Tag Archives: humor

November 14, 2013 · 2:08 pm

Parallel thoughts.

A shameful confession: Outside the office is a section of street where parking is allowed, and, although there is AMPLE free lot parking in the comically large suburban office lot behind the building, the street offers quick access to the building’s door. This makes it a delight for me certain people who may be wearing unsensibly high heels and carrying way too much crap back-and-forth to the office.

HOWEVER, the other day this super-sweet spot was open SMACK in front of the building and I passed it by, telling myself it was too small for Frederico Escapé:

It wasn’t too small. You could get a damn Econoline van in there.

After parking in a different, less awesomely-close spot, I realized this and it hit me :I am in danger of losing my parallel parking mojo.

FORSOOTH! Do not speak such vulgarity! (The English lit degree pops out every once in a while, I can’t stop it.)
I have long spent an inordinate amount of time ribbing The Mr. about his lack of parallel parking skills. He has used many excuses for why he can’t take various killer spots throughout our years together: his last Acura had “blind spots” that prevented it, the Jeep is “too big” and “the backup camera alarm is too sensitive,” and my personal favorite he “doesn’t see as well at night,” (HELLO, you are Driving Miss Keri here, pal – PRECIOUS CARGO – update your prescription, yo!!)

The point is, Keri can parallel park. I remember distinctly going with my mom and my dear lifelong girlfriend to go see a potential apartment in the city for soon-to-be-college-student-Keri a few weeks before high school graduation, and seeing a tiny spot on the crowded street. Too small, remarked my friend and I. OH NO – not for my mom who learned to drive in the city!! She wedged her little Sentra into a spot I didn’t think would fit a Vespa, and my friend and I gasped in awe.

I was hooked. I had to do that too.

So I did. NO NO – So I *DO*!!

There is no way in hell I am losing my ability to fit Frederico effortlessly into spaces that appear to be Yugo-sized. I can’t tell you the joy I feel in executing a perfect park right in front of a patio full of people at happy hour, when every dummy out there is just DYING for me to take out the bike rack beside me or jack up my hubcap. Forget it, suckers – not City Keri, not Reluctantly Suburban Keri, not even So-damn-old-they-repo’ed-my-licence-Keri. Never.

The shame of abandoning a bomb-diggity parking spot is NOT one I will accept as normal. Mamma’s not going out like that.

RAGE RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE LIGHT! (English lit degree again. I am totes sure that Thomas would be down with me borrowing it to talk about my mad parking skillz. Yep.)

If you need me I’ll be setting up a makeshift parallel parking obstacle course with the trash bins in front of the house.

She finally says “suburban rage”

I try. Really I do.
I was a part of the decision to reroute this family’s road into the suburban abyss, and I do my best to own it and “bloom where I’m planted” (Damn my friend just a tiny bit for “planting” that idea in my mind. Just a little bit, though.)
But I have moments where I just. can. not. do. it.
One of moments thrust itself upon me today and I was suddenly and fiercely overwhelmed.
The whole situation was triggered by this innocent article.
A Trader Joes being erected in our old hood. So close to the Tree House I could have spit on it (well, it would have taken a bit of wind, but stay with me here, I am weaving a tale,) from my beloved former balcony.
Interesting snippet of info – I honestly don’t really give a deuce about TJs. As a born and bred Colorado Native who didn’t depart for college or work (or at all – HELLO – pretty here, not leaving,) I haven’t experienced first hand the joy of Mr. Joe. (Do we think TJs is a boy? Since I personify EVERYTHING, I feel like TJs is a boy. Holy crap do I digress.) So it isn’t like I was all “hallelujah, we are saved, I can get all of the products I have been woefully doing without since I transplanted my super cool self to this square state so many moons ago!” or something. Nuh Uh. I’m firmly in the “I guess I’d check it out eventually if it was near me,” camp about the Trader Joes.
Which is why the insane fire I felt burning up from my belly – far greater than anything that could have been caused by the leftover food truck chorizo and onion quesadilla I had for breakfast – surprised me more than anyone. It consumed me. I was just departing the office to meet the contractor at The Casa, which is probably a good thing, because I was already damning every single thing I could think of to hell as I stomped out the door and to my car. The giant, free-of-charge parking lot at the office building, the clean, wide streets, The Mr, and The Casa, and the contractor, and the office, and every strip mall I passed as I drove home in a cloud of tears and pent up suburban rage. Upstairs I damned the giant walk in closet I sold my urban soul for, the king sized bed and the behemoth soaking tub in the master for being stupidly and needlessly suburbanly big….
This was my version of homesick, I guess. Marooned far from walking distance away from the new TJs that I kind of care not about, I railed and I raged and I cried; and I tried to keep my volume low enough to hide my crazy from the contractor two stories below.
BUT two stories below shouldn’t even be my house!! FFS, less than two years ago 3 different stories meant three different condos in my world. What in the world do we need 3000 square feet of room for. That is 1000 square feet per family member!!! (Clearly I am still in the thick of the latest attack. Pardon.)
I actually declined an invitation to attend a special event at a restaurant in the old neighborhood, because I knew it would cause a similar reaction. It feels like I cut a piece of myself off, and going back to visit just renews the reminder that it is gone from me.
I am the FIRST person to confess that I know my particular brand of hysterics over this issue occasionally boarders on the “falling out on the divan while someone wafts smelling salts under my nose” variety that has long ago gone from fashion. As I said – I own part of the decision and attacks are few and far between. (Clearly the Ativan is kicking in now.)
It’s fine.
Being outside the comfort zone is part of the point.
I’m fine.

That TJ’s is going to make traffic a nightmare, we got out just in time! (Not even close to talking myself into that one.. sounded good though, eh?)

Just the same, I am not on speaking terms with the closet or the tub for at least a week. So there.

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Filed under musing

Tagged as humor, the old neigborhood

November 6, 2013 · 9:05 am

It’s a long list. Just Sayin’.

Reason number 427 why it’s probably better if I don’t venture out in public:
I am at the office today.
I had breakfast at least an hour ago.
In the restroom I just discovered that my scarf is adorned with a sizable chunk of turkey bacon.
Alas, the shock-fashion value of meat wear doesn’t translate from Lady Gaga’s red carpet antics to my row of cubicles.

I’m a debacle.

Just Sayin’.

What really happens when the shades go down.

So….

I have a confession.

I own this now. It belongs to me.

Hello, suburban soccer mom warm-up suit.

BUT KERI – what about this? Are you giving in to this? What about that “I will not be assimilated” stuff?

Didn’t take long for all that to go out the window did it? How is the minivan shopping going, Ker?

NO NO – but wait!!

I didn’t pick it – I swear!! I CAN EXPLAIN!

It involves Corporate Keri, and participation, and cuddly 80’s cartoon characters.

No Really.

Each year the office has a blow out Halloween Costume Contest, with different groups and teams interpreting a theme and going all out – costumes, pumpkin decorating, and even (oh yes it’s true,) cube/office decorating. This year we decided to really go for it – opting for a furry group of cartoon characters from our youth – who shall remain nameless until Halloween because we are THAT crazy serious about the competition.

The next thing I know I am at the Kohls (which is pretty suburban mom of me too, BTW,) in front of a giant display of semi-fuzzy velourish sweat suits in every conceivable color, making my selection. (What’s that? You say “velourish” is not a word? That has never stopped me before.) Of course, Black and Grey were the two selections I was drawn to, but alas, these options had no coordinating fluffy characters in the cartoon land to which we are paying our homage. Unable to stomach the idea of full-body royal purple, or the baby-est of blues, I settled on a light tan that worked well for one of the characters. I plunked down my debit card (do I have any “Kohl’s Cash”? Um… no,) and left the store with a plastic bag hiding my purchase.

Here is where it gets truly shameful. While The Mr. was upstairs reading Ten in the Bed for the eleventy billionth time with Jr, I decided to try the situation on “just to see.” As soon as I zipped that fuzzy jacket up under my neck, a strange and powerful sensation washed over me. I felt warm, and relaxed. I sunk onto the sofa and stretched my legs out in front of me. The fireplace toasted my velour suit as I curled into its generously proportioned comfort.

Mmmmm. Cozy.

I was asleep in two minutes.

Uh oh. The Mom suit has magical powers. It soothes and swaddles and calms. It warms the limbs, and the soul.

Crap.

In the days since that first encounter, the pull of the suit’s siren song is strong. I feel it, luring me after long days on endless conference calls, enticing me as I brace against the fall chill to get home.

Twice more I have given in. The rewards it promises have not gone unfulfilled.

I can’t quit the Mom suit.

Don’t misunderstand me – you aren’t going to bump into me squeezing Asian Pears at the grocery store wearing it or anything. Hell no.

But…..

The idea of wearing it, on purpose and with good reason, to the office all day on Halloween excites me.

For the rest of the year? After a long day fighting the “have it all” working mom fight – I might just pour a big glass of wine, close the blinds, and give in to the power of the suit.

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Filed under musing

Tagged as humor, office, style, working mom

October 19, 2013 · 1:14 pm