There’s a Hole In The Bottom of My Sock…

I get more holes in my socks than anyone I know.  This could be due to either:

a) Everyone else throws their socks out when they get thin and ready to hole-ify

b) I walk funny

I can’t be sure which is the cause…of course, maybe its

c) I’m really cheap when it comes to clothes, and the 6 pack for $3.99 isn’t up to snuff

Anyway, I was invited to a mommy group last night.  This was very exciting to me, because it’s a mommy group that consists ONLY of working mothers…and coming from the land of stay-at-home snooty mothers who think you’re tragic for having to actually WORK during the day instead of taking your children to the park, and meeting for coffee klatch, and heading for the spa…well this concept was new and exciting.  But I think I blew it.

See, the mommy group was held at one of the mother’s houses, and they had just refinished the basement, and with the new carpet and whatnot we all had to take our shoes off.  For other women this is generally not a problem.  Most women seem to be able to remove their shoes and out pops a clean, trendy looking sock.  And if they were to continue removing that sock, you would probably see a precious set of toes replete with fresh polish.  Forget about calluses. 

Oh heavens. 

Out from my six year old Dansko clog came two mismatched black socks (both black, but with different patterns).  My big toe in all of it’s hangnailed, callused glory was popping out of one sock, and my scruffy, grey, I’ve-had-to-stand-too-much-in-my-short-life heel was bursting out the other.  This was totally obvious to the other moms.  I could tell, because they were all staring at my feet.  When they saw that I saw they were staring at my feet, they quickly looked away and starting chit-chatting with each other.  “Is that little Dylan?  Is he sleeping through the sock?  I mean, the night?”

Oh, why couldn’t I have foreseen this?  I’m a working mom, after all…can’t I AFFORD socks without HOLES?  Maybe scrub my heels once in a while? 

Years ago when I was commuting into Washington D.C., I had just parked the car in the lot after an hour and a half drive.  It was in the elevator that I noticed I had one brown shoe on, and one black shoe.  I had to drive ALL THE WAY HOME because I couldn’t be the crazy chick who wears different shoes.  Or so I thought. 

I must be retarded, at least in the fashion department, because it was last spring when…

One morning I got dressed for work, took the trash all the way down to the end of our very long driveway, walked all the way back to my car, got in my car and drove 25 miles to work.  There I parked in the parking garage, walked down three flights of stairs, crossed the street, went up the elevator…and then I realized my feet felt a little “off.” 

I looked down and both my shoes were black, but one had a heel.  An effing heel. 

We’re not talking about slut-heels or anything, but a height-making, chunky sort of heel that I definitely should have NOTICED while I was doing ALL THAT WALKING.  I had to bravely walk all the way back to my car, drive to Target, walk into the store (limping by now…but no shoes, no service!) and purchase a new pair of shoes.  What is wrong with me?  I guess if I can’t be bothered to check for two matching shoes, then I should stop worrying about the socks. 

Anyway, when I finally did manage to get a couple of the ladies to talk to me, I did my best to act normal and confident.  Because I am normal and confident.  Okay, perhaps just confident.  I think I will be invited back.  Maybe.

Thankfully it’s almost sandal season.

 

Maleesha’s foot…the next day

 

The Lowe’s saga continues…

I was going to host Easter dinner at the new digs in Bozeman, but contractors filled the house with noisy equipment on Saturday, rendering the house unliveable.  The kitchen is inaccessible because there are huge industrial fans aimed at the ceiling.  Three of the four bedrooms upstairs are unreachable because the washer and dryer are blocking the hallway.  Those appliances were moved there because there are fans up there too, blowing the sheetrock dry.  The carpet is ripped up, exposing the tacks to little feet.  They think that the work of ripping up floor and fixing walls and ceilings will be completed by Friday. 

So I’m staying in Butte while Jesse runs back and forth between Butte and Bozeman, taking care of the details of the fixing.

I want to track down the incompentent nimrod delivery guy from Lowe’s and throw him a blanket party. 

 

Lowe’s “Professional Installation”

We’re renting a really nice house in Bozeman, Montana.  I haven’t been a renter for a long time.  Though it’s a rental, we had to buy our own refrigerator and washer/dryer since the landlords built a new home down the street and took theirs with them. 

So a friend of mine recommended that I go to Lowe’s, because of their great service and low(e) prices.  I took her advice and we went shopping.  Here is a summary of our experience:

Day 1:  We go to Lowe’s in Bozeman.  The nicest salesman ever helps us choose a refrigerator and a washer and dryer.  He is so good that he helps us find a discontinued refrigerator that is brand new in the box, but because it’s an ‘07 model, it’s $560 dollars instead of the ‘08 model, which runs about $1400.  We love the sales guy. 

Day 3: The refrigerator delivery guy calls and says he won’t deliver the refrigerator because there is an “enormous gash” on the side.  He suggests we come into the store to look at it and be sure we still want to buy it.  I need a refrigerator right now.  We head to Lowe’s.  The gash really isn’t that bad, a little dent really, and there isn’t any internal damage to the refrigerator.  I ask when it can be delivered.  The really nice sales guy isn’t sure, since it missed the journey this morning.  I freak out.  I have two kids.  I need a refrigerator, like now.  Sales guy nods sympathetically and sees what he can do.

Refrigerator delivery truck is there by 11 AM!  I am totally impressed with sales guy.  Truck happily backs into driveway, slowly, slowly…husband starts shouting frantically!  STOP! STOP!  NO!  Refrigerator truck backs into porch roof and tears an enormous gash into the roof.  Not a little dent, an enormous gash.  I educate delivery guy on the true meaning of “enormous gash.” 

I call really nice landlord lady and apologize.  She is really cool about things, considering her new renters have somehow resulted in an enormous gash in her expensive house.  “These things happen,” she chirps cheerfully.  She calls Lowe’s to take care of the problem. 

Day 4:  Noon.  Delivery guys (the same ones) show up with washer and dryer.  They bring washer and dryer upstairs and install.  Lowe’s website talks about their professional installation several times, and that is what these guys are doing.  We’re certain of it. 

Lowe’s delivery guys pack and up and go home.  We are thrilled to start our first load of laundry, because the laundry pile has been growing over the past week. 

1 PM - Shouting comes from the kitchen downstairs: “Shut it off!  Shut it off!”  Shut what off, I wonder?  “It’s leaking!!!!” I walk out from a phone call in progress to be greeted by a big effing soapy mess.  Water is everywhere.  Luckily we purchased a really nice washing machine, so there is a pause button.  I paused the crisis and ran downstairs.  Water is pouring out of the electrical fixtures in the ceiling. 

I call Lowe’s and tell them about their latest fiasco caused by Tweedledee and Tweedledum, their Professional Installation guys.  The manager on duty chuckles in a “Wow, this sort of thing never happens” sort of way.  I ask him if he would send somebody else.   Anybody else.  Is Pee Wee Herman on duty?  Send him, he’ll do a better job. ”Well, we only have so many delivery guys,” he explains.  He must be able to see my head spinning through the phone, because he adds, ”I’ll make sure someone else gets there.”

The Lowe’s “delivery manager” is here now, fixing the washer and dryer.  It turns out that one of those chuckleheads just failed to hook up the drain…you know, the pipe that funnels the dirty, soapy water out of the washer?  Yeah, that was just hanging there like an extra leg.  An extra dirty, soapy leg.  I wrote Lowe’s a nice letter demanding they come out and make sure toxic mold doesn’t grow in the ceiling and hurt my children.  I am also typing this blog.  And I am also never shopping there again, even though they have a really nice sales guy.  Sorry dude. 

Lowe’s sucks.

 

Just Missed You

Friday I return home via Houston.  Oddly enough, my friend Carli is ALSO returning home, which is currently (and unfortunately) Houston.  We arrive at the airport within ten minutes of each other.  She will be going to baggage claim and I will be continuing on to Colorado. 

Now you would think that we could somehow sneak a quick visit in there somehow, but my “layover” is only a little over an hour.  Plus the terminals there aren’t connected.  So its very frustrating–by some accident we are going to be in the same place at the same time (no, it wasn’t even planned…she is at some anesthesia convention in Boston this week) and we probably can’t see each other.  Argh!

On a funnier note, someone found my blog by searching for “phobia of being sucked down toilet.”

 

When You Never Have a Camera…

…really cool would-have-been photos appear.  This particular scene I am looking at would make a friend of mine drool.

I’m sitting at the airport and just out the window is a big red, blue and yellow hot-air balloon.  Just off to one side above the balloon is a 3/4 moon.  The white clouds are streaking in neat patterns and it would be a great photo.

If I only had a camera with me. 

 

The Un-Lottery

Yesterday I talked about work travel.  How timely of me!  I am traveling to DC today! 

The good news is that the two people I am traveling with have unanimously agreed that I should no longer be invited on work trips.  Apparently every time I travel, something goes wrong. 

Of course it’s not hard to have something go wrong in these days of American air travel.  Take today for example. 

We had a flight from Denver to Dulles leaving at 10-ish. 

This morning on my way to the rally point (the three of us planned on meeting and driving up to Denver together) I received a phone call.  The phone call was a recorded message from United, who wished to inform me that my flight had been canceled.  Press 1 if you’d like to talk to a representative.

The United rep did not have good news to share.   He said all the flights to DC were pretty much booked today, and that I could get on a plane if I didn’t mind getting in past midnight.  That isn’t an option because we have some prep work to do that has to be done before tomorrow’s meetings begin bright and early.  Things like grocery shopping (don’t ask).  Anyway, the three of us met at the rally point and started making phone calls.

Nothing!  Apparently there was not a single flight from ANYWHERE to Dulles or Reagan that had an open seat.  Not even one! 

After many phone calls and time spent on hold, we got a flight into BWI.  We’ll have to drive all the way to the Dulles area from there.  Oh well, it’s better than nothing.

So we are all at the Denver airport 4 1/2 hours early.  Checking in was a mess because our flights were still messed up in the system.  The wi-fi isn’t free.  Come on, people!  Wasn’t it Wayne who imparted the wisdom, Get with the now?

Anyway, we had to stand in a REALLY long line to check in (what’s new).  As we looked up at the Departures screen, it was shocking to see that out of 200+ flights, our original flight was the ONLY one that had been canceled.  Kind of weird.  Oh well.  If it’s because the plane is broken, I am fine with canceling.  I don’t want to get on a broken plane.  No way!

Have a good day and I’ll tell you how the DC Metro area is holding up later this evening…

 

I broke my toe

You don’t need to ask how I broke my toe.  Just know that my toe was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now it is large and purple. 

Not my big toe.  My little toe on my right foot.  Possibly the toe next to that too, but definitely the little one. 

The thing that sucks about busting a toe is that there just isn’t much you can do about it.  You can tape it and ice it but that’s about it.  There is no cast involved with a toe. 

Anyway, I just thought I’d tell you about my purple toe.  Ouch.

 

Cabin Fever

I am hoping that today is the last day in 2007 I will need to pay the Plow Guy. 

The Plow Guy has been a frequent visitor to the house this winter.  Some would say “Hey, wait, it’s Spring you ninny.”  Yesterday proved otherwise.  For further reading, check out my previous driveway rant. Okay, maybe today it’s Spring, but it sure wasn’t yesterday.  To make matters worse (unbearable, actually) my internet was down.  Tragedy–major, major tragedy.  In fact it’s still down.  Thankfully the Plow Guy showed up quickly and I am now in fabulous downtown Woodland Park at the deli.  The deli has free Wi-Fi.  I thought I would post a quick note to let everyone know I am still alive.  Apparently I am online so much that when I’m not, people freak out and wonder if something bad happened. 

So I’m done sorting through my e-mail, MySpace messages, and catching up on other blogs.  I feel like I’ve had my dose of the web and I can survive the next couple of hours.  Hopefully the home DSL will come back to life by then. 

 

Little Trees

I cleaned my car this weekend.  This is a big deal.  It happens maybe twice a year.  Some of the things I found lurking in cracks and crevices:

• 739 receipts, mostly too worn to read
• 14 pens
• 3 packets of antibacterial wipes
• $13.66 cents in change
• A banana peel
• 3 sippy cups
• one sock
• one chicken nugget
• two crayons (green and red-orange)
• numerous tic-tacs
• one purple skittle
• …and more!

Anyway, I’m not proud of the state of my car, but when you commute and have a toddler, you kind of stop caring.  But I cleaned my car.  In effort to mask any lingering chicken nugget odor, I bought a Little Tree (Vanillaroma). 

Is it just me, or did Little Trees get wimpy over time?  I remember when they used to just have those pine-scented ones.  I used them a lot in high school (probably to cover up the scent of whatever my friends brought into my ‘81 Tercel).  I remember that if you touched the surface of one of those pine-scented trees, you would smell like pine for hours.  Cancer probably started forming under your skin from touching the tree, so powerful were the aromatic chemicals.  You could actually taste the tree if you came within twelve inches of one.

If you put a pine scented tree in your car (normally it would hang from the rear-view mirror…I didn’t have a rear-view mirror) and checked back a year later, your car would still reek of overpowering pine tree smell. 

The scent of pine was so intense that many people could not stand those Little Trees.  Someone might walk up to your passenger door, catch a glimpse of a tree somewhere near the dashboard, and say “Oh, you have a little tree.  You know, I think I’ll take a cab.  Thanks anyway.”

Fast forward to today.  When I purchase a Little Tree and hang it from my rear-view mirror (I have one now), three days later I have a hard time telling if the scent of my car is more ‘Vanillaroma’ or ‘McNugget’.  Check out the Little Tree website.  These days you can get a papaya-scented tree if you want.  There are dozens of colors and scents of Little Trees for you to choose from.  However, I would be fine with just a few scent selections if they were nearly as powerful as they were ”back in the day.” 

 

Oh, the irony!

We are getting ready to sell our house. 

The thing that always blows my mind about selling a house is this:  In order to sell a house in a quick and orderly manner, the owners must fix the things that are broken or shabby.  So a lot of money and time is spend fixing up the house, until you get it to the point where it’s damn near perfect, and you aren’t even going to enjoy the things you worked on because, well, you’re moving out!  Our list of things to fix includes, but is not limited to:

• Fix small, mysterious hole in bathroom wall
• Replace garage door…it’s never been the same since I backed into it (always check to make sure it’s open, ‘tard!)
• Adjust towel rack in bathroom, apparently gravity is winning the war
• Replace lattice work where evil fat bunnies chewed through it
• Finish getting connected to the sewer (Eff you, Teller County!)
• Clean carpets
• Paint porch and deck
• Remove dead tree (small)
• Melt forty thousand tons of snow that still edges the sides of the driveway
• Clean windows
• Box crap up so it looks less full in here

Alright then.  That’s a good start.  When all of those things are done, and we can walk again, maybe someone will actually consider buying the place.

There was another thing that was on the list too…removing snow from the back deck.  The blizzards of the recent past pretty much buried our back deck and since the winter sun does not hit that side of the house, the snow remained.  Jesse went out there and shoveled the stuff that had not transformed into ice away.  I had a bad feeling about him doing this so early in March, but I didn’t say anything.  Still, snowflakes started falling at about 2 PM. 

It was supposed to be a warm, sunny day today.  Oops.

 

What really happened to that rock

Recently I took a rock off the beach on the Pacific Ocean.  It’s not a pretty rock; its not even a smooth or even rock.  It’s bleached white and a bit porous.  Yet pickins’ were slim so the rock went in my pocket. 

Are there any people among us who have not pondered the lifespan of rocks (Some of you will have to travel back in time farther than others for this exercise).  It’s nice to have a little piece of history.  Perhaps that rock spent its whole existence, pummeled by others and tossed around by the ocean.  Maybe it was a prehistoric mountain that was ground into the sea a long time ago.  Imagine!  This rock, or the rock you take from the shore might be older than anyone will ever really know.  And now, it’s in your pocket.

Since I was on imagination turbodrive, my head kept going.  Suddenly the image of a young boy from inner city Detroit popped into my mind.  There he was, playing on broken playground equipment and running a stick through the dead grass.  Later he was eating dinner at his aunt’s house, who he lived with.

Ok stay with me here.  Now the boy is thirty something and he has made something of himself.  He lives in California in a nice house with his wife and two daughters.  A son is on the way.  He pays one last visit to Detroit to find the neighborhood worse than it had ever been before.  Windows on the house he once lived in have been broken and their shattered remains are hidden within the grass he once played on.  He shakes his head.

Before stepping off the sidewalk and sliding into his Lexus, he notices the sidewallk.  It too it falling into pieces.  He grabs a piece of the sidewalk and tucks it into the pocket of his coat.

When he returns home to California, he makes a stop at the pier just before going home.  There is something that he has always wanted to do.  He looks around to make sure no one is watching, then he throws the piece of sidewalk out to the sea.  He throws it so far that he can’t be sure where it landed.  A little part of him feels a little bit better.  He goes home and life goes on.

A couple of years later, someone is walking the beach, looking for a rock…a rock that could be millions of years old….

 

Two Grandpas are better than one!

And to prove it, AJ blurted out a real humdinger this weekend. 

AJ had just gotten off the telephone with his Grandpa Mitch.  Immediately after the call, we all started getting our shoes on to go see Grandpa Bill.  AJ asked if we were going to see Grandpa Mitch.  We told him no, we just talked to Grandpa Mitch, it was now time to go see Grandpa Bill. 

In all of his take-charge two-ness, AJ loudly declared “Let’s go get in the car and go see Grandpa B*tch!” 

Oops. 

 

Flavia

If I bought one Grande Skim Latte ($3.22 in my location) each workday, plus coffee on the weekends, I figure I would spend somewhere between $800 - $1000 a year on fu-fu coffee drinks.  I figure I did this last year.  

So in an effort to cut back, I am avoiding coffee joints when I can and turning to the company coffee. 

Up until sometime during the summer last year, our coffee came in big silver carafes that sat on the countertops in the office kitchens.  Then the big switch happened.  The company switched to Flavia.

Flavia held great promise with each of its colorful, vaccuum-packed individually wrapped coffee pods.  The magic that came with the Flavia machine was undeniable…pop in a shiny pod, press a few buttons to customize your coffee experience, place a paper cup underneath the spout and in a mere 30 seconds, a hot cup of cappucino, Milky Way Latte, Choco, or one of several other varieties of coffee, sat steaming in front of your very eyes!

Maybe I’ve just been spoiled by the coffee joints of my recent memory, but Flavia coffee really loses something along the way.  Maybe it’s the vaccuum packing.  Maybe it’s the sitting in a warehouse.  Maybe the pod-eating machine needs to be cleaned often.  Either way, I don’t like it much.  But Flavia is my coffee future…at least until we hit the Powerball. 

 

The 500 Mile High Club

I’ve never been an astronaut, but I imagine that the training to become one is pretty lengthy and demanding.  I imagine that the competition is fierce, and that once you become one, you are in The Club.  The cool kids club, that is.  When you become an astronaut, you have all kinds of respect and admiration from millions of people, from first graders learning about space to old geezers who wish that they too, had the ambition and talent and perserverance to become an astronaut (I’m speculating this). 

That is, until you try to pepper spray and kidnap the lady who is getting some from the fellow astronaut that you have a thing for.  Once you attempt to waste your romantic competition – while wearing diapers, no less — you kind of lose all that hard earned respect. 

 And you look like an eeeediot.

 

Arizona is looking good…

I am really, really sick of the snow. 

Last night when I got home from work, I noticed that the road into my neighborhood had lots of snow on it, even though the skies were blue.  It was really windy and it didn’t take more than a couple seconds to realize the wind had blown lots of the already existing snow onto what had been “almost thawed” roads. 

I got closer to my house and saw that our road and driveway were covered in snow.  In a feeble attempt to get home, I started up the road and got stuck.  I managed to get unstuck once and get a bit closer.  Then I saw that our driveway had 2 and 3 foot drifts.  Pointless to try driving, it was time to get out and walk.

So I took a deep breath, grabbed what I needed out of my car, and darted to the house.  Or it would have been a dart, had the snow not sucked my shoe off.  Ice on pantyhose: not a good feeling.  Finally I got into the house but it felt like my lower half had been dipped in ice for five minutes.  I guess in a way, it had. 

My car is still out there in the road this morning.  When I woke up, there was another car coming up the road that got stuck near me.  And now there are a few cars that are stuck in the road.  So I haven’t even attempted to go out and evaluate the dire-ness of this situation, because the snow is now falling even harder.  My big fear is that this rapidly growing number of cars in the road is going to hamper the plow.

That brings me to another point.  Plows.  Granted, they clear the road to the degree of driveability.  However in doing so they transform the loose snow that was on the roads into solid snow-walls that line the end of people’s driveways.  I know it’s the plow guy’s job, but I smell some sort of invention opportunity here.  You know how they have lawnmowers that catch the grass?  I think they need plows that catch all this snow. 

And what is on the headline this morning on every news channel?  Global warming is making New York City reach record highs even though it’s January.  Right now in New York City it’s 62 degrees.  And of course they are all complaining because all the plants and animals think it’s spring.  It’s kind of scary, because one good cold spell up there and all those critters and greenery will freeze and die, and they’ll have a pretty bland spring and summer. 

Each part of the world has their problems.  If mine is getting stuck in my house, unable to go to work, sipping hot cocoa, I’ll take it!