So I just went back on http://www.quitnet.net/ to see what my statistics are at the moment for not smoking, and check this out!!!
My Stats: Your Quit Date is: 1/9/2008
Time Smoke-Free: 112 days, 14 hours, 22 minutes and 55 seconds
Cigarettes NOT smoked: 2815
Lifetime Saved: 21 days, 12 hours
Money Saved: $784.00
Holy crow! Though it may not seem like I've gained much time left, it's still better than if I was still puffing on the "cancer sticks", or so my friend Dean used to call em. The money I've saved? No WONDER I've been able to pay bills off easier these days!!! However, I have cheated 3 days, and I'll tell you what happened...not that it's an excuse, but here goes:
Day 1. It's towards the end of March. My better half has been off work for a month before finding out he needs knee surgery. I'm freaking out trying to find out how I'm going to be able to pick up slack on the bills AND work overtime AND still worry about school and mid-terms...I had 3 smokes that day while catching up on laundry and dishes, since he couldn't move around and help with the chores. I felt like crap the whole next day.
Day 2. The beginning of April, I believe it was April 3rd, I'm studying for the HESI test for the nursing program for school with a friend of mine, and avid smoker, and I'm stressing out to the point where I'm going to throw up. I bummed 2 smokes prior to the test that I shouldn't have, I had a nicotine buzz for the next hour while taking the exam.
Day 3. We come to April 19th, the day of the car accident, and I'm getting a ride from Matt's cousin back home...since I no longer had a mode of transportation. Bummed a smoke from him in the car to try to relax since I was on the phone for almost 45 minutes talking to my insurance company about what had happened in the past 2 hours. Ended up having another one after Matt had come home while I was waiting for the Advil and ice to kick in, they didn'tfrom work prior going to the ER for shoulder x-rays. Bad idea, I felt sick while sitting in the waiting area.
Now I'm not thrilled that I cheated a bit, but you better believe that that is a whole lot better than smoking a pack+ a day. I am a bit proud that I have not bought cigaretted since Jan, and Matt knows I won't. Now it's just a matter to get him to stop smoking in the bedroom (something that was law, but has slowly been tested these past couple of weeks). It's getting warmer, you can start smoking more outside...please! So yeah, I'm going to have to be a little more abrupt in my choice, though he's been strictly told to no longer let me sneak cigarettes...he is to keep the packs in his truck, and to not let them leave his side when we are home together.
Other than that, went to the docs, I've got torn ligaments in my left shoulder, most likely an after effect of the accident, and need to have an MRI done on Friday. What a splendid way to spend a day off of work! At least I can sleep in...I was going to try to catch to the train station down the street from the hospital and I'd have been in transit more than actually being at work. Plus, I'd have to wake up almost at 4am just to make it to the other train station. Besides, I've got plenty of vacation time, and I will be reimbursed for my time off!!!
So that's what's going on here. Just workin, slacking with reading blogs (Sarah and Linds, you 2 kill me with your blogs, and I'll probably get fired for slacking off...lol), and waiting till I can get out of here. Peace, and I'll check back with ya's later!
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Funk food urge...
Yes, I said funk food. I don't have much of a junk food urge, I usually have weird urges for stuff that others may think is totally off the wall, such as hardboiled eggs with feta cheese, or crackers and spicy mustard...though I do have an occasional chocolate urge, I am starting to lose the need for sweets at the moment. However, that will most likely change with the warmer weather coming and my obsession of ice cream putting me in my place (unless I get myself a frozen yogurt maker, then I'd be a happy camper!!!).
Now I have been EXTREMELY good in the shopping department, there is absolutely no chocolate in the house minus some chocolate chips that I keep around for emergency cookies or brownies that I need to make to bring to a gathering or to work. I've decided to buy better food and snacks to keep around such as nuts, granola, fig newtons, crackers, fruit...but I had such a craving for something when I was out picking up Glade plug in refills I didn't know what I was going to end up with....
So I'm looking around to see what would satisfy my funk food urge...when I saw it!!! Mind you, this is one food that may seem totally disgusting, but I find it godly! Cheese in a can, oh how I adore thee! Oh Easy Cheese, how can something so out of the ordinary be so addicting? Mind you, at over $4 a can for only those most special of occasions while sitting in front of the TV...it was you or a gallon of ice cream, and yes, you were clearly the winner!!! Even better that I got you on sale!!! Oh precious find! Mind you, this pasteurized cheese snack is good on all kinds of goodies: crackers, celery, on slices of summer sausage...hmmm....
Now you may think it's gross, but hey, 2 Tbsp of this oozing goodness give me 20% of my daily calcium, and I'm horrible when it comes to following the ever changing Food pyramid. And with a daily allowance of 8% of Vitamin A, I'm all over it! The shelf life of this stuff is incredible, and no refrigeration is needed!!! I can enjoy this cheesy goodness just about anywhere, anytime!
Thank you, Kraft foods, for creating this odd combination of cheese like delicacy, you have made my stomach and my cravings thank you in every possible way.
Now I have been EXTREMELY good in the shopping department, there is absolutely no chocolate in the house minus some chocolate chips that I keep around for emergency cookies or brownies that I need to make to bring to a gathering or to work. I've decided to buy better food and snacks to keep around such as nuts, granola, fig newtons, crackers, fruit...but I had such a craving for something when I was out picking up Glade plug in refills I didn't know what I was going to end up with....
So I'm looking around to see what would satisfy my funk food urge...when I saw it!!! Mind you, this is one food that may seem totally disgusting, but I find it godly! Cheese in a can, oh how I adore thee! Oh Easy Cheese, how can something so out of the ordinary be so addicting? Mind you, at over $4 a can for only those most special of occasions while sitting in front of the TV...it was you or a gallon of ice cream, and yes, you were clearly the winner!!! Even better that I got you on sale!!! Oh precious find! Mind you, this pasteurized cheese snack is good on all kinds of goodies: crackers, celery, on slices of summer sausage...hmmm....
Now you may think it's gross, but hey, 2 Tbsp of this oozing goodness give me 20% of my daily calcium, and I'm horrible when it comes to following the ever changing Food pyramid. And with a daily allowance of 8% of Vitamin A, I'm all over it! The shelf life of this stuff is incredible, and no refrigeration is needed!!! I can enjoy this cheesy goodness just about anywhere, anytime!
Thank you, Kraft foods, for creating this odd combination of cheese like delicacy, you have made my stomach and my cravings thank you in every possible way.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Cat versus mouse
Now our cat Goofy is what you'd call a "Garfield" cat: fat, lazy, gets grumpy when he doesn't get his way, and if you don't get up early enough to feed him, you will get a surprise when you wake up with him on your chest and his butt in your face...but an overall good cat none the less. Though he is quite portly, he has been doing an amazing job ridding our house of rodent infestation, as well as being the "guard cat". He has been known to scream (yes, I've never EVER heard a cat make these sounds before) and throw himself against the front door if someone comes and neither me, or my sweetie Matt are around. With the weather changing, and the spring being full of twidderpated breeding, the creatures of the fields have decided to use our house as their love nest. We can hear them running around in the ceiling as we try to sleep, traps rarely do any good, seriously these are mice with heightened intelligence. They are the Albert Einstein's of the rodent world....until they try to mess with Goofy.
Now mind you, put Goofy in a box with a beetle (yes, we did this last year and it was hilarious), and he will bat at it once or twice, then turn and cower...looking at us to remove him from the box that has become a Thunderdome. Put him in the bathtub with a mouse, the mouse attacks the cat, and I go laughing my butt off almost soiling myself in the kitchen. But mess with Goofy's food? Not gonna happen! Hang out under the oven? He'll sit there for hours trying to psych the little pest from it's hiding. Which is where this story begins.
It's a normal day of cleaning the kitchen, sweeping up as much of the dog hair as best I can from our 2 garbage disposals pictured in the column to your right...I swear it's enough that I could crochet my own blanket if I knew how to spin the hair (someone teach me how...please!!!). The stove is notorious for being a collection dredge, so I try to sweep out as much as I can under there before getting the vacuum to finish the job. Unfortunately, the vacuum is out of order at the moment, so I just swept what I could, then went around my business. That's when Goofy showed up under my feet and was haunched down so he could monitor what had just taken place under the stove. Now mind you, I'm sure there was some more hair under there, but it was going to take some time before I could get it all. But he was persistent, looking this way and that, moving towards the stove, then moving away. I though he was just looking at the leftover hair thinking it was a fuzzy beast that he could pounce upon proudly to get his kitty treats (oh yes, he gets treats every time he catches one of these vermin).
10 minutes go by, 15 minutes...there had to be something under there, unless he was seriously losing it. I dismissed it as his own little kitty obsession, so I had turned on the oven to heat up some lunch. That's when the excitement started!!!
Next thing you know, a minute after the stove had started to heat up, I hear squeaking and turn around. Goofy is triumphantly sitting in the middle of the kitchen with a field mouse the size of my thumb, hanging out of his mouth. I kneel down and ask him to bring it to me, he runs away. I call Matt to help me, Goofy shuns him as well and start parading around the living room with his kill, all the while the mouse is still squeaking. Now mind you, Goofy does not want to kill it, he wants to play, and has been known to become overzealous with his trophy and then dropping it and watching it scurry away. I didn't want this to be one of those times.
He finally is coaxed back into the kitchen with the shaking of his kitty treat bag (oh yes, he is spoiled when he does his job) and suspiciously looks at me as I kneel before him. I do a trade: I put a few of the treats on the ground just as I grab the mouses tail as he begins to drop it for his tasty prize. Got it!!!
So the rodent is dealt with to be removed from the house, and I believe everything is okay. The mouse hunter is once again triumphant in his duties, and I go back to working on cleaning the dishes...until Matt tells me not to move. Apparently that wasn't the only rodent who had been under the stove. As I aimlessly had been working on the dishes, another mouse had finally come out of hiding under the now blazing stove, and Goofy again had been there in waiting. Unfortunately, I was going to now take part in this caper whether I liked it or not.
Goofy had spied the intruder in retreat, but had batted it rather than trying to catch it (looked like he was done with working for the day). When he had swatted the beast, unbenounced to me, it had landed on my shoe and had taken refuge beneath my sweatpants hem. Now my sweats are like yoga pants, they're bigger on the bottom, kinda flowy, and I love them! But, now I know they can be hiding places for mice as well. Matt tells me not to move, and that a mouse has just gone under my pants. I freeze, not feeling anything down there, and mind you I'm still facing the sink so I'm oblivious to what is going on behind me. I slowly raise my leg like a ballerina behind me towards where I believe Matt to be, and he grabs my leg, retrieves the freeloader, and again, we rid the house of unwanted house guests. Again, Goofy is spoiled with treats, I change my clothes instantly and throw them into the washing machine...hey, I was going to do laundry anyway...and scrubbed from my ankle to my knee until it was raw. Never a dull moment around here, I can tell you that!
Now mind you, put Goofy in a box with a beetle (yes, we did this last year and it was hilarious), and he will bat at it once or twice, then turn and cower...looking at us to remove him from the box that has become a Thunderdome. Put him in the bathtub with a mouse, the mouse attacks the cat, and I go laughing my butt off almost soiling myself in the kitchen. But mess with Goofy's food? Not gonna happen! Hang out under the oven? He'll sit there for hours trying to psych the little pest from it's hiding. Which is where this story begins.
It's a normal day of cleaning the kitchen, sweeping up as much of the dog hair as best I can from our 2 garbage disposals pictured in the column to your right...I swear it's enough that I could crochet my own blanket if I knew how to spin the hair (someone teach me how...please!!!). The stove is notorious for being a collection dredge, so I try to sweep out as much as I can under there before getting the vacuum to finish the job. Unfortunately, the vacuum is out of order at the moment, so I just swept what I could, then went around my business. That's when Goofy showed up under my feet and was haunched down so he could monitor what had just taken place under the stove. Now mind you, I'm sure there was some more hair under there, but it was going to take some time before I could get it all. But he was persistent, looking this way and that, moving towards the stove, then moving away. I though he was just looking at the leftover hair thinking it was a fuzzy beast that he could pounce upon proudly to get his kitty treats (oh yes, he gets treats every time he catches one of these vermin).
10 minutes go by, 15 minutes...there had to be something under there, unless he was seriously losing it. I dismissed it as his own little kitty obsession, so I had turned on the oven to heat up some lunch. That's when the excitement started!!!
Next thing you know, a minute after the stove had started to heat up, I hear squeaking and turn around. Goofy is triumphantly sitting in the middle of the kitchen with a field mouse the size of my thumb, hanging out of his mouth. I kneel down and ask him to bring it to me, he runs away. I call Matt to help me, Goofy shuns him as well and start parading around the living room with his kill, all the while the mouse is still squeaking. Now mind you, Goofy does not want to kill it, he wants to play, and has been known to become overzealous with his trophy and then dropping it and watching it scurry away. I didn't want this to be one of those times.
He finally is coaxed back into the kitchen with the shaking of his kitty treat bag (oh yes, he is spoiled when he does his job) and suspiciously looks at me as I kneel before him. I do a trade: I put a few of the treats on the ground just as I grab the mouses tail as he begins to drop it for his tasty prize. Got it!!!
So the rodent is dealt with to be removed from the house, and I believe everything is okay. The mouse hunter is once again triumphant in his duties, and I go back to working on cleaning the dishes...until Matt tells me not to move. Apparently that wasn't the only rodent who had been under the stove. As I aimlessly had been working on the dishes, another mouse had finally come out of hiding under the now blazing stove, and Goofy again had been there in waiting. Unfortunately, I was going to now take part in this caper whether I liked it or not.
Goofy had spied the intruder in retreat, but had batted it rather than trying to catch it (looked like he was done with working for the day). When he had swatted the beast, unbenounced to me, it had landed on my shoe and had taken refuge beneath my sweatpants hem. Now my sweats are like yoga pants, they're bigger on the bottom, kinda flowy, and I love them! But, now I know they can be hiding places for mice as well. Matt tells me not to move, and that a mouse has just gone under my pants. I freeze, not feeling anything down there, and mind you I'm still facing the sink so I'm oblivious to what is going on behind me. I slowly raise my leg like a ballerina behind me towards where I believe Matt to be, and he grabs my leg, retrieves the freeloader, and again, we rid the house of unwanted house guests. Again, Goofy is spoiled with treats, I change my clothes instantly and throw them into the washing machine...hey, I was going to do laundry anyway...and scrubbed from my ankle to my knee until it was raw. Never a dull moment around here, I can tell you that!
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Things that irritate me
Okay, I've been seeing a lot of this going around lately, so I'm going to throw my 2 cents in on things that irritate me...and this will have many things relating to the bathroom...
-Being left "stranded" in the bathroom without toilet paper...you stand to pee, leave me some comfort.
-People that talk on their cellphones while in public bathrooms. I'm sorry, I don't want to know what you ate for lunch cause I'm smelling it down the other end of the stalls!!! I flush for good measure just to make them shut up and cover the phone.
-People who PEE on the seat...now what is this? If you have to hover, at least you could cover the rest of the seat with toilet paper...or better yet, hover with the seat up! You'll have more space to aim.
-Stereos in cars that you can hear a mile down the road. I'm sorry, I don't want to hear "Smack that" while I'm in my house doing laundry, and if I did, I'd put on the radio myself. This isn't a dance party, and it is NOT your job to be the DJ for the neighborhood.
-When you bring back the car with the gas gauge on E with the light on. How hard is it to at least put in $5 or $10 of gas in the car...wait, gas is already $3.79 a gallon. I take that back...I'm peeved about the price of gas! There's no reason you have to choose between filling up your car or filling up your fridge.
-Now I'm all for eating healthy, but do NOT get on me for eating meat! Yes, I eat meat, I'm a carnivore, I'm not a bad person for doing it. Do not criticize me for eating meat when you walk around in leather boots and have a mink fur coat. I will not go vegetarian, let alone vegan, and I do not force ill will against you for not eating meat. I will sit here and eat what I want, when I want, how I want. I don't get on your case for eating a ton of veggies and having methane leaks that would make a bovine's eyes water...now THAT'S not healthy! You're destroying the ozone with those veggie farts! And don't even think about eating broccoli around me. Good lord!
-People that race to get in front of you when 2 lanes merge, then feel the need to go under the speedlimit! Come on now, that's just enough to get the road rage going for EVERYONE behind you, not just me.
-Speaking of driving, older people that drive while looking through the steering wheel! Granny, you need another phone book to sit on.
-People who sneeze into their hand, then try to shake yours. That's just plain nasty!
-Mother's who let their kids run rampant in a store screaming and carrying on like a tornado. My mother used to threaten us by saying she'd take down our pants and spank us in the middle of the store. It took one time, and we behaved like angels from then on. Spank your kids bare butts in public, they'll learn who's boss.
So that's enough to get off my chest tonight, anyone with anything else to add, please feel free!
-Being left "stranded" in the bathroom without toilet paper...you stand to pee, leave me some comfort.
-People that talk on their cellphones while in public bathrooms. I'm sorry, I don't want to know what you ate for lunch cause I'm smelling it down the other end of the stalls!!! I flush for good measure just to make them shut up and cover the phone.
-People who PEE on the seat...now what is this? If you have to hover, at least you could cover the rest of the seat with toilet paper...or better yet, hover with the seat up! You'll have more space to aim.
-Stereos in cars that you can hear a mile down the road. I'm sorry, I don't want to hear "Smack that" while I'm in my house doing laundry, and if I did, I'd put on the radio myself. This isn't a dance party, and it is NOT your job to be the DJ for the neighborhood.
-When you bring back the car with the gas gauge on E with the light on. How hard is it to at least put in $5 or $10 of gas in the car...wait, gas is already $3.79 a gallon. I take that back...I'm peeved about the price of gas! There's no reason you have to choose between filling up your car or filling up your fridge.
-Now I'm all for eating healthy, but do NOT get on me for eating meat! Yes, I eat meat, I'm a carnivore, I'm not a bad person for doing it. Do not criticize me for eating meat when you walk around in leather boots and have a mink fur coat. I will not go vegetarian, let alone vegan, and I do not force ill will against you for not eating meat. I will sit here and eat what I want, when I want, how I want. I don't get on your case for eating a ton of veggies and having methane leaks that would make a bovine's eyes water...now THAT'S not healthy! You're destroying the ozone with those veggie farts! And don't even think about eating broccoli around me. Good lord!
-People that race to get in front of you when 2 lanes merge, then feel the need to go under the speedlimit! Come on now, that's just enough to get the road rage going for EVERYONE behind you, not just me.
-Speaking of driving, older people that drive while looking through the steering wheel! Granny, you need another phone book to sit on.
-People who sneeze into their hand, then try to shake yours. That's just plain nasty!
-Mother's who let their kids run rampant in a store screaming and carrying on like a tornado. My mother used to threaten us by saying she'd take down our pants and spank us in the middle of the store. It took one time, and we behaved like angels from then on. Spank your kids bare butts in public, they'll learn who's boss.
So that's enough to get off my chest tonight, anyone with anything else to add, please feel free!
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
10 Most Annoying Singers
I found this article while trying to look busy here at work and found it quite entertaining...who do YOU think are the 10 most Annoying singers? Unfortunately, I'd have added Bob Dylan to the list...hey, my opinion...deal with it.
It's stunning to learn that others don't share our tastes. Then again, how did an entire generation embrace faux wood paneling, shag carpets and putting thick plastic on their furniture? Well, someone thought it was a great idea!
Hey, I like Bob Dylan's voice and kept him off this list because I could! Instead, I found the ten singers most likely to make you drive off the road.
Now that's a terrible fate. Not only are you stranded in some ditch, but you're stuck listening to one of these ten singers, who it would seem are singing that way just to mock you. Oh, the injustice.
10) Celine Dion: I know there are millions of people who would beg to disagree, but let's get real, people. She sings 15 notes where one would suffice and turns every song into an anthem for self-empowerment. It's like getting an hour of Oprah condensed into four minutes. She sings. It's time to start the lawnmower.
9) John Mayer: Young people are impressionable. I'm not sure where John Mayer learned his vocal craft. I hesitate to call it singing. It's more like whimpering. And for some reason, this has become a trend not stopping anytime soon. As you'll sadly learn as we go further down this list.
8) Conor Oberst: As the wunderkind who leads Bright Eyes, Conor Oberst was given a certain amount of leeway since he was a young teen when he started out and his precious singing--so sensitive and intimate you could hear the post-nasal drip--was mistaken as precocious. Well, he's in his 20s now and he still sounds like he's swimming back to the womb for protection from this hard, harsh world. Come on buddy, stand up straight and stop trying to imitate the Cure's Robert Smith. He got there first. And even he must know he sounds a little silly.
7) Lily Allen: Contrary to this column, I want to like fresh, young talent. I want to hear singers bring true commitment to their material. The first time I heard Lily Allen I thought it was quaint. Then it seemed every young female singer was determined to sing just like her, as if they're running out of air in their lungs and have to get back to the respirator before the next verse begins. Sure, she's bouncy and spunky. But if I might quote what Lou Grant once told Mary Tyler Moore: I HATE SPUNK.
6) Devendra Banhart / Tiny Tim: I'm not convinced they're not the same person. Tiny Tim was a novelty item singing with that stupid ukulele something about tiptoeing through the tulips. Anyone with any half sense would know it was novelty item that shouldn't be used as the basis for an entire recording career. And for thirty years, it wasn't, until freaky-folk dude Devendra Banhart showed up and started warbling in that unlistenable, untrained vibrato the kind of nonsensical lyrics that didn't sound all that great back when people were taking the kinds of drugs you're supposed to be on in order to enjoy it.
5) James Blunt: All this talk in the media about whether or not waterboarding is torture is moot. Forcing anyone to listen to "Beautiful" on repeat constitutes torture. You want my darkest, deepest secrets? This guy's quivering voice gets you my social security number, my mother's maiden name, my personal PIN and any random government secrets I'm currently harboring.
4) Frankie Valli: Frankie Valli was a hero to some back in his day. I grant you this. He was consistent! He consistently sang in a voice designed to send dogs running for cover and perfect for breaking glass. "Rag Doll, " "Sherry," "Dawn," "Big Girls Don't Cry," the list is enormous. He very well could be tried as a war criminal. Who would object? Seriously? Who?
3) Billy Corgan (Smashing Pumpkins): Yes, despite all his rage he's still just a rat in a cage. Unfortunately, that cage came with a microphone for him to transmit his Smashing Pumpkins hits to a helpless, hapless world at large. While Billy could orchestrate grand walls of guitar and write albums of endless tuneage, he insisted on singing it himself. Except this is not singing in any conventional sense, but rather the sound of a petulant, whiny child. This is what happens when parents don't tell their kids to shut up often enough. Children need to know you don't like them.
2) Scott Stapp (Creed): We could probably start laying the blame on Bono, Eddie Vedder, Jim Morrison and that guy from Blood, Sweat and Tears, but in the end it's Scott Stapp who epitomizes that macho bellow that sounds like a man who's gone overboard at the All-You-Can-Eat Buffet and has just received spiritual orders to let everyone know they're going to hell if they don't save themselves somehow. His spiritual torment becomes your problem. Thanks, pal.
1) Michael Bolton: OK, this was easy. C'mon, you knew Mr. Bolton would top the list. Who else can take a love song and turn it into a hernia? When a man loves a woman he doesn't do so by screaming in her ear--so why should it be acceptable for a man to sing a sensitive love song as if he's directing traffic for the hearing impaired? R&B classics deserve their place in musical history and should be protected from this man's desecration of all that is holy. It's only right. Let's make it a law.
It's stunning to learn that others don't share our tastes. Then again, how did an entire generation embrace faux wood paneling, shag carpets and putting thick plastic on their furniture? Well, someone thought it was a great idea!
Hey, I like Bob Dylan's voice and kept him off this list because I could! Instead, I found the ten singers most likely to make you drive off the road.
Now that's a terrible fate. Not only are you stranded in some ditch, but you're stuck listening to one of these ten singers, who it would seem are singing that way just to mock you. Oh, the injustice.
10) Celine Dion: I know there are millions of people who would beg to disagree, but let's get real, people. She sings 15 notes where one would suffice and turns every song into an anthem for self-empowerment. It's like getting an hour of Oprah condensed into four minutes. She sings. It's time to start the lawnmower.
9) John Mayer: Young people are impressionable. I'm not sure where John Mayer learned his vocal craft. I hesitate to call it singing. It's more like whimpering. And for some reason, this has become a trend not stopping anytime soon. As you'll sadly learn as we go further down this list.
8) Conor Oberst: As the wunderkind who leads Bright Eyes, Conor Oberst was given a certain amount of leeway since he was a young teen when he started out and his precious singing--so sensitive and intimate you could hear the post-nasal drip--was mistaken as precocious. Well, he's in his 20s now and he still sounds like he's swimming back to the womb for protection from this hard, harsh world. Come on buddy, stand up straight and stop trying to imitate the Cure's Robert Smith. He got there first. And even he must know he sounds a little silly.
7) Lily Allen: Contrary to this column, I want to like fresh, young talent. I want to hear singers bring true commitment to their material. The first time I heard Lily Allen I thought it was quaint. Then it seemed every young female singer was determined to sing just like her, as if they're running out of air in their lungs and have to get back to the respirator before the next verse begins. Sure, she's bouncy and spunky. But if I might quote what Lou Grant once told Mary Tyler Moore: I HATE SPUNK.
6) Devendra Banhart / Tiny Tim: I'm not convinced they're not the same person. Tiny Tim was a novelty item singing with that stupid ukulele something about tiptoeing through the tulips. Anyone with any half sense would know it was novelty item that shouldn't be used as the basis for an entire recording career. And for thirty years, it wasn't, until freaky-folk dude Devendra Banhart showed up and started warbling in that unlistenable, untrained vibrato the kind of nonsensical lyrics that didn't sound all that great back when people were taking the kinds of drugs you're supposed to be on in order to enjoy it.
5) James Blunt: All this talk in the media about whether or not waterboarding is torture is moot. Forcing anyone to listen to "Beautiful" on repeat constitutes torture. You want my darkest, deepest secrets? This guy's quivering voice gets you my social security number, my mother's maiden name, my personal PIN and any random government secrets I'm currently harboring.
4) Frankie Valli: Frankie Valli was a hero to some back in his day. I grant you this. He was consistent! He consistently sang in a voice designed to send dogs running for cover and perfect for breaking glass. "Rag Doll, " "Sherry," "Dawn," "Big Girls Don't Cry," the list is enormous. He very well could be tried as a war criminal. Who would object? Seriously? Who?
3) Billy Corgan (Smashing Pumpkins): Yes, despite all his rage he's still just a rat in a cage. Unfortunately, that cage came with a microphone for him to transmit his Smashing Pumpkins hits to a helpless, hapless world at large. While Billy could orchestrate grand walls of guitar and write albums of endless tuneage, he insisted on singing it himself. Except this is not singing in any conventional sense, but rather the sound of a petulant, whiny child. This is what happens when parents don't tell their kids to shut up often enough. Children need to know you don't like them.
2) Scott Stapp (Creed): We could probably start laying the blame on Bono, Eddie Vedder, Jim Morrison and that guy from Blood, Sweat and Tears, but in the end it's Scott Stapp who epitomizes that macho bellow that sounds like a man who's gone overboard at the All-You-Can-Eat Buffet and has just received spiritual orders to let everyone know they're going to hell if they don't save themselves somehow. His spiritual torment becomes your problem. Thanks, pal.
1) Michael Bolton: OK, this was easy. C'mon, you knew Mr. Bolton would top the list. Who else can take a love song and turn it into a hernia? When a man loves a woman he doesn't do so by screaming in her ear--so why should it be acceptable for a man to sing a sensitive love song as if he's directing traffic for the hearing impaired? R&B classics deserve their place in musical history and should be protected from this man's desecration of all that is holy. It's only right. Let's make it a law.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Car accidents...what a headache
So I'm driving the man's 4x4 back from dropping off a bunch of aluminum cans and scrap metal that we've acquired from working on the house, when all of a sudden I'm spinning out of control, crash into a telephone pole, and end up in the middle of 4 lanes in the rural city of Dixmoor, Illinois. I open my eyes, look around, see a small black oldsmobile, the whole front smashed in, and about 15 people running out from nowhere to see what happened...it reminded me of Dane Cook's comedy bit about people just waiting to hear the squealing of tires and waiting for the big crash. Well, that big crash was me, unfortunately, and I've got the seat belt bruises to prove it.
There was no rain, there was nothing wrong with the street...just an impatient little 20 year old who didn't look as she peeled through an intersection where she was supposed to abide by the big red STOP sign, yes, it was easy to see, yet I do not believe that she cared.
I have never been so shakey in my life. I dialed 911, I do not believe the other driver did. I think she thought we wouldn't have to deal with the 5-0 on this one, but alas my car was undriveable with the drive shaft hanging off the bottom of the truck. My back driver side tire was blown, the wheel well was smashed in...had she gone a moment sooner, she would have smashed into the cab, and into yours truely. Luckily (not luckily, but if there was any luck in this situation, then this was it) she had run into the bed of the truck, and the cab was unharmed. No glass shattered, but the front bumper was partially ripped off from hitting the pole, there's paint on the actual pole itself, and a small souvenier piece of wood still embedded in the front of the truck...and the only 2 things the girl could say to me was if I was all right, and that this wasn't the first car accident that she'd been in. No offense, but I would NOT be saying this to the pissed individual that you've left stranded in an area where you were the only white girl until the ambulance arrived.
So I called the cops, and the other girl felt it was her duty to move her car out of the center of the street. First of all, you do NOT move a car from an accident prior to the police arriving. There were about 15 youngsters around her, and about 5 older gentlemen, as well as numberous others standing around me asking if I was okay. Even they could tell by the damage that not only was it undriveable (yeah, the drive shaft is no longer attached to the front axel, I know this) but you could see where she hit me and that it was her fault. Then it started to rain, and the tears started. This was my man's truck, it needed some work, but it didn't deserve to be demolished like this. Called him at work, told him what happened, and then said I would let him know what happened.
Paramedics arrived, both of us refused treatment, I was feeling fine at the time, just really hopped up on adrenaline and being TOTALLY pissed off. Cop asked me for my statement, had a fireman ask my statement...I must have repeated myself 9 times before I had called my insurance company later on that day. So now it's raining, and I'm standing outside in the rain looking in the truck since there were tools in there. I pray that they'll still be there when we find out if it's totalled or not. If anything is gone I'm not only going to attack the towing company, but the police station as well since not only did I request, but my man requested the truck to be towed to where he works, since he's a mechanic and works at a garage that they could have brought it too. I even brought this up to the other girls insurance company (actually, her MOTHER'S insurance company) since I just got off the phone with them a while ago.
So it's raining, I'm outside pacing trying to think of what I need to do, the cop is in his car writing up information, then FINALLY...I swear it was probably about 10 minutes or so, he asks me to get in the back of the car. So I get in the back when the tow company is trying to get the truck on the tow bed (since they can't tow it by the front since the drive shaft would prohibit them from doing that). Then the cop drives out to the station, which turns out to be a trailer that apparently the person who has the key to get inside is nowhere to be found. So I'm sitting in the bad of the police car as the cop is filling out the paperwork. Then the girl who caused all this grief is in a car in front of us with a friend of hers, and comes to the cops window to see if he's done yet. Excuse me? F-you you little creatin...may your eyes be ripped from their sockets with a spoon, and by the way, I'm sorry that this is taking away from your exciting day. Not only THAT, but the cop had lowered the windows a bit, while it's raining, to get some air in the stuffy car. Then there's about 2 cop cars that go by asking what I did. I told them that I'd gotten hit...and the reason I was in the back was that I had no car! The nerve, they were judging me, a white girl, for being in a nonwhite neighborhood and being in the back of a police vehicle. I seriously wanted to start saying something to them, that just peeved me off even more. There will be a complaint made not only to the station, but to the village after we get our car back and I don't have to worry about Dixmoor ever again. What a hole in the center of nowhere, why I was driving that way I'll never know.
So later that night I ended up going to the docs since my left shoulder was bruising and in extreme pain, as well as my collarbone. Doc took x-rays, no problems. Gave me vicodin and a muscle relaxer shot...after being in the hospital for 4 hours. From 7pm till just after 10pm...then whatever I was given kept me up till 2am. Yeah, thanks a lot! I thought that was supposed to relax me!! Oh well, didn't go get the prescription, but have just been taking ibuprofen as needed. Left work a little early due to some pain, I shouldn't have gone in at all! At least I'm going to an orthopaedic next Tuesday to get my shoulder checked out, and see if MORE damage has been done to my already pathetic shoulder.
So that's what my weekend entailed...being stuck in the back of a cop car after being spun in a truck by a olds...she had to have been going fast to spin THAT truck...going to the docs for 4 hours Sat night, then dealing with ice and Advil for the next 2 days....I am so ready for a vacation. Anyone know a good lawyer, please send them my way...
Hugs, and hopefully I'll have a better story soon.
There was no rain, there was nothing wrong with the street...just an impatient little 20 year old who didn't look as she peeled through an intersection where she was supposed to abide by the big red STOP sign, yes, it was easy to see, yet I do not believe that she cared.
I have never been so shakey in my life. I dialed 911, I do not believe the other driver did. I think she thought we wouldn't have to deal with the 5-0 on this one, but alas my car was undriveable with the drive shaft hanging off the bottom of the truck. My back driver side tire was blown, the wheel well was smashed in...had she gone a moment sooner, she would have smashed into the cab, and into yours truely. Luckily (not luckily, but if there was any luck in this situation, then this was it) she had run into the bed of the truck, and the cab was unharmed. No glass shattered, but the front bumper was partially ripped off from hitting the pole, there's paint on the actual pole itself, and a small souvenier piece of wood still embedded in the front of the truck...and the only 2 things the girl could say to me was if I was all right, and that this wasn't the first car accident that she'd been in. No offense, but I would NOT be saying this to the pissed individual that you've left stranded in an area where you were the only white girl until the ambulance arrived.
So I called the cops, and the other girl felt it was her duty to move her car out of the center of the street. First of all, you do NOT move a car from an accident prior to the police arriving. There were about 15 youngsters around her, and about 5 older gentlemen, as well as numberous others standing around me asking if I was okay. Even they could tell by the damage that not only was it undriveable (yeah, the drive shaft is no longer attached to the front axel, I know this) but you could see where she hit me and that it was her fault. Then it started to rain, and the tears started. This was my man's truck, it needed some work, but it didn't deserve to be demolished like this. Called him at work, told him what happened, and then said I would let him know what happened.
Paramedics arrived, both of us refused treatment, I was feeling fine at the time, just really hopped up on adrenaline and being TOTALLY pissed off. Cop asked me for my statement, had a fireman ask my statement...I must have repeated myself 9 times before I had called my insurance company later on that day. So now it's raining, and I'm standing outside in the rain looking in the truck since there were tools in there. I pray that they'll still be there when we find out if it's totalled or not. If anything is gone I'm not only going to attack the towing company, but the police station as well since not only did I request, but my man requested the truck to be towed to where he works, since he's a mechanic and works at a garage that they could have brought it too. I even brought this up to the other girls insurance company (actually, her MOTHER'S insurance company) since I just got off the phone with them a while ago.
So it's raining, I'm outside pacing trying to think of what I need to do, the cop is in his car writing up information, then FINALLY...I swear it was probably about 10 minutes or so, he asks me to get in the back of the car. So I get in the back when the tow company is trying to get the truck on the tow bed (since they can't tow it by the front since the drive shaft would prohibit them from doing that). Then the cop drives out to the station, which turns out to be a trailer that apparently the person who has the key to get inside is nowhere to be found. So I'm sitting in the bad of the police car as the cop is filling out the paperwork. Then the girl who caused all this grief is in a car in front of us with a friend of hers, and comes to the cops window to see if he's done yet. Excuse me? F-you you little creatin...may your eyes be ripped from their sockets with a spoon, and by the way, I'm sorry that this is taking away from your exciting day. Not only THAT, but the cop had lowered the windows a bit, while it's raining, to get some air in the stuffy car. Then there's about 2 cop cars that go by asking what I did. I told them that I'd gotten hit...and the reason I was in the back was that I had no car! The nerve, they were judging me, a white girl, for being in a nonwhite neighborhood and being in the back of a police vehicle. I seriously wanted to start saying something to them, that just peeved me off even more. There will be a complaint made not only to the station, but to the village after we get our car back and I don't have to worry about Dixmoor ever again. What a hole in the center of nowhere, why I was driving that way I'll never know.
So later that night I ended up going to the docs since my left shoulder was bruising and in extreme pain, as well as my collarbone. Doc took x-rays, no problems. Gave me vicodin and a muscle relaxer shot...after being in the hospital for 4 hours. From 7pm till just after 10pm...then whatever I was given kept me up till 2am. Yeah, thanks a lot! I thought that was supposed to relax me!! Oh well, didn't go get the prescription, but have just been taking ibuprofen as needed. Left work a little early due to some pain, I shouldn't have gone in at all! At least I'm going to an orthopaedic next Tuesday to get my shoulder checked out, and see if MORE damage has been done to my already pathetic shoulder.
So that's what my weekend entailed...being stuck in the back of a cop car after being spun in a truck by a olds...she had to have been going fast to spin THAT truck...going to the docs for 4 hours Sat night, then dealing with ice and Advil for the next 2 days....I am so ready for a vacation. Anyone know a good lawyer, please send them my way...
Hugs, and hopefully I'll have a better story soon.
Bathing Suits
In the 1960s the bathing suit for the mature figure was boned, trussed and reinforced, not so much sewn as engineered.
They were built to hold back and uplift and they did a good job.
Today's stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from a potato chip.
The mature woman has a choice-she can either go up front to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus who escaped from Disney's Fantasia or she can wander around every run of the mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of florescent rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room.
The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material.
The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which give the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you are protected from shark attacks as any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.
I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place, I gasped in horror my boobs had disappeared!
Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took awhile to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib.
The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump.
I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a fullview assessment.
The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fit those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom, and sides. I looked like a lump of play dough wearing undersized cling wrap.
As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, "Oh, there you are", she said, admiring the bathing suit.I replied that I wasn't so sure and asked what else she had to show me.
I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two-piece, which gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving ring.
I struggled into a pair of leopard skin bathers with ragged frills and came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day.
I tried on a black number with a midriff and looked like a jellyfish in mourning.
I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear them.
Finally, I found a suit that fit...a two-piece affair with a shorts style bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured. When I got home, I found a label which read -- "Material might become transparent in water."
So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water this year and I'm there too ... I'll be the one in cut off jeans and a t-shirt!
They were built to hold back and uplift and they did a good job.
Today's stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from a potato chip.
The mature woman has a choice-she can either go up front to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus who escaped from Disney's Fantasia or she can wander around every run of the mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of florescent rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room.
The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material.
The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which give the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you are protected from shark attacks as any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.
I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place, I gasped in horror my boobs had disappeared!
Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took awhile to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib.
The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump.
I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a fullview assessment.
The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fit those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom, and sides. I looked like a lump of play dough wearing undersized cling wrap.
As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, "Oh, there you are", she said, admiring the bathing suit.I replied that I wasn't so sure and asked what else she had to show me.
I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two-piece, which gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving ring.
I struggled into a pair of leopard skin bathers with ragged frills and came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day.
I tried on a black number with a midriff and looked like a jellyfish in mourning.
I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear them.
Finally, I found a suit that fit...a two-piece affair with a shorts style bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured. When I got home, I found a label which read -- "Material might become transparent in water."
So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water this year and I'm there too ... I'll be the one in cut off jeans and a t-shirt!
Thursday, April 17, 2008
I've been tagged!
Goodness me, what have I gotten myself into?
First, the rules:
1. Each blogger answers the questions about themselves.
2. Then tag five people. Make sure to let them know!
What I was doing 10 years ago - (1998):That was the year I watched Lindsey date a bunch of guys at one time, then dump them for her current husband. Haha...I think I was working fulltime at Venture and obsessed with a guy named Kelly who screwed a friend of mine while doing a study group. Yeah, he had class...she had less...
Five things on my to-do list today:
1. Pay bills
2. Eat
3. Dump out the smelly kitchen compost pail
4. Relax (but then again, that never happens)
5. Finish up this wonderous "tag"ing experience
Five Snacks I enjoy:
1. fresh baked anything (from scratch that is, premade packaged dough doesn't cut it)
2. ritz crackers and cream cheese...no idea when that started
3. toffee...Heath bars, Skor bars...my dentist loves me for it
4. Olive Garden bread sticks...that's a meal by itself!
5. I'm wicked addicted to peanut butter chocolate ice cream
Five Things I would do if I were a billionaire:
1. Pay off my debt and pay to have others finish this "Money Pit" of a house while I make pottery in my barn in the back...with electric wheel and huge kiln!
2. Fly all my girls to Vegas for rest and relaxation...with massages, spa packages, and room service galore!!! (and my girls consisting of Linds, Sarah, and the wonderous Princess Paw Paw).
3. Quit my job and go to school full time (yes, I'd still go to school, but I wouldn't have to worry about working full time while trying to do it)
4. Bitch slap Paris Hilton
5. Actually start planning the wedding.
Five of my bad habits:
1. I am overemotional
2. I relish to do absolutely nothing
3. Stress eater (aren't we all?)
4. sometimes I can be REALLY blond
5. I do for others more than I do for myself
Five places I have lived:
1. Batavia, IL
2. St. Charles, IL
3. Itasca, IL
4. Addison, IL
5. Steger, IL
Five jobs I’ve had:
1. Wal-Mart associate
2. UPS truck loader
3. waitress at Lonestar Steakhouse (otherwise known as the armpit of Hell-hey, you gotta admit, it was pretty cool to be able to eat all the pumpernickel bread you could...and who could match those wonderous line dance moves, and where else can you dance on a table without having to be partially nekkid?)
4. temp for multiple companies
5. telemarketer (yeah yeah, shortlived for about a month...wasn't worth it)
What I’d like to be doing in 25 years: Thanking the great almighty that the house is complete, and we can finally go on that Australia trip we've always wanted...a second honeymoon perhaps?
Anyone who wants to do this, enjoy. I know Linds has done this, and Sarah too...procrastination should've been one of my bad habits, but I procrastinated putting it up. Enjoy, and show me what ya got!
First, the rules:
1. Each blogger answers the questions about themselves.
2. Then tag five people. Make sure to let them know!
What I was doing 10 years ago - (1998):That was the year I watched Lindsey date a bunch of guys at one time, then dump them for her current husband. Haha...I think I was working fulltime at Venture and obsessed with a guy named Kelly who screwed a friend of mine while doing a study group. Yeah, he had class...she had less...
Five things on my to-do list today:
1. Pay bills
2. Eat
3. Dump out the smelly kitchen compost pail
4. Relax (but then again, that never happens)
5. Finish up this wonderous "tag"ing experience
Five Snacks I enjoy:
1. fresh baked anything (from scratch that is, premade packaged dough doesn't cut it)
2. ritz crackers and cream cheese...no idea when that started
3. toffee...Heath bars, Skor bars...my dentist loves me for it
4. Olive Garden bread sticks...that's a meal by itself!
5. I'm wicked addicted to peanut butter chocolate ice cream
Five Things I would do if I were a billionaire:
1. Pay off my debt and pay to have others finish this "Money Pit" of a house while I make pottery in my barn in the back...with electric wheel and huge kiln!
2. Fly all my girls to Vegas for rest and relaxation...with massages, spa packages, and room service galore!!! (and my girls consisting of Linds, Sarah, and the wonderous Princess Paw Paw).
3. Quit my job and go to school full time (yes, I'd still go to school, but I wouldn't have to worry about working full time while trying to do it)
4. Bitch slap Paris Hilton
5. Actually start planning the wedding.
Five of my bad habits:
1. I am overemotional
2. I relish to do absolutely nothing
3. Stress eater (aren't we all?)
4. sometimes I can be REALLY blond
5. I do for others more than I do for myself
Five places I have lived:
1. Batavia, IL
2. St. Charles, IL
3. Itasca, IL
4. Addison, IL
5. Steger, IL
Five jobs I’ve had:
1. Wal-Mart associate
2. UPS truck loader
3. waitress at Lonestar Steakhouse (otherwise known as the armpit of Hell-hey, you gotta admit, it was pretty cool to be able to eat all the pumpernickel bread you could...and who could match those wonderous line dance moves, and where else can you dance on a table without having to be partially nekkid?)
4. temp for multiple companies
5. telemarketer (yeah yeah, shortlived for about a month...wasn't worth it)
What I’d like to be doing in 25 years: Thanking the great almighty that the house is complete, and we can finally go on that Australia trip we've always wanted...a second honeymoon perhaps?
Anyone who wants to do this, enjoy. I know Linds has done this, and Sarah too...procrastination should've been one of my bad habits, but I procrastinated putting it up. Enjoy, and show me what ya got!
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Check your receipts...
Friday I was able to leave work early, and since my train wasn't due for another 1/2 hour, I decided to treat myself to a certain tasty frozen coffee concoction from a place that rhymes with Barlucks. I do not treat myself often, but thought I had deserved it after working overtime and working through my lunchtime. So as I'm walking, I stopped off at the coffeeshop located at the new location formerly known as the Marshall Fields building (got bless that landmark, unfortunately Chicago will never be the same since Macy's came to town and took over) and ordered myself a tall Mocha frappucino.
First, it took about 2 minutes to place my order in the empty shop, one person was doing bills (their bills, not the coffee shop bills), one girl was chatting with a friend over by the coffee machines, and one guy was cleaning the counters behind her. So I waited calmly until finally the guy cleaning the counters came to help. He was nice, young, and knew what he was doing. After he had finished, my order, I said thanks and that I needed to pay. Then the other person working on their bills came by and acted like it was a chore to take my money for services they had rendered. I should have just walked out after the drink was given to me, but I'm a nice gal. So then my order came to $4.92. I thought about it a second, handed the guy a $5, then thought about how much my order should have been.
After receiving my receipt, I looked at it, looked at the menu, and realized that a tall Mocha frap should have charged as $3.50, not $4.50 like the grande I had been charged. So I ask the other employees how much a tall should have cost, told them I had been charged more, and then the person who had put through the order (now in full Diva mode) started to complain how he wasn't feeling well, how the guy who had made the drink should have charged the order instead of waiting for his tired self to do it, that he was working on other things and was thinking of that instead of ringing up my order properly. Sorry sweetie, you're just being plain lazy, I saw you doing your bills with your checkbook off to the side, so don't pull that crap with me. So I was not only refunded my $5 and received my drink for free, I was given an additional $.92, yes, the number still astounds me, back as a "sorry for your inconvenience" amount. So not only did I get my money back, but given an addition $.92. No offense, and I'm surprised I got my money back, but the addition ninety-two cents just boggles me, as to why this was given back as well. Guess that was what my little 5 minute pop in that turned into a 15 minute headache cost...ninety two cents for my additional time. How some things work sometimes.
I do, however, know that I will not be gracing that location anytime soon, nor any coffee "Barlucks" location for now. I have found a wonderful blog by a friend about losing weight...check out Fatty Fatty two by four. Hilarious, lots of good tidbits, and wonderful helpful hints on the daily grudge of keeping down those pounds.
Well, that's my schpeal for now, have a wonderful day, and remember, if something doesn't look right on your receipt, it probably isn't. Make sure you were charged the correct amount, and if it's wrong, speak up! You don't look like the bad person for telling someone they charged you wrong, they did you a disservice. Plus, don't let them act like its a huge dramatic event because they charged you wrong, if that's the case, ask to speak to a manager, or get the persons name and report them. I pay for a service, I DO NOT pay for attitude, if I wanted that I'd have gone to Ed Debevicks where they give it freely for no extra charge.
First, it took about 2 minutes to place my order in the empty shop, one person was doing bills (their bills, not the coffee shop bills), one girl was chatting with a friend over by the coffee machines, and one guy was cleaning the counters behind her. So I waited calmly until finally the guy cleaning the counters came to help. He was nice, young, and knew what he was doing. After he had finished, my order, I said thanks and that I needed to pay. Then the other person working on their bills came by and acted like it was a chore to take my money for services they had rendered. I should have just walked out after the drink was given to me, but I'm a nice gal. So then my order came to $4.92. I thought about it a second, handed the guy a $5, then thought about how much my order should have been.
After receiving my receipt, I looked at it, looked at the menu, and realized that a tall Mocha frap should have charged as $3.50, not $4.50 like the grande I had been charged. So I ask the other employees how much a tall should have cost, told them I had been charged more, and then the person who had put through the order (now in full Diva mode) started to complain how he wasn't feeling well, how the guy who had made the drink should have charged the order instead of waiting for his tired self to do it, that he was working on other things and was thinking of that instead of ringing up my order properly. Sorry sweetie, you're just being plain lazy, I saw you doing your bills with your checkbook off to the side, so don't pull that crap with me. So I was not only refunded my $5 and received my drink for free, I was given an additional $.92, yes, the number still astounds me, back as a "sorry for your inconvenience" amount. So not only did I get my money back, but given an addition $.92. No offense, and I'm surprised I got my money back, but the addition ninety-two cents just boggles me, as to why this was given back as well. Guess that was what my little 5 minute pop in that turned into a 15 minute headache cost...ninety two cents for my additional time. How some things work sometimes.
I do, however, know that I will not be gracing that location anytime soon, nor any coffee "Barlucks" location for now. I have found a wonderful blog by a friend about losing weight...check out Fatty Fatty two by four. Hilarious, lots of good tidbits, and wonderful helpful hints on the daily grudge of keeping down those pounds.
Well, that's my schpeal for now, have a wonderful day, and remember, if something doesn't look right on your receipt, it probably isn't. Make sure you were charged the correct amount, and if it's wrong, speak up! You don't look like the bad person for telling someone they charged you wrong, they did you a disservice. Plus, don't let them act like its a huge dramatic event because they charged you wrong, if that's the case, ask to speak to a manager, or get the persons name and report them. I pay for a service, I DO NOT pay for attitude, if I wanted that I'd have gone to Ed Debevicks where they give it freely for no extra charge.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
The things you hear on the elevator...
I heard what can be known as the most interesting conversation I've heard on the elevator today while leaving my place of employment. Mind you, I've been riding this elevator almost 6 and a half years now, and this one does take the cake. A girl had raced to get to the elevator, I was already on it from 2 floors above. One of her friends was yelling at her to hold the doors, and alas, I was no longer alone on my descent to the main lobby. Here is how the conversation went:
Boy: Wow, you were quiet getting out of here today.
Girl: Yeah, I'm in ninja mode.
Boy: Ninja mode?
Girl: Yeah, I'm quiet and quick, but I don't wear black all the time. Ninja's are people too ya know. But actually, I'd rather be a pirate. Pirates are cool and can travel on the seas in their big ships. I'd pillage and do what I wanted, and wear a big hat...and get gold, jewelry, and steal stuff...
Boy: What about the honor code?
Girl: Screw the honor code, I'd do what I wanted...
End of scene. The elevator doors opened and I swear I was going to pee my pants at what I just witnessed as I exited into the main lobby...from the mouth of babes I tell ya.
Then on my trek to the train station, a homeless man was sitting on the inside of the doors asking for change. Now, I don't mind everynow and again to share the lack of wealth that I have, but if I don't have money, don't get mad at me when I offer you my Pop-Tarts. You have no teeth, at least you can gum it to death and get some nourishment.
As for the weather, things have been pretty decent, besides the past 2 days being extremely rainy. Someone said they were calling for snow over the weekend perhaps....perhaps someone needs a boot to the head with that kind of talk? Hopefully things will dry up soon so I can plan the garden...oh to get my hands on some seedlings, and to transplant the raspberries who feel they need to overpower the strawberry plants since they do share the same raised bed...and the blueberry bushes (more like twigs, they're not doing so hot) need to be moved near the strawberries as well...the things I need to do, but not in this soggy mess I call a backyard.
But kids, it's time for me to say adieu. Tomorrow is Friday, and I'm leaving early...only to come back and have to run to pick up my x-rays from my previous orthopaedic doc for my shoulder...the only thing that doc did was take an x-ray, give me a shot of cortisone, send me to physical therapy for 8 weeks, and tell me to call him when the cortisone wore off. Actually, after the novocaine shot wore off 4 hours later, I was in more pain that I had been prior to his "miracle shot". Yeah, quack I tell ya, now I'm going to the same guy my significant other went to for his knee surgery, and apparently the doc knows all about me and my shoulder through loverboys doc visits. Actually made an appt towards the end of April, I'm so proud of me. But then again the rest is a story for another time, maybe I'll enlighten you later on this weekend if I have time...ah, time, something I seem to have so little of these days...
Adios, and catch ya later.
Boy: Wow, you were quiet getting out of here today.
Girl: Yeah, I'm in ninja mode.
Boy: Ninja mode?
Girl: Yeah, I'm quiet and quick, but I don't wear black all the time. Ninja's are people too ya know. But actually, I'd rather be a pirate. Pirates are cool and can travel on the seas in their big ships. I'd pillage and do what I wanted, and wear a big hat...and get gold, jewelry, and steal stuff...
Boy: What about the honor code?
Girl: Screw the honor code, I'd do what I wanted...
End of scene. The elevator doors opened and I swear I was going to pee my pants at what I just witnessed as I exited into the main lobby...from the mouth of babes I tell ya.
Then on my trek to the train station, a homeless man was sitting on the inside of the doors asking for change. Now, I don't mind everynow and again to share the lack of wealth that I have, but if I don't have money, don't get mad at me when I offer you my Pop-Tarts. You have no teeth, at least you can gum it to death and get some nourishment.
As for the weather, things have been pretty decent, besides the past 2 days being extremely rainy. Someone said they were calling for snow over the weekend perhaps....perhaps someone needs a boot to the head with that kind of talk? Hopefully things will dry up soon so I can plan the garden...oh to get my hands on some seedlings, and to transplant the raspberries who feel they need to overpower the strawberry plants since they do share the same raised bed...and the blueberry bushes (more like twigs, they're not doing so hot) need to be moved near the strawberries as well...the things I need to do, but not in this soggy mess I call a backyard.
But kids, it's time for me to say adieu. Tomorrow is Friday, and I'm leaving early...only to come back and have to run to pick up my x-rays from my previous orthopaedic doc for my shoulder...the only thing that doc did was take an x-ray, give me a shot of cortisone, send me to physical therapy for 8 weeks, and tell me to call him when the cortisone wore off. Actually, after the novocaine shot wore off 4 hours later, I was in more pain that I had been prior to his "miracle shot". Yeah, quack I tell ya, now I'm going to the same guy my significant other went to for his knee surgery, and apparently the doc knows all about me and my shoulder through loverboys doc visits. Actually made an appt towards the end of April, I'm so proud of me. But then again the rest is a story for another time, maybe I'll enlighten you later on this weekend if I have time...ah, time, something I seem to have so little of these days...
Adios, and catch ya later.
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