We all get one I’m not dead post, right? Well I’m cashing in the chips I should have turned in a few weeks ago, I really didn’t expect to be away so long.
I forget that not everyone knows where to find me on the web, but here, so if I don’t post or visit blogs, I appear to be missing. I don’t like it when people disappear or seem to have fallen off the face of the earth and I’m left wondering what happened.
It’s the same feeling I get when I’m picked up late and I don’t get an explanation as to why. I’m like whoa, whoa, whoa, no explanation? No, I’m sorry I’m late, but the engine fell out of my car or the dog swallowed my keys and I had to wait. Tell. Me. Something.
My explanation? The mental day I needed turned into a mental month. I hate being in a funk, but it happens. The weather also sucked, so let’s give some of the blame to Mother Nature.
Good news is, lately I have been in a great mood and I’m ready to come out of my dark cave and into the sunshine. Just wanted to say hello, I’m not dead, yet, and I appreciate the bloggers who stopped by to check on me. Meleah, thanks for “screaming” at me. I love how you just come right out and say it, “I need an update” and you bounce. Thanks for the nudge, sister.
In the meantime, I have been writing, rambling and amusing myself over here.
I’m turning the comment feature off for this post and will see you soon.
I wrote this blog post over a month ago, but I thought it would be much more fun and creative to animate it.
When you’re done watching it, I would love to know what you think about the question Michael asked: Is Social Networking Increasingly Becoming Narcissistic.
The views expressed on this program are those of the host and guest and do not accurately represent the views of ThinkingOutLoudBlog.com, even though I wrote it.
I hate rushing, I hate being unorganized and I hate being late, so I try to prepare as much as I can the night before so I’m none of the above. I set the breakfast table, iron clothes and make sure the bags are packed.
Yesterday morning I did everything but pick out what I was going to wear to work. When translated: I spend at least 10 minutes staring into a closet full of clothes, lamenting that I have nothing to wear.
Eventually, I decided on a black pair of pants, a beige colored suit jacket, a black scoop-neck tee and threw a pair of heels into a bag. Off I went.
I hopped in my car and as I’m nearing my job and stopped at a light, I figure now would be a good time to retrieve my shoes from the back. I reach behind my seat, grab the bag with my shoes and guess what? The shoes don’t match!
That’s not even the best part. When I arrive at my desk, I remove the shoes from the bag and not only do they not match, but I have two left shoes. That’s a problem, I have a left foot and a right foot.
W.T.H.
I also had somewhere to go after work and hadn’t planned on going home, so I did what any two year old would do when presented with shoes. I put those bad boys on and walked around like it was nothing.
I had to show my co-worker though, she said no one would notice. No sooner than she finished her sentence, in walked another coworker and she said, “I noticed when I was walking behind you, one is shiny and one is not.”
“Shut up.”
The left shoe on the right foot didn’t hurt at all and since most people think I’m crazy anyway, I prefer comical, I had no qualms about wearing two left shoes. It was only when I went to the ladies room that I felt a little self-conscious about who might be looking at my shoes. I silently cursed myself for not finishing the book, How to Levitate over a Public Toilet for Dummies.
After people finished laughing at my gaffe nobody seemed to pay much attention to my shoes until my last trip to the ladies room. I’m in one of the stalls handling my business and I hear someone say, “Bye Val, have a Happy Easter.” I’m thinking now how did they know it was me? Then I remembered the famous words of Mars Blackman: It’s gotta be the shoes.
Sometimes my mom (hereinafter referred to as “E”) will surprise me and say or do something funny that gives me a glimmer of hope that we may actually be related. Blood related.
I often wonder about my ancestry and I just don’t see the connection.
Sesame Street used to have a segment – not sure if they still do – called One of These Things is Not Like The Other, I think. Anyway, a Muppet would compare four items, but one of the items doesn’t belong because it’s slightly different from the others.
One of these things is not like the others,
One of these things just doesn’t belong,
Can you tell which thing is not like the others
By the time I finish my song?
Well I’m the slightly different object. Odd man out. The one that doesn’t belong. This is not a sit on the couch moment and E nor anyone else ever made me feel that way. I adopted the notion on my own and I wear it well.
She showed no favoritism among her children, just what we imagined, and we imagined my brother as her favorite. We add no animosity to it. But since I’m the closest to E, in proximity, in my mind, only I can collect brownie points and that puts me at an advantage over what anyone else believes.
I’m just saying when E does flaunt humor, she’s playing my song. I feel a connection, where I belong. West Virginia.
Anyhoo, we don’t have too many conversations on the phone because I’m a low talker and I hate the phone. Occasionally we’ll talk after Jeopardy but we don’t engage in small talk. She can’t hear me and I can’t speak up.
Regardless of infirmities, young or old, everyone receives the same amount of decibels from my larynx, I show no partiality. I can’t talk loud, scream or yell. If I ever got mugged, I would have to Tweet a scream because no one would hear me. I’ve never had an argument, but discussions. There is no yelling to my kid down the street to come inside, I’d have to send a messenger. And my kid doesn’t go down the street.
So I use the phone for its intended purpose: to impart information and hang up.
One evening E and I spent at least 15 minutes on the phone and she told me about an incident that happened at work. E works in a department store and has to deal with the-customer-is-always-right-and-knows-better-syndrome. One customer in her line was giving her the run around, trying to find a loophole in the system and make a purchase without following the procedure. Until she met: By the Book E.
So the woman says to E, “You don’t know what you’re doing.” Now if I was in the store, I would have let out a low growl to indicate my displeasure in her speaking to E that way, but I wasn’t. Or I would have taken a step back and let E handle it, and she did. So she says to the woman: “I don’t know what I’m doing because I’m listening to you tell me what to do.” And she went off on the woman.
E is smart and good at whatever she does, once she learns how to do it. When she’s not looking for the glasses she’s already wearing or the pocketbook she left in another department and then frantically calling her kids claiming it was stolen, she has a brilliant mind. All cashiers are not obtuse – forgetful but not dumb – don’t assume people can be treated that way because of their job.
So, E completed the customer’s transaction and handed her the receipt. Then she says, “Hand me the receipt back so I can write my name on the bottom and you can tell Department Store who gave you outstanding service.”
I was tickled and proud at the same time.
She said the customer stood there with her mouth open, shocked, and the people behind the woman behaved like they were being served by the Soup Nazi. It’s nice to be able to control a crowd with an act of lunacy.
I think news of E’s going off spread across Department Store’s floor like wildfire. She was untouchable for the rest of the day. I could enjoy that kind of authority, when people get ready to disrespect you, and then they remember “the incident” and think better of it.
The funny part is, the people standing in line behind the woman said, “Aren’t you Valerie’s mother?” They were friends of mine from my side of town. I said, “You told them no, right?” Neither one of us wants to be embarrassed by the other, we value our reputation. Mine is slightly more tarnished than hers, but I still like to keep what I have left, “spit-shined”. I’m sure if I was out in public causing a commotion, she would deny knowing me too. Nothing personal.
She answered in the affirmative, but assured me she did not use any profanity during her tirade. Like what was I going to do if she did. I still wish I could meet the woman who disrespected my mother, I won’t use any profanity either, but I do have a few choice words I’d like to share with her.
I should have posted this sooner, but sometimes I like to sneak out the back door, unnoticed. My apologies. For those who have been asking, I haven’t officially left EntreCard, my account is still open. Right now, I do not feel like dropping nor do I have the time to do so, anymore.
Without checking stats, I’m certain the majority of my traffic arrived via Entrecard and I will give a lot of that back, but I’ll take my chances.
I still plan to post to this blog daily as often as I can and spend a little more time visiting blogs. I never did say thank you, but thank you to the people who come here. I’ve found some great blogs from commenters and appreciate your feedback on my posts. If I don’t already have you in my reader, I’m sure we’ll meet again in the blogosphere.
I better go post something, it’s been a while. I’ll be right back!
