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The story of the pink binder

August 5, 2016 by Beth

imageDear Dominic:

This was your first week of school, but I’m the one who learned a lesson.

When we were shopping for last-minute school supplies, I gave you a little bit of a hard time when you wanted a pink binder. I said, “You are going to a new school. Are you sure you want to call attention to yourself and be the kid with the pink binder?”

You put me in my place — rightfully so. You said, “It’s just a color, and I like it. If the other kids don’t like it, that’s their problem.”

You are so right. You are wise beyond your 11 years. I was wrong. I apologize.

My knee-jerk reaction was a leftover of my childhood days where we did what we needed to do to fit in so that we would not be a target for bullies. Pink was for girls then. That I didn’t like Barbies was my own dirty little secret.

Your father and I have raised you to be an individual, to be inclusive, to be kind to others, to like what you like and not be ashamed of it.

We’ve clearly taught you well.

I’m sorry I forgot those lessons for a beat.

I’m so proud of you.

Love,
Mama

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Mr. Trump: Join our party!

July 31, 2016 by Beth

doDear Mr. Trump,

Hi there! I’m Beth. I’m no one you’d know personally. I doubt six degrees of separation could apply to us. I’m just a middle-class mostly white voter — a voter with typical human emotions like joy and fear.

I’m sure this whole “running for president in 2016” venture started off as a lark. You know, like it did in 2000. Deep down, you probably are as surprised as anyone else that you are now the Republican nominee. I know the 16 candidates who dropped out are pretty shocked. (I personally feel the most sorry for Jeb Bush. I can’t imagine Thanksgiving with the family.) It’s a strange election indeed when Jeb Bush is not considered a viable candidate.

20151109edshe-b

Anyway, there’s been plenty of talk about you being, you know, related to SATAN, but I’m sure you can’t be that bad. I mostly liked you when you were on “The Apprentice.” I’m sure all your negative publicity is because of that danged liberal media. (I must have missed my liberal entrance exam when I started working in the media in 1988. I think I was part of the College Republicans then. Whoops. Glad my employers didn’t find out!)

But wait … isn’t Fox News conservative? They didn’t like you for a while either.

Anyway, I’m sure it is just a misunderstanding. I’m sure you are quite lovely in person.

I’d like to see for myself: My husband and I would like to invite you over for dinner. We have a modest house — certainly not Mar-a-Lago — but we are happy.

We are just trying to settle on the guest list. Here’s who’s on the list at the moment:

  1. Eddie. Eddie, of course, has to be at dinner because he lives here. I must warn you, though: He’s Puerto Rican. He was born in Puerto Rico. His family is from and lives in Puerto Rico. So maybe you want to stick to topics other than debt relief for Puerto Rico. He likes to talk about CrossFit.
  2. James. I also want to invite our friend James. I think you will get along well with him. After all, you said in 2011, “I have a great relationship with the blacks. I’ve always had a great relationship with the blacks.”
  3. Billy. I’d like to invite our friend Billy, but I’m not sure. He’s Muslim, so maybe he has to stay outside. I don’t want to offend you or violate your proposed ban on Muslims.
  4. Daniel. My ex brother-in-law Daniel likely will want to come. He’s Mexican, so I’ll get the kids to use their Legos to build a wall around him at the table. I think he bought them the Legos, in fact.
  5. Patrick. I think he’s part Native American, but he doesn’t really look “Indian.”
  6. Matt. My friend Matt is Jewish, but I don’t know if he is good at negotiating. I’ll check into that.
  7. Brian. He is a high school friend of mine who is gay. He’s single though. No problems there!
  8. My nephew. He’s from Canada (sorry), but he works at a bible college. As you are a “baby Christian,” he can help nurture you.
  9. My dad. He was in the military, but he wasn’t a POW. So that’s good.
  10. Royce. He’s a white male. I know you’ll love him.

Royce’s wife Sarah and I will be in the kitchen where we belong, trying to look sexy. (It’s our job, as you mentioned.)

I know you are busy — you are even having trouble scheduling important things like debates — but I hope you will make time for us. Please have your people call my people (my people = me). Looking forward to meeting you before the November 2016 election!

Earnestly yours,
Beth

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The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated*

June 5, 2016 by Beth

Dear Body,

I’m not sure what’s going on with you, but you gave me quite a scare this week. I ignored you when you manifested dizziness Tuesday night, but then you got more insistent that you needed attention. Thanks so much for Wednesday morning’s nausea, sweating and shortness of breath — the cherries on the top of the dizziness sundae.

And Brain, you didn’t help. You know just enough about medical issues — thanks, “Trauma: Life in the E.R.” and “Forensic Files” — to be worried.

Screen Shot 2016-06-04 at 11.32.51 AMSee No. 3-5 above. And note also that dizziness is one of the symptoms of a stroke as well.

Yeah. So …

Like any good mom potentially having a heart attack or stroke, I drove my kids to camp then drove myself to the hospital. (It’s what we do. Amirite, moms? We keep our shit together.)

I was pretty sure I was fine, but what if I wasn’t?

The good news is that I got plenty of attention at the hospital. When you list symptoms like mine, folks tend to take notice.

I got a date with an EKG. I also enjoyed a chest X-ray with a CT scan thrown in for kicks. Perhaps the best part of my adventure was stumbling down the hallway wearing a half-open “gown” and carrying a urine sample. Good times!

I knew I was going to be OK, though, when they booted me out of my room and into the hallway to make room for another patient. An hour or so later, the attending physician deemed it appropriate to give me 30 seconds of his time to declare I had vertigo.

Me: Great! So what caused it?
Dr. Personality: We don’t know.
Me: How long will I have it?
Him: It only lasts a couple of hours.
Me: I’ve had it since last night.
Him: Well, it will go away in a little while.
Me: Will it come back?
Him: We don’t know.
Me: Fantastic! I feel completely informed!

(I made up that last line.)

I went home with anti-vertigo and anti-nausea medicine, a fancy plastic and paper bracelet, and a serious of unread texts from friends and coworkers who wanted to know WHAT THE HECK?!

Since this happened, friends have come out of the woodwork to tell me about their experiences with vertigo. And I’ve discovered that stress can trigger or worsen vertigo.

Oh.

Well.

It was Week 10 of a 10-week quarter. I did just finish a 33-page qualitative research paper. So, um, it’s a little understandable, I guess.

Anyway, I’m fine. Fine!

I promise.

But thanks for the reminder, Body, that I need a vacation. Stat!

Love always,
Beth

 

*A Mark Twain misquote. He actually wrote, “The report of my death was an exaggeration.”

 

 

 

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B—- better have my money

May 24, 2016 by Beth

Dear Georgia Department of Revenue:

I see you still have not gotten your act together, despite my April 27 plea. At that point, it had been more than three weeks since I had mailed in my tax return that necessitated a refund.

Time passed.

Three more weeks.

The “Where’s my Refund?” portal indicated that my return had been received, and I should allow 30 business days to receive the refund.

I decided to call you last week (May 19 to be exact) just to see if I could narrow that field a bit.

I waited on hold for 30 minutes then received an option for a call back. I chose “yes” and got the requested call in fewer than 30 seconds (bizarre).

The foul-tempered woman on the phone revealed that my refund had been cleared for processing May 12, and it was in the queue to be deposited in my account. She informed me I should allow 30 business days.

That same day, the portal indicated that my refund was processing, and I should allow 15 business days.

This is what I found on the portal today:

Screen Shot 2016-05-24 at 7.17.47 PM

What the FRESH HECK is THAT? Ninety BUSINESS days?

There is a big difference between 15 business days (three weeks) and 90 business days (18 weeks) and even the 30 days (six weeks) quoted on two different occasions. Ninety days would mean I should have my refund by Sept. 16 — nearly SIX MONTHS after I mailed the return to you. You do realize that’s insane, right? Especially when you consider that I would have gotten it within 72 hours if I had been able to file electronically. Three more months from that date, and I’ll be filing for a new tax year.

Let that sink in a bit.

Get it together, Georgia. You already are out of whack in so many areas. Don’t add to the list.

I want my $2+!

I hate you. So much.

Sincerely angry,
Beth

MRW I didn’t ask for a dime.

 

Posted in Politics, Technology | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments »

That time when our baby exploded

May 17, 2016 by Beth

Screen Shot 2016-05-17 at 1.13.26 PM

Dear Eddie, Love of My Life,

I read “Toddler barfs in the car, dad freaks, epic text exchange ensues” today and laughed so freakin’ hard.

You know why.

What do you mean you don’t?

Sure you do.

It was July 2005. We were coming back from spending a few days with our friends in Daytona Beach. At six months old, Dominic was already swimming. (People can try to dispute that fact, but we have the video evidence.) Despite the fact that it was a short-ish drive home, we decided to stay overnight at a hotel with a pool to give Dominic more water time.

We found a good prospect off I-95, and I went in to ask about vacancies. (This is during the dark ages, i.e., pre-iPhone days.)

I came out of the hotel with bad news to find you honking and gesturing wildly at the baby. I opened the door to the back seat and looked at Dominic.

“How did he get ahold of chocolate?” I thought.

“Oh God, that’s not chocolate,” was my next thought.

I’m a mom, so I sprang into action.

“You get the car seat,” I barked. “I’ll handle the baby.”

I stripped that poor kid down to the nude on the sidewalk. I grabbed him around the middle and walked around the hotel to find a hose. Yes, a hose. I hosed him down right there in front of the window into happy hour at the hotel. When you have a screaming, naked baby covered in poop, you do not care about civility. Or, apparently, water temperature (sorry, Dominic).*

I’m not sure you knew all the above as you were dealing with a ripe car seat. As I recall, we had to quarantine the car seat cover in a trash bag and let Dominic sit strapped into towels the rest of the way.

It’s the Dad Panic that makes this story and the barf story above funny. Why was the guy’s first order of business post-barf to call his wife? What could she do over the phone? Why did you immediately start honking?

The world may never know.

Anyway, he was OK, we were OK, and now we have a great story to tell.

Love you, even if you did freak out that one time,
Beth

*People reading this: Do not call DFCS. Dominic was then, and is now, totally fine. He was used to roughing it. We didn’t have baby wipe warmers.

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Potty training for adults

May 3, 2016 by Beth

Dear Bathroom-fixated Bureaucrats/Legislators:

The abundance of so-called “bathroom bills” is mystifying to me. Why is this a thing? Am I supposed to carry my birth certificate with me just in case I’m stopped by the Potty Police? Can I not use the men’s room when the women’s room has a line 10 deep? Is there really an epidemic of pedophiles stalking children in bathrooms?

I’m not down with the POV of people and groups such as the Family Research Council on their support of these bills. To me, the FRC’s six “talking points” should never be spoken aloud, much less written. Are you folks listening to yourselves?

kevin-moore-bathroom-cartoo

I am NOT worried about pedophiles in the bathroom preying on my kids. Why? Because my kids are old enough to holler at someone who is doing something inappropriate and/or leave the bathroom immediately and tell Eddie, me or another adult in charge. Do other parents not discuss today’s version of stranger danger with their children? If my kids were younger, they would not be in the public bathroom without me or Eddie. So I don’t really understand what the fuss is all about.

I AM worried about a different kind of filthy person: the kind who leaves the bathroom a crime scene. I don’t want to have to wear a hazmat suit to answer nature’s call.

Where is the outrage over pee on the seat and floor?

Where is the disgust over lady products wadded haphazardly in disposal bins?

Where is the fuss over floaters?

bathroom-e1277159107542

THAT is what bothers me on a daily basis, not the thought of a transgender person needing to use the facilities. I’m not even worried about sexual predators (see reason above). I’m worried about people who don’t wash their hands. Germs kill!

If you must have Privy Patrol, let them cite for infractions such as:

  • Burglary of All the Toilet Paper
  • Assault with a Deadly Scent
  • Leaving the Scene of an Accident

I’ll be writing my congressman.

Yours in Sanitation,
Beth

 

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Pay me my money down

April 27, 2016 by Beth

Dear Georgia Department of Revenue:

It’s been more than three weeks since I dutifully mailed in my 2015 tax forms. Your federal counterparts (i.e., the IRS) cashed my payment check the day they received my forms. Yet I’m still waiting for my refund from you.

Usually I file electronically and get my refund lightning fast. However, thanks to some asshat who tried to steal my identity on a federal return (little did they know that I am not a federal refund kind of gal), I had to mail in the forms.

So now I’m wondering, “Where’s my refund?” It’s a common-enough question that you have a web page devoted to the answer. Let’s break it down:

You cannot help me by phone (no number given) or walk-in (Where would I go to do that in Savannah?) until 30-45 days have passed. I repeat (and so do you): 30-45 days. That is an eternity in today’s instant-gratification society.

Oh wait: You have a portal to allow tracking.

Great!

I signed up. I received this response when I tried to track my refund:

Screen Shot 2016-04-27 at 3.23.10 AM

 

What is the freakin’ deal?

Comma splice aside (What? No one to proofread? There should be SOMEONE, given the fact that employees aren’t tied up helping people for 30-45 days or so), I promise I entered the correct information. I’m looking at my tax forms. I used my SSN to log in, for crying out loud.

I don’t want to get all loud, Rihanna style, but I do want my refund.

I shouldn’t expect efficiency and logic from a government entity, but I do. I’m optimistic like that. So if you could get your act together, that would be great.

Yours in fiscal responsibility,
Beth

Posted in Grammar, etc., Random, Technology | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments »

Apply only to infected area

April 12, 2016 by Beth

Dear Readers,

I apologize for my radio silence. I have writer’s block. Well, it’s not a block as much as it is a bad case of self-censorship. I assure you I’m not “wasting time,” George R.R. Martin style.

Until I post a new letter (read: decide to stop worrying about offending someone), here is a fun matching game for you to play.

Match the comment with the person who said it to me. Answers at the bottom.

  1. “Will you make time for my funeral?”
  2. “If you swallow your gum, you can just poop it out.”
  3. “Can we go to Lowe’s? I need some red tape.”
  4. “You’re quiet. Are you upset? Are you mad at me?”
  5. “Something is wrong with you.”

A. My 11-year-old son
B. My 9-year-old son
C. My father
D. My boss
E. My husband

Note: Void where prohibited. Action figures sold separately. Results may vary. Contents under pressure. Consult your physician if fever persists for more than three days or if pain continues for more than five days. All sales final.

See you here soon (I hope),
Beth

Your life sucks without me.

1. C, 2. B, 3. A, 4. D, 5. E

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My husband is cheating on me? What?

December 9, 2015 by Beth

Screen Shot 2015-12-04 at 12.15.28 PM

Dear Erin,

Thanks for letting me know about Eddie’s online dating habits. I had no idea. He has always passed himself off as a man who cannot even remember his iTunes password or use the calendar on his phone, but yet he has been able to carry on a secret life. I can’t even be upset because I’m too shocked and impressed.

This is just the kind of information I need around Christmas time. I’ll be sure to pay close attention to receipts for odd purchases. I won’t automatically assume they are gifts for me.

Also, what is the “thruth?” Is that the official name for realizing the truth about thrush? And what does that have to do with Eddie? Oh WAIT … are you trying to tell me something about my health? Egad! I didn’t even know that was considered an STD!

Erin, you have helped me out so much. Thank you for your interest in my well-being and marriage.

You are a true friend.

With gratitude,
Beth

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Grand Theft Autumn/Where is the Fall?*

November 6, 2015 by Beth

image

What’s this? An alien life form?

Dear Fall,

So I noticed that we haven’t seen you yet this year. I don’t want to make you feel guilty or anything, but some of us rely on you for relief from that asshat Summer.

Summer always overstays his welcome, as far as I’m concerned. He makes me sweat. He likes girls in those gross high-waisted booty shorts. He’s great with the kids, but is a bore when they go back to school.

It’s November. You were supposed to be here Sept. 23. Winter has already booked his visit for Dec. 22. If you are running late, though, I guess Winter is too. I don’t really care about Winter. Sorry, not sorry.

Fall, it’s your visit I look forward to every year. When you come, I get to wear sweaters, boots and maybe even a jaunty scarf. I get to make soups, stews and hearty pies. I get to stock up on bocks, stouts and porters. I can’t do that with Summer hanging around in his half-shirt yelling, “More Bud Light!”

Summer goes shopping.

Summer goes shopping.

So Fall, please get your act together. I hear you may show up Sunday. Let’s hope so. Summer just cranked up Nelly’s “Hot in Herre” … again.

Wish you were here,
Beth

*Apologies to Fall Out Boy

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