The Most Bizarre Shopping Trip Ever

I heard a report that said Wednesday was the best day to go grocery shopping.

Apparently, everyone else in my town heard that report too.

After two hours of playing bumper buggies with the masses, I managed to snag a checkout line that only had one person in it! It wasn't until I had half my items on the conveyor belt that I realized the old man in front of me was haggling with the cashier over the price of some pants. I waited patiently while he continued to block the aisle with his motorized boat chair. It was a voice from behind that eventually broke me from my daydream.

"Why isn't she moving?!"

I glanced back to see two old women. Well, to be honest, it was more like an old woman and an ancient woman. I leaned to the side so they could see what was happening in front of me.

"She sure is buying a lot of stuff!"

I glanced back again. Oddly, they had about the same amount of groceries as I did. As if me having more would have justified their comment anyway. I looked up and realized the ancient woman was openly glaring at me! Her companion then started to drum her fingers on the cart. Fortunately, the old man was done checking out at this point. I made quick work of loading the rest of my items on the conveyor belt and ran my card through before the cashier could even finish.

As I grabbed my cart to leave, I heard a sound that made me turn back around. The old woman behind me was clapping! I looked at the cashier, who was equally as stunned. This only made the old woman clap louder. Her ancient friend smiled at me smugly. I opened my mouth to say something. But what? What do you say to that? So instead I just shook my head and left.

I don't think I'm going grocery shopping on Wednesday anymore.

I Don't See Dead People

I had an interview on Friday at a funeral home.

It dawned on me as I was waiting for my interviewer that they probably don't decorate for the holidays at funeral homes. Definitely not Halloween. Bummer. Somewhere from the back a man emerged, tall and droopy like an old sunflower. He asked me for my papers without meeting my eyes and then we stood side by side for a couple of minutes awkwardly. It gave me time to stare at the three paisley couches in the room. Paisley. Good God, why?

I was rescued soon after by an older Italian man with the same first name as my Father. He entertained me for the next thirty minutes while I waited for the boss. "Are you married?" He asked. "Since November." "Bless you." He explained that the first gentlemen I'd met was the funeral director, Vance. Apparently, no one liked Vance because he was annoying. He was also the person I would be working with. Great. "Does this place creep you out?" "Maybe a little." I replied, staring at the couches.

I can't remember the name of the man who interviewed me. I think I might have been distracted by the urns that filled the room we were sitting in. He explained that the job was not for an administrative assistant position, as had been posted. It was for an office manager and substitute funeral director. On occasion I might have to wheel around bodies. I might even have to touch them. "But we'd never make you embalm them." As if that were an option!

I would be in charge of accounting and sales and funeral arrangements, a real one-woman-show. "Where will the funeral director be?" I asked. "Out selling, mostly. He visits all the retirement communities." For some odd reason, that disturbed me the most. Fortunately, the pay was lower than I was willing to accept. I say fortunately because I might have taken the job otherwise, out of obligation. But it didn't make me feel good. Despite the awesome blog fodder it might have created.

I knew when I left that they were going to offer me the position. "You can't work at a funeral home!" My Mom cried over the phone on my way home. "How will you ever make friends?!" Thanks Ma. "How'd it go?" Hoop asked when I walked in the door. "Did you knock them dead? I bet you killed them." They called this morning. They wanted me to start immediately. "It's not the direction I want to take my career," I told the woman politely.

Because I don't see dead people.

Not even professionally.

I Got Laid Off Yesterday.

No one else. Just me.

After if happened I got a slew of phone calls, some from friends and family, some from coworkers. The coworkers all thought it should have been someone else, someone worse, not me. That's easy to say when the execution is over and your neck is safe. I'm having a minor identity crisis. Who am I if not this girl? She didn't like it there, but it was home for five years. The cops came after they let me go. The graphics girl freaked out. "Have they come to escort you out?" I threw up my hands in mock surrender. "Jesus. I'll go peacefully!" But they were there for something else. Life moves on.

I woke up this morning laughing at some practical joke I dreamt I did at work. No practical joke. No work. It took a moment to set in. Hoop says it was divine intervention. Things that rhyme with divine: decline, malign, landmine. Before he lost his job some three months back, Hoop claims he'd cry out to God during traffic jams. Then he got laid off. No more traffic jams. I hate driving. So, it was sort of a cosmic joke when I got stuck with a ten-hour-a-week commute for two years. Last week I found myself crying out to God during a traffic jam. BAM! No more traffic jams. Funny how that works.

I'm not sure where I'm going to go from here. Well, other than to the Scottish games this afternoon. When life throws you lemons, you go watch men in kilts. Rest assured, I'll still be posting. We'll still have the Weekly Words Challenges. It's this thing outside of the blogosphere, real life, that's going to get a bit odd for awhile. I'd ask you to pray (or wish or hope or whatever you do) for me. But there are far more worthy causes to spend that energy on. I'll be fine. And that girl inside, the one who doesn't know who she is anymore? She'll find a new identity soon. I promise you she will.

Much Love...

Be Careful What You Keep

Dedicated to Mamatulip, who cracked me up with her post on porn this morning.

My paternal Grandfather was a porn dealer, among other things. I didn't find this out until the spring of 1996 when he died, suddenly, of progressive lung cancer. I was thirteen, half the age I am now. We weren't very close. My Dad, were he here to argue the fact, might disagree. What little interaction I had with the old man was spread out among cousins. We would gather on holidays, a large Italian mass, to eat fist-sized meatballs and watch Grandpa shoot down the family photos with a Nerf gun.

He had a bar called The Trap. Memory, which cannot be trusted, has blended it with an image of Cheers. Some say it was a front for illegal gambling. My Dad would take me there on Saturday mornings when I was little. I would sit on the bar and serve unwanted Shirley Temples to vagabond customers. But what I really wanted was an excuse to eat maraschino cherries. Dad and Grandpa would migrate to the back at some point, leaving me to dig through a bag of Crane Game stuffed animals. They'd argue and we'd leave... until the next time. I collected so many stuffed animals that way.

After Grandpa died, the family divided his things. I ended up with a gold plated Coke bottle and his Italian horn pendant. The pendant was special, a symbol of hierarchy. I'm not sure about the Coke bottle. Some elderly family member claimed I'd told her that I collected Coke memorabilia. I didn't, collect that is. People shouldn't be held accountable for what they say while waiting for a family member to die. My Uncles got my Grandfather's cars, two mafia-style vehicles with suicide doors.

I'll never forget how the family pawed over those insignificant things. It was like they'd won some lottery with mortality or something. My Dad stood by, quietly and undeserving. He just wanted to stay awhile in that house, to smell his Father's things and to care for the dog. Or maybe I'm being too kind. It wasn't long after the garage was opened and my Uncles had claimed their respective cars that someone suggested opening the trunks. Being old mafia cars, these compartments were rather large, and each was stuffed to capacity with black trash bags.

Being young, I was quick to distraction and didn't witness the opening of the bags. But I heard the "Eep!" one of my aunts let out when it was done. What followed was stunned silence... and then laughter. They laughed until they cried, hugging at their ribs and gasping for air. My cousins and I stared in wonder. We had denied ourselves all morning anything that might be misconstrued as happiness and here were our parents, laughing (!) so soon after death. They ushered us into the house without explanation, eager to get back to the bags.

I waited until that night to ask, once my Dad was sufficiently liquored up. I'll never forget the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he relived the memory in his head. "What was in the bags, Dad?" "Porn," he said sloppily. "Porn?!" To be honest, I'd expected him to say bodies. "Yup. Porn and dildos." And that was it. I didn't have the guts to ask him to explain. So for several years I lived with that information in my head, with absolutely no explanation. I'd be lying if I said it didn't fuck with me a little.

Later on, about seven years later to be exact, I asked for the full story. Before I was born, my Grandfather owned a lucrative porn store. Its main draw was that you could seat yourself in a private booth onsite and watch X-Rated movies, provided you had the coins to keep feeding the meter. Every minute, the movie would shut off. Which was fine if you were done. But if you weren't, you had to pay another $.50. Once out of the booth, customers could peruse the store for take-home materials.

When the business eventually folded, my Grandfather decided to keep the unsold merchandise in his cars. Who knows why. Maybe he sold it out of the trunk on occasion. Or maybe he passed it out at parties like a dirty old Santa Claus. Either way, it made me realize that there are certain things I DON'T want people to find after I'm gone. Like my diaries... or my old pipe... or that pair of ratty underwear with twelve holes in it. Ew. So tell me, what things have been unearthed posthumously in your family? What would you rather NOT be found after you're gone?

Ah-ha Moment

There have been far too few instant gratifications in my life lately. Everything for us has become a "wait-and-see" game. When we have money... When we have time... When the economy gets better... We'll enjoy the next house. We'll take a vacation next year. Maybe when we retire in forty years. So instead of enjoying life now, which (face it) is the only guarantee we have, we just keep holding out for some undetermined date in the future. Fuck that.

I've decided to do something gratifying each day, create a reason to get up other than necessity. It doesn't have to be anything that cost money or requires a lot of time. In fact, it'll be better if it doesn't. It can be fun or functional or silly. It can be done alone or with friends and loved ones. The object is to do it, whatever "it" is, and be happy about it.

I practiced this weekend, almost just to see if it could be done. By the end of Sunday, Hoop was marveling at how much fun we'd had. It had been the best weekend we'd had in a LONG time. Friday, we had a "Gift Certificate" day. We only did things that utilized the miscellaneous gift cards and coupons we'd accrued over the holidays. There was one for the movies, and Bed Bath and Beyond, JCPenney and Smoothie King.

Part of the fun was dividing up the cards. "OK, we have $25 on this JCPenney card. That means we both get $12.50 to spend. Now, go!" Hoop bought a green tie and I, a blue robot t-shirt. I'm sure we could have spent the cards in more responsible ways, like on a couple of towels or a cutting board. But there was something magical about doing it this way. I felt like a kid again, with a pocket full of quarters in the dollar store.

Saturday, Hoop and I loaded up the car with snacks and drove an hour to Blue Springs. We spent $5 to get in and $7.50 in gas, and the view of the manatees was PRICELESS. On the way home we stopped at the Daytona Flea Market. That took up the remainder of the day. We left with an arm full of fresh strawberries and green beans and sang to cheesy 80's music all the way home.

Sunday, we played video games in our underwear and watched the Super Bowl. I tried my hand at black bean and sausage pastries. They were a huge hit, once I got the hang of them. By the end I was even decorating them with little dough hearts. With 12 for $6, plus leftover filling, that gives Hoop and I ample lunch material for three days. You can't beat a $1 home cooked meal.

So tell me, what did YOU do this weekend?

Is Mah Birfday!

Thank you all for the birthday wishes! The number of comments I got on Facebook was a bit staggering. A couple of members of my family-in-law recently "friended" me on there. They don't know I have a blog. I'm sure they're wondering how in the hell I know so many people. They probably think I'm a whore. I'm just kidding! They probably think I'm the Antichrist. For a birthday I wasn't all that excited about, I sure got spoiled.

My parents got me the "Little Big Planet" game and a grown-up watch. It doesn't even have numbers on it... OR cartoon characters! LBP (I'm using abbreviations cause I'm cool, not lazy, okay?) is quite possibly the most addictive video game I've ever played. It involves a sack boy, puzzles, and Monty Python style animation. Hoop likes to watch me play because I wiggle all over the couch with my tongue sticking out and yelling things like, "Get on that pony!"

My Grandparents got me a DS game (are you seeing a trend?) and some fancy lotion. Hoop's Mom and Grandma got me a $50 gift card to Barnes and Noble. My friend Sarge got me a $25 gift card to the online ILoveObento! store. My other friend, and coworker, got me a really pretty metal fairy figurine for my desk. Hoop brought me flowers this afternoon and took me out to lunch. Tomorrow we're playing hooky and driving out to a local spring to see some manatees!

So yeah, 26 has been pretty wonderful so far...

Daily Hoop Conversation:
Tink: I don't understand why people own pets that only like them.
Hoop: Because they can't find a home for an animal that doesn't like anyone.
Tink: True. At least our dogs are friendly.
Hoop: Duff's friendly, he's just scared of everything.
Tink: ...like hairdryers.
Hoop: ...and trees.
Tink: ...and chairs.
Hoop: ...and Ewoks.
Tink: Yes, let's not forget the Ewoks.

Have a fun and safe weekend Homebloys!

Something Like That

Work is always trying to suppress my primal urges. It's really a drag. We used to go outside and scream, back before Natalie Portman in "Garden State" made screaming cool. One of us would have a really shitty day and we'd just grab one of our coworkers and go scream outside. It was therapeutic. Apparently, work didn't think so. They thought it was scary. So, we don't scream outside anymore.

We used to have handheld computers that reminded me of old school Gameboys, but bigger, heavier and uglier. The day our company decided to upgrade was monumental. My coworkers and I wanted to celebrate "Office Space" style, with a ball bat. We even tried to grease the wheels by turning it into a fundraiser, $5 for three whacks. But the company refused, and there the handhelds have sat.

I'm trying to find a point for telling you this, some great metaphor about life (blah blah blah). But I don't have one. Sometimes, I just feel like being pointless. Tomorrow I'll be 26. I always thought I'd be a lot smarter at this age. But so far that's the only disappointment. I'm neither rich nor poor, defeated or bored. I have a husband who entertains me at 7am by pretending to be RoboCop.

Life can be good if you let it. Maybe not in a barrels-of-money kind of way. But definitely an extra-marshmallows-in-your-Lucky-Charms kind of way. I turn on the news each morning and I see a lot of people giving up. They forget what they have. You always have something. If it's not a job, it's family. If it's not family, it's your health. If it's not health, it's hope. If you don't have hope, then you're not looking hard enough.

Lumpy Heart

Today is Hoop's and my three year anniversary...

...it was also supposed to be Chris' 25th birthday.

I know it's selfish, but I really wish they didn't fall on the same day.

We used to joke about it, how Hoop was such a "sweet" guy, taking me out as a gift to his brother. Bless Chris' heart, it never seemed to bother him. I sang Happy Birthday to him in the car this morning. I imagined a bunch of angels clutching their ears in pain while I did it. Too bad there aren't any strippers in Heaven. God has probably reformed them all by now, huh? Maybe some cute angel will jump out of his cake instead. Or maybe they're all sick of cake by now, seeing as everything is made from the stuff. Well, it is in MY Heaven. Maybe Chris would rather have an angel jump out of broccoli. That might be kind of difficult though.

I miss Chris. I miss what he was to Hoop too, his best friend. Whenever we got in a fight, it was a comfort to know that Hoop had someone to vent to and that Chris would never say anything negative about me. He was that kind of person. You couldn't know the guy without loving him. There was always a part of me that was a little jealous of Chris too. It was tough living in that kind of shadow. It still is... Hoop went in to work at noon today and he won't be getting home until eight. It's just as well. He didn't feel like celebrating anyway. But I kind of do. Three years is a big deal to me. So I've decided to treat myself to something nice tonight.

Perhaps flowers, or a movie, or a batch of fat-filled cupcakes?

If you had $20 and two hours of alone time, what would you treat yourself to?

One Stop Juju Shop

I went into this weekend expecting to do a lot of good for others. But what I GOT from others was much more remarkable. I had no idea Friday's post would evoke such an outpour of responses. It blew me away. Truly. Here I doubted, and the proof that chivalry is alive (if not a bit stunted), was all around me. So, thank you. To celebrate, I'm having a drawing. How's that for giving back? Anyone who commented on Friday's post, as well as anyone who comments today, will be entered into a drawing for a secret gift.

No, I'm not telling you what it is yet. But here's a clue: I posted a picture of mine not that long ago and everyone went crazy over it. So leave a comment, or a link to a post, about a good deed that you did this weekend or a good deed that was done to you. Keep the good juju ball rolling. I did a few simple deeds this weekend before stumbling on one I felt was more worthy of the challenge. It happened without me thinking of it being "the" good deed, too. Hoop and I were on our way back from the beach when we saw a car stuck in the sand.

The owner of the car, a middle-aged man, was sitting in the driver's seat looking a bit helpless. He was surrounded by able-bodied bystanders who were too busy ignoring him to help. The sad part was, it didn't take more than two minutes of pushing to get the guy back on the road. But he couldn't have done it alone, and the alternative was to call a tow-truck or wait for help. Who knows how long he'd been waiting already. The man didn't say much before zooming off. But I'd like to believe that he passed the good deed on to someone else.

We can hope.

Now your turn...

Movers, Shakers, and Ballbreakers

This morning I watched a teenage girl plow into a family of baby ducks I had just slowed down to let pass. Then she flicked me off. I cried rivers through my make-up all the way to work. When I finally got in, I hid in my office for an hour, not bothering to turn on the lights. My boss and his cohorts discussed politics on the other side of my door. Their voices carried through the vents like a loud speaker. "I think the government needs to stay out of things," my boss said to his audience. "Like Katrina. The government shouldn't have been helping those people."

I hissed air through my teeth, waiting for someone to disagree. But the silence, followed by a change in subject, told me that the cowards had all nodded their heads in agreement. "Those people", as if they weren't our people. Disgusting. I was standing in the checkout line of the grocery store two nights ago when a man carrying a case of beer came up behind my full cart. "Go ahead," I had told him, motioning for the conveyor belt. He took the spot without so much as a thank you. It made me think of all the doors I've held and cars I've let in lately without so much as a nod in return. Maybe these really aren't my people.

It feels like there's a Chinese fire drill going on in my head. All these thoughts are racing around, racing around, waiting for their chance at the driver's seat. "I'm too weak." "This is what I have to become to survive." "You're either a mover, a shaker, or a ballbreaker." I told Hoop on the phone this morning that I hate people. "You don't hate me," he said. "You don't hate your Mom." Leave it to Hoop to poke a hole in my generalization. "So I don't hate people. I just hate MOST people." I don't hate Jon Stewart... J.K. Rowling... the Dalai Lama. And for the record, I don't hate any of you.

There's a definite deficiency in the human condition though. Somewhere along the years we lost chivalry, followed soon after by compassion and morality. In an effort to be individuals, we lost the ability to be united. How do we fix that? Is it like a pendulum? Will it swing back? I'm not depressed. But thank you, to those who were concerned yesterday. I'm tired. I'm disappointed. I'm grieving over the loss of something I foolishly thought still existed. Every day I was being assaulted by it and I didn't even realize... This world is beating the optimism right out of me.

I need you to do something for me this weekend, OK? I don't ask for things very often. What I need is to hear about an act of chivalry, a conscious effort that caused you to go out of your way for someone else this weekend. I need to know that there's still hope. I'm going to do it to. Then I'm going to post about it on Monday. Leave your good deed(s) in the comment section of that post, or write a post of your own and leave us a link. It doesn't have to be something huge. Any small deed will do. Maybe if we put enough good juju out there it'll- I don't know, catch?

So pay it forward Homebloys, and have a wonderful and safe weekend!

Head Soup

I've sat here for an hour trying to think of something to say. But the contents of my head just slosh around, without anything of substance bobbing to the surface. I feel happy and stupid. I wonder if this is what a worm feels like. If you Google it, the majority of people think humans are the stupidest animals on the planet. But if that's true, can we trust the judgement of the STUPIDEST animals on the planet? Maybe the people who are voting don't count themselves. They're probably the ones who voted humans as the smartest animals on the planet, too. How can we be both?! I'm so confused.

We should ask the worms what they think.

I can't put a finger on my happiness. It jumps around, making it impossible to trace where it came from. Maybe I'm happy because it's Friday, or because I've started exercising at lunch. I've been eating better too. Well, when I'm not binging on free cake. Hoop and I have had some really nice evenings at home playing with the Wii, cooking dinner together, and watching the fourth season of The Office. Maybe I'm happy because I realized today that it's been 1 year since I quit smoking. A YEAR! I decided to celebrate the milestone by purchasing a set of really expensive/frivolous tickets to Halloween Horror Nights.

Have I mentioned that I've been saving my money up for a wedding? Yeah, those things are pretty expensive. Who knew? Now I've gone and dipped into the kitty. But it's justified, right? After all, I've saved $1,387.17 by not smoking, AND going to Halloween Horror Nights has become somewhat of a tradition. It's where Hoop proposed to me last year. Also, the theme this year is twisted fairy tales. I get antsy just thinking about it! Maybe there are a few reasons I'm happy today and not just one. Whatever it is, I hope it stays. I could use a little stretch of happiness and good will.

So tell me, what do you have to be happy about today?

Have a great weekend Homebloys!

Suspended Animation

There's a blank spot in my brain where positive thoughts should be.

I've been prodding it for awhile, waiting to see what stimulates it.

So far, nothing.

It seems to be effecting the rest of my brain too. I haven't cleaned the house in a month. I know, ew. We've been doing laundry on a need-to basis. Groceries? Pfft. I've been eating soup for three straight days. I come home and literally wander around. It's not that there isn't a million things to do, some fun (like reading) and some not (like mowing). I just can't find the motivation to DO them. I decided to walk the dog yesterday... the fat one. She started pulling me toward home after five minutes. I was like, "No. We're doing this, damn it!" I expected to feel something afterward. Lord knows the dog did. But I didn't feel anything. I didn't feel rejuvenated or tired or even accomplished.

There are so many things wrong right now... in my life, in the world. I get hung up on all the problems and I just stop moving. Like maybe if I stay real still they'll forget I'm here. Hoop and I have been on a losing streak for about two years now. If it's not house troubles it's car troubles. If it's not financial problems it's emotional ones. For awhile I seriously wondered if I was bad luck. "Or maybe it's Hoop. Or maybe it's us." But now I'm starting to think that the world is generally a little fucked. I woke up yesterday morning and decided I was going to move forward, finally. I was going to use my optimism as my shield, deflecting bad juju as I went.

The day started off fine. Then the work started piling up. The phone wouldn't stop ringing. My boss had the nerve to ask me what I "do for this company, exactly". All of a sudden I couldn't find my shield. Where was is?! *Panic* Did it get buried under this rising pile of shit? Then I came home and tasted smoke on Hoop's lips. His Mom blew us off AGAIN on the list of wedding guest addresses. I realized we were out of soup. Suddenly, I found myself sobbing quietly on the kitchen floor. Irrationally, I wondered if I could make a run for it. Maybe, if I left right then (alone), I could get away before the problems noticed. But I'm weak. I decided to crawl into bed instead.

Each day this empty space inside my head gets bigger. It stretches itself out, taking possession of neighboring territories. I wish I could call it a hostile takeover. But it isn't. It feeds on apathy. There used to be this voice inside my head. It was strong and beautiful. "I can...!" "I will...!" "I am...!" But now it tells me, "I can't..." "I won't..." "I'm not..." The relief comes when it doesn't speak at all. Sometimes I'm overcome by anger and I think that I would do anything to have that voice back. Anything! But at what cost? I wish someone could tell me. But then again, what if it wasn't what I wanted to hear?

What if it meant giving up everything?

Moving On

It still feels surreal.

If I concentrate on other things, I can almost pretend it didn't happen.

Almost.

Of all the dangerous things Chris was involved in... I mean, he was going to Iraq next spring. We just never expected something to happen to him 45 minutes from home. I guess you never know. Hoop and I were finishing up a serious conversation when we got the phone call. I'll never forget that moment, not as long as I live. We had just decided to start doing certain things that would make our lives easier; we'd agreed on setting a few wheels into motion. In a second it all seemed so unimportant. Who cared about commutes or crappy jobs? Who cared about wedding deadlines and plans for the weekend? Chris was dead.

I can still feel the pit, somewhere between my ribs, where the pain flared up when I heard those words. It was like someone had poked a hole in me. I wanted to run from it, but it was attached to me. Every time I looked at Hoop, touched him or thought of him, the hole ached. He was in so much pain and there was nothing I could do. No comfort was big enough. No promise worthy enough. My own hurt was like nothing I'd ever experienced before, and to think that it dwarfed in comparison to whatever he was feeling... I'd do anything to ensure he never felt that kind of pain again.

The funeral was beautiful. Chris' entire platoon showed up and then gave him an honorary gun salute. The only florist in town ran out of flowers and plants trying to meet the demand for all the condolences people were trying to send. Hoop and Bob took the shovels from the gravediggers in the end and refused to let anyone else bury our dearest friend. I think Chris would have been touched... and amused. The casket was blue with pink sparkles and adorned with gigantic crosses. Bleh. We sat in the pew discussing all the ways we wished we could fix it. Like maybe painting it black with a couple of large guns on top.

For those interested, the articles on the accident can be found here and here. He was on the phone when it happened. The poor girl he was talking to will probably need extensive therapy. But fortunately, it appears that he died on impact and felt no pain. It was also a blessing that his 4-year old son had gone home four days earlier with Hoop's other brother, who had also been visiting. We're currently petitioning for custody of him. In fact, Hoop and I can think of nothing else that would make us happier. I really think we could give him a good life. But the subject isn't being discussed just yet. So say a prayer, OK?

Thanks to everyone who commented, emailed, and offered love/support/donations. I can't express to you how much that meant to us! Hoop and I read and reread every one of them. No donations are necessary though. Chris had some life insurance policies and Hoop's Dad has assured us that the little guy will be well provided for. That said, I'm going to try and not discuss the subject on here anymore. It was difficult enough coming back, not knowing what to say or where to begin. I need a break. I need the laughter of friends. So forgive me if I just try to carry on, at least until the hole closes some.

The 3rd Annual PB Contest was supposed to start tomorrow. Since I'm a bit behind, it has been postponed until August 1st. The Anniversary of the day Hoop discovered my blog is on July 25th. Arabella Day is on July 30th. The WWC has been extended one more week. I'll have my submissions and the new words posted next Tuesday, July 22nd. Thank you all for your patience. I'll make sure the goodies for the contest are extra good this year. Like maybe photo-cards and mixed CDs good. Ohhh yeahhh.

So, what did I miss in your world? Tell me something good.

The End Of A Love Affair

I'm breaking up with Yahoo Answers.

I posted my question on their site this morning and they shut me down!

Pfft, as if I needed more votes anyway. I think it's pretty clear who's going to win. But, what can I say? I'm a poll whore. Secretly, I just wanted to see how many strangers I could drag (willingly) into my wedding madness. Five minutes after I'd posted the question, someone came and flagged me (TWICE) for inappropriate contest / spam. So then Yahoo yanked my legitimate question off the site and docked me twenty points. Twenty points! Srsly?

The point system really pisses me off anyway. The whole thing reeks of a 10th grade popularity contest. You get two measly points every time you answer a question, ten points on the off chance you get voted for best answer, and minus five points if you dare to ask a question. Then, people get to judge you on how much they liked your answers. It doesn't have to make sense either. Sometimes people will give a thumbs down to a perfectly good answer just because it isn't what they wanted to hear.

"I'll just email the administrator," I thought at first. "They'll sort this out for me." But really, it's hard to rationalize a situation like this when there are questions on the site like, "My fiance's father called me a 'WOLF BREASTED VAGINA' what does that mean?" Surely that's more offensive than, "What color invitations should I get?" After a couple of hours the administrator-bot finally emailed me back. Enclosed was a copy of the site policy and a manufactured apology. But they weren't going to retract the action. Asshats.

I shouldn't care. I really shouldn't. But it's the principle of the thing!

The Cleaning Lady's Daughter:

The little girl's name is Amelia. I feel better for knowing it, somehow.

I came in to work yesterday and was immediately disappointed that there wasn't a note on my desk. I had been sure that there would be that day. After double checking the cabinet and both shelves, I came back to the desk and wheeled out my chair. There is was, folded neatly on the seat. I opened the page and a smaller one fell out. The smaller one was from the girl, Amelia. She wrote:

Thank you so so much for my paper pad. Ive been felling real sad because my brother had to go back to Washington so Ive been sad for the last day. Thank you so much I will use it everyday and all the time. THANK YOU!! Love, Amelia.

The bigger note was from her Mom. It read:

Thank you for the nice note. I knew Amelia was leaving notes on ---'s desk, however I didn't know she was leaving them on yours as well. Amelia had been coming with me for the past few weeks and was feeling sad because her stepbrother moved back to Washington. However, she shouldn't have been leaving notes on people's desks. Anyways, that was very sweet of you to give her sticky notes. Thank you so much.

I have a feeling I won't be getting notes anymore.

But it was fun while it lasted.

Sudden Death Match

Despite having "sudden" in the title, this match will go on for two and a half days, starting today at 5pm (EST) and ending on Sunday at midnight. One of these contestants has an amazing lead, which almost caused me to cancel the sudden death match entirely. But tradition is tradition folks, and I'd like to give the people who voted for the other three contestants a chance to make this one count. So for your voting pleasure, here are the top three contenders:

(Click For Larger View)

Peeking

Bullshittier

It's What's For Blog


VOTE HERE!

Please, only vote ONCE. If you'd like to see the poll results, you can go here.

In Other News:
1. The cleaning lady wasn't fired! In fact, she came in yesterday with her nine year old daughter and made the little girl apologize to my coworker. I'm not sure who was more mortified. "I was afraid I was going to make her cry!" My coworker told me afterward. I only wish I'd been around to see my post-it-note pen pal. I'm thinking of leaving her a small present, via her Mother. Whatcha think?
2. I would like to clarify that the coworker who was vandalized was NOT the same coworker in the conversation on Wednesday. But for those who were curious, the last coworker is 31 years old. I'm thinking of putting a globe in this year's Christmas gift exchange.
3. Hoop called our original wedding location yesterday to see if they'd mailed out our check yet. I was getting worried, seeing as they'd told us it was in the mail two weeks ago. Come to find out, they hadn't. Why am I surprised at this?!

Random Conversation:
(On the phone)
Tink: Hi, I was just calling to update some information.
Wedding Cake Lady: OK?
Tink: Our wedding venue has changed. We found out a few weeks ago that the coordinator had overbooked the place.
Wedding Cake Lady: Oh no! That's horrible!
Tink: Tell me about it. But we found a new location and I'm going to need to have the cake delivered there instead.
Wedding Cake Lady: Not a problem.
Tink: Also, my cellphone number has changed-
Wedding Cake Lady: -OK.
Tink: I should probably mention that those two are totally unrelated.
Wedding Cake Lady: *Laughs* I was afraid to ask!
Tink: Yeah, I'm not hiding from them or anything.
Wedding Cake Lady: I thought maybe you had punched that coordinator.
Tink: Oh I wanted to. But then how would we ever get our money back?

Have a fantastic weekend Homebloys!

Office Alien

Six months ago, the staffing agent for our warehouse handed out perfume samples to us office ladies. Most of the samples were used up or thrown out within the first month. But one sample, which I'd placed on my filing cabinet and forgot, evaporated and then sat empty. I came into work yesterday morning to find it resting on my keyboard with a note. "Can I have?" The note said in scribbly handwriting. I thought it was a joke. "Mike, did you leave a note on my desk?" I asked the office prankster. "Why would I do that?" He replied with genuine confusion.

"Well you're always screwing with my chair." "Yeah, but that's funny. If that note IS a joke, it's not a very good one." Touche. So I questioned the other office ladies. "I had a note on my desk too!" One of them exclaimed. I went over to her cube, where she pointed to a scrap of paper with the words "U R POOP" scribbled on it in blue highlighter. "Not only that," she added, "But there were pins stuck in my sweater sleeve." "Maybe we pissed off the cleaning lady?" I suggested. "Maybe one of the bosses brought in their kid?" The receptionist piped in. We all shrugged it off and went back to work.

All day I thought of those notes. "What if mine wasn't a joke?" I thought. So I put the bottle back on the filing cabinet, with the note, and a reply post-it that said "Sure." To be perfectly honest, I didn't expect anything to come of it. Then I came in this morning to find the bottle gone. "Holy shit." I thought, feeling as if I'd just made contact with alien life. Then I turned around and saw the note. "Thank u nice lady!" Was written in the middle, surrounded by crooked smiley faces. Above that note was another, in more familiar handwriting. "I did not right this note. Mike."

I resisted the urge to correct his spelling. It was excusable when it was the alien. No one would expect IT to be a master of our language. But I expected more from our forty-something year old sales manager. "Did anyone else get a note?" I asked the office ladies again. The coworker from the day before rolled out from her cube looking angry. "No," she said. "Worse." Someone (or thing) had scribbled red highlighter all over her phone and taken an ink stamp to her desk. I was shocked. Obviously the alien didn't like her very much. Maybe it had seen the photos of my dogs and found me to be nonthreatening. Her fuzzy sweater was a little scary looking.

Later that day she popped into my office. "I talked to the warehouse manager." "Oh?" "He says our cleaning lady has three little girls. I think we know who our culprits are now." So, no aliens. But that didn't stop me from feeling a slight fondness for our mystery guests anyway. There was apprehension in there too. I was a nosy kid once. What else were these kids looking through? "He talked to the cleaning agency," she added before leaving. "They had no idea she was bringing her kids to work with her. They promised to take care of the situation."

I guess there won't be anymore notes. It's a shame, really. They actually brought a little excitement to my day. I feel bad for their Mom too. There's probably nowhere for her little ones to go, what with school being out and the economy being the way it is. The kids were just being kids, bored and mischievous. I remember my Dad taking me to work during the summer. He built fences. I tried so hard to be good. But sometimes I just couldn't take the waiting anymore. I wonder if anyone ever tattled on me for drawing on the back of their fence, or if they just admired the work and wondered where it the world (ahem, universe) it came from.

Around The Water Cooler:
Coworker: Did you hear that Japan has nukes pointed at us?
Tink: Yeah, that's old news.
Coworker: I don't see why everyone is so worried. They'd probably hit one of those countries in between us first.

3rd Annual Blog Header Showdown Update:
Peeking- 60.5%
Bullshittier- 9.3%
It's What's For Blog- 14%
A Few Good Sporks- 4.7%
Pink Tink- 4.7%
Pouty Tink- 7%

Don't forget to VOTE!

Are There Nuts In Heaven?

Daily Hoop Conversation:
Tink: *Crying* I just hit a squirrel!
Hoop: Aw, babe.
Tink: I've never killed anything before. It sucks!
Hoop: I'm so sorry. At least it wasn't a human.
Tink: *Sniff* That's true.

UPDATES

Health: I have been smoke-free for nine months, two weeks, five days, twenty hours, twenty-seven minutes and fourteen seconds. But seriously, who's counting? Overall, I have "saved" myself $1,016.72 and not smoked a total of 5,437 cigarettes. I have no idea where all that spare cash went though. I think maybe my IPod ate it. Although I have long passed the point of caving in, I still think about cigarettes at least once a week. Sometimes in a dialog.

Me: Hey there.
Cigarette: Sup.
Me: You doing OK?
Cigarette: Oh-ho, so you're talking to me now?
Me: Look, it was nothing personal.
Cigarette: Yeah, whatever.
Me: I just... didn't like your friends.
Cigarette: Who, Cool and Enjoyable?
Me: No, they were OK. It was Cancer and Emphysema. They're kind of bullies, always hanging around threatening people.
Cigarette: Oh.
Me: But it's OK. Maybe we'll hang out again someday? I probably won't care as much when I'm 80.
Cigarette: Yeah, I'd like that.
Me: Stay safe.
Cigarette: *Laughing* You're funny.

Wedding: Groom. Check. Location of ceremony and reception. Check. Flowers, dress, cake and shoes? Check! Favors. Hm, partial check. Honeymoon. Oh yeah, check that one off! Tuxedos, rings, DJ, invitations, menu, hotels, transportation, videographer, seating, unity candle, cake topper, passport- Shit. How many months do we have again? Only six! For real?! OhmyGod. So anyway, the wedding plans are going swell. My Mom and I ordered the flowers last Saturday. My bouquet is going to look something like this:


(Not my picture)

For our honeymoon we've decided to going on this cruise. I can't even explain how deliriously happy this makes me. Cozumel! Belize! I check the site almost daily to see if they've updated the land excursions. I thought nothing would beat taste testing wedding cakes. But this, to the girl who has been all of nowhere, is by far the best surprise yet. Now for all the less-fun stuff... *Sigh*

My Mom Loves Gay Techno

Which is either a fantastic title for a book, or a great reason for group therapy.

Ever since I bought my Mom an Ipod for her birthday, we've been swapping music on a weekly basis. For the most part we like the same stuff. Scary, I know. Did I mention that my Mom owned an Eminem CD before I did? Don't worry, we're beyond that now. Lately our lists have been peppered with artists and groups like Spoon, Yoav, Hellogoodbye, and Lily Allen. But every once in awhile, in the middle of a perfectly normal playlist, my Mom will throw in something completely different...

Gay techno.

I'm not using that term figuratively either. I mean no offense. I used to live with a bunch of gay clubbers. One of the guys used to borrow my clothes and the sad part was, he looked better in them than I did! Every night it was the same music, the same bubblegum beats. I have a vision permanently burned into my memory of the chubby one dancing around the house singing "Simon saysssss, 'Take off your clothes!'" And now here those songs are again, embedded in my perfectly boring mix of alternative and pop.

It's like biting into a black licorice jelly bean when you thought it was blueberry. "Tell me you're joking. You're joking, right?" I asked Mom the first time it came up. She laughed, admitting her strange obsession and said, "Aren't they great?" No, they're not. They're weird. The other day I was happily listening to Beck and all of a sudden a song titled, "What heterosexual males fear the most" popped up. I wish I was making that up. The group is Delphinium Blue. Check it out and tell me if I'm wrong. I'm working on an intervention.

Speaking of interventions, a male coworker pulled me aside yesterday to confess something... He doesn't like my shoes. Apparently, my super-comfy Easy Spirit sandals are "old ladyish" and only fit for "garden work". But it took ten minutes of buildup to figure out what he was even confessing to in the first place. He started out with the whole spiel of "Don't be offended. I'm only saying this to you because I consider you a friend. Friends don't let friends look stupid, right?" I was starting to get scared that maybe I had some kind of gross stain on my pants.

Like that time [name removed] sharted and told us he'd sat in chili. But no, my only offense was wearing unhip and ugly shoes. I am never going to hear the end of this from my two favorite fashion-savvy homebloys. Yeah, you know who you are. Please, no citations! After I got over the shock, and then the relief, I hit him with my best WTF?! face. How dare he! I don't talk to him about his outdated, stripe-down-the-side 90's dress shirts! Can you feel my outrage? I'm mentally punching him in the face with every "!" mark. Take that! And that! And that!

But you all didn't come here to hear about my Mom's weird fetish for Gay Techno, or my ridiculous shoe intervention, or even the fact that my pants are wearing out in the ass pockets. Surely a sign that I have too much junk in the trunk. You came here to hear about the rest of my vacation. Well it all seems rather anticlimactic now. I'll give you the inebriated abbreviated version. The day after we bought the car, Hoop and I heard the death cries of our starving bank account and decided not to spend any more money for the rest of our vacation.

We opted to check out some local parks instead. The first stop we made was to a little known forest that was mainly used for horseback riding. About halfway in, we realized the map we'd snagged from the park stand was five years old and completely outdated. In short, we were lost. After about an hour of hiking in the Florida sun, with no other hikers in sight, Hoop decided to air out his "boys". This followed him stripping off his shirt. Not to be outdone, I decided to strip my shirt and bra as well. We walked like this for at least forty-five minutes, grinning like fools and carrying our clothes.

Then something blue flashed ahead. I dropped to the ground, scrambling to untangle my bundle of clothes. "What is it?" Hoop asked, not even perturbed. It was two horseback riders. They were on a different trail, but still in plain sight of us. Fortunately, neither of us were seen (I hope) and we eventually found the end to the trail. All that stripping of clothes though led to some interesting tan marks in varying degrees. I think next time we'll bring sunblock... and perhaps a better map... and maybe some lube.

Last Monday

My younger brother has a mind like a steel trap. He remembers everything. He won't let you forget it either. I'm STILL paying for the time I yelled at him not to come into my bedroom. He was four. We look very much alike, he and I. We came from different Fathers, but you'd never be able to tell just by looking at us. We were each born with a tiny flesh-colored birthmark on the apple of our right cheek. We have the same large front teeth and dirty blond hair that always looks wet. We even sound alike. But I was not built with the same memory. Day to day occurrences don't stick to my brain like fly paper. I can't even tell you what I wore on Monday.

What I remember are the details that everyone else's brains deem too trivial to keep. I remember how things smell and taste and sound just by thinking about them. Sometimes I don't even have to do that much. I'll be driving along and suddenly I'll smell my classroom from third grade. I'll be reading a book and recall the sound my Dad's alarm clock used to make. This afternoon I was getting a cup of coffee and suddenly I remembered the black trash bags my friend's crazy aunt used to throw out her door every Wednesday... Ten years ago. There was nothing special about them. Except maybe for the fact that we thought they contained dead bodies.

Her name was Dot. Crazy Aunt Dot to the two fifteen year old girls who watched her. Dot was a recluse. She never left her trailer at the u-bend of K's parents' driveway. She just threw her trash out every Wednesday for us to retrieve. "What do you think she does in there?" K asked me one morning as we smoked our cigarettes, waiting for our ride. "Maybe she sneaks out at night and kills people!" That's where it started. Poor Dot. We'd look through her windows when we thought she was sleeping. When she died, no one noticed until trash day came and there wasn't anything flung outside her doorway. That was all I knew about Dot. I forgot it just as quickly as it came.

Four years later, K moved into that trailer. Neither of us must have remembered Dot, because we didn't question any of the spots on the carpet. Instead, we got out paintbrushes and drew murals on the trailer walls. I drew a gigantic fairy. Later, when the paint was covered with more respectable colors, that mural was left and a frame was added around it. I wonder if anyone asks who drew it anymore. Next door to K's was her Grandmother's house. I remember K telling me that her Grandma ate meat raw, and that's why they wouldn't let her into McDonald's anymore. I'm sure it was meant to be taken differently. But I couldn't look at the woman without being a little afraid after that.

I don't think I'll ever have a story that's interesting enough to tell. Not a whole story anyway, not one with a middle and a plot. But I could fill volumes with details. I could tell you about the pig skull we found when I was eight while building a fort out of corn husks. It rose out of the mud, white and full of teeth. My friends and I were so scared, we ran away and never came back. I could describe in perfect detail the way hot metal smells after it's been sautered, or bleach when it mixes with the sticky residue of ice cream. I could tell you how to make my "world famous" sundae exactly how I made it when I was six. But for the life of me, I can't remember what I wore last Monday.

Maybe I'll remember it four years from now...

Pride For Sale

Weekend Recap:
1. How low does someone have to get to sell their Mother's burial plot on Craigslist?
2. What about the wedding ring off their still-married hand?
3. In the past few months I've seen numerous postings for cars, jewelry, and wedding dresses all under the headline of "Lost job. Must sell!"
4. But today there was such a sadness in their posts. As if they were really saying, "Please don't make me do this."
5. How can anyone deny that we're in a recession?
6. I'm currently looking for a new car. Mine is costing me as much as a second mortgage each month.
7. Despite the fact that it guzzles gas and oil, both back tires are bald and losing air, that it has a severe coolant leak and that it can't go faster than 70mph without losing control...
8. I'll be sad to see it go.
9. Hoop keeps asking me what I want to get next. As in, "What color? What kind? How big?" My answer of "cheap" and "runs well" apparently isn't good enough.
10. I'll drive anything. No seriously.
11. If you wanted to strap on some wheels and could get me to work in under an hour, I'd pay YOU each month. You wouldn't even have to change out of your PJs.
12. Saturday morning we ate wedding cake!
13. After a month of anticipating and planning, my Mom backed out last minute. If she was waiting for me to reschedule because of her, it didn't happen. I had cake on the brain.
14. We decided on three tiers, each a different flavor. The bottom layer is going to be Hoop's favorite, vanilla with raspberry filling. The second layer is going to be almond and the third is going to be key lime flavored. Mmmm.
15. I took extras to Hoop's Mom and then finished off the rest for breakfast the next morning.
16. I'm wondering if I can do it again in a couple months. I might have to get my dress let out.
17. Besides being sold on the actual taste of the cakes, the ladies running the place were amazing. Neither had gotten more than an hour of sleep the night before. One due to baking and the other because of a concert. But instead of being dull, we chatted and laughed for over an hour.
18. Don't worry, I relieved Hoop halfway through. He didn't even hesitate on his way to the comic store next door.
19. Yesterday, Hoop and did some much needed house work and watched all three Lord Of The Rings movies.
20. I'm officially overdosed on LOTR.
21. Although I really shouldn't complain about watching Orlando Bloom for twelve hours straight.
22. There are worse things... ;)

How did your weekend go?