Not Ending Up on the News: Part 1

Seeing as this is a saga, it’s only fair that it’s broken into two bits.

Seeing as my dear reader(s) are confused by the initial issue, I will switch up.
“D” will now be Diane. Diane is a friend of “C”/”Charlotte” and we have not met. Diane communicates via email/interwebs.
“C” will be Charlotte.
“M” will be Melissa (sssshhhh, not her real name), my bestie.

The most important thing to mention was that I did not get in a fight a baby shower.
That being said, am I f-ing glad this weekend is over.

The Back story:
Our friend, “Teppo” made a baby with Charlotte and she is due middle of next month.

In October, my friend Melissa and I offered to throw Charlotte a shower at Casa Mak; around the end of February.
Charlotte agreed.
HOORAY!
Around Janurary-ish, Charlotte let us know that her friend Diane is interested in throwing a shower as well.
We come to the agreement that we’ll party up with Diane.
I offer my home to Diane and am, quite frankly, shot down like enemy aircraft.

bbeeeewwwwwooooooo!

Passive Stephanie: That’s cool.  No big.
Diane books a hall.
At a winery. For two hours (most showers are at least 3, if not 4 hours to allow for eating/mingling/presents/games)
FOR A BABY SHOWER.
Diane tells me, in no uncertain terms, that I would “need to understand Charlotte and my relationship to understand why it has to be at a winery.”
Okay, WTF? ‘ever.
All of our communication is taking place via interweb.

The Mid-Story
Diane asks me to send her names/addresses of people who should be invited.
Among the first group of people is The Mister’s mom.
Diane states she is “really” busy with her Masters; I understand, The Mister is getting his too.
We (Melissa and I) offer to assist and it’s determined that we will be in charge of decorations, food and games. Diane will get beverages, cake (“I know this woman who makes really cute cakes!”) and the hall.
Being told that there will be about thirty invitees, we procure plates/napkins/cups (which I left at home, come to think of it) and purchase balloons/streamers/tablecloths.
Diane is still getting names and addresses as there are some people I just can’t get a hold of.
The Mister’s mom asks me if I’ve gotten my invite yet.  I state that I have and I will check with Diane to make sure the address is correct. Diane doesn’t reply, so I take that as an all-clear. A few weeks later, The Mister’s mom asks again about the shower… still no invite.

About three weeks before the shower I send Diane another address and she informs me that she “ran out” of invites and could I call my people?  BTW, invites were PRINTED [from a PC], with the date crossed out a new date written in.
Oh, and Diane “needs a count” of how many people are coming so she can order etched wine glasses.
Well, gee, seeing as most of my invitees DIDN’T GET INVITATIONS…
Melissa & I plan food for about 25-ish.

Tuesday Before the Shower
I (not Melissa, who has been included on correspondence thus far) get an e-mail from Diane, stating, in what can only be described as “tee-hee-hee, oops!”, she states that she’s all done with school now and she’s available to help.
She asked, was she supposed to get decorations?  She can’t remember! She was getting balloons to tie to the bottles.  Should she get tablecloths?  Oh, by the way, how ARE things coming with food?!

And steam comes from my ears.

peeeewooo!

Day of the Shower
As The Mister leaves for his annual bowling tourney, he comes back into the house.
“Stephanie.” He says In a Most Serious Way, “Please behave today.  Really.  Be good. For Charlotte‘s sake.”
I smirk, “Oh, I’ll be good!”
“No.  Really.  BEHAVE.”

Next Chapter:
Stephanie plays nice. For a little while.

And now, a word from Bailey

Bailey took me aside yesterday and had a stern conversation regarding the lack of her on Stopbouncing.
So here, in somewhat reverse order, is what we did…

these are her toys

wearing some of her toys...

Covered in her own sticky toys

a happy dog makes

I’ve Been Gnomed!

Often (okay, quite often) I question just how girlie I’m not.
Case in point socks and um, other cotton products.
Fine, underpants. We’re all adults here.
I think “panties” is a stupid word and I do refer to my undergarments as “underpants”.
I digress.

The time has come (that time being “laundry time”) when I realize that my stash of underpants is just this side of embarrassing.
While they’re all clean, they’re um, worn. From wearing. There may be holes in them.  I have more than one pair that have lost elasticity, a few with rips and tears…. (oh, see, and you thought I was all girlie.  As long as they’re clean, they’re acceptable)
I hate shopping for underwear as most men hate shopping in general.

Whilst in Kohl’s, I looked at the offering of underpants.
It seems that my happy medium has been reduced to: Thong or Full-Coverage. Butt-Crack or Shoulders. Inappropriate or Inappropriate.
Men, I know most of you like the th-th-th-thong-thong-thong.  Let me tell you what.  It’s winter.  DRY SKIN SEASON.  Dry skin+exposed cheeks+rough insides of pants= flaky butt.  Flaky butts are not hot butts.  Not to mention that having a string jammed up your crack isn’t very comfy.  Or hygenic.  DO YOU SEE WHAT WE GO THROUGH FOR YOU?!?!

Thank goodness Target was next door.
There, my choices expanded to include: Somewhat Less Inappropriate but in Colors Fit for a Ten-Year Old (read: “blushing pink”, “lilac”, patterns of butterflies/swirls/cartoon flowers.)
Oh, sure, I could go to Victoria’s Secret, but even their selection seems too meh.  Not to mention, the frugality of it. Five underpants for thirty dollars?!? Do they massage my butt? No?  Pass.
Picking out the least scarring package of underpants, I head to the checkout.

This morning, I went downstairs to retrieve my new garments.
But, my underpants… where are they?!
They’re on the receipt!
And then, the panic.
Steve took a bag with him to work.  Spoons, tissues… underpants?
I don’t want/need his plant knowing what kind of underwear I wear!  Let alone the size! (hey, VPL is not something I encourage)

So, either my underpants are floating around an automobile plant or they’ve been gnomed.

Phase 1

Are you picky about your undergarments?
Do you stock up like in this post musing on the how and why of cotton products?
Do you vary your underwardrobe?
Where are YOUR underpants?

Wa-wa-wa. OR The Monthly Cranky Post

I feel like complaining.
So I will.
Not looking for sympathy, just sometimes feels better to let it all out.

A) I had french fries for lunch.
2) There’s a baby shower this weekend, which I am excited about because I can put all this extra chaos behind me. Maybe it’s my OCD nature, but this planning, isn’t going according to plan. I dare not involve the mom-to-be, I figure she has enough going on with being four weeks to-go. This whole things has been an exercise in Why I Can’t Work Well With Others.
III) I made the mistake of looking at today’s Kohl’s ad.  I don’t know why I do such things… 1) They’re advertising capris/skirts/short-sleeved shirts/peep-toes.  It’s March. In Buffalo. It will remain in the 40’s (or lower) for at least the next month/month-and-a-half. 2) With the uncertiantly of Steve’s job, I probably shouldn’t go buy a lot of clothes. 3) Eventually, I will work off my “winter coat” and the clothes recently aquired will be rendered useless.
Four) I think running at the gym may not have been a good idea.
E) If an ice cream truck were to end up in my fifth floor office, I would save his inventory by storing it in my tummy.
V) I really should go to the gym tonight, however, I’ve got the feeling that Steve’s given me whatever he’s getting and I just want to read books under a mound of blankets.
six) You know it’s time to shave your legs when you can’t sleep because of the [push] back pressure.
7) I ruined a single-man-fanatsy this past weekend by telling one of our friends that women usually only wear matching undergarments when they think they’re going to get laid. Matching items are almost 100% out of the question in a stable relationship.
Eight) Oh, and thanks to the weather (that’d be crazy wind) I keep checking the local electric grid to make sure our house has power.  Why?  Well, it’s been snowing–> melting –> raining –>  freezing –>melting –> snowing –> raining –> melting and my backyard is  Labrador ankle deep in mud. Which means if the power goes out, my sump pump doesn’t work and I don’t want a flooded basement.

Now, where’d I put that burn book?

Maybe it's only okay when she says it

“Bear and Shark” or “Why I Can’t Write Children’s Books”

Bear vs. Shark!

Shark: Om nom nom nom!
Bear: YIKES!
Shark: nom nom!
Bear: *bats shark away with what’s left of arm/leg*
Shark: NOM!
Bear: It’s just a flesh wound. Say, I’m feeling a bit woozy. Hand me that seal pelt, would you?
Shark: Dude, did you not see my rows of fantastically chiseled teeth? The better for nomming you with!
Bear: Well, that doesn’t mean that you HAVE to bite me!
Shark: I’m a shark. With teeth. In fact, it does mean I have to bite you. *nom*
Bear: That hurts! *bites shark*
Shark: That does hurt! Goodness, I’m sorry!
Bear: Well, it’s a bit late now, my arms off!
Shark: Would it help if I stopped biting you?
Bear: Certainly.

And the shark is the winner for taking the bear’s feelings into account.

temper temper

scene: Deli counter at Wegmans.
characters:
* Early Retirement Couple (to be referred to as :ERC)
* Chatty Cathy (to be referred to as : CC)
*Heroine with deli #82 because the pre-order kiosk is MIA (To be referred to as: me)

ACTION!

Deli Clerk: NUMBER EIGHTY!
CC gives the “wait wait!” finger to female ERC: Oh, that’s me! A pound of seasoned roast beef!
Deli Clerk slices specialty roast beef.
Deli Clerk: Anything else?
CC continues to talk to Female ERC.
Deli Clerk: MADAM? ANYTHING ELSE?
CC: no.  (turns to ERC) and then I quit smoking!
ERC: Awesome!  blah blah blah
Another Deli Clerk: Eighty-one!
ERC & CC: blah blah blah blah blah!  Laugh.
Deli Clerk: Number eighty-two?
me: Yup!
CC: OH MY GOD! (runs back up to counter) I NEED a pound of ham!
me, glaring.
CC to ERC: blah blah blah blah.  FIVE WEEKS!!
ERC: hahhaha blah blah blah.
Deli Clerk to me: I’m sorry.
me, glaring
CC and ERC: blah blah blah blah
Deli Clerk slices ham.
CC and ERC: blah blah kids!  college!  cars!
Another Deli Clerk: EIGHTY-TWO!
me, short: yup.
Deli Clerk: Anything else?
CC: blah blah blah blah no. (takes ham) blah blah blah blah.
me, voice over: You flippin’ bitch. I should find your SUV in the parking lot and let the air out of the tires.

But I didn’t.
Nor did I grab her by the back of the head and smash her head into the deli case. Nor did I run into her with my cart. Nor did I pelt her with eggs/hamsteak/jar of gravy.
Because really, what would that solve.  Well, except my anger.

Stuff and Things

1) I was seriously planning on getting some coffee from the local place in the “mall”*.  However, when I approached the doors, there was a guy there, holding the door open for people.  At first I thought that they worked with the guy, then I saw his lips moving.
Bum.  Hobo.  Beggar.
I opted to by-pass coffee and spent the next couple hundred feet wondering what it was that made me so uncomfortable- to the point that I didn’t want to use any of the other sets of doors.

2) WTF?

WTF is THAT?!

‘lissa and I went out last weekend and found, THAT.  Now, the ‘hood we were in is AFFLUENT. As in, one of the two suburbs that professional sports people live in.
I’m sure you’re looking at it thinking, “What’s the big deal?  It’s a ponytail.”  Nut-uh girlfriend.  That is a straight-up beavertail, full-on dread (just one).
And like, ew.  Really.  Can you imagine what that thing smells like?!

3) Yesterday at the gym, I ran.
I ran so far away.
Yes, I ran.
I ran all- of fifteen minutes-ish.
For a while, I was clocking 5 miles an hour, but it was pretty much at 4.5/mph.
While I could not out run a chicken (top speed: 8/mph) I am prepared if I am chased by a cockroach, ghost crab or housefly.

* “mall”: Main Place Mall, which consists of three shoe stores, two dollar stores and a food court.  Oh and the coffee shop. Also, a place for stabbing. It mainly consists of office space.

Advertising

I received an e-mail yesterday that showed a photo of an oven roasted chicken.
I don’t even really care for chicken and I still really really really want one.
Just the leg though. It has to be a little crispy.

I have given too much thought about this.

thought

With the demise of Circuit City, will “The 40-Year-Old Virgin” be as funny to future generations?

Today’s Repressed Memory: Doctor’s Office Music

hey, it’s cheaper than a shrink.

Due to circumstances far beyond my (and Mom’s and Dad’s) control, as a kid I spent too much time in doctors offices.
Seemed like no matter which doctor we went to see, they all played the same station.
The Soft Rock Station.  (perhaps today, it would be “all of your favorites from the 70s, 80s and today!”)
Not wanting to go in the first place and then sitting though “Against all Odds” (Phil Collins), “Daniel” (Elton John), “Sara” (Starship), “Kokomo” (Beach Boys), “Baker Street” (Gerry Rafferty), “The Things We Do for Love” (10cc), etc. which when you’re under ten is as bad as having to do spelling homework.
Perhaps it’s all those afternoons spent with people poking and prodding, stabbing and slicing that makes the “Adult Contemporary” station so hard to listen to.  Even now.
So if we’re in the car and I say I hate Billy Joel, I mean it.

(nowdays I’m an “OH MY GOD! IT’S A TUMOR!!!” or “Meh, the bleeding will stop. Eventually.” kind of girl)