K-Mart is Hell

12/4/2008 – 11:18 pm | by Mary

A few months ago, I thought I was going to get all creative and hang some curtains in the boy’s room. I bought the curtains and curtain rod but once I got both home, I couldn’t find R’s drill.

Then, I found the drill but couldn’t find the charger. After I finally found the charger, I couldn’t find the “safe place” I stuck the drill. That’s when I got really irritated, threw the curtain rod in the laundry room and hung the curtains over the kid’s blinds and called it a day. I know, classy.

Actually, if you were to see the boy’s room your eye wouldn’t even be drawn to the haphazardly hung drapes but the other CRAP he has laying all over the place.

Here’s where we dance on that fine line in parenting where you recall what a pig sty YOUR teen room was but yet find yourself yelling at your offspring to clean their room, already!

Maybe that’s just me. It’s probably also only me who’s parents were so fed up with her (er, my) mess that they had my older sister (like I have any younger siblings - I AM the youngest, isn’t it obvious??) lure me out of the house for a day of shopping so they could gather up my CRAP into garbage bags and throw it all out.

Oh yes, they did. Issues of Bop!, Star Hits, a Winger cassette tape, a lone shoulder pad, a used up bottle of Giorgio, ripped out pages from People magazine of Alec Baldwin (LOVED him), a Bon Jovi tour poster - gone, gone, gone to the ages.

At the time, I was SO offended and got really teenager on my family that day. Lashed out at my mom, my dad, my sister for her foray into the darkside. How dare she align herself with the parents’ evil plot! But, now? I GET IT.

But this isn’t about my teen years. This is about my own foray into another darkside: K-Mart.

I forgot to buy cat food last night at the grocery store, even though that’s WHY I stopped at the damn grocery store to begin with. Today, after many pissed off looks from the cats, I figured I’d take back the forgotten about curtain rod and buy some cat food with the proceeds.

If I knew then, what I know now… I would have used my squirreled away wine money and bought the damn cat food with CASH.

I get in line at the front desk, a rather long line and wait. And wait. And wait some more. My back is still on the blink and standing in lines is TORTUROUS but I was already there, so I said: Screw it.

I was wearing R’s Navy sweatshirt which has been my cold weather uniform as of late since the teen has stolen every other sweatshirt I own… except for that one… he knows better.

First, we line holders were entertained by a toddler kid taking merchandise and running around by the door sensors, setting them off. The security guard, a little old man who didn’t look like he could secure a line of credit much less an entire department store, kept snatching the kid and yelling: “WHERE IS YOUR MOMMY?”

The kid would run away, laughing until he’d snatch something else to pass by the sensors in order to set them off again. BWA BWA BWA! (That’s not laughing, that’s the alarm - clever, huh?)

That game was fun for him until the automatic doors swung open and banged into the kid but good. He wasn’t really hurt but he started shrieking nonetheless. This once again had the security guard running over and shouting: WHERE IS YOUR MOMMY?

Only then, did the “Mommy” start yelling his name: Alex! Alllllllex! ALEX!

All of the people in line, including me, shook our heads at such lax parenting and then settled back into waiting in the never-ending and UNMOVING line.

All was once again quiet until a few minutes later, an obviously strung out meth head walked by me and goes: “Huh. Nice sweater…”

Now, I’m not opposed to calling sweatshirts “sweaters” but coupled with the unclear meaning was the fact Methie kept walking. I didn’t know if she was talking to me or telling the voice in her head about some fetching Jaclyn Smith offering behind me.

I did the logical thing and ignored her by burying my head in my phone. God bless you, Samsung!

A few minutes later, Methie came up to me again and barks: “So, uh… you don’t see that much around here. So uh… are you, like, in the military or is, like, your husband… or something?”

I was so taken aback that Methie was literally inches from my face and the feeling of being grilled by her that I sorta nod my head and go, “Uh huh… my boyfriend…”

Methie replies by nodding her head vigorously and asks, “So, like, where is he stationed?”

I answer, “San Diego?” like I wasn’t even sure where my own boyfriend is stationed but Methie already lost interest in the conversation and wandered off.

I go back to standing in line, feeling violated, when finally it was my turn at the front desk.

I lay the curtain rod on the counter and the cashier goes to pick it up. This is when I fully understood the meaning of the word “violated” cuz Methie really ain’t got nothing on what was about to transpire…

The cashier “accidentally” thrusts the curtain rod right between my legs (I hope Google search is turned off) and goes, “Oops! Sorry! I could get fired for that!”

I jump back from the protruding ROD and stretch my entire body over to pass her my debit card so she could look up my purchase. I’m sure my face was as red as Rudolph’s nose (Christmas shout-out, heyyyyyy!) and all I could do was pray for this all to be over, quickly.

I ask for the return to be placed on a card because this broke bee doesn’t have time for the money to appear on my debit, 4-5 days from now. Actually, I have all the time in the world but the cats sure would be pissed.

I snatch the card, dash down the pet food aisle and grab a bag of food. I scurry towards the front of the store as fast as I could. I really, really needed to get the F out of K-Mart.

I see a tall, grey haired man looking around suspiciously when he sidles up to me and says, “HEY! We’re having an in-store giveaway today and you can have a chance to win this bracelet!” With that, he lays a kinked up herringbone gold bracelet over my wrist. “Isn’t it PRETTY?”, he exclaims. I eek out, “Uh uh…” and run away.

I flee towards the front lanes, but not before glancing behind me and notice the man was also holding a roll of “admit one” carnival tickets.

Now you and I both know this is some type of scam. What kind of scam is anyone’s guess and while I had every intention of telling someone, anyone of this nutter on the loose in their store, there was the dilemma of… who to tell?

The crotchety tiny security guard who has since abandoned his post at the automatic doors? The bored looking cashier who didn’t utter two words to me during our entire transaction? The Violator at the customer service counter who just got more action than R has in 2 months time?

I paid for the cat food, beat it the hell out of there and race home while shaking the “ick” off me.

I walk into the house and see the cats stalking around, glancing over at me with daggers in their eyes as if to say, “That had better be food in that bag, lady, or else!”

I throw some food in the bowl and say: “You assholes better appreciate this!” And immediately pour myself a glass of wine.

K-Mart? Is hell.

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Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated…

9/23/2008 – 10:00 pm | by Mary

I was under the impression the blog was up for renewal and I didn’t really care to renew it since I hadn’t been writing here much. But Jo renewed it and I need to get Jo a really nice thank you gift. Not that I think I’ll be back full time, because I can’t really say. I know it’s silly to be like: Okay I’m going! Okay I’m back!

And I don’t mean to be like that, trust me. I will say having my sister find my blog again… after that I haven’t really felt like home at this place anymore. I feel I have to watch every word I say and some could say I shouldn’t care, and I want to not care… yet I do.

No amount of telling me I shouldn’t feel that way will help. Only years of years of intense therapy and/or psychosomatic drugs will help with that, I’m afraid.

What I thought I would do is let this place die out, archive all of the years of writing, take a break, and come back in a place I could police a bit more.

I know it sucks to police your own blog but hey, blogging isn’t what it used to be. I’m not comfortable not knowing who visits and is reading anymore.

Things that R used to say to me years ago, when I’d poo-poo him or not listen - are coming back to haunt me now.

And don’t be mad with R over that. R is and has always been a huge support to all of my craziness, including this blog.

He’s a way more private person and it doesn’t sit well with him to share personal information with just anyone.

So what I’m about to share is not in keeping with that and certainly contradicts the feeling I should be more private with my life, and all the happenings it entails. But I have to talk about it, R’s not here and I don’t feel like talking to anyone… so I’ll blog about it.

Do you know the propensity of bloggers who don’t like talking on the phone? Please don’t think I’m singling anyone out, it’s a common theme I hear over and over again. And I’m one of them.

I have to be in the mood to talk on the phone. With anyone. With family, friends… the only exception to that rule is R. I’ll talk to him anywhere, anytime, anyplace.

That’s probably due to the fact that when the calls come in, who knows when he’ll get the chance to call again so I better damn well take the call.

Where was I? Oh.

At the teen’s school. This afternoon. Meeting with his teachers and the guidance counselor. Without over sharing - the kid is not doing so hot.

Not because he skips class, or doesn’t turn in his assignments… He does his assignments, he just doesn’t always turn them in.

The teachers and counselor believe it to be the teen has a perfection complex. He doesn’t think his work is good enough, so he’d rather not turn it in at all.

On some level, I can sit here and blame the dad. For his need for perfection and his never ending pressure on the kid to be perfect at everything he does.

But on the flip side of that, and to attempt to be a responsible parent, I have to understand my role in that as well.

When the kids are born, you want to right all the wrongs in your own life. You want to teach them all of the good things you learned, and to steer them away from the things you don’t like about yourself.

As much as the dad may influence and downright scare M, the fact that M has become so complacent, so uncaring… that’s all me, baby.

The minute I don’t care about something, I’m done. I have always appealed to R during a fight or whatever, to never get me to that point. I can’t come back even if I wanted to.

Granted, these are accelerated classes the teen is taking. Classes I don’t think the kid is equipped or prepared to handle. His first year of high school, football practice every night, it’s too much.

But then, to fight that? Am I wanting less for my child? To give up, go back to regular classes that he’s more comfortable in, to enjoy playing football and the high school experience in general? Am I wanting my kid to “aim low”?

I don’t know.

I told the counselor that I feared if M became ineligible to play, he’d drastically go downhill. The counselor replied M couldn’t really do worse than he already was doing.

But he didn’t hear me. I meant downhill, personally… mentally. Not just caring about homework, not caring about LIFE.

You all that know me, have read this blog, know how I feel about sports. I do not feel that they should be the main focus of M’s academic career.

But to take that away, frankly, scares me. The only time I have ever seen M display any type of confidence, is playing sports.

M’s English teacher said she called on him just yesterday and his fear and nervousness was so palpable that she backed out of the question and smoothed it over to make it easier for him.

That broke my heart to hear that.

As much as the dad has his faults, he has no fear. Sure, no fear of being an asshole, or appearing stupid, or running his mouth to the point I’m inwardly begging: Please. Just stop talking!

I hate that M got this FEAR FACTOR from me. I hate that he feels he’s not good enough. I want to do something, anything to right whatever wrongs I may have done raising him so he wouldn’t feel that. Where to begin? I have no idea.

Well, I have some ideas, courtesy of the guidance counselor. Writing down homework assignments, having his dad and I initial the assignment booklet. Taking a much more active role and attempting to build up his confidence. I hope it works. For him, for me. I can’t lie. I want so much better for him than this. He CAN do better than this.

And just so you know, I can’t end without some snark towards the (fully dressed, for once) step-mom…

She? Never stops talking, either. That’s one thing she and the dad both share: love of themselves.

When the counselor told us, clearly stating M’s mother and father, to initial the assignment book, this bee had the audacity to ask: So, where do we initial?

YOU don’t initial anywhere. I will give her the respect of wanting what’s best for M, I will give her that it has to be extremely difficult to raise a child that is not her own, I will give her the respect I would want the dad to give R - but know your role, sweetheart. Embrace it. Love it. Stepmom - mom, see the difference?

And now, it’s time to know MY role… and to do it much better than I have been. Game on. :) Wish us luck. We need it.

13 Comments | Posted in » General
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