Category Archives: My failing sanity

All work and no play make Nicole scream at telemarketers

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Last November 1, my husband took the kids to Walmart and for about $100, came home with a minivan-load of Halloween-themed exterior decorations. You all know me, come November 1 I’m really more of a Buddy the Elf girl, and so I didn’t really pay much attention to what they had purchased.

You guys, my yard. My entire front yard is filled with gigantic creepy scary things. There are 20 foot decorations swooping from the trees, across the grass. There are things hanging in every tree and shrub, there are severed hands and tombstones in my garden, there are skulls jammed alongside the withering elephant ears and hostas. Every time I look out my front window I have heart palpitations:

spooky

I have a feeling our poor mail carrier is less than pleased with having to dodge this on the way to the mailbox. Not to mention there is a plastic dead rose stuck in the mailbox.

In what can only be described as a brilliant move on the administration’s part, today is a PD day. What with the full moon, the lead up to Halloween, and the upcoming time change and subsequent darkness just after school pick-up time, it’s been kind of a shitty week. My husband has been travelling for work all week, and the kids (and me) have been missing him. EMOTIONS HAVE BEEN RUNNING HIGH.

Let’s turn this day around! I cheerfully said to the children several times this week, but really, it was ME who most desperately needed to turn the day around. MY GOD PEOPLE. Things hit a massive low on Wednesday afternoon; the boys were emotional, I have been crazily busy with work and volunteering, and I just wanted to squeeze in a quick workout on the elliptical trainer before making dinner. That’s all. I just wanted 30 minutes to be able to sweat out some of my frustrations while the kids told me about their day, but the crying outbursts of “I miss Dad!” necessitated me stopping the machine, getting off, and snuggling with them for a few minutes. Things had settled down, and I was about halfway through when the phone rang. It was marked Private Caller, which I don’t normally pick up, but because of my husband travelling I did.

Regrets. I have them.

A few months ago we had a nasty telemarketer who called for my husband, and left a name. “Oh, he knows me,” the guy assured me, “He’ll definitely want to talk to me.” Puzzled, I called my husband to tell him that Steve Fredericton called, and of course, he had no idea who it was. Later, when “Steve” called back, it was just some telemarketing idiot.

Fast forward to 4:45 on Wednesday afternoon, when I jump off the elliptical trainer and grab the phone. It was for my husband.

Me: He’s not home right now, may I ask who’s speaking?

Asshole on the phone: It’s Dave Draper.

Me: Dave…Draper? What number are you at?

AOTP: He knows my number.

Me, bathed with light and complete understanding of the situation: Really. He knows your number?

AOTP: Oh yeah. And he’s really going to want to talk to me.

Me: REALLY. Why? What is this regarding?

AOTP: I have a really great proposal for him. So, when can I call back?

Me, apparently snapping: You want to know when to call back? You want to know when is a good time? NEVER. NEVER FUCKING CALL BACK YOU MOTHERFUCKER.

Kids, listening to the whole conversation: Mom? Are you okay? Mom? Who…was that?

Believe me when I say I have never done anything like that in my life. Usually I have sympathy for telemarketers, and am polite: after all, it’s a crappy job and I imagine these telemarketers, just trying to put food on the table. I usually listen to all the spiels and politely say I’m not interested, thank you. But for some reason, this pretending you actually know my husband when you do not scheme just doesn’t work for me. Also, since I fell for it once I’ve been a bit more on edge.

Well, that was the low point. Yesterday was pretty bad too, since I was busy all day and yet somehow managed to accomplish next to nothing. I volunteered in Mark’s class for an art project, but it turned out that they really didn’t need volunteers, so my morning was wasted. Then I attempted to get some work done in the afternoon, but I had computer issues and all the photos I had taken didn’t turn out the way I wanted them to. The one thing I accomplished was a quick trip to Superstore while the kids were at karate. I was unloading my beans and pizza sauce at the cash register, as the fellow in front of me unloaded his items. He had a fresh whole chicken in a plastic bag, which somehow burst apart, sending the chicken right in my path. SALMONELLA FOR EVERYONE. It was not as low a point in my week as screaming at a telemarketer in front of my children, but it felt close.

Things can only go up from here, right? My husband is on his way home, I have all day to re-photograph some food, the kids are happy, and by this time on Sunday, I can start thinking about Christmas! Have a great weekend everyone, and Happy Halloween!

Frankie Says Relax, Van Halen Says It’s 1984

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Last night when my husband was watching football and doing what we have been doing for the past 78 days – flipping the channel when a political commercial came on, which was approximately every ninety seconds – it occurred to me: after tonight, no more political commercials. My god, this entire campaign has been very bad for my psyche. At this point I’m like Winston at the end of 1984: completely broken. I almost – ALMOST – don’t care who is elected, just don’t let the rats eat my face, if you know what I mean. Enough with the negativity.

I don’t want to talk about the election, but I want to say one thing: someone on my Facebook the other day said I just voted! Go vote everyone. Unless you’re voting Conservative.

pulpfiction

In other words, make sure you exercise your democratic right to vote, as long as you vote the way I do, otherwise fuck off. That’s a great message, thanks. THE RATS ARE GOING TO EAT MY FACE.

To be clear, I don’t care how you vote or who you vote for. I’m not using this blog to endorse one party over another. I just hate this kind of shit, you know?

Bah, I shouldn’t let what is – ostensibly – a joke bother me. If I let myself get worked up about political messages on Facebook, next thing you know I’ll be a person writing outraged letters to IHOP because of their advertising practices.

Anyway, this is my week to semi-relax after a hectic month. I just have a regular amount of work to do, and that’s it. It seems miraculous. I threw a party for my husband’s birthday on the weekend, and it was a lot of fun. It was crazy-hectic getting ready for it though, because I was not home for five of the seven days leading up to it, and it’s kind of hard to organize things that way. But a good time was had by all, although we ended up with MORE beer than we started with, and most of the guests were drinking beer all night. Magical. Anyone want to come over for a beer? We have a few. We also have this awesome wine gift bag that I kind of want to frame, or something:

winebag

Maybe I’ll carry my water bottle in this everywhere, I love it so much.

I’m taking this quiet-ish week to start preparing for the book fair. Woo. This will be my fifteenth fair, which makes me feel like I’ve rocketed right into the old age home. The difference is that I now have a co-coordinator who is going to take over when I’m gone, thank you thank you thank you. I am so thrilled with this turn of events that I want to shower her with wine and chocolates and many many hugs, but I’m slightly afraid of coming on too strong.  

To end things on a fun note, remember when I got a message from the “passionate and romantic” Birky Tony, wanting to get to know me better and to put a smile on my face? Well, apparently my lack of interest in poor Birky means that maybe I’m a man, because I got the following message from one Omelchenko Anastasiya:

Hi! I am looking for a mature, gallant experienced man with various interests, so, we have plenty to talk about. I like to reveal myself gradually. I am peaceful and do not suffer from depression. I am a confident woman. But most importantly my dignity as a woman is my beauty. I can talk about anything but I am also a good listener. I like sport, traveling, cooking, communication with friends. Do not try to look perfect, I need a real man. Let’s get to know each other better? Regards, Anastasiya.

Lots of options. If only I was a mature, gallant, experienced man who was looking for a non-depressed, dignified woman who likes communicating with friends, I could stop trying to look so perfect all the time.

Is this day thermal-spray-worthy? Probably not.

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Remember the Seinfeld episode where the contraceptive sponge was discontinued, and Elaine stocked up on them but had to screen each of her potential sexual partners to ensure that they were worthy of a sponge? I’m having that issue right now, but with hair products.

I haven’t written a “Nicole’s Favourite Things” in a while, but I wish I had sung the praises of Abba’s Thermal Styling Spray, because I’ve been using it for years. You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone. This is the single greatest styling product of all time, but when I was in the salon a few weeks ago, my hair therapist mentioned that there seemed to be a Problem With The Supplier and she thought it might be Discontinued. She mentioned it to me with some degree of urgency, and said she was looking into Alternatives But Had Yet To Find A Good One.

Panic At The Disco.

I have one bottle in my possession, and I am hoarding it like nobody’s business. I’m now wondering what occasions will be important enough for me to use it. Coffee with the girls? Volunteering at the school? Visit with the in-laws? Good-looking plumber coming over to fix my kitchen tap?

The answer is “none of the above.” I’ve been only using some kind of flexible hold spritzer that I got at the drugstore as a stop gap measure. I’m not sure what occasion will warrant me using the thermal spray, but I sure hope that my hair therapist finds a good alternative soon, or it will be a lifetime of merely-adequate hair days.

Speaking of hair, I was at Costco the other day, and the man who checks the carts and receipts at the exit gave me a big wink and a smile. He was sixty-plus, with a friendly face. “Red hair is my favourite,” he said to me, “And I love yours!” Well, I thanked him very much, to which he responded, with a nudge and raised eyebrows, “I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s all natural.” People, I was moments away from making a “carpet and curtains” joke, when my “inappropriate” siren went off. Note to self: making a ribald joke about matching the carpet to the nearly-retired cart-checker at Costco is inadvisable. Instead, I responded with a laugh and a comment about the feistiness being natural, anyway.

The whole reason I was in Costco, besides getting frozen fruit, was to look for sheets. You know how there are some areas of your life that you just find yourself being overly frugal? That’s me with sheets. I may have enough yoga wear to clothe the entire studio on any given day, but when it comes to sheets, ours were so old and had been laundered so many times that they were literally starting to fall apart. The edges of the sheets and pillowcases were frayed, and the sheets themselves were getting worn to threads. And yet, I kept thinking to myself, they’re still good. They’re fine, really.

Long, boring, and completely “who gives a shit” story short, I bought some new sheets and they have been life affirming. Every night I say to my husband, “Look at the sheets! Aren’t they glorious! They’ve changed my life!” And because he’s a patient man, he nods and says “Go to sleep now, you’re starting to not make sense.”

My reluctance to buy new sheets is probably related to my reluctance to throw out the one-centimetre-square piece of soap in the soap dish, because I can still wash my hands with it if I lather hard enough. I know. I know. I blame my mother, whose ability to repurpose freezer bags is legendary.

Back to school, back to school, to prove to my dad that I’m no fool.

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I know it’s the big “first day of school” for a lot of you, but we are already into our second week. The boys were pretty happy to start school last week; we are all enjoying that “back to routine” feeling. The children have been relentlessly quoting Billy Madison: back to school, back to school, to prove to my dad that I’m no fool. Over and over.

I, for one, have been incredibly productive and busy since they’ve been back at school, which is a good feeling. I mean, I miss them – and today I miss them more since they are staying for lunch for the first school patrol meeting of the year – but it’s kind of nice to get things done, too, and to hear later all about the exciting news of the day. “We’re going to be learning about Ancient Greece and the origins of democracy!” said Mark happily, along with “We’ll be looking for moss in our forestry unit!” Jake excitedly talked about the Math Question of the Week, which had to do with being trapped and tied up in a room with a ticking time bomb, and a rat chewing the knots on the rope, and would you be freed in time, or blow up? Jake loves math anyway but the semi-violent and gross Question of the Week took it over the top for him. Math AND explosions? How can one go wrong? Needless to say, the first week was pretty great.

Barkley’s not as happy with the change in season, though:

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Look at that sad, fuzzy face.

Barkleysad

Poor Barkley.

Other than Barkley’s depression, things have been fine so far; I’m thrilled with the boys’ teachers and classroom sizes, and they are too. I’m less thrilled that Mark has already had a cold and so spent the long weekend coughing and lethargic, although the weekend was cold and rainy – and even a bit snowy – so it could always be worse. He could have been coughing and lethargic on a nice weekend. As it was, we spent most of the weekend at my parents’ place for an early Jake-birthday celebration.

JakeBirthday JakeCake Jakegirlfriends

This week I’m apparently going to be chaperoning a walking field trip to a nearby natural park, dubbed “Whispering Woods.” The boys’ teachers are really on the ball and are very technologically-oriented, and so I received a message detailing all scheduled field trips for the upcoming year. The upside of this is that the boys will both be exposed to some excellent learning opportunities, such as a week long trip to something called the “Open Minds” arts centre. The downside is that each of them will require parent volunteers for a week for the trip to the aforementioned “Open Minds” arts centre. I have a feeling my mind is going to be opened. Opened, like a gift, or a flower, or something.

In any case, I received the request for volunteers for this week’s field trip, and in a moment of weakness I capitulated. After all, as I told my husband perkily, now that I’m not chairing the School Council or Parent Association, I have extra time for these in-class requests. “Or,” he said ominously, “You could just say that you’ve done enough volunteering to last a lifetime and have someone else do it.” True.

In any event, I’m happy to say that the forecast is not for snow, nor rain, during the scheduled field trip, although I am wondering what I was thinking. Three hours in the Whispering Woods with 53 fifth-and-sixth graders? Looking at various plants and – if Mark is to be believed – moss? This doesn’t sound like the best idea I’ve ever had.

See you in September

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Today is the very last day of summer vacation and I’m simultaneously melancholy about the fleeting nature of time, and excited to get back into routines. Every single platitude about time and children getting older (I’mmmmm getting older toooooooo) seems more poignant every year. I don’t want to be all “My BABIES” or anything, but I keep being reminded that I only have a limited number of summers to spend with the kids, and at some point they are not going to want to go bowling or watch Downton Abbey with their mom, so I Must Cherish Every Moment. Of course, all that cherishing gets tiring after a while, and so everyone is getting excited about back-to-school. I am, especially, looking forward to not working frantically between 7 and 9 am to get things done so I can Cherish My Darling Children All Day Long.

At this very moment, Cat’s in the Cradle came on the radio. Nice timing, 70s on 7.

The boys will be in Grades Five and Six this year; I have nice memories about Grade Six, but Grade Five was unequivocally the worst of my entire school career, due to typical ten-year-old Mean Girl Syndrome. I’m trying not to project, though, and Mark tells me that Grade Five Was The Most Epic Year Ever, so hopefully it’s equally epic for Jake.

Part of the back-to-school excitement is coming from actual certain knowledge of the kids’ new classes and teachers. Last week I received an email confirming a) each child’s teacher, b) each child’s classroom number, and c) the door at which each child is to line up at. This might sound like nothing to you, but it is certainly a big deal to me. In previous years, we wouldn’t know who the teachers would be or what classroom the kids would be in until 8:45 on the first day of school. Is that not a ridiculous system? Arriving at the school at 8:45, milling around the courtyard with hundreds of kids and their parents, looking for a teacher with a clipboard who would look up names and then finding the appropriate lineup. It was inevitable that there would be sad looking, teary-eyed children discovering that they’d been split from all their friends, and parents trying to Make The Best Of The Situation. I cannot imagine why it’s taken so long to implement such a normal strategy such as emailing parents to disperse information about teachers and classrooms so that kids can be prepared on the first day, but, continuing with platitudes, Better Late Than Never.

Filing under Other Things The School Rocks At, each fall parents pay a fee and school supplies are purchased by the school and distributed throughout the year. I cannot emphasize enough how appreciative I am of this policy, especially when I hear of my friends in other school boards frantically shopping for three lined notebooks in blue, green, and red or twelve number two pencils, yellow, all appropriately labelled, or a ridiculously unrealistic number of Elmer’s glue sticks. Unfortunately I often forget that not every school is the same, and I inevitably find myself thinking, on the first week of school, hmmm…I should go pick up some toothpaste and then ending up in Walmart feeling like I should just probably burn the whole store down and everyone in it, just to end the misery.

What is it about Walmart? Why is it so agonizing there? The boys and I briefly stopped in there last week to pick up some Benadryl and hand lotion, and it was a soul-destroying experience. It didn’t help that we were there on what appeared to be Shelf Restocking Day, and so the aisles were clogged with giant dollies full of product, and no product on shelves, along with people stocking up on sheaves of paper on sale for ten cents each. There was a giant lineup snaking into the “jewelry” department, along with six empty cashiers for 12 items or less. Fortunately that was us, and I wondered, if Walmart has some kind of conspiracy to keep people coming back multiple times just to get in the 12 items or less lineup. Why punish people who get in excess of 12 items? It makes no sense, but it must make sense to someone at Walmart Headquarters. It’s a puzzle for sure, but the bigger puzzle is if it’s really worth it to me to save $2 on Benadryl or if next time, I should just pick it up at the much-less-chaotic old-people Co-Op.

Scaredy Nicole Wears Blue. This Was Not Part Of The Plan!

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This weekend I got on my bike for the first time since 2003. I know! It felt like quite the undertaking. I stopped going for bike rides when I was pregnant with Mark, and then I never started again. My husband rides with the kids, but the truth is I’m not a strong rider, I cannot ride in traffic without panicking, and I just can’t deal with worrying about the kids riding WHILE I’m riding. But the kids are now at an age where they are perfectly competent, and they’ve expressed interest in “family bike rides” and so I thought riding up at the lake, where there is little traffic and few things to worry about, might be just the ticket. I also remembered how shocked the kids were to learn that I actually know how to swim, and so I thought in some way I should show them that their mother is actually capable of riding a bike.

So my husband dragged my bike out of storage, and tuned it up a bit. I went out and bought a bike skirt because if I’m going to spend any amount of time doing an athletic activity, I want to do it looking nice.

bikeskirt

My friend Alice (HI ALICE) expressed concern about the colour. She thought the blue was too bright for me, and that I resemble a flower, and will get swarmed by marauding butterflies. If this happens, I will probably die. Or scream.

Anyway, I nervously rode with the boys and it was pretty fun, so I guess we are going on family bike rides now. It’s one of my goals to be more sporty and active with the kids, and as long as I have a cute outfit, I’m good to go. Right?

A friend (HI JOANNE) posted a long quote about embracing yourself as you are and I just have to share the last part:

 I don’t want to waste one more precious, livable moment being anything other than totally thrilled that I’m here! I’m alive! I get to live every day in this body that my soul chose and my only job is to honor it with a full life!”
~ Christina Vanvuren

So I guess I’ll be bike riding more often. I’m not sure if ANYONE is capable of being in a state of thrill every second of every day, but it’s good to remember that it is good to be alive.

Social media is a funny thing, isn’t it? For the most part, I love it, and not just because I have a job based on it. I really like to peek into other people’s lives and celebrate their little victories and happiness. I love photos of pets, kids, and vacations. I love selfies, recipes, pictures of what someone had for dinner, and links to funny or interesting stories. Most of all, I love personal stories. The other day, a woman I know from yoga (HI LAURA) posted an anecdote in which she and her one year old son were in Starbucks and were approached by an elderly lady with dementia. This elderly lady thought that Laura’s baby was her own grandson, and instead of correcting her, Laura sat down and had visited with her. Not one out of one hundred people would do that, I think. What a kindness. This has stayed in my thoughts and has given me a goal to be more open and kind. Think about it – what a gift she gave that lady, the gift of dignity and kindness. I want to be more like Laura.

Then there’s the flip side of social media, the passive aggressive updates, the angry link posting and the threads that follow, the invitations to express differing views followed by the total rage that results from people expressing differing views. I’ve actually seen friendships – actual, real-life friendships – disintegrate over vaccination discussions and political decisions. Just this weekend, someone posted a piece about the price of starter homes. The thread that followed was basically many people agreeing that no one but the very rich can afford to buy a house, and buying a house is stupid anyway. Then one of my friends very reasonably and calmly commented that, by making informed decisions and figuring out where one’s priorities lie, most people can in fact purchase a home. He also – very reasonably – pointed out that the definition of “starter home” is possibly flawed; a 2500 square foot house with all new appliances might not fit this description.

I strongly agree with this last point. My husband and I bought this house in 2000, and it was in terrible shape at the time. The living room was bright pink with shiny forest green trim, and featured a giant fireplace with gold-toned rock work. The basement was panel board and linoleum, the kitchen had five different – but coordinated! – patterns of wallpaper, and the bathroom had BROWN FIXTURES. The kitchen cupboards and drawers were homemade in 1962 and required a great deal of strength to open and close them. The linen cupboards smelled like ginger and garlic had gone in there to die and the gardens were completely overrun by weeds and grass. That, my friends, is a starter home.

But I digress. After my friend made these very reasonable points, and also drew on his own experiences and setbacks, he was immediately attacked by the other commenters. People said some really mean, cutting things, and THAT is what I hate about social media. I hate the pretence that everyone is open minded and can express opinions freely, but if someone does that, then they get attacked. I hate that people say things that they very likely would not say face to face, and most of all, I hate when people follow up a mean comment with a smiley emoticon and/ or an “lol!”. THE LOL DOES NOT CANCEL OUT WHAT YOU SAID, PEOPLE.

Well, we can’t control what others do, we can only control our own reactions and behaviour, and that’s why there’s the “I don’t want to see this” option. And in the meantime, I will be thinking to myself “What Would Laura Do?” Laura probably wouldn’t write a blog post about what she hates about social media. Hmm. Too late now, and so if I do get swarmed by marauding butterflies, it will be karma, I guess. xo

I’ve got 99 problems, and excessive caffeine consumption is one of them.

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Today was the Volunteer Appreciation Tea at the school, and guess what?

swag

SWAG

Not only did I win a door prize – Bath and Body Works stuff, which I LOVE – but I also got a “special recognition” for being the Chair and also the Book Fair Lady. I was pretty touched by the whole thing, and in fact I gave a tiny impromptu speech about how amazing the school is, how amazing the staff was, how amazing everything is…basically I was like the drunk guy with an open mic at a wedding. I can’t resist an audience and a microphone, I guess.

But I kind of WAS impaired, and in retrospect I probably shouldn’t have had six cups of coffee BEFORE leaving the house for the tea. The earnest and eager Grade Six coffee servers were very attentive, and I said yes every single time they visited my table. I’ve probably had about twelve cups of coffee today and TWELVE CUPS OF COFFEE IS JUST TOO MUCH COFFEE. I feel like a hummingbird on cocaine. I feel like Ben Stiller in Starsky and Hutch, when he thinks that the cocaine is sugar and uses a ton of it in his coffee and rubs it on his gums and then enters a disco dance-off. Thinking about it now, I’m kind of proud I didn’t start a dance-off in the middle of the handbell performance, or the choir singing of a Voyageur song.

At the end of the tea, the kids had a morning recess and the teachers swanned in to visit a bit with the parents, sort of like when you’re in Vegas and the Elvis and Buddy Holly impersonators go and chat with the audience. I felt a teensy bit like the completely wasted party girl, when everyone else has just had a sip of champagne; talking to my kids’ teachers with gun-fire rapidity, congratulating Jake’s math teacher on his upcoming entry into fatherhood, chatting with another teacher about the weather in Nevada, hugging my friend who had won the CBE “Volunteer of the Year” award. I practically felt like going for a 10K run, but fortunately for my knees I went home instead and tried to work, mistyping everything and flitting from task to task.

Currently, I’m in the “caffeine hangover” stage, and I still have the focus of Apu on 3 days of no sleep. I just paused writing this to do a Buzzfeed quiz to find out who would be my book husband. I would have said with 100% certainty that it must be Mr. Darcy, but it was actually Atticus Finch.

atticus

I’ll take it!

My actual, non-book husband is also “passionate, dedicated, intelligent and a true fighter at heart.” This is especially true when it comes to telephone soliciting. We seem to get a lot of phone calls lately, but since no one I know actually calls me, with the exception of my mother and mother-in-law, I never answer the phone. If it’s not a telephone solicitor, I assume the caller will leave a message – which never happens. Ergo, the only people who call me are telephone solicitors. I’m used to this barrage of phone ringing, but my husband was home alone the other evening and actually answered the calls. By the time I got home he was ripping a strip off the latest telephone solicitor, who was the fourth to call in forty-five minutes.

Now, I’m generally of the mindset that it’s “just a person with a crappy job” and if, on the off chance I do pick up the phone and end up talking with someone who wants to know if I’d like my furnace cleaned, I’m generally short but polite. My husband, on the other hand, was at the end of his rope by the fourth caller.

Then, last night I did answer the phone. I was home alone, and the same number had called multiple times throughout the day. The caller asked for my husband, and when I said he wasn’t home, they asked when they could reach him.

Me: I’m going to do you a favour. My husband becomes incensed by telephone soliciting, so if this is a solicitation, don’t call back.

Telephone Solicitor: Well. Let me tell YOU something. This is Shamal Brown and your husband is going to WANT to talk to me.

Me: Oh, he is, is he? He knows you?

Telephone Solicitor: He’s really going to want to talk to me.

Me: What is this regarding?

Telephone Solicitor: When can I reach him?

Me: Why don’t you give me your number.

Telephone Solicitor: No. I’m going to call him back.

Me: I’m warning you. He really doesn’t like unsolicited phone calls.

Telephone Solicitor: Listen, he will really want to talk to me.

Me: I really don’t think so. He doesn’t know you.

Telephone Solicitor: Is he there? Right now? Now that you know I am Shamal Brown?

Me: HE IS NOT.

Telephone Solicitor: He’s there, isn’t he? Can I talk to him?

Me: *hangs up*

People, this morning at 8:15 am the phone rang – and it was the same number! I picked it up, wondering if Shamal Brown would be on the other line so we could continue this ridiculous conversation, but sadly, it was just a very young sounding girl. She said she’d call back tonight so let’s cross our fingers that my husband and Shamal Brown can connect, because nothing says “great marketing practices” like being harassed by Shamal Brown.