suspicious minds

I was watching the Today Show this week and they were doing a story about the tragedy in Tuscon. They were interviewing the shooter's friend, and when they story was over, Annabelle said "who is Jared mama?" She was in the room with me waiting for 8:00 which, in our house, is when the cartoons come on. I tried to play dumb, "what? who is who? who is Jarrius? He is from the bible story we read last night." Annabelle: "no mama. who is jared. he is on t.v." Me: "oh. Jared is a man who did something very bad. And now he is in big trouble."

I forget that the today show is not rated G. I forget that the world isn't rated G.

Not that I am completely oblivious to things, despite my previous posts, I believe in calling the cops whenever you see suspicious behavior. But my version of suspicious and everyone else's is completely different.

My office at work was once filled with at least 50 cokes because in the hysteria after September 11th, I heard that the terrorists were poisoning all coca-cola products. So I did what any red-blooded American would do, I called the FBI. My conversation did not get off to a good start;

Me: "okay you are going to think I am crazy, because this sounds crazy, but I am not crazy, I am completely normal but my sister heard that a lady was at the grocery store.."

Fibbie: " and let me guess, loaned money to an Arab and he told her not to buy coke?

Me: "oh, thank God you know about it, see I am not crazy..."

Fibbie: Ma'am, I want to let you know whenever people start conversations by saying they are not crazy, I think they are crazy and you have mentioned the word crazy several times now and I do think you are crazy."

Me: "well I think you are rude. Are you investigating this or not? I mean, it doesn't affect me, because I only drink Dr. Pepper..."

Fibbie: "good bye ma'am."

So I have this history, see? Like the constables in my neighborhood know me, because I have their dispatch number on my speed dial, and I use it. Like when I saw a guy in a Kobe basketball Jersey pretend to get out of a yard man's truck and act like he was doing yards, when he was really casing houses. Everyone knows those Jerseys are expensive--no one is going to mow lawns in them. They thanked me for the tip at our National Night Out Party. Hyphen's comment to them, "So, I see you have met my wife, she likes to call the cops."

But I am a contradiction, because in some situations where most people would be completely afraid, I am not. Like when Audrey and I got lost on South Kirby. Not Upper Kirby, where the Bob Williams/Mitchell Gold store is, but on South Kirby, like near the Dome. We were looking for Pappasitos and I finally said "calf-rope" and stopped to ask some guys for directions. When I got back in the car Audrey assailed me with: "WHAT ARE YOU? CRAZY? YOU NEVER, EVER ASK A GUY WITH A DOO-RAG FOR DIRECTIONS, LET ALONE TWO OF THEM." Well they seemed perfectly nice to me, possibly just some state jail possession convictions, no biggie. And they did get us there.

But then yesterday in Gymboree, I saw a man. He was by himself. He was wiping the floor with his foot. walking around the store, and scuffing the floor with his foot. No kids. No other employees seemed to acknowledge him. And when he walked out of the door, I asked the sales lady "Did that man work here?" Her response : "who?" Me: the creepy guy who doesn't belong and is rubbing his foot on the floor??? Saleslady: "oh, him? Kind-of, he keeps the store clean. Me:"so , the answer is yes??" I mean, "kind-of" what? what do you mean, he keeps the store clean? Like he is a janitor, then why isn't he in a uniform. Why did he just walk out of the front door, like a customer? Is he an obsessive compulsive that walks in the store and wipes the floor down with his feet, and how is rubbing the floor with your feet keeping the store clean? And mostly, why did he give me the creeps like that?

I guess my point is.... if it gives you the creeps, ask questions, bring it to someone's attention, call the cops. Don't be afraid to make a fool of yourself and then no one will have to tell their two year old who Jared is.

talk to strangers

One of the great gifts of my life has been the fact that strangers walk up to me and strike up a conversation. I never have thought much about it, and I never even thought it was odd, until someone at work pointed it out to me after I told them about a weirdo I encountered in a gas station. They recounted a half a dozen conversations with different strangers I had told them about and pointed out that whenever someone asked our group for directions, they always addressed me. My co-worker theorized it was because my hair was wavy and it made me look approachable, this was her theory because we noticed a precipitous drop in "stranger-danger" as it came to be called, when I went through my chi phase.

My sister has another theory, and it goes something like this: "it's because you stare people down. Like when we drive on the freeway, you look at people in the next car and they look back. you stare them down in their eyes. quit doing that, it's why I hate driving with you"

Truth be told, except for one really rude homeless guy at the diamond shamrock on north shepherd, I don't mind it at all. And more truth, I occasionally initiate some of these conversations, like today...


After a week and a half of no mother's day out, last minute shopping, Santa Picture in the Galleria on December 23rd, Christmas, New Year, and a colicky baby, I decided to celebrate the return of Mother's Day out with a trip to Nordstrom. I was on the third floor, heading to the ladies room where there is a separate area set aside solely for nursing mothers, (another reason why even though I shouldn't, I shop there, or at least make a pit stop there on the way to the baby Gap) when I saw something you just don't see every day. A set of black, elderly ladies who looked exactly alike and were dressed exactly alike. Since I've become the Aunt of twins, I've taken a special interest in them, and it is really rare when you see older twins, like anyone over the age of 10, dressed alike. But there they were, in their matching coifs, track suits and Louis Vitton purses. Manna from heaven for an eye-starer-downer like myself.

Me: ladies, I just have to ask, are you twins?

ML: yes ma'am, and we are the real deal too, No pills, no hormones. We are the real deal. Our great grandmother had three sets of twins and then our grandmother didn't have any, and then our mom had us and her first cousin had twins too. We are the real deal.

Me: really! Oh my goodness, your poor great gradmother!

ML: She didn't have any hormones either. they were the real deal too! we live together too.

Me: oh how fun!.. And you still dress alike?

VD (the quiet one, there is always a quiet twin): well, that was our father.

ML: he wanted us to dress alike, and it got so that we just had the same taste in things and now we like to do it.

VD: but we don't have the same names.

ML: no, I am Mary Louise, after our two grandmothers and she is Velma Dunn after the obstetrician who delivered us.

Me: Mary Louise and Velma Dunn

ML: Velma Dunn, she was the first black obstetrician in Houston. Not only are we the real deal, we are native Houstonians too!

Me: oh, there aren't very many of those around any more, you ladies really are the real deal. I am so glad I met you. I hope you have a wonderful day.

ML: you too, oh, you got a little one there!

Me: yes ma'am, she is getting hungry too, Bye!

And they walked off, presumably to buy another matching outfit.

Another successful stranger-danger. I think God has sent me every single one, even the rude homeless guy at the Diamond Shamrock.