Saturday night I was ready for a fun-filled trip to Roadhouse. I really knew there wouldn’t be much fun involved, but I was ready for a nice medium-rare filet mignon. My favorite. Yum…I can still taste it. But next time, IF there IS a next time, it will be a childless, or take-out, visit.
We invited my parents to come along, and set out for Roadhouse. I did the responsible thing and called ahead for our party of 7, at least a good 30 minutes early. I expected to have to wait an additional 15 minutes or so, but that was it. I DID NOT expect the rest of the evening to turn out like it did.
We waited outside for quite a while, and I was happy that the weather at least was working in our favor, blowing a cool breeze. And then all hell broke loose. Peabody had been playing with Cookie, and suddenly said, “Mommy, Cookie made a present for you.” (Code for Cookie took a dump.) After debating my options (going to the restaurant bathroom, or to one of the cars) I decided to go to my parent’s car to change her. I took off the dirty diaper, and didn’t fold it all the way up like I usually do. I set it in the car seat while I finished getting the new diaper on. One strap, done! Second strap, not so fast! Cookie grabs the tab of the dirty diaper and jerks it hard. The diaper, crap and all, landed on her FACE. EWWWWWWW!!!!!! This being the first time I’ve seen actual crap on my daughter’s face, I was dumbstruck as to what to do. I pulled the diaper away from her face, and still couldn’t see her eyes. There was crap all over them. Not to go too much into details, but it had a bit of consistency…not too much, but just enough to let most of roll in the floorboard. I was cussing, gagging, yelling, etc. making sure the world knew I was trying my hardest to sound all white trash out in the parking lot. I brushed it out of her face, got her all situated (did I mention I didn’t have any more wipees?!?!?!) and began picking it out of the floor.
There was no console light in the middle of my dad’s car, so I had to blindly feel around for crap. Imagine how fun THAT was! It was all smashed in my fingers, bleck. Makes me nauseous just thinking about it. I finally got it all cleaned up as best as I could, and attempted to lock and shut the door with my elbow. I stomped back up to Roadhouse with a diaper in one hand, and crap-girl in the other, and DARED anyone to even LOOK my direction. I dropped the diaper in the trashcan outside, and went to the inside restroom (where I should’ve gone in the first place!!! But hindsight’s 20/20, right?) to clean Cookie up a bit more.
There were 2 sinks (and soap & paper towel dispensers) and plenty of room, but some heifer hell-bent on looking beautiful decided the light would work best in her favor if she stood directly in the middle of the area, so there was NO WAY we could get in. I tried to squeeze in to wash my hands, and then Cookie’s. I was getting some anti-bacterial foam to put on her face when I noticed there was crap in one of her antennae! At this time I REALLY needed the height of the sink area to raise her up (since I’m a pregnant hog and it’s hard for me to bend over that far) to pick it out of her hair. But would the other cow budge? Hell no. I want you to know that that stupid girl looked absolutely NO DIFFERENT when she walked out of that bathroom than when she went in 15 minutes before. But whatever. She even KNEW that I was trying to pick CRAP out of my child’s hair. But she didn’t move. Not even an inch. SCREAM!!!!!!!!!!! UGLY FACE!!!! UGLY, HORRIBLE, WORDS!!!!!!!!!!!!! Every time I tried to get another small piece out, it would smash in her hair. I eventually had to put her head first under the faucet (after the heathen left) and wash it out that way. Finally, after 20 minutes of torture, we were both clean.
I took her back outside, gave her to Peabody, and marched back in to the hostess desk to ask how much longer we had. “Oh, it looks like the table you’ll be sitting at has another family there. They just got their food, so it shouldn’t be long. Maybe another 20-25 minutes.” NOT THAT LONG? 20-25 minutes, after we’ve WAITED 35 minutes, AND I DID CALL-AHEAD SEATING?!?!?!?!?! What in the sam hill?!?!?!?! I’m glad to know that this call-ahead seating they just rave about means about as much as a stick in the mud. Bastards.
After another period of wasted time (a total of 1 hour and 15 minutes after arriving) we got our table. I’d love to say the steak made it all worthwhile, and it may have made up for it slightly…….but that was all erased by the fact that some lunatic backed into my car while we were eating. And didn’t leave as much as a thank-you note. Suckers.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Half-eaten Shoes
Either the crickets have decided they’re not getting enough nutrition from my t-shirts, or I have a large mouse dragging my shoes off into uncharted territory. At least that’s what I’ve been thinking for the last few weeks. That all changed a few days ago when I noticed chunks of brown material scattered throughout the living room. I had no idea what it was. Then Cookie strolls in with her mouth full of brown stuff, spitting it everywhere, and I still had no idea what it was. Then I came across this:
No, it wasn’t crickets or mice, but my sweet baby girl, chewing my shoes into pieces. Does she have some sort of vitamin deficiency that she’s looking to replenish? I’d hate to think it would be found in my flip-flops of all places. How flipping nasty! On a good note, I think she’s built up her immune system.
No, it wasn’t crickets or mice, but my sweet baby girl, chewing my shoes into pieces. Does she have some sort of vitamin deficiency that she’s looking to replenish? I’d hate to think it would be found in my flip-flops of all places. How flipping nasty! On a good note, I think she’s built up her immune system.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Cookie tries so hard....
.....to get hurt.
Before I start on that, let me say I'm extremely pissed because I just typed this entire post, didn't save it, hit publish, and then it dis-a-freaking-peared. Figures! Since I suffer from severe short-term memory, let's see if I can remember what I wrote in the first place.
Extremely-close-to-Jesus moment #1:
The whole fam damily is in Sweetie's room doing 50 different things. I'm cleaning out the closet, kids are jumping on the bed, and Peabody's playing the piano. All is well in the world. Then Cookie forgets who she is, and assumes the identity of Spiderman long enough to put her sticky hands and feet on the window and climb a "step" or two. She turns around to see what the other kids are laughing about, and sticks her head right between the two strings that control the window blinds. She was there for all of 2 seconds before Peabody jumped up and set her free. (To do: buy blind-stringy-wind-up-thing for Cookie's protection.)
Extremely-close-to-Jesus moment #2:
About an hour later, we haven't moved much. I'm still cleaning out the closet, and Cookie is standing inside it opening and closing one of the doors (double sliding doors). Then genius decides to roll it over her foot. She immediately screams "Bee! Itsa bee!" (her remark for just about ANYTHING - when she sees a june bug, if she shows you a mosquito bite, an ouchie, anything. I sit down with her and then she her foot is covered with blood. Way to knock one out the park, Cookie! I get her cleaned up, and all is well for a little while.
Extremely-close-to-Jesus-and-a-cast moment #3:
That night, I'm helping TooCool with math homework. Cookie is sitting backwards in a chair at the table, singing and bouncing. Apparently she got a little too much bounce, and fell forward with the chair. No big deal, except her legs were stuck between the 2 wood panels on the back of the chair. I look down and see her legs all contorted. Doing what came logically, I jerked her out (wouldn't that have made it worse if they were broken?) and set her down to see if her legs still worked. She immediatley started hitting me and stomping for getting in her way. Guess she was fine.
And that, folks, is why I'm up for "Parent of the Year".
Before I start on that, let me say I'm extremely pissed because I just typed this entire post, didn't save it, hit publish, and then it dis-a-freaking-peared. Figures! Since I suffer from severe short-term memory, let's see if I can remember what I wrote in the first place.
Extremely-close-to-Jesus moment #1:
The whole fam damily is in Sweetie's room doing 50 different things. I'm cleaning out the closet, kids are jumping on the bed, and Peabody's playing the piano. All is well in the world. Then Cookie forgets who she is, and assumes the identity of Spiderman long enough to put her sticky hands and feet on the window and climb a "step" or two. She turns around to see what the other kids are laughing about, and sticks her head right between the two strings that control the window blinds. She was there for all of 2 seconds before Peabody jumped up and set her free. (To do: buy blind-stringy-wind-up-thing for Cookie's protection.)
Extremely-close-to-Jesus moment #2:
About an hour later, we haven't moved much. I'm still cleaning out the closet, and Cookie is standing inside it opening and closing one of the doors (double sliding doors). Then genius decides to roll it over her foot. She immediately screams "Bee! Itsa bee!" (her remark for just about ANYTHING - when she sees a june bug, if she shows you a mosquito bite, an ouchie, anything. I sit down with her and then she her foot is covered with blood. Way to knock one out the park, Cookie! I get her cleaned up, and all is well for a little while.
Extremely-close-to-Jesus-and-a-cast moment #3:
That night, I'm helping TooCool with math homework. Cookie is sitting backwards in a chair at the table, singing and bouncing. Apparently she got a little too much bounce, and fell forward with the chair. No big deal, except her legs were stuck between the 2 wood panels on the back of the chair. I look down and see her legs all contorted. Doing what came logically, I jerked her out (wouldn't that have made it worse if they were broken?) and set her down to see if her legs still worked. She immediatley started hitting me and stomping for getting in her way. Guess she was fine.
And that, folks, is why I'm up for "Parent of the Year".
That took long enough!
So here I am today, finally getting my new blog online. I'm pissed that it's taken me this long (since August) to get it back up and running. I'm pissed that it has to be anonymous to keep everyone happy, and even more pissed that it takes so much time and thought to rename every flipping person in my household, and THEN to remember to call them their "new name" on the blog. I'm pissed that I haven't got to write anything new in a long while, and I hope I can remember most of the funny things that have happened since my last post. We'll see how it goes.
I'll get back to complaining, and with a new post, tomorrow! :)
Oh - and the names have been changed to protect the innocent (and the guilty).
I'll get back to complaining, and with a new post, tomorrow! :)
Oh - and the names have been changed to protect the innocent (and the guilty).
WHAT did you say to me? (08.06.08)
You know them. You see them all the time. Oogie people. Just makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up, or – if you’re like me, make you want to vomit. Yesterday I was in the local discount store, getting some crazy flying/screaming monkey toys for my boss’ kids. They’re all sick, and I figured they could fling them at each other, and inflict torture on their parents with all the screeching they do.
So I’m standing in line when I catch a whiff of, ahem..some nasty stuff. I immediately thought to myself at least this person reeking of stench behind me has been working, so I should quit being so hormonal and judgmental. And then he had to go ruin it by talking to me. The conversation when something like this:
Oogie: So, are those toys for your inner child?
Super-Perfect-Me: No. They’re for some sick kids.
Oogie: Not your kids I hope.
Super-Perfect-Me: No. My boss’s kids. (Note to self: Oogie – are you writing a freaking novel? Why the 50 questions?)
Oogie: Oh, by the way. Are those your real eyes?
Super-Perfect-Me: No. (If only you could see the ugly look about my face at this time.)
Oogie: Oh. I was going to say…if those are your real eyes, you might be a little devilish.
Super-Perfect-Me: Well, if you’re not careful, I can be. (Mustering the best “go to hell” look I have in my pocket)
Oogie: Oh c’mon now. There’s no way you could be a devil with such cute toes. (What in the SAM HILL? Did you just say something about my toes? You carnie-freak, why are you talking to me. About my toes?!?!?! BLECK. Can I vomit on you? What in the HELL are you thinking? Who says that? To a complete stranger no less? In a completely FREAKY strange way that makes you nauseous?
Now if you know me (or if you don’t) I’m not phased by too much these days. I’ve led an interesting life, and done some insane things…but to be able to “OOG” me out? You have to be pretty damn impressive with your “ooginess”.
I was sick as a dog the rest of the time in line, and just when I thought I get away without another word spoken between us, he says (with the flipping nastiest look on his face that I’ve ever seen) “You have fun with those toys of yours.” VOMIT.
So I’m standing in line when I catch a whiff of, ahem..some nasty stuff. I immediately thought to myself at least this person reeking of stench behind me has been working, so I should quit being so hormonal and judgmental. And then he had to go ruin it by talking to me. The conversation when something like this:
Oogie: So, are those toys for your inner child?
Super-Perfect-Me: No. They’re for some sick kids.
Oogie: Not your kids I hope.
Super-Perfect-Me: No. My boss’s kids. (Note to self: Oogie – are you writing a freaking novel? Why the 50 questions?)
Oogie: Oh, by the way. Are those your real eyes?
Super-Perfect-Me: No. (If only you could see the ugly look about my face at this time.)
Oogie: Oh. I was going to say…if those are your real eyes, you might be a little devilish.
Super-Perfect-Me: Well, if you’re not careful, I can be. (Mustering the best “go to hell” look I have in my pocket)
Oogie: Oh c’mon now. There’s no way you could be a devil with such cute toes. (What in the SAM HILL? Did you just say something about my toes? You carnie-freak, why are you talking to me. About my toes?!?!?! BLECK. Can I vomit on you? What in the HELL are you thinking? Who says that? To a complete stranger no less? In a completely FREAKY strange way that makes you nauseous?
Now if you know me (or if you don’t) I’m not phased by too much these days. I’ve led an interesting life, and done some insane things…but to be able to “OOG” me out? You have to be pretty damn impressive with your “ooginess”.
I was sick as a dog the rest of the time in line, and just when I thought I get away without another word spoken between us, he says (with the flipping nastiest look on his face that I’ve ever seen) “You have fun with those toys of yours.” VOMIT.
That’s hoodoo for ya! (08.05.08)
Apparently Smartie is feeling neglected these days, although I don’t see how. She comes to work with me at some point every day (without her siblings). I haven’t been blatantly ignoring her, that I’m aware of. Guess she had other ideas.
In my house, I’m happy when the kids are quiet. Yes, I know in the back of my mind that they must be up to something, but I lie and tell myself they’re little angels. I checked in on Smartie in her room. She was coloring and watching a movie. Awesome! Cookie’s playing with Peabody. Check! CoolTeen’s in his room with his friend. 3 in a row. Woohoo!
I decided to make some chicken and vegetable soup – just what I’ve been craving lately. I know it’s been 100+ degrees every day in Texas, but I still wanted soup. Hey – I’m not making you eat it, so shove it.
Back to Smartie. I’m waiting for the soup to finish, and she strolls out with some scissors and hands them to Peabody. Unusual for her, since she lives to cut paper up in a billion pieces. Guess she was trying to hit a new high, and instead decided to mangle her hair. As you can imagine, lovely was the first word that came to my mind (right after holy hell). If she could’ve picked a more perfect way to cut it though, I’d be stunned. She actually did a pretty good job. She cut all the long bangs and hair on one side, so it looks like it’s layered. Fortunately she still has some hair left and looks decent.
Then I notice she’s not wearing underwear. That always leads to something good and decent, right? Not in my house. I’m informed that she was too busy cutting her hair to stop and get to the potty, so she just peed in place. Really? So nice of you. So polite. Where did you go to finishing school? Who has time to piss these days anyhow? Not me.The only thing she was lacking was a chicken foot, and she would’ve had a hoodoo gig set up.
Watch your chickens, people.
In my house, I’m happy when the kids are quiet. Yes, I know in the back of my mind that they must be up to something, but I lie and tell myself they’re little angels. I checked in on Smartie in her room. She was coloring and watching a movie. Awesome! Cookie’s playing with Peabody. Check! CoolTeen’s in his room with his friend. 3 in a row. Woohoo!
I decided to make some chicken and vegetable soup – just what I’ve been craving lately. I know it’s been 100+ degrees every day in Texas, but I still wanted soup. Hey – I’m not making you eat it, so shove it.
Back to Smartie. I’m waiting for the soup to finish, and she strolls out with some scissors and hands them to Peabody. Unusual for her, since she lives to cut paper up in a billion pieces. Guess she was trying to hit a new high, and instead decided to mangle her hair. As you can imagine, lovely was the first word that came to my mind (right after holy hell). If she could’ve picked a more perfect way to cut it though, I’d be stunned. She actually did a pretty good job. She cut all the long bangs and hair on one side, so it looks like it’s layered. Fortunately she still has some hair left and looks decent.
Then I notice she’s not wearing underwear. That always leads to something good and decent, right? Not in my house. I’m informed that she was too busy cutting her hair to stop and get to the potty, so she just peed in place. Really? So nice of you. So polite. Where did you go to finishing school? Who has time to piss these days anyhow? Not me.The only thing she was lacking was a chicken foot, and she would’ve had a hoodoo gig set up.
Watch your chickens, people.
I don’t glow. I steam. (08.04.08)
What idiot ever said pregnant women glow must’ve been on crack, and some bad crack at that. I don’t flipping glow. Not even with 5 metric tons of bronzer!
Saturday night I thought I’d do things early, for once in my life, and I headed to Wal-Mart to buy CoolTeen’s school supplies. Who knows what I was thinking. Apparently I wasn’t thinking.The entire time I was there my pants kept falling down, even though I had the stupid, worthless belly band on. What a load of crap. Wasted $12 just so my pants could keep falling down. Great. Anyhow, I had a pen and list in the buggy, and thought Cookie would be content playing with them. Nope. Instead she wanted to play the fun game of “throw the damn pen down 500 times just to see mom have severe reflux problems”. Now THAT made her happy.
Might I add, whatever lame-o teacher made the school supply list for the 7th graders must be in cahoots with the Anti-christ, in a conspiracy against me. For instance, the list called for FOUR SMALL glue sticks. Did they sell packs of 4 small glue sticks? Don’t bet your life on it! 2 packs of Jumbo sticks (but they requested small), or 3 packs of small (and I wasn’t buying 6), but NOWHERE to be found were a pack of 4 small glue sticks. Evil people. I wanted to rip one out of another container so I could have the 4 small ones I needed. How about 12 fine-tipped washable markers. Nope. I settled for 10. Or even better, 3 70-page spiral notebooks. HOLY PISS! You’ve got to be kidding me! It’s a conspiracy, so don’t try to convince me otherwise. After finishing up the list as best as possible, I headed on to get more crap I needed. Little did I know…it would’ve been better if I’d just left at that point. But OH NO…I’m a glutton for punishment.
Some idiot hell bent on pushing me over the edge started sneezing. Not just once, twice, heck – even five or six times? Nope. TWENTY-FOUR! Because I counted! Because I have nothing better to complain about! Around Sneeze No. 12 I started huffing. Apparently he couldn’t hear my exasperation from the aisle over, so by the time Sneeze No. 19 happened I yelled to Cookie, “Holy s.P.i.t. Go outside and sneeze!” (Because surely he was sneezing on purpose, right? And I’m pretty sure he could’ve controlled whatever allergies he was having problems with, right?) WHO FREAKING SNEEZES 24 TIMES?!?!?!?! Nobody I want to be friends with, idiot.After venting my frustration, I breezed on to look at the Bissle Little Green cleaner. I really want one, which is unusual enough for me to “want” a cleaning product (since I’m allergic to cleaning). I’m checking it out, all proud at myself for being so “mature”. Right. Cookie could see right through me.
While I was looking at that, Cookie was on the other side of the buggy putting in three 15-packs of colored hangers. We got a few aisles over when she got pissed at me and threw a pack of hangers at me.That’s another thing I’m writing to the congressman about – who decided to put 1 measly little piece of cardboard on these hangers to hold them together? Before I could realize what was happening, the hangers flew threw the air, broke out of their “box” and landed all over the floor. As I bent down, cussing, and trying to pick them up, TWO MORE bunches of kamikaze hangers came at me. I was putting them in one side, and she was throwing them out the other. A Wal-Mart associate came through about that time, and gave me the look like “Oh, there’s another kid I’m going to have to clean up after.” That did it. I decided then and there I wouldn’t put them back in their packages…I was rebelling! I took a giant pile of multi-colored hangers and smashed them on top of a random clothes rack and left them there. Take that!
Eventually I’d had enough, so I drug my stupid cart up to the check out line. Waited a good 20 minutes at least. This is the FIRST time I ever opened a drink and chips while in the checkout line. I’ve seen other people do it, but it’s just something I haven’t done (on the very short list of stuff I’ve not done). That night it was an exception. Cookie wouldn’t shut up, and desperately wanted Cheetos. I was so thirsty, and the Dr. Pepper was calling my name. Hey – it was no margarita, but it would do. I polished that sucker off by the time we got to the cash register.
Guess what happened? KARMA HAPPENED. Did my check card work? Nope. How about the credit card? Uh, no. Because satan lives at Wal-Mart. I thought I had the problem figured out, so I went to another lane (at the return counter) and stood in line again. I told the girl how it was probably my fault for being so horrible the entire time at the store, and that I probably just needed to repent. She took my card, and I casually said, “If it doesn’t work this time, I’ll just smash it into a million pieces.” 30 seconds later…..I’m sorry, it didn’t accept it. “HOLY HELL! YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!!!” She looked at me and said softly, “What was that you said about repenting?” Ehx-cuse-meh? Please don’t be preaching to me (even though I just said the same thing 1 minute earlier.) My card finally worked for $2.33 for the drink and chips. Figures.And just think….I’ve got nearly 8 more glorious months of this.
Warning. Talk to me at your own risk….and if you’re extra sensitive, just don’t talk to me at all. I don’t want to be responsible for making you unhappy, crybaby. And if you still talk to me…well – you asked for it.
Saturday night I thought I’d do things early, for once in my life, and I headed to Wal-Mart to buy CoolTeen’s school supplies. Who knows what I was thinking. Apparently I wasn’t thinking.The entire time I was there my pants kept falling down, even though I had the stupid, worthless belly band on. What a load of crap. Wasted $12 just so my pants could keep falling down. Great. Anyhow, I had a pen and list in the buggy, and thought Cookie would be content playing with them. Nope. Instead she wanted to play the fun game of “throw the damn pen down 500 times just to see mom have severe reflux problems”. Now THAT made her happy.
Might I add, whatever lame-o teacher made the school supply list for the 7th graders must be in cahoots with the Anti-christ, in a conspiracy against me. For instance, the list called for FOUR SMALL glue sticks. Did they sell packs of 4 small glue sticks? Don’t bet your life on it! 2 packs of Jumbo sticks (but they requested small), or 3 packs of small (and I wasn’t buying 6), but NOWHERE to be found were a pack of 4 small glue sticks. Evil people. I wanted to rip one out of another container so I could have the 4 small ones I needed. How about 12 fine-tipped washable markers. Nope. I settled for 10. Or even better, 3 70-page spiral notebooks. HOLY PISS! You’ve got to be kidding me! It’s a conspiracy, so don’t try to convince me otherwise. After finishing up the list as best as possible, I headed on to get more crap I needed. Little did I know…it would’ve been better if I’d just left at that point. But OH NO…I’m a glutton for punishment.
Some idiot hell bent on pushing me over the edge started sneezing. Not just once, twice, heck – even five or six times? Nope. TWENTY-FOUR! Because I counted! Because I have nothing better to complain about! Around Sneeze No. 12 I started huffing. Apparently he couldn’t hear my exasperation from the aisle over, so by the time Sneeze No. 19 happened I yelled to Cookie, “Holy s.P.i.t. Go outside and sneeze!” (Because surely he was sneezing on purpose, right? And I’m pretty sure he could’ve controlled whatever allergies he was having problems with, right?) WHO FREAKING SNEEZES 24 TIMES?!?!?!?! Nobody I want to be friends with, idiot.After venting my frustration, I breezed on to look at the Bissle Little Green cleaner. I really want one, which is unusual enough for me to “want” a cleaning product (since I’m allergic to cleaning). I’m checking it out, all proud at myself for being so “mature”. Right. Cookie could see right through me.
While I was looking at that, Cookie was on the other side of the buggy putting in three 15-packs of colored hangers. We got a few aisles over when she got pissed at me and threw a pack of hangers at me.That’s another thing I’m writing to the congressman about – who decided to put 1 measly little piece of cardboard on these hangers to hold them together? Before I could realize what was happening, the hangers flew threw the air, broke out of their “box” and landed all over the floor. As I bent down, cussing, and trying to pick them up, TWO MORE bunches of kamikaze hangers came at me. I was putting them in one side, and she was throwing them out the other. A Wal-Mart associate came through about that time, and gave me the look like “Oh, there’s another kid I’m going to have to clean up after.” That did it. I decided then and there I wouldn’t put them back in their packages…I was rebelling! I took a giant pile of multi-colored hangers and smashed them on top of a random clothes rack and left them there. Take that!
Eventually I’d had enough, so I drug my stupid cart up to the check out line. Waited a good 20 minutes at least. This is the FIRST time I ever opened a drink and chips while in the checkout line. I’ve seen other people do it, but it’s just something I haven’t done (on the very short list of stuff I’ve not done). That night it was an exception. Cookie wouldn’t shut up, and desperately wanted Cheetos. I was so thirsty, and the Dr. Pepper was calling my name. Hey – it was no margarita, but it would do. I polished that sucker off by the time we got to the cash register.
Guess what happened? KARMA HAPPENED. Did my check card work? Nope. How about the credit card? Uh, no. Because satan lives at Wal-Mart. I thought I had the problem figured out, so I went to another lane (at the return counter) and stood in line again. I told the girl how it was probably my fault for being so horrible the entire time at the store, and that I probably just needed to repent. She took my card, and I casually said, “If it doesn’t work this time, I’ll just smash it into a million pieces.” 30 seconds later…..I’m sorry, it didn’t accept it. “HOLY HELL! YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!!!” She looked at me and said softly, “What was that you said about repenting?” Ehx-cuse-meh? Please don’t be preaching to me (even though I just said the same thing 1 minute earlier.) My card finally worked for $2.33 for the drink and chips. Figures.And just think….I’ve got nearly 8 more glorious months of this.
Warning. Talk to me at your own risk….and if you’re extra sensitive, just don’t talk to me at all. I don’t want to be responsible for making you unhappy, crybaby. And if you still talk to me…well – you asked for it.
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