What Misty Likes

Ahh, Misty. I haven't written about Jarred's favorite co-worker in a while. If you've been wondering what's new in the life of our beloved Methadone Scarecrow, here's the latest installment.

Many of our posts in the blogosphere detail the things we love: cupcakes, Robert Pattinson, yoga pants. Well, this post is about a list of things that Misty loves. The glue that holds the myriad of Misty's favorite things together is that they are universally mocked and/or despised by the general population. For your Tuesday morning enjoyment: Things Misty loves, that most people hate:

Pickle juice: Rotten cucumber liquid

Misty on Pickle Juice: "I could drink it!"

Crotch rockets: Gay noisy motorcycles, primarily driven wrecklessly by dbags.

Misty on Crotch Rockets: "Oh I love them, I cant drive one but I'd love to ride one."

Michael Vick - Involved in an illegal interstate dog fighting ring, reponsible for the death and torture of dozens of dogs.
Misty on Michael Vick: "Oh, Michael Vick. I just love seeing someone come back on top."

Bret Michaels: Hair metal singer/bandana jockey/stripper collector
Misty on Bret Michaels: "Turn that radio up! I wish Bret Michaels would sing to me!" [begins singing "Every Rose has its Thorn]

Citrus Cooler Gatorade - This shit's so bad they only sell it at the dollar store
Misty on Citrus Cooler Gatorade: "Citrus flavor is the bomb, its my all time favorite."

Nickelback: Overly-sexual Canadian rock group
Misty on Nickelback: "Man is that Nickelback? I sat in a parking lot for six hours to see them once."

Jon Gosselin: Paunchy, Ed Hardy-loving lothario and divorced father of eight
Misty on Jon Gosselin: "Poor guy, I dont know how he pays that child support."

Chad Ochocinco - NFL player so arrogant he renamed himself his jersey number
Misty on Chad Ochocinco: "Chad Ochocinco is soo hot"

Misty the Wordsmith

We haven't had a Misty post in a while, but you should all be aware: she is still out there, she walks among you, she's a mother, and a licensed driver. You've been warned.

Today, Misty is learnin' us some terminology:

this Instant Message exchange was given to Jarred by his boss:


Boss: I need that rate when you get a chance
Misty: I am working on it I promise, honest engine
Boss: Honest engine?
Misty: What?
Boss: You mean honest injun? Like indian, not like a Chevy small block
Misty:  Are you serious? I been saying that wrong all this time. I can't tell you how many text I've sent with that.
 
Misty: [texting] Jay if I say "undeniable" is that like a little thing?

Jay: If you say "undeniable" is that a little thing?
Misty: "undeniable" thats a...
Jay: a word?
Misty: Yeah like if I say "you like her and it's undeniable."
Jay: Yes, that would be a sentence
Misty: Thanks Jay, I don't know what I would do with out you!
Jeremy: Misty, are these trailers preloaded?

Misty:  Yes Jeremy, I'm sorry, I have cerebral bulimia
Andy: So your brain throws up?
Jarred: I wasn't sure she had anything to throw up
Misty:  No!
Ms. Dana: Oh my, that sounds horrible
Misty:  It's not real, It's just slang, just means I'm stupid.
So, to recap: We learned the difference between words and sentences, "honest engine" and "cerebral bulimia". I think I contracted cerebral bulimia by typing this post. There is no known cure.

Workplace Gossip

Today's post, courtesy of Jarred:

I know gossip at work is pretty normal, but I get to overhear this:


Misty: Jeremy do you remember that guy Tara used to date when you started?
Jeremy: Which one?
Misty: The one that didn't have legs, he walked on his hands!
Jarred: Excuse me? Did he have spina bifida?
Misty: No, he was born with never having legs. And he walked on his hands and would hang from the counter.
Jarred: That's awesome.
Misty: No way, and she did him! Why would you do that?!
Jarred: Why wouldn't you? How many single people do you get to meet like that?
Misty: That's crazy.
Jarred:  Maybe he had a nice personality.
Misty: Nuh uh, he was after her money.

Thats right, a 26-year-old co-worker of mine was seduced by a legless man who was only after her money.

Round 2

Misty: Jay, what would you say if you heard a cop had bought a cell phone jammer that jams phones within a hundred yards, a set of keys that will open any lock, and an indian weapon?
Jarred: Like a Native American weapon or Middle Eastern Indian weapon?
Misty: I. Don't. Know.
Jarred: Well, it matters.
Misty: I think its a tomahawk, whats he gunna do?!
Jarred: I have no idea.

Thats right, Misty's exboyfriend is a cop who is conspiring to rob and murder an Indian casino pit boss.

What's Wrong with this Picture?

This note was written on the arm of an 11-year-old special education student, by her teacher's aide, who wanted the little girl's mom to call her Special Olympics coach.

So I ask you, what's wrong with this picture?

1. Arms are not proper writing surfaces
2. The word "tonight" is misspelled
3. No phone number is included
4. There is no Special Olympics coach by the name of "Jayne"

When called into the Principal's office, the aide apologized for forgetting to write down the phone number. Despite her nine years of experience on the job, she didn't seem to understand that what she had done was wrong.

Yeah, she got fired.

via KHOU Houston

Secret Agent Misty

Today's post comes courtesy of Jarred. Thanks brother, your nephew has monopolized my time today, rendering me unable to blog!

Misty: Jay, tell me if you think this is a scam.

Jarred: [clutches face with hand]
Misty: I have been looking up spy equipment online.
Jarred: Oh, God
Misty: Well, I saw this thing that you download to your phone it's like blue tooth. And you program it to someone else's phone and you can steal all their phone numbers and text messages!
Jarred: I've never heard of it.
Misty: It was on "as seen on TV" and they made that Booty Bump thing you put in your pants.
Jarred: That's your source of legitimacy?
Misty: Just saying.
Jarred: You nervous in the service?
Misty: Of this freak-o palsy cop stalkin' me

Jarred says:
 
If you're understanding any of this, and i'm impressed if you are, that means she has a potential obsessive stalker so she is researching potential ways her would be stalker might try to spy on her. Really the pot calling the kettle black.

Misty Monday Morning

Misty: I want to start a furniture bank, like a food bank but for furniture. To donate furniture for people who are homeless or battered women.
Jarred: How 'bout you teach a furniture building seminar to homeless and battered women?
Misty: What?
Jarred: That way they have a chair and a skill.
Misty: No Jay.
Jarred: Remember Misty, you give a man a table, he eats for a day. you teach a man how to make a table, he eats for a lifetime.
Misty: Did you just make that up?
Jarred: Just dont be surprised when "Jay's Ottomans and Stuff" puts your furniture bank out of business.

A Fairytale Post Script

Well, color me smug. You remember my evil ex-boss Ursula, don't you? Trick got fired!

As much as I loathe being spiteful, I have to say that this couldn't have happened to a more deserving person. I'm impressed by the speed with which she was unceremoniously thrown out on her caboose. I worked for that corporation for quite some time, and they generally give management ample rope to hang themselves with before making a move. Getting canned in under three months is all at once astonishing and extremely validating. I'd like to celebrate with a song and dance. I can't use the song I want. Stinkin' copyright infringement...but you know it anyway:

She's gone where the goblins go below,

Below, below, yo-ho

Let's open up and sing

and ring the bells out

Ding-dong the merry-oh

sing it high, sing it low

Let them know the wicked witch is dead!

...picture me struttin' that ass to this song.

I don't know who delivered the fatal blow. I'm assuming it was my Fairy Godmother. I'd like to send her a singing telegram from The Lullaby League and The Lollipop Guild, for she will be a bust, be a bust, be a bust in the Hall of Fame!

I can't say I'm loving this vindictive streak I'm experiencing. I'm not one to wish harm upon people. I have always hated the expression, "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy." Don't you find it off-putting? Undoubtedly, whenever somebody uses that expression, they are referring to things that are truly horrible, like cancer, house fires, and dead puppies. You wouldn't wish that on your worst enemy? REALLY?! Sure, I can be a salty bitch when needed, but even I don't use that expression or wish things on my enemies. Ok, maybe I'd wish a few things on my enemies:

1. I've wished for them to get fat.

2. I've wished for them to be audited by the IRS.

3. I've wished for them to lose their job or for their business to fail.

There, I said it. Feel free to judge me. I'm still flying high on the news of Ursula's demise.

Crazy in Alabama

Here in Texas, we like our firearms, but this is a little ridiculous. I hope Jarred realizes that any email he sends me related to his crazy, dysfunctional co-workers is subject to publishing on this blog:

Overheard a conversation between my boss, his youngest son, and his wife. This is a direct transcript to the best of my recollection. My boss has undiagnosed OCD/Tourette's so the repetition was not embellished.

Andy: Got a notice today that a house was broken into down the street.

Boss: You need to get a shotgun.

Andy: It said no one was home but they took the TV and computers.

Boss: Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun

Andy: Well I was thinking about an alarm

Boss: shotgun, shotgun, shotgun, shotgun

Andy: I don't know if that'd help, I went to my friends house and he has a loaded gun in the kitchen drawer, several guns in a safe, and a loaded gun on his nightstand that he puts on top of his Bible every night.

Boss: No, shotgun, shotgun, don't get a pistol. You get a pistol and you will shoot yourself in the leg or the gut. No one ever shoots themself with a shotgun.

Jarred: Tell that to Kurt Cobain.

Boss: And if you get a pistol a robber will just steal it.

Wife: Why would the robber steal a pistol but not a shotgun?

Boss: Nah he needs a shotgun. shotgun, shotgun

I considered myself a pretty conservative person before i started working here. a straight forward republican. but this conversation made my skin crawl. made me want to drive a hybrid. made me want to vote for Ralph Nader. made me want to live in a tree in Berkley, CA. this place is turning me into a bleeding heart liberal!

That's What Misty Said

My sleeping newborn hasn't provided much in the way of blogging material, and he takes up 100% of my time.  The brother emailed me this nugget so I have something to post. Thanks, Jarred!

Misty: Jay is it disperse? or disberse?
Jarred: Like to spread something around? disperse, I'm afraid disberse isn't a word.
Misty: Are you sayin 'perse? or 'berse?
Jarred: dis' like you diss your homies, and 'perse like the bag you keep your keys in

Misty then boasted that she could fit 6 minature Snickers bars in her mouth. I overheard such quotes as:

"I'm not doing it until I see how big they are."

"Yeah, I want to put them all in my mouth at once."

"I really had to struggle to pry it out of my mouth."

"Choking on it was not an option."

PS. She did get all 6 in there right as my boss was walking back in, she ran to the bathroom and spit them all out. It was a major disappointment.

Tardy for the Party...Oops, I Meant To Say "Office"

Remember Jarred's crazy co-worker Misty? Well, she's running late this morning. Here's why:

"Misty will be 15 minutes late because her daughter was looking at Justin Bieber on the internet this morning."

Yeah, that's the actual excuse she gave, and Jarred had to send this e-mail to his boss...and all of his co-workers.

Happy Friday!

Motivational Misty

Jarred: care for a Misty update to brighten your day?
Me: YES!
Jarred: 1st, she got clearance to speak to female prisoners. In some sort of "Scared Straight" program.
Me: Like that SNL sketch where they tell stories about their scrapes with the law but they're really just telling the plot of a movie?
Jarred: 2nd, she regaled us with a story of how she once beat a drug test by filling the cup with hot water and Mountain Dew. I wonder if she will tell that story to the convicts so maybe next time they can trick their parole officer.
Me: I can't believe that worked!
Jarred: She said they mailed it off and she never heard back. Guess they don't test them all. She even put it in a glass bottle and brought her lighter in case she had to had to heat it up.

'Electronic Bitch Slaps'. Or, 'Sassiness Via Email'.

I've already told you all about my evil ex-boss, Ursula, whose evil ways caused me to say "peace out" to my job two weeks ahead of schedule. Well, my last paycheck was issued two weeks ago, and I emailed Fairy Godmother asking to have the check mailed to my house so I can avoid driving the 60 miles round trip while nine months pregnant to retrieve my check. Seems like a reasonable request, right? Well, I still don't have my check. How am I handling this?

Not well.

After a string of "Where is my paycheck?" emails over the past week between Fairy Godmother and me that are filled with reassurances that "the check is in the mail", and still no paycheck in my mailbox, this the email I received today from Ursula:

Smantha,

So sorry I assumed you would be in to pick up your check last week since I did not recieve a call from you. I had to look for it and only just sent it out yesterday. You should recieve it this week.

Hope you had a great Holiday week end!

Ursula
 
I kept her typos so you could get the full effect. You see what Ursula did there, the way she made excuses and turned it around and made it my fault? Yeah, I picked up on that too. Mommy no likey. I fired back and made sure to copy Fairy Godmother. I am substituting Fairy Godmother's real name with "F.G." Get it?
 
Ursula,
 
I see, so it's my fault I haven't received my paycheck. I'm not at all surprised you'd take the time to point that out to me. As for your assumption that I would call you, I didn't call you because I went straight to F.G., and on July 1, I received an email from F.G. stating that she spoke to you and you told her you would mail my check that same day. I trusted that you did exactly that. I thought at the very least, you'd delegate the responsibility of mailing my check. You're so good at delegating.
 
I will once again trust that you've done as you were told and that this matter will soon be resolved.
 
Samantha 
 
Do you see what I did there? I basically called her a lazy, incompetent, lying bitch without using the words "lazy", "incompetent", "lying", or "bitch". Don't underestimate how immensely gratifying this was for me. I designed the email so as not to illicit a response. I mean, what can she say? Imagine my (somewhat) surprise when I received a reply from Ursula several hours later:
 
It is great hearing from from you. I am certain your anxiously awaiting your bundle of joy and are a bit stressed. I won't take your e-mail personally.

I seriously hope your doing well.

Take care,

Ursula
 
Once again, I kept the typos for your pleasure. This was actually her second attempt to send this email. In the first attempt, she had even more spelling errors and omitted words, and she forgot to copy Fairy Godmother. Now I can add "insincere", "weak" and "ineffective" to her growing list of negative qualities. Ursula can "take" my email any way she chooses, but any interpretation other than: "I think you're awful and look forward to the day you are unceremoniously fired" is incorrect. It's just like I've been saying for months: pregnant women are like Sophia from The Golden Girls. We are free to be as bold and outspoken as we want and everyone will excuse it because we're pregnant, whether we like it or not.

And I'm still waiting on my damn paycheck.

This is Like an Effed-Up Remake of Brewster's Millions

I didn't even know this was possible, did you? Steve has a friend who shops in his golf shop. We'll call him "Doug". Doug is a 40-year-old mentally handicapped man who lives in a group home, loves golf, and calls Steve "Uncle Steve". I know, it's enough to defrost your frozen heart. I met him at the Colonial Pro-Am last year, where Doug was caddying and Steve was playing. He's darlin'. Well, the IRS put the screws to our friend Doug over the past 16-some-odd years and didn't give him the correct tax refund. I'm fuzzy on the details. I don't work for the IRS (lucky for me), and I'm nobody's accountant (lucky for you). All I know is that earlier this week, a van from Doug's home came to the golf shop, and a big group of residents piled out. While all the other residents (who incidentally aren't golfers) browsed the store and basically scattered Steve's meticulously merchandised inventory, Doug and one of the people from the home were working with Steve to help Doug go on a shopping spree. Why? Because the IRS acknowledged their mistake and that they owe Doug $60,000 in back tax refunds, or from Doug overpaying his taxes, or whatever, but he only has a short time to spend it or he loses it forever. Are you effing kidding me? Now mind you, I was in bed trying to fall asleep when Steve told me this, and he wasn't rock solid on the details. While I was hung up on the whole "sixteen days to spend $60,000" angle, I actually think the purpose of Steve's story was to tell me how his day took a turn for the weird when a van full of mentally handicapped adults mysteriously filed into his store and quietly trashed the place. I should probably call him to clarify if I'm gonna post this, but if I called him right now he'd be all, "Are you seriously interrupting me at work to interview me for your blog? Are you telling me that's what you're doing? Please don't let that be why you're calling me." Steve is a big fan of the rhetorical question.

Quote of the Day

Teresa: We bought my stepson a car for his birthday, we joked he would dance on the hood like that music video. Do you even get that reference?

Jarred: Yeah, talkin about Tawny Kitaen dancing on the hood of a Jaguar cause she was dating David Coverdale at the time.

Teresa: No, the Whitesnake video.

Jarred: Nevermind.

...just another day at the office for my brother.

My Classic Disney Nightmare

You may have noticed a steep drop in blogging activity recently. It's because the forces of evil conspired against me and my computer. Happily, all of that is behind me now, and I have emerged victorious! Let me back up a bit--for the past several months, I worked for a salon and spa that had no manager--but a Director of Operations. Think of her as my Fairy Godmother...but younger and prettier and blonder.

Fairy Godmother and I get along splendidly. She trusts me, I help her, and she's very understanding of my need for special accommodations (i.e., taking off early on Thursdays for obstetrician appointments, taking off a week to have cancer removed, my need to elevate my cankles.) I really can't say enough good things about my Fairy Godmother. Then she filled the vacant manager position with someone who is...not so nice. Think of her as the Ursula to my Ariel.

Ursula has a very bad aura. The staff scurries at the sound of her stomping through the salon. She's hostile and combative, harsh and abrasive, and she alternates between sucking up to me ("What are we going to do without you?! and "You MUST bring the baby for a visit!") and throwing daggers at me. She is very aggressive, she insults me and blames me for things that aren't my responsibility, and then...she...blocked my internet access! [gasp]. Making matters worse, when I told her to fork over the password to let me back on the internet, she lied to me and said that installing a password block on the internet was all Fairy Godmother's idea. Fairy Godmother would never. Fairy Godmother even told Ursula to give me the password, and Ursula refused...but continued to tell me it was all Fairy Godmother's doing. So now she's a liar and a coward because she doesn't have the guts to look me in the eye and tell me she doesn't want me using the computer. What a pansy. This may be one of my least favorite character flaw combinations: liar and coward.

What I can't understand is, why is Ursula intent on targeting me? She is the new manager of a 6,000 square foot salon and spa located in a prestigious Dallas department store. She faces enormous pressure and expectations and is responsible for the 30+ gypsies on staff. It's a tall order for anybody, so why is she focusing on the pregnant lady with two weeks left until early retirement? It's not as if my time spent on the computer takes away from doing my job. I'm not wasting taxpayer dollars or causing delays in solving the oil crisis in the Gulf. Lighten up, lady. Fairy Godmother doesn't mind, so why should she?

A little background on Ursula: she is a huge Amazon. She looks like a post-op transvestite whose gender reassignment surgeon shaved off just enough of her Adam's apple for her to pass as a woman. This image is punctuated by a stringy and particularly unfortunate head of hair that sits atop the world's largest head. She is scary. Miss Trunchbull from Matilda scary.

She recently returned to Texas after living with her boyfriend in Europe for several years. I know, I'm shocked she had a boyfriend too. So, to recap: we have a single, childless woman on the wrong side of 40, who's got the worst mop of hair I've ever seen. Riddle me this, Batman: why does she hate the twentysomething, married, expectant mother with the bangin' head of hair?

Meow. What a snarky thing to say! Maybe Ursula's dislike for me is less about my marital and motherhood status and more because I'm a salty bitch. Nah, it's probably the whole husband-baby-hair thing.

I really wanted to work a couple more weeks. Because I like dollar bills. Obviously, Ursula wants me gone and is doing everything to eliminate me. Normally, I would dig my heels in and take on my adversary. This baby is a game changer. It's unhealthy and irresponsible to put myself in a high-stress and high-anxiety situation, and while I can joke that sitting in a silent office all day without internet should be classified as cruel and unusual punishment, the truth is I cannot fully do my job without internet access. I not only strongly resent the insult of being lied to and treated like a child (did I mention that she gave Persian Dwight Schrute the password?), I also cannot tolerate being around a harsh, imposing figure such as Ursula. With all of her negative energy, and my growing contempt for her, I felt like my blood pressure was surging the entire day. This is a happy time in my life and I will not spend the final weeks leading up to my son's birth engaging in this sort of interaction. Time to move on to my next adventure with my Prince Charming and our three mutts and a baby.

And we all lived happily ever after.

The End

Quote of the Day

Isn't this exactly the conversation you want to have with a co-worker who you've known for two months?

Sarah: Will you do me a favor, and let me know if childbirth feels the way they said?
Me: The way who said?
Sarah: You know...I was told that childbirth feels like somebody reached inside your crotch and ripped out all your insides. I've always wondered if that's what childbirth actually feels like.
Me: [expressionless] I will be sure to let you know.
Sarah: Good. Because I really want to know.

Are you laughing? You better not be laughing. I'm not. I'm grinding the enamel off the back of my teeth.

Are Beanie Babies Still Collectible?

One of my co-workers, Sarah, was kind enough to bring me a basket of goodies for Robinson today. Included in the basket was a big stuffed monkey, which she was quick to point out cost eleven dollars and is actually a dog toy, but her stepson had one as a baby and loved it. Actually, she told me the price of every item in the basket, or she left the price tag on the item, or she simply stated that it was "expensive". I'm glad she shared this information with me. As I'm holding the monkey, she's also helpful enough to tell me that it's a monkey, and that she loves monkeys. I wholeheartedly believe that an infant can never have enough stuffed animals (right?) but as soon as she said "dog toy" I knew this monkey would be a big hit with one Miss Laney Jane Fricke. Yeah, Steve won't "give" her his last name. He thinks she's a diva and a priss and for that, she deserves a lifetime of my maiden name. He actually calls her her "Laney Fricke" every time he speaks to her. Whatevs.

Also in the basket? A Beanie Baby 2.0 named "Quackly", which she repeatedly tells me is collectible, and she points at the tag on his wing that signifies he is in fact a Ty Beanie Baby.

She's telling me this $2.50 duck is "collectible" (I know the price because the sticker was still attached, denoting it was on sale.) Is she telling me this because she wants me to keep the tags on it and display or store it in a cool, dry place? Because I fully intend to clip the tags and let my kid slobber all over it. Is that considered poor form? Are we still collecting Beanie Babies?

My Nannie has tubs full of Beanie Babies in her condo. At least she did in the mid-90s. She was convinced they would be worth a lot of money some day. One of my friends on the cheerleading squad had every square inch of her bedroom covered in these little stuffed savings bonds. I remember staring at them, amazed by the sheer multitude, and whispering to one of my friends, "You know, the meanest thing you could ever do to her would be to sneak in here and clip all the tags off these Beanie Babies. She'd be absolutely devastated." I would never do such a thing. That's hateful, and I adored her. I'm just saying, it's kind of bizarre that the way you could most hurt a person would be to remove the tags from their stuffed animals. Our high school World History teacher/Varsity wrestling coach also collected them. He was this old-ish Italian man with a thick New York accent, and having him review his test material with the class via Beanie Baby puppet show was as stunning as being invited to a tea party with Joe Pesci. He would do voices and everything. I remember when he got the Limited Edition Princess Diana Bear. That was a special day for Coach.

I assumed that by the year 2010, we would have abandoned all efforts to make these Beanie Babies anything more than just cute little stuffed animals. Actually, I thought they would have gone the way of the Cabbage Patch Doll. Am I wrong? Are we still hoarding them and holding out hope that they will one day provide us with the down payment on a boat, or pay our children's college tuition?

I Was Told There'd Be Cake!

I begrudgingly contributed $2.00 to a birthday cake fund for Persian Dwight Schrute. I only did it so I could have a big ol' corner slice of white-on-white cake. I even made a white cake white frosting stipulation when I donated. My manager returned an hour later with a cake the size of your nana's kitchen telephone (not enough to feed the 30-some-odd people who work here), a bouquet of flowers, and a Hallmark card that says "Happy Birthday, You Selfish Bitch".

Her birthday was 2 days ago. Only when she was heard whining and moping that she didn't feel loved did anybody think to take up a collection.

I feel misled. I want my $2.00 back. Dammit. I guess I'll just have to send Donnie out for a spicy Chick-fil-A sandwich. om nom nom nom nom.

Misty Watercolor Memories...

Remember Jarred's co-worker Misty? She's not done talking:

Jarred: Misty is applying to start a new charity license plate (like childhood cancer). She knows she wants to do licence plates, but has no idea what cause to put on it. Rather backwards. She said something religious. I reminded her of separation of church and state. This further confused her.

Me: So Misty wants to start a charity. So that she has something to put on a license plate. They don't have specialty license tags in Texas, so I had to show my friend online. There are a bunch of new ones. I explained, if you want to save the environment, you can get an environmental license plate. but, if you more specifically want to save the Cahaba River, you can get a "Save the Cahaba" license plate.

Jarred: She likes the idea of helping the homeless. Me: There is a theme here with Misty and the homeless. Why is she obsessed with them?

Jarred: Saw a "Cure Childhood Cancer." Lady was smokin in the car with two kids in the back.

I thought it was completely absurd that Misty wanted to start a charity so that she can create a specialty license plate. Jarred's right, it is rather backwards. Recently, I had a conversation with a girl who told me that she was founding a nonprofit organization. She had done some research and had begun the process of registering her nonprofit with the state, purchase a domain name for her charity's website and setting up a Paypal account for would-be supporters to make donations to this charity. The one stumbling block in her whole plan: she still hasn't selected a charitable cause. The obvious question here is, "Then why are you doing this?" I have to say, I admire her candor: She was inspired to start a charity by her desire to rollerskate around White Rock Lake in Dallas wearing a bikini. She figures, if she starts a charity, she would have an excuse to coordinate a bikini rollerskating event. And, to that end, she has also amped up her workout routine so that she has washboard abs in time for this event. The jokes write themselves, people.

I'd Rather Not Deliver Verbal Bitch Slaps Before My Coffee

My Libra ways make confrontation difficult, but there's a certain mall security guard who has been tap dancing on my nerves for a couple months. The spa I work for is in a mall, in an upscale department store, and I keep early hours of 8:00-4:00, arriving two hours prior to the mall opening. And because I underwent painful abdominal surgery during my second trimester and am now late into my third trimester, I have been parking at the nearest entrance, regardless of whether it's a mall-sanctioned "employee parking lot". Remember, pregnant women and old ladies, like Sophia from The Golden Girls, don't have to answer to the rules of conventional society. We're special. Write that down.

So anyway, if I arrive on time, that entrance is locked. However, the security guard often will have unlocked one of the 8 doors early. Otherwise, I rely on the kindness of mall walkers (old folks in their Easy Spirits working on their fitness), or a kind mall security guard, who doesn't mind walking the 100 feet to open a door for an early arrival. The mall cops rotate, so I don't see the same ones every day. There's this one guy who I've only seen a handful of times, and he won't unlock a door early. He will however, begrudgingly open a door for me and notify me and the old lady mall walkers that the doors open at 8:30. I usually smile and thank him through gritted teeth and briskly walk past. Not today, friends. Not today.

I didn't expect to be so punctual, or to see him two days in the same week, but when he met me and my venti latte at the door and delivered the same "Doors open at 8:30" message through his own set of gritted teeth, I decided enough was enough:

"Listen, I know the doors open at 8:30. You tell me that every time you see me. I'm eight months pregnant [pointing to stomach]. I work right here [pointing to store that is right in front of us]. I cannot park in the Nordstrom parking deck and walk all the way down here. Now--the other people who do...what you do [gesturing to his uniform, and resisting the urge to call him "Paul Blart"] typically leave one door unlocked, or they simply open the door without comment. I have six more weeks until I leave to deliver this baby, and I am going to continue to park here and use this entrance. If you don't want to open the door for me, then don't. But don't tell me again that these doors unlock at 8:30."

Paul Blart stared at his feet and sheepishly nodded in agreement, "Ok."

"Good," I replied tersely, before pivoting on my heel and sashaying away, tossing my hair over my shoulder. That is a move with a little dust on it. Waddling in flip flops instead of strutting in stilettos, that maneuver is considerably less impactful. As I walk away, Paul calls out, "But I'll continue to open the door. Because I have compassion."

"How nice," I retorted, not even stopping or bothering to look over my shoulder. Now that that's out of the way, I can go about my day. [Sigh.]