Stuck In An ATM Vestibule With Jill Goodacre

The title is actually a shout out to fellow "Friends" fans.  If you were a fan of the show, you just envisioned Chandler sitting on the floor of an ATM vestibule, on the phone with Monica, trying to indicate his whereabouts without moving his lips.  Then you saw Joey take the phone, listen and hand it back to her, saying, "He's stuck in an ATM vestibule with Jill Goodacre" as if it was an every day occurrence.

I was indeed stuck in an ATM vestibule this weekend, but it was not with Jill Goodacre.  It was with a teenager, his mother and three other adults who all wanted to heave the little shit through the glass door.

Justin, Allie and I were at the town farmers market when we realized that between the three of us, Allie was probably the one with the most cash on her.  Allie and I went to use the ATM and when we reached for the door handle, we saw that there were six seriously annoyed adults standing around a 6 foot tall, chubby young man.  

The ATM is in the bank entrance, which is slightly larger than a bathroom stall for handicapped people.  (The entrance, not the bank.  That would be a very tiny bank!)  Everyone shimmied over a bit so Allie and I could get inside this little box and take our place in line.  

The teenager, who I shall refer to as Jackass (which is better than my original nickname of F**kface), was in front of the ATM and his mom was hovering over him, asking, "Did you punch in $280?  You need to punch in $280.  Oh my gawd.  Start over.  You didn't do it right."

At that point, his father sighed, his sister rolled her eyes, and they both left.  I kind of knew then that something was amiss.  

It's easier to just give you the dialogue at this point, because I'll just drag this on and on with angry details, so here we go:

Jackass: "This is stupid."

Mom: "It's not stupid.  Just pay attention and get it over with!"

Jackass: "I AM paying attention!"

Mom: "No you're not! You just did it again!  You typed $2800.  What are you doing??!!"

I looked at the people on either side of me and we all did that shrug-and-smile thing that you do when you aren't sure what's going on, but you know you should wait it out.  To be perfectly honest, because it was taking so long and he was hesitating with his responses to his mother, I thought that maybe he was mentally challenged and his mom was a rather impatient bitch.

Jackass: "There.  I did it."

Mom: "No.  You didn't.  You aren't paying attention.  This is ridiculous.  Hurry up!"

Jackass:  "Shut up."

Nice.  He told his mother to shut up.  Okay.  Now I think I see why mom is a little flustered.  She turned around to us a few times and mouthed "I'm sorry" during this episode and I was starting to think that maybe his mom was just at her limit with patience.

I need to clarify something for those of you who don't live in the Tri-State area, which includes New York, New Jersey and Connecticut.  We all are in a freakin' hurry.  Even those of us here in cow country.  We might live in the sticks, but we are still New Yorkers and we don't have time for bullshit.  

I have a friend from NJ who waits at a red light, watching the light of the intersecting traffic.  When that sucker turns red, if the brake lights of the person in front of her don't go out in preparation to accelerate, she lays on the horn.  (You know who you are, my little onion hater! lol)  In a nutshell, regardless of what you are doing, if other people are affected by your speed, get your shit moving.

Back to the ATM.

Mom: "You really need to look at the world around you.  There is a line!  And there are people outside waiting too."

Silence.

Mom: "Oh my God!  Stop texting!!!  You can type "yes" and "no" when you finish!  There is A LINE!"

Jackass: "SHUT....UP!"

It was at this point that I felt my throat closing up and I could feel my heart pounding through my chest.  I took a deep breath and just kept holding Allie close to me.   Everyone stopped smiling and we all stared at him like vultures looming over a wounded animal.  If he didn't scamper away in a few seconds, his death was eminent.  

This ignorant, selfish, rude, oblivious, entitled, mother f**king jackass was TEXTING while we were waiting patiently in line behind him!!  

TEXTING!  Something reserved for moments of solitude.  Not when you are sharing air in a tiny space with many humans who are in a rush to get money to buy vegetables, wine and baked goods from local farmers who are struggling to make a living.   And let me tell you, the bakery lady at the entrance sells out quick, so if you aren't snappy with your arrival time, it's "no cookies for you!"  This is critical stuff here!

Jackass took the money that the ATM finally spit out and just walked out the door.  He didn't look at any of us.  No acknowledgement, no apologies, no shrug-and-smile.  Not even a "screw you, peons!"  And his mom just scampered right after him.

We all just looked at each other in awe.  "What just happened?"  "Did she say he was texting?"  "He didn't even look apologetic."  "What in the hell is wrong with kids?"

For a moment, I got really scared.  Was this my future?  Was this what the teenage stage looked like in the 21st Century?  Was my little sweetpea going to grow into a self-absorbed monster like Jackass?  Was I going to be able to divert the process and at least make her semi-aware?  

Then I heard the rage inside of me and realized that this was not going to be Allie's future.  At least not without a fight.  I couldn't live in the same house with a child that behaved like that!  

If that was me, my mother would've taken that phone out of my hands, opened the door and winged the phone into traffic before she would let it get to that point.  And that is most likely what I would do, too.  Of course, I'd be kicking myself later as I gave my credit card number to the phone company to purchase a replacement, but you can be sure that there would be no Next Day Delivery on that sucker.  "Send it carrier pigeon.  She can wait."

On a happier note, after the farmers' market, we went to the grocery store and this was my pretty little shopping assistant....

She loved the Customer In Training flag

This was her first solo shopping cart mission, so it was packed full of entertainment.  The cart toppled over sideways three times ("Don't worry, Al.  It happens to everyone.  Let's keep moving, honey.") and she was eventually given a 20-Paces-Behind-Or-Your-Cart-Priviledges-Will-Be-Revoked warning after   slamming into my heels one too many times.  Mind you, she would get distracted by something and realize she had to catch up to me, so this cart collision was happening while running at full speed.

I thought of you all during this escapade as I envisioned a photo of her reaching out to one of the beer displays.  There were a few potential captions that made me giggle, but I really didn't have the nerve to do it.  What kind of parent sets their two year old up for a photo to look like she's purchasing beer at the supermarket?  

She's looking at the Corona display here.  I was THISCLOSE!

It was the shame that stopped me.  For once, shame beat the silly out of me.

Skinny Faces and Nasty Bitches

"Wow!  I can tell you lost weight..... I can see it in your face!"

Just what every person wants to hear.  The area where the most change has occurred is in your face.  Fabulous.

I was really hoping it would be my giant ass or tree trunk legs that would be the first place affected.  Even better, if I didn't have to suck in my gut and still feel a fat roll, I'd be thrilled!  But noooooooo.  My face looks thinner.

F*&%ing hell!

I even would've been happy if my boobs looked smaller.  They've been a huge pain in the ass since I was a teenager.  Wearing the "grandma bras and sex killer lingerie" is the pits.  (A woman at a department store actually referred to my purchases as being "grandma-ish sex killers" once.  Never went back there.)  By 41, I've just given up.  It takes me back to the sensible shoes thing.....sometimes comfort is worth sacrificing style.

Operation Fattypants is still going.  You thought I would've crapped out by now, didn't you?  The coconut cake and chocolate chip cookies still call, but I send them straight to voice mail.   Sorry, no time for you!

I'm ten pounds down and still shrinking.   Slooooooooowwwly.  But I can feel a difference already.  Who would've thought ten pounds would make a difference (other than in my face...oy!)?  

Yesterday I was lamenting the fact that all of my skorts were falling off when I wear them.  Then what little is left of the "cool person I thought I was" many years ago clicked in and said, 'Maybe that's a sign that thin people don't need to resort to the skort, Vic.  Is the skort still in style???  I haven't seen people wear them...um...anywhere lately.  I wonder why that is??"

My inner cool person is a sarcastic bitch.

Speaking of bitches.... last night we were watching "Big Brother" on CBS and we are always shocked by  how even more horrible these human beings become week after week.  It gives me a smidgen of anxiety.  What a surprise.  Me and anxiety.  Who woulda guessed?!

Before I go on, yes, I watch cheesy reality shows.  My DVR is stockpiling them for me.  Andy Cohen is my DVR's pimp. He makes a new show and I find myself up at 1am, with toothpicks holding my eye lids open, glued to the TV. All of those Housewives and the Millionaire realtors are hanging out patiently, waiting to rot my mind, late at night after Allie is asleep.  

But Big Brother is by far the worst of them.  I'm not proud.  Loyal, but not proud.

I've watching since the inception of BB and I go back for more year after year.  Big Brother After Dark kept me entertained during the insomnia phase of pregnancy, so I kinda owe them.  (That's my pathetic excuse of the moment right there)

This year the women are embarrassing.  Three are racists who think their comments (which are heard live by millions of people) are "no big deal".  Another one has tried to start a romance with four men, desperately trying one after the other until one of them took the bait.  (He has since dumped her and moved on to one of the racists.)  One is a master manipulator who uses her skills in politics to shmooze everyone and fool them into thinking she is on their side.  And one is a complete bully, whose mission is to force her housemates into doing what she wants, or she scares the shit out of them.

Not one of these women could be a role model for Allie.  They are dreadful.

And yet, there are two who I find endearing.  One is a highly sensitive yoga instructor who is a terrible  liar, a devoted friend, and everyone thinks she's a dope.  The other one is an attractive, intelligent african american girl who is antagonized by racist comments and tries desperately to stand up for herself, which everyone in the house finds to be annoying.

Out of this collection of women, the only people I would want Allie to learn anything from are The Dumbass and The Annoying One.  That's what the others have pretty much labeled the people with scruples.  How lovely.

Before having Allie, Justin and I used to have conversations about having children and often the same statement came out: Do we want to bring a child into a world full of so much hate?  My only response was, 'If the good people start dwindling, who will stop the others from taking over?"  

So, in turn, I have now declared my Big Brother viewing to be research.  R&D.  Research and Development to prepare myself for what kind of people are out there waiting to corrupt my little princess after we have worked so hard at teaching her to be a kind, loving little soul.  

We need to prepare her to fight the meaniepants bitches from "taking over".  Fight the good fight!  Speak out against the injustices of the world!  Have a cape and a mask!  Wear gold bracelets that deflect bullets!   Make friends with the Wonder Twins so you can report back to me how they actually activate their powers!  Rule Gotham dammit!!!  (I took it too far)

How about if she just hangs out with Shaggy and Scooby (ruh-ro!), and makes friends with the girls that the evil ones have labeled as dumbasses and annoying?  They may very well be misrepresented.   Someone should find out for sure.

In the meantime, she can help house train Scrappy until they get it all figured out. 

My little crime fighter

Guilt-driven Forced Donating

This post is probably not going to be very flattering.  At least not for me.  YOU might feel better about yourself afterward though!

Today, I went to the grocery store in a town nearby to pick up a few small things.  I left my wallet at home, had $20 in cash in my pocket and there was no other money in my car.  Pulling into the parking lot, I see a gathering of people at the exit.  Something told me to drive past and when I did, I got EXTRA annoyed.

There, jammed around the exit, was a group of about ten or more high school kids.  They were collecting donations for something school related and they were dressed up in their sports jerseys and school colors.  Lots of excitement was going on and there wasn't even a departing shopper there.

I watched a young victim guy exit the store, totally unprepared for what was waiting.  I knew what was coming and I wanted to jump out of my car and yell, "Retreat!  Retreat!  Find an alternative exit, good man!" 

Those kids were all over him like stink on a litter box.  All of that school-pride-in-your-face-fueled-by-teenage-energy was flying around as they were bouncing all over the place.  They were talking way too loud all at once, asking, "Would you like to donate to blah-blah-blah??"

I had stopped in the middle of the parking lot, staring in awe as the poor guy was mauled by the teenage vultures.  It was like a bad accident.... I just couldn't look away.  I watched him digging in his pockets while trying to balance his bags (which no one cared to help him with; they just wanted his money) and heard myself say out loud, "Oh......my......gawd."

There are quite possibly tire tracks in the parking lot from my rapid acceleration from zero to 30.  I would rather leave without my stuff than be forced into forking over cash at that moment.  I was so outta there. 

Right away I started thinking about Justin.  He always gets annoyed when they hit him up for donations at the the register, let alone when he's leaving the store.  I used to get so pissed at him, calling him a greedy Grinch and all sorts of guilt-inducing names.  

Once when the cashier asked him if he wanted to donate to some big charity, his response was an exasperated "REALLY?  C'mon!"  I thought I was going to die of embarrassment, even though he did give them money.  

His explanation was, "How in the hell do you say NO without looking like an asshole?  It totally puts you on the spot.  And everywhere you go they ask you for money toward some cause.  It's like they know you'll do it so you don't feel like a piece of shit."  I totally get that now.

Guilt-driven Forced Donations.  GFD.  It's spreading like wildfire!

Not that I'm trying to make excuses, but I think I'm a pretty generous person when it comes to charity.  Until recently I was donating monthly to four separate organizations.   When my father passed away, I took a set percentage of the money that he left me, bought goods and donated them to an animal shelter.  I don't think twice about saying "yes" to "would you like to donate ___ to ______" when checking out at a store.  I'm right there with the "of course!"

But enough!  There has to be a limit to all of this.

Right?

This new found attitude hasn't been easy to adapt to.  I was raised Catholic and their "thing" 40 years ago was to give a percentage of your income to the church.  My parents didn't follow that rule to such an extreme, but they gave money every week.  (I say "they" but it was really my mom, since my dad was at home while we were at church, busily being part of his own creative religion)

Not so long ago, I had a table full of relatives give me a lecture about how I needed to cut back from four charities to two since we weren't exactly Rockerfellers or Trumps or Carnegies or Gateses or Buffets.  We were, and still are, majorly limited with our funds.  I argued my case pretty hard and we agreed to meet in the middle.  From four to two.

My point in the argument was that we need to help others.  I want Allie to grow up wanting to help others.  It's all part of karma and it comes back to you in some way.  Maybe when you need help, it will come to you because you were there for other people.  Or maybe what you receive will be an enlightened understanding to what is going on around you.  

I want Allie to know that there are people who are very ill and need help; there are families who have lost everything in natural disasters and are living with almost nothing...and yet they are grateful; there are people who went to war for our country and now they need us to help them create a normal life; there are animals discarded like garbage on the side of the road who have the potential to be the most loving and devoted friend a human can know; and  there are children who are neglected and abused and all they think about is fighting to survive.

And I want her to know that she can help, even if it seems like a small gesture.

When you look carefully outside of your own little "world", you become compassionate and empathetic and your spirit grows.  I want her spirit to be just freakin' enormous!  I want it to get in peoples' way and block traffic and shit.

Hopefully all of this  will make her feel good about herself and want to just keep learning and giving.  It can be an endless cycle.  If she sees US giving in some way (monetarily or otherwise), maybe it will become second nature for her to do the same during her lifetime.

With all of that being said, it still pisses me off when I feel like I'm being ambushed and I have no choice but to give money.  The message sounds more like, "Would you like to donate cash or would you prefer to look like a selfish bastard to everyone around you?"  How is that going to make anyone feel good?  

And for Pete's sake, don't come at me with the same hyped-up-on-hormones-but-looking-like-I'm-on-crack-too energy that I couldn't stand, even when I was one of them 25 years ago!

Approach with caution and ye shall receive bank!!  

Okay, maybe not "bank", but probably a smidgen of US currency.  

(Sorry about that "bank" thing.  I was just trying to fit in with the cool kids.  Fail.  Yikes.)  

The Babies = Weight Loss Theory

Where did this past week go?  It's like a big blur to me.  I know stuff happened, but I can't remember much beyond talking to furry beings for a good part of my day.  Oh, wait!  I do recall some nice weather.  Thank you Mother Nature for showing some mercy.

Operation Fattypants is still in effect.  Eight pounds gone.  I'd say "lost" but I'm not planning on looking for them.  This isn't a cat.  8lbs have vacated the premises and no one is in hot pursuit.  No one is going to be putting a photo of those 8lbs on the side of a milk carton with MISSING and REWARD IF FOUND printed near them.  (Do they even do that "missing persons on a milk carton" thing anymore?)

For the first time since I was pregnant, I got on the scale and the second number has changed to a rarely seen digit.  Prior to that, I hadn't seen that number since 1997.  A whole other century ago!  Way way back in the olden days.

Now, some of you might be scratching your heads.  That last paragraph was confusing in regards to the timeline.  I can explain.

26 years ago I weighed ABC.  After that, I "blossomed" up to ADC.  There was this whole Every Diet Known To Man experiment that I had going on for about 23 years where.... um... nothing happened.  Stationary/static fatness.

Then I got pregnant.  

I was determined that I was not going to be a woman who had a baby, gained 80lbs, and then spent the next 10 years blaming pregnancy and birth for being a chubster.  The doctor gave me one speech about weight.  ONE.  He said, "This is not an excuse to eat everything under the sun.  You're eating for one pregnant woman.  NOT two people.  One. pregnant. woman.  I'm not going to mention your weight to you again unless there's a problem.  If I don't say anything, consider yourself within healthy limits."  That was all I needed to hear.

This is where my occupation began working with me physically.  (It took long enough!)  I was walking all day while carrying this little package I couldn't put down.  To boot, this additional human being was sucking up 500 of my calories by just existing.

I gained twenty-one pounds.  For the first time in my life, my doctor was telling me that I was the poster child for healthy weight.  With a BMI of seven trillion for the past two decades, I sucked up every one of those pats on the back and beamed like a beacon.  I was so damn proud of myself.

Allie was born and a month later I got on that scale and saw a number I hadn't seen since I was twenty-five!  What followed was what any other woman in disbelief would do after weighing herself. 

I got off of the scale, shook it, put it back on the floor and got on it again.  Same number.

I took the scale into another room, stood on it and stared at the number.  Then I stepped off, flipped the scale over, took the batteries out to reset it, and tried weighing myself again.  Hot damn!  Could it be?

It was a joyous moment!  

It didn't last.  

Why?  I have no idea!  If I knew why it didn't last, you would be reading my New York Times Best Seller book on weight loss right now instead of my One-in-a-sea-of-a-kajillion-blogs ramblings.  

I can confirm that eating was involved.  That definitely contributed to the weight gain.  (Imagine that.)  I just don't know what happened between the joyous scale moment and me stuffing my face with reckless abandon.  Whatever occurred was a trigger to make me go from happy to porky ASAP.  That trigger is my enemy.  It does not want me to be healthy.

But my Little Peanut does.

Considering that one of the driving forces behind creating and implementing Operation Fattypants has been Allie, as well as the fact that she also helped me achieve this weight three years ago, I have come to the conclusion that babies contribute to weight loss.  Yup.... babies equal weight loss.

Can you imagine trying to prove that crazy theory?  REAL scientific conclusions get destroyed all of the time, and those ones actually have diagnostic information and endless experiments to back them up.  I'm just taking a shot in the dark with this one.  It's my own personal theory.  I'm nuts, so it's only fitting that my theory is as bonkers as I am.

Before I wrap this up, I wanted to share two photos.  After wondering what in the hell I actually did last week, I picked up my phone and tried to find some evidence.  Here's what I came up with....

Apparently my love of shoes has been passed down to the next generation.  I wasn't paying attention to what was going on behind me while getting ready one morning.  Suddenly, I hear "Mummm! Rook!" (that's what Mom, look! sounds like with that stupid binky in her mouth) I turned around and there was Allie wearing a pair of my strappy cork-wedge sandals.  She took two beautifully graceful steps..... and then face planted into the wall.  But those two steps were clearly indicative of someone with a natural love for cute, yet uncomfortable foot apparel!  I AM PROUD.

Last but not least, I found this (above) hanging on the wall at a customer's house this weekend.  It stopped me in my tracks.  I took a moment to read it and think about it.  As I walked down the stairs, I thought, 'What a great world it would be if things like that were hung in random places all over the place.'  We would walk around corners and find words of wisdom about all sorts of things.  

The question is, would we stop to read them?  Probably not here in New York.  Someone would steal 'em.

Survival and Surveillance

I survived Hell Week.  Survived.

It was a gazillion degrees out there.  I think God was having a little fun with me by matching the temperatures to my nom de la semaine (name of the week).

(That one year of French in high school paid off right there, didn't it?)

And The Big Guy Upstairs didn't let up.  Oh no.  The boiling temps hung around right up until my work schedule let up on Sunday afternoon.   Suddenly, it was positively delightful at 80 degrees with clouds and breezes.

I managed to stick with my little dietary change through it all..... despite the ice cream place at the top of the mountain calling my name every time I drove past..... which happened to be six times each day.  Six times of me yelling "I DON'T WANT ICE CREAM SO PLEASE STOP!" at the top of my lungs to nobody.

Unfortunately, I had a tiny taste of heat stroke due to a drop in blood sugar on two separate occasions (because I like to make sure that I learn my lessons well by repeating them until I'm 100% that I've f*cked up).  The weather people stressed high water consumption, but failed to mention that eating enough food was a skoatch important as well.  Things got yucky.  Dizziness, nausea, headache, etc. 

One afternoon I couldn't remember an entire hour spent outside.  It was as if i had been asleep the whole time.  I was completely freaked out.  I was in the middle of filing a phone claim (because that's what you should do when all of your faculties aren't workin' up to par) when I realized I was speaking English, but wasn't making sense.  I remember the fella saying, "Ohhhh!  Now I get it!" about 10 minutes into the call. ( I gave him a big fat Excellent rating in the survey at the end of our call.  He earned it.)
  

So, despite my little food faux pas, I walked over 75,000 steps, almost 38 miles, and lost 5lbs.  Operation Fattypants is still in effect.  Slow but steady wins the race, right?

Every time I look across the street I'm so grateful for the pool.  Even the kiddie pool that's heated by baby piddle.  A few days last week, we found time to schlep on over to cool our stuff off and let Allie splash around.  I love watching her with her little floaty thing on,  swimming around all willy nilly with no purpose or direction..... just like a baby duck.

The other day we had a genetic A-HA! moment at the pool.  The photo below was taken right after we had that.

On patrol

Let me preface this by saying that my mother should've been a private detective.  She would tell you that it's her ADD, but I think that her observation skills have been honed partially by her love of people watching, her natural curiosity about the unknown, and then maybe a little ADD mixed in with a sprinkle of OCD.

If a stranger drives past our area, conversation ceases, she'll get a kinda squinty, snap into PI mode and start with the questions.  Observational questions.  Many questions.  There's no distracting her.

"Who is that?  Do you know that person?  I've never seen them before.  Which way are they going?  Is that a friend of (insert neighbor name here)? They were going pretty fast, don't you think?"

We tease her about it, but I do find it endearing.  Not to mention that we shouldn't mock her considering this skill could be quite beneficial should there be a crime within 300 feet of my mother's existence.  She will be watching, getting the deets, and writing them down in a little notebook somewhere for the police to refer to.

Back to the story.

We were in the pool and the lifeguard got up and started doing his thing and then BAM!  The P.I. genetics kicked in.   For some reason, she was very suspicious about the life guard and every single one of his actions.  Allie got all squinty-eyed, honed in on the poor guy and, suddenly, she was my mother.

"What he doing?"  (he was putting away discarded pool noodles)

"He's cleaning up."

"Why?"  (what a surprise that question is.  not.)

"Because that's his job."

"Why he doing THAT?" (now he was moving an umbrella)

"To block the sun."

"Why?"  (again.  love that question.  ugh.)

"Because it's hot and he should be in the shade."

She just dead on stared at him.  He sat back in his chair looking everywhere but at her.  He knew she was watching.  You could see that he found it amusing... and creepy at the same time.

"Now what he doing?"  (he was getting the net to skim the baby pool)

"He's getting a net to get bugs out of the pool."

"Why are there bugs in the pool?"  (I feel my chest tightening)

"Because they like the pool water, I guess."

"What is he checking that white thing for?"  (the cover to the filter)

"To see what's in the filter."

"**I** want to see what's in the filter!"  (starts splashing toward the stairs)

Oh.  My.  God.

Following up on suspicious activities

This behavior continued the entire time we were at the pool.  We always thank the life guard on duty when we leave, and as we approached him, we told Allie to say thank you.  She held my hand and walked by, never losing eye contact, mumbling "Thank you" quietly.  I was waiting to see her do the two fingered gesture that says, "I'm watching you. These eyes are watching you."

(Just in case you weren't sure what I was talking about)

If anyone is looking for someone to do surveillance or back ground checks on people in about 16 years, please give me a call.  I imagine my daughter will be highly skilled in this area by then.  Until then, if you live in my neighborhood, between my mom and Allie, you should sleep well at night.  Things are under control.  You're safe.  (wink)