And a Good Morning to You, Crazy Lady

This is one of my many unfinished blogs that I started ages ago... However, it was almost complete, so I wrapped it up at the bottom... however, the story occurred about two months ago.

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When I woke up this morning (at My Man's place), I had to run out to my car to get my clothes before I showered. I had borrowed MM's pajama bottoms to sleep in, and I had just thrown on one of his sweatshirts for the brief walk.

After I had grabbed my real real cool cassette player bag (compliments of perpetualkid.com), I locked my car door and started walking back to his aye-pee-tee. Out of nowhere, I hear this old, high pitched "you-woo, good morning." It's apparent this odd greeting was meant for me, so I begin to search for the owner of the voice. An old lady was leaning up against the back porch rail of her first floor apartment. I give a friendly wave and tell her good morning as well.

Then she motions for me to come over. I'm a morning person, so early a.m. encounters with strangers are nothing new. Honestly, I just figured she was a lonely old lady who wanted to discuss the beautiful weather. Far from it.

I'm not sure the best way to relay the conversation that took place between the two of us... but I'm going to try just plain dialog. I never got her name, but I've since dubbed her Gertie (short for Gertrude).

Me: Good morning to you!
Gertie: I can tell by the clothes you are wearing that you are the one who took my clothes out of the dryer.
Me: Uhhh, excuse me ma'am?
Gertie: You removed my clothes from the dryer in the laundry room. I only had four items of clothing in there. I saw your clothes. I know it was you.
Me: I'm sorry ma'am, but it wasn't me. [Gertie looks at me sceptically] In fact, these aren't even my clothes, they belong to my boyfriend. I'm sorry if he removed your clothes, I'll be sure to let him know you were upset by his actions.
Gertie: No, it was you. I recognize those pants and that sweater.
Me: Well I'm sorry, but I have actually never even done laundry here. My boyfriend must have accidentally taken yours out, although that doesn't seem like something he would do.
Gertie: Well then I hate to tell you this, but your boyfriend must be gay. There were all these silky, lacy items in with those clothes.
Me: Uhhhhhhhhh.... [This is the point where I begin to doubt this ladies sanity]
Gertie: In fact, you better tell him it's a good thing I don't believe in stealing, or I would have taken all of his things. I was a little more than pissed off.
Me: Ma'am, I really do believe you are mistaken. He doesn't own any material even remotely similar to silk. Honestly, pajama pants and sweatshirts are pretty common laundry items. And when did this happen?
Gertie: Yesterday.

Fantastic. At this point I knew that My Man had nothing to do with this alleged clothing heist. He had done laundry about a week and a half ago (I actually had helped fold the pants I was wearing - and last night was the first night they had been worn since). Glad to be able to prove that point, I explained to her the blatant facts at hand. She responded by saying, "hm, well tell him that when he dries things like jeans and that there sweater [it's an effing sweatSHIRT lady!], he needs to turn them inside out." Then she went on to talk about his jeans being frayed at the end. ARG!

For those of you who have known me for a significant amount of time, you are aware that one of my biggest buttons is being accused of something when there is absolutely no way the accusation is even slightly feasible. So, as you can imagine, I was getting pretty hot at the fact she kept referencing us as the criminals of this dumb, dumb, really effing dumb issue.

This exchange had probably gone on for five or ten minutes. I was beyond frustrated, and really wanted to kick this lady in the shins.

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Well, that was the end of the blog as I found it today. Nothing else significant happened. I finally just said, "Well, it wasn't us and I have to go get ready for work, so goodbye" and then walked away. She wasn't there when I left again to head to the workforce. In fact, I haven't seen her since... did I imagine the entire thing???

Selective OCD

I am peculiar. There's no doubt about that. It never really bothers me, but occasionally I'll stop and consider the oddities that make up Me. For example, I like to do cartwheels down the office corridor on Fridays when everyone else has left. Sometimes I even do it when I know there are still people there...it's kind of a rush.

However, sometimes I wonder if I can diagnose individual parts of my mind as OCD. This occurs to me every time I work at Fox and Hound. We have drink racks in the back (see photo for example). Well, I cannot bring myself to place a glass in the rack unless it makes the design (if you will) symmetric. I will even remove glasses and re-rack them to create said design. Now, if we are slow, it gets even worse. I will make smiley faces, anchors, chess boards, etc. You have to admit this is sounding a bit lame...ish.

I realized the seriousness of the situation last night when I was behind one of our new girls in the dish room. I had a handful of glasses my last trip back and had managed to start a nice looking setup. Clearly, the best option to place her one glass was in the top right. Nope, she didn't even notice the obvious pattern, and shoved it awkwardly in whatever spot was convenient. I actually said (to my later horror), "Gah, I mean, not there" then reached and grabbed it and put it in its rightful place. Now, I said it in a laughing tone, and explained to her why, which amused her thoroughly. However, I can't help but wonder what was going on in her head... especially since the only words I had previously spoken to her were, "Hi, my name is Kelly!" See, now don't you believe me when I say I'm peculiar?

After my shift last night, I had an interesting talk about this odd habit with My Man. I don't think he knew what drink racks were, so he couldn't actually picture what I was doing in his head. However, he brought up an excellent point that sheds some light on why I am the way I am. To keep myself from butchering his eloquence by trying to quote him, I'll paraphrase! Basically, he said that we pick up little habits to keep from leading such a boring and ho-hum life. So instead of complaining about how blah my life is, I make up these little internal games to maintain the equilibrium that is my sanity.

Commercials Make Me Cry

I don't consider myself to be a sap by any means, but there are some heartfelt commercials out there that bring me to tears every time. Former roommates (i.e. Havala, Megatron, etc.) have witnessed the single tear falling down my cheek during a meaningful 60 second advertisement... and have lived to tell the tale and ridicule me in front of others.

One of the biggest tear-jerkers for me is Liberty Mutual. When people are helping the other people and it just turns into a circle of happiness and love... guah, gives me the chill bumps every time.

However, nothing comes close to topping the following Cheerios commercial. I think I may have continued to cry for at least two commercials afterwards. I've only seen it on TV twice, but I was able to dig it up on youtube for your viewing pleasure. Grab a Kleenex and enjoy.



Now, if that didn't elicit some deep emotion, you are a (excuse me Paula Abdul) cold-hearted snake. When I watched it before posting this blog, I teared up before it even started.

Again, I don't cry in typical everyday situations... and I'm not sure why I get so emotionally attached to commercials that are ultimately trying to sell me something.

As an end note, I have never purchased or sought information from Liberty Mutual, and I still by the cheap off-brand Cheerios.

Me vs. Spidey

The other day, I drove home during my lunch break to make a quick meal and do a few things around the house. While my Smart Ones warmed to perfection in the microwave, I decided to do a speedy clean-up of the kitchen area. I mean, what else was I going to do in the 2:30-2:45 minutes it takes to bring my delicious 5-star panini to a simmer?

I started by throwing away all the mail we get from the previous renters. Yes, I know this may be illegal or something, but I've tried to send the mail back and they won't take it from our mailbox. I'm actually getting a little concerned since some of it reads "Final Notice of Payment" or "Open Immediately: Urgent Account Information". Looks like the priors took off leaving some collectors in the lurch. I'm just waiting for the day when the Boss Man shows up at my door with diamond studded brass knuckles wanting to know where Don Shallen is. Hello, Nightmares.

When I hear the DING!, I grab the food out of the mic, eat it (it was kinda cold in the middle - as per norm), and then turn to throw the box and paper towel away in the trash can. There, sitting on the mail I threw away just moments before, was a giant spider, just staring at me. Now, it's your average sized Rubbermaid kitchen trash can... and it was full to the brim. This meant I couldn't just shove my lunch trash on top of it and close it quickly. I decided to just hit the shit out of it with my Smart Ones box. However, after doing so I realized I had now lost visual of this eight-legged creature. For some reason, I was overwhelmed by this great feeling of fear. My heart rate went up and I found myself instinctively crouching down slightly, as if ready to run for my life if this spider transformed into the Hulk.

So you're probably trying to get a visual of this spider. Unfortunately, by describing it I'm going to subject myself to being dubbed a silly little girl. It was about the size of a dime, BUT it was one of those spiders that wasn't all legs. It had a lot of meat to it - looked like it might work out in its free time.

Back to story: Since the trash is full, and mainly because I didn't want the spider loose in my house, I decided to take it out. I couldn't close it up with it being so full unless I put my hands where Spidey could attack. I opened up the front door, then scooted the trash can - Spidey and all - to right outside the front door. After I grab my purse and keys, I head out the door to take the trash to the back and then return to the work.

The spider had other plans.

He was now sitting on top of the Smart Ones box, facing me. I moved a little to the side, he moved to face me. I'm standing at my front door with the glass door closed, watching this little creature and waiting for him to crawl down the trash and back into the wild. At this point, it's taken me twenty some minutes from my first encounter with him. I need to get back to work, so I grab a dishtowel and just wack the crap out of the top of the trash can only to find that Spidey quickly sneak under a few trash items. SHIT! It is now obvious to me that this thing is actually after me.

I finally had a great idea. I went back to the kitchen and grabbed another trash bag. I quickly and surreptitiously place the new bag over and around the entire trashcan. Then I grab it on the edge and drag the can to the big green outdoor can we have. After lifting the kitchen trashcan up and shaking it from the ends, I was finally able to dump the trash out... spider and all. Quite the effing ordeal if you ask me.

Tomorrow is trash day. I'm pretty sure that damn spider is still in there...biding it's time. I've taken trash out two times since this unfortunate event, and both times I was fully prepared for Spidey to be there (and in my nightmares he had grown ten times his tiny size) waiting for the kill...

Excuse me ma'am, but there seems to be wax on my fries.

So, on my last night of training at the Fox & Hound, I was put in charge of a small party all by myself. Sink or swim time, people. They were coming in one at a time over a period of about an hour, so I just needed to keep up with them.

Well, when the majority of them got there, they decided to order food and more drinks. One of the gentlemen asked me about our happy hour. I informed him it was a 3.00 Heineken from 4-7... however, I didn't know what time it was at that moment. After running back to the computer, I saw that it was 7:05 - past our HH. When I informed him of this, he threw a man-fit. I calmly and politely informed him that the computer automatically changes the prices and it wasn't my doing. I even offered to ask the manager. No, he just shoved his menu at me and told me it was bullshit and he just wasn't going to drink anymore that night.

Flash forward about fifteen minutes. My manager helped run the food out to the party, delivering this not-so-gentleman's burger. He tells her that I "argued" with him about it...which was a complete lie. I was extremely frustrated because I tried to fix his problem in the beginning. Well, the dude ended up getting two free Heineken drafts for all his bitching.

Never fear, this story has a happy ending. I'm a firm believer in karma and people getting theirs, so I continued to be super nice to the guy. I stopped by to check on the food and drinks, and he begins bitching again to me about our fries. He's claiming that whatever we use as seasoning tastes like wax, and he wants new ones without that stuff on them. This time I go straight for our manager and ask her to help me deal with it. Well, at this point I got sat with a rowdy party of about 15 kids (barely legal) playing pool and ordering drinks. It takes me about twenty minutes to get them situated with their drinks, food orders, and pool balls. I then head over to my manager to check the status on Mr. Heiny. Turns out he didn't want to wait on the salt someone else was using so he gets up, walks to the shuffleboard table, and grabs the shaker off of it. (Please note that people in his party were playing shuffleboard at this time) He then uses the "salt" for his fries. Well, this dumbass has successfully doused his fries in shuffleboard wax - the stuff you put on the table to make it slicker or slower or whatever. He had probably eaten half his fries in this condition... hating every bite. That stuff can't be good for you.

I'm sure he felt like an idiot, although he was a jerk to me the rest of the night. I decided to continue being super nice to him and low-and-behold, the guy left me a $6 tip - just below 20% of his tab. I guess he realized the gods were keeping an eye on him and he better watch his step.

This may forever be my favorite story of my time at F&H. However, outlook is good that it will be topped.


Oh, and just as an extra note:

Whenever I set a guy up to play pool, it never fails that I say, "Alright sir, sit tight and I'll be right back with your balls." And every time, I turn and giggle like a little school girl all the way to the ball room. My maturity level must not be as high as I thought.