Assisted Procrastination

1. Stores have no legal right to detain someone just because their alarm sounds when a person exits.

2. They also have no right to search your purchases or belongings without the customer’s permission.

3. Something in my purse sets off the sensors at stores like Best Buy and most of the stores in the mall.

4. Short of spending time testing each individual item in my purse, I can’t figure out what’s causing it. I’m choosing to blame my iPod, but refusing to leave it behind.

5. I also don’t feel like “fighting for my rights” when entering or exiting stores during the holiday shopping season.

6. Timing my entrance and exit of such stores to coincide with the exit of someone carrying a store bag not only saves me an argument with a minimum wage rental cop, but also provides enough entertainment to make me smile on the inside.

7. My parking karma is still quite effective, allowing me to park in the closest, non-handicap, covered parking spot at the mall on a snowy Saturday afternoon.

8. Trips to the car to stash bags and return to shopping also provides ample entertainment during an otherwise laborious and chilling task as incoming cars await excitedly for my primo parking spot, only to be waved away because I’m not yet departing.

9. Online holiday shopping with home delivery of packages rocks.

I wish you all a wonderful and entertaining holiday season!

My alarm went off this morning and I barely pulled together the energy to hit the snooze. Twice. I finally drag my butt out of bed and head for The Kid’s room. If I have to get up and go to work, she sure as hell has to go to school. As I cross the hall, I look out the front window and spot a gold SUV sitting in front of my house. It’s not MY SUV and I certainly don’t recall any house-calls scheduled for this early on a Wednesday morning. I stand and watch as the vehicle doesn’t move. I take a few steps closer to the window so I’m more obvious. (I’ve always been more of a fan of letting people know I don’t approve than to hide and hope they go away.) Within about a minute, the SUV slowly makes its way through the circle and down the street out of view.

“Odd.” I think to myself and then proceed with my morning.

I spend the next hour getting myself ready and periodically prodding The Kid to keep things moving. As we’re finishing gathering all our stuff together to leave, something outside the front window catches my eye. For a second, I think I see a car in the circle and the thought “wouldn’t that be wired if it was the same car as earlier” crosses my mind. I go to the front window to check it out and lo-and-behold, it’s a gold SUV. I can see only the driver who has the passenger window rolled down. Still not sure what’s going on, I watch as this complete stranger whom I’ve never seen before today takes pictures of the front of my house.

I HATE HAVING MY PICTURE TAKEN! I’m no celebrity so paparazzi is not my specialty. (If I was, I certainly wouldn’t be living in a PUD.) Sadly, my moral dilemma now is whether or not to hide to avoid being in the picture while also being really creeped out by some stranger photographing my house.

My instincts and adrenaline kick in and I decide to get as much info as I can. Oprah says I should write everything down so memory doesn’t get creative on you later, so I have The Kid transcribe as I read off the license plate. I then go back to the kitchen and fill in some other details that might be important later, although I’m not really sure what I’m going to do with the info.

This is when the adrenaline really starts pumping and thoughts are flying through my head faster than I can register them. After instructing The Kid to stay in the kitchen, I head back to the front door, throw it open, and shout “Is there something I can help you with?” (Damn was it cold outside – maybe I should have grabbed a coat first?) To which he responds something like “I’m taking pictures of the model and the colors – I’m repainting my house soon.”

Confused, I close the door. Then it hits me – My house is 98% siding. I have no paint aside from the white trim and some faux-brick on the side and back (absolutely NOT visible from his angle). I contemplated calling the police, but decided against it for a number of reasons. I don’t know the non-emergency number (that will be remedied when I get home), this isn’t emergency enough in my book to call 911, and I’m now running late and Wednesday traffic is *the* worst for me, etc. etc.

He takes a few more pictures and, about a minute or so after our “interaction,” he drives around the circle and leaves. I take this opportunity to stuff The Kid into the car and leave to drop her at school followed by a frantic call to DH to explain what happened. Neither of us is sure what to think or do about it. I contemplated working from home, but then decided that if someone wants to ransack the house (and felt the need to take “before” pictures), it was probably best no one be there when he returned. I’m not opposed to hurting someone who’s out to hurt me, but I’m not going to actively seek danger (I also don’t jump out of perfectly good airplanes or tie rubber bands to my ankle so I can jump off bridges not actively on fire).

After thinking through it some more (the commute was even worse than anticipated leaving ample time to contemplate the events of the morning), I opted to call the police. I found the non-emergency number and explained the whole thing to the officer who answered. She was generally very nice and thorough, though I did get chastised for not calling when it happened. I explained to her that I didn’t have the number handy and my thoughts on using 911 to which she responded that it was a suspicious person acting suspiciously in my neighborhood. Calling 911 would have been acceptable. Who knew?!

Sadly, I have nothing new to report as the police haven’t called back. Either they are addressing some hostage situation at the house and can’t break away to contact me or nothing came of their drive-by. (The ferrets will NOT be impressed if someone makes them stay in the cage while stealing the TV and I can’t see the cats being AT ALL happy about someone disrupting their morning sunbathing.)

Let me just suggest to anyone out there who might want to use someone else’s house as a swatch for remodeling your own, don’t do early morning drive-bys followed by photo shoots from your car unless you know the person. It’s just creepy. Try a normal hour of the day, get out of your car, take obvious QUICK photos, and be really REALLY courteous if the homeowner comes out the front door doing an impression of Mama Bear. Some people just don’t like having their pictures taken before the morning cup of coffee!

It’s that time of year again. You know, the time where you get all comfy on the couch with a bowl of ice cream, flip on a movie, and prepare to relax only to be interrupted by the chirping of a cricket somewhere in the vicinity. Unfortunately, you can’t find it because every time you move, he stops chirping. You freeze until he chirps again and resume the hunt. I’m convinced this is some sort of Chinese torture. It’s almost as bad as the dying smoke alarm battery chirping every 90 seconds at 2am – don’t get me started.

So anyway, the other evening, DH headed downstairs to relax for the evening with me not far behind. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was greeted by a cricket. Since I was still upstairs, there was an exchange that amounted to DH announcing the cricket’s presence, me telling him to kill it, him recoiling at that proposal, followed by me coming down the stairs to offer assistance. Apparently, there is some notion of crickets being good luck (really?? does this hold true for water-boarding as well?), not to mention that killing a cricket is just crunchy-guts-gross with a residual mess to clean. No, thank you.

I reached the bottom of the stairs to find DH attempting to herd the cricket into a box. He’d poke it with a piece of styrofoam (yes, styrofoam. I know it kills the environment and makes the cats yack. It came with the box. I didn’t buy it!). The cricket would jump just short of the box so he’d move the box just a bit farther away and try again just to watch it jump over the box. A grand plan thwarted only by the stubbornness of a now ill-fated cricket. DH gave up and I came up with a New, Spectacular, and Undeniably Perfect Plan! A plan that would offer adventure, rid us of the cricket and leave no mess!

We moved the gate and DH herded the cricket into the rec room then replaced the gate while I quickly darted to the cage to release the ferrets! They were sound asleep, but I had more than enough energy for all of us – after all, my plan was PERFECT! This is nature! The animals eat the bugs – it’s all so very Lion King, Circle Of Life!

So here I am with Blue half asleep and lazily pointed toward a cricket frozen in the corner of the room. I continue to poke him (uninterested) toward the cricket while DH resumes the prodding with the styrofoam. And then it happens! The cricket jumps and Blue dives in for the kill! He grabs the cricket in his teeth and I turn away hoping the carnage ends quickly. I’m cheering and recoiling all at the same time. In my head, I hear that line from Mortal Combat, when the battle has been won and the victor remains to “Finish Him!” in some horrific yet deserved act of brutality. I listen to DH giving the play-by-play until I hear that horrible phrase. “He’s leaving. Blue is leaving” Oh no NO! That is NOT part of The Plan!

Ye, the stupid ferret walked away to go play with a bag. He left the cricket right where he found it.

But wait! It’s not over yet!  I quickly go to grab the other ferret! Razz hasn’t had her chance. She’s a picky eater and not likely to do much better than Blue, but she’s worth a shot. Unfortunately, we can no longer get the cricket to jump – it has 2 broken back legs. My plan is unraveling and things are looking futile. Razz is uninterested in the bug. Really, she’d just like for someone to get her a treat. She’s become a bit neurotic about the treats. Again, don’t get me started.

With our hopes dashed, I help DH get the cricket into the box (remember the original plan?) and he promptly disposes of it outside. I hope the wounds were minimal enough that the cricket sits outside and offers a warning to others – telling them of the terrors that await them inside. I think I speak for us all when I say that no one in the house wants to go through that again.

It’s that time of the evening again. Dinner is over, the table is cleared, and everyone has gone about their evening activities leaving me in peace. (Don’t start calling me names out of jealousy – peace around here doesn’t last long). It’s Sunday evening so The Kid is upstairs taking a shower while DH is in his office clinging to the last moments of the weekend.

I, however, have been searching through recipes and stumbled onto a delectable little dessert for which I conveniently have all the ingredients. What pantry is complete without graham crackers, chocolate chips, and mini marshmallows? What? No mini marshmallows? Just the Grand-Daddy Ginormous Jet-Puffed Monster-Mallows. No worries, I’ll just cut them into smaller pieces. I’m not Martha, but I’m sure she’d approve of my ingenuity.

So here I stand at the kitchen counter. The gentle hum and swish of the dishwasher running behind me while I snip in half the giant marshmallows. THIS is peace.

Well, all except The Kid at the top of the stairs shouting “Mommy!” Repeatedly. I can hear her, but I know damn well that if I respond, she’s just going to shout something back at me from just far enough away that I can’t quite make out what she’s saying. I also happen to know it’s probably some obscure question related to the basics of showering without adult assistance. (At 7, flying solo in the shower is a new skill and we often have to provide reminders of the “Things to Remember” such as: make sure you have a towel BEFORE getting in the shower, shampoo twice, and most often STOP RUNNING THE WATER WHEN YOU’RE NOT READY TO GET IN!)

I can only assume her question is going to be something along these lines, but I’m lost in my marshmallow mangling and not interested in a shouting match through 2 rooms, down a hall, and up the stairs. Nope. I’m gonna stand here making my magnificent dessert with all the ingredients I had on hand while she continues to shout at me from almost too far away to hear. Almost.

The Kid:  MOMMY!

The Kid:  MOMMY

The Kid:  MOMMY! . . . MOM! . . . MOMMY! . . . MOMMY? . . . MOM?

Me:  (Oh for crying out loud!) WHAT?!

The Kid:  HAR DE FROP NE DA NOONA MUF REAR?

Me:  (So help me, I am NOT going through this!) I CAN NOT HEAR YOU WITH THE DISHWASHER RUNNING!”

The Kid:  FRO NE DAF NA NANOO FRY EAR?

Me:  (Grateful I have marshmallows to bear the wrath of my frustration) I TOLD YOU! I CAN NOT HEAR YOU! MY HANDS ARE FULL. YOU HAVE TO COME DOWN HERE AND TALK TO ME IF YOU WANT ME TO ANSWER!

The Kid:  (Stumbles down the steps and into the kitchen, wrapped in a towel, looking like a drown rat) How do I know if I got all the shampoo out of my hair?

Me:  Does your hair make the squishy shampoo sound when you touch it?

The Kid:  (Touches her head) I don’t know. I can’t hear it over the dishwasher.

Me:  .

In 30 minutes, The Kid goes to bed and I’m indulging in some serious dessert. If you’d like some too, just give me a shout. I’m sure I can hear you, but no guarantees I’ll answer.

Dear Gracious Man at the Stop Sign,

Yesterday, you offered me the chance to take your turn at the confused stop sign. I turned you down, but I want you to know that it wasn’t personal. While this sign has been present for many months now, folks in the area still can’t seem to consistently take their appropriate turns.

Many days, there are police present to encourage the correct flow of the busy four-way stop. Yesterday was not one of those days. I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful for your offer because I am. When you waved me on, I more vehemently waved you on instead. You see, you were to my right and, by law, I am to yield my turn to you. I fully recognize that each of the cars before us had taken their turn at the wrong place in the order, but I feel it’s my duty to try to get things back on track.

I hope you were able to find a suitable opportunity to pass along your offer of kindness. I believe in the “pass it on” theory and, while I didn’t want to stunt it in that moment at the stop sign, I thought it a better thing to bring order to chaos. If it makes you feel better, I’d also tell you if you had spinach in your teeth and toilet paper stuck to your shoe. It’s just the kind of person I am. Besides, someone who eats veggies in the bathroom is prime fodder for both public humiliation and my blog.

Sincerely,

The Feisty Chick at the Stop Sign