...or As the Pool Filters...
Okay, I'm really wiped out tonight, but I''ll try to get on tomorrow and write a scene from the soap opera that is my life. Seriously, today we had a lifeguard pull a shank on someone. Or offer a shank to someone. The report hasn't come in yet, but seriously, at no point in lifeguarding is there EVER a need to have a blade in your fanny pack.
The word "fanny" should indicate that no sharp object will ever go in there. Seriously. And yet one today, who was earing party pay, which is 12 bucks an hour, to lifeguard for 5 hours, pulled out a knife and offered it to a patron, either in a threatening manner toward the patron, which would be a pretty negative customer service behavior, or to share it with the patron, which would be generous, but also inappropriate.
I can't do my actual job for all these strange behaviors which are cropping up this year. It's INSANE.
But the jokes we make in the office after this kind of crap are pretty funny, I must admit.
I mean yesterday I had to handle an incident where a family decided to "swim at your own risk," in a neighborhood where that doesn't actually happen. We guard their pools, and they are locked, or supposed to be locked, whenever we don't have guards there. So somehow, the family got into the pool after school/work yesterday, and went for a swim. The water was lovely. The had a grand time. And then they tried to leave.
Only to find the gate was now locked.
Apparently it wasn't before.
And they were locked in. But not to worry, because some local kids saw them there and used a pokemon trading card to unlock the gate.
A trading card, people.
Meanwhile I'm trying to get swim lessons scheduled, and train 100+ lifeguards every weekend, all without going postal about the admin assistant I inherited.
Who believes that filing isn't very important, and "if you don't like the way I file, you'll have to do it yourself."
Yeah, she's a peach. A peach who's about to be unemployed.
But again, fodder for jokes, as we now "group" our filing by letters, rather than alphabetizing them. She did some filing work over in residential, where the filing cabinet has the letters A & B in one cabinet. C & D in another, etc. So those files... got grouped into A & B in one stack, and then on from there. Barnes comes before Andrews, and so forth and so on.
Maybe I should shank her with my trusty Pokemon trading card tomorrow?
Can you make a shiv out of a trading card...?
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Saturday, May 2, 2009
My shopping list
The past few days haven't been normal. I've been busy as heck at work, but I've also been getting it done, and kicking butt along the way, so it's okay. It has led to some strange errands at strange times though. Whether for work for for home I've bought some odd stuff.
I'm thinking it's a pretty good list, actually. It compared to the ones I used to make in Iraq. I'd tell my staff something like "I"m going to need three cases of paper towels, a wading pool full of popcorn, and all the jello we can get our hands on," and then we'd have an event.
This isn't all for an event, but I finally made it over to the gun dealer to pick up the shotgun, for home protection. A shotgun won't do you any good either, without shells. And is it my fault the dealer is a family friend, and sent me home with cases of ammunition for various weapons? Who knew I was the way for him to get his freebies out of the store?
They all rode home just fine in the jeep, next to my pool test kit, because I'm tired of having chemical problems at pools and no way to test them. "Uhm, Keira.... my skin is turning white and bubbling." You're allergic to chlorine, and that level is through the roof, so go take a shower and thank you for not litigating. "Uhm, Keira.... someone just puked in the pool." That'll happen. Let's just see if there's enough chlorine in this one. "Uhm, Keira... the pool is green. Really green." Yeah, I won't even bother testing that one. We'll just change locations of the class for the umpteenth time.
So yeah, a shotgun, lots of ammo, a chemical test kit, a brand spanking new cookie scoop, to make the ultimate in cake balls, and a back seat full of lifeguard uniforms makes for an interesting day. I'd already dropped the chocolates at the house, which when combined with my Mom's trip to the store, gave us something like fifteen pounds of chocolate suitable for melting. I decided today wasn't the day to do any melting though, as I'm whacked out on sudafed from this cold I've caught (shut up, it's not the swine flu) that I'd have probably covered the shotgun shells without thinking about it.
- Nine pounds of chocolate
- 2 boxes of shotgun shells
- 400 fanny packs, in a stylish red color
- 4 more dive bricks, clocking in at 10 pounds each, which they shipped together, for reasons unknown to me
- A couple whisks from Williams "Overpriced" Sonoma
- Let's not forget the shotgun, either. Be scared, I'm a registered gun owner now
- Sudafed - massive amounts of sudafed
I'm thinking it's a pretty good list, actually. It compared to the ones I used to make in Iraq. I'd tell my staff something like "I"m going to need three cases of paper towels, a wading pool full of popcorn, and all the jello we can get our hands on," and then we'd have an event.
This isn't all for an event, but I finally made it over to the gun dealer to pick up the shotgun, for home protection. A shotgun won't do you any good either, without shells. And is it my fault the dealer is a family friend, and sent me home with cases of ammunition for various weapons? Who knew I was the way for him to get his freebies out of the store?
They all rode home just fine in the jeep, next to my pool test kit, because I'm tired of having chemical problems at pools and no way to test them. "Uhm, Keira.... my skin is turning white and bubbling." You're allergic to chlorine, and that level is through the roof, so go take a shower and thank you for not litigating. "Uhm, Keira.... someone just puked in the pool." That'll happen. Let's just see if there's enough chlorine in this one. "Uhm, Keira... the pool is green. Really green." Yeah, I won't even bother testing that one. We'll just change locations of the class for the umpteenth time.
So yeah, a shotgun, lots of ammo, a chemical test kit, a brand spanking new cookie scoop, to make the ultimate in cake balls, and a back seat full of lifeguard uniforms makes for an interesting day. I'd already dropped the chocolates at the house, which when combined with my Mom's trip to the store, gave us something like fifteen pounds of chocolate suitable for melting. I decided today wasn't the day to do any melting though, as I'm whacked out on sudafed from this cold I've caught (shut up, it's not the swine flu) that I'd have probably covered the shotgun shells without thinking about it.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Fabulouser and fabulouserrrrrr
Really, you've got to be effing kidding me.
Forty-five minutes to leave my neighborhood this morning.
Forty-five minutes to go less than half a mile, because a traffic signal was out.
And that was just the start of the day.
Let me just say that when the underwire in my bra gave out... that was the high point. I'm walking down the hall and all of the sudden it's like I had a flat tire on the driver's side. Only it wasn't a tire. And thanks to my curves, it wasn't flat so much as off it's axle, out of alignment, in need of rotation and balance, or whatever freaking euphemism you want to apply.
So then I was effing lopsided the remainder of the day.
And I really liked that bra, too. We've had a short relationship with each other, but I thought it was a good one. Apparently it disagreed. Bastard.
Have you ever had to walk around the office lopsided, when you're trying to get up the cojones to fire someone? I mean sure I'm dead to rights to fire this guy because sexual harassment is NEVER tolerated, whether it's male on female, female on male, female on female or male on male. NEVER. But being lopsided pretty much dampened my tyrannical, mamma bear fervor for dealing with the issue immediately. Plus I had to wait until the company lawyers had signed off on it all.
Meanwhile I'm reading the reports about the events as they unfolded, and they involved an overly excitable gay male, who thinks he's a dainty little buttercup of a person, instead of the huge, lumbering bull in a china shop that he is... and some typical, average high school jocks. HIGH school. As in not yet of the age of majority, according to the great state of Texas. Buttercup the Bull decided they'd be sooooooooo much funnnnnnnnn to demonstrate lifeguarding skills with.... and he was wrong. Well, sure, they probably WERE fun, because they're fit and he's fat. They're young and he's not. They're students and he's the instructo.....
BASTARD!
No one, NO ONE, EVERRRRRRRRRRRR gets to make a student feel uncomfortable. Even if the student didn't KNOW what Buttercup the Bull was doing was inappropriate, the other lifeguard instructors DID know, and they lit my phone up like Christmas, the Fourth of July and New Year's Eve combined.
So there I am all lopsided and pissed off, waiting for my boss to get in to the office so we can call the lawyers and get on with the show. I'd had a payroll check cut and everything. Just needed the big boss so I could take care of the little weasel.
Big boss made to the office today at 4 pm.
Bastard.
And then when I'm dealing with all this, my cell phone rings. It's my mom. She's calling to let me know it's raining, and I should look at the weather before I leave the office.
I appreciated the heads' up, but at the same time, the message started out with "I know you're at work and I hate to bother you but this is your mother and father calling...."
Uhm, WHAT?!
Yes, we are having some monstrous, disastrous rain.
Something like 20 inches of rain in the past week and a half.
Yes, I hate driving in the rain.
But really - a phone call that started me off thinking that someone had been in a car accident, or Dad had had another heart attack? That was so not a good way to try and wrap up the day.
I had plenty of time to mull it over, too, as I had another hour and half commute. I spent 3 hours in the car today - wheeeeeeeeeeee!
I think I'll call in drunk soon. Take the day off, hide from everyone and go to the movies for 12 hours. Move to Antigua. Or volunteer to help out with the swine flu epidemic in Mexico City.
Because I really just need y'all to give me some breathing room so I don't turn into the screaming, raving bitch that I am every five seconds. (And just for the record, I don't know what that granola bar is doing in the pantry - perhaps Elvis left it when he visited with his spaceship. Also, I appreciate the offer but it seems like I'm back in kindergarten if my Mommy is packing my lunch, so I'll skip that all the same.)
Forty-five minutes to leave my neighborhood this morning.
Forty-five minutes to go less than half a mile, because a traffic signal was out.
And that was just the start of the day.
Let me just say that when the underwire in my bra gave out... that was the high point. I'm walking down the hall and all of the sudden it's like I had a flat tire on the driver's side. Only it wasn't a tire. And thanks to my curves, it wasn't flat so much as off it's axle, out of alignment, in need of rotation and balance, or whatever freaking euphemism you want to apply.
So then I was effing lopsided the remainder of the day.
And I really liked that bra, too. We've had a short relationship with each other, but I thought it was a good one. Apparently it disagreed. Bastard.
Have you ever had to walk around the office lopsided, when you're trying to get up the cojones to fire someone? I mean sure I'm dead to rights to fire this guy because sexual harassment is NEVER tolerated, whether it's male on female, female on male, female on female or male on male. NEVER. But being lopsided pretty much dampened my tyrannical, mamma bear fervor for dealing with the issue immediately. Plus I had to wait until the company lawyers had signed off on it all.
Meanwhile I'm reading the reports about the events as they unfolded, and they involved an overly excitable gay male, who thinks he's a dainty little buttercup of a person, instead of the huge, lumbering bull in a china shop that he is... and some typical, average high school jocks. HIGH school. As in not yet of the age of majority, according to the great state of Texas. Buttercup the Bull decided they'd be sooooooooo much funnnnnnnnn to demonstrate lifeguarding skills with.... and he was wrong. Well, sure, they probably WERE fun, because they're fit and he's fat. They're young and he's not. They're students and he's the instructo.....
BASTARD!
No one, NO ONE, EVERRRRRRRRRRRR gets to make a student feel uncomfortable. Even if the student didn't KNOW what Buttercup the Bull was doing was inappropriate, the other lifeguard instructors DID know, and they lit my phone up like Christmas, the Fourth of July and New Year's Eve combined.
So there I am all lopsided and pissed off, waiting for my boss to get in to the office so we can call the lawyers and get on with the show. I'd had a payroll check cut and everything. Just needed the big boss so I could take care of the little weasel.
Big boss made to the office today at 4 pm.
Bastard.
And then when I'm dealing with all this, my cell phone rings. It's my mom. She's calling to let me know it's raining, and I should look at the weather before I leave the office.
I appreciated the heads' up, but at the same time, the message started out with "I know you're at work and I hate to bother you but this is your mother and father calling...."
Uhm, WHAT?!
Yes, we are having some monstrous, disastrous rain.
Something like 20 inches of rain in the past week and a half.
Yes, I hate driving in the rain.
But really - a phone call that started me off thinking that someone had been in a car accident, or Dad had had another heart attack? That was so not a good way to try and wrap up the day.
I had plenty of time to mull it over, too, as I had another hour and half commute. I spent 3 hours in the car today - wheeeeeeeeeeee!
I think I'll call in drunk soon. Take the day off, hide from everyone and go to the movies for 12 hours. Move to Antigua. Or volunteer to help out with the swine flu epidemic in Mexico City.
Because I really just need y'all to give me some breathing room so I don't turn into the screaming, raving bitch that I am every five seconds. (And just for the record, I don't know what that granola bar is doing in the pantry - perhaps Elvis left it when he visited with his spaceship. Also, I appreciate the offer but it seems like I'm back in kindergarten if my Mommy is packing my lunch, so I'll skip that all the same.)
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Updates
Been busy as heck. No, been busy as hell. Work has kicked my butt all the way to Iraq and back again this week. And then when I thought things were finally settling down... I got kicked to the moon.
So, updates.
The garden:
It's growing and doing it's leafy thing. We pulled off a bunch of yellow beans today, with the help of a bouncing, buoyant Risa Roo, so that the plants would get bigger instead of trying to put off fruit. ...beans... fruit. Whatever. But seriously, it's growing and doing well. Looks like a bumper crop of zucchini is going to come in, which is going to make for some interesting meals around here.
The raccoons:
Last time I wrote, we'd put out a trap for the coons. Baited it with a can of tuna. And promptly caught a cat.
The same night though, Mom heard a ruckus on the porch roof. Or the porch roof rafters. It wasn't my party to hear, since I live on the other side of the house, but I hear tell it was quite the showdown. And the raccoons haven't been heard from since.
So they're either lying really, really low, and running silent like a submarine, or they've moved on to greener pastures. I'm hoping it's the greener pastures thing, because pretty soon someone is going to have to stick their head up into the garage attic and take a look around.
The jeep:
Still has narcolepsy, or some other undiagnosed automotive medical disorder. Seriously, I know a fair amount about cars and the best I can come up with is narcolepsy because the jeep just randomly stalls out with no hint it's coming. I'll be running down the road at 70 miles an hour, full power, full everything, and a tenth of a second later, the jeep has stalled out, no lights, no gauges, no indicators on, so I pop it into neutral and restart it. It always starts. Every time. Of course the same stall can happen at idle at a red light, too, but I really like the challenge of the high speed stall out to keep me guessing.
So here's the skinny:
2000 jeep wrangler, 4.0 liter, sahara edition
111,000 miles on it
I've changed out the crankshaft positioning sensor, the throttle positioning sensor, the fuel pump and the camshaft positioning sensor. I've always had regular maintenance done on it, and aside from a leak at the rear differential, everything is running in top form right now. The check engine light came on last Sunday, and I was thrilled. Turned out to just be a random misfire, which did me no good, because it's not really a spark plug issue. And then the check engine light reset itself and went back off, a day after I had the code read.
So yeah, as I said, it's narcolepsy. She just forgets what she's doing and falls asleep.
Work:
Chaos, mayhem and madness prevail. I'm working Iraq hours right now, for Victory Junction pay. I could work 100 hours a week for the next month and still be 3 months behind. Spring is so much fun. So if you feel like planning swim lessons for about a hundred communities across Houston, or typing up some more in-service training, let me know. You can also plan additional lifeguard classes, if you're feeling really froggy.
Right now I'm just holding steady over at the office. I think I'm getting close to even, and then I have a weekend like this one, with green pools, fighting instructors and sexual harassment. So tomorrow I'll fire someone, because gay or straight, you do NOT get flirty with your students. EVER. And seriously, if you're a big, fat, hyperactive chipmunk, don't think it's cool either, to email a picture of yourself without a shirt on to another instructor. That's just disgusting on about a thousand different levels. I hear I have the picture in my email at the office, too, and I refuse to check it because I don't want to have to bleach my retinas.
Relaxation:
Uhm, I made cake balls.
Cake.
Icing.
Mixed together and shaped into little balls.
Covered in melted chocolate.
Damn, they're good.
And apparently if you're in Dallas, you can charge the moon for them. http://cakeballs.com/
I always thought they were rather pretentious in Dallas. This just confirms it....
And now I really want some super duper thin onion rings. Is 9:30 too late to make them? Really? You sure?
So, updates.
The garden:
It's growing and doing it's leafy thing. We pulled off a bunch of yellow beans today, with the help of a bouncing, buoyant Risa Roo, so that the plants would get bigger instead of trying to put off fruit. ...beans... fruit. Whatever. But seriously, it's growing and doing well. Looks like a bumper crop of zucchini is going to come in, which is going to make for some interesting meals around here.
The raccoons:
Last time I wrote, we'd put out a trap for the coons. Baited it with a can of tuna. And promptly caught a cat.
The same night though, Mom heard a ruckus on the porch roof. Or the porch roof rafters. It wasn't my party to hear, since I live on the other side of the house, but I hear tell it was quite the showdown. And the raccoons haven't been heard from since.
So they're either lying really, really low, and running silent like a submarine, or they've moved on to greener pastures. I'm hoping it's the greener pastures thing, because pretty soon someone is going to have to stick their head up into the garage attic and take a look around.
The jeep:
Still has narcolepsy, or some other undiagnosed automotive medical disorder. Seriously, I know a fair amount about cars and the best I can come up with is narcolepsy because the jeep just randomly stalls out with no hint it's coming. I'll be running down the road at 70 miles an hour, full power, full everything, and a tenth of a second later, the jeep has stalled out, no lights, no gauges, no indicators on, so I pop it into neutral and restart it. It always starts. Every time. Of course the same stall can happen at idle at a red light, too, but I really like the challenge of the high speed stall out to keep me guessing.
So here's the skinny:
2000 jeep wrangler, 4.0 liter, sahara edition
111,000 miles on it
I've changed out the crankshaft positioning sensor, the throttle positioning sensor, the fuel pump and the camshaft positioning sensor. I've always had regular maintenance done on it, and aside from a leak at the rear differential, everything is running in top form right now. The check engine light came on last Sunday, and I was thrilled. Turned out to just be a random misfire, which did me no good, because it's not really a spark plug issue. And then the check engine light reset itself and went back off, a day after I had the code read.
So yeah, as I said, it's narcolepsy. She just forgets what she's doing and falls asleep.
Work:
Chaos, mayhem and madness prevail. I'm working Iraq hours right now, for Victory Junction pay. I could work 100 hours a week for the next month and still be 3 months behind. Spring is so much fun. So if you feel like planning swim lessons for about a hundred communities across Houston, or typing up some more in-service training, let me know. You can also plan additional lifeguard classes, if you're feeling really froggy.
Right now I'm just holding steady over at the office. I think I'm getting close to even, and then I have a weekend like this one, with green pools, fighting instructors and sexual harassment. So tomorrow I'll fire someone, because gay or straight, you do NOT get flirty with your students. EVER. And seriously, if you're a big, fat, hyperactive chipmunk, don't think it's cool either, to email a picture of yourself without a shirt on to another instructor. That's just disgusting on about a thousand different levels. I hear I have the picture in my email at the office, too, and I refuse to check it because I don't want to have to bleach my retinas.
Relaxation:
Uhm, I made cake balls.
Cake.
Icing.
Mixed together and shaped into little balls.
Covered in melted chocolate.
Damn, they're good.
And apparently if you're in Dallas, you can charge the moon for them. http://cakeballs.com/
I always thought they were rather pretentious in Dallas. This just confirms it....
And now I really want some super duper thin onion rings. Is 9:30 too late to make them? Really? You sure?
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Heh.
I've always been very self-sufficient and independent. It's probably one of the big reasons I'm still single. Well, that and the fact that I've run into more than my fair share of men who turned out to be married, engaged or otherwise occupied. But anyway, yeah, I'm very much the do it yourself kind of woman.
I hear tell that can be attractive, at first. And then it gets intimidating as heck. I don't know. I'm not a guy. I don't suffer from penis envy. I just do what I need to do to get through each day. Although I will gladly let someone else do it for me, too, if they are available. Unfortunately, that availability thing doesn't work out so well when the guy you want to date is in Iraq. Or Wyoming. Or anywhere other than the passenger seat of my jeep.
So yesterday I brought home a boat load of paperwork that was time sensitive. I cranked it out and finished things up around midnight. And then I was wound up so I was up until about 1 am. Which meant today stunk. But I also made the conscious decision to come home a couple hours early and relax.
After I took care of a few errands. So my soft deadline of a 2 pm departure turned into my 3 pm hard deadline, and I got back to the north side of town right on schedule. I also noticed that my check engine light had turned itself back off, since the jeep computer reset itself after yet another "random misfire" occurred over the weekend. (The jeep has narcolepsy, in my opinion, which I'm sure to gripe about at some other time.)
Life was good. I was home early, and I ran to the grocery store and picked up cake mix and frosting. Not to make a cake, but instead to make cake balls, which sounds obscene and probably has an obscene amount of calories in them, now that I think about it. Fortunately, they're going over to the troops, if they turn out well. Heck, they're going to the troops even if they don't turn out well, because that's how I roll.
I got home and unloaded the groceries. I dashed up and changed into old shorts and a t-shirt too, because the lady who lives downstairs, otherwise known as my Mom, had finally decided we were ready to tackle the leaking kitchen sink. Go Mom! First I mixed up the cake though, and got that started.
Because I had an agenda. It went like this:
1. Bake cake, let it cool. Crumble, mix with tons of icing. Make cake balls. (I got as far as baking the cake, okay?)
2. Figure out what was wrong with sink. Fix problem. (We found the leak, and I had to call for reinforcements. I'll keep you posted.)
3. Go to Staples and get the USB cable for new printer at work. (Done!) (Bought some other crap I couldn't live without, either.)
4. Go next door to Hobby Lobby and buy the chocolate wafers to make cake balls. And paper lollipop sticks, in case I wanted to make cake pops, too. (Bought 'em. Also bought 3 bags of pillow batting, to restuff the armchair cushion in my room.)
5. Go to Home Depot and get whatever I needed for the sink. (Didn't really need to do that trip now did I?)
6. Go to the car wash lube center and get the oil changed, then get the complimentary full service car wash on the jeep. (It was an option, okay?)
That was the agenda. It morphed the minute I walked out of Hobby Lobby, because there was a woman a bit younger than me staring at the right front tire of her car. I tossed my purchases into the jeep and approached her to see if she needed help. The hood was down and the trunk was open, so it was either a call the auto club moment or change a tire moment. I needed a shower afterward, so you can guess what I did about 5:45 tonight.
And I was done by 6.
Hah!
As Kim held up the trunk carpet liner, I pulled out her donut. Then we took out the jack. I loosed the lug nuts, jacked up the car, and swapped the tire out. Right as we were lowering the jack, two guys walked out of the store and approached us warily. Granted I understand that, because I'm the whitest white person I know, all slobbed out in home repair clothes. And there's a dainty, beautiful black woman squatting next to me as we worked, who was in office clothes. It was probably a very unusual site to begin with.
And then there's the fact that women in our society do not want to be approached by strange men, even if they are stuck with car problems in a parking lot. It's just not a comforting feeling. So the older guy of the pair ambled up, about ten yards away, and asked if we needed help. I told him we were almost done, and thanked him.
Then he stood back and watched. "It sure is fun to watch two women change a tire! It's not something you see every day!"
No, no I bet it's not.
Then I came home and scrubbed up a bit. Tumped the cake over onto a cookie sheet to continue cooling. Ate some spring rolls. Went upstairs and restuffed my armchair cushion. Chatted online with a friend for a couple minutes. Then broke down, took a shower, started some laundry and then messed with cake some more.
It was a pretty typical day.
I hear tell that can be attractive, at first. And then it gets intimidating as heck. I don't know. I'm not a guy. I don't suffer from penis envy. I just do what I need to do to get through each day. Although I will gladly let someone else do it for me, too, if they are available. Unfortunately, that availability thing doesn't work out so well when the guy you want to date is in Iraq. Or Wyoming. Or anywhere other than the passenger seat of my jeep.
So yesterday I brought home a boat load of paperwork that was time sensitive. I cranked it out and finished things up around midnight. And then I was wound up so I was up until about 1 am. Which meant today stunk. But I also made the conscious decision to come home a couple hours early and relax.
After I took care of a few errands. So my soft deadline of a 2 pm departure turned into my 3 pm hard deadline, and I got back to the north side of town right on schedule. I also noticed that my check engine light had turned itself back off, since the jeep computer reset itself after yet another "random misfire" occurred over the weekend. (The jeep has narcolepsy, in my opinion, which I'm sure to gripe about at some other time.)
Life was good. I was home early, and I ran to the grocery store and picked up cake mix and frosting. Not to make a cake, but instead to make cake balls, which sounds obscene and probably has an obscene amount of calories in them, now that I think about it. Fortunately, they're going over to the troops, if they turn out well. Heck, they're going to the troops even if they don't turn out well, because that's how I roll.
I got home and unloaded the groceries. I dashed up and changed into old shorts and a t-shirt too, because the lady who lives downstairs, otherwise known as my Mom, had finally decided we were ready to tackle the leaking kitchen sink. Go Mom! First I mixed up the cake though, and got that started.
Because I had an agenda. It went like this:
1. Bake cake, let it cool. Crumble, mix with tons of icing. Make cake balls. (I got as far as baking the cake, okay?)
2. Figure out what was wrong with sink. Fix problem. (We found the leak, and I had to call for reinforcements. I'll keep you posted.)
3. Go to Staples and get the USB cable for new printer at work. (Done!) (Bought some other crap I couldn't live without, either.)
4. Go next door to Hobby Lobby and buy the chocolate wafers to make cake balls. And paper lollipop sticks, in case I wanted to make cake pops, too. (Bought 'em. Also bought 3 bags of pillow batting, to restuff the armchair cushion in my room.)
5. Go to Home Depot and get whatever I needed for the sink. (Didn't really need to do that trip now did I?)
6. Go to the car wash lube center and get the oil changed, then get the complimentary full service car wash on the jeep. (It was an option, okay?)
That was the agenda. It morphed the minute I walked out of Hobby Lobby, because there was a woman a bit younger than me staring at the right front tire of her car. I tossed my purchases into the jeep and approached her to see if she needed help. The hood was down and the trunk was open, so it was either a call the auto club moment or change a tire moment. I needed a shower afterward, so you can guess what I did about 5:45 tonight.
And I was done by 6.
Hah!
As Kim held up the trunk carpet liner, I pulled out her donut. Then we took out the jack. I loosed the lug nuts, jacked up the car, and swapped the tire out. Right as we were lowering the jack, two guys walked out of the store and approached us warily. Granted I understand that, because I'm the whitest white person I know, all slobbed out in home repair clothes. And there's a dainty, beautiful black woman squatting next to me as we worked, who was in office clothes. It was probably a very unusual site to begin with.
And then there's the fact that women in our society do not want to be approached by strange men, even if they are stuck with car problems in a parking lot. It's just not a comforting feeling. So the older guy of the pair ambled up, about ten yards away, and asked if we needed help. I told him we were almost done, and thanked him.
Then he stood back and watched. "It sure is fun to watch two women change a tire! It's not something you see every day!"
No, no I bet it's not.
Then I came home and scrubbed up a bit. Tumped the cake over onto a cookie sheet to continue cooling. Ate some spring rolls. Went upstairs and restuffed my armchair cushion. Chatted online with a friend for a couple minutes. Then broke down, took a shower, started some laundry and then messed with cake some more.
It was a pretty typical day.
You're Kidding
Really, you've got to be kidding. Seriously. The crackerjack reporting team over at Live Science gifted the AP wire with an article today that has to be a joke. It has to be.
Because really?
You're telling me that people don't understand rainy weather forecasts?
If it's not a joke, it's going on the list of ways to piss me off.
Seriously, the guy with the bad hairstyle and the out of fashion tie stands in front of a green screen and looks sideways. He waves his hands like a magician over the green screen and tells us what the weather is going to do for the next couple days. Sure, it's a best guess, and that's pretty tricky, but that isn't where the problem comes in, apparently.
No, it's that people don't understand what it means when there is "a 20% chance of rain from now until September." Sure, that's a Houston specific forecast, because we're subtropical here and get a lot of rain. All at once.
But really, when the skinny guy in the bad tie refuses to make eye contact with the camera because he's so busy reading his computer monitor off screen and trying to get his hand motions to match up to the right location as he scans the teleprompter too. Wait, I lost track of what I was saying...
Okay, yeah. When the weathercaster says there is a 20% chance of rain for the day, there seems to be confusion among the masses. Does it mean it's going to rain over 20% of the viewing area? Does it mean it's going to rain for 20% of the time? Does it mean I should take 20% of an umbrella or a rain jacket?
No. No it doesn't.
And you're idiots if you think it does.
No really, you're idiots. It had to be said. I'm sorry if it seemed harsh, but it's true.
And the guys at Live Science spent a good 3 pages of my computer screen to tell me just how to interpret the weather forecast, in case I'm one of those idiots, too.
I'm not. And none of you better be, either.
If there's a 20% chance of rain, and you live in an area where you get those wicked fun daily afternoon storms, you should take your umbrella or wear fast drying natural fibers when you're running around at 3 o'clock. If you live in an area that never gets rain, chances are good you won't, but you might.
Because on other days, when the weather conditions have been just the same, you've gotten rain 20% of the time. And when the forecast says there's an 80% chance of rain. Yeah, it's actually rained 80% of the time on days with matching conditions. So that means that on a nice April day, after a cool front has come through the city and dumped 9 inches of rain in 24 hours, and then the weather dried up and cleared up, warming into the mid-80's for a day, that on day 3, when there is a 50% chance of rain....
It means you're probably going to get wet, but what you do behind your bedroom door is up to you.
And as for the rain, well, there's a 50/50 chance it will rain, but it might not.
So do what every sane person does.
Put an umbrella in the car and then forget it's there, so you can stare out into the parking lot wishing you had it with you when it does rain.
Seriously.
Because really?
You're telling me that people don't understand rainy weather forecasts?
If it's not a joke, it's going on the list of ways to piss me off.
Seriously, the guy with the bad hairstyle and the out of fashion tie stands in front of a green screen and looks sideways. He waves his hands like a magician over the green screen and tells us what the weather is going to do for the next couple days. Sure, it's a best guess, and that's pretty tricky, but that isn't where the problem comes in, apparently.
No, it's that people don't understand what it means when there is "a 20% chance of rain from now until September." Sure, that's a Houston specific forecast, because we're subtropical here and get a lot of rain. All at once.
But really, when the skinny guy in the bad tie refuses to make eye contact with the camera because he's so busy reading his computer monitor off screen and trying to get his hand motions to match up to the right location as he scans the teleprompter too. Wait, I lost track of what I was saying...
Okay, yeah. When the weathercaster says there is a 20% chance of rain for the day, there seems to be confusion among the masses. Does it mean it's going to rain over 20% of the viewing area? Does it mean it's going to rain for 20% of the time? Does it mean I should take 20% of an umbrella or a rain jacket?
No. No it doesn't.
And you're idiots if you think it does.
No really, you're idiots. It had to be said. I'm sorry if it seemed harsh, but it's true.
And the guys at Live Science spent a good 3 pages of my computer screen to tell me just how to interpret the weather forecast, in case I'm one of those idiots, too.
I'm not. And none of you better be, either.
If there's a 20% chance of rain, and you live in an area where you get those wicked fun daily afternoon storms, you should take your umbrella or wear fast drying natural fibers when you're running around at 3 o'clock. If you live in an area that never gets rain, chances are good you won't, but you might.
Because on other days, when the weather conditions have been just the same, you've gotten rain 20% of the time. And when the forecast says there's an 80% chance of rain. Yeah, it's actually rained 80% of the time on days with matching conditions. So that means that on a nice April day, after a cool front has come through the city and dumped 9 inches of rain in 24 hours, and then the weather dried up and cleared up, warming into the mid-80's for a day, that on day 3, when there is a 50% chance of rain....
It means you're probably going to get wet, but what you do behind your bedroom door is up to you.
And as for the rain, well, there's a 50/50 chance it will rain, but it might not.
So do what every sane person does.
Put an umbrella in the car and then forget it's there, so you can stare out into the parking lot wishing you had it with you when it does rain.
Seriously.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Fabulous
Let's review my day, just for fun. No, actually, let's start with yesterday afternoon. Because that was such a joy.
For those of you who aren't local, Houston is a big freaking city. I'm not saying it's fat. I'm saying it's big. It covers some real estate. Some serious territory. My normal commute to and from work each day totals 73 miles, since I live in the equivalent of south Dallas and work in the equivalent of New Mexico. It's a high speed drive, which is a good thing, otherwise, it'd be unbearable. As it is, it's barely tolerable.
Then there are the bonus trips I have to make now and then to pick up equipment, drop off a key, or go meet an instructor. Yesterday was one of those days. I had lifeguard classes starting in 5 different locations throughout the city. And I had to pick up a key in Maine. Okay, it wasn't Maine, but it might as well have been. Because the trip that should have taken about fifty minutes took me two hours... and fifty minutes. That's right. I had my butt planted in the jeep seat for one hundred and seventy minutes. To cover 41 miles. Hell, I tell you. Hell.
Because it was raining so hard there shouldn't be a frog alive in Houston any longer. Not one speck of dust. Not one bit of trash. It all should be in the Gulf of Mexico by now, it rained that hard. And it sucked.
Anyway, the storms ended yesterday evening, right after I made it to my exit on the freeway.
Today started about the same way. Overcast but no rain while I was picking up donuts and kolaches for my lifeguard instructors. Then I headed over to the pool they were going to be at, and it started sprinkling. Then it drizzled a bit, while the students started arriving. Meanwhile I didn't have any instructors yet, but a half dozen phone calls found almost all of them. And more kids showed up.
Meanwhile, 3 other sites are calling in with problems from their lifeguard classes. Students in the wrong spots. Students in the right spots on the wrong days. And oh, yeah, it's raining like hell. And some missing instructors at another location. They got lost.
So I'm still at the first place and the instructors are getting the tv set up. It's a simple process. Only when we plug it in, the damned thing has a picture exactly 1 inch tall by 25 or so inches across. Fine if you're a smurf, but not so good for humans. So it's off to Wal-Mart I go. In the now strengthening rain.
Did you know the rat bastards at Wal-Mart stock about 10 of the 50 or so models they have on display? Sure, they show you an "old fashioned" tube television set that comes in a 26 inch model. But you can't buy it. You can't buy any tube tv at all, unless you want a little 14 incher for your kid's bedroom. I don't have a kid. I needed a tv that 27 students could actually see. So I had to buy a flat screen high definition LCD tv. Do you have any idea how fragile those things actually are? Because I'm about to find out, since we move the tv's to a new location for teaching about every 2 weeks. Five hundred bucks that is sure to be broken in a year. Or less.
So the class is calling me frantic to know where I am with their tv. Uhm, trying to buy it? And the other classes are calling me with problems too. Seriously, I used up the entire battery on my cell phone in an hour and a half.
Oh, and I dropped my wallet in the parking lot, so now there's a grease stain on it. And a matching one on the seat of the jeep where it ended up. My poor baby jeep. I'd pretty much say that everything that could have gone wrong between 8 am and 10 am did. And I was ready to cry.
I came home for a brief break, and some dry shoes.
Then I went back out to the location that was starting after lunch.
When I got there last night, one of the pools was green. Took care of that then, too. And today, the instructors were on point. They were all kinds of ready to teach CPR. And then they started unpacking the equipment the RED CROSS had rented to us. Rented fully prepared. And it wasn't prepared. No manikin faces. No manikin lungs. Crap. Crap. Crap crap crap.
So I was back in the jeep. And driving from Maine to New Mexico and back to Maine. Only now the rain was coming down so hard, so fast, and so much that the weather reports said we received 6 and a half inches in an hour. I was driving in it. People couldn't exit the freeway because there was 3 feet of water waiting for them on the feeder roads. No place to go for them, but luckily my route was clear, if treacherous, the whole way.
And while I was driving, my phone rang again. Turns out that another tv at another location died. And it was another trip to Wal Mart, and another five hundred bucks spent. It's been a damned expensive day.
I burned through a tank of gas in 24 hours and I wasn't on a road trip.
I spent 2 hours on the phone refereeing between lifeguard instructors.
I alternated between soaking wet and mildly damp for the past 24 hours.
And then, right at the end of the day, as I was finally driving home... the effing sun came out, like it had never rained at all.
Life kicked my butt today. Tomorrow looks to be more of the same.
I'm going to take a nap, since it's cheaper than taking up drinking. Ugh.
For those of you who aren't local, Houston is a big freaking city. I'm not saying it's fat. I'm saying it's big. It covers some real estate. Some serious territory. My normal commute to and from work each day totals 73 miles, since I live in the equivalent of south Dallas and work in the equivalent of New Mexico. It's a high speed drive, which is a good thing, otherwise, it'd be unbearable. As it is, it's barely tolerable.
Then there are the bonus trips I have to make now and then to pick up equipment, drop off a key, or go meet an instructor. Yesterday was one of those days. I had lifeguard classes starting in 5 different locations throughout the city. And I had to pick up a key in Maine. Okay, it wasn't Maine, but it might as well have been. Because the trip that should have taken about fifty minutes took me two hours... and fifty minutes. That's right. I had my butt planted in the jeep seat for one hundred and seventy minutes. To cover 41 miles. Hell, I tell you. Hell.
Because it was raining so hard there shouldn't be a frog alive in Houston any longer. Not one speck of dust. Not one bit of trash. It all should be in the Gulf of Mexico by now, it rained that hard. And it sucked.
Anyway, the storms ended yesterday evening, right after I made it to my exit on the freeway.
Today started about the same way. Overcast but no rain while I was picking up donuts and kolaches for my lifeguard instructors. Then I headed over to the pool they were going to be at, and it started sprinkling. Then it drizzled a bit, while the students started arriving. Meanwhile I didn't have any instructors yet, but a half dozen phone calls found almost all of them. And more kids showed up.
Meanwhile, 3 other sites are calling in with problems from their lifeguard classes. Students in the wrong spots. Students in the right spots on the wrong days. And oh, yeah, it's raining like hell. And some missing instructors at another location. They got lost.
So I'm still at the first place and the instructors are getting the tv set up. It's a simple process. Only when we plug it in, the damned thing has a picture exactly 1 inch tall by 25 or so inches across. Fine if you're a smurf, but not so good for humans. So it's off to Wal-Mart I go. In the now strengthening rain.
Did you know the rat bastards at Wal-Mart stock about 10 of the 50 or so models they have on display? Sure, they show you an "old fashioned" tube television set that comes in a 26 inch model. But you can't buy it. You can't buy any tube tv at all, unless you want a little 14 incher for your kid's bedroom. I don't have a kid. I needed a tv that 27 students could actually see. So I had to buy a flat screen high definition LCD tv. Do you have any idea how fragile those things actually are? Because I'm about to find out, since we move the tv's to a new location for teaching about every 2 weeks. Five hundred bucks that is sure to be broken in a year. Or less.
So the class is calling me frantic to know where I am with their tv. Uhm, trying to buy it? And the other classes are calling me with problems too. Seriously, I used up the entire battery on my cell phone in an hour and a half.
Oh, and I dropped my wallet in the parking lot, so now there's a grease stain on it. And a matching one on the seat of the jeep where it ended up. My poor baby jeep. I'd pretty much say that everything that could have gone wrong between 8 am and 10 am did. And I was ready to cry.
I came home for a brief break, and some dry shoes.
Then I went back out to the location that was starting after lunch.
When I got there last night, one of the pools was green. Took care of that then, too. And today, the instructors were on point. They were all kinds of ready to teach CPR. And then they started unpacking the equipment the RED CROSS had rented to us. Rented fully prepared. And it wasn't prepared. No manikin faces. No manikin lungs. Crap. Crap. Crap crap crap.
So I was back in the jeep. And driving from Maine to New Mexico and back to Maine. Only now the rain was coming down so hard, so fast, and so much that the weather reports said we received 6 and a half inches in an hour. I was driving in it. People couldn't exit the freeway because there was 3 feet of water waiting for them on the feeder roads. No place to go for them, but luckily my route was clear, if treacherous, the whole way.
And while I was driving, my phone rang again. Turns out that another tv at another location died. And it was another trip to Wal Mart, and another five hundred bucks spent. It's been a damned expensive day.
I burned through a tank of gas in 24 hours and I wasn't on a road trip.
I spent 2 hours on the phone refereeing between lifeguard instructors.
I alternated between soaking wet and mildly damp for the past 24 hours.
And then, right at the end of the day, as I was finally driving home... the effing sun came out, like it had never rained at all.
Life kicked my butt today. Tomorrow looks to be more of the same.
I'm going to take a nap, since it's cheaper than taking up drinking. Ugh.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Ways to tick me off
Okay, so if you haven't figured it out, there are about a million ways to tick me off. We've covered some of them here already, and I never look back, so you're on your own if you missed the lesson already. Next lesson up on deck is voice mail.
Voice mail, according to the gurus at wikipedia.org (donate money, they're worth it for the number of bar bets they solve) was invented by both IBM and Xerox when I was 2 years old. I'm 35, people, so we're not talking about new technology. Not even close to new. And sure, people started out with earlier versions of message machines, where they'd leave torturous family greetings like, "Hi, You've reached the Obama's - Barack, Michelle, Shasha, Malia and Bo (someone tries to get the dog to bark here) can't come to the phone right now, so leave a message and we'll call you back!" And then finally the dog barks. You remember those. Sure, you haven't heard THAT greeting, but you remember that answering machine. Where the longer the beep was, the more messages were already on the tape.
So now, we're modern. We're high tech. Everyone has voice mail on their cell phones. And if they don't have it there, for sure they have an answering machine at home. Because we're all so damned important that we MUST be reachable, twenty four hours a day, in mediums other than the internet spam we get. (No, thank you for the offer, but I do not need any medication for my erectile dysfunction as I do not have a penis to W*O*W her with.)
We get our new phone and we set up our cool ring back tones (HATEEEEEEEEEEEE) and our custom ringtones for each of our callers. Generic ringtones aren't enough. Nope, we have to download that crap from the wireless carrier du jour at some insane rate that never really seems like a problem... if you stop at one ringtone. But no one ever stops at one. Just ask the guys over at Frito Lay who are shipping those potato chips like they are going out of style. Betcha can't eat just one. It's the same with the ring tones.
So you get this phone, and you customize it. And you leave a near incomprehensible message for the caller because you just can't make it to the phone at that particular minute. For instance, "hey yo this is B I can't get you now so hit me back wit some'in an' I'll get wit you." I believe that translates into, "hello, caller, this is Barack and I can't take your call right now. Please leave your number and a message and I will return your call as quickly as possible." Mind you there is some incredibly loud, annoying music track playing in the room, too, or sports center, blasting away while the telephone owner leaves said greeting, which makes it all the harder to translate to comprehensible language.
All that is annoying as hell. But that's not what ticks me off!
Be quiet. You know I make a long story long, and if you didn't like it, you'd have deleted the email by now.
What ticks me off is this:
I call you. I get your greeting. I wait for the beep and I leave you a thorough and complete message, thus negating the need for you to call me back. And you, you stupid idiot, decide that you should have actually answered that telephone call who's number you didn't instantly recognize on your caller ID... and you call me back.
Don't do that!
Don't call me back instantly. Unless you know me personally and know me well, don't call me back. Just check your damned voice mail. Because the next time I call 197 kids in 1 day to remind them of their lifeguard training, and they choose to call me back to find out what I wanted... I'm going to tell them to check their voice mail. And then I'm going to hang up on them.
Seriously. What's the point of having voice mail if you aren't going to bother to listen to the message.
"I saw you called. What's up?"
"Did you listen to your voice mail?"
"Nahhh, I haven't bothered to check that."
That, right there... that's where I'm hanging up on you.
I understand your time is precious. So is mine. That's why I left you a voice mail. To cut down on me calling and calling and calling until I got you on the phone, I instead chose to take advantage of the technology you presented to me for my use, and I left you a message. Because I do NOT have time to talk to 197 voice mail systems, and then talk to 197 people live, when they decide to call me back instead of listening to their message.
I mean hell, I even use my announcer voice when I leave these messages, so they're entertaining and informative, all at the same time.
Technology... use it, don't abuse it
....disclaimer.... Story Hour is in no way endorsed or read by President Obama or his family, but I sat in traffic for 2 hours and moved 4 miles, so I'm really freaking tired and stressed out, so I couldn't come up with another family who I could actually remember all their names. At least I'm politically aware, right? Right?
Voice mail, according to the gurus at wikipedia.org (donate money, they're worth it for the number of bar bets they solve) was invented by both IBM and Xerox when I was 2 years old. I'm 35, people, so we're not talking about new technology. Not even close to new. And sure, people started out with earlier versions of message machines, where they'd leave torturous family greetings like, "Hi, You've reached the Obama's - Barack, Michelle, Shasha, Malia and Bo (someone tries to get the dog to bark here) can't come to the phone right now, so leave a message and we'll call you back!" And then finally the dog barks. You remember those. Sure, you haven't heard THAT greeting, but you remember that answering machine. Where the longer the beep was, the more messages were already on the tape.
So now, we're modern. We're high tech. Everyone has voice mail on their cell phones. And if they don't have it there, for sure they have an answering machine at home. Because we're all so damned important that we MUST be reachable, twenty four hours a day, in mediums other than the internet spam we get. (No, thank you for the offer, but I do not need any medication for my erectile dysfunction as I do not have a penis to W*O*W her with.)
We get our new phone and we set up our cool ring back tones (HATEEEEEEEEEEEE) and our custom ringtones for each of our callers. Generic ringtones aren't enough. Nope, we have to download that crap from the wireless carrier du jour at some insane rate that never really seems like a problem... if you stop at one ringtone. But no one ever stops at one. Just ask the guys over at Frito Lay who are shipping those potato chips like they are going out of style. Betcha can't eat just one. It's the same with the ring tones.
So you get this phone, and you customize it. And you leave a near incomprehensible message for the caller because you just can't make it to the phone at that particular minute. For instance, "hey yo this is B I can't get you now so hit me back wit some'in an' I'll get wit you." I believe that translates into, "hello, caller, this is Barack and I can't take your call right now. Please leave your number and a message and I will return your call as quickly as possible." Mind you there is some incredibly loud, annoying music track playing in the room, too, or sports center, blasting away while the telephone owner leaves said greeting, which makes it all the harder to translate to comprehensible language.
All that is annoying as hell. But that's not what ticks me off!
Be quiet. You know I make a long story long, and if you didn't like it, you'd have deleted the email by now.
What ticks me off is this:
I call you. I get your greeting. I wait for the beep and I leave you a thorough and complete message, thus negating the need for you to call me back. And you, you stupid idiot, decide that you should have actually answered that telephone call who's number you didn't instantly recognize on your caller ID... and you call me back.
Don't do that!
Don't call me back instantly. Unless you know me personally and know me well, don't call me back. Just check your damned voice mail. Because the next time I call 197 kids in 1 day to remind them of their lifeguard training, and they choose to call me back to find out what I wanted... I'm going to tell them to check their voice mail. And then I'm going to hang up on them.
Seriously. What's the point of having voice mail if you aren't going to bother to listen to the message.
"I saw you called. What's up?"
"Did you listen to your voice mail?"
"Nahhh, I haven't bothered to check that."
That, right there... that's where I'm hanging up on you.
I understand your time is precious. So is mine. That's why I left you a voice mail. To cut down on me calling and calling and calling until I got you on the phone, I instead chose to take advantage of the technology you presented to me for my use, and I left you a message. Because I do NOT have time to talk to 197 voice mail systems, and then talk to 197 people live, when they decide to call me back instead of listening to their message.
I mean hell, I even use my announcer voice when I leave these messages, so they're entertaining and informative, all at the same time.
Technology... use it, don't abuse it
....disclaimer.... Story Hour is in no way endorsed or read by President Obama or his family, but I sat in traffic for 2 hours and moved 4 miles, so I'm really freaking tired and stressed out, so I couldn't come up with another family who I could actually remember all their names. At least I'm politically aware, right? Right?
Okay, so if you haven't figured it out, there are about a million ways to tick me off. We've covered some of them here already, and I never look back, so you're on your own if you missed the lesson already. Next lesson up on deck is voice mail.
Voice mail, according to the gurus at wikipedia.org (donate money, they're worth it for the number of bar bets they solve) was invented by both IBM and Xerox when I was 2 years old. I'm 35, people, so we're not talking about new technology. Not even close to new. And sure, people started out with earlier versions of message machines, where they'd leave torturous family greetings like, "Hi, You've reached the Obama's - Barack, Michelle, Shasha, Malia and Bo (someone tries to get the dog to bark here) can't come to the phone right now, so leave a message and we'll call you back!" And then finally the dog barks. You remember those. Sure, you haven't heard THAT greeting, but you remember that answering machine. Where the longer the beep was, the more messages were already on the tape.
So now, we're modern. We're high tech. Everyone has voice mail on their cell phones. And if they don't have it there, for sure they have an answering machine at home. Because we're all so damned important that we MUST be reachable, twenty four hours a day, in mediums other than the internet spam we get. (No, thank you for the offer, but I do not need any medication for my erectile dysfunction as I do not have a penis to W*O*W her with.)
We get our new phone and we set up our cool ring back tones (HATEEEEEEEEEEEE) and our custom ringtones for each of our callers. Generic ringtones aren't enough. Nope, we have to download that crap from the wireless carrier du jour at some insane rate that never really seems like a problem... if you stop at one ringtone. But no one ever stops at one. Just ask the guys over at Frito Lay who are shipping those potato chips like they are going out of style. Betcha can't eat just one. It's the same with the ring tones.
So you get this phone, and you customize it. And you leave a near incomprehensible message for the caller because you just can't make it to the phone at that particular minute. For instance, "hey yo this is B I can't get you now so hit me back wit some'in an' I'll get wit you." I believe that translates into, "hello, caller, this is Barack and I can't take your call right now. Please leave your number and a message and I will return your call as quickly as possible." Mind you there is some incredibly loud, annoying music track playing in the room, too, or sports center, blasting away while the telephone owner leaves said greeting, which makes it all the harder to translate to comprehensible language.
All that is annoying as hell. But that's not what ticks me off!
Be quiet. You know I make a long story long, and if you didn't like it, you'd have deleted the email by now.
What ticks me off is this:
I call you. I get your greeting. I wait for the beep and I leave you a thorough and complete message, thus negating the need for you to call me back. And you, you stupid idiot, decide that you should have actually answered that telephone call who's number you didn't instantly recognize on your caller ID... and you call me back.
Don't do that!
Don't call me back instantly. Unless you know me personally and know me well, don't call me back. Just check your damned voice mail. Because the next time I call 197 kids in 1 day to remind them of their lifeguard training, and they choose to call me back to find out what I wanted... I'm going to tell them to check their voice mail. And then I'm going to hang up on them.
Seriously. What's the point of having voice mail if you aren't going to bother to listen to the message.
"I saw you called. What's up?"
"Did you listen to your voice mail?"
"Nahhh, I haven't bothered to check that."
That, right there... that's where I'm hanging up on you.
I understand your time is precious. So is mine. That's why I left you a voice mail. To cut down on me calling and calling and calling until I got you on the phone, I instead chose to take advantage of the technology you presented to me for my use, and I left you a message. Because I do NOT have time to talk to 197 voice mail systems, and then talk to 197 people live, when they decide to call me back instead of listening to their message.
I mean hell, I even use my announcer voice when I leave these messages, so they're entertaining and informative, all at the same time.
Technology... use it, don't abuse it
....disclaimer.... Story Hour is in no way endorsed or read by President Obama or his family, but I sat in traffic for 2 hours and moved 4 miles, so I'm really freaking tired and stressed out, so I couldn't come up with another family who I could actually remember all their names. At least I'm politically aware, right? Right?
Voice mail, according to the gurus at wikipedia.org (donate money, they're worth it for the number of bar bets they solve) was invented by both IBM and Xerox when I was 2 years old. I'm 35, people, so we're not talking about new technology. Not even close to new. And sure, people started out with earlier versions of message machines, where they'd leave torturous family greetings like, "Hi, You've reached the Obama's - Barack, Michelle, Shasha, Malia and Bo (someone tries to get the dog to bark here) can't come to the phone right now, so leave a message and we'll call you back!" And then finally the dog barks. You remember those. Sure, you haven't heard THAT greeting, but you remember that answering machine. Where the longer the beep was, the more messages were already on the tape.
So now, we're modern. We're high tech. Everyone has voice mail on their cell phones. And if they don't have it there, for sure they have an answering machine at home. Because we're all so damned important that we MUST be reachable, twenty four hours a day, in mediums other than the internet spam we get. (No, thank you for the offer, but I do not need any medication for my erectile dysfunction as I do not have a penis to W*O*W her with.)
We get our new phone and we set up our cool ring back tones (HATEEEEEEEEEEEE) and our custom ringtones for each of our callers. Generic ringtones aren't enough. Nope, we have to download that crap from the wireless carrier du jour at some insane rate that never really seems like a problem... if you stop at one ringtone. But no one ever stops at one. Just ask the guys over at Frito Lay who are shipping those potato chips like they are going out of style. Betcha can't eat just one. It's the same with the ring tones.
So you get this phone, and you customize it. And you leave a near incomprehensible message for the caller because you just can't make it to the phone at that particular minute. For instance, "hey yo this is B I can't get you now so hit me back wit some'in an' I'll get wit you." I believe that translates into, "hello, caller, this is Barack and I can't take your call right now. Please leave your number and a message and I will return your call as quickly as possible." Mind you there is some incredibly loud, annoying music track playing in the room, too, or sports center, blasting away while the telephone owner leaves said greeting, which makes it all the harder to translate to comprehensible language.
All that is annoying as hell. But that's not what ticks me off!
Be quiet. You know I make a long story long, and if you didn't like it, you'd have deleted the email by now.
What ticks me off is this:
I call you. I get your greeting. I wait for the beep and I leave you a thorough and complete message, thus negating the need for you to call me back. And you, you stupid idiot, decide that you should have actually answered that telephone call who's number you didn't instantly recognize on your caller ID... and you call me back.
Don't do that!
Don't call me back instantly. Unless you know me personally and know me well, don't call me back. Just check your damned voice mail. Because the next time I call 197 kids in 1 day to remind them of their lifeguard training, and they choose to call me back to find out what I wanted... I'm going to tell them to check their voice mail. And then I'm going to hang up on them.
Seriously. What's the point of having voice mail if you aren't going to bother to listen to the message.
"I saw you called. What's up?"
"Did you listen to your voice mail?"
"Nahhh, I haven't bothered to check that."
That, right there... that's where I'm hanging up on you.
I understand your time is precious. So is mine. That's why I left you a voice mail. To cut down on me calling and calling and calling until I got you on the phone, I instead chose to take advantage of the technology you presented to me for my use, and I left you a message. Because I do NOT have time to talk to 197 voice mail systems, and then talk to 197 people live, when they decide to call me back instead of listening to their message.
I mean hell, I even use my announcer voice when I leave these messages, so they're entertaining and informative, all at the same time.
Technology... use it, don't abuse it
....disclaimer.... Story Hour is in no way endorsed or read by President Obama or his family, but I sat in traffic for 2 hours and moved 4 miles, so I'm really freaking tired and stressed out, so I couldn't come up with another family who I could actually remember all their names. At least I'm politically aware, right? Right?
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Told you so
There's a fridge in the garage. It's full of beverages. Sure it costs a fortune to run a fridge in the garage, but damnit, we like our drinks cold and the ice maker in the indoor fridge just can't keep up. So be it.
Anyway, I've been visiting the garage fridge for, ohhhhh, we'll call it "forever." But tonight, when I wanted to get a drink... several hours after the sun went down, I opened the back door. And stood there, looking right, then left, then right, then left like I was about to step off the curb to cross the street, cementing the fact that I am a moron.
No really, I am a moron. Because I'm barefoot, in boxer shorts (hawaiian print, thank you very much) and a sweatshirt (don't criticize my after shower attire, okay?) looking around for the stupid raccoon. I've already mentioned I've gone to the garage a kajillion times in the past month alone, and now, suddenly, the night we set the humane trap, I'm all skittish to go get a pepsi. Apparently I thought that my unusual technique of multiple traffic checks would protect me.
The good news is that I made a safe, successful journey to get my caffeine fix. (No, it does not keep me awake at bedtime. Enough with the stupid questions already.) The bad news is that I alerted my parents before I went outside, for fear I'd have a run in with the critter. Really, they were sitting on the couch watching Wheel of Fortune on the DVR. What did I think they were gonna do for me?
Because when I WAS out in the garage, before I opened the door (seriously, it's a household style door and not the roll up door. Didn't I tell you about stupid questions?!) I thumped it a couple times, and then let it swing into the wall behind it, to let whatever was there know I was coming. In case they hadn't paid attention at the traffic signal.
And then I heard the chittering sound. I stood still for a bit and listened, then turned around and trucked back inside all "come to the garage, right now, come to the garage right now come to the garage right now." Vanna was turning over some wicked letters though, and it took them about a dozen more iterations of me all "come to the garage right nowwwwwwwwwwwwww" before the parents got up. Of course I probably sounded like a squirrel on amphetamines I was talking to so fast, and it's almost tax day (Poor Dad. Hang in there! You're almost done being accountant for the masses!) so they were pretty much done moving around.
But they got up.
And trekked out to the garage, where I was waiting again, with my finger over my mouth in that librarian shushing gesture, and we all listened. More chittering. Lots more.
We've got a familyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy up there.
Which changes the whole ball game.
So now we'll take the can of tuna out of the trap and wait out moving day for the coons. No sense trapping the mom when the babies would just die, and then cause the need to rip out sheet rock, as well as throwing away everything in the garage.... wait. Yeah. Not even worth it for a clean garage. I hollered up to the raccoons and told them they had until June to find a new apartment, as I would not be held hostage for my midnight caffeine fix any longer than that.
Freaking raccoons! We live in the city! Over four million people, and still, we end up with raccoons in our attic. Vaughn, Brian, Bryson... you all can definitely say "told you so."
Anyway, I've been visiting the garage fridge for, ohhhhh, we'll call it "forever." But tonight, when I wanted to get a drink... several hours after the sun went down, I opened the back door. And stood there, looking right, then left, then right, then left like I was about to step off the curb to cross the street, cementing the fact that I am a moron.
No really, I am a moron. Because I'm barefoot, in boxer shorts (hawaiian print, thank you very much) and a sweatshirt (don't criticize my after shower attire, okay?) looking around for the stupid raccoon. I've already mentioned I've gone to the garage a kajillion times in the past month alone, and now, suddenly, the night we set the humane trap, I'm all skittish to go get a pepsi. Apparently I thought that my unusual technique of multiple traffic checks would protect me.
The good news is that I made a safe, successful journey to get my caffeine fix. (No, it does not keep me awake at bedtime. Enough with the stupid questions already.) The bad news is that I alerted my parents before I went outside, for fear I'd have a run in with the critter. Really, they were sitting on the couch watching Wheel of Fortune on the DVR. What did I think they were gonna do for me?
Because when I WAS out in the garage, before I opened the door (seriously, it's a household style door and not the roll up door. Didn't I tell you about stupid questions?!) I thumped it a couple times, and then let it swing into the wall behind it, to let whatever was there know I was coming. In case they hadn't paid attention at the traffic signal.
And then I heard the chittering sound. I stood still for a bit and listened, then turned around and trucked back inside all "come to the garage, right now, come to the garage right now come to the garage right now." Vanna was turning over some wicked letters though, and it took them about a dozen more iterations of me all "come to the garage right nowwwwwwwwwwwwww" before the parents got up. Of course I probably sounded like a squirrel on amphetamines I was talking to so fast, and it's almost tax day (Poor Dad. Hang in there! You're almost done being accountant for the masses!) so they were pretty much done moving around.
But they got up.
And trekked out to the garage, where I was waiting again, with my finger over my mouth in that librarian shushing gesture, and we all listened. More chittering. Lots more.
We've got a familyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy up there.
Which changes the whole ball game.
So now we'll take the can of tuna out of the trap and wait out moving day for the coons. No sense trapping the mom when the babies would just die, and then cause the need to rip out sheet rock, as well as throwing away everything in the garage.... wait. Yeah. Not even worth it for a clean garage. I hollered up to the raccoons and told them they had until June to find a new apartment, as I would not be held hostage for my midnight caffeine fix any longer than that.
Freaking raccoons! We live in the city! Over four million people, and still, we end up with raccoons in our attic. Vaughn, Brian, Bryson... you all can definitely say "told you so."
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Time to Move
No, not me. I'm not moving. I'm too poor to move right now. So I'll stay with the parents. But that fat bastard of an uninvited, unwelcome house guest is getting kicked to the curb.
Immediately. If any one of my past, present or future boyfriends was in town, I'd have one of them do the honors. They'd love this job.
You see... there's a thieving bastard in the strawberry patch. And I just know he'll keep it up, too. So he has to leave.
You can see by his remorseless expression that he has been plotting the downfall of the garden since it went in last month. And I for one will not have it. Not at all.
What is worse though, is that this dude is living in the garage attic. It would be one thing if he'd clean the joint up, and pay rent, but he's been kiting checks and trashing the joint. I think he and the squirrels have had more than one keg party, too, given the state of the garage attic.
I do have to give him points for agility though, because he's like an acrobat each time he comes and goes from the attic apartment. See, we have an open beamed back porch. Since the last porch roof had been finished, and it leaked, and rotted, and a whole bunch of other crap no one would care to remember, the new porch roof has exposed rafters. It's these rafters he tiptoes across, after scaling a 4x4 to get up there in the first place. Up is easy, but he also goes down headfirst. That's what gets him the points.
Brazen.
And all I can say is this better be a male. And he better be single. Or homosexual. Because any pups, kits, babies or whatever the hell you call them are not welcome here. Not having it. Not at all.
Eviction will be swift. And it better be painless. At least on my part.
Anyone who wants to come and handle this matter better be here by Tuesday.
Immediately. If any one of my past, present or future boyfriends was in town, I'd have one of them do the honors. They'd love this job.
You see... there's a thieving bastard in the strawberry patch. And I just know he'll keep it up, too. So he has to leave.
You can see by his remorseless expression that he has been plotting the downfall of the garden since it went in last month. And I for one will not have it. Not at all.
What is worse though, is that this dude is living in the garage attic. It would be one thing if he'd clean the joint up, and pay rent, but he's been kiting checks and trashing the joint. I think he and the squirrels have had more than one keg party, too, given the state of the garage attic.
I do have to give him points for agility though, because he's like an acrobat each time he comes and goes from the attic apartment. See, we have an open beamed back porch. Since the last porch roof had been finished, and it leaked, and rotted, and a whole bunch of other crap no one would care to remember, the new porch roof has exposed rafters. It's these rafters he tiptoes across, after scaling a 4x4 to get up there in the first place. Up is easy, but he also goes down headfirst. That's what gets him the points.
Brazen.
And all I can say is this better be a male. And he better be single. Or homosexual. Because any pups, kits, babies or whatever the hell you call them are not welcome here. Not having it. Not at all.
Eviction will be swift. And it better be painless. At least on my part.
Anyone who wants to come and handle this matter better be here by Tuesday.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
My DVR makes me feel guilty...
Can I really be the only person with this problem? Up until a year ago, when I wanted to watch something on television, I got myself there at the time it was schedule. Or I simply didn't watch it. Because there are always summer reruns, as a great chance to catch up on watching all the stuff I missed. And if that didn't work, well hell, I could drop it into Netflix and make it happen that way.
I actually caught up on a lot of TV when I was in Iraq, that way, now that I think about it. There was a place where I'd fall asleep with a season of something or other in the dvd player next to my bed. It was either that or listening to the stupid computer generated announcements coming out of the command post all morning until I finally fell asleep. Bones and House were a much better choice.
Anyway, now that I'm home, both from the sandbox and from North Carolina, I've got a DVR. So I program it to record a bunch of shows I would formerly have tried to squeeze into my evening. Not a ton, though I could totally be a TV junkie, if I let myself, but about one show a night. And this is good. This is convenient. This is awesome.
I can have my life, liberty, pursuit of happiness, and a DVR full of stuff I intend to watch.
No really, I do.
Of course I said that four months ago, too, when I started recording.
Meanwhile, the damned thing just makes me feel guilty. I find myself turning the tv on when I have a couple hours free, but not really free, and trying to power through some shows. High speed, blow through the commercials, and then enjoy the show.
Or in my case, turn something on, get distracted by life, and end up walking away, only to find out the tv shut off the program for me. I swear I use the sleep timer more during the day on my tv than I do at night.
So, what's on my DVR right now....
I'm totally going to watch Home Alone with my nieces, I swear. Just as soon as they start having more than a half hour free. And maybe when it gets cold again, so the Christmas carols they'll be inspired to sing make sense. Or maybe not. Who cares about making sense.
Ace of Cakes - awesome. So awesome I've got 6 episodes on there. It's CAKE, you idiot - delete the damned show and just look at the pictures online of their latest cake creations. Hell, Bakerella at least makes cake pops. I love me some fat, chubby, Jewish baker dude, too, but obviously not that much if I've let this many episodes stack up.
It's right next to Unwrapped, too, which proves I might have an unhealthy obsession starting with the Food Network. Does anyone really need to know the secrets of fiery food, anyway? I'm pretty solid the secret to making things hot when you're cooking is to add some sort of spice. Usually in the form of a pepper, be it fresh, pickled, dried or ground.
And to round out the trifecta of shit I won't actually watch unless I'm awake at 2 am again and bored.... Diners, Drive ins and Dives. Buddy, your name is Guy Ferry. After the boat. Not some trumped up version of whatever you want to call yourself now, on those stupid TGI Friday's commercials that annoy the hell out of me. Fiiieedty is what it sounds like. And it sounds bogus. Besides, how much fun is it really, for the rest of the world to watch you eat? That show is totally coming off the record schedule.
Oh, sweet! A Muppets Christmas movie! You're jealous. I'm jealous. Christmas in April... that works, right? Although right now is probably not the best time to listen to Miss Piggy, Kermit is totally my buddy. It's not easy being green....
Some of this stuff just makes me wonder why I ever recorded it, anyway:
Shanghai Noon - seen it
John Pinette: I'm Starving - he's funny as hell, but I have a CD of his already, and a DVD he autographed and gave to me over in Iraq.
Undercover Blues - seriously, I don't even remember what that's about....
Two If by Sea - Dennis Leary and Sandy Bullock argue about stealing stuff that doesn't belong to them.
Juno - if I haven't bothered to see it by now, I probably never will. Teen pregnancy - woooo
Runaway Bride - Julia Roberts' oversized lips can leave my recorder now, thank you very much
Hitch - because Will Smith being a matchmaker is soooo believable. The man fell in love and got married when he was what, twelve?
America's Sweethearts - oh look Julia Roberts is trying to take over my DVR. Denied!
Bewitched - when Will Ferrell plays the straight man we're all in trouble. And if you haven't seen his HBO special salute to George W. Bush, it's worth signing up for the channel now. Run, don't walk. Seriously.
Man of the House - Tommy Lee Jones takes on college co-eds. Uh huh. That's believable.
Taking Chance - *sniffffffffffff* You can stay.
The Waterboy - You can leave
Love Stinks - yes it does, and so does this movie
Always - or until you die and go to heaven and have to help me fly a plane full of water over my smokejumper boyfriend I replaced you with
Made of Honor - McDreamy has to do something in the off season.
Nim's Island - I'll catch this one, I swear. Might take me 6 more months, but I'll watch it.
Ghost Hunters and the X-Files - I must have been whacked out on sinus medication when I started recording these.
Burn Notice - yessssssssss. Burn Notice is still fun, thank you USA network.
Big Love - Polygamy is fun, yayyyyyyyy!
The Pacifier - that's it, I must be recording this stuff in my sleep. Vin Diesel (what the hell kind of made up name is that, anyway) as a Feebie playing a babysitter. Uh huh.
House - a smart assed, sarcastic, sardonic person who usually turns out right, and doesn't admit it when he's wrong. I'm in love with House.
Kings - I thought I'd give it a shot, but really, a crown of butterflies? You're going off the schedule posthaste.
The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency - I have no idea, but I figured I'd give the Botswanaian detectives a shot. Even if it is made up. On HBO.
No more will I feel guilty because of my DVR!
Retarded, sure, for each time I forget I'm actually watching a recorded show and fail to fast forward through the commercials, but never guilty again!
*mutters* stupid DVR is supposed to make my life easier, not harder....
I actually caught up on a lot of TV when I was in Iraq, that way, now that I think about it. There was a place where I'd fall asleep with a season of something or other in the dvd player next to my bed. It was either that or listening to the stupid computer generated announcements coming out of the command post all morning until I finally fell asleep. Bones and House were a much better choice.
Anyway, now that I'm home, both from the sandbox and from North Carolina, I've got a DVR. So I program it to record a bunch of shows I would formerly have tried to squeeze into my evening. Not a ton, though I could totally be a TV junkie, if I let myself, but about one show a night. And this is good. This is convenient. This is awesome.
I can have my life, liberty, pursuit of happiness, and a DVR full of stuff I intend to watch.
No really, I do.
Of course I said that four months ago, too, when I started recording.
Meanwhile, the damned thing just makes me feel guilty. I find myself turning the tv on when I have a couple hours free, but not really free, and trying to power through some shows. High speed, blow through the commercials, and then enjoy the show.
Or in my case, turn something on, get distracted by life, and end up walking away, only to find out the tv shut off the program for me. I swear I use the sleep timer more during the day on my tv than I do at night.
So, what's on my DVR right now....
I'm totally going to watch Home Alone with my nieces, I swear. Just as soon as they start having more than a half hour free. And maybe when it gets cold again, so the Christmas carols they'll be inspired to sing make sense. Or maybe not. Who cares about making sense.
Ace of Cakes - awesome. So awesome I've got 6 episodes on there. It's CAKE, you idiot - delete the damned show and just look at the pictures online of their latest cake creations. Hell, Bakerella at least makes cake pops. I love me some fat, chubby, Jewish baker dude, too, but obviously not that much if I've let this many episodes stack up.
It's right next to Unwrapped, too, which proves I might have an unhealthy obsession starting with the Food Network. Does anyone really need to know the secrets of fiery food, anyway? I'm pretty solid the secret to making things hot when you're cooking is to add some sort of spice. Usually in the form of a pepper, be it fresh, pickled, dried or ground.
And to round out the trifecta of shit I won't actually watch unless I'm awake at 2 am again and bored.... Diners, Drive ins and Dives. Buddy, your name is Guy Ferry. After the boat. Not some trumped up version of whatever you want to call yourself now, on those stupid TGI Friday's commercials that annoy the hell out of me. Fiiieedty is what it sounds like. And it sounds bogus. Besides, how much fun is it really, for the rest of the world to watch you eat? That show is totally coming off the record schedule.
Oh, sweet! A Muppets Christmas movie! You're jealous. I'm jealous. Christmas in April... that works, right? Although right now is probably not the best time to listen to Miss Piggy, Kermit is totally my buddy. It's not easy being green....
Some of this stuff just makes me wonder why I ever recorded it, anyway:
Shanghai Noon - seen it
John Pinette: I'm Starving - he's funny as hell, but I have a CD of his already, and a DVD he autographed and gave to me over in Iraq.
Undercover Blues - seriously, I don't even remember what that's about....
Two If by Sea - Dennis Leary and Sandy Bullock argue about stealing stuff that doesn't belong to them.
Juno - if I haven't bothered to see it by now, I probably never will. Teen pregnancy - woooo
Runaway Bride - Julia Roberts' oversized lips can leave my recorder now, thank you very much
Hitch - because Will Smith being a matchmaker is soooo believable. The man fell in love and got married when he was what, twelve?
America's Sweethearts - oh look Julia Roberts is trying to take over my DVR. Denied!
Bewitched - when Will Ferrell plays the straight man we're all in trouble. And if you haven't seen his HBO special salute to George W. Bush, it's worth signing up for the channel now. Run, don't walk. Seriously.
Man of the House - Tommy Lee Jones takes on college co-eds. Uh huh. That's believable.
Taking Chance - *sniffffffffffff* You can stay.
The Waterboy - You can leave
Love Stinks - yes it does, and so does this movie
Always - or until you die and go to heaven and have to help me fly a plane full of water over my smokejumper boyfriend I replaced you with
Made of Honor - McDreamy has to do something in the off season.
Nim's Island - I'll catch this one, I swear. Might take me 6 more months, but I'll watch it.
Ghost Hunters and the X-Files - I must have been whacked out on sinus medication when I started recording these.
Burn Notice - yessssssssss. Burn Notice is still fun, thank you USA network.
Big Love - Polygamy is fun, yayyyyyyyy!
The Pacifier - that's it, I must be recording this stuff in my sleep. Vin Diesel (what the hell kind of made up name is that, anyway) as a Feebie playing a babysitter. Uh huh.
House - a smart assed, sarcastic, sardonic person who usually turns out right, and doesn't admit it when he's wrong. I'm in love with House.
Kings - I thought I'd give it a shot, but really, a crown of butterflies? You're going off the schedule posthaste.
The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency - I have no idea, but I figured I'd give the Botswanaian detectives a shot. Even if it is made up. On HBO.
No more will I feel guilty because of my DVR!
Retarded, sure, for each time I forget I'm actually watching a recorded show and fail to fast forward through the commercials, but never guilty again!
*mutters* stupid DVR is supposed to make my life easier, not harder....
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Crack Dip
I got an email from Belle the other night saying "If I didn't have to work in the morning, I'd drive down for some crack dip." Bold words, since she's in Colorado. But really, crack dip IS that good.
A long time ago, when I was a relative rookie to packing boxes for the deployed military, I made some new friends here in Houston. We got together, formed our own little group and did some huge fundraising and donation drives, all the while calling ourselves "Show Some Love Houston." Catchy name or not, it worked. We shipped thousands of oreos across Iraq, and made our own cookbook, too. I've got some of those around here somewhere, I'm sure. Well, actually they're probably in storage, along with most everything I want at the time. That's a whole other story though.
So we'd have planning meetings for our big drive. And one day I stopped at Chuy's, because I needed an Elvis fix. Okay, no, that's not true. I needed a Chihuahua fix. Okay that's not true either. I'm sure I was suffering from a salsa and chip imbalance after training lifeguards in the morning, so I stopped by Chuys, visited the Chihuahua bar while an Elvis impersonator did his thing, and ordered chips, salsa and creamy jalapeno dip.
That would be the official name for crack dip. The one it's recognized by in the the restaurant.
But that name doesn't get the job done, for such a good, holy moly trip for your tastebuds. Which is why Belle wanted to drive down from Colorado and Kim wanted to come up from the beach.
Seriously, crack dip is a combination of cool and creamy and hot and spicy. There are jalapenos to reach up, grab you by the collar and smack you around. There is cilantro to make you blink back into the world with it's fresh, bright citrus taste. And then the steady, dependable creamy ranch dressing flavor comes in to make peace in your mouth. Add a super thin, crisp, warm, slightly salted tortilla chip and it's an orgasm of food flavors.
My Mom, who has the wimpiest mouth in the world, and cannot handle a single thing hotter than paprika, loves this stuff. She cannot get enough. When we do happen to go Chuy's to eat, she won't even place her drink order until bowls of dip are on the table in front of her. And then she can't stop eating it, but it's so hot to her that she's slugging back a frozen margarita with it, like a beer chaser. It's awesome to watch, too, because she gets all flushed from the spices, but won't stop eating it.
Anyway, since most of you don't live near an awesome Tex-Mex restaurant called Chuy's, which serves an Elvis Presley Memorial Combo that has NOTHING to do with a fried pb & nanner sandwich, I thought I'd give you the recipe. Try it. No, really. Try it.
Crack dip:
16 oz sour cream - your choice on regular or light - but Elvis don't do light, lite, or anything else low fat, so make your choice
1 packet powdered Hidden Valley Ranch dressing mix - don't wimp out - use the real stuff instead of the store brand
1 bunch Cilantro or Chinese Parsley, if you live in a strange, strange world. And even if you think cilantro tastes soapy, give it a try. You'll thank me.
4 oz - diced jalapenos
Get out your blender. Dump in the sour cream and the ranch mix. Blend until mixed well. Separate 1/4 to 1/2 of the cilantro leaves from the stems. Throw the stems at the kids, the dog or the trash. Put the lovely, little green leaves into the blender. Blend in 10 second bursts. It will start to thin out the sour cream a bit, and add some green color to it. You'll see flecks of green, in addition to the greenish white color. Open up your can of diced jalapenos. Don't be a wimp. Dump in the juice and all to the blender. (Fine, if you're a wimp, pour off some of the juice and then add everything else to the blender. But know that I am disappointed in you and your wimpy tastebuds.) Blend again in 10 second bursts just until mixed. The jalapenos will mince up a bit, but if you blend too long, they'll disappear into the dip and become ghost spices that make your lips twitch for no apparent reason. That could be good if you don't like the people you're serving it to, but otherwise it makes for a boring dip. Pour it all into a bowl and let sit for 15 minutes before serving. If you can wait that long. Toss your tortilla chips in the microwave for 30 seconds or so, to warm them up, and chow down.
A long time ago, when I was a relative rookie to packing boxes for the deployed military, I made some new friends here in Houston. We got together, formed our own little group and did some huge fundraising and donation drives, all the while calling ourselves "Show Some Love Houston." Catchy name or not, it worked. We shipped thousands of oreos across Iraq, and made our own cookbook, too. I've got some of those around here somewhere, I'm sure. Well, actually they're probably in storage, along with most everything I want at the time. That's a whole other story though.
So we'd have planning meetings for our big drive. And one day I stopped at Chuy's, because I needed an Elvis fix. Okay, no, that's not true. I needed a Chihuahua fix. Okay that's not true either. I'm sure I was suffering from a salsa and chip imbalance after training lifeguards in the morning, so I stopped by Chuys, visited the Chihuahua bar while an Elvis impersonator did his thing, and ordered chips, salsa and creamy jalapeno dip.
That would be the official name for crack dip. The one it's recognized by in the the restaurant.
But that name doesn't get the job done, for such a good, holy moly trip for your tastebuds. Which is why Belle wanted to drive down from Colorado and Kim wanted to come up from the beach.
Seriously, crack dip is a combination of cool and creamy and hot and spicy. There are jalapenos to reach up, grab you by the collar and smack you around. There is cilantro to make you blink back into the world with it's fresh, bright citrus taste. And then the steady, dependable creamy ranch dressing flavor comes in to make peace in your mouth. Add a super thin, crisp, warm, slightly salted tortilla chip and it's an orgasm of food flavors.
My Mom, who has the wimpiest mouth in the world, and cannot handle a single thing hotter than paprika, loves this stuff. She cannot get enough. When we do happen to go Chuy's to eat, she won't even place her drink order until bowls of dip are on the table in front of her. And then she can't stop eating it, but it's so hot to her that she's slugging back a frozen margarita with it, like a beer chaser. It's awesome to watch, too, because she gets all flushed from the spices, but won't stop eating it.
Anyway, since most of you don't live near an awesome Tex-Mex restaurant called Chuy's, which serves an Elvis Presley Memorial Combo that has NOTHING to do with a fried pb & nanner sandwich, I thought I'd give you the recipe. Try it. No, really. Try it.
Crack dip:
16 oz sour cream - your choice on regular or light - but Elvis don't do light, lite, or anything else low fat, so make your choice
1 packet powdered Hidden Valley Ranch dressing mix - don't wimp out - use the real stuff instead of the store brand
1 bunch Cilantro or Chinese Parsley, if you live in a strange, strange world. And even if you think cilantro tastes soapy, give it a try. You'll thank me.
4 oz - diced jalapenos
Get out your blender. Dump in the sour cream and the ranch mix. Blend until mixed well. Separate 1/4 to 1/2 of the cilantro leaves from the stems. Throw the stems at the kids, the dog or the trash. Put the lovely, little green leaves into the blender. Blend in 10 second bursts. It will start to thin out the sour cream a bit, and add some green color to it. You'll see flecks of green, in addition to the greenish white color. Open up your can of diced jalapenos. Don't be a wimp. Dump in the juice and all to the blender. (Fine, if you're a wimp, pour off some of the juice and then add everything else to the blender. But know that I am disappointed in you and your wimpy tastebuds.) Blend again in 10 second bursts just until mixed. The jalapenos will mince up a bit, but if you blend too long, they'll disappear into the dip and become ghost spices that make your lips twitch for no apparent reason. That could be good if you don't like the people you're serving it to, but otherwise it makes for a boring dip. Pour it all into a bowl and let sit for 15 minutes before serving. If you can wait that long. Toss your tortilla chips in the microwave for 30 seconds or so, to warm them up, and chow down.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Family = Food
At least around here, family equals food. It's math that even a toddler can count on. Fortunately, our youngest child left the toddler years behind about five years back, but still, she knew she could always count on tons of food whenever there were dozens and dozens of kneecaps at her eye level at Grandma's house.
A few weeks back, I got an email message that was setting up a treat for my Dad's impending birthday. I went downstairs, quietly confirmed a few details, and got back a reply. Next thing I know, I've got an email from my Aunties saying they are arriving on Friday, to celebrate, and surprise us all.
Naturally, I went downstairs and said "I've got a secrettttttttttttt. Clean the house."
Because I'm like that.
And then I walked away.
Mom starting figuring stuff out, and come Friday, Dad was so excited he was twitching, but he didn't really know who was coming down. He had a suspicion, but just waited out the confirmation rather than making a guess. Because either way, he was going to eat.
Because Mom - she puts on a spread when we have guests. It's a dead giveaway something big is going on.
The variety of food is an inverse proportion to the importance of the guests, too. Important to us, that is. So if the Pope were to stop by, he'd be offered up a wedge of cheese and some crackers, with a nice white wine. But the Aunties... they got the full on sixteen variety meal, five different meals. I'm hoping to start eating some time tomorrow, but in the mean time, I'm still full.
Seriously, the menu covered several pages, and involved trips to Sam's Club, Kroger, Walmart, HEB, and then back to Sam's. Fortunately I was working, so I missed the actual trips, and just got home in time on Friday to start cooking. I entered the kitchen and didn't really leave it at all, until Sunday afternoon.
I'm not complaining, but when Mom started fretting she didn't have enough buns for sandwiches on Friday night, I called my brother. He and his family were on the way over, and they'd already been called five minutes earlier about getting tomatoes and lettuce, to make good sandwiches. So Chucklehead and I are on the phone and I'm telling him we're having a meltdown about not having enough buns, even though there was a nice bread, also, and he asks "should I get buns or not?" He cuts to the chase, that brother of mine. I told him it was up to him, but it looked like Mom was trying to feed the entire 4th Infantry Division, and so she said 8 buns wasn't enough. Needless to say, he brought buns.
We had ham, we had chili con queso, we had strawberries & blackberries. We had creamy jalapeno dip. We had romanoff sauce, for the fruit. We had stuff I can't remember. And we had shoestring onion rings, which were damned fine. Oh, yeah, deviled eggs. We had those, too. Saturday started off with breakfast tacos, and the food never went away, but just morphed into lunch. Which morphed into dinner. Dinner was brisket, homemade potato salad, more stuff I can't remember but I'm pretty sure I cooked or stirred. And ice cream cake. God bless Carvel and their cakes. Although I do NOT recommend trying to wait out the last "60 seconds" of an NCAA playoff game, if the cake is out of the freezer. Just set the DVR and catch up on the game, because the cake was melting everywhere, even before the candles were lit.
There was a boatload of food moving through this house this weekend. Two full jars of mayo, the big ones, are gone. Ditto for the mustard. Something like 4 dozen eggs, in all their cholesteroly glory moved through the kitchen, too. And none of them died a Humpty Dumpty death, either, but thanks for asking. But everyone who came through this house gained another ten points on their bad cholesterol reading.
Seriously, it was awesome this weekend. Dad, Mom, the Aunties, Chucklehead and his family, and best of all, Rio and his son stopped by, too. Fabulous. But if someone came and snatched all the leftovers, I'd be quite pleased. Ham sandwich anyone? Brisket sandwich? Potato salad? Queso? Creamy jalapeno dip? Anyone? Anyone?
A few weeks back, I got an email message that was setting up a treat for my Dad's impending birthday. I went downstairs, quietly confirmed a few details, and got back a reply. Next thing I know, I've got an email from my Aunties saying they are arriving on Friday, to celebrate, and surprise us all.
Naturally, I went downstairs and said "I've got a secrettttttttttttt. Clean the house."
Because I'm like that.
And then I walked away.
Mom starting figuring stuff out, and come Friday, Dad was so excited he was twitching, but he didn't really know who was coming down. He had a suspicion, but just waited out the confirmation rather than making a guess. Because either way, he was going to eat.
Because Mom - she puts on a spread when we have guests. It's a dead giveaway something big is going on.
The variety of food is an inverse proportion to the importance of the guests, too. Important to us, that is. So if the Pope were to stop by, he'd be offered up a wedge of cheese and some crackers, with a nice white wine. But the Aunties... they got the full on sixteen variety meal, five different meals. I'm hoping to start eating some time tomorrow, but in the mean time, I'm still full.
Seriously, the menu covered several pages, and involved trips to Sam's Club, Kroger, Walmart, HEB, and then back to Sam's. Fortunately I was working, so I missed the actual trips, and just got home in time on Friday to start cooking. I entered the kitchen and didn't really leave it at all, until Sunday afternoon.
I'm not complaining, but when Mom started fretting she didn't have enough buns for sandwiches on Friday night, I called my brother. He and his family were on the way over, and they'd already been called five minutes earlier about getting tomatoes and lettuce, to make good sandwiches. So Chucklehead and I are on the phone and I'm telling him we're having a meltdown about not having enough buns, even though there was a nice bread, also, and he asks "should I get buns or not?" He cuts to the chase, that brother of mine. I told him it was up to him, but it looked like Mom was trying to feed the entire 4th Infantry Division, and so she said 8 buns wasn't enough. Needless to say, he brought buns.
We had ham, we had chili con queso, we had strawberries & blackberries. We had creamy jalapeno dip. We had romanoff sauce, for the fruit. We had stuff I can't remember. And we had shoestring onion rings, which were damned fine. Oh, yeah, deviled eggs. We had those, too. Saturday started off with breakfast tacos, and the food never went away, but just morphed into lunch. Which morphed into dinner. Dinner was brisket, homemade potato salad, more stuff I can't remember but I'm pretty sure I cooked or stirred. And ice cream cake. God bless Carvel and their cakes. Although I do NOT recommend trying to wait out the last "60 seconds" of an NCAA playoff game, if the cake is out of the freezer. Just set the DVR and catch up on the game, because the cake was melting everywhere, even before the candles were lit.
There was a boatload of food moving through this house this weekend. Two full jars of mayo, the big ones, are gone. Ditto for the mustard. Something like 4 dozen eggs, in all their cholesteroly glory moved through the kitchen, too. And none of them died a Humpty Dumpty death, either, but thanks for asking. But everyone who came through this house gained another ten points on their bad cholesterol reading.
Seriously, it was awesome this weekend. Dad, Mom, the Aunties, Chucklehead and his family, and best of all, Rio and his son stopped by, too. Fabulous. But if someone came and snatched all the leftovers, I'd be quite pleased. Ham sandwich anyone? Brisket sandwich? Potato salad? Queso? Creamy jalapeno dip? Anyone? Anyone?
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Oh heck!
Oh heck, we're gonna have a lot of tomatoes, from the looks of things around here. That's great, too, for the tomato eaters in the family. I can't eat them, since they make me itch, but the fans of the nightshade family will be having a feast. And their friends, too. And their friends also, based on how fast these suckers are taking off.
Watering is being scheduled. Planned. It's a big deal around here, because we've killed a ton of azaleas. You can't eat azaleas though, so maybe we'll do better this time around. Dad is in charge of watering. We've got a half dozen different types of sprinkler heads though, so you have to pay attention to what you're doing. And every spring there's a learning curve, on which one adjusts which way.
Which would explain how Dad and I ended up being chased across the yard this afternoon while we were adjusting one of them. Damn that sprinkler anyway. Wet socks and crocs do NOT make a good combination. But they do make a delightful squishing sound for a good while afterward.
So anyway, the garden is going well. So far. I have high hopes for it, though, given it's initial rate of growth. Which means all y'all (that's the plural of y'all, by the way, in case you aren't from down here) better be fixin' to (a Texas way of saying getting ready) accept a lot of produce. Except for corn. Because if the corn does germinate and grow, and make it past the squirrel who lives in the back yard, it's not getting shared. Don't even ask.
You can have tomatoes. Cherry tomatoes, heritage tomatoes, mortgage buster tomatoes or Homely Homer tomatoes, which are apparently wicked ugly but taste divine. Again, I wouldn't know. You can probably have bell peppers, green, red or lilac, because we planted them all. You can have some green beans, since we planted maybe a third of the seeds we've got, and I hear they produce like crazy. And the zucchini and yellow squash will either be all or nothing. So you'll get gobs and gobs of that or none at all.
This week I need to scatter some leaf lettuce seeds into the beds, now that I think about it. I knew I forgot something. But I did start most of the seeds in the little greenhouse beds we've got, so we can get some nice buttercrunch and bib lettuce going, too. And carrots. Who seem reluctant to germinate. And oooooooooh, ornamental peppers which will turn the flower beds out front into a riot of color. Color most of us won't be able to eat, given the reported scoville level of these peppers. So you might could probably (definitely) have some of those.
Watering is being scheduled. Planned. It's a big deal around here, because we've killed a ton of azaleas. You can't eat azaleas though, so maybe we'll do better this time around. Dad is in charge of watering. We've got a half dozen different types of sprinkler heads though, so you have to pay attention to what you're doing. And every spring there's a learning curve, on which one adjusts which way.
Which would explain how Dad and I ended up being chased across the yard this afternoon while we were adjusting one of them. Damn that sprinkler anyway. Wet socks and crocs do NOT make a good combination. But they do make a delightful squishing sound for a good while afterward.
So anyway, the garden is going well. So far. I have high hopes for it, though, given it's initial rate of growth. Which means all y'all (that's the plural of y'all, by the way, in case you aren't from down here) better be fixin' to (a Texas way of saying getting ready) accept a lot of produce. Except for corn. Because if the corn does germinate and grow, and make it past the squirrel who lives in the back yard, it's not getting shared. Don't even ask.
You can have tomatoes. Cherry tomatoes, heritage tomatoes, mortgage buster tomatoes or Homely Homer tomatoes, which are apparently wicked ugly but taste divine. Again, I wouldn't know. You can probably have bell peppers, green, red or lilac, because we planted them all. You can have some green beans, since we planted maybe a third of the seeds we've got, and I hear they produce like crazy. And the zucchini and yellow squash will either be all or nothing. So you'll get gobs and gobs of that or none at all.
This week I need to scatter some leaf lettuce seeds into the beds, now that I think about it. I knew I forgot something. But I did start most of the seeds in the little greenhouse beds we've got, so we can get some nice buttercrunch and bib lettuce going, too. And carrots. Who seem reluctant to germinate. And oooooooooh, ornamental peppers which will turn the flower beds out front into a riot of color. Color most of us won't be able to eat, given the reported scoville level of these peppers. So you might could probably (definitely) have some of those.
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