wax that tree Joan.

Let's see, where to start.

I think we shall begin with a moment in history.
Today in 1972 some people were arrested after breaking into the Democratic Headquarters at the Watergate Hotel.
Hilarity ensued.
I am guessing it was much more entertaining then an episode of "Love, American style".

My Mother should be waxing hilarious at this point and talking about how much she enjoyed watching the Watergate hearings.

...

So I have this new hat. Good lord I adore it. It covers my face, looks smart and is an enchanting shade of pale pink. It goes with just about everything I own; which is always a plus.

I bought the hat in one of my favorite shops in Port Townsend. It is a tiny little place called Twigs and it is run by this lovely Englishwoman named Jackie who has been acquiring some of the most interesting treasures for the longest time.
It reminds me of a description of a character (Topaz) in the book "I Capture the Castle".

Three quarters practical kindness and one quarter spoof.

A good portion of Christmas presents I have received over the years seem to have come from that shop. They carry beautiful hats. Some of which have come from these shops in Nottinghill where nice ladies discard these treasures because no one wears a hat anymore. The shop also carries soap, biscuit, jelly babies, tea pots, beautiful vintage clothes, items from a period when the Sun would never set on the British Empire. Things from the Colonies, perfumes, books, dishes, and everything else. Including saris.
Jackie remarked to my siblings and I as we looked through the hats that we all seemed to take one of piece of our ethnic background and use it to suit our style. Much like a coat or a dress. We laughed and agreed. We do have a knack for that. She said she couldn't really do that, she was "just plain old English." I suggested she should adopt whatever culture suits her fancy just like we do.
Being a bit of an ethnic mutt is like having a closet filled with a lot of clothes.
We can always play dress-up.
Yesterday I came away with a sharp-looking hat that softens my features and a tin of clotted cream biscuits.
I am satisfied for awhile.
My sister bought a blue hat that frames her face in the most perfect way. My sister is quite a beauty and I think this hat just enhances it even more. I am probably irritating her by writing this.

...

Covering the similar vein of family my Mother mentioned recently that my estranged Father is/or has (I can't remember) moved to Olympia. It is kind of funny. We wanted him out of our lives for so long and then he is gone and we admit it makes us a bit nervous. I said even if I hate the man I kind of want to know where he is at all times. One likes to know where the demons are.
I also realized yesterday that it has been five years since I have spoken with my Father.
I stopped speaking to him just a little before my brother Mike's birthday. It was rather massive blow-out where yelled at him and I told him he wasn't my Father anymore. I also had the grace to do this in public. Infact it was in a Safeway parking lot.
Oh the happy times. *smirks*
Some people have asked over the years if I could forgive him and talk to him and it is so much more complicated then just saying, "yeah...you being a bastard..let's forget."
This is a person who won't ever change. Unless he had like a lobotomy or something...it isn't good for my own well-being to communicate with him and I use that word communicate in its loosest definition.
Pathological liars are like that.
I think forgiveness is a continual thing. It isn't like a one time deal where you feel all happy and good all over and you never think about it again. I am still working on forgiving him. There are days that I am incredibly pissed off that I don't have a Dad. I have these small moments where I feel envious of a friend who may talk about how great her Dad is or just observing a functional relationship between a Father and their kid. I think to myself, "Well dammit, he couldn't even do that."
I will say it. I wish I had a Dad. A lot.
I don't want my Mom to feel awful and think "Fuck I couldn't even give you kids a decent dad." It isn't her fault at all. When she married him, he seemed like a normal individual. No one goes out of their way to find a tool.
The same goes for any girl who goes with a fuckwit and regrets afterward.
Things happen.
Yeah so that is my Father's Day moment. I will wish my Mother a Happy Father's Day.

.....

After that glimpse into my psyche let's get into the stuff you people really read my journal for.
My day at work.
Well it was a fairly relaxed day at work. I spent the early part of the day working with the whining queen and then spent the afternoon and early evening working with the complaining queen.
Both work polo shirts.

I was talking to a co-worker about how I was reading that the German tourists are really into Croatia at the moment and the way to find out where the cheap, cool places to go in Europe are to follow where the Germans are going. It becomes expensive when the Americans show up and then over-run and insane when the Japanese show up.
If you want to go cheap, have a great time then you should go to the Dalmatian Coast. Prague is too expensive.
While I was telling her this a very cute German guy comes up and says, "My Mom is from Croatia and it is gorgeous. I love to go on Holiday there. The Islands are amazing. You should go." I laughed and said, "there, proof."

I had a customer on the telephone today who I suspect was drunk. She exhibited all of the common symptoms. She was overly-emotional, had a short-term memory loss and kept repeating things over and over and spoke to me like I was deaf and in another country.
When I gave her the information about a book she yelled, "OHHHHMYYYYYYGAAWWWWDDD!". I kid you not.
She also had a whiskey and cigarettes voice that made me think that she is the sort who enjoys a scotch with the five o'clock news.
I lost out on insane customer of the day to my co-worker Don who had a lady who wanted to order a book but didn't want to give her name or number because you know someone will hack into the computer system and take the information.
Right.
She then asked Don's name and he told her and she wanted his last name and he said, "Well, since you can't give your information, I can't give mine."
I had to keep from laughing out loud. It was beautiful.

Another co-worker told me how a customer ordered a sex book and wanted to use a fake name but the guy couldn't remember his fake name.
It was John Doe.
True story, hand to God.

It was one of those days.
I have to work tomorrow...and Saturday. *sighs*
I need some ice cream.

( my hat...sorta )