Monday, September 17, 2007

The True Joy of Motherhood

So, after spending a bag of money to recreate my Sonny’s baby pics that I had lost during Hurricane Ivan (the Rat Bastard!!), I stumbled across this little gem, and decided to share.

Having this picture in my posession once again evoked so many powerful emotions, as I looked at my Sonny-Wonny, engaged in peacful slumber.....

Tears welled up in my eyes as I became nostalgic, and marveled at the way that my baby has grown into a long, and lanky little dude. I felt such a sense of loss, as my baby is now becoming a man. I felt a deep sense of yearning, as I wished that he was back from Barbados, and mulling about the house so that I could harass him. I felt a sense of wonder, as to how such a seemingly sweet little cherub, has evolved into such a lippy and obnoxious little twit! But, more importantly, as I dealt with the sappy, sissy emotions and mopped up the tears, I had a deep rooted sense of satisfaction as I looked at my baby, and realized that I was an evil and scheming mother, in spite of all the sappified emotions. I then gloried in the wonder of this feeling!

I had always taken pictures of my Sonny to catalog the ‘wonder years’, but also, with an innate sense of amusement and scheming for things to come. I mean, there is the so-called glory of parenthood (in addition to the paranoia), but is it so wrong of me to want to derive something else from the entire process? Something with which to torture the child when he gets older, maybe as a form of vengeance meted out for the stretch marks, and stress that he has (and will!!) put me through? I don’t think that this is asking too much!

So, therefore and hence, I have taken the obligatory photos of my Sonny on the faux bear skin rug, with his hair in plaits; Sonny wearing the lederhosen Viking suit, complete with the helmet; Sonny in the superman costume and the viking helmet (my "Nordic Superman"). The passport photo of Sonny in the ‘bunny rabbit suit’, complete with the carrot decal; I have taken the bathtub photos and the preschool photos. I have been as relentless as the Paparazzi stalking their prey, all with a view to collate seemingly scandalous and cutesie photos with which to torture the child with embarrassment, later in life.

I can so clearly envision the 16th birthday party, when I break out the projector for the slide show. I can envision the small ad that I will run in the newspaper for the day that he goes off to college (or jail, God forbid!!). Every milestone in his life will have a photo accompaniment in the Compass, as his ever loving mother celebrates his life, her love for him, and her morbid sense of amusement at his expense. I can’t wait for the day that some brave wench knocks on my door with a view to courting my Sonny, and I get to break out the photo album!

I can so recall once chasing Sonny down in Wal-Mart, holding a set of Teletubby underpants aloft, and loudly pleading with him to try them on. He was ten years old at the time. Having had enough, he looked at me in aggravation and stated: “YOU, are THE most embarrassing Mom, EVER!” Sigh. It was one of my proudest moments.

Tee hee….He ain’t seen nuttin yet! Sigh, sometimes in life, we may not have much to look forward to, but it’s the little things that are going to get us through every time. This is one of mine.

All ya goin’ call Social Services on me?

On that note, I shall now exit.


Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Rat Race

Running, spinning, panting, and wheezing actively,
“Who Moved My Cheese?” they also ponder haltingly,
Unaware that rabid insecurity oft impedes their journeys.
Daily rigors, attended to so very righteously,
Ostentatious rituals imposed to relieve societal scrutiny,
Fucking Mrs. Material to attain a sense of normalcy,
(Mercurial, adulterous wench, with no sense of common decency).
Monitoring ascension of stocks and bonds appreciatively,
Whilst disregarding moral values that decline decisively.
Plague infested vermin abounding numerously,
Traversing life’s often perilous roads confidently,
Whilst donning professional attire so becomingly:
Life’s bulletproof vest, engulfing protectively,
Wielding briefcase in hand so symbolically,
Essential tools for the arrogant promotion of the “scholarly”,
(Unaware of their own hallowed interiors - assuredly).
Immersed in the deceptive trap of life -unknowingly,
Needing to subjugate and to dominate economically,
Uncaring of the spinning wheel churning repetitively,
Sniffing, nibbling, scurrying and breeding so very selfishly;
Institutions programming and churning out constantly,
Experimental clones fabricated to benefit politically,
Valedictorians speaking to the masses assertively,
Glass ceilings to be shattered by those of the sorority,
Subdued, patronized and harassed by members of the fraternity,
All stretching beyond nine to five, at the sacrifice of family;
Experimental maze: wrenching and destroying emotionally,
Needing spiritual pesticides to evoke forms of emotional stability.


On that note, I shall now exit.



Monday, September 10, 2007

Stuck On A Rock And A Hard Place

So, having given them the benefit of the doubt time and time again, I had finally given up on Air Jamaica. I flipped them the proverbial finger, and verbally told the airline to kiss kitty’s left nut. The straw that bruk my back occurred when I boarded my flight, en route to Grand Cayman, after a long and harrowing day of traveling. I stored my luggage in the overhead compartment; buckled up; shook off my slippers; took out my novel and eased back, well prepared for my flight to depart. Then, the announcement:

“Ladies and gentlemen, this flight has been cancelled”.

No explanations, no apologies, and I was stuck in Montego Bay for seven hours, as the airline worked to get their shit in order. Despite having the more convenient flights for my travels in and out of Barbados, I decided that I would now deal exclusively with Caribbean Airlines and Cayman Airways. I would show them!

Having now implemented my self imposed boycott for my recent journey, I was relatively pleased with the Cayman-Jamaica-Barbados leg of my trip, and am able to praise the level of service that I received with Caribbean Airlines. ‘Twas not perfect, as there is always room for improvement, but I found them to be efficient, pleasant, and apologies were rendered if and when a hic-cup occurred. Sometimes, as the recipient of customer service, all that is required is a simple explanation and acknowledgement of things gone wrong, and a ‘thank you’ for our patience and perseverance. It all comes down to manners and common sense.

Then, I encountered the Cayman Airways check in counter in Jamaica. In all my years, never have I encountered such a customer service travesty! I was frothing at the mouth, and eventually resorted to the common denominator by flinging a few bad-wuds in the general direction of the Customer Service Agents, accompanied by the relevant explanatory hand gestures. This seemed to be the only language that they could understand, as rational behavior and reasoning obviously eluded them. Now, I ain’t proud, but I ain’t shame either. I am just VEX! Grrr

It is a fact of life that not everyone is suitable for customer facing jobs, having regard to a person’s disposition. Having said that, I cannot begin to fathom which end of a jackass’s backside Cayman Airways dug those cretins up from! It appears as if they outsourced the management of the Cayman Airways desk to another agency, and even if this is the case, someone must be accountable. The agents were rude, unapologetic, dismissive and uncaring of the passengers' feelings and / or comfort. For example, a matter was elevated by a passenger to the supervisor on duty, and the supervisor’s body language said it all. She rolled her eyes, and sighed in disgust and frustration at the bother, all evident for the passenger to see. It was obvious from the outset that she would in no way empathise nor sympathise with the passenger’s issue. She, and her subordinates as a whole, entertained and supported disorder, and offered no customer focused solutions to problems that were created, but for aggression and agitation.

As I fumed in the line, staring daggers, bullets, and fecal matter at a particular screw-faced agent’s head, face, neck and general arteries, I also looked yearningly at the Air Jamaica ticket counter and remembered my self imposed boycott. I then sighed with disgust, as I am now left to wonder: am I truly stuck on the Island? Must I resort to chartering a boat or building a raft to get to the Eastern Caribbean? Should I not support my Caribbean airlines and resort to the more expensive North American carriers? Is there no possible recourse for me?

Those agents acted as if I was forced to take their level of service, or leave it, and there could be nor would be no possible repercussions for their actions and / or inaction! I will be sure to elevate my level of complaint to the Minister or Tourism if necessary, for this is plainly unacceptable! I am a paying passenger, and I will not be dismissed!

As of this morning, I have contacted the airline providing them with a synopsis of my issue. I will wait to see if I they return my call and advise you of the outcome. This will assess if this is an isolated incident, or reflective of the airline as a whole. I want to sit in on the meeting whereby those flicking cretins lose their jobs if necessary. Be careful of who you piss off, for one day it may come back to bite you in the arse!

On that pissed off note, I shall now exit.