Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
You Know You're Getting Old When...
1. Your younger sister truly wants a station wagon.
2. You believe that you have arthritis in your left elbow.
3. You’re in no way interested in watching the VMA’s or the Teen Choice Awards.
4. You haven’t watched The Real World since the Chicago season.
5. You get so excited about buying new furniture that you are unable to sleep the night before it is delivered.
6. You remember the first time peasant blouses and skirts were in style.
7. You just saw a music video with an 80’s theme, and it was a parody.
8. You are no longer afraid to ask store employees to open another register if there is a long line.
9. You write a complaint letter to the manufacturer of your broken coffee maker.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Pet Peeve #753
They'll Call Me a Cornhusker, Won't They?
Metal cookie cutter in the shape of a wedding cake - $4.22 (I guess they didn’t realize that they could have taken their 40% off coupon to Michael’s and bought it for $1.00.)
Bottle of OPI nail polish that I got for free with a coupon from a magazine - $6.00 (dude, you only saved $1.50 by not driving to Trade Secret yourself to buy it.)
My personal favorite: a bird cage thing from Pier One that I spray painted silver and used to hold cards at my wedding - $16.50 (I believe that I paid $10.00 for it and even said that I bought it at Pier One in the listing.)
I think that I have lived in a big city for so long that I have forgotten that other people don’t have access to the same stores, etc. I will probably be punished for this little racket I have going by being transferred to Nebraska or Wyoming one day.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
How Do You Say "White Trash" In Français Ya'll?
Friday, August 26, 2005
I've Already Been Told I Have Issues
I always love to hear about other people’s weird things. Another of mine is the sound of Styrofoam rubbing together. It gives me the skeeves to put it mildly. I have a hard time buying eggs because I can’t touch the carton, if I buy something that is packaged in Styrofoam I have to leave the room or plug my ears so someone else can get it out of the box, and no Styrofoam cooler is permitted within 100’ of my home. I used to feel weird admitting this because I knew it was bizarre, but I have actually heard some that make me look pretty normal, even when I’m running from room to room covering my ears while yelling “Don’t touch it yet, get it out of the house!” One person I met could not handle white ice. Clear ice was okay, but the idea of digging into a bin of white ice was too much for him. A friend could not handle wood coming in contact with body fluids i.e. chewing on a toothpick or a wooden coffee stirrer. My mom can’t stand for her hands to be sticky or greasy, and can’t eat anything blue. I was listening to a morning show this week where people were calling in and confessing their weird things. Razors, clowns, spiders, etc. One guy could not touch smooth wood, so every Thanksgiving someone sets the table with silver, but his place is set with a big wooden knife from the Outback. My absolute favorite was the woman who said that blue cake icing scared the bejesus out of her. Was that you Mom?
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
There Are No Words
Recently I spent almost $100.00 on your “new and improved” litter box. If this is new and improved, I would be frightened to see the old version. Since bringing it into my home, I have been woken from a dead sleep more than once thinking that an intruder was breaking in, when in reality the sweeping arm was stuck and making such a loud noise that I had to get out of my bed to reset it. My cats have aged years from this sound and the unpredictable nature of this contraption. Your product is obviously so expensive because it comes with its own brain, but I want my money back because I got one with a schizophrenic brain. When it decides to sweep back and forth incessantly, get stuck, make bizarre noises, etc. my cats have taken to watching it in the pounce and attack position. I have no doubt that they spend their entire days watching it and waiting for the time that they have to attack it to protect themselves and their master because it has begun to walk around the house as if possessed by Satan. I bought this thing because it is supposed to be self sufficient, and cleaning the cat box is not one of my favorite chores. I now spend more time playing in this box than I did playing in the sand box in elementary school. I already have a Zen garden, thanks for asking, so I do not appreciate the added benefit that others may get by raking the litter and making pretty patterns. Have I mentioned the huge mess that this product makes? I am tired of walking around with cat litter stuck to the bottom of my feet. I recommend that you get back in your lab and start from scratch making a product that is at the very least functional, then work your way up to one that you can legitimately call “new and improved.”
Hating you more every day,
Cory and Cats
Labels: Shopping
Monday, August 22, 2005
I May Have Stolen This
5 years ago: I was working at P.C. and The Chart House. Going out a lot.
1 year ago: I was working at Crazy Land, was having regular panic attacks and felt like I was getting an ulcer. Living with Joe and planning the wedding. We had just gotten back from a week at the beach with his family and were surrounded by hurricanes. Going out not at all.
Yesterday: Woke up at 9:45 a.m., read paper, played on computer, watched The Secret Window, played around with the idea of going out, cleaned house, did laundry, read, cooked dinner, bathed (finally) and changed into clean pajamas, was in bed by 9:45 p.m. Perfect day.
Today: Woke up at 7:45 a.m., was out the door by 8:30, went to work where we had a meeting with the woman who is auditing us, went to a psychiatrist appointment for a client, saw three people I knew at the psychiatrist’s office, talked to Christine approximately 8-10 times, worked some more, made dinner, played on computer, watched TV, in bed by 10:00 p.m.
Tomorrow: Wake up at regular time, go to work, dodge the auditor, work on a project that I am dreading, see a client or two, come home, order pizza because Tuesday is pizza night, hunt down the little girls who have my $20.00, but have not brought me my coupon book yet, read, play on computer, in bed by 10:00 p.m. My life rocks.
5 snacks I enjoy: Chocolate chip cookies, K.C. Masterpiece barbecue potato chips, cheddar cheese, Goldfish crackers, fun size candy bars. I’m healthy too.
5 bands/singers that I know the lyrics of most of their songs: Coldplay, Liz Phair, The Strokes, Radiohead, and just about every cheesy pop band who I truly hate.
Things I would do with $1,000,000: Move far away from here, buy a bigger house with a pool, go on a couple of Caribbean vacations, give my peeps some money, donate some to charity, buy a new car, etc.
5 locations I’d like to run away to: Tahiti, St. Barth, Fiji, Martinique, Antigua.
5 bad habits I have: Procrastinating, gossiping like I’m 16 again, spending too much time on the computer, doing laundry and forgetting to hang it up or fold it, not returning phone calls in a timely fashion.
5 things I like doing: Sleeping, reading, eating, watching TV, relaxing.
5 things I would never wear: A bikini, low rise jeans with my belly hanging out, anything with the name “Babyphat” on it, a tube top, short shorts.
5 TV shows I like: King of Queens, Saturday Night Live, Lost, Rescue Me, Barefoot Contessa.
5 movies I like: Sixteen Candles, Lost in Translation, A Beautiful Mind, Sixth Sense, Good Will Hunting.
5 biggest joys at the moment: My marriage, my family, my cats, my home, my life.
5 favorite toys: Laptop, digital camera, DVR, cell phone, surround sound which is also my worst foe.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
The Answer is Probably Yes on all Accounts
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Karma is a Bitch, and So am I
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
ATL SUX
**After I later Googled the bands I realized it was 38 Special, which is comprised of a Van Zandt brother and a surviving member of Skynyrd. (I was right when I thought I was fucked) Holy shit, I just called them Skynyrd like the locals. FREEBIRD!
On my way home Sunday, I was dropped off at the airport at 8:15 p.m. to catch my 9:20 p.m. departing flight. As soon as I got into the airport the heavy rain and lightning began almost immediately (is it me?). I checked in, yada yada yada, and then saw that my flight had been pushed back to 10:00 p.m. due to the weather. Ok, no problem. I sat there with my book and my assload of IKEA merchandise and waited. And waited. And watched the departure time move all the way back to 12:30 a.m. Since I was sitting across from a Houlihan’s, I decided to go over and have a pre-flight cocktail or two. This place was crazy. Apparently everyone in Terminal A thought that getting drunk was a good way to pass the time. I somehow got a seat at the bar and drank my Jim Beam because I don’t fuck around when it comes to pre-flight cocktails. At about 12:00 a.m. I gave up my plum barstool because my plane was taking off in 30 minutes. Right? Wrong. Now the time was pushed back to 1:30 a.m. I sat back down and heard an announcement that there were no other flights to Florida that night, so if you were on the flight to Orlando, you were basically screwed. The airline regretted that the weather was causing an inconvenience, but there were no hotel rooms available in Atlanta that night. Give me a fucking break. Did they really think that anyone believed that? It’s not like the Olympics were going on, and God knows that the IKEA had been open for a month or two already, so surely that wouldn’t account for the lack of rooms. This airline was clearly lying. What they meant to say was “there are no more rooms at the airport Motel 6, and we are not willing to pay for you to stay at the Marriott.” I will not name the airline because a dear friend gave me a buddy pass, and I was flying for a fraction of the cost. I may be a bitch, but I’m not an ungrateful one.
Around this time I got a call from my sweet, sweet Joey who had woken from a dead slumber and driven to the airport to pick me up. The last time we talked, and the last time he had checked online, my flight was still leaving at 12:30 a.m. Overcome with guilt, I sent him back home and instructed him to go back to sleep until I called him.
I continued to watch people frantically running for planes, yelling at each other, and dragging poor, sleepy toddlers around by their shirt sleeves. By this time a group of men had gathered just outside of Houlihan’s and were doing shots. When I count my blessings each day, I include no longer being in college, no longer having to go to nightclubs, and the fact that I did not marry a philandering drunk. These guys--who incidentally were all wearing wedding bands--were getting louder and calling out to the pretty girls who walked by to “Come sit on my lap and have a drink.” I guess they adopted the motto “What happens at Houlihan’s, stays at Houlihan’s” for the evening.
Since I was flying standby, I started to get knots in my stomach when I saw how many people had been transferred to my flight. I heard one of the clerks say that there were plenty of seats, but that they were waiting on some new pilots because the original pilots had been flying for 18 hours, which is the limit. WHAT? I could have lived the rest of my life without knowing that. I don’t think I could sleep for 18 straight hours, much less stay conscious, sit in one place, and be responsible for hundreds of people’s lives. Jesus.
My name was finally called and by this point it was a free for all. There were no more seat assignments, so I had to find my own seat which happened to be next to the meanest man on earth. I take that back, maybe everyone is that grouchy at 2:30 a.m. when they have been traveling all day. But still, he was a dick. Oh, and FYI: people who have been traveling all day smell. Really bad.
I was home and in bed at the reasonable hour of 4:00 a.m., almost 8 hours after my journey had begun. Unfortunately I woke Joe in the wee hours because I was talking in my sleep: “Attention customers, for your safety, do not let your bag out of your sight. Do not let anyone give you unknown objects to carry for them…” And so forth and so on.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
IKEA = My Idea of Hell
Dizzy from exhaust fumes, we entered into another dimension that I can only describe as a cross between a slaughterhouse and Disney World. The masses were herded into the building by escalators. The first stop was the bathroom, which I swear they pump in cinnamon roll fragrance through the air vents to entice you to eat in the restaurant. I’m not sure I will ever eat another cinnamon roll since I now associate them with squatting over a public toilet, trying to keep my pant legs from falling into puddles of urine.
The IKEA staff then took out their cattle prods and directed us into the showrooms of furniture, which were my favorite part. They reminded me of the Carousel of Progress attraction at Disney World. It was hard to fight the urge to curl up on one of the little beds and take a nap.
I got swept up in the amazing deals and low, low prices and crossed the very fine line of “just looking” to balls-to-the-wall Christmas shopping for everyone I know. This is probably how regular people feel when they go to Wal Mart. I remember thinking “I better buy everything I see, because I am never coming back here.”
We wound around the entire place and found a spot in the shortest checkout line. We got lucky because there were only 15 families in front of us. Because my mom, sister, and I never talk about the weather or gas prices, we launched into a discussion about their upcoming trip to Italy and their wishes, should they all perish at one time. We discussed the problem of finding homes for 2 cats and 3 dogs, life insurance, organ donation, and funeral arrangements. I will attest to the fact that we are not your average family, but the notable part is that we had enough time to have this deep discussion, make plans, wipe away our tears, and wrap things up before we were even able to see the cashier on the distant horizon.
For all the thought that went into the IKEA store, something went terribly wrong at the checkout counter. The conveyor belt is blocked on both sides by plexiglass, and is so narrow that it is a balancing act to send the purchases through. Then, there is the fact that you have to wrap and bag your own purchases. I felt like I was shopping at Sav-a-Lot grocery store. Perhaps that is how they keep their prices down.
We refueled on free samples in the gourmet section, compared our bruises from other people’s purses/strollers/shopping carts, and then boarded a cross between an escalator, a ramp, and a moving side walk. The crafty Scandinavians fashioned the metal flooring to grip the shopping cart wheels so that no one in front of us would be taken out by our cart, should we let go of the handle. Don’t tell me that they thought of this, but that I imagined the pumping of the cinnamon roll scent through the bathroom vents.
Overall, I would rate the experience somewhere between a gynecological exam and a root canal. I have decided that any and all future IKEA purchases will be made online or by catalog from here on out.
Labels: Shopping
Friday, August 12, 2005
If My Mom Was Your Mom
2. She'd laugh hard at your jokes.
3. She'd give you lots of hugs.
4. She'd automatically dislike anyone who was mean or unkind to you.
5. She'd get all of her church friends to pray for good things to happen to you.
6. She'd do all of your mending without complaining.
7. She'd sew you a homemade Cabbage Patch doll when you were 10.
8. She'd never nag you about producing grandchildren.
9. She'd bake all your favorite treats.
10. She'd dance with your crazy high school friends at your wedding.
Happy Birthday Bettina. I love you.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
I Live a Life of Embarrassment and Shame
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
I Have a Soulmate Out There Who Also Shops at Walgreens
Fuck this, indeed.
Labels: Shopping
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Once a Smart Ass, Always a Smart Ass
When I saw the familiar IGA sign it brought me back to a time in my late teens when I lived in a town with one stop light and worked in a small grocery store which was a member of the IGA. My uniform consisted of a red smock with an oval IGA patch sewn on, which included the registered trademark symbol. I cannot even count how many morons said “Thanks IGA” (rhymes with Ida), or asked me if IGA was my name. In my smart ass 17-year-old mind I would always think “Yes, you dumb fuck. My Mom named me IGA, then registered my name as a trademark, then embroidered it onto a patch so I could look just like the mechanics across the street.”
My thought patterns haven’t changed very much in the past 15 years.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Hey Hunan Wok - Suck It!
We had to get there early to avoid the three hour wait, but it was totally worth eating dinner at 4:45 p.m. like a couple of senior citizens.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Don't Cha Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me?
Labels: Good Stuff
Thursday, August 04, 2005
If Brown is the New Black, I Have a Serious Bone to Pick
Yesterday all of the planets must have aligned because I received a coupon, Christine’s baby shower is this weekend and I had nothing to wear, and the NY&Co. had just reopened after their remodel.
I drove over after work (I think it is very dangerous that I work exactly 2 blocks from a mall) and I was all excited. I stepped into the NY&Co. and simultaneously stepped into a tear in the space/time continuum, because I was suddenly 13 again and shopping at RAVE. After recovering from the de ja vu, my senses were literally bombarded all at once. The walls and floors were bright white and the music was so loud that I couldn’t open my eyes all the way. Oh, and the best part was that all the clothes were ugly, slutty, or a combination of the two. I probably spent 45 minutes walking around and around because I was determined to find something to wear, dammit. The fall clothes were out and apparently everything is going to be brown this season. I don’t hate brown; it’s just that my love for black is overwhelming. I have a strict code of ethics by which I live my life. The list is very long, but examples include not using the word “ain’t,” not exposing my midriff or stomach in public, not drinking beer before liquor, and not buying a pair of brown shoes and a brown purse to go with one skirt that I may wear twice in my life. I do not exaggerate when I say that every accessory I own is black, or has black in it.
I finally gave up and left the store. Empty handed, but with a brand new migraine. I just hope I don’t embarrass Christine on Saturday when I show up in my favorite pajama pants and last year’s black purse and black shoes.
Labels: Shopping
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Questions That I Will Never Have the Answers To:
2. Why do Zaxby’s salads always sound so much better than they actually are?
3. What has happened to the magazine distributor in my area that People is not being put out on Fridays anymore? Unacceptable.
4. Why would a woman name her son Pac Man Jones?
5. Why would 52 million people buy a LIVESTRONG bracelet, only to look like 51,999,999 other people?
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Things I Would Do Differently If I Was The Very Pregnant Britney Spears:
2. Stop wearing short shorts.
3. Brush my hair.
4. Make an attempt not to look homeless.
5. Ask my husband to get a job.
Adventures In Cooking
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but these recipes are freaking hard. I like to cook, and I still found myself rolling my eyes and muttering swear words when I read that some things have to be marinated overnight, or cooked in the oven for two hours and then put on the grill for 5 minutes. Some recipes require random ingredients that my Middle American grocery stores don’t even carry. On weeknights, if dinner can’t be cooked in less than 30 minutes, I’m out. And that’s when I’m in a good mood.
My first venture was Shoney’s country fried steak (not my choice if you knew me, but marriage is about compromise). This involved a trip to the store, putting the steaks in water, then flour, then water, then flour again, and freezing them overnight. Something about preventing the breading from falling off, or something about making life difficult, I can’t remember which one.
The following evening I was ready to cook the steaks we were hungry for the night before, but had ended up eating peanut butter sandwiches instead. I personally don’t believe in deep frying things at home because I think that we both get enough fried food in our regular diets, especially at lunch. But again, compromise. Anyhoo, I heat the oil and drop in the steaks, only to receive tiny 2nd degree burns all over my hands and face. “This sucks” I thought, and I still had to make the gravy. I followed the directions to the letter, but the gravy would not thicken by the time the steaks were done. Though I knew better, I thought it would be a good idea to sprinkle in a little flour while the gravy was boiling. Not a good idea. While it tasted fine, it was now gravy with hard flour balls, or dumplings as I chose to call them. After about 1 ½ hours dinner was ready. This was after taking the shortcuts of making canned corn and instant mashed potatoes.
I put everything on the dinner table, which others would call a coffee table, but it’s my house and I’ll call it whatever the hell I want. My kitchen and my entire person were covered in grease and the whole house smelled like a Shoney’s, minus the anticipation of having a slice of their strawberry pie later. I said to Joe “I hope you enjoy this because I’m never making it again.” It worked out well for me that it wasn’t very good.
My next venture was Outback’s Walkabout Soup which is usually my favorite part of my meal when we go there. The worst part was slicing the 3 onions. I don’t mind the watering of the eyes or the running of the nose, but I don’t remember it ever being that painful before. My eyes stung for hours. The soup turned out pretty well, probably because it called for a cup of heavy cream. I froze the leftovers and reheated them for lunch a couple days later, and the result was not very good. I ended up having Pringles for lunch that day.
I don’t know what my next try will be. I’m thinking the Key Lime cheesecake, but it will probably require me to wait for the full moon to fall on a Tuesday, and for me to actually drive to Key West to get the juice.
Labels: Cooking
Monday, August 01, 2005
Dizouble Dizutch
Sandra Lee bugs me. But like Rachael Ray, for some reason I can’t stop taping and watching her show. Maybe I enjoy the feeling of contempt. Today she was making an authentic Indian Dinner, if you can call anything she makes authentic. She goes nuts with the themes each week, right down to the window treatment and her outfit. I guess she couldn’t find a Sari or anything this time because she was wearing a t-shirt with a June Cleaver silkscreen. Go figure.
Saturday night we attempted to eat dinner at the new P.F. Chang’s. We got there at 6:30 p.m. and were told that there would be a 3 hour wait. Hahaha. That’s hilarious. We already knew that the Cheesecake Factory across the street would be a 3 hour wait as well, so we didn’t bother. We walked down to Maggiano’s, and their wait was a mere 2 ½ hours. Apparently we have no original thought. Both of these restaurants had revolving doors. I always thought people with fears of escalators and elevators were weird, because really, what’s the big deal? I am scared shitless of these doors. I can handle it if I am the only one in the door, and I can propel it myself. If it’s already spinning, forget about it. I get all nervous and feel like I am playing double dutch, and if I don’t jump in at exactly the right moment I will lose an appendage. We ended up walking down to Target and eating hot dogs and popcorn for dinner. Not really, that would have been too original for us.
Labels: TV