Post graduation plans

So I graduated. It seems odd to me that one marks the occasion of pomp and circumstance with goofy garb. There’s nothing more enlightening or intelligent than completing four years of higher education than being handed a cape and ridiculous hat and being paraded around cheering spectators. Is the costume just to differentiate the graduates from the audience? Is that how they keep people from sneaking in line and receiving a diploma? Crappy polyester is the thread that’s separating the masses?

I’ll let you in on a little secret. I didn’t buy my graduation attire. I wisely reused Chris’ from his graduation last year. I figured that there aren’t too many fashion strides in graduation gowns and mortarboards – no flashy stripes or asymmetrical designs or exposed zippers – so I figured we were safe. He graduated with honors, too, so I was even able to use his honors stole. Original purchase price:$75. $75! My wedding dress was only $99 and they were both worn the same amount of time. Lesson learned.

So we’ve now saved $70 (I had to buy a current tassel because that’s just tacky to wear 2012) but I figured I could get even more wear out of the purchase. I can’t very well go around bragging to everyone, “By the way, I’m a college graduate. I graduated smarty cum laude.” I thought about wearing a sign, but there’s the risk of no spell check.

I thought I’d be more subtle in the advertisement of my education and simply incorporate my cap, gown, tassel, and stole into my everyday lifestyle. What better way to inspire young children to go to college than to let them know they get a really cool costume at the end of it all? It’s comfy enough for everyday activities yet regal enough to be taken seriously.

I can eat breakfast.

I can walk the dog.

I can play with the kids.

See that? That's serious fun. Or creepy because the Grim Reaper is always in the background.

Need a painting smock? Graduation gown. Need an extra house coat? Graduation gown. The possibilities are endless. That’s college level thinking right there. I have a degree to prove it.

If it's not one thing, it's another

Public places are usually safe to drop bombshells, break up with people, make Craigslist transactions. You generally have a captive audience because what else are you going to do besides talk to your family members in line? 

Sadie (waiting in line to save 16,000% at Kohl's): "I really want to be a big sister."

Me (just wanting to clothe the two we have): "Hmmm...is there anything else you'd like BETTER than a little brother or sister?"

Sadie (easily convinced): "Well, I did want that snow cone machine. That was only $12 dollars versus...$5,000."

Good call. One snow cone machine coming right up.

I'm not sure from whence this request comes. We've given them a tiny pointless dog named Penny who will gladly pee when sad, scared, terrified, happy, or excited. We eat dinner together every. single. night. after I've stood on my feet for an hour and prepared gourmet meals whatever Aldi had. We have a house with furniture and a heating/cooling system with running water. It even has hot AND cold water. WHY DO THEY NEED MORE THAN THAT? I'm not sure where the need for procreation comes into play. What's that thought process like?  [cue harp music]

"You know what I would really like? More chaos. And perhaps some frenzied neglect. Lots of noise. Lack of privacy. More people to fight with. I need another sibling. Moooooooommmmm?"

Maybe this whole conversation was just a ploy to get a snow cone machine. Well played, Sadie. Well played.

Post No. 634: How to successfully complete your child's homework

I figure since I'm done with school, I need to validate myself through someone else's homework. Maybe Public School knows of my parenting skills and has given us an assignment on which we are supposed to follow through to deem ourselves worthy of raising small chirren. Challenge accepted, Public School.

In one of Sadie's classes, she was given the project (an annual tradition apparently) of the Fashion Trashion Show. I love fashion. I also love other people's trash. Clearly this project was made for me Sadie. Her idea was to make a costume like that of winged Ethiopian goddess Isis with things around the house, "trash" if you will. Now, I tuned out for all of the lessons on mythology in grades 1 through 12, so I don't know an Isis from an icicle. I do, however, know something about taking over projects and bossing people around. It's called Parenting.

We grabbed some things from the yard sale leftovers to create our Frankenstein ensemble of sorts. I We cut apart two tops and put them together and cut off the top of a skirt and added that to the bottom. 

Me (now doing all the work): "What are you going to do for the wings?"

Sadie (giving up? trying to take control?): "I was going to use newspaper."

Me (seeing it through to the end): "No, that won't work. We'll use this top because it's so thin. You can cut the arms off this other shirt to make wristbands and we'll attach the wings to the wrist bands so it goes along the length of your arm like wings. It's going to be awesome. You'll want to be just like me when you grow up."

Sadie (probably just wanting to watch TV): "Okay."

Seriously. I have good ideas. One day you'll see.

After Sadie went to bed, I proceeded to spill coffee all over the table, floor, and wings of her costume while sewing the body together.

Allison: "YOU'RE GOING TO SEW IT?"

Me: "How else are you supposed to do it?"

Allison: "I made it out of a trash bag."

Ah, yes, that would have been easier. As I'm sewing her costume together at 9 p.m. while she's in bed, I realized that I don't have to do great work to make it LOOK like she did it. If you've got alcohol handy, you can make anything look like an 8 year old put it together. Or just close your eyes and plug along. Sew, paint, write, draw, bake. Whatever job you have to do for your elementary-aged child, do it to the least of your ability so they get all the credit.

Teacher (imagining how it all goes down at school): "This looks great, Sadie! I like how everything looks like you put it together without any adult supervision."

I don't know if I should be glad or offended. We'll see when the grade comes back.

It's my money and I want it now

I went to Ross this afternoon for lunch to look for some pretty shoes because it’s what I do. As I was walking in, there was a little girl about 4 or 5 clutching a handful of dollar bills. She was trying to convince her mom that she wanted to buy this “special candy” because she had money. This special candy in question was something called Jelly Flowers, something that most likely ends up on food pantry shelves when looking for charitable donations to the office Christmas donation box. You would not willingly choose to eat them or subject anyone else to eat them unless you had a sincere hatred for their taste buds and abhorred common sense. It was quite the case she was making for gelatinous floral products of indeterminate origin.

Cutest girl on earth: “Mom. I want this.”

Mom: “No.”

Girl: “But I want this. Why can’t I have it? I want this special candy.”

Mom: “No.”

Girl: “But it’s my money. Why can’t I get it if it’s my money?”

Oh, the my money argument. It’s like Sadie has counseled all other children below the age of 7 on Money Talks: How To Be Persuasive When It’s Clearly YOUR Money as though a fistful of birthday or chore money gives children carte blanche to anything not nailed down or at least fastened securely. Twinkies, packs of gum, iridescent soda, questionable clothing, anything unsuitable to the laws of math or science. It was even in the same almost whiny but more defiant tone in the name of money boundaries.

There’s never any logic or reason to the purchase of goods or services when it’s money earmarked for nonsense. Anything at Blockbuster is usually first on the list to wasting non hard-earned money. Overpriced souvenir candy with no inherent nutritional value or half-life? I’ll take TWO! Dollar shelves at Target? I’ll take ONE OF EVERYTHING. Why poor choices must abound when faced with an abundance of money, I don’t know. I’m new to the parenting thing.

Me: “You don’t need that plastic baby hat.”

Sadie: “But it’s so cute!”

I hope the credit card companies don’t get hold of Sadie in the next couple of years. Her early 20s will be spent paying off $12,000 in credit card debt from candy and Dollar Tree toy purchases.

I think I want another child.

Coming soon to a yard near you

I've made good on cleaning out the attic. Cross that off the list. The only problem now is that the crapfest that was unobtrusively contained in the attic has now taken up residence in my dining room and bedroom. Internet. This is nuts. I've accumulated so. much. junk. over the last 8 years. 

We got up in the attic this evening because I needed a spotter in case I took a tumble down the ladder. Someone should be aware of my untimely demise brought about by the pursuit of a few dollars. I hauled down about 5 loads and then switched places with Chris so he could bring down the remaining 170,000 items we've stored up there. You want to know our method of carefully organizing and categorizing baby toys, clothes, books, and memorabilia for future use? 

Allow me. Take all your worldly possessions and cram it into random boxes that you find at work, the grocery store, or in the alley and throw it in the attic. Don't bother turning on the light because then you'll have to see where it landed and if you disturbed any nesting critters/homeless people residing in your attic. You want this to be as painless as possible for all involved.

So now we have 4 laundry baskets and a box FULL of toys, baby clothes, kid clothes, my clothes and shoes, old pictures...WHATEVER...ready to be sold for a nickel. It's yours. All of it. FOR A NICKEL. Only catch is you have to take all of it. Critters and all.

Sure I could donate it all to Goodwill in a grand gesture of good will, but then I couldn't stand out on my lawn, gesturing wildly and pointing to the signs. I've made one for your viewing pleasure.

Now I'm no marketing expert, but if that doesn't say anything productive or helpful, then I'm at a loss. When that fails to drive in the crowds, I'll place Sadie strategically on the lawn in order to conjure up more business. I'll take pity business. Whatevs. She gets her own sign. What kid wouldn't want their own yard sale sign? Exactly.

As an added bonus, they'll think the shoes were for the sad little girl on the front lawn and spend more money on my wares. It's quite the racket. Genius. Then I figured I would get hungry, so later I would have Ben stand out with his own sign.

Who wouldn't want to buy us all a pizza combo? That's just selfish.

I'm getting excited about Yard Sale Saturday and pizza combos.

If this blog were a goldfish, it would probably be dead by now

Internet. The blog. I forget about it sometimes. When I realize that I have this thing I keep where I write words on a screen, I want to smack myself in the forehead for being so forgetful. Sometimes I want to smack myself in the forehead to make the words come out. Wine also does the trick.

School is almost over. I've turned in all of my assignments, so now I'm just sitting pretty until graduation. Let's be honest. I'm not sitting pretty. I'm slumming it in my pajamas and zit cream. I've used school as an excuse for not accomplishing many tasks around the house. I was afraid I'd become "distracted" and "lose focus" on things like homework and grades. Now I have to face reality that I no longer have existential reading to ponder, so I have to start with my ever-expanding to do list.

1. paint Ben's desk
2. paint side table
3. gather picture frames for laundry room
4. clean car seats and mats
5. clean carpet in kids' rooms
6. refinish coffee table
7. clean attic
8. clean garage
9. clean closet

Grad school is looking more and more appealing. 

I've made it my life's goal to sell things for really, really cheap. It doesn't even have to be my stuff. Our neighborhood is a hot bed of cast off activity. Most of my house has been furnished by the alley giveaways. As I drive along, if I see something that has a couple dollars of value in it, I'll throw it in the trunk and sell it. I've sold old toys, picture frames, broken mirror frames, chairs. Whatever. I started selling things I've hunted and gathered, and what's sad is it's selling better than the old crap I've retrieved from my attic. Internet. Trash is selling better than my possessions. 

You know what this means? I need better stuff.

I can't hold out for the Singularity if I can't even master being a human

In an effort to become more appealing as a human being, I had on my bucket list

1. Become a dog person

2. Become a baseball fan

One down, one to go. Maybe a million to go. It's always a numbers game.

I had every intention of becoming a baseball fan last year, but then realized about midway through June, "Dammit. I was going to be a baseball fan this year."

Chris (confused by my transformative powers): "You were going to become a baseball fan?"

Me (I should have put my bucket list where I wouldn't lose it): "Yes. I forgot. Dang it. Oh, well. I'll have to do it next year."

THIS year, Internet. It will be all about baseball. Well, some of it will be about baseball. Maybe about 3 hours, which should be long enough to drive to see the Rangers play, have gobs of adult beverages, and eat a hot dog. If you are one of my Baptist friends from church, just ignore that last sentence. But seriously? How else do you make baseball interesting? Alcohol. I hope I can hold on long enough to make it through the summer and watching baseball in TEXAS. Did you know baseball is outside? IN TEXAS? Maybe I should take up basketball watching.

Me: "We've missed the deadline for Sadie to play Upward basketball."

Ben: "Why basketball?"

Me: "Because it's indoors. I'm done with outside sports and soccer and being cold and miserable."

This is all happening so fast. I think opening day was the other day. At this rate, baseball season isn't looking too promising. Baseball is every year, right? Not like the Olympics? Good. It still has a shot next year then.

Spring Break Day 5

Spring Break has, mercifully, come to a close. Internet. This must be how SWAT teams get their training. Also, this post is brought to you courtesy of Apothic Red Wine.

We had a leisurely morning with TV and homework. I turned in my paper, all 1700 words of it, even though it's not due until April 25. I probably should have found out the due day before submitting. I can't say that I care. This is the semester of whatever. Grades...puh. A, B, C...the goal is just turn in something. Doodlings, crayon shavings, candy wrappers, old pencils.

I took Penny for a walk and left Chris and the kids to do whatever it is the kids do when I'm not around. I'm pretty sure it's arguing. They argued about arguing on the way to the basketball court. I don't even know.

We finally left around 12 to buy sandals for me at Academy because that's what I need -- more shoes. Yes. That's why I've been selling all this random stuff: to buy more stuff WITH PURPOSE.

Me (holding my loot): "How many pairs can I get?"
 
Chris (incredulous): "How many do you need?"

Me: "Two. This is easy."

I walked away with one. I need to sell more stuff to buy the other pair for $13.

We then went and watched Oz: The Great and Powerful because we hate ourselves. I'm going to make an official motion that they rename the movie Oz: The Great and Powerful Sedative. I dozed off no less than three times. This movie was awful. Thankfully we only paid $4.50 for all four of us due to a remaining balance on a gift card. Mila Kunis, you're so much better than that movie. You're smoking hot and you were good in Extract and Forgetting Sarah Marshall. I would recommend removing this from your IMDB page and deny, deny, deny.
 
We went shopping at Kohl's afterward. Kohl's is an interesting concept. "You just saved 1800% on your purchase!" Did I? Did I really? I just saved $84 dollars on a t-shirt, a sweatshirt, and a summer dress? Oh, okay.

We took the kids to my saints of in-laws for the weekend. I think they were putting them to work, but I couldn't hear their plans as I was closing the car door and driving away. We ate dinner at Jimmy John's (Johhny Joe's? Diddly Doo's? I can never remember.) I don't know that we said a single word to each other. It was magnificent. Nothing had to be repeated for one, repeated for the other, explained to one, told the other it's okay that one doesn't understand what it means.

We walked around Target and bought expensive cereal and wine, nixed the idea of having more kids. It's a good life we lead. Happy Spring Break indeed.

Spring Break Day 4

So it seems like the key to a successful day of spring break would be to make no sudden moves. Make no plans, make no noise, do not look anyone directly in the eyes. And don't shower until 11:30 in the morning. Makes the day go by much faster.

I got up at 6 ish to write the absurdity that is my paper. I made it to 1,300 of the required minimum 1,500 words (not numbers), which in reality isn't all that much unless you're a goat and reaching any sort of word count is nigh impossible. I realized about 9:30 that this week I was supposed to make an effort and feed the kids real breakfast food rather than the standard frozen waffle sandwich before school. (Side note: I do toast the waffles. They're not still frozen when consumed.) I took a box of orange cranberry bread mix and made it into pancake batter. Then I made pancakes with it. You saw that coming, didn't you? I can't get anything past you, Internet.

I've made $50 this week selling random things around the house that I no longer use. Shoes, cookbooks, and well, that's pretty much it. Shoes and cookbooks. I realized that our attic has untapped jackpot potential, so I brought down a baby swing and an old trike to sell for $5 each. I hate yard sales when people are clearly trying to fund an offshore Swiss bank account. Do you want to sell your crap or send your kids to college? Let's be realistic here. I have gobs and gobs of baby clothes to sell, too, but I also have papers to write. It's a balancing act. I do want new furniture, though. 

The kids and I went to Walmart and then the sad local mall. I saw my friend Allison in the parking lot, and it was like a mini-reunion although we couldn't jump up and down and squeal because the children were present. And she was in her car. And we're not 12. On the outside.

Allison: "I hate Ross. It's like a third-world country in there."

True dat, but their stuff is affordable. I can sidestep the carnage in search of a good deal. Ross had no small side tables for sale, so that was a bust. They didn't even have a bust for sale. JC Penney and Sears were both disappointing as well.      

I finally cleaned the house about 4:30 before I needed to go work at the church food pantry. I didn't want Chris to come home to a crapfest after working all day when I spent so much time doing...well...nothing. I'm sure he suspects I did nothing most of the day, he just doesn't need proof.

Food pantry was good, I met some lovely new people. My friend Carol and I went for ice cream afterward. I don't know what the kids and Chris did while I was gone. I do know there was arguing. There wasn't at the ice cream store. There was just ice cream and talking and no children.

One more day. You better make it memorable, Spring Break Day 5. I expect big things. Big, pretty, expensive things. And take me out to eat. And a movie. 

Spring Break Day 3

Today came with a revelation: I want to be a grandparent. And I want lots of grandkids. Like, a whole passel of them. Or school. Or drove. Whatever group that children travel in (it's probably a murder), I want that. And I want the kids to plan fun activities for their kids in hopes of creating warm memories of sunshine and happiness and gooey love. Then right in the middle of living out this idyllic sunshiny memory, I want their kids to start arguing for the 73rd time that day over inanity to the point where they think their head is going to implode and they can't get a grip on reality and they're seriously contemplating hiding in the bathroom at Walmart until their spouse gets off work and takes over the hostage negotiations parenting duties. I want them to think, "Make it stop make it stop make it stop. No wonder Mom wanted to cry all the time. This suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucks."
 
Today started with such high hopes -- it's Ben's birthday! Wheeeeee! We woke up early so Ben could open his presents and enjoy them all day long. He got what every 15-year-old boy needs: An outdoor basketball, Assassin's Creed 3, tubes for his bike, and Nike Elite socks. Great. Love it. Thanks so much. 

We went about our mornings, Ben glued to the TV for a good 3 hours filling his head with video game violence, Sadie snoozing in my bed, I read my book on philosophy (which is really equal parts hokum and common sense) in preparation for a 1,500 word paper. I took Penny for an actual walk and did some exercises. While I didn't make myself sick, I think I pinched a nerve in my neck. Perhaps I'm not cut out for fitness. 

Eleven o'clock finally rolled around, the magical hour that signaled it was time to visit Goodwill and Ben's birthday lunch at IHOP. Both events have been a long time in the making. Well, not Goodwill because Ben hates thrift store shopping with the passion of a thousand burning suns, so I just left that little tidbit out. Surprise!

We finally made the pilgrimage to IHOP and ordered. I mentioned to the waitress that it was Ben's birthday, not even thinking about getting anything for free. We ate our meals, Ben devoured 2 eggs, 2 pancakes, 2 pieces of bacon, and hashbrowns in three minutes flat, we enjoyed the tiny confines of a poorly laid out IHOP.

Ah, there it is. The wheels officially came off this day. Good ol' chaos. I wouldn't know how to have a vacation without you.

The waitress brought over a The Birthday Chalice, filled to the rim with ice cream, whipped cream, chocolate chips, and a cherry. It was seriously enough for an entire clown car. There was great debate and consternation over the ethics involved with sharing something so grandiose in size and nature and of so little monetary value to the recipient and which resulted in me nearly having an aneurysm right there in IHOP.

I threatened to take away the birthday ice cream for the night since Ben was currently consuming an entire trough of frozen dairy products and resisting the impulse to offer any to his sister AFTER he had just eaten a breakfast fit for seven. We drove around town with my head on fire from anger and no one uttering a word. We went to Walmart where they were forced to agree on a flavor before we could leave the store. We all went to our respective rooms without a word when we got home.

I started speaking to them about 4:30 after a 2-hour nap. We ate dinner and ate the blood ice cream. Everyone survived. Barely.

Have mercy on us, Spring Break Day 4. Either that or bring some chocolate ice cream with Valium sprinkles.

Dear Ben: You're 15

I'm not sure if you're aware, but today is your birthday. Did you suspect when you were opening presents this morning?

I see those pictures that people post of their babies sitting next to chalkboards with their age and their current likes, as if parents are so in tune with their baby's psyche that they know their favorite pastimes. How many can you have at 6 months? Since I don't have a picture of you sitting next to a whiteboard (since you're big and all), I've created the memory for us. 

Now, I know you're more than food and basketball and reading and videogames. Right. I know that. I know lots of things about you. I won't spill it on the Internets. Suffice it to say, you're the best 15-year-old boy I know. I hope you have a happy birthday. Save room for lunch at IHOP. 

P.S. That's supposed to be you reading in that picture. I don't know how to draw books in MS Paint. One might argue that I don't know how to draw anything in MS Paint. I say, "Pbbbbbth."  

Spring Break Day 2

This morning, like most mornings of Spring Break pasts, was delightfully uneventful. The kids slept late and I lounged around in pajamas until 10:30 (a.m. not p.m. for those familiar with my lack of initiative over Spring Break).  I love days that hold nothing more than finding ways to fill the day.

I missed the morning walk with Penny in favor of watching the news and reality TV. To counteract the idleness, I decided to "work out" by doing some sit ups or crunches or a combination thereof. Whichever exerts the least amount of energy, that's the one I did. I must have overdone it because I made myself sick after about 30. I had to take a catnap to recover from all this "exercise." Perhaps that's a poor testament to my exercise regimen. Just this morning I saw an article called "10 Ways to Get an Athlete's Abs." I hope two ways were 1. Do sits ups and 2. Take nap to recover from sit ups. I am ALL OVER that program. 

Deciding that this Spring Break should have some sort of spring like weather involved, I took the kids to the park, one with one of those big wooden play structures that if you're taller than 3' you whack the ever loving crap out of your head about 15 times before you finally mutter the F word under your breath repeatedly and park it on the bench, fuming. I avoided all that and just sat on the bench. I learned my lesson after about six brain-rattling smacks. Ben and Sadie proceeded to continue bickering in the middle of the play structure, sun shining all around, cool breeze encircling us.

Me (done): "GUYS. I didn't bring you all the way across town to continue arguing in the park."

Ben (confused as to the purpose of the trip): "That's not why we're here?"
   
Me (not amused, kids, NOT AMUSED): "Uh, no. Go play."

I "forgot" to bring drinks or snacks so we would have to leave early and go get snacks at Sam's. Sam's, how I love thee, you never disappoint. Three drinks and a pretzel to share later, we were all happy campers spring breakers. 

Sam's was followed by a 2-hour nap and Papa John's Steak and Cheese Pizza and Chicken Poppers for dinner. If you're going to go down, go down in flames.

We took Penny to the dog park where there was highly intrusive butt sniffing and running and frolicking with other dogs. Then we took Sadie to the girl park where there was running and frolicking and climbing sans sniffing. We watched an episode of The Big Bang Theory and drank coffee when we got back. Not the kids. Noooo.

The night ended when Sadie faced an existential crisis of being a kid because she doesn't want to order off the kids menu any more and hates being a kid. She wants to trade places and be the adult. YES. PLEASE. Take it.  

Spring Break Day 2 did *not* disappoint. You better bring it, Spring Break Day 3. 

Spring Break Day 1

Spring Break Day 1 brought much unexcitement. It was blissfully boring, or as the literary types call it "tranquil tedium." I made lemon bread for breakfast from a mix I got at Big Lots for $2. Don't judge. Asbestos never expires. AND it had a tangy lemon flavor, so...yum.

Sadie and I walked to the back of the neighborhood (it's a big neighborhood, Internet) to take Penny to the dog park and Sadie to the girl park. The dog park always sounds more exciting than it really is. It SOUNDS like there will be toys and treats and other dogs' butts to sniff and couch cushions to chew on. No. It was just a fenced area with a bench and a watering station for dogs and a few patches of grass. Good thing I'm not a dog because I wouldn't be able to type this right now.

I let the kids watch TV and play video games most of the day because that's the type of mother I am. I tried to read an insanely boring book for class but ended up falling asleep for a couple of hours. Then I shopped online and looked at celebrity gossip. I also graduate from college in two months.

The kids were good most of the day until they started speaking to each other about 5 p.m. when I made them turn off electronic devices. Sadie convinced Ben to pull himself away from NBA 2K11 and play Junior Monopoly. I sat out because someone had to be the referee. It looked like someone was going down due to friendly fire.

I made dinner that tasted like I'd put a large salt lick in the middle of the table and told everyone to help themselves.

Chris (FINALLY home from work to liven things up): "Where's Ben?"
 
Sadie (factually): "He's in the bathroom."

Me (I'm in college): "He's answering the Call of Doody."

Ben (later): "Then what do you call Black Ops?"

Me (not clown college): "Black Plops."

We watched an episode of The Big Bang Theory and then Chris asked Sadie to read us a story. She got Ben's literature textbook upon his suggestion and settled on a rousing story of Odysseus but only made it through the first two sentences until she got to the name Telemachus. I'm pretty sure "rousing" and "Odysseus" are not synonymous.

Me (waving flapping my hands in the air): "This is my mating dance."
 
Chris (not buying it): "Really? Do you have much success with that?"

Me (dancing like I just don't care an ostrich): "You know you want it. It's my mating dance."

Chris (dismissive and walking away): "You're just being silly."

We played our own version of Real or Fake trying to determine which was real or fake in mythology or real life.

* Dark matter vs Dark Crystal

* Worm hole vs black hole

* Sampson vs Hercules

You get the idea. You'll probably see it in the game aisle just in time for Christmas.

No wine was consumed. There's always tomorrow.

Three Things Thursday: Dialogue exchange edition

Dialogue #1:

Me (parenting based on methods I've seen on TV): "Who knocked over the trash can in your bathroom and left it there?" [silence in the backseat]

Ben: "It was a raccoon."

[silence]

Sadie: "It was the alcohol. I'm blaming it on the alcohol."

Me: "WHAT?"

Sadie: "Weird Al says to blame it on al-al-al-alcohol."

I should probably pay attention more.

Dialogue #2:

Customer in Target (hopeful): “I don’t know where they’d be, but do you have any of those things…” [winding hands around each other]

Target employee (ain't got no time for that): “If we did they we be in sporting equipment, but as far as I know, we don’t have any.”

Customer (sadly): “Oh, okay. The things that wrap around? And go right here?”

Employee (realizing the plight): “Yes. I haven’t seen those in a while. You mean like these [gesturing wildly], right? The old ones from a long time ago?”

Customer (excited): “Yes.”

Employee (whatevs): “Yeah, you really need – “

Customer (crushed): “Yes.”

I'm afraid I'm not qualified for customer service.

Dialogue #3

Chris (working on computer): "You put this is in so you can tell the computer what you want it to do."

Sadie: "You tell it what to do?"

Me: "Well, you have to type it in. You can't just speak to it."

Chris: "Whenever I help people at work, I use my robot voice. 'HOW. CAN. I. HELP. YOU. IF. YOU. DO. NOT. LIKE. IT. I. CAN. CHANGE. MY TONE. TO. SOME. THING. MORE. WORK. APPROPRIATE.'"

Strangely, robot voice is the most helpful. It's like I'm talking to my own personal HAL 9000, except without all the space and void and boring plot lines.

Homeless sandwiches are attractive

Me: "I think I just got hit upon at the thrift store."

Allison: "You always get hit on...I guess you just ooze your sexiness!"

Me: "Uh, no. No sexiness. Garlic maybe."

Allison: "Mmmmm...garlic."

Me: "Maybe that's what they're thinking, too. 'WOW. She smells like a meatball sub. Is it too soon to propose?'"

Allison: "Well, it is Valentine's Day."

Yes, why should Valentine's Day and marriage exempt me from the advances of thrift store employees? As I was searching the tops for non-stained work attire, the manager noticed the blank back side of my building access card. I also had my badge (turned backwards) and the access card on an ID reel, so I can see where you would think I would have job. It does look awfully official.

Manager (clearly appreciating a woman who buys other people's castoffs): "Where do you work?"

Me (seeing where this is going): "Such-and-such."

For those of you who've seen While You Were Sleeping, he leaned in, arm propped on the clothing rack. He was leaning.

Him: "I went to high school at such and such."

Me (trying to be really, really vague): "I don't work there. I'm over yonder by this and that."

Him (blank stare): "I went to so and so's funeral."

Me (trying to work my way around the rack to position myself so he can see my wedding ring): "That was a LONG time ago."

Him (hurt? I don't care): "Thanks for pointing out how old I am."

Me: "No problem. You brought it up."

Is this what dating is like? Because this would suck. I'm pretty sure I make the cut for the bag lady criteria, because I think I resembled one that day. I should start a dating website that offers advice for snagging Someone Special: 

1. Dress like you're homeless
2. Smell like Subway
3. Blithely ignore attention from the opposite sex
4. Pretend you don't speak English
5. Walk away confused

Watch them come back for more. And you're welcome.

Job experience, part 4

I must have been on a roll at 18 and 19, because I looked for all the jobs at which I would succeed the least. Waitressing was obviously out since I had no skillz carrying trays. Wrapping Christmas presents was out because Christmas only comes once a year. Being a multiple wife was out because I'm really a one-man-kind-of-woman. Call me old fashioned, but I don't like sharing. So I took the next logical step and consulted the trusty classified ads. I found my next calling.

Missed opportunity #4: Domino's delivery driver

Yes. Domino's delivery driver. What the hell? It seemed like a good idea at the time. I don't even know what possessed me other than the lure of tips. I knew the area well, so I thought I should give it a shot. Why not.

I received the 30-minute training on how to make a pizza and was sent on my first delivery. By myself. It was really a throw-you-to-the-wolves experience. "You have a pizza. You have a car. Why are you still standing here?" I made a handful of deliveries and got stiffed on a couple. The manager told me I could make a pizza to take home if I wanted, so I did. What better way to end the day of racing around town in a car with no air conditioning, smelling pizza, and smelling LIKE pizza than to eat pizza? You see the obvious desire.

I guess I had neglected to tell my parents about my latest job prospect because when they found out that night after my Big First Day, they were slightly livid. But only just a little bit. I was told I wouldn't be returning to my lucrative career delivering pizzas because, Rachel, what the hell? Turns out parents don't like for their 100-pound 18-year-old girl to be delivering pizzas to unsavory neighborhoods. Wasn't I aware of the ratio of robberies:safe driving experiences where probabilities and statistics heavily favored the side of robberies? I was mad because I saw all those beautiful tips go down the drain.

Time lasted: One night.  

I went two pick up my check for 6 hours worth of work, which was a grand total of $24. Hey, $24 is better than...well, $23.

All these job experiences lead me to the realization that job hunting without a degree sucks. Big time. So now I'm a few months away from graduation. I would like a degree for fun now. Like math or geology. Or maybe just a really long nap. Or shopping. I'm really good at that. Everyone should pursue their calling.