Is Road Rage Still Road Rage in a Parking Lot?

I guess I have completely missed the boat or something. I think I am one of the few, the rare breed, the near extinct, rarely seen, almost mythological Nice Person.

What is wrong with people today? I sit here today, in my car, waiting in the high school parking lot for my son to come out so we can go home. Home from work. Home from practice. Home from the hustle and bustle, high-demand world. I am still calming myself, but find it very hard to do when I look around me and see so many idiots.

(I already know this post will probably make some people angry – or you will all agree with me and say “I know exactly what you mean! In fact just the other day…”)

I’m getting out of work and trying to get across town to deposit some books back into the library, stopped at stop signs (‘cause that’s what you’re supposed to do), waiting for the dimwits who must think that we don’t mind waiting while they don’t use their turn signal, but really plan to turn right in front of you.

And of course, the little old grannies, who must have had bad luck scheduling their monthly check-up at their doctor’s office because they’ve obviously gotten stuck in rush hour traffic. Sorry dear grandparents! I really, really love you. But everybody else’s grandparents are driving 35 mph in the 45 mph zone. And remember, it’s rush hour. I think the doctor’s offices should schedule all people over the age of 60 in the middle of the day, say between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m. It really is for their own safety.

Upon entrance into the school parking lot, I find I have been thrust into the midst of all dummies! The special (and dominating) breed of ‘I Can Do Whatever I Want – Without Looking – And Everyone Can Just Wait For Me’. These people drive me nuts to NO END!! I mean, they don’t even waive and say thank you anymore. Remember when you could actually see people mouthing the words: “Go Ahead”, “I’m Sorry”, “Thank You”? Pure, blatant disregard for other people’s time. That’s what it is, in a nutshell, plain and simple, handed to you on a silver platter.

When are these ignoramuses going to realize that they’re making people angry when they do such foolish things like:

• Park in the no parking zone at the curb nearest the main entrance.
• Sit at a stop sign as if it were their own private parking spot.( She was either completely ignoring everyone lined up behind her or she was really that stupid!!
• Walking across the road without using the crosswalk (where I am willing to stop because the law tells me to), and then cross in front of me, because inside their peanut-sized brains, the rest of us have nothing better to do than sit and wait for them to sludge across – and all without a quick wave of the hand and the words “Oops, I’m sorry. Thanks for waiting.” mouthed back at me.
• Oh my gosh! You do not want to get me started on the cyclists….

All I’m asking is that there is more acknowledgements for the people (me and those law-abiding citizens like me) who sit there and are inconvenienced on a daily basis by those who deem themselves more special than the rest of us. Let me inform you that one of these days, your indifference will back-fire and you will be very sorry when the nice people whom you thought were all extinct rise up and fight back. Also let me inform you, that your behavior makes you look rather stupid. Do you realize that we sit here in our cars watching you perform your offensive behavior and think: Are they really that dumb or are they just that rude? Also, did you know that your behavior reflects on your parents? Your parents must have left you at the daycare for waaaay too long! Of course, I don’t know. Maybe you were like this as a child as well and your parents just couldn’t deal with it so they left you in front of the Atari as much as possible.

Well, I must say: I am feeling much better now. Thank you for listening to my rant. Please go out and be nice. Use the crosswalks (my tax dollars helped pay for them). Say thank you. Say that you’re sorry to those that you offend. Smile. Move when you’re in the way. And if you hear a horn honk and muffled yelling like it’s coming through a car window, yeah, that’s me!

Please read my similar post geared more towards the holidays at: http://sumofthisnthat.blogspot.com/2010/11/big-helping-of-manners-side-of-common.html

Peters & DeLuca Investigating Agency.... May I Help You?

Had a girls night out last night. Mom, sister, myself and the 5 granddaughters. Out to the baseball game. Had some fun. Feeling very tired today. As usual, there was no end to topics of conversation. We discussed the kids and going back to school. Did you go to the fair? Did you know the cousins are coming for a visit? What exactly does cousin J do again? I think he works for the FBI. Does he? Doing what? I think he works in the If I Told You, I'd Have To Kill You department. Why can't we have cool jobs like that?

Cool jobs.... Why not? Sis and I agreed: We could be private investigators. My sis and I as PI's. We have a car and we have camera phones. What else do you need? Right?

First you need to understand that we grew up in a very rural area with one TV in the house that got (on a good day) 3 channels. Our serial choices were slim to none. But we definitely remembered Rick & AJ Simon; Simon & Simon. Brothers that were private investigators. Soo hot! Sis had the poster of Jameson Parker who played AJ. Remember people: this was pre-cordless phone era.

And how about Moonlighting? LOVED IT!!! How many seasons did you faithfully watch? And hope and pray and want Maddie and David to get together. Honestly, I don't remember any of the story lines. I only remember the chemistry between those two characters. (I mean, Bruce Willis 25 years younger and with hair! Who could ask for more?!

Okay! Okay! Of course I didn't forget the ultimate PI: Thomas Magnum. Tall, dark, handsome, brave, smart. Complete package? Well, duh!

I am completely getting off track here. It must have been the mustache... I wonder how my sis and I would do. I'm sure we would end up talking too much while on a stake out and miss the entire episode of the cheating spouse giving lingerie to his mistress. Even if we managed to save the evidence with our camera phone, neither of us know how to get it off the phone into some of the those 8X10 black and white glossy prints that we would need to seal in a manila envelope and present to our client between the preschool drop-off, grocery shopping and picking up the kids again at ball practice.

Sis and I could enroll in one of those classes that teach high performance stunt driving. And how cool would that be? I could then pick up the kids (one at a time, of course) on my shiny blue ninja, skidding to a stop exactly in the middle of the pick-up zone, then zoom off to look for clues in the abandoned warehouse, then home just in time to make dinner and brew a fresh pot of coffee for our late night stakeout. Who wouldn't want to be Drew Barrymore in Charlie's Angels? Or Lucy? Or Cameron?

Just don't expect me to ride a mechanical bull and perform a slo-mo picture perfect roundhouse above the heads of twenty Huns. (wink!)

Testing My Mettle

I believe I've already told you the story about coloring my hair dark(er than I had aimed for) - if not, read it here: http://mysupermidlife.blogspot.com/2011_06_01_archive.html. Now that I've gone through the spring and summer seasons, the color has faded and my shiny blonde strands (ok, maybe they are silver - but it's very difficult to tell) are starting to peek through. I am definitely going to color it again. I have the box of color, but was hoping to get my hair cut first. I just haven't been able to get in touch with my stylist yet. What's a girl to do?

I suppose if I were brave enough I would:
     1. Try a different stylist. Ummm, yeah... thought about that for all of 2 seconds: NO WAY!!
     2. Try to cut it myself...
     3. Take a razor blade to it and start hacking. I knew a girl once, much younger (and therefore much braver than I) who did this. Personally, I thought it looked amazing!! Not sure if I could manage this one on my own since I should probably remove my glasses. I have a gut feeling that I may accidentally pull a Van Gogh. What?

Cut & Color Mettle Factor: Low - None. I will patiently wait for my stylist to get back to me while I continue to pull my overgrown frumpy hairstyle back into the daily ponytail routine. (dang!)



And you know something? I've always wanted a tattoo. Yeah. You know, just something small, meaningful and tucked away somewhere so as not to prohibit my job choices. So what's the point of getting a tattoo? you say. My reply? Purely for my enjoyment. And NO ONE else's. But who's got that kind of cash now-a-days? Guess what I found? It's super cheap and easy. Look here: TWO 2 Instant HENNA MEHNDI Paste Kits TEMPORARY TATTOO. I bought this kit and nearly every weekend since it was delivered to my front porch, my daughters and I have been drawing on all kinds of art onto our ankles and hands and feet. LOVE IT!!! It lasts for just a couple of weeks before it fades completely, so you're not committed for a lifetime.
Tattoo Mettle Factor: ZERO (are you nuts) - temporary tattoos are much more fun - and interchangeable.



Hey! How about this? A piercing. Totally not in the girls - and definitely no vajazzling. I've heard that belly button piercings can get infected easy and smell; and I gotta tell ya... after four kids, my belly button leaves a lot to be desired! Mmmm.. not the eyebrow either. Not the lip. Some girls can really pull off the teeniest little sparkle at the side of the nose. I've always wanted to try that, but I don't think it would look right on me. Unfortunately I don't have that cute little up-turned pixie nose that it looks best with. So what's left? The ears. When I was much, much younger I had my ears triple pierced. That's been about the extent of my rebellious years.... (hi mom!). So I've been tossing around the idea of getting the second holes redone and/or maybe one small diamond up high in the cartilage. If there's a technical term for that, I apologize that I don't know it. Sorry. At my age, I'm feeling a tad bit out of the "Hip Terminology" loop.

Piercing Mettle Factor: Low - Think I might give a whirl.... but then, maybe a toe ring would be safer.


Stay tuned. Maybe I'll post some before and after pics! (And wish me luck!)

Trolling

Now I'm sure that the younger folks aren't yet familiar with this term in the sense that we will be discussing here today.

Trolling. for all intents and purposes, means the following:

troll

¹    /troʊl/ Show Spelled[trohl] Show IPA

verb (used with object)

1. to sing or utter in a full, rolling voice.

2. to sing in the manner of a round or catch.

3. to fish for or in with a moving line, working the line up or down with a rod, as in fishing for pike, or trailing the line behind a slow-moving boat.

4. to move (the line or bait) in doing this.

5. to cause to turn round and round; roll.

 

That's right. It's more or less a fishing term. Until you apply it to the single, tan, 50-60 year old male, who, more often than not, enjoys spending his late afternoons on the golf couse with his pals, getting slightly liquored up before heading out to their favorite up-scale pub for happy hour....and a bit of heavy trolling.

 

Now the word trolling takes on a whole new meaning.

 

These guys, smooth operators if you will, see themselves through rose-colored glasses, or maybe it's through the glass of their fancy Stella Artois beer glass. After all, it must take one heck of a man to pull off drinking beer from that kind of beer 'mug'.

 

Moving on....

 

These lonely, dateless guys have dolled up their fresh-from-the-course tans, with a shower and shave. They've doused on a few splashes of good cologne (you mean to say that Polo isn't popular anymore?), trimmed and buffed their nails, lightly spritzed a little holding spray on their wispy, silvering hair and then gotten dressed in what they believe to be their most flattering polyester pants, shiny tasseled shoes and a pink button-down dress shirt, notably unbuttoned one more button than should be necessary for a simple evening out with the guys. Plus, this one extra button now shows the tpasty white skin below the tan line from the polo shirt worn earlier that afternoon.

 

They meet up at the pub, making sure they are sitting at one of the tall bar tables. This ensures that they have the best view of the delectables at the bar, as well as first dibs on the pretty dames coming in the front door.

 

They are all present so they begin to hound the waitress, who of course, is on to them already since she waited on them during last week's Ladies' Night. She is patient with them, giving them her smile that says, "I will put up with your comments and remarks, but if you think about touching my ass..." The guys know this as they actually tried that move last week.

 

They keep their sites set on a group of ladies who look as if they have just come from a business meeting. The ladies are dressed in tight pencil skirts, high heels, pretty, frilly blouses that have had a few buttons undone after a long, stressful day at work. Their hair and make-up are immaculate. The trollers begin jabbing each others' ribs with their elbows, motioning towards the group of beauties. The girls look so classy sipping their martinis and eating the stuffed olives off the toothpicks.

 

The old farts can't believe their good fortune when one of the ladies slowly turns her head to survey her male counterparts who have filled the bar on this mid-summer session of Ladies' Night. Her eyes land on the group of trollers sitting at the ultra-hip tall bar table, puffing their cigars and talking hunched over their glasses of Glenfiddich scotch, discussing what seems to be the excess profits they've encountered through the stock market that day.

 

What's this? She's smiling. And then she waives. The trollers see her elbow her friend. She says something and her friend looks over as well and smiles. The trollers are now smiling ferociously, snickering in a half-grunt-half-chuckle. If these trollers were actually bulls, they would be stomping their feet and snorting before the full-on charge towards the shiny red muletas.

 

Now the guys are in real trouble. They don't realize it yet, but they are. The two girls are making their way across the crowded pub towards them. The trollers are sweating bullets, giving their faces a pasty, shiny sheen and their thin combed over hair a stringy quality. Their pick-up line repertoire is full, practiced and ready to launch.

 

One of the trollers sits up a bit straighter. He has stopped smiling. He spreads his arms out slowly and places his hands on the arms of the two buddies that are on either side of him. They in turn, quiet their sniggering and look at him. He seems to be speechless. He is slightly pale and for a very minute space of time they believe he may be experiencing cardiac arrest. That's when he signals towards the lovely ladies and manages to croak out "Christ Harry! That's your daughter!".

 

To the objective observing eye the demeanor of the trollers abruptly and visibly physically changes. They are now all sitting up a bit straighter, putting on the air of 'just relaxing a little with the guys before heading home to watch the ten o'clock news'.

 

The girls have finally reached the table. "Mr. Richards! It's so good to see you again." Mr. Richards hasn't seen his daughter's friend since she and his daughter were in highschool together - four short years ago. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

 

"Uh... uh..." He's thankful the pub is loud enough to drown out his nervous stuttering.

 

"You remember Tracy, my friend?"

 

"Uh... Lovely to see you again Tracy." Poor Mr. Richards, part-time troller, has been found out. His mouth has gone dry. All the scotch has now gone through him and is soaking into the pink shirt material under his arms. "The lads and I were just catching a harmless drink before heading home for the evenin'."

 

Not much to say. At least not much can be thought of by poor Mr. Richards. His aresenal was full to the brim with those damned corny pick-up lines and now, not only are those forgotten, but he has no decent small talk that he can easily conjure from his soggied brain.

 

The girls say good night and make their way back to the bar to join their girlfriends. The trollers decide to make a hasty exit after leaving  several crinkled bills on the table for the tolerant waitress.

 

The trollers decide in the parking lot that this pub is just a little too out of the way for them to drive to anymore. They decree that next Thursday evening they should try someplace new. It's unanimous. Their cover has been blown and they will never meet at that pub again.

 

That pub didn't have that many head-turners, anyways.

That's the Ticket!

It's a fairly dismal, gray, rainy Saturday. Woke up late. Had freshly ground coffee and hot buttery pancakes. My family is gathered around me. So far today is going A-Okay. I've been able to update my Twitter account and find a few more lovely peeps to follow.

My job is going great (I think). I've just completed a major project and submitted it to my boss for review. It's August and I finally feel like I am finally to the end of my year end change over; that I have some time to breathe and maybe rearrange my drawers.

The children are all healthy and starting to gear up and look forward to the school year.

Nobody has called yet  today to ask me to pay a bill before something gets shut off. (Keeping my fingers crossed on that one.)

What more could a person ask for?

Right?

I should be thankful for what I have. After all, I've managed to live this long without all of the extra amenities to life.

Right?

So why do I buy them? Those little slips of thermal paper with rows of numbers on them? Single play, multi-plays, gold balls, easy picks, weekly draws... Every Tuesday night and Friday night.

I've got my ticket. The Golden Ticket? I doubt it. But it sure is enthralling, intriguing, and of course, exciting to envision what could be; what you could do with it all if you won 'the big one'.

I've got plans. Who doesn't? Of course, my plans vary depending on exactly how much I walk away with.

All bills paid. Our families' bills will be paid. Houses paid off. Updated vehicles. Updated and remodeled house. Finally finish the back yard. Banjo lessons for me.

These are just the tip of the iceberg....

I've checked out properties on the Foxtons website. I have several homes picked out around London, all saved and listed in My Favorites. Creamy white interiors, fantastic backyard gardens, blocks from royalty, just down from the Portobello Road, views of the Thames....

Beamer or Mercedes? Or both? Butler? I could find a nice butler. They train them well over there across the pond. Not sure what it's called. Butling school maybe. "I've learned to butle, mum."

Oh! I could finally get my very own computer. (Now that's exciting!) Do you know what it's like sharing a computer? (I'm sure that most of my readers do.) We have pop ups from Barbie World. Various tones that alert us to a skyper trying to ring us up. Instead of gathering 'round the fireplace in the winter, we gather around the ultra-warm laptop. I mean, after six of us get done with our checking and updating, job searching, flat searching, skyping, facebooking, tweeting, homework, emailing, etc., the computer is literally radiating heat.

And finally a race car red matching, front-loading washer and dryer. You know, the ones that don't make any sound at all. So instead of "Mom, hold on while I start this load of laundry." I could carry on an entire phone conversation in the laundry room. That would put some pep in my step.

Maybe I could get electrolysis. The hair on my head is thinning, but I'm finding that - Oh! Where in the world did that one come from?!

And I could get my hair professionally done more than once a year. And my poor pathetic nails, ooo and a real pedicure....

But I suppose, really, that what I have now isn't that bad. Still, it sure is nice to revel in the great What If. It's so easy to lose myself in my secret What If World. The peek that I've given you is only a smidgen of the stuff I've dreamed up. Trust me!!

There's just no end to what my imaginary money can buy. (But wish me luck anyways!)

All Nighters

Aaahh... Yes. Those wonderful all-nighters. They're not something I remember very clearly as having done, even though I know I pulled a few back in the day.
Now it's my kids' turn to have them. Granted they're all still young enough so these fantastic no-sleepers happen right here in my house, under my watchful, but sleepy, supervision. I was jolted awake twice last night (that I can remember) by the excited grunting of teenage boys winning or losing at XBox.
It's 10:00 a.m., Sunday morning. One daughter on the couch - still sleeping.

Son in his own bed, and only because apparently he was the first asleep and had an unfortunate incident with some cold water....

Another daughter asleep in the wrong bunk.
Teenage boy sprawled out at an angle, asleep on downstairs sofa.

I don't know how they manage.

I used to know. See, back in the day, I used to be able to do this. Sleepovers, parties, stay up all night, work eight hours the next day, make it to college classes.

Now? It's a rarity that I'm able to stay up past 11:00 p.m. My typical bedtime routine is to be in the shower by at least 9:00 p.m. and then in my pajamas and in bed by 10:00; 10:30 at the latest. My kids all think I'm rather boring. But I know that I can get up and face the day without too many yawns.

And then of course, there's the fact that their young bodies can take sleeping just about anywhere, in any position. While I know that if I were to sleep on the sofa for a night (even the occasional nap during the day) I'm going to be very sorry when I wake up. Very sorry. It will take at least a week to work the kinks out of my neck and shoulders. And believe it or not, I think it actually does something to my digestive system as well.

It just gets harder to manage these things as you get older, you know? And then of course, you're more stressed because you worry about your kids doing the same stupid things you did when you were their age, which doesn't help. Who needs more stress? And to top it off, you really don't want to seem like a boring old bugger, which, of course, you do to everyone around you. You know, 'early to bed, early to rise' and all that smack.... I actually heard that phrase/saying/quote on one of the old black and white versions of The Little Rascals.... and sadly.... I say it to myself, inside my head, all the time.

...Except, I'm not exactly any more healthy, wealthy and wise than I was before.