Note to Self - Cover Letters

There are a lot of things about job searching that are not fun, but NOTHING is worse than the Cover Letter. It always feels like a Dear Diary entry to a stranger talking about how cool I am. Or like I'm trying to sell that really hot guy on why he should want to date me.

The Great Granny Panty Thief

This is story just off the presses. I've mentioned before that when my grandmother spends time with my aunt or uncle, she usually tells these HUGE whoppers about my mother and myself. These stories are always simultaneously unfathomable, insulting and hilarious. So here's the set-up.

In one of my grandmother's 17 drawers (yes, that is passive aggressiveness you hear) she has always kept her underwear, or panties as we call them in this West Indian household. This drawer is very close to ground and in the past few months, possibly due to an aversion to bending, or the general need to pack up all sorts of things next to her bed, she has stopped looking in this drawer. Luckily, as West Indians, we wash our underwear everyday (its weird, I did it all through boarding school and college too, so future husband, be forewarned). So the six to seven pairs she wore and washed were in heavy rotation. I eventually snuck a few extra into a drawer she did open often just to give them some relief.

So fast forward to two nights ago, she opens the drawer, finds the underwear and has no idea who they belong to or who put them there. She spends an hour sorting through the panties, turning them inside out, folding them and placing them back in the drawer. When I come into the room, she says to me with the ever so put upon voice "See here, I folded all your panties and put them back in the drawer for you." Cue being flabbergasted, denial, and eventual kissing of teeth and deciding not to deal with it since my aunt was en route to pick her up.

Now, speaking to my aunt today, she tells me the following. Not only is my grandmother sticking with the story that the 3 dozen pairs of underwear (all granny panties by and by) are mine and that I placed them in this drawer. She has now gone on the record saying I am not buying all these underwear. In fact I'm stealing them and SHE HAS BEEN THERE TO WITNESS ME DOING IT.

In fact, Paragon that she is, she has tried to get me to stop, telling me to stop putting the people's underwear in my purse, and that she wasn't coming to court to post no bail or bond for me.

Now, what the hell? A. Thanks for backing me up there grandma: no bail money for your first born granddaughter. B. Why am I stealing the most singularly unattractive underwear ever? C. Really, when I'm on the lam "robbing" the stores of their granny panties, my getaway/accomplice is gonna be my 83 year old, walker toting, slow moving grandma?

<---- What's setting off my inner klepto. P.S I swear I own NO underwear that looks like this. 



All stores everywhere, if you see me stealing panties the size of parachutes while navigating my grandma's walker around the tiny crowded underwear displays in most department stores, please send me straight to Bellevue. I assure you my mama did not send me to good schools to go down that way and I need all the help I can get.

Note to Self - Driving

Driving, especially down highways, is basically like coloring between the lines for adults.

My OCD made a Pretty!

I made this drawing because I sometimes forget where I park my car. I plan to print it, put it on a corkboard, and use a thumbtack to indicate my car. I will now magically know EXACTLY where my car is parked, whether it needs to be moved for street cleaning, and... well really that's it. But somehow I justified spending a couple of hours on this. And I'm pretty proud.

P.S. Please don't stalk me now. I do have mace.