Bullseye

I don’t know why but I usually don’t think to blog unless something major is going on- you know, how much I despise 4th grade math, someone dying, etc. Today it’s Target.

Target-Lady-Low-RidersChrist, Target, why do you do this to me? I try so hard not to be a cliche of a white-girl-soccer-mom-starbucks-loving-suburbanite, even though I am all of those things, so I don’t go to Target very often because I find it so “mainstream” in the sense that literally everyone says “OMG I went into Target for laundry detergent and spent $900!” and I just don’t want to be another one of those people. Even though, again, I am that person. Weird, right?

Anyway- because the universe is about to blow or something, I actually had an idea to do a little early Christmas shopping because my youngest mentioned something he really wanted, and I looked it up on Amazon and it was all sold out. It was also all sold out at Walmart and Walmart online and Target online and ToysRUs…you get the idea. Anyway, lo and behold, I see that my (kinda) local Target has these littler F’ers in stock, so…off to Target I go.

Here’s just a peek into my inner dialog as I roam through Target: (With no kids, obviously. With kids is an entirely different blog.)

I walk in and immediately you’re in a Starbucks. As if driving past Starbucks to get there wasn’t hard enough, now I actually have to walk almost THROUGH a Starbucks just to get my shopping cart. I won’t spend $5 on coffee today, I won’t! Goddamnit that smells so good, WHY IS THERE A STARBUCKS IN HERE. Oh yeah, for dipshits like me. Keep on moving.

Then there’s the dollar bins. OMG look at all that cute stuff. These would be so cute for Halloween for the boys. Ugh no, they don’t need anymore crap. BUT OMG LOOK AT THIS WHAT ABOUT THIS FOR STOCKING STUFFERS? Jesus fuck it’s October I am NOT going to buy stocking stuffers. Ohhhh look they have note cards with a “P” on them…for all the notes I write, yeah, I don’t need that. But they’re so cute. JUST. KEEP. WALKING.

Note: I made it through both Starbucks and the dollar bins empty handed. YAHOO!

Oh shit. Shoes. I don’t need any shoes, I DON’T! Wellllll I have been looking for some new black boots. The four pair I have are not right, one is too slouchy, one is too short, one has too high of a heel…I reeeeeeally need some black riding boots. I’ll just take a quick peek… (Try on 14 pair of boots) Ugh…none of these are right. I kinda like this one though…ohhh look at those flats! And the sandals on clearance! Shit. NO NO NO LOOK AWAY WOMAN JUST LOOK AWAY!

Note: I made it through without buying shoes of any kind.

Now for clothes, pajamas and work-out wear. Haha. I really don’t need any clothes, man that sweater is really cu…NOPE. Oh look over here to the left at all those cute pajamas…mine are so old and icky I …NOOOOO. Ok, new yoga pants…now those I could really use for all my yoga-ing. (Let’s get real people- can we please quit calling them “yoga” pants? They are “button and zipperless jean alternative almost pajamas but acceptable to wear in public” pants. That is all they are ) No. No. No. I came here for toys. Toys. Toys. Toys.

To get the the toys one has to pass the baby shit, and then one gets all teary eyed because one misses looking at and buying all that baby shit, but then one gets over it as soon as one passes that aisle.

Yay toys! I quickly find the three things I was looking for and move along, first to the electronics where I look at movies and such and decide I suddenly need to buy the following movies: Annie, Home Alone, The Lorax, Overboard, Turner & Hooch, Divergent, Mermaids, Corpse Bride, and The Dark Knight. I didn’t buy any of these, but for that moment it all seemed like a good idea until I turned my head to the right and saw something even shinier- books!! I made it through the book section with ONLY a paperback copy of Mockingjay because I wanted to read it again before I saw the movie and my Kindle broke. Seriously, one book? That’s major. But then a few aisles later I put it back when the guilt kicked in, because $10 for a book? Calm down, who do you think you are, a Kardashian?

Oh for Christssake now I have to go through the home department. This area right here is just a tornado of ideas. By the time I leave this section of the store I’ve completely remodeled my entire house in my head. I suddenly need new dishes. If I have new dishes I have to have new flatware. Those placemats are TDF, I don’t even HAVE any placemats, so that’s a necessity. And those hand towels…ohhhh look at that light blue KitchenAId mixer! If only I could trade it in for my red one that is so early 2000’s. I DO need a baby whisk, as a matter of fact! And I can’t even find any of my measuring spoons…and that casserole dish! Seriously bitch, just walk away. Ok, I’m going. I’m going…

…straight into the linen department. Fuck.

Rugs. Comforter. Shower curtain. Window panels. Pillows. I NEED ALL THE THIIIIIIIIINGS!!! SIMMER DOWN LADY YOU HAIL FROM A ONE INCOME HOUSEHOLD, get a fucking job if you need all this shit. Quick, just get to the grocery section. You need milk and cereal and oatmeal and coffee and something for dinner. Easy enough. GOOOOOO!

40 minutes later (a good 20 of that was spent looking at all the different varieties of nuts i suddenly needed to try- settled on dark chocolate covered salted almonds because I DESERVED a treat.) I made it to the checkout.

Toys: 3 @ $12.99 ea. ($39)

Milk, cereal, oatmeal, coffee, dinner: (Roughly $30)

Amount actually spent: $145. I’d say $76 into the Target Black Hole should be considered a win and is basically nothing, really.

Amount Target made me want to spend: $8,750.

In summary. Target somehow makes me want to buy literally every thing I lay my eyes on. I don’t even have a cat and Target can make me want to buy kitty litter and fancy feast. HOW DO THEY DO THIS? Hypnosis? Mind control? Subliminal messages? Whatever it is I wish they’d make me as enthusiastic about shit I actually need to do like clean my house, write books and lose weight. Get your shit together, Target, you could be doing some good in the world.

Advertisements

fifty three times seven is kiss my freaking ass

Imagine the worst thing you’ve ever been through. Okay? Got it? Now, multiply that by a billion and that’s what doing math homework with a 4th grader is like. Now, if you’ve never been through this yourself, and if you’re anything like me, you might be thinking things like:

4th grade, you say? Really? Wow, you must be some kind of stupid to not understand 4th grade math. ha ha ha.

But math is easy! I LOVE math! I used to do algebra problems for fun!

How hard can it really be? These kids are NINE.

…and then your nine-year-old comes home with his math homework and asks for your help and you say “Sure! I love math!” and then within 30 minutes you’re both crying and one of you is drunk. At first glance, you think, ummm what’s the problem, honey? You know how to do 53×7. 7 times 3 is 21, carry the 2..blah blah…

“But no, Mom, that’s not how you’re supposed to do it?”

“What do you mean that’s not how you’re supposed to do it? It’s 53 times 7.”

“I know. But this section we have to do it a different way.”

“Okaaaay. What way?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

….fast forward to some time later after I CONSULTED GOOGLE TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO DO FOURTH GRADE MATH, and see that in THIS section, what they are wanting is for the kid to say “50 times 7 plus 3 times 7 is ____”

Seriously, what the fuck? So we carry on, doing ten or so of these, and then we get to the next section. Again, asking what’s 53×7? But this time, they want you to solve the equation using “compatible numbers”, whatever the goddamn hell that means. Again, after consulting Google, I find out they are wanting an estimate. 53 becomes 50 and so on… so, wait, my kid just learned 18 different ways to calculate 53 times 7, and now you want him to estimate it? Why? Why can’t he just tell you what 53 times 7 is? Are you TRYING to make Americans even dumber than they already are? Hello! This is why China is ruling the world. Because Chinese kids don’t estimate shit. They just know that 53 times 7 is 371 and then that’s that and they go on to learn more important shit that matters.

So, after another half-hour or so of arguing with my kid about what “compatible numbers” are, because he was INSISTING that the teacher did NOT want an estimate, she wanted the actual answer (then why the HELL do we have to do it any different than the last section, which, you know, GAVE THE ACTUAL ANSWER OF FIFTY FUCKING THREE TIMES GODDAMN SEVEN?)

This, my friends, is the new teaching curriculum that some dumbass politician probably came up with (I don’t know, that’s just a guess. I just cannot imagine that any actual educators thought this was a good idea.) called “Common Core”. Which, basically, I have come to realize is roughly translated into “Stupid dumbass time-wasting methods of math that are making everyone dumb.” Or something.

Here’s an idea…how about we teach our kids how to use their own brains to figure out 53 times 7 however the hell they want to figure out 53 times 7 and as long as they get the right answer, why do you give a flaming rat’s ass how he got there? In the real world. as an adult, when I have to figure out a math problem, my boss or who-the-hell-ever doesn’t say “Oh wait, you didn’t use the breaking apart method! Wrong answer!” No. Because nobody has time for that shit. Nobody cares how you got your answer as long as it’s right.

Got it?

nobody-cares_317034

Thank you, SpongeBob, who, by the way, DOES NOT USE COMMON CORE MATH AT HIS JOB AT THE KRUSTY KRAB.

Carry on, people. Wish our future generation luck. They’re gonna need it.

 

 

diary of an aspiring writer

Just in case you ever wondered what goes through someone’s head when they’re trying to write a book. At least this is what goes through my head, I can’t speak for everyone. It has been a long time since I’ve worked on it. I’m talking before the holidays.

Ok, the kids are at school. I should write.

<opens file> Huh. I don’t even remember writing this part.

This is kind of good.

Wow, this is shit.

Hmm, this part is okay.

This is garbage. What IS this? I don’t think I wrote this. I would remember writing this. I think Stephenie Meyer wrote this part. What the fuck is that, anyway? “…grasps my hand fiercely”? Really? And how many times can you say the word “desperate”, anyway?

Oh, this is good. This is kind of brilliant. I can totally see where I was going with this idea. Why do I keep doubting myself? This is fantastic and I need to finish it before someone beats me to it.

Holy shit. This is the absolute worst. I can see why I quit. I need a match.

Stop being so hard on yourself, kid. It’s not that bad. Is it? Maybe it is. I have no idea what good is anymore. HOW CAN I NOT KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN BRILLIANCE AND SHIT?

Oh look, time to go get the kids. Welp, that was fun.

 

the space between

There’s a place where the living aren’t really living but the dead aren’t really dead, either. It’s an odd sort of place, a place where nobody really knows what to do or say. It’s not like you can go visit someone in Hospice and say “Get well soon!” or “Don’t worry, it will be ok” or “Are you feeling any better today?”. It’s a very, very odd sort of place.

But in this place I learned a lot about people and myself and what it’s like to face death. Basically, it sucks. I learned that I can be very strong when I need to be and I can fall apart a second later. I learned that Hospice nurses are the kindest group of people I’ve ever come across in my life. I learned that I might have made a good nurse myself if I had gone down a different road and I learned that sitting in a Hospice room with my grandfather for almost four days wasn’t enough time.

I’ve seen people die before. I watched my grandmother die and I watched my father die, too. It was scary, and sad and ugly and when it was over…relieving. Watching someone go through a prolonged illness and knowing they have come to the end and seeing them pass to the other side, finally free of their pain, suffering, indignity and struggles…it’s just plain relieving. There was no part of me that was sad for them, only for those of us left behind to fill in the holes.

The difference between those deaths and the one I’ve been faced with recently with my grandfather, is that in those two cases, even though my dad and grandmother were very sick for a long time, in the end, their death came quickly. There was time for the “You should probably get down here.” phone call, and then by the next day it was all over.

This time, we haven’t been so lucky. I got the “You should probably get down here.” phone call, but 11 days later, he’s still here. In this in between, the place where nobody really knows what to do, say or think.

The best and worst things about my grandfather, at age 93, his body deteriorating in a Hospice bed, is that his mind, up until this point, is almost 100% in tact. He’s on constant morphine, so occasionally he talks out of his head some, but for the most part he’s just still Gramps. It might take him a second longer to figure out what’s going on, but he knows what’s going on. He knows where he is. He knows what’s happening to his body and he doesn’t know, any more than us, how much longer it’s going to take.

How scary is that? How it must feel to be lying in that bed, trapped, knowing your life is over and hoping you did everything you wanted to do and said everything you wanted to say and went everywhere you wanted to go? And now you’re just waiting to die. How hard it must be to tell your children to be sure to cancel your phone and cable and don’t forget to cancel my doctor’s appointment for next month, too.

How scary it is, for us, to sit there and watch? Hoping you’ve said everything you wanted to say and then you’re left with this void of not know what else there is to say or do. You can only say “Do you need anything?” so many times an hour. The rest of the time is a mixed bag of watching him sleep, blankly stare at the wall or hold his hand. What is he thinking? Should I ask? Do I really want to know? If it were me, I’d be begging for death to take me and I’m not sure I want to hear my beloved grandfather say that, even though we’re all thinking it, too.

Because I am not sad for him. I am excited for him. I am elated inside that he will soon be reunited with the love of his life and a great many members of our family. He will be young and free again, free of this body that is no longer capable of serving him. But I am sad for me, and I will miss him, and I hate this place between life and death and I hope it’s over soon.

And can someone please explain to me why Kevorkian was a bad idea?

girls are dumb

I keep thinking my first “Oh my God, I’m finally blogging again!” would be something profound or life-changing, but nothing really profound or life-changing happens to me so I’m going to write about a dumb TV show. Girls.

Here’s my thought process during my marathon viewing of the end of season 2 and beginning of season 3 last night:

“I’m bored. I need to watch something. I don’t really want to commit to anything that requires thought  so maybe just something that will entertain me for 30 minutes to an hour until I fall asleep. Ugh. GIRLS. Ok, it’s been a while, maybe it’s less annoying.”

Ten min later: “Ugh. This is awful.”

Twenty min later: “What the hell is wrong with these people? You are all incredibly self-involved and I hate you.”

Two hours later: “Why the fuck am I still watching this? Why can’t I stop?”

Three hours later: “Jesus, Hanna, just GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER! And why do you wear the most unflattering clothes? And FFS Shoshana just. shut. up. already! Nobody, and I mean nobody could possibly actually be this annoying in real life. Ever. I swear.” (repeat)

“Oh my God I think I’m starting to like Adam…how is this possible?”

“WHAT HAPPENS NEXT I HAVE TO KNOW!”

“Oh great it’s 12:30 and I have to get up at 5. Thanks for ruining my life, GIRLS.”

….and just getting sucked into the stupidity of these caricatures of girls and their shitshow lives is a perfect example of how stupid even smart girls can be.