More Things You Shouldn't Say...

To a perimenopausal woman with pms who has run out of Lexapro:

"Well Ma'am, you really should order them before you run out. I don't think we'll be able to get your prescription taken care of until after the weekend."

"I know the recording SAID they'd be ready after six p.m. last night, but it still takes 24-48 hours to process the prescription."

"Like I said, you really SHOULD order them before you run out."



Oh, and these gems should be avoided as well:

"We're out of coffee"

"You made it last. How did you NOT KNOW we were out of coffee? "

"Why are you crying?"



And depending on how you say them, these are no good either:

"Hi!", "Hello!", "How's the job search going?", "Can I have a drink of water?"

Just f.y.i.

This public service message has been brought to you by the crazy ass bitch who lives in my body until Monday.

You're welcome.

pet peeves

It's that time of the month again. Well, I guess it's always kind of that time of the month for me, what with the perimenopausal crawl to eventual relief. I told my darling husband that I was going to be a bitch for only about ten more years. Maybe eight if we're lucky!

Anyway, I started thinking today in the car about things that happen in the world that drive me nuts. Besides George Bush. I can't even go there. No, these are things that are out of my control that other people do. Like driving in my blind spot for over a mile when I'm trying to change lanes. Or using bad grammar. (Not just the occasional grammatical faux pas, like beginning a sentence with "Or", but people who say things like "So I goes" or "ain't" all the time). It grates at me like nails on a chalk board. I know that my writing is full of it, and I apologize profoundly if I'm causing you to tear out your hair. If it makes you feel any better, it makes me crazy too.

The thing that really gets in my craw though, and makes me actually want to open my mouth and say something instead of just keeping my mouth in a firm Lutheran line, is people who smoke around kids. I. Hate. It.

Now, I had parents who both smoked, and my sister, who I love to bits and pieces has smoked since I was in second grade. I have begged her to stop since I was SEVEN, to no avail. She stopped briefly when she was pregnant with her son, and to her credit, she doesn't smoke anywhere near others or in her home. It makes me so sad to be resigned to losing her sooner than I want to. She is, however, respectful of others and aware of the effect her smoking has on others, and she goes to great lengths to damage only her own lungs. It's people who smoke in crowded outdoor areas and think just because they are outside they aren't affecting others make me a little nuts. That's my air too, and I'd rather not take your nicotine into my lungs thank you very much. Usually, though, I just move out of the way if I can. And that's just it. I can. Because I'm a grown up and can use my legs to walk away. Those folks who smoke with children in a stroller, or God forbid, while they are being held by the smoker, well it makes me want to just take that baby away until they are finished with their cigarette, then give them a good talking to. Or use my powers of Lutheran Guilt to make them change the error of their ways. I don't though, because I don't want to be arrested, and I don't want everyone at my son's school talking about how his mommy is just nuts. But honestly, go ahead and kill yourSELF, if you are so inclined, but do you know the damage you are doing your children? Do you care? It makes me NUTS.

What are your pet peeves? Perimenopausal Judgemental Lutherans? Let me know...

Costco madness and shopping for shoes from Good Will

I just got back from Costco, and I was in a pissy mood because a) Costco makes me bat-shit crazy with the slow people who park their carts right at the beginning of the aisle so they can sample the tasty morsels or hold bookclub discussions over "The Secret" in the book section. Here's a "secret" for ya - get your head out of your ass and move your cart because you're blocking this aisle, b) we were parked right next to a car that had bumper stickers that said "Marriage = One Man and One Woman" as well as "Protect Teen Girls" (clearly SOMEONE isn't getting any and doesn't want anyone else to have any fun either), and c) I'm a perimenopausal woman with pms. Not that you could tell or anything. So I thought to combat all this negativity I was feeling I could write about a really wonderful, nice thing that happened the other day when Joe-Henry and I were shoe shopping.

I've mentioned before that Joe-Henry was born with a pretty rare syndrome called Klippel-Trenaunay. We are fall-on-our-knees grateful that his particular involvement is so far, very minor. But one of the slightly annoying things about it (and believe me, I'll take annoying over painful and life-threatening anyday) is that it's really hard to find shoes that fit. But aside from a few thoughtless shoe salespeople, most everyone who has helped us has gone out of their way to find something to fit Joe-Henry's sweet, meaty feet. There was Jack at Harry Harris Shoes for kids in LA. Jack reminded me of the character William H. Macy played in Door to Door. Jack had kind of a lateral lisp, bad eyesight, and the sunniest disposition on the planet. He would always, always find shoes that Joe-Henry was proud to wear, and would even call us when they got a new shipment. Plus they gave out balloons that lasted longer than the shoes. Jack almost cried when I told him we were moving to another state. He and Joe-Henry were buddies, and I think that finding the right fit for Joe-Henry might have been right up there with the best part of his job. There was the lovely woman at Nordstroms, who gave us a call when they got in a shipment of extra wides. And now there is my new sweetie Will at the Pioneer Place New Balance store. Will is young enough to be my son, I don't even know if he needs to shave yet, but he is just about the oldest soul around. He's helped us twice now, and he always finds something that fits well, and more importantly than that, he always makes Joe-Henry feel great.

Kindness. Goodness. Writing about it almost makes me feel more forgiving for the slow-boaters at Costco. But not the bumper-sticker people. They're had still better stay out of my way.