The Day Izzy Went Nutty in Wal-Mart

Standard

It’s been a while I know, but I have this need to talk about something that happened this weekend at Wal-Mart.  I know a lot of people hate on Wal-Mart.  I am one of them but I admit I still go every now and again when I am broke and need to save some money.  This weekend I was in that state of broke-ness and my sister and I moseyed on over to the second closest Wal-Mart.  The closest Wal-Mart isn’t as nice as the second closest one and usually about twice as crowded.  So we made the drive and everything seemed propitious.  We found a parking spot right up front (shopping karma!) and we found exactly what we needed in under 10 minutes.  We even moseyed around a little bit and window shopped for stuff we had no intention of purchasing.  Then we got in line to pay for our items.  And we waited and waited and waited…you get the idea.  Wal-Mart never has enough lanes open but one goes in there pretty much expecting that.  We really weren’t too upset about it.  We were chatting about this and that and if the line moved glacially (ICEBERG, yo) we were taking it pretty well.  Then lo and behold, a cashier opened the next lane.  When I noticed, I immediately walked over and I got there at just about the exact same time as another patron, we’ll call her Cap’n Crazeballs, who’d moved from the very back of the line.  Cap’n immediately went on the offensive telling me that she was there first (she wasn’t actually, given that I was in front of her) and I…I behaved badly.  I really did.

Let me be honest-I was so angry by her abusive words and hostility that I really, truly only remember two things that were said.  First, she definitely called me a fat bitch, and second, I definitely responded by telling her “you ARE the people of Wal-Mart.”  She got louder and more verbally abusive and I got quieter and more Southern by the moment.  Southern on me equals napalm with a super thin veneer of almost civility.  I very rarely go Southern.  I think most people would be utterly shocked to encounter me when I’m Southern as my reputation is solidly in the “super sweet but could be a little more assertive” category.  My sister was so angry by Cap’n Crazeballs that she left in order to avoid a very large scene.  At that point, I had no intention of giving any ground so I took all of my sister’s items and added them to my own pile.  As the checker rang my items up, Cap’n Crazeballs continued her verbal assault.  It was so utterly ridiculous.  Even as it was happening, I knew it was stupid and I should just let it go because haters gonna hate and all that jazz.  She only had like four items and I could absolutely have let her go in front of me.  In fact, if instead of calling me a fat bitch and generally being a ginormous asshat, had she just politely asked, “hey, I’m kind of in a hurry and only have four items, do you mind?” my answer would have been, “not at all, have at it.”  I absolutely would have let her go in front and been happy to do it.  But she started off with fat bitch and I could. not. let. it. go.

Caught in between was the store clerk who couldn’t have been a day over 19 and looked as though she weighed about 90 pounds.  She was terrified and did not make eye contact with either one of us or respond in any way to either one of us.  I was pretty annoyed at her, too, at the time, for not asking to help the next customer in line instead of what became a free-for-all, but once I calmed down after I got home, I felt really sorry for her.  First, well…I kind of was being a fat bitch.  I mean, let’s face it-I am fat and I was also, at the time, super bitchy.  Second, Cap’n Crazeballs was not exactly a petite teeny-tiny slice of Texas pie herself, if you know what I mean.  And then, our checker works at Wal-Mart where even full-time employees-very hard working, industrious individuals-still frequently need government assistance in order to feed their families.  There’s something wrong with that.  There is no way they pay that checker nearly enough to get in between two angry fat bitches.  I probably wouldn’t have taken a side, either, in her position.  And then there’s the fact that even though we had waited 20 minutes, there were still three parties in line ahead of us who’d been waiting even longer.  Had she asked for the next person in line, it wouldn’t have been me.  If one of them had called me out like the Cap’n I would have deserved it.  So I admit I squirmed a bit on the drive home as I reflected over the scuffle.  I was just as bad as Cap’n Crazeballs because it’s not like I encouraged the people in front of me to go get in line.  And I knew, even as I wasn’t backing down, that we were both in the wrong, and I was slightly worse because at least I knew it.

As I left, Cap’n Crazeballs tried to push the empty cart at my back, but I had a pretty good grip on it, so it didn’t really do any damage.  I muttered something like “charmed to have met you, classy one” and then left the store.  My sister had the car started and waiting out front right around the same time I came to the sudden realization that Cap’n Crazeballs was probably pissed enough to run me down if she got there first and I should probably be glad open carry isn’t permitted in Texas.

I got really, truly rage-filled in a store only one other time about ten years ago on the Day After Thanksgiving Shopping Extravaganza©.  Another abusive fellow customer, although that time I just turned around and left the store rather than engage.  Which store, you ask?  Thank you for asking.  It was Wal-Mart.  I think it’s a sign that Wal-Mart and I are just not meant to be together.

I Shoulda Stayed in Bed

Standard

There are days like that and today is one of those days.  I can’t even go into detail about why today is the blowiest, suckiest of all days because it’s not my story to tell even though I’m one of the players.  So rather than dwell on why today is blowy and sucky (and I’m sorry for the inelegant prose) I’m going to play a game of Anywhere But Here.  Let’s see…I could be…

On a ship (see Dad, I called it a ship instead of a boat, aren’t you proud??) cruising to ports near lush tropical isles.  I am lounging in a deck chair by the pool, trashy/smutty book in one hand, and something alchololic and blue in the other.  With a teensy umbrella in it.  TWO teensy umbrellas.  There is a salty sea breeze blowing my hair around and a cover band playing some good Southern rock, just because that’s what I feel like listening to right now.  Tall, dark, and handsome pulls up the chair next to mine and in addition to being tall, dark and handsome, he’s also funny and smart and kinda nerdy and thinks I’m awesome…

Share your Anywhere But Here in the comments.  Or at least take a moment and help me wish mine into existence.  Consider it a public service.

Where Izzybella Pokes a Little Fun

Standard

I love my students, but I’m gonna rag on them a little bit.  When I send them an email with the statement “You will be taking your exam at X location,” it amuses me a bunch when they reply to me with the question, “Where do I go to take my exam?”  Seriously that first sentence where I tell them where they’re taking their exam is like the first sentence in the first paragraph.  And I had more than one student send me that, so I just had to laugh.  It’s only the first week of school, and they’re already ignoring me!  :)

Where Izzybella Catches Ya’ll Up

Standard

Yeah, it’s been a while.  I had stuff to do, see, work stuff and other stuff.  This excuse is lame, is it not?  But it’s true.  Truthy.

So, let me break it down into two parts because I feel like doing that way.

Work: This is my busy season (this and December/January).  For some reason the fall start date kicks my butt.  I think it might be that we tend to accept so many more students in the fall, but we also had some new start-up sites, which I realize means nothing to you, but let me assure you it’s a lot of work.  I also travel with the lead teachers and a few administrators to our distance sites to do new student orientation, which I love, mostly because it’s fantastic to meet the students who have been emailing me for so many months.  Right when they first start the program, they’re so excited and happy to be here.  You have to cherish that because in less than a year, they’ll be bitter, unhappy, exhausted seniors who will hate every single one of us up until the day they graduate from the program.  They usually lighten up again by then!  The prospect of no more classes will do that to a student.  My SR2 students started courses today, but the rest of them start next Monday.  Lots to do between now and then.

Friends/Family/Everything else: My friend R got married this last weekend.  This is fabulous because weddings are always terrific, but mostly because she’s marrying a really nice guy.  I think he might actually be the last nice guy, which means I’m dead out of luck, but I couldn’t wish her more joy than I already do.  We did the bachelorette party two weekends ago.  I won nothing from the various contests.  I think I might have had a chance with some nekkid man artwork, had Chauceriangirl not played her hand at the last minute.  Her nekkid man art revealed nothing, yet everything.  It was genius.  She deserved the win, trust me.  Also, I had no idea my sister could be that filthy.

Wedding was last Friday, followed by reception on Sunday.  Here’s a good reception story for you and by good I mean embarrassing for me, personally, hence my goofy-ass need to immediately post it on the internet.  I wore heels to R’s reception.  Back about 100 lbs ago, this wouldn’t be particularly noteworthy, but I stopped wearing heels years ago because of heel spurs and ouchie feet.  As a result I am out of practice and no longer walk very well in heels.  But I promised R I would so I did.  Enter the Electric Slide.  Enter me trying to dance the Electric Slide.  It was badness and I decided to beat a hasty retreat, at which point I fell hard on my ass.  It was awesome.  Also it was caught on video by a co-worker who is now emailing me to tell me she accepts payment in twizzlers and oreos.  She keeps threatening to You Tube it, but I have decided to hold a hard stance on negotiating with You Tube terrorists.  After all, there are already a million You Tube videos depicting fat women falling on their asses as they attempt to dance.  I don’t think mine would add anything special to the genre.  But if she does post it, I’ll be sure and link you.  I’m a masochist that way.

My parents watched the RNC last weekend.  My parents are hard-core, ya’ll.  My stepmother loves, loves, loves Paul Ryan.  She doesn’t love Mitt Romney exactly but since she thinks Obama is the anti-Christ, he already has her vote.  I also witnessed the Clint Eastwood debacle since, you know, every single television in the house was turned on to the RNC.  I still love you, Clint Eastwood, even if you’d have been better off keeping your opinions to yourself.  This is my new philosophy this election season, starting now.  Unless you are one of the select few individuals who will love me no matter who I vote for, I have political views and I’m officially keeping them to myself.  Feel free to discuss with me, but don’t expect an agreement, disagreement or any other response.  The only caveat:  I am all for differing opinions but stop with all the hatin’.  You can think Obama’s policies are detrimental to the national economy without attacking him as a person, husband or father.  You can think Mitt Romney’s policies are antiquated and out-of-touch without throwing down about him being a filthy rich douche-canoe.  I’m willing to listen to anyone’s point-of-view if they have the intelligence and maturity to express it thoughtfully and in an educated manner.  This means that, yes, when my stepmother called Obama “lazy” over the weekend, we might have possibly had a small screaming match.  A teensy one.  Seriously?  Stop the hate, ya’ll!!  It just makes you look stupid.  Also?  People who hate have bad skin and smelly feet.  It’s a proven fact.

Finally, I saw Bourne Legacy this weekend.  Jeremy Renner?  Is awesome and wears the hell out of a suit.  That is all.

Black Thursday

Standard

I really try to be upbeat on this blog, usually-or at the very least I try to be productive about whining.  You know, looking on the bright side, perspective, this too shall pass, I could fix the problem by simply doing this one thing, blah-blah-blah.  But today…is just stupid.  And you know what?  There’s really no good reason.  My life, of late, hasn’t sucked.  I saw Idina Menzel in concert last night and she was fantastic.  She was funny and articulate and super classy.  (Might have had to be there for that one to be funny.)  Even better?  I didn’t have to pay for the tickets.  My friend’s husband won them from a radio station contest and they were nice enough to invite me along.  Work is going well.  At the very least, I am gainfully employed and in this economy that’s saying something.  I have a place to live with parents I love all the time and like about 90% of the time.  If you knew the monster, you’d understand how the other 10% comes into play.  I mean, life is not all that bad.  But today…is just stupid.

First, there’s the dog poop.  Arthur has taken to pooping in the house every morning sometime while I’m in my shower.  I tried locking him up to minimize the damage, but he just poops no matter where he is.  It’s either clean up up in the back of the house or clean up in the front of the house.  Won’t poop outside, no ma’am.  Must poop inside and then look cute and innocent when our people step on the poop with bare feet and let out a tremendous and highly creative slew of curse-words.

Then last night we had a genuine Texas thunderstorm with hail and everything.  On my new car.  Three dings.  Now, they’re small and let me confess fully that if I hadn’t been looking for them, I probably wouldn’t have noticed them, but I am in a BAD MOOD (TM) so I mentally catalogued them and added them to my list of things that make today really stupid.

Then I was just this close to being late this morning, but I was gonna make it on time, only to be stopped in front of the train tracks while an excrutiatingly slow 15-mile long train meandered it’s way down the tracks all relaxed and groovy-like.  I swear to you I could hear Simon and Garfunkle’s “Slow down…you move too fast…gotta make the morning last…” somewhere in the background and I wanted to scream.  In fact, I may have done just that to let off steam but since there was no one in the car with me, you’d have difficulty proving it.  I am not feelin’ groovy.  Just saying.

Oh, and I bought two embroidered polos for work, both of them the same size, one way too big for me, and other way too small.  WTF-ery is this, I ask you???  That’s $60 I’m not getting back any time soon.  And it just pisses me off.

And I have big nasty circles under my eyes and not enough make-up on.  You’re welcome for the visual, Interwebs.

Yes, I know, none of these are big life-altering things.  I’m aware of that.  And ordinarily I’d be sanguine.  Or at least, all perspective-y, because I’m good at that.  But today, I am in a BAD MOOD (TM).  Meh.  I’ll be over it by 2:00 PM.  But as of right now, today…is stupid.

Bright, Bright Sunshiney Day…

Standard

Don’t laugh.  I totally have that song earworming it’s way through my head right now, but it fits.  It feels like my view on everything has shifted, righting itself for the first time in years.

Those of you who follow my blog are already aware that I lost my little sister to violence some years back.  It rocked my world.  I couldn’t make myself do anything beyond just getting out of bed and it was a chore doing even that most days.  After about three weeks of this, I visited my doctor and obtained a prescription for anti-depressants.  I won’t lie; they helped immensely.  They numbed me enough to enable me to function.  Gradually, I started living again, but as a calmer, quieter, different version of myself.  But the anti-depressants had numerous side-effects: sleeplessness, weight-gain, blood pressure spikes, etc., so my doctor prescribed other pills to offset those side-effects.  Each new pill had yet another side-effect and my doctor continued to prescribe in an effort to keep me stable.  By last March, I was taking almost as many medications as my diabetic 69-year-old father. At my last visit, my doctor wanted to prescribe yet another medication.  I couldn’t bring myself to fill it.  I was done.  And so I weaned off gradually.  Today I am on my 11th day free of meds and for the first day in a long time, I feel like me.  Here are few things about myself I totally forgot.

I am a crier.  Okay, I was never exactly proud of this trait.  Who wants to be known as the girl who cries over Hallmark commercials?  Or, as I told Faith this morning, that one VISA commercial where the woman flies all the way from Australia to be with her pregnant sister as she delivers her first child?  I believe my reaction consisted of copious tears and me proclaming that, “I would totally fly from Australia to be with Faith like that!!!!”  It’s actually a relief to cry over sad scenes in movies or in books; or because a friend gives you an unbelievably considerate and generous gift; or because the sky is a perfect shade of blue and the wind is blowing your hair all around and the knockout roses in the backyard smell divine and this moment in this particular day couldn’t be any more beautiful or wonderful.  It’s a relief.

I am passionate about my opinions and beliefs.  This has recently led to trouble as medicated me was more likely to avoid discussions about touchy subjects such as politics and religion.  Non-medicated me strongly wants to defend my beliefs, agrees with whomever said that the status is not quo, and has utterly no problem stating her positions on life and calling a spade a spade.  Or as in the most recent case, a fucking idiot, a fucking idiot.  I’m looking at you, Rush Limbaugh.  I was forced to apologize for the four letter expletive, but I stand my ground on the sentiment.  Just saying.

I like being physically active.  No, I really do.  Stairs work just as well as elevators.  Navigating the hilly tree-lined streets around my house makes me exhausted, but the good kind of exhausted.  The blisters on my heels hurt, but they’re fantastic because they mean I’m alive.  My heart and lungs ache from my body’s inactivity, but they’re working, pumping oxygen through me, allowing me to breathe deeply and to continue moving.  I am literally excited to go home tonight, change clothes and head outside for a while.

Theatre ROCKS!  All this pent-up energy and passion that has had nowhere to go for ages is completely psyched about the arts again.  I want to see shows, work on my play again; dude, I wanna go to the museum.  I want to see plays that make me uncomfortable-I want my world views to be proven wrong as much as I want to be proven right.  I want to engage again.  It’s been too long.

I still love pretty men.  I’m not saying I was brain-dead all those years-I mean I still got pleasure out of looking at a fantastically gorgeous guy.  It’s just the meds sort of numb all the responses down so I really only looked once, appreciated and moved on.  I’m just saying you get so much more out of it when you look two or three times before moving on.  :)  I think I might even be willing to date again.  At least after a little more of remembering who I am first…

…because, I am a little bit of a mess trying to figure all this out.  But still, I feel like myself again.  I like who I am without the meds weighing me down.  I’m probably more exasperating to my friends and family, and I admit this is all taking some getting used to.  But I’m back.  Heh.  I’d apologize for unleashing myself on the world, but I’m not actually all that sorry.