Pay It Forward

I try to teach my girls to live by my own life guidelines. One such guideline is to "Pay It Forward." I, genuinely, believe that when one is blessed, they should bless others. This form of perpetual blessing can be in many forms: words of kindness, a helping hand, a monetary donation, etc. (Personally, I have been on both sides of this equation. My path has afforded many opportunities for me to help others, while I have also had others help me.) Anytime I see an opportunity to show my girls how to LOVE someone (even complete strangers), I jump on it. However, even after all the talks we have had or all the examples I have shown, I never really know which parenting/life guidelines that I am teaching are actually sticking. Tuesday, I was blessed to learn that Riley Mac completely gets - and practices - the "Pay It Forward" guideline.

Typically, on the days that I pick up RM from school, I am one of the very first vehicles in the carpool line. Alas, on Monday (much like this entire week), unforeseen circumstances cut me off at the knees, causing me to be late. (Well, late for MY standards. Even when I am late, I am still on time. One of the guidelines my mother taught me that stuck.) I was completely frustrated to arrive on time, but being subjected to the 14th carpool slot. I was aggravated to the point that I did not even notice that the vehicle directly in front of me was one of Mac's best friend from school's mother. I only noticed, when she pulled up to the awning under the front door and it took FOREVER (one minute) for the carpool lady to bring her children to the car.

The first child to arrive was a little boy, who sprinted and basically jumped into the vehicle, quickly shut the door, and cowered in the seat. (I drive an SUV, so I can see straight into the back window of small sedans.) Then, the second and final child arrived, escorted by one of the teachers. This little girl was bawling uncontrollably into her two little hands that were pressed against her face. It was not until she briefly removed her hands to throw back her head and wail, that I realized it was Riley Mac's school BFF, Ally. I immediately rolled down my window and said to the principal walking past my vehicle, "Oh, no! Is Ally okay?" He stated that he was uncertain, but knew an incident had just occurred inside the doors of the school/church.

Seconds later, Mac came running up to my vehicle. She was, also, upset - but in a different way. (She was not crying, but I could tell she was bothered.) As she was climbing in, I asked, "Riley, are YOU okay? Is ALLY okay? WHAT happened?!" She, immediately, launched into full and DESCRIPTIVE details. The bottom line: Ally wore a "brand new, special bracelet that she JUST bought" to school that day. While waiting at the front door for their mother to pick them up, Ally's brother grabbed her hand and tried to pull the bracelet off of her wrist. Ally grabbed it, as well. A Tug of War type scenario ensued, where (as it was portrayed to me) "her brother was pulling REALLY HARD and Ally was pulling VERY EASY, and it BROKE!" (Notice the verbiage used. I love that she was standing by her friend, even when characterizing two siblings fighting over something.) She, then, went on to describe how upset she was that Ally was upset. "Mommy, I am just so sad that Ally is sad." (I could feel my heartstrings being pulled.) "That was a brand new, special bracelet that she JUST bought." (This was stated numerous times.)

After giving RM time to process and repeat this story (several different times), Campbell took the floor. (Campbell, by the way, was in the vehicle with me the entire time. She did not see the incident, nor did she see Ally crying.) "Yeah, Mommy! Her brother was SO mean! He broke her special bracelet! Ally was crying a lot! I am mad, too, that Ally's brother did that!" (My girls are not only fiercely loyal, they have zero concept of what it is to have a brother.) By this point, both girls are almost outraged, and I am trying so very hard to mask my amusement. Finally, once I could get a word in between the two of them defending Ally and throwing her poor brother to the wolves, I said, "Well, Girls, this is a PERFECT example of why you should NOT fight over things. You know how Mommy is always saying arguments lead to broken toys and broken hearts? THIS is precisely what I mean. Do you both understand?"

RM and Cam, in unison: "Yes."

Me: "I see that you two are, CLEARLY, upset that Ally is upset. So, what should we do to cheer us all up?" (Honestly, I was expecting a demand to the masses for ice cream or something along those lines.) You can only imagine my shock, followed by IMMENSE pride, when it was requested that we go shopping for a "NEW, brand new, special bracelet for Ally."

Cam: "Yeah, Mommy! She needs a NEW special one! We NEED to get her one!"

RM: "But I get to pick it out, Campbell, because it was MY idea and she is MY friend!"

Cam, who agrees with pretty much anything Mac suggests: "Good idea, Riley!"

Me, silent, but shooting a quick glance at RM in the rearview mirror. (So much can be said with no words, once you master the various Parenting Faces.)

RM: "Or how about we BOTH pick out a bracelet, and then I will decide which one Ally would like the best, because I know which one she would like the best?!"

Me, smiling: "Girls, this is an EXCEPTIONAL idea, and Riley Mac I am super proud of you for allowing Campbell the opportunity to help!"

Ergo (even though I had other things planned), I headed straight to Walmart with all three girls, in search of a "NEW, brand new, special bracelet." It took us a bit to find where such things are sold in Walmart, but we eventually figured it out. From there, it took TWENTY minutes to find the "MOST PERFECT" bracelet! RM took on the task, as if it were her life's purpose. She was determined to find the EXACT bracelet, despite my multiple explanations that Ally did not necessarily get her special bracelet from Walmart. (She vetoed so many bracelets that I was beginning to think we were going to have to spend the night in Walmart.) When Mac ultimately succumbed to the fact that I was "probably right," (glimpse into her teenage years) she decided the next best thing would be to get a bracelet that is "most like" the original "brand new, special bracelet." Sadly, it quickly became clear that I had failed as a mother (at least in the jewelry department.)

My love for jewelry comes from my mother. She has phenomenal taste, and I like to believe that I do, as well. While I do not get the opportunity to wear some of the beautiful pieces I own living in London, I love to dress up and accessorize when we go out of town. As a result, while Riley lights up, gets super excited, and tells me how pretty my jewelry is when I am wearing it, I have never taken the time to teach her the important things a woman should know. For example, "This Ariel bracelet is FAKE." "This is what a strand of pearls looks like." "THIS is a DIAMOND!" Riley simply did not know the appropriate terminology to describe the bracelet. (Grandma is going to have to step up in the gift department this Christmas!) Therefore, she struggled quite a bit in her attempts to give me enough insight to help. Nonetheless, when she finally found a set of three pearl bracelets, with different sized pearls on each one and a bow tying them together, she was ecstatic! (She, also, made it clear that they were NOT like Ally's "brand new, special bracelet," but that she knew she would LOVE them!)

Mac was so happy that she held onto the bracelet set, until we arrived at the checkout lane. (Even Mommy could not be trusted to hold such a valuable commodity.) She handed it directly to the cashier, and immediately put it on her own wrist after it was scanned. Then, while walking back to the vehicle, she held her arm in an awkward sort of way: elbow bent, wrist near her chest (as if in a cast). When I questioned her, she explained that she did NOT want to risk it sliding off of her hand. Additionally, the moment we got home and walked into the house, she tucked the bracelet inside her backpack. I.WAS.PROUD! My girls understood AND adopted the concept of "Paying It Forward!" Nothing could have made me happier - until the next day.

Tuesday, I went to my parents' house after work to pick up the girls. Riley Mac came bounding up to me, with her arms extended out in front of her. On her wrists were a pair of heart-shaped purple and pink bracelets. She started to talk so fast and enthusiastically that I did not fully understand what she was saying. (She was pointing to the bracelets, holding an Origami bird in her hand, and shouting something about a note.) Seeing absolutely no connection, my mother filled in the gaps and presented the following note, which came with the bracelets and an Origami set.

Riley Mac,

I am SO very proud of you today for showing Jesus' love by bringing Ally a new bracelet. That was one of the sweetest things I have witnessed in all my Kindergarten years. Today you are our "picture of Jesus!" Love you bunches!

XO XO XO

Mrs. Jamie

 

I was COMPLETELY overwhelmed and tears welled up in my eyes. Not only was I bursting with pride and happiness, but Mac's teacher helped me solidify what I have been teaching. "Pay It Forward. Show kindness. Help others. When you do something good for someone, someone will do something good for you. Love people, as Jesus loves you." Right there on my daughter's wrist was EXACTLY what I have been saying, and I could not have been more grateful. (Thank you, Mrs. Jamie! THANK YOU!!)

 

Now, Mommy has to go brush up on her Origami skills, as I promised Miss Mac that we would make Origami birds this weekend (and she did not forget)! :)

This day HATES me!

I was having a wonderful day...until I woke up.

For the second night/early morning in a row, I have woken up, due to not feeling well. If I was a person who admitted such a thing, I would say I am having anxiety attacks. Instead, however, I am a person who will lie to even herself, deny being stressed, and chalk it up to "whatever is going around." (I am so good at lying about this that I can often CONVINCE myself that I am down with a virus.) Nevertheless, I woke up this morning with what I am going to call "a cold."

Knowing that I did not feel well, I made the decision to take it easy. I attempted to do things that would be calming and unstressful. (Again, not saying I am stressed.) This grand plan was successful for approximately 30 minutes...until Charleston woke up.

It was not technically Baby Charlie's fault. It was mine. Spending two restless nights in a row equals exhaustion. I was tired. It was 5a. I was not thinking straight. I quickly made her a bottle and started to feed her. I was amazed, when she downed half of it in under two minutes. While telling her how impressed I was, it hit me like a ton of bricks! (I filled the bottle with only HALF the amount of water needed per scoopfuls of formula. She appeared to have downed half the bottle quickly, as the ounces consumed were merely a FOURTH of what the bottle should have been.) Realizing my stupidity, I immediately removed the bottle from her mouth and started to calculate the amount of formula she had eaten and how I was going to mathematically correct it with the new bottle I was about to make. (This should have been a breeze. Not only am I great at math, this particular mathematical concept is parallel to what I do for a living. I am a pharmacist. I have to calculate stuff like this all the time.) HOWEVER (here is something you non-parents may not know), taking a bottle from a baby is (apparently) a matter of life and death. A newborn's reaction to having a bottle abruptly pulled from her mouth is exactly what I imagine my reaction would be, if someone were to yank a chocolate chip cookie from mine. (I would freaking lose my $#*%, too!!) So, there I was, trying to talk her down, while doing mental math, as she summoned her innermost demons. (It was straight up a scene out of the Exorcist.) Eventually, I solved my problem, which solved hers.

After feeding Charlie and putting her back in her crib, I decided to get on the computer and catch up on Facebook and emails. No more than 15-20 minutes into this typically tranquil activity, the Internet connection started to do weird things.

Frustrated to discover that several of the messages I THOUGHT had successfully sent had in fact never "left the station" (and all drafts seems to have VANISHED), I slammed my laptop shut and walked away. (I knew I could not afford to have something ridiculous send me over the edge. Not today.) So, I moved on.

While I do NOT enjoy laundry, I love how I feel once it is completed. Ergo, I left my office, walked into the laundry room, folded the clothes that were in the dryer, transferred the clothes from the washing machine to the dryer, and then put another load in the washing machine. I carried the folded clothes, which happened to be the girls' load (effin' Elsa nightgown**), and walked into Riley's room. 
 

**Yesterday's Facebook status: THIS CONVO LITERALLY JUST HAPPENED! Warren, shouting from the living room: "Randi, where are you?!" Me: "I am in the laundry room!" Warren, absolutely cracking up: "Did you hear what Riley just asked?" Me, stepping out of the laundry room: "No. What is it, Mac?" Riley, standing stark naked in the hallway, fresh out of the shower: "Why do you *never* do laundry?!" Warren, in near tears, knowing how I DAILY voice my disdain for having to wash three loads of laundry EVERY DAMN DAY: "Yes, Mommy? Why do you NEVER do laundry?" Me, jaw on floor, staring at Riley: "Come again?" Riley: "My Elsa nightgown is STILL dirty!" Me, still stunned and trying not to strangle her: "You mean the one you wore LAST NIGHT?!" Riley, dead serious: "Yes!" Me, pointing to her bedroom: "Get your tail in there and pick out one of the TEN nightgowns you have clean and folded in your armoire, before I make YOU do the laundry!!" Me, muttering to myself, while walking back into the laundry room: "'NEVER' do laundry?!?! Are you KIDDING me?!" Warren, laughing, shouting from the living room: "We LOOOOOOOVE you!" Me, shouting back: "I cannot say what I would like to say with our girls within earshot, but I think you know where you ALL can *SHOVE* your laundry!!!" ‪#‎MothersAreGrosslyUnderappreciated‬ ‪#‎IDoSoMuchLaundryThatIFoldClothesInMyDreams‬ ‪#‎MissMacIsLuckyILoveHerAndThatSheIsOnlyFiveYearsOld

Seeing as my arms were full of clothes, I decided to set the clothes down on the bed, so that I had a free hand to open her armoire. The moment I even considered moving to put down the clothes, two-thirds of the load went crashing to the floor. (I am not a tall person. I really do NOT understand how clothes can magically and COMPLETELY UNFOLD, within less than three feet!) Utterly baffled at how it appeared said clothes just JUMPED out of my arms (while I was barely moving no less), I looked down at where the pile had separated. (EFF YOU, ELSA!! EFFFFF YOU!!) THAT motherf#@$%*^' nightgown that just HAAAAD to be washed! THAT Disney nightDRESS that is three times the price of their regular cotton nightgowns! THAT super fancy nightdress that is made out of slick satin and chiffon materials that Disney INSISTS upon using! (You hate it, but you CANNOT tell your little girl "No," because it looks like it was literally made for a princess to wear, in addition to having an actual Disney princess emblazoned across the front in shimmer and glitter. You would have ZERO shot at this year's "Mother of the Year Award," if you said, "No." Not that you had a shot in hell at even being nominated, much less winning.) THAT article of clothing was the culprit! In all its watery, continuously flowing ways, it caused the majority of the neatly folded pile of laundry to pour out onto the floor! Taking a few forced, deep breaths in and out, I maintained my composure, refolded the laundry, and set it on the bed.

Around this same time, Charleston was waking up and starting to get hungry. I thought, "Yes! Holding and feeding Baby Charlie, while catching up on Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, will definitely make me feel better!" So, I left the laundry on the bed, sent the big girls to their rooms to play, made Charlie a bottle (I checked the water:formula ratio TWICE!), and sat down on the couch. (I wish this next part was a joke.)

I turned the TV on to discover some sort of cryptic message displayed across the entire screen. (I would tell you what it said, but like all impatient people, I did not actually read it. I merely clicked the Enter button.) Upon clearing the message, I clicked the Live button and waited...and waaaited.

Nothing. Live button. Cryptic message, again. (I did not read it, again.) Enter button. Gray screen. Live button. Picture. Distorted picture. Live button. Nothing.

Irritated, I presumed maybe the TiVo was on the fritz and did what I know how to do best, in this type of situation - "unplug and plug back in." Seven minutes later, the TiVo completed rebooting. (If you have ever had to reset a TiVo, you know I am not exaggerating the time.)

Live button. Picture. Nothing.

Yeeeeeep. In addition to the Internet screeching to a halt, our cable went out. (I am - officially - counting my breaths, as I take them.) I picked up the cordless phone to call Warren, in order to ask him to call whomever one calls, when THE WORLD ENDS AND ALL TECHNOLOGY CEASES TO EXIST!!

Talk button. Nothing. Message on the phone's screen. (I did not read it.) Talk button. Talk button. TALK BUTTON. Place back on charger. Pick back up. Talk button. Message on the phone's screen: "No line."  

ARE.YOU.EFFIN'.KIDDING.ME?!?! WHAT IS HAPPENING??? DID THE APOCALYPSE OCCUR LAST NIGHT? THE RAPTURE? AM I DEAD? *GASP* OH, NOOOO!! WAS IT THE RAPTURE, AND I AM STILL **HERE**?! (I HAVE TOTALLY LOST TRACK OF MY BREATHING!!!) I CANNOT MENTALLY COMPUTE! **ROOM SPINNING** **FACE ON FLOOR** GET UP, RANDi! GET UP! **ARMY CRAWL TO CELL PHONE LAYING ON COUCH** DO I HEAR THE GIRLS GIGGLING??

 

Yep. I heard the girls giggling.

Take quick snapshot. Upload to Facebook. Call Warren. Explain that the Aliens have landed. Save yourself. Warren stupid enough to ask me a question I have previously answered THREE times this weekend! Try my best not to scream that my opinion has NOT changed. Connection starts to go bad. (Legitimately. Not me pretending, due to my mood.) Hang up. Feed Charlie.

Per usual, while feeding Charlie, I checked Facebook on my phone. Before she finished the bottle, my cell phone STOPPED connecting to the Internet. (May the Lord strike me dead, if this story is not true!) At this point, I started to laugh in one of those hysterical, maniacal ways. I tried so hard to push everything out of my mind and stay in the present. I tried so hard not to lose it. I sat on the couch and told myself, "WE are going to be okay." (I know I have, now, mentally separated into two versions of myself - "normal" and "crazed.")

I put Charlie in her swing and walked into the kitchen to get a drink of water. Two seconds later, I heard Charlie crying, and I instantly became aware that I could no longer hear her swing. I shouted to the big girls, asking why Charlie's swing music was off. No one answered. (Naturally.) I walked back into the living room to find the swing's cord detached from the base of the swing. I interrogated both girls, asking who ACCIDENTALLY ran across the cord or PURPOSELY unplugged it. (Nothing, but blank stares.) I started to get upset. I, again, stressed the words ACCIDENTALLY and PURPOSELY. "No one will get into trouble. I just want the TRUTH." *crickets* Having sent both girls to sit on the couch, until someone REMEMBERED what happened, I plugged the swing back in.

Nothing. Unplug and plug back in. Nothing. Unplug and plug back in. Nothing. UNPLUG AND PLUG BACK IN. NOTHING!

I traced the cord from the swing's base to the outlet in the wall, realizing the outlet was behind the girls' play kitchen. So, I slid the kitchen out from the wall, only to discover that the outlet was no longer securely attached to its wall pocket. (FOR TWO GIRLS WHO CANNOT REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED, SOMEONE HAD TO HAVE ONE HELL OF A TRIP OVER THE CORD!!!)
 
What the? Why does my shirt feel damp? What? NOOOO! NO EFFIN' WAY! MY LEFT BREAST IS LEAKING! (I AM NOT F*CKIN' JOKING!!) I DO NOT EVEN BREASTFEED! WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?! (I SWEAR THIS IS ACTUALLY OCCURRING - RIGHT NOW! THIS EXACT MOMENT, AS I TYPE!!) THIS DAY HAAAAAAAAAAAAAATES ME!!!!!!!
 
Oh, goodie! *sarcasm* Warren just walked in from work and announced that there is a hornet's nest above the girls' playhouse. (I cannot make this stuff up, People!) He, then, told the girls to stay inside, for he was heading out to handle it. Knowing exactly how that would turn out, I shouted for him to call Michael, our pest guy. "Hornets are no joke, Warren. Call Michael." No, no. Warren thinks he can handle it on his own. He will just stand BENEATH the nest, spray it, and run like hell! (While most of me does not want him to die, a small, bitter part of me hopes the jackass gets stung and has to go to the hospital. Diagnosis: BEING A MORON!)
 
Throughout the madness of the day, Campbell has asked me EVERY 45 MINUTES, if we can go visit our friends' new kitten. "Mommy, can we go see the baby cat?" "Mommy, when are we going to go?" "Mommy, can we get a baby cat?" "Is it time to see the cat, Mommy?" (MOMMY, MOMMY, MOMMY!!) Amidst the chaos, and while composing a blog that I will probably NEVER be able to post (due to the Aliens landing and jacking up all circuitry), I completely forgot and only remembered a moment ago. So, I sent a text to my friend requesting a visit. As luck would have it, they are not at home. Tears are, now, trickling down my face.

We are on Hour Four of no contact with the outside world. I predict within the next 13 that I will have been abducted.

The only time toddlers spill milk.

When...

1. You filled up their cup less than two minutes ago.

2. You are fully dressed for work, church, or other event that requires more than sweatpants.

3. You are pregnant and have great trouble getting to and from the floor.

4. Your husband is not at home.

5. You are running late.

6. You are dressed nice, running late, AND you just finished cleaning up the glass of milk they spilled three minutes ago.

7. You are on the phone.

8. Your dogs are barking like mad, because someone is knocking on the front door.

9. You are on the phone AND the dogs are barking like mad, because someone is knocking on the front door.

10. You just sat down to pee.

11. You just sat down on the couch.

12. You just sat down to eat a bowl of cereal.

13. You just sat down to eat a bowl of hot soup.

14. You do not feel well.

15. You are already cleaning up something their sibling spilled.

16. They are dressed for the day and ready to go.

17. Their sibling just fell, busted their mouth, and requires immediate attention.

18. That was the last glass of milk in the house and today is the day said toddler will ONLY drink milk.



The only time toddlers do NOT spill milk.

When...

1. Daddy is home.

I hate stupidity.

I feel like I need to start with a disclaimer.

DISCLAIMER: Stupidity does NOT equal uneducated (so, everyone can calm down).


Anyone who knows me (or has spent any legitimate time with me) knows that I hate stupidity. I hate redundancy. I hate doing something for nothing. I hate any action or rule that can be conveyed as pointless. For example, lately, it IRKS THE PISS OUT OF ME to update or sync my iPod. You have to enter your password on the computer. You have to enter your passcode on the iPod. You have to agree on the computer. You have to agree on the iPod. They just KEEP making you verify shit on each end, and it is a COMPLETE.WASTE.OF.TIME!

My irritation (which borders on straight loathing) for stupidity falls second only to dishonesty. I quite literally cannot handle people who are dishonest or choose to say and/or do stupid things. However, as already mentioned in my disclaimer, stupidity does not include being uneducated (nor does it include making a mistake).


The latest example of stupidity in my life...


Earlier today, the growing parasite inside me and I decided we were hungry. It was around 3p, which made it an odd time to eat (lunch was over, but it was entirely too early for dinner). We decided upon a milkshake (HAPPY HOUR, PEOPLE!), hopped in my vehicle, and headed to our local Steak 'n Shake.

Taking into consideration that I live in a small town, this was not my first visit to SnS (particularly, for the sole purpose of ordering a milkshake). When I pulled up to the drive-thru's intercom system, I realized I wanted a salad, as well. (Perhaps a subconscious way of making the milkshake acceptable.) Ergo, I ordered a side salad and a small chocolate milkshake.


SnS Chic: "I am sorry. We do not have SMALL milkshakes, anymore. We have KIDDIE milkshakes or MEDIUM milkshakes."

Me, highly amused: "Sooo, would that not make the KIDDIE milkshake a SMALL by default?"

SnS Chic, not understanding the humor: "I am sorry. We have KIDDIE and MEDIUM milkshakes."

Me, laughing at what I am finding to be entertaining: "Okay, okay. I would like the NOT small KIDDIE milkshake."

SnS Chic: "So, you would like a side salad and a KIDDIE chocolate milkshake?"

Me, sarcastically: "Yes, I believe that is what we settled on."

SnS Chic, not picking up on the humor OR sarcasm: "Great! Please, pull around for your total."


I pulled around to be greeted by a younger girl, who was overly excited to wait on me. She stuck her head so far out of her window that she was nearly in my vehicle and told me my total. I leaned further INTO my vehicle, in order for our hands to meet, and gave her $20. She gathered my change and handed it to me, in addition to a bag containing my salad. She, then, told me it would be just a another minute on my milkshake. As promised, within a minute, she returned and held out the shake.


Me: "Are you serious?"

SnS Chic: "Is there a problem?"

Me: "No, no problem. It is just..I thought you told me you no longer served SMALL milkshakes?"

SnS Chic: "Yes, Ma'am! That is correct!"

Me: "Umm..THAT is a SMALL milkshake!"

SnS Chic, robotic: "No, this is a KIDDIE milkshake."

Me: "That is the EXACT same size cup the supposed no longer available SMALL milkshakes came in."

STUPID SnS Chic, smiling, oblivious: "We call them KIDDIE milkshakes, now."

Me, accepting the milkshake: "AHA! So, you admit it! THIS is a SMALL milkshake!!"

STUPID SnS Chic, frazzled: "Um. I do not. That. That is a KIDDIE milkshake. We, now, ONLY serve KIDDIE and MEDIUM milkshakes."

Me, now laughing a bit too hysterically at the insanity of the situation: "You do realize it is IMPOSSIBLE to have anything MEDIUM, without first having a SMALL and a LARGE, right?!"

STUPID SnS Chic: *silence*

Me: "Okay. Tell me this. How much is this KIDDIE milkshake?"

STUPID SnS Chic: *conveys price*

Me, sarcastically stunned: "IMAGINE THAT!! The KIDDIE milkshake is the EXACT SAME PRICE as your former SMALL milkshake! I did NOT see that coming? Did YOU?!"

STUPID SnS Chic, becoming fearful, half stuttering: "What? I do not. What? I have no idea."

Me, still laughing: "Allow me. Your nonexistent SMALL milkshake STILL exists! It came in THIS size cup for THAT price, and it looks like it still does! If the SnS corporation wants to further childhood obesity, by disguising their KIDDIE shakes as SMALL ones, go for it. However, I am NOT going to ignorantly accept the RIDICULOUS sizing renames, and I feel like you should KNOW what is happening at your very own workplace! I cannot possibly be the only customer who is going to notice this! Others WILL come! I am trying to HELP you!!"

STUPID SnS Chic: "Would you like to speak to a manager?"

Me, flabbergasted: "NO, BRITTANY (or whatever generic drive-thru nametag she was wearing)! I am NOT upset! I am merely trying to help you UNDERSTAND! You CANNOT have a KIDDIE, without a SMALL! You CANNOT have a MEDIUM, without a SMALL **AND** a LARGE! PLEASE, tell me I am NOT the only one who has questioned this?!"

STUPID SnS Chic, hesitant: "I..I think so."

Me, looking down at my lap, shaking my head: *sigh* "I am sad, Brittany. This town makes me sad."

STUPID SnS Chic, sympathizing: "Are..are you okay?"

Me, looking up, still shaking my head: "No. No, I am not. Just give me my EXTRA LARGE, JUMBO milkshake, and I will be on my way."

STUPID SnS Chic, giggling: "You are FUNNY!"

Me, genuinely stunned: "Come, again? You see the humor in the EXTRA LARGE comment, but not the...*pauses*...Just. Nevermind, Brittany. Nevermind."

STUPID SnS Chic, starting to enjoy our encounter, laughing: "Thank you! Please, come back!!"

Me: "I cannot imagine that I will, Brittany, but thank you for your exuberant invite."

 

Steak 'n Shake. Famous for STUPIDITY.



Drugs are not the answer, unless you are buying them from me.

Soooo...I went to Walmart the other day. (Oh, I know! I KNOW!! I am fully aware that I should stop going, but it would essentially stop me from blogging.) We all recognize how much I LOATHE entering what I like to call the "Seventh Circle of Hell," but I honestly have zero choice. There is literally NO other place in this Godforsaken town that sells everything on my list, in ONE location. (True statement.) If I chose to go to another store, say Kroger, I would have (at a minimum) three unfulfilled items on my list. Meaning, after checking out at Kroger, I would have to drive across the street to go to Walmart. Do you have any idea what is WORSE than going to Walmart? (I realize this is a tough question, as there are very few things worse than a visit to Hell. Maybe working there??) I will tell you what is worse. Going to Walmart AFTER having already visited another store, realizing they do not have everything on your list and that you should have just gone to Walmart to begin with, as now you have to load your kids back into the vehicle - out, again - and in, again - once you have finished fulfilling your list at Walmart!! I already know I am going to have a miserable time in Lucifer's Lair, so I see no need in being pissed off before I have even set foot on the premises. (I, apparently, like my anger to fester and build, as I shop and hate everyone I encounter.)

So, like I was saying, I went to Walmart (having no other option). I should probably preface this blog by stating that this particular trip was the first time I had been out in public for six days. (Looking back, I should have stopped for ice cream or something fun, first.) The GI virus that had been circulating made a few stops at our house over the holidays, taking out me and both my girls. I was, finally, feeling semi-normal and up to the challenge of grocery shopping. Not only were we living like mice (eating whatever morsels we could find in the pantry and refrigerator), but I was hosting our annual New Year's Eve party in TWO days! I had to get groceries for my family to live off of, groceries for the party, decorations for the party, etc. The virus had taken up the days I had originally planned to accomplish such things, so I was down to the wire, trying not to vomit from being in a post-GI bug state and the realization that I was never going to have everything ready for my upcoming party.

Surprisingly, I parked (in the very FIRST spot!!), got in, checked everything off my list, and was waiting in line to pay in almost no time. Things were going so well. I was even half smiling! (I must have had a residual fever. I do not smile, nor make eye contact with anyone, in that place. Furthermore, smiling forces you to let your guard down. HUGE mistake!)

The moment I made it face to face with the cashier, trouble started. (WHY do they always have to take a break or change out shifts, when **I** step forward?? No, seriously, WHY?!?!) The cashier told me I would need to wait just a moment, as she was about to switch out with another cashier. I opened my mouth to throw the whole Nancy Kerrigan "WHY ME" tantrum, but then thought, "Wait a minute!?" I looked down at my cell phone and saw that it was 1:38p. That is right! Thirty-EIGHT minutes past the hour. (Anyone out there deduced what that means?) THE BITCH WAS ALMOST 10 MINUTES LATE, POTENTIALLY FORTY!! I CANNOT STAND TARDINESS! (Do not believe me? Ask any of my employees.)

As I stood there, I began to despise everything about the new cashier. (I mean, she was obviously going to be a worthless excuse of a cashier, if she could not even make it to her post on time.) I hated her Walmart vest more than the other employees' Walmart vests. I hated her throwback, 1970s, oversized eyeglasses. I hated her magnified, hippy eyes staring  back at me through said glasses. I hated her blonde hair that was up in a ponytail on one side and I have no idea WHAT on the other. I hated her perky attitude. I hated her very existence. Then, she spoke to the other cashier. (WHAT SORT OF CHIPPER VOICE IS THAT?! I HAAAAAATE YOOUUUUUUUUUU!!!) I, immediately, decided that she had to be high. (No sober person appreciates her style and is that damn happy to work for Satan. That is, no one but freaks who are high!)

At that moment, I determined it would be in everyone's interest if I said nothing. I decided to use the fake smile and nod, pay, and get the eff out of there! My blood was boiling, I was starting to feel faint, and I just wanted to go home. Neither of us having spoken to the other, her smiling and high on life (and marijuana) and me biting my tongue so hard I could taste blood, she began to scan my items. Directly after scanning my first item, Miss Mary Jane herself said, "You will have to bear with me, they put me on the wrong side." (I presume she meant of the planet, as absolutely NOTHING had occurred to warrant such a comment.) I was at a complete loss. I did not know how to respond, so I just stared at her, as she continued to blissfully scan and bag my items.

There we were: Miss Angel Dust having a grand old time on planet Earth; me looking around, believing that I was being Punk'd. Then, she did it. Upon filling up the first bag, she turned the bag carousel AWAY from me! (How in the hell am I supposed to grab my stuff and load my cart, when you spin the damn carousel in the effin' opposite direction?!) I, truly, abhor the cashiers who pull this INSANE stunt! It makes NO sense! How is it efficient to have to fill and rotate the carousel five times, before the first bag reaches me?? It leaves me in a horrible position! I have to either 1) walk around the carousel (as if I am the cashier), start grabbing my bags, walk back around to load my cart, and then repeat eight times or 2) wait until the end and then frantically attempt to unload my bags, while the cashier starts bagging the NEXT customer's items! (ABSOLUTE ANARCHY!)

Unfortunately, before I could get my mind to stop spinning and decide the best course of action, Miss Snow White turned the carousel to start Bag 3, only to discover that particular caddy was empty. Rather than doing what I would have done MID-CUSTOMER and move onto Caddy 4, she STOPPED the entire process! I cannot remember what she said, as I was in the middle of having a stroke, but she completely dropped out of sight behind the counter and began searching for bag refills (taking another hit of whatever she was snorting). Eventually, she popped back up with a cardboard box full of unused bags. PAINSTAKINGLY, I watched her unload the bags, wrestle them into Caddy 3, do the whole cardboard box closure thing that I can never do and always end up with one of the four lids sticking straight up, drop back down to the floor to put the box away (pull the needle out of her arm), and then hop back up to continue scanning and bagging.

I remained standing there, in utter bewilderment, trying to process and ACCEPT that this was all actually happening. While doing so, and about three seconds before Miss Crystal Meth, I saw Caddy 5 - EMPTY!! I began to pray (probably out loud), "Oh, Dear GOD! Pah-LEASE! NOOO!!" Sure enough, Miss Foxy Moxy stopped the entire process for a SECOND time and refilled the bag caddy, this go around struggling to open the cardboard box she had previously hexed closed and laughing hysterically at the "hilarity" of the situation. (I DO NOT HAVE THE CREATIVITY TO MAKE THIS STUFF UP, PEOPLE!)

The next thing I remember was that I pulled out my gun and shot Miss Belladonna right between the eyes. Okay, fine. I did not shoot her, BUT ONLY BECAUSE I DID NOT HAVE MY GUN! I, honestly, do not know how our interaction ended. I must have blacked out, for the last thing I truly remember before getting into my vehicle was passing the Salvation Army Santa ringing his annoying sleigh bell outside the door while I shouted, "Christmas is OVER, Asshole, and you are NOT Santa!!" (The little girl walking into the store with her mother three feet away from me started to cry.)