I am sick of school.
There I said it.
I don't even go to school but I'm sick of the eighth grade. There are exactly 15 days left in this school year and they CANNOTGOBYFASTENOUGHFORME!
I'm tired of homework, of getting up early, of projects, book reports, uniforms, annoying rules like haircuts (which obviously don't apply to all students), teachers who call me at work to tell me my kid's pants are too big, no shit - we've already had this conversation 3 different times and I'm not freakin' buying new pants when the uniform changes color next year.
I. Would like a break.
Remember when I bitched here, and here about the teacher that hates my kid? And I joked that perhaps the next time she could complain about his shirt not being blue enough?
Yeah, well guess what. The Kid got in the van this morning and this is what I heard...
Me: Of all the polo shirts in your closet you manage to pick the one with the hole in the front?
The Kid: I can't wear the other clean long sleeve one.
Me: Why not?
The Kid: Teacher said it's not blue enough. I'll have to tell the BF to go easy on the bleach.
Me: (picture my head spinning around quite similar to that scene in the Exorcist while shrieking) Are you F**KING kidding me?!
The Kid: Nope.
Me: Who told you that?!
The Kid: Who. Do. You. Think?
Fif. Teen. Freakin'. Days.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
Any Excuse for New Shoes...
I hardly require a reason to buy new shoes but the BF and I are going to a wedding Memorial Day weekend, therefore, DSW here I come - waving my membership card wildly.
First, I managed to find this little gem on sale at Ann Taylor ($84) to go with the new shoes I had yet to buy. I know mom, a grownup store, please try and contain your giddy delight. I even walked through Talbot's but everything had a 'Dahling, I'm going to a lawn party' vibe and that really wasn't what I was looking for.
{photo courtesy of Ann Taylor's website}
{photo courtesy of the Guess website}
First, I managed to find this little gem on sale at Ann Taylor ($84) to go with the new shoes I had yet to buy. I know mom, a grownup store, please try and contain your giddy delight. I even walked through Talbot's but everything had a 'Dahling, I'm going to a lawn party' vibe and that really wasn't what I was looking for.
{photo courtesy of Ann Taylor's website}And of course these hot little numbers by Guess ($59.95) I found at DSW:
{photo courtesy of the Guess website}So what do you think? How'd I do?
Thursday, May 20, 2010
The Generation Gap is Closing
Last night was the Kid's final Middle School Orchestra performance. He has played the violin for six years and to celebrate his last ta-da my mom, dad and grandmother drove over an hour to see it.
When the Kid was 8 he came home and said he wanted to play the violin, his father and I were of course stunned thinking that he may be confusing the violin with say, an electric guitar.
Looking at us as if we were in fact, stooopid, he told us that he knew what a violin was and yes he wanted to play it.
Um. Ok.
Six years later I still can't believe that he's still playing.
The concert begins with the smallest children, the fourth grade wind instruments and string players, squeaking their way through Hot Crossed Buns and Mary Had a Little Lamb and all I can think of is my Kid never sounded like that. They were, of course, adorable.
During one of the breaks for the Elementary Band the teacher was explaining that the songs were so short for the younger kids because their lungs were still growing. He then explained that the flute was one of the most difficult instruments to play due to the amount of air needed. He gave an example by having the 6 flute players try and hold a note for as long as they could.
It lasted 5 beats.
I played the flute for 8 years starting in the fifth grade. And because my mother can read my mind and knew full well I played the flute for 8 years, our conversation went something like this:
Me: See the flute is the haaarrrrdddest instrument to play.
Her: He also said that you needed a lot of air.
Me: I knew you were going to say that.
Her: I know.
I'm pretty certain she just called me a wind bag.
When the Kid was 8 he came home and said he wanted to play the violin, his father and I were of course stunned thinking that he may be confusing the violin with say, an electric guitar.
Looking at us as if we were in fact, stooopid, he told us that he knew what a violin was and yes he wanted to play it.
Um. Ok.
Six years later I still can't believe that he's still playing.
The concert begins with the smallest children, the fourth grade wind instruments and string players, squeaking their way through Hot Crossed Buns and Mary Had a Little Lamb and all I can think of is my Kid never sounded like that. They were, of course, adorable.
During one of the breaks for the Elementary Band the teacher was explaining that the songs were so short for the younger kids because their lungs were still growing. He then explained that the flute was one of the most difficult instruments to play due to the amount of air needed. He gave an example by having the 6 flute players try and hold a note for as long as they could.
It lasted 5 beats.
I played the flute for 8 years starting in the fifth grade. And because my mother can read my mind and knew full well I played the flute for 8 years, our conversation went something like this:
Me: See the flute is the haaarrrrdddest instrument to play.
Her: He also said that you needed a lot of air.
Me: I knew you were going to say that.
Her: I know.
I'm pretty certain she just called me a wind bag.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
The Contraband Banana
Last weekend I went to Canada for the first time, Toronto to be exact. My bestie lives about 10 minutes from the Canadian border, so while I was visiting we figured we'd go shopping for a couple of days.
The airport shuttle ride from hell and my Exit Row flight attendant clash were nothing in comparison to my anxiety about crossing the border.
What if I did it wrong?
What if I forgot something important?
What if I said the wrong thing?
What if all that happened and they took my shiny new passport away?
You'd think I'd never done this before.
The last time I crossed a literal country border I was 17, on a train, at night from Finland into the USSR. There were soldiers with machine guns and flashlights in my eyes. Youth is an impenetrable shield. Some how I managed that without a hitch but now it's broad daylight and as we inch closer to the check point I'm mentally cataloging everything in my bag in an attempt to weed out anything that could be considered 'dangerous'.
As it gets close to our turn I'm trying to remember everything the bestie had told me that morning...don't be on your phone, just answer the questions they ask, sometimes you get a chatty one and we could be at the check point for 15 minutes, better yet let me do most of the talking, have your passport ready...blah, blah.
All of this is going through my head when her voice breaks through my reverie and I hear her say:
BFF: Shove that plastic bag at your feet under the seat.
Me: Um, ok. Why?
BFF: Fruits and vegetables are not allowed across the border. Remember when I told you to grab that banana and pear that were on the counter?
Me: Yeah.
BFF: Well that's what's in the bag.
Me: You're joking? What if they search the car? Can't you eat a Canadian Banana?
BFF: Stop it. You're being ridiculous.
Me: Gahhh! I'm going to go to jail because of a contraband banana! I'll buy you a banana. Just let me throw it out the window.
BFF: Too late. It's our turn.
Can I just say that I might as well have been smuggling weapons with the thoughts I had about that banana.
On an upside the border agent stamped my passport even though it's not common practice anymore.
I'm pretty sure if she knew about my contraband banana there would have been no stamp.
The airport shuttle ride from hell and my Exit Row flight attendant clash were nothing in comparison to my anxiety about crossing the border.
What if I did it wrong?
What if I forgot something important?
What if I said the wrong thing?
What if all that happened and they took my shiny new passport away?
You'd think I'd never done this before.
The last time I crossed a literal country border I was 17, on a train, at night from Finland into the USSR. There were soldiers with machine guns and flashlights in my eyes. Youth is an impenetrable shield. Some how I managed that without a hitch but now it's broad daylight and as we inch closer to the check point I'm mentally cataloging everything in my bag in an attempt to weed out anything that could be considered 'dangerous'.
As it gets close to our turn I'm trying to remember everything the bestie had told me that morning...don't be on your phone, just answer the questions they ask, sometimes you get a chatty one and we could be at the check point for 15 minutes, better yet let me do most of the talking, have your passport ready...blah, blah.
All of this is going through my head when her voice breaks through my reverie and I hear her say:
BFF: Shove that plastic bag at your feet under the seat.
Me: Um, ok. Why?
BFF: Fruits and vegetables are not allowed across the border. Remember when I told you to grab that banana and pear that were on the counter?
Me: Yeah.
BFF: Well that's what's in the bag.
Me: You're joking? What if they search the car? Can't you eat a Canadian Banana?
BFF: Stop it. You're being ridiculous.
Me: Gahhh! I'm going to go to jail because of a contraband banana! I'll buy you a banana. Just let me throw it out the window.
BFF: Too late. It's our turn.
Can I just say that I might as well have been smuggling weapons with the thoughts I had about that banana.
On an upside the border agent stamped my passport even though it's not common practice anymore.
I'm pretty sure if she knew about my contraband banana there would have been no stamp.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
The Exit Row
Although my airport shuttle ride from hell was fun, the first 15 minutes of my flight was the icing on my trip to Buffalo.
Ahhh, the Exit Row, I've heard people speak fondly of it, lament the fact that they couldn't choose it when they purchased their tickets and I've seen people try and finagle a switch once on board.
I had a slightly different experience.
I choose the window seat in the exit row because there where no other free options available and I was not paying an additional $5 for a seat just so I could have one in advance. If that's what it took, I'd get a seat assignment at the gate for free.
As I watched the plane taxi to the gate I realized that it was so small we would have to board on the tarmac, not a big deal, but usually this means that the confines of the plane are just that.
Confining.
Getting on board wasn't a big deal. I found my seat, jammed my bag into the overhead with the help of the guy sitting in the isle seat and folded myself into the window seat. Right about now I'm assessing my surroundings and I've come to a few conclusions.
1) There is no extra leg room on an Express plane.
2) The man sitting next to me is 2 and half times my size.
3) The exit door should really be called an exit window because it's only the size of large watermelon.
And lastly,
4) If we do need to use the exit window, the man next to me is never going to fit through it. Not without a serious shove from me.
So, this being my first trip in the exit row I'm somewhat unprepared for the militant-like grilling I'm about to get from the Flight Attendant.
Let me preface this by saying that she was short, round and extremely no nonsense. I did not feel as if I were flying the friendly skies I felt more like I was flying the 'I will withold your salty snack if you so much as cough' skies.
Now the attendant waddles down the row and stops in row 8, the exit row, and she asks:
FA: Are each of you willing to sit in this row? Us: Yes, yes, yes, and yes.
This part she says reeeaaallllyyyy fast: Pull this plastic cover off, see the handle? Pull it towards you, hard. Grab the bottom handle, pull the whole door in towards you. Turn door sideways. Throw it out the opening. Got it? Good.
FA: Are you capable of performing the duties of the exit row? Us: Yes, yes, yes and yes.
Now she looks at me. It probably didn't help my case that I was sitting next to a man who just by his sheer presence made me look like I was 14 but she comes out with this:
FA: Can you lift 40 pounds? Because the door weighs 40 pounds.
Me: I may look like a child but if the plane is crashing I'm pretty sure I can get the door off. That and you really don't think I want my fate in the hands of complete strangers do you?
FA: Let's hope so.
Does she know something that I don't? Are we going to crash? Because she's not giving me warm fuzzy feelings about my trip to Buffalo.
But the fun doesn't end there. She waddles back to the front of the plane and the man next to me leans over and says:
Man: Don't worry, if the door needs to come off, I've got it covered.
Me: I was pretty sure you had my back. Now that we're part of the Exit Row Society and all.
While we're talking the FA is now yapping in to the on board intercom that 2 people from the front of the plane are going to have to move to the back to properly distribute the weight on the plane.
Seriously?
At this moment I whip the emergency instruction card from the back of the seat because it was looking more and more likely I was going to have to prove I could lift 40 pounds.
Tomorrow...The Contraband Banana.
Ahhh, the Exit Row, I've heard people speak fondly of it, lament the fact that they couldn't choose it when they purchased their tickets and I've seen people try and finagle a switch once on board.
I had a slightly different experience.
I choose the window seat in the exit row because there where no other free options available and I was not paying an additional $5 for a seat just so I could have one in advance. If that's what it took, I'd get a seat assignment at the gate for free.
As I watched the plane taxi to the gate I realized that it was so small we would have to board on the tarmac, not a big deal, but usually this means that the confines of the plane are just that.
Confining.
Getting on board wasn't a big deal. I found my seat, jammed my bag into the overhead with the help of the guy sitting in the isle seat and folded myself into the window seat. Right about now I'm assessing my surroundings and I've come to a few conclusions.
1) There is no extra leg room on an Express plane.
2) The man sitting next to me is 2 and half times my size.
3) The exit door should really be called an exit window because it's only the size of large watermelon.
And lastly,
4) If we do need to use the exit window, the man next to me is never going to fit through it. Not without a serious shove from me.
So, this being my first trip in the exit row I'm somewhat unprepared for the militant-like grilling I'm about to get from the Flight Attendant.
Let me preface this by saying that she was short, round and extremely no nonsense. I did not feel as if I were flying the friendly skies I felt more like I was flying the 'I will withold your salty snack if you so much as cough' skies.
Now the attendant waddles down the row and stops in row 8, the exit row, and she asks:
FA: Are each of you willing to sit in this row? Us: Yes, yes, yes, and yes.
This part she says reeeaaallllyyyy fast: Pull this plastic cover off, see the handle? Pull it towards you, hard. Grab the bottom handle, pull the whole door in towards you. Turn door sideways. Throw it out the opening. Got it? Good.
FA: Are you capable of performing the duties of the exit row? Us: Yes, yes, yes and yes.
Now she looks at me. It probably didn't help my case that I was sitting next to a man who just by his sheer presence made me look like I was 14 but she comes out with this:
FA: Can you lift 40 pounds? Because the door weighs 40 pounds.
Me: I may look like a child but if the plane is crashing I'm pretty sure I can get the door off. That and you really don't think I want my fate in the hands of complete strangers do you?
FA: Let's hope so.
Does she know something that I don't? Are we going to crash? Because she's not giving me warm fuzzy feelings about my trip to Buffalo.
But the fun doesn't end there. She waddles back to the front of the plane and the man next to me leans over and says:
Man: Don't worry, if the door needs to come off, I've got it covered.
Me: I was pretty sure you had my back. Now that we're part of the Exit Row Society and all.
While we're talking the FA is now yapping in to the on board intercom that 2 people from the front of the plane are going to have to move to the back to properly distribute the weight on the plane.
Seriously?
At this moment I whip the emergency instruction card from the back of the seat because it was looking more and more likely I was going to have to prove I could lift 40 pounds.
Tomorrow...The Contraband Banana.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Toronto or Bust
Let's talk about the bust...
Last Thursday I was supposed to drive to Buffalo, NY to visit my bestie for the weekend. Once I got to Buffalo we were driving to Toronto to go shopping for a few days.
Thursday I came into work with the notion that I didn't want to drive 6 plus hours after work and if I could get a flight to Buffalo that night around $300 I was taking it.
Travelocity has always come through for me, so I started there. Miraculously there was a nonstop to Buffalo that left that night at 8:45pm in my price range.
Perfect, I'll take it.
I booked the flight but the only seat I could get was a window, in the Exit Row. Thirty-seven years of travelling and I've never sat in an Exit Row. Really, how bad could it be? People say there's extra leg room and such. Not that my 5' 0" needs extra leg room but it would be nice to swing my legs or something.
Since, I planned my flight super-short notice I couldn't get a seat on the airport shuttle service that I normally use. I called around to a few other local places and managed to get a pickup time of 5pm. It's an hour ride to the airport without traffic.
Once I find a company for a service that I like I hate changing because change causes unforeseen headaches and no one likes headaches when they travel.
Insert headache here...the driver picked me up on time. So far so good. Although the van was somewhat worn and more than a little dirty I chalked it up to my poor planning and the price of not having to drive 6 hours to Buffalo by myself.
As we're getting onto the highway on-ramp, a light starts flashing on the dashboard which says, Service ABS Now. This flashing is accompanied by a rather loud dinging. Not an alarming ding but a Notice-Me-Because-I'm-Not-Shutting-Off-Until-You-Do Ding.
Here's where the panic sets in.
I'm sitting directly behind the passenger seat so I can not only see the dashboard and the flashing warning but I can also see the driver put the van in neutral, turn off the van and restart it.
ALL while we're still moving On. To. The. Highway!
I'm fairly certain at this point that the driver's smooth maneuver is not in the company handbook and I could quite possibly die on my trip to the airport.
After a quick consult with dispatch the driver and he determine that there isn't enough time to return to the garage for a new van, it's rush hour and I need to get to the airport. Yes, I do need to get to the airport but I'd like to be alive when I get there.
The driver manages to get me to the airport in an hour and 45 minutes, with me giving him directions through the terminals, only having to restart the van twice with his smooth maneuver but I was making a mental note that this is why I always hire the same shuttle company no matter what the cost.
As I'm getting out of the van and he's getting my bag he says, "Thanks for being so understanding, I've only been doing this for a few days."
Tomorrow...the Exit Row.
Last Thursday I was supposed to drive to Buffalo, NY to visit my bestie for the weekend. Once I got to Buffalo we were driving to Toronto to go shopping for a few days.
Thursday I came into work with the notion that I didn't want to drive 6 plus hours after work and if I could get a flight to Buffalo that night around $300 I was taking it.
Travelocity has always come through for me, so I started there. Miraculously there was a nonstop to Buffalo that left that night at 8:45pm in my price range.
Perfect, I'll take it.
I booked the flight but the only seat I could get was a window, in the Exit Row. Thirty-seven years of travelling and I've never sat in an Exit Row. Really, how bad could it be? People say there's extra leg room and such. Not that my 5' 0" needs extra leg room but it would be nice to swing my legs or something.
Since, I planned my flight super-short notice I couldn't get a seat on the airport shuttle service that I normally use. I called around to a few other local places and managed to get a pickup time of 5pm. It's an hour ride to the airport without traffic.
Once I find a company for a service that I like I hate changing because change causes unforeseen headaches and no one likes headaches when they travel.
Insert headache here...the driver picked me up on time. So far so good. Although the van was somewhat worn and more than a little dirty I chalked it up to my poor planning and the price of not having to drive 6 hours to Buffalo by myself.
As we're getting onto the highway on-ramp, a light starts flashing on the dashboard which says, Service ABS Now. This flashing is accompanied by a rather loud dinging. Not an alarming ding but a Notice-Me-Because-I'm-Not-Shutting-Off-Until-You-Do Ding.
Here's where the panic sets in.
I'm sitting directly behind the passenger seat so I can not only see the dashboard and the flashing warning but I can also see the driver put the van in neutral, turn off the van and restart it.
ALL while we're still moving On. To. The. Highway!
I'm fairly certain at this point that the driver's smooth maneuver is not in the company handbook and I could quite possibly die on my trip to the airport.
After a quick consult with dispatch the driver and he determine that there isn't enough time to return to the garage for a new van, it's rush hour and I need to get to the airport. Yes, I do need to get to the airport but I'd like to be alive when I get there.
The driver manages to get me to the airport in an hour and 45 minutes, with me giving him directions through the terminals, only having to restart the van twice with his smooth maneuver but I was making a mental note that this is why I always hire the same shuttle company no matter what the cost.
As I'm getting out of the van and he's getting my bag he says, "Thanks for being so understanding, I've only been doing this for a few days."
Tomorrow...the Exit Row.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Vegetable Soup - Randomness of the Mind
Have you ever made your own vegetable soup? I usually throw whatever it is I have hanging around in the fridge into the pot and hope for the best. Well that's what I have for you today. A bunch of odd nonrelated items that only require a sentence or two.
I seem to have the theme song from The Odd Couple stuck in my head. The BF says I hum it atleast once a month and I don't even realize it. Perhaps I was an old man in another life? I'd like to think I wasn't the slob as my current reality suggests.
__________________________________________________________________
This morning the electric toothbrush ran out of juice while I was brushing my teeth. I swear I instantly forgot how to brush manually. Since when did I become so lazy I can even brush my teeth?
__________________________________________________________________
I have finally gotten my passport renewed. After 20 years. And I'm going to use it to go to Toronto this weekend. Here's hoping the bestie and I don't make it into an episode of Border Patrol.
__________________________________________________________________
I've eaten Jujubes for breakfast and not felt guilty about it. As a matter of fact I ate them for lunch today and I still don't feel guilty.
__________________________________________________________________
I buy organic apples at the grocery store because I have guilt. The irony is I don't eat the apples. The dog does.
I seem to have the theme song from The Odd Couple stuck in my head. The BF says I hum it atleast once a month and I don't even realize it. Perhaps I was an old man in another life? I'd like to think I wasn't the slob as my current reality suggests.
__________________________________________________________________
This morning the electric toothbrush ran out of juice while I was brushing my teeth. I swear I instantly forgot how to brush manually. Since when did I become so lazy I can even brush my teeth?
__________________________________________________________________
I have finally gotten my passport renewed. After 20 years. And I'm going to use it to go to Toronto this weekend. Here's hoping the bestie and I don't make it into an episode of Border Patrol.
__________________________________________________________________
I've eaten Jujubes for breakfast and not felt guilty about it. As a matter of fact I ate them for lunch today and I still don't feel guilty.
__________________________________________________________________
I buy organic apples at the grocery store because I have guilt. The irony is I don't eat the apples. The dog does.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Things I Wish People Would Stop Saying
It's Saturday so I'll keep it short...you should really be outside instead of blog reading. {wink}
1. I realize that.
No, no you don't. Because if you did you wouldn't be saying what you're saying.
2. I don't want to make more work for you....
Just the fact that you're saying this means that you recognize there is going to be more work for me. Just say you're giving me more work.
3. I don't micro-manage my people.
If you have to say that then you are a micro-manager.
4. A half-assed attempt.
When have you ever heard of anyone using their whole ass? Exactly my point. Never.
That's all for now. Have a fun weekend peeps.
1. I realize that.
No, no you don't. Because if you did you wouldn't be saying what you're saying.
2. I don't want to make more work for you....
Just the fact that you're saying this means that you recognize there is going to be more work for me. Just say you're giving me more work.
3. I don't micro-manage my people.
If you have to say that then you are a micro-manager.
4. A half-assed attempt.
When have you ever heard of anyone using their whole ass? Exactly my point. Never.
That's all for now. Have a fun weekend peeps.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)