After I arrived home -- I drank the jumbo gatorade I'd picked up and waited for it to kick in. Watching Jepordey, and Wheel of Fortune before the pressure in my bladder had sufficently built itself up. I unwrapped the celphane and removed the magical wand that would foretell my future. Removed the pink tinted cap and proceeded to bless it with my urine. 5 seconds only -- who knows what they mean by that -- I'm not about to start a stopwatch. I return the pink cap to the test and rest it on the vanity. Now the hard part - waiting 3 minutes. What can I possibly do for three minutes.
I could read the shampoo directions in English, French and Espangnol. Yes, that's is what it do -- read a shampoo bottle. Peaking over to the progress on the test -- the first pink line is forming, I should not be alarmed this is the line to let me know the test is working properly. Shit. Adjacent to the pink line - is a lighter line - paler in color but none the less a pink line. Maybe it will go away in the coming minutes.
I attempt to start a wordsearch puzzle. Bathrooms are wonderful places for you to catch up on a plethora of activities. I have a magazine rack in my bathroom -- books, puzzles, a note pad that says -- What's cooking and next to a picture of a spatula is the days broken down for menu ideas. Most of my dinners these days include - Hot Pocket - remove wrapper, microwave for 3 minutes. Times up -- I pick up the wand and look -- yes, it's official - two pink lines. I'm officially, with child. Shit. Shit. Shit.
When I was little I had this weird prediction or premonition of myself -- and somehow that included me, being a perfect little housewife, millions of babies crawling over me -- I think when I was eight my dream number of children was something quite ridiculous, like 12. I can't even imagine 1 -- let alone 12. What was I thinking-- I think I just wanted to say that so that I'd get an additional cabbage patch doll to play with, and not one of those homemade ones my grandma and auntie used to make. But now -- there is a real baby inside me. This is not the plan. But, I really can't see any other option at this point in my life other than having the baby. I wonder what Jack will do when I tell him. If I have the baby - he could resent me, but if I don't have the baby - or give it up for adoption -- I will resent him. This is our litmus test. How on earth am I going to tell him?
With all of this nervous energy - I have only one solution to work through it. Cleaning. I'm not a neat freak by any means, but I do find that almost all problems can be worked out in my head while I'm entranced by the smell of fresh laundry, Palmolive or scrubbing bubbles. I start my rampage along with trying to plan a nice dinner for when Jack comes over tonight. Shit. Shit. Shit. Do I have to tell him today? He'll be pissed if I don't tell him -- maybe I should call him, no, bad idea. I could have a singing tellagram deliver the blessed news. No, bad idea. I should just call my doctor and make an appointment. Can I go to my regular doctor -- or is there are special, knocked up and not exactly thrilled about it special practice? This option should really be spelled out in my benefit plan. OK, appoint is made to meet with my doctor on Monday. Now, how on earth to I tell Jack.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Kiki sat alone in the corner booth, shuffeling cold scramblled eggs across her plate. Specks of pepper playing hide and seek as she made a pile and then chopped and scattered the eggs into the syrup and repeating again and again. Until the eggs were now brown and to sticky to move around anywhere, let alone be chopped and scattered.
Looking out the window to the parking lot -- it was now time, time go -- to pay and leave. But instead of going to work, like the rest of the world -- Kiki was just fired, so she would have to go home and figure out what to do with the rest of her life, but first she had to pick the boys up from daycare, and wait for her husband Jack to get home. This task seemed daunting an hour ago -- but now that she's had some breakfast and some time to thilnk she reached into her purse and pulled out some cash and left it on the table with the bill.
Kiki was dressed in her usual work attire, a navy suit and light blue shirt today. She approached her car - and reached up removing her hair from the stern bun atop her head -- letting her auburn hair relax but not without stuborn waves from being wound so tight. She'd been accountant at Wessley, Holmes and Winters and for over a decade now, and because she did not lie to Mrs. Winters about the affair Mr. Winters was having with Laura the new receptionist, Mr. Winters has sucessfully sabatoaged her progress on her most important account and convinced the partners that Kiki was a liability -- rather than a candidate for partner. Mr. Winter's retaliation will effect her professional career as an accountant -- as he was sure to cover all his tracks and create several artifical errors- costing Kiki her credibility in this field...
Looking out the window to the parking lot -- it was now time, time go -- to pay and leave. But instead of going to work, like the rest of the world -- Kiki was just fired, so she would have to go home and figure out what to do with the rest of her life, but first she had to pick the boys up from daycare, and wait for her husband Jack to get home. This task seemed daunting an hour ago -- but now that she's had some breakfast and some time to thilnk she reached into her purse and pulled out some cash and left it on the table with the bill.
Kiki was dressed in her usual work attire, a navy suit and light blue shirt today. She approached her car - and reached up removing her hair from the stern bun atop her head -- letting her auburn hair relax but not without stuborn waves from being wound so tight. She'd been accountant at Wessley, Holmes and Winters and for over a decade now, and because she did not lie to Mrs. Winters about the affair Mr. Winters was having with Laura the new receptionist, Mr. Winters has sucessfully sabatoaged her progress on her most important account and convinced the partners that Kiki was a liability -- rather than a candidate for partner. Mr. Winter's retaliation will effect her professional career as an accountant -- as he was sure to cover all his tracks and create several artifical errors- costing Kiki her credibility in this field...
The emptied her basket onto the conveyor belt. Shampoo. Conditioner. Qtips. Pregnancy Test. Tampons. Knowing that if all went well, she'd need the other. A magazine from the register's endcap - a new eyeshadow, a package of double stuf oreos, the family size bag of nacho cheesy tortilla chips. The items were scanned by the middle aged woman -- an ordinary cashier, but then as she scanned the pregancy test her eyes fixated on my naked ring finger.
No, I'm not married, I'm not engaged and I have the greatest fear in the world -- the fear of the mamahood. I'm utterly convinced that my period will not come unless I pee on the magical plastic wand. So this purchase of the pregnancy test has become a monthly ritual. I might have some sort of premenstrual disorder that requires that I know I am not with child in order to have a period. So every month -- I get my little pink box of pregnacy tests and usualy I remember to put a ring on my finger so I don't get the stares, this also has the side effect of being called ma'am when I'm handed my receipt to sign. I usually spare the teenage boy the embarssment -- of a) touching a tampon box and b) manhandling a pregnacy box -- so usually I end up going to either a middle age woman or a teenage girl.
The woman looked up and asked me point blank if I was married. I shook my head -- startled by her bravery. She continued, "If you are having a baby - it's soul will be scooped up by the devil the minute it is born" I reply, "Excuse me?" There is no excuse for those who do not follow the Lord's plan -- she continues ferverently. I interrupt, Joan is it -- staring at her plastic name tag -- adjacent to the button that says "I'm new to the team" Well Joan, this is Target, this is not a Church, Synnagoge or a Temple, this is not a magical soap box that you are standing on -- this is a cash register and frankly your brief sermon here is bound to be a violation of your employee handbook. I think, I'd like to speak to your manager. Joan - picks up her red handset and pages overhead for her manager.
Steve came over -- "What seems to be the problem Miss?" Well Steve, I've been a patron of this store for sometime now, and I came in here today to buy this 3 pack box of pregnancy tests - Steve looks at the floor, avoiding looking at the product I am now holding like a torch. But Joan, has decided that if I happen to be pregnant - that my unborn child would -- how did she put it, oh yes, His or her "soul would be scooped up by the devil the instant it is born." Now, I didn't come here for a theology lesson Steve, I just came to make a couple purchases and go home -- I didn't come here for judgement or a religious debate. Steve looks angry, not at me, but at Joan -- I'm just hoping that this problem will be rectified -- before Joan here, says the wrong thing to someone who happens to have a hobby of starting trivial lawsuits. Joan is now on the verge of tears.
Steve inquires on what would be a reasonable way to handle this incident. I step back. Shrug my shoulders, I don't know if there's anything you can do with Joan -- but this incident should not go unnoticed. Maybe, Joan should be required to stock the condoms/lube and pregnacy test aisle for a month -- or maybe she should show her teenage staff the proper way to use a condom while demonstrating over a banana. I really don't care what you do. Ok Miss, -- "Parsons" -- he continues "Miss Parsons, we will address the proper behavior with Joan -- is there anything we can do for your inconvience today?" I'd like it if my box of pregnancy tests were comped for my inconvience today. That will satisfy this matter. Steve instead activated a $20 gift card -- and present it to me, I paid my bill and left the store. Never to see the likes of Joan again.
After I arrived home -- I drank the jumbo gatorade I'd picked up and waited for it to kick in. Watching Jepordey, and Wheel of Fortune before the pressure in my bladder had sufficently built itself up. I unwrapped the celphane and ...
No, I'm not married, I'm not engaged and I have the greatest fear in the world -- the fear of the mamahood. I'm utterly convinced that my period will not come unless I pee on the magical plastic wand. So this purchase of the pregnancy test has become a monthly ritual. I might have some sort of premenstrual disorder that requires that I know I am not with child in order to have a period. So every month -- I get my little pink box of pregnacy tests and usualy I remember to put a ring on my finger so I don't get the stares, this also has the side effect of being called ma'am when I'm handed my receipt to sign. I usually spare the teenage boy the embarssment -- of a) touching a tampon box and b) manhandling a pregnacy box -- so usually I end up going to either a middle age woman or a teenage girl.
The woman looked up and asked me point blank if I was married. I shook my head -- startled by her bravery. She continued, "If you are having a baby - it's soul will be scooped up by the devil the minute it is born" I reply, "Excuse me?" There is no excuse for those who do not follow the Lord's plan -- she continues ferverently. I interrupt, Joan is it -- staring at her plastic name tag -- adjacent to the button that says "I'm new to the team" Well Joan, this is Target, this is not a Church, Synnagoge or a Temple, this is not a magical soap box that you are standing on -- this is a cash register and frankly your brief sermon here is bound to be a violation of your employee handbook. I think, I'd like to speak to your manager. Joan - picks up her red handset and pages overhead for her manager.
Steve came over -- "What seems to be the problem Miss?" Well Steve, I've been a patron of this store for sometime now, and I came in here today to buy this 3 pack box of pregnancy tests - Steve looks at the floor, avoiding looking at the product I am now holding like a torch. But Joan, has decided that if I happen to be pregnant - that my unborn child would -- how did she put it, oh yes, His or her "soul would be scooped up by the devil the instant it is born." Now, I didn't come here for a theology lesson Steve, I just came to make a couple purchases and go home -- I didn't come here for judgement or a religious debate. Steve looks angry, not at me, but at Joan -- I'm just hoping that this problem will be rectified -- before Joan here, says the wrong thing to someone who happens to have a hobby of starting trivial lawsuits. Joan is now on the verge of tears.
Steve inquires on what would be a reasonable way to handle this incident. I step back. Shrug my shoulders, I don't know if there's anything you can do with Joan -- but this incident should not go unnoticed. Maybe, Joan should be required to stock the condoms/lube and pregnacy test aisle for a month -- or maybe she should show her teenage staff the proper way to use a condom while demonstrating over a banana. I really don't care what you do. Ok Miss, -- "Parsons" -- he continues "Miss Parsons, we will address the proper behavior with Joan -- is there anything we can do for your inconvience today?" I'd like it if my box of pregnancy tests were comped for my inconvience today. That will satisfy this matter. Steve instead activated a $20 gift card -- and present it to me, I paid my bill and left the store. Never to see the likes of Joan again.
After I arrived home -- I drank the jumbo gatorade I'd picked up and waited for it to kick in. Watching Jepordey, and Wheel of Fortune before the pressure in my bladder had sufficently built itself up. I unwrapped the celphane and ...
Sunday, July 13, 2008
July 13
The package on my doorstep was deceiving. I never get packages and a big brown box came in the mail. I'll admit I was excited, so I open it up and utter disappointment. A letter from Johnny Appleseed Fruit Co. letting me know about the wonderful fruits they have and yearly schedule along with a box of fruit, each piece wrapped in green tissue paper. Who gets mail order fruit for a Christmas present? I do - and who else but my sister would send anyone fruit as a gift. Jill is the epidome of health and fitness - I call her the health guru of Flaxseed Lane. Her poor children will never know the beauty of cheeto and dorito stained fingers. I wish it was a cheese of the month club -- or even wine or beer would be better. At least wine and beer would be consumed. I know that more than half of that box will end up as science experiment in my refridgerator - and then I will only be cursing spandex clad Jill when I smell the rotting molding fruit and finally make time to clean out my fridge. Her intentions are good I suppose, maybe I'll make a fruit salad for dessert - would you want to come over? Well, I have fruit and we could build a snowman, or shovel just for fun -- who knows, I hate winter! What do want to do? Great, I'll see you in a little bit.
Blog Premise
This blog will be all fiction and attempts at getting the story in my head out on paper/screen etc... Feel free to jdge and critique. I have several writing excercises that I'm doing -- so everything might be part of nothing or part of a bigger picture. Hopefully this will help me stick to it!
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