I Might Be White Trash

I upset someone on here once talking about my ghetto grocery store, but I'm going to bring it up again. Mainly because I'm feeling kind of ghetto myself today. It's not like I hide a lot on the blog. You are all aware that there was a mouse in my bathtub a few days ago. This in itself is not the most classy story to share on the internet, but I really think it gets kicked up a notch when I tell you that there is now a foul odor permeating through the guest bathroom door. You know what that means: dead mouse in the drain. A couple of people have recommended that I acid wash him with some Drano.

~~Brief pause while writer checks on the house beagle who is gnawing his way through a pork bone on carpet to ensure that he hasn't choked. Again, pure-T class over here.~~

Back to the ghetto grocery store. I realized this afternoon that I was out of some necessary items to make Carolina Bar-b-que for dinner. I took a quick gander in the mirror to assess my leaving the house appearance. Having mostly dried from Senior Splash water aerobics this morning, my hair had acquired a chlorine-stiff-wayward quality as it tried valiantly to escape from its tightly bound scrunchy. (Yes, scrunchy. Just like you're thinking) My high school gym shorts peeked out from beneath my XXL t-shirt which bore the words "Delta Chi Beer Traffic" with the three Budweiser frogs emblazoned beneath and my massive stomach poking them out further. I won't even mention the lack of make up and jewelry, with the exception of the green band of stain which encircles my wedding finger from the cheap fake ring I bought. As I checked my face for chocolate remnants and rubbed my hand thoughtfully along the patch of leg fur that I missed shaving, I decided it was a day for the ghetto grocery, not the Kroger.

~~Brief pause while write goes to pee in the toilet that already contains a prior pee, in an effort to save on water bills during this, a time of drought, and this, a time of great and frequent urination. Trashy? Perhaps, a bit. ~~

I slipped on my flip flops with the band of flowers hanging off one side. (The string came dislodged at a football game about a year ago and I affixed them with a wad of chewed gum. It's losing its stickiness.) Upon arrival to the grocery store, I trotted inside and procured my bounty: Saltines, baked beans, and apple cider vinegar. It was while standing at the cash register awaiting my turn that I thought of something I wanted to write about on my blog: older people who believe that are using cool jargon, but really said jargon is about ten years old.

Now, I know this is becoming a rambly post because now I'm intermixing my white trash self with my ghetto grocery store and defending my right to call it that all while slandering old people with dumb jargon, but bear with me.

From the register beside mine, I heard a decidedly older voice declare loudly, "Oh girl! Been there, done that, got the t-shirt!" and laugh uproariously with herself. I quickly imagined what I thought she might look like before peeking over that way. Femullet? Yup. Sweat pants? Check. Muffin top peeking over band of sweats? Absolutely. The one thing I didn't peg was the impressive advanced stage of her femullet: it also had a descending rat tail at the bottom of the mullet part. Wowza. I rolled my eyes inwardly at her statement and turned back to my cider/cracker/bean venture. It wasn't five seconds before I heard a high five slap behind me and and loud "You GO girl!" accompany it. Argh. My cringing was reaching painful levels.

I'm trying to think of other phrases that fall into this category that bugs me. I don't know why it bugs me. Why should I care if Mullety Muffin Top wants to say these things? I can't explain it. It's just the way I am.

Other phrases that come to mind are:
Don't have a cow, man.
Bling bling
Way! (no way)
It's your birthday!

If you can think of more that fall into this category, please humor me. In the meantime, I think I have significantly established my right to call my grocery store ghetto, as I live right by it and seem to fall into place seamlessly while shopping there. So, please, no comments about my use of ghetto.

Pigs on Pregnancy, Part Two

Part One is here.

11. Fur: Apparently? Some people? Grow fur. Everywhere. Some people get a nice dark line down their bellies. Me? I get fur. Just a nice soft downy streak, but it's still fur.

12. Blinding Leg Cramps: Middle of the night, sit straight up in bed leg cramps. Offers to help rub it out are met with a "Get away from me NOW!" growl. The only way to get rid of it is to point the toes up and grit your teeth. Have recently discovered can be prevented by drinking more water
and doing calf stretches before bed.

13. Spilling: I don't have a lot of maternity clothes, and every single shirt I own has stains on the boobs and stomach. Everything that's aimed for my mouth somehow winds up on my front. It reminds me of old folks in the home and makes me feel sad and lame.

14. Noctural Vurps: For me, there are two choices. I can prop my head up on three pillows and suffer a neck ache, or I can use the standard one pillow and awaken to an acidic vurp. I find that the neck pain usually works its way out by mid-morning.

15. Random Nocturnal Awakening, non-vurp: Sometimes? I just wake up. Occasionally as related to a pee, but usually just wide awake from say, two to four in the morning. Just hangin' out. I tend to read. Or dwell upon world politics.

16. The Turtle: I can no longer lie on any couch or bed or sit upon any chair other than the kitchen variety. Well, I can. In fact, I can very well. It's the getting out part that gets me. Some afternoons I have lain upon the couch for an extra 45 minutes or an hour just waiting for Mike to come home and haul me out. Getting out of bed involves a lot of huffing and puffing and flinging of pillows. Mike has requested that I start announcing, "Incoming" when returning to bed so that he can take cover.

17. Dragon Breathing: Occasionally, the Piglet likes to play in my rib cage. Like little monkey bars, I imagine. He kicks his little legs up there and just plunders around, rendering me breathless. Again, reminds me of old folks in the home. Limited breathing after seemingly little effort.

18. Dead Sexy Harness : I believe technically, it's probably called a support or something, but some days it's the only thing that relieves my back pain. And let me reiterate....It. Is. HOT. Saucy. Some might say bewitching. I proudly traipse around the house in mine. One day the UPS guy is going to get an eye full.

19. New rings: You get to have new jewelry. When my sausage fingers outgrew the wedding bands, I purchased a fine $17 wedding-like band with diamond-like stones. I've worn it for about a month and it's only now turning my finger slightly green.

20. It's Alive! People should warn you that your entire belly will suddenly lurch from side to side. You might be sitting in church, opening presents at a shower or driving, but the movement will knock you off balance. This kid is STRONG.

This concludes Pigs on Pregnancy, Month 8.75. (Not that I'm counting)

Extreme Measures

Okay, you know the severe drought is getting to people when they start sticking silk spring flowers into their flower beds in an effort to achieve Yard of the Month status. I've seen some ugly things as a result of this heat and lack of rain, but this is by far the funniest thing I've ever seen. And I really think they're serious!

Boo-yah!

August 28, 2006

Re: Complaint Letter

Dear Ms. Pigs:

There is simply no excuse for rudeness. Our customers should always experience polite service from our employees regardless of the circumstances. Your comments about the lack of courtesy you experienced greatly concern me. I am truly sorry that we didn't live up to our usual high standards of customer service when you flew with us onAugust 14.

When hiring employees who will serve our customers, we work hard to look for those applicants who demonstrate a warm and friendly attitude. Our training programs emphasize to all our employees, new and experienced alike, the importance of an individualized, caring approach even in the face of the unique difficulties that only an airline can experience. I'm at a loss to explain exactly why you weren't treated with courtesy, but I can assure you that your letter has been forwarded to our General Manager in Greensboro.

To better express our apology, I've mailed you a transportation voucher. You may use it toward the purchase of a ticket on American or American Eagle within the next 12 months. I hope that this sincere gesture of goodwill will help to convince you of your importance to us as our customer.

Ms. Pigs, thank you for giving us this chance to improve. Please travel with us again soon. We'll do our very best to meet your expectations the next time we welcome you aboard.

Sincerely,
Nice Lady
Customer Relations, American Airlines

It's funny...

The husband often claims that he comes off unfavorably on the blog. I try really hard to mention the good, husbandly things that he does, like that time when he not only sniffed my armpits to tell me if they smelled, but he also willingly took the Which One Stinks More challenge and won. Or the time when he polished my toenails because I couldn't properly reach them anymore.

But! When your 35 weeks pregnant wife is taking a bath to enjoy the buoyancy of things and trying to relax and you come along and EVEN THOUGH you are cleaning the shower, which is a big help, you DO NOT dunk the nasty scrub brush into her bath water to "moisten" it to scrub the shower floor with! You just don't. And that, dearest, is how you occasionally come off unfavorably on the blog.

Ralph S.

I just had a really fun baby shower where I got lots of nice stuff. Here's the gist:

And then that over again about twenty more times. We had really good food, fun people, the works. Gus behaved himself in his room for as long as he was able and once the shower was over, he was released unto the world. He promptly raced around like a madman, stole a gift card, ate two mini-quiches, and then discovered this guy in my guest bathtub:

Gasp! There's a mouse in the house! Poor little guy was stuck in the bathtub. We don't know how he got there or what his intentions were, but after this video, he dove down the drain.

Wonder if I need to set traps or if he was just visiting? Maybe he came for the shower? Via the shower?

Just Call Me Gram

I apologize for the lack of substantial posting lately. It seems that for once I really don't have anything to write about. Not even poop. My days have dwindled into long stretches of "what can I get done between tired spells, backaches, and pee breaks." Not the ideal conditions for high interest posting. In my attempts to remain in touch with the world, get out at least once a day, maintain my social skills, and occasionally exercise, I have found myself in touch with a new sect of the population: the old folks.
Now, prior to the last couple of weeks, I knew they were out there. They waited until the school buses finished their routes and the rush hour traffic ceased on the highways and then they came. They came in their Buicks and their Cadillacs and their other brands of long and boxy cars I don't know the names of. Straining to peer over the steering wheel as they coasted at a rapid 45 mph clip on the expressway, they went about their errands.
I've chatted with them in the grocery stores, exchanging handy cooking tips or bargains we've found in the baking aisle. I've assisted at the occasional gas pump when the buttons and cards got too tricky. But now? I think I might be becoming one of them.
I spent more than half my day with elderly people. Rocking out to the best of the 90's in the morning with my Senior Splash water aerobics class, I listened to stories of raising children back in the day and tales of only gaining 14 pounds with a pregnancy. (!) Edna and Myrtle shared pearls of wisdom regarding the cooking various types of fish, as well as the best places to eat fish in restaurants. Later, I attended what I didn't realize was the Senior Showing of Little Miss Sunshine where I was the only person under the age of 65. If it wasn't for my also-incubating friend, I might really stand out.
I have to say I rather enjoy the company of the elderly. Their cell phones don't ring in the movie theater. We have a lot in common in the areas of bladder control, general aches and pains, as well as indigestion and inconvenient weight gain. And most importantly, they like to talk about food and local gossip. I really became entranced in a fifteen minute conversation speculating what on earth they're building up there on the corner. (A new Kroger - yeah!!) And see? I get really excited about things like a new Kroger.
How simple my life has become. It just doesn't bode well for the blog. My sincere apologies. Please continue to come back as I seek to spice up my life just a little.

Spelling**

Why do people have so many problems spelling the word "definitely"? I just want to post here what I taught all my fourth graders: The word "finite" has to go in the middle. Hope that helps.

Some others:

Separate
Judgmental (bugs me because it doesn't follow the rule)
Privilege
Misspell (not fair. it just looks weird.)

Words I hate spelling:

License
Itinerary
Maintenance
Maneuver
Occurrence

I found a quiz that tests you on 50 commonly misspelled words. I missed four. Take it yourself and let me know if I'm the Biggest Loser.

**Due to the subject of this post, there is guaranteed to be a spelling typo within.

Boiled Peanuts, A Tribute

Boiled peanuts, my friends, you bring me such joy.
You sit in your bag so warm and so coy.
Tempting me now to take just the one,
Right here, in the car, before we get in the sun.
At last, I give in and I slurp off the juice.
I wedge your shell open by tongue and by tooth.
There you are little peanuts, in a neat little row,
Waiting for me to slurp you right up, nice and slow.
The salt-slimy goodness clings to your sides
And you mush in my mouth like little nut pies.
All I need now is a swig of Bud Light
The combination of you is a Southern delight.
Amen.

Brief Prattle

You know, I hate to complain (okay, yeah right), but summer is just a bit too.....summery this year. Normally, it's my very favorite season and I love the hot temperatures and the warm nights and of course the opportunity for Vitamin D collection via sunbathing, but this year? Good grief. One might think it's because I'm pregnant, but pretty much everyone I know is sick of it too.

I am going to attempt some positives about this endless stretch of 100+ degree days and no rain.

1. I think most of the crickets have dried up and died. Baked, broiled, sizzled. I'm pretty sure most of them are gone. I've only found one in the house this week, and he was attempting to scootch under my floor fan, probably seeking cool air.

2. Since the grass is completely dead, I see my husband, the obsessive mower, a lot more. Dead grass? It doesn't grow.

3. Since we're under drought restrictions and only allowed to water once a week, the water bill's a little cheaper.

4. I haven't had to worry about the bad luck caused by having an umbrella open to dry in the house. In fact, I'm not even sure where my umbrella is.

Um...that's about all I can think of. Even our pear trees are dying in the front yard. They're losing all their leaves like it's autumn. I wonder if we'll have autumn this year? In north Texas, fall seems to be about one week long. After a cool front of about a month of 90 degree days, one day it just turns cool, the temperatures plummet into the 70's, all the trees' leaves abruptly turn brown and fall off, and a week later? It's winter. Presto change-o. I do miss the pleasant, lingering autumns of the Carolinas. Nice 70-80 degree days, colorful foliage....football weather, my husband calls it. We don't seem to have that here. [Ooh - that just gave me a wicked hankering for some boiled peanuts. Boiled peanuts and a cold beer. A cold Bud Light in a frosty mug. And maybe some wings.]

Well, that's probably enough prattling on for a Saturday afternoon. Back to the grind.

You Pick:

Dear American Airlines,
Your counter lady was really mean to me. Give me a free ticket, please.
Sincerely,
Pigs

-OR-

American Airlines Customer Relations

To Whom It May Concern:

I have been a loyal American AAdvantage member and American flyer for many years and I have never been treated as poorly as I was on Monday in the Piedmont Triad International Airport. I made a reservation using my AAdvantage miles on May 4, 2006 for travel from Dallas-Fort Worth to Greensboro on August 11-14, 2006.

I promptly received my itinerary via email, which I forwarded to the individuals providing my transportation to and from the airport. (Please see attached email) My return reservation was for Flight 1255 on August 14 at 5:20pm. I arrived at the airport at 4:00pm to check in and check my luggage. The employee at the desk was unable to find my name on Flight 1255 and called Linda Pratt over for assistance.

Ms. Pratt addressed me in a very condescending voice, speaking to me as though I were a child who had never flown on a plane before, and informed me that I had missed my flight. She told me I had signed up for Flight 4435 at 11:09 that morning. This flight was not the flight for which I bought a ticket, as it would not have worked with my plans. When I explained this to Ms. Pratt, not only would she not listen, she continued to state loudly that I “did not sign up for Flight 1255 and she could prove it.” She would only repeatedly tell me that I signed up for the wrong flight and since I had no proof (tickets) that I was wrong. I have always understood the purpose of e-tickets to be that they are in the system and unnecessary to carry along – I have flown American many, many times and never had a problem prior to this day.

Continuing to chastise me in a loud voice for my “mistake”, she labored to tell me how difficult it was going to be to get me onto Flight 1255, sighing and rolling her eyes at my apparent stupidity.

If a mistake had been made within the computer system, I would have certainly understood that and waited for my ticket correction and a simple apology on behalf of American Airlines. Instead, Ms. Pratt embarrassed me to the point of tears and humiliated me at the ticket counter over a mistake which, as you can see from the attached documentation, I did not even make. The flight turned out to be perhaps half full, so the drama with which she struggled to add me to the flight for which I had already purchased a ticket seems clearly unnecessary.

Upon arriving home, I re-checked the email from American (attached) and verified that I had, indeed, been on Flight 1255, departing at 5:20pm as I had tried to tell Ms. Pratt.

I have never been treated with more arrogance or less customer service in my life.
To make things worse, when she assigned to me my “new” ticket, I lost the window seat I had specifically chosen to attempt to lessen the potential nausea from my pregnancy.

It is difficult for me to understand why an individual working in the customer service industry would address a polite, agreeable frequent flyer with such disdain and deprecation when the situation could have been very simply remedied. My hope is that something will be done to prevent Ms. Pratt from treating customers in this manner in the future. Living in north Texas, I often encourage my visitors to fly American due to the ease and vast availability of flights into DFW, but I am now questioning the continuation of this practice. I look forward to your response and, hopefully, an explanation of what caused this problem.

Thank you,
Pigs

Tuesday Again.

Ah. I'm back. I went home to NC over the weekend for two baby showers and I think they may have worn me plumb out. I slept and slept and slept last night (well, between pees) and I am still tired!
Baby showers are glorious things. People are so nice and so generous. I hate being the center of attention and opening gifts, but I suspect it's all worth it. Now the husband has all kinds of fun things to assemble and the Piglet is going to be clad for life. I've never seen so many cute clothes! I'll share a few favorites (click to read the words):

On the way home I had delightful experiences with both American Airlines and the airport itself that I will have to share tomorrow after I compose my thoughts and draft my official complaint letter to them.

Daily Thought From Gus the Dog:

Even though it's been a full moon and I've been a little bit naughty all week, I still think I will be a good big brother.

How To Shave Your Legs When You're Knocked Up: A Guide

Step One: Bend over to pick up shaving cream. Grasp wall, position belly between legs, and lower self. Ease back up, anticipating certain head rush.

Step Two: Hike Leg #1 up onto shelf/ledge by grasping beneath thigh with both hands and swinging the appendage in wide arc around belly. Rest. Apply shaving cream liberally as you will be shaving parts unseen.

Step Three: Using right hand for right leg and left hand for left leg, begin to shave carefully. Though your toes may have some hairs on them as pointed out by friend, they are too far away to worry about. Leave them. Time is precious. Remember to stand up straight for breaths of air every few strokes.

Step Four: Drop razor due to fat, clumsy, swollen fingers. Cry a little. Slide foot off shelf and lower to floor with a thud, avoiding razor blade. Attempt to pick up razor with toes. Be proud of monkey-like abilities when razor is back in hand.

Step Five: Repeat steps one through four several times until legs are most likely 80% hair free. Higher percentages are not to be expected.

Step Six: Get out of the shower because the water is now cold and your town is under tight water restrictions.

Step Seven: Sneeze. Look down to see all of your goosebumps making your leg hair grow fresh and new. Begin lotioning regimen.

Linguistics

So, this came up recently....think back to about 1986 or so. Where my sister and I lived, the hot vernacular was spelled "Sike", however Eddie and my husband publicly shamed me and said that it was in fact "Psych." While I see their point, I never saw "Sike" as an intellectual term with a lot of deep meaning and just took it at face value. I mean, in all my notes that were folded into envelopes and pushed through locker vents, it was always spelled "Sike." How about you?

Things 111-120

Continued from here.

111. I can open doorknobs with my right toes. I used to be able to (used to could) do it with my left toes too, before the Unfortunate Sink Incident.

112. I have a lawsuit in motion against the insurance company of said Mexican restaurant in which the sink fell off the wall and shattered on my foot last September. They paid for my medical bills, but don't seem to think that I am entitled to anything for pain and suffering or the replacement of things like my tennis fees or really cute shoes that were ruined.

113. I like to wrap presents. There's something so tidy and orderly about it.

114. I am terrible at running. I spend the whole event just counting to the next driveway and the minutes until it's all over.

115. I pride myself on good handwriting, probably another reason I became a teacher. My grandmother used to compliment my cursive and to this day, I still try to use really good cursive when I write her letters.

116. I love getting Real Mail. Real Mail involves handwriting and a stamp on the envelope. Eddie and I used to send letters all the time just to get real mail in college. Even after the advent of email.

117. I have a really hard time shaving my knees. I can shave and shave and shave and I'll get in the car and see 5 or 6 little sticky up hairs shining in the sunlight.

118. When I was little, I made all my books into a library and charged my sister and her friends 50 cents each for a library card. I also charged overdue fines. I was wicked cool back then.

119. My left foot is half a size bigger than my right foot. My left boob is also bigger than my right boob.

120. One set of my grandparents has had 8 spouses between them. Pretty impressive. We're all very proud.

A Poll

Free address labels. They come in droves. With dogs, tennis balls, Christmas icons, Clemson paws....you name it, I have them. What do you do with all these? I tend to use them on bills and things that I don't want to use up one of my supercute ones on. Do you ever send money? How do these companies support themselves? I don't feel like I should have to send money for something I never asked for. What do you think?

Boo hoo.

As my friends are gearing up to go back to school, I suppose I could let myself feel a little sad that I won't be joining in the fun. (heh.) I suppose to could regret my decision to leave such a fine teaching establishment and stay home with the Piglet. (snicker) But to prevent myself from feeling down about school starting [brief pause for uncontrolled laughter], I will use my Mad Listing Skillz to stay afloat.

Things I Will Not Miss:

1. 30 minute lunches
2. Crazy administrator who blames her problems on the teachers.
3. Standing on a hot playground when it's 100 degrees.
4. Parents wanting special privileges.
5. Lack of accountability in children.
6. Not peeing.
7. Packing my lunch.
8. All the work done outside contract time that I was not paid for.
9. Catching every cold and bug that comes through.
10. Squabbling staff members.

Things I Will Gain:

1. Freedom!
2. The ability to pee at my leisure.
3. Time to get ready for Piglet.
4. Time with the Piglet.
5. A chance to truly put my gift of frugality to use.
6. Getting to talk to and help my teacher friends, but not actually having to be there.
7. A change of lifestyle.
8. Running errands during the daytime hours.
9. No more chore-packed weekends.
10. A wee little Piglet.

Doodie

Guess what I did yesterday? I had jury duty. I'm sure you remember that I've been summoned about 27 times in the last few months, but yesterday was actually my day of servitude and it was Loooooooooooooooooong. (yes, capital L)

You know your day will go well when your actual jury summons states that parking is limited. Umkay. So? If you need 400+ people to come serve on juries, should you provide them with a space in which to leave their vehicle? I think so. They apparently disagree, so off I went about 30 minutes early to guarantee my parking freedoms. After a minor parking lot battle for a spot, I trotted (okay, ambled)....okay, I waddled into the jury herding/holding area where a bailiff greeted me with good news. He politely eyed my bulbous belly and told me that I would probably be exempt!!! YES!

I gave him my most winning smile and went to the window which contained the Jury Clerk, who has some mysterious qualities of the Great and Powerful Oz. I've decided that jury clerks must be on the same order as postal workers because this woman was not feeling me at all. I repeated what the bailiff had told me and she snickered, rolled her eyes and told me to "get in the jury room." Umkay. Head down, I snuck in a quick potty break and joined the ranks of the masses in a jam-packed room of the other sad sacks awaiting their doom.

After 30 minutes of allowing people to make excuses and denying them, they got down to business and began sorting us into courtrooms. Of the 400 people, I was juror number nine. This was not a good sign. I sighed and went to the courtroom with the other 69 people to await the jury selection after sneaking in another illegal bathroom break. I was hoping this would be fast because we weren't allowed to bring food or drink. I snuck in a granola bar and a bottle of water and was prepared to fight for it if questioned. Fortunately, no one questioned.

After a lengthy introduction that reviewed ninth grade civics class, the lawyers began their THREE HOURS of questioning regarding our opinions of manslaughter, alcohol, police reliability, and crime. Y'all...some people are freaks. They really thought this was open mic group therapy. I had to hear about people's kids' bikes being stolen, their camera getting lifted, the DUI they got at 19 that wasn't fair, the complaints they had about the police....you name it, I heard it. For THREE hours. For real.

At last, we were sent into the hall to await their decision. I made a sloppy elbow-your-neighbor and fend for yourself break for the bathroom. Did I mention that it was now 2:20? Did I mention that we had not had a lunch break? At 2:40, it was announced that my services were not required and I was sent home. I arrived home at 3:00 to snarf a massive lunch and 6 glasses of water. I spent the rest of the day exhausted and dehydrated.

I think that whole process was inhumane. It was clear cut people abuse. I would sue or something, but I think I'd have to go back there to do it.