This is why I dropped out of Girl Scouts: I hated selling cookies. I mean, back when i wuz yer age, we pounded the pavement, first taking the orders for the Thin Mints and Somoas and then a month or so later, trekking back to deliver the boxes of cookies and collect the money. I didn’t have a large extended family to shake down, and my parents weren’t the type to take the order sheet into work and guilt co-workers into buying their daughter’s wares. So, eventually Scouts and I parted way; it was an amicable break-up.
When I became an adult. I thought I would be off the hook forever. Oh, no. No, no, no. If you have kids of any age, then you have candy sales, all kinds of sales: wrapping paper, candles, popcorn, greeting cards, coupon books. But in today’s world you can’t allow your children to go door-to-door, or someone will call the police, “See that sign, kid? It says NO SOLICITING. Don’t they teach you how to read in school anymore?” (That was just one cranky old curmudgeon, but it gave us the excuse to scuttle back inside and never approach another neighbor.) And, sorry, sons, but I was like my parents and wouldn’t bring the sign-up sheets into the office. No, why ask others for help when I can do it all myself? My easy-peasy approach was simple: I purchased whatever was the bare minimum for them to win some flimsy piece of plastic crap that would quickly become a chew toy for the dog. I spent $100 on chocolate bars for soccer (such a sacrifice! I really took one for the team); we had $50 of Boy Scout popcorn (too salty, so that was donated); I bought it all, everything, I was their only customer. Very loyal. Plus, I paid on time, no questions asked.
Today, my sons are grown and out of the house. You would think hallelujah: no more sales quotas for me! But noooooooooooooooooooo. I joined a committee for a very worthy cause and we are organizing the Annual Benefit Luncheon. And do you know what that entails? (gritting my teeth) I have to approach people and sell them on the idea that they would really and truly like to support our cause. I ask them to donate items for our Silent Auction. Or purchase an ad in our Program. Or, the holiest of holy grails: become a sponsor!! I try to weasel out of direct confrontation by utilizing email. But eventually I have to place a phone call or show up in person. And this is one situation that I really can’t just buy my sweet way out of it.
Hey! Anybody want to donate a trip to the Bahamas? You get your name in the program … and my eternal thanks.
What’s the big idea? Can’t I eat chocolate killer cake, noodle kugel, a rack of ribs, cornbread, banana bread, and Nutella straight from the jar and not lose weight this week? What is the story here? Seriously, I did 40 minutes on the Elliptical before weigh-in and i expected a little more cooperation from my fat cells. They really are a bunch of lazy ass, selfish little worms. Once they have settled in, gotten the U Verse package and pizza delivery, they don’t intend to ever leave. Wish I could just call the exterminator and have my gut and my butt tented like they do for termites and then it’s TA DAA!! Chubby little fat cells lying all exterminated on the ground.
I recently used a Groupon for a friend to join me as I initiated myself into the mysteries of Kava. Before arriving at the dimly-lit bar, I was so ignorant that I didn’t realize that drinking Kava was a Big Deal. I thought this place was a funky Starbucks. I had planned to sit around, sip our Kava and schmooz. That is not how you do Kava. The Bartender (?) Barista (?) Shaman (??) said that Kava is a Ceremony. He put three items in front of us: the cup of Kava, a slice of pineapple and something in a shot glass to kill the taste of the Kava which was described as “earthy”. Understatement of the year! You do not savor this stuff. It’s more like a Tequila shot: gulp the Kava and do not stop. You don’t stop because if you did it would be highly unlikely that you would put the cup back to your mouth, it truly tastes like dirt, I mean “earth”. Then, you bite into the pineapple to kill the nasty taste in your mouth and gulp the sweet liquid. Oh, but before you do this, you say some magical words in a foreign language and toast to each other. Then, you leave with the warning –AFTER you have consumed this concoction– that you may feel lightheaded, your mouth will feel numb and you will see fire-breathing dragons (I made that last part up, but I am sure that it is possible if you drink enough).
This was an experiment that I do not believe requires a repeat to confirm that this stuff sucks. Seriously.
Pet Peeve #198-B: idiot drivers who fail to give the right-of-way to Emergency Vehicles.
Are you so consumed by your inflated sense of Self Worth that you refuse to yield the intersection to a Fire truck that is probably on its way to put out a grease fire at yo’ mama’s house? Fool. I have two suggestions for easing this problem: the first is very sensible: police follow behind (I guess that is actually what “following” is…to be behind ) every vehicle that has its emergency lights flashing, horn blasting, siren blaring and issue IMMEDIATE JAIL SENTENCES to these total Hyenas from Hell who are endangering not just their lives (that would be a positive outcome, a simple case of Darwin’s Theory in practice = weeding out the gene pool of negative traits), but they are risking the lives of the very people who are on their way to SAVE LIVES. While these inconsiderate idiots are in solitary confinement, we could then confiscate their vehicles. Said vehicles would be given to single mothers who would no longer need to take four different buses to their place of employment. Complete Win-Win for society.
Now, if this is not feasible, and I certainly do not see where the problem prohibiting this lies, then we should all be issued ray guns. That way we might evaporate these selfish slimy scumbags at will. There would not even be a nasty residue left behind. The ray gun would zap and then –POOF!– these dastardly devils would be no more. I don’t even want to risk inhaling evaporation dust. When I say nothing, I mean nothing to indicate they ever existed. Totally serious.
Don’t yet know what I’m doing, but I love pushing buttons and THEN finding out their functions. That is how I came to this site to set up my blog. Things I write keep disappearing, reappearing, pictures keep changing colors and I have no idea what is going on. But I promise you: I WILL MASTER THIS. Unlike the complicated tv, the one where I sit in front of a blank screen and read a book rather than admit to my husband that I still cannot figure out how to turn the durned thing on. Serious.
Source: Mostly Serious