My Life As ConBarbie, Shortlived

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I will be the first to admit, a little fluttering of the eyelashes and a bit of southern accent (thanks QOS) goes a long way. Paticularly when it comes to getting your drink made properly (the first time!) at Starbucks or having someone be a little more helpful at Home Depot. And USED TO at the Department of Motor Vehicles.

Used to.

Yeah. It works great if the person who is helping you isn't a TWO HUNDRED POUND WOMAN WITH PLASTIC HAIR that needs to melt off her head across her squinty demon eyes and down to her botoxed lips, hopefully sealing her blathering mouth shut.

As I am sure I have mentioned, I am legally blind in my left eye. Now, before you start sending sympathy cards and flowers (wait! bring on the flowers anyway) or trying to sell me your ugly mutt dog as my companion, let me explain, legally blind means that you can see, just not read out of that eye. I actually managed to scrape by as non-legally blind last time I took the eye test for the Air Force. When I was five years old, they told me I would never get my driver's license and even then I was determined to prove them wrong.

Yes. Here I am today, a danger to all who roam the streets.

When I origonally got my license, I did cheat a tiny bit. But the nice gentleman at the DMV didn't seem to notice that I made up all the letters when he tested my left eye. And, whenever you renew your license they do not recheck your eyes. Well. In Delaware, that is. Since I am trying to get my license transferred to Maryland (after technically living here two years). Maryland, since they pretend to be so efficent, are far more stringent. And the lady with the plastic hair was ensuring that I understood this.

After waiting FOR AN HOUR. I stumbled through my eye exam, pretending I had no idea I could not read any of the letters with my left eye. This left Her Plastic Highness thoroughly confused. She tested me one way, then another. Wasn't sure her equipment was working properly and after she was thoroughly stumpted. She decided to charitably inform me (while she loudly smacked her gum) "Hunny, yuv got a purty bad prollum in that ahe of urs and yuv got to go to the ahe doctah". (As long as he signs off on my vision I am good to go.)

So, this evening it is off to the eye doctor with a few extra coats of mascara.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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