The One With the Yearbooks

K brought her Nintendo Wii along with her for her two-week visit, and I am quite pleased and satisfied to say that it's still tucked away in the bag she brought it in. She's been playing, basically non-stop, my old circa 1993 Super Nintendo. It makes me proud.

One of the games she especially loves is Mario Paint. You can't play it with the controllers -- you have to use the mouse that came with the game. It also has a mousepad that goes with it, but I've misplaced that somewhere back at my dad's house. I still have it, but I haven't made the effort to track it down. As such, when you play the game, you have to have some kind of flat surface to put the mouse on. A couple of nights ago, I noticed that K had pulled one of my old yearbooks off the shelf to use as the mousepad.

When she'd finished playing, I picked up the yearbook and told her that it was my 2nd grade yearbook. She's going into 2nd grade this year, so that piqued her interest. She looked up my picture and told me how cute I was.

Then she proceeded to through all my yearbooks, looking for my picture, and making commentary on and asking things about stuff I'd written in the books.

"Why does this girl have her face colored in?"
"Because she was mean to me."
"I have a friend that's mean to me."
"If she's mean to you, why is she your friend?"
"Well, she used to do this every time I looked at her." (Rolls her eyes and puts on bitchface.)
"Does she still do it?"
"No. We're friends now."

The politics of 1st graders.

"Why did you put checkmarks beside these people?"
"Those were my friends."
"I have lots of friends."

Then I showed her my elementary school boyfriend (my longest-term relationship to date, lasting from kindergarten until 4th grade, when I left to go to a different school). He just got married, incidentally.

"Cute," K said.

She shuffled through the yearbooks for a while longer until she got to high school.

"Why do three of these say 'high school' on them?"
"Because I was at that high school for three years. I was at a different school for 9th grade."
"Four years?"
"Yeah. High school lasts four years."
"No it doesn't."
"Yeah it does."
"I won't be in high school for four years."
"I bet you will."

She told me I was pretty in all of my high school pictures. (Why can't EVERYONE look at people like kids do?)

Then I said, "Hey, I'll show you my boyfriend from 11th grade." I paged through the Junior class until I came to his picture. I pointed it out to her.

She didn't say anything. She just laughed. I'm not sure why, but she just laughed.

And that's why we get along.

The One With the Enfamil

I may or may not have mentioned (and I'm entirely too lazy to go back and look) the baby magazines I keep getting subscribed to. If not, here's the (abridged) story:

There are some very small, very immature people living back where D and I used to live, and in states beyond. These people hold things against you forever, because they have nothing better to do with their lives. So there are those people.

Then, last time D was there, the liquor store guy said something about how he (D) had run away from that town, leaving his wife, to whom he was still married, and moving in with his pregnant mistress.

False. All of it. D's divorced, thanks, and if I'd been pregnant as long as people have been SAYING I've been pregnant, my fetus would be approximately 18 months old at this point. Like. . .Wonder Fetus. Also, if I've been pregnant for 18+ months, I look AMAZING.

OK. There's the backstory.

A month or so back, I checked a mostly-defunct e-mail address, just because I was bored. Contained within the 845 messages I had, I had a note from "American Baby" magazine, thanking me for my recent subscription.

. . . . . .

Um, what?

Also, the subscription was in the name I will have once I get married. Like, if my name was Sarah Smith, and D's name was D Jones, the subscription was for Sarah Jones. This right here is how I know it's just someone effing with me, and not something I signed up for on my own. I do send away for a lot of free samples and things, but always in my own name.

I called American Baby, explained what happened (sort of) and had the subscription cancelled. Unfortunately, since the order was put in online, there was no way of knowing where the order came from. OK, whatever.

Then, last month, I also got my first issue of another baby magazine, the name of which escapes me at the moment. I've gotten two of those. That is also addressed to Sarah (Jones).

So last week, I have a voicemail from Mom. What it SOUNDS like she says is, "Hey, it's me. Got a package in the mail for you. Let me know what you want me to do with your Enfamil."

The product name sounded vaguely familiar, but I called her back.

"Hey."
"Hey."
"I got your message. . .WHAT did you say the package was?"
"Enfamil."
"I don't even know what that is."
"It's baby formula."

. . . . . . .

She laughed. I laughed. I told her my fetus was about 18 months old.

While I was on the phone, D suggested that I put the can on craigslist. It's a fairly good-sized can, and someone should be able to use it. I decide to do something good for the world, and I did, in fact, put it up. Here was the message:

Free Can of Enfamil
Since my husband's nightmare of an ex-wife thinks it's really funny to send samples of baby magazines and baby supplies to me even though I'm not, nor have I ever been, pregnant, I have a new, unopened can of Enfamil and a few coupons for Enfamil I'd like to give to someone who could use it. I'd keep it for myself but I literally have no use for baby formula.

Send me a message and we'll set up a time and place to make the drop.

Within 5 minutes, I'd gotten a response:

yeah i want it

Really? REALLY?! No greeting, no signature, no please, no thank you. Just "Yeah, I want it."

OK, I'm not asking that people asking for. . .charity, basically, need to jump through hoops for me to give them things. But this?

Like three minutes later, I get another response from the same e-mail address:

please give me milk

At least she said please this time. But. . .something about it just hit me entirely the wrong way.

Then I got a message from someone with the handle (and I'm changing the numbers here) LuciousLipz9216. This message said:

do you still have this?i could really use it.i can pick up.please let me know.

OK. Better.

Next message:

Hello,

I would absolutely love to get these if they are still available. I have a 4 month old and could really use it.

Thanks,

G

Yes. YES! This sounded like someone I would feel good about helping out. I decided to e-mail G back, and I got one more e-mail before I took the posting down:

Hi I just wonder if you still have the enfamil coupons. My sister in law could use them to save some money to feed my niece.
Thank you so much
I

OK. Not the best grammar, but a good second contender if G couldn't get them. I won't hold bad grammar against her. Maybe she's not from around here.

I exchanged a couple e-mails with G, and then. . .they abruptly stopped. I e-mailed her again to check to see if she still wanted it, and I got this reply:

Hi Sarah,
Thanks so much, but it probably would be difficult to meet up so you

can give it to someone else. Thanks again.
G

Huh. OK. I e-mailed the second contender to tell her that they were still available, and I got this response:

Hi Sarah I live far but my post office is very close and I can mail you a postage envelope.

Would you mind to hold coupons until you receive my self-address Envelope?

Thank you so much for your kindness, time and patience.

We really appreciate this
I

. . . . . Tell me that doesn't sound sketchy as hell. Sketchy. As. HELL.

Ultimately, I decided to just wait until the holiday season, and then give it to one of the many food drives that are held during that time. Better that than to potentially be hacked up into tiny pieces by some formula-drinking psycho and to be distributed in dumpsters around town.

And actually, now that I think about it, I don't know if I have any readers who have formula-drinking babies, but if you could use this stuff, I can send it to you. Just leave me a comment with your e-mail address, and I'll get it to you. It's a pretty good-sized can, and it comes with some coupons and stuff. Just let me know!

The One With Some Blasts From the Past and a Creepy Guy

Have you seen my list? Here it is.

So, I'm aware I've already posted a list thing today, but I have an hour to go, a really loud "EEEEEEEEE!!" System Failure alarm going off with no end in sight, no air conditioning, my work system isn't working, and I have a headache and a rampant earache. Are you REALLY going to tell some one this cranky not to post another list item?

Didn't think so.

I'm a few days behind anyway. We'll call this catching up.

I promise, my mood will improve.

Day 10 -- a photo of you taken over 10 years ago

Pictures of little Sarah! Yay! I'm actually going to put up two, because I think they're adorable.

This was me at 4. We were still living in New Hampshire, and I was still doing ballet. This was before I, at age 7, started taking karate instead. From ballet to karate. Awesome. So this was, in fact, taken more than 10 years ago.
Now, this one. I'm about 6 in this one, and this was while I was taking my ballet/jazz/tap combo classes. Obviously, this was the one for tap. (Hence the tap shoes.) Yes, I am, in fact, wearing fishnet tights. It's less creepy than it could be, though, because I don't have any makeup on, and my hair is just pulled back, unlike the mini beauty queen prostitots on "Toddlers and Tiaras."

Also, it must be said. . .Good Lord, check out those ears. I'm kind of surprised that the wind didn't pick me up and carry me away. I (mostly) grew into those things, though, so it's OK.

Now disturbing true story about this picture. I very (very) briefly "dated" this guy. . .I'm fairly sure it was after my freshman year of college, but for some reason, I always think it could be my sophomore year of college. I was somewhere in the 19-20 range. He was older than me, 21-22-ish.

He saw this picture, got this. . .disturbing look in his eye, and he goes, "So. . .do you still have that outfit?"

. . . . . . . . .

Needless to say, THAT is a relationship that didn't go the distance.

What I wanted to say was, "Um, even if I did, I was SIX! It wouldn't FIT! Also, CREEPY!"

It should also be noted that this guy was never allowed to touch me in any manner save a couple hugs I was pulled into unexpectedly. The mere thought of that now kind of makes me want to go shower with bleach.