Cardiogirl: 19% body fat 100% fun

I’m in a list kinda mood so I figured I’d give you four funky quirks about moi.

1. I have not memorized my cell phone number.

I really hate cell phones but I do have one. It wasn’t my choice to buy it because I don’t like talking on the phone unless I’m in the mood. Period. And carrying a cell phone around feels like I’m tethered to an electronic ankle bracelet. In addition to that, I never carry a purse so I have nowhere to store it and frequently I leave it in the car or in the kitchen cupboard.

I have issues with the phone that are too detailed to get into here but suffice it to say I realize I am passively boycotting the phone.

It actually feels like I have a mental block on memorizing that number but I’m trying to work on that. If I had it on me at all times I could press the button on there that shows me my own number. But since I don’t, it’s a problem. Further, I have one of those phone carriers that clip onto my waistband but I never use that either.

That’s probably the solution right there — clip it on my belt and forget about it until it rings. And if I had it on my person I could give out my cell phone number by pressing that button that displays it for me.

2. I never allow the colors yellow and blue to appear next to each other.

This one has some petty rage issues behind it. I know a smug bitch who attended but did not graduate from the University of Michigan. I did graduate from Michigan State and there is a strong rivalry between those two schools. U of M’s school colors are maize and blue which is really yellow and blue.

Because that chick constantly berated me and Michigan State I harbor rage against her, the school and the school’s colors.

So when I color with chalk or crayons, I never use blue and yellow next to each other. When I eat M&Ms I will not chew a blue and yellow one at the same time. When I used sippy cups I would not use a blue lid with a yellow cup or a yellow lid with a blue cup.

Don’t judge — I already admitted this was petty.

3. I am a picky eater but I try to hide that fact from other people.

I hate being the high maintenance chick who cannot go with the flow but I do have strong opinions about food. If everyone wants to go to McDonald’s I’m down with that, but I don’t like their food.

So while there are many food items that I do not like, I try not to mention that in person. If I’m making a turkey sandwich and all you have is Hellman’s I silently wretch inside before choosing mustard as my condiment. You say you’re making spaghetti and you’ve already mixed the red sauce in with the noodles? I’ll have a salad instead; I really was still full from lunch.

4. I have a strong need to be slightly different from the rest of society.

I’m down with conformity; I’m not interested in standing out like a pocket protector in a dress shirt. But I don’t want to be exactly like everyone else. When I worked at Arby’s in college I had to wear the uniform, just like everyone else. But I pegged the legs of my beige polyester pants. I expressed my individuality without rockin’ the boat.

My engagement ring is a solitaire but the band has a slight swerve around the diamond rather than a smooth, uninterrupted circle. It’s those small differences that make me feel special without flaunting it.

I also enjoy using cliches with a unique twist. I prefer to pick up the whip and go one more round with the filly rather than beating a dead horse. It’s just how I roll.

I was talking to my friend Rachel the other day about my kids’ past babysitters when I remembered being furious at the first babysitter I ever hired. Livid, I tell you. Her name was Gabby and she was 13 years old. I was a novice mother and I had no idea how to find a babysitter.

I
actually
spent an
hour talking to
my therapist
about the fact
that the babysitter did
not put socks on my kid. Mr. C was working 12-hour days and I was a stay-at-home mom with no help from family. And I had to get out of the house. After reviewing my options I ended up tapping another mother at church. We used to sit in the back, near the cry room, with all of the other families of small children so I figured I could get a referral from one of those mothers.

That was a mistake. I did not know that mother.

We were barely acquaintances and the girl she recommended was the niece of her brother-in-law’s sister. But 13-year-old Gabby lived ten minutes away from my house. So I called her and we chatted for a couple of minutes.

My interview process went something like this.

CG: “Hi Gabby; this is Mrs. Cardiogirl. How long have you been babysitting?”

Gabby: “About two years. I have three foster sisters and I’ve been babysitting them. The youngest one is five months old.”

CG: “Will $5 an hour work out?”

Gabby: “Yes.”

CG: “Great, I’ll pick you up on Friday night.”

So that Friday I introduced Gabby to Katie and told Gabby where all of the baby stuff was. The most important thing I told her was to make sure Katie had socks on before she tucked her into bed. I was really worried about Katie’s feet getting cold. I showed her where the socks were, gave Katie a kiss and Mr. C and I walked out the door.

I then ran back into the house and gave Gabby a pair of socks for Katie to wear to bed. Just in case she couldn’t find socks. Then we went left.

When we got home home Gabby was watching TV with the volume turned up. I said hello and walked upstairs to check on Katie. The hallway light was on, her bedroom light was on and the door was wide open. I was very surprised that all of the lights were on.

Seriously. I really didn’t think I’d have to tell the babysitter to turn the lights off when she put my kid to bed.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

When I saw Katie, asleep in her crib, I saw her naked feet. No socks. No judge. No jury. Gabby went straight to execution in my mind. I was furious. I never confronted Gabby but I never called her again either.

And then I told my therapist about it. I swear I am not kidding. I was truly distraught and just had to talk it out.

Can you believe that?

I actually spent an hour talking about the babysitter’s irresponsibility. I was outraged and I remember telling Marcia (yeah, I’ve had a few therapists over the years) that it was a massive red flag. If Gabby couldn’t follow simple directions like putting socks on my baby’s feet, how could I trust her with my baby’s life? There was no trust. None at all.

I also remember arguing with Marcia when she said, quite callously, I thought, “Your kid is not going to die because the babysitter forgot to put socks on her.”

So that little nugget came rushing back to me when I was talking to Rachel the other day — she knows the story — and the two of us laughed our heads off nine years after the fact. And then I said, “I have to write about this.”

You can thank Rachel later.

Guess what.

Guess Number One: You blamed Esther for the chaos at the office. No, Becky, but that is now going to become my go-to answer for everything.

Why did it take you two extra months to file the Girl Scout financial report?

Because Esther was dragging her feet.

Guess Number Two: You jumped off your roof to see if you could successfully use your quilt as a parachute. No, Tarheel Ramblings, I did not.

Guess Number Three: You spent a lot of time this morning at Tribal Blogs trying to implement some changes to improve your blog. And then you entered the Tribal Blogs forum and started asking questions.

This is technically correct but it’s not the answer I was looking for. Nice try though.

The answer I was looking for is this.

You threw a frozen pizza in your oven for dinner last night. That is correct, sir and/or madame!

The oven that was jacked up due to Mother Nature is back in working order. Praise be and hallelujah! And as an added surprise twist the repair man was actually a repair woman!

Sweep the Leg, gingah. Sisters are infiltrating the Sears Repair Center.

So she pulled it out, performed her magic and then asked me if I wanted to sweep up six years worth of shit that had accumulated under the oven.

(Mouth hangs open in embarrassment.)

Um, yes. Now that you ask, Ms. Repair Woman, I would like to quickly sweep and dispose of that stuff; thank you very much.

Before she left she also told me that the oven slides out very easily on my kitchen floor without marking it up, so I could pull it out regularly to MOP. UNDERNEATH. THE. OVEN.

Oh. Okay.

So we had pizza last night. That’s what.