Not Your Average Ma'am!
The inner turmoil of “What does it mean?” Not the easily confused turmoil of “What does it ALL mean?” This turmoil is specific, like the color Navajo White v.s. Eggshell. It’s specific to something I am grappling with. It is hard to reason out the way things line up because when you were younger you thought you had laid some careful plans. I suppose things ebb and flow, and that is a hard thing to accept. The inevitable collapse of time, suddenly you are 28 years old and you’ve finally begun to make real progress in your life. Of course, this is the time when once solid cards in your deck change places and you are left to wonder “What does it mean?”
Deep in thought today, I was on the phone with the movers when the phone cord mysteriously wrapped it’s coiled body around my coffee cup. A full, freshly brewed cup of black coffee steaming with warm invitation to spill entirely on my lap and down my legs. Mind you, this was the entire mug of hot coffee, on my crotch, thighs, stomach and legs. The entire front ensemble was drenched. I jumped up of course, dropped the Lord’s name in conjunction with a few about his mother and his relationship with his mother and did a jig. So jarred by the intense heat that was cooking my privates that I continued to hold the phone to my ear and mouth off weird slurs about Jesus, monkeys and crap while the poor sales rep on the other end kept saying, “Ma’am...ma’am...are you ok? Ma’am? Ma’am? MAAAAA’AM!” Flapping my arms like I a helicopter, I stomp my feet in hopes my ire will scare the living bah-Jesus out of the pool of cooled coffee at my feet. “Ma’am, Ma’am, are you OK???” The smell of coffee begins to permeate the small space that is my office locale and I realize that it will be an all day problem. I love coffee, but I hate to smell it when I am done, just like milk. Tastes so good, but get it away from me! It’s udderly disgusting!
“Maaaaaaaa’aaam!”
“Fuck!”
“What happened?”
“Ahhh, fuck-o-ronius!”
“Are you ok?”
“Fuckadelic?”
“Ma’am?”
“Do the Fucky Chicken!”
“Ma’am, ma’am, ma’am?”
“Ma’am-ma-jamma-ramma-lamma-ding-fuck!”
Another wonderful tele-communication in which I actually don’t say all those things, but do in my head. Of course, the guy on the other line did call me Ma’am equal to the number of times I said fuck. My fuck quotient is pretty high.
Wish me luck on the moving this weekend...or wish me luck on delegating on the move this weekend.
Deep in thought today, I was on the phone with the movers when the phone cord mysteriously wrapped it’s coiled body around my coffee cup. A full, freshly brewed cup of black coffee steaming with warm invitation to spill entirely on my lap and down my legs. Mind you, this was the entire mug of hot coffee, on my crotch, thighs, stomach and legs. The entire front ensemble was drenched. I jumped up of course, dropped the Lord’s name in conjunction with a few about his mother and his relationship with his mother and did a jig. So jarred by the intense heat that was cooking my privates that I continued to hold the phone to my ear and mouth off weird slurs about Jesus, monkeys and crap while the poor sales rep on the other end kept saying, “Ma’am...ma’am...are you ok? Ma’am? Ma’am? MAAAAA’AM!” Flapping my arms like I a helicopter, I stomp my feet in hopes my ire will scare the living bah-Jesus out of the pool of cooled coffee at my feet. “Ma’am, Ma’am, are you OK???” The smell of coffee begins to permeate the small space that is my office locale and I realize that it will be an all day problem. I love coffee, but I hate to smell it when I am done, just like milk. Tastes so good, but get it away from me! It’s udderly disgusting!
“Maaaaaaaa’aaam!”
“Fuck!”
“What happened?”
“Ahhh, fuck-o-ronius!”
“Are you ok?”
“Fuckadelic?”
“Ma’am?”
“Do the Fucky Chicken!”
“Ma’am, ma’am, ma’am?”
“Ma’am-ma-jamma-ramma-lamma-ding-fuck!”
Another wonderful tele-communication in which I actually don’t say all those things, but do in my head. Of course, the guy on the other line did call me Ma’am equal to the number of times I said fuck. My fuck quotient is pretty high.
Wish me luck on the moving this weekend...or wish me luck on delegating on the move this weekend.