Monday, March 29, 2010

Weekend bulletin


  • Attended Junior Regional Orchestra, in which Miss G participated as a violist. This involved a two-hour drive to Woodstock, VA which wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't worked the night before, and then had to restrict my after-work sleep to just three hours in order to be on time for the event. So off to Woodstock we went to sit on bleachers—bleachers—in a middle school gym for two hours. Mr. McP was all, "WHY DOESN'T THIS SCHOOL HAVE AN AUDITORIUM?" and I was all, "Dammit, I wanted to nap while they were warming up" but there is no way to nap when you are sitting on a bleacher. There wasn't enough leg room, so my choices were to sit sideways, or let my knees dig into the back of the woman in front of me. Another woman asked us to make room for her to sit in our row, and Mr. McP and I obligingly swung our legs to the side so she could squeeze past us but she said "Thank you," in a way that clearly meant, "You are such a bitch for not moving over and letting me get the seat on the end." Then she talked loudly to the people in front of her about all the boring things she has been up to lately. I noticed that they had divided the children into two groups, so that we were going to get to sit through two concerts. Goody! Miss G was in the first group, and there was no mingling of students and parents between acts, so no chance to sneak out early. There were two guest conductors, a married couple, actually, and the female half introduced herself to the crowd by saying that Miss G's orchestra teacher had taught her when she was in high school, which was puzzling since they appear to be about the same age. Then she said, "I only wish I had been able to spend more time under him," with a lascivious twinkle—or did I just imagine it?—that showed she was well aware of her double entendre. The male guest conductor prefaced every single selection with a speech about the deeply personal meaning each song had for him, as if he thought we actually cared. Afterwards, searching for coffee, I headed the car toward "Historic Downtown Woodstock" but then I realized the last thing I wanted was to sit down in the "Calicoe Coffee Shoppe" or whatever and pay $15.00 for a cup of coffee on a lace doily and a couple of cookies to appease the kids. So I made a u-turn and we went to a McDonald's near the interstate.

     
  • I had been worried about getting killed on the ride home, and it turned out we were almost killed, although through no fault of my own. We were close to Charlottesville, on I 64, driving in the right lane at a perfectly-acceptable cruising speed of 70mph. It was nearly dark and there were no other cars nearby. Out of nowhere, two cars which were apparently racing each other passed me simultaneously, one in the left lane and the other on the shoulder. They were going so fast, they were a blur, and obviously, in passing me so recklessly—especially the guy on the shoulder—they could have lost control and killed me, my kids, and themselves. I thought about calling the police, but the cars were out of sight almost as soon as they had passed. I had no clue what kind of cars they were, or even what color.

     
  • The girls went off to babysit as soon as we got home. I walked down to bring them some pizza for dinner. Only here's the problem. The door was answered, not by one of my daughters, but by a man—the father of the child who lives there—with his wife following behind. I had never met these people before, but I explained that I was Drama Queen's and Miss G's mother and that I'd brought them some dinner, thinking maybe the parents had gotten detained and were leaving any minute, but it turned out that my girls weren't babysitting for them that night and I was crushed under the full force of the embarrassing implications. Not only was I standing on the front porch of people for whom my daughters were not babysitting, not only was I holding a battered square pan with four slices of pizza in it—I hadn't even bothered to cover them decently with saran wrap—not only was that pizza from Domino's, not only was I delivering my children's dinner at 9:30pm, but I had sent my daughters out into the night and I had no idea where they were. I realized that they could be babysitting at any one of a number of houses in the neighborhood. Was I going to have to knock on all their doors until I found the right house? And the thing is, they had probably told me where they were babysitting, (they had) but I probably hadn't been listening (I wasn't). Anyway, I did find them, and on the very next try so it all ended happily.

     
  • Speaking of Dominos, we don't usually eat corporate pizza, but the media has been going crazy over how Domino's bravely admitted that they suck and then "improved" their pizza. I had to see what all the fuss is about. It still tastes like crappy corporate pizza, only with more garlic and salt.

5 comments:

  1. everyone knows a little garlic & salt (probably garlic salt, in this case) makes everything better!

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  2. Don't the parents your daughters babysit for give them dinner? We've only gotten a babysitter twice but we left her dinner both times. And it was a good homemade dinner, too. Is that not normal? (It's probably not normal that we've only had a babysitter twice but you don't have to address that).

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  3. I think they didn't provide dinner because the babysitting didn't start until 8:00pm, but they often have parents have them sit around dinner time and not provide dinner. I always provided dinner for my sitters--and transportation. That's another pet peeve of mine. If you hire the sitter, you ought to provide transportation. I don't mind letting them walk themselves to the places in the early evening, but there are parents who expect me to pick them up after, or to let them walk home themselves, through Belmont late at night. Totally not acceptable!

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  4. Thanks for saving me from having to try the new & improved Domino's pizza.
    Bummer about all of that! People who expect the end seat when they come late make me nuts--if you didn't need it, you'd sit towards the center of the row!
    I wish you lived closer--we need a couple of babysitters! And I always feed and transport!

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  5. My parents always provided pizza money for sitters. Our tiny town had a tiny Pizza King right across the street from our house. (Actually, I think Mom would just order it in advance and let the sitter know she could ask me go pick it up.)

    Anyhow, I'd provide homemade pizza for sitters. GF homemade pizza is still edible and we don't bring gluten into the house at all. Or eggs. Or nuts.

    Actually, we just don't hire babysitters. Easier that way. It's not like I can go out to eat.

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