Procrastination (But I Digress)

Friday, November 30, 2007


Is she her sister's mother or her daughter's sister? It's a matter of perspective. So do I invite incompetence and lies or am I more sensitive to the normal amount of incompetence and miscalculations. Last month I dinged my car (ok, smashed it into a pole--the pole came out of nowhere). I procrastinated a good deal about getting it fixed, because I knew they would keep it for a whole week and I really didn't want to give up my car for a week. My insurance company, being there for me all the way, kept calling to see if I was satisfied with my repairs and I had to admit day after day that I had not yet taken the car into to be fixed. Finally, I ran out of excuses and took my car to the body shop. The fellow, who over the phone said he couldn't make any promises without seeing the car, but it shouldn't take more than a week, in person said it might take a week and a half. I called at the end of the first week and they said three more days. Technically that's more than a week and a half, but end of business on Wednesday is close enough to the middle of the week that I was still hopeful. It's Friday now. No car. The lying scumbag just told me that maybe it would be done today, but probably early next week. "Early next week" is code for you are never getting your car back again you stupid "@@@" who hit a pole. It came out of nowhere.

Saturday, November 24, 2007


I didn't see Caitlyn for a week or so and then I saw her two days in one week. The first time, she was talking a mile a minute. I couldn't understand a word of it, but that didn't stop her from filling me in on all the latest. That's what it seemed like--she hadn't seen me in a while and she was filling me in.

Actually, she has an amazing vocabulary for a two year old. She says Adam and Papa (for her Grandpa Taj). She says binky for her pacifier (which I think Marisa has completely gotten her off). She can name the features on her doll's face: nose, eyes, mouth (althought it throws her off a little when the doll in question does not have a nose or mouth). When she wants to go somewhere she says very clearly "come on" and she leans in the direction she wants to go holding out her hand to you to follow her. When she wants something and her mother says, "What do you say?" She says the most adorable "please" and "thank you" you've ever heard in your life. Sometimes out of the blue with no prompting she also says "thank you" so cute, right on cue. That kid's something else.

She loves puppies and babies, but she doesn't just say those words. "Puppy" and "baby" are afforded an excited emphasis that shows her absolute delight with puppies and babies. She has a book of each and of course we have a dog, who she is absolutely delighted to see and hug and her dolls are her babies. Her favorite game this week has been to put her babies to sleep ("night, night"). She carefully puts the dolls in the basket and covers them with a blanket (small kitchen towel) and turns to say "shhhh" to me--"babies, night, night" Then she wakes them up to put them in bed over and over again. If I interrupt her, I get "shhh"d.

She also says mommy. When she wants Marisa or is in the same room as Marisa, she does mean Marisa and as a matter of fact her favorite phrase around Marisa is "mommy, no" -- she doesn't want to get dressed, or changer her diaper, or put down the cell phone, or the remote or whatever else Mother's want their children to do. However, she also says "mommy" to refer to any adult assigned to attend to her wishes and desires (i.e., me). It is usually a shout "mommy!!" meaning come here and give me what I want right now. I've tried to say, "mommy's out front, I'm aunt Kathy," but she persists saying "mommy" when she wants something from me.

She'll be talking in complete sentences soon, because she's very determined to get what she wants and it makes her crazy when you don't know what she wants. She's very good at pointing and dragging you there, but she's not so good at remembering what it was she wanted by the time she's dragged you there. She's easily distracted, but amazingly determined. If she doesn't want to go somewhere, she is quite adept at going lifeless and becoming ten times heavier than her actual weight--now that's a gift. Her decibel level is off the charts when she screams and her mischievous smile rivals Melody's when she was four.

She's just turned two--we're actually in day two of the terrible two's--I can't wait to see what we have in store today.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007


Adrienne must be bored by now with Mom doing so well and all, so I'll give her something to gloat about. I don't want to throw anything away. I filled up two garbage cans (really that's all we have left) at Mary's yesterday, but if I'd had a third I would have been hard pressed to come up with anything else to throw away. There are four closets full of stuff--mostly files and pictures. The files are probably meaningless, but until that time passes for an irs audit, I just can't seem to part with them. I don't know who 99% of the people in the pictures are, but still I find it impossible to throw a picture of Mary, Bea or Urs away. I don't have room for all the pictures of people I do know, where am I going to put all the pictures of people I don't. Gretchen put all the family pictures on a disc and that's great. But I still don't want to throw away a picture. Adrienne is now planning to wait til I'm sleeping and throw them all away for me--how great she'll believe she's being. NOT. If I can't throw them away, I certainly don't want someone else to.

I've turned an extra bedroom into a storage room. As I'm filling it up, I'm trying to leave the bed empty, just in case someone wants to spend the night. I'm reminded of staying the night at Joselyns--her house was completely full of stuff. There was a tiny path to the bed in the room I stayed in and although the bed itself was empty--it was elevated and there was so much stuff under it and on a shelf above it. It was a good think I'm not clostrophobic. So it's not as bad as that, but I can see it going in that direction. What I'd really like is Monica's closet--from Friends--she had a closet that Chandler was not allowed to look in, because she put all her mess there. We had the basement as kids. Whenever we didn't know where to put something when we were cleaning the house, we put it in the basement--on the ping pong table. I loved being able to put mess out of sight.

As full of stuff as Mary's house was, I think that Urs had it pretty organized. As I think about organinzing my stuff, I think about Urs. Did she feel better having everything organized? Bea still went out and bought anything she wanted without looking to see if they already had it. I miss them. The house is in escrow and it will only be a few more weeks til it's gone. The pitiful little bit of stuff at my house that I'm storing is such a small reminder. I'm keeping all of those pictures.

Sunday, November 04, 2007

Do I need therapy or what

I asked my dry cleaner if he hated me. Why would he hate me and who cares if he does, but for some reason, that was my question when I called to yell at him.

My dry cleaner, Joe and I moved into the neighborhood around the same time. He was just opening his first store when I first moved to this house and was looking for a dry cleaners. I watched his store grow and his number of employees grow. Over the years we've had hundreds of small, pleasant conversations. He's now opened a second store and for a time had branched out into a different business (but I can't remember what it is now). He's married, a USC fan and I have the impression that he has teenagers. His wife tells him to take time away from work, but he says if he stays home, he just thinks about all the things he could be doing at work. Just like me, I thought at the time.

When you lose 50 pounds and then gain back 30 over a three year period, you need a lot of alterations in your clothes. Of course, Joe gets all my business. I wouldn't even know of anywhere else to go.

Last year, Joe ruined a christmas blouse I had. It was cheap and it had velvet designs all over it, but I liked it and sort of miss it. Now I just wrote that Joe ruined it. Even as I sit here knowing that Joe didn't personally fail to read the label and put it in the wrong machine, I still inexplicably think in terms of Joe ruining it. Joe apoligized and offered to pay for me to purchase a new blouse, but I'd never find that deal again and I couldn't make him pay more than I'd paid in the first place, so I let it drop. Joe never brought it up again. I carried around the receipt for the dry cleaning until the writing faded away, but I never brought it up again either.

Two years ago, I had a lot of elastic put into my suits when I was losing weight. This year, I'm gaining in my hips, not my waist (go figure), so I am once again getting a lot of elastic put into my slacks. About two months ago, I brought in three pairs of slacks at once to be altered. One was missing a button which I brought in to be sewed. I never got that button back. (Who cares, I am saying in my head, but for some reason I will just not forget that the dry cleaners did not sew on the button and did not return it).

Last month, I finallybroke down and purchased an expensive suit in a larger size. I mean I hate to buy clothes in the larger size when my goal is to get back down a few sizes, but a lawyer can only go around wearing clothes that are obviously too small on her for so long. The one bad thing was that there were no belt loops. So I brought them in to have elastic put in.

I dropped off three other pairs of slacks for dry cleaning at the same time, but I saw the kid who was ringing me up put a note on the pair to be altered. (I had the impression that the kid was Joe's son and not too happy to have to work there, but I digress). When I got my suits back from the cleaners, I noticed that the waist felt funny in another pair--as though there was elastic in them the same size as the waist band. This was a pair of slacks that had belt loops, so I had never asked for elastic to be put into them. Then I found that there was no elastic in the pair that I had paid to have altered. So I went in and I explained this all to the girl that works there (Joe was out). The funny thing was, she never apoligized. She said that can't be--we write down all the alterations. So I told her about the other pair that I hadn't asked to be altered that seemed to now have elastic in them. She'll check it out she said very seriously. I got the impression that the gal working in alterations was going to be called to task and I tried to explain--I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding. I left the pants to be altered and I left three other pair for dry cleaning. The girl had the slacks to be altered in her hands the entire time I was there.

Joe called me that night at home and left a message that it was very important that I call him back right away. So when I got home, I called. He told me that I made a mistake and told them the wrong slacks to alter. No apology. I was absolutely dumbfounded that Joe was calling me stupid. I explained that the elastic went into a pair of slacks that had belt loops--why would I get elastic in a pair of slacks that had belt loops. He basically said--we don't make mistakes, so it must be your fault. I don't think I said anything horrible--I think I was too surprised.

A few days later I picked up my dry cleaning. Joe and I were very formal with each other--I paid and I left. A few days after that I went to wear one of the other slacks that I had had dry cleaned--a smaller size pair with no beltloops. There was elastic all around the waist!!! They are already too small. I had nothing else to wear (I needed to save my good suit for a court appearance in a few days). They were ruined and I went a little crazy. I called 411 for the number and I damned the cost and allowed the operator to put the call through (because of course I didn't have a pen out to write down the number and I was just too upset to actually remember the number). Joe answered and I explained that I was very upset and I explained that my other slacks were ruined and he sounded exasperated at my stupidity. I yelled "do you hate me?" and he responded that he's treated me with nothing but respect the entire time he's known me. I know I'm crazy and all, but it sounded as thought he were saying even though I didn't deserve to be treated with respect. What???

And of course, why do I even care is the real question. I wanted to write him a letter and apoligize (because let's face it those pants were too small before there was any elastic, but I just didn't want to see it). Luckily that feeling has passed. Now comes the really hard part--finding a new dry cleaners. They are so expensive. It almost seems easier to quit my job and work some place that doesn't require a wardrobe that needs to be dry cleaned. Almost.