Baby boy, don’t get me started….

Tardiness: the quality or habit of not adhering to a correct or usual or expected time

Here’s the thing. I think that when a person gets too “picky” about time and how often people follow it closely, they end up looking self-important. And let’s be real people, I’m pretty damn close to perfect, but I do have my flaws.  (Although, is complete and utter selflessness a real flaw?)

I have been known to be picky.

However, there is something to be said for showing up on time. I, for example, like to show up to places early, so when I’m expected, I’m there…early. The person awaiting my arrival steps outside to see that, oh, I’m already there. “What a pleasant surprise!” one exclaims with pure joy and appreciation. How about when my friend walks up to the pub to meet me and finds, oh, that I am already there, gotten us our favorite table, and already pouring them a glass of the house’s finest. How do I do this, you ask?

Because I got there early.

Being early is about surprising people with a little extra courtesy. It’s like an extra sweater on an unexpected chilly day. It’s like the parking spot up front opening up right when you enter the parking lot. It’s like finding extra change in the vending machine that now enables you to buy the pop tarts for $1.00 instead of the stale Whatchamacallit for $.85.  It’s like finding out your not pregnant.

That last one doesn’t really fit, but I wanted to see if you were still paying attention. Don’t worry, I do that to my parents all the time.

So, needless to say, my friends who know the realistic, not-totally-perfect side of me know that I am always early. And I think they would argue that I can be early to a fault.

I will agree that one can be “too early”. It is certainly not fair when I tell someone that I will pick them up at 6 and then am calling them outside their front door at 5:50. I would say that this could come close to being inconsiderate.

But you know what else I think is inconsiderate? BEING LATE.

There. I said it. Now the funny thing is that most of my closest friends are late often. I’m not talking about them being late today. They already know how I feel about it, and they deal with my early calls, so it’s all above board. I’m talking about being told that the Internet guy is going to arrive between the hours of 8-10 only to have to call at 1015 to hear them ask me…”What is your schedule like this afternoon?”

No, no, no. I took off work, got up EARLY, so that I was prepared should you decide to fucking be punctual and arrive at 8. So excuse me for being optimistic that I am not the only one who prefers to get things done earlier instead of getting here just before the buzzer.

The internet providers are forgiven, though. The man who showed up to “get me connected”? Lord, have mercy.  And very kind. It wasn’t his fault the other guy was running late. This guy was the backup. That’s the thing about the backup. The backups role is to step in when the responsible party FUCKS UP! The backup is reliable, has really nice eyes, wears carhartts, smells like dirt and social justice with a dash of some not-too-expensive-but-not-tested-on-animals cologne. I love the backup.

What other kinds of tardy do I hate? Say the reason you needed the internet guy (wow) to come between 8-10 was because you had a doctors appointment that you DID NOT WANT TO BE LATE FOR. And say that you, luckily, end up at the doctors office 3 minutes early, because you got skillz (I make it rain I make it rain). So you sit in the “waiting” room, another thing I hate doing, and thank the heavens that you care this much about other people and their time.

Then say that your doctor, who is really good at what she does and spends as much time with you as needed, ends up taking extra time with the patient before you. 5 minutes pass, 10, 15…Before you know it, I realize something. I have been sitting in this “waiting” (grr) room for almost 30 minutes, which is the EXACT same amount of time I recently spent outside of a bowling alley for an old bastard with a stupid name!

Now, I get that sometimes things happen and then other things need to get shifted, but when you don’t even apologize for keeping me for that long and then tell me you don’t have much time today, I start to feel like you don’t quite get that WE ALL HAVE THINGS TO DO, PLACES TO BE, AND TIMES TO BE THERE!

I’ve got to be honest. If you make me feel like my time isn’t as important as your time, I’m gonna make you feel like your eye is swollen, because I am going to punch you in the eye.

I am totally kidding. But if there was some sort of emotional eye punching that could be done, you better believe it would be on. I’d get bananas-oh-bananas.

Seriously though, please, and I really mean please, if you are supposed to be doing something at 11, be there at 1059. It’s just good manners. And if you get bitten by a dog, or lock your keys in the house, or forget a tampon and have to go look for extra change in a vending machine, call me, text me, or just say “I’m sorry I’m late”. And then wait to feel the emotional “Not a problem” pat on the back from me.

-D

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An oldie, but a goodie.

This happened about 6 weeks ago, but it’s a good insight into the current frustrations I face when it comes to “dating”.

Alright my darlings, here is the scoop on “the date”…

Disclaimer: Your life may be more exciting than this, and I don’t blame you, so if you have better things to do than read about my dating life, I strongly suggest you do those things. If not, you are welcome to take a trip with me down “Men suck” lane.

So, after meeting Hal at a bar named “Cookies”, I should have probably guessed this wouldn’t end well. But he was older and taller and better dressed than the other characters I have dated recently, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give him my phone number. He anxiously text messaged me the next day (which was my next clue. TM ing is the easy way out, and should not be used when dating someone new) telling me how happy he was to meet me and looks forward to spending more time with me as my schedule allows. I told him I would let him know if I was coming to town.

So I was coming to town, and let him know, to which he responded “Yay! I am so excited to see you.” Nice one, Hal. Way to reel her in.

Friday early afternoon I get a TM (grr) from him that says “When are you coming to town?”. I respond, telling him I will be in town that evening, but would he like to get coffee or lunch on Saturday. Do you know why I did this gals? Because coffee or lunch usually involves a shorter amount of time and doesn’t involve alcohol. I guarantee you that if you are someone who drinks alcohol, you SHOULD NOT do that when you are first dating someone. That’s how I married my first husband. (I’m kidding.) But it’s best to be totally sober when you are at the “getting to know you” point. You want to be able to remember his or her answers to questions like “Do you have any children?” or “Do you have any warrants for your arrest?” or “I’m sorry, did you just say ex-wife?” So coffee it was, for me.

His response was “Yes! Definitely! Just let me know when and where.”

So Saturday morning at 10am, I TM him (I have no one to blame but myself at this point) asking if coffee at 1 would work. He responds at noon saying he got called in to work, but could meet up later in the afternoon. I say I am available until 5 and to just let me know. He says “Great! Talk to you soon.”

I don’t hear from him until 730pm, when he TM’s (grr) “Sorry, I had to work late and passed out afterwards. You still in town?” Hmm.

He took a nap? He could have been having coffee with me, but he took a nap?

Okay, D. We all have our days. Give him a shot.

I tell him I am in town until 11 tomorrow, and he eventually asks if he can take me to breakfast before I go. At this point, it’s about 930 in the evening and he is also trying to get me to meet up with him and his friends at a bar. (No, absolutely not!) I tell him I am in for the night, but will meet him for breakfast. He TM’s (grrr) “Whatever time works best for you. I am so sorry about today.” We decide on the bowling alley. Actually, my father decides on the bowling alley restaurant for breakfast since that is where all of his spies work and if you touch me in there, people lose limbs. It’s a little freaky how protective they are. So bowling alley, 930. He says “I am so looking forward to seeing you. I will be there at 930″. Ah, how sweet Hal. Really, you’re too much.

So I am up early, load up my truck for the ride home, kiss my parents and arrive at the restaurant at 920, because it’s polite to be early, especially when you are meeting someone new. I sit in my truck, nervous, excited, hungry (for food people, come on). I get out of the truck and stand by the door at 926am. I take a quick look inside and don’t see him, so wait out front. Where it’s cold. And windy. At 935 I TM him (because that’s all I do now apparently) “Are you here?”

940am…….
945am……..
950am……
955am…..

Earmuffs girls….
That prick doesn’t show! Doesn’t even TM!

I’m sorry, but did I really just wait outside of a fucking bowling alley for almost 30 minutes for you? I take one last look inside to make sure he’s not there, and then drive to the poker room (my parents play every day, which is a whole other email) so my dad can buy me breakfast, because at this point, I am starving, and stark raving mad.

The worst part….I never heard from him again. Wow, oh wowy.

I am trying to be optimistic and telling myself “Maybe he got hit by a bus.” Then I realize that’s not really an optimistic option and he probably was just yet another tool who got really drunk and slept in. The only smart thing he did? Not try to call me after he stood me up. He doesn’t really know me, but I think he picked up on the inevitable ass-chewing he would receive from me if he ever did try to contact me. I decided that if he ever tried to TM me again, my response would be “For the record, Hal. If you are going to be an irresponsible asshole, do it on your own time. Not mine.” I am also open to other suggestions.

So there you have it, gals. I hope this bring some laughter to you. My mother, because she is darling, told me that this was the universe reminding me that the universe will weed out anyone who is incapable of recognizing how amazing I am. I think she’s right. I think the same goes for all of you. If anyone ever stands you up outside a bowling alley, remember that you are too incredible to wait anymore than 25 minutes for someone. And call me and we will TM him or her together.

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That’s what she said…not always funny.

I work at a school, in the counseling arena. My office is a place where people who have been affected by violence come for support. So generally, more of a somber, respectful atmosphere. On my office door, I have a white board where I can write constructive, relevant things, like “Back in 15 minutes” or “Please do not disturb”.  Sometimes, the clients I work with will leave me notes to call them. And sometimes, I even get a “You rock! Thanks for all you do.” It’s a pretty useful thing to have at work.

One day, a few short weeks ago, I was walking down the hall towards my office when I saw a short woman wearing a beanie writing on my board. I turned my back for a minute, dropping something in our main office mailbox and headed down to see if there is something she needs to tell me in person. Before I could get there, she finished writing her note and took off down the hall.

Now, that was a busy day for me. I had been at this meeting, and that meeting, all over campus. So to let people that needed to get in touch with me know what my status was, I put “In and out all day” on the board. Her note was, in big bold writing “That’s what she said”.

To be honest, I should have seen this coming. I like to think that I am pretty good at finding those little “That’s what she said” moments and bringing everyone’s attention to them. But I was busy, and I was in work mode, which means there is nothing funny about what I do and I expect people to feel the same way.

That little brat. I was half pissed off, and half impressed.

 So weeks passed. I shared this funny little story with my dear friends, who thought it was great, some even thought it was genius.

 Last week, our campus experienced a scare when someone reported a man with a gun in the residence hall that turned out to be a false report. Nonetheless, it has scared people and also made people mad. Some would say it’s a sensitive issue.

This morning, at about 11am,  I was walking down the hall towards my office when I saw a short girl with a beanie on, and she was writing “Call the cops” .

Naturally, I got nervous for her so started walking towards her and then stopped to watch when she continued to write “Call the cops. there’s a crazy guy in (the residence hall)”. This is when I stopped watching, got pissed, stood right next to her, and started talking.

It also made for a nice intimidation tactic that I am like a foot and a half taller than she is.

I said.. “Do you need something from me?” in the least unhelpful tone I could muster.

She went “Uh, shit, um I was just messing around”.

I replied with more angry sarcasm than I knew existed “Well, it would be great if you didn’t do that again. This board is used for people who actually need some help and not for people who are just messing around.”

She went “Okay, yeah, I will never do it again” and then was frantically trying to wipe it off, which you can’t do without an eraser, which only made her panic more and me get even angrier.

I replied “Yeah, don’t worry about wiping it off, you need an eraser for it. I’ll do it. People do this stupid shit all the time”, then half screamed “Fuck!” and stormed into my office.

People, there is a difference between mumbling “that’s what she said” after your buddy says “Man, that was harder than usual” and making light of something that is very, well, heavy.

And little brats in beanies need to figure that out.

 D

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You’re giving me the mic?

Ah, it’s always been my dream to have my very own space where all that gets talked about is what’s on my mind. Well, my darlings, this is it. You’re giving me the mic and I’ve got quite a bit to say. Some things will probably be very boring to you, some may be intriguing. Who am I kidding, it’s all pretty much going to be boring. But I like to think I’m funny, which may make this all more worth your while.

In this space, I hope to make you laugh, think, and read what it’s like to be me. To be Mr. O’Donnell’s daughter. To be a woman. To hate long fingernails and love sad movies. To always say please and thank you and sometimes want to punch people.

In short, to be totally frickin’ awesome.

Welcome friends. Thanks for listening.

 D

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