my foot apparently likes my mouth

Last week I went to a wedding. I was alone and one of my best friends was getting married to someone I'm sort of learning to live with. So I put on a slinky dress and had what I would call a bit too much to drink. And then I stuck my foot in my mouth, twice.

First, someone at my table complimented me by saying that I had such great facial features that I could probably shave my head and still look good. Super nice, huh? Well, instead of just saying "thanks," I came up with--wait for it--"Yeah, I've thought about shaving my head." [I WHAT? Since when had I thought about shaving my head?] Then I said, "But, you know, I'm waiting for someone I know to get cancer so that I can be all noble and pretend I'm shaving my head in solidarity. But it's not like I want one of my friends to get a bad kind of cancer; it would be great if someone could get something he or she could beat in like two days, like toe cancer or something."

I laughed. Nobody else did.

But it's not like that taught me a lesson. Oh no.

At that point, people at the table were still speaking to me. So someone else randomly complimented me on my earrings. Did I say thanks? Oh no, not this time either. I gave up a story about my relatives and how they're so desperate to see me get married, to anyone. I told them I had a theory that the relatives are willing to buy me crazy expensive bling in the vague hopes that it might attract a husband. And then I topped the story off by asking one of the married guys at the table, "So, are the earrings working? Do you want to leave your wife immediately for me?"

I laughed. Nobody else did. And then the guy sitting next to me turned to me and said quietly, "Well, he did leave her. And they just got back together."

Ack.

and i'm the one who's single, vol. 3

I promise this is the last one in the series, at least for a while.

I was at a friend's event recently and was making small talk with his friends. Here is the conversation that ensued with his friend who makes a living as a project manager (this detail is important for later):

Me: How has your summer been?

PM: Really stressful. My boyfriend and I are planning our wedding. It's so much work.

Me: Oh, are you getting married this year?

PM: No, next year.

Me: So it's a big wedding, then?

PM: Nope, it's just my boyfriend and me. We're eloping.

Me: Oh, so you're having a destination wedding. Where are you going?

PM: Oh, nowhere. We're getting married at City Hall.

Me [trying very hard not to sound bitchy]: So you're a project manager, and you're stressed out about a wedding next year with just the two of you at City Hall?

PM: Wow, you sound a lot like my boyfriend. Last week I had a melt-down over the wedding and he said almost those exact same words.

OK, you know where I'm going with this: that chick is getting married, and I'm still single?

Good times over here.

and i'm the one who's single, vol. 2

Recently, I ran into an old colleague on the street. I asked how she was doing. Here is the conversation that ensued:

Colleague: Well, remember that guy I was dating? We're getting married next week!

Me: Wow, that's great. Congratulations.

Colleague: Yeah, it means we won't have to pretend anymore.

Me: What do you mean?

Colleague: Well, you know how Rob's a bigwig in the company we both work for. Well, he didn't think it was right for anyone in the company to know that we were living together, unmarried. So we've been doing pretty much everything separately. If we go to Wal-Mart, we walk in separately, do our shopping on our own, then meet up again at the car. If we're in the car together in town, I try to duck when we hit a stop sign or stop light, to make sure nobody from work sees us in the car together. But now that we're getting married, I don't think he'll want to do that stuff anymore.

Me [trying to act all casual when alarm bells are ringing in every last bit of my body]: Ummm... yeah, OK.

So let's just think about this for a second: that guy just got married. That guy. And I'm still single.

and i'm the one who's single, vol. 1

I've said it before and I never tire of saying it: my workplace is a freakshow.

Last week, a colleague begged me to come by so she could show me something. I popped in and (surprise, surprise) she shoved a hand overflowing with bling in my face. And here is the conversation that ensued:

Me: Wow, congratulations. I didn't know you were dating anyone.

Ms. Bling: Well, I wasn't. Two weeks ago, I was just like you, thinking that there would never be any hope for me [note that no such conversation was ever had], when everything changed one night. My friend Dave called and invited me to his house to hang out and eat Chinese take-out. When I got there, he had already eaten and was watching the Olympics. So I sat down in his kitchen and ate my food, and when I was done, I asked him if there was any dessert. Well, he didn't say anything; he just got up and went upstairs. When he came back down, he was holding a box and he asked me to marry him. Isn't that amazing?!

Me: So he was just a friend?

Ms. Bling: Yes.

Me: So had you ever dated before?

Ms. Bling: Nope.

Me: Ever kissed?

Ms. Bling: Nope.

Me [unable to avoid sounding incredulous at this point]: Ever even thought about him as a possible significant other?

Ms. Bling: Not really. I was so surprised, I didn't really know what to say. But then I said yes. So you never know, one of your guy friends might propose to you all of a sudden and then all of your single woes will be over.

Me [confused, possibly even disoriented]: Ummm, OK, but the thing is, I don't think I'd really say yes. If I wanted to be with a guy friend of mine, I think I'd already have done whatever to be with him. The friends of mine who are friends are really just friends, not sort of friends who could be something else.

Ms. Bling [beaming with excitement]: tat-tat-tat, you never know!

And here's all I have to say: I'm the one who's single?!

my parents will drive me to drink

I visited my parents this weekend. You know, my parents the compulsive alarmists. Now, I must state for the record that they are fabulous people and that I love them. However, sometimes they make me want to scream loudly, into a pillow, for several minutes at time.

Although my parents are complete alarmists when it comes to me and my life, they seem to enjoy rolling the dice when it comes to their own well-being and safety. I think I've complained before about how they have a shack in the bush at which they pass much time in the summers, and they refuse to get a phone. Not just a landline, they also refuse to get a cell phone. They tell me that if anything happens, they can always go to the house next door. Getting to that house actually requires sturdy shoes and I swear there are cobwebs in their front door. Of course, the distance and absence of signs of life does not bother my parents one bit.

Here is the latest conversation that made me want to poke my ears out:

Me: Hey, mom, what do you have on your nose?

Mother: Oh, no big deal. I had a pre-cancerous spot on my nose that the dermatologist had to burn off.

Me: Pre-cancerous? What?

Mother: Oh yeah, you know when your father and I were away we spent a lot of time in the sun. I thought since I've never burned in my life that it would be OK to not wear sunscreen. But then this happened.

Me: You were out in the sun all the time and you didn't put any sunscreen on, even on your face?

Mother: I don't know what you're getting so upset about.

Me: Pre-cancerous, mom. C-A-N-C-E-R.

Aaaaaaah.

maybe janez drnovsek wasn't such a crackpot

OK, bad dating choices are us. Normally though, I'm not masochistic enough to confront those bad choices in the flesh once it's over. Something possessed me this evening to break that rule and spend time with an ex from ages ago.

Said ex asked how I was doing. I gave some fluffy answer about trips I've recently taken, volunteer work I've been doing, and a course I've been taking. And then I decided to be honest and ranted a bit about the torment I'm experiencing in the materialistic world that surrounds me. I figure any self-respecting human being would at least try to empathize.

Instead, buddy cut me off with, "Wow, you look really sad. Why don't you tell me a funny story? That'll cheer you up."

Oh yeah, that's a great idea. I should tell you a story that would amuse you in order to make myself happy. Not surprisingly, the night never recovered after that.

Why aren't people allowed to just be tormented once in a while? Do I need to become a Slovenian hermit to be honest about how messed up I think things are?

rampant materialism, continued

Lately I've been a bit traumatized by the materialism running rampant in my work and social circles. I'm not sure if it's gotten worse, or whether I've just become more intolerant. Last week I listened to a friend lament that the rock on her engagement ring (given to her by the man she lives with, whom she adores) wasn't worthy of her. Tonight this conversation occurred over drinks at a friend's house:

Friend #1: Well, we've been talking about having a second kid. It would be great for our little one to have a sibling, but, you know, Mark really wants his Jag.

Me: [swearing under breath after friend #2 kicked me under the table]

Friend #2: [laughing nervously] You're joking, right?

Friend #1: I guess so. I mean, yeah. Kind of.

For the unborn child's sake, I really hope they opt for the Jag.

i was wearing jeans and a tshirt

Last week I went to one of the first showings of Sex & the City. In a word: horrific. But it was boring horrific. Not worth writing about.

Let's talk instead about the people who went to this movie.

Everywhere I looked there were women in dresses, tottering in high heels and scaring small children with up-dos and truckloads of make-up. Some were more dressed up than I think I've been for weddings (and I'm no slouch). And then I heard this from behind us:

Chiquita #1: Omg, like that dress is just awesome.

Chiquita #2: I know. I went out last weekend to find something perfect for tonight. And the best thing is that I think I might actually be able to wear it again.

Wha?!

What kind of ridiculous life do you lead when you think it's normal to purchase a new dress just to wear to a movie?! Newsflash, people: over 30 million people starve to death in the world every year. And you're dressing up to sit in the dark and stare at a movie screen.

Argh.

does anyone understand this?

All right, so here's another come-watch-me-give-birth colleague story. Sunny told me she had a similar conversation with our friend a few weeks back.

Another colleague was standing, talking to me, when Madam the blurter jumped in.

Colleague [to pregnant colleague]: Can I touch your belly? Do those pants have a panel? I wish I were pregnant like you. It's so great.

Pregnant colleague: Oh, you want to have another kid?

Colleague: No. I just liked being pregnant.

Pregnant colleague: Really? I don't really like always being big and exhausted.

Colleague: Oh, I really miss it. I like it when I have gas because it's the same kind of feeling.

Me: You like it when you have gas?!

Colleague [giggling]: Yeah, I can pretend I'm pregnant again.

RainyBow

price check, cash 3

I think I may have mentioned that I have a leak in the roof above my bathroom. Don't let the word 'leak' fool you; it is pretty much raining in my bathroom. It's not in one place either, it's in many places. Anyway, I needed to get some cheap towels to put on the floor to soak up all the water, so I went to the dollar store.

This particular dollar store is part of a national chain. The name of the store has the word 'dollar' in it and the tagline for the store - on all of their signs - is 'everything for a dollar'. I don't go to dollar stores that often, but I get the general idea; whatever I buy is going to cost me a dollar. Ok.

I picked up about 10 towels and headed to the cash. When I got to the front of the line, the cashier looked at me and said, 'you know each of these is a dollar, right?' Ummm. Really??? Can I think about this for a minute? Sheesh. wtf. I don't know if I look particularly stupid or not, but why on earth would she ask me that? I have no idea.

Sunny

down with those rich people

Walking to a dinner a few blocks away from my house this evening, I stopped at a light. Two runners jogged on the spot next to me. Here's the bit of their conversation I overheard:

Moustached one: Well, obviously I'm supporting Obama. I mean, I can't support Hillary and I definitely couldn't have supported Edwards.

Spandexed one: Oh really? Why not Hillary?

Moustached one: I don't trust rich people. They're out of touch.

Spandexed one: Isn't Obama rich too?

Moustached one [scoffing noise]: What, like you've heard of rich black people?!

[They run away.]

OK, so Magic Johnson, Oprah Winfrey, Clarence Thomas, Will Smith, Colin Powell, Michael Jordan, Michael Jackson, Mobutu, Allen Iverson, Michael Lee-Chin, Condoleezza Rice, Quincy Jones, Denzel Washington, Kanye West, Sani Abacha, Donald V. Watkins, Samuel L. Jackson, 50 Cent, Ludacris, Bob Johnson, Reginald F. Lewis, Robert Mugabe, Sheikh Mohammad Hussein Al Amoudi....

I've temporarily run out of examples, but you get my drift.

I should also add that some of the people I know who are very well-off financially are the most connected to those at the opposite end of the spectrum, for various reasons (e.g. dedication to volunteer work). Does it matter if your candidate is rich or poor, in absolute terms? Doesn't it matter more if he or she gets it?

RainyBow

_____________________________

SunnyShine note: Let's set aside the obvious black people are po (some ebonics for you) foolishness for a sec. What is interesting is that neither Hillary nor Barack grew up with money - they're self-made. Sure, Hillary benefits from the Bill Clinton bottom line but don't forget that he grew up very, very poor. They didn't have much money until he was a much sought-after speaker after his presidency. I don't know that anyone should accuse Hillary or Obama of being out of touch. There are plenty of other arrows to sling, but that one seems to have a rubber tip.

Speaking of out of touch, some people grow up with silver spoon in their mouths and get handed oil companies and baseball teams to run/ruin. Then, they put on a war and get even richer than they were in the first place. I'm digressing, sorry.

ps. It's Black History Month. Go to an event. Educate yourselves: Nelson Mandela, underground railroad, black inventors, Rosa Parks, Harriet Tubman, Martin Luther King Jr., Sharpeville Massacre, Hector Pieterson, apartheid, Steve Biko, Montgomery Bus Boycott

at the car wash

The salt from the city's winter clean-up is killing my car and I've been trying to run through a car wash. Every time I try, something goes horribly wrong.

In the latest attempt, I pulled up to the pump, filled up with gas and chose to pay for a car wash at the pump. When I finished filling the tank, no receipt came out with the code for the wash. I went into the kiosk.

Me: Hi, I bought a car wash at the pump and no receipt came out, so I don't have a code. Can you please give me one?

Employee: Well, it didn't give you a receipt because the car wash is broken.

Me: Oh, OK. But I paid for a car wash. You should probably disable that function.

Employee [completely disinterested]: Yeah.

Me: OK, well, can you refund me the cost of the car wash?

Employee: No, I can't, but I can give you a code. [Jots something down on a piece of paper and hands it over.]

Me: This doesn't even look like a code, and I will definitely lose it. Can I please just have a refund?

Employee: Well, you bought it on your credit card and I can't refund to your credit card.

Me: Ummm... why not?

Employee: I don't know how and there's nobody else here.

Me [laughing]: OK, well, can you just give me the amount back in cash then?

Employee: I'm not supposed to.

Me: OK, but now I'm getting no car wash and I'm not getting any money back. That seems a tad unfair. I suggest you refund my money in cash.

Employee [big sigh, counting cash laboriously]: Oh, OK.

Is it really this hard?

RainyBow

if there were an award for blurting...

Today I was at my desk in my open concept office, doing my stuff. I think I was typing. I'm a fast typist and I think I'm a bit of a loud typist, but nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, colleague of the birthing video fame was at her desk and leaned over the wall. This conversation ensued:

Colleague: Wow, that's really loud. You're making my head hurt.

Me [still typing]: What? I'm not doing anything different from usual.

Colleague [giggling]: Yes, but today I'm hungover.

Me [sensing that colleague wants to share yet another story, now devoting my attention to her]: That sucks. Did you have a really good night last night?

Colleague: I just had a friend over and we had some drinks.

Me: Fun. [Turning back to computer]

Colleague: It was my ex-boyfriend, you know, the one who was my boyfriend last week. But now he's dumped me again so now he's my ex-boyfriend and I'm so heartbroken because we were together for two years and I really love him. But he keeps dumping me every like two months or something. He's got really big problems and I don't think he's ever going to get any better. He's gone for professional help and it's doing nothing for him. And I know it's bad for me and for my kids, but I don't really want to be without him. So he came over last night and we got really drunk and talked through our relationship and I just think it has to be over once and for all because really it just can't go on like this. I can't put myself through this or my kids through this anymore. Man, it's so hard. I just don't know how I'm going to get over this.

Me [hands still poised over keyboard, completely traumatized by the fact that this story was mostly told to my back because I had had no idea the "I am hungover" statement was going to turn into a desperate cry for a conversation]: Ummm... do you want to get out of here and get a coffee or something?

Colleague: Oh no, I know you're busy.

yes, her again

Another convo with the colleague who sits next to me. This happened one day last week when someone had tickets to the game for her. The two of them were trying to figure out a way to get the tickets from one person to the other. Since my building's in a central location, the person with the tickets left them in my colleague's name at my front desk.

Well, my building's at a major intersection, and apparently the colleague can't figure out directions because she called me three times for advice on where to go next. That's a bit frightening, but, more importantly, here is the conversation the morning after the ticket pick-up:

Colleague: So your building's really nice, huh? I mean, I only saw the lobby, but it's great.

Me: Yeah, I guess so.

Colleague: And it's such an awesome location. You must love that. I'll bet you don't drive anywhere but work.

Me: Sure. It's just that I've just been there for a such a long time. I've been talking about moving for a while, but I can't find a place I like better to move to.

Colleague: Move?! But why would you? That doesn't make any sense.

Me: Well, I'm bored of the place and I think it's time to move on.

Colleague: I think you should stay there until you get married. Then you can move into a house somewhere.

Me [laughing]: Ummm... that won't be happening any time soon.

Colleague: But how do you know that? It might happen sooner than you think. [Pondering] You know, I could make some calls for you.

Me [heart beating in my head, sweat pouring out of all pores]: Make calls for me?! Oh no, that's OK. No, thanks. Really.

RainyBow

another office convo: kissing gay strangers

OK, I know I goad her, but your-boyfriend-might-turn-gay colleague amuses me so. Here is today's conversation.

Colleague: You know, I had the strangest dream last night.

Me: Oh yeah, what happened?

Colleague: Well, I was in this Japanese restaurant sitting on the floor with no shoes on, you know, in one of those private rooms, and I was with these two gay guys and they kept trying to kiss me.

Me: Gay guys you know, or gay guys you don't know?

Colleague: Complete strangers.

Me: So was it a peck on the cheek or a stick-their-tongue-down-your-throat experience?

Colleague: The tongue thing. And I kept trying to fight them off but they kept trying to kiss me. [giggling] I wonder if that makes me gay.

Me: Well, I'm not sure it makes you gay, since you're a woman and you were kissing men. But it might make you transsexual.

Colleague [giggling]: Oooh, that's a good explanation.

Me: ...except that you've had biological children, which means it's impossible for you to be a transsexual.

Colleague [sadly]: Oh, really? That's too bad.

RainyBow

please don't call me at work

My father's one of the smartest people I know. He multiplies five digit numbers together in his head for fun. He disassembles then reassembles things just to see how they work. He loves physics and often drones on about the forces that cause objects to act in certain ways. However, he is unable to perform the basic yet essential task called listening.

This makes my dad officially the most frustrating movie companion in the world. Because he doesn't listen, he picks up on major plot revelations or twists long after every single other viewer, including small children and dogs. Halfway through E.T., he actually said, "Oh, I get it, E.T.'s trying to phone home." I wish I were kidding.

Although I have repeated the work phone rule 40 million times, he apparently has not listened to that either. The rule is this: I work in an open concept office and I listen to other people's personal issues ad nauseum. I know, in great detail, who is fighting with his/her spouse/significant other/child/parent/shrink/dog groomer/investment banker/hairstylist. This has become so tedious that I have begged friends and family to email or IM me if they need to reach me during work hours. In case of emergency, I've asked them to call my cell phone, so that I can take the call in a boardroom or on a walk outside the building. Under no circumstances are friends and family to call my work landline.

Today my father called my work landline. I immediately thought this to be the biggest emergency ever.

Me: What's wrong?

Father: Nothing, I'm just calling to see how your car is.

Me [forgetting that I had a brake job on the weekend and thinking that my dad had somehow divined that one of my lights had blown this morning]: Oh, well, you know, it's just a blown headlamp. I'm going to go pick up a replacement after work.

Father: Blown headlamps? Oh no! You didn't drive to work, did you? You can't be driving around with no lights. You're going to get hit! Tell me you didn't drive yourself to work. You need to get the car to a garage. DON'T DRIVE ANYWHERE.

Me [cringing at my obvious error and trying desperately to get out of this conversation that is clearly descending into my father's usual paranoia. Also conscious of the fact that every one of my work neighbours is listening to my end of this conversation]: Dad, stop talking for a second and listen, please. I said ONE blown headlamp. It's my front left. Everything else is still working, OK?

Father: I can't believe you drove to work! What were you thinking? Your car is clearly broken! I saw you on Saturday and all of them were working and all of a sudden you have no lights! You need to take your car in! There is something wrong and you're going to get killed on the roads! You need to leave work now!! Drive your car to a shop near me right now and I'll come pick you up.

Me [voice rising in frustration]: You're NOT listening. I said that ONE light has blown. I'm only missing my front left headlamp. I'm going to pick up a new one.

Father: What do you mean "going to pick up??" You CAN'T drive like this. I can't believe you're telling me this. What's wrong with you? You never listen to me. You think the rules don't apply to you. You're going to get yourself killed and then we'll see who's right!!!

Me [practically yelling, and speaking very, very slowly]: You're the one who's NOT LISTENING. They're ALL working EXCEPT ONE. Everything is FINE. Please LISTEN to me. ONLY THE FRONT LEFT IS BROKEN.

Father: Oh, it's only your front left headlamp? Well, you can just stop by the store and pick up a replacement. That's no big deal. Why didn't you just say so? And you don't have to yell at me, you know.

Me: I have to go. Bye.

In typical open concept office style, three people came by afterwards to chitchat about this conversation. One said, "Wow, I've never heard you raise your voice like that before. That had to have been family."

Why, dad, why?

RainyBow

i'm learning that dan quayle was right

"What a terrible thing to have lost one's mind. Or not to have a mind at all. How true that is."

I have officially lost my mind. That's it. Kaput. Sayonara.

Generally, I think Sunny's a big liar. This is not for any particular reason. Sometimes she's talking and I assume everything she says is complete kaka. One day she called to tell me she was on her way to work with a yummy croissant for me. I thought it was yet another one of her yarns, so I went and bought myself breakfast. And then she turned up with a croissant, so I ate that too. This has happened a lot.

But my losing my mind goes beyond just my skepticism and mistrust of croissant deliveries.

Last week, Sunny told me she had to work out what to do with the dogs this week on Thursday night, since she was travelling for work on Thursday and Friday. This week, the following conversations ensued:

Monday night: conversation
Me: Traffic is so bad right now and it's going to get worse because of all the stuff going on here at the end of the week.
Sunny: I'm going to be out-of-town Thursday and Friday.

Tuesday: invitation from me to Sunny
Me: I think you should come to this meeting with me on Thursday afternoon.
Sunny: I'm going to be out of town for work.

Wednesday: IM conversation
Me: Hey, do you want to go to this event with me on Thursday night?
Sunny: Can't, I'm going to be travelling for work.

Today (Thursday): call from Sunny's cell phone.
Me: Oh, are you on your way to the other office today?
Sunny: I'm on my way to the airport because I'm @%@#$@#%^ travelling for work, you moron. [Note: she actually was much more patient than I'm giving her credit for here.]

I did some research this morning (as I mentioned, I'm bored at work) on what nutritionists recommend to increase memory power. The thing is that my diet is actually already high in all of the things they recommend, vitamins B and C, beta carotene and omega-3. I'm screwed.

I might as well go try to be Dan Quayle's buddy now.

RainyBow

_______________________

SunnyShine note: Too bad you didn't see the look on my face when we were on the phone.

my mother is crazy

My mother is crazy. I know I said that in the subject line but it bears repeating. She lives about 5 hours from here and I speak to her every other week or so. It takes me about two weeks to work up enough energy to get through the conversation, and even then, it wears me out.

My mother has never been the motherly type and probably shouldn't have had children. Such as it is, I don't ever expect gifts or celebrations or holiday festivities. I am always amazed when I see houses full of holiday cheer or hear my colleagues stories of rooms full of gifts and multitudes of family celebrations. This is all foreign to me.

A few years ago, my mother passed through town when I wasn't here and left a gift for me with my sister. She called me to let me know that she was giving me a very expensive ring that she never wears because 'someone should wear it before I die. Merry Christmas.' She's 62. She's not going anywhere any time soon, believe me.

Since that time, she has left other baubles for me with similar fanfare. I have to say that I don't really wear a ton of jewelry. I barely ever put on earrings. I sometimes will wear a necklace or a bracelet but mostly, I wear a ring that I bought in South Africa and that's it. She has, over the years, purchased a ridiculous amount of expensive jewelry and now it seems she doesn't want any of it. A lot of it is now in my possession whether I want it or not.

One of the other things she gave me is a ginormous ruby pendant. The stone is so big, and the setting is so small, that it doesn't sit properly and always turns itself around. I wore it once and got so annoyed that I haven't worn it again. It now sits in a drawer in my kitchen with the rest of the hand-me-down jewelry that could pay off a good portion of my mortgage. Note to self: get safe deposit box.

I'm now getting to the point of this post. A few weeks ago, my mother called and requested the pendant back. Not an issue. She said she would give me a ring instead because she doesn't feel like wearing rings any more. I told her I didn't need anything but if she wanted the pendant back, she could have it back. The rest of the conversation went something like this:

mom: Well, I don't want you to think that I am taking it from you.

me: I don't care. You want it, so take it.

mom: It's not that I want it back, but I would wear it.

me: It's fine, you can have it.

mom: Well I don't want you to think that I gave you something that I am taking back cause you can keep it if you want.

me: It's fine, I don't care.

mom: Well you can have the sapphire ring instead but it's not worth nearly as much so I don't want you to think that I am taking it. You can keep it if you want.

me: You can have it. (putting hot needle through eye to dull pain)

mom: Do you wear it.

me: No, it's too big for the setting.

mom: Well why don't you get it reset and wear it?

me: I thought you wanted it.

mom: I don't want you to think I gave you something and I'm taking it back.

OMG!!!!!

me: Just come and get it.

mom: Well, does it need to be reset?

me: I just said that.

mom: Well, if you know someone who can reset it, why don't you get it done so I can wear it?

me: OK. What kind of setting do you want?

mom: I don't know. Do what you think would look nice.

me: ok

mom: But nothing too big. And, I don't like white gold. And, no funny designs.

me: ok

mom: Do you still want the ring?

me: gotta go.


I had two migraines in the past week, is it any surprise?


SunnyShine (all blinged out)
___________________

RainyBow note: I'll bet my dad has some articles on the perils of resetting stones in a pendant. He's probably got others about how jewellery can kill (who knows how?) and about how mothers and daughters who don't speak frequently die earlier than those who do. Please let me know if you'd like him to orate on such topics.

I also think it would be highly amusing to put your mother the crazy and my dad in the crazy in the same room. Of course, I'm not sure I'd want to actually be in that room.

i'm a ralph nader wanna be

I'd like to recap the major themes of my week's menu:
Monday: fried food
Tuesday: cake
Wednesday: a delightful combination of Hallowe'en candy and alcohol
Thursday: an even more delightful combination of Hallowe'en candy and fried food

Everything has been brown except some of the many M&M's and maybe the icing on the cake.

Today is Friday and my body has been aching for brown again, so I went down the street to a brand new little take-out joint. I walked by earlier this week and was intrigued by the aroma a la McDonalds. Plus the name of the place is something like "El Crapolatorium," which is not only intriguing but intriguing in an ethnic way. Hola, amigos!

There was a very large and sweaty man working today and he was super excited to see me. I ordered my food for take out and then this conversation ensued:

Amigo: And we have a special opening month promotion! Here is your ticket for our draw for $500! You put one side of the ticket in this box and keep the other one for yourself.

Me: How come there's no place for me to put my name and phone number? How are you going to contact the winner?

Amigo [puzzled]: Contact the winner?!

Me: You know, to tell him or her the good news.

Amigo: Oh, no, we're not going to do that. We're going to pick the winner, then post the number of the ticket and the person can come back and show us the ticket and we'll give them the money.

Me: So when is the draw? When do people have to come back to see if they've won?

Amigo: Sometime next month.

Me: So you don't even have a date for the draw? So what are you telling people, to just come back sometime? That doesn't make any sense. What if the winner doesn't know when to come back and never claims the prize?

Amigo: Well, then we just pick a new prize winner.

Me: But then how long are you giving people to claim the prize?

Amigo: I don't know, some time.

Me: Do you have any contest rules and regulations that you can give people when they ask?

Amigo [sweating a little bit more now]: Um, no.

Me: But, you know, legally, you need to offer people somewhere they can go to get the contest rules, like when the draw is and how to claim the prize and what happens if the first winner doesn't claim.

Amigo: But people can just come to me.

Me: You know this comes across as a scam, right? You should probably check in on what you need to do to make this contest legit. I can give you some resources online that will tell you what you need to do. Until then you might want to stop handing out these tickets.

Amigo [eyeing the people who've come in through the door behind me nervously]: OK, well, enjoy your food.

Thankfully the food kinda sucked because I get the feeling I won't be welcome back there. I wouldn't be surprised if that guy's currently pulling my photo off their surveillance camera and putting it into a notice behind the counter. This feels like the fortune cookie letter fiasco. Boo.

RainyBow

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SunnyShine note: How did I miss cake?

office convo trilogy #3: come watch me give birth

This one's among my faves because it also features Fraulein SunnyShine. "Colleague" is the same one as in trilogy #1 and 2. Please keep in mind that we don't know her well, or even at all.

Colleague [to me and another colleague, not Sunny]: I'm really in awe of the wonder of pregnancy and childbirth. It's just amazing.

Me: Ever since I was shown an East German birthing manual that featured hundreds of photos of a 1970s East German woman with a seeming aversion to razors giving birth while wearing only tubesocks, I just haven't been so keen on it.

Colleague: Well, I'm totally jealous of men who get to see everything. I wish I could have seen the birth of my children live. I had a girlfriend film my first kid's birth so that I could see it afterwards. She even got the afterbirth on film. I watched it right afterwards. It's so great.

Me: Wow, I'm not sure I'd want to see a video like that of myself.

Colleague [beaming]: Well, you can come over and see mine if you'd like. Why don't you guys come over one day and we'll eat popcorn and watch it?

Me: Ummmm....

[SunnyShine strolls up to chat, unaware of invitation that has just been extended]

Me: Hey, we're getting invited to watch her childbirth video over popcorn.

Sunny [stricken look taking over her face]: I think I'm busy that day.

Colleague: What day?

Sunny: Any day. Everyday. The day you show that video. I'm busy.

RainyBow

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SunnyShine note: Worst. Thing. Ever.