And You May Find Yourself Behind the Wheel of a Large Automobile

For the past few weeks, I’ve been teaching my oldest daughter to drive.

She’s a bit behind the rest of her friends when it comes to getting behind the wheel. Most of her friends can drive already. I pass them on the way back from dropping her off at school. But due to a combination of fear, procrastination, and sheer laziness my gal didn’t get her permit until just a few months ago. Then it was my turn to be lazy and procrastinate.

After she got her permit it just never crossed my mind to put her behind the wheel and actually teach her what to do. I had my mind on other things. When she would suggest a lesson, I was either in a rush to get home to make dinner, or it was bad weather…there was a million excuses. It just always seemed like such an inconvenience.

I finally gave her her first shot at driving on the way home from town one afternoon. I pulled over into an empty school parking lot to let her circle around a few times. It was amazing  how many little things I had to show her. I’ve been driving for so long that many of the intricacies of driving are second nature to me. After a 5 minute lecture about what is where – blinkers, mirror adjusters, emergency brake – she put the car into drive and made a slow crawl around the parking lot.

Yet, after that we didn’t really do much driving. We would find a spot to let her practice here and there, but we weren’t doing it on a regular basis. Again, her learning to drive was off my radar – it wasn’t something I was actively concerned with. But I realized I had to make it a concern of mine. If we only went out every now and then she wasn’t ever going to get any better. Like an athlete in training, she needed lots of practice.

So, I’ve been making it a point to take her out every day. Usually we just drive around our neighborhood. Our development has a main road that makes a 10 mile loop. The speed limit is 25 which is perfect for someone just learning to drive. And you know what?  She’s getting pretty good at it.

The daily flexing of her driving muscles is paying off.  She’s maintaining the speed limit most of the time, and it’s been a few days since I had to grab the wheel to keep her from side swiping a mail box. She’s driven me to the supermarket a few times, which gives her parking practice as well, and she was brave enough to take the quicker route home along the major road the other day. That one has a 50 mph speed limit…she made it to 45, but that was about it.

I don’t have a whole lot of memories about learning to drive. I do recall one instance where when out driving with my dad, we went down the main street in Ridgefield Park, NJ. This road was narrow….really narrow with barely enough room for two cars to pass each other. There was street side parking as well, so driving down that stretch of road you almost felt like you were threading a needle. At least it seemed that way to a 16 year old behind the wheel of a Pontiac Catalina. I avoided that road until well after I got my license.

Oh, and getting my license? It took me two tries. I passed the written test easy, but I the driving portion was a bit trickier. The instructor I got for my first attempt was in a very bad mood, which made me nervous from the start. Here I am, happy as a clam to be taking my driving test, and this dude is filled to the brim with attitude. You took the test along a series of fake roads they had at the DMV. The roads were not very wide, and they had no dividing line painted down the middle.

I failed the parallel parking portion of the test, but that was to be expected. The cones were not set at a favorable distance for parking a Catalina – it was one big car. But when we returned to the designated starting/stopping point, he turned to me and said, “You failed.” He claimed I drove down the middle of the road the entire test. “Well,” I said, “the middle is all there is on those roads unless you wanted me to drive on the grass.” Sass was not an asset on this occasion.

The instructor I got my second time around was way cooler. I still failed the parallel parking part, but that day I left the Lodi DMV with a New Jersey driver’s license.

I’m hoping that by the time my girl starts college in the fall she’ll have her license. Our state sucks in that they require that you pay mega $$$$ to a driver’s school before they will issue you a license. I think it’s highway robbery – it costs almost $400 to take the driving course that isn’t going to teach her anything that I can’t. But sadly, there is no way around it. At least she’s learning like I did – in a very large car. The Sloviemobile is a Mercury Sable Wagon, a giant much like the Pontiac I learned in.

I’ll tell you, it will be nice to have another driver in the house. I’m not always in the mood to run to the store or drive my youngest to a friend’s house. That’s when I will gladly hand over the keys.

But then I’ll worry. I guess you can’t win.

My Third Grade Crush & The Weird Apple Dream

Back when I was a wee little Slovak learning my ABC’s and 123′s I had my first series of crushes. My initial crush was in the 1st grade, and my tiny 6 year old heart went pitter-patter for my (now) brother-in-law. Yes, my husband’s brother Bruce, who was in the same grade as me, was my first true love. It’s still chuckle-worthy today.

I don’t remember having the hots for anyone in second grade, but third grade was a busy year for my heart. It began with a crush on Arthur – cute as a button with freckles. He was the mayor’s son and smart as a whip. Maybe that’s why I was attracted to him. I still couldn’t tell time and was feeling rather duncey. Maybe hanging out with the smart boy would rub off on me. My adoration of Arthur tickled my mother to death – she was friends with his mom and I’m sure they found it all quite amusing.

And then I had the dream. Even though I was only 8 or so, I still remember it to this day. Arthur and I were on a picnic in a grassy field along the side of a cliff. Suddenly, he turned horribly mean and began pelting me with apples. I don’t know where the abundant cache of apples came from, but none-the-less I was in some serious peril.

Out of nowhere came our classmate, Billy Fink. He hoisted me into his arms, and swung us on a vine down to the bottom of the cliff where we found shelter from the onslaught of flying apples.

And that was it. Arthur was out and Billy was in. Oh, so very in.

The remainder of my third grade year was spent totally devoted to Billy. I remember sharing my feelings for him with my older sister, Wendy. She suggested writing him a letter, and she supplied me with the grooviest stationery…a long rectangle with the word “LOVE” printed on it. You wrote your message inside the “O.” I went back to my room and clumsily expressed my love to Billy in my best penmanship inside that “O.” I looked up his address in the phone book, stamped the letter and mailed it, certain that once he knew my true feelings, we would begin planning our future together.

A few days later (God, I can’t believe I still remember this) I was at the sink in my classroom rinsing out some paint brushes and Billy approached me. The third grade version of “holy shit” ran through my head, and I kept my eyes front and center. I wanted to look at him – hell, to gaze at him – but instead I washed my brushes in a frenzy and kept my eyes on the stack of brown paper towels beside the sink.

He stood right next to me and whispered, “cut the notes!”

Hmmm. That wasn’t quite the response I had dreamed of.

What else was a girl to do? I turned to him, with wide, innocent doe eyes and said “What notes?” He just walked away. I had to act all confused and guiltless, but inside I was crushed. My Billy, with his brown wavy hair, and straight, white teeth, wanted nothing to do with me.

I wasn’t the only girl who was infatuated with Mr. Fink. My friend Beth loved him too, and luckily she lived just a few blocks from his house. Many a day I would accompany her home and after a snack, we would wander down to his house and hang out across the street waiting for him to appear. I remember him coming out only once – I think his mom needed him to take out the trash otherwise he would’ve avoided us like the plague.

He ran out in his jacket, the kind with the hood that zippered up the top. His was un-zippered and it hung on his back in two pie-shaped segments. He growled at us and charged and like any self-respecting third grade girls we ran screaming back to Beth’s house. But we had made contact, and was thrilling.

My love for Billy carried into fourth grade, where thankfully for me, he was still in my class. However, that love was in no way reciprocated, especially after I stabbed him with a pencil.

Yeah, you read that right.

I can’t remember what he said to me that made me do it. We were sitting beside each other for a project, and I guess he said something sort of nasty to me, and feeling both love for him and fury that he flat out hated me, I plunged my #2 Ticonderoga into his thigh.

He began screaming and had to go to the nurse and I got chewed out by my teacher which included lectures about lead poisoning and respect for others and personal space. Once home, mom gave me another dose of discipline. Ugh, I was mortified. I could imagine his mom tending to his wound and wondering what kind of monster this girl Tracy was.

Billy had very little to do with me (duh!) until he moved away towards the end of that year. After his last day of school he was being good naturedly rough-housed by a bunch of boys, wishing him well. I marched straight up to him, punched him in the arm, and walked away. See ya, sucker.

Later on in high school I told Arthur about my 3rd grade crush I had on him, and the Billy Fink apple dream. We laughed about it – I think he even wrote something about it in my yearbook. I wish I could have had that sort of closure with Billy – where I apologize, and we laugh about it years later.

I can’t help but think that somewhere out there is a 49 year old man with a small, circular scar on his thigh whose memory of me is of a pencil wielding whacko.

Typical.

My Homeland Binge

I spent the past week sitting on my daughter’s bed in the dark watching episode after episode of Homeland. I would come out from time to time to check facebook, or cook a meal, or run the d-wash, but for the most part I was chained to a 13″ TV.

I went on a similar binge a month or so back with Downton Abbey. I decided to watch one episode and that was it. Hooked.

So this past week I decided I needed to find a new show to obsess over. Hell, I’m unemployed – isn’t this what I’m supposed to do with my spare time? The problem is, when I find the right show, I have no spare time. Every waking minute is spent getting my chores done so I can watch another episode with no guilty pangs, or sitting and watching. Once the kids are home it’s almost impossible to watch. There are just too many interruptions.

I began with Dexter, but I was eating lunch and it was too gorey. I switched to Veep, but had to stop it halfway through for one reason or another. When I finally sat down to watch a new show, I chose Homeland. Howard Stern always raves about it, so I figured I’d give it a go. Episode 1 Season 1 – click play. And thus, began my week-long obsession.

I watched the final episode yesterday right before my youngest got off the bus, and ran to the computer to see when the next season begins. Crap – Season 3 won’t begin until SEPTEMBER. I didn’t time this binge properly.

Here is my Homeland debriefing. I love Carrie, even if it is a bit annoying that she always figures things out in time. I love Brody – he’s not really attractive, but I’m still so attracted to him. I hate Brody’s wife. She’s annoying with her pursed lips and her flippy hair. And who calls their husband by their last name? Shouldn’t she be calling him Nicke? Just go marry Mike already. Brody’s daughter is annoying – she’s always depressed. I adore Saul – I keep waiting for him to say, “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

While I sat in the living room basking in the glow of viewing 2 full seasons of this action packed show, my darling little 11 year old came off the bus in tears. She’d had a bad day – it was picture day, and it was themed where you could pose with groups of friends. Nobody wanted to pose with her. Then the bullies on the bus were in rare form and it made for one sad little girl by the time she got home.

We had long talk, and a good cry, because I know how she feels. Then we took a walk together which cleared our heads and cheered us up. This is my homeland – my real homeland. While Carrie and Saul are fighting terrorists, I’ve got to teach my girl how to deal with life’s bullies better. I’ve got to teach her that being nice to people isn’t always reciprocated, and just because there are girls who are cruel does not mean that you are a loser.

I need to get my ass off the couch and help my little girl feel better about herself.

Dreading a Roomier Nest

Yesterday we went to the circus. It was sort of boring to be honest. But that’s not what this blog post is about.

Driving home from Richmond we talked and laughed, and eventually my youngest settled into her iPod world, and my oldest and I settled into a few chapters of “Angela’s Ashes.”

She has to read it for her English class, and she reads it to me whenever we are in the car. I have to say I love it. I’ve seen the movie, but never read the book – and as she reads she puts on voices which makes the story that much more entertaining. I dig that we are sort of reading it together.

I love doing things together with my girls. While I’m no mother of the year, I’m very accustomed to them being around. I need my daily dose of daughter time which makes me fly into a total panic when I think that a year from now my oldest might very well be off at college.

She won’t be around. I really sat and thought about that. Days will go by where I won’t see her make one of her goofy faces or do her little dance when she sees her kitty, Olive. She won’t be there to call things “cromp” – her word for cute. There will be no hugs in the hallway, or no requests to crack her toes.

The void she is going to leave in my life will be huge. We are talking major changes for mommy. How in the world am I ever going to adjust to having one less child in the house?

How did my mom do it? Geez, when I think of my weekends home from college I want to kill myself for being so heartless. I’d grab a quick dinner that she would lovingly cook for me and then run out the door to head to the city or some bar. I was comforted because I was “home,” but was I giving her what she needed – some solid mommy daughter time?

And she had to go through it 4 times! I was the youngest, which could have made it the easiest (3 before me) or the hardest (empty house). You don’t think of those things when you are out exploring the world for the first time. You’re just trying to enjoy the ride…you sort of forget the folks you left behind.

On the bright side, I still have more than half a year before she’s gone! So for now I’ll crack her toes, and make her twice baked potatoes, and cherish every goofy face she sends my way.

After that? The world is getting one hell of a girl.

 

The Lunch Crunch

School lunches have gone to hell in a hand basket.

Each and every day, I make my oldest daughter’s lunch. It doesn’t matter what it is – anything to fill her stomach. Her lunch bag usually contains one of two staples; a ham sandwich on a roll or good old PB&J. If for some reason – flood, earthquake or nuclear attack – I don’t have either of these items on hand, she’ll settle for a bag of cereal or some saltine crackers with butter.

Anything to avoid the lunch line.

I’ve asked her in the past if she would mind buying lunch that day. Perhaps I had cramps or felt under the weather and was therefore unwilling to slap together some form of consumable for her noon meal. And her answer is always “no, I’ll make something.”

When I ask her if the food at school is that bad, she says that has nothing to do with it. There just isn’t enough time to wait in the line and eat your lunch. By the time you get your food you only have about 4 minutes to sit down and eat it. She’d rather have the time to eat a crappy lunch and BS with friends than bother with the lines.

You see, lunch has changed since I was in school. When I was a wee lass in grammar school we had a whole hour for lunch. The entire school broke for that hour and once you ate your lunch you had the rest of the hour to play, socialize or poke around town. We had no school cafeteria – that was only available in the high school – so you either ate what mom packed in a brown paper bag (no cartoon character lunch boxes for us) or grabbed something to eat in town.

That’s right. You could leave the school grounds and eat at a restaurant. Our grammar school was in the center of town, and there were a variety of places you could grab lunch if you were lucky enough to have the funds to do so. Lunch out was a rare treat for me, and on the odd occasion where mommy crossed my palm with the requisite $1.50, I was in heaven.

Should I get pizza at Benny’s? 2 slices and a soda for $1.25 or so. That left you change to go to the Variety Store for candy afterward. Or you could head down to Joe’s Subs for a half of a #1 – Ham, cheese, and cappicola loaded with shredded lettuce, tomato, onion and oil & vinegar. There were also 2 options for burgers; Hilgens’ where you could get the student special for your buck fifty (burger, fries and a small soda) or Lange’s, whose fries were of the krinkle cut variety – which I preferred.

And let’s not forget the most coveted option – going home for lunch. Oh, I was so envious of the kids who lived close enough to the school to walk home for lunch. What a total break from the rigors of the school day that must have been – to sit in your own home eating a sandwich and watching a cartoon or two before you had to head back for round two of learning those three R’s.

I only did home lunches in the most dire of cases…like my lunch fell in a puddle. That was when I would run the 9 blocks home, shovel anything edible in my mouth and run right back to school. It was more fun to brown bag it and have time to play.

In middle school your options were somewhat limited because the school was further away from town than the elementary school, and in high school you were too far away unless you had a car. But the point is you had time. Time to take a real break from learning – then you went back to class somewhat refreshed.

My kids don’t have that. They only get around 20 minutes for lunch. That is barely enough time to eat if you pack a lunch that does not require re-heating. My youngest has access to a microwave this year, but she says on days the line is so long that you barely have time to eat once it’s hot. She will buy lunch occasionally, but the lines at her school aren’t as long or move faster. My oldest? She flat out refuses to stand in the line.

It’s one of the things that sucks about their generation. Yes, they have the internet and iPods and TV on demand. But for some reason their school day is like a boot camp – learn! learn! learn! There are few breaks where they can recharge, especially once they get older and their course load is more taxing on the brain.

Lunch time was golden when I went to school…a time to kick back and relax; catch up with friends and maybe step outside for some fresh air. Now it’s an episode of Beat the Clock – cram in your food and get the hell back to class.

F-ed up Fundraising

The other day my 11 year old came home with the twice yearly fundraising packet. I used to seriously groan at these things because the merchandise they were peddling was usually crap.

Over the years I have purchased:

• a wrapping paper cutter that didn’t work
• a Christmas card door holder that was made of cheap cardboard. I get a pitifully small amount of Christmas cards each year, and this thing fell apart under their weight.
• a ceiling fan chain pull that broke at tug #1
• tons and tons of plants, bulbs and seeds that never, ever bloomed

I finally gave up and tossed every packet in the trash after a quick perusal. But a few years back they began adding magazine subscriptions to the selections. They were reasonably priced, and they had a few titles I was interested in – hell, our subscription to “Entertainment Weekly” has been purchased through fundraising for the past two years at least. So we began to buy again.

Each year, our daughter would gush over the prizes you could win by selling “x” amount of items, and each time I would tell her to cool her jets. I can’t buy enough to get her to the “x” factor, and I do not like asking family to buy – I always feel like they are buying out of obligation, and that makes me uncomfortable. I know I buy out of a sense of guilt any time I’ve been invited to one of those hostess parties. I’ve got a set of fancy glasses in my cabinet that I rarely use as proof.

So I tell her to ignore the prizes  – they are usually crap anyway. Besides, the point is to make money for the school, and with our magazine subscriptions she is doing just that.

Enter the winter of 2013 fundraiser.

They have changed things this year. Rather than earning a yo-yo or a stuffed animal by selling “x” amount, you earn admission into an event at the school. Seems her school is having a BMX bike show, and if you don’t sell at least 5 items, you ain’t going. They even had a rally in the gym to get the kids all revved up – the bikers are going to jump over the principal if you sell enough!

At first, I thought to myself “how am I going to get 5 subscriptions sold? She’s got to go to this thing! She’s got to go!” I sent an email out to my family and one friend asking them to buy, even though it was way outside my comfort zone. But she was so jazzed to attend this show that I wasn’t thinking.

Then, as I read the flyer they sent home, I began to get angry. I understand how important fundraising is to schools these days, but this is wrong. It’s blackmail for one. They know that the kids are going to run home and demand that their parents help them meet the minimum sales to be able to attend the show. If the parent doesn’t have the ways or the means to help their child, then they are left feeling like shit. They are then also left with the unpleasant task of telling little Freddy that he was going to have a bad day at school in the near future. A day where classmates would be excused from class to have an afternoon of fun.

And what does the school do with the kids who did not meet the minimum and therefore are not permitted to attend? Do they sit in the library? Or in a classroom?

And even worse, if you sold “x” above the minimum, you got preferred seating, which could mean participation in the show, plus a meet and greet with the performers afterward. More pressure from your kid to sell sell sell! Now getting in the gym to see the show wasn’t quite good enough.

I looked at my situation…unemployed and watching every dime. I can buy one subscription, but that’s all. What if no other family members came through? The thought of my little girl having to watch all of her classmates head out to watch the show while they left her behind killed me. And I knew that there would be others – kids whose parents are in my shoes financially, or kids who have parents that just don’t give a crap.

It’s not right.  It just doesn’t sit right with me.

So, I sent out a second email telling everyone to disregard my first. Yes, if they wanted a magazine, they could buy. But I told them what my school was doing and that I did not agree with it, so there was no obligation. That in fact, I would prefer that they just ignore the whole thing.

I plan on sending an email to whoever is in charge. I want some answers about what is going to happen to the kids who are not allowed to attend. But I tell you, there’s a very good chance that I’m going to keep my girl home that day. Maybe we’ll have a picnic, or go to a movie.

I doubt she’ll be missing much that day anyway. Except for a good dose of humiliation.

Kids Knees Are A-Freeze

Since I’ve been jobless I’ve been driving  my girls to school each morning. It gives them more time to get ready, and gives us a few more minutes to spend together. Over the past few weeks I’ve discovered an odd trend in many of the young men in both the middle and high schools.

It’s winter….right? It feels cold when I walk to the car each morning. I’ll agree we have had a few mild days this winter – we seem to every winter here in old Virginny – but for the most part the mornings are cold.

So why do I keep seeing kids heading into school in shorts? That’s right shorts. In February. In 20 degree weather. Shorts.

I don’t get it. Over the years I noticed that one of my neighbor’s kids would wear shorts every single day no matter the temperature or weather, but I thought it was just him – his little quirk. But I realize that lots of boys do it, and I don’t get it. I mean, I may walk around my house in shorts on a Sunday morning, but I’m not heading to the supermarket in them until at least May.

Where are their moms? How can they let them leave the house on a freezing cold morning with their poor little knees exposed to all that cold?

I just don’t get it.

The Worst Santa Photo – Deconstructed

When I was a small child of 5 or so, my mother, overcome with Christmas spirit, must have actually paid to have our photo taken with Santa. If you knew my dad and his spend thrift ways, you’d know why I’d question her spending good money on a Santa photo – especially this one.

This photo has been a source of family amusement almost since it was taken. It is bad on so many levels, that I seriously question my mother’s sanity on why she decided to have it taken, and furthermore, why she decided to purchase it. Here are several reasons why I would’ve told the Santa photo Department at Bamberger’s to fuggedaboutdit.

1. My head. I’m not sure what kind of hairdo my mother fixed me up with that morning, but I am not rocking it. I have a bump that closely resembles a mini volcano.

I look like I have tic tacs for teeth – and I am obviously missing the two front ones courtesy of a a fast ride down the driveway on my tricycle. Little slovie managed to do a face-plant on the pavement and my front teeth hit the ejector seat.

And what is with my hairline? I have some form of bangs but they are more like grass clippings. And for some reason that line across my brow coupled with the fact that my head appears to be square makes me look like the lost daughter of the dude to the left.

2. My dress. Is this a dress or just a t-shirt? Was mom in a rush and plumb forgot our pants? And if it’s close to Christmas, why don’t we have stockings? Bare legged in New Jersey in December? Maybe there was a hint of Indian Summer that day, but most likely the act of  hiking stockings up my chubby little legs was more than mom was willing to do.

3. My hand. And smack dab in the middle of this fa la la la la la photo is my hand. My awkward little hand. I’m not entirely sure what it’s doing. It could be trying to shield my fundies from view due to the fact that my mother dressed me in a Barbie outfit. Maybe I had to pee. Maybe I had an itch. Maybe I farted and was trying to block its escape.

Whatever the reason, it sucks that front and center in this photo it looks like I am digging in my crotch.

4. My Knee. Ok, if you’re going to take me to get my photo taken with the department store Santa in a dress that wouldn’t fit a kewpie doll, and I have a boo-boo on my knee, the least you could do is put the band aid on straight. I can deduct exactly what happened here…while applying the band aid, the adhesive stuck together and mom, in a rush with 4 impatient kids just slapped that fucker on whichever way it would stick.

A straight band aid would’ve been sort of charming. But that thing? It’s like it was applied by a triage nurse at the front lines.

5. My Sister. There is a 3rd sister in this photo – can you find her? I don’t know if she was meant to be in the picture and the photographer had a 3 martini lunch or if she was supposed to stay out of the frame, but was foiled once again by the family schnozola. In any case, her nose sticking in from stage right cracked us up for years and years.

You also have to love the placard with the numbers clearly visible in the photo – makes it look like we are getting our photo taken with a prison Santa.

As many flaws as this photo has, I’m thankful it was taken. I never brought my kids to have a photo taken with Santa – the type you dress up for specifically and shell out the dough to Mrs. Claus and her elves. If we did manage to find a short line for Santa and the kids got to sit on his lap, I usually didn’t have my camera.

But my mom managed to rush us out of the house – Bad hair, short dresses and crooked band aids aside to get out photo taken with Santa. Then I imagine she wanted a three martini lunch.

The World on My Shoulders – Pass the Icy Hot…

I’ve not been blogging much these past few weeks. I guess the combination of Christmas and losing my job has killed any urge I’ve had to journal my daily comings and goings, and reminiscing about the past sorta bums me out.

The last few years, Christmas had been a source of anxiety for me. My husband is in his third year managing an outdoor skating rink in Richmond, which is open through the holidays. His hours are monumentally long – he literally comes home to sleep and shower the next morning. That being said, every chore involving the kids, Christmas, the house, the car, the pets – falls on me, who up until 3 weeks ago also held a full time job.

It’s exhausting and it really takes the joy out of the holiday for me. I rush and worry and spend and worry and agonize over what to get the girls. This year you have to add on the fact that I have to not only get my paper done and to the printer, but I have to train someone to do it at the same time. I’m making lists and charts and manuals for the designers that are taking over the shit I did for almost 13 years.

I have 3 days left at work – Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Then I’m officially an unemployed hausfrau, which I am looking forward to, in a way. I like the idea of getting the laundry done and tidying the house. I’m glad I won’t have to worry about pictures I need to take for upcoming articles. I like that I won’t have to hunt for a parking space every morning. I’ll enjoy all these things until my bank account begins to groan.

It’s really just the money I’m worried about. That and health coverage. I carry the kids on my policy that I am now losing. Whatever job I take has to have some sort of health plan – If I can even find a job. Oh, and let’s not forget that we have to apply for student loans after the New Year. With me not working, our actual income is one step above pitiful. I wonder if they only look at last year’s tax returns rather the the financial shit storm we’re really in.

Ugh, this world is getting heavier…perhaps I’ll just go bake some cookies.

Shop-a-hellic

Today my girls and I headed to town so my oldest could pick up little gifts for her friends. I was also going to try and get a few things on the sly for both of my girls. I knew that the last Saturday with elbow room before Christmas was going to make for hectic day. I know that NEXT Saturday is the actual last weekend before Christmas, but that weekend is for complete knuckleheads or folks who have really lousy pay schedules.

We got into town at 11:30. By 2 pm I was ready to jump off the fiscal cliff.

I hate crowds. I have now come to the conclusion that when I am on a shopping mission, crowds (aka assholes who are in my way) just piss me off. If I’m at a wine festival or a crowded holiday party, the more the merrier! I have a drink in my hand and all is right with the world! But Christmas shopping? That’s a Santa of a different color.

For example, Toys R Us was a monumental cluster-fuck today. It took me 7 minutes to get from the front of the story to the Barbie aisle in the back. Folks were clogging up the already congested aisles thanks to bins and tables of worthless “on sale” crap placed smack dab in the middle.  This eliminates the shopping cart passing lane that is so crucial at this time of year. While granny is pondering the sticker set on the end cap I’m all dressed up with no place to go.

And it amazes me how clueless people are about the space they are taking up. Stopping to swipe your cell phone is not appreciated when you are blocking the Lego aisle. The cherry on the Toys R Us sundae was when I was trying to get in line to purchase my stuff. Mario Andretti couldn’t have maneuvered the turns they had set up to wait for the next available cashier. There was a woman browsing the Pokemon display which was right at the entry point into the sit and wait maze. This entry required a hairpin turn from where I was positioned and she was not budging. I tried to ease by her, and brushed her purse.

I apologized and waited for her to make room for me, which she didn’t. I then nudged forward again, and made contact with her purse for a second time. Meanwhile, scores of people are getting into line ahead of me from the other, easily accessible side. With each nudge and subsequent brush up against her purse I apologize, and she won’t move. I finally say “I’m really sorry, but I’m just going to have to bust through here” and she says “I’m sure you’re really sorry.”

Fuck you! Who buys Pokemon cards anymore? Can’t you see that your are blocking the entry to the line?

Next we head to Best Buy where my oldest realizes that our lunch isn’t agreeing with her and spends the next 45 minutes in the bathroom. What was supposed to be a 15 minute visit turns into me standing and watching my youngest mess with the iPads. Then the power went out – too many tv’s, computers, and stereos going at once. This day is getting better by the minute.

The rest of our day was no better – crowds in every store, and my youngest with an attitude. I turned into one of those crappy parents who balled her child out in the bead aisle at Michael’s. I  had to change purchase lanes 3 times after I waited 10 minutes in line behind a kid who was paying with her shit from a jelly jar crammed with $1 bills. The normal person would’ve found that charming, but at 4:30, dying of thirst, and aching feet? She was not charming, she was the evil seed.

From now on I think I’m going to do my Christmas shopping online – not just for my sanity, but for the well-being of the folks around me.