••• Sunday, December 17, 2006

A Month of Sundays 

I had a very busy week, this past, so both my calendar and brain were full. A full brain makes for fine blog fodder. A full calendar is fodder-expression prohibitive.

Anyway. I need to get a recap on the past week before commencing with the next, which so far appears to be even tighter on the calendar. Of course, I cannot anticipate what holiday jewels my work load will be bringing to the table, but I do know that anytime I'm overscheduled with the mandatory, the impromptu invites itsself to the party. In full regalia.

Monday: I had a 7:00 a.m. meeting. Muy importante. Procedural legal stuff related to speshul edukayshun and naughtiness. So I stop at my favorite early morning coffee drive-thru for a cuppa. The Dunkin' Donuts.

I was thrilled to see that there was no one in line, which meant I was in and out real quick. Whew. At the same time I was pulling out of the parking lot, I was making a move to cram the change from my 5 bill into my purse. But something felt wrong. Too heavy. Too many bills. She had given me change for a 20 instead of a 5.

Yes. I'm sure.

You see, the only money I had in my purse was a five dollar bill with a Where's George? stamp on it. I'd been saving it.

Back before I started knitting again and blogging, I spent most of my free time tracking a one dollar bill I got from the pizza shop. I'm not kidding. I don't have time to go into all that right now, though. Let's just say that I eventually lost track of my baby George, through no fault of my own. ::again, long story::.

Anyway. Even though I had already logged the sighting of this particular bill at the site, because I was no longer a member of the site, I wasn't able to make comments or observations on my new buddy. ::Which is really the best part.::

But I had planned on re-registering at the site, so had been saving the bill until I had the opportunity to fully and properly disclose and therefore feel mentally prepared to let it go ::Tracking money is an emotionally rich and cognitively complex process. No, really.::

So at 6:45 on a Monday morning, at the take-out window of the local Dunkin' Donuts, I had been faced with a horrible dilemma.Give up the Coffee or My New Best Friend? I chose the coffee. ::Yeah, be warned any who have me marked as New Best Friend Material. It's a long hard fall.::

Crumps. This story is getting much longer than I originally planned.

That is how I knew, in no uncertain terms ::Or in certain terms for those on a word diet:: that I had not given the woman a 20 dollar bill.

I didn't have time to take the money back right then. But let me tell you, that was hard thing to do, to drive away with illicit funds. I felt sheepish even putting it in my purse, because it seemed like it looked like I was claiming it as my own. So I stuffed it in my coat pocket, with an assortment of tampons and fresh lady-like liners.

Tuesday Morning: I make a point to leave for work early to make it to the Dunkin' Donuts to return the change. ::I don't usually stop for coffee on the way to work because there is usually some perkin' at the office, but not at 6:45 a.m.::

This time there is a car in front of me at the window. The customer inside the car is apparently buying donuts. Lots of donuts. A big-ass bag of boxes of donuts.

I'm not sure which took longer, for the donut lady to fill the order or for them, as a team, to figure out that a bag of boxes of donuts will not fit through the take-out window.

Umm hmm.

If I wasn't so pissed and anxious to get to work on time, I may have found the whole thing kind of funny. But I was, so it wasn't.

First I was mad at the lazy ass customer who couldn't park the car and walk into the store to get her bags of boxes of donuts. And if the donuts are all for her, then hell yeah, she needs the exercise.

And then there was the Donut girl, who clearly should have known better. I mean, this is her job. Her profession. She is, after all, a Donutista.

Finally the woman pulls her car ahead a little so she can get out of the car to wrench the bags of boxes of donuts from the window jam.

I'd say the woman was a donut shy of a dozen...

So finally I get to the window. I had ordered a coffee and after I paid for it, I handed the window girl the 15 bucks and told her what happened. She was immediately suspicious, and looked at me as though I were trying to pull a grift. And instead of taking the money, she just peered at it.

I don't think so, she said.

Uh, yeah. I gave you a five.

Are you sure?

Yeah, I'm sure. It was a five dollar bill with a red stamp on it. ::And I cried my good-byes, all the way to work...::

I was half-tempted to ask if they might still have the stamped bill and if she'd be willing to trade, but I was already late and clearly the woman was an idiot.

As we talked she still couldn't make herself take the bills, and continued to eye them with contempt and suspicion. I'm still convinced she thought I was pulling a scam. Eventually it must have dawned upon Her Dullness that I was giving her money and asking for nothing.

She finally took it and hesitantly said "thanks." Not that I was expecting free coffee for life, but I guess I was expecting this to feel a little more gratifying. Honest, even.

Yah Rabbitch, no good deed and all that. ::Thanks for the meme tag. ahem. Later this week, k? Or next.::

Kno Knitting For You
I put myself on another knitting time out. Except I did't really know I was on a time out until I realized that every time I thought I'd sit down to knit, I would find something else to do, like clean toilets or scrub grease traps. yeah.

Last week was a charity auction at work. All year I had been planning on donating some packets of photo note cards. It seemed like a simple thing until a couple of weeks ago, when I realized that I needed to individually wrap each card so bidders could see what they were bidding on and therefore needed some sort of something to set the cards in.

So, after having months and months to prepare for this event, one week prior I decide I'm going to knit and felt some little boxes. Heh. So I get my hands on a pattern that I can bastardize (i.e. ruin) and go to town. Of course I was in a hurry so didn't swatch. The first box turned out just right in concept but too small. So I made a second box, in a bigger size. And in a different yarn. Yarn number two didn't felt the same as yarn number one, so the second box was too small, by a p.b. ::swatch first?:: So one day before the auction (after having months and months to prepare) I am cruising craft stores on my lunch hour, looking for holiday baskets.

Blogger won't let me load pictures, so here's a link to the basket in question. Cute eh? And fairly worthless. And I have two. And a third even larger one on the needles,which I abandoned in disgust.

Dang, this post is way too long and I'm not even half done with my week. But I really need to go. The Cakers has been bugging me all morning to join her in some creative, crafty endeavor. I asked her why she can't be happy watching TV like normal children?

On that note I'll leave you with a Cakers WTH? moment. ::I don't like using the other word when it comes to the delicate sensibilities of a five year old. Although, there seems to be nothing much delicate about this Miss Thang, and most days she kind of frightens me.::

Wednesday: Every day, it seems, The Cakers is spouting off on something she wants for Christmas. Bratz dolls, a Barbie House, A Mermaid kitchen set, Camera, Dancing Magical Somethings or Others...etc. So finally this week we asked her to pin some things down for us. Make a choice. Be specific. You know, for Santa's sake. Of course she clammed up, except to say "I want to tell Santa."

Okay, that's fair.

Wednesday night daddy takes The Cakers to see the ol' man. Daddy listens closely to what is being said, with hopes of gathering a clue or two, with which to guide our sleigh.

So what does she tell Santa she wants for Christmas? A basket of marbles. That's it. And to this day, that's her story and she's sticking to it.

What the hell and OH YA.

::Cakers Christmas List Update Just Before Publishing This Post: At this very moment she is declaring a huge Floam kit as seen on TV as her new top gift idea. "Can I Floam my bike?" She asks. I swear that girl is trying to Drive Me to Newberry.::

Speaking of that Kinda House, this upcoming work week is already wound pretty tight and I'll likely be bringing work home near nightly. This could be my only post until late in the week, 'lessin' I get to that damn meme.

And I guess you'll know otherwise, otherwise.

P.S. I'm pretty sure there is a state psychiatric hospital in Newberry (in da UP), thus the context of the phrase. When I was a kid, one of the finest, most scathing insults one could hurl was just one word, "Kalamazoo". That's where the state hospital for our region was located. It wasn't until I was much older when I realized that Kalamazoo is just a city with a funny name.

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