Beast and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

There are some days when things just don’t go your way. Ask Alexander, in the book by Judith Viorst. He knows.

I had one of those days last week. I didn’t wake up with gum in my hair, but I did wake up with child parts draped all over me and the backache that goes with remaining stationary for too long.

We had the normal battles getting clothes on, brushing hair and teeth and recognizing the importance of wearing a coat when the weather turns cool. Then we headed off to school. Nothing too exciting there, except that we needed to share our moldy pumpkin with our classmates, so mush-head needed to travel with us. And my tea spilled on my lap. And my water I moved so my tea could take it’s place didn’t have the top screwed on quite tight enough.

So I drove to work, and found my normal parking lot with it’s “full” sign out front. “BALONEY”, I said and proceeded to drive around the very full parking garage in search of a spot. There WAS a spot, for a car without doors, maybe. But not for me. So I went to my second choice garage and scouted around 5 more floors of spots. No luck. Try the valet, even though I hate leaving my keys, they’re full too. Go to #3 parking lot, out in the rain and about a MILE away. (OK, not that far, but still it’s a trek.) Find a spot and feel grumpy about wasting about 45 minutes trying to park.

This is where it gets fun! While crossing the street in the crosswalk provided, I’m about 1/3 across when a big old white van guns its engine and drives straight for me! It was like I was in one of those movies where the bad guy is trying to take out the witness who will put him away for life. But of course, it wasn’t and I’m not. The crosswalker (me) SCREAMS and jumps – two steps, maybe three, but I’m sure no more than that. See, those guys in the movies know what’s coming so they’re not glued to their shoes. They actually have the presence of mind to throw their bodies out of the way. I’m here to tell you (Thank you, Lord) that two steps, maybe three is really the max. So driver screeches to a stop and crosswalker who has just seen that she was going to be thrown, but wondered seemingly casually in which direction, looks down to see a silver bumper touching her thigh. No bump, no real hit. Just a damn close call. That might be enough, but instead, crazy driver (I do not use that term loosely here) rolls down his window and screams “I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY! OK??? I’M SORRY! OK?? I’M SORRY, OK?”. I have still not quite discovered how to breathe yet and can only raise my hands and shake my head as I push away from the van and finish my walk to the curb. I get there successfully and start the rest of my walk to the office, nodding at the nice people who all stopped in their tracks and are now asking me if I’m ok. But since I’ve only started breathing again, I can’t talk and simply nod in their direction. But crazy driver is not content. Crazy driver decides to park his weapon of destruction at the curb and run over to me, waving arms wildly and yelling “I’M SORRY! WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO? I’M SORRY!” Several times. Enough that more people stopped. All I wanted was for him to stop yelling at me after he nearly killed me. That’s all I wanted. But could I tell him that? No. I’m still concentrating on getting my eyes back to their regular size and my breathing to stop hurting. That and I was THIS close to tears. I did not need crazy driver yelling at me. I finally managed a weak “I’m fine. Leave me alone.” and continued my slow shaky walk.

Work is actually OK. I keep shaking and can’t seem to contain the nausea, but it’s not so terrible that I can’t get things done. I find I’m distracted and make stupid mistakes, but nothing harmful, so I’m feeling lucky.

It occurs to me that I carry a guardian angel given to me by my sister several years ago. It’s about the size of a quarter, and I keep it in my coin purse so I’ve tried to spend it a few times, but thankfully that’s never quite worked. So I’m semi convinced that the guardian angel works now. Or maybe I’m just a little crazy myself. I do know that in the past few days, I find myself jumping when cars move and I am near them. I feel a little like those meerkats whose quick and jerky head movements are always so entertaining as it looks like they are so very alert. Well, maybe they’re just jumpy. I know the feeling.

Back to my day… this happens to be the evening of callbacks, which I am decidedly NOT looking forward to. But we get there on time and learn a dance. I’m not a great dancer after 30+ years away from it, but I learn it and I know I’m not the worst. I do not, however, get picked to be in the group to learn the “more advanced” dance. Fine with me. So far, I am NOT impressed with the way this call back is being run. We turn into our favorite jungle animals and we sing as a group – a HUGE group. Not smaller little groups where they can actually hear our voices. “Thank you very much, you can leave now. We will let you know early next week. Let’s say a prayer of thanks.” Huh? You can cast from THAT? OK then!

I wait around, because DDD is participating in a call back for that smaller part. She’s clearly the strongest singer of the group, but several of them were very good dancers. (She’s no schlump in that department, but she wasn’t clearly the best dancer, just ONE OF the best dancers.) The director moves them around, changes parts, looks at them this way and that and thanks them, letting them go. That was as close to feeling like he was really paying attention as I got the whole time. I’m still not impressed, and frankly hoping that I do not get cast. For DDD’s sake, I hope she does get cast, because she’s feeling antsy and wants to do something!

Only one car decides it wants to occupy the space I am in on the way home, so I count myself lucky. We get home, having digested that whole “callback” and go to bed. Fortunately for me, the next days are MUCH better.

Oh… and neither one of us got cast. I hope I didn’t ruin it for her, but I’m breathing a sigh of relief.


Girl, you in TRUBL!

So… My liberal pinko commie-ness has apparently reared its ugly head again.

As some of you know, I married into a very conservative family, in general. In fact, there are a few who have, in recent years, become more or less fundamentalist types. They are born again, I guess. I’ve always felt being born once was sufficient.

So, my ultra Christian SIL sent out a website notice to her brothers and sisters etc. from the American Family Association. This notice informs their constituents that Wal-Mart has donated $60K to “Out and Equal, a homosexual organization pushing the same-sex agenda, including same-sex marriage, in the workplace.” …gasp…

It further encourages all of us discriminating people to boycott Wal-Mart on Friday and Saturday following Thanksgiving in protest of their poor taste in charity recipients.

First of all, I HATE to shop after Thanksgiving. I hate to shop ALL the time, and this particular weekend is the worst.

Now I will drag my sorry ass out of my nice cozy home to shop at Wal-Mart, where I almost never shop (I don’t like their controlling and restrictive policies as a whole) because, damn it, I have to support this organization for actually having enough balls to buck the “family values” crowd.

So back to my black-sheepiness, I wrote back to thank her for alerting me to this and that I would most definitely get out there to support Wal-Mart, if just this once. I knew that was not the intended response, but sometimes I just get testy. (This response did not go to everyone on the list, because I’m just not THAT self-destructive!!)

This, then, engendered an apologetic response from SIL (to EVERYONE), who did not mean to offend anyone or hurt anyone’s feelings.


So being the blacksheep that I apparently strive to be, I sent back my response again to EVERYONE this time, assuring there was no offense taken, no feelings hurt and acknowledging our differences of viewpoints. I even went so far as to invoke God’s name in the beauty of people having differing ideas and ideals and still being able to get along.

Since then – no response. I think I’ve been blacklisted. I’m also pretty sure I won’t be on that particular mailing list anymore!!

At the very least, I figure I’ve got a few people praying for my degenerate soul. That can’t be all bad, can it?



I've followed AT and his family on their journey since l'il sis first linked to it. I asked for prayers from the larger community via Mom's Daily Dose (thanks, Amy). The ending we all asked and prayed for was not what happened.

AT, thank you for sharing this intensely personal time with us.
Thank you for sharing this incredible love you have for this woman and your family.
Thank you for all of it.

I don't think I'm alone in saying this journey has touched my life and my perspective on many things is a little different today than it was yesterday.


Testy, testy, testy

Had a conversation with a co-worker who has two young'uns yesterday. Her husband was commenting on the 'P' that Grover or someone was showing on Sesame Street. Their 3 1/2 year old insisted it was an 'H'. Dad said, "no, it's a 'P'". Youngun says "No, it's an 'H'". Dad says, "No, that's a 'P'". Youngun says "It's an 'H'. NO FAIR!" Mom looks at Dad and wonders why in the world you would argue with a 3 year old...
This rang a bell and maybe even touched a nerve. This has been my life for about 6 months now.

LK: Is today a school day?

Beast*: Yes. It's Wednesday.

LK: Today is Saturday.

Beast: No, today is Wednesday. It's pizza day at school.

LK: But Miss Betsy said it was Saturday.

Beast: Actually, Saturday is a few days away. Today is Wednesday.

LK: NO! It's Saturday. YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS!

Beast: Well, I'm not going to argue with you about this.

LK: Well, you're not the boss of me.

Beast: Well, actually, I am.

LK: NO, YOU'RE NOT! You're not the boss of everything.

etc. only I typically strive to end these conversations before the ongoing Who's the Boss episodes run through my brain. I hate that.

So we're running into this 4 year old AT. TI. TUDE. And it drives me nuts. This, coupled with the great fun of running away whenever I call her, and the lack of cooperation with little everyday things is making this a challenging time in the life of this family. The hardest part, I think, is keeping the other old people in my house OUT of the conversation! My 25 (almost 26) yr old just LOVES to get into it with her, and will go round after round about which day it is, or which vegetable is on her plate, and then of course, who's the boss. And that drives me even more nuts!

So apparently I'm a little testy these days.

I read a couple of blog entries by l'il sis, and empathized with her reaction. I understood it and thought I'd feel the same way. Did not feel it was "over the top" as she did. So I left a short comment, in effect, saying I didn't feel she needed to clarify or backpedal or any such thing on this subject because one of the persons involved found out about the entry. In much less words and not at all as direct as this. But she pointed out that an excuse was given and that was all that was needed.

So testy little me thinks - un, unh (how the heck do you spell that?). I don't think so. You just don't ignore when it suits but jump on it when criticized. The only thing that stopped me was that subject of controversy said "apologetically yours" on her comment. OK. That was nice and probably enough to smooth raised hackles. But I stand by my initial reaction and comments.

Last night, DDD had her callback. She felt it was a good one. They asked her to wait around to read a little later with a couple other characters, so she waited an hour and 1/2. When they all went back in, the director pulled the stage manager to the side and said something really quickly, and next thing DDD knows, she's being led out of the room and told she can leave. But she can come back tomorrow (tonight) for another part. WHICH SHE IS GOING TO DO!!!

My little testy hackles are all up in arms again. You don't have a person sit around for an hour and 1/2 waiting and then unceremoniously single out and dismiss them in front of all the other actors! In my little (inexperienced) world, that is unacceptable. Even if it was someone's mistake - you put them through the paces anyway, and discuss the mistake with the person responsible later. I do not want to work with that director at all. I do not want to give that director the time of day. I, I, I. I apparently have a much shorter fuse than others, or maybe I'm just more sensitive. Don't know. I just know that these people I'm related to must be nicer people than I. It also points directly at why I am not cut out for more than recreational dabbles into this theatre stuff. I've always known I can't take the rejection. But now I know, it's not really the rejection I can't take. I actually find that fairly easy to deal with. It's the potential rudeness. Every time you audition, you put yourself up for someone else's examination and the potential for rudeness. I don't tolerate that well.

So this will be interesting - we're both going to the callbacks tonight. But my heart is REALLY not in it.

* BEAST came about when a commenter on l'il sis' entried happened to agree with me, and wrote: "Beast. Amen." Making both sis and I laugh out loud. I like it and I'm keeping it!
For those uninitiated to my strange family- I am "Be-a-starz-mom". "Be a star" has been a catch phrase around here since DDD was little. I even used it as a password for a while. So when I started this blog, DDD was going through college as a theatre major and that was a huge focus in all our lives. We'd arrange our trips back there to see her shows. So I became beastarzmom. And that's that. But I like Beast almost as much, (and it certainly seems to fit me, at least these days...) so that's who I'm gonna be! Thanks to MamaLee!


Are they NUTS?

So I went to an audition.

A real one.

Because DDD was going and I think it would be fun to be in something with her, even though she's got talent, experience, training, a BFA in theatre performance, the look, etc.

I've got... red hair.

So, neither one of us left feeling we'd done a particularly good job with the audition. Speaking from a point of extreme inexperience, I felt like I completely screwed it up, which didn't surprise me at all. She felt like she'd certainly done better, and they asked her to read for a part she'd already played and didn't want to repeat, so she wasn't terribly pleased. We both wrote it off.

Imagine our surprise when BOTH of us got a callback! Now getting a callback does not mean you are likely to be cast. Just that you got past the first round of cuts. Speaking from inexperience again, and from being the last kid ever picked for a sports team, I am still in shock. It's a small part (inexperience again, thank you! - I'm relieved!!!), but DDD's up for a lead so I'll stick with the process and we'll see what happens.

One day I'll write about my first ever experience with a huge, middle of a scene brain fart, but not right now. I need to keep whatever brain cells I have left around for this next round of whatever comes up. They're in for a world of surprise if they want me to dance!

So that's the excitement for now!


My celebrity call list

It's voting day.

So last evening, I'm waiting for a call from DH who is in India for a few weeks. Instead, I get calls from Ahnold, Clint Eastwood, Dianne Feinstein, some registered nurse named Diana something, and Bill Clinton.

Why don't we ever hear from these people except the evening before election day?

Actually, that's not fair, I've gotten several calls from the guv-ah-nator. Can't tell you what we've chatten about because it's a pretty one-way conversation. Not much of a listener, that guy... And last night was my second call from my buddy, Bill.

It used to be telemarketers. Now it's politicians. I hate it, but frankly, I feel less guilty hanging up on Clint and Arnold than I do the poor schmuck with the crappy telemarketing job.

But I think there should be a "do not call" list for political calls. I'm so going to be the first one on it!


Oh, Doogie!

Three words:

#1. Duh.

#2 &3. Who Cares?


questions, questions

LK: Mommy, do you know where your lipsops is?

Me: Isn’t it in my bathroom?

LK: You should look for it. Maybe it’s in BK’s bathroom.
…But I didn’t take it.

Me: How did it get in BK’s bathroom?

LK: Did you look for it yet?

Me: [continuing to dry hair] Why are you asking me? Do you know something about my lipsops? Did you put it in BK’s bathroom? (Ha, three to one on the question answering a question ratio!)

LK: Maybe you should look for it in BK’s bathroom.
… but I didn’t take it

Me: So who put it in BK’s bathroom?

LK: Did you find it already?

Me: Why are you so interested in this lipsops? Did you move it somewhere?

LK: I’m just wondering. (breaking the question for a question mode once again.)

Me: [Stops hairdryer, walks into BK’s bathroom, finds lipsops right there on the counter. Reacts with shock and amazement]
Well – I found my lipsops! How did it get in BK’s bathroom?

LK: I don’t know.

How to get that cute little pink cell phone:

Leave old phone in pocket for laundry obsessed DH to send through the washer.
Visit e-bay and bid on cute little pink phone.


How you know it's been too long since you listened to country music

You're pulling into the parking garage wiping the tears from your cheeks after listening to Collin Raye tear jerker, "Love Me".