in the event of my demise (planning 60-something years ahead, of course)

i was only half listening, but i think i just heard the host of the show i'm babysitting say he wanted folks to be sad and not make any jokes at his funeral.

now, i'm not planning on shuffling off this mortal coil until i've outlived my relatives (currently, the age to beat is 103), but let me go ahead and make it internet official:

when i croak, it is not to be a dour affair.

sure, i want to be missed. i'd be thrilled to be called "a breath of fresh air" and if someone says they're glad they knew me, that would be cool, too.

that said, my favorite songs should be played, photos should be shown (heavy on the ones where i look good in a bikini, with a few funny ones interspersed.....and please leave out any where i look like i might have an extra chin, constipation, or an ass that's two axe handles wide.), and stories should be told.*

my favorite movies should be shown- real genius, the princess bride, the labyrinth, drop dead fred, the crow, young guns II, beetlejuice, young frankenstein, monty python and the holy grail, metropolis (with the 80s rock soundtrack), pump up the volume, edward scissorhands..... oh- and you should finish with bill and ted's bogus journey, because i will totally whip the grim reaper at twister, if given half a chance.** (with that in mind, this may need to be more of a weekend film festival.)

my favorite food should be served. tacos, too.

oh- and karaoke. there should be karaoke. if there's crying, this is when it can take place- not because someone played "stairway to heaven" (which, by the way, would be totally against my wishes and considered grounds for haunting***), but because someone made the same mistake i once did and attempted "let's go crazy" or "shoop" and learned (the hard way) that singing such tunes in the shower or car is far different from trying to keep up with them in front of other people. crying while laughing is permissible.

t shirts should be made. make them cool enough that people will actually wear them again. instead of tour dates on the back, you can list significant dates or my most memorable quotes or the lyrics to my favorite song.

if all goes well, i should have around 60 years to figure out the rest but, just in case, these are the most important parts.

oh- if i'm in decent enough shape, and if i haven't already outlived all the people i don't like and may or may not have actually told to "kiss my pale, white butt", please flip me over in my casket for five minutes so they may do so at that time. (tell the mortician to make it easy for them and put me in a thong.****)

actually, this sounds like a pretty good time. if my death is not sudden, maybe we should have a practice run before the very end.

i'll get back to you regarding whether or not that butt-kissing part should be included.

*my sibling should be limited to no more than five embarrassing ones.
**yes- even if i'm 104. i plan on being limber till the day i die.
***also banned: nirvana, the cranberries, alanis morissette and any rush song except for the one with aimee mann. i can't stand whiny lead singers and, again, i will find a way to haunt offenders.
****if i've fallen out of shape and a thong would be too traumatizing for innocent bystanders, then something slightly more modest from victoria's secret or frederick's would be acceptable. under no circumstances, however, should i be put in "granny panties". i'm serious. i will haunt you for eternity and steal your socks from the dryer, one at a time.

all i want (is a couple of days off)

maybe it's due to the recent full moon, but some of my calls this past week have been downright strange. i am really looking forward to having the next couple of nights off from job #1 so i will no longer have to discuss anyone's bowels (was this "national colonoscopy week" and i missed it?)*, try to get across to a person who has me on speakerphone that if they took me off speakerphone while driving with the window down i might actually be able to hear them and not keep asking them to repeat everything, or bite my tongue when patients call in to demand z packs for their colds.

i will devote five minutes of my time off to pondering how my parents were able to successfully raise me without calling the doctor in the middle of the night to ask what to give me for my boogers and cough. (do they no longer make triaminic? the orange kind was actually pretty good.) i will also take a minute to contemplate how a grown, native english speaker did not know the word "affiliate". (this was roughly the amount of time it took me to explain the meaning to them.)

aside from those six minutes, i plan on doing absolutely nothing related to this particular job. it would take away from my other jobs (and, more importantly, the enjoyment of the company of others in a non work-related setting), and that would be just poopy.

*somewhat related: i do not ever, ever, ever, ever want to hear the phrase "go poopy" again. i do not want to hear it when i get around to having kids, and i most certainly do not want to hear it from a gentleman who is probably old enough to be my grandpa. never again.

pride (in the name of love)

in each of the three states i've lived the longest*, mlk day has been handled differently.

in maryland, where my classmates were 90+% black, we prepped for the schools' mlk day festivities for weeks. because of this, i can recite swaths of the "i have a dream" speech and sing along to several civil rights protest songs. ("we shall overcome" has already been stuck in my head for an hour, and shows no signs of abating.)

i remember that it was a huge deal one year at my elementary school when mlk III was scheduled to speak. (he wound up cancelling, and one of dr. king's friends came instead. i wish i could remember what on earth his name was....)

moving to missouri was a bit of a culture shock, as the makeup of the student body in my high school was pretty much the reverse of what i encountered before. i'm sure we had an assembly for mlk day, but i don't recall ever being asked to warble "if i had a hammer".**

that brings me to my current state- south carolina.

what to say about my home for the past 15+ years? ***

of all the states i've lived in, south carolina has probably the most diverse population that i've encountered thus far. most people seem to embrace this fact.

that said, there are still pockets of ignorance around here.

i'm sure some of it can be blamed on upbringing. after all, there were serious issues with desegregation here in the 1970s. (more than once, i've been told things like, "when the schools were integrated, my parents enrolled me in a private school" or, even more alarming to my "outsider" ears, i was once told that the person's parents helped build a new private school "so the white students would have a place to go".)

holy culture shock, batman.

i was amazed when i learned that we did not get the day off at the preschool i worked at for the first five years i lived here. i was even more surprised a couple of years ago, when several of the businesses we answer for at my full time job were closed because of "confederate memorial day". (i finally looked that one up last year- it's a holiday in some states that was apparently created as some sort of "compromise" in order to get mlk day officially recognized****.)

i am pleased to report that, based upon my observations, most people here seem to be colorblind, and i'm sure many will attend some sort of event in honor of dr. king. (the rally downtown is tempting, but if time permits, i'm more likely to swing by one of the 3 sc state parks built by one of the african american units of the civilian conservation corps.) even if you aren't the sort to go out and attend a service, rally, or parade*****, or maybe you don't have the day off or have other obligations, please at least take a moment or two to show a little kindness to your fellow man. i'm pretty sure it's how dr. king would like to be honored.

*the first two don't count. i was in diapers, not school.

**i could probably still get through a couple of verses, if need be.

***aside from, of course, "holy crap! i've been here 15 years?!?!"

****let's go ahead and file this with the other "southern things i don't understand", like the appeal of a food product that turns styrofoamlike when it gets cold, chitlins, and cotillions. *****come on- everybody loves a parade, don't they?

a girl walks into an auto zone.....

when i left work this morning, i was able to retrieve one of my wayward wipers. unfortunately, it was in such a sad state that no amount of duct tape, band aids, or even those little shocky-paddle things were going to be able to fix the poor thing. still, no one likes a litterbug, and i figured maybe my dad could use it to beat the person who installed the thing (and its twin).


speaking of my dad, when i called him later and told him my tale of woe, he was very quiet.

as i recall from my teenage years (during which our relationship was strained, to put it nicely), silence is not always a good thing.

in this, case, however, it was followed not with, "what the heck did you do this time?", but with "hmmm...i wasn't sure i'd gotten those on quite right."

"no, daddy. i can tell you with great certainty that you did not."
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auto zone was last on my list of errands this afternoon, and i walked in waving my rescued wiper.

the last time i was in the store was several months ago, when i had to bite the bullet and replace my chariot's 12 year old battery. i can't remember whether i posted about my exchange with the salesperson on here or not but long story short, i had a pleasant conversation with the salesperson as he replaced my battery, but had to end it with something to the effect of," i'm flattered, and my boyfriend will appreciate the confirmation of his good taste."

as i recall, the salesperson was due for a promotion, which included a move to another location.

i tell you this because i walked in this afternoon and was a little surprised when the first thing out of the salesman's mouth was, "you ain't driving that little miata anymore?"*

guess that transfer/promotion didn't happen.

during the first wiper installation attempt**, he asked how i was doing. (you know- the normal pleasantries.) i replied that i was "doing okay".

"only "okay"? you looking like you've been doing mighty fiiiiiiiiiiine to me."

oh. my. word.

(i can't recall exactly how i reacted to that. the shock of the utter cheesiness.... and i'm cheesy but, on the cheesiness scale, this was like an extra sharp cheddar. i usually operate at a gouda level, myself.)

i managed to steer things back toward small talk, but he still tried to be smooth one last time.***

after the installation of the second set of wipers was complete, i asked him if there were any sort of warranty against them flying off. if one went sailing into the sunset, could i come back and get free replacements, or would i have to content myself with bringing the wayward blade (if retrievable) in and waving it around while yet another purchase was rung up?

"there's no warranty like that, but let me give you my phone number."****

"oh, that's ok. i live close enough that if something happens i'll just come to the store."

honestly, i'm a little surprised he didn't just try to slip a piece of paper with his phone number scribbled on it under my sparkling new wipers. maybe he isn't that smooth, after all.....
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*i feel the need to point out here that this was the second time in less than an hour that i'd had to suppress the urge to say, "are you nuts? of course this isn't my car! i am still young and sexy (said quickly, in an attempt to keep a straight face) and so is my vehicle. MY vehicle- as in MY MIATA- not this land yacht of which i am currently (TEMPORARILY!) the captain."

instead, i went with a short explanation about how i'd swapped with my dad so he could get my holey convertible top replaced.

**i say "first" because the computer apparently lied when it told him the less expensive wipers would work on the land yacht i am currently driving, necessitating a return/refund before the ink on my check had dried completely.

***lest i sound ungrateful for the attention which, frankly, is not something i'm used to, i should point out that i was flattered, but didn't want to get this guy's hopes up. i mean, after all, i have a boyfriend, and the only way i'm trading him in is if i'm trading up to a better model.....say, jason statham or matthew mcconaughey.

****he is smooth as ice, isn't he? (i mean that not in a "vanilla ice, circa 1991" way, but in a "vanilla ice, circa now" way.)

when it rains.....

i can honestly say this has never happened before.

here in columbia, we seem to be in the middle of monsoon season, which is one of the main reasons for the great chariot swap with my dad this weekend. (my "new" wheels, which definitely will not attract anyone not already collecting medicare, but at least there's no longer a massive gash above the back window providing great, uh, ventilation.)

it's rained most of the day here, and we're set to have more of same for the next several days. while it just drizzled for most of the day, i drove to work in a veritable gullywasher.

for most of the trip, this was not a problem.

about a mile from work, while stopped at a traffic light with my windshield wipers were whipping back and forth at medium speed, something flew and hit my windshield.

as i said, i wasn't moving, and there weren't any trees around. had some small bird just gone kamikaze on the land yacht? if he dinged the windshield, was this going to be covered by south carolina's "free glass" (windshield replacement) program?

a few more swipes of the wipers, and i realized what had really happened.

make that wiper...as in one....because apparently the flying object was the passenger side wiper.

this was annoying but since it was on the passenger's side, well, things could be worse, right?

less than a mile later, as i rounded the final corner en route to work, i heard another "thud" and saw something go flying.

(i'd follow this with "on the plus side....." but i'm still looking for it. i think it's probably camouflaged almost as well as windhshield wipers on wet pavement on a rainy night.)

i hope it isn't raining in the morning, because if it is, i am going to have to sit in the land yacht in the driveway at work like a creeper until it stops, as i currently have no handy methods of windshield water removal.

carnage near the crockpot

proof you can take the kitten out of the wild, but not the wild out of the kitten: while tossing the ingredients into the crockpot for the jalapeño popper taquitos i'm making, i pulled a few fatty parts off the chicken breasts and set them aside temporarily so i could salvage the meaty morsels and add them to the pot.
faster than you can say, "holy salmonella, batman!", a certain little furball took off across two rooms and three horizontal surfaces, hunk of fatty chicken as big as her little noggin hanging out of her mouth and dragging across said surfaces.

the sounds i heard while securing the rest of the chicken were reminiscent of some sort of thriller where an alien is feasting on some poor schlub's innards.

when i die, i sincerely hope it's not at home alone with these cats. jagger will probably allow me some dignity, but i'm afraid that if i'm not found quickly, the girls might chew my face off. 

flattery and a battery

as i get ready to take zamboni to the sears auto center for a new belt (he occasionally sounds like a screaming banshee when i start him and/or his air conditioner), i am reminded that i totally forgot to tell you what happened when i went to get his battery checked out/replaced.
i won't go into every little detail, but while i was chatting with the very personable auto zone employee, apparently lack of awareness of the placement of my shirt hemline vis a vis the waistband of my jeans led to a couple of other patrons getting clear confirmation of the fact that i was wearing underwear. (i'm not sure why this was a big deal- maybe because i'm not a "grandma panty" kind of girl?)

anyway, the second time this happened, our conversation paused, as he told me, "you must be giving one heck of a view back there."

when i passed it off as no big deal ("well, guess they know i wear underwear."), the tone of the conversation changed slightly. (was the proper response to have been horrified? i'm afraid that's just not my style.)

he behaved pretty well, though there were several suggestive hints/compliments regarding my physique. (this, despite the fact that i didn't make it to crossfit yesterday!)

i thanked him for the compliments.

when we were talking about the recent rollerblading incident and how i was still treating some torn up skin, he asked if i needed help applying some salve.

yeah, that's when it felt right to haul out something i don't have to use very often.

i told him i had that situation under control, followed by:

"i'm flattered, but not interested, and my boyfriend will appreciate verification of his good taste."

habla espanol? guess not

this is my first time traveling solo somewhere where i don't know the main language. (most people are bilingual, but i'd say spanish is definitely numero uno.)

to say my knowledge of spanish is minimal is probably not lying, exaggerating, or otherwise telling an untruth.

still, i thought i'd try to use what little i knew.

i've not been able to work my vast knowledge of colors and numbers (up to twenty though, if i really thought about it, i might be able to find my way to 100) into a conversation yet, but i was pretty sure i knew how to ask the driver of the taxi from the airport how much i owed him.

when i got a blank look in response, i figured he might be hard of hearing, so i asked louder.
still, a blank look.

i called mama (who teaches high school spanish) later to make sure i'd used the proper term.

(i mean, i knew i had not propositioned the guy accidentally, but why the blank look? had i confused "how many?" and "how much?" and stunned him with my ignorance?)

""cuanto" is "how many?" and "combien" is "how much does it cost?," right?"

"uh, honey?" she replied, "i'm pretty sure "combien" is french."

well, guano.