I should have gone with the cheap, ugly Christmas stockings the first time. But after visiting 4 area Target stores searching unsuccessfully for the perfect family set of red velour, monogrammed, tassled stockings, I find myself back at the same dollar store in the hood where the whole fiasco began..holding the same 4 cheap, ugly stockings I debated over for an hour last week.
I should have known from last week's experience at that very same dollar store that perhaps I shouldn't go back. But the stockings were calling me. As irony would have it, the same gentleman who, just last week, educated me on the benefits of Durham County's mandated drug rehabilitation program, was there, once again, to greet me. Fortunately, he remembered me, or more specifically, my son, with a, "Hey, dey go dat cute lil baby again. How you doin' cute lil baby?" Clearly, the Dollar General on Miami Blvd. is a great place to meet folks and make friends!!
I should have gone straight for the stockings and made my way quickly out of Dodge, but nooooo. The dollar store gets new stock every Tuesday, so quite obviously I had to make my rounds to see what was fresh and exciting. At every turn, there was our local Tyrone Biggums, popping out from behind the large yellow M&M display or peeking at us from behind the tinsel adorned column next to the stack of filthy shopping baskets. Perhaps he thought he was playing peek-a-boo with the baby, still too innocent to know that the white on his lips did not come from a love of powdered donuts.
I try not to seem irritated, because a Brooklyn rearing taught me to be nicest to the most unsavory people...it minimizes the possibility of being stabbed, shot, mauled or maimed. Tyrone wasn't dangerous, I don't think, and now that I am home safely, it's kind of amusing, I suppose.
I don't think I'll stop going to the dollar store in the hood. It really is the best dollar store around town and so it's well worth the risk. I just know that the next time I go, I'll keep my eyes open, leave my children at home, and wear my bulletproof vest.
Oh...and...you'll be delighted AND relieved to know...I decorated the ugly $1 stockings with some $3 initial pins from Target, and voila...same effect as the $13 stockings from Target...and at a $40 savings!! I love a bargain...see...definitely worth a trip to the hood dollar store!
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Pump YOUR gas...mind YOUR business!
It hasn't been a good day!
I've been peed on once, spit up on twice, changed about 47 horrible diapers, and listened to about 63 straight hours of screaming. I needed to get out of the house.
It's the screaming, really, that makes me want to lay across the center lane of the freeway and wait for some unsuspecting motorist to take me out of my misery. I can take the diapers and the spit up, but THAT SCREAMING!!!! Helen of Troy, save my soul!! So I pack up my screaming pterodactyl and head out: destination unknown...as long as it's a place where screaming is prohibited we are SO there. The ride in the car usually calms him...I am hopeful!
Of course, I don't feel like pumping gas, but I can barely make it down the driveway without a fueling stop, and gas prices ARE on the downswing, soooooo... I pull into BJs. The screaming has grown to unbearable proportions, and I am talking myself through the good Mommy mantra...be calm...it's OK...respond with love...he's only a baby... It feels good to be outside of the car and close the door, screamer inside, for just a minute.
I start the pump and walk around to the other side of the car to slather Mommy love on the screamer. Nothing's working, and my own high pitched cooing is getting on my OWN nerves. UGH! Tank is full, migraine is piercing, so I walk back around to hang the nozzle. From the other side of the pump, I hear "You know your car is running."
Excuse me???
A rather granola-like woman steps into view as if she were Chris Hansen and I just got busted with a minor.
"Pardon me", I say out loud.
"Your engine. It's running."
"Yes, I am very much aware of that", I inform her, already defensive.
"And you know that is a hazard?", she asks me, pouting her lips and staring an accusatory scare.
I am HOT already!! "It's even more hazardous to leave my infant in the car with no air when it's 97 degrees out." I hang the nozzle and take the extra second to realize that she has really pissed me off. "And what's even MORE hazardous is YOU...telling ME how to pump gas when I have been listening to THIS (I yank open the door for full volume) all damn day! Really not a good time, Lady, to be minding my business." I get in the car and screech away.
In retrospect, maybe she meant well. Perhaps she just had my best interest and that of the environment at heart, but caught me in a most unfortunate moment. Or, more likely, she is a nosy wench who needed to be put in her place...and is lucky that I didn't have a match.
I've been peed on once, spit up on twice, changed about 47 horrible diapers, and listened to about 63 straight hours of screaming. I needed to get out of the house.
It's the screaming, really, that makes me want to lay across the center lane of the freeway and wait for some unsuspecting motorist to take me out of my misery. I can take the diapers and the spit up, but THAT SCREAMING!!!! Helen of Troy, save my soul!! So I pack up my screaming pterodactyl and head out: destination unknown...as long as it's a place where screaming is prohibited we are SO there. The ride in the car usually calms him...I am hopeful!
Of course, I don't feel like pumping gas, but I can barely make it down the driveway without a fueling stop, and gas prices ARE on the downswing, soooooo... I pull into BJs. The screaming has grown to unbearable proportions, and I am talking myself through the good Mommy mantra...be calm...it's OK...respond with love...he's only a baby... It feels good to be outside of the car and close the door, screamer inside, for just a minute.
I start the pump and walk around to the other side of the car to slather Mommy love on the screamer. Nothing's working, and my own high pitched cooing is getting on my OWN nerves. UGH! Tank is full, migraine is piercing, so I walk back around to hang the nozzle. From the other side of the pump, I hear "You know your car is running."
Excuse me???
A rather granola-like woman steps into view as if she were Chris Hansen and I just got busted with a minor.
"Pardon me", I say out loud.
"Your engine. It's running."
"Yes, I am very much aware of that", I inform her, already defensive.
"And you know that is a hazard?", she asks me, pouting her lips and staring an accusatory scare.
I am HOT already!! "It's even more hazardous to leave my infant in the car with no air when it's 97 degrees out." I hang the nozzle and take the extra second to realize that she has really pissed me off. "And what's even MORE hazardous is YOU...telling ME how to pump gas when I have been listening to THIS (I yank open the door for full volume) all damn day! Really not a good time, Lady, to be minding my business." I get in the car and screech away.
In retrospect, maybe she meant well. Perhaps she just had my best interest and that of the environment at heart, but caught me in a most unfortunate moment. Or, more likely, she is a nosy wench who needed to be put in her place...and is lucky that I didn't have a match.
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