Friday, July 16, 2010

Negative, Facebook Request.

Remember when I had to beg and plead for my second grader to attend a private Christian school? And the Chairperson of the School Board really didn't want us there because I am the epitome of sin? And they made me feel like crap but it was really important to Dotter so I sucked it up and didn't say anything (except in my trademark passive aggressive snarky commentary on my blog)?

I mean, it was bad enough that I was unacceptable by Christian School standards, what with all my out-of-wedlock  children, and living in sin, and swearing and stuff. I admit to all of that. But Dotter didn't do any of that. In fact, she tells me all the time how I shouldn't swear because it's bad and I could go to "the opposite of Heaven." Anyway. Remember how I thought it wouldn't be a big deal that my non-cussing, non-hussy 7-year old attend a school where she would learn about love and forgiveness and grace and peace and the unending limits of God's love and understanding, and how I would pay thousands of dollars each year for this precious educational gift, but how it turned out to be a really big deal instead and made me want to pack up and leave town and settle some place where people wouldn't judge me for swearing? Like on a lobster boat in Maine? And how I cried because I've never been made to feel so horrible by one woman in all my life? (Well, except for another woman, and that other woman's crazy daughter who hunted me down at our local WalMart, which makes me think this happens more in my life than I'm willing to admit.) Remember that woman? The first one. Not the second or the third one. (Although equally scary.)

Well, Hallelujah! She hath found forgiveness! She done gone requested little old sinful me as her very own Facebook Friend!

Really. Facebook Commandments clearly state that if you make someone cry, or if you make someone feel like the mud upon the bottom of your shoe in front of their children, you may not request them as a friend.

She obviously has not read that set of rules.

But now I'm all worried. Because what if I ignore the request? Then will she hate me even more and possibly  ban Dotter from school on the basis that I think I'm too good to have her as my friend. Which is ironic because I wouldn't even come close to picking the term "friend" to describe our nonexistent relationship.

I can't say yes... because, honestly, my Facebook is like my blog all hopped up on energy drinks... and Jesus was actually pretty chill from what I've been taught. The content on my Facebook alone could have us banned from all religious institutions throughout the state. I cuss a LOT. I snark even more. And there are pictures of me imbibing alcoholic beverages. And then there's that whole White Trash thing to try to explain. Well, you see my predicament.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Collection Calls

I hate answering the phone in our office.

What irritates me further is when I answer the phone and it's not even work related at all, rather some collection agency looking for some woman who obviously had issues paying her bills but who does not work here. For the first year I tried to be helpful explaining this was a second line in an office we recently acquired; that this is a business and that woman doesn't work here; that it's been over a year and we've never heard of this person and perhaps it's about time to update your stupid records and how did you get this job anyway if you can't even do something as simple as update your records to show this lady is not here. You know, helpful things like that.

Seriously, people. It's been over a year of this nonsense. It's time to have a little fun with this.

Telemarketer:  "Hello, is Barbara there, please?"

Me: "Oh my god! Barbara?! You mean -- you didn't hear?"

T: "I'm sorry. Um. Is Barbara available? This is a business matter."

Me: "You didn't hear? Barbara was involved in that big porn raid over at the Methodist Church."

T: ".....uh.... I'm looking for Barbara Smith....."

Me: "Can you believe that? I mean - the Methodists, right? Who would've thought! Totally conjures up a different image when you hear 'Let's get together and whip up some pies!' "

T: ".... uh... is there a better time when I could call ...."

Me: "Good Lord, you don't think she'll be released anytime soon, do you? I mean, there was that whole thing with the goat - I'm pretty sure that's some serious charges there."

T: ".... um... uh... thank you ...."

click.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Rules to Live By

Everyone has Life Rules they live by. I have Life Rules I live by. To me, they're less general guidelines and more black & white unalterable restrictions. And they're not some willy-nilly nonsense; these are based on actual childhood experience. I know what works and I know what doesn't. And that's just how it should be. So, here I will let you into just a couple of my Life Rules just in case you need help determining yours.

1.) Never open an exterior door after dusk for longer than two seconds. A bat could fly in and wreck havoc in your home. Your kids will be scared to pieces thinking they're all going to die of rabies and demand to sleep on your bedroom floor and your father will wake you up in the middle of the night by stepping on your face as he tries to smash the rabid bat with a broom and you'll never, ever get the sound of a shrieking bat, nor the image of a middle-aged man jumping & swatting over your face wearing only tighty-whiteys out of your head and you'll have to go to therapy and it's just not worth it so keep the door closed.

2.) Grown men should always wear underwear under shorts. Because let's say you don't, and your ten-year old granddaughter is sitting across from you at a barbeque and while you're tipping back another Foster's in that lawn chair of yours, your bored out of her gourd granddaughter is looking at you and then says to herself what the heck is that thing sticking out of grandpa's shorts? and she still can't figure it out so she enlists the help of a slightly older relative and learns that's what male genitalia looks like. And she's grossed out and will never get that image out of her mind ever and will have to go to therapy and it's just not worth it so keep it locked up, boys.

3.) Make sure your shoes are tied all the time. If they have laces they should be laced up. Period. Let's say you're wandering around a very busy airport at a very young age during a very lengthy layover and you decide to ride up and down the escalators while your dad boozes it up in the airport bar and your laces are untied and the escalator grabs your laces and starts twisting your shoe and your sister screams because she thinks you're being eaten alive and strangers have to come to your rescue to save your life and you're stuck walking in half a shoe for the rest of the trip. Not good, right? So keep 'em laced up.

4.) Never light candles. Ever. But especially on that cottonish-fake-snow-with-tacky-glitter stuff people put on their antique buffet tables at Christmas time. Because once that stuff catches fire the flames are HUGE and no amount of Kool-Aid you throw on it is going to help and then you have to explain to your mother why the wall is covered in soot and the antique buffet table she was in love with is more or less kindling and how come you weren't able to get her a Christmas gift because you were busy battling a forest fire in her dining room. Trust me, she'd much rather have had a noodle necklace. Just don't light the candles, ok?

There's plenty more... but I thought I'd start off slow, so as not to scare you off...

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Has Anyone Seen the Baby?


To be fair, we did not just leave him on the park bench.
We remembered to take him home.
(Third Child Syndrome)