unforgettable- that's what i am

this older woman brings her father into the bank. he's close to one hundred, and the woman is quick to complain about how he's getting senile, how he doesn't remember anything anymore. i'm opening a certificate for the old guy, and when i come back from making the deposit, the woman is telling her father, "don't be silly, dad. this isn't lenscrafters, it's the bank."

"what's going on?" i ask, my ears perking up as i am a former employee of the aforementioned optical.

the woman waves her hand dismissively. "my dad seems to think you're the girl who works at lenscrafters."

the old man speaks up, his voice low and raspy. "she is the same girl. i remember. at lenscrafters, she helped me."

"i used to work there," i tell them, nodding. i name the location i used to work at, and the old man says, mildly irritated, "i KNOW. that's where you helped me. remember?"

"amazing," the woman marvels, patting her father on the knee. then, suddenly bitter, she adds, "you know, he doesn't remember who i am half the time, his own flesh and blood. how can he recognize the eyeglass salesgirl from eight months ago? in-freaking-credible."

"i know," i agree, fluffing out my hair. then the old man's eyes glaze over, and he wonders aloud if we used to serve gyros.

"this is a bank," i inform him. "we don't make gyros." the conversation continues for a moment as i reassure him that we never made gyros, or hot dogs for that matter, but i am happy to explain this. how flattering, to know that my legacy from the optical world still lives on, even in those that are losing their minds.

waste not, want lots

oh god. i feel like i'm turning into my mother, which, for those of you who don't know my mother, is about the worst feeling in the entire universe. my mother is the cheapest person alive. she is stingy with everything (including love, sniff sniff), and she calculates her quality of life by using a simple, but mind-rattling formula based on how much money she can keep stuffed in envelopes under her mattress. these are not envelopes that she's purchased- these are the envelopes that the junk mail comes in, which she also finds a use for. due to this frugality, she hasn't bought a pad of paper in over thirty years. i don't think she's bought a new pair of shoes in close to twenty years, and she only goes to the theater if she can go to the dollar show and sneak into two other movies afterwards. "that's each movie for thirty-three cents," she'll boast as she drinks her off-brand cola. "you can't flush your money down the shitter."

my dad's got a lot of the same tightwad habits, but not to the same scratch-out-your-eyeballs extreme. and now as i go over my finances with a fine toothed comb bought from the goodwill for only ten cents, i see that i am on my way to becoming totally nancy-fied; the metamorphoses will be complete when i start melting four small crayon stubs together to create one lumpy but mostly usable larger crayon. i've been evaluating my spending; why have i been buying x brand of dish detergent when i can get y brand for twenty cents less? why am i throwing away old socks when i can use those as dish rags? my god, i'm ready to slit my wrists. why am i driving myself so crazy? it's this house, this house which i know i can afford but am afraid that, well, maybe i can't afford. so why am i throwing away all those slivers of soap when i can squish them together to create something roughly bar-sized, thus saving thirty-nine cents?

please kill me.

i got a book from the library on all these money saving tips. retail value, thirty bucks. if you're looking to save money, why would you buy a thirty dollar book? who would bother publishing something like that if their target market is people who save bath water for other uses, people who cut their dryer sheets into four strips as to make the box last four times as long? it's making my head hurt to read this stuff, and i feel like just being exposed to these tightwad tips is driving me off the deep end. to save on postage, mail your bills out with your neighbor's bill as wells. if four people share an envelope, each mailer only spends ten cents on postage, thus saving about thirty.

thirty cents. i think i'd rather spend the whole thirty-nine cents than have to face the humiliation of approaching my neighbors and tell them i don't want to dish out what amounts to the spare change i could probably find in my couch.

also in the book- how to make a jump rope out of old bread bags. that's one thing my mother never did, although she did once make two small hats out of an old bra. what an embarrassing bus ride to school that was.

oh, but at least i still have my humor.

kill me.

the convenience of forgetfulness

i think that if i were to be afflicted with amnesia, i wouldn't necessarily mind that much. what a great opportunity to not go into work for a few days. the boss would call on monday, and i'd calmly explain, "you see, i have amnesia. i don't even know i work there, much less what i do there. i suppose i'll see you when i remember." i'm sure it's against some law to fire an amnesiac. it would be nice to have amnesia for about six to eight months.

it would also be a pleasure to watch the cheese try to convince me that he's my boyfriend and that we love each other. what would i think of the cheese if i didn't know about our history? would i try to throw a spatula at him if he came too close? how many tears would drip from his face while he went on and on about our binding love? it's a sick person who gets a kick out of these day dreams. i understand that.

also, it would be nice to just conveniently forget about ugly bits of the past. and could american express really hold me responsible for my debt if i don't even remember that i have an american express card? would the same thing hold true for taxes and cable?

how would i do my hair if i were an amnesiac? what would i think of my wardrobe? would i be appalled at some of my old bras that i keep around just in case, the bras with the ratty straps and the cups held together by spare pieces of red thread? would i peek into my own refrigerator and want to throw up after peeking at the older slices of lunch meat, that jar of mayonnaise from the mid-90's that i know i can't eat but still cannot bear to part with?

i wonder if becoming an amnesiac would enlighten me, would make me think in all sorts of new ways that would expand and overly populate my brain. i wonder if i would still be good at scrabble. i guess what i should wonder is if i'd even know i owned scrabble. that's something to think about.

i would like to watch 'the big lebowski' for the first time all over again. that especially would be one perk of being an amnesiac. also, the extensive newspaper interviews i'm sure i'd be asked to do.

homeowner

we're buying a house. it's official.

the place is in east dundee, which is a little bit out there, but still relatively convenient to our jobs and the expressway. it has high, vaulted ceilings, a big bay window, and a staircase leading up to a little loft area and two bedrooms that overlook our backyard area and patio. it has a garage and a long driveway, and, the seller is giving us back 4,000 to install all new carpeting and flooring, due to the fact that the rugs are really worn and the kitchen tile is cracked. after we paint, and after we get in the new flooring, the place will have "new house smell." and that will be nice.

my god, it's scary. this has got to be one of the biggest decisions i've ever made, and definitely the most costly. when i stop to think about my life, i have to take a step back. i'm engaged and buying a house. how did this happen? wasn't i only fourteen, like, two days ago?

if anybody would like to help paint and move in furniture, i will reward you with pizza, beer, and a friendly pat on the ass.

adorable

a woman came into the bank and looked around uncertainly for a few moments before i greeted her. "yes, hi," she responded, smiling shyly. "can you notarize something?"

of course i can notarize something; i'm only engaged in a winner-takes-all-the-cookies contest with my coworkers on who can do the most notarizing. she sat down at my desk and opened her manilla folder. inside was a sheet of pink paper with one line of typed words at the very top. i glanced at it, then stopped and reread it slowly.

it said, "i, christine smith, do solemnly swear to love john jones forever."

"he said he wouldn't believe it until he saw it in writing," christine smith explained. i hemmed and hawed for a few seconds, wondering if the notary people could take my stamp away due to notarizing a clearly non-official document. then, decisively, i signed my name and pressed my stamp firmly onto the paper right after christine carefully penned in her signature. "only because it's valentine's day," i told christine. "otherwise, i would have had to send you on your way. the notary folks are very strict about this kind of thing."

i'm such a sucker for kids in love. i hope christine smith and john jones don't ever go through a divorce; bringing that notarized testimonial into a courtroom would probably bode not-so-well for christine "clever valentine" smith.

in the key of cheese

chris and i have spoken of singing songs to each other at our wedding reception. actually, we've spoken of making the reception itself "feature" karaoke for those members of our family who might want to belt out a little bad company or some "build me up, buttercup." we've already decided on what songs we would sing to each other. chris' tribute to me would be the loving spoonful's "darling, be home soon." perhaps i should be insulted, because one of the reasons this song makes him think of me is the following line:

Go
And beat your crazy head against the sky.

that's sweet. the song i would sing for the cheese would be deniece williams' "let's hear it for the boy." i never thought a song from "footloose" could become so meaningful. this song is perfect for the cheese. maybe he's not a flashy guy, right, but we always have a real good time. mm hmm.

i wish the part about my baby singing off key were true, but i'm the only one who sings off key these days. so i may have to alter the lyrics ever so slightly. as far as first-dance-bride-and-groom wedding songs go, we're leaning towards "have i told you lately" by van morrison. either that or the theme to "mighty mouse."

where did you see it last?

one of the few memorable artists from yesterday's jaunt to some of chicago's art galleries was thomas kellner. if i were a wealthy heiress, i would probably commission him to do a piece on my face, completely deconstructing it and reshaping it with not smooth lines but jagged edges jutting out every which way. it would not be about capturing beauty; it would become a piece of art capturing the process of me losing my mind.