Sometimes she starts running and goes too fast to maintain control of her giant head, tipping over into the ground, or the wall, or a table- kind of like she is blackout drunk. It is pretty humorous when it happens, especially because she rarely gets hurt. She does always cry out of embarrassment though.
A few weeks ago she finally managed to get in to her kid-sized Toy Story chair all by herself, a major accomplishment considering her track record, but today at the park she upped the ante, pulling off some stunts that completely shocked me. I don't know if the chair gave her a lot of confidence or if she has just become really brave lately but today she decided that she was going to climb up all of the playground stairs by herself. All the way to the top of the slide. Normally she wouldn't be able to do this without holding my hand and would probably give up and make me carry her. Today, though, she climbed up the first step on her hands and knees and just kept going like she has been doing it her whole life. I was impressed. Later she impressed me again when she climbed on and walked across one of those wooden playground bridges. She didn't even lose her balance when I stepped on it behind her to make sure she didn't fall. It may not sound like much on the surface, but given her clumsy past I was pretty impressed.
So far my week at home with the baby is going much better than Monica's week at school. While she is saddled with a 9-hour day and tons of homework I am having a blast playing and talking to Av. It is amazing how different she is after just three or four weeks of not watching her. She talks so much more and, I hate to admit this, but she is a hell of a lot more fun than she was in the spring. From about February to June she was pretty much a fresh whiny brat, but now that she can communicate what she wants a little bit better and doesn't seem to have any random emotional breakdowns she is much easier to get along with. I am told that this is the calm before the storm, though. From what I hear once she hits 2-years-old it is all over until she is like 25. Sigh.
You might see me on the news
Nice note, no? Well, like I said, he picked the wrong day to send it. Here is my response.As many of you know, I am a pretty neurotic person. There are so many strange, nonsensical things that make me stressed or anxious and I have so many quirks and compulsive habits it is a wonder that I haven't been locked up. Or at least that is what my mom, girlfriend and most of my friends tell me. To me I am just leading a normal life but, whatever. For example, I have most recently been called neurotic because I am constantly in fear of getting fired from my job. I don't necessarily do anything wrong, but it is a restaurant and sometimes people at restaurants just get fired for no reason. Not to mention, as I have vented about here before, we get those bullshit secret shoppers that judge us and I just know one of them is going to screw me one day. Paranoid? Yes. Nonsensical? Of course. But you know what? It could happen. Sometimes if I have like three or four days off in a row I will go to work and pretend to check my schedule just to see if the managers have anything to say to me. Sure, it's crazy but it gets me through to the next shift.
Anyway, as a result of the stress and anxiety that comes from this I have tendency to be kind of a loose cannon. I get frustrated easily and as a result, very angry very quickly, often times without warning even to myself. I used to be much worse, especially in college when the stress of classes and not having any money combined with that whole 'becoming an adult' thing earned me the affectionate nickname 'Angry Dan.' When I worked at the newspaper my fellow reporters used to make fun of me for how angry I would get after talking to certain people on the phone. You want to talk about stress? Try writing three stories a day that appear in a newspaper, with your name on the top and phone extension on the next page. No matter what I wrote it was guaranteed that I was coming in the next morning to six voicemails. Usually there was one or two for every story. No one is every happy with what you wrote, no matter how accurate it is. In fact, the calls increase with the accuracy, because when the story is true people go in to all out denial mode. So, as a result that poor old Nortel phone got slammed down many a time and that poor, defenseless back door was kicked open about once a day. God am I glad I don't work there any more.
(As an aside to that, the worst days were always the days that the TV listing was moved, or the once in a million day when the crossword puzzle is accidentally left out of the paper. Those are the days you don't even answer your phone because you know it is going to be a delusional old lady on the other end screaming "WHERE IS THE TV LISTING?! WHY DID YOU MOVE THE TV LISTINGS?" "Ugh, lady, I don't know. I did it just to fuck with you" SLAM.)
Since Av was born I have kept my outbursts and anger to a minimum. She has helped me keep things in perspective and I am careful not to get mad about anything when she is around. Still, though, there are some things that just sour my mood and, unfortunately, there is usually someone at the other end of the phone that feels my wrath. I have been known to lose my patience with large corporations like Ticketmaster or Comcast in the past (always for good reason, mind you, like when Ticketmaster mailed my tickets to the wrong address and tried to charge me $17 to fix it, or when Comcast sent me a promotional offer and then raised my cable bill $10 after I signed up for it because I wasn't a 'new' customer). I am sure I am flagged in many a call center data base, and frankly, I don't care, I am sick of getting screwed over by every corporation that I have to deal with. (T-Mobile, I'm looking at you.)
The latest victim of my wrath is a very nice African American musician named Lamar McLaughlin. Lamar, who plays piano and drums, supports his career by selling cars at Commonwealth Motors in Lawrence. He is the nice gentleman who sold me my 2007 Chevy Impala. Well, since he has sold me said Impala almost one year ago I have had a number of problems with it. One of the rear door handles is coming off, I had to have my transmission flushed, I had to have the trunk latch adjusted about a week after I bought the car and, most recently, my check engine light has come on effectively preventing me from getting an inspection sticker. I have taken the car to my guy at Midas three times. The first time he ran the code and determined that the Co2 leak that the car said I had was not there. He inspected my entire fuel system. No leak. Still, the light kept coming back on. Once the light was reset for a third time it finally stayed off. I took my car back, he hooked it up to the emissions machine. Fail. Still says I have a leak. So, I have no leak, the light isn't on, but it won't pass inspection. Cool.
Unfortunately for Lamar, he happened to send me the following email the very same day that the Midas mechanic told me I'd have to drop my car for the day so they can run smoke through my gas tank and try to detect a microscopic leak that the more traditional tests may have missed. Something that will no doubt cost me more in labor alone than I make in a week. Here is what Lamar's note said.
Dear Daniel,
Anyway, as a result of the stress and anxiety that comes from this I have tendency to be kind of a loose cannon. I get frustrated easily and as a result, very angry very quickly, often times without warning even to myself. I used to be much worse, especially in college when the stress of classes and not having any money combined with that whole 'becoming an adult' thing earned me the affectionate nickname 'Angry Dan.' When I worked at the newspaper my fellow reporters used to make fun of me for how angry I would get after talking to certain people on the phone. You want to talk about stress? Try writing three stories a day that appear in a newspaper, with your name on the top and phone extension on the next page. No matter what I wrote it was guaranteed that I was coming in the next morning to six voicemails. Usually there was one or two for every story. No one is every happy with what you wrote, no matter how accurate it is. In fact, the calls increase with the accuracy, because when the story is true people go in to all out denial mode. So, as a result that poor old Nortel phone got slammed down many a time and that poor, defenseless back door was kicked open about once a day. God am I glad I don't work there any more.
(As an aside to that, the worst days were always the days that the TV listing was moved, or the once in a million day when the crossword puzzle is accidentally left out of the paper. Those are the days you don't even answer your phone because you know it is going to be a delusional old lady on the other end screaming "WHERE IS THE TV LISTING?! WHY DID YOU MOVE THE TV LISTINGS?" "Ugh, lady, I don't know. I did it just to fuck with you" SLAM.)
Since Av was born I have kept my outbursts and anger to a minimum. She has helped me keep things in perspective and I am careful not to get mad about anything when she is around. Still, though, there are some things that just sour my mood and, unfortunately, there is usually someone at the other end of the phone that feels my wrath. I have been known to lose my patience with large corporations like Ticketmaster or Comcast in the past (always for good reason, mind you, like when Ticketmaster mailed my tickets to the wrong address and tried to charge me $17 to fix it, or when Comcast sent me a promotional offer and then raised my cable bill $10 after I signed up for it because I wasn't a 'new' customer). I am sure I am flagged in many a call center data base, and frankly, I don't care, I am sick of getting screwed over by every corporation that I have to deal with. (T-Mobile, I'm looking at you.)
The latest victim of my wrath is a very nice African American musician named Lamar McLaughlin. Lamar, who plays piano and drums, supports his career by selling cars at Commonwealth Motors in Lawrence. He is the nice gentleman who sold me my 2007 Chevy Impala. Well, since he has sold me said Impala almost one year ago I have had a number of problems with it. One of the rear door handles is coming off, I had to have my transmission flushed, I had to have the trunk latch adjusted about a week after I bought the car and, most recently, my check engine light has come on effectively preventing me from getting an inspection sticker. I have taken the car to my guy at Midas three times. The first time he ran the code and determined that the Co2 leak that the car said I had was not there. He inspected my entire fuel system. No leak. Still, the light kept coming back on. Once the light was reset for a third time it finally stayed off. I took my car back, he hooked it up to the emissions machine. Fail. Still says I have a leak. So, I have no leak, the light isn't on, but it won't pass inspection. Cool.
Unfortunately for Lamar, he happened to send me the following email the very same day that the Midas mechanic told me I'd have to drop my car for the day so they can run smoke through my gas tank and try to detect a microscopic leak that the more traditional tests may have missed. Something that will no doubt cost me more in labor alone than I make in a week. Here is what Lamar's note said.
Dear Daniel,
Can you believe it has been a full year since you purchased your Chevrolet Impala? I hope this year has been a good one for you. Please remember that at our dealership your satisfaction is our number one priority.
If there is anything I can do to make your experience here more pleasant, please do not hesitate to let me know.
Kind regards,
Lamar McLaughlin
Lamar,
It feels like it has been so much longer than a year since I bought my 2007 Chevrolet Impala. Mostly because I spent so much of that year in the waiting room at Midas. I do like that my satisfaction is your number one priority. Perhaps you can satisfy me by explaining how in less than a year I have spent hundreds of dollars on this car in repairs. Or why the door handle fell off, or the trunk latch broke just weeks after I bought it. Also, I could use an explanation as to why I have had to put my car in the shop three times this month just to get it to pass inspection, which it still hasn't done. If my satisfaction is your priority you shouldn't have sold me this piece of shit car. Good luck getting me to set foot on your crooked lot again. Thanks though.
Good luck screwing over your next customer,
Dan
Yeah. I woke up this morning, two days after I sent that note (which he obviously never responded to) and my radio was broken. Luckily for Lamar, it was just a loose fuse. If it wasn't, he may have seen some retro Angry Dan- in person.
And I thought I could drink
I am not the type of person who is going to shay away from, or not own up to the things that I did in college. Most notably, a copious amount of drinking. In that time I tried everything from keg stands to beer funnels to power hours. I like to think I am a fairly well-versed binge drinker. I also like to think that those days are behind me, for the most part. That is I liked to think that before last weekend when I was thrust back in to the drinking game and pretty much put under the table by a bunch of old people. I'll explain.
Monica and I were lucky enough to find a babysitter last Saturday night so that we could attend her uncle's 50th birthday party. The day was great, the setting was beautiful- on the beach in Hull- and the food was excellent. Surprisingly though, one of the activities at the party was an ice luge. For those of you who do not know, an ice luge is a drinking device designed to propel super-cold liquor in to your mouth at a high rate of speed. Kind of like a ski slope. I have seen one at college parties but never used it as I prefer to drink beer. Imagine my shock when I found out that there would be one at this party where Monica and I, well past college age, were the two youngest people in attendance.
The both of us had scoffed at the luge for most of the party and had no intention of even attempting it, saying over and over that we were 'too old' for that sort of thing. Apparently, though, that was not a good argument. As couple after couple of aunts, uncles and cousins stepped up to the luge we were slowly put to shame and the final dagger came when Monica's grandparents, well in to their 70's, stepped up to the luge and downed about three shots each- of whiskey- with no problem. This pretty much sealed our fate and we were forced to do it, and I am embarrassed to say that the over 70 crowd made us look really, really bad. This makes my family sneaking beers in to the nursing home look like snack time at a preschool.
As proof of this story here is a picture of an old guy named Ed taking a solo luge. This guy was up there like four times. Unreal. I can't wait until Av is like 17 and she sees the pictures of her parents, grandparents and great grandparents all at the bottom of an ice luge. Yeah, that teenage drinking lesson may not go so well.
Monica and I were lucky enough to find a babysitter last Saturday night so that we could attend her uncle's 50th birthday party. The day was great, the setting was beautiful- on the beach in Hull- and the food was excellent. Surprisingly though, one of the activities at the party was an ice luge. For those of you who do not know, an ice luge is a drinking device designed to propel super-cold liquor in to your mouth at a high rate of speed. Kind of like a ski slope. I have seen one at college parties but never used it as I prefer to drink beer. Imagine my shock when I found out that there would be one at this party where Monica and I, well past college age, were the two youngest people in attendance.
The both of us had scoffed at the luge for most of the party and had no intention of even attempting it, saying over and over that we were 'too old' for that sort of thing. Apparently, though, that was not a good argument. As couple after couple of aunts, uncles and cousins stepped up to the luge we were slowly put to shame and the final dagger came when Monica's grandparents, well in to their 70's, stepped up to the luge and downed about three shots each- of whiskey- with no problem. This pretty much sealed our fate and we were forced to do it, and I am embarrassed to say that the over 70 crowd made us look really, really bad. This makes my family sneaking beers in to the nursing home look like snack time at a preschool.
As proof of this story here is a picture of an old guy named Ed taking a solo luge. This guy was up there like four times. Unreal. I can't wait until Av is like 17 and she sees the pictures of her parents, grandparents and great grandparents all at the bottom of an ice luge. Yeah, that teenage drinking lesson may not go so well.
No comments:
Post a Comment