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Amy
I would love to make this long story short, but I don’t want to lose anything in translation, so here goes. It gives you something to do this rainy Wednesday. And it’s not a gripe, although it starts like one. Most of you know about my commitment to Coach bags & accessories. Buy quality, so you don’t have to buy more, is my motto. (Not that that has stopped me from having one….or two…in every color.) Well, I was over at Belk before Christmas & saw this beautiful Fossil bag & matching wallet. It favored Coach, which is probably what drew me in the first place. I have been adamant against Fossil for several years when I had to take back a watch that broke within a week, I had paid cash, but they had to have an inordinate amount of information, such as where I worked & a phone number there. I told them this was an invasion of privacy. I mean, what did it matter? Give me my MONEY back for your crummy product! I got over it, until someone from corporate ACTUALLY CALLED ME AT WORK to talk about it. Wth?! Are they stupid? So I vowed then to never buy anything from them ever again. That lasted about fifteen years. I sorta know how to hold a grudge. Well, technically, I STILL haven’t bought anything, Johnny did. He got me the bag &…
You know how statistics show the best marriages have no secrets? Well, that’s bull. Because if Johnny had just walked in on me in the bathroom in the last fifteen minutes, he would have run for the hills. And not the ones behind the house. The ones in like, Canada. I’ve been subscribed to Ipsy for a year now. They send out these flashy little packages once a month called “Glam Bags” filled with travel sizes of new cosmetics, face care products, & most recently, an eyelash curler. Anyway, I’m not much of a girly girl & all this crap has been piling up under the counter. I decided to put some of it to use tonight. Namely, an exfoliating mask. Harmless enough. I’ve used them before. They’re kinda fun because your face tingles. I pull off the safety seal & squirt some on my index finger to apply. It looks like mud, which is typical. I begin applying it in a circular motion like the directions indicated. It has the consistency of sand. You know, gritty. Then there’s this glob of…stuff that suddenly appears on my chin. By glob I mean something that resembles spinach. I poke at it. Feels like spinach, too. Hmm. I pluck it off, thinking it just didn’t get ground down in the manufacturing process. Then there’s more. And more. It’…
If you’re southern, and you call around hunting a product, it goes something like this: “Such-and-such store, this is Do-Lollie, could I hep ye?” “Good mornin’, it’s Amy at the Co-op, how you doin’?” (nevermind I’ve never met or talked to this person prior) “Good mornin’, Amy, I’m doin’ alright, other’n this rain, it always makes my hip hurt. How are YEW?” “Oh, I’m alright. If I’s a pig, I’d be enjoyin’ this mud a little more.” A chortle. “I heard that. What can I do fer ye?” “Well, I’s wonderin’ if Bryan was in?” “Yeah, hang on jest a minute & I’ll git ‘im fer ye.” “Thank you!” “Mm-hmm. You have a good day.” “Hey, you too!” With that, I am placed on hold. {I can imagine the hollerin’ to the back of the store “Bryan! Line one! It’s Amy!” “Huh?” “Line ONE!” “Ok.”} “This is Bryan, could I hep ye?” “Good mornin’ Bryan, how are ye?” “Well, I ain’t talked to you in a coons age! You doin’ alright?” “Yeah, how ’bout you…
For years, I mistakingly believed that “working a double” meant twelve hours. This naïve opinion stemmed from my early retail experience in Pigeon Forge, where the stores were open 9-9. So if I worked open to close, that was “a double”. When I went to work for 911 dispatch, I learned that was not the case. While 12 hours of demanding tourists is enough to kill anybody, it barely holds a flame to spending 16 hours in a 20×20 room with three people tethered to three computers each and a radio system the size of a refrigerator. You don’t get a 30 minute lunch break reprieve in another room, you eat right there at your console with your headset attached. You can go to the bathroom, but you better make it snappy. And that’s the 8 hour days. You don’t work sixteens every day, just the days when weather catches you & your coworkers unaware. Because if you knew a big snowstorm was coming and you didn’t think you could get back, then the county would put you up for the night in some luxury accommodations–the Landmark Inn. It wasn’t the Four Seasons, but it was close to work. And if you got stuck at home, well, the Rescue Squad would be sent to retrieve you. IF they got time, that is. The county has a limited few that are…
I’m downstairs folding laundry when I hear my phone ringing. I dash up here because it was the “not assigned to anyone in particular” ringtone. (Dixie, if you’re wondering). Unknown number. “Hello?” “Yes, this is KFC.” Me: “Okay…” Chick: “In Lenoir City….” Me: “Yes?” Thinking maybe I’ve won lunch for ten or something exciting. Maybe a cruise! Never mind I have never set foot in the KFC in Lenoir city. This is just how my mind works. Chick: “We just got your message about the missing chicken in your bag…” Me, disappointed: “Oh, you have the wrong number. I had Chick-fil-a today.” She abruptly hung up. Now I’m wondering if she thinks she had the right number & I pranked her. But I really DID have chick-fil-a. The number 7…
If you have plans to read My Sisters Keeper, don’t read this. I mean it. I don’t want to ruin an awesome book for you. Move along. …………………………………………………………………… …………………………………………………………………… Ok. I think they’re gone. You know a book is going to be pretty darn good if it’s made into a movie. But I wasn’t expecting much, because I’m not always a fan of the trendy books. Take Twilight, for instance. Well, maybe that’s a little young adult for me. Alright, 50 Shades. Gag me. If there had been some semblance of a plot, perhaps I could have gotten on board. But it was trash, plain & simple. And reading the synopsis on the back cover of this one, I wasn’t convinced that it would be entertaining or worth my time. But I’ve read several of Jodi Picoult’s other novels & enjoyed them, so I dove in. I was totally engrossed within twenty pages. I was reading excerpts to everyone & telling them what all was happening. I lugged it to work & the people who really know me watched my…
“Did I ever tell you about my friend who wouldn’t eat the ends of hot dog weenies?” Tuletta says to me this morning. I snicker. “No, I don’t think so.” “Well, she wouldn’t. She’d cut ’em off. You know, the ends where they’re pinched up?” “Yes. Weird.” “Said they were poison.”… I’m laughing heartily. People are peculiar. “Every time I go in the bathroom & there’s just a little bit of toilet paper left on the roll, I think of that. Poison.” “People are lazy,” I concur. “Tuletta, you’re the one who needs to write the book.”…
This morning felt & looked like January in East Tennessee. What I mean is, it wasn’t super-frigid-freeze-your-fingers-off, but there was a heavy frost. As I drove to work, I took the time to admire all the ice crystals glimmering in the pasture fields & birds sitting close on power lines. There were cattle gathered at gates waiting for their breakfast to be brought around by the bundled up farmer on his tractor. As I drove through hollers, smoke generated by woodstoves & fi…replaces lay low to the ground. There was a stillness to be envied by all those in cities rushing around, too busy to look up (and probably nothing to look at but buildings anyway). I couldn’t help but smile as I looked at the mountain ridge & thinking, “I’ve hiked that…I will hike it again soon.” So you’re probably thinking I crashed ol Patsy into one of those beautiful bare branched trees, but no. I pull into the parking lot & I get a whiff of polecat. I speed around the building, hoping it won’t get stuck in my truck all day. The smell just gets stronger. I hurriedly open my door & bail out gagging. Skunks. Now, that’s life in the mountains…
This morning felt & looked like January in East Tennessee. What I mean is, it wasn’t super-frigid-freeze-your-fingers-off, but there was a heavy frost. As I drove to work, I took the time to admire all the ice crystals glimmering in the pasture fields & birds sitting close on power lines. There were cattle gathered at gates waiting for their breakfast to be brought around by the bundled up farmer on his tractor. As I drove through hollers, smoke generated by woodstoves & fireplaces lay low to the ground. There was a stillness to be envied by all those in cities rushing around, too busy to look up (and probably nothing to look at but buildings anyway). I couldn’t help but smile as I looked at the mountain ridge & thinking, “I’ve hiked that…I will hike it again soon.” So you’re probably thinking I crashed ol Patsy into one of those beautiful bare branched trees, but no. I pull into the parking lot & I get a whiff of polecat. I speed around the building, hoping it won’t get stuck in my truck all day. The smell just gets stronger. I hurriedly open my door & bail out gagging. Skunks. Now, that’s life in the mountains…
Friday’s a good a time as any to go on a rant, isn’t it? So, last night, we’re sitting there watching the news. And here comes this “Heartwarming Story” about a girl & her prom dress. The girl featured was trying to sell her prom dress for one reason or another. It was really stunning, this brilliant purple number with loads of sparkles & yards of tulle. She said she felt like a princess in it. She put it on one of those Facebook yard sale sites & she got two men making fun of how big it is (size 29). The comments were ugly, but several other people came to her rescue, fighting back & defending the young girl. Here’s my piece: It would be great if we lived in a world where no one said anything hurtful, ever. But we don’t. Bullying has been around since kids began playing together. In farm animals, it’s called “establishing pecking order”. The weakest are at the bottom, the first ones to fall prey to predators. Somebody always has something to say. I’ve been tormented since a young age for a variety of reasons: my hair, my teeth, my glasses, my overall nerdiness. People are cruel. It doesn’t get better with age. Teenagers will make fun of you for your clothes, your acne, your vehicle. Even your taste in music. Then the…
