Calculating Persistence

The beginning of a new year means we’re going to get new stuff. We look forward to the big chunk of money tax time brings every year to make improvements we can’t otherwise afford. This year, we’re changing up the kitchen. Having no upper cabinets, we just don’t have enough storage. We hit a couple of furniture stores to price sideboard type units in which to hide dry goods.

Furniture stores in general are annoying. Intrusive, aggravating employees that work on commission hover over you desperate to write up a sale. Usually the magic words, “We’re not looking to buy today.” makes them magically disappear. This was not so in the last place we visited.

Finding  a piece we would likely consider, Dewie and I were carefully investigating the potential wear of a buffet when we were approached by Julie. We swiftly told her that we were not buying at that time and were just considering our options. She would not be deterred that easily.

“You know, Friday we’re having a sale. Everything is 20% off.”

“Good to know, Julie. We will keep that in mind.” Julie was not deterred. She whips out a calculator and started punching in numbers.

“That would mean this piece would cost you…” (tappity..tap..tap)

“ $320. 20% off of $400 is $80.”

“Ummmmm…” (tappity…tap, tap) What the hell is she still typing? Even if I had not just given her the answer, she shouldn’t have to put in that many numbers.  She looks up at me sympathetically. “Actually it would be $280, so that’s even better, right?” Her lipstick caked lips part in an excited “O.”  What the hell did she do? That’s not even close, and her condescending overreaction has me suppressing the urge to slap that calculator out of her hands.

“So… Julie. If %10 of 400 is 40, then twice that would be 80, right?”

“Oh, I guess you’re right when you put it that way. I wonder where I went wrong?” Her face falls and that stupid suprised face droops in frustration. Suddenly, I feel bad for her. The deep lines in her face tell me she wears this expression often. I give her an out.

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll keep the sale in mind if we decide to go with this piece.”

Trying to redeem herself, she starts tapping again. “Well, the total price with tax and a $50 delivery fee would be…” (Tap, tap, tappity, tap, tap…) Trying to be polite, I wait for her to finish. It seems really important to her that she gets this one right. A full minute passes. Oh come on! Say $392! Come on, Julie… you can do it. $392. I try to telepathically send her the correct answer.  She has a calculator for crying in the sink.

 “$375.” Ohhh. So close. Perhaps they should add a basic math skills test to the hiring process.  At this point, I’m tired of this game, and frankly I’m just ready to go, so I don’t bother to correct her.

“Ok, then. Thanks, Julie.”

“Well if you decide to buy, please remember to ask for me!”

Don’t worry, Julie. You’ve made a lasting impression...

Master Procrastinator

It’s Saturday and Dewie had to work. My only job today was to go to Publix to restock our fruit bowl and pick up some bread. With it being cloudy and uninspiring, I laid around in my pajamas for most of the day. Before I knew it, it was nearly four and I hadn’t even brushed my hair, much less made it to the grocery store. Knowing I had to get this one little errand done before Dewie got home, I hurriedly dressed and took off for the store. Publix is only about a mile and half from my house. If I work efficiently, I could shop, put it away and cook dinner before 6. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

I hadn’t been in the store 5 minutes before I hear someone call my name. I turn around and see Devon. Devon is in his early twenties, of Indian descent, and has a tone to his voice that reminds me of a cartoon villain. He tries desperately to be helpful, but once filtered through his developmentally disabled brain, his good intentions are sometimes annoying.

 “Hey Molly. 755-4386. Area code 386.”

“Hey Devon. What ya been up to?”

“How come your phone number don’t work anymore?”

“I haven’t had that phone number in 5 years.” His lips curl up into a mischievous grin. The walking yellow pages already know the answer to his next question.

“What’s your new number?”

“Can’t tell you. It’s top secret. Did you wander over here by yourself or is your mom here?”

“She’s here. You wanna drive me home instead?”

“Devon if you get in my car, I’m going to take you to the zoo to live with the monkeys.”

I start to walk toward the produce section. Devon follows, his laugh sounding like a whispered witch cackle. “You still at the workshop?”

“Have you seen me at the workshop? Did you think I was just really good at hiding?”

“No.” he whispers his witchy laugh again. “Maybe you’ve been under your desk.” Now he’s cracking himself up. I can hear the timer counting down in my head. I’m going to have to cook something easy when I get home. I’m running out of time. Devon looks at me, all dancing eyes and white teeth. “Do you have Wendy’s phone number?” Wendy is my best friend. We worked at the workshop together.

“Nope. Wendy doesn’t have a phone. If you want to talk to her you have to send smoke signals.” I pause for the giggle. “Say Devon… It would really help me out a lot of you could pick me out two of the prettiest green apples you can find.”

“Ok. I’ll find some with no bruises or red parts.”

“Awesome. You da man, Devon.” Devon’s giggle fades into the background as I head over to the bananas. As I’m reaching for the greenest ones on the shelf I feel someone walking up to me.

“Hey. How are you?” I can’t place her. She’s familiar, though. I’m sure I know who she is.

 “Hey! Good. Just picking up a few things.”

“Yeah, me too. How’s the flea epidemic?” Ahhh. The tech from the vet’s office.

“Better. Still more scratching going on than I’d like.”

“Yeah, it sometimes takes time to get rid of them when they get real bad like that. I spend nearly $500 treating all my animals. They’re really bad this year.” I tried to hide my shock. $500? Surely she’s getting some sort of discount, working at the vet’s office and all. How many damn animals does she have?

“They are bad this year. Well. It was good seeing you.” I smile my best “I’m not being rude, I’m just in a hurry” smile and head toward the grapes. Is everyone I’ve ever met in freaking Publix today? I drop the grapes into my basket and consider what else I need. Apples. Crap. I forgot about Devon. I head back to the apples. Devon is leaned over the case, poking at a green apple.

“How’s it going, apple expert?” He pulls one out of each jacket pocket.

“I think these are the best ones. This one has a little red on it though, but no bruises. Is that ok?”

“These are the most perfect apples I’ve ever seen. You must be the best apple picker in all the land.” Devon giggles.

“You need me to get anything else?”

“Nah. You did good. I really have to run though.”

“Ok. I’ll tell Calvin I saw you.”

“You do that. Tell him I said hey.” I held out my fist and he bumped it. “See ya later, Devon.”

I head toward the check out and there are exactly three registers open, all of which have at least three people in line. They all look bad. I randomly pick one. I glance at my watch. 5:40. Looks like it’s sandwiches for Dewie.

Political Asylum

Just because I don’t endlessly discuss politics does not mean I don’t care what’s happening in this country.  I would wager that roughly half of the posts on my Facebook page and maybe a third of my personal emails contain some sort of political agenda. A large majority of my friends and family obsessively discuss, debate and rant about potential presidential candidates, and frankly, I’m bored.

No matter how many times you express your opinions, people will always hear what they want to hear. Discussing political views with anyone that disagrees with you is like having an argument with a three year old. No matter what you say, you’re going to get mostly “nuh-uhhhh,” “I know you are but what am I?” and “You’re stupid.” type of responses. It’s exhausting and fraught with circular reasoning.  People you once liked and thought reasonably intelligent are suddenly deemed imbecilic jackasses. Discussions of this sort are a big fat waste of time and energy and usually end with a feeling of wanting to stab someone. Why would I purposely allow others to fill my own head with hopelessness and rage? I can do that just fine on my own. Debating politics with someone that agrees with you is just as pointless, unless you’re in desperate need of a mutual stroke fest which will again eventually end in that same hopeless rage once you compare notes of the number of idiots that you know that are blindly misinformed.

I stay informed. I listen to what the candidates have to say. I process it, and then keep it to myself. I don’t want to be angry with everyone I know, and I don’t want to feel like the world is full of idiots that will ultimately destroy themselves and everyone around them.

Now if you want to eat, sleep and breathe politics, that’s totally your right, but I don’t have to engage in your pointless arguments. Good luck to you. I hope the constant stress doesn’t make your heart explode.

A Similar Jaguar

Recently Dewie and I were watching a true crime type show. The show alternated between reenactments and interviewing the law enforcement officers involved in the case. All was well until a backward cop from Las Vegas said he found the “Jagwire aflame in the desert. Then I seen there was a body in the back seat.” Really? They couldn’t find a smarter guy to interview for a television show? I’d hate to read his actual report if this was the extra professional TV version.  Not to mention that he managed to hit on two of my major pet peeves in about 5 seconds. Now, I’m not claiming to be an expert on the English language, but some things are just inexcusable. Since I think it’s rude to correct the grammar of an adult (children are fair game under the guise of teaching), I’m going to get it out of my system on paper. Well, on screen. Let’s start with the desert cop. I want to believe that maybe English is not his first language, but his accent was pure hillbilly.

“Jagwire”

Whether you’re talking about a cat or a car, the word is “Jaguar.” I know it sounds somewhat awkward, but everyone else is not saying it wrong. Say it with me. Jag-war. Good. Moving on.

“I seen”

Actually, you saw. It is never ever acceptable for the word seen to follow the word I. Accept maybe at the extreme redneck training camp.

“Simular”

There is absolutely no “u” in the word similar. Unless you mean to actually say “simular” which means imposter or simulator, but honestly, no one really uses that word in normal conversation.  What you likely mean is similar, meaning kind of the same. Sim-i-lar.

“Pacifically”

Lest you’re making some strange reference to the Pacific Ocean where it was necessary to use pacific as an adverb, what you probably mean is “specifically.” Yes, the “s” is important.

“Irregardless”

This one is huge for me since it is not even a damn word. When I hear it, it’s like an ice pick in my ear. I shudder and have to resist the urge to become violent. If “irregardless" was a word, it would technically mean the opposite of the way it’s used. Please, for crying in the sink, just say, “regardless.”

Instantaneously

Ok, so this one is a legitimate word, but unless you’re talking about physics, it’s just not necessary. It’s pretentious and annoying. Just say, “instantly.”

“Nucular”

One “u”. Nuclear.  Noo-clee-er. Just stop it. Please.

There's Something in my Third Eye

So I recently had a dream about a friend I haven’t talked to in a while that stayed with me. I dreamed that she was emotionally in trouble and I couldn’t stop thinking about it so I dropped her a line to make sure she was ok. The conversation went like this:

Me: “ I had a dream about you last night that left me feeling kind of unsettled. Don't worry, it wasn't all sexalicious, you were depressed and emotionally in trouble. I don't believe that dreams are prophetic or anything, I was just thinking about you so I thought I'd check in. You doing OK?”

Friend: “I’m doing well these days! Now if you had had that dream a couple years ago, well I would've gotten you a turban. But I’m doing fine now! Thank you for checking.”

This got me thinking… how cool would it be to have a turban? People would totally assume that you are a good psychic, even if you were full of crap. The turban automatically makes you completely credible. I mean, who besides a world renowned psychic and fortune teller wears a turban? Well, Muslims, I guess, but I haven’t perfected my seductive eyes yet, so no one would believe that. Besides, my turban would have one of those fancy medallions in the middle with a feather sticking out of it. A purple feather, because purple is the preferred color of mystic type people.

Maybe I can get my own show, guessing the names of dead relatives and making comforting comments.  “I see the spirit of a man standing behind you.”

 “Yes! That’s my old boss that died recently!”

 “I see the letter… M…wait no…the letter P… but it could be an R”

“Oh my gosh! His name was Ricardo!” (glad she offered that, dodged a bullet there…)

“He wants me to tell you that he’s at peace now and to keep up the good work.”

“This is unbelievable! He used to say ‘keep up the good work!’ all the time!”

I could be a super star… all because I acquired a turban. Better yet, I could take a page from the pet psychic and pick an audience that offers absolutely no validation at all, like babies. I could be a baby psychic.

“Your baby just adores formula. He also wants to tell you he likes the color red. He wants you to dress him in red more often.  Oh and his tushy is a little sore. He wants you to use more baby powder. That will be $150.”

The turban holds infinite power. I gotta get me one of those.

Temporary Insanity

I’d imagine PMS is as close to experiencing schizophrenia a sane person can come. Ridiculous mood swings, insatiable appetite for sugar and salt, impulse control issues and little voices that tell you to hurt people are all common symptoms to me. Although I’ve never had very regular cycles, I usually get a heads up when I find myself feeling kind of “stabby.” I call my little voice Papi, because I imagine that he’s a little bad ass Mexican gangbanger, and I am most definitely his bitch for 4 or 5 days out of the month. His voice is pretty hard to ignore. That’s why it’s in red.

Example #1:

Dewie: Are you going to eat that whole bag of peanut butter M&M’s?

Me: What do you care? You can’t eat them, your foot will fall off (she’s diabetic).

Dewie: You’re going to feel like crap.

Me: Stab that bitch in the face. Right in the effin face, man. You need to back the hell off.

Example #2:

Dewie: You look nice today. I like that color on you.

Me: You know you’re all bloated and sh@!. And that color red really brings out the inflammation in that big effin crater on your chin. She’s patronizing you. She’s making you look like a bitch, man. *Bursting into tears* Leave me alone! I’m a monsterrrrr!

Example #3

Me: I feel like crap.

Dewie: I know, just chill, I’ll take care of dinner.

Me: She thinks you’re a lazy bitch. She doesn’t believe you when you tell her I’m using your ovary as a tether ball. She thinks you’re a useless piece of crap, man. FINE! I’ll do it. Jesus, just get the hell outta my way!

Example #4

Me: You need a effin filet-o-fish man. If you don’t get a filet-o-fish you might actually die. I wanna filet-o-fish.

Dewie: Then go get one.

Me: Man, that bitch don’t care about you. If she gave a crap about you she would go get that filet-o-fish for you, put it in a gift box and wrap it with a shiny bow. She hates you. She haaaaattteeeessss youuuuuu, man. You hate me. I neeeeed a filet-o-fish.

Dewie: Then go get one.

Me: Don’t tell her she should go get it. She should know that. You’d better get one quick, it’s the only thing in the whole world that will make you feel better. I need one right now.

Dewie: You want me to go get you one?

Me:  That bitch is lucky she figured it out. Yes, please. That sh@! better come with a bow.

Example #5

Me: Where the hell is Dewie? She knows you don’t feel good, man. She’s just ignoring you so you can wallow in your misery, man. She don’t love you. Deeeeeewie! Where arrrrrre you?

Dewie: In here, playing on the computer.

Me: She loves that stupid game more than she loves you. I’m lonely.

Dewie: Ok, I’m coming. (Dewie comes in the living room and sits beside me on the couch.)

Me: Look at her, just sitting there. She’s always watching you, controlling everything you do. She thinks you’re some kind of bitch that needs supervision, man. Don’t take that crap from her. Why are you always watching me? I don’t need a babysitter.

Dewie: Ooookay. I guess I’ll go finish my game then.

Me: Of course she will. That’s all she cares about. Wait! Don’t leave me.

Dewie: Christ, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME???

Me:  I. DON’T. KNOWWWW!!!!

And I don’t. It’s all about what Papi wants. And he’s a fickle little dude.

Merry Birthday

Having a birthday four days before Christmas sucks. People are busy, broke and generally distracted. It’s hard to insist that a day be all about me under these circumstances. Hard…but not impossible. That’s why you have to start reminding people early. It’s true that “Guess what happens in four days?” is usually met with eye rolling and indifference, what they’re really thinking is “Crap! I gotta get a cake mix.” The reminding technique is imperative to guarantee that your special day is properly observed.  The rest is up to you. Everyone has at least one loved one with a birthday that is overshadowed by Christmas. The following is a list of things that happen regularly that make those of us with Christmas birthdays feel like an afterthought.

1.       Receiving birthday gifts wrapped in Christmas paper.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not unappreciative of the gift. I love presents, especially goofy ones and homemade ones.  But basically what you’re saying when you wrap it in Christmas paper is that, “I forgot about your birthday and my kid forgot to take this to his teacher so I gave it to you.”  You wouldn’t give a gift to someone for their birthday wrapped in baby shower paper or paper that says, “Happy Graduation!”  And no, you can’t just turn it inside out, but that is slightly better than getting it Christmas side out.

2.       Picking a present out from under the tree for your birthday.

Yes, this has actually happened to me. This statement is always quickly followed by, “No! Not that one! Or that one! Here, this one is OK.” Fuzzy socks covered in tiny Santas, just what I always wanted for my birthday. Just admit it. You forgot. Don’t insult me by making me participate in this embarrassing charade. It’s just pitiful.

3.       Receiving Christmas instead of birthday cards.

It just doesn’t count. You can’t scribble out the Merry Christmas and write Happy Birthday.  The next person that does this is going to receive a “Congratulations on the new baby!” card for their next birthday. You might as well go the card aisle blind folded and pick one out all pin the tail on the donkey style.

4.       Actually telling me, “I didn’t get you anything for your birthday because we spent all of our money on Christmas.”

This statement is insulting on so many levels. First of all, I don’t expect everyone on the planet to give me something on my birthday and to indicate that I would be so presumptuous and greedy, frankly hurts my feelings a little. Secondly, it’s almost accusatory, like I have a lot of nerve to choose to be born so close to a major holiday.

5.       “I know it’s a Christmas (mug, socks, pen, etc.), but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Actually it is the thought that counts, and right now you have just handed me evidence that no thought what-so-ever has gone into this gift. Trust me, I would rather you give me nothing at all  than make me look at you and fake gratitude while you blatantly express to me that I am not important enough to require minimal effort on your part. It’s embarrassing for both of us, whether you know to be embarrassed or not.

It’s not really that complicated. Everyone wants to be acknowledged on their birthday and when it feels like an obligatory afterthought it kind of sucks, especially when it happens year after year. So, be nice. Instead of half-assing it, send me a text or an email. Make me some cookies. Draw me a funny picture. Just make sure there are no Christmas trees in it.

Rock, Paper, Scissors

I don’t understand rock, paper, scissors. I get how rock beats scissors. A rock would smash the crap out of those scissors. Even if the rock doesn’t break them, they would at least be rendered unusable.

Scissors would definitely beat paper. I get that. Even if they’re really dull, you can stab the hell out of some paper. If you stab it enough you won’t be able to write around the holes. With just a few holes you still wouldn’t be able to say wrap a gift in it. If paper and scissors were in a fight, the only thing paper would be able to do is lay perfectly flat and hope it opponent is a pair of those safety scissors with the rounded tips that they give you to use in school. Paper is scissor’s bitch for sure.

That brings me to the ridiculous part. On what planet does paper beat a rock? If someone was coming at me with a rock, my weapon of choice would not be a sheet of paper. You can wrap a rock in a butt load of paper and it’s still going to hurt if someone hits you with it. If you throw a rock at a piece of paper, you have the same results as with the scissors and as we previously discussed, scissors owns paper. Covering a rock doesn’t destroy it, it provides a deceptive disguise. Essentially paper turns the rock into a ninja. It enhances its capabilities; makes it more stealth and deadly.  

The only instance in which paper would beat rock is if the paper was a warrant for your arrest. No amount of rock throwing would beat that paper, but then neither would scissors, so it can’t be rock, warrant, scissors. Warrant would always win.  I think the problem in the equation is the rock. Anything that would beat a rock would also beat scissors. Rocks are hard. Whatever you change it to, you’ll have to be able to quickly make the shape with one hand and I already have a hand gesture that will win every time.

Pants on Fire

My girlfriend is easily overwhelmed and a chronic exaggerator. Like the boy who cried wolf, it is difficult to know what situations are blown all out of proportion and which ones need immediate attention. Over the years I have developed a Dewie-vs-reality translation system. Here are some of the highlights:

1.       There are flies everywhere!!

This happens more often than you would think. Our house is old and drafty and sometimes stuff gets in. Also, the area where we keep the wheely garbage can when it’s not on the curb is right outside the kitchen window. Occasionally there are flies everywhere. However, most of the time this merely means that she has swatted at a fly, killed it, and then immediately saw another one. Two flies in the kitchen are all it takes to conclude that there are flies everywhere.

2.       There are shoes lying all over this house!

Granted, I am really bad about leaving my shoes wherever I park my ass. If I sit, the shoes usually come off. I am not a fan of shoes and if it weren’t for the huge population of impossible to kill mutant fire ants, I probably wouldn’t wear them at all. More often than not, Dewie has just tripped over a pair and the surge of adrenaline from almost biting it has morphed into anger. This particular statement can mean that there are ten pairs of shoes lying around the house, or there is one. Contrary to what she thinks, I do not strategically place my shoes in places where I know she will be walking. The house is small. It just works out that way.

3.       There is no food in this house!!

This one is easy. Translation: there are no chips in the house.  The woman loves a tater chip.

4.       This house is disgusting!

Our house never gets disgusting. I have been in disgusting houses, and this one never even comes close to disgusting. This statement usually means that she has picked up a cup from more than one room or the dog hair has twisted itself into tumbleweed and is rambling down the hallway. Nothing a little Swiffer sweep vac won’t remedy in about 5 minutes.

5.       It’s got to be 100 degrees in here.

Two words:  Hot. Flash.  The temperature in the room did not spontaneously rise 20 degrees. It is not your medication. It is menopause. Accept it. Embrace it. Stand in front of the freezer for a minute.

6.       I cut my (insert random limb here) off!

Now this one you have to check, because it only means that she is bleeding. It could be a paper cut or she might be holding her own severed foot in her hand. It’s difficult to tell. The level of panic is exactly the same. A rule of thumb though, wait until she’s said it at least twice before you get up. The more she repeats it, the more severe the injury.

Now, with experience, you too can learn to discern a true travesty from an exasperated rant.  

Shark Attack

I am not typically a violent person, but I find myself hoping people will get hurt when they partake in stupid activities. The rush of endorphins seems to be enough reason to put your life in danger for a fairly large portion of the population.  I don’t understand it. I know it seems sadistic, but here’s a list of stupid crap people do that I hope ends in injury.

1.       Swimming with Sharks.

I almost understand it for the sake of education, but for purely entertainment purposes, this is beyond moronic. You cannot “make friends” with a shark. Sharks are simple, barely alive almost robotic animals with tiny little brains that function almost solely on instinct. Oh, and they have the capability of eating your face off.  Getting a cage and throwing bloody meat at them is not my idea of fun. I always wish the dumbass in the cage would stick his arm out just a little further…

2.       Bull fighting

This is not only dumb, but mean. What kind of macho piece of crap needs to prove his manhood by getting in the ring with a bull that’s already been beaten half to death? Humans are already at the top of the food chain; just go have a burger and call it conquered.

3.       Bull Riding

The bull clearly does not care to be ridden or he wouldn’t be jumping around like that. What’s the purpose of this? I’ve never seen anyone riding a bull around explaining, “Yeah, we finally broke him. He was a tough one, but he’s just gentle as can be now.” Along the same lines of the bull fighting, the need to conquer this animal seems to be pretty universal. I suspect it has something to do with the size of its enormous wiener.

4.       BASE Jumping

This is by far the dumbest thing I have ever seen. It does not take even a smidge of talent to jump off of high things. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure that gravity is doing all the work. I kind of wish gravity and the wind would conspire to blow that idiot right into that outcrop of sharp rocks. At least that way we know he won’t be breeding.

5.       Anyone who sticks their heads into a giant animal’s mouth.

You see it all the time, some “trainer” proving their dominance over a huge dangerous animal by sticking their head between its powerful jaws. Maybe this impresses some people. Animals are not entertainment. Lions, tiger, crocodiles… they all belong in the wild. You’ve already stolen it’s dignity by making him perform; now you’re going to stick your head in its mouth? I hope that thing snaps your neck like a chicken bone. I also hope those vise-like jaws cause one of your eyes to pop out and roll along the floor so you can watch him eat your face before you die. Idiot.