Valancy Jane – “So now I’m headed over to Sam’s to take all this out and poof it up.”
Coworker P – “Oh, you’re taking them out?”
Valancy Jane – “You thought I was going like this?”
Coworker P – “Well ……… it’s you.”
Valancy Jane – “Touche. I withdrawn all indignation in my last sentence.”
And it’s covering all the little braids Sam put in my hair earlier today.
And it reminds me of this.
I’m SO in the mood to dance now.
And in every other way it seems like Karma is SOOOOOOOOOOOO sucking up to me.
And tonight is the company holiday party, with an 80’s cover band, at a beach club, and when you consider that most of my friends I know from work, that makes tonight like, the prom.
At the moment, Sam is crimping my hair.
There I was, on the phone with UPS, so mad it actually hurt in my ears, and what do I do?
So not badass.
I’m locked in an epic battle with UPS.
There appears to be some confusion about exactly the nature of the service we paid for. They seem to think that “Next Day Delivery” is a service package that includes up to and possibly more than five days of babysitting it, lying about it’s location, driving it around parts of town I don’t live in, phone numbers that don’t work, MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF ATTITUDE including such lines as “what do you expect lady? You want us to drive it to you?” (yes he really said that), and an attempt at delivery that only netted them letting the dog out of the BACK YARD to run loose through the streets.
I guess I didn’t read the fine print, ’cause I thought it meant, you know, delivery, within a day or so.
Years ago, as kids, Jesse and I were at a carnival or fair of some sort, and we paused to watch a pie eating contest. The announcer said that one contestant had dropped out and that they needed someone to compete right then. Jesse’s hand shot up.
I have to admit I was a little surprised. Jesse’s fun and a good sport and all, but not the sort to give himself a stomachache without a really good reason. Jesse whispered, “Free pie!”
The announcer waved him up and Jesse took his seat on the end of the row. He looked very calm.
They blew the whistle and all the kids went face first into their pies. Except Jesse. He calmly unrolled a napkin, tucked it into his collar, picked up a knife and fork, carefully cut the pie into wedges, studied it for a second, rotated the pie to the pie he apparently wanted to start with, then finally took a bite.
As you may have guessed, Jesse did not win the contest. Neither did the kid next to him, who despite starting strong obviously became distracted, staring at Jesse inbetween gulps, as Jesse sat there, doing Emily Post proud with his table manners.
But at the end, he walked off the stage looking dejected. He sighed and shrugged when he got back over to me.
“Wasn’t very good pie.”
The Retropolitan: Sometimes I wish alcohol were an occupation.
Then I’d be able to concentrate my attention on other things in my free time, like filing papers and dealing with customers.
Valancy Jane: Oh totally.
If I could live the rest of my life halfway into a bottle of red wine, that would be awesome.
The Retropolitan: THERE MUST BE A WAY
Valancy Jane: Well, I think there IS a way, what I need is an EXCUSE.
… it’s a great name for a teddy bear.
…. “Oh please. Bring down the next contestant ready to try their luck on Try To Offend me!”
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman