I've had some mental hotfoots lately. You know -- the sort of things that, like in cartoons, set off a light bulb over your head. And I'm gonna vent a bit. Mostly, I'm a nice girl & I try not to holler or whine but lately the world confuses me and it's making me cranky.
* Yesterday, I heard from someone who asked me to do something for an organization I'm involved with here in town. It was something I tend to be rather good at so I said yes. Now they're telling me how to do it & implying that they know better how it's to be done. I have this nasty inclination to tell them that if they're so damned good at this & I'm not good enough that they should do it themselves. If they don't trust my abilities, why did they ask me to do it?
* How can one be over-qualified and not have enough experience when applying for a job?
* Why is it if one says he/she is unable to attend a meeting/event, people want to know why and get offended when you won't tell them? Some things don't need to be shared.
* If you're single/divorced/widowed, why do people keep asking why you aren't married or if you'd like to marry? Those are the same folks who, if you start dating someone, want to know when you're getting married.
* Doesn't anyone wear a watch anymore? Call me crazy but punctuality seems to have become a lost art.
* Baby showers for 15-year-old unwed mothers-to-be. So call me old-fashioned.
* Changing the name of the Department of Human Services (aka Welfare) here in Ohio to the Office of Familiy Stability. Duh? Stable families don't need assistance. (and therein lies another blog after which my soapbox will be in the shop for major repairs!)
* When waiting at the bus stop, people who come up to you and ask, "Hasn't the bus come yet?" Hey sunshine, if it had, would I be still be standing here?
* People who call our office and ask, "Is this the ____________?" What did I say when I answered the phone?
On that note, I think I've vented enough. Thanks for listening! I feel muich better! Now I can go forth and face the world! And, as always . . .