Sometimes I think a meteor could strike the earth and wipe out mankind with the exception of my mother’s Bridge club — Roz, Bea, Bette, Rhoda, and Jackie — five Jewish octogenarians who continue to gather for lunch and Bridge on Mondays as they have for over fifty years. When I set out to learn about the women behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, and most of all the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
At times there is leakage. I’m not just referring to seeping fluids from the joystick. Flatulence residue. I don’t know how to sugarcoat this, but men are even grosser than you ever imagined. Heat and steam indeed. I’m guessing a fair amount of disinfectant is part of the process of a thorough cleansing as well.
Because we are lazy and often hygenically lax, paying someone to work hard to make us presentable is money well spent.
In an effort to demystify a bit more of the mystery, the following: Guy gets so drunk he pukes all over his shirt. “Oh no,” he says to his friend, “My wife will kill me when she sees I got drunk again!” “Here’s what you do,” his buddy says. “Put a twenty dollar bill in your pocket and tell your wife some drunk threw up on you and gave you twenty bucks for the DRY CLEANING.” Great idea, the guy thinks, and sure enough, upon arriving home his wife is waiting for him and she is pissed. “Calm down, honey,” the man manages to say, “Guy threw up on me.” “You expect me to believe that?” “It’s true, check my pocket; he gave me $20 for the dry cleaning.” The woman checks his pockets and says, “You drunken idiot! There’s $40 in here!” “Oh yeah, he crapped my pants, too.”
A library is a place that is a repository of information and gives every citizen equal access to it. That includes health information. And mental health information. It’s a community space. It’s a place of safety, a haven from the world. It’s a place with librarians in it.
About ten years ago I managed an outlet store which sold (brand redacted) flatware. It was the most recognized name in the industry and had been in business in the US for well over a hundred years. Some product, like trays, teapots etc., plus all it’s high-end designs in silver and silver-plate were made in the USA. All of it’s everyday designs were outsourced.
It was not unusual for customers to lecture me on the morays of outsourcing production for the sake of investor profit, and they would say this, while walking out the door with sets of flatware made in Vietnam because they were cheaper than the ones made in the US.
Even with the current push for American made products consumers spout one thing and then abide by price.
Thank you loud mouthed arrogant American consumers, none of the product is manufactured in the US anymore.
Sidenote: During the company’s sell-down of overstocked inventory it was rumored among store managers that the guys who swept the factories floors made twenty-seven dollars an hour. I didn’t begrudge the sweepers their pay but I saw the floors and they were a mess. We are all to blame.
What does this have to do with pissy pants, not a damn thing. But it does piss me off.
The report at the following link may bring you soothing news. Manufacturing is returning to America. In particular, note the first video segment by Liz Ann Sonders. I could listen to her talk finance and markets till the cows come home.
All I could think of as I watched Liz Ann Sonders is how smart she is, how much money she much make, and that her pearls looked small. Jeez Tet where the hell do you find this stuff. It certainly is encouraging.
Problem is, it is highly unlikely that you cannot buy a knife a fork or a spoon made domestically. Vietnam, India and Mexico have the corner on what goes in our mouths every day.
What I find troubling is that the huge company I work for now openly resists even trying to procure and sell USA made products. From products, to the music they play when you shop, Global is pushed in our faces like a Boston cream Pie. (Yay Boston).
It took months for employees to even get the company to make signs to at least let customers know we sold a few American made products.
Why one of the largest retailers in the world would not embrace what is made here is a puzzle. The publicity alone…
I’ve got to stop now or I’ll get so pissed I’ll name them and be out of a job.
Pants, piss and a cat mask. On my best day, I couldn’t come up with a link there. I do, however, hate Halloween for grownups. Love the little kids at my doorstep trolling for candy but the pressure to come up with a costume for a grownup Halloween party is as bad as cleaning piss out of pants. Wait, there I found the link.
Well. On the dry cleaning note, my bff’s father was an inventor of sorts and patented a device called the Cindy Lou sleever for the Glam-O-Rama chain of dry cleaners – plus another machine or two. My friend’s name was Cynthia Louise, hence, the Cindy Lou sleever.
On a Halloween note, I was on a barefoot cruise once (you know, the sort of cruise where you can help sail the boat if you want – I know nothing of sailing so I left that alone)…but anyway.. they had a costume party that night and all the passenger’s were to dress up as something that begins with the letter “P.” There was no rhyme or reason to why they chose that letter, but I fashioned a pope or priest sort of looking outfit out of sheets for my hubby – used lipstick for make a bright red cross on the headdress and a salt shaker for the “holy water.” (yeah, I’m going to hell, I imagine) And for me? I took my black eyeliner, stuck on some whiskers, made myself a long black tail with a piece of hosiery…and, was a “pussycat.”