The highlights: Spencer and I were destined to meet because she is my balance. My Spock. My "DON'T DO THE THING!"
Which is bullpies because she's the first in line behind me going, "DO THE THING."
I spend too much time living in the past and making decisions based on the past. OK, I'll give her that. But it's not uncommon.
She said I am a showman (hello, I was IN COSTUME) but I need to take all that off at the end of the day and just be myself (this is psychology not supernatural).
She said I have 4 guides around me and they are all male. I am very male dominated.
I am being gangbanged by 4 spirit guides, you guys.
Apparently I had the most guides because I am a terrible listener and I need to listen to them more often.
She said my dreams are very profound and prophetic and I have the gift of sight and I need to spend more time on myself to develop it and, completely unprovoked, she said, "you have a thing with smells. You have an amazing sense of smell and you can smell what other people can't."
That is actually true. Spencer has called me the super smeller ever since she heard Shawn call Gus that in 2006.
She said the phantom smells were spirits. I have a ghost detecting nose?
And best of all, "you have the wolf around you." Now, all teen wolf jokes aside, my family crest has three wolves on pikes because my ancestor in Scotland saved the king from a pack of wolves and we (the family) became known as wolf slayers (all Doctor Who jokes NOT aside because that shit was freaky close to my family history save the, you know, aliens and Queen Victoria--it was actually in the 11th or 12th century).
Now I have one as a spirit guide? Does that make sense?
Meanwhile she told Spencer exactly what meds she is on, exactly what is wrong with her, how long she's been in school, her great grandmother's first initial and description, and exactly what she's doing with her life. And to go get a pregnancy test. STAT.
She got super specific with Mrs. Pickles and Beenee, too. And Beenee's mom. They ALL came out crying.
She even got the nickname Beenee's friend, who killed himself, used to call her and it's not an easy name to guess.
So, yeah, a bit disappointed on my end. I was hoping for something specific to join in on the fun of HOW IN THE HELL DID SHE DO THAT but instead she told me I have ~the gift~ and stuff any armchair psychologist could pick up.
At least it was free. And I was with my friends having a good time.
And Spencer was spoooooooked. She was two days late and made a joke about a pregnancy prediction on the way there.
She's taken 12 tests.
I think Mr. C is buying toad the wet sprocket tickets tomorrow. I've wanted to see them since I was a little girl but the first two times (back then) my mother was institutionalized (BOTH TIMES LIKE MOOOOOM GO CRAZY SOME OTHER TIME) and the last time (a few years back) we were moving to a new house that same day.
If he gets them and we go and I'm not actually jinxed when it comes to seeing them I'm going to cry and offer to do things to him that might be illegal in several developed countries and usually show up in better porn.
Speaking of porn, crab legs are on sale at Publix for 6.99/lb and he brought home a whole boatload while I was doing a birthday party today and made them for dinner for me tonight. My GOD I love crab.
I forgot the BEST part. She called me a BLONDE and...and...AND...IRISH.
OH HELL NO SHE DID NOT. I know the lighting was low in the room, but at my WORST I could be strawberry blonde. She said it was important that I was blonde because she had to get a message to the blonde who wore glasses and I was all, "I HAVE PERFECT VISION. THANKS. AND I'M GINGER."
And then she told me my bloodline was calling to me...IRISH. UUUUUMMMMMMMMM...no. I told her I was nearly 100% Scottish and proud of it and she was all, "FROM WAY BACK" and I was all, "LADY WE TRACED IT BACK A MILLENNIUM HOW FAR BACK ARE WE TALKING?"
My bloodline is crying. And drinking now.
Walmart just called and told me they sold me the wrong gun (as in, the serial number they reported to the ATF does not match the serial number on my gun).
Some stoned out of his gourd kid told me I have to return with the gun IMMEDIATELY as I was now in possession of an illegal firearm after asking if the gun was still in my possession (like, DUH, they knew we needed it for the turkey hunt).
I told him there was no way in hell I was cancelling my day to drive all the way back there to fix yet another of THEIR mistakes and that if it's such a big deal they can fix the serial number problem on their own and that the gun has already been fired.
He started rambling and getting all flustered and told me I have to do this NOW NOW NOW and I told him where to shove his little problem. He was all, "I HAVE TO TALK TO MY MANAGER AAAAHHHHH" and I was, like, if I give you back the wrong gun, will I get a new one WITH ALL THE PARTS this time and he was all, "I DON'T KNOW WHAT MY MANAGER WANTS TO DO ABOUT THAT."
Do about WHAT? You said I have the wrong gun and you said you can't break open the packages to take parts from one box to the other so I get an UNOPENED PACKAGE WITH ALL THE PARTS, right?
I'm still waiting for them to call me back but I am not leaving this house to fix their mistakes again. Morons.
This weekend is the spring turkey hunt. It’s a big deal in my husband’s family and circle of friends (notably, Agent Coulson. He's convinced THIS time they're going to bring something home).
I bought my husband a shotgun back in December, but there was no way to put a choke (a tube that modifies the spread of the buckshot—it’s REALLY important and there are several different ones depending on your needs and they aren’t cheap) on it like he needed. So, last week, he called me in a tizzy begging me to go to a certain Wal-Mart in South Florida to get the 1 Mossberg 500 12 gauge shotgun with three choke tubes they had in stock. This was the only store within 100 miles that carried it and he really wanted it.
I rushed there and went through all the background checks like I always do (I don’t have a concealed weapons permit as I am an archer mostly). As the assistant manager was boxing it up, I asked her, pointedly, three times, “Are the three choke tubes in it?”
She said, each time, “yes,” but wouldn’t let me see it for myself (citing the waiting period law—what?)
Fast forward to yesterday, when I picked it up.
I had this other assistant manager open up the box in front of me and I told him I was not leaving until I saw every part in the box.
Guess what? Only one choke tube and no wrench to remove it.
The entire department insisted it did not come with three, despite the stock, the box, and the website all saying it did.
I called Mossberg and had THEM confirm it and then raised suspicion through the store management and Mossberg that an employee is obviously stealing the tubes and selling them independently if no one in the department had ever sold that gun with three chokes.
I demanded a $40 refund (the cost of the two missing chokes). They immediately started rooting around for the missing chokes, but to no avail. They even wanted to check at another store, but I knew no other store had them because no other store had the Mossberg 500.
The assistant manager, with Mossberg about to be up his ass for selling incomplete guns (apparently all the time), issued me a $40 refund in cash because we need those chokes before Saturday and Mossberg offered to send them to us, but not before Saturday. We’ll have to go out and buy them up north by the hunt or something.
I casually offered to bring the chokes Mossberg offered to send me to the store so they could have at least one set of chokes for the next gun they sell (wait for it—there’s a reason).
He slipped up and told me that every other Mossberg in the back (really? You told me you only had ONE) had all the tubes in them like they are supposed to, but he can’t open up one of those to get the tubes because he’s not supposed to do that (even though someone has obviously been doing it).
So, yeah, they expected me, a woman dressed in pearls and ballet flats, to not notice their mistake. They gave me the incomplete package and lied about it because they thought I wouldn’t care about the chokes.
Fuck you, Walmart. I only gave you money because you were the only place in a hundred miles that had what I needed. Now I have at least some of it back.
In other news, I wore a pink ballet skirt, a black scoop neck top, white tights, and ballet flats for girls' day out today and I looked fabulous.
Google Reader is shutting down and I hate everything.
I am PMS-y and bloated and I hate everything.
Because of unnatural and unexpected demand, I have been working for two weeks straight. A LOT of parents want me to give their kids private lessons, which is BANK for a part time job ($40 an hour), but is hell on my schedule when I also have classes and birthday parties and people are sick and I have to cover. We'll see tomorrow how worth it it really is to run on fumes.
By the way, for being the official gun runner of this family, I took $20 of that refund as a "convenience" fee. I went up there the first time with a busted knee, the second time with the kids, who got bored after three minutes, and the last time all pms-y and bloated. I deserve it.
Kid: Eh, you got a napkin over there?
Me: Yeah, why?
Kid: Well, I got cake on my face because Segundo—you know Segundo (I don't know Segundo, for the record)
Anyway, Segundo told me to smoosh my face in the cake so I did.
Me: You do everything Segundo tells you to do? If Segundo told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?
Kid: No, I wouldn’t jump off a bridge, but if Segundo tells me to
smoosh my face in the cake, I’m gonna smoosh my face in the cake. Now,
you got a napkin or what?
I’m not even going to go into how Segundo means second (like, a measure of time), so someone actually named their kid Second.