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04 November
My Mom's a rapper
Every Saturday morning my Mother stops by for a visit. My house is the pitt stop between the abortion clinic and the hair salon. Along with a group of twenty or so very good Catholics, my mother prays outside the clinic. Everyone brings a lawn chair and says the rosary for an hour. As my mother has mentioned before, it's important to note they're not troubling makers, like the Presbyterians. It seems every other week(tsk, tsk, they're just not quite as faithfully as the Catholics) a group of Presbyterians show up to pray and make trouble. And by make trouble I mean scream obscenities at everyone and then damn them to hell.
Eventually Mom's prayer group elected a group spokesman to approach the offending Presbyterians and persuade them to go elsewhere. And by persuade them, I mean they prayed the other group away...just like Mom prayed all the 04 hurricanes away. And by prayed all the 04 hurricanes away, I mean she sent them to Florida. I guess she used up all her pray aways because Katrina and Rita came right up our ass.
Anyway, this morning Mom was wearing a gianormous gold cross. It was so big I thought she might need a counterweight down her back to even out the weight distribution. Cross wearing has always been a part of her wardrobe, at least for the last 10 years. However her cross of choice has always been something smaller, elegant, maybe even tasteful.
This cross has to be the size of my hand. Furthermore, the gold chain supporting the cross is so long, the jewelry stops right about belt level. Mom's wearing bling in a cheap, fake gold kinda way. She's a wannabe, but I'd never tell her that...ok, I would, but she wouldn't get it.
After staring at the thing for several minutes, she finally pipes up and asks me if I like her new cross. She decided to buy a gold one so it would go with more outfits, because you just can't wear a regular cross with khakis and a button down.
Me: Why is the cross so big? I've never seen something like that before.
Mom: Everybody wears them this big.
Me: What everybody? Everybody wears a delicate cross that peaks out from their shirt, no blaring gold crosses that stop traffic.
Mom: Everyone I know wears them this big.
Me: Everyone? Who?
Mom: All the priests, nuns and people in my prayer group wear them like this.
Me: So this is the fashion statement of your clique?
Mom: :::silence:::
Me: You realize you're wearing bling don't you?
Mom: :::silence:::
Me: Loud jewelry worn by rappers - you know, like having your name written in diamonds and then wearing that around your neck.
Mom: :::more silence:::
Me: So, do you have enough crosses to wear a different one every day of the week?
Mom: Almost.
I imagine strangers who meet her for the first time can't figure out if she's a devoted Christian proudly showing the world her big cross or Lil' K.
ramblings by Whitey on 7:16 PM116293387675640039 Whatcha talkin' bout?
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03 November
Back to the Bathroom
The bathroom and the habits those who use it are once again a blog topic. You might remember this from a post titled Hey, hey you need to spray. My hallway is the only one with a Unisex bathroom, much like the one in Ally McBeal, but not quite as elegant...or clean. This one looks like it could belong in a college dorm, probably because it was a college dorm way back when. Anyway, there are a gaggle of us who use this facility. To fool ourselves into thinking we have a private bathroom, every practices knocking before entry. Guys get to use the urinal in peace and ladies don't have to watch the guys use the urinal.
There are 4 stalls in this bathroom and strangely enough only the first and last ones are ever used. As far as I can tell, there's no real reason for this preference, it just happened. I prefer the last stall. Why? I don't know, it just seems cozy. Maybe other folks think it's cozy too.
Somewhere around 10am I head in for my first visit, when I noticed something on the seat. I'm not sure what the something is, but it's something, and this something is towards the front of the seat. Well I'm not inclined to sit on something, so I clean the seat. And by clean the seat I mean make do with the cleaning supplies available. I unravel about a foot of paper towel, wet it, then cover it with liquid hand soap. I proceed to wipe down the seat, then wet another towel to rinse it and finally dry the seat off.
What, you might ask, was the something? I'm not sure. Sharing a bathroom with ten or so people one might expect a something on the seat sometimes. Maybe not if someone actually cleans once a week (more on that later). I leave the bathroom knowing this seat is clean.
After lunch it's time for my next bathroom break. However, just to mix things up, I visit the first stall - no somethings around. Let's say two-ish I make my way for the last stall again and there it is, something. It's on the seat again. In the same spot. [Men, you might want to leave now; this won't be pretty. You will soon dry heave in revolt.] I figure out what the something is...blood. You heard me, blood. And blood was the same something earlier. It's smeared on the seat.
I repeat the same cleaning process outlined above, but realize, hand soap will not kill anything left behind by the blood. Into the janitor's hovel I venture until I find a bleach product and proceed to clean all 4 toilet seats. Not only am I disgusted by the something on the seat twice in one day, I'm even more disgusted someone left the stall in such a manner.
The staff was sparce today so elimination of suspects was easy. Ok, first, it wasn't me. Second, I don't think any of the guys are bleeding. [Edited to add - confirmed by the guys- no bleeding me, at least not today] The only other lady working in my hall today stayed for an hour and didn't use the bathroom. My office is close enough to the bathroom to keep count of visitors. The only person left is the custodial worker. Let's call her Large Marge.
LM the only custodial worker on the floor. She's doesn't have much to do during the day and spends hours in her room reading or talking on her cell phone. I've watched her clean, if you call it that. She's mops the carpet. Yes, I said mops the carpet. She sprays furniture polish on the cement brick, metal doors and on the air intake grate. What.the.hell?
She dumps some sort of cleaning product into the toilet bowl & sink, but neither are ever scrubbed or wiped. I've watched her sweep the main bathroom walkway, but never in the stalls or around the toilet. After witnessing all of this, I shouldn't be surprised at the something found today.
How about some personal and public hygiene Marge! There should not be anything on the seat when you get up from it. If there is, ack, do something about it. Leaving for someone else to see, touch or feel is nasty.
ramblings by Whitey on 8:56 PM116285302222256634 Whatcha talkin' bout?
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01 November
Wait a minute Mrs. Postman
Isn't the United States Postal Service supposed to deliver mail every day but Sunday? And aren't they so brazen as to claim nothing will prevent the delivery of mail? Isn't there some nonsense about rain, sleet, snow and hail? It seems nothing will prevent mail delivery except when someone calls in sick.
A postal worker once explained to me that each employee of the USPS gets one day off in the week in addition to Sunday. And if said employee is a mail carrier, then someone fills in for them so the mail on their route is delivered..except in my neighborhood. At least one day a week I am without mail. I do not believe that my mail magically ceases one day a week... for 4 years.
Today is that day - no mail, again. I'm expecting a package from Amazon so I was miffed at the post office. How hard is it to fucking deliver my mail every.single.day? Isn't that why I pay taxes? Damn lazy bastards.
After going to the gym, I head out on my 25 minute run around 7:20pm. As I'm approaching the end of my route, I noticed a faint light in the street about 3 blocks away. The closer I get to it I realize there's a person, maybe a child in the middle of the road. It looks like this person fell in middle of the street. And they're not really moving. Oh, the light moves a bit, but I'm not convinced it's a light, maybe it's a reflector off a bike.
It's only when I get within 20 feet that I realize it's an adult sitting in the middle of the street with a small flashlight. What.The.Hell?
My plan was to keep jogging past crazy person in the street. I want no contact with crazy people sitting in the street at 8 o'clock at night. As I pass by, I ask, "Are you ok?" The response was a grunt. I still can't see the person because their back is to me, so I slow down and ask again. Another grunt was thrown my way. Finally this crazy street person looks up at me and then I realize it's the mail carrier.
Her: I'm going to report this.
Me: Um...what?
Her: This is ridiculous.
Me: [silence]
Her: Look at all this mail they give me. [-->points to overflowing mail bag] I shouldn't be out here this late because they're short-handed.
She's still in the middle of the street and has made no attempt to get up. She's got mail spread out everywhere in the road. I still can't tell if she fell or not.
Me: Do you need any help?
Her: It's dangerous out here late at night.
Me: Can I help you with anything?
Her: Look at this [points to bag again].
Me: Un-hun. So you're ok then?
Her: Yeah.
No wonder so many postal employees shoot people, they're crazy.
ramblings by Whitey on 10:14 PM116250771450012959 Whatcha talkin' bout?
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31 October
Boob-a-licious
I'm convinced all the weight I've gained back since my summer surgery has landed in my boobs. They keep growing exponentialy. In fact, I think I hear them growing right now. They've got their own gravitational pull right now.
Some of my newer shirts are now squishing my breasts. I'm no longer able to be objective about the fashion statement, or lack thereof, this makes. I'm sure someone, I'm looking at you Wayne, will let me know.
Running has allowed me to maintain a lower weight and relatively smaller size, but not in the chest area. Are boobs are immune to this cardio activity? Any boob experts out there willing to express their opinion? This might be the stupidest questions I've ever asked.
ramblings by Whitey on 8:31 PM116250566276235717 Whatcha talkin' bout?
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30 October
Running Down A Dream
Today makes week #7 in my Couch-to-5k training. I quit running at the track earlier this month because running in circles just got boring. And it was creepy being on the only runner out there at dusk. There was also the mental block of reaching the 1/2 mile mark. It seemed nearly impossible to run for the required 5 minutes or 1/2 mile at the track. Once I moved to the pavement, 5 minutes was easy. I laugh at 5 minutes now. Ha!
At this point in my training, I'm supposed to run 20 minutes non-stop, without walking breaks, or 2 miles. Both attempts at the 20 minute mark ended in failure. I'm not sure if it was a mental block or a hydration issue, but I couldn't pass the 12 minute mark. Shit, this should be a milestone itself. Twelve minutes, although slow, is my 1 mile time. I can run for 1 mile without stopping!
I've been discouraged with my efforts even though the 1 mile thing rocks. None of my online training partners (coolrunnings.com) have had to repeat a week. I was all set to start repeating weeks, but my latest accomplishment is the best evah.
Tonight I ran for 23 minutes non-stop which calculates to about 1.75 miles. Bask in my awesomeness! The credit for this run goes to a 12 oz bottle of Fanta Strawberry drink. Fanta Stawberry is even more awesome than I am. Can I get an amen?
The rest of this week and next will be 25 minute runs preparing me for the Crescent City Fall Classic on Nov 11th.
ramblings by Whitey on 10:07 PM116250303373897755 Whatcha talkin' bout?
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29 October
Fall Back
This was supposed to be THE weekend. This was supposed to be the weekend I tested for black belt. I trained and waited for 4 years for this day, only to have it postponed another 6 months. The test was already postponed from July to October because of the TSD World Tournament. TBTB had everyone in limbo for months whether or not testing would occur. Each week brought another decision different from the previous one. But that didn't matter so much since I had my belly sliced opened in June. There was no way July was a possibility, but October seemed do able. I thought it was do able, but I don't get to make the call on this one, my instructor does. Now THE weekend is in April. Six months seems like forever.
I spent the entire day setting up my parent's new PC. My Dad is not computer literate at all but likes to ask a zillion questions about computers. His frequency and type questions remind me of a small child. He needed me to point to every icon on my old PC and tell him what it was and what it did. There must be more than 40 icons on my old computer. I wanted to pull my hair out after icon number four. The My Computer icon blew his mind.
My Mother has encouraged, no insisted, my Dad take free computer classes for senior citizens at the library, but he refuses. All of my father's computer knowledge has trickled down from Mom. This is the woman who told me the icon's on her pc were blocking the pretty picture of the moon (wallpaper). She was amazed and astonished on how I moved all the icons over two inches with a simple drag and drop.
The highlight of my day was a conversation with Dad about PowerPoint. Mom insisted it was a necessary software for their new pc even thought it cost an extra $200 for the expanded Office suite. Necessary why? Because all the cutsie presentations her friends send her at work she can't share with Dad at home. Anyway, here's my conversation with Dad.
Me: Already I've made a shortcut to PowerPoint for Mom.
Him: What's PowerPoint?
Me: A program used to make slide shows or presentations.
Him: Slide show? Who in the hell wants to watch a slide show?
Me: Mom.
ramblings by Whitey on 9:34 PM116250018772811892 Whatcha talkin' bout?
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