Not usually so bitter

So just so you don't all think I'm heinous...the wedding last week was lovely. And while I wish I could've stayed for the dancing and the cake and the after party, really I was just glad to see such old friends so happy.

What was a crushing disappointment, was the fact that when we left the wedding at 10:30, stuffed with mediocre food, we were in no mood to hit up a nearby White Castle. And maybe it's my Jersey showing, but there is no better drinking food in the world.

It brings me back to getting and splitting a giant bag of wee square burgers with my family as a kid.

Indeed, White Castle was even where I had my second "car accident" if you could even call it that. I was 18, back for my summer after freshman year of college. My mother and siblings were in Italy, so it was just me and Dad. I went to a girlfriend's party and since I was maybe the best kid in the world, I didn't drink at all as I knew I was driving.

I promised to drive my friend Jeff, who just graduated from high school, home. He begged and pleaded to go to the Castle for a snack. I was a vegetarian at the time, so they certainly were not for me.

We go through the drive through and after grabbing the bag I managed to drop my wallet (inside the car) alongside the door and the seat. I reached down to grab it and BUMP went over the curb. Naturally I panicked, hit the gas, and went right over a "DO NOT PARK HERE" sign. This trip over the curb and sign from the drive through window was all of five feet mind you.

Of course, the sign lay on the floor but there was something under my car. Stuck. Dragging. So I pull over in the lot and lo and behold: A Bike! A thoroughly stuck bike. So, being quite chivalrous, Jeff comes out to try and pull out the bike.

He squatted like a frog and pulled and pulled. His face was red with concentration and wet from the humidity. Jeff, so you know is all of 5'9" and at the time probably weighed a cool 140 pounds. Quite the visual. (Miss that kid, hilariously now a state trooper, HA!)

Of course some little older guy (40? 50?) comes out and it turns out I just destroyed his bike.

Finally two much larger individuals (bikers! yay!) managed to fanagle the bike from under my car and I drove away home promising the bike owner that I would replace it.

I drop Jeff home, go home myself and notice the smell of gas. My father, a mechanic, was asleep being that it was 2 in the morning. So I go up to his bed and whisper, "Hey Dad, ran over a bike, uh, my gas is leaking. G'night! BYE!"

Um, perhaps not my finest. But I tell you, whenever I drive on Route 22 or see a White Castle, I'll be damned if the picture of some terminally geeky, skinny high school grad trying with all his might to pull a mangled bike from out of '92 Dodge Shadow's gas tank doesn't pop into my head every time.

Weddings on the brain*

*Or the one where I insult you because you had/did the same exact thing at your wedding.

Tomorrow I have the wedding of a friend of mine since high school. Right here I'm going to vent a little: If you have a 3pm ceremony and a 7pm reception, and you know you have guests who are travelling across the state of New Jersey and who may or may not stay overnight. Wouldn't it behoove you to have the ceremony on a Saturday? (Religious purposes aside?) They are Catholic so the only reason to have the shebang on Sunday is for reasons having to do with your pocketbook. And I get that. I do. But then couldn't you have a nice little afternoon reception? So that way your guests, who you want to have a nice time could theoritically get back to their homes and get ready for the rest of the week without resenting you because they couldn't get off work the next day.

Theoretically of course.

Additionally, I understand and appreciate the tradition of not having your groom see you before the ceremony, necessitating some time between the ceremony and the recption for picture taking. But, uh, even if the ceremony lasts one hour, there are an additional three hours. For real?

Some of us (*cough, cough, me*) are driving an hour and forty minutes to get to this wedding. Certainly I am not involved in the picture taking proceedings* so what in the hell am I supposed to do for three hours?

*I say "not in the pictures," because I was not invited to be a part of the wedding. And while I am partially glad because this has saved me a lot of money and stress, you should know that in high school this friend and I did just about everything together along with our two other friends. Those two other friends are in the wedding. Not helpful: The fact that she didn't even tell me that I wouldn't be in the wedding when I fully anticipated that I would.

Also, so endeth the rant.

Summer of No Wedding Left Behind **

In the next six weeks I have three weddings. THREE. And between the weekends they fall on and other wedding obligations (bachelorette party!) I am short on free weekends, cash and sanity. Next year, I'm just sending gifts. If it wouldn't make my mom cry, I'm pretty sure we would just elope, but nope.

****

Work is busy, but simultaneously I only have five more weeks there and I have to train my replacement soon and it is all kinds of weird. I actually really liked clerking and would have liked it even more if they paid me adequately.

Plus, one of our janitors finally used real words yesterday with me and my office mate. Generally he comes in to take out our trash and we say the regular, "Hi, how are you? Oh, sorry, let me get out of the way!" And in response he has always grunted. It's been ten months. But yesterday when reading over a brief I exclaimed, "Why are people so damned idiotic!" and well, my god, he began talking! First over how people in our county haven't figured out how to recycle. And then to my office mate about a vacation he took. Holy hell people, he speaks! How can I leave now?



**Coined, I think, by Ms. Crazy Aunt Purl, herself. And if not, crap...someone else on the internet.

Mrs. Sharenow

"My name is Mrs. Sharenow. And we will share. Now." That was how my sex-ed class began in sixth grade. Really just like that and her name was "Sharenow." Small wonder I am warped.

The following is an anonymous guest post as part of -R-'s Blog Share. On the share, participants post anonymously on each other's blogs. After the entry I've included the list of the other participants. Enjoy!

****

I signed up for Blog Share and immediately began to panic. What ever was I going to write about? I figured I needed to write about something super steamy since it should be something I would never reveal on my own blog. I thought and thought and came up with nothing. I did what I normally do and pushed it to the side and ignored it since I am the Queen of Procrastination. I opened up an e-mail on Monday and it was informing me which blogger would be hosting my post and the blogger I would be posting for. And the panic set in again. I again began to struggle to come up with an idea.

“I know!” I thought to myself. I was going to write about how I often sit around and ponder the mystery of how I was born into the particular family I was born into – an overly dramatic and overly controlling mom, a white trash cousin, and an aunt with some of the most vile and disgusting habits I’ve ever seen. But then I realized that might be super boring to most people and that everyone probably feels sort of the same way about their own family.

Then I came up with something else! I would write about my honest to goodness feelings about a certain situation I’m currently experiencing in my life. I quickly realized that writing about that would serve little more purpose than causing the internet to view me (even if anonymously) as a whiny, spoiled brat. I’m fairly certain the purpose of Blog Share is not to make yourself feel like a big jerk. It’s to make someone else look like a big jerk without anyone knowing you’re the one saying it about them, right?

I was drawing a blank. I had no idea what to share. I was almost to the point where I was going to write about something that I swore I would never ever reveal.

Oh internet, then I did something completely by accident but incredibly stupid and felt so awful about it. But I said to myself “Well, there you go. Now you’ve done something to confess anonymously, haven’t you?” I left work Monday night and there were about five places on my list of places I needed to stop to run errands on my (ever-growing) Responsible Adult List. I hate that list by the way. But one place beat out all of the others hands down.

You see, while I realize toilet paper is made from trees, I am well aware it does not grow on them. And the level of toilet paper on the one remaining roll in my home when I left for work Monday morning was reaching an extremely critical level. I was soon going to have a big problem. In addition, starvation was a very real concern based on the contents of my refrigerator. The grocery store won out on my to-do list Monday evening. And it was Blog Share fate I believe. Some of you may keep reading and at the end say to yourself “That’s her confession? That’s pretty lame.” But you do not know me. For what I am about to confess is a Huge Freaking Deal to me.

I work in a particularly congested and busy part of town which is always packed with people. Very annoying people I might add. The grocery store was no exception. Apparently the rest of the city was close to running out of toilet paper like me. There was only one parking spot left and it was the furthest one from the door. Obviously.

Despite the feeling that I was going to drop straight to the asphalt due to the extreme exhaustion I’ve been feeling lately due to an incredible amount of stressful crap going on in my life, I parked and began the long hike to the door. I grabbed a grocery cart and, as is my habit, threw my purse in the child’s seat (this will be an important point of my confession shortly) and went on my way.

I began loading up my cart with the groceries I needed, one other item (which will also become important in a few minutes), and the already sufficiently discussed gigantic package of toilet paper.

I went to the checkout, paid for my purchases and the bagger offered to help me to my car with my groceries. I politely declined his offer as I always do. While I think it’s lovely that they offer, I’m quite sure there are people in the store at any given time that might really need their assistance while I am completely capable of pushing my cart to my car (no matter how far from the door it might be) and loading my groceries in my car all by myself. I’ve had a bagger from time to time insist they really wanted to go out for some fresh air and beg me to let them help me and I’ve said yes to them. This has probably happened three times in my life. Monday was not one of those days but looking back I really wish it had been. I would be sitting here feeling a whole lot better about myself but I also would not have a confession for Blog Share.

I pushed my cart out the front doors of the store and as I was pushing it down the little ramp off the sidewalk and down to the parking lot, I passed two burly looking police officers. In general I’m a pretty friendly person so I said hello to them as I passed and kept going.

I made the LONG hike back out to my car, loaded my groceries into my car, grabbed my purse out of the child’s seat and that’s when my heart dropped into my stomach. For that’s the moment I saw it: the birthday card I had stuck under my purse so it wouldn’t get bent as I was piling up groceries into my cart. The birthday card I had not paid for. The birthday card I was shoplifting as I casually walked right past two burly police officers and even said hello to them.

I thought to myself “It’s okay. It was an accident. You didn’t steal it on purpose. Just go back in and tell them what happened and pay for it. It’s no big deal.”

But internet, that’s not what I did. I was exhausted which is no excuse for breaking an actual Commandment from God himself (Thou shalt not steal). I didn’t feel like walking all the way back across the entire parking lot to pay for that card. So I stuck it in the bag with the gigantic package of toilet paper and went on my way.

And all the way home I expected karma to immediately pay me back and I just knew I was going to get in a car accident. But I did not.

So that’s my confession. I left my house Monday morning and could honestly tell people I had never shoplifted in my whole entire life. I returned a mere 10 hours later with my head hanging low and the knowledge that I was nothing more than a common criminal. I am now an honest to goodness, official birthday card stealer.

But here’s what I really want to know: would you give the card to the person you shoplifted it for? Or would you throw it away and go out and purchase one like you should have done in the first place?

****

For more Blog Share goodness check out these sites:

Vent Vox
Turn On The Stars
Trudie - Life After AC
Swimming With Sharks
Stefanie Says
Shhh! Librarian-In-Training
Sauntering Soul
Sass Attack
Reflections in the Snow Covered Hills
Red Red Whine
Our Simplicity
One New Duck
Oh My Seven
The Occasional Truth
No Lady
Nancy Pearl Wannabe
Muse On Vacation
Messing With Texas
Melliferous Pants
Lizland
Live Work Dream
Just Below 63
Jonniker
Java Literally
Heidikins
Full of Snark
Face Down
Ex Everything
Everything I Like Causes Cancer
Did I Say That Outloud?
The Daily Tannenbaum
The Coconut Diaries
Citystreams
Catheroominations
Bright Yellow World
Breath Smiles Tears
And You Know What Else
Alyndabear
3 Carnations

HIRED

Thank God!

Stay tuned for blogshare. Coming Wednesday!

Sucker

The first year I lived on my own off-campus was the summer before my junior year of college and I needed a job badly. My parents had just moved to Florida after some financial difficulties and I felt like I needed to hold my own and at least to pay for my own living expenses.

I decided to sign up for NJPIRG as an individual going door to door to raise money. I was young. I thought one person could fix the world's problems. I believed that certainly this organization did good things.

I signed up for a job that paid all of $7 an hour. I went to my first day of training where we were prepped for how fantastically appreciative everyone whose door you knocked on would be! I mean, c'mon! We were going to save the environment! the government! and protect consumers! By paying to send lobbyists to DC and Trenton! (Yep.)

The next day we woke up early and got bussed into some affluent neighborhood where we were to walk door to door and say, basically, "Hey you! You look like you care about things! like the environment! Why don't you check out my pamphlet which has a picture of a baby seal and tell me that you don't want to fork over some of your money?"

It didn't work for all the obvious reasons. And I was okay with that. My feet hurt. It was July and it was HOT. The reason why I never returned though, wasn't that the job sucked. Certainly it did. I could deal with a crap job. I could not deal with the people. I don't know where they sent my college-aged trainers to get brainwashed, but if I heard one more time, "Gee, this is the best!job!EVER!" I was going to put someone's teeth to the curb and step down. Instead of that, I decided to never go back again.

(I may be a bit aggressive when hot and sweaty, what of it?)

This isn't about how terrible that job was, if you couldn't tell. No. This is about how on that very day I was walking the four blocks from the NJPIRG office to my house that I split with six other college students, some woman with a toddler in a stroller stopped me to explain her plight. You see, she was somehow stranded in New Brunswick with her baby daughter. And all her family lived elsewhere, but she needed to get to Newark and needed ten dollars to buy herself and her kid fare to get there.

I knew she was lying. Of course she was. But she had a kid, and what if she weren't lying. So you know what I did, I pulled out a new ten dollar bill and handed it to her. (As some background, not only was I very poor and jobless since deciding no way I was going back, I was so poor that I wouldn't spend more than ten to fifteen dollars a week on grocery. I ate a lot of rice and beans.)

And do you know what she said to me? I'll give you a hint, it wasn't "thank you." It was, "Hey, could I have that other ten too?" I may have said, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!? But I think I just shrugged, said, uh no, I need to buy some groceries and went home.

It's been eight years since that day and I still think of it.

Today I stopped on my way between work and home to fill my tires with air. As I'm down tightening the little nuts (screws?) a woman, who likely has drug problems from the looks of her stops me. She's pulled her silver Taurus along side my car at the gas station. She says, "I normally don't do this, but my son said you looked like a nice person," as she gestures to her six or so year old son in her car. "You see, I'm up here visiting family. And my grandmother is in the hospital. I'm trying to get to Newark and I need gas for my car. Could you help out?" Thinking about the five dollars in my wallet I told her I didn't have cash on me, but I would give her some change. I had been to the bank, but didn't get out any more cash. I needed three dollars to go over the bridge or I would have to go back to the bank. I gave her a dollar in quarters. She said thank you. Moved on to a car that was getting filled. As I pulled away I could see the station owner going over to shoo her along.

Her son, pulled himself into the driver seat, honked the horn, smiled and waved at me. I almost pulled back aside and gave her the five. I almost wish now I had.

Do you think "nice" means "sucker?"

Man, I hate when they get the kids involved.

Oy.

Roof? Supposedly fixed as of today. Thank G-d it was still under warranty.

Mice. Apparently no longer interested in our home or just in hiding. The traps have been untouched and there have been no more sightings of our little friends. But maybe our neighbors' (our walls are all connected) cats have finished them off. We remain vigilant.

Job? Still not had. I have had two interviews since whinging...one I think went well and the one today...um, probably not so much. So here's a rhetorical question for you all. In a panel interview, when the one attorney with a reputation for being a general ass asks you only one question, and really that question is a hey, look you have a typographical error on one of you documents. (Apparently I worked on a journal from the year 5005 to 2007, I should have said, "Dude, I am totally from the future.") Do you include a revised copy of that document with your thank you note? Like a "Thank you so much for pointing that out, really because on all my other sent out applications I would have kept that in. Oh P.S. I have included a revised version for you since the sight of the typographical error burned your corneas."

So I ask you, is it jerky of the variety that a true to-the-bone asshole would appreciate it? Or is it the final nail in a pre-made coffin? And/or do I not care at all what they think since it doesn't seem that they will be hiring me at this point?

(Yay, interview for next week for a different firm...I guess the typo wasn't that offensive since lord knows I used the same damned cover for everyone.)

Going to shit. Fast.

Or pardon my cursing while my roof gently weeps.

Or not so gently fucking leaks as is the case.

You know what makes for a crappy Fourth of July weekend?

1. The boyfriend being in Vegas for a bachelor party which means he is not here when I come home from a holiday barbecue at 11 at night and see that

2. there is a mouse in our kitchen, that the cat is playing with, but not killing; and when I wake up to a dripping noise at 5:45 in the morning and realize:

3. the drip is not outside where it is raining, but in our damn window sill even though the freaking roofer supposedly fixed it last year.

To recap: Alone at six in the morning with one hell of a leak in the roof and mice probably everywhere.

Do you think any roofers and/or exterminators will be open for emergency business today? Y'know, the 5th of July. A Saturday. Yeah, thought not.

For the record, it's supposed to rain through Monday.

GAH!