Saturday, July 3, 2010

We used to have a machine

One of my favorite crafting magazines is Mary Maxim. Whenever this beautiful book arrives in the mail I look through it for hours. Thinking of all the projects I could make with things from this book. Using the patterns to make something similar on my own. Or drooling over new toys they have available for projects.

The latest is a small metal piece I still do not know the name of. But I head into Crafts Direct while visiting my aunt a month or so ago and wander to the fabric section. Four women are standing around talking about fabric pieces. Or whatever, I wasn't listening. I ask the small, kindly old woman who appears to have kept her makeup in a closet since 1955, or else she's been putting it on without washing it of since the same day. This makes me glad Caitlyn's not with me as the conversation starting with, "I just don't understand why you have so much makeup!" would not go well.

"Excuse me," I say, "I'm not sure what the name is, but you would put strips of fabric through this piece and they would fold the edges in so that if you want to make braided rugs, or crocheted rugs it will hide the frayed edges. Do you have it?"

"Oh yes!" She then heads to the back of the fabric section where a small shelf with various sewing paraphernalia is located. She stops, "We used to have a machine. I think we sold out."

I stare at her, expecting her to then ask someone else, walk down an aisle, or do something other than stare at me. What does she want from me? I already asked my question. I fulfilled my half of the customer-employee relationship here. She is still staring! "...ok?" I manage to get out. Thoroughly confused at her lack of ambition to find the item for me. Or ask the other three woman working with her either.

She then says, "Well lets check over here."

Oh good, maybe she can find it for me. That was weird.

We are down the aisle and she stops at a section of various brightly colored sewing things and says, "We used to have a machine, but I think we sold out of them."

I stare at her, still wondering what the hell is going on here. Almost expecting Candid Camera or something to come out but nope. She stands in front of me looking at me like that sentence made perfect sense and therefore I should be satisfied. I almost opened my mouth to ask if she would just ask her co-workers when she says "Hold on." Walks to the table with the fabric women and explains the item to them and asks if they know where it is.

"We used to have a machine." Pipes up one of the other women. Then dead silence. I felt a few brain cells pop and fizzle out as I stare at them all. Wondering how the hell they got this job in the first place. Then the second woman to tell me about the machine says. "Well I think they moved the stuff over here." And proceeds to lead us DIRECTLY to the spot we were just in and points at the items the Makeup Queen was in front of and says, "There, they are right here!"

We arrive at that point and the woman picks a piece up and says, "This goes to the machine, you see, we used to have a machine to do this. I think we sold out."

Nearing the point where I wanted to inform both women where they could shove the next shipment of said 'machine' I semi calmly ask. "Well, do you have something I can use withOUT a machine?

"Without? Oh, OH yes! Yes we do!" she reaches next to it and pulls up three pieces in different sizes and I chose the one I want and take it from her hand. Only to have her say again. "You see we used to have a machine. It would iron it for you and everything! But, we sold out."

"I see..thank you." I start to head away to hear the women talk to each other and the last sentence fading as I walk away was..."We used to have a machine..."

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Mother's Day

My mother's day this year was pretty laid back. Took Caitlyn to meet my parents, she was all dressed up for the occasion in the outfit my mom had given her for her birthday this year.

I had planned on making a hand print in some sort of cement thing, I'm not quite sure, I bought it at Walmart. But time got away from me. So we stopped at Walmart on the way to meeting them and I had her pick out the plant I was going to give my mom. Not sure why because the woman kills all plants. She loves them, she just kills them. Criminey, the woman's killed a cactus before, aloe plants, spider plants, flowers. You name it. She's killed it.

The first plant Caitlyn sees is an Orange Starflower. I've never seen it before but she was sold. "Ooooh It's beau-a-full" she stares and whispers. And promptly picks out the only plant that is as near to death as it could be without actually being dead. I found out that was the healthiest.

Now the card, these people knew what they were doing, the cards for Mother's Day was on the next shelf, right inside the door. She picks out a card with a flower on it because. "It has a flower on it. This is the card. Flowers are pretty. Grammy will like it."

At the restaurant we go through the buffet and my child. The one who will eat anything. Any. Thing. Refuses most of the food available. She would only take part of a muskmelon, grapes, strawberries and cream, and french toast. She only ate the grapes, strawberries, and two muffins my brother gave her. Sigh.

The waitress stopped to take our drink order and I say Caitlyn will have milk. She says of course. "No! I want juice. Apple juice." She leaves and Caitlyn yells, "Teacher! Where is my juice! TEACHER."

It was a nice visit. After the meal I took my mom shopping with Caitlyn and I while my dad and brother went and got their stuff done. We tried a cute little store with purses, hair clips, luggage, all custom. But sadly it was closed. So we just hit Walmart and wandered around for awhile. Until my dad and brother met us there. My dad sat at the entrance the entire time waiting 'patiently' for us to finish.

Since there's no one to do anything special for Mother's Day for me right now I bought myself the silverware I've been wanting for over a year now. No more cheapo stuff! Yay!

Hope everyone had a great day!

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Don't tell Dad

I've yet to surprise my mom for Mother's Day. Since we live 2 hours from her we rarely see her. I called my dad at work this week to ask him if he would be willing to bring her halfway and we would meet for lunch, a surprise.

He says he will check her schedule and give me call back as soon as he can.

That turned out to be about three days later. Today. He starts the conversation with. "This is your dad." Yes, thank you, I don't have caller ID on my cell phone and can't recognize your voice. Then continues with. "Your mom doesn't have to work on Sunday so I thought we would meet in Alexandria at (restaurant I can't remember but I know where the building is) because they have a $12.95 brunch for Mother's Day on Sunday. It's the building that Whiskey River used to be in. I'll pay for whoever is coming, you and Caitlyn?" (It was Whiskey Creek by the way) At the last comment I almost asked who the hell else I would randomly be bringing to brunch with my parents. But I didn't.

"You want us there at 10?" Realizing I'll have to miss church because he's trying to be frugal. I get it, he doesn't have to pay for Caitlyn and I, but he does have to pay for my brother who has no job. But he's my dad and I can't stop him from paying for us. Literally. He would occasionally allow us to pay for ourselves while I was married but now that I'm not, he pays. I know it's his way of making up for a lot of the stuff in childhood. So I let him. Plus, free food.

"Yep, and I told your mother so the surprise wouldn't be a shock to her system or anything. She knows. Can I talk to Caitlyn." at that Caitlyn runs from me because she's anti-phone right now with the excuse that "I just don't like talking all the time to people everyday on the phone." And speak with my mom for a bit. Caitlyn is barely willing to say a few words to my mom and then she's done. She has no phone etiquette. When she's done, she leaves. That's it.

So now we are having a Mother's Day brunch with my parents sans my sister. Which is always a good day.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Redneck Barbie

There are so many, many interesting things I have the privilege of hearing when my child is playing. Yesterday it was the story of Redneck Barbie.

I'm sitting on the couch watching tv and I hear out of nowhere from the other couch something along the lines of, "I don't have a mother. My mother gotted shot"

Say what? This is proper Barbie playing etiquette? I look over and realize a few things.

Firstly, the Barbie she's holding is wearing a Disney Princess dress and she wasn't the Princess, she was wrapped in a potholder and someone was using my brush on the doll's hair.

Secondly, the couch is covered in oddly dressed Barbies all covered in various potholders and washcloths. Which explains my lack of both items in the kitchen, but not where she hides them.

Then she continues the odd conversation, in which I can only assume she was another of the dolls. Because she only had one in her hand. "That's ok, your mother isn't really dead! She gotted kissed and she's ok now!" I'm not quite sure what all went on in this story but it sounded a bit odd to me, much like a redneck fairy tale.

Friday, April 30, 2010

She forgot

My age, that is. By she, I mean my mother. I'm slightly shocked considering how often she reminded me of how long she spend in labor with me before she got a c-section.

This afternoon I call her to check on her weekend plans. Figuring we could have lunch tomorrow and possibly she could bring me the toaster and microwave she promised. You see, when I moved from my house, I did not take the microwave because 1)Josh melted it with the waffle iron; 2)The new place had a microwave. But then I moved from the new place and this place did not come with a microwave. So I've lived without one since the end of February, it's not terrible, but life would be easier with a microwave. And I do love me some toaster strudel.

I find out she is busy and the remodeling hasn't gone as far as replacing the microwave so the conversation turns to her work. She worked with me in high school at the same grocery store and it has since closed, a few old coworkers now work with her at the hotel. I ask how they are doing and she says fine, that even the manager has noticed since this other woman left.

"What do you mean, she's noticed what?" I ask. Confused because I thought this manager was barely there.

"Well she gets a lot less phone calls since she's no longer working there. It's a lot easier now since someone else is doing the work. I thought the other girl was your age. Twenty-four. She's not! She's thirty or thirty-one. She just acted fifteen or sixteen." she pauses.

"Uh mom, I'm twenty-six."

"What? Wait, eighty-four..." she trails off and I hear my brothers laughter in the background. "Yeah, I guess you are! I remembered Dustin's birthday last week." (I didn't. Oops.)

"And how old is he?"

"Twenty-two." She sounds happy with this knowledge.

"I'm four years older than him, if I were twenty-four you'd have had three kids, three years in a row." She remembers his age but not mine?

"Well I can never remember your dad's age. If that means anything." She's aiming for consoling here.

I sigh.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

One. Week.

I can do this. I can. Just one week. It's not even like it's the absolute worst week of my life. It's just a bunch of catty brats at school, all older than 35. That's nearly 10 years older than me. And yet, they act like 15 year-old girls. Now, I couldn't stand 15 year-old girls when I was one.

So to hear that there are rumors going around. To deal with the women talking about me behind my back and pretending to be my 'friend' at all other times. These are things I don't take well. Right now I'm making the best of it and ignoring them completely. It may not be the most mature way of dealing, but it beats swear words.

I barely made it into the door today and heard the loud, annoying voice arguing with another loud voice about who's Fibromyalgia is worse. At least the second woman has the brains to announce "You know, I really don't want to have this conversation. I'm not going to talk about this anymore" only the other one continues arguing with someone who is no longer responding. This woman, the still arguing woman, is in her sixties. Yes, you read that right. Sixties. Or at the very least, late fifties.

One. More. Week. And I'm done with this woman for three months. Three months of sweet, precious freedom before I have two more classes with her and then nothing. With any luck, I will not have to see her ever again. This is amazing.

Keep me in your thoughts. There's still one more week to go. Just one though. Five days, just over twenty hours of class time.

Oh! But I get to take my pathophysiology final at home. With notes. There is some good things left.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

In which I do not give plasma. Again

I went back to the Biolife center on Friday. I sign in and go to start my questionnaire. However when I hit the computer screen to get it started the machine informs me that I can not continue and I must speak with someone at the desk. I then go over to the desk and tell the men (argh!) there and they inform me I have something wrong in my file and I need to sit down.

I sit down for a few minutes and wait. Then a woman calls my name and tells me that I have been infinitely deferred because of my address. They are not allowed to accept me because I live more than 100 miles away and why on earth would I be there? I explain, "I am doing my Medical Administrative Assistant AAS and I chose to do this as a topic of my final paper. I thought that if I was able to donate plasma myself it would add to the paper."

"Well that makes sense. Have a seat and I'll see what I can do." and she leaves me in the waiting room.

A few minutes later she calls me into her office just off the waiting room to talk to her about the problem. I'm aware of two things, 1) People who are asked to be seated and wait generally have something wrong with them. Be it a disease that prohibits them from donating, or protein levels. 2) This woman has very strange hair and no matter how much gel she uses, she won't be able to hide her scalp. Thin hair is very strange for me to see since I have extremely thick hair.

She then says "Well why are you here?"

"I have family in town that I come to visit and thought I would continue donating."

"We can't take you unless you can prove where you live in town here. You need an envelope with that address and your name on it before you can donate again. I'm sorry it wasn't communicated to you better." she stares at me.

"Ok? So I can't donate today?" I'm confused. They are turning down plasma because of an address problem?

"No, I'm sorry."

Sigh. I drove two hours with Caitlyn for nothing. I spent the weekend with my family, so it wasn't a total loss. Still I was annoyed with their practices.