in New England, but what do you expect? This is a dream, after all.)
By the time the bus stops, we are exhausted. I don't know where we are, but it is a city of some kind. We don't go to a hotel. Instead, we go to a boarding house because it was cheaper. (Do boarding houses even exist anymore??) It may have been a hostel....I can't remember. We are still limited to whatever cash we have, at this point, so I think we were looking for somewhere to crash so we could figure out how to get to Philly the next day.
This hostel/boarding house was an old, early 20th century home. It was a late Victorian style, so it had a big front porch, huge front staircase, wide hallways, tall ceilings, big windows and large rooms. The boarding house was owned and operated by an elderly couple who creeped me out. Of course, even more disturbing, no one else thought they were creepy.
So we are all so broke that we can only afford to rent one very large bedroom upstairs. There are at least 5 of us. We take our suitcases up the big, main staircase to go find our room. I notice that the wallpaper in the house looks to be original, because it is water-damaged, faded and peeling. In fact, everything in the house looked original, from the carpet to the furniture to the doorknobs. Everything was a sort of beige or rose color. With dark wood paneling. It was kind of creepy. And quiet. Very, very quiet.
At the top of the staircase, there is a big hallway. Our room is at the end of the hall. Here's the really creepy part: on the floor of the hallway, in front of each closed bedroom door, there was a baby doll head. Each one had a different facial expression, and they all faced the door nearest to them. Some dolls were smiling, others were angry or terrified. They were all creepy. I mean, someone had obviously ripped the heads off of baby dolls and set them down like this in the hallway! And who's ever heard of a baby doll with angry or scared facial expressions???! I told my friends this place was creepy and I didn't want to stay. They thought I was nuts.
Again, I am the only person who seemed to have a problem with the creepiness. Great.
Our room had several beds, and everyone was so tired that they went to bed immediately. They didn't brush their teeth or even get into pajamas. They just crashed. Meanwhile, I cannot sleep for shit because I'm still thinking about the creepy baby heads in the hallway.
To make it even spookier, we are the only tenants in the place. It's eerily quiet and empty. Just us and the baby doll heads.
When we paid for our room, I had noticed there was a sign by the desk saying that meals were served at certain times. So I decided that I would go back down to the desk to see if it was time to eat yet. I couldn't bear to be near those baby heads anymore. I woke up my friend to tell him where I was going, tip-toed down the hallway, trying not to touch the baby doll heads (which moved on their own to turn and look at me with their varying facial expressions as I passed by!!!).
I made my way to the front desk downstairs, and asked if dinner was served yet. The wife told me that there was still an hour before it would be served. So I decided to make my way back upstairs to try and get my friends to leave this creepy place.
Then, something-- I can't remember what, maybe it was a little voice in my head-- tells me what is going on: the husband and wife who run the place are actually serial killers who are trying to make us their next victims!!!! I am totally freaked out by this realization, obviously. Then the little voice in my head tells me that depending on the expression of your room's baby doll head, you will know if the elderly couple likes you enough to let you live.
Yeah. At this point, even my dream self is like, "Dude, this is f**ked up. Get the hell outta here!!"
So now I need to know which expression our room's baby doll head has. I am back upstairs, walking slowly down the hallway. I know which rooms have dead bodies in them, because the baby doll heads have angry or scared looks on their faces. And of course, the baby doll heads are watching me again. Which is just freaking fantastic.
Sure enough, our room now has its own baby doll head. It had appeared while I had been downstairs!!! I didn't look at its expression -- at this point, I didn't care. We were all checking out right now, no questions asked. I wake everyone up and freak them out enough (I believe I was crying and screaming) to convince them that we need to leave -- NOW. I think they only agreed so that I would shut up and they could finally get some sleep!
We pack up all our stuff and head back down the main staircase. As we are waiting at the bottom of the stairs to check out (why we are taking the time to do this, I don't know), the old man flies down the stairs, holding a knife (or maybe it was a gun?) , trying to stop us from leaving, even if it means he has to kill us!!! We all scream and try to escape. The next thing I know, a large piece of wood falls off of the upstairs banister and impales the old man before he can hurt us! WHAM! It goes right through his torso, killing him instantly.
We must have either ignored or fought off the old lady, because I remember she was protesting our escape, too. We ran out of the house and down the street. That's when I realized we had been in Philly the whole time.
Ugh. No more Jersey Mike's before bedtime.
MJ and I were trying to get to Philly to meet up with The Rat Pack. (This is the same group of 4 guys we hung out with on last year's NYC/Vermont trip. And we are trying to plan a trip to Philly next month, since two of The Rat Pack members live in Philly. So I'm assuming this is what my subconscious was thinking about when I had this dream.)
In the dream, for some reason, MJ and I didn't have access to our credit cards. We were stuck with just whatever cash we had on us. And it made more financial sense for us to take a Greyhound bus to Philly, rather than drive in MJ's car. So we got on the bus, where we were joined by KT and a couple members of The Rat Pack. (This makes no sense, because MJ and I are the only ones who do not live in New England, but what do you expect? This is a dream, after all.)
By the time the bus stops, we are exhausted. I don't know where we are, but it is a city of some kind. We don't go to a hotel. Instead, we go to a boarding house because it was cheaper. (Do boarding houses even exist anymore??) It may have been a hostel....I can't remember. We are still limited to whatever cash we have, at this point, so I think we were looking for somewhere to crash so we could figure out how to get to Philly the next day.
This hostel/boarding house was an old, early 20th century home. It was a late Victorian style, so it had a big front porch, huge front staircase, wide hallways, tall ceilings, big windows and large rooms. The boarding house was owned and operated by an elderly couple who creeped me out. Of course, even more disturbing, no one else thought they were creepy.
So we are all so broke that we can only afford to rent one very large bedroom upstairs. There are at least 5 of us. We take our suitcases up the big, main staircase to go find our room. I notice that the wallpaper in the house looks to be original, because it is water-damaged, faded and peeling. In fact, everything in the house looked original, from the carpet to the furniture to the doorknobs. Everything was a sort of beige or rose color. With dark wood paneling. It was kind of creepy. And quiet. Very, very quiet.
At the top of the staircase, there is a big hallway. Our room is at the end of the hall. Here's the really creepy part: on the floor of the hallway, in front of each closed bedroom door, there was a baby doll head. Each one had a different facial expression, and they all faced the door nearest to them. Some dolls were smiling, others were angry or terrified. They were all creepy. I mean, someone had obviously ripped the heads off of baby dolls and set them down like this in the hallway! And who's ever heard of a baby doll with angry or scared facial expressions???! I told my friends this place was creepy and I didn't want to stay. They thought I was nuts.
Again, I am the only person who seemed to have a problem with the creepiness. Great.
Our room had several beds, and everyone was so tired that they went to bed immediately. They didn't brush their teeth or even get into pajamas. They just crashed. Meanwhile, I cannot sleep for shit because I'm still thinking about the creepy baby heads in the hallway.
To make it even spookier, we are the only tenants in the place. It's eerily quiet and empty. Just us and the baby doll heads.
When we paid for our room, I had noticed there was a sign by the desk saying that meals were served at certain times. So I decided that I would go back down to the desk to see if it was time to eat yet. I couldn't bear to be near those baby heads anymore. I woke up my friend to tell him where I was going, tip-toed down the hallway, trying not to touch the baby doll heads (which moved on their own to turn and look at me with their varying facial expressions as I passed by!!!).
I made my way to the front desk downstairs, and asked if dinner was served yet. The wife told me that there was still an hour before it would be served. So I decided to make my way back upstairs to try and get my friends to leave this creepy place.
Then, something-- I can't remember what, maybe it was a little voice in my head-- tells me what is going on: the husband and wife who run the place are actually serial killers who are trying to make us their next victims!!!! I am totally freaked out by this realization, obviously. Then the little voice in my head tells me that depending on the expression of your room's baby doll head, you will know if the elderly couple likes you enough to let you live.
Yeah. At this point, even my dream self is like, "Dude, this is f**ked up. Get the hell outta here!!"
So now I need to know which expression our room's baby doll head has. I am back upstairs, walking slowly down the hallway. I know which rooms have dead bodies in them, because the baby doll heads have angry or scared looks on their faces. And of course, the baby doll heads are watching me again. Which is just freaking fantastic.
Sure enough, our room now has its own baby doll head. It had appeared while I had been downstairs!!! I didn't look at its expression -- at this point, I didn't care. We were all checking out right now, no questions asked. I wake everyone up and freak them out enough (I believe I was crying and screaming) to convince them that we need to leave -- NOW. I think they only agreed so that I would shut up and they could finally get some sleep!
We pack up all our stuff and head back down the main staircase. As we are waiting at the bottom of the stairs to check out (why we are taking the time to do this, I don't know), the old man flies down the stairs, holding a knife (or maybe it was a gun?) , trying to stop us from leaving, even if it means he has to kill us!!! We all scream and try to escape. The next thing I know, a large piece of wood falls off of the upstairs banister and impales the old man before he can hurt us! WHAM! It goes right through his torso, killing him instantly.
We must have either ignored or fought off the old lady, because I remember she was protesting our escape, too. We ran out of the house and down the street. That's when I realized we had been in Philly the whole time.
Ugh. No more Jersey Mike's before bedtime.
Monday, May 05, 2008
Tales from the Clinique Counter
To pay off my gi-normous credit card debt, I am going to get a part time job.
Yesterday, as CN and I were running some errands, I decided to stop by the department store at the mall to see if there were any openings at the Clinique counter. When I was in grad school, I used to be a Clinique girl, and it wasn't too bad, as far as part time jobs are concerned.
Pros:
*tons of free makeup and perfume -- TONS
*you don't come home smelling like food
*if you are going out afterwards, it's easy to touch up your makeup before you go
*since the mall closes at 9, it's still early enough to meet up with friends afterwards
*you won't get blisters on your feet, cuts on your fingers, or mysterious goo on your body (can you tell I waited tables for a looooonnng time??)
* if you are on the clock, you are getting paid
Cons:
*you work 3 weekends a month
*you have to deal with the public
*you are not paid in cash
*department store managers tend to be...not the best bosses I've had in my life (more on this later)
*you will never make more than your base pay while you are on the clock (I am expecting to make $10/hour)
So I walked up to the lady at the Clinique counter (who may or may not technically be a midget, btw, as unusual as that sounds) and asked her about it. She seemed really excited about my inquiry and called over the head Clinique girl. She was even MORE excited than the almost-midget lady.
It turns out that they needed a PT person. And since I am already experienced in Clinique AND a former employee of the same chain of department stores, they all but guaranteed me the spot. I'm probably still in their system, actually, which will cut down on all that new employee paperwork! WOOT!
If I work 15 hours per week, I should make $600/month (before taxes). This will help out SO MUCH, considering I'm already putting about $300/month towards my credit card debt already. Yay!
And although I'm excited about the free makeup, I am dreading the downside: working with the public. Don't get me wrong -- the vast majority of people who come in are great. They are nice, easy to deal with and well-groomed. (See where I am going with this?)
But some of the people....well, I think some Tales from the Clinique Counter can explain this well:
1. One day, a totally drunk lady was roaming around the makeup area. On a Sunday. At noon. She was so plastered, I think the store called the police to have her escorted out. But that was after she verbally harassed half the cosmetics staff. And knocked over a bunch of stuff.
2. Some people who want makeovers surprise me, because they are kind of putting the carriage before the horse. Let's see. How do I put this? Um, if your unibrow weighs 4 pounds, or if you have acne that makes a pizza look like a clear complexion, or if you have a hairy chest*, you should deal with those issues before getting a makeover. Same can be said for body odor, chin hair and missing teeth (hey, I live in SC, remember). I know I sound snooty right now, but seriously, would YOU want to put makeup on a woman's hairy chest?? (Yeah, she wanted to see if we could "cover it up". It's like, "No, lady! We can't!") It's so crazy to me that these women will look in the mirror and think, "Yes, that's what I need. A new lipstick." WTF?!
3. Then there are the people who try to take advantage of the generous return policy. One girl came in 10 minutes before closing (WHY do these people always come in right before closing??) with a huge bag of stuff. I think it was over $200 worth of Clinique stuff. She wanted to return everything. Normally, this is no problem at all. But this girl was returning EMPTY containers she had originally bought a YEAR previously. (Even more incredulous was that she actually still had the receipt!) Because of the extreme absurdity of her return request (I believe I said, "Um, are you kidding me?"), I decided to consult a manager before approving it. But it turned out that we couldn't really say no to her -- she was technically within the limits of the return policy. She got all her money returned onto her credit card. Then, she stormed off in a huff because we couldn't return the money to her in cash!
4. Another lady used to take advantage of the neighboring Lancome counter. She would buy expensive perfumes and body lotions, only to take them home, use about half of the product, fill the bottle back up with water or cheap lotion, and exchange the items for brand new ones. Since they were "like new" to all outward appearances, no one caught on. They thought she just wanted to try a different perfume or lotion, or that she had purchased the wrong one by accident. She did this about 3 times before anyone caught on. After that, she wasn't allowed to make returns anymore!
5. Then, there were The Minivers. I can't remember what their last name was, but it sounds like Miniver. This was an elderly couple, who on first inspection, seem like your regular, cute grandparent-like couple. But don't let them fool you -- they will CAMP OUT at your makeup counter, making you demonstrate every single freaking product you sell. These are the same products you demonstrated to them the last time they came in, by the way. After each application on Mrs. Miniver, she and Mr. Miniver would discuss how it looked on her. This would take about 15 minutes per discussion. You will sit there and wonder why in the hell an 80 year old man gives a rat's ass which shade of eyeshadow looks better on his wife of 56 years. After they decide which products they will buy, they will end up spending about $300. But wait! Don't get too excited about that big sale, even if your manager does pat you on the back! Mrs. Miniver will arrive bright and early tomorrow morning to return everything she bought the day before. And then someone else will have to go through the whole thing again with her.
Imagine my excitement when I quit the Clinique job to take on a full time position at the public library.........only to discover that Mr. and Mrs. Miniver used that library. And drove everyone nuts there, too. There was about a 3 year period where I couldn't escape the Minivers!
Those are the main crazy makeup counter stories. If I think of more, I will share. And all apologies to any female readers with hairy chests. :)
*I wish I was making this up, but I'm not. Yes, the woman had a hairy chest. Like a man. And she decided to wear a low-cut top. It was a scary moment. One of the few times in my life I've literally been speechless. "Distracting" doesn't even begin to cover it.
Yesterday, as CN and I were running some errands, I decided to stop by the department store at the mall to see if there were any openings at the Clinique counter. When I was in grad school, I used to be a Clinique girl, and it wasn't too bad, as far as part time jobs are concerned.
Pros:
*tons of free makeup and perfume -- TONS
*you don't come home smelling like food
*if you are going out afterwards, it's easy to touch up your makeup before you go
*since the mall closes at 9, it's still early enough to meet up with friends afterwards
*you won't get blisters on your feet, cuts on your fingers, or mysterious goo on your body (can you tell I waited tables for a looooonnng time??)
* if you are on the clock, you are getting paid
Cons:
*you work 3 weekends a month
*you have to deal with the public
*you are not paid in cash
*department store managers tend to be...not the best bosses I've had in my life (more on this later)
*you will never make more than your base pay while you are on the clock (I am expecting to make $10/hour)
So I walked up to the lady at the Clinique counter (who may or may not technically be a midget, btw, as unusual as that sounds) and asked her about it. She seemed really excited about my inquiry and called over the head Clinique girl. She was even MORE excited than the almost-midget lady.
It turns out that they needed a PT person. And since I am already experienced in Clinique AND a former employee of the same chain of department stores, they all but guaranteed me the spot. I'm probably still in their system, actually, which will cut down on all that new employee paperwork! WOOT!
If I work 15 hours per week, I should make $600/month (before taxes). This will help out SO MUCH, considering I'm already putting about $300/month towards my credit card debt already. Yay!
And although I'm excited about the free makeup, I am dreading the downside: working with the public. Don't get me wrong -- the vast majority of people who come in are great. They are nice, easy to deal with and well-groomed. (See where I am going with this?)
But some of the people....well, I think some Tales from the Clinique Counter can explain this well:
1. One day, a totally drunk lady was roaming around the makeup area. On a Sunday. At noon. She was so plastered, I think the store called the police to have her escorted out. But that was after she verbally harassed half the cosmetics staff. And knocked over a bunch of stuff.
2. Some people who want makeovers surprise me, because they are kind of putting the carriage before the horse. Let's see. How do I put this? Um, if your unibrow weighs 4 pounds, or if you have acne that makes a pizza look like a clear complexion, or if you have a hairy chest*, you should deal with those issues before getting a makeover. Same can be said for body odor, chin hair and missing teeth (hey, I live in SC, remember). I know I sound snooty right now, but seriously, would YOU want to put makeup on a woman's hairy chest?? (Yeah, she wanted to see if we could "cover it up". It's like, "No, lady! We can't!") It's so crazy to me that these women will look in the mirror and think, "Yes, that's what I need. A new lipstick." WTF?!
3. Then there are the people who try to take advantage of the generous return policy. One girl came in 10 minutes before closing (WHY do these people always come in right before closing??) with a huge bag of stuff. I think it was over $200 worth of Clinique stuff. She wanted to return everything. Normally, this is no problem at all. But this girl was returning EMPTY containers she had originally bought a YEAR previously. (Even more incredulous was that she actually still had the receipt!) Because of the extreme absurdity of her return request (I believe I said, "Um, are you kidding me?"), I decided to consult a manager before approving it. But it turned out that we couldn't really say no to her -- she was technically within the limits of the return policy. She got all her money returned onto her credit card. Then, she stormed off in a huff because we couldn't return the money to her in cash!
4. Another lady used to take advantage of the neighboring Lancome counter. She would buy expensive perfumes and body lotions, only to take them home, use about half of the product, fill the bottle back up with water or cheap lotion, and exchange the items for brand new ones. Since they were "like new" to all outward appearances, no one caught on. They thought she just wanted to try a different perfume or lotion, or that she had purchased the wrong one by accident. She did this about 3 times before anyone caught on. After that, she wasn't allowed to make returns anymore!
5. Then, there were The Minivers. I can't remember what their last name was, but it sounds like Miniver. This was an elderly couple, who on first inspection, seem like your regular, cute grandparent-like couple. But don't let them fool you -- they will CAMP OUT at your makeup counter, making you demonstrate every single freaking product you sell. These are the same products you demonstrated to them the last time they came in, by the way. After each application on Mrs. Miniver, she and Mr. Miniver would discuss how it looked on her. This would take about 15 minutes per discussion. You will sit there and wonder why in the hell an 80 year old man gives a rat's ass which shade of eyeshadow looks better on his wife of 56 years. After they decide which products they will buy, they will end up spending about $300. But wait! Don't get too excited about that big sale, even if your manager does pat you on the back! Mrs. Miniver will arrive bright and early tomorrow morning to return everything she bought the day before. And then someone else will have to go through the whole thing again with her.
Imagine my excitement when I quit the Clinique job to take on a full time position at the public library.........only to discover that Mr. and Mrs. Miniver used that library. And drove everyone nuts there, too. There was about a 3 year period where I couldn't escape the Minivers!
Those are the main crazy makeup counter stories. If I think of more, I will share. And all apologies to any female readers with hairy chests. :)
*I wish I was making this up, but I'm not. Yes, the woman had a hairy chest. Like a man. And she decided to wear a low-cut top. It was a scary moment. One of the few times in my life I've literally been speechless. "Distracting" doesn't even begin to cover it.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Mr. Safety
If you were to hang out with my boyfriend for a day, you would know why I call him "Mr. Safety". I have to say, I tease him about his overly-cautious lifestyle quite a bit.
Some of his own self-imposed rules include:
1. All doors shall remain locked at all times, unless you are going in or out of them. Once the passage is complete, any and all locks shall be re-locked. The same goes for windows, cars, sliding doors, gates and anything else with a lock on it. (I, on the other hand, have been known to make a "quick run" to the grocery store and leave my entire house wide open, including the front door, sometimes literally.)
2. All foods, unless individually wrapped or sealed, must be stored in the refrigerator. A "use by" date is just that. After the Constitution, this is the highest law of the land. Anything not consumed or used by then will automatically be thrown away. Anything without a "use by date" -- for example, homemade foods or restaurant takeout -- shall be thrown away in a 24-48 hour period. (I, on the other hand, have been known to say, "Food poisoning, schmood poisoning!" as I scrape the mold off of the strawberry jam and spread it onto the restaurant roll I've had for a week.)
Our differences in opinion on this topic came to a head one day, when I pointed out that sour cream cannot get any more sour, and therefore, the "use by" dates on the cartons are simply a conspiracy cooked up by dairy farmers in order to get us to buy more sour cream. (Yeah, I won that battle!)
3. Anyone who does not follow all traffic laws at all times and in all conditions is deemed an "asshole" and "law breaker". This includes: speed limits, turn signals, the wearing of seat belts, obeying "no right on red" signs, merging politely, stopping at yellow lights and proper use of headlights. I don't think it's any surprise that I have fallen into the "asshole" category many times, according to Mr. Safety.
In my defense, that stupid "no right on red" sign by our house is absurd, since one can clearly see if there's any oncoming traffic. And at some intersections here in town, if you don't turn left on a yellow light, you will be sitting at that intersection, trying to turn left, until you die.
4. Hand-washing or the use of hand sanitizer is obligatory in any of the following situations: everything. I, on the other hand, only think about washing my hands when I'm in a bathroom. (I like to think that the constant exposure to my own germy hands strengthens my immune system, and since Mr. Safety gets sick all the time whereas I never seem to catch anything but a cold, I rest my case.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So you can imagine my surprise about a week ago, when he came over to my house. We had talked about grabbing some dinner and going shopping, so when I opened my door, I asked him if he was ready to go grab some food.
"Yeah, but I've gotta take a shower," he replied.
"Ok, well, you can come in for a sec. I'm sure you don't stink too much."
"No, I've been doing yard work all afternoon," he explained. He held up his hands -- they were black as soot. He pointed to his shoes -- they were covered in dirt.
"Oh. Ok, yeah, please, just stay outside. You're filthy. Are you starving? I was thinking we could shop first and then get dinner," I said.
"Nah, I'm ok for right now. I had a snack," he replied.
"Yeah? What'd you have?" I asked.
"Oh, just some wild onions that were growing in my yard."
*Thirty second silence as I stare at him and blink.*
"I'm sorry," I said, "did you say 'wild onions'?"
"Yeah. You know, the ones that always grow in your yard. The little white ones, with the long green stems," he explained.
"I know what you mean. Just trying to clarify.........So, you got them from your backyard?"
"Yes."
"The same backyard that Sammy pees in when I bring him over?" I asked.
"Oh. I didn't think about that...." he trailed off.
"You eating anything else back there? Wild tomatoes? Wild carrots? I mean, maybe we could have a Wild Salad for dinner," I said, sarcastically.
"No, nothing else. Just the wild onions."
"Um.........ew, babe. Seriously, who does that? Tell me you at least washed the dirt off before you ate them," I said.
"Nah. Just sort of brushed the dirt off of them," he replied. Seeing the look on my face, he continued, "They're from the ground! They are natural! It's from the earth!"
"Well, so is Sammy's poop, but you don't go around munching away on it! Besides! Hello! Pesticides! This, from the man who won't eat restaurant leftovers???" I exclaimed, utterly confused.
"Well, I was covered in dirt, so I didn't want to go inside to get something, and I was hungry, and they were there, and they smelled good, so..." he tried to explain.
"Wait wait wait. So, you were hungry, and you thought, 'Hmmm. What would be a good snack? I know! Onions! Raw, wild onions!' ?" I said, laughing hysterically at this point.
He was growing indignant and defensive at this point, so I let it go after one final question:
"Tell me the neighbors didn't see you doing this," I said pleadingly.
"No, they didn't. But I do have onion breath."
Mr. Safety, indeed.
Some of his own self-imposed rules include:
1. All doors shall remain locked at all times, unless you are going in or out of them. Once the passage is complete, any and all locks shall be re-locked. The same goes for windows, cars, sliding doors, gates and anything else with a lock on it. (I, on the other hand, have been known to make a "quick run" to the grocery store and leave my entire house wide open, including the front door, sometimes literally.)
2. All foods, unless individually wrapped or sealed, must be stored in the refrigerator. A "use by" date is just that. After the Constitution, this is the highest law of the land. Anything not consumed or used by then will automatically be thrown away. Anything without a "use by date" -- for example, homemade foods or restaurant takeout -- shall be thrown away in a 24-48 hour period. (I, on the other hand, have been known to say, "Food poisoning, schmood poisoning!" as I scrape the mold off of the strawberry jam and spread it onto the restaurant roll I've had for a week.)
Our differences in opinion on this topic came to a head one day, when I pointed out that sour cream cannot get any more sour, and therefore, the "use by" dates on the cartons are simply a conspiracy cooked up by dairy farmers in order to get us to buy more sour cream. (Yeah, I won that battle!)
3. Anyone who does not follow all traffic laws at all times and in all conditions is deemed an "asshole" and "law breaker". This includes: speed limits, turn signals, the wearing of seat belts, obeying "no right on red" signs, merging politely, stopping at yellow lights and proper use of headlights. I don't think it's any surprise that I have fallen into the "asshole" category many times, according to Mr. Safety.
In my defense, that stupid "no right on red" sign by our house is absurd, since one can clearly see if there's any oncoming traffic. And at some intersections here in town, if you don't turn left on a yellow light, you will be sitting at that intersection, trying to turn left, until you die.
4. Hand-washing or the use of hand sanitizer is obligatory in any of the following situations: everything. I, on the other hand, only think about washing my hands when I'm in a bathroom. (I like to think that the constant exposure to my own germy hands strengthens my immune system, and since Mr. Safety gets sick all the time whereas I never seem to catch anything but a cold, I rest my case.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So you can imagine my surprise about a week ago, when he came over to my house. We had talked about grabbing some dinner and going shopping, so when I opened my door, I asked him if he was ready to go grab some food.
"Yeah, but I've gotta take a shower," he replied.
"Ok, well, you can come in for a sec. I'm sure you don't stink too much."
"No, I've been doing yard work all afternoon," he explained. He held up his hands -- they were black as soot. He pointed to his shoes -- they were covered in dirt.
"Oh. Ok, yeah, please, just stay outside. You're filthy. Are you starving? I was thinking we could shop first and then get dinner," I said.
"Nah, I'm ok for right now. I had a snack," he replied.
"Yeah? What'd you have?" I asked.
"Oh, just some wild onions that were growing in my yard."
*Thirty second silence as I stare at him and blink.*
"I'm sorry," I said, "did you say 'wild onions'?"
"Yeah. You know, the ones that always grow in your yard. The little white ones, with the long green stems," he explained.
"I know what you mean. Just trying to clarify.........So, you got them from your backyard?"
"Yes."
"The same backyard that Sammy pees in when I bring him over?" I asked.
"Oh. I didn't think about that...." he trailed off.
"You eating anything else back there? Wild tomatoes? Wild carrots? I mean, maybe we could have a Wild Salad for dinner," I said, sarcastically.
"No, nothing else. Just the wild onions."
"Um.........ew, babe. Seriously, who does that? Tell me you at least washed the dirt off before you ate them," I said.
"Nah. Just sort of brushed the dirt off of them," he replied. Seeing the look on my face, he continued, "They're from the ground! They are natural! It's from the earth!"
"Well, so is Sammy's poop, but you don't go around munching away on it! Besides! Hello! Pesticides! This, from the man who won't eat restaurant leftovers???" I exclaimed, utterly confused.
"Well, I was covered in dirt, so I didn't want to go inside to get something, and I was hungry, and they were there, and they smelled good, so..." he tried to explain.
"Wait wait wait. So, you were hungry, and you thought, 'Hmmm. What would be a good snack? I know! Onions! Raw, wild onions!' ?" I said, laughing hysterically at this point.
He was growing indignant and defensive at this point, so I let it go after one final question:
"Tell me the neighbors didn't see you doing this," I said pleadingly.
"No, they didn't. But I do have onion breath."
Mr. Safety, indeed.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Tuesday 13
Thirteen Things My Boyfriend Cannot or Will Not Do
1. Swim -- I am not kidding. He'd drop like a block of cement. He can't even float or do the doggy-paddle. When we go on the cruise, I'm going to make him wear Water Wings.
2. Turn left -- Yup, just like Zoolander. He wanted to be in marching band in high school, but when it came to marching around, he would always turn right when he was supposed to turn left. And turn left when he was supposed to turn right. He had to stick to just playing the saxophone sitting down.
3. Cook -- He made mashed potatoes the other day. You'd think that he had climbed Mt. Everest, the way he was talking about it. I was proud. Well, as proud as you can be for someone who only made mashed potatoes.
4. Dust -- CN's house is very clean and tidy. Except for the layers of dust coating everything. He says that real men don't dust. And I sort of agree, so I don't bug him about it. But neither do I dust his house for him! I just ignore the dust bunnies.
5. Listen to the radio -- He won't leave the house without his Sirius radio. I should start calling it his "lifeline". Even if he's only running a ten minute errand -- it's got to come along! Actually, the same can be said about his GPS. It doesn't matter if he already knows how to get there, or if he's only driving across the street. He wants his GPS. Men and their gadgets, I guess.
6. Floss -- Yeah. You read that correctly. I try not to nag him about this, although it kind of grosses me out. So I just remind myself that his teeth are pretty good, and I try not to think about it.
7. Tan-- If his skin were any paler, he would be transparent. He is like one of those cave-dwelling animals you see in National Geographic. If I stare at his chest long enough, I swear I can see his internal organs. Kind of like how you can see E.T.'s beating and glowing red heart. But since I believe that real men don't go to tanning salons, he remains pale, if only under protest.
8. Break traffic laws -- He never speeds. He obeys all signs, even if there isn't a cop within sight. He comes to a complete stop at all stop signs. He never runs red lights. He uses his turn signal 100% of the time. He makes me look like Evel Knievel.
9. Stop watching WWF wrestling -- Oh yeah. He got hooked in 6th grade, and he's still watching it. He records all the shows so that he can have a wrestling marathon. He says it's like a "soap opera for men". You have no idea how much I am biting my tongue to not tease him about this incessantly. I guess the little boy in him is too cute for me to say anything. I am sorry to say that the phrase "Stone Cold Steve Austin" has entered my vocabulary.
10. Limit himself to one computer -- As of today, I believe he has three. Who has three computers?? Oh yeah. I know. His dad. He is turning into his dad: when his computer gets a virus or starts to run slowly, he just buys another one. CN is the same way. He doesn't try to buy more hard drive, see what's wrong, look for a cheaper alternative or defrag or anything! This blows my mind! I had to talk him out of buying computer #4 this past weekend!
11. Raise his voice -- I have never heard him do it. I like to think this says a lot for how well we get along. It's a good thing he is so patient and understanding, because I can be a butthead. And a basketcase. I also do not tolerate boyfriends who yell. I really appreciate that he leaves all the screaming to me. Because I enjoy a good temper tantrum now and then.
12. Enjoy Mexican food -- This almost breaks my heart, because Mexican food is probably my favorite cuisine. But because his stomach is a little on the sensitive side, he can eat Mexican food, but he always ends up paying for it later. I started to feel so badly for dragging him to the Mexican places, I told him he won't ever have to eat there again. So now, I stick to hitting San Jose's with my girls instead.
13. Eat normal food combinations -- Grits? He wants sardines and mustard in them. (Um, EW!!!) Turkey sandwich? Yeah, he wants his with grape jelly. Bananas? He'd like that in a mayonnaise/banana sandwich combo, please. The man is a freak.
My boyfriend is so weird.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
He Gets Me
CN and I hung out together most of last weekend. On the first of every month, we have Date Night, because we started dating on September 1st. So last Saturday, we made plans for dinner and a movie. (We had never been to a movie theater together before! Isn't that crazy?)
True to form, I was ready about 15 minutes after I said I'd be ready. CN teases me about this a lot, despite the fact that I told him a long time ago that VB time is always +15. I guess men just don't listen. ;)
So we hurry off to dinner on the other side of town. We have to eat really fast to make it in time for the movie. We were planning on seeing The Mist. Luckily, the Italian place wasn't very crowded, so we got out of there before the movie started.
We got to the theater just as the movie was starting. Whew! But there was just one, tiny little problem: there was a HUGE line at the ticket counter.
"There's no way we'll get in there in time to see the beginning," CN said.
He was right. We were too late. There's no way we could get in there without missing at least 15 minutes of the movie. Everyone in town wanted to get in this theater.
"Crap! I ruined Date Night!!" I said, angry at myself. I was pretty upset, and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I felt like a jerk. He tried to make it seem like it was no big deal, but I could tell he was a little upset about missing the movie. That just made me feel even worse.
That's when I told CN that from now on, he needs to tell me to be ready 30 minutes before we actually need to be somewhere. He agreed, and I apologized for being late. I told him I would take him to see the movie the next day -- my treat. He said ok.
The next morning, we went to church (shock and awe, I know! The Heathen Girl goes to church!) with a couple he knows. They are a really nice couple that are getting ready for their first baby. And thanks to our new time policy, I was right on time! Anyway, we went to a church that is not like mine. It's more......modern and liberal than what I'm used to, so it was an adjustment for me. I sounded like a 5 year old, with all of the questions I asked:
"Why is there a rock band here? Are we going to be on TV? Because there's a lot of TV crew-looking people here. Why are those people raising their arms when they sing? Why isn't anyone doing the readings? When do we get to kneel? What's with the big screen TVs? Why aren't we using our hymnals? I've never seen a church where people are allowed to wear jeans and flip-flops. And where's Jesus? I don't see him anywhere...."
CN just shook his head and chuckled to himself.
The questions actually started the night before, when CN asked me if I wanted to go with him to church. "Ok, sure. What is the proper procedure for when you receive the bread and wine there? I need to know, because I don't drink wine at church. I mean, you know I don't drink alcohol, but it's also because I can't stand the taste of wine. So how would it work if I want to opt out?" I asked.
"Oh, they don't even serve it, so you don't have to worry," he replied.
"I'm sorry....what? No bread or wine? Isn't that like....the whole point? The main scene?" I asked, confused. "Are you teasing me? You're making that up. Of course they serve bread and wine. It's not church without it! Stop pulling my leg!"
CN swore up and down that he was not kidding.
This blew my mind. I have never heard such a thing before. I thought all Christians had bread and wine when they went to church on Sundays. (Can you tell I was raised Catholic?)
So I was pretty interested in seeing exactly what went on at this modern church. It turns out that this particular church only does the bread and grape juice (yeah, no wine at this church -- another thing that blew my mind. "Juice?? WTF??) on the first Sunday of the month. So I got to have my Wonder bread and grape juice. It was very surreal to me. And I had forgotten how yummy grape juice is, so that was a good thing.
I've never been to a church service that wasn't my own denomination before. It was sort of like traveling to Europe: the general idea is the same, but there's little differences between this new place and your home. Some of the differences are cool, some of them make you feel uncomfortable.
We were having breakfast with the other couple after church. On the way to the restaurant, I explained to CN that I'm used to real wine, lots of moving around and a more formal presentation. I told him I was not totally comfortable with his modern church. It didn't feel boring and long like what I'm used to.
Call me crazy, but when I'm at church, I want to be hating it. I want it to feel like church. It's not supposed to be fun, in my mind. I want to get the hell outta there ASAP. I want to wear uncomfortable clothes, watch the same routine service I've watched since I was a kid, get a good serving of guilt, real wine, wafers that stick to the roof of your mouth, some hymns, and then I want to go home and forget about all about church until next Sunday. THAT is church.
He told me he'd never been to a Catholic or an Episcopalian service. I told him he'd better hit the gym before he goes to one, because there's a lot of moving around!
"First you stand, then you sit, then you kneel. Then you sit again, then you stand, then you kneel....sit, stand, kneel, stand, sit, kneel....and you sing a lot," I explained.
"I get the idea. We can go to your church next time, if you want," he replied.
"Um...ok. We might have to go to a new Episcopal church, though, because I haven't been to mine in at least a year, and now I'm too embarrassed to go back," I said.
"So......let me get this straight. You haven't been to any church in a year, and you're telling me that you'd rather go to NO church than one that is different than yours. Right?"
"Exactly! Wow, hon, you're a good listener. You ready for some pancakes?" I asked, as we pulled into the restaurant parking lot. CN rolled his eyes and sighed.
We had breakfast with the other couple, and then went to go see The Mist. I hated it. I almost got up to leave about 3 times. I don't like gory movies, and this was full of it. Plus, the ending SUCKS. I will stop there, in case you haven't seen it yet, but let's just say, I was not impressed.
When we left the theater, CN informed me that we would not be going to the movies a lot.
"But why?? I like going to the movies!" I protested.
"Because you yelled at the screen the whole time! People were staring at us!" he said.
"Oh. Sorry. Was I that loud?" I asked.
"YES!" he said, laughing.
"OMG! Why didn't you tell me to shut up? Did I embarrass you?" I asked.
"No, I thought it was funny. I tried to tell you to be quiet, but you didn't listen. That's why I was grabbing your arm. You ignored it. After that, I just gave up. But you talk too much at the movies. We need to stick to watching them at home from now on."
Oops.
That's kind of good, though, because you can't be late to movies you watch at home. Maybe he's got a good idea here. Plus, I can yell at the tv all I want!
Later on that day, he and I were sitting on my bed. I looked at my room.
"WOW. My room is really messy. I'm a slob. Don't you think I'm a slob, honey?" I said.
CN thought for a minute, then replied, "No. You're just really, really, really bad at putting things away!"
We laughed. I love that he gets me. :)
True to form, I was ready about 15 minutes after I said I'd be ready. CN teases me about this a lot, despite the fact that I told him a long time ago that VB time is always +15. I guess men just don't listen. ;)
So we hurry off to dinner on the other side of town. We have to eat really fast to make it in time for the movie. We were planning on seeing The Mist. Luckily, the Italian place wasn't very crowded, so we got out of there before the movie started.
We got to the theater just as the movie was starting. Whew! But there was just one, tiny little problem: there was a HUGE line at the ticket counter.
"There's no way we'll get in there in time to see the beginning," CN said.
He was right. We were too late. There's no way we could get in there without missing at least 15 minutes of the movie. Everyone in town wanted to get in this theater.
"Crap! I ruined Date Night!!" I said, angry at myself. I was pretty upset, and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I felt like a jerk. He tried to make it seem like it was no big deal, but I could tell he was a little upset about missing the movie. That just made me feel even worse.
That's when I told CN that from now on, he needs to tell me to be ready 30 minutes before we actually need to be somewhere. He agreed, and I apologized for being late. I told him I would take him to see the movie the next day -- my treat. He said ok.
The next morning, we went to church (shock and awe, I know! The Heathen Girl goes to church!) with a couple he knows. They are a really nice couple that are getting ready for their first baby. And thanks to our new time policy, I was right on time! Anyway, we went to a church that is not like mine. It's more......modern and liberal than what I'm used to, so it was an adjustment for me. I sounded like a 5 year old, with all of the questions I asked:
"Why is there a rock band here? Are we going to be on TV? Because there's a lot of TV crew-looking people here. Why are those people raising their arms when they sing? Why isn't anyone doing the readings? When do we get to kneel? What's with the big screen TVs? Why aren't we using our hymnals? I've never seen a church where people are allowed to wear jeans and flip-flops. And where's Jesus? I don't see him anywhere...."
CN just shook his head and chuckled to himself.
The questions actually started the night before, when CN asked me if I wanted to go with him to church. "Ok, sure. What is the proper procedure for when you receive the bread and wine there? I need to know, because I don't drink wine at church. I mean, you know I don't drink alcohol, but it's also because I can't stand the taste of wine. So how would it work if I want to opt out?" I asked.
"Oh, they don't even serve it, so you don't have to worry," he replied.
"I'm sorry....what? No bread or wine? Isn't that like....the whole point? The main scene?" I asked, confused. "Are you teasing me? You're making that up. Of course they serve bread and wine. It's not church without it! Stop pulling my leg!"
CN swore up and down that he was not kidding.
This blew my mind. I have never heard such a thing before. I thought all Christians had bread and wine when they went to church on Sundays. (Can you tell I was raised Catholic?)
So I was pretty interested in seeing exactly what went on at this modern church. It turns out that this particular church only does the bread and grape juice (yeah, no wine at this church -- another thing that blew my mind. "Juice?? WTF??) on the first Sunday of the month. So I got to have my Wonder bread and grape juice. It was very surreal to me. And I had forgotten how yummy grape juice is, so that was a good thing.
I've never been to a church service that wasn't my own denomination before. It was sort of like traveling to Europe: the general idea is the same, but there's little differences between this new place and your home. Some of the differences are cool, some of them make you feel uncomfortable.
We were having breakfast with the other couple after church. On the way to the restaurant, I explained to CN that I'm used to real wine, lots of moving around and a more formal presentation. I told him I was not totally comfortable with his modern church. It didn't feel boring and long like what I'm used to.
Call me crazy, but when I'm at church, I want to be hating it. I want it to feel like church. It's not supposed to be fun, in my mind. I want to get the hell outta there ASAP. I want to wear uncomfortable clothes, watch the same routine service I've watched since I was a kid, get a good serving of guilt, real wine, wafers that stick to the roof of your mouth, some hymns, and then I want to go home and forget about all about church until next Sunday. THAT is church.
He told me he'd never been to a Catholic or an Episcopalian service. I told him he'd better hit the gym before he goes to one, because there's a lot of moving around!
"First you stand, then you sit, then you kneel. Then you sit again, then you stand, then you kneel....sit, stand, kneel, stand, sit, kneel....and you sing a lot," I explained.
"I get the idea. We can go to your church next time, if you want," he replied.
"Um...ok. We might have to go to a new Episcopal church, though, because I haven't been to mine in at least a year, and now I'm too embarrassed to go back," I said.
"So......let me get this straight. You haven't been to any church in a year, and you're telling me that you'd rather go to NO church than one that is different than yours. Right?"
"Exactly! Wow, hon, you're a good listener. You ready for some pancakes?" I asked, as we pulled into the restaurant parking lot. CN rolled his eyes and sighed.
We had breakfast with the other couple, and then went to go see The Mist. I hated it. I almost got up to leave about 3 times. I don't like gory movies, and this was full of it. Plus, the ending SUCKS. I will stop there, in case you haven't seen it yet, but let's just say, I was not impressed.
When we left the theater, CN informed me that we would not be going to the movies a lot.
"But why?? I like going to the movies!" I protested.
"Because you yelled at the screen the whole time! People were staring at us!" he said.
"Oh. Sorry. Was I that loud?" I asked.
"YES!" he said, laughing.
"OMG! Why didn't you tell me to shut up? Did I embarrass you?" I asked.
"No, I thought it was funny. I tried to tell you to be quiet, but you didn't listen. That's why I was grabbing your arm. You ignored it. After that, I just gave up. But you talk too much at the movies. We need to stick to watching them at home from now on."
Oops.
That's kind of good, though, because you can't be late to movies you watch at home. Maybe he's got a good idea here. Plus, I can yell at the tv all I want!
Later on that day, he and I were sitting on my bed. I looked at my room.
"WOW. My room is really messy. I'm a slob. Don't you think I'm a slob, honey?" I said.
CN thought for a minute, then replied, "No. You're just really, really, really bad at putting things away!"
We laughed. I love that he gets me. :)
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Stories of My Family, Part 4
I have told you about The Czarina's parents. Now, let me switch over to the other side of my family -- the Belle side.
Grandpa Belle (his name was Charles) was born in New York state, I believe. He had one sister (Dorothy, who I believe may still be alive somewhere in Florida, although I've never met her). When he was seven years old, his dad walked out on the family for unknown reasons. According to my Aunt J, this wasn't the worst thing that could have happened -- apparently he was a jerk anyway. I don't know any specifics about this situation, because my Aunt J refuses to elaborate. So it must be something awful. Maybe he was a wife beater or a bank robber. Who knows. Whatever the situation, he left his wife and kids destitute.
So from the age of 7 on, my Grandpa Charles was the breadwinner of the family. I don't know why his mother (Emma) couldn't get a job...maybe she did. If she did, it didn't pay much, because my grandpa had to work while he went to school. He managed to support his mother and sister while still doing very well in school. I have no idea how he did this. He did so well in school, in fact, that he received free tuition at Syracuse University.
Go Grandpa!!
So off he went to college. Unfortunately, the scholarship did not cover his room and board, so he had to get a job while he was a full-time college student, majoring in forestry of all things. So he began waiting tables at a restaurant.
I have no idea what Great-Grandma Emma and Great Aunt Dot did for money while he was at school. I need to ask my Aunt J. I guess Dot went to work. Last I heard, she was a redneck who lived in a trailer in Florida. I don't really know much about Dot. I don't even know if she's still alive. I do know that for the rest of his life, no matter how little, my Grandpa Charles always sent money home to his mother. Awww. See, he was a good son.
Meanwhile, my grandma Florence was also being raised in New York somewhere. She was an only child, born to Paul and (his first wife), Belle. The marriage broke up sometime after my grandma was born. I know someone cheated on the other, but I am not sure about who did it. So that's why Belle was the first wife. I'm sure this was extremely scandalous at the time, especially in their WASPy New England society! *shock and awe!*
(In case you haven't noticed, there are a lot of horrible girls' names on my father's side of the family, aside from Emma, which is a nice name. No offense to anyone with these names, but I think they are awful: Florence, Gertrude, Dorothy, Arabella, Prudence and -- I swear to God I am not making this up -- Eulella and Euphemia. WTF? Who hates their kids that much? We always joke that the name Euphemia sounds like a disease: "Yeah, I went to the doctor the other day. He told me I've got euphemia! I have six months to live!")
All joking aside, let's move on.
While Grandpa Charles grew up poor as a church mouse, my Grandma Flo grew up in the lap of luxury. She came from a long line of well-educated, socially distinguished WASPs. Her oldest ancestor actually came over on the Mayflower.
Now, it's not as cool as it sounds -- there are today millions of descendants from each Pilgrim that came over. You or someone you know is probably also related to a Pilgrim. I'm just trying to illustrate how freaking long my family has been in America.
So this is an old family we are talking about. Far different from my Grandpa Charles' family, who came over from Scotland in the comparatively modern decade of the 1740s.
At one point, Grandma Flo's grandfather (or was it her great-grandfather...??) was a dentist in New York City, which I think is super cool, because I think NYC is the coolest place ever. Several members of this branch of my family went to Yale, became professors, doctors and preachers -- that sort of thing. Her father was something in the medical field. I think he was a dentist also.
In short, she made my grandpa look like white trash. It's like one of those 1980s teen movies, where the head cheerleader ends up with that boy from "the wrong side of the tracks". But now I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm just trying to illustrate to you the differences in backgrounds between my grandparents. On paper, it's like, "What?? These two had anything in common??" But you'll see what I mean in a minute.
Grandma Flo also found herself at Syracuse in the early 1930s. She joined a sorority, which she soon discovered was full of lesbians, which didn't sit well with her, and so she dropped out, I think. (Weird, huh? Yeah, my Aunt J knows the coolest, most scandalous family stories! I love it!)
I have no idea what she majored in. Knowing her, she had no business being in college in the first place. Not because she was stupid. She was a sweet lady and I loved her, but dammit she was lazy! She would have been fired from any job she had! But I guess this is how you are when you're born with a silver spoon in your mouth, especially in that day and age -- she probably went to college to meet her future husband, not to chase a career.
I don't know how much of a catch she would have been. She never had to cook, clean, sew, work or do much of anything growing up. She didn't know how to do anything, because the servants had always done it. So it's a good thing my grandpa came along when he did, because she honestly couldn't feed herself, and we already know she couldn't have held a job. So the poor thing would have either lived in her mother's basement or simply died of malnourishment if it hadn't been for my grandpa. She was lucky she was attractive and very, very sweet. She was THE sweetest person you'd ever meet. Always affectionate and warm. I'm sure that's what my grandpa loved about her. I know that's what I liked about her. (She was the only grandparent I ever met.)
Speaking of malnourishment, one evening while at Syracuse, my grandma went with a girlfriend to a restaurant for dinner. (See? I told you she couldn't even feed herself.)
They were looking at their menus, trying to decide on what to order, when their waiter came over to greet them. His name was Charles. And that's how my grandparents met!
It was love at first sight for both of them-- we are talking puppy-dog pathetically in love, here -- and they planned on getting married once they graduated. They enjoyed dating all through college. I know they must have gone to some football games together, because I have seen the ticket stubs. (Yeah, I know. Who keeps college football ticket stubs from the 1930s? That would be my father, World's Biggest Pack Rat.) And I think they took a trip to the Finger Lakes or something, because there's a photo of them in their swimsuits. Aw. Cute, huh?
Too bad that Great-Grandpa Paul did not like his future son-in-law. Nevermind that Charles supported his sister and mother aaaaaall through school while still making such excellent grades that he got a free ride to Syracuse. Nevermind that Charles was totally in love with Florence. What was the problem? He wasn't rich.
Can you believe it? Just wait, it gets worse.
Great-Grandpa Paul disliked the idea of their marriage so much, he wrote her out of the will. His own and only daughter. His only child, in fact. What a jerk, huh? (If you have been paying attention, this same situation happened with my mother's parents -- weird coincidence. What was up with fathers boycotting their daughters' marriages back then? Sheesh!)
So Charles and Florence ended up eloping and having their honeymoon at Niagara Falls.
I know it must have pained her to lose her relationship with her father. Charles and Florence always tried to make amends with Great-Grandpa Paul. They even gave my dad the middle name of Paul, in the hopes that it would encourage him to have a relationship with his grandchildren. It didn't work. My father met Paul once. After that, Paul didn't want anything to do with his grandchildren. Isn't that sad???
My dad was really upset about this as an adult. He actually made us all promise never to use the name Paul for any of our kids! I can't really say I blame him. Ok, back to the story.
Meanwhile, his now-ex-wife, Belle, saw the grandkids rather frequently. She looked like your stereotypical granny -- white hair in a bun, glasses, floral print or black dress, sensible shoes and handbag. She died when her grandkids were very young, so my dad didn't remember her very well. All I know about her is what I see in the old photos.
In the end, Grandpa Charles and Grandma Florence had four children: David (who died when he was 2 days old because the doctor didn't clean out his nasal passages well enough--sad, I know), my dad, my Uncle G and my Aunt J. They moved around a little bit -- Erie, PA to Elkins, WV to Arlington, VA. Grandpa Charles was a forester and worked for the National Forestry Service. In other words, Grandma Florence never lived in the lap of luxury again. They barely made ends meet, and my dad grew up living in middle-class apartments, not a house like other kids.
I'll tell you more about my dad's childhood later. This post is getting too long, and I have a ton of stories about that.
Anyway, that's how my dad's parents met. And they remained deeply in love until the day they died! Aw.
Grandpa Belle (his name was Charles) was born in New York state, I believe. He had one sister (Dorothy, who I believe may still be alive somewhere in Florida, although I've never met her). When he was seven years old, his dad walked out on the family for unknown reasons. According to my Aunt J, this wasn't the worst thing that could have happened -- apparently he was a jerk anyway. I don't know any specifics about this situation, because my Aunt J refuses to elaborate. So it must be something awful. Maybe he was a wife beater or a bank robber. Who knows. Whatever the situation, he left his wife and kids destitute.
So from the age of 7 on, my Grandpa Charles was the breadwinner of the family. I don't know why his mother (Emma) couldn't get a job...maybe she did. If she did, it didn't pay much, because my grandpa had to work while he went to school. He managed to support his mother and sister while still doing very well in school. I have no idea how he did this. He did so well in school, in fact, that he received free tuition at Syracuse University.
Go Grandpa!!
So off he went to college. Unfortunately, the scholarship did not cover his room and board, so he had to get a job while he was a full-time college student, majoring in forestry of all things. So he began waiting tables at a restaurant.
I have no idea what Great-Grandma Emma and Great Aunt Dot did for money while he was at school. I need to ask my Aunt J. I guess Dot went to work. Last I heard, she was a redneck who lived in a trailer in Florida. I don't really know much about Dot. I don't even know if she's still alive. I do know that for the rest of his life, no matter how little, my Grandpa Charles always sent money home to his mother. Awww. See, he was a good son.
Meanwhile, my grandma Florence was also being raised in New York somewhere. She was an only child, born to Paul and (his first wife), Belle. The marriage broke up sometime after my grandma was born. I know someone cheated on the other, but I am not sure about who did it. So that's why Belle was the first wife. I'm sure this was extremely scandalous at the time, especially in their WASPy New England society! *shock and awe!*
(In case you haven't noticed, there are a lot of horrible girls' names on my father's side of the family, aside from Emma, which is a nice name. No offense to anyone with these names, but I think they are awful: Florence, Gertrude, Dorothy, Arabella, Prudence and -- I swear to God I am not making this up -- Eulella and Euphemia. WTF? Who hates their kids that much? We always joke that the name Euphemia sounds like a disease: "Yeah, I went to the doctor the other day. He told me I've got euphemia! I have six months to live!")
All joking aside, let's move on.
While Grandpa Charles grew up poor as a church mouse, my Grandma Flo grew up in the lap of luxury. She came from a long line of well-educated, socially distinguished WASPs. Her oldest ancestor actually came over on the Mayflower.
Now, it's not as cool as it sounds -- there are today millions of descendants from each Pilgrim that came over. You or someone you know is probably also related to a Pilgrim. I'm just trying to illustrate how freaking long my family has been in America.
So this is an old family we are talking about. Far different from my Grandpa Charles' family, who came over from Scotland in the comparatively modern decade of the 1740s.
At one point, Grandma Flo's grandfather (or was it her great-grandfather...??) was a dentist in New York City, which I think is super cool, because I think NYC is the coolest place ever. Several members of this branch of my family went to Yale, became professors, doctors and preachers -- that sort of thing. Her father was something in the medical field. I think he was a dentist also.
In short, she made my grandpa look like white trash. It's like one of those 1980s teen movies, where the head cheerleader ends up with that boy from "the wrong side of the tracks". But now I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm just trying to illustrate to you the differences in backgrounds between my grandparents. On paper, it's like, "What?? These two had anything in common??" But you'll see what I mean in a minute.
Grandma Flo also found herself at Syracuse in the early 1930s. She joined a sorority, which she soon discovered was full of lesbians, which didn't sit well with her, and so she dropped out, I think. (Weird, huh? Yeah, my Aunt J knows the coolest, most scandalous family stories! I love it!)
I have no idea what she majored in. Knowing her, she had no business being in college in the first place. Not because she was stupid. She was a sweet lady and I loved her, but dammit she was lazy! She would have been fired from any job she had! But I guess this is how you are when you're born with a silver spoon in your mouth, especially in that day and age -- she probably went to college to meet her future husband, not to chase a career.
I don't know how much of a catch she would have been. She never had to cook, clean, sew, work or do much of anything growing up. She didn't know how to do anything, because the servants had always done it. So it's a good thing my grandpa came along when he did, because she honestly couldn't feed herself, and we already know she couldn't have held a job. So the poor thing would have either lived in her mother's basement or simply died of malnourishment if it hadn't been for my grandpa. She was lucky she was attractive and very, very sweet. She was THE sweetest person you'd ever meet. Always affectionate and warm. I'm sure that's what my grandpa loved about her. I know that's what I liked about her. (She was the only grandparent I ever met.)
Speaking of malnourishment, one evening while at Syracuse, my grandma went with a girlfriend to a restaurant for dinner. (See? I told you she couldn't even feed herself.)
They were looking at their menus, trying to decide on what to order, when their waiter came over to greet them. His name was Charles. And that's how my grandparents met!
It was love at first sight for both of them-- we are talking puppy-dog pathetically in love, here -- and they planned on getting married once they graduated. They enjoyed dating all through college. I know they must have gone to some football games together, because I have seen the ticket stubs. (Yeah, I know. Who keeps college football ticket stubs from the 1930s? That would be my father, World's Biggest Pack Rat.) And I think they took a trip to the Finger Lakes or something, because there's a photo of them in their swimsuits. Aw. Cute, huh?
Too bad that Great-Grandpa Paul did not like his future son-in-law. Nevermind that Charles supported his sister and mother aaaaaall through school while still making such excellent grades that he got a free ride to Syracuse. Nevermind that Charles was totally in love with Florence. What was the problem? He wasn't rich.
Can you believe it? Just wait, it gets worse.
Great-Grandpa Paul disliked the idea of their marriage so much, he wrote her out of the will. His own and only daughter. His only child, in fact. What a jerk, huh? (If you have been paying attention, this same situation happened with my mother's parents -- weird coincidence. What was up with fathers boycotting their daughters' marriages back then? Sheesh!)
So Charles and Florence ended up eloping and having their honeymoon at Niagara Falls.
I know it must have pained her to lose her relationship with her father. Charles and Florence always tried to make amends with Great-Grandpa Paul. They even gave my dad the middle name of Paul, in the hopes that it would encourage him to have a relationship with his grandchildren. It didn't work. My father met Paul once. After that, Paul didn't want anything to do with his grandchildren. Isn't that sad???
My dad was really upset about this as an adult. He actually made us all promise never to use the name Paul for any of our kids! I can't really say I blame him. Ok, back to the story.
Meanwhile, his now-ex-wife, Belle, saw the grandkids rather frequently. She looked like your stereotypical granny -- white hair in a bun, glasses, floral print or black dress, sensible shoes and handbag. She died when her grandkids were very young, so my dad didn't remember her very well. All I know about her is what I see in the old photos.
In the end, Grandpa Charles and Grandma Florence had four children: David (who died when he was 2 days old because the doctor didn't clean out his nasal passages well enough--sad, I know), my dad, my Uncle G and my Aunt J. They moved around a little bit -- Erie, PA to Elkins, WV to Arlington, VA. Grandpa Charles was a forester and worked for the National Forestry Service. In other words, Grandma Florence never lived in the lap of luxury again. They barely made ends meet, and my dad grew up living in middle-class apartments, not a house like other kids.
I'll tell you more about my dad's childhood later. This post is getting too long, and I have a ton of stories about that.
Anyway, that's how my dad's parents met. And they remained deeply in love until the day they died! Aw.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Awkwardness
For the first time in my whole life, I am going to a significant other's parents' house for a holiday.
Yes, I am a loser. But that's not what this post is about.
And no, I am not freaking out about anything major. I have already met CN's parents, and I like them. And they like me. So that is good. I'm just nervous about the little stuff. The Czarina is not helping, either. The other evening, she called me.
VB: Hello?
C: Oh! It's loud. Are you out?
VB: Yes, Mom, I'm in a bar. What's up?
C: Are you with CN?
VB: Yes. We are eating dinner.
C: Um, ok. I just wanted to tell you something while I was thinking about it, because otherwise I'll forget.
VB: Ok. Shoot.
C: You're still going to CN's parents' house for Thanksgiving, right?
VB: Right. Is that ok?
C: Oh, sure, honey! That's totally fine. I know it's a pain to drive all the way up here, only to turn around two days later. You can just come home at Christmas.
VB: Ok. I'm glad you're not upset.
C: Oh, no. I just wanted to give you some advice.
VB: Ok.
C: When you go down there with CN, make sure you don't call him "Sweetie" or anything in front of his mother.
VB: [Trying not to laugh] I'm sorry. It's kind of loud in here. What did you say?
C: I just wanted to tell you not to call CN any little nicknames in front of his mother. It comes off as possessive.
VB: [Realizing there is no point in debating the validity of this statement, and it would be better to just go with it, because apparently, mother has smoked crack before picking up the phone.] Oh. Ok. Thanks, Mom!
C: You're welcome. I'll let you get back to your dinner. Love ya!
VB: Love you, too. Bye, Mom.
Ok, is anyone else totally confused about this advice? Because that was probably the strangest piece of advice she has EVER given to me. And I'm having a VERY hard time believing it. It sounds totally absurd. Who gives a fart if I call him "Schmoopie" or "Sugar Pie" or even "Love Bunny" in front of his mom?
I mean, do parents care about stuff like that? Or is my mother crazy? Because normally, her advice is very old-fashioned, which I can understand. Usually, I can see her point. It's never just plain crazy. This just made no sense to me at all. I could understand maybe, if his mother didn't like me, but she does. So I fail to see the meaning and importance of this advice. It's making me wonder if The Czarina is suffering from early-onset senility.
Maybe I'm just naive? Can anyone shed some light on this for me?
Funny side note: Right after I got off the phone with The Czarina, CN saw a friend of his in the bar. He introduced me, and the three of us started talking. Then the friend made a joke about how CN and I are going to have babies in "about 5 years". I laughed it off, but CN got TOTALLY flustered! It was so funny. I have never seen someone get so wigged out about a joke before in my life! He acted funny for the rest of the evening, and just couldn't seem to let it roll off his back. I mean, the joke put us on the spot, but there was no harm in it. I don't know why it bothered him so much. Can anyone explain this puzzling male behavior to me?
Ok, back to my Turkey Day Stress.
As if my mother's strange advice isn't making me TOO ill at ease, I have a bunch of other stuff that is stressing me out about Thanksgiving this year. My inner monologue goes something like this:
What if his parents' house smells funny? What if I don't like his mom's cooking? What if I have to meet other members of the family and they hate me? What if I get down there and his family is TOTALLY different than mine and we just don't mesh well? What if they get all dressed up for Thanksgiving?
(My family wears sweatshirts and jeans, because the Big Meal is always served mid-football marathon, and we are NOT about to wear church clothes to watch football games on tv!)
*Note to self: ask CN about appropriate Thanksgiving attire*
What if I have to go to church with them? I am weird about other people's churches. I never know where to go or what to do, and often feel guilty about "cheating". Which, at this point, is kind of stupid, because I have not been to church in about a year. I guess it's because I was raised Catholic. Although I'm not Catholic anymore, I still view my attending "other" churches as being sacriligious. I'm weird, I know. Heck, at this point, I could use ANY church! LOL I'm a heathen!
What if they don't like the pies I'm making? I will ruin Thanksgiving! (I am making a sweet potato pie, and I've never made one before. I'm worried I will mess it up.)
What if they eat weird food for Thanksgiving? Like squash or chitlins or goose or something? What if I don't want to eat anything except my own pies?
What if I want to watch different football games than they do? Or worse -- what if they don't watch the football games at all!?
What if I get homesick while I'm there and I start crying? (To make things really interesting, I am all hormonal and PMSy -- which means I cry about anything.) Or worse, what if Cranky, PMSy VB comes out and I bite someone's head off?! EEEK!!
What if something really awkward happens? Someone could bring up a personal topic, or CN and I could get into a fight. Or his parents could turn into MY parents, lecturing us to death. Ugh.
What if I get sick when I'm there? What if we start playing board games, like we do at The Czarina's, and I turn into Obnoxious Board Game VB, who plays for blood and screams at people?
Ugh. Ok, change of subject. I can feel my stomach twisting up. I need to chill, don't I? I'm being ridiculous. Everything will be fine. I could always just pop a vicodin -- Lord knows that always chills me out.
I'm kidding.
*Note to self: get prescription for Xanax.*
Does anyone have any advice for me? Because I've never done this before, and all I am imagining is that I will be like Sarah Jessica Parker's character in The Family Stone and it will be horrible horrible horrible. (By the way, if you have never seen that movie, it is hilarious!) My Overactive Imagination is having a field day right now. Pessimistically Paranoid is screaming and running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
Clearly, I need to talk to CN and get him to calm me the eff down. I swear, guys, this is the hormones talking. They make me crazy. Sorry if I'm being TMI today...
Why did I quit smoking again??? Gah, I'd kill for one right now.
So any advice is welcome. Tales of Warning are good, too. And if you have any funny or embarrassing stories, please share those, as well.
But mainly, I'm looking for an explanation of my mother's weird advice. Seriously, WTF??!
Yes, I am a loser. But that's not what this post is about.
And no, I am not freaking out about anything major. I have already met CN's parents, and I like them. And they like me. So that is good. I'm just nervous about the little stuff. The Czarina is not helping, either. The other evening, she called me.
VB: Hello?
C: Oh! It's loud. Are you out?
VB: Yes, Mom, I'm in a bar. What's up?
C: Are you with CN?
VB: Yes. We are eating dinner.
C: Um, ok. I just wanted to tell you something while I was thinking about it, because otherwise I'll forget.
VB: Ok. Shoot.
C: You're still going to CN's parents' house for Thanksgiving, right?
VB: Right. Is that ok?
C: Oh, sure, honey! That's totally fine. I know it's a pain to drive all the way up here, only to turn around two days later. You can just come home at Christmas.
VB: Ok. I'm glad you're not upset.
C: Oh, no. I just wanted to give you some advice.
VB: Ok.
C: When you go down there with CN, make sure you don't call him "Sweetie" or anything in front of his mother.
VB: [Trying not to laugh] I'm sorry. It's kind of loud in here. What did you say?
C: I just wanted to tell you not to call CN any little nicknames in front of his mother. It comes off as possessive.
VB: [Realizing there is no point in debating the validity of this statement, and it would be better to just go with it, because apparently, mother has smoked crack before picking up the phone.] Oh. Ok. Thanks, Mom!
C: You're welcome. I'll let you get back to your dinner. Love ya!
VB: Love you, too. Bye, Mom.
Ok, is anyone else totally confused about this advice? Because that was probably the strangest piece of advice she has EVER given to me. And I'm having a VERY hard time believing it. It sounds totally absurd. Who gives a fart if I call him "Schmoopie" or "Sugar Pie" or even "Love Bunny" in front of his mom?
I mean, do parents care about stuff like that? Or is my mother crazy? Because normally, her advice is very old-fashioned, which I can understand. Usually, I can see her point. It's never just plain crazy. This just made no sense to me at all. I could understand maybe, if his mother didn't like me, but she does. So I fail to see the meaning and importance of this advice. It's making me wonder if The Czarina is suffering from early-onset senility.
Maybe I'm just naive? Can anyone shed some light on this for me?
Funny side note: Right after I got off the phone with The Czarina, CN saw a friend of his in the bar. He introduced me, and the three of us started talking. Then the friend made a joke about how CN and I are going to have babies in "about 5 years". I laughed it off, but CN got TOTALLY flustered! It was so funny. I have never seen someone get so wigged out about a joke before in my life! He acted funny for the rest of the evening, and just couldn't seem to let it roll off his back. I mean, the joke put us on the spot, but there was no harm in it. I don't know why it bothered him so much. Can anyone explain this puzzling male behavior to me?
Ok, back to my Turkey Day Stress.
As if my mother's strange advice isn't making me TOO ill at ease, I have a bunch of other stuff that is stressing me out about Thanksgiving this year. My inner monologue goes something like this:
What if his parents' house smells funny? What if I don't like his mom's cooking? What if I have to meet other members of the family and they hate me? What if I get down there and his family is TOTALLY different than mine and we just don't mesh well? What if they get all dressed up for Thanksgiving?
(My family wears sweatshirts and jeans, because the Big Meal is always served mid-football marathon, and we are NOT about to wear church clothes to watch football games on tv!)
*Note to self: ask CN about appropriate Thanksgiving attire*
What if I have to go to church with them? I am weird about other people's churches. I never know where to go or what to do, and often feel guilty about "cheating". Which, at this point, is kind of stupid, because I have not been to church in about a year. I guess it's because I was raised Catholic. Although I'm not Catholic anymore, I still view my attending "other" churches as being sacriligious. I'm weird, I know. Heck, at this point, I could use ANY church! LOL I'm a heathen!
What if they don't like the pies I'm making? I will ruin Thanksgiving! (I am making a sweet potato pie, and I've never made one before. I'm worried I will mess it up.)
What if they eat weird food for Thanksgiving? Like squash or chitlins or goose or something? What if I don't want to eat anything except my own pies?
What if I want to watch different football games than they do? Or worse -- what if they don't watch the football games at all!?
What if I get homesick while I'm there and I start crying? (To make things really interesting, I am all hormonal and PMSy -- which means I cry about anything.) Or worse, what if Cranky, PMSy VB comes out and I bite someone's head off?! EEEK!!
What if something really awkward happens? Someone could bring up a personal topic, or CN and I could get into a fight. Or his parents could turn into MY parents, lecturing us to death. Ugh.
What if I get sick when I'm there? What if we start playing board games, like we do at The Czarina's, and I turn into Obnoxious Board Game VB, who plays for blood and screams at people?
Ugh. Ok, change of subject. I can feel my stomach twisting up. I need to chill, don't I? I'm being ridiculous. Everything will be fine. I could always just pop a vicodin -- Lord knows that always chills me out.
I'm kidding.
*Note to self: get prescription for Xanax.*
Does anyone have any advice for me? Because I've never done this before, and all I am imagining is that I will be like Sarah Jessica Parker's character in The Family Stone and it will be horrible horrible horrible. (By the way, if you have never seen that movie, it is hilarious!) My Overactive Imagination is having a field day right now. Pessimistically Paranoid is screaming and running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
Clearly, I need to talk to CN and get him to calm me the eff down. I swear, guys, this is the hormones talking. They make me crazy. Sorry if I'm being TMI today...
Why did I quit smoking again??? Gah, I'd kill for one right now.
So any advice is welcome. Tales of Warning are good, too. And if you have any funny or embarrassing stories, please share those, as well.
But mainly, I'm looking for an explanation of my mother's weird advice. Seriously, WTF??!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Stories of My Family, Part 1
I was talking about The Czarina's parents the other day, and realized I have never blogged about them. So here we go!
Let's do Grandpa John first. His parents met in a very interesting way. His dad (Thomas), the son of Irish immigrants, may or may not have immigrated to the U.S. illegally! You see, his parents came over after the Great Potato Famine, but settled at first in Canada. Then, things get a little fuzzy, and suddenly they are in Wisconsin, claiming to be natural-born U.S. Citizens on the census, which we know is not true. So we think there is some illegal border-crossing going on somewhere. Anyway, Thomas went to law school at the University of Wisconsin, after convincing them that he is also a U.S. Citizen, although we think he was born in Canada.
A few years later, he was on vacation from his job as a lawyer/businessman in Virginia. He decided to go to a resort in Hot Springs, Arkansas. At almost 50, it was well-believed by the family that he would just end up an old bachelor.
Meanwhile, a young lady named Mary Ellen was going on a trip. She and her sister and mother were leaving Ireland to go visit some relatives in Denver, Colorado. (They were actually going to visit James Denver, a distant cousin whom the city was named after -- cool, huh? Yeah, I have a Colorado connection!)
Ok, um...I just read that Wikipedia entry, and now I am not so sure they were actually going to Denver, or if they were just visiting Cousin Denver in Washington, DC...because apparently, after 1858, Cousin Denver only went to Denver for visits--he didn't live there anymore. And I know all of this took place after 1858.......hmmm.......will have to ask Czarina about that.
Sorry. Where was I? Oh yes.
Since it was a long trip, the women decided to take a break in -- you guessed it -- Hot Springs, Arkansas. They stayed at the same resort where Thomas was. Although she was half his age, it was love at first sight and they got married right away. Mary Ellen, her sister and her mother never went back to Ireland! They all moved with Mary Ellen and Thomas to Norfolk, Virginia. That branch of my family--the Irish branch-- is still there.
They had 4 kids. The 2nd one was my Grandpa John. Family legend states that John was very rascally and often in trouble with authority figures! He was not malicious or anything, just acting like little boys do. (I like to say that this behavior is genetic, as my brothers were also totally obnoxious children.)
Unfortunately for the family, the birth of the fourth and youngest child (a girl) did not go very well. Mary Ellen needed a blood transfusion. But this was before anyone really understood blood types--all they knew was that sometimes transfusions worked, and sometimes they didn't. It was a roll of the dice. And Mary Ellen apparently got the wrong kind of blood, and so she died soon afterwards. Everyone in the family took it very, very hard.
Sad, I know. But it's ok. If you have read Angela's Ashes, you know by now that the Irish race is full of sad stories. But sometimes they are happy and sometimes they are funny. Ok, back to the story.
Soon after Mary Ellen died, the 1929 stock market crash hit, and all of Thomas's investments and businesses went belly up. The financial ruin, combined with the sudden loss of his wife and the worries about raising 4 young children (when he was already so old) were too much for Thomas to handle, so he basically locked himself in a room and turned into an alcoholic.
Crap. This is sad again, I know! But this is my family, so I can't just make up stuff here. There are lots of Irish alcoholics in my family, unfortunately...as you will soon see....
Meanwhile, the kids were running amok because Thomas was too drunk to take care of them. And since there was no money, there were lots of unpaid bills. So their Aunt and Grandma stepped in and cared for the kids. They sent the boys to military school (which they hated) and the only daughter ended up being raised by the Aunt. Then Aunt and Grandma sold everything in the house to pay the bills. (The only things we have left from that house are a chair and a clock!) They even had to sell the house. Thomas ended up living in a hotel and dying in poverty, I believe. (Ugh, sorry this is so depressing guys...but Irish families rarely have happy stories.)
Ok, so meanwhile, my Grandpa John graduates from military school and moves back to Norfolk, where he becomes a soda jerk, moves into a boarding house with his brother* and proceeds to pursue his new favorite hobby: alcoholism. It was at this point when the Great Depression really kicked in. Talk about bad timing.
This is where it gets kinda foggy. Although Grandpa John eventually quit drinking, as you will see later on in my story, he was always ashamed of it and didn't like to talk about the Great Depression when he was basically wasted and unemployed for an entire decade. (Can you blame him?) All we know is that during the Great Depression, he was a hobo who rode the empty freight train cars and he spent some time in Chicago. During this time, he also discovered a passion: journalism. But that's all he ever told anyone.
I like to think, with my overactive imagination, that he was a member of 'Bugs' Moran's North Side Gang, which was an Irish gang involved in prostitution, racketeering and gambling rings and fought continuously with Al Capone's gang, culminating in the St. Valentine's Day Massacre.
But that is purely speculation.
And vehemently denied by my mother. Who apparently, has no imagination.
So who knows what my grandpa really did besides jump trains and drink cheap booze between 1929-1939. I guess I will never know. When WWII did break out, Grandpa John decided that putting himself at risk of death every day was worth it to have food in his mouth, so he went to join the military. Unfortunately, he was soon kicked out because he was drunk all the time. Oops. Now what?
Bad, I know. But it's ok. It gets better.
At any rate, thank goodness for World War II's effect on the U.S. economy, or else I may not be here today. Gramps probably would have ended up in a gutter somewhere, pulling a Jimmy Hendrix, asphyxiating on his own vomit or something.
But that didn't happen. What happened was, the U.S. entered WWII, and we needed to build some planes. A LOT of planes. That is when Boeing got a big-ass government contract and hired thousands of people to build planes at their huge building facilities in Washington state. It was sort of like an army base, only it was full of civilians who built airplanes. Lots of Rosie the Riveters.
They had so many employees (we are talking about 50,000 here) that it became necessary to have employee housing. Which means they will need schools, a hospital, grocery stores, and everything else a large group of people would need. Including a newspaper.
Grandpa John somehow managed to get a job with Boeing. He was in charge of the factory base's newspaper. And one day, he went over to the headquarters building to interview one of the Boeing Big Shots...........
Ok, that's all for today.
When does he meet Virginia? Does Grandpa John ever stop drinking alcohol? Or is VB's mother conceived in a drunken hook up? What happens on the interview? Stay tuned to see what happens next!!
* I actually just found this out recently, because I was geeking out in a genealogy database, and looked him up in the U.S. Census of 1930. I was so excited, I called The Czarina, who had no clue her dad had ever been a soda jerk, let alone rented an apt with his brother!
Let's do Grandpa John first. His parents met in a very interesting way. His dad (Thomas), the son of Irish immigrants, may or may not have immigrated to the U.S. illegally! You see, his parents came over after the Great Potato Famine, but settled at first in Canada. Then, things get a little fuzzy, and suddenly they are in Wisconsin, claiming to be natural-born U.S. Citizens on the census, which we know is not true. So we think there is some illegal border-crossing going on somewhere. Anyway, Thomas went to law school at the University of Wisconsin, after convincing them that he is also a U.S. Citizen, although we think he was born in Canada.
A few years later, he was on vacation from his job as a lawyer/businessman in Virginia. He decided to go to a resort in Hot Springs, Arkansas. At almost 50, it was well-believed by the family that he would just end up an old bachelor.
Meanwhile, a young lady named Mary Ellen was going on a trip. She and her sister and mother were leaving Ireland to go visit some relatives in Denver, Colorado. (They were actually going to visit James Denver, a distant cousin whom the city was named after -- cool, huh? Yeah, I have a Colorado connection!)
Ok, um...I just read that Wikipedia entry, and now I am not so sure they were actually going to Denver, or if they were just visiting Cousin Denver in Washington, DC...because apparently, after 1858, Cousin Denver only went to Denver for visits--he didn't live there anymore. And I know all of this took place after 1858.......hmmm.......will have to ask Czarina about that.
Sorry. Where was I? Oh yes.
Since it was a long trip, the women decided to take a break in -- you guessed it -- Hot Springs, Arkansas. They stayed at the same resort where Thomas was. Although she was half his age, it was love at first sight and they got married right away. Mary Ellen, her sister and her mother never went back to Ireland! They all moved with Mary Ellen and Thomas to Norfolk, Virginia. That branch of my family--the Irish branch-- is still there.
They had 4 kids. The 2nd one was my Grandpa John. Family legend states that John was very rascally and often in trouble with authority figures! He was not malicious or anything, just acting like little boys do. (I like to say that this behavior is genetic, as my brothers were also totally obnoxious children.)
Unfortunately for the family, the birth of the fourth and youngest child (a girl) did not go very well. Mary Ellen needed a blood transfusion. But this was before anyone really understood blood types--all they knew was that sometimes transfusions worked, and sometimes they didn't. It was a roll of the dice. And Mary Ellen apparently got the wrong kind of blood, and so she died soon afterwards. Everyone in the family took it very, very hard.
Sad, I know. But it's ok. If you have read Angela's Ashes, you know by now that the Irish race is full of sad stories. But sometimes they are happy and sometimes they are funny. Ok, back to the story.
Soon after Mary Ellen died, the 1929 stock market crash hit, and all of Thomas's investments and businesses went belly up. The financial ruin, combined with the sudden loss of his wife and the worries about raising 4 young children (when he was already so old) were too much for Thomas to handle, so he basically locked himself in a room and turned into an alcoholic.
Crap. This is sad again, I know! But this is my family, so I can't just make up stuff here. There are lots of Irish alcoholics in my family, unfortunately...as you will soon see....
Meanwhile, the kids were running amok because Thomas was too drunk to take care of them. And since there was no money, there were lots of unpaid bills. So their Aunt and Grandma stepped in and cared for the kids. They sent the boys to military school (which they hated) and the only daughter ended up being raised by the Aunt. Then Aunt and Grandma sold everything in the house to pay the bills. (The only things we have left from that house are a chair and a clock!) They even had to sell the house. Thomas ended up living in a hotel and dying in poverty, I believe. (Ugh, sorry this is so depressing guys...but Irish families rarely have happy stories.)
Ok, so meanwhile, my Grandpa John graduates from military school and moves back to Norfolk, where he becomes a soda jerk, moves into a boarding house with his brother* and proceeds to pursue his new favorite hobby: alcoholism. It was at this point when the Great Depression really kicked in. Talk about bad timing.
This is where it gets kinda foggy. Although Grandpa John eventually quit drinking, as you will see later on in my story, he was always ashamed of it and didn't like to talk about the Great Depression when he was basically wasted and unemployed for an entire decade. (Can you blame him?) All we know is that during the Great Depression, he was a hobo who rode the empty freight train cars and he spent some time in Chicago. During this time, he also discovered a passion: journalism. But that's all he ever told anyone.
I like to think, with my overactive imagination, that he was a member of 'Bugs' Moran's North Side Gang, which was an Irish gang involved in prostitution, racketeering and gambling rings and fought continuously with Al Capone's gang, culminating in the St. Valentine's Day Massacre.
But that is purely speculation.
And vehemently denied by my mother. Who apparently, has no imagination.
So who knows what my grandpa really did besides jump trains and drink cheap booze between 1929-1939. I guess I will never know. When WWII did break out, Grandpa John decided that putting himself at risk of death every day was worth it to have food in his mouth, so he went to join the military. Unfortunately, he was soon kicked out because he was drunk all the time. Oops. Now what?
Bad, I know. But it's ok. It gets better.
At any rate, thank goodness for World War II's effect on the U.S. economy, or else I may not be here today. Gramps probably would have ended up in a gutter somewhere, pulling a Jimmy Hendrix, asphyxiating on his own vomit or something.
But that didn't happen. What happened was, the U.S. entered WWII, and we needed to build some planes. A LOT of planes. That is when Boeing got a big-ass government contract and hired thousands of people to build planes at their huge building facilities in Washington state. It was sort of like an army base, only it was full of civilians who built airplanes. Lots of Rosie the Riveters.
They had so many employees (we are talking about 50,000 here) that it became necessary to have employee housing. Which means they will need schools, a hospital, grocery stores, and everything else a large group of people would need. Including a newspaper.
Grandpa John somehow managed to get a job with Boeing. He was in charge of the factory base's newspaper. And one day, he went over to the headquarters building to interview one of the Boeing Big Shots...........
Ok, that's all for today.
When does he meet Virginia? Does Grandpa John ever stop drinking alcohol? Or is VB's mother conceived in a drunken hook up? What happens on the interview? Stay tuned to see what happens next!!
* I actually just found this out recently, because I was geeking out in a genealogy database, and looked him up in the U.S. Census of 1930. I was so excited, I called The Czarina, who had no clue her dad had ever been a soda jerk, let alone rented an apt with his brother!
Monday, November 12, 2007
Quiz Answers
Alright, people. Let's go over the quiz answers before I announce the winner.
1. I have never been to California. I have never been west of Kansas, actually.
2. I have a seriously difficult time avoiding shoe sales or the makeup counters.
3. I have never been a telemarketer, because I hate telemarketers. If you answered this one incorrectly, perhaps you need to read this post.
4. My dogs are Boston Terriers. In case you don't know what that kind of dog looks like, here is a pic of my Sammy. And my boobs:
Now that you have seen my boobs, I don't want any whining about the lack of boobage on this blog.
5. I drive a piece-of-shit Pontiac. True to form, it is currently in the shop. As soon as I find a ride to the mechanic's after work, I can have my stupid car back (oh, the joy) for a measly $160. It's still cheaper than a car payment, I guess...
6. Not very many people got this one -- The name "Virginia Belle" is one of the nicknames my dad used to call me. That's where I got the name. NOT from the nudie girl. Major props to peeps who got this -- it has been mentioned a whopping ONE time in this blog's history. Gold stars for you!
7. Ok, ok, this was kind of a trick question. Do I like camping? Do I like the beach? No, and yes, respectively. But I would rather go to NYC than anywhere in the whole world. Yes, even Italy, which is something I never thought I'd say. Very few people got this one, either. So don't feel badly if you missed it.
8. I spent my undergrads at Indiana (Go Hoosiers!!) and then went to South Carolina for library school (so, yes, if you are a librarian, that means you did indeed go to grad school).
9. I eat the same thing for breakfast pretty much every morning. I am weird. I can play Tetris, Scattergories and Taboo for days on end. I am obsessive. I break out into a cold sweat when presented with brown crickets, diving or heights. I am a wuss. So that leaves A) I am a librarian and I love it. I cannot imagine doing anything else. NOT!!!!
10. And yes, I have dated a guy with three balls, a jerk who ate half my dinner and a guy who ended up being gay. Please, hold your applause. *takes a bow* And this may/may not have been a flawed question, as I cannot find any evidence in previous posts about the gay guy I dated in college. So if you were scratching your head on that one, my bad. I don't think I mentioned it. If you want the whole story, remind me to post it. My friends IRL (in real life) probably all know it, because they like to laugh at me, and this is a good factoid for that purpose.
So if you took the quiz (there were 27 of you, which makes me happy, because that is my favorite number), I am saying "Thank you! You are cool!" But I'm sure you are thinking, "Shut up and tell us who won!"
To which I reply: MJ cheated and signed up her dog to take the quiz, so that she could take it a second time, because she didn't get 100% the first time around. So actually, the winner of the quiz, with a perfect score of 100 is: Tater.
Don't let that face fool you -- he has an amazing ability to listen and remember things. And although he has never seen me naked, I'm sure he is rather ambivalent about the opportunity. He has already seen what I look like, although probably not well, since he has an eye condition. Naked pics or PG-rated pics would probably be the same to him. So unfortunately for my readers, my fractionally-anonymous clothed and/or nekkid body will remain internet-proofed. Um, as far as I know, anyway.
I had a good weekend, aside from my car acting up. The dashboard light lit up again. It says "Service Engine Soon" but it might as well say "You Drive a Piece of Shit". Anyway, it's fixed now, and waiting on me to go shell out $160 to pay for the "stuck open thermostat" which may be mechanic-speak for "my kid's braces". Ugh. How the hell can replacing one dinky thermostat cost so damn much?? I can buy a thermometer from the drugstore for about $5.00 -- cant' they just use that? I guess I should stop complaining. Normally, my repairs are about $300.
Let's move on, shall we? Ok. I'm trying to focus on the upside: CN is picking me up after work today to take me to go get my car. Aw, what a good boyfriend!! +500 points.
Speaking of him, he is involved in the highlight of my weekend. Without this highlight, my weekend would have been nothing but lazy slothdom: watching movies, eating candy, baking, cooking, board games, shopping, napping.....*yawn!*
Where was I? Oh yes. On Saturday, I went with CN to go meet up with his parents for lunch. We met each other halfway in-between Columbia (where CN and I are) and Barnwell (where CN's parents are). I am referring to the metropolis that is Neeses, SC. (Nudie pic for anyone reading this who has actually been to Neeses, SC -- pending evidentiary proof, of course.)
So we meet up in Neeses for lunch. Which is difficult to do, considering Neeses (pop. 407) is so small that there AREN'T any restaurants. Not even fast food ones. At first look, this might seem to be a stumbling block in our plans, but we do have a solitary dining choice: the grocery store.
Oh yes, you read that correctly. The Piggly-Wiggly in Neeses, SC has a built-in restaurant. They have fantastic soft serve ice cream! They serve breakfast, even! They have nightly specials! And senior citizen discounts! And greasy, laminated menus! And tables that are 25% smaller than they should be! As if this isn't enough, here is the kicker:
If you go to the meat department, and pick out something you want to eat (whether it's a steak or 20 chicken wings or 1 lb of ground beef), you can take it into the restaurant, and they will cook it for you AND give you a choice of baked potato or french fries for only an additional charge of...........drumroll, please...........$1.88!!!
This is, according to CN's dad, THE. COOLEST.THING. EVER. Which cracks me up, because my dad would have thought it was the coolest thing ever.
So we go to the meat department, and everyone selects a steak except me.
"Um, I'm kind of in the mood for a burger. They have burgers, right?" I mumbled sheepishly.
All three of them stopped dead, holding packages of raw meat in their hands. They turned to look at me in unison, shocked and awed that I am not rummaging through the steaks.
"But you can pick anything you want! Anything! And they will cook it!" said CN's dad, astonished.
"Oh, come on now, getcha a steak," said CN's mom.
"It's only $1.88, what's wrong with you?" said CN, teasingly.
"I'm just.....in the mood for a burger....is that ok?" I asked.
"Oh, but getcha a steak, now, come on," said his mom.
"You don't want a steak?" continued his dad, still amazed that I would want to eat something other than a steak. The man was seriously shocked, y'all. It was almost as if I'd told him I honestly believed the world was flat.
"But I don't want a steak. Am I allowed to get something other than a steak?" I whispered to CN.
"Of course you are. We just always get steaks. You can get a burger, too. But just pick up a steak. It will make my dad feel better," CN explained.
"You can take it home with you, it's no big deal. Just get both," his mother explained, under her breath.
As soon as I grabbed a steak, CN's dad seemed to feel a lot better. So when we ordered, I got a cheeseburger in addition to my steak.
Now, you might be thinking this is a really strange interaction. Why are three people telling a 28 year old woman what she should eat for lunch? That's absurd. And you would be correct in your beliefs. But I was strangely comforted by their insistence. Why? Because my father used to do the SAME THING to all of us when we were growing up. From the time I was in diapers, I would have to listen to his comments every time I ate:
"You're eating that? When we have leftover turkey? Oh, you should go get some of that turkey."
"Don't you want to put some pepper on that? You really should put some pepper on it."
"You're eating that all wrong. You can't put maple syrup on that. No one puts maple syrup on that. What's wrong with you? You are ruining it by putting maple syrup on it."
So I am used to having people tell me what I should eat/not eat and how to eat it "properly". I am also used to ignoring them and eating what I damn well please. :)
My dad died almost three years ago. I miss his food criticism. It was nice to hear it from someone. I like CN's parents. They are a lot like mine.
1. I have never been to California. I have never been west of Kansas, actually.
2. I have a seriously difficult time avoiding shoe sales or the makeup counters.
3. I have never been a telemarketer, because I hate telemarketers. If you answered this one incorrectly, perhaps you need to read this post.
4. My dogs are Boston Terriers. In case you don't know what that kind of dog looks like, here is a pic of my Sammy. And my boobs:
Now that you have seen my boobs, I don't want any whining about the lack of boobage on this blog.5. I drive a piece-of-shit Pontiac. True to form, it is currently in the shop. As soon as I find a ride to the mechanic's after work, I can have my stupid car back (oh, the joy) for a measly $160. It's still cheaper than a car payment, I guess...
6. Not very many people got this one -- The name "Virginia Belle" is one of the nicknames my dad used to call me. That's where I got the name. NOT from the nudie girl. Major props to peeps who got this -- it has been mentioned a whopping ONE time in this blog's history. Gold stars for you!
7. Ok, ok, this was kind of a trick question. Do I like camping? Do I like the beach? No, and yes, respectively. But I would rather go to NYC than anywhere in the whole world. Yes, even Italy, which is something I never thought I'd say. Very few people got this one, either. So don't feel badly if you missed it.
8. I spent my undergrads at Indiana (Go Hoosiers!!) and then went to South Carolina for library school (so, yes, if you are a librarian, that means you did indeed go to grad school).
9. I eat the same thing for breakfast pretty much every morning. I am weird. I can play Tetris, Scattergories and Taboo for days on end. I am obsessive. I break out into a cold sweat when presented with brown crickets, diving or heights. I am a wuss. So that leaves A) I am a librarian and I love it. I cannot imagine doing anything else. NOT!!!!
10. And yes, I have dated a guy with three balls, a jerk who ate half my dinner and a guy who ended up being gay. Please, hold your applause. *takes a bow* And this may/may not have been a flawed question, as I cannot find any evidence in previous posts about the gay guy I dated in college. So if you were scratching your head on that one, my bad. I don't think I mentioned it. If you want the whole story, remind me to post it. My friends IRL (in real life) probably all know it, because they like to laugh at me, and this is a good factoid for that purpose.
So if you took the quiz (there were 27 of you, which makes me happy, because that is my favorite number), I am saying "Thank you! You are cool!" But I'm sure you are thinking, "Shut up and tell us who won!"
To which I reply: MJ cheated and signed up her dog to take the quiz, so that she could take it a second time, because she didn't get 100% the first time around. So actually, the winner of the quiz, with a perfect score of 100 is: Tater.
Don't let that face fool you -- he has an amazing ability to listen and remember things. And although he has never seen me naked, I'm sure he is rather ambivalent about the opportunity. He has already seen what I look like, although probably not well, since he has an eye condition. Naked pics or PG-rated pics would probably be the same to him. So unfortunately for my readers, my fractionally-anonymous clothed and/or nekkid body will remain internet-proofed. Um, as far as I know, anyway.
I had a good weekend, aside from my car acting up. The dashboard light lit up again. It says "Service Engine Soon" but it might as well say "You Drive a Piece of Shit". Anyway, it's fixed now, and waiting on me to go shell out $160 to pay for the "stuck open thermostat" which may be mechanic-speak for "my kid's braces". Ugh. How the hell can replacing one dinky thermostat cost so damn much?? I can buy a thermometer from the drugstore for about $5.00 -- cant' they just use that? I guess I should stop complaining. Normally, my repairs are about $300.
Let's move on, shall we? Ok. I'm trying to focus on the upside: CN is picking me up after work today to take me to go get my car. Aw, what a good boyfriend!! +500 points.
Speaking of him, he is involved in the highlight of my weekend. Without this highlight, my weekend would have been nothing but lazy slothdom: watching movies, eating candy, baking, cooking, board games, shopping, napping.....*yawn!*
Where was I? Oh yes. On Saturday, I went with CN to go meet up with his parents for lunch. We met each other halfway in-between Columbia (where CN and I are) and Barnwell (where CN's parents are). I am referring to the metropolis that is Neeses, SC. (Nudie pic for anyone reading this who has actually been to Neeses, SC -- pending evidentiary proof, of course.)
So we meet up in Neeses for lunch. Which is difficult to do, considering Neeses (pop. 407) is so small that there AREN'T any restaurants. Not even fast food ones. At first look, this might seem to be a stumbling block in our plans, but we do have a solitary dining choice: the grocery store.
Oh yes, you read that correctly. The Piggly-Wiggly in Neeses, SC has a built-in restaurant. They have fantastic soft serve ice cream! They serve breakfast, even! They have nightly specials! And senior citizen discounts! And greasy, laminated menus! And tables that are 25% smaller than they should be! As if this isn't enough, here is the kicker:
If you go to the meat department, and pick out something you want to eat (whether it's a steak or 20 chicken wings or 1 lb of ground beef), you can take it into the restaurant, and they will cook it for you AND give you a choice of baked potato or french fries for only an additional charge of...........drumroll, please...........$1.88!!!
This is, according to CN's dad, THE. COOLEST.THING. EVER. Which cracks me up, because my dad would have thought it was the coolest thing ever.
So we go to the meat department, and everyone selects a steak except me.
"Um, I'm kind of in the mood for a burger. They have burgers, right?" I mumbled sheepishly.
All three of them stopped dead, holding packages of raw meat in their hands. They turned to look at me in unison, shocked and awed that I am not rummaging through the steaks.
"But you can pick anything you want! Anything! And they will cook it!" said CN's dad, astonished.
"Oh, come on now, getcha a steak," said CN's mom.
"It's only $1.88, what's wrong with you?" said CN, teasingly.
"I'm just.....in the mood for a burger....is that ok?" I asked.
"Oh, but getcha a steak, now, come on," said his mom.
"You don't want a steak?" continued his dad, still amazed that I would want to eat something other than a steak. The man was seriously shocked, y'all. It was almost as if I'd told him I honestly believed the world was flat.
"But I don't want a steak. Am I allowed to get something other than a steak?" I whispered to CN.
"Of course you are. We just always get steaks. You can get a burger, too. But just pick up a steak. It will make my dad feel better," CN explained.
"You can take it home with you, it's no big deal. Just get both," his mother explained, under her breath.
As soon as I grabbed a steak, CN's dad seemed to feel a lot better. So when we ordered, I got a cheeseburger in addition to my steak.
Now, you might be thinking this is a really strange interaction. Why are three people telling a 28 year old woman what she should eat for lunch? That's absurd. And you would be correct in your beliefs. But I was strangely comforted by their insistence. Why? Because my father used to do the SAME THING to all of us when we were growing up. From the time I was in diapers, I would have to listen to his comments every time I ate:
"You're eating that? When we have leftover turkey? Oh, you should go get some of that turkey."
"Don't you want to put some pepper on that? You really should put some pepper on it."
"You're eating that all wrong. You can't put maple syrup on that. No one puts maple syrup on that. What's wrong with you? You are ruining it by putting maple syrup on it."
So I am used to having people tell me what I should eat/not eat and how to eat it "properly". I am also used to ignoring them and eating what I damn well please. :)
My dad died almost three years ago. I miss his food criticism. It was nice to hear it from someone. I like CN's parents. They are a lot like mine.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Different Planets
CN and I have a lot in common, so it's always surprising when we have little moments when we just don't understand each other.
Example #1:
I made CN some brownies. A couple days later, he called me about them.
CN: Hey, um...should I keep the brownies in the fridge? Will they go bad if I leave them on the countertop?
VB: I don't understand. What do you mean? Like, you haven't finished them yet?
CN: Heck, no! I've only had about three.
*Very long pause.*
VB: Um....well......I don't know. I've never had brownies last that long before. At my house, they are gone in about 4 hours. So I don't know if brownies can go bad. I guess keep them in the fridge. I dunno.
Example #2:
I have just finished telling about 8 family stories to CN.
VB: I'm sorry. I'm hogging the conversation. Tell me some stories about your family.
CN: No, it's fine! They are really interesting. But um...I don't really have any family stories to share. How do you know so much about your family?
VB: Uh...because when we all get together, we just re-tell the same few stories over and over again. I've heard all this stuff since I was in diapers. You don't tell family stories when you all get together? What else is there to talk about?
CN: Um......I dunno.
*Long pause on both our parts. Lots of blinking. He's wondering why his family doesn't do that, and I'm flabbergasted that they don't.*
Example #3:
CN: Hey, do you want to come to my parents' house for Thanksgiving?
VB: Sure! I gotta check with my mom, though. She may not be cool with this idea. She always tells us that until we get married, we have to spend all holidays with her. But I'll see. Your mom's probably a really good cook, huh?
CN: Ooooooh yeah she is. She makes turkey, stuffing, pie, green bean casserole, sweet potato casserole--
VB: Did you say 'sweet potato casserole'?
CN: Yeah.
VB: Ohmygod, I LOVE sweet potato casserole. And I have been lobbying at Mom's house to get her to make it, and she won't do it. We never eat sweet potatoes there.
CN: You......don't? Eat? Sweet potatoes?? *extremely confused expression*
Speaking of which......I need to tell you some family stories! And post some recipes! Woo Hoo! I can feel the writer's block melting away!!! I might post again later today....
Have you taken my quiz yet??? Look at yesterday's post! The winner gets a PRIZE!!
Example #1:
I made CN some brownies. A couple days later, he called me about them.
CN: Hey, um...should I keep the brownies in the fridge? Will they go bad if I leave them on the countertop?
VB: I don't understand. What do you mean? Like, you haven't finished them yet?
CN: Heck, no! I've only had about three.
*Very long pause.*
VB: Um....well......I don't know. I've never had brownies last that long before. At my house, they are gone in about 4 hours. So I don't know if brownies can go bad. I guess keep them in the fridge. I dunno.
Example #2:
I have just finished telling about 8 family stories to CN.
VB: I'm sorry. I'm hogging the conversation. Tell me some stories about your family.
CN: No, it's fine! They are really interesting. But um...I don't really have any family stories to share. How do you know so much about your family?
VB: Uh...because when we all get together, we just re-tell the same few stories over and over again. I've heard all this stuff since I was in diapers. You don't tell family stories when you all get together? What else is there to talk about?
CN: Um......I dunno.
*Long pause on both our parts. Lots of blinking. He's wondering why his family doesn't do that, and I'm flabbergasted that they don't.*
Example #3:
CN: Hey, do you want to come to my parents' house for Thanksgiving?
VB: Sure! I gotta check with my mom, though. She may not be cool with this idea. She always tells us that until we get married, we have to spend all holidays with her. But I'll see. Your mom's probably a really good cook, huh?
CN: Ooooooh yeah she is. She makes turkey, stuffing, pie, green bean casserole, sweet potato casserole--
VB: Did you say 'sweet potato casserole'?
CN: Yeah.
VB: Ohmygod, I LOVE sweet potato casserole. And I have been lobbying at Mom's house to get her to make it, and she won't do it. We never eat sweet potatoes there.
CN: You......don't? Eat? Sweet potatoes?? *extremely confused expression*
Speaking of which......I need to tell you some family stories! And post some recipes! Woo Hoo! I can feel the writer's block melting away!!! I might post again later today....
Have you taken my quiz yet??? Look at yesterday's post! The winner gets a PRIZE!!
Monday, November 05, 2007
Miss Goldilocks
So much for posting every day this month. Totally forgot to post this weekend. Oops. Not like my weekend was ultra-exciting. Although, it had its moments, as you will see.
Friday night I did this. In heels. Not one of my better ideas, considering we ended up walking about a mile. By the end, I was a whiny, hobbling, pathetic fashion victim. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. You would think that since I did the tour a couple of years ago, I would remember how much walking was involved. But alas, that is giving me too much credit. Anyway, if they have a ghost tour where you are, (and according to Google, they are everywhere) I highly recommend going on one. It's full of history and urban legends. Very fun and different way to spend a couple of hours.
Then CN and I ate dinner here. I highly recommend the White Pizza. Mmmm...the cool thing is, they use whole wheat flour and low-fat cheese, so the pizzas aren't as bad for you. And you'd never know it! It's delicious!
Saturday, we had breakfast at Cracker Barrel, which was so exciting because they have hashbrown casserole AND blueberry pancakes (my all-time favorite breakfast food). If you live on the West Coast, I don't think you have Cracker Barrels, but that's ok. It's worth driving for. Man oh man, do they have good food!!! Plus, they have a cool store you can browse in while you wait for a table.
Then we ran errands and went to the mall. I made us some dinner, and then we watched the USC-Arkansas game. (And no, I don't want to talk about it. It stings.)
Titillating thus far, huh? I know you are all on the edge of your seats right now, so I will chug ahead to Sunday. :P
That afternoon, I went to Wal-Mart, and I saw a veeeeeeeerrrry interesting lady. At least, I think it was a lady. Picture in your mind: Tammy Faye Baker and a transvestite had a love child. Only the love child is in her late 60s. With frizzy platinum hair. And wearing the following outfit:
gold sequin newsboy cap
sparkly gold sweater
large gold hoop earrings
gold necklaces weighing about 10 pounds -- the woman had on the Mr. T starter kit, I swear!
6 or 7 (you guessed it) gold rings
gold satin sash tied around her waist as a belt
gold cigarette pants, stopping just shy of her ankles
(surprise, surprise) gold satin pumps
18 pounds of makeup, complete with fuchsia lipstick
Normally, I am able to control myself when faced with such odd people. But this lady was something else. I couldn't help but stare. Which is apparently what she wanted from everyone.
"Holy shit!" I mumbled to myself as I walked past her.
The Wal-Mart worker nearby giggled. Oops. Me and my big mouth. Too loud!
Then, I had a 2nd scare. You see, Miss Goldilocks wasn't pushing her own cart. Oh no. She doesn't "do" that. It might mess up her (presumably) gold-painted acrylic nails. She had a young girl with her to push the cart.
"Come along, Millie, push the cart over here!" is what I believe she said to the little girl. I looked over to see a beautiful little girl pushing the cart of Miss Goldilocks. She looked like she had just left ballerina class. Aw.
Now this poor thing, I assume it was her granddaughter -- or great-granddaughter, there's no telling what all that makeup is preserving -- was, at about age 11, already exhibiting traits of a future Miss Goldilocks. Her hair was pale blond, put up into an elegant bun, and her eyebrows were perfectly plucked.
I wanted to grab her and shake her and yell, "Good God! What is she doing to you??!? Don't you know little girls don't pluck their eyebrows?!!! Now, hurry! Run! Get out of here and away from her as fast as you can!! I'll cover for you! GO!!!"
But unfortunately for the little girl, I am neither that impulsive nor interfering. I shook my head and continued on with my shopping. And smiled to myself when I noticed aaaaaaall the other shoppers staring at this crazy woman, too.
I only have two regrets, really, about this whole encounter.
1. I didn't take any pictures -- it SUCKS when you see things like this and you are alone, huh?
2. I didn't look in her cart to see what she was buying. But I bet there was a big ol' vat of cold cream in there!
I wanted to take a picture so badly, but we were in such close proximity, I would have exposed myself. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. But MAN, that was such a blog-worthy moment!
I can't wait to go to Wal-Mart next Sunday. I wonder who will be there this time!!
Friday night I did this. In heels. Not one of my better ideas, considering we ended up walking about a mile. By the end, I was a whiny, hobbling, pathetic fashion victim. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. You would think that since I did the tour a couple of years ago, I would remember how much walking was involved. But alas, that is giving me too much credit. Anyway, if they have a ghost tour where you are, (and according to Google, they are everywhere) I highly recommend going on one. It's full of history and urban legends. Very fun and different way to spend a couple of hours.
Then CN and I ate dinner here. I highly recommend the White Pizza. Mmmm...the cool thing is, they use whole wheat flour and low-fat cheese, so the pizzas aren't as bad for you. And you'd never know it! It's delicious!
Saturday, we had breakfast at Cracker Barrel, which was so exciting because they have hashbrown casserole AND blueberry pancakes (my all-time favorite breakfast food). If you live on the West Coast, I don't think you have Cracker Barrels, but that's ok. It's worth driving for. Man oh man, do they have good food!!! Plus, they have a cool store you can browse in while you wait for a table.
Then we ran errands and went to the mall. I made us some dinner, and then we watched the USC-Arkansas game. (And no, I don't want to talk about it. It stings.)
Titillating thus far, huh? I know you are all on the edge of your seats right now, so I will chug ahead to Sunday. :P
That afternoon, I went to Wal-Mart, and I saw a veeeeeeeerrrry interesting lady. At least, I think it was a lady. Picture in your mind: Tammy Faye Baker and a transvestite had a love child. Only the love child is in her late 60s. With frizzy platinum hair. And wearing the following outfit:
gold sequin newsboy cap
sparkly gold sweater
large gold hoop earrings
gold necklaces weighing about 10 pounds -- the woman had on the Mr. T starter kit, I swear!
6 or 7 (you guessed it) gold rings
gold satin sash tied around her waist as a belt
gold cigarette pants, stopping just shy of her ankles
(surprise, surprise) gold satin pumps
18 pounds of makeup, complete with fuchsia lipstick
Normally, I am able to control myself when faced with such odd people. But this lady was something else. I couldn't help but stare. Which is apparently what she wanted from everyone.
"Holy shit!" I mumbled to myself as I walked past her.
The Wal-Mart worker nearby giggled. Oops. Me and my big mouth. Too loud!
Then, I had a 2nd scare. You see, Miss Goldilocks wasn't pushing her own cart. Oh no. She doesn't "do" that. It might mess up her (presumably) gold-painted acrylic nails. She had a young girl with her to push the cart.
"Come along, Millie, push the cart over here!" is what I believe she said to the little girl. I looked over to see a beautiful little girl pushing the cart of Miss Goldilocks. She looked like she had just left ballerina class. Aw.
Now this poor thing, I assume it was her granddaughter -- or great-granddaughter, there's no telling what all that makeup is preserving -- was, at about age 11, already exhibiting traits of a future Miss Goldilocks. Her hair was pale blond, put up into an elegant bun, and her eyebrows were perfectly plucked.
I wanted to grab her and shake her and yell, "Good God! What is she doing to you??!? Don't you know little girls don't pluck their eyebrows?!!! Now, hurry! Run! Get out of here and away from her as fast as you can!! I'll cover for you! GO!!!"
But unfortunately for the little girl, I am neither that impulsive nor interfering. I shook my head and continued on with my shopping. And smiled to myself when I noticed aaaaaaall the other shoppers staring at this crazy woman, too.
I only have two regrets, really, about this whole encounter.
1. I didn't take any pictures -- it SUCKS when you see things like this and you are alone, huh?
2. I didn't look in her cart to see what she was buying. But I bet there was a big ol' vat of cold cream in there!
I wanted to take a picture so badly, but we were in such close proximity, I would have exposed myself. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. But MAN, that was such a blog-worthy moment!
I can't wait to go to Wal-Mart next Sunday. I wonder who will be there this time!!
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