Les incompetent....

I like to stay under the radar when it comes to certain things.

I like to fly low and steady attempting to not attract attention of any kind in certain circumstances.

Mostly, I don't like people knowing how old I am or how lame I can be.

My boss's boss asked me to do him a "personal favor"... he needs me to work the next three Friday's.

It's not the fact that I have to put my second "job" on hold or anything (although that really IS a super pain in the keister not to mention a pretty big cluster flup).

Making up for lost time on Saturday is not really all that big of a deal...

 (frickin hell to da yes it's a big azz deal...)

So while I'm totally being asked to be put out and put upon..."they" are my bread and butter, so I need to just suck it up and when they say "JUMP"... I must respond WTF "HOW HIGH ??"

It's not so much that I have to be there on Friday...mostly all working stiffs work 5 days a week.

The problem is WHAT they have me doing.

Kayaking .... week one we were going to Kayak.

I'm all about depending on me/myself/I .... but me/myself/I in a little floatation device being in total charge of me/myself/I and having not one single solitary outdoorsy type person to help out by sitting in the boat and doing everything while I hang (white knuckle) on to the sides with my eyes glued shut had me more than a little shook up (not to mention heart palpitations, which were lots).

I think my boss' boss could see that he was asking for a donation of my left kidney....

or for me to Pole Vault across six cars lined up side to side.

He could see me squirm (the tears streaming down my face didn't hurt either).

"Please don't make me go in a boat by myself" I silently begged

"Surely, I'll paddle (if I get the hang of it) right into International Waters (Canada is our nearest neighbor) or out to sea...

They'll find me days after the trip, one pinky finger gouged into the side of the kayak hanging on for dear survival, lips parched, severely sunburned and half eaten by whatever kinds of huge (whiskered) fish hang out in the deep, deep, dark waters of the Huron River...

Or the boat just may capsize, I won't drown, but I'll sink to the bottom and end up with dirt in places ladies shouldn't have dirt."

By a stroke of wonderful luck our kayaking trip was cancelled due to a forecast of heavy rain.

Daddio hugged me tight and said "they really have no idea how great it is that this event has been rained out, they don't want someone like you on a kayak"

(the man calls a fig a fig)

I nearly cried tears of joy at the change of plans which included a Movie with the group.

I like to watch movies, but don't go out to see them often. I don't like that I can't pause the show and take a tinkle break or get some diet ice cream or chocolate bars. I don't like that I may have to share the armrest with a total stranger or hear/smell someone enjoying their last meal of popcorn..

(crazy knows it...just sayin)

I figured I could get over myself and my idiosyncrasies for a couple hour movie.

Anything would be better than kayaking.

My group and I got to the theater late and had to walk in with the movie already in progress.

I found myself leading the way into the theater.

In my own defense I will say that I had no idea my "night blindness" was so advanced.

Or that the stairs were so far apart.

Climbing mostly blind to the top seats of the movie theater had me using my foot like a red tipped white cane...tap tap tap... okay there it is, you can step now...tap tap tap....there is the next one... and the next and the next.

Even though I couldn't see my hands in front of my face, I'm quite sure lots of people (including my boss' boss) saw me go down on all fours like an ape to keep from tripping.

Next week the plan is to go fishing.

I'm not sure if I should pray for rain, or not...?

We can poke your eye out with a rusty screwdriver or we can poke your eye out with a rusty screwdriver...

Arrgh.

Mutiny and Martha ( a wannabe story)....

I had it in my mind to do an old fashioned home economics class with the loveables.

Button sewing, ironing creases in dress pants and shirt sleeves.

Sharp lines and clean looking and how to get that way.

I'd add a bit about the proper way to sort a load of laundry.

How to remember to clean out your pockets before you toss your things into the washer.

(on a side note... teacher, may want to teach thyself, yo. Some dummy at my house washes things that shouldn't be washed all the damn time)

I'd talk to them about keeping themselves safe while cooking, how not to sicken themselves with raw meat juices, how to put out a grease fire and how to know when the milk has gone sour.

Hot damn, I was on to something.

I was feeling really full of myself planning this class out, minute by delicious minute, in my head.

What the loveable's mothers (grandmothers, guardians) had failed to teach them about basic house keeping, mending, cooking... all the old fashioned Marthy Stewert-ery type things I was going to step right up and enlighten them.

I would do such a good job that one day, maybe 50 years from now, a reformed loveable would be showing a grandson how to sew on a button.

How to iron a shirt, and properly clean a toilet.

And he'd have me to thank.

I found myself on the morning of the class not as prepared as I should have (or would have liked to have) been, I also found myself having to take half a day off work to attend a doctor appointment with a loved one.

(that's how life rolls sometimes... a chink in the already chinked up armor)

As the day wore on and I wasn't making much progress in my planning I came to the (not so startling) conclusion that I must really like flying by the seat of my pants since I seem to do it so often..

(my attempted pep talk to myself in the car on the way in sounded a bit like this...just get r' done.... just do it....fake it till you make it...crap, I'm going to have call in dead).

Man, I was screwed.

I had no choice other than to go ahead with what I had (not) planned.

People who work with juvenile offenders know that these dawgs smell fear...

I came in to class smellin to high heaven.

Reeked may be a better word.

After clearing my throat for five straight minutes, and taking up about ten more shifting from leg to leg trying to see which was more comfortable to rest on I was ready to launch into an introduction of my juicy subject matter.

Right off the bat one particularly surly loveable had a nice thought he wanted to share with me and the entire group (of very suggestible youth)

"Are you freakin kidding me, what a waste of my time, this is paaa-thet-ic" he hollered when I told them what we'd be doing this day in Life Skills class.

"Please sir, be respectful" I said, then added "who is your PO?"

The loveables don't like being asked that question.

I usually don't go any further than just asking...them not knowing why I'm asking is usually enough to get them squirming in their seats,

and when they're squirming in their seats they shut their traps.

(hey, don't judge...whatever it takes people, being on the front line with these hooligans can sometimes be a thankless hard ass job and some days you gotta do whatcha gotta do)

"Okay, Mr" I say "you know how to do this, well then, here ya go" and I tossed on his desk some material, a spool of thread, a needle, a pair of scissors and all my confidence.

"Go ahead, sew on that button" I challenged him.

He did, in record time.

He also sewed on the next one I tossed him, and the one after that too.

Even the one with the loop on the underneath.

Flawlessly, the loveable thug sewed the buttons on the material.

The others followed suit, and with the exception of one youth they had their buttons done in about 3 minutes flat.

Then they began to grumble and wiggle in their seats.

The looked out the window and pulled out their phones and looked at them low in their laps where they thought I wouldn't notice them texting.

I tried to pull all kinds of useful information from my ass, tried to remember all the things that I wanted to tell them about,  but the little guy on my shoulder had different plans.

He rudely kept pointing out that the children were bored and totally uninterested and he wouldn't stop telling me to put a lid on it.

At one point, because I was trying so hard not to listen, he decided to scream in my ear about my shitty class and my lack of proper planning.

I knew in my heart I was washed up,

and then I choked up,

and with nothing left but a hairy arm up my sleeve, I was forced to throw in the towel.

And feed them brownies.

I so freaking hate it when they do that to me... (and I let them)


Loveable thugs 1

BethKoby (one TOTALLY unprepared, confidence lacking, ink pen washer) 0

The future of Alice...

I've been dying to tell you all about my latest Life Skills class.

How the boys (?), the one's large as California Coastal Redwoods, almost made me lose my mind.

How they pushed every button and tweaked every raw nerve I had to offer.

Then dug deeper to find even more.

I wanted to tell you how they came in reeking of marijuana and then blamed it on one's dad (he be burnin a blunt in da car, yo).

And while I would be on the subject of these smelly Redwood trees I would tell you how they intimidated all the other youth,

and the co-facilitator of this class.

I'd be withholding information if I also didn't mention that they intimidated me too.

And that, in and of itself, really, totally, and sin-cere-ly pissed me the eff off.

(I have underwear older than these punks)

(the small pretty ones, the ones that aren't classified "granny panties" the ones I keep hoping to fit back into someway, somehow, someday)

(Horders uuuuu-nite, just sayin)

If I were telling you all about my latest Life Skills class I would tell you how when we walked down the hallway the big boys got into the old man janitor's face,

and I would tell you that I ran up front and got into the Redwood's face...

I would say that except there was no chair (on which I could stand) in the hallway...so I was really pretty much yelling into his bellybutton..

which, much like the cavernous abyss that is his head, didn't appear to have ears.

Ohh, well.

So if I were to go on and on about the cluster doink that was our latest Life Skills class I would rat out on the boys for stealing ice cream from the fridge.

Another program's ice cream.

We frown on behavior like that.

Yep, while I was out of the room, and my co-worker was fooling around with the other thugs these cloud scrapers were scavenging through drawers in search of spoons to put in a previously unopened (HUGE) carton of ice cream ( I probably, in order to really bring home the point, would reiterate that it was someone else's ice cream).

IOW (inotherwords) it be someone else's shit..keep your mo fo hands off..

If I were telling that story I would certainly end it with the information that an email was sent from me to my superiors (at 10pm) indicating that these children would not be allowed to continue (something about over my dead body) in my Life Skills classes.

I would also recall using the term "feral animals..."

(ohh yes I did)

I would hope my little tale would end with a pop, a bang, a climax if you wish...

but like many a good story, it would have a bittersweet ending.

While turning the ice cream container around (for picture evidence, yo) it was discovered (teeeeeeee-heeeeeee) that while the ice cream belonged to another program it apparently had been left in this community fridge for quite some time...

like for nearly a year.

Close to a year ago the printing on the side of the container cried in warning "EXPIRES 3/01/11".

Some Hershey (SQUIRTS) with your ice cream boys, Y-oooooo.

This girl does dream.

The title of this post, The future of Alice... did it have you scratching yer noggin?

(Random Post Idea Generator... I was looking for an amazing thing to write about since I didn't want to write about my latest Life Skills class)

I wish you smiles aplenty today...
xoxoxo

Atop a fence post.... pt deux

If you happen to happen upon this blog (this one here, the one you are reading right here, right now, yeah, this one, it you happen to happen upon this blog you may need to read this post right here to understand what I'm talking about in this post...you dig?)

The whole fundraiser deal was a lot like pregnancy and giving birth.... at first we suffered through the "It won't be so hard" and "I'm so excited, this is going to be great" to "what in the hell have we done to ourselves?"....

The what in the hell have we done to ourselves was the stage that lasted the longest, was the most painful...and also the most profitable.

During the transitional phase (the hard labor) of the process I found myself leaning on Marmie for lots of tips and pointers.

"Don't be afraid to be specific in your requests" she guided "ask for what you need."

"Don't just say "can you donate", say "I'm looking for 16 bundles of pipe cleaners, can you help me out?"

I took her advice to heart and grew me some big ballzs and decided nothing ventured, nothing gained..

"I've got 25 bucks and I need 20# of ground round" I told the owner of my favorite meat market "is there something you can do?"

I tried not to dance and hoot and holler when she took a huge hunk of beef from the showcase and took it in the back...

Marmie was right.... "ask, and you shall receive"

I was high as a kite, riding on asking and receiving, when I went to Kroger (you may recall them as the grocery store that does not donate to "regular people" or "people who just walk in off the street asking for stuff") to follow up on my written (and supposedly faxed) donation request...

I'd been following up for days (and really counting on a donation) and was getting nowhere and so on the day of the fundraiser when it was a mere few hours from starting I found myself face to face with the manager of my local Kroger...

The Brownstown Michigan Kroger Head Store Manager Cindy was as pleasant as a bleeding hemorrhoid.

As kind and understanding as an ingrown hair.

As giving as an abscessed tooth.

Seriously she was all that and more.

"We don't just give to every person who walks in off the street asking" she hissed "there are people who walk in here everyday wanting stuff"....

(Ohhhh the nerve of those rotten needy bastards...)

"We don't give to "regular people" she condescendingly added.

"You have to be representing lots of people in order to get a donation here"....

She continued her verbal and emotional assault on me until my eyes welled with tears and when she snapped (for the fifth time) "WHO IS "THEY"????? " when I referenced the people I'd previously talked to at her service desk, who when I originally asked for help THE ONES THAT handed me a Donation Request Form and then gave me directions as to how to fill it in and what it needed to have attached and where it needed to be submitted...and all that jazz... THEY, THEM,THOSE people... that right. there. (evil Miss)...them there is who THEY is/are...(dumb ass)

(don't get it?... I feel ya, that exchange above is exactly how my mind was processing what I was hearing)

When her pleasantries were all done she walked away in a huff and left me embarrassed and humiliated and wanting to crawl back into the hole (the hole she just knew) that I'd crawled out of (and yes, I do know that I just said the same thing three damn times, but that is how bad I felt and this is, after all, my blog and I can say stupid stuff like that to describe how I was feeling after being incredibly humiliated and embarrassed by Cindy the Manager of the Brownstown MI Kroger store for having the nerve to walk in off the street and ask her to donate, in her grocery store's name, to a personal fundraiser for a (one, single, solitary, all alone) person (one tiny very sweet person) who is fighting the fight of her life against a dreadful disease...)

(After dealing with the likes of me and brushing me off with a limp hand pump...I'm sure she went to wash me (the delusional beggar) off her hands...(yuck)

A cashier standing next to the register near where I was talking with charming Cindy heard the whole exchange.

Her eyes were filled with sympathy and she came over and apologized for her store's policy...(there was no apologizing for her baboon boss' boorish behavior)

She then took a small change purse out of her uniform pocket, took something out and pressed that something into my hand...

It was a twenty dollar bill...

"I hope this helps" she said.

"I usually don't have any big money in my purse, but...today I do, and I feel like God told me to give it to you, God bless you and your cause" she said patting my hand.

A bloody blooming red rose in the middle of December January.

"When all the world is a hopeless jumble and the raindrops tumble all around, Heaven opens a magic lane."

And just like t.h.a.t (cue the {s-nnnn-ap} my (Generous and Kind) Lord picked me up, dusted me off and sent me on my way.

Thank you kind cashier. 
xoxo

PS... know the movie Ghost? The part when the bad guys die and they evaporate into a black vapor?... I've thought of that scene and Cindy a lot since my fateful encounter with her.