Chatty Dry-Cleaners in 'What the Hell??!!'-Wednesdays

There are too many times in one's life when one feels the need to say, 'What the hell??!!'

I will keep it sugar-coated the rest of the week, but on Wednesdays I will let it all out. You know how you feel bloated after eating beans, or something milk-based if you are lactose intolerant, and you HAVE to fart to feel good. And it feels sooo good once you do. On Wednesdays, dear readers, I will fart. Or burp. Whatever helps.

I go to these dry-cleaners that are nameless. They are the $1.75 Dry-cleaners. That's all they have up on their window and on their receipts. They do a decent job dry-cleaning, so I don't really care that they don't have a name. They are located pretty close to where we live, and I have yet to find any other dry-cleaners in my area, charging just $1.75 per item of clothing (certain restrictions apply). So I go there pretty often.

On one of the registers at the nameless Dry-cleaners, though, is a guy. This guy likes to chat. I don't. When I am running errands, the girls are either with me pulling at my leg, asking/crying/demanding to buy them candy from the candy machine that the nameless dry-cleaners have mindlessly installed at the entrance. Or, I have left the girls at home with Hubby, who keeps calling every minute to ask me when I will be coming home and telling me how one or the other or both girls are crying for Mama.

I'm not in a chatty mood in either cases.

I want to do exactly what I went into that nameless place for. Drop off and pick up. Nothing more, nothing less.

That guy has other plans. Every. Freaking. Time.

On this particular day, I was dressed up to go somewhere, and we wanted to pick up the dry-cleaning on the way. Hubby and the girls waited in the car, while I went in.

Damn it, he's there even at this time.

I waited in line and prayed that I would end up at a register other than his.

The line moved.

Next.

Next.

Next.

Damn it! My turn to go. His register open.

I go and before I can tell him my phone number, he says my last name.

Yes, that's right.

I do go there practically every day, so I guess I should not worry about him recognizing me AND my name. And being able to put those two together. I shouldn't, right? I did freak out just a little bit, though.

I looked at the shirts, jackets, dresses, trousers wrapped up in plastic moving on that moving machine dry-cleaners have. I think its pretty cool. I wish I had one of those at home, to move things around.

Are you married?

Did he just ask me if I was married? Does he not see this rock I wear on my left hand? Or is he trying to tell me its too small for him to see? Well you want me to shove my finger in front of your face for you to see better, nameless dry-cleaner guy?!! I can shove a different finger too, that's right next to my ring finger, if you want. No, really you want me to do that??!

Yeah.

I waited for the moving machine to bring my Hubby's clothes. Can it move ANY slower? Jeez.

You look good.

I looked at him. I wanted to punch him right in the middle of his two eyes. Do I thank him, or do I tell him to F off? I should show him the finger now, right?

Thanks, is what I said.

Is that how you get dressed when you get married?

Can you SEE that I am trying here not to punch you? Can you SEE that I am in no mood to carry on this freaking conversation with you? Can you . . . wait a minute. WHAT?

I'm pretty sure I just looked at him with my mouth a little open, and a frown on my face.

Is that how you get dressed when you get married? Everyone does it differently.

Now I don't know where the hell he is from. I don't know where the hell he thinks I am from. But I did not look like I was going to my own wedding. I did look better than I do on most days. But I would look better than I do on most days even if I brushed my hair regularly. And take some time to take the crud out of my eyes. Okay that's an exaggeration. But I did not look like I was dressed for my own wedding. Already wearing my wedding band. And didn't he just ask me if I was married?

The moving machine stopped. It stopped, oh it stopped. I could jump in joy right then and there. He handed me the clothes. I snatched'em away. I wanted to get out of that nameless place.

Thanks, I said again. Because I'm a good person who does not punch people even when she wants to, that is why.

Best of luck with your wedding!

I ran out clutching on to my Hubby's dry-cleaned clothes, realizing he had not asked me if I was married in the first place. He had asked me if I was getting married. To which I had said, 'Yes'.

That cleared the confusion a bit. But still my perception of that creepy moron at that nameless Dry-cleaners remains the same.

And yesterday, he winked at me. I took my eyes off of the moving machine for a second to look at him, because I could feel him staring at me, and he winked at me.

What.The. Hell??!!

For more 'What the Hell??!!' - Wednesdays, check out:

http://mom-i-am.blogspot.com/2009/08/what-hell-wednesdays_28.html

and

http://mom-i-am.blogspot.com/2009/08/what-hell-wednesdays.html

'What the Hell??!!'-Wednesdays

There are too many times in one's life when one feels the need to say, 'What the hell??!!'

I will keep it sugar-coated the rest of the week, but on Wednesdays I will let it all out. You know how you feel bloated after eating beans, or something milk-based if you are lactose intolerant, and you HAVE to fart to feel good. And once you do, it feels sooo good. On Wednesdays, dear readers, I will fart. Or burp. Whatever helps.


Have you ever seen what you make your kids watch on TV? Some of it is CRAP. Yes it is.

Take for instance an episode of Dora the Explorer. Yes, that little girl that is never home, going around the world with no adult supervision, on random adventures.

Baby Jaguar, who is Dora's cousin Diego's friend, (since we cannot call him his pet, God that would be so wrong) is hanging from a branch of a tree, and is about to fall into some thorns or something prickly and scary. Two other friends of Dora's are in trouble too at the same time on different locations. So ofcourse Dora and Boots (Dora's friend monkey) try to decide for what seems like a good half hour, which friend to help first.

Baby Jaguar is the lucky one to be picked first, and off they go. Now you would expect they would hurry the hell up, since the poor jaguar baby is hanging for his dear life, calling for help. But first Dora has to find a short cut.

And who do we ask for help when we don't know which way to go?

The map!

Now the silly song plays for a good five minutes, while Baby Jag is dangling in air.

I'm the map, I'm map. Okay yes we know, can you hurry it up please. You stupid son-of-a ... map.

They find a short cut, and are on it. Finally they reach the tree, but do they save the freaking, hanging jaguar? No.

They have to play games even at this crucial point in Baby Jag's life. Freaking arrange the pictures in the right order game.

Which picture comes first? Take the ladder out of the backpack. Give the ladder to Baby Jaguar. Or Baby Jaguar giving us a hug?

Take the ladder out of the freaking backpack. Take. It. Out. TAKE IT OUT NOW.

By this time, I am sitting at the edge of the seat, biting my nails, cursing out loud. Finally Baby Jaguar is safe. If I were him, I would have eaten both Dora and Boots right after their charade of a saving mission was accomplished.

I mean, what the hell??!!

Then there are Max and Ruby. Max is the most annoying kid you would ever come across. No, really. If you think your kid is annoying, or that a kid at a certain playdate was annoying, you have not seen Max. He communicates in words rather than sentences, repeats the same word all day long, and does not listen to anything his sister tells him to do. Yes I said sister. Because I have never seen their parents. Never.

Ruby the big sister, who keep in mind still sells girl scout cookies, takes care of Max. She feeds him, takes him for playdates, cleans up the house, does all the gardening, even changes his jammies a hundred times to puts him to bed. Without ever yelling at him. She talks in that honey-drenched tone that makes you want to punch her in the face. She is better than a lot of us Moms. And that is what makes her annoying.

How is it not child labor, I fail to understand. I mean where the hell are their parents??!!

Dimples loves Max and Ruby, but after I noticed that she had adopted Max's one-word language, I told her she is not dealing with no silly Ruby here. If Max was my kid, that one-word lingo would not have stayed for long. That kid would have gotten his ass whooped. But thankfully, Dimples understood. And no ass whooping took place.

And what the hell is up with Tigger and Pooh? I think both sound like pedophiles. Eww.

'What the Hell??!!' - Wednesdays

There are too many times in one's life when one feels the need to say, 'What the hell??!!'

These moments don't necessarily happen on Wednesdays, they can happen anytime, anywhere. But since there seems to be a popular trend in keeping the title of a category to rhyme OR sound similar to OR start with the same letter as that of the day its posted, (Foto Friday, Wordless Wednesdays, Sunday Shout-outs, etc.) I thought I would be doing the trendy thing, by writing about these 'What the Hell??!!' situations on Wednesdays.

So, I don't hold any particular grudge against the day Wednesday. It just happens to start with the letter W. Sucker.

I will keep it sugar-coated the rest of the week, but on Wednesdays I will let it all out. You know how you feel bloated after eating beans, or something milk-based if you are lactose intolerant, and you HAVE to fart to feel good. And once you do, it feels sooo good. On Wednesdays, dear readers, I will fart. Or burp. Whatever helps.

So, this past Monday as I am visiting some of your blogs, and my kids are happily watching some crap on TV, and I have the living room blinds and windows open to let the kids see the beautiful day outside (keep in mind, I had no intentions of actually taking them outside. So like a bad Mom I was just tempting them), I hear voices too close to my windows for my comfort. Two big guys discussed drilling, banging and making my afternoon a nightmare for that day. They used different words, but all we care about is what they meant.

I closed the windows, pulled down the blinds. I did not want some strangers looking into my living room, and complaining about me to the AAP about how much TV I let my kids watch.

I thought that would make bad things go away. But I was naive.

After I put my 18-month old, coughing, sneezing Giggles down for her afternoon nap in the girls' bedroom upstairs, and take 4-year old Dimples in my bedroom upstairs so she does not wake little sister up, I see shadows outside my bedroom blinds. What the hell??!! How am I supposed to put a kid to sleep with two big guys hovering outside my window? Has anyone met a 4-year old recently?

'Who are those guys, Mama?'

'What are they doing there?'

'How did they get there?'

'Did they use a ladder?'

'Can they see us?'

And the creepy thing is, they probably could.

So, there goes naptime for one kid. And as if that wasn't enough, they start drilling and banging and pulling off the walls for all I could tell by the noise. A sick kid sleeping in the next room, hello!! I mean, what the hell??!! Seriously.

After a few failed attempts of trying to get Dimples to forget about the HUGE guys playing rock-climbing (for all I knew, since I did NOT get any notice from the community management about any kind of drilling and banging needed on my windows) and to ignore the LOUD noise all that drilling and banging made, I gave up. And went and grabbed my phone. No not to call anyone.To make a video of the huge guys playing peekaboo with us through my blinds.

Yeah. Let them know how it feels to have one's privacy intruded. As one of them sorta, kinda peeped inside, and caught a glimpse of me aiming the phone at them, I could almost hear him say, 'What the hell??!!'

Maybe I will share the video clip on an upcoming 'What the Hell??!!'-Wednesday. Because right now I don't know what the hell is wrong with my phone's downloading capabilities.