Rader is officially moved into his new nest. And yes, that’s a Nic Cage pillow case on his bed. Continue reading
This is a very long post. It is full of pictures. It is also full of awesome. Thank you for stopping by.
On July 23rd, Robyn and I went to see Star Trek. We chose the Riverdale 10 movie theater because they have the MOST COMFORTABLE recliners around, and because we could have a beer. I mean, hey, who doesn’t love sipping a Guinness at the movie (that you didn’t sneak in yourself…)
We purchased the beverages and popcorn. I was so looking forward to the popcorn because I’d been living la vida low carb for 3 months. That popcorn was going in my mouth and I couldn’t WAIT.
We got settled in, reclined our seats, and started chowing down. The lights had just dimmed as I reached in for my 2nd handful, I popped it into my mouth, and immediately spit out a fresh and minty already chewed piece of gum. That wasn’t mine.
I’ll stop for a moment while you gag. Trust me. It’s 3 weeks later and I’m still gagging. I can still feel someone else’s ALREADY FUCKING CHEWED GUM IN MY MOUTH.
I leaned over and told Robyn. After she stopped herself from throwing up, we decided it was best I go see the manager. When I explained what happened, the manager on duty said “Well that’s weird. We’re not allowed to chew gum behind the counter.”
Me: I get that. But still. There was someone else’s gum in my popcorn. It wasn’t my gum. It was someone else’s. And it came from behind the counter, so…
MOD: That’s just weird. *turned and yelled* HEY WAS ANYONE CHEWING GUM TONIGHT?
Me: Seriously? Nobody’s going to admit it was theirs. I just want my $4.50 back. That’s it. Thanks.
MOD: Sorry, you’ll have to call Laird. The customer service number is posted on that sign.
Me: Just give me the $4.50 back. That’s all I want. And you’re the manager so you can do that.
MOD: No You have to call Laird.
Me: Fine. May I borrow your phone?
I dial the number listed and hear an undecipherable message that I’m pretty sure is on an ANSWERING MACHINE from 1987. I leave my name, my telephone number, and a message that says I would like a call back before the movie is over so that I can get my refund.
Of course, no call came. So I call again from my phone, and I said something to the effect of: All I wanted was my $4.50 back for the popcorn. Now I want a full refund of both movie tickets and the popcorn. I’ll happily pay for the 2 beers we drank.
At 8:03 AM Sunday morning, the magical Laird returned my call. He woke me up, but hey, he called me back. He told me multiple times he was on his way to church and stopped by the office and got my message. He listened to what happened, thanked me for calling and not posting a review on social media, he just doesn’t understand why people do that. I laughed.
Me: Oh I posted a review on FB. If your manager had just given my money back, there wouldn’t have been an issue other than just being grossed out for a while. If you would have called me back last night, there wouldn’t have been an issue. But you didn’t. So yes, you got a review.
Laird: I just don’t understand what people want. We post the customer service number.
Me: They want actual customer service.
The conversation goes on and on like that for a while. He never once apologizes for my bad experience. He just says “But they’re not allowed to chew gum.” Over and over. Like that’s the end of it. Then he says he’s going to investigate and get back to me. That was July 24.
Fast forward to yesterday, 08-10-2016–almost 3 full weeks since my incident.
Robyn decided to post a review. We hadn’t heard back. We’d done what they’d ask. So it was time to let the world know that these guys suck.
She gave them 2 stars, which I thought was being generous. Then Riverdale 10 decided to respond and things got awesome:
Someone thought it was a good idea to inform the customer she was wrong in her assessment because they have six employees over the age of 40.And please note the number they asked her to call while trying to slam her from not contacting them privately. That number will be important later on in the show.
Of course, since I was the one who was the victim of the already chewed gum, I decided to remind them that I did, in fact call…
Then I thought this person might need a lesson in how to handle customer complaints.
At this point, I figure it’s over and done with. Surely a manager or the owner has seen they have a troll who is managing their FB page and SURELY they’ve shut it down. Right? LOL Wrong.
Did you read all of that? No? Me either. I did skim it. Apparently Riverdale 10 loves good feedback, thinks I’m angry and public shaming them (I guess they don’t think having a customer find already chewed gum in their popcorn is HORRIFYING) and that if I had JUST CONTACTED THEM PRIVATELY, this would have all been taken care of. And then they proceeded to attempt to shame me like I was Cersi Lannister. Sorry honey, but Melf don’t play that.
The Riverdale 10 person proceeded to rant on…
and that’s when I dropped the hammer:
Now, Robyn and I couldn’t help but poke a little fun after this, because frankly, it had been the most entertaining day either of us have had in a while. I can’t remember laughing so hard. I mean, I know this guy wasn’t trying to be funny, but he was hysterical. His customer service skills are spot on! Even our friend Marissa got a little hammer drop in there herself!
Not long after the proof was offered and we started openly mocking him, the entire thread disappeared. I guess this poor twerp doesn’t understand the concept of screenshots.
BTW, I’ve been told by a former employee that the only person who handles the FB page is the Owner of the theater. So no, it wasn’t some little college kid twerp who should be fired. It was the owner, who doesn’t give a shit if his customers find already chewed gum in their popcorn.
Because his employees don’t chew gum…
I’m not one of those people.
I actually have been known to gently mock and chide those people. You know, the people who seem to overreact when a celebrity dies. Like it was their mother or their best friend.
Then Prince died. And wow, was that a fucking punch straight to my heart.
As my friend Lee said…gutted.
Yes. Completely fucking gutted over the death of a musician I’ve never met. I heard Purple Rain on the way home from work last night and all of a sudden I realized my cheeks were wet.
WTF? I am NOT ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE.
Except that I am.
I didn’t know Prince, but he was such a strong part of my childhood, of my teen years, my young adult years… of my personality.
He made me think about the way we as humans treat each other. He made me step outside of my small mind, my small white-washed, almost puritan upbringing and think. He helped me to understand that sexuality could be fluid, that things weren’t just black and white. He taught me that love is love, he was the first to make me realize that labels and boxes were for other people.
That sounds dramatic, I know. But it’s true. I was a naïve and awkward kid. I was well-liked, but awkward because I knew on the inside I was different. I didn’t act different because you didn’t want to stand out in high school. But I knew my thoughts were not the “norm” in my area. I knew being different would hurt me socially, so I flew under the radar except to a few
very close friends.
Prince’s music brought me out of my shell. It inspired me to write. Poetry, lyrics, fiction. And as I got older, he inspired me to try to understand sexuality. He helped me to realize that sex wasn’t shameful. It was okay to express yourself, your desires. That it was more than okay for consenting adults, no matter their race, religion, gender, or sexual identity to love each other.
My words are failing me now. I just know that there were many a lonely night that I sat in my room and listened to my numerous Prince LPs over and over. Prince, Dirty Mind, Controversy, 1999, Purple Rain, Around the World in a Day, Parade, Sign o’ the Times, Lovesexy…
For me, yesterday was the day the music died.
Yep. I AM one of those people.
RIP Prince. Thank you for everything.
Today, I’m going to ask you to please consider donating to Lucie’s Place.
Lucie’s Place provides homeless LGBTQ young adults in Central Arkansas with safe living environments, job training and counseling services in order to ensure lifelong stability and success, and works to promote equality and acceptance for LGBTQ young adults.Did you know:
- Did you know:
- More than 30% of LGBTQ youth report at least one suicide attempt within the last year.*
- More than 50% of Transgender youth will have had at least one suicide attempt by their 20th birthday.*
- Youth suicides outnumber youth homicides.*
*Based on national statistics
Those of us who are parents…do you remember when you just found out you were pregnant? And people would ask “Do you want a boy or a girl?” and your answer was almost always the same “I don’t care, as long as it’s healthy.”
Funny how that changes for some people when their child is born and they discover said child is Trans or gay or queer. How easily parents fail their children by kicking them out of their homes, the one place they should always feel safe and loved.
Lucie’s Place helps fill an unfortunately necessary need. Please find it in in your heart to help these poor kids who in the process of finding themselves, lost the one thing that should never have been taken from them–unconditional love from their families.
Yesterday’s post, I highlighted 2 cancer-related causes. One to help a particular family in need, the other, to support some Arkansans raising money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society in order to help many.
Today, I ask for you to help the Arkansas homeless by donating to The Van.
from their website:
The One, Inc. is a very grass roots organization. It was spawned out of several years of hard work and dedication to meeting the needs of our homeless neighbors. That same hard work and dedication continues today in our same community driven methods.
We rely almost completely on in-kind donations to help us meet the many needs that our friends have.
All monetary donations go to keep our vehicles serviced and on the road, as our efforts are all mobile. We don’t have a huge overhead for buildings and administration, but it takes the help of many people to keep us on the road and going.
The Van relies almost solely on the generosity of others.They do amazing work for people who are living on the streets. If you can’t donate money, please peruse their website to see what other items they need at this time. They often put a call out for blankets, clothing, toiletries, and volunteers.
Give a little…and get a lot back in return. Your sparkle karma will double. I promise!
I told y’all in yesterday’s post that I wanted to start this year’s MONTH OF MEL off on a different foot. I’d like to do a week of giving….and I’m going to highlight (mostly) local charities that are important to me and that I’d like to introduce y’all to, and maybe, you’ll be inspired to give to one of the causes I highlight this week, or maybe you’ll donate to one of your favorite causes! Continue reading
It’s that time of year, bitches.
We are one day away from the 7th annual MONTH OF MEL. (Technically, it’s the 47th annual, Month of Mel, but…I didn’t start celebrating the entire month until 7 years ago.) For those of you unfamiliar with the origins of the MONTH OF MEL, please click here. We’ll wait for you, don’t worry…
18 years ago today, I was in labor. I didn’t know I was in labor, and I worked a full 8 hours at the daycare, picking up babies, crawling around on the floor, and changing diapers. You weren’t due to arrive for another 3 weeks, so there was no way those regular pains and contractions I was feeling were real.
That night, just as your father was crawling into bed, I said “I think we might need to go to the hospital. They’ve been coming at about 5 minutes apart for a while now–and getting stronger.”
Off we went. We figured it was a false alarm, but hey, better safe than sorry, right?
They admitted me immediately.
At 4:00AM on January 30, after a night full of very strong, very regular contractions coming in at about 2 minutes apart, they just stopped.
The doc came in and examined me at 6:00 and told me I had two choices. I could go home and come back later that night when they would more than likely start again, or he could hook me up to pitocin and we could meet you today.
I believe my words may have been something along the lines of “I’m not going any-fucking-where. Hook me up.” Whatever I said, I’m sure it was colorful. You know me…
Labor with you was fairly easy, even with the pitocin. Now, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t fun. That shit hurts. But my blood pressure didn’t spike like it did with your brother, and I slept a lot. Our friends and family came in and out all day, and about 4:00 that afternoon, the doc was convinced you wouldn’t be here before midnight.
You were. I’m a little fuzzy on your exact time of birth because shit got real not long after 4:00. You brought the pain.
Your AntiJen and Daddy were there through the whole process. There was a sprinkle of cursing among the tears and smiles. You came into the world bellowing like a baboon. You were also over 8 and a half pounds at 3 weeks early, so you never once looked like a newborn.
You took to nursing really quickly, but no matter how much you fed, you were never satisfied. We had to supplement you with cereal in a bottle between nursing times. You plumped up quickly, and at 3 months, you weighed 18 lbs…which is what your brother weighed at 1 year.
Your feet were cubes and you were completely pigeon-toed. You wore a brace with a bar between your feet for a while at about 18 months… you crawled around like a maniac. That brace never slowed you down. Once we removed it, you were like lightning.
We had to duct tape a sign to your back that said something like “If you see me without an adult, I’ve escaped again. Call my mom.” You always had to have a phone number attached to you, because you could NOT be contained.
I understood child leashes after having you.
You’ve been our Monkey Boy from day one. I also loved calling you Rader Tater Puddin’ Pop–mostly because you hated it so. You’ve been a daredevil from the moment you started to walk. I’ll never forget the time I was sitting with your Bobo behind homeplate at a baseball game and we both looked up to see you had climbed the fence in front of us…and you were so high up, we couldn’t reach you. Like I said, lightning fast.
Once you learned to talk, you talked for hours–sometimes for hours to yourself.
You weren’t a cuddler as a child, but now the fact you sit on the couch with me every night after school with your head on my shoulder and tell me about your day makes up for all the times I’d ask you for a hug and you’d hold out 2 fingers and touch each side of my waist or shoulders and say “Hug! Hug!”
As of tomorrow, you can vote. You can join the armed forces and die for our country. Legally, you are emancipated.
But you’ll always be my Rader Tater Puddin’ Pop. My Monkey Boy. My little tub of butter.
I’ve loved watching you grow into a man, and I’m really looking forward to life with you all grown up.
But for one more day, you’re still my baby boy.
My youngest turns 18 on Saturday. Or as he continually reminds me via text message and on FB…I officially will be VERY OLD on Saturday when my youngest child is no longer a child. He will only be my offspring. My growed-assed progeny. Because I’m old.
Yes. That is a summary of how he teases me about his 18th birthday. Because he is cruel.
He is my clown, my goofball, my forever and unapologetically “himself” child. I’ve never met a more grounded or a more self-aware teenager in my life.
Please enjoy this very brief glimpse into our life together
I have made many mistakes over the years, but I’ve done 2 things pretty damn okay. And they are the beings I birthed, formerly known as my children.
But as of this weekend, I’ll be the mother of two growed-assed men.
Et Tu, Rader Tater?