My family will never let me live this down.

Good morning all!

I realize I'm behind in blogging of late. What can I say?  I'm old, I'm tired, and I'm not finding a lot of humor lately.  Well, that's not true.  I have been enjoying stories from Skippy and Peaches and Hubby about their work lives, which have become, on all three fronts, dramatic at an almost Shakespearean level.  Peaches mumbled something earlier this week about how, if she had a blog, she would regale her readers with the tale of why she went to the doctor's office covered in a floury paste.  (New employee at the bakery was a bit TOO enthusiastic about mixing water and flour in the giant floor mixer. Put that puppy on HIGH and watched as what essentially amounted to wallpaper paste flung itself everywhere.)

She did say, "Hey, if you don't have a topic and if Dad manages to not do anything stupid this week, you can use the story."

Hubby was not amused by that.  But I was. Hence, I shared the story.

However, I was the one who did something so magnificently stupid, it's doubtful anyone in the family will let me forget it.

But I share anyway, because I live to entertain.

So it's been brought to my attention that I startle easily.  Actually...it's become a giant running joke in the house that I startle whenever someone walks into a room.  A big part of this is because I spend much of the day alone in my house. I work from home and, while Skippy and Hubby are generally off at work or out running errands, and Peaches has her own place, I'm on my own with the cats.  So it seems like every time someone walks around the corner, I sort of jump a little.

It's gotten to the point where it's become a game. Peaches will come over to play with the cats or pick up something or do laundry. Even if I'm expecting her, she'll walk into the room and I'll startle.  Hubby made my heart skip a beat last week when he walked downstairs into the basement where I was folding laundry.  (To be fair, ever since seeing "Night of the Living Dead" I've been a little iffy in basements.)

Skippy actively tries to scare me, the little snot.

And every time I startle, or say, "Oh geez! You scared me!" these people, the people who are supposed to LOVE ME, mock me. Or they tell me, "Hey, I cleared my throat, I jingled my keys."

Well I'm a writer. Half the time I'm thinking about plot lines. The other half I'm either singing 80's tunes in my head or thinking about what movie to watch next.

So yes, it's become quite the joke...let's scare mom. Hahahahahahahahaha.

Snotwads.

But here's the thing, and this is why I'm pretty sure I'm never going to hear the end of it.

Today I managed to scare myself.

I've been working a lot in the basement on my own. Since Peaches moved out, we've got a bit more space down there and I'm moving stuff around (and getting rid of a lot of nonsense) so we have room for a home gym. (We have all the pieces for a really killer gym. I'm serious.  All we have to do is actually set it all up and use it. Want to work out?  Come on over!  We have everything but a pool.  Unless you want to take a dip in our non functioning sump pump.)

So I was down there clearing off a shelf so that I could store a tiny playhouse vanity table my mother has decided can no longer live at her house. It's a tiny little thing that's nearly 100 years old. Everyone in my family has played with it. Mom refinished it and let Peaches and my nieces play with it at her house, but now my parents are decluttering and so it comes to stay with me.  

My plan was to put it on a top shelf, lying on its back in such a way that the three fold out mirrors were protected but the thing didn't take up floor space.  To do so, I carried the vanity downstairs, set it on the floor and then grabbed an old sheet to cover it.  While approaching the vanity I saw someone's legs and feet in the basement. I knew I was completely alone, but my view to the stairs and much of the space was obstructed. All I could see was feet...

I. Freaked. Out.

I jumped and in that moment, I prepared for death...because I was certain someone was in the basement with me and it wasn't a family member.

Aaaaaand that's when I realized something:  I was looking at a reflection of my own feet and legs in the tiny three paneled mirrors of the vanity.

Now, I should also note that while I was typing this blog, Hubby came home from a work trip. I went to get a glass of water, not realizing he was home, and startled big time when I saw him. He CLAIMS he yelled, "O-la!" when he walked in, but I'm here to tell you, our house is not that big.  I heard nothing!

My family is going to startle or mock me right to death.

The People of Walmart: Raising spirits and crushing them in one stop.

Good afternoon!

Have you ever gone out in public thinking, "Well I feel sort of crappy and I look not my best...but I need toilet paper, so I'll go to Walmart?"

I can't possibly be the only person whose had that thought.

That was me today anyway.  I've got a plugged ear, something I get probably once, maybe twice a year.  This wreaks havoc with me on all levels.  The echo in my head makes it hard for me to hear, and gives me a headache. And it's super not fun when you work on the phone, using a headset, like I do.  Work's been a bit hairy for me the last couple days (I'm learning a new procedure and you know the saying about old dogs and new anythings?)

So this afternoon I was feeling drained and sweaty  (Yes, we went from, "Holy moly it's cold" to "Can I PLEASE turn on the AC" in a week.) but I needed a few things, including toilet paper, so I figured I'd go to Walmart and be anonymous.

And I was, for the first half hour.  It was actually funny, fans of the show "Fargo" will appreciate the

fact that automatic door didn't open for me until I backed up and tried again.  (If you're not watching FX's "Fargo" you should be.)  The greeter at the door, once upon a time a fun old person, has been replaced by a lethargic teen who would rather die than actually say something to anyone who is not another teen.

I got through most of my list being invisible, which was nice.  I didn't feel bad about the fact that I had bed head that had been mussed by the winds we've got going outside.  I still felt sweaty, but the AC in Walmart, bless them, was on and I wasn't suffering.

Then I was in the candy/bulk ketchup/Asian food aisle  (It's a thing, check it out.  Sweet and sour sauce, Sour Patch kids, and 120 ounces of ketchup all in one aisle. I love this country.) getting some sweet and sour sauce when a gentleman roughly my age, and in pretty rough shape hygienically speaking, walked almost past me.  

"How are you?" says he.

"I'm good," says I, without really looking away from the sweet and sour sauce shelf.  "How are you today?"

"Oh I feel like I got into a fight with an ugly stick." Says the man.  And yes, he looked like he slept in his clothes...in a garage...under a car...that was leaking oil...and mud.

"Oh no," says I.  "That's too bad."

"Yeah, and the ugly stick won!"

With that, we reached opposite ends of the aisle and turned corners away from each other.  But amazingly enough I felt good.  I felt good about myself that this filthy guy had no trouble starting a conversation with me.  Maybe I wasn't so bad today! 

Having secured all the goods I needed and with a bounce in my step, I headed up to the check out counter.

And that's where this happened.

I greeted the checker who greeted me back and we exchanged a few pleasantries.  And then, she picks up the 10 pack of 7.5 ounce Cokes I bought and says, "3.50 for such small cans.  Why would you be stupid and buy these when the bigger cans are cheaper?"

There are many reasons.  1)  I don't need 12 ounces of soda at one time ever and I hate wasting half a  can.  2)  fewer calories in a can.  3)  Less aluminum, less energy to make the aluminum. 4)  Less per serving, less sugar in my life  5) they are cute cans 6)  WHY DO YOU CARE WHAT I BOUGHT AS LONG AS I BOUGHT IT HERE AND I PAID FOR IT?

That one little comment, said half under her breath, brought back all the icky feelings I was having as it echoed painfully in my head. Maybe I am stupid for spending more money on a smaller product.  Maybe I'm stupid for buying Coke at all.

She handed me my receipt and told me not to put it in my purse because someone "might" check it at the door.

If it's the same person at the door, it's not likely she's going to see me much less ask me to stop and let her look in my cart.

On my way out I saw the filthy guy again and I smiled at him because he'd made my blues go away for a minute and I appreciate that.  

And I was right about the girl at the door not checking my receipt.  So I had to stop and put it in my purse in the entry way....the echoey, noisy entry way.  Which didn't mess with my head at all.

And now I'm going to go and have an ice cold mini Coke.

It's a FREE ELSIE W Weekend!

Heads up all!

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Need to know what it's about?  Here you go:

My name is Sarah. I work in a small office.

The only other woman in the office is an unintentionally hilarious disaster of a human being. Every workday, I witness and chronicle her complete lack of social awareness, her non-stop eating, and her skewed concept of a work ethic.

I call her Elsie W.

These are her stories.

What you are about to read is true. Only the names and locations have been changed to protect the innocent (namely, me).



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