Around Town
And A Pestilence of Feminine Hygiene Products Shall Rain Down Upon Their Heads
This weekend we wrangled all six bebes into our minivans and headed downtown for the obligatory Guests-In-Town-Must-See-Water visit to Pike Place Market and the pier in Seattle.
Shortly into the drive I noticed my cell phone was missing. Should we go back? Not by the peanut butter smears on their chinny chin chins! There was no way I was turning the wagon train around for something as unimportant as my main communication device.
A minute later I remembered I had forgotten my medicine. Not a chance I was going back for it.
About 10 minutes into the drive, I remembered that I’d forgotten to bring any female accoutrements to keep my visiting “Aunt Flo” in check. Hmmm… I was sure I could pick something up in a public restroom once we got downtown. We soldiered on.
So, it turns out that there is not a single tampon on the entire waterfront boardwalk in Seattle, not a pad, not a remotely sturdy Kleenex. Nada. From one end of the pier to the other I searched public restrooms. There aren’t many. The main women’s room had two stalls, one with a working toilet, one with a door. You could take your pick but neither had a tampon machine.
I went into restaurants that had signs proclaiming “Restrooms for Customers Only” and found that they were equally unequipped.
I asked my friends, their friends, store clerks from Ye Olde Curiosity Shop to Ivars, random women on the street. Nobody had ANYTHING. Well, I got some strange looks from a few people, people who I’m sure did have a tampon in their pocket but were put off by a panhandler with two children, walking like a penguin down the pier and offering to work for feminine hygiene products.
“I bet she’ll just sell them on the black market to buy Dr. Pepper. I bet those aren’t her real kids. She’s probably not even a woman,” I’m sure they were thinking as they clutched their purses and walked on.
Seriously. How much of an emergency must it have been for me to be approaching random strangers? Anyone female and possibly premenopausal was fair game but no one admitted to having anything. By the time we made it to the Aquarium, I was really desperate.
I walked in and asked a greeter to let me into the restrooms. I offered to pay admission if I needed to. The place was packed but she ushered me past the lines. She didn’t know if there was anything available in the restrooms. The restrooms were new. Today was the grand opening of the new facility. Sadly there was nothing. She took me to her supervisor and whispered something in her ear.
“Hmmm… I’m not sure. Maybe in the restroom of the Life on the Edge exhibit.”
What a fitting title. I was definitely on the edge of something.
“I’ll take anything,” I said. “I’ve been going up to random strangers on the street begging. I have no pride left.”
“Wait a second. I may have something here.” She pulled a small green package from her pocket.
AHHHH!!!! And I loved her and we have formed a lasting bond of friendship.
This year on the Fourth of July I plan on hiring a float. It will have dancers performing a Mia Michaels contemporary routine, kazoo players and on a platform in the center will be me — shooting feminine hygiene products like a hail storm from a rocket propelled launcher of some kind. “Accoutrements” will cover the ground in a way never before seen by the citizens of Seattle and they will weep, some with joy and some with embarrassment.
And I will be avenged.
Or maybe I’ll just start carrying extras in my glove box.
Attention Target Shoppers
Thank you so much for all the heartwarming smiles you gave me as I walked through the store on Saturday. I was wearing makeup, cute shoes and an “outfit” and walking with an unmistakable mom-on-the-loose-for-the-weekend swagger. Your grins only confirmed my perception of my own hot-ishness.
I plan to drop-kick you all later.
Because the cute elderly checker at Barnes and Noble was kind, helpful but also honest. When I walked up to the counter and plunked down my copy of A Girl Named Zippy, she smiled, told me how much she liked the book and informed me that my zipper was gaping open.
Yes friends. If you think it would have been embarrassing to tell me to XYZ at Target, just imagine how I felt an hour later when the sweet lady laughed and said, “I just had to tell you. With the title of the book and your zipper open like that, it just really caught my attention.”
Seeing as I’m not currently pregnant and therefore don’t frequent public restrooms for the fun of it, I know that I had been flying low throughout all of my errands. Suddenly your smiles seem more sinister and my hotness a little less secure. At least that lady will think fondly of me every time she passes a copy of Zippy in the stacks.
She’s probably blogging it right now.
Redesigning Cars in My Spare Time
When I’m not pondering the great questions of the universe like whether to risk getting peanut butter in the jam jar or jam in the peanut butter jar when using one knife to prepare a sandwich, I like to invent things or come up with ways to improve on things that have already been invented.
This week I’ve been thinking about cars. I have two major beefs with Vinny that I think could be remedied in the 2008 Toyota Sienna. Heck, I’d buy a 90’s model Astro if it came with this first feature.
1. Short Pointless Errand Child Care Device (SPECCD) — I came up with this device last Thursday as I was running short pointless errands with my way-past-naptime kids drifting in and out of consciousness in the back seat. Every 3.5 minutes, I would have to stop, take them out of their car seats, corral them into a store or post office, complete a 2 minute task, gather them once more, strap them back in, wait for them to fall asleep and then take them out again for another quick stop. Laylee begged with actual words to be left in the car. Magoo just gave me that look that says, “I don’t know how but at some point in my teenage years I will make you pay for this day of torture and humiliation” and then he bawled like a 2-year-old.
What they don’t realize is that I’d like nothing better than to leave them in the car if I had any assurance that they wouldn’t be kidnapped or nuked to death in the hot summer sun.
There has got to be a way to equip a car with a built in babysitter, possibly a “bot” or “cyborg” of some kind. If it was a kind, nanny-type of cyborg, you could leave it in the car with the kids and a sawed-off shotgun. If it was more of the turn-on-its-master-and-take-over-the-world variety, you could give it your credit card and let it pick up the cilantro for you while you snoozed in the car with the kids. The possibilities are endless.
2. Silent Automatic Locks — I am a door locker. Much to Dan’s chagrin I lock doors constantly, keeping out thieves, solicitors, bad guys of all kinds, and sometimes Dan or myself. But at least the kids are safe… alone… in the house with all the knives and nonorganic shampoos.
I’m pretty serious about this, even in the car but sometimes I forget. Then frequently as I’m driving around, a vagrant, hooliganite-ish teenager, or traveling street performer will walk or unicycle up beside my car and my hand will jump to the automatic lock button. Then comes my dilemma. Do I trigger the loud lock, letting the person know I’m locking them out because I think they look creepy or do I leave us unprotected to save their tender and possibly psychotic feelings?
I tend to think that most people who look creepy already know they look creepy and the last thing their self-esteem needs is for me to rub salt in their wounded egos by giving them the you’re-creepy-door-locking signal.
Tell me. If you’re reading this and you are creepy, do you know you’re creepy? I suspect you do so wouldn’t it just hurt your feelings if someone locked the door whenever you came around? You could be harmlessly creepy. Maybe you just have really bad teeth, large nazi tattoos and a sweet spirit. Who am I to judge?
It’s like someone running away and hiding their infant under a blanket when I come near because they know I’m baby hungry. Maybe I am, and I know I am but it doesn’t mean I’m gonna eat your child. You should just keep one arm over the child for protection, then snatch and lock them up when I get far enough away that I won’t notice.
So for now that’s what I do. I keep one finger on the trigger as they walk by and when I think they’re far enough away (this distance varies based on their apparent hearing loss or iPod volume) before giving them the big creepy repellent click.
I would not have this problem if my locks were silent.
What features would you add?
the reasons: Band-Aids, sun in the Pacific Northwest, reconciliations, samples at Costco
Leading the Witness
My sister Meg recently came to town for a whirlwind trip of throwing fish, photographing tulips until our cameras begged for mercy and spoiling of the niece and nephew.
One night we were driving around town listening to Delilah on the radio. Now I’ve talked before about the like/mild annoyance relationship I have with her. On the one hand I think “Who is SHE to solve everyone’s problems and choose songs for them? What an emotionally manipulative cheese ball!” On the other hand I often find myself crying when I listen to her and thinking, “I can’t believe I’m crying but that totally obvious bit of fortune-cookie wisdom was the most beautiful thing I’ve heard all night. Waaahhhhh.”
So I listen and roll my eyes and periodically decide to secretly …
George, Elaine, isn’t that Doctor Santanisto?
When Magoo the Large was born, my body was a mess. 10.5 pounds of baby will do that to a wee flower like myself and so it was that my hip joints were unbearably painful. My doctor took some X-Rays and asked me if I’d like to see a specialist. Sure. Does he come with drugs? Send him in. Not enough people have seen me breastfeeding today.
Doctor Santanisto had dark wavy hair, pulled mostly back in a physician’s doo rag. He had a soul patch, expressive eyebrows and a slightly sinister look about him.
He was professional and helpful but I couldn’t get over the thought that I had just had a run-in with a caricature of an evil doctor from ER or possibly a Seinfeld-like nemesis.
“Helloooo Kathryn.”
“Hello Dr. Santanisto.” (In the voice Jerry reserves specially for Newman.)
A couple of days later I was back up at the hospital’s lactation center being fitted for a high quality mammary suspension device and I started to describe the specialist doctor to Dan.
“It was just weird. I wish you could have met him but there was something about him. It was like he’d stepped right out of a hospital drama, the ruthless surgeon who smooth-talks the patients and then goes off and fires interns for yawning or handing him the wrong scalpel. I picture his laugh to be a deep cackle. I really wish you could have seen him.”
Two minutes later I was hobbling out of the parking lot when something caught my eye. Not 10 feet from my car sat a black BMW convertible with red leather seats, the top down being driven by — DR. SANTANISTO!
“Dan! LOOK! That’s him and he’s driving Satan’s car!”
Dr. Santanisto’s wavy hair was loose in the wind, an extra-long cigarette dangling from his sneer.
“Wow,” said Dan, “That’s creepy.” This is what I’m saying.
You know I love casting people as I drive around town. If I’m ever the casting director for ER The Next Generation, Dr. Santanisto’s totally gonna play that one mean guy.
Today I Got Shot
Do you ever spend an entire day wearing makeup and hanging out with a man who is not your husband, while your son mistakenly calls him Daddy?…
Straight Up Now Dan
Straight up now, tell me do you really wanna love me forever? Wo-oh-oh or am I caught in a hit and run? Straight up now, tell me is it gonna be you and me forever? Oh-oh-oh. Or are you just having fun?
When we were driving around this afternoon my, like, totally favorite Paula Abdul song ever came on the radio and while Magoo and I were rocking out, Laylee was listening to the lyrics.
“Mom? Can you please listen really well to this song and remember all the words so you can sing it to Dad when we get home?”
“Yeppers.”
I’d better do it quick and get to bed. Tomorrow morning I’ve got to get up early for an appointment with my brain professional. We’re back together and I’m moving forward with his happity-pappity pill poppily recommendations. Some people are near-sighted and need glasses. Other people are physically superior in nearly every possible way (a-hem!) but somehow end up needing a gray-matter chemistry set.
Dan met me at my last appointment and I’m glad he did because he didn’t let me downplay the symptoms I’m still having. I tend to think that if I snag a better attitude, all of my problems will just DEES-appear. And I was in a great mood on the way to the doctor’s office.
How could I not have been? I turned on the radio and Boyz II Men were singing. They’d started a group and there they were kickin’ it just. for. me. Dan helped me overcome my Motown Philly-induced euphoria and keep it real with the doctor.
So, yeah. I’ve gotta go sing Dan that song. And maybe Cold Hearted Snake. You have to admit – Paula Abdul had a lot of really great hits in her day.
Flamingos and the Resurrection — The Art of “MegaCorp”
A large sittable sculpture is located in the courtyard between buildings at Dan’s office. Now, I’m not an art critic, at least not a constructive or educated one, so I’ll stick to talking about the landscaping which surrounds the huge brown log-like creation.
The courtyard is big and round, paved with stark gray cement the exact color of the cloudy Seattle winter sky. In the center sat a huge round patch of grass with a circular brown 2-foot-tall sculpture where people could gather, talk and play Parcheesi. …
You’re the One that I Want
Today I was driving past a construction site, listening to “Mick” Hammer sing Can’t Touch This on the radio (no relation to Mick Jagger). One of the workers, a portly older gentleman in a khaki Carhartt jumpsuit and white hardhat crossed the road in front of my car and sped up a little to get out of my way.
His fingers were spread wide apart and the bounce in his step matched the beat of the music. He looked like he was doing jazz hands in some sort of blue collar early nineties rap musical. I wonder if he knew he’d just been cast.