45 Minutes for a Table? Hell no! April 28, 2012

I’m about to admit my only character flaw to you all…  I’m impatient.  (Pause for gasps.)  Yes, me, the teacher, is impatient.  I’m very patient with my students, patient with my slow computer, and patient waiting for my nails to dry.  But when it comes to food, bitch don’t make me wait 45 minutes.

 

I don’t cook because…. well because… um… I just don’t want to.  You have to like think about what you’re making, check to be sure you have all the ingredients, put them together, heat them up or something, and then comes the worst part- you have to clean it all up.  Ugh.  By then it’s 7 or 7:30 and all the good shows are on (you know, Modern Family, Real Housewives of well, anywhere etc.) and there I am with my hubbie groaning about loading the dishwasher and putting food down the disposal.  Because of this extremely taxing experience, I prefer to eat at restaurants when I get the chance.

 

So then comes Saturday night.  We leave church and get in the car.

“Where should we eat?”  The hubbie asks.

“Oh I don’t care…” I say casually, secretly hoping for my favorite place.

We head to restaurant #1.  We park the car about 3 miles from the entrance and hope it’s not busy.  Um, duh, red flags were waving at us in the face and we ignored them.

“Hi, ” I say to the hostess, “2 people please!”  I always think that a big smile and overly sweet greetings will get us in faster.

“45 minutes!” she says just as sweetly, handing me the buzzer.

I turned my head in such a panic I almost bitch slapped that poor hostess in the face with my hair.  The hubs and I agreed we wouldn’t wait that long, handed the buzzer back, and bolted in search of food from somewhere else.  But not before I slipped out a nasty, “That’s why we don’t come here,” just loud enough for the hostess holding the door open to hear.  I’m not proud of that one, but when I get hungry I turn into a completely different person.

 

Off we went to restaurant #2 (my pick!).  We never have to wait there, this was a sure thing!  We walked in and I did the chipper and overly sweet, “Two people please!”

“45 minutes!” she said through a smile and handed me the buzzer.  This time I did not even confer with the hubs.  I pushed that buzzer right back and we headed out the door.

“Now what?!” I said, as if there were about to be a nuclear attack and we had 5 minutes to find food or we’d starve.

We decided fast food was the way to go and happily walked right up to the register, ordered, and ate our food within 20 minutes (What can I say? We were hungry.)  We hopped in the car and headed home, 3 restaurants later, satisfied.

 

So here’s my question to you: How long is appropriate to wait for a table at a restaurant?  How long are you willing to wait?  Am I the only one who is too impatient to wait more than a half hour for a table?  If I’m psycho please feel free to let me know that as well, everyone needs a reality check once in a while.  But be brief, I don’t have the patience to read through long comments.

Spring Break… You Dirty B*&%@# March 23, 2012

What the hell is everyone doing?  No, I’m serious, what is everyone actually doing?  I’ve been on spring break for 8 days now.  8 days.  As a teacher, it is one benefit we reap every year in March.  10 days with no students, no assessments, no crazy parent emails (well, actually those keep coming, I just choose to ignore them during my hiatus), and no stress.  With 8 days down and 2 to go, I’m feeling stir crazy and just want to know what everyone else is doing to occupy their time.  Until I can figure that out, let me tell you about the wild shenanigans I’ve been up to.  Brace yourself…

Days 1-3 my parents visited.  I moved approximately 3.5 hours from home (yes hours, not miles, I cannot read a map to save my life and would easily die on Survivor before being voted off first by my tribe) so when they come to visit it is always a fun time.  We went downtown to see the big St. Patrick’s Day parade.  My dad grabbed for my mom’s hand upon seeing multiple “weirdos” as he called them.  “Where the hell are you taking us?” he asked.  After convincing them that this parade is supposed to be really cool and worth our time, we stayed and sat on a curb for an hour.  I tried to keep conversation rolling to pass the time, but it was clear they weren’t exactly impressed with my itinerary thus far.  Finally, the first few floats (well more like large party buses) drove by and were filled with screaming, and I’m assuming drunk, people.  Mom began to enjoy herself as she screamed for beads as each float, er, bus passed by.  She had several within a few minutes and was smitten.  An hour or so passed and my parents rolled up our blanket we were sitting on and promptly announced they’d had enough of the drunken people screaming and were ready to go.  We left.

Day 4 began with my friend calling me around 10:00 screaming, “SPRING BREAK 2012 BITCHES!!!”  A little groggy having just woken up only minutes ago, I managed a small, “Woooo.”  I looked down at my baggy pajamas and tried to run my fingers through my bed head hair.  Spring break wasn’t off to a great start this week.  If only I was hanging out at a swim up bar with my girlfriends in a cheetah print bikini taking body shots off some guy named, Brad, whom we had just met and claimed to be producer for MTV.  Now that would be a real spring break!  “Hello?”  I shook my head as my friend brought me back to reality.  “Oh sorry, I was just trying to figure out what to do today,” I said.

Days 4-6 were filled with my attempt to be a 1950′s housewife.  I am a pretty big feminist so this was big for me, and very exciting for my husband!  I’m sure you heard of Pinterest by now.  If not, get out from under your rock and Google that shit.  I hunted furiously for great recipes I could actually make (the options were limited due to my crap cooking skills and flat-out laziness) and got busy cooking!  Creamy Crock-Pot Spaghetti was up first.  Overall, it went pretty well.  But four hours later when it was time to open the pot and stir, all of my noodles were stuck together.  It tasted alright, but watching my husband eat a wad of 10 spaghetti noodles stuck together and kindly say, “Mmmm, good!” with each bite was just sad.  Peanut Butter Cup Chocolate Chip Cookies turned out great!  I put way more care into making these high calorie, carb-filled, bites of pure deliciousness than I had selecting our first house.  Finally, I made Lasagna Spinach Roll Ups.  Although they were more time-consuming than the lovely blog they came from explained, I was proud of their outcome.  We didn’t eat until after 8:00 PM, but hey, Jersey Shore wasn’t an overnight sensation either.

Finally, FINALLY, on Day 7 I found a poor soul to have lunch with.  Seriously, I had been calling other teacher friends all week for some human interaction (apparently my mind craves it after only a few hours alone) and everyone was busy.  What the HELL were they doing all week?  Someone please tell me!  I walked into the restaurant and my friend says, “Wow, did you get your hair done?  It looks cute!  I like your clothes, very fun!”  Nope, no hair appointment.  No new outfit.  The thought of interacting with another person excited me so much that I kind of dolled myself up and went a little crazy.  “Well, you know….” I said and shrugged as if I hadn’t been lounging in baggy sweatpants and old college t-shirts for 6 days in a row.  Lunch was nice and we ended up having a 2 hour convo about moving, school, relationships, and buying furniture from nut jobs who “only accept cash.”  Yikes.

Which brings me to today.  Day 8.  It is Friday and the only part left of my spring break is the weekend with my hubbie as usual.  My “vacation” is over and back to reality I go.  I managed to rearrange some bookshelves after knocking over a lamp and cussing like crazy to nobody in particular.  I also caught up on the latest celebrity scandals and gossip by repeatedly checking my Twitter account and People.com.  (Did you know Tori Spelling is pregnant AGAIN??)

In conclusion, I just have to tell spring break what a dirty b*&%@# she is.  Yes, I got to relax.  Yes, I slept in like a college student with 1:00 class.  Yes, my photos are now perfectly arranged by date and in albums.  But I’m ready to get back to contributing to society.  Back to getting dressed like an adult every day.  Back to having a reason to put on hair spray and mascera.  Spring break, you’ve been relaxing, but you’re also a dirty  b*&%@#.

Love Me Some 1995! January 19, 2012

istockphoto.com

I have been home sick for the past 2 days.  I have only taken 1 sick day prior to this in 4 years.  That just goes to show you how crummy I feel.  After 24 hours in the house, sitting on the couch, drinking water like it’s going out of style… I found the DVD’s my family gave me for Christmas this year.  They surprised me by putting all of our home movies onto DVD’s so my brother and I could watch them any time we want to.  Not wanting to put my husband through the torture of my awkward years (ages 10-14) I put them in a cabinet under the TV and didn’t think of them for a few weeks… until now!

In hopes of curbing my boredom, I popped disc one into my computer and snuggled in for a trip down memory lane.  Starting in 1995, I watched Christmas’, Easter’s, backyard birthday parties, summer morning T-Ball, soccer games, and lazy days around the house.  I heard my mom cheering me on as I scored a goal at 10 years old, watched my dad wave a flag when the ball went out of bounds, laughed along with my 5th grade friends as we danced around at my birthday party, and saw how truly joyful every moment of my life that was caught on camera truly was.  It was captivating.  I couldn’t stop watching my little brother play in the dirt during his T-ball game at 5 years old.  Man, the 90′s rocked. 

Despite everything, do you know what really caught my attention?  How present and engaged everyone was at each event.  In the 90′s, nobody talked on a cell phone during a choir concert at school, nobody sat in the corner and texted as their child opened birthday gifts, nobody texted during a friend’s party, and nobody missed their child scoring a goal because they were checking Facebook on their phone.  Everyone was present.  Involved.  Together.

I almost long for those years again.  The simplicity of it all.  My parents threw a Halloween party for my friends and I in 5th grade.  Do you know where it was held?  No, not at the Hilton.  I had no celebrity performer and no trapeze performance.  It was in our garage!  Black and orange streamers covered the ceiling, plastic tablecloths with witches covered borrowed picnic tables.  My mom had several party games planned involving toothpicks, lifesavers, toilet paper rolls, and plastic spoons.  My little brother roamed around with us wanting to be a part of the fun and you know what?  We let him!  He danced to the sweet sounds of “The Macerena” with us and even got wrapped up by my friend for the mummy contest!  There was no rivalry, harsh language, slutty costumes, or fighting.  It was just pure joy.

When mom brought my brother and I to the first day of school (he was in 1st grade and I was in 6th) she caught the 90′s in their full glory.  Girls ran around in long jean shorts (OK, maybe a little too long for my taste, but no buttcheeks were hanging out at our elementary school!)  Our hair was done in a simple pony tail with a scrunchy.  We were kids.  Just kids.  Making faces at the camera, smiling from ear to ear, putting our arms around each other with excitement over being the oldest at school this year!  Our only complaint caught on camera? “One recess this year mom, just ONE!”  Nobody complained about a dead cell phone battery, nobody bragged that their cell phone was faster or better than yours, and the girls weren’t concerned about their weight.  We just wanted to have fun!

The 90′s were awesome, I just didn’t realize it until today.  Following hours, literally hours of home video footage from 1995 on (thanks mom and dad!) I can finally see just how good we had it.  I was blissfully unaware of everything around me that made the 90′s so nifty.  My family, my friends, The Macerena, TGIF, and simplicity.  Now, I can only hope to give my own children half of the childhood that my parents gave me in the 90′s.  Hopefully my future children will look back someday and say, “Wow, the 2020′s were the best!”

What year would you like to go back to?  Why do you want to go back?

What Does Your Magazine Say About You? January 10, 2012

A great visual for our personalities as a couple!

Once a month my husband comes in beaming from his trip to the mailbox.  He strolls towards me holding a thin package in clear plastic wrap.  He shakes it in front of me and says, “It came!”  MY GLAMOUR MAGAZINE!

I’ve been subscribing to Glamour Magazine since high school.  Finding out the trends for next month, how-to hairstyle guides, and photos of celebrities spotted canoodling in Hollywood coffee shops gets me all hot and bothered!  Within an hour I usually have the issue devoured cover to cover.  (In case anyone is wondering, I love the “Hey It’s OK” section!  My fav!)  I set it aside and anxiously await next month’s issue. 

Typically, my hubbie gets his monthly magazine on the same day.  After he drops my Glamour in my lap, he turns his attention to his… brace yourself… Kiplinger’s.  Nope, not speaking another language, it is indeed called, Kiplinger’s.  I’m not exactly sure but I believe it’s some sort of money management, 401K, investment banking… blah, blah, blah.  What on earth is exciting about that?  I get the articles about upcoming spring fashion trends.  I pour over recipes that “make your man melt.”  I take the quizzes to find out what kind of sex life I’ll have in 2012 based on my sign, height, and shoe preference.  But what I don’t get is how reviewing the criteria for deducting a home office on your taxes IS ENTERTAINMENT?!?

Just yesterday I had a dentist appointment.  After I placed my purse and coat on a chair in the waiting room I eyed the magazine rack.  Yessss!  Fresh magazines of all shapes and sizes!  (The only reason I go with my hubbie when he gets his haircut is to paroose the newest magazines.)  As I stood in front of the magazine rack I could see a dad and his son watching me make my selection.  Damn. 

The following interpretations of each magazine flashed through my head in a matter of 25 seconds:

Seventeen Magazine:  I’m 26 reading a magazine targeted to a teenage girl.  Prom dresses, curfews, and ACT prep are no longer issues in my life.  Boo.

Newsweek:  Makes me look smart… like I know about the world.  Except, I don’t care. 

Redbook: I must be a mom who needs 10 easy crock pot recipes so when I’m between dropping my kids off at soccer and book club, I can feed them healthy meals.  Nope.

Sports Illustrated: I’m a butch with a hot chick waiting for me at home.  I probably want to stay current on the latest college softball scores.

So, what did I go with?  Travel and Leisure Magazine:  I’m well-rounded, cultured, and enjoy a good time!  I grabbed it, sat down, and then got called in for my teeth cleaning. 

It’s amazing what magazines say about a person.  For my husband and I, they illustrate who we are.  At the dentist office they give a glimpse of the many different  people who go in and out of the office every day.  Magazines are a great source of entertainment and information.  They may change with us as we get older, but sometimes, they also help us hang on to who we will always be.

Resolutions from a Twenty Something January 1, 2012

Well, I did it.  I came full circle.  Last New Year’s Eve I told some friends at a party that my resolution was to start blogging.  What was I going to blog about they asked.  I didn’t know… I just wanted to take my love for writing and making people laugh and then merge them into a hobby for myself.  This year when people asked what I did for fun I actually had an answer: I blog. 

Normally I come up with resolutions that last oh… a week or so and then go back to my old ways.  (By the way, what’s so wrong with the old way of doing things?)  But not this year.  This year, I wrote my very first blog on January 1st and went on to write 22 more blog over the next 365  days.  I surprised myself with my continued attention to this blog and the enjoyment I got from each writing session.  It is incredibly liberating to just share stories from my life with whoever wants to listen.  It’s been surprising to watch how many people view my stories, comment on them, and then… then… find out that people actually subscribed to my blog!  (OK, so it’s like 6, but that’s REALLY exciting to me!)

So…. what do I do this year?  What resolutions do I make as a twenty-something moving forward into my… (gasp) late twenties in 2012?  Read on!

Resolution #1: I will be nicer. 

OK, so I am a nice girl.  But I can get a little catty.  I call those my “Reality TV moments.”  I attribute my occasional z-snap to the sassy Real Housewives, my icy stare downs to the Kardashians, and my excessive cussing to the Jersey Shore.  The moment I feel the need to share a saucy thought with a friend about someone else, I will stop myself and say, “This is real life.  Your actions and words have actual consequences and will not results in higher ratings.”  Done.

Resolution #2: I will not look like a lost puppy when shopping for baby gifts at Target.

Last year, I experienced several trips to Target in search of the perfect gift for my friends’ new babies.  I would walk in, print out their registry, and then stagger around looking for aisle E7.  E7?  Who thought of this system?  After a kind employee pointed me in the right direction my jaw dropped upon reading that my friend wanted some “nipple pads” and “butt paste.”  What the hell?  Are you trying to kill me with embarrassment?  You’re going to get an outfit of my choosing and you’re going to like it!  Done.

Resolution #3: I will find my best angle and pose when getting my picture taken.

Go ahead, call me self-centered, but this is something I think every girl needs to figure out.  In a typical year, I have one maybe two photos, of the hundreds that were taken where I actually like the way I look.  You know what I’m talking about.  You load the pictures from a vacation onto your computer and find The One.  Your hair is almost glistening, your skin is just the right tone, your look happy but not cheesy, fake, happy, and your body looks relaxed as if your hand just happened to be on your hip when the picture was taken.  Perfection, or at least as close as you can get.  It quickly becomes my Facebook profile picture, computer wallpaper, framed an end table, and slapped onto our Christmas card.  This shouldn’t happen once a year.  It should just happen always.  Maybe I can talk my hubbie into acting like paparazzi this year for practice?  Done.

Happy 2012 my fellow bloggers!  May your resolutions be lighthearted and your days filled with laughter!

2011 in review January 1, 2012

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,500 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 25 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Never Buy X-Mas Cards that Require Extra Postage December 21, 2011

So the lady at the post office through my credit card at me with the most pissed off look I have ever seen.  I looked from my credit card back to her in disbelief.  “Oh, so we’re doing this?”  I was ready to fly over the counter and show her the true meaning of Christmas.

OK let me back up a bit here.  You see, last Saturday I made a quick trip to the post office.  We live in a small town and I thought I’d just run in real quick and get some stamps.  Shutterfly gave me 10 free Christmas cards in October, so I picked out the most extravagant (and pricey) cards they had.  Hey, they were free!  The catch was that they were those perfectly squared cards that for some reason require extra postage.   Hence my visit to the post office last Saturday.  Ten 64 cent stamps.  That was my mission.

I walked in, bedhead and all.  There were at least 25 people who turned to look at me who were also making a quick trip to the post office the Saturday before Christmas.  I found my spot in line and listened to two older women in front me talk about what was in their packages.  Gifts for their grandkids… “Teenage boys are so hard to buy for!”  I patiently waited 35 minutes for my turn in line.  The lady in front of me paid just under $22 to ship her gift (Are you kidding me??)  and then I approached the counter.

“Hello!  I’m going to be an easy customer today.  I just need ten stamps for these square cards and I’ll be on my way!”  I was so cheerful and pleasant it was almost sickening.  I figured this poor woman could use a break from crankiness.

“Oh,” she said, “We’re out.”  Scowling.

“Really?  Out?  I know it’s not your fault or anything but… I’ve been here for 35 minutes waiting for these stamps.  Maybe you should put a sign up or something.  Then people will see it and leave if that’s what they came for.”

“Do you want me to make an announcement or something,” she groaned.

“No, just thought a sign might prevent someone from waiting like I did.”

“I can sell you a book of stamps and you can just put 2 on every card,” she suggested.

SIIIIGH “Fine.  I’ve waited this long, might as well get them mailed off.”  I ran my credit card through and she asked to see it.  She tossed it back at me and it landed on the counter.  Wow.  Really?  We’re doing this?  This is happening?  I’m so going to fly over this counter at you cranky post office lady.  I looked up and saw a surveillance camera.  This changed my mind. 

“Sorry,” she said with the same scowl.  I took my stamps, walked over to a different counter and began sticking them on my envelopes.  Suddenly the bright red marker I used to address all of them didn’t seem so cheerful anymore.  As I worked on my cards, the post office lady said in a loud voice to the entire post office….

“IS ANYONE HERE WAITING FOR 64 CENT STAMPS?”  (Crickets…. total silence.)  I glanced around mortified and my face flushed.

“WELL, THIS GAL OVER HERE (points at me) SAYS I SHOULD MAKE AN ANNOUNCEMENT ABOUT THEM!”

I died a slow death as this woman embarrassed the supreme crap out of me.  Enraged, I turned around.  I waved my arms around and wiggled my hips, “YAH!  BECAUSE THEY’RE OUT!”

I shoved my envelopes into the mailbox, avoided any and all eye contact with the long line of customers and left the post office.  Merry Christmas to you too lady.  Merry Christmas indeed…

I swore that while traipsing across the parking lot I would be ambushed by cameras and people screaming, “You got punked!”  My eyes darted around the lot and saw no cameras.  I got in my car and just started laughing.  The past 40 minutes were something from an SNL skit that could appear on their Christmas special.  I called my mom and together we laughed so hard that I literally cried while describing what had just happened.  It’s times like these, where if you don’t laugh you’ll cry.  And if the story is really good, you’ll do both!

I’m Failing at Fall! September 25, 2011

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A midwest summer is something to experience.  It’s hot, humid, and even opressing at times.  The pools are packed, buttcheeks fall out of girls’ shorts, and foreheads are usually dripping with sweat.  Ok, so clearly I’m not a summer girl.  People shouted it throughout all of spring as the students at our school became restless.  “I am so ready for summer!” They’d yell in passing through the hallway.  “Don’t you just love summer?” my friends would ask as we baked on their decks drinking margaritas.  Of course I enjoy a warm summer night, but no.  I don’t LOVE summer.  My response to all of their “I love summer” chatter was often, “Yes, but I’m so ready for fall!” 

Leading up to fall I couldn’t wait to have the windows open to enjoy a cool breeze through the house.  I anxiously awaited the change in weather to bust out my leggings, tall boots, and comfy sweaters.  I wanted to meet my new students and teach them how to read and write for the very first time.  Finally, I wanted to fill our home with the warm smells of pumpkin bread and chocolate chip cookies baked from scratch to impress my hubbie.  “See?” I would say, “Fall even makes me a better wife!” 

Well, here we are.  Exactly 3 days into fabulous fall and 5 weeks away from Halloween.  I’m living it up right?  Not exactly…

The first day our temperatures dipped below 70 degrees I ran (literally sprinted) into our house after work and through open every damn window in the house.  Yes!  The crisp air whipped through every nook and cranny of our house and I was happy… up until the next morning.  I tightened up the blankets around my shoulders, shivering in the dark at 6:00 AM.  I stared at the 29 used tissues I had used and thrown next to the bed throughout the night.  I rubbed my itchy eyes and attempted to itch the back of my throat with my tongue (not easy.)  I made my way to our bathroom and flipped on the light.  Bloodshot eyes, raw nose, and purple bags above my cheeks only meant one thing: my fall allergies had arrived.  After frantically searching for a leftover allergy pill from last year’s stash, I slammed the windows shut and yelled, “Who’s God damned idea was it to open all of these windows anyway?!”  We’ve had them shut ever since.

My fall wardrobe has been in full force.  It has to be since it’s a balmy 42 degrees in the morning.  Last night I attended Octoberfest with some friends outside and froze my ass off.  It was a lot of fun, but my hands were jammed under my armpits for most of the night in attempt to stay warm.  “You should have worn a hooded sweatshirt,” my husband mused.  Ha!  And deprive myself of these wonderful leggings, tall boots, and beautiful brown and black scarf?  Yeah.  Right.  I froze while drinking my plastic mug full of beer and cringed at the people passing in laderhosen.  So much for the fall wardrobe excitement!

As for the kids who walked through my classroom door in August, they’re wonderful!  However my life is again consumed with tying shoelaces, endless nights creating lesson plans, early morning meetings, and cranky parent emails asking that I prepare materials for their child’s 5 day vacation in which he will be missing school.  Seriously?  I don’t recall going on a tropical vacation at 5!  I’m the one who needs a vacation here!  Me!!  What is happening here?

The yummy chocolate chip cookies did happen though!  Ok, so they were the kind that are already formed into squares.  But I had to put them on a real baking tray and preheat the oven.  Then… then, I had to set the timer and be sure they didn’t burn.  My husband smiled as he bit into the first cookie, so I’d say they were a success!  Today is when I was supposed to create a beautiful aroma of pumpkin bread spilling throughout the house.  I bought the bread pans at the store, checked off my ingredient list… and took a nap.  Damn.  It’s 6:00 and there’s no pumpkin bread.  The pans and recipe are lying on the countertop as if it were a graveyard for unfinished fall fun.  Oh well, there’s always next weekend.

I do LOVE fall!  I’ll just have to enjoy it from inside my sealed up house, while sitting in sweatpants on the couch writing lesson plans.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go throw another blanket on my lap, take my allergy medicine and write some fantastic lesson plans for the week.  Is it summer yet?

When did I become that mean neighbor lady? June 29, 2011

Freedigitalphotos.net

Every neighborhood has one.  That grouchy lady who keeps to herself and scares the children on the block.  Nobody trick or treats at her house because she doesn’t leave her porch light on.  Groups of kids just walk on by her house on Halloween and swap stories about the awful things they’ve seen her do.  At Christmas time her house is the only one that’s not lit up with beautiful twinkling lights.  It looks as cold as the snow covering her yard.  Come summertime, she had better not catch you shooting off any fireworks or she’ll be calling the cops to end your fun.  Every block in America has one of these old bags…. who would have ever thought that at 26, it’d be me?

Ok, Ok, so kids do trick or treat at my house (mostly because I’m a teacher at the school they all attend) and we do put up Christmas lights.  I would never call the cops on kids shooting off fireworks.  But, I did become that bitchy old lady last week when a group of teenagers irritated the crap out of me… and someone had to put an end to it.

My hubbie and I had been eating dinner.  We heard kids yelling and being obnoxious out front but didn’t pay much attention to it.  We noticed out our window that about 5 kids were riding in a convertible down the street while standing up.  The driver would start and stop quickly hoping to make the passengers fall over (I’m sure the teens’ parents would have loved to see their children in what could have been a scene from a public service announcement about new drivers).  An hour later the crowd of about 12 continued to yell and be obnoxious out in the street in front of my house.  You have to understand where the frustration came from.  I was working on a paper that was due that week to complete my graduate program.  40 pages on “Motivation,” ironically enough, and I couldn’t seem to ever find the motivation to do it.  I had finally sat down (away from the TV, because apparently, I don’t do well with that) and those damn kids were distracting me. 

I watched them like a creepy old lady for about 15 minutes from my bedroom window.  2 boys were running around the group with their cell phones held up, trying to take pictures of the one female with them (obviously the object of their affection).  She had her forearms crossed over her chest, gripping her shoulders.  “We got a picture of you!” one boy yelled.  I had had enough.  Hours of this crap happening in my quiet, suburban neighborhood as I desperately tried to finish off my bitch of a paper.

I walked outside and fluffed the rug on the porch, pretending to have a purpose for being out front.  The kids, unphased, continued to fight to photograph the girl, while she chased them and kicked them.  A few got back into what I later found out was the girl’s car and would drive at the group until they all jumped out of the way or they jumped on top of the car (again, their parents would be happy to know that the money they spend on her cute blue convertible was so well appreciated).  I walked over to the driveway, planted my feet, crossed my arms, and gave the almighty teacher death stare that I have perfected over the past 3 years.  I frantically searched my brain for something to yell that would get them away from my house, but wouldn’t sound bitchy.  After all, I am half way to 50, not 50.  Nothing came to mind.  I just stared and seethed while I watched their shenanigans go on. 

Then, about 30 seconds into the stare, it happened.  One by one, the boys noticed me watching.  Could it have been my heavy breathing?  No, it was probably my red face.  Then again, it could have been the smoke coming out of my ears…. Whatever it was, it worked.  The first boy jabbed the boy to his right.  That boy poked the kid in front of him.  And suddenly.  Like magic.  They all stared right back at me.  It was a showdown.  One boy said, “Hey guys, let’s go inside or something.”  Yah, they all agreed, let’s go inside.  They scattered like a police bust at a college party.  I just stood there and watched them run into the house in fear.  No movement.  Just stood there.  Once every one of those little buggers had gone inside, I ran to the backyard to celebrate my victory with hubbie who was mowing the lawn.  I walked – no skipped, to him and couldn’t stop giggling.  “Oh my gosh!  You’ll never guess what just happened!  I just scared about a dozen teenagers away from our house without saying a word!”  Not as pleased with my victory, he continued mowing.  I ran into the house to call friends and share my story of becoming the neighborhood hag.  At least they shared my feelings of triumph! 

It was during one of those phone calls when my friend said it best, “You’re like Mabel!  I’m going to call you Mabel!”  So Mabel it is.  I’m that person on the street who’s not to be messed with.   Yes, I lost a little sleep that night, worried we’d be egged or TP’d.  But damn, it feels good to be a gangster.

Feeling Guilty About My Guilty Pleasure June 10, 2011

I was in a crazy rage the other night.  Literally, sweaty palms, shaking, flushed face, the works.  So what happened?  Someone cut me off on the road?  No.  The hubbie shrunk my favorite jeans?  No. Worse.  Much worse.   The TV.  Went.  Out.

Ok, ok, so most of you are now raising your eyebrows thinking I’m some gross slob who sits around and watches hours of TV with no life outside of the couch and the remote.  Not true.  But I do have this, what I now consider an obsession, with reality TV.  So imagine my surprise when mid-Real Housewives of New York, my TV screen goes blue (as if they purposely chose this depressing color to solidify the sadness of the news) delivers me a message on the screen: “Hello.  We’re restarting the hard drive.  Do not power down or restart.”  Ugh!  Seriously?!  This is a new episode!  What am I going to do with myself if I don’t know how the Ramona vs. Jill fight ends? 

It all started because of this crazy rain we were experiencing.  It had been pouring off and on all evening.  If there is ice, snow, or severely cold temperatures, DirecTV stands strong.  But if there is even a hint of rain, our satellite goes out.  It seems to shut down about 10 seconds before a heavy rainfall starts.  It is a nice little weather forecaster, but annoying as hell when you’re watching something as wonderful as The Real Housewives.  So there I was, typing up a paper that was due last week on my laptop, sipping a Diet Coke and 30 minutes into a special 75 minute episode of The Real Housewives of New York.  Then it happened.  The blue screen and that damn message.  I swallowed the Diet Coke that I had just poured into my mouth, slowly set the can down, closed my laptop, and stared at the TV.  I didn’t know what to do.  I paced back and forth in my living room trying to think of a solution.  The more I paced, the more angry I became.  I was sweating, nervous, and confused.  I started talking to myself, “How can we put a man on the moon, bring Internet through cell phones, and have a video conversation with someone on the other side of the world, but THE SATELLITE GOES OUT IF IT RAINS?!?!”  Seriously, our TV satellite people need to do some serious research on how to get the signal to go through, no matter the weather.  How does this happen? 

About 15 minutes later the signal came back, I watched the rest of the show, and was fine.  But I came to an important realization: I may be addicted to TV.  I work out regularly, eat right, and work hard 8-5, and am thisclose to getting my Master’s Degree.  Don’t I deserve some down time at night with Teen Mom, Millionaire Matchmaker, and Real Housewives?  Should I feel guilty about my guilty pleasure?