Lotsa Time

It must be summer vacation from school.  I have time to be irritated that the stupid pigs on "Angry Birds" smile at you when you lose.

Man up!

Many, many moons ago I used to swim on a swim team. I was never good, but I enjoyed it. In fact, I still adore to swim. I am so happy to have a nephew that loves to swim because it means that I get to go to the pool often!

Lately, I've been trying to swim more, even though being in a swimsuit is tantamount to having my teeth pulled with pliers, in the garage, with no painkillers. Also, being so very blonde, it makes my hair look like this:

No matter, because it feels great to my body and I have an 80 year old ankle (due to repeated injury). Swimming is the best choice for me.

Taking this very seriously, I opted last week to get up and swim at 5 a.m. FIVE A.M.! I rolled out of bed, put on my suit and got to the gym only to find three good old boys waiting to enter the pool. They clearly were very serious about swimming, carrying their apparatus and wearing these:

In case you didn't know, that is Zsa Zsa Gabor's husband, Prince Von A-hole.

So, the Speedo clad men, carrying their timers, kickboards, paddles, and other swimming gear looked at me like "What are you doing in OUR POOL?! Get out of here, fat lady in the swim suit! You are not welcome and you are going to slow us down with your pathetic swim skills."

Being the self-confident, assured single hottie that I am, I immediately thought about bolting and forgetting it all together.  I felt like I might break out in shingles just thinking about how they were going to be going so fast, and I was going to be the tortoise-like intruder.  I worried about if my back fat was showing and if they were laughing at my bed head.

But, given that I had gotten out of bed just for this, and had no other workout clothes with me, I decided to persevere.  I beat them to the three lanes of the pool, and hopped in quickly so they wouldn't my body.  I could literally read their thoughts as they thought about who was going to have to share a lane with ME. I am not a fan of sharing a lane, and didn't fancy doing it with Michael Phelps's cousins.

The last one to the lanes saw he was stuck with me and he literally drooped his shoulders.  I wanted to hang myself by my goggles.

And then...

...the man pulled out...

HIS NOSE PLUGS.

Nose plugs!

Real men don't wear nose plugs!  Neither to expert swimmers.  Or, you know, anyone that isn't these girls:

Seriously.  And I'm still single?

Anyway, I shared a lane with the nose plugger.  And I swam easily 4 times faster and farther than he did.  All those silent smack talk conversations were for nothing!

At 5:55 a.m., I left the pool feeling more awesome and confident than ever.

Victory!

Suit down!

I got roped into being a coach for a 5K thing.  If you knew me in real life, you'd know how freaking hilarious that is.  Yesterday, I had to change clothes for the Dumb Run before I left school.  While my little tattlers were at recess, I changed and went to pick up the children from the playground.  When I came out in non-professional clothing, one of my students came running to me.  Breathlessly, he said "Oh, Ms. Non-Mommy, you look BEAUTIFUL."

I was wearing Adidas pants and a D.A.R.E. shirt.  Yes, that D.A.R.E.

Why do I even bother?!?!

RIP, Non-Mommy

Through an odd set of coincidental circumstances, I ate spicy tuna roll for dinner last night, a tuna sandwich for lunch today, and a tuna steak for dinner tonight.  It didn't occur to me until I was finished with dinner that I had eaten tuna for every meal for the last 24 hours.

I now feel itchy, my skin is red, and I'm swollen.  OK, one could argue that I'm always swollen, but whatever.  I couldn't take a nap today (insomnia) and I've felt excessively shy today.  Clearly I am suffering from mercury poisoning.  It's ironic that I worry constantly about being healthy and living longer than my father, only to OD on tuna of all things.  Tuna.

I leave this world with many regrets.  I never did learn how to tie a true knot; I can only tie your basic shoe.  I'm afraid of curling irons and have to close my eyes while getting my hair done.  I also have never been to Walt Disney World.

If I make it through this, I vow to change things.  Learn to tie.  Learn to be confident.  Go to Disney World.

Feeling Fishy,
Non-Mommy

I'm Befuddled

I'm easily confused.  I mean, hello, I am a natural blonde.  But there are a few things that I don't understand, and I'm hoping you'll explain the rationale to me.

People leaving their dogs in cars.

I've been noticing that there is an old woman that leaves her dog in her car during church.  The other day, I noticed that there were dogs in a car at the gym, too.  Can people really not leave their dogs for like an hour to go to church or the gym?  What do they do when it's too warm to leave them in the car?  And I doubt they are guard dogs, because these are fluffy little dogs.  What's the deal?

The LOST Liars

I was a huge, huge LOST fan.  The producers promised us that at the end of the show, they wouldn't all be dead.  This led me to religiously watch and analyze each and every episode trying to figure it all out.  Well, and let's be honest.  This guy might have been an incentive to watch, too.

So then we go through six years of the show, and SURPRISE, they're all dead.  What the heck?  Why lie about it?  And then say "Oh, yeah and as soon as the show is over, we won't give interviews either" because you know that everyone will be pissed at you.  Not cool, J.J. Adams and Damon Lindeloff.  Not cool.  And I'm still bitter.

People That Don't Use Their Garage for the Intended Purpose

Now, this issue really doesn't apply to people that live in warm climates.  But I never understand why people fill their garage with crap and then park their cars outside.  Do they like having to get up early and warm up the car?  Do they enjoy having to scrape the windshield every day, or brush off snow?  Why would you opt to do that when you could park your car in a warm, dry room that allows you to not step outside in winter's fury?  Really, if your garage is full of crap, are you using it anyway?  Shouldn't you just toss it and put your cars in the garage instead?

Sucky, Sucky Grief

It's coming up on two years since my dad passed away and I'm suddenly all emotional for no reason!  It's so weird!  You'll be going along mostly fine, pretty much accepting that he's gone forever and then all the sudden you're a soppy mess.  What's the deal?!  How long will this go on?

And finally, NETFLIX.

Netflix, how I loved thee.  For years I've been a member of yours and loved it.  It was affordable, I could get pretty much any movie I wanted, and life was good.  But then, you had to go and screw it all up with your price change, company name change, company name change redaction, and getting all those movie companies to yank their movies from you.  Now, the streaming movies suck and you keep not adding new content.  I'm just waiting and waiting for someone else, like iTunes, to come up with a similar service and then I'm switching for good.  I just don't understand what happened.  You had a total monopoly!  Did you get greedy?  Was it mismanagement?  Whatever it was, I have fond memories but I'm ready to move on from you.  I hope your predecessor will work with my Apple TV.

I never claimed to be normal

You know the Geico commercial with the rowing hamsters?  The logical part of my brain knows, KNOWS it's not real.  And yet, when I see it I have a brief moment of discomfort thinking about poor little hamsters being trained to row and say the word "row."  It seems a bit cruel to me.  Poor little guys.

I also have to tell you that I think it is extremely unsafe to have a container of water next to the computer.  Hello!  Electrocution!

It just seems like you could get power from other sources.

And by the way, my brother in law now has my nephew saying "Row, row, row" to me.

Thanks for the support!

I've been attempting to get back into shape lately.  I've never been a terribly athletic person, but I had totally dropped the ball (and not a medicine ball!) in regards to exercise.  I've been working out with a trainer, but I think I'm frustrating her.  In all fairness, I did try to warn her.

I told her that I grew up Baptist.  There is not a flexible move in these Baptist born bones!  No matter how much I may want to, I am physically incapable of dancing or moving in any sort of fluid motion.  It's not my fault.  Blame the SBC.

I also told her that I'm directionally challenged.  I have a hard time following an exercise leader.  Do I move in the same direction as he or she?  Or do I move the same arm that he or she is moving, even though it's backwards?

I also told her that I'm a teacher. If there is one thing I can do well, it is follow directions.  However, I am going to make darn sure that I follow the directions TO THE LETTER, and I'm not going to start anything until I'm absolutely sure that my body placement is correct, I understand what I'm about to do, and more importantly, while I'm doing whatever I've been told, is anyone looking?

So during training, she kind woman keeps smiling and saying (between clenched teeth) "No, move your foot this way. Other way. More. More. Too much. No, move it back. Can you...no...move your other foot the other way."

I was telling my sister about my problems and expected her to be all sympathetic.  What did she say?

She chuckled and said "Yeah. I remember you in Jazzercise. We were all going along working hard, and there you were..."

YES, YES, I KNOW. I was going the wrong direction. And doing it all wrong.

I will never have a career as a dancer. Or fitness instructor.

My New Year's Resolutions

It's the end of the year and most people make resolutions for the new year to come. Do they stick with them? Not typically. I've considered changes I could make to a new year, but it's always so boring. It's always the same thing. It's always something unattainable. So today, I, Non-Mommy, resolve to accomplish the following tasks in the year 2012:

I resolve to wash my car more than twice a year. So what if it's a waste of money, water, and the car will only stay clean for a few moments? Take pride in your ride, Non-Mommy!

I resolve to consider online dating. Consider. And people (MOM! SISTER!) that nag me about it will only firm my resolution to consider it, and not do it!

I resolve to get my nephew to really and truly try a piece of meat. This is going to be difficult. He's a tough nut to crack.

I resolve to try and slip "That's what she said" into at least one conversation a day.

And finally, I resolve to not give up on the dream of getting together with Anderson Cooper. He's sweet, he's funny, he's intelligent, and he's...oh...where's a good synonym for "happy" when you need one?

Hey. There is always hope.

Sugar Daddy Needed

I really, really don't want to work.  I'm enjoying not working.  Where's the rich guy who is going to provide enough for me to be able to live on a desert island (sunburn free, of course!), adopt children from all over the planet, take us on fabulous trips regularly, and provide for all my needs?

I don't think I'm asking too much!

Vampires for Planned Vampirehood

I have two friends that force me to go to movies against my will.  Both of these girls are tremendous friends to me.  Between the three of us, we've been through broken bones, broken engagements, weddings, sick family members, births, job changes, and deaths in the family.  So because I love them, I go.  It's a tradition.  But since they make me go to movies about vampires and werewolves, I don't go without a fight!

I read the books and I HATED THEM.  This is not a popular opinion, I know, but I thought the Twilight series was extremely poorly written.  In both the books and the movies, I have a few fundamental problems with some major story elements.  Let's dissect the problems, shall we?

Let's start with Bella, the most obnoxious character ever.

Bella, Bella, Bella.  She's so whiney!  I mean really, Edward, that is who you've been waiting for all eternity for?  Come on!  There are much more pleasant girls out there for you to pick.  Also, Edward, perhaps you can't hear her thoughts because there are none there.  I'm just saying.

And then, to add fuel to the fire, they pick Kristen Stewart to be Bella in the movies!  Seriously?  Is this actress a) capable of ever closing her mouth b) do anything besides breathe heavily and twitch like a nervy Chihuahua and c) able to act?

Next, we have the problem of Edward Cullen, vampire hottie.  Or coldie.  Apparently, his body is like a marble statue and is cold to the touch.  I'm sorry, but snuggling with a cold statue is not my idea of fun.  And you know, making love to a cold statue does not sound pleasant.  I was very pleased to see, however, that they did not skimp on the lipstick budget for Edward in this last movie.  Heavens above, he must have enough lipstick!

For those that don't know, the family doctor, Dr. Carlisle Cullen, is a vampire, too.  He realized the error of his ways and dedicated his life to not sucking blood from humans.  He instead chooses to ignore the blood he deals with day in and day out and change his life by helping others in the medical field.  COME ON.  Seriously?  A vampire doing surgery?  You know, if you had a prescription drug addict and they took a job in a pharmaceutical factory to "help people" you know we'd all be like "SURE."

All these reformed vampires choose to stay in high school forever so that people don't see that they age.  I don't really understand that choice.  High school?  Not my favorite time of life.  There are such greater time periods!  I would not want to go to high school forever.  Life beyond high school is so much better.

And finally, spoiler alert!  After Edward and Bella get married, they go on a honeymoon and manage to get knocked up immediately.  I'm guessing that Bella didn't think to go to Planned Vampirehood before the honeymoon.  The baby turns out to be some mutant, and the book gets very, very bloody.  Yuck.  I read this book while I had a student teacher, and she interrupted her lesson to ask me why I was grimacing (PS, she sucked as a student teacher).

OK, let's just make this very clear.  You can't have a vampire/human pregnancy.  Seriously.  Let's go back to Edward and his lovely freezing cold body temperature.  Everyone knows that sperm have to be at just the right temperature to survive!  Too close?  The sperm fry up.  Too far?  The sperm freeze up.  There is no way that a vampire could have sperm if he's freezing cold!  Perhaps Stephenie Meyer should go to high school forever, like the Cullens, and maybe after a few hundred years a biology teacher will get through to her.

Then, this crazy baby thing inside of Bella needs to be fed.  It needs blood!  So Bella drinks blood to feed the mutant, and of course, it survives and thrives.  Seriously?  Stephenie?  Do you know anything?!?  She couldn't just drink blood and feed the baby!  It doesn't work like that.  You can't say "Gee, the baby needs a cheeseburger."  If you eat a cheeseburger, the baby doesn't get the cheeseburger.
Go back to high school, Stephenie!

I could really go on, but I better stop myself while I am ahead.  Overall, I don't get the big deal.  My mother tells me that it's romantic, and that's the appeal.  But I just can't get there in my mind.  My very patient friends put up with me griping all through the movies, and last night was no exception.  Kristen Stewart was at her breathiest/twitchiest.  The over-acting was killing me, and the music was like a horrible soap opera.

The search for a man continues.  And thanks to this dumb series, I now know that I do not want to be with a vampire.

I've Got a Fever

I've got a fever, and the prescription is NOT more cowbell.  I've got baby fever.  BIG TIME.  But there are a few problems.  See, I don't even have a date.  Let alone a significant other.  And apparently, these pesky kids need a father - who knew?!?  So, no children on the horizon at this time.

This doesn't mean that my eggs are not getting more brittle by the second.  This doesn't mean that I'm not sick of being single.  This doesn't mean that I don't want a family in a bad, bad way.  I have pondered this many times.  I have thought about being a single mother.  The problem is, how to go about it?

Kidnapping one of those Duggars.  Would they really miss one?  I mean, really?  But what if they grew up like Jim Boob?  I'm not sure my heart could take it.  Plus, if I try to kidnap someone I'm kind of a wuss and don't think I'd do well in jail.

Going to one of those anonymous donation places, if you get my drift.  This is quite a gamble.  How do you select a father for a child based on a form?  The choices, it's too much!  A tall child would be nice, they could clean the top of the fridge for me.  But an average sized child would be nice because they don't feel like they stand out.  A short child could be considered cute, and I would like a cute child.  And then, I'm very pale (read:  pigmentally challenged) so do I want to pick a donor that will give my child a chance at some skin pigmentation?  Do I look for a fellow half-albino so that my child looks like me?  And then there's the whole gross out issue of a donation from a stranger.  I don't want to put anyone else's snot anywhere near my body, so other bodily fluids...

Adoption.  Adoption is actually very near and dear to my heart.  I'd adopt a house full of children in a heart beat.  But is anyone going to want to send a child to a single mother with no money?  And, I'm a bit like that book If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.  If you give me one kid, I'll end up with a house full and I'll end up having to have my mother as a permanent caretaker for my child zoo.  I'd also be a total hypocrite because I've been steaming mad about the Duggars going for a 20th kid.

Praying for a miracle.  It could be an interesting life having people arise up and calling me blessed.  But that's a whole lot of pressure, and I don't like to stand with my head cocked and my hands outspread.

So, I'm up a creek without a paddle.  In the meantime, I'm drooling other over people's children and wishing that someone in my family would have a baby that I could cuddle and spoil.  My nephew is getting too big to cuddle, and my cuddle bank is running low.

Seriously, I'm sick of being single.  Really.  Ideas?

Suffering from SPA

Working in an environment that is 99.9999% female means many things.  This list includes catty fights, tears on a regular basis, more cutesy crap than you can shake a stick at and...parties.  Not just any party.  These parties are money makers.  I'm talking about

Pampered Chef


Scentsy


Home Interiors


Tupperware


Mary Kay


Beauty Control


Silpada


Lia Sophia


Miche Bags


Thirty One bags


Passion


JAFRA


Celebrating Home


Longaberger baskets

parties.  The list could go on and on.  These are all things that I have been invited to/guilted into/suckered into throughout my teaching career.  And perhaps I'm just a little bit cynical, but when I get an invite to one of these things, I inwardly (and perhaps outwardly as well) groan.  There seems to be an unwritten rule.  If you get invited to one of these things, you have to buy something.  I don't get it!  I must have missed that 11th commandment "Thou shalt support thy fellow coworkers by purchasing cheap faddy crap whenever presented with the opportunity."  And like a dutiful person, I do it.

The thing is, I have enough Pampered Chef orange peelers to tunnel my way to China.  I don't want a bag that has interchangeable sides.  I think expensive baskets are a waste and frankly, most of the Scentsy stuff stinks.

Now, however, I'm feeling the pressure.  I know someone that works for a jewelry company and she wants me to have a party.  My mother and sister think I should have a party.  I am completely immobilized, however.  I am suffering from a severe case of SPA - Severe Party Anxiety.  Don't get me wrong.  I love a good party!  I enjoy having people over!  But in my mind, if I do this party, one of two disastrous things will happen:  1)  people will groan and resent having to buy something and not like me and/or 2) no one will come and I'll feel like a loser.  I feel their pain!

If I really do this, I want to beg people to come.  I want to lure them to my party with promises that the food will not suck, the party won't be filled with awkward silences as people race to fill out an order form and get the heck out of there, and it won't be lame.  They don't have to buy anything!  They just have to show up to boost my poor self-esteem.

Men should really throw these kinds of parties.  They miss out on all the fun.  Imagine the possibilities!

Screwdrivers with interchangeable handles


Wickless candles that smell manly


Storage containers for the garage that are ridiculously overpriced


Skincare products for men only

Anyone want to come to a jewelry party?

What Would You Do?

A venomous snake crawls out of the hood of your car while you are driving 65 MPH. Do you turn on the windshield wiper and fling it off? Pull over and pull it off? Or keep driving?

And I Thought England Was Proper (See the End!)

(Please, if you skip this whole thing, at least scroll to the end of this post and explain those signs to me!)

If I haven't mentioned it enough for you, I am a total Anglophile. I love all things British, including the royal family. So when I had a chance to go to Windsor and visit Windsor Castle, I was so excited! Windsor Castle is very old, very historical, and extremely cool!!

I almost got the boot, though, because my friend accidentally packed a metal fork in our lunch, and apparently metal forks are not allowed. I didn't know that there was a fork until I went through the x-ray machine. Watch out, Windsor Castle, I'm going to take you down. With a fork. It will only take me 1,000 years to destroy the place...with a fork.



I was about to wet myself with excitement as I took a picture of this sign.



And then, I am fairly certain that at this place and time, I was covered in goosebumps and gasping "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, I cannot be here!"



I accept all donations to the "Non-Mommy Needs Therapy" fund.



I couldn't take pictures on the inside, which is really a shame because you cannot believe how amazing it is.  I saw the Queen Mother's grave, but when I stepped on the grave of King Henry the Eighth, I almost lost it.  I grabbed my friend's arm and shrieked "There are some REALLY big names in here!"  Which she promptly laughed at.



I got this guy to crack a smile, just a teeny tiny one, but I saw it.  BUSTED!




















They turned the moat into a gorgeous garden. It was awesome.



We took a river cruise down the River Thames.



You can cross a bridge leaving Windsor, a bustling city, to Eton, which was totally dead.  It's really odd. The bridge isn't that big!  Anyway, I wanted to see Eton College because my former boyfriend Prince William, among others, went there.  But there was not much to see.  And Eton was totally devoid of any life or activity.  Except the four people you see here.



Now, this is what makes me scratch my head in bewilderment.  I never wanted to speak while in England.  I sound so dumb and American and they sound so dignified.  So imagine my shock to stumble upon this...



And in case you didn't see it the first time, here it is again.



Thank GOODNESS it is controlled, because there is nothing worse than some uncontrolled porn.

A gold star to anyone that can explain what a porny school is!

Sectumsempra!

Dear Dumb Teenagers Behind Me at the Movies,

Listen, I am so sorry that you have never read the Harry Potter books.  I find it very difficult to believe that you haven't seen the past seven movies, and wonder what the heck you were thinking seeing the very last movie of a rather complex series?

Your stupidity/poor planning aside, it was really rather inconsiderate of you to talk through the entire movie.  I tried to put myself in your shoes.  Really.  I know it is hard not to talk in a movie, and have to force myself not to do it too much.  But you see, I have bionic hearing.  I could hear every freaking word you said!  And I could not concentrate because I was so worried about that guy you liked, what should you do after the movie, or your friend's explanation of Snape's role in this whole movie.

You are soooo lucky that I finally whispered "We can hear every word you are whispering!!" and not what I really wanted to say, which would fall along the lines of:

SECTUMSEMPRA!


AGUAMENTI!


FURNUNCULUS!


PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!


I didn't pay $9.50 to listen to your stupid conversations!  Close your pie hole!

Sincerely,
A very cranky Non-Mommy

Wonder What She Remembers About Me?

Today, I returned to the town that I have lived in for the past 13 years (give or take) to visit THE lady doctor.  You know.  Yuck.

While in this town, I needed to pay a friend of mine that is currently building me bookcases for my classroom (as a side note, do you have any idea how difficult it is to find bookcases for a classroom that are not as tall as the Eiffel Tower or hideously expensive, and will stand up to the crazy antics of monkey children?).  My friend mentioned that he would be painting a room at a home in a neighborhood that I was familiar with.  Knowing his general location, and car, I decided to just run to that house and give him the money quickly.

Awkwardly, I walk to the door of the home of someone I don't really know and, with a fat wad of cash in my hand, I asked if Joe Blow was there because I needed to give him money.  The woman that opened the door looked at me oddly.  I mean, she probably thought that I was a stranger coordinating a drug deal in her living room.  As it turns out, I had had this woman as a professor in college.

After dropping off the cash and putting the weed in my bra I thanked the kind woman for allowing me to invade her home.  She interrupted me and asked me if we knew one another.  I told her my name, and that I had taken an economics class with her many, many years ago.  I never expected her to remember me.

She smiled and said "Of course, I remember you in my class!  And you were in my class on 9/11, I remember it well!"

This is mind boggling to me.  I took one class with this woman, and what I remember about the class is that a) it was very early in the morning and I was very sleepy  b) I used to pass a lot of notes in this class, to stay awake c) I should never purchase a brand new car, because it is an economically poor decision and d) I was in her class on 9/11, and remember her telling us what had happened.

Anyway, this was probably boring to you, but I found it so interesting that she would remember me, and that just as she will always be cemented in my memory for that tragic day, I have apparently been cemented in hers.

I shudder to think what any other professors remember about me.  Really.  I would hazard a guess that they would remember sleep, doodling, passing notes to Sarah, Amanda and Erin and, in a few cases, a very pale blonde that was sick with worry because she had a test and had not studied.

My Life Rocks

This is how my day has been:

I woke up, and was lazy.

I took my nephew to the pool, as I do every day during the summer.  I could rhapsodize forever about how much I love the pool.  I love it, love it, love it.

I later put on a very comfy dress that shows more skin than I'm comfortable with, but I'm just staying home, so who cares?  The dress also shows off that I have, for the first time in all of my half-albino life, TAN LINES.  Yes, a miracle has happened.

I laid in my bed, my most favorite place in the world, and read a book that was no literary award winner, but it was an easy read.  The ceiling fan blew air on my shoulders, and it was most pleasant.

I played baseball with my nephew in the house (it's too hot outside!) using a squishy pool ball and a plastic rolling pin.  It was awesome.

I ate a most satisfying dinner in a quiet, calm home while reading the above mentioned easy read.

Summer is awesome.

I never want to work again.  Now, if only I could find that sugar daddy so I don't have to work...

To: Delta Airlines, From: Sad Kindle

Dear Delta Airlines,

My name is Non-Mommy's Kindle and I am very sad.  You see, my obviously VERY blonde owner lost me.  She was so excited to take me to Europe with her!  I would be oh, so handy.  Of course, I was excited to go!  Who doesn't want to go to Europe?!  Non-Mommy happily loaded me up with books, and off we went.  The flight was pleasant, but being a red-eye, Non-Mommy got tired.  She then foolishly put me, along with her glasses case, into the POCKET OF DEATH.  I tried to warn her, oh how I tried.  But I'm not alive, so she didn't get my message.

After a most delightful flight experience, we landed.  Non-Mommy is a huge Anglophile, so she was very happy to have landed.  After all, she did see British license plates out the window, and that set her off in a tizzy.  Through no fault of yours, she was very tired.  She was so concerned about getting her things out of the overhead compartment and getting off of that plane that she left me behind!  On an international flight!  Being very young, I mean, new, she didn't even arrange for me to fly as an unaccompanied minor!  Hrmph!

I don't really want to tell you what happened to me next.  It isn't for the faint at heart.  I just know, in my heart of hearts, that Non-Mommy very quickly made the discovery of my abandonment.  She filled out the online form, and even called the airline.  It was only a matter of hours since she had left me.  And yet, I am still not in her loving, yet irresponsible hands.

The thing is, Delta, no one has attempted to register me in a different name.  No one tried to purchase new books using the credit card that is on file for me.  So, this makes my very regretful Non-Mommy think that I am possibly in a box somewhere.  I may not be alive, but using my psychic powers, I am guessing that Non-Mommy wonders if I have just been forgotten somewhere, not stolen.

What I do know is that Non-Mommy is ever so sorry that she left me.  She knows that this was a really big mistake on her part, and that you, Delta, have no obligation to try and reunite us.  I know from my time on your lovely flights that your flight attendants were very pleasant and kind.  I heard that your food was even decently good.  In fact, I think, if my mind reading abilities are correct, that Non-Mommy was very pleased with her international flight experience with you.

Please.  Help reunite me with Non-Mommy.  I would be ever so grateful, as I know she would be as well.

And also, maybe sew those horrible pockets shut!

Lots of love,
White Kindle in a purple floral Javon Edge case

PS - Her pink Candies glasses case would like to be reunited, too!

Makes Sense to Me

Log this one in the "People Are Insane" file!

Last year, my mentee (as in, the young teacher I mentor.  Guide with my infinite wisdom.  Turn into a fine, upstanding teacher.) had a parent/teacher conference.  The mother brought a cat to the conference.

She brought a cat.

To a conference.

This poor young teacher is severely allergic to cats.  The mother let the cat crawl all over the table, and then let it roam around the room.  Being young, and afraid, the teacher didn't have the nerve to tell the woman she was allergic to cats.  By the time the conference was over, my poor mentee had puffy eyes, a rash, and was itching all over.  I had to go in and clean off all the surfaces in her room afterward.

Do you want to know why she brought a cat?

And I quote, "Well, if I left it in the car, it might climb into the dashboard."

Duh.

Garage Sale Season

The weather is allegedly warmer, even though it's not, and garage sale season is upon us.  The neighborhood is filled with homemade neon signs pointing you toward dusty crap and old women haggling.

Last summer I had a major garage sale.  The experience was, overall, traumatic for me.  I am incapable of pricing items for a garage sale.  Seriously.  I'm one of those people pleasers that make us all nuts.  I don't want to over charge someone!  I don't want to offend them by asking too high of a price!  Here, take it!  For free!  Go!  The last time I had hosted a garage sale, I apparently underpriced things a whole, whole lot.  All these Mexican women were so happy to swoop up all of my loot, with cries of "How cheap!"  And I made like $15.  $15!

Last summer, I was selling most of my things for an upcoming move.  I sold most of my furniture and everything.  I had my sister and nephew come up to help me get things sorted and to help me price, and I found myself completely immobilized.  It wasn't fear of moving.  It wasn't sadness getting rid of my things.  It wasn't having anything to do with the recent loss of my dad.  It was...how much do I charge?!  My sister wrote a blog post about it:


Garage Saling
Yes, I can turn the noun garage sale into a verb, just as easily as I do the word tornado.

Anyway, so as I already mentioned, M and I went to Non-Mommyville to help Non-Mommy prepare for her garage sale.  She is selling almost all of her furniture, which she is finding to be very cathartic.  The problem is, Non-Mommy can't seem to price anything.  I think most people would struggle with pricing correctly, either over or under, but she is having trouble coming up with a number.

It's actually quite hilarious.

I don't want to tell her how much to sell her stuff for, so my advice was to think about what you'd be happy to get for the big ticket items, then ask just slightly over, believing that people at garage sales are generally hagglers.

That tactic didn't work.  I said "just tell me what you were thinking of selling the couch for, and then after you tell me, I'll tell you what I was thinking", but all I got was a "I don't know!". 

Some items were easier than others, like the gas grill.  This is the grill that fell over at our house and broke, then birds nested in it, then my dad cleaned it all up for Non-Mommy, but the ignitor stopped working so you have to throw a match into it and pray you still have your hair afterwards.

After we made a list of all the big items, we went to her piles of smaller stuff to start stickering them with prices.  It's an eclectic group, from what I have seen so far.  There was a nearly brand new photo printer, Princess Diana books (which she thinks someone will buy!), watercolor brushes, a wooden shelf that I'm pretty sure my mom bought for me when I was in fifth grade and various Italian countryside prints.

Every other sentence out of Non-Mommy's mouth was "is that too much?".  Literally, books I started to price at 25 cents each she followed up with "is that too much?"  When I suggested 15 cents for an item, she admonished me for forcing someone to go to the extra mile and find a nickle, on top of a dime!

Seriously, she needs lessons in garage sales.  This thing is going to be a hoot.


I can't deal with hagglers.  Imagine how I coped with all my extended time in Central America.  Not well, people.  Not well.  I can't do it.  (Seriously, I was in a third world country.  Instead of arguing to make the price lower, I wanted to give them my entire savings account.  It's just wrong, haggling!  WRONG!)

Next time I have a garage sale, you're all invited over for a pricing party.

Please.

I'll provide the stickers.