I have to talk to a great many people and it usually falls into the fast, faster, and right damn now category.
Sometimes I get it right, sometimes I fail miserably.
I’ve been asked, by more than a few people, to post some of the worst things I’ve actually said–out loud and sometimes at top volume–at work when my ADHD and impulse control is at…shall we say…less than full operating capacity.
I wasn’t sure how to write about those vocal mishaps without losing the humor or people coming to the erroneous conclusion that I am a total dingbat.
Today, I’m just sleep deprived enough to think I can pull it off, throw caution to the wind and give ‘er a whirl.
So here we go.
(Dumb) Things I’ve Said Lately (at work)
Better watch that cart. It’s been under a stripper for a week and is probably filthy.
Hey! Come see me about your small package when you get a chance.
Whew! I’m so glad we got rid of all of those damn nipples.
Yup. It’s here. Nope, you don’t need a dolly, your stuff is really small. (Indicate size by thumb and forefinger)
So were you the one who ordered from hose master or was that someone else?
Geez, come get your hose already, I’m tired of tripping over it.
Did you want the latex gloves or the…you know…the proctology ones? (Make appropriate hand gestures to indicate the extended sleeves.
Yelling across a crowded office. That’s a pretty hefty shaft, do you need help carrying it? (Instant cringe)
These are only a few miniscule examples.
I won’t even touch the things I (think) I hear, with my hearing also haing a sense of humor of it’s own.
It’s repeated often, sometimes hourly, but always under my breath.
When the yearly carnival of crazy began, with my days first blurring then blending into a wild kaleidoscope of faces; all with problems to be solved, I didn’t realize I might have lost some of my perception.
Thank goodness my son Duck, is around to remedy this situation and bring me back to reality.
Duck is still suffering growing pains and firmly within the grasp of his own crazy carnival ride of (gasp!) tween angst.
His tween town lies smack dab in the middle of Xbox is king and bordering on but not quite crossing, the girls are okay city limits.
I’m not ready for that city to rezone.
Zoning issues aside, appearance is an important thing to Duck.
If we’re to go by appearance is important in that…
A. Clothes are on his body
B. He’s seen the inside of the shower within the past 24 hours.
Or so I thought.
Turns out, appearance is more important to him than either of us knew until this past Monday, when Duck got up (under vehement protest of course) and dressed in the dark.
He thought he was being cool.
He thought he was defying me and my parental edict of wearing un-wrinkled clothing, fresh underwear, and preferably matching socks by rocking the arrogantly shabby look instead.
He thought wrong.
But not until he’d gone through the entire school day, more than likely grinning over what he felt was a sweeping victory over all things parenting.
He walked around school with his head held up, his eyes twinkling and his tween self just bursting with confidence and energy, so sure he was the talk of all his new admirers.
Yeah, he probably had a lot of conversations going…
He was Duck.
He was cool.
He was wearing…his mother’s pajama shirt.
All. Damn. Day.
Wanna know how to bust a tween boy’s bubble in 2 seconds or less?
Pick him up after school, goggle at the sight of him, and laugh. Laugh hard, laugh long, laugh until you hold on to the steering wheel for support.
Then? Tell him why.
He still won’t talk about it. He really gets mad when I start giggling and he knows the reason isn’t the one finger salute I got from the grandma I just passed in the fast lane.
I love Duck even if we aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment.
The good news is that he’s volunteered to do his own laundry from now on, lest another wardrobe malfunction occur.
While it’s been fun to share a few of my older posts on Facebook (thanks to everyone who walked down memory lane with me) while I regain my balance, some fresh stuff is long overdue.
What can I say? Life has been busy. I’m off-balance, off schedule, and beginning to get (more) weird around the edges. Since January, my days have fallen into a wake and shake beginning pre-dawn with a sag and drag finale back towards home, always with the hope that it’s before sunset.
Though when I feel exceptionally energetic, I do try to switch it up and change my sag and drag to more of a slouch and wince end. Because I like to live life on the edge and be unpredictable and all that crap.
Lately, I’m lucky to remember my name, so asking me a complicated question (Hey, did you know your bangs are on fire?) and expecting a coherent answer is just plain mean.
Still, there are some days that are more memorable than the rest of the blur. Like figuring out that running on a treadmill in yoga pants with the mp3 player clipped to the waistband does not-repeat-does NOT do anything whatsoever to enrich the lives or improve the health and well-being of anyone.
Add to that piece of knowledge is that wearing underpants under said yoga pants is ALWAYS a good idea. For everyone.
So there’s that.
Oh and my finding out that what is being said and what my ears hear may in fact be 2 totally different things, yeah, THAT has led to very interesting if sort of confusing conversations with the boss (Did you just tell me that I’m a pain in your pineapple?? Was that really called for and what does that MEAN?!) various friends and family members.
Duck, on the other hand, loves it. Gee, I wonder why.
And lastly, there’s the picture below.
This is me last Friday. I hadn’t been my normal happy-go-lucky, boom the bass til my teeth rattle me awake in the morning and drag my tired butt home in the evening self and the boss took note.
Despite it might be the bass and teeth rattling start to my mornings that caused the issue to begin with is…well, really, who cares?
No, the point is, I had to take the pic to send to my boss because she was serious when she informed me that I could no longer grace the workplace with my overflowing bounty of wit and beauty and well…mouthiness until I went to the dentist and was able to provide proof of a bloody stump and/or hole-she wasn’t partial to either choice.
Alright, you got me.
So I may have not worded it EXACTLY like she did, but trust me, the intent was there.
I love my job and I want to keep it but I still do things on my own terms, so I opted for a pic of my feet, wearing the ugliest steel toes only I would wear, knowing those shoes alone would positively identify me, while the dentist chair would prove my location much more nicely than a picture of senseless blood and gore.
Because I care.
Thing is, she wasn’t being a pain in my pineapple (did I mention my hearing is starting to go but in the way of all things funny?) despite the hard-edged ultimatums issuing through gritted but perfectly healthy teeth and furrowed eyebrows and possessing hearing that a bat would envy.
She was very concerned.
And tired of me being tired. And not eating. And being unnecessarily mean, though I will gladly go on record and swear most victims had it coming and I can attest to being able to afford to lose a few meals.
She had watched me transform into an Orajel swilling junkie who snarled at terrified vendors before gobbling Excedrin like candy over the space of 2 weeks and she was over it.
She wasn’t buying my promise that I’d go when I got paid, not when I’d already tried that one-twice over-she wasn’t swayed by my whispered confession that I’m scared stupid by dentists, and didn’t dignify my impassioned declarations that nothing good had ever come from my visiting one but drama and pain with so much as a smirk.
“Don’t come back until it’s done.”
Well, fine. There’s the pic.
She’s right though. I did feel better despite having blood all over my shirt, sporting a lopsided chipmunk look and…listening to the people in line behind me at Walmart wonder loudly enough that even I could hear them, if I had lost or won the fight.
Because I’m CeeLee and ah kin ooo thiff.
But I totally draw the line at getting hearing aids.