Crazy Bus

I called out of work this Friday. It was snowing pretty hard, and I live an hour from work. This seemed pretty reasonable, and I can't imagine why a responsible adult would even try and brave a snowstorm in the south. The roads are atrocious, and the people responsible for clearing the roads were apparently paid in Confederate money last year.

It was nice to stay in bed. Too bad I couldn't enjoy it. And ya know why? You know why I couldn't just fall back asleep and wake up when I was good and ready like Mother Nature intended? Guilt. Good, old-fashioned, self-inflicted guilt. I spent an hour or so picturing my hapless co-workers struggling to pick up the huge slack I had made by my absence. I thought of their harried expressions, their fists shaking at the sky and their sad inquiries of the man upstairs.

"Why? Why didn't she come in? How could she?"

After a while, it did occur to me that I was being ridiculous, and perhaps somewhat egotistically dramatic. I was not one of the major cogs in the works. I could easily be replaced.

Oh -oh.

Did I say(think) replaced? Oh no. What if they decide to replace me? They wouldn't. They couldn't!

I visualized myself storming into my boss' office and advising her of my rights as an employee and my intention of calling an attorney. I was always to work on time and I never called out, I would inform her. I was a good worker! I was kind to others and... and..ugh.

There I go again.

Off on tangent of my own imagination. My boss would never be that unreasonable. Why was I voluntarily raising my own blood pressure? Why? I'll tell you why. You see, unfortunately, much like a child, I can piddle away many valuable moments in my life imagining outlandish scenarios and unlikely conversations. I spend an exorbitant amount of time functioning from a part of my brain that long ago should have matured into the part that remembers where I put my keys. Instead, this grey matter is occupied by the "As The World Turns (around Jen)" Episode Generator. I can actually move myself to real tears by imagining future slights, loved ones early demises or heated discussions. The people involved in my fictional situations are often times oblivious and almost always innocent of whatever I am imagining about them. Many people have been unwilling passengers on the Crazy Bus that is driven by my mind's eye, without ever having asked for a ride.

Immature as I may be, I am never bored. The people in my life perform for me whenever I conjure up a good storyline for them and I have time to daydream. Of course, they have to be willing to share the spotlight with the star of the show.

JT

How To Try On Clothes

With the change of seasons comes the desire to change looks. By the end of the winter, the elastic in my clothing is stretched to the max and all but given up. My pant buttons have popped off and possibly harmed people. My socks have holes and my shirts are all stained from apron-less holiday cooking. It is time for some new clothes made of stronger material. Generally, I try and buy things off the rack and deal with the consequences of the blind purchase later. However, occasionally I have no choice but to actually squeeze into something and look at myself in a 3-way mirror. I have a method.

First, I am realistic about my size. I don't, for instance, grab a size 2 and hope that it is either mismarked or actually a 2X. I keep it real. There are certain things that just don't look good on me, and I know this. I don't convince myself that I will look good in a peasant shirt. What I will look like is an actual peasant. All I would need to complete that look would be a grocery cart and a pipe.

Next, I try and make sure I don't have a crazy pattern or bright color. This invites too much attention and last time I checked, I wasn't a clown. No words, either. Why on earth would you wear a pair of sweats with something written on your derriere? Your butt is not a billboard. No, instead I stick with the nice, funereal colors of an elderly woman in mourning. No need in making a scene or using my hind quarters to make a statement.

Finally, as I enter the dressing room, I begin what will be a small series of adjustments that make the whole experience tolerable. If no one is around to yell at me, I find a light switch and shut off a few of the lights in the room. Every dressing room is lighted with harsh, unforgiving fluorescence that highlights every wrinkle, cellulite dimple, stretch mark and pimple on your body. A couple lights off and voila! Instant ambiance. I lose 10 pounds immediately. This is not always possible, so in the event there are no light switches handy, I just squint. Squinting softens everything around the edges, much like the touch-ups that erased the acne in my middle school photos.

Now, I carefully feel my way along the wall and find an empty dressing room stall. It is extremely important at this point that you are to never look directly in the mirror. Keep your glance cast downward as you slip out of your street clothes and wiggle into your new duds.

Rule #1: If you are having a hard time getting the item over your hips, buttoning the item or if you simply can't move your arms, IT DON'T FIT. Do yourself a favor and don't even look in the mirror.

Rule#2: Don't stop squinting

OK, now comes the part when I try on an item and I am able to get it buttoned, zipped or tied and I can still breath freely and bend my legs without cutting off my circulation. This is nirvana. The mirror silently stares and tempts me to look directly into it. I do not. But, I do open them a tiny bit more and I see that this outfit does not make me resemble a polish sausage. I have a winner.

Rule#3: If it fits, and it doesn't make you resemble a polish sausage, BUY IT.

I take my treasure and stumble my way out of the dressing rooms. I courteously leave the lights off for my sisters who will follow.