Thursday, March 31, 2011

Conclusion of me Being a Bad Person and Making Fun of Crazy People.

Read blogs from the last two days to catch up- this story was too long for one post!

       She came in a few days later. I was in the back of the teller area, giving an override or spinning on a chair, or something equally important. I hear her voice ask for a notary and I start jumping up and down like an excited golden retriever. One of the tellers told her to take a seat and I would be right with her. I came out of the side door before she had a chance to take a seat and said "Hey, Sheri! Did you need a notary?"

(this is almost EXACTLY what Sheri looked like)

She got a fearful look in her eyes. I thought maybe instead of offering my notary services she thought I said "I'm going to chop off your mullet then chip away at your collar bone with a machete".  She said "How do you know my name?"

By this time we had made it over to my desk and I gave her a sweet banking/saleswoman/american idol future winner smile and said "Because I notarized for you before, remember?"

She starts laughing and I think she is laughing at her silliness, forgetting such a memorable girl.

I was wrong.

She said "So, they got to you too. They are really playing with me, REALLY playing with me now".

I said "No, you already told me your story. I notarized stuff and sent it to George W. Bush for you, remember? I faxed our President....for"

She shouted at me , "I don't even know you!"

Then she whipped out a notebook, wrote my first and last name, looked at me as though she was taking a picture of me in her head, then walked off.

On the way out the door her neck snapped around like a kimodo dragon and she roared at one of the tellers, "What are YOU looking at?" Then mumbled "nevermind" and left.

I hope by writing this blog, 4 years later, that she doesn't think I am part of the suicide game. Because I know fo sho that making "chili, cookies and etc doesn't mean I'm baptist or part of the Cia. Peace"

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

2 of 3....Crazytown!
(read yesterday's blog to catch up!)

       She was physically and mentally tortured for 4 years after meeting Toby Keith and his band at a Christmas party in 2002. She believes that Toby Keith paid George Bush's attorneys 2 million dollars to start a "suicide game" on her. Which means they attack her friends and family and get them to not love her anymore, take her money, try to make her heterosexual (she is bisexual) (damn you Daria!), and in the end hope that she commits suicide. When her life went downhill in 2002, this is the best explanation she could come up with to as why.

There is a second group of people whom "Toby Keith" "planted" to pretend like they were there for her when everyone else dumped her. They were also part of the "suicide game". (Okay, I have to stop with the quotations.....this whole paragraph should be a quotation because it's so ridiculous). When they turned on her she had no one else. So she had to pick up where she left off, pretend to sue a whole bunch of people, including her parents, brother and sister, lover (Daria?), Toby Keith, and George Bush, to repair what had happened to her both personally and professionally. When I ask her what happened to her professionally she told me that she wanted to be a singer, but Toby Keith made sure it wouldn't happen because he hated her. When I ask her why Toby Keith would want her to kill herself she said "This kind of stuff happens everyday, you have no idea. It's just a big game. People have too much time and money on their hands, so this is what they do for fun."

On her way out she says to me, "Now you know. If I come in here and don't remember anything or I am in a wheelchair, it's them. They got to me. It's your duty to let the truth be heard."

I am thinking, what truth? What the hell are you talking about? She talked in sentence fragments 82% of the time and her letter to our President made no sense. I make some joke about hoping that nobody comes after me, because everybody loves me. She doesn't laugh. I'm used to people not laughing when I make jokes about how amazing I am and this was no exception. I wanted to hug her, arrest her, and ask her to move in with me at the same time. I searched for her on Facebook this morning, by her real name, and she has 3 friends. Bless her lil heart. I guess the suicide game halfway worked.

Oh, oh, oh....The way that George Bush made her life available to his silly little games (obviously after him and Toby Keith had a friendly Friday barbecue and agreed on the price. Which she always referred to as 2M. I had to ask what that meant and she would say two.million.dollars.) by enlisting her in a volunteer-branch (betcha didn't know that existed, huh?) of the CIA. I asked how he contacted her to ask to her volunteer, and she said by mail. She had a copy of it. I couldn't even get through it. It was one giant paragraph with absolutely no punctuation. It was as though GW's enthusiasm and desperation for having her in his secret no-pay branch of the CIA was so overwhelming that he could NOT be bothered to use silly periods. Or letterhead. Or signatures.

My boss dropped some papers off at my desk, including the transmittal notice from my faxes from earlier. They were sent back "Number not known".


Read more tomorrow....she came back a few days later!

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Hey, Toby burned my crab cake.

Poor lady. Poor poor lady.

Before I dive into this story from 2007 head-first I want to add a little disclosure. I have told about 5 people this story and one of them was my father. He hated it and didn't think I was a good person for  experiencing it. I am not poking fun at people who are clinically insane (well, yeah I am), so if you have no sense of humor or are batshit crazy, instead of reading this you should probably go eat some macaroni and cheese.
         I had an attractive woman in her early forties come to my desk. I'll call her Sheri. She asked if I could notarize something for her. I smiled and said yes. She had a few pages and I was trying to take my time stamping them so I could read some of what she wrote. The grammar was INSANE. I know those of you who know me are thinking that that doesn't mean anything coming from my mouth, but this was like a drunken dyslexic in developmental-first grade. I was wishing I had more time to read it when my wish was granted and she asked if I could make some copies for her. I pretty much sprinted out of my chair to the copier, where I made an extra copy for my enjoyment. On her way out she gave me a creepy look, like a python. Like she was sizing me up. She asked if I would be working in a few days. I said I would be there on Friday at noon. She wanted to come back to have me fax some documents but wanted to make sure it was me so no one else saw her highly-confidential and delusional documents. (I swear these documents were like a couple of nine-year-olds saw a bad CIA movie a few years before, and were playing "pretend" on what little they could remember)

I read the letters outloud to my boss in her office and we giggled like little school-children over the grammatical mistakes. Most of the sentences had some sort of statement meant to sound like a question, ending with a "why", but without a question mark (You could not have done something so mene two me though and im now loseing to know what to do with my life why). It was great. I couldn't wait to see what she brought me on Friday so I could have more fun documents to read.

...I had no idea

When I get there on Friday,  Sheri is waiting for me. She seriously looks like she would have been hot in a music video in 1992. She has big hair, jeans without a belt,  a shirt that almost shows her stomach, a leather jacket with the sleeves pulled up, and a nutso crazy disposition that warms my little heart. She sits at my desk and I ask her how her day is going. She laughs obnoxiously loud and tells me she can't really tell me. I just give my innocent work smile and start notarizing. The first thing I notarize is a page she pulled out of a notebook marked CIA. It is basically just a bunch of letters and symbols jumbled together. There wasn't even a signature. I notarized it anyways. This was the most fun I had had at work since I told the 14 year old goth boy the next time he bought a Girls Gone Wild video, I would tell his mom GGW didn't stand for God's Great Word, and he WASN'T buying christian t-shirts.

        Another page was to Toby Keith, addressed to him at I LOVE THIS BAR AND GRILL (as though he has an office there, and occasionally flips burgers when the grill chef has to go on a break). The next page was to someone named "Daria". My new friend is pretty pissed at Daria. Apparently, Daria thought that just because Sheri made cookies and chili that she was a bisexual who liked to break into people's houses and sleep in their beds. Sheri wanted to make damn sure Daria knew that wasn't the case. And what better way to drive your point home then a $2 notary?

          The last page was to George Bush. The President. I asked where I was faxing the last page to and she said "George W. Bush". I said "Wow, you have George Bush's fax number in your phone?" She shook her head as though the mere thought of having his number in her phone distressed her so much she couldn't handle it. "Yes, and I am SO ready to get it out of here, believe me." I couldn't take it anymore, I took the bait. "Why are you faxing George Bush?" She says she can finally tell me since she is faxing her "resignation" letter to him right now. Please note that in her professional resignation to our Commander-In-Chief, she signed the letter like this:


Sheri Church

.....more tomorrow!

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Teachers should be wearing Chanel-

The only A's I got in high school were in Freshmen English, Office Assisting, Drama, Rack-having, and Vocal Music. I have never been one to "study" or "go to class", or "not cuss at teachers/administrators". Mat was a little better than I was, at least in the GPA department. I would like to note, however, his Myspace page does contain the quote "If its really worth winning, its worth cheating for!!!" My GPA clearly reflects that I abstain from cheating. Probably not so much for moral reasons as much as lazy ones. I likes me some rest.

We have both been (whatever word you use to replace *blessed* since we worked our asses off to get where we are) to be successful in our careers without college degrees. We have both worked full-time, in the same industries, since we were 18 and are both good enough at what we do that we can make the kind of money someone with a degree would make. Yay. Go us. But our kids. Hell to the no. They are going to be straight-A students, go to OU on an academic/breakdancing scholarship, and be making at least $75,000 a year when they are 22. A typical conversation frequently goes like this.

Adrian: Hi Daddy! Yay you're home! I missed you.
Mat: I missed you too buddy! You're going to college.

We have vowed that we will save enough money for both our children to attend OU full-time, on campus, with no full-time job needed. We will do whatever we have to do to ensure their spoiled-asses stay in school, in an area that will make them successful, even if it makes them hate us in the process.

Having said all this, I have kind of failed to realize that I have to get over my own laziness immediately and get Adrian on the ball. You would think Kindergarten consists of making macaroni art and dancing in a circle with a wedgie and a Guinea pig. You would be wrong. They send home homework for us to do, and I always vow to do it but hardly ever do. (Like, take this paper and cover it with leaves from your backyard. While doing this, talk about the letter P and what your favorite book is.) His need for an actual education has snuck up on me. I read to him almost every day, but have never made him try to do it himself. Every once in a while I will say "Hey Adrian, what do you think frog starts with?" and he'll say " frog rhymes with mog!" and I'll say "well...yeah" and then go back to reading my US Weekly.

I got a little punch in the motherly self-esteem muscle yesterday when I was reading his Thursday folder (yep, yesterday was Monday) and saw a list of words...there were 40. There was a little note, handwritten by his teacher, that said "PLEASE PRACTICE READING THESE WORDS. Adrian could only read 5 of them and needs to be able to read all of them by May" I knew we had to make a fast plan to come to the realization that my kid should be reading. I have focused so much on making sure he doesn't hit, cuss, lie, poop himself, or bully, that I have missed the apparent necessary working at home that ensures my impeccably-dressed and mannered 6 year old can move on to the 1st grade!

We sit down and have a talk with him. Every evening, we will be working on reading for one hour. We have a list of words to learn, but we aren't going to only learn those words. We're going to learn every word. Including binomial-nomenclature, because that's the best and most satisfying word ever.

Our first night was last night....we sat down and I had him read one of his books the teacher had sent home. It is mind-blowing how odd my kid is. He can't read the word "can" or "hat" but doesn't blink an eye on the word "chameleon". How do teachers deal with this level of frustration? Also, how do they not gouge out their eyeballs when kids sound out words? Adrian's word was "with" This is approximately how it went.

Mother of the Year: Just sound it out, if you don't know it.
Adrian: wuh. wwwwuuuuhhhhh. wwwwuhhhhh ihh. wuhhhh iiiihhhhhhhhhh. wuhhhhh ihhhhhhh. (smacks his own forehead because this is excruciating) wuh. wuh ih. tuh. wuh ih tuh. wuhhhhh ihhhhh tuhhhhhhh hhhhaaaaa. wuh ih tuh ha? oh yeah, a th makes the sound like thuh. okay. let me start over. wuh. ih. tthhhhhhhhhh.....................(7 minutes later)
Mother: just say it. for the love of the God and his holy mother and everything that is holy and sacred in the world. just say it.
Adrian: wuh. ih. thuh.
mother: please. please say it faster. (stuffs a chocolate gem donut in my mouth)
Adrian. wuhihthuh. with.
Mother: okay, so what is this word? look at it and say it again.
Adrian: I forgot. Hang on a second and I'll sound it out.

We got through about 10 of the words. It took us an hour and a half. It was awful, but I felt so much better about my son not just being a trophy son, but knowing how to read 10 new words. Even if "with" and "have" take 12 minutes each.

And I will be buying his teacher a purse at the end of the year for this:

(sounding out words X 61 students) + (8 hours a day) = 34,000 a year.  FHL.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

This blog is so tidal, it's almost tribal!

My brother shared this link with me, telling me it seemed to be my style. It does absolutely sound like something I would write, so I wanted to share it with those who like me!

I have a blog I am working on about my recent vacation. It'll make you happy. Even if you have those little bugs on the commercial that lift up your toenail and dive underneath. Did I just end a sentence with a preposition? But if I said "dive underneath it" that would've been redundant.

As a side little tiny note....

I wish I could tell you the things Mat and I yelled in our vacation cottage. The walls were so thin we could hear our neighbors sleeping. Once we figured this out, we remembered that we did not know that when we first arrived to our room. This time, everything was intentional. We put on quite an auditory show for our neighbors. It was 9 pm and everything was closed, we had no tv or internet. I won't go into detail about our hilarity...but there was definitely pounding on the floor, the wall, the bed, and yelling about barn animals.

p.s. The title of my blog is in honor of my son, Adrian, age 6. He comes straight from the streets of Edmond and heard "It's almost tribal in here!" on Step Up. (I don't know if it was Step Up 1, 2, 3 or 4(seriously)) and now he and my husband like to say it in honor of something really awesome. Like spaghetti or clean socks.