Showing posts with label embarrassing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label embarrassing. Show all posts

Sunday, October 20, 2013

The Halloween to Holidays Death Spiral

I originally wrote this post in 2010. Apparently my life has not really changed at all in the past 3 years. My kids are bigger and more self-sufficient so I was under the false impression that, I would re-read this post and be all - I was so adorable and flustered with my tiny little kids.


lol


That's right, Ricky Gervais. It's funny. It's hilarious. Go on and laugh. At me. At my expense. Because I just figured out that it doesn't matter how old my kids are or what stage of the parenting cycle in which I find myself. I will remain a jackass who is forever frenetically flapping about.

Welcome to the Death Spiral, my sisters. It is upon us.

--------------------

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Swype Part 2: Electric Boogaloo


Remember last fall when I shared with you all the horrible things my stupid phone does to embarrass me when I try to text people? Well it still happens all the time. And not just texting. It's when I try to type ANYTHING with my phone. Because apparently, I will never learn. Also, my phone is gross and needs to get it's mind out of the gutter. 

Warning: if you're mature or an actual grown up, you probably will not be very impressed with this post. You should probably go read the Wall Street Journal right now. For everyone else, proceed.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

11 Things About This Summer

It occurs to me that it's time to tell you guys some stuff that's been going on with me. I know I haven't been writing very much lately. For some reason, every summer turns into this bizarro scenario whereby I can either blog about parenting or actually parent my kids.

Unless I forgo sleep altogether (did that in the summer of 2010, wouldn't recommend it), I just can't write as much as I'd like to. Plus there's all that other stuff - you know - LIFE. It just keeps happening. So here are some of the things that have been going on with me. Some of these things are embarrassing. Others are funny. One is sad.

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

In the Mommy Room

You guys know that it's a struggle for me to keep my house clean, right? That it's usually pretty awful, even though I'm really and truly trying? Sigh... I should be embarrassed but I'm starting to think a messy house is like a boob stain for me - part of my personality that really can't be denied. 


When we bought this house in 2011, I was the happiest person on earth. I love this house. It's perfect for us. It's set up so that when you walk in, you pretty much just see one room to your left. It's a living room - or actually more of a sitting room. I decided to call it the Mommy Room. It's where we put everything we own that is nice or worth more than $5 or purchased some place other than Target. 

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Horrifying Conversation with Mini #2: The Baby Duck

Mini says things that are horrifying. She always has. She is one part sweet, adorable cupcake and one part iron-willed anarchist. Now that she is approaching the age where she is required to be civilized, I am attempting to crack down on her more and more. It's not working.

Last Sunday, she was in full spirits.  She did not care what anyone said. She wanted to frolic. It was warm and sunny! Finally!

She wanted to frolic through the Home Depot parking lot. So she unbuckled herself and attempted to throw open the van door while the vehicle was still moving. She really wanted to frolic at the playground adjacent to her brother's Little League field. Is it safe for small children to play there? Out of the vision and the ear shot of their parents? It is not. That was not important to Mini.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Why None of the Dads Will Make Eye Contact with Me

Who me? A jackass? YES, yes & yesser.
Remember that time I told you the story about how I threw up at Five Guys and how stories of me humiliating myself in public spring from a well that will never run dry? Then there was that time I tried to impress my boss' boss and they thought I was potentially dangerous and then more recently when I tried to get pizzas donated but almost got escorted out?

Well, it happened again.

So, last night was at the first baseball practice of the fall season. In one hour, I managed to ensure that no one on my son's little league team will have anything to do with me. Because I am a complete and utter f*cking moron with no ability to filter.

I show up at practice and was delighted to see Kate(!!) whose little dude Happy was practicing at the field next to ours. So she and I sit together on the bleachers with my friend DeeDee and settle in for a nice, long chat about everything stupid that makes us happy.

There are small children everywhere, as lots of siblings have been dragged along to practice.  Most of them are happily playing in a large pile of dirt about five feet away. A bunch of dads are hanging around on the bleachers near us, watching practice, messing with their phones and occasionally inserting a funny comment into our conversation. I know only some of these dads, none of them very well and most not at all.

Lydia: (whispering so that people who don't know me won't think I'm stupid) EAU MAH GAH. I just saw on the internets that Kelly and Dylan from 90210 are in love and together in real life. Like right this minute, they are together and happy.
Kate and DeeDee: NO WAY! WHAT?! REALLY?!
(Kate starts messing with her phone)
DeeDee: That's awesome because Kelly's ex-husband really seems like a dirtbag. Like who the hell was he until he got cast in Twilight and then all of a sudden he's too cool to be married anymore.
Photo taken from E!
Lydia: (nodding) Yes. Even though, he's on that show Nurse Jackie and that's a pretty good show. I totally agree. Dirtbag.
Kate: (looks up from her phone) It's not true. Apparently they're good friends and they're potentially pitching a sitcom or something together.
Lydia: That's too bad. There was this really cute picture of him hugging her from behind, sort of in a Prince Harry bear-hug kind of way, except of course, he wasn't naked like Prince Harry. (sigh...)
Kate: (tapping her phone) It says here that Kelly is dating someone else.
DeeDee: That's nice for her. I hope she's successful in the future. I mean, Twilight is over for her ex, right? All there is left to do is promote the last movie.
Kate: (snorts) That's going to be all kinds of fun.
Lydia: Yah. Because all anyone will ask about is Kristin Stewart being all cheaty and if Robert Pattinson can stand to be in the same room with her.
Kate: I read they're considering getting back together.
DeeDee: Yuck.
Lydia: (now talking really loud as am very excited) "I know! They shouldn't get back together! She should just go do her thing and...
(I suddenly become aware that all the dads are listening to me as I am talking really loud and fast like a teenage girl discussing One Direction, except I am a 39 year old mother of 3 and realize how totally foolish I sound but I can't stop talking even though I know I should. My brain is screaming "STTTTOOOOPPPP TAAAAALKKKINGG" in slow motion and yet I just. keep. talking.)
...and he should drink lots of pints like a good Englishman and take advantage --
[pause. I meant to say something like "sympathy nookie" or "sympathy lovin" but out comes the following:]
...of all the symPUSSY that he can get, right?"

Even this cat is disgusted with me.
SILENCE. Mouths drop open. Small children stop playing with dirt and wonder why the chubby lady is talking about cats. Because the "sym" was barely audible and the "PUSSY" was extremely loud and I knew as I said it that I shouldn't be saying it and yet out it came, nonetheless, because something is clearly wrong with me.

Then there was an explosion of laughter. Kate and DeeDee started first. They were howling. Then one the dads I didn't know started shaking with suppressed laughter and had to turn around and not look at me. The dad I did know took out his phone - snapped a picture of my bright red, completely horrified face and asked if I wouldn't mind repeating myself.

I almost went and hid in the dugout. But I knew I needed to apologize and so I tried to say how sincerely sorry I was for saying something so inappropriate and in front of other people's kids and I was so embarrassed I practically wanted to cry and that only made everyone laugh harder.

I know, Cedric Diggory. I feel the same way.
Thankfully, Kate and DeeDee started talking about something else and then one of the kids needed me for something so the moment passed. But I couldn't even make eye contact with anyone for the rest for the practice. When it was time to go, I tried to apologize one more time and all the dads just shook their heads and snickered and said "Don't worry about it" but I know what they really meant was "Isn't this the psycho on that Honey Boo Boo show?"

It wasn't until I was on my way home, still burning and chaffing from my own idiocy, that I realized there was a silver lining. I had invented a new word.

Sympussy (n.): When you feel bad for someone so you offer up some sexytime. Also; sympathy motivated loving.

So at least I have that. Because it's going to be a very long baseball season...

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2012

Thursday, May 10, 2012

A Little Puckdate

Guess what? I have some good news. In fact I have TWO bits of good news and a story where I humiliate myself in public because my 3 year old is a cupcake baked by the devil. Ready? Here we go!

I heard from Yvonne at World Birth Aid. Her organization has received almost $2,000 in donations in the past 10 days. SERIOUSLY? That's 1,000 clean birth kits. That's potentially hundreds of momma and newborn baby lives saved. That's thousands of infections prevented. And that's just one of the organizations we worked with.

And you know what else? She's going back to Sierra Leone this summer with our clean birth kits, and she's going to take photos and videos of the mommas and the babies. We'll get to see our mommas and babies that we already love even though we don't know them. I can't wait to see them.

So that's completely freaking awesome.

More good news? We've added another domestic violence shelter to our list of Mother Day's gift recipients. Woot! That makes SIX Homeless and Domestic Violence shelters in our community. I keep thinking about those moms and about how many of them have lost everything except their kids. About how many of them probably were willing to lose everything EXCEPT THEIR KIDS. So they held on. Or they left. Or they asked for help. They did what they had to for their kids.

So we're going to do something completely unexpected and nice for them because they deserve it. And that's also COMPLETELY awesome.

Here's the part where you're all be like - why is Lydia even allowed to leave the house? What made her think she could pull this off and why did any of us think she could do it? AHEM.

So it was Teacher Appreciation Day yesterday. And of course I wanted to do something because all 3 of my kids have amazing teachers this year (which of course, by the laws of teacher karma means that next year will be a total sh*tstorm). So I volunteered to cover for them at recess so that they could have a 25 minute break.

So at our school, the dealio is that when you enter the building, you have to check in at the office and sign in. Your name, the date and time, what you're doing there and where you'll be. If you're a visitor, you get a visitor sticker and if you're a volunteer, you get a volunteer sticker. I got my volunteer sticker, gave one to my charming 3 year old who was stamping her tiny Croc in impatience and off we went.

Watching the kids on the playground was a little crazy. Mostly because they were acting like rabid howler monkeys on the Jerry Springer show because they all knew that the teachers were inside and it was just a bunch of clueless parents who weren't even sure if we were allowed to discipline anyone.

When it was over, I picked up Mini and we headed off to the Big White Ford Tampon to go run errands and stop in at a bunch of local businesses to solicit donations for the Stuffing Party. Mini kept patting me and saying "Good Mommy. I wuv you. Now get me a Sprite."

Someone (her father) gave her a Sprite one time. And now she is completely addicted. It's horrifying.

So we stop at a local pizza place and we walk in. I ask to speak to the manager. The girl behind the counter looks at me funny. Then nods and smiles and calls to a gentleman who walks over with a concerned look on his face. Maybe he thinks I have a complaint, I tell myself. I then pull out my nice letter explaining what the Mother Pucker Stuffing Party is.

When he sees the words "Mother Pucker" his eyes get all big and he makes a small choking sound. I ask him to consider making a donation of food for our volunteers. He looks directly into my eyes and says very quickly: "Thank you for asking us. I will think about it and call you later."

Then basically the exact same thing happens in 2 other stores. Usually, people like me. Today I seem to terrify them. They can't stop staring at my face. I'm briefly reminded of a very unfortunate experience with a dark lip stick and an important business meeting. I stop cold. I turn around and look at my reflection. In horror.


Because at some point HOURS EARLIER, Mini had taken her volunteer sticker and stuck it on the tip of my right boob. My volunteer sticker was just above my left boob. I looked like I had intentionally put two large stickers over my boobies. Like they were pasties. I looked like a reject from a Richard Simmons Off-My-Meds Production of the Pussycat Dolls.

They had all thought I was insane as I walked into their stores. Then I handed them a paper talking about a Mother Pucker Stuffing Party and asked them for free stuff.

I'M LUCKY I DIDN'T GET ARRESTED.

Also, I'm pretty sure they're not going to call me back and give us free pizzas. The End.

xo, Lydia

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2012

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Words With Friends Strikes Back

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post about how much I hate Words with Friends. In case you don't know, it's an on-line Scrabble game that is highly addictive.

Well, guess what? HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM. Because since I wrote that, Words with Friends has become sentient. Like HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey. It knows. It just knows.

The only good news is that now that now that Words with Friends is actively trying to communicate with me, it only confirms my assertion that it's a total douchebag.

Would you like some examples? Good. Because I have three.


Example 1:


I changed the names here to protect the innocent, but let me just tell you something, Words with Friends: I AM NOT A SEX HO. You are. You stupid incorporeal word game.

Example #2:
I didn't have to change names here, because this is just an obvious example of cyber-bullying perpetrated by Words with Friends. Neither Kristin M. nor myself are LOINHATS, whatever that even means. You need to get your filthy mind out of the gutter.

Example #3:


OK, this is even from the same game as the example above. I opened up the game and this is what I was greeted with. Well played, Words with Friends. Sending me such an unambiguous and obnoxious message.

I see what's going on here. And you will not defeat me. Because I have a platform from which to tell the world what you really are: EVIL.

I win. Lydia out.


(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2011

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

What I Learned Today (That Isn't Very Useful)

Emma - aka The Pole Dancer - is like a human Wikipedia. Except correct.  She reads all the freakin' time, so she has all this information just zipping around in her head. Kate tried to keep up with her vast brainy knowledge, but even after reading every page of TWO Sunday papers, a book, the New Yorker and SmartChild magazine, Emma was still all, "did you see that article about the benefits of broccoli and baseball on emotional development for boys?" We really need her to have a day where everything she learns is crap. Fortunately, the cosmos heard our pleas...


xoxo Kate and Lydia

------------------------------------------

They say you should "learn something new every day". I am not sure who THEY are and I am not sure the items I have learned on any random day of late are of merit. I will let you be the judge:
  • You actually have to tell your 7- and 9-year old boys and their two friends that tying the 7 yr old to the tire swing with the rope around his neck is dangerously bad idea. Prior to today's lesson, I would have thought that fact fell into obvious and common sense category.
  • John Wooden was a famous basketball coach. He also wrote books. Books that have pithy little phrases that my husband is now quoting at me - "Don't measure yourself by what you have accomplished, but by what you should have accomplished with your ability." Great quote, why don't you recite it to yourself while you're doing the laundry.
  • You can flush the sink stopper down the toilet. Prior to accidentally conducting this experiment, I would have thought it was too heavy or an incompatible shape to make it through the curvy pipes, but it's gone now.
  • If you are scrolling through the iTunes app trying to figure out how many calories the stationary bike burns, you will discover an entry for sex. If you want to log this activity and the resulting calorie burn - you will have to decide if you achieved an "active" or "vigorous" level. OUCH.
  • My husband can't tell the difference between cooked and uncooked tortellini in the fridge and he served the boys uncooked tortellini for dinner.  Apparently my understanding of males and common sense is not properly aligned.
  • There were no Hippolyte warriors in the battle of Thermopolis (this was from my 7 yr old), obviously he has been viewing WAY too many hours of "Deadliest Warriors" lately.
  • There is a 5 page sentence in the book I am reading, but if you google "longest sentence in literature" Wikipedia says that the 2001 book "The Rotters Club" has a sentence 13,955 words long.
  • After only 4 hours sleep (because I was reading a British crime novel) when my husband wakes me to tell me he drove to the store for milk and cereal, I will tell him he is a "bloody genius." Complete with accent.
  • Ripley's Believe it or Not, is not appropriate for the elementary school age kiddies -  one day they were watching deviant latex (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUl2A4UvvYk) and another day they were watching a talented artist who uses her breasts instead of brushes.  Need to cancel the auto TiVo.
  • Apparently, I now need to check the boys self-packed lunches - today's inspection - store bought peanut butter crackers and two choc chip granola bars.
  • I also need to refine my line of questioning: I need to be asking not "Did you brush your teeth?", but "Did you brush your teeth using toothpaste?"
  • Even if your kid's hair is almost buzz cut, you can't find lice without that little comb. A nice little summer tidbit that I discovered three days ago. Followed by a lot of itching. And cursing.
  • My children are not diseased, they just have impetigo.
  • That it's possible to forget that I threw on my "Stop Bitchin' and Start a Revolution" t-shirt this morning and then popped into the office to finish a few quick tasks.
  • My neighbor's daughter is not very bright.  The grandchild was screaming and daughter's solution was to bring her child outside.  Because the only thing better than one household being awake at 2AM is, obviously, two households.
  • My husband and I can drive our car for 38 consecutive days without noticing the inspection has expired.  This is a $90 lesson.
  • In Fairfax County, you may not park within 10 feet of a driveway. This is a $50 lesson. I had to pay for this lesson.
  • If I buy 8 trashy romances 10 days before I go to the beach, I will have read them all with 2 days to depart.  The thrift store will not let you trade them in for new ones either.  Snitches.
  • You can not get a pedicure at 9am. Apparently this is a 10am -- or later -- activity.  Who knew?
  • The correct sentence is not - "Don't spill the smoothie on the laptop." It is "You may not drink the smoothie at the computer table."  You would think I was a rookie, rather than a decade-long parenting veteran.
  • I've gotten to an age where hopping is not natural and requires actual brain effort to coordinate without falling on my face. [Editor's Note: I would *totally* make fun of Pole Dancer here, but I was equally atrocious at this. For the record, we were hopping up stadium stairs as part of a cruel, mean, nasty evil workout regimen. There were 44 steps on each riser. Doesn't sound like much? Try it. My ass still hurts and we did it two weeks ago. -Kate]
  • The dog will eat as many loaves of bread in a day as you leave on the counter.  He does not get full. Ever. 
    So while I appreciate the learning new things mentality - for just today -  I am hoping against hope to go all day tomorrow without learning even one new thing.


    The Pole Dancer

    (c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

    Sunday, April 17, 2011

    Book Fail

    We fail at a lot of things - tap dancing, keeping an eye on the kids, not embarrassing ourselves - and we try to be honest about it.  That's the key, right? To being OK with all things that could drive you crazy? To be honest about it, to try not to take it all so seriously and to laugh at yourself - that is the way of MommyLand and of the Jedi.  So for the next week, we're going to be honest about something that has been sort of a disappointment for us over the past year. 

    First some backstory.  When we started this blog about 18 months ago, it was therapy for us.  Because we were both miserable and unhappy and exhausted and had lost the ability to laugh at the things that were driving us crazy.  And though we'd known each other for years - we weren't friends.
    Then we had a run-in in a parking lot.  And had a conversation that truly changed our lives.

    After we'd been blogging a couple of months, an amazing lady asked us if we'd ever thought about writing a book and we were like "OH EVEN YESSER".  And we gave each other high fives and danced around our in our respective kitchens on the phone with each other and got really excited.  And we tried to write a book about what we knew best. Our perspective on being seriously flawed parents. Our somewhat successful efforts to get our groove back.  Our luck in finding each other and something that we loved to do.

    We were like this except on the phone.
    So we wrote a chapter (and some other stuff) and we shared it with a bunch of people and they were all like "IT'S AWESOME! WE LOVE IT!" At least they said that to our faces.  Because the truth is that no one wanted to buy it. Eight months of trying, a couple of nibbles and no offer. 

    A few months have passed since then.  And we think we can both say with total confidence that we have officially given up on writing a book.  Which is OK.  Because the truth is that writing a book wouldn't have been the thing that changed our lives.  The thing that changed our lives was making the choice to write anything.  We started this blog which, stupid as it is, represented an act of bravery for us.  OH YESSER. It's brave to be this stupid on the internets.

    Yes, we're bummed that no one in the publishing industry wants to play in our sandbox. We tried. A couple of times.  We failed.  We might be a little bitter embarrassed about it.  I mean f*cking SNOOKI got a book deal.  But honestly? We were never about that in the first place.  We're not writers - WE'RE BLOGGERS! RAWR!

    If a great idea or amazing opportunity came along, would we leap at it? Oh hells yeah.  Like a pack of crazed and hungry wolverines.  And as we leapt onto our unsuspecting book deal we would scream "WOLVERINE!" and snarl menacingly.  But that might scare them.  But it would also be awesome. 

    By admitting all this, we're not making some grand statement that somehow we think we're worthy of writing a book or that we are deserving of the very high honor of having one published. We know we're not.  We know we're jackholes.  Or wolverines. Or a hybrid of both...holeverines!   

    But it was sort of like being that dorky freshman at the dance, and hearing from your friends that a cute upperclassman was going to ask you dance and you were all "NO WAY. Me? ME?!  Eau. Mah. Gah." and then it turns out it was a joke and his girlfriend walks by and throws gum in your hair.

    The real reason that motivated us to share this story with you guys wasn't so we could moan about how we got shafted. Because we didn't.  It was because the thought of no one ever reading the first chapter we spent so much time writing was driving us nuts. So we're posting it (split into four parts) over the next week.  It's not great and it's just one chapter and it's the story of how we became friends and started Rants From Mommyland.  And its a story you guys have never really heard from us before. 

    But keep in mind, it's not that funny. Because (we're trying to be honest here) at that point, our lives weren't that funny. 

    So in the future, if you are ever in a dark place and you wonder how you will get out of it - think of us.  And an unlikely friendship and a blog about wiping asses.  And how there is always hope even in the last place or person you might expect it.  Because we can honestly say we feel much better now.

    But, really...it would be awesome if we could be holeverines.

    xo, Kate & Lydia

    (c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2011

    Tuesday, March 29, 2011

    We'll Always Have Paris. Oh, Wait...No We Won't

    So, we love artwork. This is nothing new. We take perfectly lovely and sweet photographs of kittens and sunsets and Maude and jack 'em all up and make 'em say really profane and generally disrespectful stuff. So, when one of our MommyLand moms sends us a story about her most embarrassing moment AND included 27 separate e-mails worth of original artwork to got with it, ummm, HELLO! Of course we're going to run it. Mostly because we begged her to write it for us in the first place.  A very huge thank you to Kate in Michigan, who is also the dictator of the RFML SparkPeople Strength Team (where we first became acquainted with her incredible illustrating skills).  She is the Queen of the Ninja Pirate Hookers and we adore her.
    -------------------------------------


    Back in the DBK (Days Before Kids), my husband and I lived in Pittsburgh.


    We loved it. We were young (late 20s), smart (he was getting his PhD and I had just gotten my Master’s), and with a small amount of discretionary cash which we spent unwisely and very well. One Friday afternoon in January, my husband called me at my temp job and asked if I wanted to go to PARIS the following weekend.

    WHUCK?

    Well, turned out that there was an insanely good rate on airline tickets out of the ‘Burgh, but ONLY if you buy TODAY. 

    “Ummm, even yesser!” I believe was my answer.

    So we went. It was three days of walking, eating, going to museums, checking out the Eiffel Tower,


    and eating some more. I felt so cosmopolitan. Such a World Traveler. We just up and went to Europe! For the weekend! How cool were we?
     

    After shopping on the Champs Elysees (we bought him a leather coat - did you know there are INCREDIBLE sales in Paris in January? It’s true.) We were happy, tired, and a mite hungry. That’s where our story begins.


    Oh, how wonderful. An out-of-the-way Café full of Parisians! Incroyable! We practiced our EXTREMELY limited French and got a table near the windows. The tables were adorably close together. Cigarette smoke everywhere.


    We happily ordered coffee while we perused the menu.


     Oh, it felt so good to be able to order lunch -- IN FRENCH! Did you know that “hard boiled eggs” is “oeuf dur”? It totally is.

     
    The ham was on the bottom, with some fancy schmancy mustard (pardon, “la moutarde”), interspersed with delectable tomato slices and some green leafy something. The halved oeufs were arrayed artfully on top, their little white bottoms nestled into what I can only assume was some mustard/Dijon/hollandaise sauce. I didn’t care what it was called. I wanted to dive in.


     Cradling this rather large sandwich in my hands, I debated the best approach. It was too tall to just munch easily, so I began nibbling on one end, all the time sitting up, coquettishly swinging my crossed leg back and forth, showing off my high-heeled boot.


    Out of the corner of my heavily mascaraed eye, I saw something white fly through the air.


    White and yellow, actually. My husband caught my eye. We both sat very still, smiles frozen on our faces.  

    Him: “What was that?”
    Me: "Maybe an egg?”

    I peered at the far side of my sandwich. Whaddya know -- an oeuf was AWOL. Whoops. I snuck a glance under the table, expecting to find the egg where I could discreetly kick it out of sight.


    Ooookayyyy…


     Maybe under my seat?


     This was not funny any more.


    An egg cannot just disappear. NOT EVEN IN PARIS. I was starting to hyperventilate a bit. Then…


    I looked at the woman at the table RIGHT next to us. She was so exquisite. So chic. So… wearing white. In January.


     Ummm, oh. no. it. didn't.


    [Instant Replay]








    I began frantically searching for...for what? Words!


    She glanced down, wrinkled her flawlessly alabaster brow, and said in mellifluous French,


    Oh God. What? Is she telling me she’s calling the cops on the Ugly American?

    My husband, seeing that even the tiny shreds of my Frencherican had abandoned me, translated. “Honey, she’s saying that it’s not easy to eat those sandwiches.”

    I was desperate. I was sweating and hideously embarrassed. I needed to get out. We flagged down the Garcon and paid the bill -- and probably tipped him about 427%. I couldn’t meet the Chic Woman’s eye as we left. However, I did hear a very French snort.

    So, just a review:

    HOW I FELT BEFORE LUNCH:



    Aaaaaand…
    AFTER:



    Next time I visit gay Paree, I’m gonna change my name. And avoid oeufs. Dur.

    (c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2011

    Wednesday, March 23, 2011

    Public Display of Professionalism

    Remember that time I told you the story about how I threw up at Five Guys and it was really gross?  Well, there was this other time that something equally embarrassing happened and my husband,Cap’n Coupon says I should share it because it’s been a while since I publicly humiliated myself.  So here goes.

    This woman is professional. Lydia is "professional".
    Before I had my third little terror suspect, I was a working mom with a lovely job and co-workers and a truly amazing boss and an office with a door that closed (even though it used to be a closet) and for eight hours a day I could do things without small people screaming at me.  I could even go to the bathroom all by myself
    Moving on.  My job was in local government and occasionally I had to represent the agency I worked for in public meetings.  It was at one of these meetings where the story takes place.  It was a special meeting for three reasons:  (1) very important people were going to be there; (2) I had to make a presentation to them; and (3) it was a meeting at night

    I drove to the meeting in the dark with music blaring.  I felt free!  Almost like I was going to a party or a bar or out to meet the Cap’n for a date. WOO HOO!!!  I thought there was a pretty good chance that I was going to be able to hit the grocery store by myself on the way home, and I felt practically giddy at the prospect. 

    It occurred to me that I should get focused.  I had to deliver some bad news to the Very Important People; we were delaying a project for six months.  And one of those people had a reputation for yelling at staff when she thought they weren’t doing their jobs right.  Even if it was in front of a room full of people.  She’d also been known to speak to your supervisor if she didn’t like the quality of your work.  She was very tough.  We’d always gotten along swimmingly, but I was constantly terrified that she’d yell at me.

    I pulled into a parking space with two minutes to spare.  I quickly brushed my hair, ate an Altoid, and put on some Chapstick while checking my appearance in the rear view mirror, music still blasting.  Then I locked up my car and sprinted into the meeting room – right on time.

    Walking in, I took my seat and perused the agenda. Oh good. I was third.  Maybe that meant I could give my stupid talkitty talk and leave.  I noticed sitting directly across from me were the two people I found most intimidating -- the lady who might yell at me and a distinguished gentlemen who was my boss’s boss’s boss.  All of a sudden I got a little nervous.

    Oh dear. The boss-man was looking at me.  I smiled.  He didn’t smile back.  In fact, he looked as alarmed as a prison warden just before a riot.

    That was weird.

    Then I noticed the Maybe Would Yell lady was staring at me, too.  She looked equal parts worried and like she smelled something bad.  She didn’t smile either.

    I then nervously sat through the first two parts of the meeting, running through my talking points in my head and focusing on making everyone understand why the project had to be delayed.  They weren’t going to like it, but hopefully I could make them understand that we didn’t have a choice.  And hopefully they wouldn’t blame me.

    It was my turn!  I stood up and passed out my attractive and colorful PowerPoint presentation.  I spoke for about fifteen minutes.  I’m not trying to brag or anything, but they were riveted.  I’m not saying that the subject wasn’t fascinating (community-based public health planning modalities is sexy stuff).  But it was all me.  They couldn’t take their eyes off me.  Especially the bossy boss man.  He was looking at me like I was made of magic.  The longer I spoke, the more entranced they became and the cockier I got.

    I wrapped it up and asked if anyone had any questions.  They didn’t.  But they couldn’t stop staring at me.  There was a long awkward pause, and they moved onto the next agenda item.  I sat there feeling smug and awesome.  I had rocked this like a hurricane.  Had he been there, Ricky Bobby would have given me a fist bump and told me how I made that presentation my bitch.  And my office had been worried about how the Board would react.  COME ON!  Lydia’s here.  I got this.  Bossy boss man was still looking at me.  That dude wanted to have my baby because I was so awesome at public speaking.  I smirked and scratched the side of my smirky mouth that all those bad ass words had just come out of. 

    Wait. Whuck?

    Why was there red all over my finger nail?  It was like I had gotten into a catfight with Ronald McDonald.  OH DEAR GOD.  I discreetly pulled my cell phone out of my briefcase and looked at the reflective surface.  My worst fears were confirmed.  It wasn’t Chapstick that I’d spread all over my mouth in the car in the parking lot, with music blaring, in the dark.  It was bright red lipstick.  A tube of red lipstick that in the dark was almost identical to the clear Chapstick I thought I was putting on.
    
    This looks just like
    chap stick when you're
    in the dark. And
    you're an idiot.
    I looked like a crazy person with 43 cats and a tartan lap blanket.  I looked like I took the wrong medication and was in need of immediate medical assistance.  I looked like I could start screaming deeply bizarre and disturbing things at any second like: "WHO TOOK MY KNITTING NEEDLES? I KNOW IT WAS YOU!"  I looked like a crazy hooker who might actually cause Charlie Sheen to think twice.   

    No wonder they couldn’t stop looking at me. They were afraid.  No wonder they didn’t question the six month delay – they were hoping that would be enough time for me to take a nice, long trip to the Nervous Hospital.

    The Maybe Would Yell lady suggested everyone take a five minute break. Then she walked over to me, a funny look on her face.  She said very kindly and softly, “Lydia, you probably had to get a baby sitter tonight.  Why don’t you head home to your children? That is, if you want to…” 

    Oh this is fantastic.  She clearly thought she needed to get me the hell out of there as fast as possible.  She glanced quickly at my briefcase, as if she were afraid there was an ice pick in it.  And helped me out of my chair and gently pushed me out the door.

    I didn’t even bother to look in the mirror in the ladies room.  I just drove home.  I walked in the house and walked right up to my husband and was like “Hi there. Notice anything?”

    He looked amused. “What is all over your face? Were there clowns at your meeting?”

    There was only one clown at that meeting.  It was me.

     Oh and also?
    Suck it, haters.  I stay at home now. And it's not even court ordered.
    (c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2011

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