These are the flowers in my front hall and they have nothing to do with this post.

The last thing, and I do mean the very last thing I wanted to hear about on Christmas Eve, or anytime for that matter, is my mother in law's vagina. You too, right? The woman from her nursing home called me about an hour ago to discuss a medical issue with my husband, who is the stepsone of said M-I-L Since it was Christmas Eve he was out shopping, so rather than cut my tongue out as I should have, I used it to ask if perhaps I could help.

“Well, sure,” says the nurse, and accustomed to discussing things like old lady vaginas and bodily fluids she launched right in to it. “I just want to let you know she had a UTI, but she's on antibiotics now and doing much better.” She pauses for a bit and I make noises like I am pleased to hear her news, so encouraged, she continues. “Do you know what a boil is?” I allow as to how, while not being a medical professional like herself, I am familiar with boils. “Mrs. Haley has what she says is a boil on her vagina, but it doesn't look like one to me.” The nurse then proceeds to describe the thing on my step-mother-in-law's vee-jay in vivid detail and living color. I am on a run away train pulling on every handle, cord, and whistle in the cab, but it's like I'm having one of those dreams where you are screaming but making no noise.

 “...she says it's getting better but I think I see another one coming up a little closer to her...” 

“NOOOOOO, please, make it stop, ” is what I am yelling inside my head, but my mouth says, “Maybe the antibiotic caused the improvement. I'll let my husband know and thank you so much for calling.” She goes on for a bit, but finally realizing that nothing more coherent is going to come from me, she decides her job is done. 

“Now, I'll keep you up to date on everything, don't worry. You be sure and let your husband know, okay?” 

“I certainly will,” says my lying mouth, “and you have a happy holiday. Thank you so much.”

Now, I'm going to my front hall and look at my flower arrangement again and try to forget the other picture in my head. I suggest you try to do the same. 

and BTW, Merry Christmas. 

well, the stockings are hung, but...

Once again I have been drug into Christmas kicking and spitting, like a cat getting a bath. Once again, now that it is done, I want to let what is left of Christmas magic fill my soul. The tree is up, the gifts are purchased and wrapped, the house is filled with fresh flowers and greens, and the guest room sits in orderly anticipation waiting for my middle child to arrive. He however has been sitting at JFK since nine this morning on standby, his flight from Seattle delayed because of an unprecedented six inches of snow. In normal times he could have gotten on the next flight, but it is Christmas so all the seats are full. My daughter called me from her friend's house in DC to reassure me that he will get here and of course, she is right. It's only that right now having decorated the house and trimmed the tree by myself while my husband watched football, I'm not quite feeling the Christmas thing. I can promise you the boy stranded in NYC airport is muttering a bit of bah humbug under his breath too.

Eyes On The Future

Everyday I pass her cube multiple times and each time she is peering into a mirror as she talks on the phone, some implement in her hand applying makeup to her already over taxed eyes. She has perfected the art, but it is a temporal medium and requires constant vigilance.  I am her quality monitor and I listen as she reads her script, stopping at the end of lines instead of at punctuation marks. Still, after long practice she is competent on the phones and her quality scores are acceptable. She needs the job as she is a single mom with a young son to rear. 

We had a catered dinner for our holiday treat last week and I shared a table with her. In fact I was the only white girl at the table, and while no one ignores that fact, they all know me as a liberal and they slid from their phone english into the cadence and grammar that is most comfortable. I catch the middle of her conversation...

“...and his daddy ask me, what that boy doing up that time of night? That man is a fool. I told him he's watching history, history. We gonna go up there (Inaugration) cause I want him to see it. I want him to know that a black man don't have to be a basketball player or a musician. He can be president.”

The first thing that came to my mind was the Onion article that quipped, “Black Man Given Worst Job In Nation”, but I understood what she was saying. I try to imagine the colorful baby mama as the mother of a president but I can't bring it into focus. I do know that her son will grow up in a world of new possibilities, a world I dreamed about and worked for all my life. I know that my grandson will grow up in that world too and I can't help but wonder, what will they dream?

Why didn't I think of that?

Let me say at the get go that I have the greatest respect for IT people, having a degree in programming myself and two sons who make their living in the field. I know all the jokes about the stupid calls they get and have been asked some dumb questions myself a few times. I love the ones that start, “This may be a dumb question, but..”. Now the only answer to that one is to smile and lie, “Of course not, there are no dumb questions.”, but that's another story. I don't want to talk about IT from the inside today but from the actual world outside where people do things we can mostly understand. 

Being computer savvy, when I train new employees I tell them that before calling the help desk to first shut everything down and then turn it back on. It usually deflates the voice on the end of the line very effectively when you tell them you already did that, but some of them got wise to me. “But did you unplug the phone first, they ask, or did you hit the delete key three times while holding down on F17 and reciting the alphabet backwards?” I admit I didn't try that and they tell me that should fix it but if it doesn't to call back. Then they hang up before I get their name and extension. In a big company there is a good chance you will never speak to that particular techie again. This is such a shrewd move that they have earned my grudging respect, however this week one outdid himself. 

It seems that one of our major applications, the one we use to monitor calls as in, “this call may be recorded for quality assurance”, had a slight glitch. Half of the screen, the video portion, was recording upside down. It was not happening on every call, which for a computer is an even stranger problem.  One of my favorite managers found it first and after he quit laughing he called the help desk. They didn't believe him so they asked for a screen shot. He sent a copy to me too just for laughs but since it is protected by HIPAA I cannot include it in this post. The help desk emailed him back about an hour later with instructions on how to safely turn his monitor upside down. Brilliant.

More than you ever wanted to know about fishing and beyond..

I had been curious about the Bass Pro Shop since my body pump instructor said, “Hey dude, you gotta go see this place I went to this weekend.” It was an unlikely recommendation with no detail, but the next sentence was, “You might want to take off a little weight for this one.” Not having listened to that bit of good advice to my determent the next day, I thought maybe he might be right about his other suggestion.

A cold drizzling rain was falling when we arrived at the overflowing parking lot. A smiling barker stood by the turnstile at the entrance and encouraged us to “use both sides”.  Immediately after I pushed my hip against the medal rod a woman who seemed to be auditioning to be my personal hostess, intoned an enthusiastic, “Thank you for coming!” She would have shook my hand, but nodding slightly, I marched past her like I knew exactly where I was headed. My husband followed because after long years of living with me, he has found that he may need to keep me from walking straight forward off the edge of a cliff while trying to look in control. 

It took all of my inner cool not to stop and gawk like the swarming throngs around us. Tall trees appear to support the soaring structure, their leaves lost in the dark places high above. Vignettes of  glassy eyed taxidermic wildlife peer vacantly from every pseudo rock and tree.  A waterfall cascades into a deep pool conveniently equipped with one glass side so visitors can see the stock of large game fish doomed to swim forever in circles. A mannequin with an enormous butt stands frozen beside a salmon stream forever looking for a likely place to cast. Real salmon sit at the other end of the pool and snicker at her pants.

We climb the steps that lead behind the waterfall and discover a stuffed grizzly bear so surprising and life like two children had to be carried screaming out of the narrow stairwell. Upstairs and down there are shooting galleries for adults and children. The camping store is complete with an entire row of deep fat turkey friers. Downstairs, right behind the display of enormous fishing boats, sporty Santa sits tirelessly in his rustic chair picking up little children that just finished making glitter pine cones at the elves table. I wonder how many beards he goes through in an average week. 

I've seen all I care to see when my husband asks if I want to go look at the fishing lures with him. I give him my standard “were you talking to me” look and tell him I just might check out the menu at the restaurant. I stroll down past the fudge shop and looking through the door I spot the 12,000 gallon salt water fish tank reaching to the ceiling.  It comes to me that I may have found a way to salvage this day. My husband found me an hour later sitting at the bar eating lightly seared sesame tuna with wasabi and drinking Yuengling. He laughed as he sat down beside me,“Some sporting goods store, huh?” 

"Yup, it's like a theme park with guns and booze." I order him a beer and do not complain when he tells me all the names of all the fish as they swim past.

Notes on Sex Found in a Fortune Cookie

A housemate I had back in the day was taking a test for nursing school and had to answer a question on the four necessities of life. She put food, water, air, and sex, but not in that order. I ask you, what’s wrong with her answer? If we put the restrictions on food that we do on sex most people would starve to death.

Challenge

     

I have a new name on my blog role of coconspirators, Variations on a Theme. She is a writer and a mom and a lovely positive person plus she inspires me. Funny, she says the same thing about me too. She is also a reader of the Sun, which is an awesome literary magazine published in North Carolina by one Sy Safransky. When it arrives in my mailbox I put aside everything else and prepare to once again laugh and cry, rejoice and rage at the the things people say and how they say them. Only twenty six letter in the alphabet, how do they do it?

So my friend Variations made a suggestion on her blog that we as writers should stretch ourselves a bit and contribute to the section called "Readers Write". I am going to repeat the challenge she made here and hope in this way it will reach a few more people. If you want to know what type of thing they print go here and read some for yourself. Here is a list of the upcoming topics and the deadline for each.

Topic:                                 Deadline                       Publication date

Choosing Sides                 January 1                       July 2009

Fences                                February 1                     August 2009

The Middle of Nowhere  March 1                          September 2009

Rain                                    April 1                            October 2009

Selling Out                        May 1                              November 2009

Anger                                 June 1                              December 2009

Rejected or accepted, Variations and I both think it would be great to see what everyone comes up with and we will certainly publish our own pieces on our blogs. Hopefully you will too. I picked "Rain" and will be polishing mine off and putting it in the mail well before the deadline. I might even try for another one because I had ideas running around in my head for "the middle of nowhere" and "Anger".  Let me know how it goes....

You know your neighbor is a redneck when...

His wife gets gets one of these under the tree Christmas morning...

My husband brought it to my attention when it came  tucked as an ad in the fat newspaper that was dropped in our driveway Thursday morning. It reaffirms my belief that I need to continue to get all my news on line from the BBC website, without commercial interruption. 

Something wicked this way comes

     Since a lot of you may still be turkey drunk I thought I better warn you that there are only 27 shopping days left until Christmas. Remember how tired you were hearing about the election? That was nothing compared to the assault retail merchandisers have prepared for us this desperate holiday season. For many of them it really is life and death this year and they have pulled out all the stops. Those of you with nerves of steel who went out there shopping today, Black Friday, I hope you found everything on your shopping lists. For those of you like myself who would rather have a root canal than venture out to a mall today, I do want to remind you that it's not too late to shop on line. I have reliable information that over 15 percent of you wait until Christmas Eve and then race about in a frantic snatch and grab that results in those long lines for returns on December 26. 

     I know it's way too late to slow the annual flood of consumerism and this year it is evidently unpatriotic to even suggest a simpler Christmas. For me and my house this year however we are going to try to scale down a notch. I just can't see how going into personal debt is going to make the economy stronger. Goodness knows if that worked we wouldn't be in this mess. So, what are your plans for Christmas shopping?

Easily Amused

From:	Barack Obama (info@barackobama.com)
	You may not know this sender.Mark as safe|Mark as unsafe
Sent:	Wed 11/05/08 1:45 AM
To:	Elaine Haley (ELAINECHALEY@HOTMAIL.COM)

I rarely check my hotmail account anymore. It's the one I give to commercial ventures and it is jam packed full of spam at all times. Since the sender above knows two of my other email addresses, imagine my surprise when I checked this morning and found him there in my hotmail account. 

I'm just thinking how funny it would be if that mail came to a Republican on November 5.  

BTW, I bet you're thinking Barack wanted to thank me for my support, right? Nope, he was trying to sell me a tee shirt to raise money for the expensive election campaign. I immediately googled "money raised in 2008 election" and you all know what I found. Total raised by Obama $639 million, total spent $573 million. Sorry darlin' but nice try. 

Disaster Adverted

My husband and I are going out dancing tonight cause well, it's Friday, our date night. I bought some new clothes, slightly on the challenging side to inspire my weight loss. With five pounds off they fit better than they did last week so I decided to try on a few outfits to determine which looked best.  In desperation, because the girl is not home, I decided to ask my husband which looked best. Three changes later he says, “I like the green one.” 

Being a girl I asked him why. “Well, green is my favorite color.” He sees immediately from my face that he gave the wrong answer. He sounds calm when he delivers the next sentence but I know him too well. His eyes show me that he realizes this is a mine field conversation. “The one you have on is beautiful. Why don't you wear that?” I bet you can figure out what comes next, right?

“Are you sure it doesn't make me look fat?” I slur the last word a bit and he leaps on the opportunity. 

“Sat?” he quips.

“No,” I reply, “Does it make me look, you know, the “f” word?

“Yes my dear it certainly does make you look fuc*able.” 

The man is a genius. 

RANDOMNESS

My new friend Tiggerlane has tagged me with a meme. Now I generally ignore these things not only because I'm not about readership, but because I never have enough hours in the day. I do have readers, honest I do, but most of them don't blog, they lurk. Don't get me wrong, I love lurkers. I'm a Scorpio so evidently I am being true to form when I delight in the mystery of who checks in most everyday from Beijing and San Antonio and London and Florida. I sometimes try to guess who they are, maybe that man at the bar that I gave my blog address before I fled to my room, maybe the green peace lady I met on the plane, perhaps family members that aren't telling they know, or even an old lover or two, now that would be sweet. I appreciate them, along with my little blogging family, but I do not write for them. Writing has always been because I need to, because I love to, because if I don't the words sit inside me and turn to stagnant pools log jammed and straining to break free. 

That said, I am back to my friend Tiggerland, a most charming lady. We have daughters in common, hers ten years younger than mine. Whatever is dissimilar or congruent in the lives we lead, when she talks about her offspring she sounds just like me talking about my girl. I'm quite sure we would be the best of friends in real life and whatever flaws I have it could never be said that I am not a loyal and supportive friend. This is just for you Tigger.

Meme:

1. Link to the person who tagged you. (I was going to anyway, good excuse, done)

2 Post the rules on your blog. (unlike Tigger, I only read the rules so I can break them)

3 Write six random things about yourself (see below).

4 Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them (sorry, but forgiveness is easier to get than permission).

5 Let each person know they've been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.

6 Let the tagger know when your entry is up. 

Now for the randomness, in no particular order.

1. A friend shared something with me a few weeks ago and then added, "Please don't write about this." I told him not to worry because while it looks like my life must be an open book, I am hiding in plain sight. He who has an ear to hear let him hear. 

2. I have made eight wedding cakes at this juncture, all for friends and family.  Several had to be vegan, one vegan and wheat free, one vegan and wheat free and soy free and tree nut free.

3. I am a yellow dog democrat.

4. I hate coupons. If they wanted to save me money they would just make stuff cheaper. Duh.

5. I have a pair of jeans hanging on my refrigerator door. They are one size smaller than I now wear. I will be wearing them one week from tomorrow, so no cake for me thanks.

6. I don't do windows. 

Now, sorry darlin',  but you're it. You will notice that math is not my strong suit.

WG

Woojum

123Valerie

The sound of your heart

Variations on a theme

I am totally out of time and need to go to work!!! 

Asian Markets Are Down

My Vietnamese manicurist is about my height but I'm sure I out weigh him by at least 30 pounds. With his fragile looking hands he massages my feet and legs like you would expect from a man twice his size. I do not speak while this occurs, just lean back in the decadence of the upholstered chair and thank god that an hour of overtime will pay for being treated like royalty. Later he files my left hand while my right soaks in the bowl of suds. He is looking up at the TV instead of my fingers. The world stock market report is blaring from the big screen. He turns back briefly, glances at me and says,

“What happen money? Who has it? Who take?”

I pause only briefly as I consider best how to describe a complex system of economics, one that I myself do not understand, to a manicurist whose English is certainly better than my Vietnamese, but not exponentially. 

“Well,” I start, giving myself time to think, “It's not like real money. No one actually is taking it.”

“but where go? who has?” says the man who calls himself James.

“It's like my house.” I said, a subject we had been talking about earlier after I tried to explain why a man was selling lottery tickets for his house for $50.00 apiece and needed to sell 6000 to get his asking price. “I told you I bought my house for about $90,000 and now it's worth about $400,000. It's the same house. It's only worth more if someone is willing to pay that much for it. It might look like I am $310,000 richer, but I don't have the money except on paper. I have stocks too, and I got a statement recently that said some of the ones I own are worth around $3000 less than they were the last time they sent me a statement. I didn't actually have the money when they were worth 3,000 more, and no one has actually taken it from me. The stock market just decided they were worth less.” I lean back sure that I have given a brilliantly simple explanation that even someone who speaks little English can understand.

“They just steal money?” replies James. I realize I have vastly overestimated my teaching skills. 

“No, it's only there on paper.” I pause for a bit of a think. “Look at it this way. Is what you charge for a manicure what it is actually worth, or is it what someone is willing to pay to have their nails done? 

James says nothing with his mouth this time, but I can tell he wants to ask the same question again, rephrasing it so I in my intense ignorance will be able to understand that I've been robbed.

“Okay,” I begin again, “when my son was little he had trouble understanding money. I used to tell him the value of things in ice cream cones rather than dollars. A really expensive toy might cost twenty ice cream cones. Ice cream is a real thing that he could understand, but dollars are only worth what we say they are.” I don't bother going into the gold standard at this point as I am hopelessly over my head with the ice cream. “The stock market is the same way. A stock is only worth what someone is willing to pay for it. Right now a lot of people think that the stocks are losing value, so they are. It's all about confidence really.” 

“Oh,” he says, “so if it cheap maybe some people could go buy now and sell later when it worth more.” Bingo! I have done it. I have created a capitalist agenda in this small Asian man. 

“Yes, you're right.! That's exactly what caused the rally today. People decided to buy up cheap stock in companies hoping it will be worth more later.” We smile together, minds finally on the same wave length. I am wondering if James is counting how many manicures it would take to buy a controlling interest in Google. We sit in quiet as he paints the perfect white half moons on my short fingernails making them look spectacular. 

“You did a wonderful job!” I exclaim as he puts on the final coat. He thanks me shyly and then delivers the coup de grace.

“I thinking. Why man sell house so cheap? Fifty dollar. He lose money.” My mouth opens but nothing comes out. James is picking up my boots and purse and taking them to the nail drying area. I settle in quietly and watch him pick up the towels and sweep the floor, really glad I over tipped him.

Time for those replacement windows

I was sitting writing this morning when the giant plastic spider connected to my window by suction cups fell off onto the kitchen floor. I had put it there for Halloween instead of washing the windows. It was a message of course, time to put the damn Halloween decorations away and clean the windows. Fortunately my daughter came up stairs about this time and told me she wanted to go to Pilates at 12:30, so I have a healthy excuse for leaving the ghosts, pumpkins, spiders and webs tucked about the house. I don't know much for sure but one thing I can tell you with authority is that the house will always need cleaning. I have also found out that if I take off my reading glasses I don't notice how desperately it needs to be done. So, off with those glasses and on to the gym. Have a great Sunday.

ARGH!

When he first started calling me I have to admit I was flattered, an important busy man like that taking the time to call little old me. Although some might say I am not inclined to make snap judgements about people, they would be wrong. With a few exceptions, if I don't like someone two minutes into a conversation I'm never going to feel any more predisposed to them later. This man I liked immediately. His voice was so rich and confident, and his words held wonderful promises of the future we would build together. How could I resist? 

This afternoon however when I heard the now familiar voice for the third time today I felt the tension building behind my eyes. Then I did something remarkable. I hung up the phone. When I sat down at my computer the emails began.  Heartlessly I deleted them unread just like the dozens of others I received today and every day this month. I am writing this to let him know that it's nothing personal but it simply has to stop. Now don't think this means we can't be friends, because I've already voted for you, but for pity sakes Barack, it's embarrassing.  Oh, and you're not fooling anyone having your wife or one of your minions call either. It ends here. Tomorrow morning I'll just go back to my ordinary life and you go on and run the country, okay?

Anonymous

This one goes out to you, whomever you are and where ever you may be. I apologize that I often forget to check comments on older posts because I have had it associated to a semi retired email account. Today I finally got around to correcting that so I do not miss out on the interesting things you have to say. For instance, the post with the naked lady posing as a table received a comment from my learned anonymous friend that reads German, and evidently sees the clear difference between it and Swedish. He says that the cute girl pretending to be an Ikea slave is captioned in German. Now understanding a bit about the German sense of humor, this does not surprise me in the least, but since I don't even remember from whence I stole the pic,  my standards for accurate detail are obviously very low.  I want to let you know that I appreciate the fact that you take the time to write me notes. Of those who merely lurk silently you are in the small but elite percentage of those who who not only enjoy my sporadic soap opera life, but actually take the time to tell me. 

Of course I actually do know where you are because of my site meter and sometimes I guess that you are someone I may have met in person. The mystery about you always intrigues me and while I sometimes want to know your name, I am content to have an occasional secret admirer. 

Years ago when my husband was courting me seriously he gave me a funny little volume of stories called "Fables for the Fair" that was written by "One of them".  The subtitle is listed as "Cautionary Tales for Damsels Not Yet in Distress". It was written at the turn of the century, not this past one of course, the one before, and published first by a British firm. It is in no way PC in it's approach and in it's time it was probably scandalous. No one has ever been able to puzzle out who wrote the short vignettes about male female relationships but I adored them when he gave the book to me and I still do today. Part of it's intrigue is the fact that it has remained anonymous all these decades. Still I think what a delight it would be to find out who wrote the little book that I have keep on my bedside table over the years. So, although you can continue to enjoy with only an occasional remark, if you feel brave some fine day my email address is on my profile. Your secret is save with me. 

Astrological Guidance Sought

This morning my mail box was missing the familiar annoying daily horoscope that I must have signed up for accidently. I never paid any attention to it because it was in my voices gmail and rarely checked. Then I got the apple and all three of my email account are in one inbox, so I sort of started looking at the teaser, then gradually I opened the thing and read it all. Ever so slowly I came to look forward to the banal generic advice from my stars to help me though my day. One day after reading Scorpio I decided to check Aries for my girl, and soon I was reading the daily scoop for my husband, my friends, my casual acquaintances, and even my dead relatives. It didn't even bother me that Leo had an almost identical prediction as my own sign some days, or that most of what they said was like getting answers from the magic eight ball. It was reassuring to know that someone thought I was in someway predictable.  Now it's just not there. I know there have been some big downturns in the market and wonder if my generic life line has ended up in the ticker tape trash heap. If so can some one please advise me If I should continue to work hard toward my goals or relax at home today. Should I be cautious in financial matters or do I deserve a little indulgence? Most importantly, is my sex life heating up this weekend or should I content myself with warm snuggles with a friend. Help, please, even if it's only a fortune cookie with my name on it. 

He's the One

“I'm in love,” my daughter say. I have heard this before, but ever curious about her state of mind I look up anticipating. “I've never felt this way before about anyone or anything. My life has changed forever. I have never been happier.”

“Not even on your wedding day?” I queried. 

“Well, where is he now? This,” she says, holding up her new iphone, “is something I can trust.”

We spent the rest of the evening basking in the love, setting up email and phone contacts, turning our little black rectangles sideways and back to watch the page move at our command. The next day in the car we google everything that pops into our heads as we drive along the interstate. At the bank I pull up my Amex account to see how much she owes me from the corporate card she borrowed for Denver. We set the GPS to show us how to get to places we already know how to find. “Look, there's our house, that's the lake!” Sure enough, there it was all laid out in living color, trees and roads and buildings. We are both sound like mad scientists gone wild with the power of technology. 

I know love this intense cannot last. Soon enough I will find the little black box in the bottom of my pocket book and I'll think about how much money I've spent on it, how much of my precious time I've devoted to it, how I don't get that little catch in my throat when I look at it. Someday, but not today, not now. Now, just like my girl, I'm in love.

Can You Please Hold?

Perhaps I shouldn't have let the girl take over the phone call, but we had been in a bit of a snit for days in that way mothers and daughters have of miscommunicating. I had picked her up from the shop where we had taken her car (formerly my car) for a check up. We talked as we drove home together, chatting about work, the way we did before we quarreled. Back at home it seemed like a good time to bring up the phone bill for our shared minutes with our spawn of the devil wireless phone service. Now my relationship with Sprint has been long and unsatisfying, but in that way that I have, I just keep forgiving them and taking them back. Each time I call them they are always so nice, but after every conversation I get my bill the next month and find I have been charged for things I got for free the month before, plus new unfathomable items. Even though I have known for a long time that they are just no good, I am terrible at breaking up. The girl on the other hand has the moving on thing down to a science. 

She never actually yelled at any of the half dozen or more people she spoke to, even after two of them hung up on her and she had to call back and start the process over again. She had already gotten them to remove the roaming charges of $55.46 that were incurred while talking from our own house and the $47.80 charge for text messaging that was included in our basic package until last month before I foolishly called them, but then she came to the international text message to Guatemala for 20 cents and the 1.20 for text to UK. They refused to take it off the bill, even when she explained to them that she knew no one in Guatemala, but she had been texting UK for a year without additional charges. I only heard one side of the conversation, but it seemed like they implied that she had just forgotten where her friends lived. “So,” she says in a voice that anyone in their right mind would have known not to argue with, “you're telling me that I can't use my phone in my own home, which is less than ten miles from where it was purchased, but I can text Guatemala without actually knowing I'm doing it?” 

About this time I noticed that right under the list she had made of Sprint employee names she was recording something while looking at her phone. A wave of panic washed over me akin to what a passenger on the Titanic might have felt after making a quick count of lifeboats and humans. She was writing down all the phone numbers in her contact list! OMG, she was going to cancel this service! I pulled out my phone and frantically started writing down my numbers too. “...and I will not pay the cancellation fee,” she stated emphatically, “You are the ones in breach of contract. I have the service area map right here and my house is on it. You misrepresented yourself when I bought the phone. I have used international text messages since last September without any fee and suddenly you're telling me I will have to pay extra for it from now on. No, I am certainly not interested in any other plan! No, I will not hold. The last two people that put me on hold hung up on me. You will fix this now.” 

I am scribbling names and numbers randomly on an envelope as she writes hers in a clear firm hand on a note pad. I stare up at this amazing creature that I have somehow created as she disconnects the call. “Are you mad at me Mom?” she asks.

“Of course not sweetie, I just wish I had been able to get a new service before we got rid of the old one. I need my phone tomorrow.” 

“We can go get new ones on Saturday. I think we should get an I-phone.” Although I am thinking WTF we can't afford that, I am pulling up AT&T on the net. “Oh wow,” I said “We can get one for $199 plus a two year contract, but the cost of the plan is a little more than Sprint.”

“So when have we ever paid what Sprint says is our cost?” she replies.

Of course she is right. I look up the store address nearest our house, less than 5 miles. “I'm off tomorrow and I'm going there and talk to them.” I add “phone” to the long list of things I have to do on Friday. 

“Do you know what that last supervisor told me?” the girl asks, “She said she couldn't use her phone in her house either. I told her of course not, you have Sprint.” The girl and I finish off the last of the second bottle of wine we opened tonight, laughing hysterically. 

“They're going to call and offer us some kind of deal you know,” she says, thinking ahead, “so don't worry about the service getting disconnected too soon.”

“No problem,” I reply, “If they call I'll just say Sorry, we must have a bad connection and I can't hear you, what?, what?” 

I know this will cost me. Things with the girl always do one way or another, but they are always worth the price.  

So, What do you think Joe would like to be for Halloween?

You may remember Joe (no not the plumber) and his ever faithful redneck ladies from April of this year. Gone but not forgotten, Joe continues to get seasonal updates with each passing month but somehow the purple flowers, orange pumpkin, and scarecrow tacked on the tree for Halloween creep me out in a way I can't exactly find words to describe.  Oh, please note the beer can front and center in the frame. Nice touch, really.

Impulse Buying

 I draw odd people and bizarre occurrences like a lightning rod on a tree in the middle ofan open field, but I was still surprised when the man tapped on my window in the mall parking lot. I had left work at 5:30 with an eye toward going to  the cool west end gym. I decided to stop for a bite to eat at Whole Foods along the way, and feeling very urbane from rubbing elbows with healthy strangers, I determined that I needed some better workout clothes. I was trying to get the tag off my new sports bra when the harmless looking gray haired man appeared by my window, gesticulating and pointing to a piece of paper in his hand.  I immediately began to write the newspaper story in my head, “His neighbors said he was a nice ordinary man, the last person on earth you would suspect as a serial killer.” The car was not turned on, so incautiously I opened the door a crack. It was beginning to get dark out and the lot was full of cars, but the two of us were the only humans in sight. I wondered if he was going to accuse me of damaging his car, but to my relief  he started talking about my Prius. He had a new one parked right behind me and evidently I did not get the memo about membership in the Prius car owners club.  

For the next few hours this man talked and I listened. I kept waiting for him to hit on me like a natural man in the company of an attractive woman, but he really only wanted to talk cars. I usually can't figure out what to do with men who don't flirt, but this one was easy. He was a voice in need of an ear. He insisted I come see the bells and whistles on his car, and when I balked he told me he would sit in the back seat and let me take the drivers seat. It seemed gentlemanly at first until I realized he had so much stuff crammed in the passenger seat and floorboard that it would have taken an hour to move it. He showed me his GPS and bluetooth, all things I had seen before, but he seemed a bit taken aback when my first question was, “Why do you have a large chocolate cake in the floor?” There was a simple explanation. He was invited to a pot luck the next day and he found that if he took a large cake the weight conscious hostess made him take the leftovers home, therefore providing him with dessert for many days. He volunteered that the stacks of binders and papers in the seat were related to his job as an engineer. Ah, I though, this is all beginning to make sense to me somehow. 

Then Dustan asked me if I had though of getting a new car and selling the one I had now. I allowed as to how I had thought of it often. He seemed delighted and wanted to call his man and get me a deal. Okay, at this point I am slightly more open to suggestion but I'm not at all certain how I ended up at Panera with him writing an email to Nino, his personal car salesman. We sat by Panera's pseudo fireplace for some time waiting for Nino to return his call or respond to the email. Dustan bought me coffee when he got his dinner. I declined his offer of food. It was almost 9 before my new best friend  remembers that Nino is off on Wednesdays and won't be calling us back. 

Now I did not forget I was married, neither did I let Dustan forget. I called my husband and let him know I was talking to a man about a car. There was nothing more I could tell him with Dustan sitting there and god bless him, he took my word for it. I filled him in on the details when I returned home about 9:30, not having been to the gym or made any progress toward buying a car. To my surprise I have an email in my box the next morning from Nino telling me to call him, and then another telling me that he has a 2009 red Prius on the lot ready to roll out the door if I want it. Seems like the man who ordered it left for Europe for a month and can't take shipment, so instead of having to wait six months for one to arrive, I can have this one immediately. Friday night my husband and I give up dancing to drive to Woodbridge and pick up my new car.

We had to run the gauntlet of hungry car salesmen in the front of the car lot, one of whom told me they didn't have a Nino on staff. I flipped open my laptop and showed him Nino's picture on the bottom of the email and he slipped quietly back into the herd. Nino turned out to be a very perky red headed Irish boy with an Italian grandfather. He was wearing an orange sherbet colored dress shirt and a happy smile. Despite all that I liked him immediately. When I mentioned Dustan his eyes rolled back in his head. “The first time he came here he stayed for six hours!  I finally sent him over to my brother's garage to get rid of him and my bro called me back and told me he stayed there for four hours. But you know what,” he says to me in an amazed tone, “He has sent 5 other people here that have bought a Prius, three of them before he even got his car.” Seems like Dustan is on a mission to change the world, one Prius at a time. 

As Dustan had warned me, the rest of the crew at the dealership tried to charm, then shame, and finally guilt me into buying “extras”.  I had assured him that I would stand firm just like I had on all my previous car buying adventures. They were particularly relentless however, and I did my husband's folded arm bit and looked them squarely in the eye. “If you have to talk I can't stop you, but I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm not going to spend another penny beyond the price of the car.” The first salesgirl left and sent in the big guns to offer me exactly the same thing at half price. I repeated my statement and finally we got to the credit manager who made one last attempt, but at least he knew resolve when he saw it. I signed about a hundred pieces of paper without reading any of them and finally they let me leave with my car. 

Bright and early the next morning I headed out in my new Prius to pick up my daughter at the airport and take her to the credit union. We signed a few papers and low and behold, my daughter has a loan and  we both own a red Prius, identical down to the pre set radio stations. The only difference is a slightly lighter color on the seat fabric and that new car smell. Driving along the road this week I had the sudden feeling of panic that the mothers of twins must feel at times, wondering if I had picked the right one out of the driveway. I immediately reassured myself that there is no mistaking the scent of volatile organic compounds (VOC) consisting primarily of alkanes and substituted benzenes along with a few aldehydes and ketones. As you might have guessed I did a bit of research on that smell, after which I decided to roll my window down slightly for the next six months or so. While I know Dustan has probably been slightly off for years I'm not taking any chances.

What happened?

Once again today I am doomed to spend 7 hours doing mindless repetitive tasks that a computer can do in 30 seconds, if of course the computer knew how. It used to, but it had some kind of brain fart which IT calls “fixing things” and now it has forgotten. I know I have no right to bitch, after all Wall Street is having what my friend in investments calls a “meltdown”. He doesn't say it quite that calmly however. I mean, he's not a man who yells, but I imagine him sitting with a day's growth of beard in his $500 suit, tie loose, shaking his incredulous head back and forth. It does indeed look like the end of the world from up close so I'm trying to find prospective today. As I told him, “We've been through some crappy times before, some much worse than this.” I hope that's true, but I'm really not certain the US economy has even been in deeper do-do. Good thing I never put my sights on getting rich. 

Sunday Musings

My daughter is in Denver for two weeks to do training and I am feeling like the old fire horse stuck in the barn listening to the sound of the alarm. I'm proud of her because she is successful, better than me, but with my promotion I am needed at home this trip. Still, the yearning to be there with her is overwhelming. We have had frequent communication, emails, calls and texts.  We have hilarious conversations and commiserate about the shared frustrations of our job, all of which end with “miss you, love you” from us both. She has a cold this week and I do too, my first in a good ten years, perhaps in sympathy but more likely shared germs from work. She has two trainees assigned, one Russian by the name of (wait for it) Igor. Imagine his surprise on finding out she speaks Russian and has been to his hometown.  So Saturday on the way back from the grocery I text her:

Mom says: My fever broke this AM and I am feeling better. You?

Eva says: A bit better today. I had to get here at 6:45.  I worked until 9:45 last night. I'm tired.  I'm also hungry and Igor is stuck on a language line call!

Mom says: What language?

Eva says: Spanish. Pray for me. 

Mom says: Any Particular God?

Eva says: Surprise me.

Mom says: Any God I prayed to would be surprised. We just left Whole foods. Maybe I should pray to them?

     Fifteen minutes later my phone rings. It's the girl bursting with news that takes too much time to text.

     “After work last night I went to the gym and ran for a half hour, came back to my room and woke up this morning on the sofa, still in my gym clothes. I had to be at work and there was no time for breakfast, so I just jumped in the shower, got dressed and ran over here. I'm exhausted and on my way to whole foods for something to eat. Oh, the fucking language line hung up on us! Can you believe that?” 

Yes I can actually and I advise her to email her manager with the time of the call so we can pull it and get the translator in trouble. It's hard enough to sell the program third hand without that annoyance and lord knows we pay these people big bucks to talk for us. In my mind's eye I see her footsteps as she heads out the door of the office and faces west toward the mountains, pushes the crossing button, walks across the busy street and into grocery store heaven. “Have you called Carol?” I remind her of our rich relation who lives in Denver and wants to meet her while she is there. “Not yet,” I hear the edge of exhaustion in her voice. “Well, make sure you do. You really will have fun meeting her. Maybe tomorrow?”

     This morning she called me early, exhausted of course, with news about her evening out. “ I put the do not disturb sign on the door and the maid came in a 8 anyway.  and I am so hungover.” she starts in the middle of a sentence, ends it, and starts another, “They all wanted to stop at f'ing McDonalds at three in the morning!” 

     “Wait darlin', first tell me where you went and with whom.” I already know. You may recall the similar experience I had with some of these same folks. Of course she is talking about our coworkers, only this time they took a taxi to Vinyl, a multi floor dance club, where they whined and complained the entire evening while she danced, made new friends, and ran into someone she knew, of course.  The crew insisted on stopping the taxi for fast food, but more confident than I, she put her foot down after a long wait in line with the meter ticking.

      “I told them I was not paying for this taxi because this stop was not my choice.” They went home annoyed with her because they didn't get any big macs and french fries. “God mom, I wish you were here,” she laments once again. 

      “Call Carol,” I advise. “

     “But I don't have any transportation. How will I get there?” 

     “Baby, she'll pick you up in her beamer convertible. She'll take you to brunch. You can have bloody Mary's. It will be good, promise.” Now she's excited because it sounds exactly like the hangover cure her mother would recommend. 

     “What's the number again?” she asks.

I just got a call. Carol is wonderful and they had a fabulous time. I was right again. “I'm so glad you insisted I call. The food was delicious and that really was the best Bloody Mary I ever had.”

     “You went to Pearl Street grill, right?” I can always fill in the blanks in her conversation. I bet Carol can too. What I didn't tell her is that Carol and I are born 2 days apart. We share a lot of qualities, youthful attitude and appearance being among them. Of course Eva felt immediately comfortable with her. 

     “Okay Mom, love you, gotta go and get a manicure and pedicure. Miss you.” She does too, but not as much as she did this morning. Thanks Carol.

   

America (expletive deleted)

I started to make an obscene gesture to the young white male sitting in the cab of the truck. I first saw the two young black men huddled in the back shivering, no longer making an effort to stay dry. I tried to find a reason why the company whose name was on the truck had no choice but to put them in the back with the equipment. Ah, I thought, the cab is already packed and they drew the short straw. Coming side by side with them I glanced over into the front and saw the young man, no coat, all alone on the seat. I passed him fuming and then slowed, having decided that however clueless he was I was going to express my opinion. About that time I was almost run down by a giant hummer that whizzed by my Prius aggressively. Glancing at his license plate I forgot how angry I was at the conspicious racism. It said X4NUOIL  I was laughing like a manic as he pulled appropriately into the funeral home. 

Fried Rice for Breakfast

My husband dislikes our daughter's new boyfriend. She knew he would, just as she knew I would like him. He's arrogant, outspoken, over confident, and incidentally, really cute. She's head over heels in love and wants to marry him and have his babies. I'm giving it six months, tops. He was here when we got home from Seattle. I surprised him by hugging him when we first met. I don't think my husband even shook his hand. What he can't see is the pain beneath that boastful exterior, a lonely soul with an unknown father and an indifferent alcoholic mother. The fact that he has supported and protected his two younger half siblings since he was 16 and that he is brilliant, educated, and multi-lingual pale for my husband beside his egotism.

The next morning the boy is up at dawn, an insomniac and self admitted vampire, making eggs florentine without garlic for my daughter's breakfast. That night he made us all dinner, leaving the eggplant out of his vegetable and brown rice concoction for my husband's benefit. The fish was done to perfection and sauced with tomatoes, basil, and some imported cheese. We drank a lot of wine, but I noticed he had only one glass. I rode with them as he drove my car into town in order to get a signal on his phone. In his job he finds the birth parents of children adopted from Russia. We listened to an animated conversation in Russian for almost an hour and arrived back home past midnight. My husband was not pleased.

Friday I almost fell asleep at work several times, but rallied when we went out dancing that night at our regular place. I was seat dancing when a man came up to me and pulled me onto the floor. We entertained the audience alone, spinning, dipping, whirling. I almost fell once as I was not exactly sober, but other than that I was brilliant, I swear. He kept telling me what he was about to do, but the band was so loud I could not hear him so I was constantly startled by his moves. When he took me back to the table I was breathless and I wanted to do it again and again. I wanted to dance for the rest of my life in exactly that way, never knowing what was coming next. The next dance my husband accompanied me to the floor, but right in front of me stood the man I had danced with. I really didn't mean to, but thoughtlessly I ignored my husband and danced with the man again for a few minutes. When I turned to join my husband he had left angry and hurt. It was not one of my best moments. We had a silent ride home and some quiet intense words before bed. He held me anyway and sometime in the night we made love, me only half awake.

This morning I was up at 7 writing. Around 11 I realized I had drank a whole pot of coffee and had not eaten. I searched through the fridge for food and found a bit of the rice dish the boyfriend made. I grabbed the remainder of the eggplant, plus peppers, sugar snaps, asparagus, spinach, cheese, eggs and yes, garlic. It was wonderful and I consumed it while I read my horoscope, as follows:

Just make sure that you do whatever you can to restore the connection between you and your closest friends today. Be sure that you make the people you care about the center of your world today, and try to put your own ego aside for the time being. This should be able to help you undo any recent damage that you may have been responsible for in any of your relationships lately. You might not be able to turn things around instantly, but you should be able to make some major progress right now.

Of course I put no credence in this sort of thing, but I suppose good advice is where you find it. So, what have you done to embarrass yourself in public lately?