Smiles for Miles

I woke up cranky this morning and have been scowling all day. My nickname at the restaurant is "Smiles". It's short for the above title and on people's receipts it says "Your server was: Smiley Cyrus."
While I do not approve of, in any way, being related to Miley Cyrus I look past this slur and see the compliment inside.

Today I went on about my tasks like any other day. About two hours into my shift I announced to the kitchen that I was cranky and they simply said, "We know." They said they could tell because they couldn't see as many teeth today. They laughed at my crankiness. As if it was nothing. As if happy little Laura is not capable of cranky. "Grumpy Laura is still nicer than anybody else." they scoffed.

I reckon this should be a compliment but in turn it made me feel guilty for hiding those back molars. It's my job to be happy and I will be scorned for ever slacking on the job. I don't really mind this. You never know if you're going to be the only pleasant thing in someone's day and so I try to be approachable and smiley.

Sometimes it wears me out. And sometimes people tell me whats bothering them and then my heart breaks in two and I carry their sad stories around with me until I accept that there's nothing I can do to help. That's what makes me cranky. It all piles up and I wake up down.

I sure wish I could help folks, beyond permitting them to admire the product of the obscene amount of money it took to straighten out my shark teeth. Gosh I had bad teeth. Do you remember how I had rows of teeth? That was my nickname in elementary school. Shark Teeth. Why do I only have dental nicknames?

Anyways. I am in no mood for socializing however tonight there are two "very important" football games on and everyone is downstairs enjoying camaraderie and snacks. Dad even rigged this set up...

so that they may watch both games at the same time.

I think I'll fester a bit longer before I go downstairs. Just for effect.

Happy Thanks

Tis quite late in the day for posting my Thanks alas I couldn't quite get it together today. We've just gotten home from the rip roaring good times at Melody's house and I am quite sleepy. I've got to get up for work in the morning (whaa?) and so I have only a few more hours of Thankful Slumping to partake in before bedtime.

I've taken no pictures on this day. I forgot. Sorry. But I'll see my lacking photo-journalism and raise you some classic photos I dug out of a box this morning.

To start with...

Next we have you, Georgie, with your Fabio calendar.

Following we have, Ari and Laura: The Early Years, my Urkel impression (pre-puberty. See what I mean?), and a mother with her new baby Ellen.

I also dug up some pictures from '93 with the Honbons and a few from a visit to their place in 2001. There are three dogs I vaguely remember and a photo of Ellen and me posing with Will and Tripp's favorite stuffed animals. These baby Honion photo's really warm my heart and tickle my fancy.

I've found some truly horrendous photos of Mom and Ellen and nothing would thrill me more than to cause public humiliation by revealing them here, alas, my lifelong fear of Ellen's wrath with prevent me from ever committing such a foolish blunder. 

Remind me to pull them out next time you're here.

Food Glorious Food

We didn't skip Thanksgiving this year, which makes me very happy. On Sunday Giggles and Dave and Granny and G-Bob came over for the fall feast. I neglected to take any pictures for you. I forgot about that duty entirely until we were almost done eating and Mom insisted I should have taken pictures before, when our plates looked nice. "Now they look gross" she said. Either way, you can imagine the turkey and gravy and all that heavenly goodness. Jordan and Alston were both too busy to come and acknowledge us family members though Ellen and Chris did come over and slump with us.

I did take one photo. Dave found a hilariously offensive comedy sketch that brought tears to Bob's eyes.
Gosh I love that face.

In other news, Grandma casually approached me and asked, "Laura, have you decided who you want to marry?"
I was a bit caught off guard by her statement and thought I could surely dismiss the conversation with a "Can't say that have." and a polite smile.
"Well are you talking to anyone?" she pressed.
"Umm. Well... I...not really." I replied.
"Hmm." she grunted and thought for a minute. "You need to go ahead and get married."
"Oh but I have so much I want to do before then!" I told her, intentionally upping my enthusiasm so she'd let off my case.
Her face dropped. "Like what?" she asked humorlessly.
"Well I don't know. Adventures. Road trips. I want to live somewhere else for a while. Travel. All those fun, young person things. You know?" I declared, suddenly second-guessing what I thought I'd always known for sure.
"Well, that's fun and all but you know what else is fun? Having babies. That's real fun."
And then she just looked at me. "Great grand-babies." she whispered with bug eyes and a maniacal smile.

I don't think she cares who I marry. I don't think she even cares IF I'm married. I'm old news. Her grandchildren aren't enough anymore. She wants new babies. New victims.

Sandwiches, Concerts, and Creepy Little Children

First of all, I went to an Avett Brothers concert last week. This probably means nothing to you but it's the highlight of my life so far. Among other things.

The day after the concert I was forced to babysit Finn and a friend as the two Moms were headed to a different concert of their own. I mentally prepared myself for the wrath of two seven year old boys and in turn, they where quite happy, albeit, rambunctious littlens. They mostly ignored me once the friend observed and inspected me and decided I was ok. He put his little hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eyes and said, "I like you."

Shortly after that, while watching a movie, he climbed into my chair with me. He sat behind me with a leg on either side of my hips and held on to my waist. He said nothing and simply continued to watch tv. While it struck me as a nice notion, I instantly stiffened up and stared forward. Had this been a grown man I had just met 30 minutes before I would have been wildly uncomfortable. 

In exceptionally exciting news, I got my boss to agree to naming a sandwich after Ellen! We now proudly serve the Mt. Saint Ellen's Spicy Crunch Wrap.

It's been through a few changes since I got him to agree on the name but initially it was the very sandwich Ellen has been making for herself since childhood. With pickles and chips inside! I was delighted when I saw it on his idea board and I insisted it be named after our beloved Mt. Saint Ellen. It's one of our specials this week and if people like it, it will go to the full time menu. Anyone who orders it from me receives a short dissertation on it's origins and fun facts about my sister. I leave out the part about her receiving this nickname on account of her inability to keep baby formula down. Somehow I think that would be off-putting.

Meet Sonny

Sonny is the shy type. Sonny is Ellen and Chris' new baby boy! He's a bashful old man with long rickety legs and a sad face. But don't let it fool you. This dog is spoiled.

Ellen brought Sonny home about 3 weeks ago for a try-out. I think they fell in love instantly. Sonny is a nervous fella but he really likes Ellen and would follow her closely while he was still getting used to her new home. Her cats have had no reaction to him whatsoever and this family of five (Ellen, Chris, Sonny, Sadie, and Ben) all sit on the couch and watch movies together. Ellen says she gets up 45 minutes early to have Sonny Love Time before work everyday.

Sometimes Sonny hangs out at our house. Budds and him are content friends. Being at least 10 years old, Sonny doesn't run and jump like Buddy does. Ole Budds runs circles around the guy but they both slump on the porch together while they wait for their next meal. I'll admit Buddy is just a tad jealous. He does not like when we acknowledge Sonny without acknowledging him as well. Buddy talks and groans while Dad pets Sonny. At first, he wouldn't even let me pet Sonny. He would barrel between us, shoving the rickety Sonny out the way and forcing my hands to land on his thick caramel coat. He's gotten a bit better about this but we can tell he expects the petting to be distributed evenly and I am only allowed to pet him. I am his woman after all. 

Sonny is a pleasant and quiet new member of our family. Ellen is particularly smitten with him and he loves his new parents. Boy did this dog fall in it.

Sick People

As a veteran indisposed and nauseated member of humanity I can rightfully say that slow-moving, angry, sick people infuriate me. I have no patience for the downfallen.

Taking care of laid-up people is not a skill of mine. Mom and I have long agreed that one pocket of hell must be an overcrowded childcare center. Another is a DMV waiting room and I am now proclaiming the presence of the Obstinately Ill to be another. It's one thing to be sick. But when they whine about it...
 I've felt bad for over year and have I complained? (I'm so glad I can't hear you scoffing)

I hate angry sick people. I already see you as a threatening green blob, oozing from room to room, leaving behind a germy gom that no amount of disinfectants can wipe away. Your lifeless, balled up, soggy tissues litter my space. Your mugs and soup bowls pile up, towering over the stacks of magazines you've sneezed into without second thought. You haven't changed your clothes in days. What nerve you have to be short with me. The servant and bystander.

I say this all in preparation for the weekend. Ellen is having some grafting done tomorrow. She's got the flat gums. We all have the flat gums. Mom and I both had our flat gums grafted. Sure, it's not fun but you do get to eat Jello for a week. I have a feeling that lil Bells is going to milk this one. I'm beyond pleased that I have a concert to attend tomorrow night thus excusing me from the Ellen night shift. But the weekend, thats when the dramatic blinking and muttering about pain will begin. She's going to need soup and mushy foods. She'll need lots of liquids and cotton balls. I'm already disgusted.

A Downtown Jaunt

Last week, Mopps and I went for a Downtown Jaunt.

Mostly we walked around enjoying the perfect weather, observing passersby, and spending gift cards. But we also stopped somewhere very special, in honor of Laurie Hon.

Grandma's House

Grandma has been wanting me to come over and take pictures of her backyard for a while now. She's very proud of her backyard and so I have finally attempted this stunt. She walked me all over her yard telling me exactly what to take a picture of and where to stand. I believe I took about 4 pictures before she took the camera from me and began creating her very own photo collage. Somehow I became her backyard model. She kept making me sit there, stand here, smile bigger. She would occasionally hand me the camera while she worked out her next shot and within seconds the camera was again moving slowly up towards Granny's eyes, shaking in her delicate grasp. She held the camera like a pair of binoculars and I once caught her staring into the small screw hole on the bottom side. "I can't see anything, Laura."
In the end she thought she took about 20 pictures. I did not correct her. 71 was our final number and most of them were slanted.

Children, Mold, and My First Black Eye

Good morning!

First off, I would like to apologize to Baxter (and to the public) and retract my claim that I am allergic to cat urine. Every time I make an official declaration here, on my internet space, it is promptly proven to be false. Baxter's incessant watering of my laundry is not what was making me sick. We (Mom) indeed found mold on the inside of my air vents. Harsh mold. Black, science experiment mold. And it was blowing right down on me in the night! It's amazing I'm still alive. 

Sorry Baxter. It's not you, it's me. My room is already half painted a kind of icky periwinkle color that Mom says looked like the greenish grey I had asked for under the harsh fluorescent lights of our friendly neighborhood Lowes. I'm going to use some of my SCAD Magic, "I got an 'A' in color mixing" skills to see if I can't whip up a less offensive color. Good thing I went to college.

In other news, yesterday was a cold and rainy day. I spent my morning at the restaurant, barking out orders and shivering as I stood over the poorly placed air vents in the floor under my counter. I then trekked through the rain, dancing over the slippery cobblestones of downtown, and seeking refuge in my car who has still yet to be noticed by The Man. Any day now he's going to catch on and fine me for weeks of free parking. I battled the 3 o'clock, West Ashley traffic. Headlights blinding my eyes and wipers vibrating in my eardrums. I slogged through the muddy parking lot, grabbed little Finn, and again found shelter in my warm car. Again through the traffic, the sirens, the rain. Finn slept peacefully as I made our way home. I thought of the warmth of indoors and the quiet lull of the rain on the windows as Finn and I curled up under a blanket to watch his favorite cartoons. I pulled into the driveway, woke up the little dickens, and we ran through the rain to the front door and that's when we realized. We had no key. Cue the 6 year old's tantrum and the soggy babysitter's short-fused tolerance of any of it anymore. 

So we wound up here. 

It was quite interesting to watch actually. Mom and Dad are so good with kids. Where did they learn how to do that? Surely it wasn't from Ellen and me. I don't remember being conned into things or taught lessons playing games. I don't remember having no say in life. But I guess I didn't and I still came out happy. How'd they do that?

In other really riveting news, I've got my first black eye!! Alright, maybe it's a highly unnoticeable little purple smudge where my naturally purplish underye circles already sit. But it is there! It really hurts. It even hurts to raise my eyebrows! And you know what happened? 

Buddy punched me in face! 

I find my mini-black eye exciting because I can now make up a story as to the bruise's origin. Girls don't often have face bruises. I need a tough girl story. Hang gliding accident? Roller derby? I do think there's something exciting about being the victor of a bar fight.

"First time I saw her in a fight I knew she was the one for me."

Anyways, in the spirit of all my blog declarations being made false, I would like to state that I will NEVER have a big chunk of land for farm animals and gardening. I will DEFINITELY eat my vegetables. Oh oh! I will NEVER go on a cross country road trip in an old truck that Ari converted to run off of vegetable oil. 

This is like a magical power. I've got to really give this a think.

November Blues

Oh I just realized that's a song. Actually, one of my favorite twangy songs of all time is called Denouncing November Blue. You should have a listen.

I'm in a funk. A funk I tell you!! Why you ask? Well!
I have recently been slapped with reality and discovered that the life I lead is optimistic and senseless. That's right, I just made optimism into a bad thing. I have to get a job. A real job. A pencil skirt, financially stable, sweaty palms kind of a job. But here's the kicker. That would make me totally unhappy.
If you take away spontaneity, time for adventures, and most of your daylight hours what do you have left? A few laughs before bedtime? Is it selfish that I don't think that's enough?

All the old folks in the world will tell you that life is short and you should make the most of it blah blah. Old folks usually know what they're talking about. If this life is short, I'd rather have less money if it means more time. Time for people and laughing and just sitting in the sunshine. But I can't pay rent doing that.
So instead I'll take a mundane, maddening job filing papers and sitting inside dreaming of summertimes climbing trees and planting flowers. I'll have a routine.
I hate routine, which is precisely why I have proclaimed the November Blues - because I have a set Finn and Restaurant schedule and I know exactly where I will be at any given hour of each and every day. And even that wouldn't be so bad if I cared about any of the things consuming all of my hours. But I don't. I just don't.

I'd like to care about something please. Is that so wrong? Is this a spoiled kid thing or is this normal? How do people live this way???

I'm always hesitant to whine on this blog. You know I'm a happy kid right?