When it rains it pours until flashfloods sweep away your sanity

This week was a bit of a train wreck. No, maybe not so quick as a train wreck, more like a termite infestation. Slowly my sanity was eaten away by "life" issues until the beams of my emotional stability were little more than toothpicks. It started with a car accident. I had ventured outside of my zip code to attend a sporting event. Nothing makes one feel like an old curmudgeon more than traversing a college campus. When did I become so old? And when did 18-22 year-olds become so annoying? But that is neither here nor there (its hard for aged people like myself to stay on track ;) The car accident. I was driving through a residential area when someone thought that it would be a good idea to make a left hand turn directly in front of me. Now I can appreciate being in a hurry, I'm late for a lot of things, but if you're going to rush you should do it effectively. This incident only slowed us all down. My first thought was that it was some stupid co-ed who had been texting her bff. To my surprise a very apologetic middle-aged man stepped out of the battered sedan. We exchanged information and both cars were well enough to drive away. And thus my week started. Valentine's Day rolled round and I had my traditional Valentine's date planned with my two favorite guys: Ben & Jerry. But before I settled in for the night with my creamy lovers I went to get a hair cut and pick up a few things at the grocery store. On my way out of the store I ran into a guy whom I have a bit of a history with (I won't go into all the awkward details). Not wanting to be a jerk I said hey, and we chatted about nothing for what seemed like an eternity. I finally excused myself when my face had become so hot and flushed that I thought my bangs were going to catch on fire. As I turned to leave he wished me a happy Valentine's. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to steal one of Cupid's arrows and drive it through his stupid little head! Copious amounts of chocolate were eaten that night. The next day, nursing a candy hangover, I found out that an elderly friend of mine had passed away in the night. He was a wonderful man who touched a lot of lives and will be deeply missed. I breathed a sigh of relief when the weekend came and I could stay in my pj's, sit on the couch, and just stare at the wall. If only. While cleaning I found a silent creeper in my storage unit: black mold! I could practically hear the hateful little spores laughing at me as I threw away my damaged property. But I had the last laugh as I doused the Stachybotrys bastards with bleach. Booyah!!! After conquering the Fungi Kingdom I began preparations for another battle. This battle was with Big Brother a.k.a. Taxes. Due to my bureaucratic nature I actually don't hate doing my taxes, and yes I do know that I'm a freak. That being said I am always angry at how much of my income goes to the government (Ron Paul 2012). However the government does not care about my opinion so it has to be done. This year my friends and I decided to all get together and do them at the same time. It was a late night with a lot of number crunching, popcorn eating, random groans, and a lot of exclamations like "what the what!?" and "are you kidding me!?" But in the end we muddled through. Around 12:30 a.m. I dragged myself out to the car only to find that one of my tires was completely and utterly flat. Sure, why not? I was too tired to even get angry, I just stood in the cold and whimpered. The worst part was that this wasn't even my car. If you will recall I was in an accident at the beginning of the week and the car I had driven that night was a friend's. Not about to deal with the flat right then and there I bummed another friend's car for the night and called AAA the next morning. Today I decided to stay in doors. In fact after I finish this post I think I'm going to go do some wall staring. Hmm......nothingness sounds nice.

I can't tell, butt I'm sure it's fine

Working in retail is always interesting. One holiday I picked up a part time job in a store geared towards teens and early 20 somethings. All the clothing was tight, had sparkles of some kind, and the music was way too loud. One particular day I was stationed at the fitting rooms, and spent countless hours knocking on doors, asking people how they were doing, because I cared oh so much. Occasionally a client would ask for my opinion on how they looked. Of course I would tell them that they were fabulous and they should by it in at least three colors (now stop fixing your lip gloss and get the heck out so I can put someone else in your fitting room!). One customer that day was, shall we say, older than our usual cliental, by about 40 years. When she first came in I though she was shopping for a grandchild. I was grossly mistaken. She informed me that she was seeking a pair of jeans for herself. Since she was petite she thought maybe a “younger” style would fit her better. I grimaced; no one wants to see grandma in bedazzled skinny jeans. She was, however, a paying customer and I treated her as such. Grandma tried on every style of jeans that our store carried but to no avail. At the end of an hour-long runway session she determined that the problem was her butt. None of the jeans fit her derriere quite right (perhaps because she was no longer 18). I assured her that this was a problem that pledged many women, and that she was not alone in her distress. That was no comfort her. Frustrated she swung open the fitting room door sporting nothing but her T-shirt and white granny-panties. I was mortified to say the least. A wave of panic flowed over my body. Frantically I ran over to shut the door before any innocent passersby were eclipsed by her moon. “I think my butt is different than everyone else’s!”, She desperately exclaimed. Then, to my horror, she bent over and asked me if her butt look any different than other butts. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or curl up in the fetal position and pretend this was all a dream. I managed to stutter something about not being an expert on the subject, and told her that everything looked ok from my point of view. Unbeknownst to her I was staring at anything accept her age-ridden buttocks. Eventually she got cold or something because she put her original pants back on. She thanked me for my time, and I said it was no problem (even though I would probably have nightmares for weeks and need psycho therapy for a very long time). As she was leaving I suggested a more age appropriate store to her (thinking that there would be significantly less rhinestones on their garments). In hindsight I probably should have called and warned the other store’s sales associates. Butt what are you gonna’ do?

Keep Your Pants On!

My pants are currently being held up by a binder clip. This morning I lost the top button on my pants while at work. I gingerly made my way down the hall trying to act super casual with my hand on my hip, secretly holding my britches until I could make it to the supply closet. From my previous post one would think that I would learn to keep safety pins in my possession, but I’m a slow learner. Especially considering that I had a button issue a few weeks ago at an office meeting. We all know that office meetings are not the most exciting things in the world. The interest level lies somewhere between getting one’s teeth cleaned and watching a Parakeet groom itself. But I found a way to keep everyone bright eyed and bushy tailed! This particular meeting started the same way they always do, everyone trying desperately to stay awake, drooling into their coffee cups while someone runs through a list of updates and new procedures. Then my turn to speak came and everyone suddenly came to attention. I of course thought it was my dynamic personality and ebullient speaking abilities that held everyone engrossed. I was sorely mistaken. It wasn’t until I was walking out of the meeting that I noticed things were a bit breezier near my chestular region. Ah ha, it was not the security topic I had presented that everyone was so interested in, but something else that I had unwittingly shared with the entire office. The first button on my blouse had managed to undo itself leaving me exposed to everyone. The wide eyes and smiles of my co-workers were not for me, but for my two lady friends who had decided to make this meeting a party! The best part is no one said a word about it. I redressed myself and we all went on with life as thought nothing ever happened.