Friday, May 22, 2009

On Target...

I was offering some book/author recommendations to Lindy, and found it necessary to share a passage from my current read, "Bright Lights, Big Ass: A Self-Indulgent, Surly Ex-Sorority Girl's Guide to Why It Often Sucks in the City, or Who Are These Idiots and Why Do They All Live Next Door to Me?" by Jen Lancaster (a.k.a., one of my all-time favorite writers). The passage I shared refers to Lancaster's view on Target employees. Having been one herself back in the day when "work ethic" meant something, she has little use for the current herd. Nor do I. Plus, she's so on target (pun intended) in this description:

"As for the rest of the staff, they don't quite adhere to the rules of yore, either. Neck tattoos? Check. Hickeys and neck tattoos? Check. Giant gold nameplate necklaces that spell out M-u-t-h-a-f-u-c-k-a? Muthafuckin' check! I imagine of these cashiers manage to show up wearing pants not tenuously clinging to their kneecaps, their bosses are probably happy."

Lindy noted her aggravation with Target employees who repeatedly ask, "Are you finding everything OK?" Yes, they're just doing their jobs, but after a dozen or so times, it's too much. Seriously. I've been so tempted to respond, "No. I can't seem to find my sanity. Seen it? Or, how about my patience? I'm always losing that." As far as I'm concerned, as long as Target corporate hasn't mandated screwing with aisle markers just for giggles, I'm pretty sure I can navigate my way from the diapers to laundry soap and over to the toilet paper. I may get sidetracked in greeting cards or at the Burt's Bees display, but this isn't an Amazon jungle. It's TARGET.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

To tweet, or not to tweet...

Someone told me that being on Twitter is like talking about what you’re doing, but no one specific is listening.

Sounds very much like being a mom.

After much hesitation, I finally bit the bullet and joined Twitter today. At first it’s a bit depressing. You join, create a screen name and get accepted. Then your home page comes up, and it asks, “What are you doing?” You have a little box to furnish a reply, but off to the side there’s a counter for “following,” “followers,” and “updates.” A fresh Twitter account will have zeroes in all those categories, which is very sad. No friends to follow. No friends to follow me. Nothing going on in my life.

Boo. Hoo. Hoo.

My first official post: “Learning how to Twitter. Tweet. Whatever.”

Updates = 1. Cool.

I know two people for sure who are on Twitter, so I searched them and now follow them. Then I decided to follow two people I don’t know personally, but love their books and blogs.

Following = 4. Getting better.

Then, one of my friends who I decided to follow returned the favor.

Followers = 1. ☺

The possibilities are endless when it comes to following people. Endless, I tell you. And like I need another social diversion to monitor throughout the day. Isn’t email, a blog and Facebook enough?

Apparently not.

I have to wonder, does anyone else really care what I’m doing? Most of the time, it’s stuff only important to me. And maybe my family. Even if the kids aren’t listening…

Monday, May 18, 2009

All about the classy

Last weekend, I was out running errands with Bobby. I had my list organized (!) and set out after delivering sweatpants and vitamins to Jeff at the fire station. The rain had stopped, and the sun was peeking out -- I had a really good feeling about the day.

Then I got hungry.

I decided to grab a quick, fast-food something, even though I'm still doing the "no flour/no sugar" thing -- there would have to be a weekend exception. After getting my Whopper Jr., I played the responsibility card, and stopped in the parking lot to eat. Thinking this was a good chance to catch up on some reading, I flipped through my college alumni magazine while I ate. Midway through "Class Acts," the section where everyone brags catches up on major milestones, a giant blob of ketchupy-mayo blobbed from the bun onto my shirt. My light pink shirt, now a light pink shirt with a huge orange streak down the front. Nice. This is typical of me... because I'm all about "class," you know? I wiped it off the best I could, but there was no concealing the fact that I was now wearing part of my lunch.

One of the items on my list was to return the alternate baptism outfit I'd purchased for Bobby at Von Maur. Until I had to buy the outfit, I thought the best thing about Von Maur was their discount shoe room. That's room, people, not a rack. An entire freakin' ROOM. Then I found two very cute, very affordable baptism outfits to choose between, and Von Maur climbed even higher on my list of favorite stores. (When you have a "shoe room," there's almost nothing better in my book, but they succeeded nonetheless.) The thing about Von Maur, in general, is that it's a fairly high-end store. As in, they have marble floors and live piano entertainment to make your shopping experience more enjoyable. Even Tyler, when hearing I was headed there, said, "Wow. That's, like, a really classy place." So, you know if a 17-yr. old boy is aware of their reputation, it's probably a sure thing. And I'm headed there in my obviously ketchup-stained shirt.

We first stopped at the library to find books from two of my very favorite, snarky writers (Laurie Notaro and Jen Lancaster) I realized I could do a pretty good job of hiding the stain, if I held the baby carrier in the crook of my elbow and positioned it more in front of me than to the side. Brilliant. Besides, when you're schlepping around a baby carrier, chances are most people are looking at the baby... not his slob of a mommy.

After leaving the library, I was still borderline mortified about being out in public wearing a stained shirt. (Mom, you raised me well!) All I kept thinking was, "I'm going to Von Maur in a stained shirt. How classy is that?!"

Then, passing the grocery, I saw a mom leaving the store with her two school-aged kids. She appeared to be carrying a sheet cake... leaving her son to carry the case of beer she purchased.

And I worried about not having any class with a stain on my shirt?!?
Ladies and gentlemen,... we have a new winn-ah.

(Believe me, if I could've snapped a photo, I would have. It was THAT awful. But, it made me feel soooooo much better.)

Random points

So many little things to comment on...

Washing machine update: So, after last week's post about the washer going belly-up, imagine my surprise when Jeff actually had it running the next day. Apparently the motor had overheated and it simply needed a little cool down time. Saturday, however, after Tyler put in a load of clothes, the machine (apparently more distraught than I thought) took another suicide attempt. Unfortunately, this time she succeeded. We went out yesterday afternoon, bit the bullet and purchased a new washer/dryer from the Whirlpool Duet line. It's crazy-insane that I will have a washing machine that can wash a queen-size comforter. I even doubted the salesperson, because when she told me that little factoid, I found it necessary to actually stick my head inside the drum and assess the space. I sooo need to get out more.

Plea for help: I have to admit I've been troubled for the last week. The cross Bobby received from his godmother at his baptism last week has vanished. I distinctly remember taking it off him Sunday night as we sat on the sofa. That is the last I remember seeing it. Of course, I've searched and re-searched through the sofa cushions (finding an alarming amount of food-stuff down in the crevices... eeww). I've searched the entire house, even in places it couldn't possibly be... just in case. I'm just sick about it. I could easily just go buy another cross, but since I'm way big on the sentimental value of things, I really want to find that one. It has GOT to be somewhere in the house, and it's killing me not knowing where it is. I even found the St. Anthony (patron saint of things lost) prayer and have been chanting it like my own personal mantra for the past several days. ("St. Anthony, St. Anthony, please come around. Something's been lost and cannot be found.") I would gladly forfeit finding my missing iPod shuffle for the safe return of Bobby's cross. Anyone even remotely spiritual/religious who wants to send a shout out to St. Anthony for me, I'd be eternally grateful.

"Doubt": Anyone seen this movie? If you have, please explain the ending to me. If you haven't, dont, unless you can handle a disappointing ending. Obviously, I don't handle disappointment well.

And, finally...
Embrace the awkwardness: I heard about a hilarious website, If you've ever had an "awkward phase," or enjoy the awkwardness of others, you've got to check it out.