Little Orphan Awesome In the Valley of the Dolls

WTF?

 "While everyone is certainly entitled to their opinion of how you run your life, the bullhorn they've been using does seem a bit much."

The notion that I'm increasingly cranky with age is not lost on me. I'm learning to embrace it and even take delight in it. I'm also noticing that, with each passing day in my current job, I'm increasingly creative when it comes to get-rich-quick schemes. Just about every hair-brained idea to pop into my skull is considered at great length with respect to potential marketability. Let me tell you, this can be vastly entertaining!

Some time back, the trend du jour was "branding" within my company. A consulting firm was promptly hired to fabricate buzz words, design fancy signage and engage the masses with team-building frivilocity. To those few of us with an ounce of common sense, it was a glorious waste of time. Then I happened upon the firm's invoice.........Sweet-mother-of-god........

An idea was born. By George, I would start a sham-seminar business! Lure in unsuspecting fools looking to boost morale with shimmery imagery and nonsensical catch-phrases. Hell, I could do that in my sleep and retire early! Still, it seemed somehow wrong. Unethical or impractical. Sure enough, as the economy rode that Coriolis Effect wave down the toilet, employers no longer gave much a damn about employee morale. It was all about the bottom line and securing golden parachutes for the bottom feeders.

Round two: Opportunity rang the 'ol doorbell in the form of one of those liquor-serving golf-carts... Only, the delicious spin would be in luring borderline alcoholics working in the sprawling business campus on this side of town. No longer would they have to worry about being spotted at the bar abusing the free wireless. They could simply slip out those revolving doors to greet me on my covert little cart of magical wonders. An ice cream truck for lushes! Turns out, you have to have some sort of elaborate, yet sound business plan to procure a liquor license in the first place. Plus the cops around here are no stranger to entrapment.

Naturally I keep abreast of local, national and borderline-black-market lotto and sweepstakes goings on, just to remain well rounded. I also routinely issue stern reminders to Publisher's Clearing House that our friendship is on hold. Still.... just about anything has got to better than this, yes?

So yesterday, as I was lamenting the total lack of interested investors in my frazzled writings it occurred to me that I have opinions. Lots of them. Perhaps thousands. I imagined my talents are most certainly wasted on the likes of my employer as most of the execs are nonplussed to hear my inner-most thoughts. An advice column! That's it! My friend and coworker graciously reminded me I don't generally give out GOOD advice. Hey, I didn't say it was going to be a HELPFUL advice column. Simply an advice column.

You have a problem? I most likely have something to say about it. Seems brilliant enough, no? So far as I can tell, Ann Landers never had any particularly earth-shattering replies for the poor saps who fueled her weekly posts. And look at Andy Rooney! That old grump just yammered angrily at the camera for the better part of his career. I can do that! In fact, I'll see his surliness and raise him some severely derailed trains of thought! BAM! Now, I just need to locate the proper outlet, rant and rave by day and roll about in wads of cash by night. Wait, scratch that last part.... I worked in a bank long enough to recall how bloody filthy cash can be. In lieu of that, I'll print out my bank statements on archive-grade 24lb paper and roll about on that.

You know, I'm pretty damn proud of myself for thinking to write this down. Given my mental issues, I would otherwise be prone to blink and forget all of this. Anyhoo - turns out I'm not just getting more cranky with age, I'm becoming ever more awesome! Just sayin'. *grin*

"Like a moth to a flame, you too will be strongly attracted, despite the nearly certain outcome, to a giant flame this week."

Sadly, no, I'm not basking in a 9am happy hour, but a gal can dream, right? I'm referring to, yet another apocalyptic moth invasion. Seems this year's plague is brought to you by the Miller (or "Owl Moth), which is one of 20,000 moth species in the lepidopteran family Noctuidae. See? Stick around long enough and you might actually learn something from this Kitty. For those of you who were already well aware of this fact, might I add:  No one likes a showoff :). 


Up until yesterday evening, I remained blissfully unaware of the impending doom that is the Moth Decennial Spectacular. Sure, I'd seen a few of the insect-world's-answer-to-pigeons flitting about here and there. I was even willing to look the other way, turn the other cheek or only clobber the ones directly in my way with a few sheets of Bounty. Seems that only served to further aggravate the gods.

It was a random peaceful Monday evening when the phone rang. "I locked my keys in the car, how fast can you get here?" What? Not even a "Hello"? No respect, I tells ya. I meandered casually upstairs (What? I didn't want to trip after guffawing in response to my 'Ol Man's misfortune!) and instructed the kiddos to throw on some slippers for the ride. Naturally they were thrilled to get out of the house for a leisurely jaunt across town... Mostly as they know I'll blare some rad disco music for their listening pleasure. I probably wouldn't have noticed it except that my gut reaction was to use the windshield wipers to clear off all the dust forming on the window....

SWEET MERCIFUL JESUS...........



THOUSANDS OF THEM....



Ricocheting off the windshield by the hundreds as I sped....errr.... considerately observed and obeyed a respectably prudent speed limit down the road. The kids were shrieking and squealing.... further hypothesizing why birds weren't eating them. Why indeed? It was a bloody mess. OK, that's an exaggeration, a DUSTY mess. There's something entirely nauseating about the *POOF* sound those little airborne bodies make upon impact with the car.... leaving little more behind than a splotch of dust. Goo.  At each stoplight, these chaotic creatures were slipping into every nook and cranny of the car ahead. Miniature masterminds of some diabolical scheme to hide out in the vents.... waiting for the prime moment to strike....

A man no less than about 200 years old or so off in the distance, about to embark upon the pedestrian crossing up ahead....

WHAT!?!?!? NOOOOOOO!!!!!!! HAVE THEY NO SOULS????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*** Note from the Author: It really is a wonder I don't get in more accidents the way my train of thought completely derails during routine errands***

Welp, there goes the neighborhood. The Millers have officially arrived.

"This week, envy rears its ugly head, realizes there's nothing enviable about you, blinks a couple times, and goes back to sleep."

You know what I hate? "No, Annie, please tell me." I appreciate your enthusiasm so I'll tell you:  The feeling of being left behind. Scratch that.... No less than TWO STEPS behind (and even that is a rather generous calculation).

This little gem of self pity can be traced back to the 2nd grade. My best friend in the whole wide world at that time was a certain Tracy G. I'm quite convinced I had no true concept of "friendship" back then, but I'll be damned if it wasn't the closest thing to it. We did everything together. This basically meant our parents would begrudgingly agree to one play-date every two months or so and the rest of the time was spent hanging out at recess. Kindred spirits, right? One day she walks in the door and it's clear she'd been crying (Probably not, but that's how I choose to remember it). She tells me her dad has a new job and they'll be moving to Hawaii the following week.

Naturally, I play through the absurd logistics of all of this. After all, my 7 year old self was well aware of the time required to pack, find a new home, ship all one's belongings/animals and get the entire family flown out there. Why, she would have known about this for WEEKS!!!!!! I can recall sobbing whilst babbling incoherently to my mother about the injustice of it all. Some obligatory "there, there"'s were uttered and beyond that, I was advised I'd probably feel better if I went outside and watered the plants (Suspiciously enough, that was my mother's answer for any and all ailments).

It took a good weekend to get over this trauma. Although my, my, those raspberry bushes certainly appreciated the new-found attention!

Miss Tracy G. was the first friend to abandon me, but she would be anything but the last. Sure, there was always a seemingly legitimate excuse behind it, but this knowledge didn't seem to lessen the sting. Even the sudden and thriving jungle in our backyard did little to soothe the grief. I was surely the common-denominator in the equation and I did not like that one bit! (On a side note, I was beginning to question my parents' clear lack of ambition in securing a work relocation.....)

Now that I'm older and wiser... OK, perhaps just older - one can hardly argue that! HA!.... These abandonment issues have webbed off into a full blown subscription. I peer through the humble window in my cave only to watch the world passing me by with little to no regard for leaving me in the dust. The more fear I exhibit towards progression, the more I cling for dear life to familiarity. I can hardly blame those who throw caution to the wind, know what they want and have something to offer.... wait... sure I can! But I won't. It's no one's issue (or subscription) but my own to tackle. And tackle it, I shall.

Today I received a phone call about a job I applied for but found I couldn't afford to accept. It additionally requires a commute I'm afraid to take on. I'm afraid to be that far away from my boys, from my husband... My comfort zone. The gentleman on the other end of the line insists the job was tailored just for me. I'm the only one he can fathom hiring. As I type, he is negotiating my salary. He is additionally working towards compensating the commute. Let me be clear that I do not have a degree or the "normal" skills required for such a position... Yet here is this stranger who will not allow my fears to prevent me from taking that step. Now what's my excuse?

I come up empty.

I wonder what Tracy G. is doing these days? Seems a waste of perfectly usable time pondering such things when that Greyhound bus destined towards my future is idling on my doorstep, no?