One of my residents walked into my office yesterday carrying this:
Being the calm, cool and collected gal I am, I gasped and dropped to the floor.
I think it’s safe to say that any street cred I, perhaps delusionally, thought I had at some point has been buried in a grave with the pride I lost this last weekend when I called Corpus Christi “Corpus Crispy” to a couple of friends.
If you feel the need to unfollow me now, feel free. No one will blame you.
Mo: Miss R, some of us were talking in the community room today and although we think it’s high time you found a boyfriend, we think it’s really good that you are not attracted to FJ (my co-worker), since you work with him and all — that could only lead to troubles.
Me: Oh well, I am certainly glad this is being discussed and although I am not sure I need to find a boyfriend, I am curious as to why/how you know that I don’t like FJ…?
Mr Mo: Well Miss R, it’s pretty obvious you don’t like him by the way you dress — you know you can’t catch a man like that, don’t you? I mean, we’re right, right? You don’t like him?
Me: No, no, I don’t.
Mo: Well good, that’s what we all concluded; that obviously if you liked him you’d fix your hair and dress better — I mean, please, even you’ve got enough game to know that.
One of my residents and I were talking about hypothetically writing a romantic comedy — we decided that the sweetest thing either of us could say would be “before I met you I digested all my food like normal, now I can’t stop going to the bathroom.”
(I hope you were sitting down when you read that, as I am certain you swooned and got a little lightheaded)
A few minutes later, with food in his beard, he told me that there’s been some talk and people have started to notice that I never brush my hair and he thinks it’d be best for me to squash the rumors by running a comb through it.
noted, thanks.
Every Monday morning I head over to the local 99¢ store where I can pick up a movie for my residents and I, to watch together in the afternoon. I am often chastised for my “girly movies,” so the last few weeks I have done my best to pick movies with a bit more grit and grime. Today however, I got a little selfish and picked out Country Strong. During a particularly emotional scene (I mean, I am talking real emotion — like on a scale from 1-10, this would be an 8, it would not be debated as to whether or not this was sad in most settings), I got a bit teared up (fine, a lot teared up). After a small sniff one of my residents turned around completely straight-faced and said, “What the heck? Why you cryin’ Miss R? You wish you were an actress and wanted to part of Gwyneth Paltrow?” Continue reading “country strong.”
During our rooftop gardening group today I could not seem to escape the smell of port-o-potty — it seemed to be following me and man, it was awful. It was not until after I m
entioned it aloud that I realized it could very well be one of the many residents sweating in the sun as we pulled weeds and replanted and I felt terrible. On my hands and knees I continued to pull out roots, with an effort to ignore the stench (let’s be honest, it’s not the first time my nose has been accosted here) until one resident went over to a big plastic pipe coming from through the roof and began inquiring about it. Not knowing myself, I sort of ha
lf-crawled/ half-walked over it to check it out, admiring his curiosity. As I moved closer the smell got more pungent and assuming it was my resident, I held my breath. I got right up next to the pipe and as I did I could hold it no longer and let it out only to gulp back in with immediate regret, as within seconds I realized it was connected to the building’s sewage and began dry heaving so violently that I had to sit out the rest of the group for fear of completely losing it (while also thanking God I unhealthily decided not to eat breakfast this morning. While I sat back and surveyed one of my residents yelled out, “I guess this gives new meaning to the expression ‘heavin’ and hoein’!”
My residents found this hi-larious. I did not.
This afternoon I had a meeting consisting of Miss M, her In Home Supportive Services Social Worker and myself. I introduced myself when I first walked in and we began the meeting. About halfway through the meeting the worker said, “I thought I was meeting with Miss R this afternoon.”
Me: You are, I am Miss R, the one you spoke to (and hung up on once, mind you) on the phone.
Social Worker: No you’re not, the woman I talked to is Mexican.
Me: No, no, she isn’t, I am Miss R and I am primarily German.
Miss M: You’re German?! No wonder I am scared of you! You people are craaazzaaayyyy! Continue reading “A Mexican, a German and a Jew all walk into a bar…”
Rachel Karman 