Book ‘em and throw away the key!

If only we did this to everyone who held books hostage…

Gangsta Granny

This morning my little sister and I met my grandparents for breakfast.  Pap was pretty quiet as per usual, which as I grow older I find is probably not from a lack of extrovert jeans as it is from the perpetual state of gab that my grandmother lives in.  He just simply can’t get a word in edge-wise and has therefore learned to just stay mum.

My grandmother is 68, does tai chi at the local rehab and health facility three times a week, and volunteers at one of the small community libraries in the county.  And above all, she is a trip.

This morning amongst college talk (my baby sis is leaving for college tomorrow) and family updates (my cousins are the epitome of drama) she began discussing her latest online encounter.  My grandparents have had a computer for awhile and lately my grandmother has taken to really using all the internet has to offer.  This includes online research, photosharing websites, myspace, and blogs.  Her latest obsession, online poker.  On the particular instance we were discussing iBmammam was playing against hopewellgangsta, who’s icon indicated a very vicious dog.  Initializing the chat mode my grandmother inquired whether gangsta was from Hopewell, VA.  He indeed was and she nonchalantly replied “Ah, then the picture must be one of Michael Vick’s dogs.”  This is the woman who I am supposed to be learning the pleasantries of life from, who I am supposed to be learning timeless recipes and valuable relationship skills.  This is my mammam…

So if iBmammam pops up on your screen the next time you’re laying the cards on the table, don’t take the little old lady for granted… she just may surprise ya.

Drive me to drink…

Today at story time I dug up some sun catchers that had been collecting dust since long before I arrived at this library.  I figured this would be an appropriate craft for the older group and went ahead purchased some sun catcher paint pens to lessen any mess that could be made.  Boy was a wrong…

One of the delightful little angels quickly noticed that I had failed to take out the cardboard stopper from each paint pen (does anyone see where this is going yet?).  Ok, no problem, simply peel them off or raise your hand and I will be around to help, I said.  I don’t believe the words had completely left my mouth when the aforementioned angel squeezed the tube as hard as her grubby little hands could muster sending purple paint flying.

Upon first inspection my worry was the kid’s eyes.  She had gotten it all over her shirt, face and hair and was holding her eye.  Now, I may be cynical, smart-ass, and slightly lazy at times, but I am concerned about these kids.  So I ushered her to the bathroom where I found she indeed had not gotten any in her eyes but was crying that her hair may forever be purple (I remember the days when I tried to get my hair purple on purpose, but I digress…).

So I came back to the story time room to make sure all was going according to plan and that all the little stoppers had been taken out in a more appropriate fashion, when I realized the real damage.  The little squirt had squirted well… there was purple paint in a gunshot like splatter pattern from the table, across the floor, across the ridiculously expensive chairs BossMan insisted on buying and never get used, and up the wall to the ceiling (yes all the way to the ceiling).  I’m not sure how this was physically possible, but I have learned to not ask questions.  I grabbed wet paper towels and went to work.

Needless to say, as I sit here getting ready to leave for the day the table, floor, and chairs are clean.  Heck my elbow grease even got the wall cleaned up to about 6 feet up.  However, there is lovely purple sun catcher paint adorning the upper realms of the story time room.

Maybe this kid will be a famous artist one day and the people around here will be happy to look at the purple paint.  In the meantime, I’m screwed…

Ghost of Boyfriends Past

So last night I was visited by one of the ghosts of boyfriends past, and yes I was more of a Scrooge than you can imagine.

It was around 9:00 and I was at home watching the first season of Lost which I had rented from the library since I’m too cheap to subscribe to any sort of cable or satellite service.  My house was clean (-ish) and I was just enjoying the solitude after a day of crap (literally, an owl pooped on the floor during a wildlife program).

The polite lady who lives in my phone informed me that I had an incoming text message and low and behold there was a message from the ex who I haven’t talked to in over a year and haven’t seen in over two.  Things, didn’t end very nicely there.  He decided he couldn’t handle me going to law school and making something of myself and so it was over.  He then wanted to be able to call and cry about his crazy baby momma, and the new girl who had done him wrong.  Um sorry, not my problem anymore.

So, you can imagine my surprise when I saw this text message that read something like “Hey, stranger, what’s up?”  I decided to be polite and say hi and make small talk.  However, this didn’t go so well as I propelled into full-on Scrooge mode.  Who did he think he was just texting me out of the blue acting like nothing had ever happened, not understanding why he had no idea what I was doing and then getting annoyed because I pointed out that we hadn’t talked in a long time and a great deal can happen in a year.

“Well if we talked more than it wouldn’t seem like so long in between,” he texted.  Yeah, he’s a quick one, I know.

“True,” I replied, ready to crawl in bed by this point and put another year behind this conversation.

He finally made some dumb remark to which there was no real reply to, and so I let it go.  Hoping he would take the hint and stop texting.  What is it with boys these days?  They may have progressed from their cavemen days but really has that much changed.  Now they just have new technology that allows them to make casual contact at no risk to their egos.  Gotta love texting…

Big Brother is Watching

I have purposefully avoided the subject of “The Move” on here as it has been the source of much animosity and frustration.  Conan and I were uprooted from our lair in the back of the library and put into the open area behind the front desk with a hodge-podge of coworkers and junk.  Andy was given our entire office for himself which is hard to swallow when Conan and I are constantly reminded of the “space concerns” that we are dealing with.

Ok, I must remember to breathe…

So, we have moved.  Our desks our in the dictated configuration which leaves me feeling like the bad school-child forced to stare at the wall all day until told I can come out.  This also means that my back is to everything and everyone with my ginormous computer screen for all the world to see.  This is very disheartening.  Now don’t go thinking I’m doing anything illegal here, I do abide by our uber-conservative policies.  But, come on, I am too good at slacking off while still turning out enough productivity to have everyone know what I’m doing at all times.  What about word vine?  What about the internet dating sites that provide me with so much entertainment?  What about my instant messenger conversations?  What about myspace?  I have too much to do here people.  But it seems just as I’m getting into something, here comes BossMan or Andy or some other interloper to disturb my flow.

This new space is more than crowded quarters, it’s cramping my style.

The Real Deal

Conan greeted me at work this morning with a mohawk.  A full-fledged, shaved on the sides, hair down the middle, mohawk.  I am so proud.