Jack O Lanterns

     Halloween is my favorite holiday. The leaves are pretty, the costumes are fun. The partys are great. Nobody expects me to create any kind of elaborate meals. No kids are handing me a list of shit they want me to buy for them. If you do show up at my house begging, all I have to do is hand you a Tootsie Pop and you'll be on your way. Best. Holiday. Ever!

     Except for one thing: the Jack O Lanterns. I hate them. I hate everything about them. I hate pumpkin patches. They charge way too much money for the 40lb pumpkin your kid just HAS to have. I hate lugging pumpkins home from the grocery store. I hate that you have to make a special trip to get them, since you can't fit them into the car with all the other groceries. I hate that you can't leave them outside until you're ready to carve them without getting frostbite as you are gutting them. I hate gutting them. I hate the feel of cold (or even warm) pumpkin innards all over my hands. And then, as is always the case, all over the rest of me, too. I hate washing pumpkin guts out of my hair, out of my clothes, off the table, off the chairs, floor, walls, and pets.

     I hate that there are people out there creating these really awesome kick-ass pumpkins just to make me feel that much worse about the sorry one I'm about to hack. I hate the "easy to use" stencils that never quite fit the pumpkin and that, I'm sorry, aren't so easy to use. I hate that the youngest kid has to choose the most elaborate stencil in the book and won't take your word for it when you tell them the simpler the better. I hate that the pumpkin never ever ever ever turns out looking anything like the fricking stencil anyway, after working on it for 6 fricking hours!

     I hate handing children I usually don't trust with a sharp fork the biggest knife we own and trying to decide how much we really use all our fingers, anyway. I hate how doing any activities together as a family which involve anything creative makes me feel. I am not a crafty person. Kids are not always tolerant of other people's artistic shortcomings. Or each others. I hate that there is always one kid who is not happy with his final product. I hate how there is always one kid (sometimes the same one, sometimes a different one) who thinks it is his job to tell everyone else what is wrong with their pumpkin. I hate that they believe him.

     In case you can't tell, I really really hate the whole Jack O Lantern concept. When I was a kid, we didn't do it. My mom made us paint the faces on, no cutting allowed. I really felt like I was missing out on something growing up. Now, not so much.  Maybe this is why I suck so badly at cutting out their little faces now. I don't know. 

     Here's what I do know. My sister got me a "Jill O Lantern" treat bag. Looks like one of those bastard pumpkins, but with a bow in her hair. And it's a bag, so no guts. Or cutting. Or crying. I hung it up at work, with a post-it saying "Will work for candy." (The boss man suggested "Will trick for treats" but that might be misunderstood.) And here's another thing I love about Halloween: the bag  has candy in it! And I didn't put it there! I'm just about happier than a witch in a broom factory over that one.

     So now, the worst is over. I just survived yet another year of Jack O Lantern hell, and they are all on display ready for the big day. My ranting is over, and life can return to normal. Happy Halloween, everybody! 

Conversations I Have

     "Where do I need to go after work for James' performance?"

      "His school. We'll meet you there."

     "Two other boys went through this same school. Did they not join this group, or did they forget to invite us to the performance?"

     "There's singing and dancing involved."

     Feel that expression on your face? That's what my face did, too. Are you reading it again, trying to see what you missed? Yeah, I was going through it in my head, too. This happens so often that I actually do question myself (and my sanity) on a regular basis. Is it me, or did he just totally answer a completely different question than I asked? I really don't think it's me. But it happens with eerie regularity. And not just with Cleveland, with the masses as well!

     "Service Department, this is Jill, how can I help you?"

     "No, I wanted Service."

     (As I said in my greeting) "This is service, how can I help you?"

     "No, I wanted to talk to one of the guys."

     Normally I say "Hold, please" then say out loud (though I would love to page it) "One of the guys, line 3 please. Someone with testicles, line 3." The guys laugh and then answer the phone. But sometimes I am the only one there to answer the phone. There are no guys to talk to. And as much as I would LOVE to just hang up, I kind of get paid to do a job so I kind of have to do it and stuff.

     "I'm one of the service advisors, what can I do for you?"

     Sometimes they will just hang up for me (Yay!) but other times they just say some of the stupidest sentences I have ever heard. Usually it's at least three more times of asking for the department they have already been connected to. Then they say something that makes me really want to help them out, like:

     "You probably can't help me, but..."

     Try that line anywhere else in the world and see how it works for you. Well, pizza order taker, you are probably going to mess this up, but I want... Or , gee ER doc, I'm pretty sure you're not the one I want to see with this nail sticking out the bottom of my foot, but I guess you'll have to do. No, professor, I'm sure you're a complete idiot, but here's my homework anyway. Do you really believe your pizza will arrive spit free? That they will take great pains (see what I did there?) to make sure you get plenty of Morphine? That you're going to ace that class without even trying? Really? But I must continue talking to your rude stupid ass. Because my job is to put up with morons like you. Little hint though. If you really don't think, in all areas of the customer service world, there exists an "asshole fee," you are sorely mistaken. And you are being charged this fee, probably everywhere you go.

     "Where's (employee who sits to my left?)"

     "He's off today."

     "Where's (employee who sits to my right?)"

     "He's at lunch."

     "Isn't anybody here?"

     That's not rude or hurtful at all. Really. Go ahead and tell me I'm nobody. This nobody is about to charge you the asshole fee. Somebody would be here, if you were important enough to show up for. You're not. Now put away your cell phone and bite me.

     I also love conversations where people answer their own questions as they ask them. They don't really need me, except to smile and nod.

     "I'm ready to pay, do I go to the cashier?"

     "Do I park here in visitor parking?"

     "It's lunchtime, should I eat now?"

     "It's cold, should I wear my coat?"

     I generally answer "No" to all answer-questions. That really screws with a person's head. Then they will say: "Really? No?" and argue with me over wheather they were right or not! Why did you ask in the first place, you freak?

     Now I live in a house full of mumblers. Drives me crazy. I haven't understood a word Charlie has said in well over five years. He will enter a room, mumble something unintelligible, then walk away. Cleveland will look at me and ask what he just said. "Hell if I know! I assume if it's important he'll learn to enunciate."

     "Enunci-huh?"

     "Enunciate. It means to spit the shit out of your mouth and speak in a manner that other people can understand."

     "Oh."

     Cleveland, on top of the mumbling, also fades out at the end of sentences. I stopped asking "what" years ago. I hear: "I'm going to nmnfdsfnkl."

     "Rearrange the sentence."

     "Rea-huh?" OK, that didn't work. So I repeat what I heard, so he knows what part I'm missing.

     "You're going where?"

     Annoyed voice; louder but still mumbly: "I SAID I'M GOING TO MNNFDSFNKL! Why don't you listen?"

     "Why don't you enunciate?"

     "Enunci-huh?"
    
     I give up. I don't even care where you're going anymore. I just need to know if there's singing and dancing involved.

Cell Phones

     Every time I see someone at the store verifying what kind of milk to get, or have car trouble and need a ride, or the other countless wonderful uses for them, I ask myself: "What did we do before cell phones?" Then I remember: we spoke to each other like civilized people!

     Really, every sentence should not start with: "Hold on" and then a moving of the phone. We should not be able to share your entire day with you. I don't want to. Really. And I'm just guessing here, but I'm pretty sure whoever you're "talking" to doesn't really care, either.

     And who is on the other end of the phone? I would never sit there listening while somebody who was supposed to be talking to me was ordering the biggee fries. Unless the other end is ordering a large pepperoni, of course. Why do we need to share so much information with so many people? Do any of us even really care?

    Not to mention, we are setting a horrible example. There are thumb rings now for kids, to remind them not to text while driving. We have to tell them not to text while driving! Nobody had to tell me not to read while driving, why is this necessary? But it's not their fault; they have grown up only seeing their parents with things stuck to the side of our heads! Talking to everyone under the sun except them! They think it belongs there, much like we assumed the cigarettes belonged in our parents' hands. They cannot fathom a world where we cannot all instantly communicate our most shallow of thoughts to others with equally shallow thoughts who will apparently die if they don't share!


     And a short aside to the bluetooth users here. We don't really see the thing on your ear. We just see you talking, seemingly to yourself, and we think you are probably a little crazy. You needed to know.


     I got home from work last week to find my husband at the kitchen counter with his cell phone in pieces and a blow dryer. I didn't ask, but he told me anyway. He dropped it in the toilet. (Don't worry: I sanitized! Twice. Well, three times.) I didn't say what was going through my head, because he's ignored it all before. But seriously. Dropped your phone in the toilet? You can't be cut off from civilization long enough to take a shit? Seriously? Why do you take your phone to the bathroom? Who are you going to call? It better not be me, I do not want to talk to you right now. And if I call you, well, that's what voicemail is for! This is a man who has left his phone in the cart at the grocery store, left his phone on the counter of every place he's ever shopped, left his phone, well, everywhere. Even in the toilet. He refuses to leave the house without it. Worse, he refuses to leave it in the car. He has answered his phone while driving, at restaurants, even in a movie theater!

     Right now, I want to formally apologize to Laura Bush. The entire time her husband was President, every time he said "nu-coo-ler" I thought: "She's a librarian! Why has she never taught her husband to read?" Now I realize it is totally not her fault. You just can't teach these wonderful creatures we call men anything! So Laura, I am sorry. And world, when you see my husband yakking on that damn cell phone at the most inappropriate times, I tried. I have been trying to teach him for 11 years now, he just does not get it!

     We were at Taco Bell. Granted, not the epitome of fine dining, but a public place nonetheless. His phone rings. I say: "If you are going to answer that, take it outside."

     His response: "Why? Everybody else talks on the phone in restaurants."

     I say "No, everybody else does not, just you. And even if other people did, that doesn't make it OK. Nobody wants to hear you talking to someone who isn't even here. Focus on the people here with you. We are more important."

     "How do you know you're more important than the person calling?"

     "Simple. I bothered to show up."

     He did not agree with that statement, though I think it is pure genius. The people with you should feel like they are more important than some random person calling you. For that simple reason. We bothered to show up. I did more than push a button, I am here. I deserve your attention, just as you deserve mine. We finished our meal, with "Leroy" pretty much agreeing with me. He added that it is embarrassing to him when Dad is talking loudly on the phone in public. (This has done nothing to change his behavior, either.) As we walked outside, there sat a random woman on the curb, talking on her cell phone. I could have kissed her right there. Instead, "Leroy" took it for me. "See, Dad? She went outside!" Not as good as asking permission to flip off people, but wow do kids say the darndest things.

     Cell phone addicts: I have some news for you. You're not going to like it, it may hurt your ego a bit. But you need to hear it, "Cleveland" included. Here it is. You are not that important. I'm sorry. I know that hurt. But it's true. You are not that important. The world will survive without you long enough to catch a movie. It will continue to turn while you eat your dinner. Nobody is going to go off the deep end in the time it takes you to shit. I promise. Why? Because you are not that important. Take a minute and see the good of this. You are not Atlas. It is not your job to keep the world afloat. Or even your family and friends. They can handle it without you for a little bit. You are not that important. Thank you.

     I need to go now. I think I hear my phone ringing.

FEEIGM Syndrome

     Let me warn you all up front: my potty mouth is going to be out in full force on this one. That F in the title stands for exactly what you think it stands for. You know. The mother of all cuss words, so to speak. So if profanity offends you, well what the hell are you doing reading my blog? And also, you may want to skip this one.

     It all started roughly nine years ago. One Sunday morning on "our weekend," (when the step kids are with us) I got up and made pancakes for everybody. Common enough thing to do, we all like them and they really aren't that difficult to create. "Melanie" was about 14, and you know teenagers aren't by nature morning people. So it was pretty much a given that we would all eat, and save the leftovers for her. No biggee, right?

     Right, until "Charlie," who was about 8, decided that if ya were snoozin' you were gonna be losin'. He ate what he wanted of the pancakes, then said he was still hungry. Went to the pancake plate, took every single one.  Again, every single one. Cut them all up, put syrup on them. Then ate two (yes, I counted. Two) bites. Then he did something he had never done before and hasn't done since. He took his own plate to the kitchen sink, put it in, and turned on the water to rinse it off. Just to make sure the pancakes would never be edible to anyone, namely "Melanie."

     When I looked at him and said my signature "Really?" he feigned innocence.

     "What? I wasn't as hungry as I thought I was! I cleaned up my own plate, why are you mad?"

     That's when the name hit me and the syndrome was born. Fuck Everybody Else, I Got Mine.
    
     Yes, that's right. Fuck Everybody Else, I Got Mine.

     I shortened it to FEEIGM, just so I can say it in public. Now I see it every day in every situation, although my family, being the pioneers and all, are certainly the best. In fact, after nine years of hearing me say it and refer to it in everyday conversation, I doubt that half of them could tell you what it means. They are that good at it.

     The shop where I work has big garage doors, with directions painted on them. Honk your horn, we will let you in. Simple, right? Until it is raining outside, or 20 degrees or windy as hell or some other such nonsense. That's when the FEEIGM kicks in full force. Honk the horn, wait for the door to open, pull in just far enough for your car to be inside, stop, park, and get out. Taking your keys with you, of course. Fuck all the people lined up behind me, I'm inside! Or my favorite: stop under the door so we can't close it. Or honk, see the door open, and sit there. In the nice warm car as the acrtic tundra is blowing my computer off my desk. We have found there to be only one way to get these people to actually drive into the building. Wanna know what the way is? Close the door. Or start to. As soon as they see it start to move, it becomes a race to see if they can beat it. Really. It would be quite humorous to watch, if we had those fancy doors that stop if they touch something. We don't, so we have to be ready to stop it just to save the door. Self preservation at play here, I really don't give a shit about your car. I do really love my door, though. See, under the right circumstances, even I can suffer from FEEIGM!

     The epitome of FEEIGM though has to be Black Friday. I for one will not shop anywhere between Thanksgiving and Christmas; you are hard pressed to get me in the grocery store. I avoid malls and department stores like the plague. Why? FEEIGM! It starts in the parking lot and goes downhill from there. You think that empty space you've been eyeing for the last 20 minutes is yours? Think again, sucker! Mine! Only one Tickle me Elmo on the shelf with 2 people reaching for it? Watch for the elbow to the face! Mine! Think you are actually next in line to pay after waiting for an hour? Wrong! I will cut right in front of you! Mine! And Merry Fucking Christmas to you, too!

     But you see it at other times of year, too. (See my "Road Rage" post for a few examples.) Especially in parking lots. And public places. And my house. The charger to my laptop (where I create this, by the way) was recently replaced with one that no longer charges. Why? Somebody broke that one, and needed his laptop charged. My phone charger, which has lived in the very same plug at the very same counter since the beginning of time, frequently disappears. Why? Somebody else's phone needed charged, and couldn't sit there on the counter while charging. You know, like mine does. My keys walk away at a regular frequency. Why? Somebody needed to get into the garage and couldn't be bothered to return them to their hanging place.  All the kids' DS games have to have the correct child's name on them in Sharpie at time of purchase. Why? Another kid might decide he likes that game, too. The dog can howl for hours, waiting to go outside, only to have to find a place inside to go instead. Why? Nobody could stop playing the (borrowed) DS game long enough to take her out! Up to five people can be sitting in the same room, happily watching the same show, and suddenly the channel will change. Why? Because whoever picked up the remote wants to watch something else!

     Don't get me wrong, I know it is my job to teach the little cretans how to properly behave. (Including the "adult" one I married, apparently.) But since I already work a full time job, this overfull time job gets to be a bit much for me! And honestly, it is difficult when the whole world is setting the opposite example! How many times have you seen the most thoughtless, rude people out in public and, when somebody does something nice for their kid, they scream "Say thank you!" Here's a thought, parents: model the good behavior instead of screaming it at your kids! Let the person with the basket go ahead of you with your cart. Don't expect people to work holidays. Be pleasant to the people who are "serving" you. I mean the waitresses, the cashiers, the receptionists, all the other "little people" you see every day. Thank them. Be aware of your surroundings. If your actions are negatively affecting someone else, CHANGE YOUR ACTIONS! The world does not revolve around you, it revolves around the person behind you. Or beside you. Or maybe in front of you, as long as they didn't cut the line to get there. Let's all vow to stop raising a generation of assholes by refusing to be assholes ourselves! The change starts with you. Not me, of course. I've got mine already.