Dammit! I Missed My Exit!

This may come as a shock to some of you, but I like to do nice things for people. A lot of times I even manage to do these good deeds without instantly mumbling things like "Yeah, you better say thank you" or "Sure, pathetic loser, I'll hold the door for you while you slowly amble through it while talking on your phone." My niceties have varied from simple things like picking up a dropped item at the grocery store for a person that appears as limber as a 2 X 4 to baking cookies for someone "just because" or even cleaning a friend's house and delivering dinner because I knew she had been really, really busy. And while I never expect to receive favors or cookies in return, I know that no matter how busy things get, true friends make certain relationships a priority and always manage to find even the smallest amount of time for each other. Or, at least, I thought I knew this but boy oh boy was I wrong and let's just say that lately there have definitely been a whole lot of cookies that haven't been given out but that's a whole different blog.

About a week ago, we went out of town for a tennis tournament. This involved a small amount of packing, planning and preparation and allowed my control-freak self to swing into action. But just as I was making the packing list on my mental dry erase board, Charlie cautiously informed me that he was going to pack his own clothes because there were certain tennis shirts he wanted to bring and he was sure that I would screw it up. Normally, relinquishing any control whatsoever makes me stammer when I speak and break into a sweat. But since we were only going to be gone for one weekend, I figured maybe this would be the perfect time to let the boy do the math and figure out how many pairs of socks to bring.

Turns out, he brought enough socks. He even remembered to pack underwear and pants. Unfortunately, though, he didn't remember to bring pajamas. And while this wouldn't have been a huge deal had we been going on vacation, it was a huge deal this particular weekend because we were at a tennis tourney so therefore weren't staying in a hotel that featured Egyptian cotton sheets on it's list of amenities. In fact, I think if I were to have read the fine print, it would have described the bedding as "Minnesota's finest 60 grit sheets."

After spending one night exfoliating all the skin off of his legs, we headed to Target in pursuit of some pajama pants. Or, at least I would have went to Target if I hadn't missed my exit. And I certainly would have just taken the next exit, waited at several sets of stoplights and went back to the Target exit if Zoe hadn't just said the dreaded words "I have to go to the bathroom." So while I normally don't acknowledge the existence of a Wal-Mart, I saw this one because it was right there and I knew that I only needed two things: pajama pants and a bathroom. As soon as I parked, though, I instantly regretted not telling Zoe that she would just have to hold it a little longer.

While Charlie waited for us and people watched, Zoe and I sprinted into the bathroom with one goal in mind: Don't. Touch. Anything. And then I felt like I was on a game show, trying to pick the one stall that wouldn't make me dry-heave. Stall #1 was out of the equation because it suffered from a combination of Bad Aim/Failure to Flush, Stall #2 was occupied, the handicapped stall was available and that extra elbow room is always so hard to resist, but Stall #3 was also a contender. Or so I thought.

Although the door to Stall #3 was ajar, it was very much occupied. Like, really oh my holy shit you can't even believe how occupied it was. A fairly voluminous elderly woman who, from what my olfactory senses told me, had forgotten she was lactose intolerant so therefore ate an entire Dairy Queen ice cream cake and four grilled cheese sandwiches and maybe a cheese ball right before she came to Wal-Mart, was sitting in Stall #3. With the door open. So that's it, we're taking the handicapped stall. And why Mrs. AARP Digestive Disturbance wasn't in there herself, I'm not quite sure.

As soon as Zoe was done with her business, she stuck her leg in the air, flushed with her foot (oh my god I was so proud!), I opened the door with my elbow and we were both about to make a beeline for the sinks. But then someone started talking to me. Someone in Stall #3.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but can you help me stand up? These stalls are just too narrow and I can't seem to find anything to hold on to. I can't even turn around. Do you have a minute?"

Seriously, people! What the fuck was I supposed to do? My kid is standing right there, pinching her nose and waiting to see if I'm going to be a good person or a candidate for Hell. There was no way I could have walked out of that bathroom knowing that I just left a poop-covered helpless old lady sitting on the toilet! Besides, I figured she had been in there a long time so obviously had figured out a way to maneuver her, um, panties to a location other than around her ankles (I would be wrong). After all, it's not like she said "Can you help me wipe my ass and then pull up my underwear, and while you're at it come over to my apartment, make me an egg salad sandwich and program my VCR?" All she wanted to know was "Can I grip your arm with both of my unwashed hands without traumatizing you for life?"

When we finally walked out of the bathroom, Charlie was standing there with his arms in the air and a "What the hell took you so long?" expression on his face, and all I could do was give him a "Don't ask. Just, don't ask." shake of the head. I did manage to say one thing, though: "Don't touch my arm."

I Need Therapy After the Retail

Since Zoe's birthday was on Wednesday and Father's Day is the day after we get back from vacation, I've had to endure more shopping than usual. As a result, this post is directed toward all facets of the retail industry that are bitching because consumers are preferring to shop online rather than wander into their stores. If you really want us, the consumer, to shop at your store and make impulse purchases from your strategically arranged end caps, here's a tip: STOP SUCKING!

Target: I understand that you aim to please in every aspect, you are obviously making a huge emphasis toward improving customer service, and you want all of your team members to appear educated and knowledgeable. In order to achieve this goal, though, you might want to teach some of your team members to use a little thing called common sense. For example, if a customer is walking quickly and doesn't make eye contact, that's usually a pretty good sign that she knows what she's looking for (birthday gift card, box of Nerds, toothpaste and sandwich bags), where to find it and is probably in a hurry, so requiring a team member to shout "Can I help you find something?" as she's sprinting by is less than pointless, because she obviously knows what aisle the sandwich bags are in. I have had the pleasure of having five, yes five different team members ask me this question within a two minute time frame. Now, I'll be the first to admit that I can occasionally look dazed and confused while standing in the home of the bullseye, but FIVE? That meant that I had to say "No, thank you" five different times, each time with a little more annoyance than the time before. I'm sure the last guy thought I was PMSing or something because the no thank you sounded a lot like "What the fuck, NO! Get off my case!" but honestly, FIVE TIMES? And even if you do say why yes, yes I do need help, I'm looking for crew socks and a new garden hose, Joe Team Member usually just jumps on his walkie talkie and ends up having to ask someone else which, in my opinion, doesn't exactly scream "knowledgeable team member."

Grocery Stores: It's 4:00, so you might want to open up a few more lanes, create self-check out lanes that actually work, quit rearranging the aisles every three months and stop cluttering up the aisles with patio furniture. Also, if you can sell fresh bananas in the cereal aisle you should certainly be able to put a basket of fresh lemons and limes in the aisle next to the tonic. And after the chaos that I witnessed during one recent trip, it might be best to schedule pre-school field trips on the days that don't coincide with free donuts and coffee for the senior citizens. Those two events are bad enough on their own without having to be intertwined into a perfect storm.

Best Buy: Holy crap do I hate this store right now. There is nothing in there that I can't find on Amazon.com, so I rarely even subject myself to the insanity. But occasionally I need something sooner than now and don't have time to wait for even two-day shipping so I head to what I envision hell would be like if the devil wore a blue shirt and sat around in air conditioning. It used to be that trying to find something on the always-changing shelves was the biggest pain in the ass, but I've recently discovered that now the worst part of the Best Buy experience is paying for your crap. During one recent trip (when, shockingly enough, I was in a hurry) I was asked the following questions, and I mostly answered them by just moving my head around since answering with actual words would have resulted in not-very-friendly responses:

1. Are you ready to check-out? (No, I've been standing here next to the "Please wait here for the next available cashier" sign holding these items because I like to waste my time.)
2. Are you paying with cash? (This is a weird question. Does anyone use cash anymore? No one pays for even a cookie with cash.)
3. Do you want to purchase the replacement plan for this video game? (That's the dumbest question ever, and no.)
4. Do you want to purchase the replacement plan for this DVD? (Okay, I stand corrected. This is the dumbest question ever, and still no.)
5. Is this a good show? (Yes, since I typically don't pay money to own full seasons of shitty shows.)
6. Oh, an iPad case. Do you have an iPad? (Oh, that case is for an iPad? I thought it was just for a really big iPod!)
7. Oh, that's kind of odd. I don't think they make an iPod that big. (Moron, yes, I have an iPad.)
8. Oooooh, iPad's are neat. (Yes, they are.)
9. Do you want to have your receipts emailed to you? (No)
10. You have been selected to receive a discount magazine subscription if you choose to do so. Are you interested? (You have been selected to get smacked in the head if you don't quit asking me all of these questions. And no.)
11. Are you a Reward Zone member? (Yes, I already gave you my card.)
12. Oh, yes you did. I'm not usually up here working as a cashier. I'm more of a department manager. (Wow, so I guess they'll give that job to just about anyone then?)
13. Okay, so please scan your card. Oh wait, did I offer you the replacement plan on the video game? (Yes, you did. And the answer is still no.)
14. Do you want the receipt with you or in the bag, or would you prefer to have it emailed to you? (Just. Give. Me. The. Receipt. I'm. In. A. Hurry.)
15. Is there anything else you need? (Yes, but they don't sell beer at Best Buy.)

Is Everyone Insane?

Since there are etiquette classes available for table manners, maybe a shopping etiquette class should be required before a person can put a foot inside a grocery store or Target. Lately, it seems like every time I'm out running errands all I come across are rude, arrogant, selfish, inconsiderate, clueless morons. It could be that everyone is suffering from SADS, or a lack of peripheral vision, or have just decided that they don't give a rats ass what anyone thinks of them because, obviously, their time/space/ego/life is much more important than everyone else's. Ideally I'd like to never have to subject my lack of patience to a retail industry ever again, but since my family requires things like food, toothpaste, vodka and science project supplies I am forced to put myself in the middle of an idiot convention on an almost daily basis.

Watch Out! If you are walking through the parking lot and see that I'm already backing up out of my spot, please do not start walking faster just so that you can go behind me and give me a nasty look like I was about to run you over and "Oh my god look where you're going why didn't you see me!" I didn't see you because I don't have x-ray vision that allows me to see through SUV's and minivans. Besides, if I had seen you, I would have been backing up much faster.

Crosswalk Courtesy: Just because the crosswalk lines span the entire width of the parking lot, it doesn't mean that you should walk diagonally through the entire crosswalk at a snail's pace while holding the hand of a small child, texting, or like I saw yesterday, doing both and pushing the cart with your foot.

Chatty Cathy: If, while shopping, you bump into someone you know and are just dying to talk to them, find a far-off corner where A) we don't have to listen to you and B) you aren't blocking off an entire aisle because you guys parked your carts facing each other. And when someone has to get by and says "Excuse me," you do not have the right to sigh loudly and roll your eyes as you move your cart because we interrupted your riveting conversation about the upcoming dance recital where your daughters get to dress up as daisies.

We're All In A Hurry: I don't know how many times I've almost been run over because some crazy cart-pushing person (who is almost always on the phone) comes flying out of an aisle without bothering to see if they're about to bash into someone that is right there. Usually, I say "Oh, SORRY!" like, sorry you're a stupid bitch and don't know how to perform the simple task of navigating aisles with even basic common courtesy. Inevitably, the person either ends up ignoring me because they never saw me or they stare at me with their eyeballs bulging out of their face, sigh loudly and say "that's okay," like their lack of brain function is all my fault.

Yes, I See Your Child. Now Go Away. Since I now have the luxury of having a two-hour window each morning to run errands without a kid tagging along, I prefer to not have to acknowledge each and every small child I see. The other day there was a little girl with a limited vocabulary sitting in one of those gargantuan wide-right-turn carts who kept looking at me and saying "Hi, hi, hi, hi" while I was trying to find some decent grapes. I finally said hi back and the mom gave that goofy little giggle and smiled at me with that "Isn't she just the most precious wonderful adorable thing you've ever seen" look, even though she wasn't that cute. So of course she continued to say hi and I played along for a couple more hi's and then made a break for it before I went insane. Unfortunately, the girl started shrieking "HI! HI! HHHHHIIIIIIII!" at the top of her lungs and I heard the mom say "Oh, sweetie. Where did that lady go?" I'll tell you where that lady went: to the other side of the store. I got a glimpse of her later on in aisle 7, but since I wasn't pushing a ginormous car cart, I was able to turn around quickly and run the other way.

The Deli Dilemma: If you really can't decide what pasta salad to get because they all look so delectable, never hesitate to tell the always-patient deli employee to "Go ahead and help her first" because some of us are just there for a pound of turkey.

Get Off The Phone: Get off the phone.

Ten New Rights For Twenty-Ten

Winter break is officially over! Now that Doug is back at the office and the kids are out of the house and enjoying school's nurturing atmosphere, I can finally get back to my hobbies, which alternate between running around and running around maniacally. Since this is Minnesota and, for the next two months, the temperature will rarely crawl above 25 degrees, the running is pretty much limited to errands and kid-related crap. Once it gets nice out, though, I'll get busier and the crazy people will start to surface, pasty-white legs and all. In order to keep these outings as pleasant and stress-free as possible, I have decided that since I'm not making any New Year's resolutions, I needed some new rights.

1. If I am behind someone that is driving more than ten miles under the speed limit, weaving between lanes, failing to accelerate at a green light, sitting at a stop sign with no intention of proceeding, or basically being a shitty driver, and this person is obviously texting or talking while simultaneously trying to fetch French fries off of the car floor and shove a double cheeseburger into their mouth, I have the right to honk at them no fewer than five times. Gestures are also acceptable as long as there aren't any kids in the car with me.
2. When another shopper at Target or the grocery store repeatedly gets in my way, and they're talking on the phone, I have the right to say "Excuse me" in a voice louder than necessary, while simultaneously giving them a look that says: "You're an inconsiderate moron. Get off the fucking phone."
3. I have the right to not have to love all of my neighbors, especially the one that specializes in using loud yard equipment after 9pm.
4. If, while at the park, someone starts talking to me about potty training, ECFE, moms clubs, sleeping habits, or is bitching about their spouse, I have the right to say: "Those topics bore me. Go away." If, however, the person compliments me on my cute flip-flops, shares details about a little-known happy hour, or wants to rip on the mom who is talking about potty training, I have the right to ask her to move in with me.
5. If a teenager that doesn't belong to me shows up in my backyard at noon for the 16th day in a row this summer, I have the right to ask him where he's having lunch and say, "Sorry, but we're all out of food."
6. If someone gives me a backhanded compliment, I have the right to not always accept it gracefully and with a smile.
7. If a little kid with a giant booger hanging out of his nose asks me for help on the monkey bars while his mom sits her bib-overalled butt on the park bench talking about potty training, I have the right to say: "NO! I'm busy. Go ask your mom."
8. When some skinny bitch fishes for compliments by saying that she "looks fat" and is "getting lines around her eyes," or asks me, "Does this Brazilian-cut bikini make me look fat?" I have the right to agree with her and answer "Yes, it does."
9. If unattended kids are throwing fistfuls of rocks at the park, and my daughter is in the direct line of fire, I have the right to yell at someone else's unattended kids and/or throw rocks back.
10. I have the right to grill more steak, less chicken, and drink more vodka.

Feel free to add to this list of rights, or use some of them for yourself as needed. After all, sharing is fun, even though I always reserve the right to say "No, it's mine!"

2009 - By The Numbers

During the past week, it seems like everybody has been saying "Where did 2009 go?" or "Man, the last year really flew by." I think that 2009 felt like it was 365 days, or approximately 12 months, long.

If it were possible for me to access the year on a DVR, there are definitely some horrific days that I would go back and delete (my hangover after the Metallica concert being the first to go). But there are also moments that I would go back and replay over and over again, because no matter how many times I think about them, I smile. Like that day at Zoe's skating lesson, when I watched a dad step on the rink and, while showing off his "Look at me I'm the coolest dad in the world look at how awesome I am I can't believe the NHL isn't calling me wow I'm the best" skating moves he caught an edge, wiped out hard and took down four kids as he slid across the rink on his ass. That is a moment I wish I had recorded somewhere.

In order to keep the year in perspective, and to reassure myself that I did more with the last 52-weeks than dust furniture and heat up hot dogs, I decided to simplify things in a way that only an anal-retentive, Type A, not-quite-a-control freak can make sense of: putting it into numbers and categories.

45...Monday night one-hour piano lessons

40...Wednesday night half-hour violin lessons

7...Sunday afternoon piano recitals

2...Times I didn't have to say: "We're leaving in two minutes. Get your shoes on, and where is your music/instrument/phone?"

150...Trips to the club for tennis related activities.

150...Times my card was scanned at the club, but that I didn't work out because I was there for kids' tennis.

143...Times that, before leaving the club, someone had to go back to the court for a coat, water bottle, sweatshirt, or racquet.

4...Times we managed to leave the club without me saying: "Let's go. Do you now have everything? Yes? Then let's go. LET'S GO!"

104...Trips to Target with a list similar to "handsoap, toilet paper, sandwich bags, Band-Aids."

104...Times I walked out of Target with things like a white t-shirt, hummus, a picture frame, dog treats, lip gloss, and a few Sharpie's. But no toilet paper.

63...Trips to the gas station to fill 'er up.

4...Times that the needle was below a quarter tank. I'm anal, remember?

20...Approximate number of visits to the liquor store.

0...Times I managed to leave the store with only the items I originally went in for.

205...Trips to the grocery store, with a list and coupons.

115...Trips to the grocery store that involved three items or less, usually taking place within four hours of the most recent visit.

0...Times I remembered to bring in the reusable shopping bags that were sitting in my car.

14...Times I vowed to order fruit instead of fries with my burger.

0...Bowls of cantaloupe/grapes/honeydew/pineapple consumed.

14...Times I ended up ordering fries instead of fruit with my burger, that also ended up being topped with bacon and pepperjack cheese.

312...Salads eaten for lunch.

312...Times I wished that salad was a burger topped with bacon and pepperjack cheese, and give me the damn fries!

18...Times that I scolded the teenager for laughing at someone's hairdo/outfit/lack of athletic ability.

18...Times that I secretly laughed with him.

315...Loads of laundry washed, folded and put away

0...White items destroyed by a red shirt

3...Yes, I actually ironed

8...Piles of not-my-dog's shit left in my yard.

13...Piles of shit strategically flung with the pooper-scooper into my neighbor's yard.

6...Average number of nights per week I managed to make dinner.

0...Dinners that didn't include a carb.

13...Times that a kid took out the garbage.

0...Times that a kid took out the garbage without being asked first.

50...Limes that saw the inside of my refrigerator.

400...Lime wedges used, which sounds really bad, but sometimes I used two in one drink, and I was nice enough to share a few.

365...Days that at some point I either yelled, gave the angry eyes, spiked a throw pillow onto the carpet, threatened to "never cook a meal again," proclaimed myself the Queen Of Waiting In The Car, alerted the kids to my "I'm not the stupidest person on Earth" status, made an empty threat, eyed the bottle of vodka before noon, used the phrase "because I said so," or got annoyed, just because.

0...% guilt.

I Swear, This Is The Last Trip To Target

"Your hair looks nice today. You're just in time for happy hour. Would you like this free chicken pot pie?" These are phrases that I love to hear. I don't even hate it when a kid says: "Hey mom. Are you going to the store anytime soon? Because I need _____ by tomorrow." The exception is when I hear that question at 9:00 PM, after I've turned my brain off and changed into pajamas pants. At that point, it's pretty much the equivalent of jamming an ice pick into my nail bed. A couple nights ago, I was jabbed by Zach.

After determining the last possible moment that the required item could arrive at school, I decided I could put off the trip to Target until the next day. I'm not sure that this was a good thing, though, since it would put me in the home of the red bullseye one week before Christmas. You can see, and hear, the desperation as people race the quickly-approaching deadline. Everyone is crabby, no one is able to use common sense, the bright red reindeer towels suddenly seem like the perfect gift for the mother-in-law, and holiday cheer is in short supply. It's a little like watching a Stupid-Off, where the person with the worst attitude and least amount of Christmas spirit is the winner.

I overheard one stressed out mom bitching at her kid: "Get off my case and cut momma just a little bit of slack already. Quit telling me about the things I don't do. I'm not perfect, okay? Now, should I get Aunt Julie an XL or XXL sleepshirt? Either way I'm sure I'll be wrong!" I glanced over to see a woman holding up two giant pieces of pink fleece, and a kid that was probably six months shy of two-years-old sitting in the cart. Did this woman really want someone in diapers to "cut her some slack?" I'm thinking that instead of stressing out about buying Aunt Julie a sleep shirt that resembled a ginormous bottle of Pepto Bismol, maybe Aunt Julie should be the one cutting this woman some slack.

As I wandered through the mayhem, I passed another woman that was pissed off because there weren't any Zhu Zhu Pets, a grandma that was disappointed with the selection of iPod cases, three kids having meltdowns in the toy department, one guy touching all of the red lace bras, a lady that was so freakishly loud I'm sure she must have had a megaphone implanted in her larynx, a display of eggnog ice cream that made me nauseous, and a little girl whining: "But I want the Hello Kitty lip gloss now! I'm tired of waiting for Santa!"

After I encountered two more kids having tantrums in the candy aisle, I grabbed the item I needed (a bag of 300 Dum Dum suckers for a fundraiser), and got the hell out. Thankfully, I am done shopping and wrapping, and except for one last trip to the grocery store, I will not have to put so much as my big toe inside any stores until after Christmas. This is probably a good thing, since it's still a little sore after I got nailed by that ice pick.