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Posts Tagged ‘Peeves’

Dear Highway Convenience Stores:

You are the great equalizer. You bring all travelers together, and do not discriminate.

Everyone will need to get gas.

Everyone will need to pee.

Everyone will need a snack.

Perhaps this:

I am addicted to Slim Jims, preferably the Tabasco-flavored ones. At Al’s Market in Forsyth, only a few original flavored remained.

Of course I picked up the empty boxes of the other flavors, and asked the cashier.

Me: Any more of these anywhere?
Her: They all got gone yesterday when everyone was traveling.

Ah yes. Everyone traveling over the holidays, including me. I drove back and forth to Savannah twice.

So I saw plenty in your environs.

Some things to brand me as the redneck I can be:

Some things to confuse me:

Who flushes part of the way and why?

Many things, actually.

I really am not that close with someone to make full use of this bathroom.

And some that annoy:

Should I also notify the cashier about missing punctuation?

Thank you for your existence, and for your capacity to amuse me.

Happy New Year!
Beth

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Dear Santa,

I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you in person this year. I tried. The line was just too long at Santaland. I had other places to go, and people to see.

(It occurs to me that I’m actually lamenting the fact that I didn’t get to sit on some some old dude’s lap. Holiday traditions are weird.)

As I’ve been (mostly) good, I’m hoping that you can still help me out with my wish list. Items are a little tricky this year, I’m afraid. Not sure the elves can handle these things.

Anyway, here goes:

    1. Some kind of cream that will make the itchy spot on my right eye go away. The dermatologist is stumped. I use the same products on BOTH EYES, but my left eye is fine. Please help. I look like Hitch.
    2. Guests in our Airbnb condo who will actually read and abide by the house rules. It’s not like we are asking for much. Just take the trash out of the place, and send it down the rubbish chute right outside the door. We aren’t asking for gold doubloons as tips or anything. Although …
    3. A money tree would be nice. Have you seen how much Dominic eats? Or how leggy Gideon is getting? At least they can’t wear my shoes anymore, so that means mine stay clean. I promise I will share the harvest with friends and family. Well, most of them.
    4. Expansion of Marta. Or at the very least, a change of heart for the car-focused people of Atlanta who keep voting against it.
    5. People who are driving at or below the speed limit to STAY THE F out of the passing lane. You have a reindeer-powered sleigh. You do not know the horror of I-16.
    6. Another season of “Schitt’s Creek.” Season 6 is supposed to be the last one. But you can make Daniel Levy change his mind, right? RIGHT?!
    7. The ability to speak Spanish, French, German, Italian, Portuguese and Japanese fluently. I dream big, but you’re Santa. It’s not like you are starting from scratch. I’m at toddler levels for the first two. And I know key phrases for the others. Look, you never know when you need to tell a Japanese person that he’s taken the last Band-Aid.
    8. A stop to the entire country of India requesting to add me as a contact on Linked In. I really don’t know anyone in India.
    9. More followers for this blog. It’s not an ego thing (although an audience is great). It’s an expanding-my-circle thing.  I’ve met some of the most interesting people via this blog — folks I never would have met otherwise.
    10. Guest posts. I’m still waiting for posts from Julia, Royce, Kerstin, Nick, TJ, etc. I’m not holding my breath, though.
    11. Patience. Lord knows Dominic regularly uses up my limited supply.
    12. Someone to make these for me. I’m a great cook, but kind of a crappy baker.
    13. The cute blue cheetah-print jeans I gave away when I thought I’d be fat forever.
    14. More early-morning water boot camp classes at the Y so that I won’t ever be fat again.
    15. For Origins to bring back the Spring Fever scent. Please! I can’t be the only one who has asked you for this.

I know it’s a tall order. Just do what you can. Thanks, Santa! I appreciate you.

Love,
Beth

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Dear Obnoxious Man in 10D,

Why can’t you just be a d-bag in private? Why must you let your fool flag fly on this plane?

I’ve been sitting next to you for 10 minutes and you’ve made three loud-as-hell calls.

I don’t care about Kevin or his long-term goals. I’m not interested in the project that’s six months away. And I am not impressed that you need to spell out the timeline to people who don’t get it.

I need you to shut up.

Sit quietly in your middle seat.

Read a damn book.

Or maybe read this post where I talk about having manners in a public place.

Please let me enjoy this flight to a leadership conference in peace.

Thank you,
10E

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Dear Men of a Certain Age at a Bar:

Look. Listen.

I know you want love — or at least a little action. You can have it, but you have to follow some rules.

Auntie Beth is here to help.

DO: Try to catch the eye of someone you find interesting.
DON’T: Stare at her like a complete creep.

DO: Check to see if she is wearing a wedding ring.
DON’T: Make any kind of move if she is. It’s true that some ladies might still be interested, but let those ladies be the instigators.

DO: Leave her alone if she is clearly in a group, and having a full conversation with someone.
DON’T: Rub all up on her like a cat on an allergic guest’s leg.

DO: Continue your hunt for eligible ladies by scoping out the rest of the bar.
DON’T: Put your hand on the aforementioned woman’s thigh. And if you do it anyway, and if she firmly brushes you away, don’t put your other hand on her waist. This isn’t Jersey Shore, and this chick ain’t no Angelina.

DO: Leave her the F alone if she turns to you, looks you square in the face, and clearly and calmly says, “Stop touching me. I’m married, and not interested.”
DON’T: Keep on trying to touch her, forcing her to inform one of her male friends who then has to stand between you and her.

DO: Move on! There are plenty of seemingly eligible and attractive ladies in this bar. (Really? We needed to get all the way to this step?)
DON’T: Ask her if she wants to come outside for a smoke.

Women are not that mysterious. We will let you know if we are interested. And we are more empowered than ever before to tell you when we are not.

Don’t be THAT GUY at The Lizardmen 25th Anniversary show, which was amazing despite the bar shenanigans.

Sincerely,
Auntie Beth, who did not fully F politeness last night, but also did not suffer fools.

Here’s Auntie Beth with her friend Jeff, whom she likes and willingly got near.

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Dear Gideon,

I’ve never written to you here. It’s always been your brother.

Why?

Because he gives me loads of trouble, and trouble can be funny (i.e., My mantra: Bad decisions make good stories).

You don’t give me any trouble at all. You help out around the house, haven’t broken a single phone, are an A/B student, earned Student of the Month this month, and do your homework before dinner.

You also are my couch chooch.

So when you were off for fall break, I wanted to do something special for you: Spend the afternoon at Six Flags. (I invited your brother. No surprise he didn’t come. And broke his fourth phone while we were gone.)

The day started with a ride on the Twisted Cyclone.

I look so calm and collected, right?

Yet moments earlier, you were laughing at me because of this:

I scream and laugh and laugh/scream on rides. It’s what I do.

Still, you agreed to be seen with me, riding rides such as Batman (front row!):

Eating Dippin’ Dots:

And being a fool in the Fright Fest decorations:

Thank you for putting up with me taking so many photos.

And screaming like a banshee. (And thanks to you, I do hear someone yell “chicken strips” right before the first hill on the Mindbender.)

We had a great time together. Though I looked a little worse for wear once we got home:

Not pictured: My jumbled organs thanks to the Scream Spleen Machine.

I would do it all again just to spend the day with you.

Love,
Mama

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Dear Friends:

It’s the rare time of year in the South where I can put down the top on my convertible and be comfortable.

One of my favorite things to do is play music REALLY LOUD and (possibly) torture those around me.

I’ve been in a serious metal and rock phase lately: Think Halestorm, Drowning Pool, Rage Against the Machine, Disturbed, Metallica, etc.

But I do have eclectic taste. See this recent screenshot from my Ticketmaster app:

I’m looking for suggestions. What’s your favorite song? Though I will listen to almost anything, note that I’m not a huge fan of rap, trap, jazz and classical music.

And please don’t send me video game theme songs. The 14 year old has the lock on that. And he is persistent. (Read: annoying when he wants me to do something.)

(Yes, this is what I have to live with every day.)

Looking forward to your suggestions!

Sincerely,
Beth

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Dear Goat Yoga Lisa,

Thanks for asking about my progress with my biddy boot camp. The ladies have accepted me fully. So much so that I was actually sad last Friday when I was the only one there.

(The benefit of that was that I got a personal training session with taskmaster Christina. She blasted AC/DC, and made me work harder than I’ve ever worked in the pool.)

This past Friday, everyone was back and ready for action. My two favorites were there: June and Jamie.

June was the first to welcome me into the pack. She has advanced MS. She also is the cheeriest, most optimistic person. Definitely Glass Half Full. She makes me laugh every time we’re in the class together.

Jamie is her opposite. She’s Glass Half Empty, but I love her too. She also makes me laugh because she bitches about every single exercise.

And as it turns out, Enis (the Alpha Female) is quite nice.

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Not sure where Kim was Friday. She’s also nice, in a backhanded way.

I’ll give you an example of what I mean. Christina recommended I buy a special bathing suit because the chlorine kept destroying my cute ones.

Kim overheard:

“I got mine at Swim and Sweat. You and I probably wear the same size. Here, look at my tag!”

Her tag turned out to be in a place I wasn’t about to check out. So she said she’d email me.

To my surprise, she did. I was also surprised that I’m two sizes smaller than she is.

She closed with this line:

“You seemed long waisted like myself, and this suit was good for that.”

I’ve never in my life considered myself long waisted.

Eddie said it’s just because she couldn’t wear her glasses in the pool.

Still, she meant well and my new suit arrived this weekend.

The great thing about the Friday and Tuesday classes is that these ladies are here to WORK. Not like Sunday’s class. That’s the convo class.

So there you have it: an update on the pool ladies.

Now I want you to go to horse yoga, and report back.

Love you!
Beth

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Dear Body Fat:

I’m definitely in a period of change, ditching all that isn’t working for me. (Poor Adam.)

You were the first to go exactly a year ago. I don’t miss you at all. Sorry, not sorry.

You and I had an off-again, on-again relationship for years before I had the strength to shed you for good.

Without you, I’m a new person. I’m brave enough to share a bikini photo with the world (even though selecting “publish” on that post nearly made me barf).

I say “the world” because it’s a public post on the Internet. The true number is actually 720.

(Oof. That’s so many people online to have seen me in my bathing suit. Pardon me while I get sick in this trash can over here.)

People have noticed we’re not together anymore.

Just over a week ago, I had a chat with Disgruntled Danny, he of the pothole guest post, at a Jesse’s Divide event. (Yes, yet another mention of this band. Again, sorry, not sorry. They’re that good.)

This exchange happened early on in the convo:

Him, ever so British: May I ask you a personal question?

Me, completely American: Sure! Ask away!

Him: Where is the rest of you?

Along with breaking up with you, I’ve also broken up with all your best friends: self consciousness, anxiety, high cholesterol, all my large clothes and snoring.

I’m totally OK with that. You and your awful buddies drove me crazy.

Yes, I know you saw the things I ate while in England, including this:

Fish, chips and mushy peas? Sign me up!

But an occasional meal like that does not mean I’m welcoming you back into my life.

In fact, just the opposite. I’m now seeing plenty of the Gym. We’re very happy together. The Gym has friends like abs (haven’t seen them in SO LONG — see poster above), developed triceps, endorphins and workout soreness. They are all much cooler than your friends.

So stop trying to worm your way back into my life.

It’s over.

For real.

Regards,
Beth

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Dear Adam,

You know I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for you, but our love affair is over.

It’s not me. It’s you. Definitely you.

I gave you a pass when I saw you in 2013. And another in 2017.

But this time, it’s really over.

It’s too bad.

Pam and I were so excited to see you Friday. You were our first.

Our first concert, that is. The original “Friend or Foe” tour.

We even got there early to see your opener, the Glam Skanks.

They were great. Even though people sat through their set, the Skanks didn’t phone it in.

Unlike others (cough cough).

Listen, I know you are geriatric now. Maybe your hips hurt. I don’t know.

I do know that fans like Pam and me expect to see you do more on stage than just hop weakly a few times.

Was your hussar jacket too tight? Had you sweat too much already in your leather pants à la Ross? Were you afraid of your ridiculous straw hat falling off?

Whatever the case, your moves are gone. It appears your voice is too.

I’m sorry to be so hard on you, but I paid for a service — and I don’t feel serviced.

As Pam said, “We’re living on a memory.”

Part of it is not your fault. Perhaps the acoustics in Atlanta Symphony Hall are great for the Atlanta Symphony, but they were not great for you.

It wasn’t until I drug Pam up to the front that things got interesting. You had shed your jacket at that point (but not the hat, of course).

You went deep into “and the Ants” history and brought out “Physical (You’re So).” I thought maybe we could stay together.

But then I got a good look at your new facial hair pattern.

You know me: all or nothing.

I don’t know what’s going on with you.

All I know is that I’m moving on.

Adam, meet Chris and Randy.

I’m sorry you had to find out this way.

But, I went out last night to see Fozzy.

They BROUGHT IT in a way you haven’t for me for 20 years.

Don’t be too sad. We had a good run.

But I just can’t with you anymore.

You’ll be fine.

Go spend your time grooming and buying hats.

Sincerely,
Beth

 

 

 

 

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Dear FedEx and Bright Cellars:

Thank you for working together to offer me new challenges to overcome. I feel so empowered now that I’ve successfully passed numerous levels of gameplay and defeated the final boss in an epic showdown.

Level One: The Cancellation

To pass this level, I finally had to cancel my Bright Cellars subscription FOR REAL THIS TIME. I live one mile from a Total Wine & More. I resisted your offers of free bottles and credits. I accepted ONE LAST SHIPMENT to use my various credits.

Level Two: Shipment Attempt 1

This one was tricky. My package was returned to Bright Cellars because the FedEx driver said no one was home Sunday. I was home. No one even rang the doorbell. I realize now that the cheat code to win this level was that I needed to sit on the stairs outside my front door all day. Still, somehow I forged on to the next level.

Level Three: Shipment Attempt 2

This was a tough level because I had three villains to defeat.

  1. Bright Cellars had to change the address to the leasing office.
  2. FedEx had to make sure to put “leasing office” on the shipping info.
  3. The (nasty) manager of the leasing office had to be notified that a package was on the way.

Level Four: Shipment Attempt 3

Another difficult level. FedEx, you were wily, and required numerous maneuvers.

  1. I had to call and convince you to hold the package at the FedEx facility in Norcross so I could pick it up. You told me to call the facility after 5.
  2. I called the facility after 5. I was put on hold three times. Finally, an unpleasant woman said she could not hold the package for pickup unless FedEx customer service (yes, her same company) told her to hold it. That I needed to call customer service, and have them call her.
  3. I called FedEx customer service again. I made Geordie write a note in the shipment file, and call the facility witch.

CUT SCENE:
Late evening phone call from the FedEx facility in Norcross to explain that the reason my package wasn’t delivered was because the leasing office hag wouldn’t sign for it.

Level Five: The Pickup

“If no one answer keep trying until they do.”

This level required me to call all the extensions. Twice.

Level Six: The Final Showdown

The final boss was a lovely man who — at first glance — just seemed like a beleaguered employee. But this level required an ID and signature on a digital pad that would not accept signatures. Still, I persevered.

I will now treat myself to what’s in the box.

It had better be THE BEST WINE I’ve ever tasted to be worth this difficult adulting game.

In sum: I never want to play this game again.

I hate you both,
Beth

 

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