After a few minutes...
THUNK! THUD! BAM! BAM!
I had a friend of mine just send me an email titled "How to tell the sex of a fly"
My question is - why would you want to know?
Labels: Other stuff
Okay, we need to have a little talk.
We need to talk about what you are naming your kids. I'll give you some examples.
Laniqua Junior ShaRhonda Chaquita Tequilla Love America
Yes, you know who you are. Shame on you for embarrassing your children this way.
What in the hell are you doing?
Last I checked Laniqua isn't a name, it's not even a word. Why didn't you just name her "I can't think of shit to name her".
I can see Junior as a nickname - but Junior is not meant to come BEFORE the last name. I hope we've gotten that all cleared up.
ShaRhonda? What? Did you hear someone with a hairlisp say the name Rhonda and it sound real good to ya?
Chaquita. What in the hell would you want to name her that when all it's going to do is remind you what you threw up while you were pregnant.You know your kid is going to get picked on mercilessly being named after a banana. Can't you just hear it being called down the halls at school "HEY! BANANA GIRL! I'VE GOT A BANANA FOR YA!"
Tequilla. I don't want to know what you were drinking when she was conceived. I don't want to know any thing about it - naming her Tequilla is TMI. Why don't you just name her "Which one is my baby daddy?"
Love. How dumb are you? You know this kid got the shit kicked out of her in grade school and was tortured by the bullies. "I would Love for you to come over here and kiss my ass" I'm sure was a popular response.
America. I can just see a group of doctors and archaeologists in discussion. Archaeoligist - "South and Central America are so unspoiled and have so many hidden treasures." Doctor - "What the hell are you talking about? She has 5 kids already! There's nothing unspoiled about her. Any hidden treasures she had were found a long time ago." Archaeoligist - "Huh?"
I could go on and on.
Labels: Other stuff
C is now an official miniature Frankenstein - bald type... with drool (drool is a very "in" accessory these days). He toddles here, he toddles there, he toddles everywhere! with his itsy-bitsy arms out-stretched and stiff legs .
He wears black and blue badges of pride on his little noggin and the occasional scratch on the cranium (as a decorative accompaniment). You should see him model them.
The animals in the house are all terrified. The dog won't come out of his kennel, 2 of the cats hide under the bed and the other looks down on him from his rather lofty position on the back of the couch. You can see him tease my poor little man by twitching his tail like a flag in the breeze and when C gets to close, he wraps it around him like a mantel and looks at him with those cat eyes of his. (You know the look - the flat eyed stare they give you that says "Don't you dare you loathsome imbecile")
He says "DAddEE" all the time now and last night was the first night I have heard "mamamam" in over a week - but I do not despair! He did say MA MA first!
Every minuscule dot on the floor is braced for examination. All amoebas, microbes, viruses and anything else I have tried to kill, have been ordered to stand in very crooked lines (to coincide with his very crooked steps) for his daily inspection when we come home. Sometimes he holds surprise inspections just before bed to make sure. Sure of what - I have no idea. But! he is diligent!
He is exercising his vocal cords as frequently and as loudly as possible - as my neighbors can attest. It does seem to work to our advantage since the squirrels can't seem to take the high frequency screaming and have mysteriously disappeared. Unfortunately, I can't take the high frequency screaming either - I do not however, have the luxury of being able to disappear. BUT LO! I do have the baby cork (a.k.a. the pacifier) to bless the land with peace once more.
I have cancelled my make-believe membership at the local gym since I am getting my exercise at home playing "Round-Up" with C - which he enjoys tremendously - except when I pick him up and move him.
L has gone into hiding in her room and will only come out when he's sleeping as he tends to treat her like a cute and squirmy jungle gym with that elusive and mysterious stuff that he craves ... HAIR. It ultimately ends up as a sorry sort of wrestling match with L trying to gently disengage herself from grasping fingers and small fists without hurting him. The entire time, both of them screaming and squealing so loudly I think they are trying to damage my hearing so that I won't fuss about how loud the radio and TV is in their later years.
I have been threatening to get one of those leashes for children but just can't bring myself to get one as I feel like I would have to take him out for a walk a few times a day so he can go to the bathroom. This is not the direction I feel that we should move in so that idea is out. I am still considering duct tape.
C is 10 months old and still doesn't have a tooth in his head. (Of course, where else in and on his body would they be?) I do not call him the toothless wonder since that is the nickname for our rear... well, you know. I'm having trouble believing that all of that screaming isn't from teething, but regular checking of his gums have yielded only that - gums - all slimy and icky - no teeth. God help me when he does start teething. I think I'll just go ahead and invest in some of those BOSE headphones.
Keeps all sound out.
OOOHHHH - the luxury.
I've been thinking about L and how fast she's growing. I've realized that time is really getting away from me. In a month she will be 8 yrs. old and on the doorstep of puberty ( I hit it when I was 9). GOD! That is so scary!!!!
My angel will screaming at me very shortly for any reason that she can find - and for no reason. I tremble to think about it.
I look back and I think when she was:
A BABY - hurry up and get bigger so we can play together and I won't have to change your diapers. I'm not really that good with babies - but I do love kissing your velvety soft, and very chubby little cheeks.
A TODDLER - WOW! Aren't you so cute! I love to watch you try to put your shoes on. Blond hair in a natural afro. I love it best when you run to me with your arms stretched out and reaching high.
A KINDERGARTENER - Whoa! My kid is going to school! I feel so weird. Isn't she cute in her little school clothes?
ELEMENTARY SCHOOL - I am so, so old. You are so smart and beautiful. Kick the other kids butt if you have to but only if they hit you first.
I'm to young for my daughter to scream at me and think hateful evil thoughts about me. The sad part of this is that I know she is going to. She is entirely to much like her mother - and I was an evil, evil child.
L has lost both of her front teeth. She is so cute.
I've been torturing her with her cuteness.
"Say 'Thistles have thorns.'"
"Come on sweetie - PLEASE! Pretty soon they will both be grown in and I'll never get another chance to her you say it."
"Please." "Please." "Pleease." "Oh pretty, pretty pleeeaassee!"
"Oh alright! PTHistles have Pthorns." You can see her tongue sticking thru the gap trying to make the "TH" sound.
"YOUR SO CUTE! DO IT AGAIN!" I say giggling.
"PTHistles have PTHorns." we're both giggling now
"COOL! Now say 'Fish have fins.'"
"FFFFFISSSHHHHH have FFFFFINSSSSSSSSSSS" enough air escaping the gap to blow out a candle.
"YOU ARE SO CUTE! Do it again"
"Mom, you need help, you know that don't you."
"I don't care! Do it again"
"I'm calling grandma"
Pulling into the driveway after work/school/daycare:
"Gimme a kiss oh short one with blond hair."
"Come on! Mommy's need kisses to" I said in a sing song voice.
"Okay. You don't have to kiss me, but tell your wonderful Mama that you love her"
Insert the "You're crazy look" here.
"Oh, you are just being a Jr. Booger. Say - "I love my wonderful mother""
"I can't. I'm mute."
Insert my look of disgust here.
My hubby C.
a.k.a Slave, Boogerhead, Gas Man, Baby, My Love, Perfect Man or Damn it!.
Which ever name I choose seems to fit at the time. What is that old saying "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."
I have maligned him publicly on my blog, I must make corrections to your thinking.
Hubby is great. He does laundry, dishes, floors and windows. He is also a far better cook than I could ever hope to be. He supports me in everything I do. If I want to give something a go he tells me to go for it. He stops by the office on most Fridays so we can go have lunch together. He holds me tight. He kisses me when he walks in the door after work. He watches the kids so I can have a few minutes to myself. He tells me I'm wonderful. There's not a day that goes by that he doesn't tell me he loves me at least 5 times. He lets me yell and scream about anything and everything that happened in my day and then hugs me and tells me I'm the best. He is a hard worker - has never been lazy a day in his life. He empties the kitty litter box. He changes diapers. He snuggles. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me softly. He's funny. He is interested in my thoughts and values my opinions. He's human. He's a fabulous dad.
He loves me.
Eat your hearts out.
Okay, I have asked a couple of gentleman that I know what gets under their skin in relation to their wives and this is the information that I got back.
Gentleman #1 - "Nothing really. I've been married so long now, I don't let it bother me any more" He did bring up just after that that he at one time lived in a household of 4 women and someone was always "on the rag" and that bothered him.
Gentleman #2 - To paraphrase - It bothered him when he would do something like take off his socks and he would get the response of "You never put your socks away" or "You always leave dirty dishes in the sink" It wasn't "You forget to put your socks in the dirty clothes" or "You left dirty dishes in the sink again" For him it was the exaggeration that he ALWAYS or NEVER did something or didn't do something that bothered him.
Now you may be wondering if either of these gentleman are my husband. They aren't. I didn't want to ask my hubby this question. Why? I wasn't sure if I wanted to hear the answer. That doesn't mean I haven't asked before - because I have. I do ask from time to time what is bugging him so that I/we can work on it to have a more harmonious environment to live in. It's just that I had asked him this question about a month ago and he answered "Nothing really". I didn't want to screw this up with him coming up with something that does bother him. I'm enjoying this.
So with that said, I'm going to assume that the men out there really have nothing to complain about with us women. Unless you have something to add? I doubt it - since I still haven't gotten a comment on this site. I'll just enjoy the fact that I'm right AGAIN!
Labels: Other stuff
Why oh why, do we get married? Sure you love this person, sure you want to be with this person, but lets take an in depth look at what we all put up with.
-The damn toilet seat is left up.
-Hair in the sink from shaving. Not all in one pile - no no - sprinkled liberally ALL OVER the damn sink and on the counter. How exactly does he aim those little hairs behind the faucet where it's hard as hell to clean? I have to make a little cork-screw point with the damn Clorox wipes and run it behind there several times before they become detached from all the shaving cream gluing them down, then I have to get a hammer and chisel and remove the shaving cream itself. I swear he does it on purpose. I can see him in my minds eye flinging the miniscule bits while chuckling softly - the evil glint blazing in his eye. "Damn her for not fixing steak!"
-The lid on the damn toothpaste is off and you have to deal with that especially hard, crusty bit while brushing your teeth. You can feel it moving around your mouth, slithering over your gums and getting wedged in your teeth. They only way to deal with this phenomenon is to spit it out and start again, or pin it with your toothbrush and try to dissolve it. Is he trying to send me a message that just regular toothpaste won't do? Is he implying that I need something akin to power tools to get rid of my morning breath? Or is he simply to damn lazy to put the top back on. Either way, he's in for it.
-The damn toilet seat is left up.
-He stomps thru the house with those size 30, steel-toed boots with crud all over them. Why in the hell can he not take the fuckin' things off in the utility room like a normal damn person? Why must he track leaves, mulch and whatever the hell else he's stepped in- all thru my house for the baby to pick up and put in his mouth? Does he have this obsession with seeing me vacuum? Does he think I make the perfect little home maker? He won't think so when I put some itch weed in his under pants will he? He obviously doesn't see me grumbling and definitely doesn't hear me while vacuuming " sorry ass mother fucker".
- What in the hell is that SMELL? I swear it's either the feet or the ass and I don't want to smell either one of them. I'm concerned for the children. The fumes that emit from this man could possiblely cause dain bramage.
-The damn toilet seat is left up.
-I don't know about yours but mine leaves wads of paper towel all over the house. I could see leaving maybe one or two here or there on the kitchen counter if you're caught up in doing something else. But DAMN IT, he leaves them ALL OVER the house. I'll walk into the bed room and there'll be a great big wad of paper towel on the dresser. THE DRESSER! We only keep a roll of paper towel in the kitchen - how in the hell did it make it all the way into the bedroom for crying out loud? I know I didn't leave it there - I don't use the mirror on the dresser because it's a crappy, cheap mirror - so why the hell should I clean it more than semi-annually? And I wish I could say that he restricts himself to leaving his presents on the dresser and on the kitchen counter but he doesn't - when I say they are all over the house - I mean they are all over the house! the kitchen counter, the dresser, the chest of drawers (I guess so it won't feel left out), the end tableS, the couch, the recliner! but they are noticeably absent the the fuckin' trash can.
-Getting grabbed while unloading the dish washer or cooking dinner. Gentlemen, WHAT IN THE HELL ARE THINKING? We have sharp object in our hands! Do you think that we are suddenly going to be over come with the urge and take you right there on the kitchen floor? NO! It only pisses us off. And you wonder why you get cold at night.
-The damn toilet seat is left up.
Now I know I have revisited the toilet seat thing a few times already, but it pisses me off more than anything else. I will be happy to pick up you damn paper towels if you will just put the seat back down. I do NOT want to wake up at 3am to go pee and get my butt wet. God knows I'm not a slender woman - what happens if I get wedged in? And when I complain about it - you telling me that since we live in the age of women's lib. - I should put it up for you. This is not endearing, this only pisses me off more. I did not buy that fuzzy little toilet seat cover only for it to be squished against the tank 24/7. I intentionally bought one that was extra fuzzy so it would automatically fall back down when you tried to lift it up. THAT - dear sir - is why you have to pee while holding it up. (This should not be a problem for you because I notice in the morning you pee bent over anyway) And to be honest - they don't all do that - just that one type - I have invested heavily in them over the years. When they get to the point that they aren't fuzzy enough to keep the lid down - I'm out to buy a new one. It cures my wet ass syndrome every time.
We'll visit what men have to put up with women later - I'll have to ask someone. I can't possible think of what could be upsetting about us.
This is the first blog posting I ever did. I kept it for sentimental value.
I think I'll start with a topic that has been circulating around here pretty hot and heavy lately...at least in my mind...Christmas Trees.
Due to the ever tightening bands of political correctness - we're not even supposed to call them Christmas Trees anymore. They're Holiday Trees. The origins of this name intrigue me. Where did it come from? Have people been buying Thanksgiving Trees and St. Patricks Day Trees behind my back? Do people buy Kwanza Trees? How bout Hanukkah Trees. Is there any occassion in the Buddist or Muslim calender that includes decorating trees around Christmas time? I think we would all agree that there are no trees propin' up outside the local grocery store any other time of the year.
My frustration with this silliness is indescribable. Companies are willing to make the money off of Christmas but are unwilling to call it Christmas. "Here, have a Holiday Tree." "Wrap your holiday presents in bright holiday paper with holiday bows." "I made a Holiday pudding - enjoy". Radio stations are even afraid to play traditional religious Christmas carols because of the reference to Jesus. Listen to them.
I'm not a Bible beater, but - JEEZ, give me a break! Christmas is to celebrate the birth of the Christ child. After all he did for us, the least we can do is celebrate HIS birthday with out muddling it in political mumbo-jumbo. Let's at least keep one thing free from stupidity.
Labels: Other stuff
I posted this on my other blog 12-14-05. I have killed that one so that this one may thrive.
I think that would accurately describe it. Whether you are referring to the da-ding da-ding of the Salvation Army Bells, the high pitched rattle of a multitude of tiny little bells on Santa's sleigh, or the pitiful clink-clink of the two nickels and a penny in my pocket.
I used to love Christmas. People are generally friendlier, the air is crisp and carries the intoxicating aroma of a plethora of fireplaces (let's not forget the intoxicating effects of spiked Eggnog), and snow covers the ground in a never ending crunchy coating (and comes -very conviently - with a matching hat for your house.) All of my neighbors got together for a Christmas get together to celebrate - nothing fancy - mostly spiked Eggnog and a few pigs in a blanket; but we all celebrated the season and enjoyed our friendship. Marshmallows (pronounced: marshmellows) burning over an open fire and grotesquely twisted coat hangers decorated our neighbors house when we all departed. All of us kids would laugh and sing along with the adults in the extremely unharmonious rendition of most Christmas carols, then giggled at the grown-ups as the eggnog did it's job. By the time "The Twelve Days of Christmas" came around (this is when I asked my mom what a parsnip was and how did it get in a pair of trees?) we kids ventured into another room and tortured each other - as befitting the age. All adults groaned and stuck their faces in a cup of coffee (and who knows what else) the next morning and swore they wouldn't go back the next year, but they always did. The rest of the neighborhood kids and I never got to much for Christmas but we had a few things and we shared and play together after exclaiming how neat that was and this was and can I play with that? Favorite toys were of course secreted away into dark and mysterious cubbies and sock drawers to be silently fawned over, eventually gotten bored with and destroyed. I always wanted Christmas to last for ever.
Okay, to be honest, this in not how it happened at my house. We had a few presents under the tree, we didn't go to the neighbors house, and my idea of spiked Eggnog was Eggnog with a sprinkling of nutmeg floating across the pale, thick mass that would eventually stick together in thick brown globuals, and we didn't have snow. But that was how I imagined how Christmas was and if I looked at the Christmas decorations long enough and peered into the neighbors house hard enough, I could be a part of that. That would be my Christmas too.
Instead, I went home to a house not decorated for Christmas save for the Christmas tree that was put up among swearing and grunting from my mother (she was a single mom to my brother and I). I would watch in tortured impatience for her to saw off the bottom of the tree and soak the trunk in water overnight, then finally the next night she would manhandle it into the living room and pierce the trunk with screws from the tree stand. She would grab the carefully wrapped Christmas tree lights out of the box and wrap the tree in multied hues while exclaiming and cussing over how the lights got tangled up anyway and for me to stop trying to help 'cause I was only getting in the way. I never understood how I could get in the way when there was just two of us doing the lights. I would dance from tiptoe to tiptoe while decorating the tree. We would all lovingly caress our favorite old traditional ornaments and my brother and I would grimace over the ornaments that mom put on the tree from when we were in kindergarten. Deformed- and askew even in their deformity- she would always put them up and tell us to stop fussing about it. This whole affair was punctuated with her pausing to smoke a cigarette here and there, and they would mostly burn up in the ashtray while she tried to satisfy me fanatical urge to decorate the tree. She smoke would encircle the top the the tree - giving it it's own special wreath and eventually blurring the light slightly as the nicotine stuck to the bulbs. My brother would stand back to view the tree critically from time to time. He was older and wiser - at least I thought so at the time - and would make suggestions...do think this would be better? do you think we should...? or could we try...? In my mind helping to make the Christmas Tree that we had that year the best one we ever had.
I have two children of my own now, and I DREAD Christmas. We have an artificial tree - anything to make the holiday season go smoother, easier. I'm considering buying another one, one of the new ones with the lights already on it so I don't have to bother. I catch myself fussing at my daughter to move because she is in the way when we put on the lights, and make myself soften and let her help. She craves Christmas. She can't wait to decorate the tree. I can't wait to put it away. Everyday Christmas comes closer my stomach clenches tighter and my eyes become narrower - virtual slits by the time Christmas Eve lands on us - very handy when trying to spot a bargain at the store. I have purchased a few decorations for the house but only put them up after I have been sufficiently harassed by my "Mini Me" to put them out. The constant singing of the same Christmas Carols. If Frostie goes Thumpity - thump-thump one more time I swear I'm going to scream, and I have a couple of suggestions on what Rudolph can do with the shiny red nose.
Labels: Other stuff
Dear Little Baby Dude,
Tomorrow you will be ten months old. You are growing into a little man that looks, acts, and we can only guess, that you think like dad too.
I do have a few questions for you at this juncture of our lives as you will be 1 year old very shortly and I want to make sure we are good to go when we hit that longed-for land mark.
1) Why don't you sleep all night? I understand it is your job as a baby to make sure that mom and dad are kept on their toes, but do you have to do this at 2, 3 and 5:30 am? I would like a copy of the rule book you are following as I am sure it states in there somewhere that you have to sleep all night by the time you are 4 months old. If you have been cheating, rest assured I will not retaliate. I will grin and kiss your fuzzy little head and rock you to sleep, soothed with the knowledge that my son is devious, like me. I will however, stick my tongue out when you aren't looking because a) it's not very nice of you not to sleep all night, b) I have to do it for my sanity (where ever that may be)
2) Why do you scream when I'm standing 5 feet away from you? You can see me. I'm right there. There's no need to be upset. Just because my old gray shorts are tatty, my T-shirt is a size to small and I haven't shaved my legs is a week is no reason to cry until your face looks like an overgrown and over ripe cranberry. Now, if you are crying because of those things, we really need to talk about how it's okay to look scary at home in front of the people you love most,but how you must look great to those who will never see you again. (I have violated a sacred woman's rule in telling you this, but since you are a baby, you'll soon forget it and I will not be excommunicated from the Sacred Order of Driving Men Crazy by Making them wait to Long Order)
3) Why do you wait to pee until I've taken the diaper off? You know what is getting ready to happen when I put you on your back with the wipes and a fresh diaper beside me. Can't you just go then? It's not like you make it easy for me to change your diaper so it will be quick and easy and somehow be caught off guard while trying to relieve yourself to keep your new diaper fresh as long as possible. You seem to have mastered the perfect way to squirm, wiggle, kick and flail to avoid me unsnapping your garments. Is this just a way to get back at me because I have threatened to tape you to the floor with duct tape?
4) Why do you drool? I know your swallowing mechanism isn't broken. I had it checked at the pediatrician's office and he said it was just fine. Do you like that just wet feeling all down your chin and on your chest? Can you say mold? Ew.
5) How exactly to you maneuver the bib so it looks like a cape? Granted, you have finally gotten to the point where you can do a lot of different things with those little baby hands, but you've been doing the cape thing for months and months. It's one of the many reasons we call you Super Baby.
6) Why do you have to pull hair? Your sister and I and literally being snatched bald headed by your little hands. Are you jealous because you hardly have any at all? If that's the case, I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do for you. I refuse to get you a wig. If you like, I can have the cat sit on your head for a few hours each evening.
7) Why do you chase the cats? You never catch them. Sometimes they meow, hiss and run when they see you coming. Is this some sort of secret code that entices you? Please let me know as soon as possible so I can have their little voice boxes removed if necessary. This does not bode well for the women in your life. It concerns me that you like it when women (the cats) hiss, run and ignore you.
8) How is it possible for you to fart like your dad? You are only 10 months old, he is 31 and an accomplished gas man. Did you some how receive training from him in the womb while I was sleeping? Please stop doing this as I am becoming more and more confused on who to blame.
9) How is it possible for you to push out more than you take in? I'm no science major, but I know you can't possiblely have that much poop. We don't feed you enough to justify it. If you were a 300 lb baby, we still could not feed you enough to justify all that poop. Please rectify this quickly as the local land fill has our pictures on it's 1 most wanted list.
10) Do you have to smack me in the head? I don't mean with just your hands, even though that is bad enough. But you do it with any sort of implement there. Some times you will crawl across the room just so you can get something to ding me in the head with. Now, I would like to say that it's cute because you are a baby, but I'm sorry, no such luck. It just plain hurts. Then to make matters worse, you laugh at me while I'm rubbing my head where you so cleverly dinged me just moments ago. Your sister has learned the "Duck and Dodge" dance, something she should not had to have learned until she had children of her own, but you have forced her into early maturity. Shame, Shame, Shame.
I realize that some of these questions amuse you, especially the diaper one, but if you refuse to answer, I know a little baby who will have his diaper changed every hour and will have to eat carrots and peas for the rest of his life. No, I'm not worried about my sanity - you don't seem to be, so why should it matter.
I was talking with a co-worker of mine yesterday and he was telling me a story about his grandaughter. How when she was 4 yrs old and her mother told her she couldn't have any more chocolate milk until after dinner to which she promptly responded "You're just killing me mom"
Those are the moments we live for. Well, we at least look back fondly on.
On of my favorite moments with L was about a year ago. I was fixing dinner and she came up to me after doing her homework and said. "Mom, I know what a period is." My heart almost stopped. I immediately tried to brace myself for what was coming next. Frantically I wondered who had talked to her about this - cause I was gonna kill em.
"Oh really? What is it?" I asked nonchalantly. I was stalling, trying to come up with first grader answers to any mis-information she had.
"It's that dot at the end of a sentence." she said. And she said it proudly. Her face gleeming with a satisfied grin.
I almost dropped the spoon I was holding. There was no way I could have stopped the look of surprise that planted itself on my face. I let out a bark of a laugh and grinned back at her.
"Yes it is sweets. You're right."
"Then why are you laughing?"
When I am 80 years old and dandeling my great grandchildren on my knee, I will remember her with her face looking up at me smooth with youth, smudges of dirt on her cheeks and chin, blond curly hair tangled from a long day of playing outside, so proud that she knew what a period was.
Okay, Walmart checkout people, lets bond on the requirements of doing your job.
1) Stand there
2) Scan the little bar code
3) Bag my stuff so nothing gets screwed up or squished
4) Give me a receipt
I DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT need you to tell me all the useful things I can do with used dryer sheets. USED DRYER SHEETS! Come on!
By the time I get to you, I have been fighting through the over- packed isles, stuffed full of rednecks dressed in their best camouflage pants, the T-shirt with the fewest holes in it and the truck driver hat shoved firmly onto their head, Yuppies smugly looking down their nose at me because I am at Walmart - avoiding the fact that they are to, old ladies in those motorized carts who either run right over top of you or are scared to hit the accelerator, and "Sales Associates" who avoid me like the plague.
I have listened to babies crying, heathenistic little monsters screaming, middle class mothers talking on their cell phones while screaming at their screaming children(read "heathens"), old men farting and elevator music being played loud enough to be heard slightly over the bedlam in the store.
I have stood in line for 20 mins, shifting from foot to foot while feeling very uncomfortable that the guy behind me is either checking me out with appreciation or he is storing jokes for later. I have looked everywhere I can possiblely think of to avoid looking at the rearend of the overly large woman in front of me, the tabloid headlines glare at me from their wire rack holders and all the little last minute do-dads that are stocked there for the impulse buyers are watching me.
I am irritable and my feet hurt from having to walk from one side of the store to the other trying to find out if you keep the bunion protectors over by the pharmacy, in the shoe department, or over there - lost somewhere in the depths of the grocery isles. I want desperately to tell the lady in the line on the other side of the divider that her baby needs changing because I can tell all the way from here - it's either that, or the old man in front of her mis-timed his daily dose of Metimucil.
When I try to swipe my debit card, your card reader is wobblely and I have to practically pin it to the counter to be able to swipe it and then it won't read my card and I have to repeat this process Over and Over while the card reader does a little serpentine dance.
Please do not try to draw me into conversation. A nice "Hi" will do just fine. Ring up my stuff. I want to leave. This has not been a great shopping experience.