Category — life goes on

Dear Creeper from the Gas Station this morning:

You can look. You can appreciate. Staring slack-jawed and following me to my car? Not cool. I wouldn’t touch you with a 2000 ft. long cattle prod, but someone might be willing if they couldn’t smell you before they saw you.

NOT fondly,

girl in dire need of coffee who does not flirt before noon

Dear Walgreens Pharmacist:

I have taken birth control since I was thirteen. That’s over half of my life. I do not have questions about it. I know you have to ask. You don’t have to apologize for asking, and it isn’t awkward. It’s my body and my medicine, and my health, and if I had a question, I would ask you, even if it was really unpleasant. Obviously, you feel it is awkward to ask me if I have any questions regarding my birth control, and that begs the question…  why do you dispense medication for a living?

Respectfully,

that girl who’s cool with her reproductive organs, like on a first name basis and everything.

Dear He Who Must Be Tolerated and Managed Up:

Seriously, quit trying to engage me in conversation when I am trying to leave for lunch. You’re two hours behind me, and I’m sorry that when you get settled in and ready to pester me, I’m starving and bitchy or not even here, but a girl has to eat (and go to Walgreens). Also, why schedule a call for a two minute conversation easily handled by email? Modern technology- is like it!

Not so respectfully,

The Thorn in Your Side

PS: Unrelated- I need some of your finger clippings for a craft project….

Dear You Know Who You Are*,

Well. We established that you make me crazy in the good way, so it only stands to reason that sooner or later, you were gonna make me crazy in the bad way. I warned you that I was difficult, and you shrugged it off… until last night. I actually feel better about you than I did before all the crazy leaked out my ears, and I almost feel safe in saying that you feel better about me. Well played, my dear.

quite fondly,

The girl who warned you that she idled at difficult

PS:  um, i probably shouldn’t tell you this, but threatening to turn me over your knee when I’m being difficult is probably not the deterrent you think it is….

Dear Daddy,

You know that thing you do where you just send me money for no reason? Now would be an excellent time to do that.

all my love,

your spoiled silly daughter

Dear You Won’t Know Who You Are, Because You’re Too Humble:

I truly enjoy our friendship. You’ve taught me more in a few months than I learned over the last ten years. When the little chat box pops up from you, I grin. Every time.

affectionately,

The girl you keep on the straight and narrow

*We have not declared open season on the blog, so he is not reading here. Yet. I’m spoon feeding him posts, and if he doesn’t run away or vomit them up, then soon. Soon.

Alternately titled: In Which I Am Humbled By Simple Tasks.

There is nothing quite like being driven to the edge of sanity by some drawer organizers. Well, maybe throwing a temper tantrum while attempting to turn a mattress or, worse- turning a mattress while also attempting to replace a bed skirt.

It isn’t that I can’t do these things. I’m certainly capable. The problem is more a matter of pride. I can’t stand to do things I’m not good at. My tolerance for doing things poorly or struggling is absurdly low.  You would think the rash of things I’ve had to handle that I’m not experienced with would have cured me of this affliction. You would be wrong. So very wrong. There isn’t anything character building about dissolving into tears over a few pieces of fabric and cardboard.

Putting things together is like a special kind of torture for me. Other people look at something and have some sort of spatial reasoning that allows them to conceptualize how the pieces come together. I develop a thin film of sweat and a lump in my throat.

It starts innocently enough. I saw some pretty drawer organizers, so I brought them home. There are two pieces; the fabric organizer with two compartments, and a stiff piece of cardboard covered in fabric to form the bottom and hold the compartments in shape. All I have to do is put the bottoms in.

Famous. last. words.

The bottom is really hard to fit into the back of the fabric. When one end is good and settled, the other end pops out. Wash, rinse, repeat. Take a deep breath. Try again. Shake hands loose. Try to laugh at yourself. Make another attempt. Stop and look at it. Try opposite corners. Fail. Throw item across room. Feel foolish. Retrieve item. Try three more times with perfect restraint, succeed the third time, pick item up out of lap only to watch the bottom fall out. Burst into tears.

Over a drawer organizer. Well, maybe moreso because there are two drawer organizers. I did finally succeed. Or so I thought. When I put the drawer organizers in the drawer, the bottoms fell out. I filled them up anyway, and am currently ignoring the fact that they are collapsing. I consider that a win. I’m also considering the use of hot glue.

The bed skirt, on the other hand, spanked my ass.

I could tell you the whole story, but I think the upshot captures it perfectly- me laying between my box spring and mattress on top of a rumpled bed skirt, muttering obscenities while hot tears slip down my cheeks. The bed skirt is currently on the top shelf of my closet. I’m going to call this a retreat and not a loss; I will fight another day.

After all, it only took me a month to master a corkscrew. Hope springs eternal.