I must admit, I was surprised when I got no response to my letter to Sam's Club regarding my tire debacle. I thought they would at least give me a halfhearted apology; after all, I am a paid member of their club who said I didn't want to come back.
But yesterday, they came through.
Ruben, an assistant manager, gave me a call to ask what could be done to resolve the situation. Much like I did when I spoke to UPS last year, I tried to sound as nice as possible so he would know I am not a bitch, just not willing to take crappy customer service with a smile. He was pretty nice; he said he talked to the folks in the tire department, and none of them seemed to remember me or what had happened. (Of course they didn't.) But he did apologize for the "breakdown in the system."
He also offered me a $48 gift card to Sam's Club, which is the amount of the road hazard protection for all four tires. I thought that was fair and happily agreed, thanking him for his attention to my letter. I just hope he really does do something about the problem, because he's gonna be handing out a lot of gift cards if he doesn't.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Teacher's Pet
Class is officially in session.
Last night was Stella's first official night of puppy school. We were both excited, but for different reasons. I was excited for her to meet new dogs and learn about good behavior, and she was excited to try the chicken breast we had baked for her in response to the trainer's instruction to bring "really great treats."
On the way to class, Stella and I had a talk. I let her know that while she was there to make friends and have fun, she was also there to learn. I think she might have taken me a little too seriously.
For the first class, we learned the basics of "sit," "watch" and "leave it." At six months, Stella is very good at "sit," and has even moved beyond "watch" to "stay." We've been working on "leave it" here and there as well, so she did very well at her studies.
I've been told that Boston Terriers are "food motivated," and knowing my little piglet, I don't doubt it, but I'm afraid the want of treats is making Stella the class suck up. Every time the trainer came close, Stella would sit and face her in the "ready position," just waiting to be praised. At first, I was proud that she was behaving so well, while other dogs were barking and pulling on their leashes, but at "recess," I realized just how far Stella was willing to go to be the star pupil.
The trainer split us up into two groups of three dogs and, one group at a time, told us to take our dogs off leash so they could have some social time. The other two dogs in our group scampered after each other, while Stella stayed on the sidelines, sniffing the ground for any treats that might not have been grabbed. While the other dogs played, Stella was doing cleanup.
Good God. My dog is the hall monitor.
The trainer assured us that she'll come out of her shell and eventually start playing with the other pups in class. I hope so; I want her to get used to being around other dogs, and I want her to enjoy her time at puppy school.
And hey, at least she's a good student. That's a relief. If my dog has to be a loner, I'd much rather she be Diane Court than Allison Reynolds.
Last night was Stella's first official night of puppy school. We were both excited, but for different reasons. I was excited for her to meet new dogs and learn about good behavior, and she was excited to try the chicken breast we had baked for her in response to the trainer's instruction to bring "really great treats."
On the way to class, Stella and I had a talk. I let her know that while she was there to make friends and have fun, she was also there to learn. I think she might have taken me a little too seriously.
For the first class, we learned the basics of "sit," "watch" and "leave it." At six months, Stella is very good at "sit," and has even moved beyond "watch" to "stay." We've been working on "leave it" here and there as well, so she did very well at her studies.
I've been told that Boston Terriers are "food motivated," and knowing my little piglet, I don't doubt it, but I'm afraid the want of treats is making Stella the class suck up. Every time the trainer came close, Stella would sit and face her in the "ready position," just waiting to be praised. At first, I was proud that she was behaving so well, while other dogs were barking and pulling on their leashes, but at "recess," I realized just how far Stella was willing to go to be the star pupil.
The trainer split us up into two groups of three dogs and, one group at a time, told us to take our dogs off leash so they could have some social time. The other two dogs in our group scampered after each other, while Stella stayed on the sidelines, sniffing the ground for any treats that might not have been grabbed. While the other dogs played, Stella was doing cleanup.
Good God. My dog is the hall monitor.
The trainer assured us that she'll come out of her shell and eventually start playing with the other pups in class. I hope so; I want her to get used to being around other dogs, and I want her to enjoy her time at puppy school.
And hey, at least she's a good student. That's a relief. If my dog has to be a loner, I'd much rather she be Diane Court than Allison Reynolds.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Everywhere A Moo Moo
Just when I was thinking about becoming a vegan (or at least thinking like one), my husband and I had a corresponding weekday off and spent part of it at Fogo de Chao, a Brazilian steakhouse in downtown Chicago.
For those who have not visited such an establishment, you know that Cheerios commercial where the people are walking around the grocery store and all they have are Cheerios? Fogo is like that, except all they have is meat. Well, and some side dishes no one eats. What happens is, these guys carrying gigantic cuts of meat come to your table, and if you want some of it, you say so, they cut a portion for you and move on. They bring bread, mashed potatoes, polenta and fried bananas to your table, but no one ever eats much of that stuff.
I had been to a Brazilian steakhouse before, but I had such a horrible meat hangover the next day that I was reluctant to go back. My husband, however, is a typical man who loves this veritable meat buffet, so when his friends asked if we wanted to go, I agreed.
I almost didn't get to eat anything; it took about 20 minutes for me to get someone to tell me whether any of the meats are prepared with butter (many better establishments brush their steaks with butter before serving them). And once I got the go-ahead, I went ahead, filling up on filet, top sirloin, sausage and other meaty goodness. I came home with another meat hangover.
I think I'm ready to become a vegan now.
For those who have not visited such an establishment, you know that Cheerios commercial where the people are walking around the grocery store and all they have are Cheerios? Fogo is like that, except all they have is meat. Well, and some side dishes no one eats. What happens is, these guys carrying gigantic cuts of meat come to your table, and if you want some of it, you say so, they cut a portion for you and move on. They bring bread, mashed potatoes, polenta and fried bananas to your table, but no one ever eats much of that stuff.
I had been to a Brazilian steakhouse before, but I had such a horrible meat hangover the next day that I was reluctant to go back. My husband, however, is a typical man who loves this veritable meat buffet, so when his friends asked if we wanted to go, I agreed.
I almost didn't get to eat anything; it took about 20 minutes for me to get someone to tell me whether any of the meats are prepared with butter (many better establishments brush their steaks with butter before serving them). And once I got the go-ahead, I went ahead, filling up on filet, top sirloin, sausage and other meaty goodness. I came home with another meat hangover.
I think I'm ready to become a vegan now.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
I Am The Most Fascinating Person Ever: Christmas Edition
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
Wrapping paper, unless it's something hard to wrap and I happen to have a gift bag lying around.
2. Real tree or Artificial?
Real real real. I will never have an artificial tree, unless it is put up over my dead body.
3. When do you put up the tree?
Eh, the first or second weekend of December.
4. When do you take the tree down?
My first day off after New Year's Day.
5. Do you like egg nog?
I drank about ten gallons of soy egg nog last year. I was up to three quarts this year, but then I got a bad batch of nog, and I think I'm done with it till Christmas 2008.
6. Favorite gift received as a child?
I remember being really excited the year I got my chalk board and my baton.
7. Do you have a nativity scene?
Yes, although I'm not sure why. My mom gave it to me, although we're not terribly religious folks, which is pretty much proven by the fact that there's one figure in there whose identity I can't figure out. I think he must be the innkeeper or something.
8. Hardest person to buy for?
My dad, unless Harry Turtledove has come out with a few books that year.
9. Easiest person to buy for?
My brother-in-law, so long as they keep making ferret calendars and lawn gnome memorabilia.
10. Mail or e-mail Christmas cards?
Mail, but I haven't sent any in a few years.
11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received?
I think the classic dead mouse from my great-grandfather will always top this list. I am so going to win a contest with that one someday.
12. Favorite Christmas movie?
White Christmas
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas?
Whenever I feel like it, usually around the beginning of December. That way, I feel like I'm totally on the ball and then (much like this year) in mid-December, I freak out and realize I've only bought two gifts and have a long way to go and no ideas.
14 . Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
Not as a present. But I have, on occasion, given things to people in the "I got this as a present and don't want it; do you?" way.
15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?
Cookies, Chex Mix, stuffing and scrapple.
16. Clear lights or colored on the tree?
Colored. It's more festive.
17. Favorite Christmas song?
The holidays don't really begin till I've heard Elvis' "Blue Christmas."
18. Travel at Christmas or stay home?
The hub and I rotate, so last year, we went to his parents' house (which is in Illinois) and this year, we're heading for Pennsylvania and some homemade pumpkin pie at my parents' house.
19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer?
Not only can I name them all, I can tell you about how two former coworkers of mine got into a heated month-long debate (it felt that long, anyway, it was probably only like an hour) about whether the one reindeer's name was Donner or Donder.
20. Angel on the tree top or a star?
Always a star. I like stars.
21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning?
When I was a little kid, we used to open one on Christmas Eve and the rest on Christmas morning. Now, we just open them all at once. Except for last year, when I opened the gifts from my mom the day after Christmas because UPS went Grinch on me.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of year?
The fact that it makes people so mean, and also the fact that you can't run into any store just for one quick thing.
23. Favorite ornament theme or color?
I'm not much of a theme gal when it comes to Christmas; I like my ornaments to have meaning. I still have the popsicle stick sled I made when I was in preschool, the foil gift box I made in fifth grade and all of the ornaments my mom has bought me over the years, even the scary-ass clown that I make a point to hang on the back of the tree where no one can see it.
24. Favorite for Christmas dinner?
Stuffing and mashed potatoes. I don't really care about anything else.
25. What do you want for Christmas this year?
Life has been very stressful and busy for me lately, so all I really want is a nice, relaxing visit with my family. And a great big TV.
Wrapping paper, unless it's something hard to wrap and I happen to have a gift bag lying around.
2. Real tree or Artificial?
Real real real. I will never have an artificial tree, unless it is put up over my dead body.
3. When do you put up the tree?
Eh, the first or second weekend of December.
4. When do you take the tree down?
My first day off after New Year's Day.
5. Do you like egg nog?
I drank about ten gallons of soy egg nog last year. I was up to three quarts this year, but then I got a bad batch of nog, and I think I'm done with it till Christmas 2008.
6. Favorite gift received as a child?
I remember being really excited the year I got my chalk board and my baton.
7. Do you have a nativity scene?
Yes, although I'm not sure why. My mom gave it to me, although we're not terribly religious folks, which is pretty much proven by the fact that there's one figure in there whose identity I can't figure out. I think he must be the innkeeper or something.
8. Hardest person to buy for?
My dad, unless Harry Turtledove has come out with a few books that year.
9. Easiest person to buy for?
My brother-in-law, so long as they keep making ferret calendars and lawn gnome memorabilia.
10. Mail or e-mail Christmas cards?
Mail, but I haven't sent any in a few years.
11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received?
I think the classic dead mouse from my great-grandfather will always top this list. I am so going to win a contest with that one someday.
12. Favorite Christmas movie?
White Christmas
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas?
Whenever I feel like it, usually around the beginning of December. That way, I feel like I'm totally on the ball and then (much like this year) in mid-December, I freak out and realize I've only bought two gifts and have a long way to go and no ideas.
14 . Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
Not as a present. But I have, on occasion, given things to people in the "I got this as a present and don't want it; do you?" way.
15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?
Cookies, Chex Mix, stuffing and scrapple.
16. Clear lights or colored on the tree?
Colored. It's more festive.
17. Favorite Christmas song?
The holidays don't really begin till I've heard Elvis' "Blue Christmas."
18. Travel at Christmas or stay home?
The hub and I rotate, so last year, we went to his parents' house (which is in Illinois) and this year, we're heading for Pennsylvania and some homemade pumpkin pie at my parents' house.
19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer?
Not only can I name them all, I can tell you about how two former coworkers of mine got into a heated month-long debate (it felt that long, anyway, it was probably only like an hour) about whether the one reindeer's name was Donner or Donder.
20. Angel on the tree top or a star?
Always a star. I like stars.
21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning?
When I was a little kid, we used to open one on Christmas Eve and the rest on Christmas morning. Now, we just open them all at once. Except for last year, when I opened the gifts from my mom the day after Christmas because UPS went Grinch on me.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of year?
The fact that it makes people so mean, and also the fact that you can't run into any store just for one quick thing.
23. Favorite ornament theme or color?
I'm not much of a theme gal when it comes to Christmas; I like my ornaments to have meaning. I still have the popsicle stick sled I made when I was in preschool, the foil gift box I made in fifth grade and all of the ornaments my mom has bought me over the years, even the scary-ass clown that I make a point to hang on the back of the tree where no one can see it.
24. Favorite for Christmas dinner?
Stuffing and mashed potatoes. I don't really care about anything else.
25. What do you want for Christmas this year?
Life has been very stressful and busy for me lately, so all I really want is a nice, relaxing visit with my family. And a great big TV.
The Gift That Gave Twice
My sister once left a comment on this blog that I always write about the dumb things she does but never anything complimentary.
Well, this must be the week to highlight her generous side, because I got another gift from her yesterday.
Every year around Christmas, my sis and her husband send out gifts from a company called Swiss Colony. They have meat and cheese logs, pancake mixes, nuts, truffles, all kinds of goodies. This year, my Swiss Colony package included the "blueberry breakfast," which came with pancake mix, blueberry syrup, jam, bread and a few other things, all in a nice blue stoneware bowl. Unfortunately, the bowl came severely cracked, so I called the company to ask for a replacement.
They couldn't replace just the bowl, so instead, they're sending me a whole new blueberry breakfast package. It won't come until late January, but that's fine with me. After all, it was only the bowl that was broken; everything else was fine. I'm really looking forward to all the blueberry goodness.
And as for my sister, or anyone else who wants to be featured in a nice way on this blog, the lesson here is clear: Send me presents.
Well, this must be the week to highlight her generous side, because I got another gift from her yesterday.
Every year around Christmas, my sis and her husband send out gifts from a company called Swiss Colony. They have meat and cheese logs, pancake mixes, nuts, truffles, all kinds of goodies. This year, my Swiss Colony package included the "blueberry breakfast," which came with pancake mix, blueberry syrup, jam, bread and a few other things, all in a nice blue stoneware bowl. Unfortunately, the bowl came severely cracked, so I called the company to ask for a replacement.
They couldn't replace just the bowl, so instead, they're sending me a whole new blueberry breakfast package. It won't come until late January, but that's fine with me. After all, it was only the bowl that was broken; everything else was fine. I'm really looking forward to all the blueberry goodness.
And as for my sister, or anyone else who wants to be featured in a nice way on this blog, the lesson here is clear: Send me presents.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Hint Really Heavily And Ye Shall Receive
I received a package from my sister today containing a mix CD of Christmas songs.
I was excited to see that several selections from my Christmas music wish list were on it. In fact, the only ones that weren't were "Happy Christmas (War Is Over)," "Baby It's Cold Outside" and "Sleigh Ride."
It also contained heartwarming holiday classics like the Schweaty Balls bit from Saturday Night Live, "Merry Fuckin' Christmas" from South Park and "Chipmunks Roasting On An Open Fire," plus some actually heartwarming holiday classics. It's exactly what I needed to get me through the last few weeks of the crazy, hectic season.
Side note: Also in the package was a pair of earrings and a bracelet that my sis made; she's been learning about jewelry making and having fun with funky beads. I really like it and am excited she made it for me, but it did make me feel a little bad that I haven't bought her anything for Christmas yet.
I was excited to see that several selections from my Christmas music wish list were on it. In fact, the only ones that weren't were "Happy Christmas (War Is Over)," "Baby It's Cold Outside" and "Sleigh Ride."
It also contained heartwarming holiday classics like the Schweaty Balls bit from Saturday Night Live, "Merry Fuckin' Christmas" from South Park and "Chipmunks Roasting On An Open Fire," plus some actually heartwarming holiday classics. It's exactly what I needed to get me through the last few weeks of the crazy, hectic season.
Side note: Also in the package was a pair of earrings and a bracelet that my sis made; she's been learning about jewelry making and having fun with funky beads. I really like it and am excited she made it for me, but it did make me feel a little bad that I haven't bought her anything for Christmas yet.
Spamtastic
After I got married and changed my name, I changed my e-mail address to reflect the name change. I still keep the old address around, just in case someone doesn't have the new one, but I have the messages forwarded to the new one. Messages perceived to be spam, however, are not forwarded, and every once in awhile, I check them to make sure something real hasn't been tossed into the wrong folder.
When I checked today, I had 101 messages in my spam folder, only one of which was something I was supposed to receive. Usually, I just delete the spam, but today, I couldn't help noticing some of the better subject lines and wanting to share a few.
The majority of the messages (if the subject lines are really a true indication, since I didn't actually click on any of them) were about how I desperately need to get my penis enlarged. As a girl, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to interpret those messages, especially the one that read: Don't envy well-hung guys! You could easily become one of them!
There were plenty of non-penis-related messages as well, including one urging me, don't agree to stay a loser in new year (wow, thanks) and another telling me, you'll laugh your but off. Apparently, whatever they are advertising is so funny that I've already laughed off the second t in butt. And I'm still trying to figure out what it was I was supposed to take from the message whose subject was helping you veiw not old and create your minute al. But it probably has something to do with how my penis is too small.
When I checked today, I had 101 messages in my spam folder, only one of which was something I was supposed to receive. Usually, I just delete the spam, but today, I couldn't help noticing some of the better subject lines and wanting to share a few.
The majority of the messages (if the subject lines are really a true indication, since I didn't actually click on any of them) were about how I desperately need to get my penis enlarged. As a girl, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to interpret those messages, especially the one that read: Don't envy well-hung guys! You could easily become one of them!
There were plenty of non-penis-related messages as well, including one urging me, don't agree to stay a loser in new year (wow, thanks) and another telling me, you'll laugh your but off. Apparently, whatever they are advertising is so funny that I've already laughed off the second t in butt. And I'm still trying to figure out what it was I was supposed to take from the message whose subject was helping you veiw not old and create your minute al. But it probably has something to do with how my penis is too small.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
An Opening for a Princess
I'm pretty sure my parents have been lying to me all my life.
I don't think I'm a regular gal from Pennsylvania after all. I am now fairly certain I'm actually a princess.
I don't mean "princess" in the spoiled way; I mean actual princess. See, I've been waking up with a backache for several days now, so I figure there must be a pea under my mattress somewhere. I thought at first it might just be that the mattress is old (I'm not sure how old, as it was my husband's before I was), but I kept piling extra padding on top of it and it's still not working.
So if anyone out there wants to restore me to my rightful place in some royal palace somewhere, I'm ready.
Otherwise, it hasn't been all that interesting of a weekend, but here are some "in other news" tidbits I just know everyone out there will find fascinating.
- I saw a little boy last night who looks exactly like Charlie Brown would look if he were a real kid.
- I went yarn shopping three times and plan to go again tomorrow. I think someone might have to enroll me in some sort of yarn addiction program, or, failing that, AARP.
- I had a dream last night that I was married to Steve Carell and some kid robbed our house of non-perishable food. And later, I had a dream that -- with my actual husband, and his actual family -- I went into outer space. Apparently, my in-laws had some sort of RV, but you took it to space instead of Yellowstone. Also, it was shaped like a snowman.
I don't think I'm a regular gal from Pennsylvania after all. I am now fairly certain I'm actually a princess.
I don't mean "princess" in the spoiled way; I mean actual princess. See, I've been waking up with a backache for several days now, so I figure there must be a pea under my mattress somewhere. I thought at first it might just be that the mattress is old (I'm not sure how old, as it was my husband's before I was), but I kept piling extra padding on top of it and it's still not working.
So if anyone out there wants to restore me to my rightful place in some royal palace somewhere, I'm ready.
Otherwise, it hasn't been all that interesting of a weekend, but here are some "in other news" tidbits I just know everyone out there will find fascinating.
- I saw a little boy last night who looks exactly like Charlie Brown would look if he were a real kid.
- I went yarn shopping three times and plan to go again tomorrow. I think someone might have to enroll me in some sort of yarn addiction program, or, failing that, AARP.
- I had a dream last night that I was married to Steve Carell and some kid robbed our house of non-perishable food. And later, I had a dream that -- with my actual husband, and his actual family -- I went into outer space. Apparently, my in-laws had some sort of RV, but you took it to space instead of Yellowstone. Also, it was shaped like a snowman.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
The Squeaky Wheel Gets The Tires
This morning, I had an e-mail from my sister saying that she got through a "holiday impatience" moment by thinking of my blog. In line at a store behind a woman who kept having to run back for more things, check prices, etc., she found herself annoyed at having to wait, but because the woman was apologetic, she decided to smile and be patient, in the spirit of the season.
I was not so patient yesterday and plan to write another letter akin to last year's to UPS about an awful, awful customer service experience. As I mentioned a few days ago, the tires on my car were getting really bad, and with the snowy season approaching, I knew I had to replace them. I priced a few places a couple of weeks ago and ultimately decided to join Sam's Club, for the sole reason of purchasing tires there, because I could get a much better tire for much less money. And then the trouble began...
Here's the story.
Saturday afternoon: I ordered the tires on Sam's Club's Web site. They said they'd ship them to my local Sam's Club, and when they arrived, I would receive an e-mail saying they were there.
Wednesday afternoon: I received an e-mail message stating, "your recent online order is ready for pickup at your local Sam's Club."
5:30 p.m. Thursday: I went to my local Sam's Club, and a slick tire department dude wearing a hat with sparkly silver lettering on it told me, "well, you know, we're real busy. We gotta do like three cars and then we gotta take a break, so you'll have to wait till at least seven till we can get to you." I bought a gigantic bag of candy and a stack of notebooks and left.
10 a.m. Friday: I entered Sam's Club just as it opened, went back to the tire department and the guy there (Slick Dude is apparently not on the morning shift) looked in their book and told me my tires haven't come in yet. I told him I'd received an e-mail two days before saying they had, and he said, "yeah, they just sort of send those out whenever they want. We're not supposed to tell people that, but they never really send them when your stuff actually comes in." He said they had already checked in all of their tire deliveries for that morning, so he knew they were definitely not there.
11 a.m.: I'd driven around for an hour, running other errands and mulling over the problem. I was angry that I'd wasted two trips to Sam's to get tires that weren't even in yet, angry that I had been notified that they were in. In fact, I was angry enough to call my husband and tell him he had to talk me down from going into Sam's Club, demanding to speak to the manager, and then demanding my money back for my membership. He talked me out of the membership thing but said I should definitely complain, in person. So I went back to Sam's, complained to customer service and was directed to call 1-800-Wal-Mart, as the problem had been a premature e-mail, which comes from the corporate office, not from the club. I went outside right away and called from my car.
11:30 a.m.: After a really long time on hold, the woman I spoke with (who had been on hold the whole time with the club) told me she couldn't get any answers either. She put in a request for me to get a phone call from the store manager within 24 hours.
11:57 a.m.: While I was in the gym, sweating off the stress from the past two hours, the tire department guy I'd spoken to earlier left me a message. My tires have just been checked in and are ready for me whenever I want to come get them, he said. Note that this is the same guy who told me earlier they'd checked everything in and my tires were definitely not there. Hmm.
12:45 p.m.: Immediately after receiving the message, I went to Sam's Club -- in my sweaty gym clothes -- for the third time that day. A guy I hadn't seen before helped me, saw in his book that my tires were in and went to the back to get them. When he returned, he took a look at all of the tires he'd brought up and said to me, "I think they sent the wrong ones." At this point, I was just waiting for any reason to fly off the handle, but I actually kept calm while he went to look again. Nope, nothing in the back. So he looked around the tire area, where the "in-stock" tires are kept and somehow found them. Obviously, my tires were not, in fact, a part of Friday's delivery, had not "just been checked in" and were probably sitting there the entire time I was getting the runaround.
2 p.m.: Four hours after entering Sam's Club the first time, I left with my new tires and a draft complaint letter to the manager. I did not, however, leave with an apology from anyone.
As this was my first purchase from Sam's Club (besides the candy and the notebooks of the day before), it really sours my view of the place. I don't think I'll be returning, but it depends on what the manager has to say after he receives the letter I'll be writing him today.
I was not so patient yesterday and plan to write another letter akin to last year's to UPS about an awful, awful customer service experience. As I mentioned a few days ago, the tires on my car were getting really bad, and with the snowy season approaching, I knew I had to replace them. I priced a few places a couple of weeks ago and ultimately decided to join Sam's Club, for the sole reason of purchasing tires there, because I could get a much better tire for much less money. And then the trouble began...
Here's the story.
Saturday afternoon: I ordered the tires on Sam's Club's Web site. They said they'd ship them to my local Sam's Club, and when they arrived, I would receive an e-mail saying they were there.
Wednesday afternoon: I received an e-mail message stating, "your recent online order is ready for pickup at your local Sam's Club."
5:30 p.m. Thursday: I went to my local Sam's Club, and a slick tire department dude wearing a hat with sparkly silver lettering on it told me, "well, you know, we're real busy. We gotta do like three cars and then we gotta take a break, so you'll have to wait till at least seven till we can get to you." I bought a gigantic bag of candy and a stack of notebooks and left.
10 a.m. Friday: I entered Sam's Club just as it opened, went back to the tire department and the guy there (Slick Dude is apparently not on the morning shift) looked in their book and told me my tires haven't come in yet. I told him I'd received an e-mail two days before saying they had, and he said, "yeah, they just sort of send those out whenever they want. We're not supposed to tell people that, but they never really send them when your stuff actually comes in." He said they had already checked in all of their tire deliveries for that morning, so he knew they were definitely not there.
11 a.m.: I'd driven around for an hour, running other errands and mulling over the problem. I was angry that I'd wasted two trips to Sam's to get tires that weren't even in yet, angry that I had been notified that they were in. In fact, I was angry enough to call my husband and tell him he had to talk me down from going into Sam's Club, demanding to speak to the manager, and then demanding my money back for my membership. He talked me out of the membership thing but said I should definitely complain, in person. So I went back to Sam's, complained to customer service and was directed to call 1-800-Wal-Mart, as the problem had been a premature e-mail, which comes from the corporate office, not from the club. I went outside right away and called from my car.
11:30 a.m.: After a really long time on hold, the woman I spoke with (who had been on hold the whole time with the club) told me she couldn't get any answers either. She put in a request for me to get a phone call from the store manager within 24 hours.
11:57 a.m.: While I was in the gym, sweating off the stress from the past two hours, the tire department guy I'd spoken to earlier left me a message. My tires have just been checked in and are ready for me whenever I want to come get them, he said. Note that this is the same guy who told me earlier they'd checked everything in and my tires were definitely not there. Hmm.
12:45 p.m.: Immediately after receiving the message, I went to Sam's Club -- in my sweaty gym clothes -- for the third time that day. A guy I hadn't seen before helped me, saw in his book that my tires were in and went to the back to get them. When he returned, he took a look at all of the tires he'd brought up and said to me, "I think they sent the wrong ones." At this point, I was just waiting for any reason to fly off the handle, but I actually kept calm while he went to look again. Nope, nothing in the back. So he looked around the tire area, where the "in-stock" tires are kept and somehow found them. Obviously, my tires were not, in fact, a part of Friday's delivery, had not "just been checked in" and were probably sitting there the entire time I was getting the runaround.
2 p.m.: Four hours after entering Sam's Club the first time, I left with my new tires and a draft complaint letter to the manager. I did not, however, leave with an apology from anyone.
As this was my first purchase from Sam's Club (besides the candy and the notebooks of the day before), it really sours my view of the place. I don't think I'll be returning, but it depends on what the manager has to say after he receives the letter I'll be writing him today.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Best Headline Ever (Or At Least of the Week)
From CNN.com:
"Naked Men Enter Store, Calmly Buy Skittles"
I am trying so hard to refrain from making a "taste the rainbow" joke.
There's a link to a video, but since it doesn't say "Handsome Naked Men Enter Store, Calmly Buy Skittles," I don't want to click it. And even if it did, I think that headline gives me as much information as I want about this story, except, perhaps, whether they bought the original fruit variety or something else.
"Naked Men Enter Store, Calmly Buy Skittles"
I am trying so hard to refrain from making a "taste the rainbow" joke.
There's a link to a video, but since it doesn't say "Handsome Naked Men Enter Store, Calmly Buy Skittles," I don't want to click it. And even if it did, I think that headline gives me as much information as I want about this story, except, perhaps, whether they bought the original fruit variety or something else.
About The Weather
I wouldn't say I've lead a charmed life -- but every once in awhile, I have a charmed day.
A few days ago, news outlets all over Chicago started talking up a snowstorm, about a snowstorm. It would be the "worst of the season so far," they said (which actually wouldn't be much of a feat, since it's only snowed once, and only about a quarter inch -- it's only the beginning of December, after all). It was predicted to begin around noon yesterday and end around noon today, with a total accumulation of several inches.
Great, I thought, as I listened to the reports. That will ruin my Tuesday commute home from work and my Wednesday commute to work. I desperately need new tires for my car, and they've been ordered, but since they're an odd size (and therefore, a special order), it could be another week before they come in, leaving me with no traction in the snow. So I was very concerned about this storm and what it might mean, driving-wise.
But I was lucky, very lucky.
As noon approached yesterday, I checked the weather report, and it now said the snow would begin late in the afternoon. When it got to be late in the afternoon, the reports said it would now begin at 6 p.m. I drove home from work seeing a few flurries, and just after I got home, the snow started coming in full force. By 7:30, the ground was completely covered.
Just before I went to bed, as it was still coming down, I checked the weather report again. The full-on snowfall would end in the early hours and turn to light snow showers, and the whole thing would be over by mid-morning, it said. And it was, which meant that road crews had plenty of time to clean up before the morning commute. When I left for work today, the roads were pretty much clear, except for one small stretch that was almost solid ice. Even so, I was able to find the small patches of road peeking out from underneath, so even that wasn't all that bad.
My shoes, socks and pants are soaked through to the knee from trudging around brushing snow off my car, and my butt is wet because I stupidly opened the driver's side door and a bunch of snow fell in...but it's a small price to pay for deliverance from commuting on treacherous roads. And actually, the cold, wet feet and bum make me feel a little nostalgic; I feel like I just came in from sledding. If I had my Crayola crayon sleeping bag and a mug of cocoa, I'd be set.
A few days ago, news outlets all over Chicago started talking up a snowstorm, about a snowstorm. It would be the "worst of the season so far," they said (which actually wouldn't be much of a feat, since it's only snowed once, and only about a quarter inch -- it's only the beginning of December, after all). It was predicted to begin around noon yesterday and end around noon today, with a total accumulation of several inches.
Great, I thought, as I listened to the reports. That will ruin my Tuesday commute home from work and my Wednesday commute to work. I desperately need new tires for my car, and they've been ordered, but since they're an odd size (and therefore, a special order), it could be another week before they come in, leaving me with no traction in the snow. So I was very concerned about this storm and what it might mean, driving-wise.
But I was lucky, very lucky.
As noon approached yesterday, I checked the weather report, and it now said the snow would begin late in the afternoon. When it got to be late in the afternoon, the reports said it would now begin at 6 p.m. I drove home from work seeing a few flurries, and just after I got home, the snow started coming in full force. By 7:30, the ground was completely covered.
Just before I went to bed, as it was still coming down, I checked the weather report again. The full-on snowfall would end in the early hours and turn to light snow showers, and the whole thing would be over by mid-morning, it said. And it was, which meant that road crews had plenty of time to clean up before the morning commute. When I left for work today, the roads were pretty much clear, except for one small stretch that was almost solid ice. Even so, I was able to find the small patches of road peeking out from underneath, so even that wasn't all that bad.
My shoes, socks and pants are soaked through to the knee from trudging around brushing snow off my car, and my butt is wet because I stupidly opened the driver's side door and a bunch of snow fell in...but it's a small price to pay for deliverance from commuting on treacherous roads. And actually, the cold, wet feet and bum make me feel a little nostalgic; I feel like I just came in from sledding. If I had my Crayola crayon sleeping bag and a mug of cocoa, I'd be set.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
If Anyone Needs A Scarf, Let Me Know Now
I know it's not altogether polite to brag about what one spent on something, but I can't help sharing my fantastic (albeit a bit dorky) find.
Yesterday, I decided to check out a local craft store's yarn prices, as I've been crocheting quite a bit lately and spending a lot on yarn. The price for the stuff I regularly buy was the same as the store I frequent; however, this place had quite a few varieties on sale for 99 cents per skein! It was nice stuff, too, that typically goes for five or six bucks.
I picked up as much as I could carry (literally) and took it to the register; it cost about $13 for everything. But it wasn't until I got home and added up the tag prices that I realized just how much money I had saved. Had I paid full price, that yarn would have been more than $80.
I didn't take the find for granted, though; as a thank-you to the yarn gods, I helped a lady in the store find a few things her daughter needed to finish a project. I hope it will give me good karma for my next yarn shopping adventure.
Yesterday, I decided to check out a local craft store's yarn prices, as I've been crocheting quite a bit lately and spending a lot on yarn. The price for the stuff I regularly buy was the same as the store I frequent; however, this place had quite a few varieties on sale for 99 cents per skein! It was nice stuff, too, that typically goes for five or six bucks.
I picked up as much as I could carry (literally) and took it to the register; it cost about $13 for everything. But it wasn't until I got home and added up the tag prices that I realized just how much money I had saved. Had I paid full price, that yarn would have been more than $80.
I didn't take the find for granted, though; as a thank-you to the yarn gods, I helped a lady in the store find a few things her daughter needed to finish a project. I hope it will give me good karma for my next yarn shopping adventure.
Monday, November 26, 2007
So Big!
My little girl is growing up so fast.Stella seems to be advancing by leaps and bounds lately -- some figurative, some literal -- especially in the past week. Not only has she pretty much doubled in weight since we got her, she's learning new things all the time.
This past weekend was especially exciting for her. Since about a week after she came home with us, she'd been suffering from a potentially contagious cough, so we hadn't been able to socialize her with other dogs or take her to obedience school. Furthermore, because of the latter, we hadn't been able to socialize her with many people, either. But after the vet gave her a clean bill of health a few weeks ago, we decided it was time for puppy classes. We start in two weeks.
I made the arrangements for the class over the phone and was told that I could pick up the receipt at the store, so on Wednesday night when I got home from work, I asked my husband if he wanted to go there with me and bring Stella along. I thought it would be good for her to see the place and also to go out somewhere besides the vet's office. It was her first errand, and she did very well. She definitely has some things to learn when greeting people (we have, so far, been unable to break her of her jumping-up habit), but she did just fine with the other dogs, and once she calmed down a bit, she was even able to sit for a treat.
By the way, she was a total rock star, too. Everyone who saw her commented on how cute she was. I mentioned to the store employees that that happens at the vet's office, too (every time they take her in the back room to weigh her or give her a shot or something, I can hear all the vet techs going, "Stella! Oh, Stella, you're so cute!"). The employees told me that's how they are with all dogs, but I didn't see any other dogs getting the red carpet treatment while we were there. I think Stella's just the best. If the attention she's received to date is any indication, I have a feeling my little peanut girl will be the prom queen at puppy school.
On Thursday, Stella went on another outing -- over the river and through the woods to my in-laws' house. She met my sister-in-law's chihuahua, Rosa, and while the two didn't exactly hit it off (Stella wanted to sniff and say hello, but Rosa -- one of the few dogs in this world smaller than Stel -- was a bit nervous), I think she did alright. She also met two of my brother-in-law's kids, ages five and six, and she patiently allowed them to pet her and scratch her behind the ears. I had a brief moment of panic when she took a flying leap into my brother-in-law's lap (a lap in which he was holding his six-month-old baby) and then walked across it to say hello to his wife, but otherwise, she did just fine.
Side note: It really creeped me out on Thanksgiving when people called Stella our "daughter." I adore her, but that doesn't change the fact that she is a dog, not a human child.
But the most exciting milestone of the weekend came the night my husband and I decided not to take her out for a middle-of-the-night potty break. We tried once before, but she woke us up at 5:30, whining to be let out. This time, however, she made it all the way through. I was so proud of her. I think she was proud, too, because as soon as she came back in, she went straight to the bedroom door, pushed it open and jumped up onto the bed and my sleeping husband to tell him the good news.
I wonder if "leave puppy parents alone while they are sleeping" is on the obedience school syllabus. I'm kind of hoping so, because although it was funny when it happened to my husband, I'm not so sure I'd think the same thing if it had been me.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
And So This Is Christmas
When we use the phrase "Christmas spirit," we usually think of happy things -- the joy of giving, the excitement of seeing friends and family, the love we feel for our fellow man.
Today, I saw the other kind of Christmas spirit -- the meanness that comes out only during the yuletide season.
I volunteer with a community group that puts together events for residents of and visitors to our town, and today, we held our annual Santa's arrival. There are carriage rides, cookies, music, a tree lighting, and, of course, visits with the big guy himself. It's a lovely family event, and it's all free -- which means it attracts some of the meanest people in the community.
It's amazing the way anything to do with children or Christmas brings out the nastiness in people, and the sense of the entitlement they get when attending a free event.
Stationed at the door where people entered to visit with Santa, I heard quite a few nasty comments. People didn't like having to wait; they didn't like the fact that they needed a ticket; they didn't like that we pulled them out of line when they tried to sneak in out of turn.
One man stood and yelled at me for so long that I finally relented and told him to get in line, and then he continued to complain to everyone in line with him. I heard later that the man behind him told him to shut up, that this was a free event and the least he could do was abide by the rules. (I wanted to hug that man). There was also a lady who played the "you're breaking my toddler's heart" card after we told her she wouldn't be able to see Santa today. Sorry kid, but maybe if your mommy hadn't waited to bring you until half an hour after we finished handing out tickets -- the time had been clearly printed in several publications -- she wouldn't be on the naughty list, and you'd get to see Santa.
I understand these parents want their kids to see Santa, and I'm sure the kids looked forward to it. Plus it was a long, cold wait outside, especially for those children whose parents hadn't bothered to dress them in winter coats. But come on. This was a free community event. We had more than 500 people attend. People shouldn't expect to get in and out within 10 minutes; it just doesn't work like that.
It just goes to show that no good deed goes unpunished and that no amount of nice things you do for a person will ever be enough.
I've had a really stressful couple of weeks, and this weekend has been especially maddening. So on the way to the event today, I got to thinking how it would lift my spirits to attend a community celebration where happiness was the order of the day. How disappointing that some people thought their happiness was more important than the happiness of others.
So now, with the day behind me, I can't help feeling a little like Charlie Brown, wondering if anyone out there can tell me what Christmas is all about.
Today, I saw the other kind of Christmas spirit -- the meanness that comes out only during the yuletide season.
I volunteer with a community group that puts together events for residents of and visitors to our town, and today, we held our annual Santa's arrival. There are carriage rides, cookies, music, a tree lighting, and, of course, visits with the big guy himself. It's a lovely family event, and it's all free -- which means it attracts some of the meanest people in the community.
It's amazing the way anything to do with children or Christmas brings out the nastiness in people, and the sense of the entitlement they get when attending a free event.
Stationed at the door where people entered to visit with Santa, I heard quite a few nasty comments. People didn't like having to wait; they didn't like the fact that they needed a ticket; they didn't like that we pulled them out of line when they tried to sneak in out of turn.
One man stood and yelled at me for so long that I finally relented and told him to get in line, and then he continued to complain to everyone in line with him. I heard later that the man behind him told him to shut up, that this was a free event and the least he could do was abide by the rules. (I wanted to hug that man). There was also a lady who played the "you're breaking my toddler's heart" card after we told her she wouldn't be able to see Santa today. Sorry kid, but maybe if your mommy hadn't waited to bring you until half an hour after we finished handing out tickets -- the time had been clearly printed in several publications -- she wouldn't be on the naughty list, and you'd get to see Santa.
I understand these parents want their kids to see Santa, and I'm sure the kids looked forward to it. Plus it was a long, cold wait outside, especially for those children whose parents hadn't bothered to dress them in winter coats. But come on. This was a free community event. We had more than 500 people attend. People shouldn't expect to get in and out within 10 minutes; it just doesn't work like that.
It just goes to show that no good deed goes unpunished and that no amount of nice things you do for a person will ever be enough.
I've had a really stressful couple of weeks, and this weekend has been especially maddening. So on the way to the event today, I got to thinking how it would lift my spirits to attend a community celebration where happiness was the order of the day. How disappointing that some people thought their happiness was more important than the happiness of others.
So now, with the day behind me, I can't help feeling a little like Charlie Brown, wondering if anyone out there can tell me what Christmas is all about.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Pie Heaven
Last night, I made the best pumpkin pie ever.
It was a bit premature, I know, since Thanksgiving isn't till Thursday, and turkey day, such as it is, is not until Friday. My husband's family always eats lasagna on Thanksgiving, and while they have turkey too, it's not the same carby, over-the-top, gorge-yourself-on-
stuffing-and-mashed-potatoes-and-corn-and-
cranberries-shaped-like-the-can-they-came-in (then top it all off with pie) meal I grew up with. So I figured this year I'd make my own turkey dinner with all the trimmings, including pie, on Friday. But I ended up making the pie early.
The thing is, I wasn't sure I'd be able to make a decent pie that I could eat. I've always made pumpkin pie with evaporated milk, but I haven't seen a soy version of that, so I had to go looking for a pie recipe that was naturally dairy free.
I found one on a vegan Web site. It needs few ingredients -- just canned pumpkin, sugar, spices and tofu (yes, tofu) -- and requires very little work, so I figured if it turned out tasting like crap, at least I wouldn't feel as if I'd wasted my time. I was skeptical about the tofu though. I've eaten it before, but I had never cooked with it before, and I quickly learned that it smells a bit like something you might use in elementary school art class. Then again, raw meat smells pretty bad too, so I gave the tofu the benefit of the doubt and mixed it on in.
And the pie was amazing. Really amazing. The only difference between it and regular pumpkin pie is that it's not quite as firm (but I think if I used firmer tofu, it would be). Even my husband, who doesn't like pumpkin, told me it was "delicious."
I had been a little bummed on Saturday when I passed the lady fingers at Trader Joe's, knowing there's probably no way I can make those without dairy products, but this pie recipe gives me hope that I can still eat well in a world without dairy.
It was a bit premature, I know, since Thanksgiving isn't till Thursday, and turkey day, such as it is, is not until Friday. My husband's family always eats lasagna on Thanksgiving, and while they have turkey too, it's not the same carby, over-the-top, gorge-yourself-on-
stuffing-and-mashed-potatoes-and-corn-and-
cranberries-shaped-like-the-can-they-came-in (then top it all off with pie) meal I grew up with. So I figured this year I'd make my own turkey dinner with all the trimmings, including pie, on Friday. But I ended up making the pie early.
The thing is, I wasn't sure I'd be able to make a decent pie that I could eat. I've always made pumpkin pie with evaporated milk, but I haven't seen a soy version of that, so I had to go looking for a pie recipe that was naturally dairy free.
I found one on a vegan Web site. It needs few ingredients -- just canned pumpkin, sugar, spices and tofu (yes, tofu) -- and requires very little work, so I figured if it turned out tasting like crap, at least I wouldn't feel as if I'd wasted my time. I was skeptical about the tofu though. I've eaten it before, but I had never cooked with it before, and I quickly learned that it smells a bit like something you might use in elementary school art class. Then again, raw meat smells pretty bad too, so I gave the tofu the benefit of the doubt and mixed it on in.
And the pie was amazing. Really amazing. The only difference between it and regular pumpkin pie is that it's not quite as firm (but I think if I used firmer tofu, it would be). Even my husband, who doesn't like pumpkin, told me it was "delicious."
I had been a little bummed on Saturday when I passed the lady fingers at Trader Joe's, knowing there's probably no way I can make those without dairy products, but this pie recipe gives me hope that I can still eat well in a world without dairy.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Baby, It's Cold Outside
I'm in trouble.
It's only November, and I am freezing. Not miserable, not yet, but it's chilly enough outside to make me break out the flannel jammies and warm socks. And that's not all.
I have an addiction to hot baths. It seems to be the only way I can get warm on chilly nights. I crank up the heat in my condo, turn on the humidifier and cuddle under blankets, but I've got a constant underlying chill in my bones unless I take a near-to-scalding bath or shower in the evening.
It's not a good idea; I'm going to make my skin dry out even more than it usually does in the winter, and my water bill is going to be astronomical. But I can't help it. I just can't get warm without a hot bath, and once I take one, I'm comfortable for the rest of the night.
If I feel this way now, though, I wonder how I'm going to feel in February. I might have to start warming my clothes in the dryer too.
It's only November, and I am freezing. Not miserable, not yet, but it's chilly enough outside to make me break out the flannel jammies and warm socks. And that's not all.
I have an addiction to hot baths. It seems to be the only way I can get warm on chilly nights. I crank up the heat in my condo, turn on the humidifier and cuddle under blankets, but I've got a constant underlying chill in my bones unless I take a near-to-scalding bath or shower in the evening.
It's not a good idea; I'm going to make my skin dry out even more than it usually does in the winter, and my water bill is going to be astronomical. But I can't help it. I just can't get warm without a hot bath, and once I take one, I'm comfortable for the rest of the night.
If I feel this way now, though, I wonder how I'm going to feel in February. I might have to start warming my clothes in the dryer too.
Monday, November 12, 2007
The Dutiful Wife
I hope my mother doesn't read this entry, because I know it will only disappoint her.
A few years ago, she gave me a stern warning that if I start doing all of the housework, my husband will get used to it and never help. I'm sure she's right, but luckily, my husband and I have always been pretty good about splitting up the chores. I do most of the laundry, scour the bathrooms and do the vacuuming and dusting, and he does the dishes and cleans the kitchen (my most-hated chores). He also does the "man stuff" like change the oil in our cars and put goop around the windows to keep bugs from coming in.
He's never said anything to me like, "that shelf is looking rather dusty," or "how about running the vacuum today," but I realized last night that he has in fact gotten used to at least one thing I do around the house.
After dinner, I mentioned that chocolate chip cookies would taste really good. He had bought some chocolate chips at the store, so he said, "yeah, you should make some." I told him never mind; I didn't really feel like baking, but he kept on about it. Every time I walked through the kitchen, he'd ask if I was baking cookies yet.
"When did you become that husband?" I asked him.
"When you became that wife," he shot back.
He had a point; he really did. He loves chocolate chip cookies, so I've sort of made it a habit that when he has a long week or a particularly bad day, I'll bake him some. It's something small that I can do that I know will brighten his day. He's always very appreciative, but now I guess he's gotten used to it.
And I will admit it. I made the cookies. After all the cookie talk, I really had a taste for them. I even brought him a couple just-out-of-the-oven ones to enjoy.
But I also left the kitchen for him to clean.
A few years ago, she gave me a stern warning that if I start doing all of the housework, my husband will get used to it and never help. I'm sure she's right, but luckily, my husband and I have always been pretty good about splitting up the chores. I do most of the laundry, scour the bathrooms and do the vacuuming and dusting, and he does the dishes and cleans the kitchen (my most-hated chores). He also does the "man stuff" like change the oil in our cars and put goop around the windows to keep bugs from coming in.
He's never said anything to me like, "that shelf is looking rather dusty," or "how about running the vacuum today," but I realized last night that he has in fact gotten used to at least one thing I do around the house.
After dinner, I mentioned that chocolate chip cookies would taste really good. He had bought some chocolate chips at the store, so he said, "yeah, you should make some." I told him never mind; I didn't really feel like baking, but he kept on about it. Every time I walked through the kitchen, he'd ask if I was baking cookies yet.
"When did you become that husband?" I asked him.
"When you became that wife," he shot back.
He had a point; he really did. He loves chocolate chip cookies, so I've sort of made it a habit that when he has a long week or a particularly bad day, I'll bake him some. It's something small that I can do that I know will brighten his day. He's always very appreciative, but now I guess he's gotten used to it.
And I will admit it. I made the cookies. After all the cookie talk, I really had a taste for them. I even brought him a couple just-out-of-the-oven ones to enjoy.
But I also left the kitchen for him to clean.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Meat Me In St. Louis
As part of my never-ending quest to pretend that I want to eat healthier, I picked up the book Skinny Bitch from the library last week.
The book aims to be a no-nonsense, kick-in-the-ass guide to teach people just how unhealthy they are eating, and the authors, a former model and a former model agent, are touted on the back of the book as "your new smart-mouthed girlfriends who won't mince words and will finally tell you the truth about what you're feeding yourself."
In my opinion, they often come off not as "smart-mouthed girlfriends" but "snotty head cheerleaders who call you nasty names just because you can't do a pull-up." Note: Despite the fact that this sounds like an autobiographical situation, it's not. Except for the part about my not being able to do a pull-up.
Attitude aside, however, the book definitely was somewhat of a wakeup call. The chapter about sugar (aka "the devil") was especially interesting to me, as sugar is something I love. But cutting out the sugar in my diet has been on my mind ever since I interviewed a cancer survivor last month who told me that sugar pretty much is the devil when it comes to cancer.
There was also some pretty damning information about the meat and dairy industries, some of which I'm positive is true, some of which I can't be sure about without more investigation. The book was basically a persuasive speech about why people should become vegan, both for health reasons and to fight against poor treatment of animals.
I'm not going to run out and become a vegan; it's hard enough just avoiding dairy, and that's even factoring in the tummy trouble it gives me. But the book did make me want to make better food choices. I don't eat horribly, but I could eat a lot better than I do, and this book really made me want to. At the very least, it made me not want to eat as much -- the chapters on meat processing alone were enough to make me lose my appetite for awhile.
So while the chances of my actually becoming vegan are skinny bitch to none, I do plan to try to think like one from now on. I am officially done with dairy (which means a trip to Whole Foods is in order so I can re-investigate the world of soy cheese), and I will henceforth make every effort to cut the white sugar from my diet. As for meat, I vow to at least feel guilty when I eat it.
I've been cruising some vegan Web sites for recipes, and while some of them are full of ingredients I wouldn't touch with a 10-foot pole, there are a few I think I can handle without stepping out of my comfort zone too much.
As a half-assed step in the right direction, I bought some green tea the other day. I hate the taste of green tea on its own, so I bought "jasmine green tea," which smells fantastic and kind of tastes like it smells, but since I sometimes use jasmine scented stuff on my body, it almost tastes like I'm drinking perfume.
Oh well. If my insides aren't healthier, at least they'll smell good.
The book aims to be a no-nonsense, kick-in-the-ass guide to teach people just how unhealthy they are eating, and the authors, a former model and a former model agent, are touted on the back of the book as "your new smart-mouthed girlfriends who won't mince words and will finally tell you the truth about what you're feeding yourself."
In my opinion, they often come off not as "smart-mouthed girlfriends" but "snotty head cheerleaders who call you nasty names just because you can't do a pull-up." Note: Despite the fact that this sounds like an autobiographical situation, it's not. Except for the part about my not being able to do a pull-up.
Attitude aside, however, the book definitely was somewhat of a wakeup call. The chapter about sugar (aka "the devil") was especially interesting to me, as sugar is something I love. But cutting out the sugar in my diet has been on my mind ever since I interviewed a cancer survivor last month who told me that sugar pretty much is the devil when it comes to cancer.
There was also some pretty damning information about the meat and dairy industries, some of which I'm positive is true, some of which I can't be sure about without more investigation. The book was basically a persuasive speech about why people should become vegan, both for health reasons and to fight against poor treatment of animals.
I'm not going to run out and become a vegan; it's hard enough just avoiding dairy, and that's even factoring in the tummy trouble it gives me. But the book did make me want to make better food choices. I don't eat horribly, but I could eat a lot better than I do, and this book really made me want to. At the very least, it made me not want to eat as much -- the chapters on meat processing alone were enough to make me lose my appetite for awhile.
So while the chances of my actually becoming vegan are skinny bitch to none, I do plan to try to think like one from now on. I am officially done with dairy (which means a trip to Whole Foods is in order so I can re-investigate the world of soy cheese), and I will henceforth make every effort to cut the white sugar from my diet. As for meat, I vow to at least feel guilty when I eat it.
I've been cruising some vegan Web sites for recipes, and while some of them are full of ingredients I wouldn't touch with a 10-foot pole, there are a few I think I can handle without stepping out of my comfort zone too much.
As a half-assed step in the right direction, I bought some green tea the other day. I hate the taste of green tea on its own, so I bought "jasmine green tea," which smells fantastic and kind of tastes like it smells, but since I sometimes use jasmine scented stuff on my body, it almost tastes like I'm drinking perfume.
Oh well. If my insides aren't healthier, at least they'll smell good.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Stella for Star
It is common knowledge among those who know me that I don't give a flying fig about the personal lives of celebrities.
But while doing some research last night for a freelance story I'm writing, I found this photo of Denise Richards and her Boston Terrier, Stella. Finally, a piece of information about a famous person that really does relate to my own life.
I wonder if Denise Richards' Boston Terrier Stella is also nicknamed Peanut Girl. I'd like to think yes.
But while doing some research last night for a freelance story I'm writing, I found this photo of Denise Richards and her Boston Terrier, Stella. Finally, a piece of information about a famous person that really does relate to my own life.
I wonder if Denise Richards' Boston Terrier Stella is also nicknamed Peanut Girl. I'd like to think yes.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
An Open Letter To Whoever Hires Writers for Movies and TV
Dear Whoever Hires Writers for Movies and TV,
I've never written for movies or TV, but whatever I came up with couldn't be any worse than stupid ad-libbed reality shows. You could at least bet on some quirky comedy. And I would charge less than the union does.
Just something to think about. I look forward to your call.
Sincerely,
Erika
I've never written for movies or TV, but whatever I came up with couldn't be any worse than stupid ad-libbed reality shows. You could at least bet on some quirky comedy. And I would charge less than the union does.
Just something to think about. I look forward to your call.
Sincerely,
Erika
Monday, November 05, 2007
Why Did No One Tell Me About This?
This has got to be one of the best ideas ever.
I only wish I had been invited to participate. I could probably write a whole score for these folks.
I only wish I had been invited to participate. I could probably write a whole score for these folks.
Christmas Songs I Wish Someone Would Put On A Mix CD For Me
I listened to Christmas music on the radio all weekend.
It almost felt wrong, and it definitely felt too early. But like I said the other day, after Christmas is over, nothing good happens for several months, so doggone it, I'm going to make the most of Christmas.
The trouble is, there are a lot of Christmas songs I don't particularly like. And I find those get in the way of the ones I do. A few months ago, I posted a list of songs I wanted someone to put on a mix CD for me, and no one ever did (except for "Baby Got Back," but I had to beg). Anyway, I figured I'd try with Christmas songs and see if anyone wanted to oblige.
"Christmas Time Is Here" by Vince Guaraldi Trio -- It's just not Christmas without this Charlie Brown tune.
"All I Want for Christmas Is You" by Mariah Carey -- This is the only song of Mariah Carey's that I can stand. It came out when I was in high school and no doubt had my eye on some boy I was hoping to meet under the mistletoe, so it gives me a nice nostalgic feeling. Which in itself is a miracle, because most of the boys I had my eye on in high school never took notice of me. But it also makes me think of the movie "Love Actually," which also gives me warm Christmas feelings.
"I Want A Hippopotamus for Christmas" by Gayla Peevey -- Even though this was released in 1953, I had never heard it until two years ago. And I started hearing it all over the place. So it became the Christmas theme of 2005 for me. And "hippopotamus" is such a musical word that I just can't help loving this song.
"Happy Christmas (War Is Over)" by John Lennon and Yoko Ono -- I didn't pay much mind to this song until five years ago, when I sang it in a Christmas cabaret. It's a nice song. Kind of depressing, though, that it was recorded before I was born and is still relevant.
"Baby It's Cold Outside" -- But it has to be an old version where they still let the woman say "maybe just a cigarette more" instead of changing it to something healthier.
"Sleigh Ride" by The Ronettes -- Nothing brings holiday cheer like a little "ringalingaling ding dong ding."
"I Yust Go Nuts At Christmas" by Yogi Yorgesson -- My parents had this on 45 when I was a little kid, and I remember listening to it over and over. I think I probably still know all the words.
"Please, Daddy (Don't Get Drunk On Christmas)" by John Denver -- I heard this on the radio the day before I left college my freshman year for Christmas break and not once since. It's not supposed to be a funny song, but with the story of how the dad fell down under the Christmas tree and drunkenly yelled out "Merry Christmas," I don't see how it could not be.
"The Grinch Song" by Thurl Ravenscroft -- A classic tale, a classic song, and a classic reason to get Stella some antlers.
"Mele Kalikimaka" by Bing Crosby -- Even though it was April, I had this song going through my head the whole time I was in Hawaii. I even bought a Christmas ornament in a souvenir shop.
Really, anything by Bing Crosby -- He might have been an SOB in real life, but that man can croon a quality Christmas song. When I was little, my Aunt Shellie made my mom a mix tape of Christmas music, and it was a favorite in our house at holiday time, as was the movie "White Christmas." If anything gives me warm, fuzzy holiday feelings, it's Bing music. When I hear it, it's like I'm automatically transported back to my mom's kitchen, pressing Hershey's kisses into hot peanut butter cookies. And as we all know, there's no place like home for the holidays.
It almost felt wrong, and it definitely felt too early. But like I said the other day, after Christmas is over, nothing good happens for several months, so doggone it, I'm going to make the most of Christmas.
The trouble is, there are a lot of Christmas songs I don't particularly like. And I find those get in the way of the ones I do. A few months ago, I posted a list of songs I wanted someone to put on a mix CD for me, and no one ever did (except for "Baby Got Back," but I had to beg). Anyway, I figured I'd try with Christmas songs and see if anyone wanted to oblige.
"Christmas Time Is Here" by Vince Guaraldi Trio -- It's just not Christmas without this Charlie Brown tune.
"All I Want for Christmas Is You" by Mariah Carey -- This is the only song of Mariah Carey's that I can stand. It came out when I was in high school and no doubt had my eye on some boy I was hoping to meet under the mistletoe, so it gives me a nice nostalgic feeling. Which in itself is a miracle, because most of the boys I had my eye on in high school never took notice of me. But it also makes me think of the movie "Love Actually," which also gives me warm Christmas feelings.
"I Want A Hippopotamus for Christmas" by Gayla Peevey -- Even though this was released in 1953, I had never heard it until two years ago. And I started hearing it all over the place. So it became the Christmas theme of 2005 for me. And "hippopotamus" is such a musical word that I just can't help loving this song.
"Happy Christmas (War Is Over)" by John Lennon and Yoko Ono -- I didn't pay much mind to this song until five years ago, when I sang it in a Christmas cabaret. It's a nice song. Kind of depressing, though, that it was recorded before I was born and is still relevant.
"Baby It's Cold Outside" -- But it has to be an old version where they still let the woman say "maybe just a cigarette more" instead of changing it to something healthier.
"Sleigh Ride" by The Ronettes -- Nothing brings holiday cheer like a little "ringalingaling ding dong ding."
"I Yust Go Nuts At Christmas" by Yogi Yorgesson -- My parents had this on 45 when I was a little kid, and I remember listening to it over and over. I think I probably still know all the words.
"Please, Daddy (Don't Get Drunk On Christmas)" by John Denver -- I heard this on the radio the day before I left college my freshman year for Christmas break and not once since. It's not supposed to be a funny song, but with the story of how the dad fell down under the Christmas tree and drunkenly yelled out "Merry Christmas," I don't see how it could not be.
"The Grinch Song" by Thurl Ravenscroft -- A classic tale, a classic song, and a classic reason to get Stella some antlers.
"Mele Kalikimaka" by Bing Crosby -- Even though it was April, I had this song going through my head the whole time I was in Hawaii. I even bought a Christmas ornament in a souvenir shop.
Really, anything by Bing Crosby -- He might have been an SOB in real life, but that man can croon a quality Christmas song. When I was little, my Aunt Shellie made my mom a mix tape of Christmas music, and it was a favorite in our house at holiday time, as was the movie "White Christmas." If anything gives me warm, fuzzy holiday feelings, it's Bing music. When I hear it, it's like I'm automatically transported back to my mom's kitchen, pressing Hershey's kisses into hot peanut butter cookies. And as we all know, there's no place like home for the holidays.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Do You Hear What I Hear?
My brother-in-law Mark told me today that a local radio station has begun playing Christmas music.
For several years (probably since before I came to Chicago) this station has played all Christmas music beginning the day after Thanksgiving, which I think most people will argue is the official start to the holiday season. But either last year or the year before, they began the Christmas jamboree earlier.
Most folks roll their eyes about Christmas coming earlier every year, but I for one don't mind all that much. I'm not really in the mood for Christmas yet, but what the heck? Christmas is my favorite time of year, and since January, February and March don't offer much in the way of holidays or decent weather, I don't see a problem with making the most of what comes before.
Which is why I also plan to stake out the candy aisle of Target to get the first bag of the Christmas Cadbury Mini Eggs that hits the shelves.
For several years (probably since before I came to Chicago) this station has played all Christmas music beginning the day after Thanksgiving, which I think most people will argue is the official start to the holiday season. But either last year or the year before, they began the Christmas jamboree earlier.
Most folks roll their eyes about Christmas coming earlier every year, but I for one don't mind all that much. I'm not really in the mood for Christmas yet, but what the heck? Christmas is my favorite time of year, and since January, February and March don't offer much in the way of holidays or decent weather, I don't see a problem with making the most of what comes before.
Which is why I also plan to stake out the candy aisle of Target to get the first bag of the Christmas Cadbury Mini Eggs that hits the shelves.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Found Credit
I have a credit card that I pay and monitor online. I hardly ever use it, so when I do, I always have to remind myself to pay on the last day of the month.
Today, I went to pay and realized that I have $0 due. I checked my records, and it turns out I paid it early this month and completely forgot.
It's not quite as cool as finding 20 bucks in your coat pocket, but since the rest of my day has been kind of stressful, this really gave me a boost.
Today, I went to pay and realized that I have $0 due. I checked my records, and it turns out I paid it early this month and completely forgot.
It's not quite as cool as finding 20 bucks in your coat pocket, but since the rest of my day has been kind of stressful, this really gave me a boost.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
I Must Be Overworked
When my alarm went off at 3 this morning for Stella's overnight potty break, I thought at first that the noise was the fax machine at my office.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Guacamole for Everyone!
If a dream deferred is a raisin in the sun, a dream realized is an avocado in a box addressed to you.
Thanks to my sister, one of my lifelong dreams has been fulfilled. I am now an official member of the club -- the Avocado of the Month Club, that is. Yesterday, I received a box of six enormous avocados and some kind of tool, which is supposed to be a peeler or scraper or something. I don't care what it is; I've always wanted to belong to an of-the-month club, and now I do.
I'm not sure if they're really going to send me avocados every month or if it's just an honorary title, but either way, I'm excited.
Thanks to my sister, one of my lifelong dreams has been fulfilled. I am now an official member of the club -- the Avocado of the Month Club, that is. Yesterday, I received a box of six enormous avocados and some kind of tool, which is supposed to be a peeler or scraper or something. I don't care what it is; I've always wanted to belong to an of-the-month club, and now I do.
I'm not sure if they're really going to send me avocados every month or if it's just an honorary title, but either way, I'm excited.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
CNN Tells It Like It Is
I'm not sure whether to laugh at or be embarrassed for CNN.com about the link they posted to this story about an animal donated by the Make-A-Wish Foundation dying after being attacked by a pair of dogs.
The link reads Pit Bulls Kill Cancer Boy's Miniature Horse.
Cancer boy? Pretty harsh there, CNN. If the loss of his horse doesn't make him feel horrible, I'm sure this label will.
The link reads Pit Bulls Kill Cancer Boy's Miniature Horse.
Cancer boy? Pretty harsh there, CNN. If the loss of his horse doesn't make him feel horrible, I'm sure this label will.
Shaggy Has Left The Dumpster...At Least For Now
It's been two weeks, and my shaggy blonde dumpster diving pal has not made another appearance.
After the last sighting, I did in fact go to the cops and tell them what I'd seen. It felt strange to visit the police department and not get paid for it; every time I've been there before, I've been picking up reports for the newspaper. I half expected the ladies at the front desk to hand me the basket of papers, but I'd never seen them before, and I haven't covered their town for close to two years anyway.
I thought they'd brush me off, but actually, the gatekeeper lady who they make you talk to over the phone (I guess so they can get your information and run a background check on you before actually looking at you) admonished me for not calling right away when I first saw the guy . In fact, the tone was almost accusatory. I wasn't sure whether to be glad I decided to come in, or sorry.
Anyway, the cop I talked to face-to-face agreed that it was probably a medical center janitor but said he doesn't typically work the overnight shift, so he's not as familiar with the cleaning crew schedules of area businesses as the cops on that shift are. He also said that it's unlikely someone looking for medical records or financial information would find anything, as doctor's offices usually shred these things before throwing them away. Still, he took as much information as I could give him and said he'd share it with the officers on the overnight shift so that they could swing by and keep an eye out. He also said that if I saw the guy again, I should give them a call right away so they could check it out.
Well, there's been no sign of Shaggy and no word from the cops (although they never said they'd keep me updated). I did, however, see a report in the local paper about a shaggy haired blonde guy raping a woman in a neighboring town. It could be a coincidence, but that still hasn't stopped me from holding the door open while Stella pees so we can get inside quickly when she's done.
After the last sighting, I did in fact go to the cops and tell them what I'd seen. It felt strange to visit the police department and not get paid for it; every time I've been there before, I've been picking up reports for the newspaper. I half expected the ladies at the front desk to hand me the basket of papers, but I'd never seen them before, and I haven't covered their town for close to two years anyway.
I thought they'd brush me off, but actually, the gatekeeper lady who they make you talk to over the phone (I guess so they can get your information and run a background check on you before actually looking at you) admonished me for not calling right away when I first saw the guy . In fact, the tone was almost accusatory. I wasn't sure whether to be glad I decided to come in, or sorry.
Anyway, the cop I talked to face-to-face agreed that it was probably a medical center janitor but said he doesn't typically work the overnight shift, so he's not as familiar with the cleaning crew schedules of area businesses as the cops on that shift are. He also said that it's unlikely someone looking for medical records or financial information would find anything, as doctor's offices usually shred these things before throwing them away. Still, he took as much information as I could give him and said he'd share it with the officers on the overnight shift so that they could swing by and keep an eye out. He also said that if I saw the guy again, I should give them a call right away so they could check it out.
Well, there's been no sign of Shaggy and no word from the cops (although they never said they'd keep me updated). I did, however, see a report in the local paper about a shaggy haired blonde guy raping a woman in a neighboring town. It could be a coincidence, but that still hasn't stopped me from holding the door open while Stella pees so we can get inside quickly when she's done.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
God Loves A Terrier
It's official -- I'm becoming my mom.
I think that for most women, this revelation comes when they find themselves saying things like "clean your room or no TV for a week" or "I'll take the orange lipstick and an embroidered holiday sweatshirt, please," but for me, it came in a more sneaky way. A sort of musical way.
My mom has always had a thing about making up songs. She doesn't just willy nilly go around singing about any old thing, but I don't know if she's terribly selective about her subjects, either. I remember very well when I was little and we got our first microwave oven, and for weeks, she went around singing, "ohhhhhhhhh! I love my microwave!" in an almost operatic fashion. And when I was 17 and we got her a dog for Mother's Day, she gave him his own theme song, the lyrics to which were, "everybody loves my dog. People really seem to like my dog."
Well, people seem to like my dog too, I guess. Or at least I do, because after less than three months with Stella, I already have enough songs about her to make an album. Not a good album, but still.
I didn't realize just how many songs there were until last night, when my husband interrupted a chorus of "Piggly Wiggly Girl" to laugh at me for making up songs. I then began to list them, and the list is pathetically long.
There's "The Peanut Girl Theme," which is a take on the Spiderman theme: "Peanut Girl, Peanut Girl, living in her peanut world. She's so good and so cute. I love her, yes I do. Look out, here comes my peanut girl." There are more words, but they just get more embarrassing.
There's also "Hello, Peanut Girl, Goodbye Heart," an homage to Creedence Clearwater Revival.
I have an original composition I call "Stella Bella Peanut Girl," which is basically the words "peanut girl" repeated over and over. A B-side version of this is "Smooshy Smooshy Smooshy Face." Same tune, slightly different lyrics.
And let's not forget "Beautiful Stella" the tune of which was taken from "Beautiful Dreamer."
I know, I know. I'm certifiable. And I'm quite likely well on my way to becoming "crazy dog lady." Although I think you need at least one dog figurine and a tee shirt with your dog's face on it to truly qualify for that title.
Ah, well. If it's good enough for Mom, it's good enough for me. And for my piggly wiggly giggly jiggly piggly wiggly girl.
I think that for most women, this revelation comes when they find themselves saying things like "clean your room or no TV for a week" or "I'll take the orange lipstick and an embroidered holiday sweatshirt, please," but for me, it came in a more sneaky way. A sort of musical way.
My mom has always had a thing about making up songs. She doesn't just willy nilly go around singing about any old thing, but I don't know if she's terribly selective about her subjects, either. I remember very well when I was little and we got our first microwave oven, and for weeks, she went around singing, "ohhhhhhhhh! I love my microwave!" in an almost operatic fashion. And when I was 17 and we got her a dog for Mother's Day, she gave him his own theme song, the lyrics to which were, "everybody loves my dog. People really seem to like my dog."
Well, people seem to like my dog too, I guess. Or at least I do, because after less than three months with Stella, I already have enough songs about her to make an album. Not a good album, but still.
I didn't realize just how many songs there were until last night, when my husband interrupted a chorus of "Piggly Wiggly Girl" to laugh at me for making up songs. I then began to list them, and the list is pathetically long.
There's "The Peanut Girl Theme," which is a take on the Spiderman theme: "Peanut Girl, Peanut Girl, living in her peanut world. She's so good and so cute. I love her, yes I do. Look out, here comes my peanut girl." There are more words, but they just get more embarrassing.
There's also "Hello, Peanut Girl, Goodbye Heart," an homage to Creedence Clearwater Revival.
I have an original composition I call "Stella Bella Peanut Girl," which is basically the words "peanut girl" repeated over and over. A B-side version of this is "Smooshy Smooshy Smooshy Face." Same tune, slightly different lyrics.
And let's not forget "Beautiful Stella" the tune of which was taken from "Beautiful Dreamer."
I know, I know. I'm certifiable. And I'm quite likely well on my way to becoming "crazy dog lady." Although I think you need at least one dog figurine and a tee shirt with your dog's face on it to truly qualify for that title.
Ah, well. If it's good enough for Mom, it's good enough for me. And for my piggly wiggly giggly jiggly piggly wiggly girl.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
On The Eve of the Last Year Before I Turn 30...
My 20s have been interesting.
If I even began to list the highlights, the list would be a mile long. Suffice it to say that I've learned a lot and had a reasonably good time.
But as I close in on my 30s, I find myself breathing a sigh of relief. The 20s, interesting as they were, have been crazy, unsettled and often unsettling. I'm hoping the 30s bring a little more harmony, a little more balance, to my life.
But before all that zen bliss begins, I have one more year. So damn it, I'm gonna make it a good one.
I made a list of 30 things I want to do before I turn 30, and I plan to chronicle the checking-off process in a new blog, Pearly Wise. (Stapling Jello will continue to bring you the same brilliant insights as always).
What's on the list? Will I accomplish all 30 things?
We'll start finding out tomorrow.
If I even began to list the highlights, the list would be a mile long. Suffice it to say that I've learned a lot and had a reasonably good time.
But as I close in on my 30s, I find myself breathing a sigh of relief. The 20s, interesting as they were, have been crazy, unsettled and often unsettling. I'm hoping the 30s bring a little more harmony, a little more balance, to my life.
But before all that zen bliss begins, I have one more year. So damn it, I'm gonna make it a good one.
I made a list of 30 things I want to do before I turn 30, and I plan to chronicle the checking-off process in a new blog, Pearly Wise. (Stapling Jello will continue to bring you the same brilliant insights as always).
What's on the list? Will I accomplish all 30 things?
We'll start finding out tomorrow.
Wonder of Wonders, Miracle of Miracles
Well, well, well.
My UPS package just showed up. On time and in tact.
I think they must have my name in a "don't piss off this person" database.
My UPS package just showed up. On time and in tact.
I think they must have my name in a "don't piss off this person" database.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Stella Is A Thoughtful Girl
Today, I received this card in the mail.The label was typewritten, there was no return address, and the postmark came from Chicago.
Inside, the card said, in swirly type, "Happy Birthday! I didn't get you a gift, because now that you have me, what more could you want? Love, Stella."
And you know what? She's right.
I think someone must have helped her with the card, although really, Stella is pretty technology savvy. So maybe she just did it on her own.
In any case, I was tickled to get this surprise from my little peanut girl.
If It's Brown...
My mother sent me a package via UPS this week.
It's supposed to arrive on Thursday. Well, we'll just see about that.
After last year's Christmas package debacle, I don't feel terribly confident about the folks in the brown shorts delivering anything to me on time. Still, when my mom e-mailed to tell me that she'd sent me something via UPS, I decided to give the company the benefit of the doubt.
Even if they had re-routed my Christmas package three times without my knowledge or consent.
Even if their employees were completely unhelpful and rude.
Even if their idea of making amends was to send me a fruit basket.
Today, my mom forwarded me an e-mail update she had received on the status of my package's journey. In the summary, my name and the name of my company had been misspelled.
If anyone wants a banana or something, let me know now.
It's supposed to arrive on Thursday. Well, we'll just see about that.
After last year's Christmas package debacle, I don't feel terribly confident about the folks in the brown shorts delivering anything to me on time. Still, when my mom e-mailed to tell me that she'd sent me something via UPS, I decided to give the company the benefit of the doubt.
Even if they had re-routed my Christmas package three times without my knowledge or consent.
Even if their employees were completely unhelpful and rude.
Even if their idea of making amends was to send me a fruit basket.
Today, my mom forwarded me an e-mail update she had received on the status of my package's journey. In the summary, my name and the name of my company had been misspelled.
If anyone wants a banana or something, let me know now.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Concerned Citizen, or Law & Order Fan?
He's back. Whoever he is.
Two weeks ago, as I wrote then, Stella and I were outside on our 3 a.m. pee break and heard something being thrown into a dumpster and the dumpster lid slamming shut. I looked over and saw a man (I'm pretty sure it was a man -- the person had a mannish build) with shaggy blonde hair. I couldn't see a face. Stella started barking, and I hustled her inside. Whoever the guy was and whatever he was dumping, I didn't want any part of it.
I was definitely a little uneasy about it, but simply being outside at 3 a.m. is not a crime -- heck, I was. I figured he was just a night-shifter taking out his garbage or something.
But this morning, I saw him again. Stella and I were outside at 3 a.m., I heard the dumpster lid, looked over, and saw his silhouette and the blonde hair (there are lights over that way, so while I couldn't see his face, I definitely saw that the hair was light). Once again, I didn't want to be alone in the dark with a stranger, so Stel and I went inside. My unit is on the wrong side of the building for me to be able to see the area from my window, so I couldn't keep an eye on him from inside and see what exactly he was doing.
When I took Stel out right before I left for work, I realized that standing where I had been overnight, and two weeks ago, I wouldn't have been able to see the guy if he had been in the residential dumpsters. However, just behind them are dumpsters for a medical center which is directly behind my building. From where I was standing, I could (and would) have seen someone standing by those dumpsters.
It is possible that the mystery guy was just part of a cleaning crew throwing out garbage. However...of all of the possible reasons I can imagine for someone to be in a dumpster at 3 a.m., that is the only one that doesn't cause me concern. If he wasn't part of a cleaning crew, he was either dumping something illegally or looking for something he shouldn't be looking for.
I called the police department's non-emergency number today, to see if I could talk to an officer, but the person who answered the phone told me that they won't take reports over the phone and won't even talk to you unless you come in.
So I will pay the cops a visit this evening. I feel kind of weird about it; I don't have much to go on except "guy was outside at 3 a.m." And I kind of worry about coming across as someone who watches too much TV. But I would rather have the police think I'm a sensationalist than be afraid to take my dog outside.
Two weeks ago, as I wrote then, Stella and I were outside on our 3 a.m. pee break and heard something being thrown into a dumpster and the dumpster lid slamming shut. I looked over and saw a man (I'm pretty sure it was a man -- the person had a mannish build) with shaggy blonde hair. I couldn't see a face. Stella started barking, and I hustled her inside. Whoever the guy was and whatever he was dumping, I didn't want any part of it.
I was definitely a little uneasy about it, but simply being outside at 3 a.m. is not a crime -- heck, I was. I figured he was just a night-shifter taking out his garbage or something.
But this morning, I saw him again. Stella and I were outside at 3 a.m., I heard the dumpster lid, looked over, and saw his silhouette and the blonde hair (there are lights over that way, so while I couldn't see his face, I definitely saw that the hair was light). Once again, I didn't want to be alone in the dark with a stranger, so Stel and I went inside. My unit is on the wrong side of the building for me to be able to see the area from my window, so I couldn't keep an eye on him from inside and see what exactly he was doing.
When I took Stel out right before I left for work, I realized that standing where I had been overnight, and two weeks ago, I wouldn't have been able to see the guy if he had been in the residential dumpsters. However, just behind them are dumpsters for a medical center which is directly behind my building. From where I was standing, I could (and would) have seen someone standing by those dumpsters.
It is possible that the mystery guy was just part of a cleaning crew throwing out garbage. However...of all of the possible reasons I can imagine for someone to be in a dumpster at 3 a.m., that is the only one that doesn't cause me concern. If he wasn't part of a cleaning crew, he was either dumping something illegally or looking for something he shouldn't be looking for.
I called the police department's non-emergency number today, to see if I could talk to an officer, but the person who answered the phone told me that they won't take reports over the phone and won't even talk to you unless you come in.
So I will pay the cops a visit this evening. I feel kind of weird about it; I don't have much to go on except "guy was outside at 3 a.m." And I kind of worry about coming across as someone who watches too much TV. But I would rather have the police think I'm a sensationalist than be afraid to take my dog outside.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Soy and the Sneaky Wife
My husband is fairly open-minded when it comes to food. Like me, he enjoys trying new recipes, and he will usually at least take a bite of something that is unfamiliar.
The one exception has been soy. For some reason, I can never get him to try any dairy-like products that aren't actually dairy. I'll admit, some of them are kind of gross, but the soy ice cream isn't bad, and soy milk doesn't taste any worse than regular milk does.
Ever since I gave up dairy, cooking has been tough. We've constantly been looking for recipes that either called for no dairy or could be made in two separate dishes -- one lactose-laden, one not -- so that I could avoid the curse of the cow. I still eat dairy about once a week, but when it's not dairy day, meal planning can be a challenge. I've tried to get my husband to agree to make things with dairy-free milk and butter, but my soy-shy sweetheart has always refused.
On Saturday night, we were both hungry for chicken marsala, which we always have with mashed potatoes. It had been a busy day, and a busy week, so rather than messing with two versions of the same meal, I volunteered to cook, directed my husband to play with Stella and got to work, cooking the chicken in soy butter and adding soy butter and milk to the potatoes, all the while looking over my shoulder to make sure my secret ingredients went undetected.
As we sat down to dinner, I didn't say a word about the fact that this was a dairy-free meal, figuring I'd wait to see if he said anything before I confessed. I didn't feel good about my deception, but it was the only way I could get him to try the dairy-free products to which I have resigned myself. If he hated them, I told myself, I would never make him eat them again, but if he didn't, perhaps this would be the dawn of a new era in our kitchen.
I was nervous -- not only because I thought my husband might be upset but also because butter is part of what makes chicken marsala so good, and I was afraid our dinner would taste bad with a soy substitute. I took a bite -- and it was actually very good. I tried the potatoes, and they were good too. I could hardly tell the difference, so perhaps my husband would be fooled after all.
He was. He complimented me several times on the meal, even saying that I "always make the best chicken marsala." I beamed, and when our plates were clean, confessed what I'd done. His reply was completely predictable.
"I knew it."
Yeah, right. If he had had any idea, he would have asked as soon as he took one bite. But he insisted he'd had an inkling that something was up. I didn't believe him for a second, but I can't roll my eyes too much, because my little experiment proved a success. The next morning, my sweet husband made omelets for the two of us -- with soy milk.
Lesson learned: Never ask your husband to try something. Trick him into trying it and strong-arm him into admitting that it wasn't so bad after all.
The one exception has been soy. For some reason, I can never get him to try any dairy-like products that aren't actually dairy. I'll admit, some of them are kind of gross, but the soy ice cream isn't bad, and soy milk doesn't taste any worse than regular milk does.
Ever since I gave up dairy, cooking has been tough. We've constantly been looking for recipes that either called for no dairy or could be made in two separate dishes -- one lactose-laden, one not -- so that I could avoid the curse of the cow. I still eat dairy about once a week, but when it's not dairy day, meal planning can be a challenge. I've tried to get my husband to agree to make things with dairy-free milk and butter, but my soy-shy sweetheart has always refused.
On Saturday night, we were both hungry for chicken marsala, which we always have with mashed potatoes. It had been a busy day, and a busy week, so rather than messing with two versions of the same meal, I volunteered to cook, directed my husband to play with Stella and got to work, cooking the chicken in soy butter and adding soy butter and milk to the potatoes, all the while looking over my shoulder to make sure my secret ingredients went undetected.
As we sat down to dinner, I didn't say a word about the fact that this was a dairy-free meal, figuring I'd wait to see if he said anything before I confessed. I didn't feel good about my deception, but it was the only way I could get him to try the dairy-free products to which I have resigned myself. If he hated them, I told myself, I would never make him eat them again, but if he didn't, perhaps this would be the dawn of a new era in our kitchen.
I was nervous -- not only because I thought my husband might be upset but also because butter is part of what makes chicken marsala so good, and I was afraid our dinner would taste bad with a soy substitute. I took a bite -- and it was actually very good. I tried the potatoes, and they were good too. I could hardly tell the difference, so perhaps my husband would be fooled after all.
He was. He complimented me several times on the meal, even saying that I "always make the best chicken marsala." I beamed, and when our plates were clean, confessed what I'd done. His reply was completely predictable.
"I knew it."
Yeah, right. If he had had any idea, he would have asked as soon as he took one bite. But he insisted he'd had an inkling that something was up. I didn't believe him for a second, but I can't roll my eyes too much, because my little experiment proved a success. The next morning, my sweet husband made omelets for the two of us -- with soy milk.
Lesson learned: Never ask your husband to try something. Trick him into trying it and strong-arm him into admitting that it wasn't so bad after all.
Guacamole: Check
It's official. I have done it. I have reached the one goal I wanted to meet before I turned 29.
I have made guacamole.
After my husband and I gobbled the Trader Joe's guac that I bought last week, he not-so-subtly hinted that he would like some more. So on my way home from work on Thursday, I stopped and bought some ready-made guac. But with my Oct. 19 deadline looming in front of me, I thought it best to get started on making my own, and I picked up some avocados as well.
At this point, I still had no idea what good avocados looked or felt like, so I just grabbed. A few days later, Marla called and detailed for me exactly what a good avocado should feel like (firm, but with a little give) and look like (I forget) and how she prefers to smash up the avocados (just smash them, which is what I did, although I like my guac a little smoother, so I think next time I'll try the food processor).
After a hectic weekend, I decided that last night would be the big night. One of my four avocados had gotten really squishy, but the others were fine, so I sliced, gutted and smashed them up, added red onion, lemon juice, garlic powder and salt and reached for the tortilla chips for a taste test. The guac was a little bland, so I played with it, ultimately adding real garlic and a tiny bit of cumin. If I had had cilantro, I would have thrown that in, but unfortunately, I was fresh out. Next time, though.
It felt good to accomplish this goal. It felt good to stuff myself with homemade guacamole. And it felt really good when my husband told me he liked my very first attempt at homemade more than the store brand.
So what goals will I set for myself before I turn 30? I guess we'll find out in 10 days.
I have made guacamole.
After my husband and I gobbled the Trader Joe's guac that I bought last week, he not-so-subtly hinted that he would like some more. So on my way home from work on Thursday, I stopped and bought some ready-made guac. But with my Oct. 19 deadline looming in front of me, I thought it best to get started on making my own, and I picked up some avocados as well.
At this point, I still had no idea what good avocados looked or felt like, so I just grabbed. A few days later, Marla called and detailed for me exactly what a good avocado should feel like (firm, but with a little give) and look like (I forget) and how she prefers to smash up the avocados (just smash them, which is what I did, although I like my guac a little smoother, so I think next time I'll try the food processor).
After a hectic weekend, I decided that last night would be the big night. One of my four avocados had gotten really squishy, but the others were fine, so I sliced, gutted and smashed them up, added red onion, lemon juice, garlic powder and salt and reached for the tortilla chips for a taste test. The guac was a little bland, so I played with it, ultimately adding real garlic and a tiny bit of cumin. If I had had cilantro, I would have thrown that in, but unfortunately, I was fresh out. Next time, though.
It felt good to accomplish this goal. It felt good to stuff myself with homemade guacamole. And it felt really good when my husband told me he liked my very first attempt at homemade more than the store brand.
So what goals will I set for myself before I turn 30? I guess we'll find out in 10 days.
Monday, October 08, 2007
My Heart On My Sleeve, My Mind On My Chest
Someone sent me a link to an online store with this T-shirt design available. I really think I need one. The message embodies one of my most fundamental beliefs.If I am ever chosen to be on a magazine cover, I think I will wear this. Not that there's much of a chance of that happening, but I figure it's good to have something ready, just in case.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
iDiot
I suppose it was inevitable, but it is no less annoying.
I wasn't entirely surprised to see this story about a lawsuit filed by Dongmei Li of Queens, New York against Apple for slashing the price of the iPhone and discontinuing the less expensive of the two models of the phone. Li purchased one of the less expensive phones for $499 sometime between their debut and the announcement of the price cut and discontinuation.
Li, who is seeking $1 million, alleges in the suit that by cutting the price of the more expensive model from $599 to $399, Apple injured her and other early purchasers of the product because they are now not able to sell the phones they bought at the same price as those who bought them after the cut.
First of all, Apple doesn't make and sell products so that private citizens can buy them and make money off of them. People have a right to do so, I suppose, and if they can get a little cash, more power to them. But I don't think a corporation should be held responsible if it doesn't work out.
I also have to wonder how much Li thought she was going to get for her iPhone, as they aren't that difficult to find in stores, and people can order them right on Apple's Web site. Why would someone buy something a private citizen was selling for an inflated price when the company had the same product readily available for the retail price? I know that several people did resell the phones when the product first came out, but I have my doubts that Li could do the same for a profit at this point anyway, price cut aside.
But apparently, given the terms of the lawsuit, she thought the going resale price was $1,000,499. Yes, I know the award in a lawsuit covers legal fees and things like that, but as far as I can tell, this is not a class action suit at this point; once the piper is paid, Li would be the only beneficiary of the spoils.
Apple has issued an apology and made amends with people who bought the phone up to 14 days before the price cut, offering a $200 refund and, for those who bought the more expensive model, a $100 credit to be used at Apple stores. In my opinion, that was a pretty kind gesture; anyone who buys a product when it first comes out has to know they'll pay more than those who wait will. If you want to be one of the first kids on your block to have the new toy, it's going to cost you.
Consumers argued that they felt jilted because Apple cut the price so quickly after debuting the product, and I suppose if I had bought an iPhone during that time, I would feel slightly irked as well. I wouldn't want to buy a 4GB phone for $499 only to find out that I could get an 8GB model for $100 less. But I think in situations like this, a strongly-written letter to the company would do more good than a $1 million lawsuit.
Sometimes I'm not sure if people file these lawsuits because they truly believe they've been wronged or if they just want their 15 minutes of fame, even if it comes at the expense of their dignity.
I wasn't entirely surprised to see this story about a lawsuit filed by Dongmei Li of Queens, New York against Apple for slashing the price of the iPhone and discontinuing the less expensive of the two models of the phone. Li purchased one of the less expensive phones for $499 sometime between their debut and the announcement of the price cut and discontinuation.
Li, who is seeking $1 million, alleges in the suit that by cutting the price of the more expensive model from $599 to $399, Apple injured her and other early purchasers of the product because they are now not able to sell the phones they bought at the same price as those who bought them after the cut.
First of all, Apple doesn't make and sell products so that private citizens can buy them and make money off of them. People have a right to do so, I suppose, and if they can get a little cash, more power to them. But I don't think a corporation should be held responsible if it doesn't work out.
I also have to wonder how much Li thought she was going to get for her iPhone, as they aren't that difficult to find in stores, and people can order them right on Apple's Web site. Why would someone buy something a private citizen was selling for an inflated price when the company had the same product readily available for the retail price? I know that several people did resell the phones when the product first came out, but I have my doubts that Li could do the same for a profit at this point anyway, price cut aside.
But apparently, given the terms of the lawsuit, she thought the going resale price was $1,000,499. Yes, I know the award in a lawsuit covers legal fees and things like that, but as far as I can tell, this is not a class action suit at this point; once the piper is paid, Li would be the only beneficiary of the spoils.
Apple has issued an apology and made amends with people who bought the phone up to 14 days before the price cut, offering a $200 refund and, for those who bought the more expensive model, a $100 credit to be used at Apple stores. In my opinion, that was a pretty kind gesture; anyone who buys a product when it first comes out has to know they'll pay more than those who wait will. If you want to be one of the first kids on your block to have the new toy, it's going to cost you.
Consumers argued that they felt jilted because Apple cut the price so quickly after debuting the product, and I suppose if I had bought an iPhone during that time, I would feel slightly irked as well. I wouldn't want to buy a 4GB phone for $499 only to find out that I could get an 8GB model for $100 less. But I think in situations like this, a strongly-written letter to the company would do more good than a $1 million lawsuit.
Sometimes I'm not sure if people file these lawsuits because they truly believe they've been wronged or if they just want their 15 minutes of fame, even if it comes at the expense of their dignity.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
It's Time For Saying Goodbye
A part of my history will soon be gone.
I was saddened to learn today that my former newspaper and its sister publication will merge next month. The news is not surprising -- it's been rumored to be coming since long before I began working there five years ago -- but it's disappointing nonetheless. And my disappointment is not diminished because I no longer work there. That place is like my alma-mater; I learned and experienced so much during my time there.
My job at that newspaper was my first as a reporter, and it was there that I really learned to write. In fact, it was there that I realized I even like to write. I had wonderful editors who encouraged me to be as creative as I liked, and I took every opportunity to pursue my own story ideas. Because of that, I learned about much more than the things I routinely covered; I learned about the world around me, about things I never would have given a second glance otherwise. I learned to be inquisitive, to be bold.
As my first job in Illinois, it was my true introduction to this state and has had an impact on every single aspect of my life here. I now live just a few miles from the office, in the very town I used to cover. I know the government leaders and business owners. I know my way around town. I know all the good places for lunch.
I made many friends while working there. We got to be a pretty close staff; every day was fun, even the bad days. We went to lunch together every week, went out for drinks at least as often and traded war stories about our beats. We had our issues, as every workplace does, but as long as the plastic Halloween pumpkin (kept out all year round and periodically re-decorated to be seasonally appropriate) was full of chocolate, no problem seemed unbeatable.
The newspaper was also my safe haven when I went through a rough patch of major and difficult life changes. During that time, it was the one constant in my life; no matter what chaos was happening elsewhere, I knew I could count on that place, and my friends there, to keep me from tearing my hair out.
And I can't forget the most important effect that job had on my life -- I met my husband there.
I know there are those who have much more to lose with the end of this era; some are bound to lose their jobs, including the editors who have given their entire professional lives to that place. I feel for them and for their counterparts at the soon-to-be-former sister paper. Even if the change has been a long time coming, I'm sure today has been no less of a sad one for them.
The whole thing is a shame. Necessary and inevitable, but still, a real shame.
I was saddened to learn today that my former newspaper and its sister publication will merge next month. The news is not surprising -- it's been rumored to be coming since long before I began working there five years ago -- but it's disappointing nonetheless. And my disappointment is not diminished because I no longer work there. That place is like my alma-mater; I learned and experienced so much during my time there.
My job at that newspaper was my first as a reporter, and it was there that I really learned to write. In fact, it was there that I realized I even like to write. I had wonderful editors who encouraged me to be as creative as I liked, and I took every opportunity to pursue my own story ideas. Because of that, I learned about much more than the things I routinely covered; I learned about the world around me, about things I never would have given a second glance otherwise. I learned to be inquisitive, to be bold.
As my first job in Illinois, it was my true introduction to this state and has had an impact on every single aspect of my life here. I now live just a few miles from the office, in the very town I used to cover. I know the government leaders and business owners. I know my way around town. I know all the good places for lunch.
I made many friends while working there. We got to be a pretty close staff; every day was fun, even the bad days. We went to lunch together every week, went out for drinks at least as often and traded war stories about our beats. We had our issues, as every workplace does, but as long as the plastic Halloween pumpkin (kept out all year round and periodically re-decorated to be seasonally appropriate) was full of chocolate, no problem seemed unbeatable.
The newspaper was also my safe haven when I went through a rough patch of major and difficult life changes. During that time, it was the one constant in my life; no matter what chaos was happening elsewhere, I knew I could count on that place, and my friends there, to keep me from tearing my hair out.
And I can't forget the most important effect that job had on my life -- I met my husband there.
I know there are those who have much more to lose with the end of this era; some are bound to lose their jobs, including the editors who have given their entire professional lives to that place. I feel for them and for their counterparts at the soon-to-be-former sister paper. Even if the change has been a long time coming, I'm sure today has been no less of a sad one for them.
The whole thing is a shame. Necessary and inevitable, but still, a real shame.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Closing In On 29, And The Quest For The Perfect Avocado
October is my birthday month, and I tend to celebrate all month long. But this month, I also have some work to do.
I tend to make my New Year's resolutions on my birthday, for two reasons -- first because it's a new year for me, and second, because if I slack for a few months, I can remake the same resolutions on January 1 and pretend the whole birthday resolution thing isn't true.
Well, I have to confess, I've been a slacker with the one and only goal I set for my 28th year, and it's not even a hard thing from what I hear. (I figured planning a wedding was hard enough that I didn't have to add a long to-do list and complicate things).
Now I am left with only 17 days in which to learn to make guacamole.
Everyone I know tells me it's easy, as long as the avocados are good. Exactly how to know an avocado is good, however, is something no one seems to want to divulge; all I've been told is, "they can't be too hard." But how hard is too hard? And once I somehow identify and acquire the perfect avocados, how do I actually smash them up to make the guacamole? Marla tells me that the Magic Bullet is not a good choice, but what is? A food processor? A potato ricer? Or should I stomp on them grape-style?
I suppose I could just do trial and error; it really can't be that hard to figure out. After all, my special area of cooking expertise is dips best served with tortilla chips. But every time I think about it, I am either not at the store or not in the mood.
So yesterday, to get myself in the mood (and because I was craving it), I went to the store and bought some ready-made guacamole. I still plan to learn how to make my own, sometime in the next 17 days, but I figure the Trader Joe's brand can serve as the "control guacamole," so I know if I'm making it right, or at least close to right.
But believe you me, I will reach that goal. I can't afford to get behind, because I've got some big plans for next year.
I tend to make my New Year's resolutions on my birthday, for two reasons -- first because it's a new year for me, and second, because if I slack for a few months, I can remake the same resolutions on January 1 and pretend the whole birthday resolution thing isn't true.
Well, I have to confess, I've been a slacker with the one and only goal I set for my 28th year, and it's not even a hard thing from what I hear. (I figured planning a wedding was hard enough that I didn't have to add a long to-do list and complicate things).
Now I am left with only 17 days in which to learn to make guacamole.
Everyone I know tells me it's easy, as long as the avocados are good. Exactly how to know an avocado is good, however, is something no one seems to want to divulge; all I've been told is, "they can't be too hard." But how hard is too hard? And once I somehow identify and acquire the perfect avocados, how do I actually smash them up to make the guacamole? Marla tells me that the Magic Bullet is not a good choice, but what is? A food processor? A potato ricer? Or should I stomp on them grape-style?
I suppose I could just do trial and error; it really can't be that hard to figure out. After all, my special area of cooking expertise is dips best served with tortilla chips. But every time I think about it, I am either not at the store or not in the mood.
So yesterday, to get myself in the mood (and because I was craving it), I went to the store and bought some ready-made guacamole. I still plan to learn how to make my own, sometime in the next 17 days, but I figure the Trader Joe's brand can serve as the "control guacamole," so I know if I'm making it right, or at least close to right.
But believe you me, I will reach that goal. I can't afford to get behind, because I've got some big plans for next year.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Apple Pecan Crumb Pie
In celebration of October's arrival, here is a must-have recipe for a fabulous fall treat. I made this last night -- I didn't eat any because of the butter, but I heard it turned out tasty.
Filling:
1/4 chopped pecans
6 cups apples, peeled and sliced
1 cup sugar
2 tsp. flour
1/4 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
2 tbl. butter
Crumb topping:
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup butter
1/4 tsp. cinnamon
1/3 cup flour
1/4 cup chopped pecans
Sprinkle pecans in an unbaked deep dish pie shell. Mix sugar, flour and spices and toss with apples. Heap apples in pie shell, dot with butter. Blend crumb topping with fork until the size of peas, then sprinkle over pie. Bake at 425 for 40-45 minutes.
Filling:
1/4 chopped pecans
6 cups apples, peeled and sliced
1 cup sugar
2 tsp. flour
1/4 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
2 tbl. butter
Crumb topping:
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup butter
1/4 tsp. cinnamon
1/3 cup flour
1/4 cup chopped pecans
Sprinkle pecans in an unbaked deep dish pie shell. Mix sugar, flour and spices and toss with apples. Heap apples in pie shell, dot with butter. Blend crumb topping with fork until the size of peas, then sprinkle over pie. Bake at 425 for 40-45 minutes.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
We The Jury Find The Commercial Stupid
I think the good folks at Swiffer need to rethink their current commercial.
In the commercial, a woman testifying in court is recounting her discovery of a crime, claiming that she saw the evidence "all over the floor." The culprit, of course, is a broom which didn't pick up all a Swiffer would have picked up. I guess it's a clever enough idea for a commercial, but whoever wrote it made a really stupid mistake that makes me not want to buy Swiffer products. I don't want to reward the stupidity.
The attorney questioning the woman tells her to "point to the defendant," and, of course, she dramatically points to the broom, and everyone in the courtroom gasps. Why are these people gasping? Because she knows where the defendant sits? The attorney should have asked her to "point to the guilty party" or something; pointing to the defendant proves nothing except that she knows who is being tried for the crime, not who committed the crime.
I know it's just a commercial, but it bothers me to be exposed to these idiotic errors, because whoever wrote that script is probably a lot richer than I am.
In the commercial, a woman testifying in court is recounting her discovery of a crime, claiming that she saw the evidence "all over the floor." The culprit, of course, is a broom which didn't pick up all a Swiffer would have picked up. I guess it's a clever enough idea for a commercial, but whoever wrote it made a really stupid mistake that makes me not want to buy Swiffer products. I don't want to reward the stupidity.
The attorney questioning the woman tells her to "point to the defendant," and, of course, she dramatically points to the broom, and everyone in the courtroom gasps. Why are these people gasping? Because she knows where the defendant sits? The attorney should have asked her to "point to the guilty party" or something; pointing to the defendant proves nothing except that she knows who is being tried for the crime, not who committed the crime.
I know it's just a commercial, but it bothers me to be exposed to these idiotic errors, because whoever wrote that script is probably a lot richer than I am.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
An Open Letter To The Salon/Spa I Visited Today
Dear Salon/Spa I Visited Today,
I have always enjoyed patronizing your establishment, be it for a haircut, manicure or, like today, a massage. Your staff has always been friendly and helpful and done a great job with whatever service I came in to have done. In fact, today's massage was a true highlight to my week.
However, you may want to reconsider the complimentary bonus services. I wasn't expecting a makeup application, so hearing that I was to get one as a complimentary bonus with my massage was a nice surprise. And it would have been a special treat, too, had I actually been able to get it. But after sitting for half an hour waiting -- while one of the makeup people was putting makeup on herself and not actually working -- I finally gave up and left and felt kind of sour about my whole visit.
And I was kind of disappointed that after offering me a free service and then making me sit and wait for it until I didn't have time to wait anymore, you didn't even offer me a certificate to come back and get it another time. It's not like I feel it's owed to me, because I wasn't even expecting it and it was free anyway, but still, since it was offered, it would have been nice it had actually been given to me.
So unless you have someone willing and available to do the complimentary service, maybe you shouldn't include it. That's all I'm saying.
Sincerely,
Erika
I have always enjoyed patronizing your establishment, be it for a haircut, manicure or, like today, a massage. Your staff has always been friendly and helpful and done a great job with whatever service I came in to have done. In fact, today's massage was a true highlight to my week.
However, you may want to reconsider the complimentary bonus services. I wasn't expecting a makeup application, so hearing that I was to get one as a complimentary bonus with my massage was a nice surprise. And it would have been a special treat, too, had I actually been able to get it. But after sitting for half an hour waiting -- while one of the makeup people was putting makeup on herself and not actually working -- I finally gave up and left and felt kind of sour about my whole visit.
And I was kind of disappointed that after offering me a free service and then making me sit and wait for it until I didn't have time to wait anymore, you didn't even offer me a certificate to come back and get it another time. It's not like I feel it's owed to me, because I wasn't even expecting it and it was free anyway, but still, since it was offered, it would have been nice it had actually been given to me.
So unless you have someone willing and available to do the complimentary service, maybe you shouldn't include it. That's all I'm saying.
Sincerely,
Erika
Knowing When To Hold 'Em In The House Of God
The church in which my husband and I got married is holding its annual Autumn Fest this weekend, and last night, we stopped by.
It's the typical church fest thing -- food, drinks, entertainment...roulette. Yes, the church festival included a casino. To make it worse, unlike the food and entertainment, which was in a tent outside, the casino portion of the fest was held inside the church. It's not like the priest was dispensing chips from the altar, but even in the catechism classrooms and the hallways, there hung casino-related decorations directly on top of Jesus posters and crucifixes right next to games. I had to wonder if they'd done that on purpose so that people didn't try to win too big. The volunteers manning the casino made it a point to tell the unlucky that the church appreciated their donation.
We both felt a little weird about participating in the gambling, but we had some time to kill, and it was either gamble or watch a bunch of little kids do Irish step dancing, so we bought $20 in chips and headed off to the Blackjack room. I like Blackjack -- there isn't much skill involved. I mean, I suppose if you go to Vegas, you can count cards if you don't mind getting your kneecaps busted later, but generally speaking, the game is simple math, and, in this case, successfully ignoring the poster of the Ten Commandments staring down at you from behind the dealer's seat. And I did OK, coming out slightly ahead.
My husband, however, took the big prize in a game of Texas Hold 'Em. I had to get home to do an interview for a freelance story I'm writing, so he had time for only a few hands, and of those hands he folded all but one. He won that hand, giving us a total of $65 in chips to cash out, meaning a net gain of $45.
We left happy, albeit still feeling a little strange. Gambling in church was weird enough, but winning money felt like stealing from God. Nothing like a little Catholic guilt to liven up casino night.
When we got home, the person I was to interview called to postpone a few hours, so I filled the time by watching Dirty Sexy Money. Somehow, it seemed appropriate.
It's the typical church fest thing -- food, drinks, entertainment...roulette. Yes, the church festival included a casino. To make it worse, unlike the food and entertainment, which was in a tent outside, the casino portion of the fest was held inside the church. It's not like the priest was dispensing chips from the altar, but even in the catechism classrooms and the hallways, there hung casino-related decorations directly on top of Jesus posters and crucifixes right next to games. I had to wonder if they'd done that on purpose so that people didn't try to win too big. The volunteers manning the casino made it a point to tell the unlucky that the church appreciated their donation.
We both felt a little weird about participating in the gambling, but we had some time to kill, and it was either gamble or watch a bunch of little kids do Irish step dancing, so we bought $20 in chips and headed off to the Blackjack room. I like Blackjack -- there isn't much skill involved. I mean, I suppose if you go to Vegas, you can count cards if you don't mind getting your kneecaps busted later, but generally speaking, the game is simple math, and, in this case, successfully ignoring the poster of the Ten Commandments staring down at you from behind the dealer's seat. And I did OK, coming out slightly ahead.
My husband, however, took the big prize in a game of Texas Hold 'Em. I had to get home to do an interview for a freelance story I'm writing, so he had time for only a few hands, and of those hands he folded all but one. He won that hand, giving us a total of $65 in chips to cash out, meaning a net gain of $45.
We left happy, albeit still feeling a little strange. Gambling in church was weird enough, but winning money felt like stealing from God. Nothing like a little Catholic guilt to liven up casino night.
When we got home, the person I was to interview called to postpone a few hours, so I filled the time by watching Dirty Sexy Money. Somehow, it seemed appropriate.
Friday, September 28, 2007
An Open Letter To Janet Evanovich
Dear Janet Evanovich,
I really enjoy reading your Stephanie Plum series, but there's something that has been bothering me since the first time I saw it in your books. I'm actually curious enough that I plan to go to your Web site after I post this message and e-mail you the link to my blog to invite you to comment.
Your character Lula (one of my favorites, by the way) is always described as a "former 'ho." Why the apostrophe in "'ho?" Perhaps I'm just not up on my streetwalker lingo, but for the life of me, I cannot figure out what synonym for prostitute ends with the letters "ho." The only word that comes to mind is "whore," but if you were shortening "whore," you would need two apostrophes, because the "ho" is the middle of the word, and the whole point of the apostrophe is to replace missing letters. Is there a synonym for prostitute that actually ends in "ho?"
Please explain this to me, because, despite the fact that it is a really dorky thing to be asking about, it's driving me nuts.
Sincerely,
Erika
I really enjoy reading your Stephanie Plum series, but there's something that has been bothering me since the first time I saw it in your books. I'm actually curious enough that I plan to go to your Web site after I post this message and e-mail you the link to my blog to invite you to comment.
Your character Lula (one of my favorites, by the way) is always described as a "former 'ho." Why the apostrophe in "'ho?" Perhaps I'm just not up on my streetwalker lingo, but for the life of me, I cannot figure out what synonym for prostitute ends with the letters "ho." The only word that comes to mind is "whore," but if you were shortening "whore," you would need two apostrophes, because the "ho" is the middle of the word, and the whole point of the apostrophe is to replace missing letters. Is there a synonym for prostitute that actually ends in "ho?"
Please explain this to me, because, despite the fact that it is a really dorky thing to be asking about, it's driving me nuts.
Sincerely,
Erika
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Someone Saved My Life Tonight
I think there might be a body in the dumpster by my building.
Alright, so probably not, but I can't help wondering if something shady went down in my neighborhood last night. And it's all because of my dog.
At 3 this morning, I got up to take Stella outside, as I do every day in the wee hours (pun intended). When we first went out, it was, as it usually is at that time, dark and quiet. But just as Stel was finishing her business, I heard the crash of something big and heavy being thrown into the dumpster and the dumpster lid slamming shut.
It startled me. Stel and I rarely even see a car pass when we're outside on our nighttime potty breaks. And I thought it was strange that someone would take out their garbage at 3 a.m. I looked over to the dumpster area, but it's not well-lit, and I couldn't see more than a vague shadowy figure.
That's when Stella started barking.
Stel is not a barker, especially not at strangers; she's usually pulling at her leash, wanting to go and greet anyone who comes within 100 feet of us. The only people she has ever actually barked at are my husband and me, when we scolded her for biting us, and even that hasn't happened in weeks. Yet at 3 a.m. in our parking lot, she decided to become my little guard dog.
I wasn't sure what she knew that I didn't, but I wasn't about to stay outside at 3 a.m. with no one but the mystery garbage dumper. So I quickly shushed her and hustled her inside.
Realistically, it probably was just someone throwing out their garbage, someone who works the night shift or something. But the fact that my very friendly dog actually barked at someone had me curious and a bit creeped out. And no matter who it was or what they were dumping, I've always been of the opinion that it's best to err on the side of caution when it comes to meeting strangers alone in the dark and, well, not do it.
I was tempted to look in the dumpster this morning to see if there was anything suspicious in it, but I think that in doing so, I would have crossed over from curious to alarmist, and I didn't want to go there.
In any case, I appreciate the gesture Stella made. It's nice to know that when the chips fall, she'll stand up and protect me. All six pounds of her.
Alright, so probably not, but I can't help wondering if something shady went down in my neighborhood last night. And it's all because of my dog.
At 3 this morning, I got up to take Stella outside, as I do every day in the wee hours (pun intended). When we first went out, it was, as it usually is at that time, dark and quiet. But just as Stel was finishing her business, I heard the crash of something big and heavy being thrown into the dumpster and the dumpster lid slamming shut.
It startled me. Stel and I rarely even see a car pass when we're outside on our nighttime potty breaks. And I thought it was strange that someone would take out their garbage at 3 a.m. I looked over to the dumpster area, but it's not well-lit, and I couldn't see more than a vague shadowy figure.
That's when Stella started barking.
Stel is not a barker, especially not at strangers; she's usually pulling at her leash, wanting to go and greet anyone who comes within 100 feet of us. The only people she has ever actually barked at are my husband and me, when we scolded her for biting us, and even that hasn't happened in weeks. Yet at 3 a.m. in our parking lot, she decided to become my little guard dog.
I wasn't sure what she knew that I didn't, but I wasn't about to stay outside at 3 a.m. with no one but the mystery garbage dumper. So I quickly shushed her and hustled her inside.
Realistically, it probably was just someone throwing out their garbage, someone who works the night shift or something. But the fact that my very friendly dog actually barked at someone had me curious and a bit creeped out. And no matter who it was or what they were dumping, I've always been of the opinion that it's best to err on the side of caution when it comes to meeting strangers alone in the dark and, well, not do it.
I was tempted to look in the dumpster this morning to see if there was anything suspicious in it, but I think that in doing so, I would have crossed over from curious to alarmist, and I didn't want to go there.
In any case, I appreciate the gesture Stella made. It's nice to know that when the chips fall, she'll stand up and protect me. All six pounds of her.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Expanding My Viewing Repertoire
Finally, I've joined the club.
About a year ago, I wrote about wanting a TV show of my own, an appointment-viewing show that I could watch and enjoy from the very first season. Most of my friends watch Grey's Anatomy, a show I can't stand, yet I always felt left out when they started talking about the latest episodes, because I could never participate. So I decided to get myself a show and hope someone I know also watched it.
At the time, I had decided to try Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip and The Nine. These proved to be bad picks. I found Studio 60 pretentious and The Nine boring. Apparently, the folks at the shows' respective networks agreed that the shows were no good, because both were scrapped.
But somehow, I ended up with a show anyway, thanks to my friend Marla and persistence by NBC -- Heroes. I'd seen the commercials for it last summer but thought it looked kind of stupid; however, after Marla told me it was good and I found out there was a marathon of the first handful of episodes on NBC one day, I thought I'd give it a shot. I'm glad I did; I got sucked in. Amazingly, so did my husband, who rarely watches TV that isn't sports, home improvement shows or American Chopper.
It felt good, in a completely dorky way, to be excited for the season premiere of a TV show. And when I turned on my computer and saw that Marla had changed her G-mail "status" bar to read, "erika, i wanna talk heroes!!" I knew I was truly in the TV watching club.
I decided to try a couple of other new shows this year as well; I'm kind of enjoying this TV watching thing. I'm not sure about this season's prospects, however -- I caught the premiere of Journeyman last night but got a little bored with the copious exposition. I might try out Dirty Sexy Money as well, but that one almost seems like it's going to try too hard to be edgy and sexy and end up getting stupid pretty fast.
Oh well. At least I'll have my Heroes.
About a year ago, I wrote about wanting a TV show of my own, an appointment-viewing show that I could watch and enjoy from the very first season. Most of my friends watch Grey's Anatomy, a show I can't stand, yet I always felt left out when they started talking about the latest episodes, because I could never participate. So I decided to get myself a show and hope someone I know also watched it.
At the time, I had decided to try Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip and The Nine. These proved to be bad picks. I found Studio 60 pretentious and The Nine boring. Apparently, the folks at the shows' respective networks agreed that the shows were no good, because both were scrapped.
But somehow, I ended up with a show anyway, thanks to my friend Marla and persistence by NBC -- Heroes. I'd seen the commercials for it last summer but thought it looked kind of stupid; however, after Marla told me it was good and I found out there was a marathon of the first handful of episodes on NBC one day, I thought I'd give it a shot. I'm glad I did; I got sucked in. Amazingly, so did my husband, who rarely watches TV that isn't sports, home improvement shows or American Chopper.
It felt good, in a completely dorky way, to be excited for the season premiere of a TV show. And when I turned on my computer and saw that Marla had changed her G-mail "status" bar to read, "erika, i wanna talk heroes!!" I knew I was truly in the TV watching club.
I decided to try a couple of other new shows this year as well; I'm kind of enjoying this TV watching thing. I'm not sure about this season's prospects, however -- I caught the premiere of Journeyman last night but got a little bored with the copious exposition. I might try out Dirty Sexy Money as well, but that one almost seems like it's going to try too hard to be edgy and sexy and end up getting stupid pretty fast.
Oh well. At least I'll have my Heroes.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Skinny Jeans And Soy
I love new jeans.
I know that most people say their most comfortable jeans are the ones they've had forever that hug their curves and whatnot, but to me, the most flattering and good-feeling jeans are brand new. They aren't hugging the bad curves yet, nothing has frayed and the color is just right. I'm wearing such a pair today.
The new pair is doubly perfect for me, because not only are they new and nice, they're a size smaller than the last jeans I bought, even though they're the same brand and fit. So not only am I feeling new-jeans-fantastic, I'm feeling skinny!
I guess I can't be too surprised. Since I gave up dairy a little over a month ago (due to severe lactose intolerance and an icky feeling that I was doing something awful to myself by eating dairy), I've lost 10 pounds. The weight loss is a bonus, really, but to me, it's pretty telling as well. What in the world was I doing to my body by eating all that stuff? Granted, much of the dairy I was eating was stuff like ice cream and butter and other fattening items, so it's not a huge mystery why I lost weight, but even so, on some level, I feel that dropping the weight is my body's way of saying thank you for losing the lactose.
It's been weird, not eating dairy. I miss cheese and butter, and while I don't miss real milk (never liked it much, and once you get past the fact that soy milk is slightly gray, it's fine), I do miss butter and sour cream. It's a pain in the butt having to ask for special consideration at every restaurant I go to, and whenever I'm at a party or something and offered ice cream or some other dairy-laden item, I have to go through the whole spiel, because people just don't get it. ("You aren't dieting are you? Come on, just have some. Oh, you're lactose intolerant. Well, what about those little pills? Come on, you can have a little piece; it won't hurt you.").
But in the end, I'm satisfied with my choice. I feel better than I have in years, and on the rare occasions I do allow myself a small amount of dairy, I can feel it going through my body like a lead weight. So even if I have to eat my corn on the cob with tasteless soy margarine forevermore, I won't be sorry, 'cause I'll be doing it in my skinny jeans.
I know that most people say their most comfortable jeans are the ones they've had forever that hug their curves and whatnot, but to me, the most flattering and good-feeling jeans are brand new. They aren't hugging the bad curves yet, nothing has frayed and the color is just right. I'm wearing such a pair today.
The new pair is doubly perfect for me, because not only are they new and nice, they're a size smaller than the last jeans I bought, even though they're the same brand and fit. So not only am I feeling new-jeans-fantastic, I'm feeling skinny!
I guess I can't be too surprised. Since I gave up dairy a little over a month ago (due to severe lactose intolerance and an icky feeling that I was doing something awful to myself by eating dairy), I've lost 10 pounds. The weight loss is a bonus, really, but to me, it's pretty telling as well. What in the world was I doing to my body by eating all that stuff? Granted, much of the dairy I was eating was stuff like ice cream and butter and other fattening items, so it's not a huge mystery why I lost weight, but even so, on some level, I feel that dropping the weight is my body's way of saying thank you for losing the lactose.
It's been weird, not eating dairy. I miss cheese and butter, and while I don't miss real milk (never liked it much, and once you get past the fact that soy milk is slightly gray, it's fine), I do miss butter and sour cream. It's a pain in the butt having to ask for special consideration at every restaurant I go to, and whenever I'm at a party or something and offered ice cream or some other dairy-laden item, I have to go through the whole spiel, because people just don't get it. ("You aren't dieting are you? Come on, just have some. Oh, you're lactose intolerant. Well, what about those little pills? Come on, you can have a little piece; it won't hurt you.").
But in the end, I'm satisfied with my choice. I feel better than I have in years, and on the rare occasions I do allow myself a small amount of dairy, I can feel it going through my body like a lead weight. So even if I have to eat my corn on the cob with tasteless soy margarine forevermore, I won't be sorry, 'cause I'll be doing it in my skinny jeans.
Monday, September 17, 2007
That Face, That Face, That Fabulous Face
After hearing about the site myheritage.com, where you can upload a photo of yourself and some "state of the art" software tells you what celebrities you most resemble, I couldn't resist trying it out.I uploaded this photo of myself and my husband from his sister's wedding last week and eagerly awaited the results, hoping it would tell us we looked like Catherine Zeta-Jones and George Clooney or something.
Verdict: The computer said I look like Christina Scabbia, who is apparently some Italian pop singer, and my husband looks like former Polish prime minister Leszek Miller. What a cute couple those two would make.
I'm not sure if it's funnier that I was matched up as a hot young woman and he was matched with an old man, or that he's so proud of his Italian heritage and it was I, not he, who got matched with an Italian person.
But I guess I shouldn't laugh too much, in any case, because my number two match was Hillary Clinton, and apparently, the celebrity that comes in third for looking like me is Roger Federer.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
An Acorn/Tree Moment
My mom e-mailed me this morning, asking how to start a blog.
I was surprised, to say the least. I never thought my mom would be the blogger type. I asked if she was actually starting to think of one, and she said, "from time to time, I feel like complaining, so I thought a blog might be a good place to do it."
I'd make fun of her for becoming a crochety old lady, but one quick look at my own blog would pretty much prove that age has nothing to do with it.
I was surprised, to say the least. I never thought my mom would be the blogger type. I asked if she was actually starting to think of one, and she said, "from time to time, I feel like complaining, so I thought a blog might be a good place to do it."
I'd make fun of her for becoming a crochety old lady, but one quick look at my own blog would pretty much prove that age has nothing to do with it.
Friday, September 07, 2007
And Wii're Back!
A few weeks ago, lightning hit our building, killing or maiming a couple of our electronics, including the Wii.
As I blogged then, we were lucky; unlike our neighbors, we only had a few small things fry (although I'm pretty sure our subsequent fridge failure was a result of the lightning as well). Still, I was pretty bummed about the Wii and not looking forward to paying for a new one, or even dealing with fighting for warranty coverage.
Well, my husband called Nintendo, and they promptly sent him a new power cord. They said that often times, it's just the cord that gets fried, and the actual unit is fine. Well, the new power cord arrived the other day, and the Wii started up right away.
I still suck at half of the games, but it's nice to have the opportunity to play them again.
As I blogged then, we were lucky; unlike our neighbors, we only had a few small things fry (although I'm pretty sure our subsequent fridge failure was a result of the lightning as well). Still, I was pretty bummed about the Wii and not looking forward to paying for a new one, or even dealing with fighting for warranty coverage.
Well, my husband called Nintendo, and they promptly sent him a new power cord. They said that often times, it's just the cord that gets fried, and the actual unit is fine. Well, the new power cord arrived the other day, and the Wii started up right away.
I still suck at half of the games, but it's nice to have the opportunity to play them again.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
My Dog Is A Badass
To give Stella a little more freedom, my husband and I bought a couple of baby gates to put on the entrances to the kitchen, and we let her hang out in there sometimes, rather than in her crate, when we can't be watching her every single second. The other night, I put her in there while I did some things in the living room. After a few minutes, it got strangely silent, so I went in to see what she was up to, and I found her in here.I had a little talk with her about making good choices, and the fact that she is underage, but I don't think it sunk in, because this morning when I took her outside, she tried to eat a cigarette butt.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Better Never Than Late
Last year, I sent an inquiry to a local hotel about reserving a block of rooms for my wedding. Today, I got this response.
Thank you for your interest in (name of hotel withheld out of respect for dummies who read and respond to these inquiries) for your upcoming event. We appreciate your consideration; unfortunately, we are unable to accommodate your request due to the following reason:
Guest rooms unavailable.
We hope that you will consider us again for any future functions.
Unavailable, huh? I would guess so, seeing as the wedding was four months ago.
Thank you for your interest in (name of hotel withheld out of respect for dummies who read and respond to these inquiries) for your upcoming event. We appreciate your consideration; unfortunately, we are unable to accommodate your request due to the following reason:
Guest rooms unavailable.
We hope that you will consider us again for any future functions.
Unavailable, huh? I would guess so, seeing as the wedding was four months ago.
Season of Mist and Mellow Fruitfulness
Even though it's 90 degrees outside today, I can't help reveling in the fact that Labor Day is over, and it's almost fall!
My mom always says that fall depresses her, that it reminds her of death. But to me, it's a season of newness, of rebirth. When I was in school, fall was a time to reinvent myself -- new clothes, new classes, new activities, new friends and a chance to begin my studies on the right foot -- a clean slate.
Even though I haven't been in school for quite some time, I still think of fall as the beginning of my year. (And really, it is, considering my October birthday). I buy new clothes, set new goals and feel generally refreshed, as I enjoy the changing leaves and the crisp-but-not-yet-cold weather.
The clothes are, I think, my favorite part. I love sweaters and boots, and although I'm probably in the minority on this, I love new jeans (once they're worn in, they just don't have as nice a shape). Plus, fall clothes just look better, not just on me but on everyone. Fall colors are so much more flattering than the summer ones that usually leave everyone looking washed out, and the sturdiness of fall clothes is much preferable over the flimsy stuff people wear to keep cool in the summer, too often forgetting to buy what looks good on them. (I know it sounds mean, but seriously, if I see one more of those ultra-short skirts on an obese person, I swear, I'm going to start handing out coupons for free clothes that fit).
Fall is also the time for new TV. In the past, this hasn't always meant a lot, since I catch most of my TV in syndicated reruns, but this year, I'm chomping at the bit awaiting the Heroes season premiere. I'm going to try to pick up another show this year, to add to my watching repertoire, since my summertime addition, Flight of the Conchords, is done for the season.
And let's not forget the food (as if I could). Fall is the season for so many of my favorite foods. Some are truly seasonal, like apple and pumpkin items, some are things I've missed during the too-hot-to-eat-them summer, like pot roast and chili, and some are simply foods I associate with fall because of fall events and circumstances. For example, today I am craving some hot french fries covered in malt vinegar, like I used to enjoy at school football games, and chicken fingers and waffle fries with ranch dressing, like I used to order from my favorite place in my college town.
Fall also provides a lovely transition into the end of the year and holiday festivities. Once the pretty leaves have fallen and the light jacket weather has given way to sweater and heavy jacket weather, it's time for Thanksgiving, then Christmas.
So while others I know are bemoaning the fact that they will soon put away their flip flops and shorts, I say, bring on the fall!
My mom always says that fall depresses her, that it reminds her of death. But to me, it's a season of newness, of rebirth. When I was in school, fall was a time to reinvent myself -- new clothes, new classes, new activities, new friends and a chance to begin my studies on the right foot -- a clean slate.
Even though I haven't been in school for quite some time, I still think of fall as the beginning of my year. (And really, it is, considering my October birthday). I buy new clothes, set new goals and feel generally refreshed, as I enjoy the changing leaves and the crisp-but-not-yet-cold weather.
The clothes are, I think, my favorite part. I love sweaters and boots, and although I'm probably in the minority on this, I love new jeans (once they're worn in, they just don't have as nice a shape). Plus, fall clothes just look better, not just on me but on everyone. Fall colors are so much more flattering than the summer ones that usually leave everyone looking washed out, and the sturdiness of fall clothes is much preferable over the flimsy stuff people wear to keep cool in the summer, too often forgetting to buy what looks good on them. (I know it sounds mean, but seriously, if I see one more of those ultra-short skirts on an obese person, I swear, I'm going to start handing out coupons for free clothes that fit).
Fall is also the time for new TV. In the past, this hasn't always meant a lot, since I catch most of my TV in syndicated reruns, but this year, I'm chomping at the bit awaiting the Heroes season premiere. I'm going to try to pick up another show this year, to add to my watching repertoire, since my summertime addition, Flight of the Conchords, is done for the season.
And let's not forget the food (as if I could). Fall is the season for so many of my favorite foods. Some are truly seasonal, like apple and pumpkin items, some are things I've missed during the too-hot-to-eat-them summer, like pot roast and chili, and some are simply foods I associate with fall because of fall events and circumstances. For example, today I am craving some hot french fries covered in malt vinegar, like I used to enjoy at school football games, and chicken fingers and waffle fries with ranch dressing, like I used to order from my favorite place in my college town.
Fall also provides a lovely transition into the end of the year and holiday festivities. Once the pretty leaves have fallen and the light jacket weather has given way to sweater and heavy jacket weather, it's time for Thanksgiving, then Christmas.
So while others I know are bemoaning the fact that they will soon put away their flip flops and shorts, I say, bring on the fall!
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Laboring
Last year for Labor Day weekend, my parents rented a condo in Ocean City, Maryland, and they, my sister, brother-in-law, then-fiance and I spent a few days there.
We had intended to soak up the sun but instead got soaked, as Tropical Storm Ernesto was rolling through, and most of the time we were there, it was too cold and wet to do many beachy things. Mostly we just ate, drank beer and watched the green go by on The Weather Channel. This year, we thought about doing it again (the beach, not the tropical storm stuff), but for various reasons, it didn't happen.
Instead, I am spending my Labor Day weekend cleaning. I mean really cleaning. My housekeeping has somewhat fallen by the wayside since Stella moved in, and there were several chores I'd been meaning to do for awhile anyway, so since I had a four-day weekend, I decided to spend my Labor Day laboring.
Besides normal chores I'd been neglecting, like scrubbing the bathrooms, I decided that this weekend would be a good time to do all of those once-in-awhile chores that I never seem to get to. For example, on Friday and Saturday, I steam cleaned my carpets. I had plans to do every inch of carpet in my home, but after finding out how long it took me to do just the dining room, I decided to stick to the heavy traffic areas; whatever is under the bed or the entertainment center will have to stay there for awhile.
I can't say the carpet looks fabulous, but there has been a noticeable improvement. And just in case I didn't do a great job, I went to Ikea yesterday and bought a new throw rug for the dining room (to replace the one I spilled Kool-Aid on), a new throw rug for the kitchen and a new runner for the hallway.
Today, I scrubbed my kitchen floor with white vinegar and water. My knees are a bit sore, but the floor looks good. I'm hoping it is now sufficiently clean that Stella won't want to lick it anymore. (Stella, by the way, has been taking all of this cleaning in stride, napping quietly in her crate. I feel kind of bad for making her stay in there when I'm home, but I don't quite trust her to roam around when I can't watch her, and besides, she has kennel cough and shouldn't be running around too much anyway). The bathroom floors -- so badly ignored for so very long -- are next. Oh yes, my floors will be looking mighty fine, at least for a few days till they get trashed again.
In case the floors don't wow people enough, I also cleaned my sliding glass balcony doors, and I'm not sure if I'll get to it today or not, but there's a big bottle of Murphy's Oil Soap awaiting its debut on my kitchen cabinets and other woodwork.
I guess this is sort of my spring cleaning, just in the wrong season. It's nice to do a top-to-bottom scrub every few months; I always feel better in a clean house. It's good for the soul, I think.
It's not exactly a weekend at the beach, but all in all, it's not a bad way to spend my four days off. There's not as much beer, but at least I don't have to worry about getting sand in my socks.
We had intended to soak up the sun but instead got soaked, as Tropical Storm Ernesto was rolling through, and most of the time we were there, it was too cold and wet to do many beachy things. Mostly we just ate, drank beer and watched the green go by on The Weather Channel. This year, we thought about doing it again (the beach, not the tropical storm stuff), but for various reasons, it didn't happen.
Instead, I am spending my Labor Day weekend cleaning. I mean really cleaning. My housekeeping has somewhat fallen by the wayside since Stella moved in, and there were several chores I'd been meaning to do for awhile anyway, so since I had a four-day weekend, I decided to spend my Labor Day laboring.
Besides normal chores I'd been neglecting, like scrubbing the bathrooms, I decided that this weekend would be a good time to do all of those once-in-awhile chores that I never seem to get to. For example, on Friday and Saturday, I steam cleaned my carpets. I had plans to do every inch of carpet in my home, but after finding out how long it took me to do just the dining room, I decided to stick to the heavy traffic areas; whatever is under the bed or the entertainment center will have to stay there for awhile.
I can't say the carpet looks fabulous, but there has been a noticeable improvement. And just in case I didn't do a great job, I went to Ikea yesterday and bought a new throw rug for the dining room (to replace the one I spilled Kool-Aid on), a new throw rug for the kitchen and a new runner for the hallway.
Today, I scrubbed my kitchen floor with white vinegar and water. My knees are a bit sore, but the floor looks good. I'm hoping it is now sufficiently clean that Stella won't want to lick it anymore. (Stella, by the way, has been taking all of this cleaning in stride, napping quietly in her crate. I feel kind of bad for making her stay in there when I'm home, but I don't quite trust her to roam around when I can't watch her, and besides, she has kennel cough and shouldn't be running around too much anyway). The bathroom floors -- so badly ignored for so very long -- are next. Oh yes, my floors will be looking mighty fine, at least for a few days till they get trashed again.
In case the floors don't wow people enough, I also cleaned my sliding glass balcony doors, and I'm not sure if I'll get to it today or not, but there's a big bottle of Murphy's Oil Soap awaiting its debut on my kitchen cabinets and other woodwork.
I guess this is sort of my spring cleaning, just in the wrong season. It's nice to do a top-to-bottom scrub every few months; I always feel better in a clean house. It's good for the soul, I think.
It's not exactly a weekend at the beach, but all in all, it's not a bad way to spend my four days off. There's not as much beer, but at least I don't have to worry about getting sand in my socks.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Bangled, Tangled, Spangled, Spaghettied...And Carded
Ever since I got my hair cut short in May, I've felt old. And although only my husband was brave enough to say so, I've looked old too, sporting what could only be described as a soccer mom cut.
I hated it with a passion, but since it was so short, there wasn't much I could do to fix it, or even put it up in such a way that I looked like me and not some minivan-driving version of me.
The worst part was that people started treating me differently. They kept calling me "ma'am," and worse, I never got carded when I bought alcohol. I don't have a particularly youthful face, but I usually got the requisite request for identification.
Most stores are supposed to card you if you look like you're under 35, and the fact that long-haired me never got carded but short-haired me did...well, you can imagine the trauma. Once, I even tried to look shady and covert, but...nothing.
I tried to tell myself that cashiers were simply noticing my wedding ring and figuring that most married women are older than 21, but that was little more than a ploy to fool myself.
I wouldn't say I sunk into a deep depression, but I certainly didn't enjoy dealing with my hair in the morning.
Last week, I went to the salon to beg for deliverance, and I got it. When I got out of the stylist's chair, not a trace of my soccer mom look remained; I looked young and sassy. I haven't been able to duplicate the look, however, and now, I look like a young, sassy soccer mom. Oh well, it's an improvement anyway.
Yesterday, after a particularly long day of scrubbing bathrooms, steam cleaning carpets, doing laundry and tending to the puppy, I went grocery shopping to pick up some things to fill our new refrigerator, since we had to throw away the spoiled things from the broken one. I picked up a bottle of wine, and as I rolled up to the checkout counter, I heard those words I had been wanting to hear for so long.
"Could I see your ID?"
The funny thing was that after the day I'd had, I certainly looked at least 35, probably older. Nevertheless, I was overjoyed; I actually thanked the clerk, a move I'm sure most people under 35 wouldn't do...but hey, after my long day of hard housekeeping labor, I wasn't entirely sure how old I was. So I was glad I had the grocery store cashier to remind me.
I hated it with a passion, but since it was so short, there wasn't much I could do to fix it, or even put it up in such a way that I looked like me and not some minivan-driving version of me.
The worst part was that people started treating me differently. They kept calling me "ma'am," and worse, I never got carded when I bought alcohol. I don't have a particularly youthful face, but I usually got the requisite request for identification.
Most stores are supposed to card you if you look like you're under 35, and the fact that long-haired me never got carded but short-haired me did...well, you can imagine the trauma. Once, I even tried to look shady and covert, but...nothing.
I tried to tell myself that cashiers were simply noticing my wedding ring and figuring that most married women are older than 21, but that was little more than a ploy to fool myself.
I wouldn't say I sunk into a deep depression, but I certainly didn't enjoy dealing with my hair in the morning.
Last week, I went to the salon to beg for deliverance, and I got it. When I got out of the stylist's chair, not a trace of my soccer mom look remained; I looked young and sassy. I haven't been able to duplicate the look, however, and now, I look like a young, sassy soccer mom. Oh well, it's an improvement anyway.
Yesterday, after a particularly long day of scrubbing bathrooms, steam cleaning carpets, doing laundry and tending to the puppy, I went grocery shopping to pick up some things to fill our new refrigerator, since we had to throw away the spoiled things from the broken one. I picked up a bottle of wine, and as I rolled up to the checkout counter, I heard those words I had been wanting to hear for so long.
"Could I see your ID?"
The funny thing was that after the day I'd had, I certainly looked at least 35, probably older. Nevertheless, I was overjoyed; I actually thanked the clerk, a move I'm sure most people under 35 wouldn't do...but hey, after my long day of hard housekeeping labor, I wasn't entirely sure how old I was. So I was glad I had the grocery store cashier to remind me.
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