The Quasimodo Olympics

I was never picked first, second or third for sports teams. As an adult I can avoid these sorts of settings, but I am quite certain that even now I would be picked last. I lack coordination; I fall up the stairs, I trip over nothing, I am exquisite at walking in to cocktail tables. I have never been able to do a proper cartwheel (Side note: I have, in my 30',s done a cartwheel in Caesar's Palace ). My Aunt Shelley and Uncles Greg and Bruce were awesome at just about everything. When I was just a wee ginger they would play games of all sorts for hours in Oma and Opa's backyard with me. I got frustrated because I couldn't do the things (such as cartwheels) that they could....and so The Quasimodo Olympics were born. You took gold in the Quasimodo Olympics by being the most spastic at something. I took gold time and time again.

Today as I walked across a windy campus I was doing my best to keep my dress down where it should be. As I held my dress, it made me think of "sports" I would like to see added to the Quasimodo Olympics. They are of course all "sports" I would score gold in.

Cue the bump, bump, bump, bump of the Olympic fanfare.....

I. Carrying a cocktail table down stairs, backwards, in heels. Gold Medal : Randi Smith of Team O-O-G.

II. Taking off my shoes, removing my belt, presenting my liquids, being felt up, carrying a boarding pass, redressing, and removing luggage from a moving conveyer belt. Gold Medal: Randi Smith of Team O-O-G.

III. Being a smart ass. Gold Medal: Randi Smith of Team O-O-G.

IV. Fake smoking an air cigarette. Gold Medal: Randi Smith of Team O-O-G.

V. Skipping. Gold Medal: Randi Smith of Team O-O-G.

You see, everyone has special hidden talents. Not all of them get you world recognition, but they are the simple and small things that make you you. If you read this, please let me know what event in the Quasimodo Olympics you take home the Gold Medal.

Mrs. Call

DaveCall and I are extremely committed to one another. I don't need anyone else's approval. I don't need you to agree with it, I do however expect you to respect it. I will respect the fact that you are also free to make your own choices. I have always been a firm believer that your rights end where my nose begins and vice versa.

Spoiler Alert: DAVECALL AND I AREN'T MARRIED. WE LIVE IN SIN. There I said it. It is out in the open.

For the most part DaveCall and I jointly own our shiz. Sure the throw pillows are solely mine, but to be fair the playstation is all his. I had to register the car we own jointly and couldn't do so until our address was updated with the DMV. We own one car jointly and the other is all DaveCall's. I called to update the records of the car we own. After the employee at the DMV updated our record she said, "Mrs. Call, I also took the liberty of updating the records for your other car." I replied, "Thank you, Mr. Call will be very pleased." I'm not sure that was "legal" but hey, Mr. Call will be pleased.

Because we aren't "married" in the event that one of us kicks the can, we have to make sure that the other is set up as the beneficiary of certain things. We just changed some of those beneficiary forms and had to list one another as "Special Friend." The choices were spouse, child or "special friend." From now on I will introduce DaveCall as my special friend....I also got a kick out of meeting a person that DaveCall submitted one of these forms to. She met me and said, "Oh....you're a girl." She had assumed that Randi=Randy=Special Friend=DaveCall is gay.

I also enjoy that people seem to autocorrect boyfriend to husband. Me, "This is DaveCall, he is my boyfriend." Other Person, "How long have you been married." Uh, I can still hear the words BOYFRIEND in my head...so I will have to answer, "Zero years, minutes, hours or any other measure of time." They usually follow this up with, "So when will you get married." Just now I decided I will answer their question with a question, "When are you going to purchase a kangaroo farm?"

The purpose of this post is that each of us is free to be who we want to be. Love yourself for who you are. Don't try to conform to what people want or expect. Be happy with you. I'm happy with me, Randi Smith. For the record if we do get married I am staying Randi Smith (sorry Tamie Graves, I know how mad this makes you). So, Mrs. Call will always be someone else.

First World Problems

Right now I am taking a developmental economics class, and it makes me feel guilty when I complain about my “problems” but, my house flooded and I went to bed hungry, once, so I think I am qualified to gripe about my problems or comment on the problems of others.

Retail. I am a firm believer in good customer service. I’m not trying to brag, but I am one of the best at customer service. If I am out shopping and the customer service agent is doing the best they can I am happy to wait, will still give a tip, and be their biggest raving fan. On the flipside, if they are slacking, arrogant, or otherwise not truly qualified to be a human I will not stand for it.

I would personally like to congratulate Decades on having such a thriving, profitable business that they feel like crap is the best service they can offer. Well done. I went there today with the intention of purchasing a petticoat that I have been eyeballing for two weeks. First, I went in and I was carrying my laptop, in my laptop bag – I came from school. The guy followed me around like a creepy stalker, until after five minutes he points up at a sign that says I have to leave my bag with him. Fine. People steal. Then he was super irritated when I tried to take my laptop out of the bag. Guess what dude, I don’t trust you either. Then I asked him to take the petticoat, which I wanted to give him money for, off of the mannequin, he said that it was super expensive. It was $59. I told him I knew that (remember now I have been dreaming of this petticoat for two weeks now, I was fully aware of how much it cost). Uh, don’t project your budget on me. I replied, “Yep, I know how much it is, I would like to try it on, seeing as how you have a FINAL SALE policy, before I give you my money. Nope, he wouldn’t take it down. He told me I could try one of the similar ones on. I don’t want the similar one; I want the one I want to buy. The one I want to give you money for is the one I want to try on. Second, they are similar, but not the same. The petticoats I was given the choice to select from had different ruffles, different thickness, and not the color and actual one I want to buy. Therefore, I left, without buying anything. You see, I can get petticoats other places, I vote with my dollar. So peace out Decades. You lost my $59 and my future purchases. (Cue scene from Pretty Woman in your mind).

Second First World Problem of the day, it wasn’t my problem, I just had to listen to it. I was studying for my midterm, with my new bestie, when I overhead some undergrad boys griping about frat houses. You see their problem was most grievous. They want to have a party, but they don’t want to trash their frat house. They want to rent a satellite house for frat parties. This is my first time being an undergrad at a university, but isn’t that what frat houses are for? They figured if they rented a house that people would come and BYOB. I said their better bet was to charge a cover or cup charge. They said that they didn’t want to run a club. I then suggested that they make sure that the house has floors that are easy to clean up. They were like, “we need to look for a house with concrete floors and big open spaces.” Me, “They are called clubs.” You see I don’t give a shit about being popular with these frat boys. I am popular with the nerds. And the nerds have problems like, should we purchase a third property now or later, not for their parties, but for their empires. I have always preferred nerds. They have better scholarship programs.

Why don't you fling a wet hotdog in to their bag?

My co-worker Kelly and I were talking about Halloween. When she was a kid, one of the neighbors would give out single hotdogs. The wet hotdog was flung in to the open pillowcase and kids in her neighborhood were filled with joy. The thought of a wet hotdog being flung in my pillowcase makes me want to gag, it makes DaveCall giggle like a little girl.

There has been much controversy at Smalls Manor concerning the handing out of candy on Halloween. A little information might be needed at this point. DaveCall does not care for tiny humans. They don't interest him. So you can imagine my surprise when he became their biggest advocate for receiving candy from the Smalls. We bought a house over the summer and now live in "a nice neighborhood" (DaveCall's exact phrase), so we need to give out candy.

A few weeks ago DaveCall and I had the following conversation.
DTC: We need to buy some candy to give out on Halloween.
Me: No we don't. We just won't turn on our porch light and they will pass us by. It is the universal sign for we aren't giving out candy.
DTC: I don't want to be those people. We need to hand out candy.
Me: I have school until six, are you going to leave your nerd law gig early to come home and hand out the candy?
DTC: No.
Me: Do you expect me to miss school to give kids I don't know candy?
DTC: No. We should just leave a bowl of candy on the porch.
Me: So you want to give one kid candy?
DTC: How about we put a bowl of candy on the porch with a note that says "If you are the first kid here Congratulations, if not sorry, there was candy."
Me: How about we put the bowl out, with the note, but we don't ever put candy in the bowl?
DaveCall then glared at me. This conversation repeated itself several more times up until today when we went grocery shopping.

Today, at Smith's.
DTC: I still think we need to buy candy.
Me: Seriously, who is going to hand it out?
DTC: I think we should buy this bag of candy.
Me: I am NOT buying a TWELVE DOLLAR BAG OF CANDY to give to kids I don't even know. I have a better idea. How about I put a note in their bag telling them how much I pay in taxes towards their public education. Seeing as how we don't have kids we pay more for them to go to school than their parents. It could be like a cute little public service.
DTC-glaring at me: I don't understand why you just won't give out candy.
Me:I don't understand why you are so concerned that we give out candy. If I have to hand something out I am buying a package of wet hotdogs to fling in to their bag.
DTC: I really think we need to give out candy.
Me: Fine, how about two bags of kit kats.
DTC: We aren't going to offer variety?
Me:Seriously, now you are concerned about variety?!? Who is going to give out this candy?
DTC: I think we can put out the bowl.
Me: Do you have an arrangement with one chubby kid in the neighborhood.
DTC: Why won't you buy the big bag of candy?
Me: I agreed to buy candy, I am buying the inexpensive stuff.
DTC: Never mind. I will buy candy tomorrow.
Me: You are really going to come home early, from a job that requires you bill so many hours per month, in order to give candy to kids we don't know?
DTC: Fine, let's just buy the candy.
Me: Put the $12 bag of candy down.
DTC: You really aren't any fun.
Me: Pick cheap candy, or I am walking down the hotdog aisle.

Later that same night.
Me: Should we dress up like bananas to hand out the candy?
DTC: I'm not dressing up.
Me: Seriously, I don't understand your need to give out candy, but then you poo-poo the rest of the Halloween traditions.
DTC: I still like the bowl idea.
Me: I still like the wet hotdog idea.

Do unto others, especially when the other has blood running down her face!

I have had a strange mole growing under my lip for quite some time. There is a hair that grows out of it and seeing as how I am 31, unmarried, and pudgy I figured I needed to do away with this mole before people started asking me if I was a witch. So to the doctors office I went.

Not only was I having my lip mole removed, but also one on my back. I was given a gown and a room to wait in and told to sit up on the table. I am short and I was never picked for sports because of my sweet vertical jumping ability. I was told to hop up on to the table that was covered in paper, while wearing a gown that was open in the back but tied at the neck. In doing so I almost suffocated, due to my fat ass landing on the gown pulling it tight around my throat. I also ripped the paper. I waited forty five minutes for the doctor to come in. While waiting I realized that the walls were paper thin and I could hear people tinkling in the adjacent bathroom and all about a rash another patient needs an ointment for. This was not how I planned to spend my entire Monday.

When the doctor finally arrived, I had to get a shot directly in to the mole, which caused my chin and lips to become numb. The moles were quickly removed. The incision below my lip would not stop bleeding. After about twenty minutes of trying to stop the blood I asked if I could have a band aid and promised to apply pressure in the privacy of my own home. I couldn't spend anymore time listening to people on the other side of the wall tinkle.

On my way home I picked up my nephew and stopped at Cafe Rio to get some take out. I thought the band aid was doing it's job, I was wrong. When I got back in the car I realized the band aid was soaked with blood and there was blood seeping from it running down my chin. My chin was still numb so I didn't feel the blood dripping down my chin. It was pretty obvious that something was wrong. So why didn't some nice stranger say something? My nephew is only five and much shorter than I am so I am not surprised he didn't see the problem. Not one of the nice people getting my food ready, taking my money or standing in line beside me said a word. I know if I saw someone with blood running down their face I would say something. I am the person who will say something if your shirt is unbuttoned or if your fly is down, even if you are a stranger. I say something because I want someone to say something to me.

The humiliation continued once I got to my sister's house. Seeing as how the band aid wasn't working I moved on to gauze and tape. I felt the like the girl from Sixteen Candles trying to drink from the fountain. Now not only were my chin and lips still numb but the tape and gauze didn't give so the food mostly fell back out of my mouth. My sister Jamie wasn't offended, she was super kind about it and even got me a second bandage when the first one soaked through. Now that's what sisters are for.

The moral of the story is do unto others as you would have done unto you. So that was my Monday. Hope yours was better.

Always say sofa dear, never say couch.

DaveCall are you two over two or three over three? Do you prefer tight backs or cushion backs? Do you like attached cushions or semi-attached cushions? This sofa will define us as couple - how do we pick? We is the keyword. How do you go from bulldozing over your significant other's feelings to coming to an agreement? Both of us are know what we like- both of us are good with design - but both of us can't agree. We both seem to hate the same things, but love very different things.

Making large purchases as a couple is tough. Either one person says "I don't care" and the other is left with the daunting task of trying to decide - and in this case it always overwhelms the decision maker, I have sold sofas for 16 years, trust me. Or both people want to decide but can never seem to agree, again I have sold sofas for 16 years and in that time have seen some of the most brilliant arguments between couples over furniture. So what do you do?

DaveCall and I are currently looking to buy a home together - yep kids, once again we are looking for a bank to legally bind us together. I figure if all my loved ones can't marry the person of their dreams then why should I? Plus DaveCall is fine and all for now, but what if I meet a sullen vampire in the schoolyard one day? Or Matt Hemsley finally pops the question? I hate to go to the post office, I can't imagine having to go to a courthouse and obtain a divorce. Don't try to tell me that vampires don't exist, they do. I've seen the documentary film Twilight. Second, don't tell me that it is pervy for me to be hanging out in a schoolyard, my vampire love is 117 years old, that is way more pervy than a 31 year old hanging out in the 'yard.

In the event that we do get married I would prefer to not have some flashy ring. I'm not saying that I want a KMart black hills gold special, but five $100 bands will do me just fine. If you are gasping right now, get over yourself. I can't imagine spending thousands of dollars on a ring that I will hate in five years. I have always loved a simple band and I always will. Also, a plus for the multiple inexpensive rings - 1) I lose everything, I don't always find it. I can leave one by the sink, one at work, one on the nightstand, one in the car and one in a secret place. 2) I am sure I will break some part of the ring, multiple times - I have been told that diamonds are incredibly durable, I am incredibly destructive. Incredibly destructive. You should pray that DaveCall and I never have a child. With DaveCall's desire to take things apart and my ability to destroy things, that child will probably spontaneously combust. You know what would be better than three months of DaveCall's salary spending its life on my finger?? A Costco sized bag of ring pops. That is even better that the 5 $100 bands! If I feel like my ring is too big and gaudy I can suck it down to a more appropriate size. If I chip it I can unwrap another one. Not only will people see that I am married but that I also like flavored hard candy - bam! Two awkward conversations out of the way. I would then take the savings from the ring pops vs the actual ring and use it towards a house (in this instance I am talking about one expensive ring, not $496.50).

Truth be told I don't really care for weddings. Sure I enjoy a good party, but I don't plan on having a wedding. Floral arrangements - pass. Fine China - nope. People staring at me as I walk down the isle - wouldn't everyone like to see DaveCall be walked down the isle by himself thirty years in the future (his dad)? I know I would enjoy that more. White dress - um, did you not catch the part about us living together - white seems tacky at this point. Love, honor and obey - doubts it. Showers - shoot me now. Bridesmaids? Good thing all my "sisters" are married - Bridesmatrons feels uncomfortable, and at this point if I have single friends aren't they old maids, perhaps they would wear a cat. * This old maid joke stems from someone telling me that at twenty-one I was an old maid for not yet being married. Bachelor Party - that would make me angry. Pictures - isn't that what your memories are for? Announcements - please see previous paragraph in which I tell you I hate the post office.

So back to looking at houses and making big purchases. I forgot where I was going with that....oh well.

Are you single? Damn!

It all started out like any other Tuesday night. DaveCall was in Park City and I thought, "Oh yeah, I'm going to see if the old girl has still got it." I put on my sexiest outfit, over sized turtleneck, hooded sweatshirt, non-matching pajama bottoms, and my paisley Bobs. Yes I have Bobs and not Toms, the Bobs fit better and they still give a pair to those in need. I was rocking my ultra sex appeal outfit and headed out to the hottest spot in the 'burbs....Rancheritos. I was really putting out the vibe as I crossed the stupid $%^&*#@ creek. You've seen girls rocking that come hither walk that is all hips and ass, yeah I wasn't doing that, I think I was mostly trying to keep the mud off my Bobs, but it was sexy nonetheless. There were two super hot pieces of man meat also crossing the bridge, one with a t-shirt he must have bought in the children's department the other with a man braid that reached his pants. They were sexy, the kind of sexy that George Clooney is made of. I totally let them know that I was vibing them by walking on the other side of the bridge, not making eye contact and pretending to check FB on my phone. Just when I thought that this night was going to go somewhere they continued on to the liquor store and I continued to see what other hotties I could find at Rancheritos. I thought that I would never come across such amazing men again and seeing how DaveCall and I always teetering on the edge of calling it quits, I knew that I needed to have some men waiting in the wings. The dating scene was on fire at Racheriots, but if I were to date the man fetuses there I would end up in jail. So I decided to take my hot, short, fat ass back home. I smelled of refried beans, salsa and bad choices - if I ever I was to meet DaveCall's replacement tonight was that night. As I crossed back over the bridge, lady luck smiled down on me. The men that I couldn't wait to introduce to my parents and a t-shirt from a band that hadn't ever feathered their hair, was also walking back over the bridge. They scanned my super hot outfit that left everything to the imagination and they said the most beautiful pick up line I have ever heard, "Are you single?" Me, "NO" as I awkwardly looked away and fumbled for my keys in case I needed to use them as a weapon. His sultry reply, "Damn." Now a younger Randi would assume that my sex kitten outfit, awkwardly falling out bun and make-up free face was what had drawn them in, but old cynical Randi knew that they didn't care anything about who I am, only if I was available to drink their cheap beer and check out their one eyed snake. Thirty something Randi was hit on, and she appreciates the gesture, but grateful to not be single. Looks like my relationship with DaveCall lives to see another day.