Do You Have The Time?

My issues with time or rather being on time started at birth. I boast being over two months overdue at birth.

Two months.

I wouldn't make this up. My mother reminds me of my birth weight and the congratulations and hand shakes she got from strangers for having me naturally. I was comfy. Don't rush me.

It continued on through grade school and high school with the infamous times of missing the bus.

"Leah Marie Sadowski so help me if you miss that bus..." my Mom would threaten and then insert some random phrase like: "...you will be late to your own wedding!"

Is that a bad thing?

The Time Denial Disease (TDD) worsened in the teen years since I was plagued with the earliest curfew ever known to man--10pm. The only thing on my side during this era was that cell phones were non-existent or for surely I would still be grounded. As if 18 years of groundings wasn't enough.

It's not that I try to be late or even that fact that I am not an early riser. I get up earlier than anyone I know. I just get distracted. Shiny things usually the culprit.

The fact is, according to my Mom, I developed at a slower rate. In college when they finally discovered my Dyslexia (yes college) they made my parents disclose my developmental years to the pseudo-college-doctors.

Doctor: Did your child begin talking at an early age?
Mom: Ohhh heck no. She didn't make a peep until 3. Kinda worried us there for awhile.

Doctor: Did your child begin walking at an early age?
Mom: Nope. Nothing. She just sat there. She was so darn heavy too. Carrying around that butterball is no easy task Mister. Did I tell you how much she weighed when she was born? Total strangers congratulated me..."

Doctor: Did your child progress in school slower than the other kids?
Mom: Oh Holy Hannah....well she is just our special little girl.


Seriously?

Perhaps I was scarred by the time-sensitivity of my father. Tapping his wrist standing by the door with keys dangling from his work-jeans like Schneider. When that didn't work he would just get in the car and start leaving; whether or not I was in the vehicle or not. I missed many of after school practices because of this behavior. Where did he go--did he go to my practice without me? This makes no sense.

"Daddddd, why do we have to be at the airport 6 hours early?"

"We have to get a good seat"

"But don't we already have our seat assignment?"

"You just stick with what you know"

What does that mean? 'Stick with what I know?' Well I know that we have seat assignments but since I was just running along the side of the car that has taken off without me I decide not to challenge him.

Better yet who gets to the movies, for a matinee, 2 hours early, for a Disney movie? Is there some mad mob of Disney-fanatics I have missed out on? I am pretty sure if the employees aren't clocked in yet we are pretty safe.

"We have to get the popcorn when it is fresh" my Dad would say.

I have no response except: "seriousssssly?"

I recommend to all those who are plagued with the Time Denial Disease to carry around a spare traffic ticket. Just wave it in the air when you waltz in an hour late for work. Don't mind that someone may want to look at it and may notice the 2004 year on it. You did get a ticket--why don't they get off your back?

"Oh you know those things are so hard to read. Damn parasites must be low on their quotas this month. I might be late next week. I am going to fight this thing all the way to the Superior Court!"

"When next week?"

"Oh you know..the whole week. These things can get awful sticky."

People with TDD don't mean any harm. The only thing worse than being late is being early. The only thing early people get is a scalding hot box of popcorn. You can never get that time back.

Friends and family may fume at the Sadowski Time but someday when the tick-tock finally kills me off they will realize that I am just a simple person marching to my own drum. Starting earlier, planning accordingly, not cramming too much into one day, will not make a difference. Sadowski Time is a fine tuned time that can not be reckoned with.

xoxo
lms

The Next Chapter

You may have noticed I have been writing more. You might have even been plagued by my tenacious spamming with my request to "Follow me" or "Digg Me" or come to "MySpace". Well lets just say misery loves company. Even more so misery loves a good chase-- even if I am the one requesting the chase....

I have set out on a quest; a quest to rule the world.

When that doesn't pan out the quest to own my own slice of the American Dream, otherwise know as my own advertising agency, will have to suffice.

Yes, taking the plunge has never been so nerve racking.

Advertising Agency? Recession? Oh sweet Jesus.

Fortunately, I have been "lucky" enough so far to have worked a very diverse portfolio of marketing and advertising jobs. After these jobs opening a business should be a piece of cake. My biggest claim to fame was working for the Persian Mafia, who at the time combined forces with The Italian Mafia, and had me hustling large amounts of cash throughout the downtown area to "promote events". Quitting that job instilled the fear in me being dubbed "Cement-Shoes-Sadowski" but I was fortunate enough to learn how to walk the streets with thousands of dollars in five and one dollar bills and not get jumped by the Lithuanian Mafia.

Who could say that working for that luxury real estate company wasn't a close second? I learned how to help my employer pawn a couple of sports cars when the market started going south and to always rush immediately to their bank to cash your check. No waiting, no dilly-dallying.

Cash the check. Unfortunately if you don't cash the check you end up calling the bank for 3 years, 7 months, and 27 days just in hopes that there is money in the account to cover the $5,000 check. Forget about calling the employer--he was last sighted in Columbia. If it is the last thing I do I will collect this money. It is sheer principle at this point.

"California Bank this is Joe.. how may I help you?"

"Heyyy Joe what's going on?"

"Oh hey Leah--yeah. Same ole-Same ole"

"How's the bank account looking today?"

"Hmmm---" keyboard sounds come from the other side of the phone"...yeah doesn't look like any activity still"

"Alriggght....any plans with you the wifey and kids this weekend?"

"Oh yeah heading to Disney Land with the kids. Can't wait to spend $5,000"

"Yeah...me too...."

Truly I have been fortunate enough to always land on my feet (no cement) and keep on trucking. I think that is why it is so hard for me right now to admit that if I don't start seeing the money start rolling in with the new venture I could be in some serious dire straights. I could create a world of trouble according to my accountant, The Grim Reaper, who told me I will start the next chapter of my life: Chapter 13.

I have gone through all the denial stages: crying, doubting, yelling, whimpering, shots of tequila.... but I am left feeling nothing. Although not defeated there is a certain sense of numbness that takes you over and you just can't ride the "Emo-Roller Coaster" any more. You have to stand up, brush yourself off and make the best out of what you have---which in this case is an Advertising Agency....

Fortunately there are always people that are looking to help a girl out, both monetarily and with "advice" in these turbulent recession times.

The man at 7-11 convenience store was nice of to tell me they were hiring today after I held up his long line of impatient customers to recount my pennies and nickles for that cherry slushy.

The gentleman at the gym that had me cornered while I was on the StairMaster told me all about how he knew everything and he wanted to tell me about his theory on advertising:

".....well its dead and ain't ever comin' back. People will never pay for that crap again..."

Sweet.

Talks of the recession are old, tiresome, and I just can't take that song-and-dance anymore. It's time that we step up to the plate and start spending money and making money. Who really cares if we don't know where our next dollar is coming from? God invented Ramen Noodles for a reason.

So instead of admitting defeat my quest for greatness continues.

I always knew I was headed in that direction; the writing is just a bit of therapy.

You know, now that I think of it, maybe I will take up that job at 7-11; the possibilities are endless with the clientele. Open 365 days a year 24 hours a day will allow me to work all the needed shifts. Free cherry slushies worked into the contract and I am already wondering why I didn't think of this sooner? I just hope they don't expect me to handle money. Way too soon.

Even better idea: no potential client will be missed...I will start my way through 7-11 and work up to the AM/PMs, and the thousand liquor stores sprinkled around the county. People will write case studies on the girl that opened an advertising agency, in August, with no air conditioning, two dogs, one fan, and a stained slushy mustache.

Genius.

Once the L-Train gets in motion there really is no holding back....

xoxo

lms

Ms. Mihn

I love my tailor Ms. Mihn. She is amazing. This 4" foot tall Vietnamese lady has tailored me through break-ups, weight losses, weight gains, premature mid-life crisis's, and one too many bridesmaid dresses. The bond between me and Ms. Mihn is unbreakable. Without her how would I have made the dream of a one-pieced 1970s retro pants suit I could wear to Vegas come alive? Without her how would I have made it through that horrible phase of low jeans that you can't breathe or bend in? Ms. Mihn is the best.

Her tailoring, although an art within itself, is just a small part of what Ms. Mihn has done for me through the years. Our long talks may be slightly difficult since I don't understand Vietnamese, but over the years she has learned key phrases like "you" while wagging her finger at me "big butt. Smaw waist." and "extwa five dolla" for those emergency mendings.

Yes, Ms. Mihn has been the stabilizer, my confidant, my "go-to" in all good times and bad.
Ms. Mihn can do no wrong and I know that through all the times I have opened up to her about my life she would never divulge my secrets; this woman is a fortress.

Things have been a bit hectic lately and I haven't had the time to get to Ms. Mihn and I am sure she is just dying to see what is going on with me. After ten, long, faithful years of going to her she said something today that actually brought me to tears and made me question our whole friendship.
****************
I pushed open the rickety door with the cowbell clanging announcing my presence.
"Wan minute" she yells from the back. The most amazing smells are always present at Ms. Mihns. I figure she must be a professional Vietnamese cook for extra cash because she always has amazing food smells coming from the back of her shop. She enters through the long hanging sheet that is the divider from tailor heaven to food heaven.

"Ohhh Big-Butt-Smaw-Waist!"

"Leaaaaah" I correct her.

"Ohhhh how ah youu Big Butt Smaw Waist?" She is smiling up at me with her gold teeth and crooked smile. I smile back; who could ever be mad at such an innocent person?

"Oh Ms. Mihn! I have a million things going on right now. Life is so crazy! I am doing a million different projects, I am unemployed, and I am absolutely in need of this dress to wear out tonight"

She wags her wrinkly finger at me motioning me to the dressing room which is really just another bed sheet divider. You have to be careful with her; if she thinks you are not moving fast enough this tiny women will begin to herd and push you until you do what she wants; she is freakishly strong. For the bashful I would recommend changing at lightening speed because she will enter your ever-so private changing area and start grabbing body parts and pushing you into the garment if you are not working fast enough. This woman is busy; she has to attend to her secret exotic chef life too.
She scurries me behind the sheet.I don't want my time of unloading my entire personal and professional life to be shortened so I obediently get behind the sheet. I start undressing and apparently I am not 'Ms.-Mihn-Fast'. Within seconds Ms. Mihn is in my space. We are doing some sort of shimmy-shake dance and as soon as it begins it is over. I reflect back on the first time I met Ms. Mihn. I giggle to myself on the thought of her and I going to "second base" on our very first alteration date and how mortified I was. Her abruptness is charming to me now and I look forward to our long deep conversations. She yanks me back out into the main area. Without me even specifying what I want she gets to work. Pins pursed between her lips she is a woman with a mission. I sideways looks at her seeing if she is ready for me to talk. No sign from her so I go in for the kill.

"Oh Ms. Mihn....." I whine.

I drone on about the economy, how hard it is to get clients, the three tickets I got in one day, my love life, the shows I watched on TV last night....you name it, I cover it. I haven't seen her in probably a good month or so. She must want me to disclose everything right? I can only imagine she has missed me too.

She claps her hands and waves me a way. All done with the first alteration? My mind races. I should have brought more clothes. This meeting was entirely too short. I haven't even told her about my thoughts on current events and about my faux pas with the trimming of my own hair. I think of two things in my car that don't even need mending.

"I will be right back Ms. Mihn!"

I say holding my dress up and running out the door. I grab a tired old gym sweatshirt and a pair of vagarant jeans I have 'just in case' I should be somewhere I need to do an impromptu wardrobe change. I run back in the shop.

"Here. I need these done too" I say plopping them down on the counter.

Whew. Just added a few more minutes on my therapy session.
She gets to work. I am a mad woman talking a mile a minute. I actually paused for a quick second to catch my breath. She is just wrapping up the second garment and I realize how selfish I have been. I don't even know how she is. Come to think of it I don't know anything about her. I assume she has children and that with all my visits I have most likely put them through college. I don't even know if she is married. I don't even know the name of her secret chef business.

"Oh Miss Mihn. How rude of me. How are you?" I look down at her as she is putting the last un-needed pin in a pair of jeans that don't even need altering.

No response. Maybe she doesn't want to talk about herself. I turn the subject back to me but try to include her in it.

"What do you think about the hair cut? Do you think that my hair dresser repaired the damage or should I just go for the short-bob-look?"

Still nothing.

Hmmmmm......

"I think that we should go get a drink and catch up Ms. Mihn" I say but this time I shake her and she turns her head up at me.

I repeat myself "Let's go get some food and a drink Ms. Mihn. After all I feel that you and I are the best of friends...so what do you say? Then you and I can exchange Polish and Vietnamese recipes....."

"Ohhhh how aw you Ms. Big Butt Smaw Waist?"

"Did you just understand a word I said?" I stammer.

She smiles. No reply. Nothing. Just a crooked-gold-toothed smile. The realization that for the last 10 years I have poured out my every fear, aspiration, and frustration to this woman and she has not understood one word is devastating. I feel like I was socked in the stomach. She doesn't even know my name? I am just a big-butt-small-waist to her?? I am crushed. I feel defeated. I try one last time

"Ms Mihn. Please tell me that you understand me and that you have missed me!" I am frantic "I really meant what I said about a drink. I mean that's the least I could do to repay you for all the nice things you do for me...."

She points at the clothes in a pile she just marked for alterations. Sweet! She understood. I knew it was a mistake! She picks up the dress she worked on first and goes to open her mouth like she was going to respond to my plea to hang out.

"Extwa five dolla" she says holding up the dress.

Dammit.


xoxo
lms