The Best of Class Factotum

That's all

2011-02-14T12:39:00.000-08:00

I have re-posted my archives that were lost when journalspace crashed in December 2008 and never refunded my money, you jerks and yes, I was paying for a blogging service how stupid was that? I recovered most of my old journalspace posts and now they are here, except for the political stuff, which 1. is no longer timely and 2. something I don't do any more because I get tired of arguing about those things.

If you have read through this entire blog and want to know what happens next (Reader, I married him! - oh wait - you knew that), then go here to my current blog.

The content of his character

2011-02-11T14:42:00.003-08:00

posted 12/06/08

If this is what Milwaukee County has to say about being a juror

The most important qualities of a juror are fairness and impartiality. A juror must lay aside all bias and prejudice.

then why does SH have to complete a form giving his race? (Which is human, BTW. And like the defense and prosecution couldn't figure it out by looking at him when he gets there, if it's so important to the case?) It is illegal for him not to answer the question.

We had to answer the same question on our marriage license application. What? Is it illegal for persons of different races to marry each other in Wisconsin?

Marriage 101, Lecture 12: Life with an engineer, part 2

2011-02-11T14:42:00.001-08:00

posted 12/05/08

SH [brandishing the claim form I have completed and printed]: Why did you put "18 Ave" instead of "18th Ave.?"

Me: Because.

SH: But it's not right! We live on 18th Avenue, not 18 Avenue.

Me: So what?

SH: But what if their OCR system matches on the string "18th" instead of "18?" What you write has to match what's already in the system, which is "18th."

Me: I think they can figure it out. It's probably not the only time this sort of thing has happened.

SH: But it's not right!

Oh yeah, I'll tell you something

2011-02-11T14:41:00.001-08:00

posted 12/05/08

Dear ponytail kumbaya guy who was sitting one row ahead and across the aisle from me at church last week,

The reason I was in a pew all by myself was specifically because I did not want to hold hands during the Our Father. When you crossed the aisle to hold hands with the man standing in front of me, did I try to break in? Did I look sad that I had been left out? Did I do anything to indicate that oh if only I could be included in the hand holding that my religious experience would be complete? No I did not. I hold hands with my husband, my grandmother and my mother. That’s it. Strangers are not in my hand-holding lexicon.

So what about me compelled you to break your hold with the guy ahead of me, turn around and beckon me to join you? Was it my crossed arms? My stiff posture? My refusal to meet your eyes until I realized you were not going to go away until I said something, which I did, which was, “Thanks, but I’m good?”

I was almost tempted not to shake hands during the peace stuff and say something namby-pamby like, “Oh no. I have a cold and don’t want to make you sick,” but that would have been a lie and a lie in church is like three lies in real life, so I decided to stick to my non-hand-holding guns. Yes, you gave me a look of pity – that “I’ll pray for you because you are so unenlightened that you probably think the Marty Haugen music in “Gather” stinks and what’s worse you probably vote Republican look” – but honestly, I don’t think God spends a lot of time worrying about people who do not want to hold hands with complete strangers.

And neither should you.

Signed,

Happy in my own little bubble at church

Peoples' Republic of Wauwatosa, #22

2011-02-11T14:40:00.000-08:00

posted 12/04/08

Me [trying to cross street by junior high right after school lets out]: Please don't cross with me.

Crossing guard: I have to. It's my job.

Me: No, it's not. I'm 45 years old. I don't need a crossing guard.

CG: I have to.

Me: I am not a kindergartner. This is ridiculous. I'm just going to go the other way.

CG: It's not that embarrassing.

Me: It's pretty silly.

And then I jaywalked. Alone. Ha.

Pizza are round? No, pizza are square. Cornbread are round.

2011-02-08T10:48:00.001-08:00

posted 12/02/08

I always thought that saying was a little odd -- everyone knows that pizza is round. But I chalked it up to the same people who thought of the P&S problem of how many socks do you have to pull out of a drawer of blue socks and black socks to get a pair. You just grab the bunch of socks, right? I mean, doesn't everyone fold their socks? What is this sloppiness of putting unmatched socks into a drawer? Where were these people raised, in a barn?

Anyhow. Guess what? Pizza in Milwaukee are square. SH and I got pizza from a place that is supposed to be one of the best pizza places in town (the fact that Milwaukee was settled by Germans should have been our first clue) and not only was it not very good (a thick crust does not break when I bite into it, OK? "thick" means chewy and thick, not cracker-like and thin) but it was square, which ruined the entire pizza-eating experience. One is supposed to be able to pick up the piece of pizza by the outside crust and then eat out from the point to the outside. But not with square pizza, you're not going to eat like that.

I thought it was an isolated incident: that perhaps these unsophisticated Germans, who don't even know what chicken-fried steak is and who charge $3.00 a pound for collards (when they can be found), might have messed up the pizza at one restaurant. But then I saw the recipe for the Potato Rosemary Onion Pizza in the Sunday paper, a recipe written by some famous restaurant guy who has been to Europe, and he wants me to make a square pizza crust.*

Between this pizza debacle and the snow (yes, SH spent an hour shoveling snow yesterday with the shovel Lenore gave us as a housewarming present in July, which was funny then but makes me want to move to Texas now, and we still have ice in the driveway because snow on the roof melts during the day, runs down the gutter, pools in the driveway, which is sloped away from our house and away from our neighbor's house, which is probably some stupid code requirement, and freezes, making walking to the car a very delicate operation, especially for someone who has never lived in global-warming winter as an adult before), I have lots of proof should SH ever doubt my love for him. I coulda stayed in Memphis, where they know what's what with pizza and I never once had to shovel snow.

* Yes, I know that's how they make pizza in Rome, but in the US, we make pizza round. Dammit.

Marriage 101: Lecture 14, Getting Things Done

2011-02-08T10:47:00.004-08:00

posted 12/02/08

Me: Are you listening to this show? [Home Improvement, Jill, "You don't want me to nag you, you don't want me to hire a handyman, and then you don't want to do the job. What am I supposed to do?"]

SH: Nope.

Me: She's talking about how Tim promises to do repairs and doesn't do them.

SH: I promise you I'll do things to be nice, but then I get busy.

Me: I don't want you to be nice. I just want you to do what you say you'll do.

SH: I do it if it's important.

Me: I think it's important.

SH: I don't think it's important to go through all the boxes in the corner of the basement.

Me: I do.

Kitchen tip #23

2011-02-08T10:47:00.003-08:00

posted 12/02/08

After you have eaten all the Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch but before you have replaced the broken little plastic thingy that holds up the Shelf Formerly Used For Stepping On, you may eat of the candy corns you bought for a dime at Walgreen's a few days after Halloween and that you had hidden on the very bottom shelf of the pantry (aka The Shelf Underneath The Shelf Formerly Used For Stepping On).

Does anyone else hide food from herself? Or is it just me? Am I the only one forgetful enough to remember that I bought something if I stash it behind SH's lifetime supply of Ramen noodles?

UPDATE #1
Am I the only one who eats enough candy corns that she feels sick to her stomach and throws the rest of the bag away?

UPDATE #2
Am I the only one who, if she does not hide the food from herself, then dares not break the seal and open it (I'm talking to you, Hob Nobs from our trip to England two years ago and now in the freezer, and marzipan cookies from Spain that now reside in the chocolate drawer of the fridge) because once the item is opened, it's Katie Bar The Door and then it's to the trash with you, upset-stomach causing stuff?

Kitchen tip #22

2011-02-08T10:47:00.001-08:00

posted 12/01/08

There are only so many times you can step on the penultimate shelf of the pantry to pull the Chocolate Chunk Hazelnut Biscotti Granola (SH's -- he has a far more sophisticated palate than I) off the top shelf so you can reach the Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch that you have hidden from yourself before the cheap little plastic thingy holding up the penultimate shelf, along with four boxes of macaroni, a bag of spinach noodles, a jar of orzo, a jar of some kind of wheat berry that is years old and would probably make some fine vegan dish, a box of sugar-free Fudge Chocolate pudding, half a box of vegan fudge chocolate frosting mix (on super sale and really good if you make it with butter) and two bins containing dried beans (mine) and broccoli-cheese casserole mix (SH's), breaks.

Update
I have a stool. I am just too lazy to get it out of the closet and use it.

For my birthday, I want a vacuum cleaner*

2011-02-08T10:39:00.000-08:00

posted 11/29/08

We’ve had this problem for a while: the lip on the kitchen sink prevents the dish tray from draining. Even though I have engineered a solution using the caps from two jars of Honey Roast Peanut Butter, which is finally back on the market, it doesn’t work. The drainer is designed to catch water in the sides rather than pushing it to the middle, which is so dumb that I can’t begin to think of how I would punish the person who created this. I mean, does anyone, besides mosquitoes, need pools of water accumulating below the drying dishes? Also, whose idea was it to have this big lip on the sink? What’s wrong with having a flush finish with the counter? What is wrong with these people?

Anyhow. I have been quite unhappy with this situation since we moved into the house and have been looking and looking for a dish drainer that would solve my problem. I knew the solution had to exist – I cannot be the only person in the world who washes dishes by hand. (Cue ominous music here.) Or can I?

So. As I was flipping through the Williams-Sonoma catalogue the other day and scoffing at the prices (doesn’t anyone do her own cooking any more? Is it that hard to make a Red Velvet Cake from scratch? Or even from a mix? Must one buy it for $65? For $65, I will come over to your house and make the cake. People. It’s. Not. That. Hard.), I saw this: a Simple Human dishrack. It was gorgeous – elegant and sleek and best of all, elevated and designed so that water would drain into the sink, even over a stupid lip.

And outrageously expensive.

$69.99, to be exact. Now you guys know I am all about spending money on the stuff you use every day. I’m frugal, but I understand value. That’s why I have the Engagement Trash Can (also a Simple Human product) rather than a diamond ring. A nice trash can (covered, with a foot pedal for opening, tall enough that I don’t hurt my back when I peel onions into it) makes my life a lot easier. Diamonds are nice, but save my back, please.

But $69.99 for a dish rack? It is to laugh, even if “The drip tray, utensil holder, and inner wire frame are all dishwasher safe.” (Is it just me or is there a certain irony in having a dishwasher-safe dishrack to hold your dishes that you washed by hand?)

I showed the page to SH, who decided that this dishrack was very, very cool and he immediately began googling in search of better prices to no avail. We sighed and decided that $69.99 was just Too Much To Spend, even though the product was Very Cool.

Then last night, we passed a Linens and Things, which, as you may have heard, is going out of business. Perhaps we could find the item there at a discount?

No. It was not. But there were two Oxo dishracks that met the criteria and were not only half the Simple Human price, but also 30% off.

Merry Christmas to me!

* Not really.

** We already have two.

*** I want a pony.

Bad movies # 47

2011-02-08T10:38:00.001-08:00

posted 11/29/08

Me: That movie [Au Revoir Les Enfants] sucked.

SH: What did you expect? It was about Jews in World War II.

Me: It sucked.

SH: All you want are happy endings.

How we met, part 2

2011-02-05T07:55:00.000-08:00

posted 11/23/08

So when I left you, SH and I were necking on my couch. Then I took him back to the airport (this was the Monday after Thanksgiving) and three days later, he returned to Memphis. I had given up all pretense of working -- I mean, they'd eliminated my job and told me to go away, so why should I bust my butt to finish the projects I'd started? Just so my boss, the one who told me I should quit using those big words that nobody understood, wouldn't be left in a lurch?

Don't think so.

So I picked SH up from the airport on Thursday. I went to work sort of on Friday, but came home at lunch. I cooked SH a supper waffles and bacon, which he thought was strange because his philosophy on supper is that it should be a meal with which one can drink wine.

Whatever. Surely there is a wine that goes with waffles.

We had a great time that weekend. Unfortunately, I can't remember what else we did, although I do remember that SH tried to figure out a way to move from the guest room to mine. Then he decided he wanted to see me some more, so got me a ticket to Milwaukee two weeks hence.

Did I mention that Gomez, the millionaire with not one but two Jaguars (the car, not the cat) did not get my ticket to Paris? He didn't even offer.

SH is not a millionaire. But he has good manners. (And yes, he has more than made up for not paying for lunch on our first was it a date or not? date at The Cupboard, a restaurant we still miss.)

Let me say something else here. Millionaires (or men who claim to be millionaires) who have women throwing themselves at them tend not to be good kissers. Don't know why that is unless they feel like they don't need to work at it. Remember "Revenge of the Nerds?" And the nerd who was such a good kisser compared to the jock? Remember what he said? Well, it's true. Former nerds are the best kissers and that's all I'm going to say about that.

Anyhow, I went to Milwaukee and we went ice skating and SH made steak and grilled vegetables for me on his grill on the snow-covered patio and we went out for frozen custard and by then I knew for sure that Gomez "I drink a bottle of wine at lunch then change into my Frette pajamas for a four-hour nap every day even though we are in Paris and the woman I asked to meet me here wants to go to Chartres or Versailles or anywhere but my bank and the Ferrari dealership" was history.

Then SH asked me to go to a New Year's Eve party with him at our friends Pete and Julie in Pittsburgh and then spend ten days with him, which I didn't think I could do because ten days! What if I didn't like him ten days' worth?

Marriage 101, Lecture 45: Your free calling plan and your $42/month YMCA membership

2011-02-05T07:54:00.002-08:00

posted 11/20/08

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it's lazy. But tell me you haven't called your husband on the cellphone rather than climb from the basement to the second floor.

Marriage 101, Lecture 33: Just the facts, ma'am, or Life with an engineer*

2011-02-05T07:54:00.001-08:00

posted 11/20/08

Me: What would you do if you woke up and you'd gone back 25 years? You would be 18 again, back at college, but you would have the memories you have now?

SH (aka Joe Friday to The Bodacious Red-Headed Pediatrician): That's silly. That couldn't happen.

Me: I know. But what if it happened? What would you do differently?

SH: There's no point in talking about this! It's just make believe.

* I should add that life with an engineer also means that your stereo, TV, washer and dryer, motion-sensor lights, and clothesline get installed properly and the dishes -- when he does them -- are washed perfectly.

He doesn't appreciate great literature

2011-02-05T07:53:00.002-08:00

posted 11/18/08

Me: I was really worried about getting a ticket this afternoon [when I went to the tech school to get a $12 pedicure].

SH: Did you get one?

Me: Let me tell you the story. So I couldn’t find parking and finally did, but it was blocks from the school. I used all my coins and got an hour and a half on the meter, then used my last dime for the guy next to me who had run out. I thought 90 minutes would be enough.

SH: Did you get a ticket?

Me: Let me tell you the story! So I finally found the place – they had changed rooms from what they said on the website. The girl who gave me the pedicure was really sweet but she took a long time because you know they have to do everything on the list and she kept checking her list. I finally told her that I needed to leave by 3:00 so I wouldn’t run out the meter, so she started to hurry. Then she said that she might not be able to do the massage and I said OK because I don’t like that part anyhow. I had brought my flip flops because I was going to wear them back to the car, but it was so cold there by the lake and then it started snowing, so then I thought I would just sit there and read my book for a while so my toes could dry, but by the time she finished, I really had to go, so I put on the flip flops anyhow and ran back to the car.

SH: Did you get a ticket?

Me: No! I got back with four minutes to spare! And the parking guy was right there! Can you believe it?

SH: You made me go through all of that just to find out you didn’t get a ticket?

Me: Well, it's not a story if I say, "I was worried I would get a ticket, but then I didn't." That's just dull.

Top secret

2011-02-05T07:53:00.001-08:00

posted 11/16/08

For some insane reason, I volunteered to set up the membership database for my neighborhood association. What this means is that I entered 263 records into excel, a record consisting of the member name, phone, address, email, and interest in volunteering at three different levels of 25 activities. (For those of you who know anything about spreadsheets and databases, this means 75 columns just for the activities. All’s I can say is thank goodness for What Not to Wear, Rachel Ray and SuperNanny – good background for doing data entry.)

Back to the email address: lots and lots of couples with shared email addresses, as in bobandsandy@yahoo or cindylovessteve@aol.

Have they learned nothing from me? Do they not know that couples should not share an email address because fighting for custody of the address when they divorce is worse than fighting for the dog? Yes. I implied it. Sharing an email address leads to divorce. I know at least two couples who had shared email addresses who have divorced and if that's not proof I don't know what is. Couples should be able to have secrets from each other.

But CF! you are saying in shock. Once you are married, you should share everything! You should pee with the bathroom door open! You should fart in front of each other! That’s the beauty of marriage! A complete partnership!

No, I say, no, no, no.

Boundaries are the key to any good relationship. Parents shouldn’t share everything with their children (“I've always thought your sister was a big loser” is not something my mother should say to me, not that she would of course because she doesn't think that, but if she did think that, it would be NONE OF MY BUSINESS) and spouses shouldn’t share everything with each other. If my friend tells me she has lost $23,000 playing the slots and asks me not to tell anyone because she is so ashamed or she says she is interviewing for a different job but don’t tell anyone because she doesn’t want it to get back to her boss and I say but what about SH and she says please don’t tell him either then there is no harm in keeping that secret.

The exception, of course, is if my friend says You know I’ve always thought SH was a big jerk and how can you stand him. In that case, the proper answer is He’s not a big jerk and I will thank you not to talk about my husband that way and goodbye. If SH asks why I no longer talk to that friend, then I tell him what she said. If someone wants me to take sides with her against my husband, my husband wins.

Other than that, your secret is safe with me.

Marriage 101, lecture 7: Men and tools

2011-02-05T07:52:00.001-08:00

posted 11/14/08

A package arrived for SH the other day while he was in Dallas. I emailed him to tell him it had arrived.

Me: Hi baby. You got a package from buy.com.

SH: The buy.com package is a hammer, of all things. It has some kind of fancy vibration-reducing technology, and it was just a bit over $10. Open it if you want to.

Me [trying to think of how to phrase my response given that SH has hammered exactly five times since we met): Ummm. You know I already have a hammer, right?

Our conversation when he got home:

Me: You know I already have a hammer.

SH: But this one is cool! And someday, we might be doing a lot of hammering.

Let them eat salad

2011-02-02T11:12:00.001-08:00

posted 11/10/08

Y’all, I am trying really hard not to mock this, because really, what’s it to me what someone else eats or doesn’t eat? Who cares if someone wants to be a vegan and shun honey, butter and eggs? It’s just more for the rest of us, right? I have many vegetarian friends and they are just fine with me because I don’t have to feed them steak or the good bacon. The less of the good stuff that I have to share, the better. I am more than happy to make an omelet for a vegetarian while SH grills two fabulous steaks for us. Eggs are way less expensive than meat.

But I have to say that this notice on the library bulletin board promoting a “Vegan Thanksgiving Feast” made me laugh. Never having seen the words “vegan” and “feast” used that closely together, I was compelled to do some research. Bless their sincere hearts (and I mean that), they have only plant-based foods at this event (“The Feast consists of a buffet offering a sliced turkey substitute, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing and chili”), having made the transition from vegetarian to vegan recently:

The last few years this event was on as a vegetarian event, this problem had been made less difficult by the introduction of color-coded clothes pins. All dishes containing dairy, eggs or honey would get their own color clothes pin. Green would be used for raw dishes. And three years ago, I couldn't have been happier when they made this event an all-vegan event. The only clothes pins that are left from the old system are the green ones.

I can make a good vegetarian meal. Ask Harpo, Bruce or Leigh. I rock with the Spanish tortilla, the fried-egg and buttered bread crumbs pasta, and the macaroni and cheese. The dilemma, of course, is how you get a decent meal without dairy (ie, butter, lard, cheese or cream), eggs or honey. OK, the honey I can do without, but how do you get good mashed potatoes or gravy without animal products? What kind of gravy can you make without either meat broth or milk? How do you make a good brownie without butter or eggs? Or pumpkin pie? Sweet potato casserole? Corn casserole? It’s just not possible. Maybe that’s why there are no fat people in the photos: no one wants to eat more than the bare minimum to sustain life.

Perhaps it’s this lousy diet that makes vegans cranky enough to want to ban hunting for other people (can’t the hunters’ motto be, “Against hunting? Then don’t shoot”) and change Wisconsin’s slogan (although perhaps the slogan should be “We have lost all notion of self reliance and want the government to take care of us and to tell us what we are allowed to put into our bodies,” given Wisconsin’s vote in the recent election and the climate in Madison re smoking in private property like bars):

We're not able to stop the hunting just yet or make our state slogan something else than America's Dairyland

Fortunately, given their diet, they will never have the strength to fight us egg and cheese eaters. Celery just doesn’t give you that much fuel.

It's better not to look

2011-02-02T11:11:00.001-08:00

posted 11/09/08

My friend Luke, the beloved of the wonderful SFGirl with whom I get pedicures, has generously offered some at-home web work to me. I am delighted at the opportunity to make some money (so many things on the wish list, most of which will have to wait until After Alimony, including replacing the AWFUL Kenmore, yes that is the Sears brand, electric smoothtop stove that sucks) without even getting out of my pajamas but am dismayed at what the take-home loot turns out to be after Uncle Sam has taken his bite. (I was going to say “share,” but that implies he has a right to my money, which he does to cover infrastructure, education and defense but not so that Congress can get out of Social Security and give themselves a better plan or so Obama can take some of my “wealth” and “spread [it] around” – can’t people get their own jobs and create their own wealth? Why do they have to have mine?)

Anyhow. Luke has offered me at-home, in PJs, in front of Paula Deen’s Home Cooking and What Not To Wear work for $20 an hour. What’s not to like?

It’s lovely. It’s delightful. It’s more than I would get for doing nothing.

And then I did the tax calculations.

When you are an independent contractor, you pay all your social security. Instead of a 7.5% cut from your paycheck, take out 15.3%. Then, if you are married (and I would be delighted to be wrong on this one, so anyone who knows more about this than I please jump in), your earnings go on top of your spouse’s for income tax purposes, so take out another 30% or so.

Then, if you want to work through an online freelance service (like elance.com) and be available for other employers, you pay a fee of 8.75%.

Add all this up and you’re at 54% more or less going to other people, which puts the take-home pay at under $10/hour, which is still more than I’m making watching What Not To Wear without work but sheesh! I’m still going to do it, but I’m also giving serious consideration to cleaning houses for cash.

German money

2011-02-02T11:10:00.000-08:00

posted 11/09/08

SH: Look at this pull chain at Menard's. It's only a dollar. I can put it in the tool room.

Me: I was just going to tie a piece of string to the chain that's there.

SH: But it's only a dollar. That's only one-quarter of a beer.

Very Rainman

2011-02-02T11:09:00.003-08:00

posted 11/08/08

SH decides that he needs to replace FM 99.1 (preset 3) with FM 93.3 on the car stereo presets. He resests 95.7 from preset 2 to preset 3, 94.5 from preset 1 to preset 2, and sets preset 1 to 93.3.

Me: Why couldn't you just replace 99.1 with 93.3?

SH: They have to be in order.

In the pink

2011-02-02T11:09:00.001-08:00

posted 11/07/08

Henry: SH, you can't wear a pink shirt. Pink is for girls.

Thank you, China

2011-02-02T11:08:00.000-08:00

posted 11/07/08

Warning on the battery inside my Radio Your Way, SH's Christmas present to me last year that I love, love, love and that died inexplicably and I can't get it replaced or repaired because the company is out of business after those jerks at Apple sued them for patent infringement which is a bunch of crap because no Apple product gets AM radio and lets you record radio programs as far as I know:

Don't put the battery into fire and heat it.

Tangled up in blue part 2

2011-01-23T10:55:00.001-08:00

posted 11/07/08

Henry and I were looking at some photos and came across one of a man wearing a blue shirt riding a camel.

Me: Henry, who is that?

Henry: I think it’s SH.

Me: I don’t think it is. I don’t think SH has ever been on a camel.

Henry: No, I think that’s SH.

Me: I don’t think SH has been to Morocco without me and I never rode a camel here.

Henry: I think that’s SH. Does SH have a blue shirt?

For you, I make good price. For everyone else, I make bad price.

2011-01-23T10:49:00.001-08:00

posted 11/05/08

Buying a rug 2005

Megan: Don't buy a rug in Fez. They are much less expensive in Rabat.

Us: OK.

[In Fez]

Guide: Let me show you this rug shop.

SH, Me: No, we are not interested in buying a rug. Oh, that's a nice one. But no.

Rug salesman: For you, I make good price.

Us: How much does a rug like this cost?

RS: Would you like some tea?

Us: No. What does the rug cost? We don't want a rug.

RS: Look at this one. [Snaps his fingers as assistants unroll rug after rug.]

[One hour later)

Me: How much would this one cost?

RS: Five thousand dollars.

Us: One cannot pay that price. Goodbye.

S: Please. Give to me a price.

Us: No, one's price would be to insult.

RS: Please. Just tell me. I give you a number, now you give me a number.

Us: OK. One thousand dollars. [We are so clever, giving such a lowball price!]

[One more hour later]

RS: I must sell a rug. Look, today I get the bill from my son´s school. [Shows us a fax from Penn. Penn!]

Us: One cannot pay more than 1000 for the rug. Goodbye. [We start to walk out.]

RS: OK, OK. Twelve hundred dollars. That is my best offer.

[By now we love the rug and have committed two hours to negotiating about it. OK, maybe 40 minutes, but it felt like two hours.]

Us: OK.

[Back in Rabat at the artesanal workshop, where all the products have price tags.]

Me: Look! That´s like the rug we got.

SH: Stop. Don't come any closer.

Me: Why not?

SH: You really, really do not want to see the price tag. Just trust me on this.

Buying a rug 2008

Megan: Let me take you to the good rug guys here in Rabat.

Us: OK.

Megan: This is my friend Liz. She was a Peace Corps volunteer here and she worked with the rug guys.

Us: Cool. Now we shop.

[We find the only -- the only -- rug in the Rabat medina that is the design we like that has the apparently non-standard measurements we need for our dining room. We even find an internet cafe to check the tax records for the dimensions of the room to make sure we calculated properly. The seller does not know he has the only rug with the proper dimensions. We are not going to tell him.]

Us: How much for this beautiful rug that we looked at 30 minutes ago and now have come to see again? [We are so shrewd.]

Seller: 5,500 dirhams. But for you, I make good price.

Us: Hmm. [Remembering Liz's advice, we scratch the underside of the rug to check the tightness of the knots -- as if we know what we are doing -- and begin to point out the flaws.]

Seller: For you, 5000 dh. [About 550 dollars]

Us: One does not know. It must to think.

Seller: Is not much for you.

Us: Yes, is much for us! It must to think about to spend so much money.

Seller: Hmmm.

Us: Hmmm.

Seller: You like?

Us: Is very pretty. One might like it.

Seller: Hmm.

Us: Excuse me. [I call Liz.] Liz, how much should we pay for this rug? [I answer her questions about the pattern and size.]

Liz: Offer him 3000 dh. Don't pay more than 4000 dh.

Us: One would pay 3000 for this.

Seller: No! This is all made at hand. This is an item authentic. It has a value far more than 3000 dh. It is not possible to sell this rug for only 3000. Look at the work! Look at the materials! This is wool from sheep! This is Berber!

Us: Hmmm.

Seller: No, no, no. It is not possible.

Us: Hmmm.

Seller: I make you the price final. Below this, it is impossible to go. Four thousand. Price final.

Us: OK.

Tonight we dance in Havana

2011-01-23T10:30:00.000-08:00

posted 11/03/08

The plan for tonight: Take a salsa class at Havana Club.

Last night, walking near our hotel, we hear music. That sounds Cuban, I say. Then I see the sign: Havana Club. Explains it all. I have been trying to get SH to take salsa lessons with me for a long time. Now’s my chance: no football game on, no business travel, no karaoke.

We walk into the club. The music is great. I try to teach SH the basic steps, but I am a very bad dance teacher. He is accommodating, but it’s not as much fun dancing when neither party knows what’s going on. We leave. I have a conversation with the bouncer that sounds like this:

Me: Are there classes how to dance here?

Bouncer: Yes, tomorrow night there are.

Me: How much are they worth?

Bouncer: Six euros.

Me: Is it that the teacher speak English? My husband says that he cannot learn to dance in Spanish.

Bouncer: It is not necessary to speak Spanish for to dance!

Me: I am of accord.

Bouncer: The teacher of to dance is here. You could talk to him. He is the young man without hair.

Me: You mean Little Baldy?

Bouncer: Yes.

Me: I lived in Chile for two years. I know of the custom of naming people Baldy, Fatty, Blackie, Beer-belly.

Bouncer: That it is.

We go inside and find Baldy.

Me: Do you speak English? My husband has worry that he cannot learn how to dance in Spanish.

Teacher: Is not necessary to speak Spanish for to learn to dance! I have taught to many foreigners how to dance.

Maybe they're from California

2011-01-23T10:28:00.003-08:00

posted 11/03/08

Scene: Market in Rabat

Persons: Two American guys in their early 20s.

Dialogue upon seeing the items shown below: Are those for cigarettes?

Why is there air?

2011-01-23T10:28:00.001-08:00

posted 11/03/08

The questions I ask SH:

Would you like some breakfast?

Do you want to watch this movie with me?

Are you ready to leave for church?

Do you have any other dirty clothes for me to wash?

The questions SH asks me:

Why don't you like that song?

Why don't you want Obama to be elected?

Why must you go to bed so early?

Why don't you like tendon and tripe?

Morocco 6

2011-01-23T10:27:00.001-08:00

posted 11/03/08

The plan:

Megan, her friend Kelly, SH and I would go to the market while Steve watched the kids. We would return by 1:20 so Steve could drive us the 70 miles to the airport in Casablanca.

The execution:

11:30 We set out for the market. The car is making funny sounds. It’s choking, Megan says. The car sputters and dies. SH suggests that maybe something is wet. (Did I mention that it is pouring down rain in Rabat and the streets are flooded? This is not a city designed for water.) The car tries to start but it won’t catch. SH suggests that it might be the fuel pump, in which case not only are we not going to the market, but Megan and Steve face a major repair on a car that they need only until June and SH and I no longer have transportation to the airport.

11:40 Megan calls Steve and Kelly’s husband. Kelly’s husband can’t take us to the airport because their only car is a government car and there are strict rules on the use. Steve tells Megan to leave the car where it is and he’ll get a mechanic out there tomorrow. Kelly knows a taxi service that will actually pick up at the house. (As opposed to walking four blocks to a major street to flag one down. In the pouring rain.)

11:45 SH suggests pushing the car back to the house as it is only one block. We do so. In the pouring rain. Kelly calls the taxi service and tells them to be at the house at 12:15 to take SH and me to the train station for the 1:05 train to the aiport.

12:15 No taxi.

12:18 SH walks to the major road to summon a taxi. In the pouring rain.

12:23 SH returns with a taxi. He buys 200 dirhams from Megan (we had already spent all our Moroccan cash and the train doesn’t take credit cards). We load up, say our goodbyes, and leave.

12:25 The taxi driver asks us about Obama. Sheesh.

12:40 We arrive at the train station. There are two trains to Casa Ain Sabaa, the station where we change to the airport train. One leaves at 12:50, one at 1:05. Both arrive at the airport at the same time. We choose the 1:05 option as it is the one that actually lists the airport as a destination.

12:59 The disembodied voice of some woman tells us in Arabic and in French that the 12:50 train is delayed 20 minutes.

1:05 Our train does not arrive.

1:10 Our train does not arrive, but the 12:50 train does. Should we get on it instead? We have 47 seconds to make a decision and cross to the other platform. We decide No, Let’s stay where we are because they have not announced a delay for our train, have they, so it must be pretty much on time.

1:20 Where is our train? I demand of the train guy at the station door. He shrugs. Surely, this is not a situation that could have been anticipated and announced.

1:23 Our train is delayed 30 minutes. Our backup plan, now that we have spent $20 on train tickets, is to take a taxi all the way to the airport, which would set us back only $60.

1:37 Our train arrives. We ask the conductor how frequently the connecting train to the airport runs from Ain Sabaa. He doesn’t know. SH and I continue to stress. Can we take a taxi from Ain Sabaa to the airport? How much would it cost? Our flight is at 5:00. What if we don’t get there until 4:00? Things do take longer in foreign airports. Yes, they do.

2:25 We arrive in Ain Sabaa. The conductor taps my shoulder as we disembark. There is the airport train, he says as he points to the other platform. The train, she is waiting! We run. I ask the French couple sitting next to us how long one has attended the train and they tell me they are arrived after 20 minutes of to wait. Even if we had taken the “12:50” train, we would have been on the same connection. We feel better.

3:00 We arrive at the airport. Madness upon disembarkation. Everyone (100?) converges on one door to the airport – a door where they have one security guard screening passengers. One attends. And attends. As we inch closer to the door, a guy walks to the front of the line. No one says anything. He leaves his bag and returns with his girlfriend. Still nobody says anything. The girlfriend leaves and returns with her friend. I am getting annoyed and mutter things about linecutters. I glare at girl #2. She looks back at me, puzzled. I say It must to wait su torno back there. (Yes, my brain thinks there are two languages: English and all others. If I can’t think of how to say it in French, I throw in some Spanish.) She shrugs. I persist: You are not the next one. Him, then him, then us. You must attend there (pointing to the back). She rolls her eyes and turns around. The guy in front of me – one of the cut upon – says Is not a problem. Is only one, two minute. I am flabbergasted that he thinks line cutting is OK. I sulk.

3:15 We arrive at the check-in counter. Not really a line, just random pushing. We get to the front and are told we are in the wrong terminal.

3:30 We arrive at the proper terminal and find our counter. Three guys cut in line from the right, but as I was only halfway paying attention and am not positive, I say nothing. Our flight is delayed an hour anyhow, so what else are we going to do but stand in line?

3:32 The line is not moving because the computer is broken. A guy tries to take the computer from the next counter, which is not being used, and move it to ours. Funnily, that does not work, which is when it occurs to him to move the people to a working counter instead.

3:37 We are at a working counter. An entire family cuts in front of us. I protest and the woman bitches at me in French. How dare I? Unbeknownst to her, she drops the key after locking her suitcase. SH notices and asks me if he should tell her. Absolutely not, I say.

3:47 We get to the counter. The rude woman returns with a question. Then her husband returns. We finally get the agent's attention. I ask him what one says when one is attending and another puts himself in front of one. Je suis avant vous, he tells me, and makes me practice it five times.

4:10 We are in passport control in the regular people line. A woman goes to the business class line where there is nobody waiting. The passport guy looks at her ticket and tells her to get into the regular line. I feel like cheering.

6:30 We actually leave, over an hour past scheduled departure.

9:00 We arrive in Madrid and go straight for the churros y chocolate shop.

Render to Caesar

2011-01-19T10:21:00.001-08:00

posted 10/31/08

Overheard: Yes, we absolutely believe in tithing. We'll tithe when we get back to the States. Of course, we'll both be unemployed so it will be really easy.

Morocco 5

2011-01-19T10:10:00.001-08:00

posted 10/31/08

Lest I give the impression that everyone in Morocco is a jerk, let me tell you about the people who have been nice to us:

1. The four ladies at the bread cart who wouldn't let the vendor get away with cheating SH out of his change. SH had asked the price for a loaf of bread and via a translator -- the vendor spoke Arabic and SH was asking in French -- was told that it cost one dirham, about a dime. The translator left, SH took the bread, and paid with a five dirham piece. The vendor pocketed the money and ignored SH. SH said, in French, that it must be done to return to one the four dirhams. The vendor still ignored him. SH persisted. Yes, it was only forty cents, but honestly, after a while you get tired of being cheated and this was particularly egregious. That was when the other customers began to berate the vendor, insisting that he give SH the change, which he finally begrudgingly did, although he gave us only 30 dirhams instead of 40. SH has decided that he has a margin of error of one dirham.

2. Several taxi drivers. Our taxi driver to the Marjane Hypermarche yesterday picked us up when he already had another passenger. He dropped her off, then took us to the store and charged us only from the dropoff point to the store, not the entire fare. Our driver in Marrakesh was nice and wanted to know if we had voted yet. Anyone who brings up politics here is in favor of Obama. Not wanting to get into a political discussion in a foreign country in a language I do not command well, I avoid asking on what specific issues they agree with Obama as opposed to McCain. I am, however, impressed at the level of familiarity the Moroccans have with US politics.

3. The cook at the hotel in Marrakesh, who gave us a bunch of fresh out of the oven Moroccan bread instead of the French bread that wasn't so good.

4. The guy in the produce pricing line with me yesterday at the Marjane. You get your produce and wait in line for it to be weighed and priced before you go to the checkout. I had only two bags of veg (for grilling last night with Steve and Megan) but got in line anyhow even though some people had an entire cart full of stuff because one must wait one's turn. This lady with two bags of apples went to the front of the line and asked the customer who was having her entire cart of produce priced if she could cut in. The other customer let her. I muttered something to the guy in front of me that all the world have only a little but it must to wait like all the peoples. He said something to the lady that I gather was along the lines of Madame, it must be done that one waits in line for one's turn. She snapped at him that One had consulted the madame here and madame had said one could make the cut. He replied that The madame there did not to speak for all the world in the line. Madame grabbed her priced apples and began to yell at the guy, saying You have some nerve buddy telling one what to do and one would to say that you are a big jerk. I was thrilled to see someone speak up about line cutting because as far as I'm concerned, respecting the line is one of the first signs of civilization.

Morocco 4, Random

2011-01-19T10:09:00.001-08:00

posted 10/29/08

Things I have lost in the past four days:

1. My hat, as we got off the local bus from Safi to Essaouira. This would be the bus that allegedly leaves Safi at 3:30 but doesn't really leave until 4:05 because the bus was not full at 3:30. We killed the time from scheduled to actual departure with various salespeople and beggars who walked the aisle of the bus seeking cash. I don't know what one guy was selling, but he got very indignant when I took a photo of him doing it and gave me the Latin American finger wave and glared at SH, wondering why he wasn't keeping his woman in line.

2. My earplugs, at the hotel in Ouilidia, where we went with Steve, Megan, Henry and Norah. These kids are adorable and a ton of fun. Henry talks a mile a minute, covering a range of subjects, "Watch me climb this. Watch me. Watch now! Do you know that girls can't climb like this? Guess what my teacher said yesterday. I have her phone number. Should we call my teacher? These shoes are for playing, but they are also for soccer and hockey. I like dinousaurs."

3. My hair tie, of which I have dozens at home but only one on this trip. How dumb was that?

Things vendors have said to me:

1. "Where you from? United States? Chicago? Obama! Yes we can!"

2. At the food market in Marrakesh: "It's brains, it's tongues, it's sheeps head. Very nice."

3. Our shoeshine guy: "I smoke hash." Me: "Pardon?" SG: "I smoke hash." Me: "Um. OK."

4. When we ignored a guy trying to get us to eat at his food stand (we have learned you can't even engage -- you just have to ignore them -- there is a reason that 94% of tourists to Marrakesh surveyed said they would never return): "Shit." When I turned to look at him, he glared at me and said, "F--- you." Sore loser, that guy.

Morocco 3, Let the buyer beware

2011-01-19T10:08:00.001-08:00

posted 10/29/08

So you guys remember how mad I was that we hadn't paid attention and paid the right price for our fish lunch, right? That evening, we paid too much for spices. The next morning, the guy at the internet cafe wanted to overcharge us. Sure, it was only a dollar, but by then, we were getting a little tired of the gringo target on our backs and the socialized pricing, especially with the internet thing because they had prices posted and I had kept very close track of the time.

They told us 20 dirhams for the computer time when it should have been 10. The guy insisted that SH had spent an hour and five minutes on the computer, which would have thrown him from the ten dirhams for an hour into the 15 dh for an hour and a half. I had worked 55 minutes, with ten minutes lost because my computer crashed and then the guy couldn't get the new one to switch to the English keyboard. (These are in French, which is not easy to work in.)

I was loaded for bear. I was mad as heck and I was not going to take it anymore. Very politely but very firmly, I insisted that we owed them only ten dirhams. They rolled their eyes -- good grief, a woman telling us what to do, but I persisted. Again, politely but firmly. Very firmly. Until the guy gave us ten dirhams back.

Flush with victory, SH and I strolled to the fish market. We found the sign with the prices and a phone number for consumer complaints. I wrote down the phone number and the prices, then went to the stand where we had eaten. My lovely French sounded something like this: "Yesterday, one eats here." I showed the list to the guy -- "one eats seven sardines, four langostines, and of calamari. One drinks one coke. One has of the bread. One has of the salad. One takes not of the water. The price it should to be 100."

The guy insisted that as we had ordered off the menu, the list prices did not apply.

I persisted. "The sign there it say that the price she is fix. That is the price one should to pay."

No, no, no. A new guy comes over. "It must be done that one pays the price fix."

The manager surrendered. Fine, madame. You eat here today whatever you want and there is no charge.

I love the smell of victory in the afternoon.

Morocco 2, Paying the dumb tax

2011-01-19T10:06:00.001-08:00

posted 10/28/08

One of the worst feelings a traveler can have is figuring out that you paid too much. I am talking about the tourist tax, of course -- the extra a foreigner pays because he 1) doesn't know how to bargain, 2) doesn't want to bargain because hello it is considered rude in our culture, 3) doesn't know what he should be paying and 4) doesn't speak the language so can't bargain even if he wants to.

We paid 300 dirhams, or about $35 for lunch yesterday. That doesn't sound like a lot (well, I think it's a lot, but I'm a real cheapskate), but consider we got two first-class train tickets for a 70-mile trip for $20 and that you can get a big schwarma (like a gyro) with lots of meat for $3. It was the place in Essaouira where you pick your own fish and they cook it for you right there. We had even looked at the sign in front of the fish stands explaining that the prices were fixed and here's what you should pay per kilo of product, but once we had committed to a fish stand (there are about a dozen) and picked our fish, it didn't occur to us to ask the weight of the sardines, langostine and calamari we had chosen and do the math ourselves. It wasn't until after we left and saw the sign again that we realized that we had paid way too much -- that our lunch should have cost about $6.

When I was in South America, I became a master of bargaining, telling taxi drivers that I was foreign, not stupid, and that I wasn't going to pay the gringo price. Here, I am 13 years out of practice, I don't speak French well, and I am dealing with Moroccan traders, who are master negotiators. This white chick from the Midwest doesn't stand a chance against thousands of years of camel traders.

Espain 4

2011-01-08T10:18:00.001-08:00

posted 10/24/08

As SH and I climbed the 152 steps to the top of the Alcazar in Segovia yesterday (those stairs are to normal stairs as football time is to real time), we passed two older women who spoke to us in English, both much relieved to find someone with whom they shared a language. They told us with a bit of indignation that almost no one, no one! spoke English in Segovia can you imagine what is wrong with these people all they speak is Spanish!

I wanted to ask if they speak Spanish or French or Italian for the visitors they get in Germany or whatever glutteral-language country whence they came, but decided to practice being tactful which is hard enough when I'm rested but when I'm on day 3 of jet lag/late nights/noisy hotel is not easy.

I did want to tell them that I wished my own country were just a bit more chauvinistic about its language and proud to say, "Here we speak English. Other languages are fine, but we are not going to spend public money on translating documents and interpreting doctor visits or court appearances for you." Oh well. SH and I are trying to have a politics-free vacation.

I did think of the women just a little bit when SH and were at supper Wednesday night. This was supposed to be our Nice Supper for the trip. We had done the research and found The Restaurant where to eat roasted baby pig, a Segovia specialty. Most of the restaurants in the area had English translations on the menu (hello! no tax money involved!) and also had a prix fixe meal of the piglet.

The restaurant we chose (I'm talking to you, Jose Maria) had a menu only in Spanish, which is OK because we were in Spain, but when I asked the waiter clarifying questions, like, "Does the piglet come with a side dish?" which is a reasonable question for something that costs 21 euros by itself (do the math yourself with the exchange rate, which is not great, although better than it was) and when I ask further clarifying questions like, "OK, so are there side dishes available?" because I don't see anything on the menu but meat appetizers and steak and a couple of salads with Serrano ham, I wanted something better than the almost eye-rolling, deep sighing, toe-tapping, don't mess with me Missy attitude we got from the waiter.

I don't miss the obsequious Hi my name is Bob I'll be your waiter action from the US, but the practice of tipping waiters as opposed to paying them a salary as is done here does keep waiters from being too snotty to customers. If I'm polite and trying to speak your language, even if I am way out of practice, I expect just a little niceness.

Morocco 1

2011-01-08T10:17:00.001-08:00

posted 10/24/08

SH: So what's the tipping situation here?

Steve: Ten percent, but really, you don't have to tip. You just give them a little bit so they know you're not French.

Espain 3

2011-01-08T10:12:00.001-08:00

posted 10/23/08

SH and I left Milwaukee on Monday. He is burning FF miles, so got business class tickets from O'Hare to Madrid. Let me tell youse something, business class is the way to go, unless you can fly first class. I would have to have a lot of money before I would ever pay for either of those, but I'll sure take it for free.

We stopped over in Frankfurt for two hours and got to use the Lufthansa lounge, where they had a huge spread for breakfast. I kept walking past the buffet and casually snagging those little packs of Nutella. I think I have a dozen now. They also had pretzels, rolls, yogurt with garlic and dill (no cucumber or it would have been tzatziki), regular yogurt, sausage, those Japanese rice crackers, coffee and beer. I sampled a little bit of everything except the beer, but hey, we live in Milwaukee and it's not like I can't get it there.

We arrived in Madrid early afternoon and decided to brave the Metro to get to our hotel, even though it was a nightmare last time we took it -- very crowded and lots and lots of stairs. But there is a bus to the center of town and from there we could take the Metro only a few stops to the Plaza del Sol, our destination. At the bus/Metro interchange, I asked a lady where to find the Metro and if it was safe because I had heard there were Roving Gangs of Youths with Knives. Only instead of asking if it was safe, I apparently asked if she was sure ("esta seguro?" vs "es seguro," for those who habla espanol) and she was a little bit insulted that I questioned her knowledge.

We arrived unmolested but exhausted because we have three suitcases, SH's computer bag and a small backpack. We had to pack for two climates and we are hauling goodies for our wonderful hosts in Morocco. SH was the star, carrying two of the suitcases and his computer bag up and down the Metro stairs (we had to change trains once). Spain is not current with ADA compliance. I carried just the one suitcase and the backpack, but I was doing it in high heels. Note to self: never, never again wear the black boots on a trip, even if they are the best option to go with the new red dress from Talbot's. (Yes! I paid retail! Do you know how hard it is to find a red knit wrap dress used? Well, it's very hard.)

We made a beeline for the churro place after unloading our stuff. Got ham. Got cheese. Got bread. Ate. Went to bed. Got up and tried to find coffee. Asked Adoracion where to find mocha and she told us Starbucks. I won't apologize for Starbucks. I won't apologize for McDonald's. I won't apologize for our politics. But I will apologize for something I saw promoted all over the Metro: High School Musical 3. Sorry, Spain. Many Americans find it annoying, too.

More later. SH has just repacked everything (he is amazing) so we can leave a suitcase here when we go to Morocco tomorrow and wants to do his email. When I have more time, I'll tell you what happens when you don't use an elbow joint in your sewer/bathroom plumbing, even in a one-star hotel with TV and alleged internet. ("Yes, we have internet on every floor. But you know, a lot of people just like to work in the lobby." You think? Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you DON'T have internet in every room.) Hasta luego.

Spain 2

2011-01-08T10:09:00.002-08:00

posted 10/23/08

At the bus stop near the Plaza Mayor in Madrid:

Me: Would it molest you handsome gentlemen if I took a photo?

Guys: No! Of course not! Where are you from?

Me: The United States. This is my husband. We are on our honeymoon.

Lady: You need to take care of him.

Me: I do. I clean the house. I do the laundry. I cook supper.

Lady: No, you need to make love a lot.

In the bar in Segovia where we stopped for a cup of coffee and ended up getting tortilla, roasted peppers and potatoes, a ham sandwich and a fried sardine sandwich:

Me: Senora, a consultation please?

Lady in bar: Yes, of course.

Me: Does one tip in a bar like this?

Lady: Only if you want to. With us, we are here every day for our little coffee, but for you, it is not necessary. You will not be thought less of if you do not tip.

Me: We’re not from here and we don’t know.

Lady: We noticed that. We were saying that we noticed you were not from here.

Me: My husband wants to know why my tortilla doesn’t taste like the one here.

Lady: Their tortilla is delicious, isn’t it?

Me: It’s wonderful. I told him it’s because you’re supposed to use a lot of olive oil and I don’t because I don’t want to get fat.

Lady: Please don’t take any offense, but we were just saying that your figure is like mine: small on top and bigger on the bottom. But it looks good on you.

Me: Yes, my husband prefers the butt to the bosom, so it’s OK.

Me: We want to visit the cathedral, but we’d rather do something like this.

Lady: Oh absolutely. Cathedrals are nice, but having a beer or a wine is worth the pain.

Marriage 101, lecture 3: Packing for a trip

2011-01-08T10:09:00.001-08:00

posted 10/19/08

SH: Will we be able to do laundry on the trip?

Me: Probably when we get to Megan and Steve's.

SH: So do I need ten pair of underwear?

Me: No. You can always wash underwear in the sink.

SH: Is that what you're going to do?

Me: Yes.

SH: So I can pack less underwear.

Me: If you're going to wash it in the sink, yes.

SH: You mean you won't wash my underwear for me?

Me: Why can't you do it yourself?

SH: Because I'm a guy and we don't wash things in the sink.

Me: Then I guess you need ten pair.

SH: But why won't you wash mine if you're washing yours?

Me: Washing underwear is kind of personal, don't you think?

Marriage 101

2011-01-08T10:08:00.002-08:00

posted 10/19/08

Me, after trying to find a decent radio station on SH's old clock radio: You know what would be nice? A clock radio CD player.

SH: You know I have all that stereo equipment. I could set it up in the bedroom.

Me: No! It's too clunky and big.

SH: But that's a badge of honor for a man.

Me: Baby, I already know you're a man.* You don't need big speakers to impress me.

* OK, I said something a little more -- earthy -- than that, but The Big Factotum reads this blog and I need to keep it G.

Who wants a woman who doesn't have a Milwaukee Roll?

2011-01-08T10:08:00.001-08:00

posted 10/18/08

Me [staring at my butt in the mirror]: Oh man. These jeans used to be the baggy, hang out in the house jeans. Now they are getting tight.

SH: So?

Me: That means I'm gaining weight and my butt is getting even bigger.

SH: I'm an ass man. If your booty gets bigger, that's fine with me.

Me [grabbing love handles]: And what about this?

SH: That's your Milwaukee Roll. Just start drinking beer so you have a good reason to have one.

Marriage 101

2011-01-08T10:07:00.001-08:00

posted 10/16/08

Me: You rearranged my dad's lucky shot glasses!

SH: Of course I did!

Me: But I don't want them like that.

SH: Stop! They were all symetrical and now you're ruining them!

The mean wife

2011-01-03T05:42:00.001-08:00

posted 10/13/08

Part 1

SH: What did you do with my drill bits?

Me: I thought I put them someplace logical.

SH: I left them on top of that box in the basement and now they're not there.

Me: After I used them, I could have sworn I put them someplace that made sense. They were in the way on that box.

SH: That's the problem. You put things away and I can't find them. I leave them out so they are easy to find.

Days later.

SH: I found my drill bits.

Me: Where were they?

SH: In my toolbox.

Part 2

SH, tearing through his vitamins and such that he keeps in the upstairs bathroom by his office: What did you do with my melatonin when you packed the apartment?

Me: I thought I put all your drugs in the same bin.

SH: What bin?

Me: The one beneath the bathroom sink down here.

SH: You and your bins. I can't find anything. [Tromps downstairs, grumping]

SH: Oh. Here it is. In the drug bin under the sink.

Marriage 101

2011-01-03T05:41:00.002-08:00

posted 10/13/08

SH: That cabinet you got [at Salvation Army] won't work for my stereo stuff.

Me: Why not?

SH: I can't fit everything.

Me: But the DVD player and the tuner are there now.

SH: Yeah, but I can't get the record player and the tape deck on there, too.

Me: But you never use those.

SH: Yes, I do.

Me: In the time I've known you, I've seen you use the record player once. You play CDs in the car, but not in the house.

SH: I know, but it won't fit.

A life tragically cut short by smoking

2011-01-03T05:41:00.001-08:00

posted 10/11/08

Our friend Bruce, who brought us a snowblower as a wedding present:

My grandfather started every morning with a six-pack of Schlitz. Then he began about a two or three mile walk. He would drink two of the beers on the walk. Two-thirds of the way through, he stopped at his friend’s house, Kinney, and they would each have one of the beers and just talk for about an hour. Then he’d complete his walk. By the time he got home, he would have completed the last two beers.

Then he sat down for breakfast, which consisted of bacon, eggs and grits swimming in butter. Lots of salt and pepper.

Then he went out to the front porch to smoke.

He was 91 when he died. The week before he died, he was still walking that same path. He was diagnosed with lung cancer, but he died of a heart attack.

Four winks

2010-12-20T17:35:00.001-08:00

posted 10/09/08

How to catch up on your sleep when your night-owl, needs only five hours a night husband is gone:

8:30 a.m. Drink a diet dr pepper

12:5 p.m. Drink another diet dr pepper

3:45 p.m. Get a mocha from McDonald’s just because you see a McDonald’s billboard for coffee and think, “Yum. A mocha would be good and it can’t possibly be as expensive as Starbucks.”

8:30 p.m. Get into bed with a book. Start one book. It’s about baseball and guy who goes back in time to 1869 and plays with the Cincinnati Reds. Cute premise and cool look at the culture at that time, but wayyyy to descriptive about the actual baseball games. I mean, I do OK with watching baseball with SH as long as I can read a book or magazine at the same time. Switch to the book your sister told you to read – “Eat, Pray, Love” – thinking it’s going to be some stupid new-age harmonic convergence BS but it turns out to be very funny so you read longer than you intended to.

10:00 p.m. Turn out light. Don’t sleep, don’t sleep, don’t sleep.

10:20 p.m. Check email. Why isn’t there any email from SH? Is he dead? Oh crap if he’s dead you have no way to tell his local bar friends Sheila Paul John and Justin about the funeral because all you know about them is that they are named Sheila Paul John and Justin and SH’s cellphone which has all their numbers was probably destroyed in the car accident that killed him and does SH want to be buried or cremated you don’t know you don’t even know what the account number is or where it’s stored for the cable which you would cancel because you don’t watch enough tv to make it worthwhile and do how do you ship a body back from Boston to Milwaukee if he wants to be cremated should you just do it there but then what if there is a problem getting the ashes through security because you sure aren’t going to check those and what is the etiquette regarding throwing a funeral and who stays where do you have to let people stay at your house no you don’t want to be hostess in this situation and you don’t want to have to find everyone a hotel either can’t they do it themselves not to mention you sure don’t want to be picking people up at the airport so they are just going to have to get cars and there’s nobody here to bring casseroles because I don’t have any friends here except for a very few Todd Andrea Jennifer and I suppose Pastor Gail would come over because she would be doing the funeral but I don’t think the pastor brings a casserole what are you going to feed everyone oh to heck with it they can take care of themselves it’s not like there’s no food to be found in Milwaukee I really hope he’s not dead because that would totally suck.

10:51 p.m. Get up to pee. Go back to bed. Don’t sleep.

11:10 p.m. Where are those Excedrin PM? Surely I have some. I haven’t needed to take these for months, but two diet sodas and a coffee late in the day what was I thinking? call for the big guns so take two.

11:30 p.m. Don’t sleep, don’t sleep, don’t sleep.

7:00 a.m. Wake up because you told your body to wake up early so you could get to the gym. Say Are you kidding me? and go back to sleep.

Cruel shoes

2010-12-20T17:33:00.001-08:00

posted 10/07/08

I have solved my Spain shoe dilemma. I face this every time I travel: what shoe can I wear that is both 1) beautiful and 2) comfortable? Many, many people would say that beautiful, comfortable shoes is an oxymoronic concept, that one cannot have a shoe that flatters the foot and leg and outfit without causing pain.

Those people would be right.

But that doesn't mean I surrender.

I want to wear my new red wrap dress (thanks, Talbot's sale!) on the plane. It's knit, so it's the perfect fabric for travel. It's red, which, as we know based on the wedding experience, looks smashing on me, especially now that my hair is Clairol #24 Clove. And it's flattering -- it makes me look as if I have a bosom and a waist, which is a miracle of engineering and design.

With that dress, one would usually wear high heels. But that would be insane for traveling, especially if one runs the risk that one’s check-on luggage containing one’s hiking boots might not arrive on the same plane as one as happened in the last trip to Spain and one ended up traipsing the cobbled, uneven sidewalks of Madrid in one’s high-heeled boots, causing one to hobble and cry to the churros place instead of walking happily with a spring in one’s step to the mecca of chocolate.

Once we were at the churros place, all pain was forgotten, but still.

Hence, I have been seeking the perfect flat, pretty, flattering, comfortable shoe. I thought about getting the black cowboy (at first, I accidentally typed “wowboy,” which seems more appropriate) boots at DSW, but they were too expensive and I already have black boots. Then I tried some low-heeled black Kenneth Cole shoes, but may I say something?

Those shoes are crap. The soles aren’t even leathah and the tops are glued, not stitched, to the soles. I thought Kenneth Cole was supposed to be some swanky designer, but if you are a swanky designer, then don’t have crappy shoes made in China under your brand.

Anyhow. The solution, as always, is to return to the past and wear shoes from a consignment/thrift store, i.e., shoes that were made in Italy or Brazil and don’t have any “man-made” materials in them and that I can afford. I got the boots in the photo years ago in Memphis and never wore them because they were too tight, but the hour has come.

Fighting The Man

2010-12-20T17:30:00.001-08:00

posted 09/30/08

The moral of the story is if you try to make your maiden name your middle name because you have never liked your middle name (sorry, Big Factotum), the DMV will look at the document from the social security office (the best-run office of all the government agencies I had to visit yesterday -- don't even get me started on how INEFFICIENT the MILWAUKEE COUNTY government process for getting marriage licenses and certificates is and how the lady who does the initial intake at the Recorder of Deeds for the county is rude and cranky and should be fired and would be if she worked for Starbucks but she won't because she's a government employee, which is code for tenure) and misinterpret and put your maiden name as your last name (ie, instead of becoming Class Facotum Honey, with Factotum as the middle name, they decide that Factotum is the last name), which means when you register to vote, they tell you your last name is Factotum and should the Honey be "-Honey" or is it even part of your name and you say, No, don't you see I signed "Class Honey" and that's my new name, I'm not a hyphenator sheesh I'm not a Lutheran minister and here's my marriage certificate and they say, But the paper from the DMV (no, they wouldn't give me my actual license yesterday because you know, I could be an Illinois resident claiming Wisconsin residency and committing welfare fraud, instead, they gave me a receipt and promised to mail the license) says your last name is "Factotum", so you have to call the DMV and they say So sorry, we can't do anything over the phone, you'll have to go back to the DMV, which is a punishment almost worse than death because let me tell you, the DMV has a cross-section of citizenry that makes one wonder if suffrage really should be a universal right, so after fighting and raging and pitching a fit, you return to the DMV with your hair wet and a ticked-off expression (after, of course, returning to the SS office to get your maiden name removed altogether from your Official Record), where they will not correct the license for which they photographed you and your carefully-blown-dry hair and made-up face yesterday but make you get an entirely new license with a new photo, so you will end up looking like crap and will for the next three years. (I lost the grammar somewhere in this.)

Piles, not files

2010-12-13T11:17:00.001-08:00

posted 09/28/08

Me: Are you through with those newspapers? [stacked on the shelf next to the TV.]

SH: No. Why?

Me: Because it's three weeks' worth of papers and it looks bad.

SH: If the pile outgrows the space, then it's reason for concern. But if it fits into the available space and it's in a neat pile, then what's the problem?

Me: They're old newspapers.

SH: You don't think a neat pile is an acceptable resolution of a big mess, do you?

But we're in Wisconsin

2010-12-13T11:16:00.002-08:00

posted 09/28/08

At the North Cape Lutheran's fish boil Saturday night:

Me: Do you guys have any beer?

Church guy: We're not Catholic!

Marital bliss #1

2010-12-13T11:16:00.001-08:00

posted 09/27/08

Me: I'm sleepy. Let's go to bed.

SH: But it's Friday night! It's party night!

Me: We're married now. The party's over.

The post-modern wedding

2010-12-08T19:01:00.002-08:00

posted 09/22/08

Isn’t this how everyone spends the night after the night after their wedding? First, we had a dinner party for 11. Yes, I would have used paper plates and placemats again as I did for the dinner party for ten on Saturday, but we had food that has to be cut (steak) last night as opposed to food that is bitten into submission (bratwurst) on Saturday. I was also tired of using non-matching placemats, so it was time to get out one of the many tablecloths I have had for years and have never used.

I did iron the tablecloth, but I am not a pro. Note the fabulous menu: steak, tuna, grilled veg, macaroni and cheese, German potato salad, tomatoes with basil and olive oil. Brownies and cheesecake for dessert. We also used the beautiful bone serving spoons that SH's brother Tim and sister-in-law Jessica gave us. Jessica got them in South Africa and they are lovely.

Guests at the table are two of my dad's cousins, Gordy and Jim, Gordy's wife Enid, and Jim's parents, Helen and Fritz, aka my great aunt and uncle. My mom, my sister, my brother and Dr J are also here. SH's parents and stepdaughters left Sunday morning; his brother left Saturday night.

Then, after our supper guests left, the rest of us went out to karaoke. We didn’t invite my mom and Dr J because we didn’t think they’d be interested, but then my mom protested that she wanted to hear SH sing.

My mom said that she and Dr J would listen to SH sing once, and then leave in their car. Instead, they stayed until 1:15 am and even got up themselves to sing. SH and my brother helped them out on "When I'm 64." My sister sang several times, once when the KJ demanded that Jen come to the mike. He was hitting on her the entire night, along with the tattooed Native American guy with the feather hat and the bearded, bandana-ed guitar player from the band people who came in to sing. Jen is a man magnet.

Wedding update

2010-12-08T19:01:00.001-08:00

posted 09/19/08

Everything going well. Both teams are here. Wedding this afternoon, delicious wedding supper tonight.

SH's brother, who lives in DC: I can't deal with this. Everyone here is so nice. This is nothing like the east coast.

Female stuff

2010-12-08T18:59:00.000-08:00

posted 09/13/08

So I was at the doctor yesterday. My new doc is great: he is very Marcus-Welbyish, with white hair and a great bedside manner. (NB I don’t know if great bedside manner is M-Wish as I have never seen the show, but I do know he had white hair.) Anyhow, he was running late (for a 4:00 Friday afternoon appointment – can you imagine?) but stuck his head in the door to apologize and tell me he’d be with me in a second.

Contrast that to the doc I fired years ago for always being late, including the final straw of keeping me in the exam room for over an hour with nobody telling me what was going on. I finally got dressed and left, even though his nurse tried to stop me as I was walking out. I told her that I also had a job and could not waste two hours of time for a doctor who couldn’t even be bothered to tell me that he was delayed for whatever reason (a doctor who I saw sitting in his office working on his computer, so I know he wasn’t out delivering a baby).

Once Doc B was ready and had me scooched down the table (you women know what I’m talking about), he adjusted the pillow under my head. How nice was that?

The one thing that the practice could do to improve would be to get different pads. Honestly – how many women use those thick pads like the ones you used with the belt in 7th grade any more? I didn’t even think they sold those. It feels like you have a rolled-up diaper between your legs. Sheesh. Is Kotex emptying an old warehouse they’d forgotten about? I couldn’t wait to get home and back to the wonders of technology with its paper-thin absorbent material. Although maybe I should consider that $35 cup from Whole Foods. Who wouldn’t want to pull out a cup of blood and rinse it out in the bathroom sink? Sounds so sanitary. At least it’s environmentally responsible.

Casting pearls before lipstick

2010-11-17T12:03:00.001-08:00

posted 09/13/08

SH and I were OK with going to a gumball machine and getting cheap rings just so we’d have something for the ceremony, but we had a chance to get nice rings last week when we were in California. We bought them at the same place where SH got the rings for his wedding to Imelda, only I didn’t demand a $4,000 custom-made ring but was happy with a simple white gold band off the rack. I did, however, notice and covet the rope of cultured pearls. I have a beautiful pearl choker that my dad got for me in Amsterdam for my 20th birthday, but have always also wanted a long, long strand of pearls that I can tie into a knot and look glamorous.

SH worried that getting our rings at Geoffrey’s might have bad karma, but we decided that we were going to create good karma by getting something completely different from his first ring. We also decided we would have the diamonds from his first ring reset into earrings for me. When life gives you diamonds, make earrings is what I always say.

Bad habits

2010-11-17T12:01:00.001-08:00

posted 09/05/08

SH and I stopped to see my grandmother, who has been a little under the weather, on our way to and from the Apostle Islands last weekend. We were happy to see that she had gone to lunch and eaten her butterscotch pudding on Tuesday, as she has been bedridden and not eating. Still, nothing tastes good to her, which is a shame, because shouldn't you be able to eat what ever you want when you are old?

My aunt Rita, who is pretty much my granma's main caretaker, said that the home tried to put my grandmother on a restricted diet because the doctor said something about diabetes a year ago. My granma pitched a fit when they fed her that no-sugar, no-salt stuff and said she would move out if she didn't get some decent food. It must have been pretty bad for my mellow, sweet, go-along grandmother to protest.

Honestly. If you are almost 96 years old, what is the point of restricting your intake of anything? When I am that old, I intend to get fat, start smoking, and develop a taste for scotch. SH just wishes I would do all of that now.

Wedding prep #24

2010-11-17T12:00:00.001-08:00

posted 09/05/08

It is all coming together. Flight plans and hotel reservations are done and the food -- ah, the food! One of my big nightmares is that I'll give a party and nobody will come; the second part of that nightmare is that I'll give a party and run out of food. I think I inherit from my mom's mother the idea that food=hospitality/love. I am horrified at the idea of a guest going hungry in my home, which is why I have been working on the menu for over a month.

But the menu for the wedding supper is done. Take a look at this, y'all. Doesn't it just make your mouth water?

Appetizer
Crab Napoleon
Crab Salad Layered with Fried Green Tomatoes

Salad
Bayou Chipotle Lime Caesar Salad
Roasted Peppers, Goat Cheese, Pumpernickel Croutons

Entree (guests will pick one of these options)
Pecan Crusted Grilled Pork Loin
Baked Apple Salad, Apple Garlic Cream Sauce,
Candied Sweet Potato, Haricot Vert
Grilled Sea Scallops
Roasted Red Pepper Puree, Haricot Vert, Wild Mushroom Risotto
Les Betes De La Mer Gumbo
Scallops, Redfish, Shrimp, Crawfish, Mussels in a Filé Gumbo
Served over rice

Dessert
Chocolate Like Crazy Cake

But even more important than the food (as if) is that I got my wedding pedicure yesterday with my friend Kim. SH and I are in San Francisco. We didn't think we would get to see Luke and Kim this trip because of the other commitments we'd made, but at the last minute, our Thursday evening plans fell through, so after a wonderful afternoon taking the food tour of Berkeley (cheese! chocolate! bread! gourmet grocery store!) with the Bodacious Doc and Cheeseguy, who also happen to be in SF this week, I showed up pretty much unannounced on Kim's doorstep, my sandals in my backpack so I could keep my tootsies free of socks for hours after the painting.

She couldn't have been more gracious. We sent off the last of her charges (Kim runs a day care/school for two-year-olds*), had a little wine and Fresca with Luke, then traipsed down to the inexpensive pedi place, where we agonized over finding just the right red. Then she very generously treated me to my pedicure, telling me this way I would think of her on my wedding in two weeks, as if I wouldn't think of her every time I looked at my perfect red toes. How lucky am I to have such wonderful friends in so many places?

* She is going to expand into parenting consulting, which she would be fabulous at, because there are way too many parents who put up with the foolishness Kim saw at the grocery store: the little girl was begging mom to buy her candy. Mom repeatedly said no, but finally yielded. (Lesson: if you whine and nag long enough, you'll get what you want.) Then after mom paid for the candy, she gave it to the girl with the admonishment that she couldn't eat it until after supper. Girl then proceeded to pitch a fit, so mom gets down on girl's level to explain very patiently why girl has to wait for the candy. Right. You can negotiate with a four-year-old as easily as you can negotiate with a terrorist. Sheesh. You don't have to be a parent to know bad parenting when you see it.

Relax, # 45

2010-11-14T17:27:00.001-08:00

posted 09/03/08

Now that I have written my four-page project plan for the wedding and our guests (yes, I am a listmaker and just a little bit of a micromanager -- why do you ask?), I am feeling a lot less stressed out than I was. Nothing like getting everything down on paper to make me feel as if I am in control. Now I can think about how fun it will be to have everyone here in a few weeks.

My mom was teasing me, saying that I should stop worrying already! everyone could eat sandwiches and they would all be OK, but she's the one who set the bar so high. My mom is a wonderful hostess. Anyone who goes to her home feels welcome and comfortable and that's what I want for my guests. Hence the worry about what they like to eat (I have been pestering SH with menu ideas since early August, asking him if his mom and dad would like this, or that, or something else), what sleeping conditions they prefer (I was appalled when Patrick and Ilene stayed with us and I didn't ask how the sofa bed was until after their second night, which was when I learned that there was a problem that I could have solved), and what they like to drink (I'm not a drinker, but I keep liquor for my guests -- same reason I keep a coffeepot and coffee -- just because I don't want it doesn't mean I expect my guests to go without).

I am also stocking up on chocolate and current magazines to put in the guest room. Flowers in the guest bathroom, of course. Martha says also a few bottles of water in the room. It's all in the plan.

Render unto Caesar

2010-11-14T17:25:00.001-08:00

posted 08/25/08

Dear State of Wisconsin (or County of Milwaukee, whoever is in charge of these things),

Thank you for doing so much to improve race relations and to reduce the divorce rate – all in the same process! Perhaps you could start collecting taxes from couples who apply for a wedding license and get yet another function under your roof. Oh – wait. You already are doing that. One hundred dollars for a wedding license. Let’s see – for what other contracts does the state require the participants to buy a license? Hmm. Nope. Can’t think of any, although I’m sure you find a way to take what you consider your fair share from every private transaction between two willing makers of offer and acceptance.

But I really appreciate your keeping track of the races of the couple about to be married. Tracking intra- and inter-racial marriages surely is an important function of government. I look forward to the report every year about which color is marrying which and I can certainly see how this would be valuable information for all the other functions government performs. This is probably how you decide where to build roads and schools and other essential things to promote the common welfare.

And your anti-divorce strategy: Good job! Making us get the license at least eight days before the wedding and still making us come back to the courthouse to pick it up – yep, that should keep people from making those impulsive, Britneyesque decisions to get married right now. It’s not enough that we have to wait eight days for the license to be valid – that certainly wouldn’t prevent people from marrying in haste and repenting in leisure. No, it’s the having to return to the courthouse next week to pick the license up – that’s what will give pause to the prudent – or perhaps imprudent – couple.

Of course, we always have the option of paying an extra ten dollars to have the license mailed to us. Not that that’s just a way to increase revenues because surely the process of mailing the license costs way more than the process of your employed for life with better health and retirement benefits than anyone has in the private sector where revenues actually have to exceed costs dressed in a tacky, old, faded t-shirt and sweatpants clerk pull the license when I return for it. (That is, after I have gone through the metal detector again and had to pull my – wait for it – tweezers from my purse to prove that I am not going to be stopping random, bushy-eyed people to pluck their eyebrows.) And not that my providing you with a stamped, self-addressed envelope would be an option. Or – hey! – generating the license while I wait. Nope. You are going to wipe out divorce.

You save revenue generation for the new parking meters that don’t allow me to use an unexpired meter. After all, the main function of government is not to provide for the common defense and then make forced governmental functions run smoothly and easily for us citizens, it is to make money. That’s why we hired you.

Sincerely,

Someone who wishes she had eloped in another state

Eloping is still easier

2010-11-14T17:23:00.000-08:00

posted 08/24/08

Serious Honey and I took his pastor out for supper last night to talk about the wedding. We picked our readings. I wanted the one that starts,

Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.,

mostly because I know how much it annoys people who really don’t pay attention what it really means, but also because I like what it means.

I also liked this for the gospel because SH thinks I use way too much salt. I told him even Jesus knows how important salt is:

You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men.

We are not going to have any music. (I asked my brother to play the piano, but he claims to be too much out of practice, and SH asked his parents to sing – they are fabulous singers – but then we decided that maybe that wasn’t such a good idea: they sang at his first wedding and look how that turned out.)

It’s a shame, because the music in SH’s church is so good. None of this Marty Haugen baloney. Last night, before church started, they had a hymn sing, which is when everyone just sings whatever they want. Same song at the same time, of course. No one asked for Marty Haugen, Instead, they requested standards like “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” and “A Mighty Fortress is Our God.” Lutherans definitely got the good music at the Reformation. Hmm. Maybe we’ll just ask everyone to open their hymnal and sing anyhow. We can’t let that good music go to waste.

Thursday rant

2010-11-11T08:48:00.001-08:00

posted 07/31/08

Two things:

1. Stop calling your breasts “the girls.” It sounds stupid and juvenile. Do men call their testicles “the boys?” Maybe they do and I haven’t heard it, but either way, what’s wrong with “breasts?” Or any of the traditional nicknames like boobies or bazoombas or titties? Are they still “the girls” when you are 90? Or do they then become “the saggy old ladies?” “The girls” has no connection to the actual word and just sounds plain idiotic, so please stop.

2. Is it tacky to have a cash bar at an event you are hosting? Suppose you throw a party (a wedding reception, perhaps). You can either offer beer and wine and invite an extra 50 friends or you can cut those friends and include hard liquor. Or, you can include the friends and the liquor if you have a cash bar.

My feeling is that you entertain at the level you can afford and that your guests graciously accept that level of hospitality. Someone who shall go unnamed but who lives in the same house I do says what about the people who want tequila or scotch when they are out?

Sorry. If you can’t go one evening without a gin and tonic, then you have a problem that's not mine to solve. We don’t offer cash dessert bars to those who might hate, hate, hate with the heat of a thousand white suns the bananas foster that are being offered as a dessert.

We don’t say, “If you don’t like the food we are serving for supper, you are welcome to step over to the corner where we have set up a cash short-order cook to make you a hamburger or a grilled-cheese sandwich.” Yes, a host should consider a guest’s dietary restrictions (although if the mere whiff of a peanut will kill you, then please do the rest of us a favor and stay home), but the desire for liquor instead of wine or beer (or any alcohol at all if the hosts cannot afford to offer it) does not fall into that category.

Because we are AMERICANS, darnit

2010-11-11T08:47:00.000-08:00

posted 07/30/08

Me: You didn’t come to bed until 4?

SH: I had some work to do to prepare for my meeting today.

Me: Then why did you go out to sing last night?

SH: Because I was determined that I wasn’t going to let having to make this stupid last-minute trip to see a customer ruin my week.

Me: But you only got four hours of sleep and now you have to drive to Chicago.

SH: I had to get that work done.

Me: I would have skipped going out rather than lose sleep.

SH: But that would be letting the terrorists win.

Because I said so

2010-11-11T08:46:00.002-08:00

posted 07/30/08

SH: You opened that new box of cereal!

Me: So?

SH: But you’re supposed to finish the other boxes that are already open first.

Me: Says who?

SH: It’s the right thing to do. Didn’t your mother teach you?

Me: I don’t care. I wanted this cereal.

SH: If we had kids, would you let them open the new boxes before finishing the old ones?

Me: Nope.

SH: Would you open the new box?

Me: Yes.

SH: What if the kid said, “How come you get to open it and I don’t?”

Me: I’d say, “When you’re paying the mortgage and buying the groceries, you can open whatever you want.”

SH: But that’s different rules for kids and for grownups.

Me: So what?

Midwestern time vs Southern time

2010-11-11T08:46:00.001-08:00

posted 07/28/08

Midwesterners! It is just as rude to arrive early as it is to arrive late!

Handyman #2, you did not impress me by showing up an hour earlier than I told you to be at the apartment on the day we moved. Instead, you caused me a great deal of stress and aggravation.

Why? Because you screwed up my meal planning. I had already taken all the food from the apartment to the house except what SH and I were going to eat on moving day. You showed up at lunch time. When we were about to eat the only food we had left in the apartment. My mama didn’t raise a rude person who would ask someone to sit in her home and watch her eat, so of course we offered you something, which you took, even though you had come straight from your part-time job to a job you knew would run to 6:00 p.m., so why didn’t you stop at Subway on your way over or were you planning to do six hours of physical labor on an empty stomach?, but it meant we ate less than we wanted of decent food and had to fill up on the cookies* in the freezer that Imelda had sent SH five years ago in an attempt to win him back.

So Handyman #2, I meant it when I told not to arrive before 8:30 a.m. last week. Given your history, I guess I should be glad you arrived at 8:20 instead of 7:30, but didn’t my repeated refrain of “Not before 8:30! We’ll still be in pajamas.” mean anything to you? If you arrive early to someone’s house, drive around the block until the desired time. Go get some coffee. But don’t ring my doorbell earlier than I have told you.**

* They weren’t even homemade, so she couldn’t have been too serious if you ask me. Not that I mind filling up on cookies, but if I am going to be lifting and carrying things, I want to eat protein and complex carbs, not sugar.

** That’s not why you’re being fired. You’re being fired because you slopped paint all over the bricks. We don’t understand – the rest of your work was so painstakingly careful and then you go and get oil-based paint on the brick, which is almost impossible to get off, unless, of course, you grind off a layer of brick, which is what you did after I pointed out the problem to you, but as you would probably agree, is not the most desirable solution. So it’s back to our doesn’t call and doesn’t show up when he says he will contractor because even though he is unreliable, his work is immaculate. If we have to pick between a handyman who shows up when he says he will (and earlier) but does sloppy work and one who shows up when he feels like it but does absolutely perfect work, we’ll put up with being surprised.

The road to hell or Sing, Planet Earth, Sing

2010-11-11T08:45:00.002-08:00

posted 07/27/08

Things I do for which I don’t get Liberal/I Care About The Environment credit because I do them for the wrong reason:

Mow our lawn with an old-fashioned push mower
My reason: It’s cheaper and easier than a mower that uses gas. I don’t have to go to the gas station and fill my (non-existent) gas can every couple of weeks. I don’t have to figure out if the darn spark plug is connected or not and is that why it isn’t starting? I don’t have to wear shoes or long pants while I use it.
Right reason: I Care about The Earth and don’t want to pollute.

Leave the grass cuttings on the lawn:
My reason: I’m lazy.
Right reason: The clippings decompose and provide Valuable Nutrients for The Earth.

Hang the laundry on a clothesline instead of drying them in the drier
My reason: I like the way they smell and it’s cheaper than using the drier.
Right reason: I care about The Earth and don’t want to waste energy.

Take cloth bags to the grocery store
My reason: They are easier to carry and hold more stuff than plastic. I can also use them for library books and other junk. Also, they were free.
Right reason: I care about The Earth and don’t want to use disposable products that just fill landfill

Use paper bags instead of plastic when I don’t have the cloth grocery bags with me
My reason: I used to work for a paper company and I won’t get my pension unless it is still in business when I am 65, so I need to do everything I can to promote the consumption of paper.
Right reason: I care about The Earth and paper is less evil than plastic because at least paper is organic and eventually decomposes.

I'm not a parent, so what do I know?

2010-11-11T08:45:00.001-08:00

posted 07/27/08

Woman at the gym, after telling us she hadn't made her kids wear bike helmets because she didn't want them to look like nerds: You know, parenting is the hardest job there is.

Me: Harder than fighting oilfield fires?

Missing you

2010-11-05T13:47:00.003-07:00

posted 07/26/08

Sophia: Where are you?

Leigh: I'm at Aunt CF's house.

Sophia: I want you to come home soon, kay?

Leigh: Did Daddy tell you to say that?

Sophia: Yeah.

Leigh laughs

Sophia: But I want you to really come.

Leigh: OK, sweetie. Do you want to say "hi" to Aunt CF?

Sophia: Can't you talk to Daddy now? I'm done.

Says the woman who lives next door to where the guy got shot in broad daylight last week

2010-11-05T13:47:00.001-07:00

posted 07/25/08

Leigh: We never hire anyone to do our yard work because every time you see “America’s Most Wanted,” they say the guy did “occasional yard work.”

SH's Transformers ladder

2010-11-05T13:46:00.000-07:00

posted 07/24/08

SH: You can’t put the sealant on the balcony with that ladder.

Me: Yes I can.

SH: No. It’s not tall enough. We need a higher ladder. Look at this one.

Me: What is that?

SH: You can change it to what you need – stepladder, extension ladder.

Me: But we have a stepladder. And Bruce is getting us an extension ladder.

SH: But it changes shapes!

Me: We don’t need that.

SH: It folds up so it doesn’t need to be stored in the garage.

Me: Why would we care that we have to put a ladder in the garage? Isn’t that where you keep a ladder? And we don’t need the sawhorse function. When’s the last time you needed a sawhorse?

SH: Never.

Me: When’s the next time you anticipate needing one?

SH: Never.

Me: So if we have a stepladder and an extension ladder and all we really need is a taller stepladder, why would we spend $150 on this fancy ladder?

SH: But it’s cool!

Me: You want it just because it has all these gadgets on it.

SH: So?

Home improvement

2010-11-03T20:14:00.001-07:00

posted 07/22/08

Did you know it is possible to get paint* in your hair even if you are just painting the baseboards?

Do you know how hard it is to get oil-based paint out of your hair?

* The guy who renovated our house and gave us things like very tall cabinets without shelves and ugly basement and uglier upstairs carpet over hardwood floors (it should be illegal to carpet hardwood floors) was good enough to leave -- and label** -- all the paint he used. But why did he feel compelled to use oil-based paint instead of latex for the basement stairwell baseboards? This is what I want to know.

** I didn't label my paint in Memphis because I was absolutely positive I would remember where I had used it.

I didn't.

I also did not label leftovers in the freezer until SH bought me a Brother P-touch labeler that I love, although now I don't have the excitement of finding that quart of Cuban Pork and Okra Stew that I was sure I would remember (I didn't), the pint of gumbo I also knew I'd remember (also didn't) or the half-dozen Molten Chocolate Cakes. Not that chocolate needs a label. But the element of surprise is gone from our freezer meals.

The C food diet

2010-11-03T20:13:00.001-07:00

posted 07/20/08

SH: What are these?

Me: Brownies.

SH: Why are you eating them?

Me: Because it’s Sunday.

SH: ?????

Me: Sunday starts with “S,” which means I can have sugar, snacks and seconds.

SH: I guess someone who wants cigarettes is out of luck because there’s no day of the week that starts with “c.”

Me: “S” is also for “smokes.”

Hedging my birthday greetings

2010-11-03T20:12:00.000-07:00

posted 07/20/08

Just have to give a shout-out to my friend Lenore, who is the first person to bring us housewarming cookies (her fabulous madeleines, which we learned how to make at the cooking school we attended in France, and which SH pretty much inhaled when he got home last night after a ten-day trip to California, and then had extra when we got back from live-band karaoke at 1:00 a.m., where SH got to sing about seven songs, including a duet of "Let's Stay Together" with the only other person at the bar who could sing, this gorgeous woman named Steph who has a pierced tongue, a tat, plays roller derby and belted out "Crazy" with such grace and talent that I think every man and maybe some of the women in the place fell in love with her), even though she is not even a neighbor.

What ever happened to neighbors welcoming the new people with a plate of cookies? I made brownies for my new neighbors in Memphis. Yes, my new neighbors are nice and the next-door neighbors made sure to introduce themselves and the wonderful backyard neighbors, who told us we didn’t need a $2,400 sump pump system in the basement but just need a length of PVC pipe to jam in the sewer drain when it rains, mowed the lawn for us – I’ll take that over cookies any day – but honestly – it took someone from Chicago to bring us cookies? (Todd and Andrea did give us a gift certificate to a restaurant, so I guess I better quit my whining. It isn’t like we don’t have some really nice friends here already.)

Anyhow. Lenore visited me and as always, showed up bearing fabulous hostess/housewarming gifts. I don’t know how I got so lucky to have such great friends. Patrick and Ilene came for a weekend and stocked the cheese and chocolate drawer and not with the cheap stuff, either. Bruce moved all my stuff out of storage and just informed me that he found an extension ladder for us at one of his estate sales. And Lenore brought, in addition to the cookies (and flowers – and cherries – and cute new dishtowels), a snow shovel! What a great idea. It’s something neither of us had. I didn’t need one in Memphis (you know, because it only snows once a year there) and SH was in an apartment. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to buy one until after it had snowed here.

Which would be fine because hey, I would just walk – or drive, because yes I am that lazy and I do drive to the gym and would drive to the gym even if it were three blocks away – to the hardware store to get one, but guess what? It’s illegal to leave snow on your sidewalk for more than 24 hours and it would take me at least that long to be motivated to get my butt out of the house.

So it’s illegal, you’re saying. So what?

If it’s illegal, the city will clear the snow for you.

Well good!

And then they’ll send you a bill. And you know they’re going to charge you union rates with a break and everything to shovel that snow.

So it’s a good thing Lenore gave us that shovel. She thinks of everything.

Oh. But the real reason I was writing about Lenore was that tomorrow* is her birthday and I want to wish her a great one.

* I think it’s tomorrow. I used to remember my friends’ birthdays but now things flee my mind like the sands of time. I remember birth months now. Most of my friends have July birthdays, so I am safe. Happy birthday to all of my July friends. You know who you are. I am not sure exactly who you are any more because I am old and my brain is turning to mush.

Sinecure

2010-10-30T12:43:00.001-07:00

posted 07/19/08

My new hairdresser*: So what do you do?

Me: I used to have a corporate job, but now I stay at home.

HD: Hmm.

Me: When I was working, I would hear these women at the gym – stay-at-home wives – who would complain about how bored they were and I would want to slap them and ask, “Do you think I work as a hobby?”

HD: Uh-huh.

Me: So when I figured out that I all I had to do now was clean the house, cut the grass, buy the groceries, cook, do the laundry and change the sheets – all the things I was doing anyhow, plus working 60 hours a week – I asked, Where do I sign up?

* It took me three and a half months to find someone with a haircut I liked enough to ask her for her hairdresser’s number. Three and a half months. We are in the mullet capital of the world and I don’t mean the fish. I pointed that out to HD, noting that these women don’t even seem to be lesbians – they just have the haircut. HD said, “Yes, in West Allis, they like the haircut. The lesbians are all on the east side.”

Let's just kiss and say good-bye

2010-10-30T12:42:00.001-07:00

posted 07/17/08

Dear Contractor,

It’s time for us to start seeing other people.

No. This is not a breakup! Really, it’s not. It can’t be. You still haven’t finished rebuilding our balcony. You know – the one you tore down last Thursday? And were going to rebuild on Friday but then it rained, so I got that. But what about Saturday? Or Sunday? Monday? Today?

Yeah, your helper is irresponsible. You thought he was going to do it on Saturday. Or Monday. You were out of town for four days. (Did I know that? No, I did not. Would that have been useful information? Yes, it would.) You didn’t call him to check to see that he was working. But if you know that he’s irresponsible, shouldn’t you have checked to make sure he was on the job?

It’s not that I don’t like you – I do, honest. If we have a party, we’ll invite you for sure. I enjoy our phone conversations, especially now that I know we’re both on AT&T and that it doesn’t cost me a penny to talk to you. It’s sure not the quality of your work, but I need someone who can get the job done.

I know you have health problems and that your helper is a recovering drug addict (oh, I was so happy to learn that little fact, although it was tempered slightly by the fact that he was addicted to painkillers for his knee problems), but guess what? I don’t give a flying flip about your personal problems. Sorry, but I don’t. Ours is a business relationship. All I care about is that I gave you a deposit to do this job two months ago and it’s STILL NOT DONE.

So even though you’re an excellent carpenter and do fabulous work, I’ll be calling someone else to do my repairs in the future.

Love,

CF

Chocolate for the feet

2010-10-30T12:40:00.000-07:00

posted 07/15/08

Just the other day, I was thinking that I needed some new sandals (not wanted, but needed, the way I need oxygen) and wishing that Bass still made those cool leather sandals I wore when I was in college – those fabulous went-with-everything and were sooo comfortable thongs that didn’t make that annoying thong flapping noise that I have grown to hate so much that I would never convict anyone who murdered a thong-wearing flapper because I think it’s justifiable homicide – and guess what happened?

I walked into DSW to use my $10 coupon that was about to expire (of course I had noted the expiration date in my calendar, along with a three-week warning, because I have been burned before and I am capable of Learning My Lesson) and guess what I saw?

I saw these sandals:

[Imagine photo of Bass sandals here. I can't get it to copy.]

It was as if God was speaking to me, saying, “CF, I know the music stinks in the Catholic Church right now and I don’t know what that’s all about, except I think they think they don’t have competition, unlike the Protestants, who understand that there is more to it than having the Complete Truth, and I also think the US bishops, bless their hearts, are a bunch of soixant-huiters who think that Marty Haugan is the bomb and trust Me, We’ll have a little talk about that when they get here because honestly, all that inspiration I gave those guys who wrote those gorgeous hymns like ‘A Mighty Fortress is Our God’ and ‘Ave Maria’ and do I ever get to hear them from The One True Church? No! So anyhoo, to make up for your having to listen to merde at church every week – except the weeks you go to SH’s church, I am giving you the opportunity to buy the sandals you were dreaming of last week.”

Our house is an Escher print

2010-10-29T11:36:00.000-07:00

posted 07/15/08

Guess what? Carpenter ants are not a good thing. You’d think with a name like “carpenter ant” that you would get an industrious little ant that builds a balcony on your second floor instead of destroying it. Sure, it wouldn’t tell you when it’s coming, it wouldn’t return your phone calls promptly, it wouldn’t invoice you very quickly and it sure wouldn’t clean up after itself, but it would be good natured and it would do a good job when it did work.

But no. Carpenter ants eat wood. (Heh heh. I said “wood.”) Not only do they eat wood, they seem to specialize in vertical support beams embedded in brick and covered by electrical conduits. (Read “needs electrician to move,” read, “costs hundreds of dollars.”)

So what we thought was a simple job of removing the top boards of the balcony to replace them – because the top boards were too close together, the water could not drain well and the boards were in danger of rotting – became a job of replacing the entire balcony. (Oh yes – did I mention that when the top boards were removed, they discovered that the support boards had rotted because guess what? the water had not drained well! Who knew?)

At three times the original estimate.

And no, not replacing the balcony is not an option.

Because in a city where putting lawn waste in the trash is illegal, it is also illegal to have a second-story door to nowhere.

How pathetic is that #758

2010-10-29T11:35:00.003-07:00

posted 07/13/08

I just washed the dishes in the kitchen sink not because I feel compelled not to leave dirty dishes in the sink overnight -- doesn't bother me a bit to wake up to dirty dishes -- but because I don't want the guy who is coming tomorrow morning to install the basement carpet -- a man whose name I don't even know and whom I will never see again -- to think I am a bad housekeeper.

Will the trash police get me?

2010-10-29T11:35:00.001-07:00

posted 07/13/08

I just noticed this as I slathered Vaseline onto my washerwoman hands made dry and nasty from 1) sanding and chipping stairs, 2) scrubbing the shelves from Goodwill with a Brillo pad because some idiot decided it would be a good idea to stain shelves that were already painted -- here's a news tip that even I, a non-paint professional know, which is that STAIN DOES NOT WORK ON PAINT! IT JUST MAKES IT LOOK DIRTY! -- the kind of dirty you get if you leave blue shelves in a room full of chain smokers for 40 years, and 3) calibrating the darn Kenmore, a SEARS brand, oven, which seems to think that 350 degrees means 420, no 390, no 375, no 337, no 325. OK calibrating an oven isn't that hard on your hands, but I didn't have a good number 3 otherwise.

Anyhow. What I noticed is that my Vaseline -- oops, actually, my Walgreen's Shea butter petroleum jelly skin protectant -- has an expiration date on it.

What can go bad with petroleum jelly? Does it get moldy? Does it rot? Does it no longer perform the responsibilities of petroleum jelly? Am I supposed to throw the jar out at 16:01 on 02/09 and replace it with a new one? Will bad things happen to me if I don’t?

Maybe she should become a vegan teetotaler who hates the Packers next

2010-10-27T13:27:00.001-07:00

posted 07/11/08

Woman at the gym: Yeah, I had to quit smoking and now I can’t even be around cigarette smoke – I can’t breathe in it. So I was at a bar with some friends and the smoke started to bother me. I couldn’t go home because I didn’t have my car and I couldn’t wait outside because I can’t breathe when it’s cold, either.

Me: So Milwaukee’s a really good place for you to live, huh?

How to make the repairman show up

2010-10-27T13:26:00.001-07:00

posted 07/09/08

Dedicate yourself to starting a little -- ahem -- quality time with your honey before he leaves on a ten-day business trip.

Trust me.

Your contractor will show up within minutes to install the kitchen shelves that arrived two weeks ago.

I do, we're done

2010-10-27T13:25:00.001-07:00

posted 07/07/08

My sister, Jenny: I won’t be able to plan a bridal shower and party for you in two and a half months.

Me: That’s OK. I didn’t want to wear penis barrettes anyhow.

Jenny: You don’t even want a shower?

Me: Nope. We’re shacking up.* We’re just going to have a small, quick ceremony to make it legal. No parties.

* We’re shacking up because of Wisconsin divorce law (we could not legally marry until June 4) and the timing of SH’s lease (we had to be out of his apartment by June 30, we had to give two months’ notice, and they would not let us have a month-to-month option, so we had to, had to, had to have a house by the end of April, which meant selling my house way before that), but that does not change the fact that we are shacking up. We’d be married already but the parents want to attend a ceremony so we’re giving them one in Sept. Small, immediate family only. Maybe we’ll go to a Brewer’s game to celebrate. (We couldn’t have an earlier ceremony because 1) we were moving at the end of May, 2) SH wanted to go to Summerfest at the end of June, and 3) SH has a bunch of work travel between now and Sept.)

Blue-light special on the cat aisle

2010-10-24T11:43:00.001-07:00

posted 07/07/08

SH: We might have to wait until this spring to get cats if we are going to wait until after the Morocco trip to get cats.

Me: Why?

SH: We might not be able to find kittens in the winter.

Me: What, there’s a cat season?

SH: Well, I guess cats have kittens year round.

Kill the wabbit, #9

2010-10-24T11:42:00.002-07:00

posted 07/06/08

Is it any wonder that this rabbit – and the (at least) four others that inhabit our back yard – has no reason to fear humans? In a place where it’s illegal to throw yard waste into the trash and to park on the street between 3 and 6 a.m. (yet it’s OK to ride a motorcycle without a helmet, which means that if someone without insurance has an accident, I end up paying, but if someone puts grass clippings in the trash, it affects me how?), it’s probably illegal to shoot rabbits.

Not that I’m going to let that stop me.

The cats debate

2010-10-24T11:42:00.001-07:00

posted 07/06/08

1. Get cats now.

2. Wait until we have returned from our two-week trip to Morocco in October. (It’s not that we are overflowing with cash – we’re not; it’s that we are overflowing with FF miles. SH is concerned that the airlines will soon be charging 300,000 miles for a trip from Milwaukee to Chicago, so we are burning his miles with trips to Morocco and Hawaii rather than lose them.)

3. Get cats now so they can work for a living and kill the what must be dozens of rabbits (I am not joking – much) that live in our yard.

4. Get cats now so we can never let them outside while the rabbits continue to prosper and taunt us.

Maybe he should go into marketing

2010-10-24T11:41:00.001-07:00

posted 07/05/08

SH: I feel kinda crummy.

Me: How come?

SH: Maybe it was the beer Bruce and I had yesterday during the brewery tour.

Me: Oh.

SH: I don’t know why you don’t like beer. You get to feel crummy the day after you drink it and it makes you fart.

Me: Don’t forget it makes you pee a lot.

Kill the wabbit, #7

2010-10-23T08:29:00.001-07:00

posted 07/04/08

On the phone with Todd arranging to meet for fireworks later while SH fires up the grill and three, count them, three audacious rabbits scamper across the yard, flipping us off as they head toward my tomatoes:

Me [yelling out the window]: SH! Kill that rabbit!

Todd: Does he have a gun?

Me: Of course not. He’s a liberal.

The difference between cats and dogs

2010-10-23T08:28:00.001-07:00

posted 07/03/08

SH: Look at this cool new radar detector. It’s got GPS and you can download the locations of speedtraps and red-light cameras into it.

Me: That’s pretty cool.

SH: Maybe it’s time I spent the money and upgraded.

Me: Well....

SH: If it prevents just one or two speeding tickets, it pays for itself – not to mention the increase to our auto insurance.

Me: You could always just follow the speed limit.

SH: That’s crazy talk.

The Peoples' Republic of Wauwatosa

2010-10-23T08:27:00.000-07:00

posted 07/02/08

So far, this is what we've discovered to be illegal (that's illegal!) in our new town/state:

1. To park on the street overnight

2. To put lawn waste in the trash. We discovered this one when the trash guys dumped the weeds I'd pulled from the flowerbeds out of the trash can onto the yard.

You may put lawn waste in its own bin (reusable or paper, marked specifically in letters at least two inches high, "Lawn Waste") for disposal but you may never, ever put grass clippings out for disposal. Never. Ever.

Remember also that it is illegal! to remarry within six months of divorcing in Wisconsin.

It's a good thing there are no serious issues for this state to address. How lucky we are to be living in this utopia.

Chats du jour: CSI

2010-10-18T13:44:00.000-07:00

These photos go with this post.

Let them eat cake

2010-10-18T11:14:00.001-07:00

posted 07/02/08

If you are baking No-knead Rosemary and Garlic Bread, it’s probably a good idea to check the “6- to 8-quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic)” before you put it into the oven for half an hour to heat at 450 degrees to make sure you didn’t throw that box of birthday candles and vial of magic Chinese potion designed to banish migraines that you bought at the Rabat medina – you know, the potion that smells of eucalyptus – that were in your junk drawer into the pot before you moved it from Memphis to Milwaukee.

Otherwise, when you go to put the dough into the pot, you won’t notice the birthday candles and the potion because when you lift the lid off the pot, the steam billowing out will fog your glasses (or steam your glasses, technically, but I didn’t want to use the word “steam” again so soon but what are you going to do? What’s a synonym for steam that means exactly the same thing?) and you won’t see anything at the bottom of the pot and will suspect nothing, even though some person who will go unnamed here but happens to live in the same house as you do and is very detail and science oriented might point out that you should have noticed that steam is not a phenomenon that occurs naturally in an empty pot, even if it has been heated to 450 degrees for half an hour but hey, you were an English major and you just weren’t thinking that you might have left birthday candles in a pot four months ago, OK?

Anyhow, if you don’t check the pot for birthday candles and migraine potions (which didn’t work, BTW), you end up with waxy, eucalyptus-scented bread. Some people might consider that inedible.

Animal liberation #2

2010-10-18T11:13:00.001-07:00

posted 07/02/08

Pet lovers, sharpen your pens and get ready to send me the hate mail. But I think this is a stupid, stupid way to spend money: the pet cemetery near where SH used to live has closed and people are moving their pet’s corpses.

[S]he paid $1,500 for a grave and marker at Thistlerose for her bichon, Bjorn, in 2005. Now she's shelling out nearly $1,000 more for a new spot and moving expenses.

A. Who spends $1,500 on a grave and a marker for a dog? We loved our cat, O’Malley, and we still talk about him, even though it’s been over 20 years since he died, but when he died, my dad buried him in the back yard. Without a coffin. He’s been tomato fertilizer for whomever lives at 8302 Brookline for years. At that time, $1,500 was half a year’s tuition at my private university. It is more than I paid for my first car.

When my cat was hit by a car in Miami and my neighbor, who knew about it suspiciously quickly, ran to tell me that my cat was lying in the street, I picked the cat up and put his body in the trash can. I would have buried him but I didn’t have a shovel. It never occurred to me to spend money to put him in a pet cemetery. I didn’t even know such things existed. I hadn’t read that Evelyn Waugh book yet. (What’s it called? The one about pet cemeteries?)

B. Who pays $1,000 to move a pet’s corpse from one pet cemetery to another? I wouldn’t want anyone to spend that money to move my corpse. Family and SH, you are hereby put on notice that you are not required to move my body if the cemetery goes out of business. You can leave me right where I am. Use the money for a trip to London or a party. And don’t embalm me!

Animal liberation

2010-10-18T11:11:00.000-07:00

posted 07/02/08

Woman at the gym: We used to have cats, but had to get rid of them because the dogs didn’t like them.

Me: Which did you have first?

WATG: The cats.

Me: So you got the dogs after you had the cats, but because the dogs didn’t like the cats – the dogs, which showed up later – you got rid of the cats?

WATG: Yeah.

Me: Why didn’t you get rid of the dogs?

WATG: We really love the dogs.

Me: Do your dogs like your kids?

Saturday at the park

2010-10-12T19:08:00.001-07:00

posted 06/28/08

Busy days. SH is wonderful, setting up the stereo, installing a clothesline for me (a longtime dream, along with my engagement trash can – I am a woman of simple needs and wants), repairing the guest room bed. He’s a keeper.

We also had to go to Summerfest yesterday. We got there early enough to get free wristbands to see the headlining bend, Rush (motto: We don’t play any music unless it’s in a minor key), which was kind of fun (we got a free high, if you know what I mean), although if I’d actually paid to see them perform, I would have been ticked off that they didn’t start on time. Yes, I know all about musician time, but honestly. Be professional. Start on time. Marcia Ball started at 10:00 on the dot. And we liked her music a lot better. Still, for eight dollars apiece (and free parking, thanks to Serious Honey’s sharp eyes), I really can’t complain about a late start to a concert.

SH won free tickets from a radio station to tonight’s headliner, John Mellencamp, whom everyone persists in calling just “Mellencamp,” which annoys me to no end, because really, how much harder is it to add that one extra syllable? Say the entire name, darnit. It’s not that complicated.

Anyhow, I don’t care about seeing John Mellencamp so much. I’m kind of over his music, but Lucinda Williams is opening for him and I really like her. And again, we’re getting in for free (not even having to pay Summerfest admission), so if we get tired of listening to his show, we can leave and find something we like better.

Find the top B----- and kick her a@@

2010-10-12T19:07:00.001-07:00

posted 06/27/08

Lucy (not Rachel, WHO WORKS IN A PRISON): I was a corrections officer for a while.

Me: What was that like?

Lucy, WHO WORKED IN A PRISON: It was OK until they started bringing the women in.

Me: Why?

Lucy, WWIAP: They fought more and when they fought, they were more vicious and they fought longer. And there was a lot more homosexual activity among the women. If one of them went to the showers, they all went to the showers.

Me: Wow. More homosexual stuff than with the men?

Lucy, WWIAP: Uh-huh. We called it Gay for the Stay.

Me: Kind of like Lesbian Until Graduation?

Lucy, WWIAP: Yeah. I guess prison is a lot like college.

How about the "Love one another as I have loved you" suite?

2010-10-12T19:06:00.000-07:00

posted 06/25/08

Me: So my new Y has these silly names for the exercise rooms: Responsibility, Respect, blah blah blah.

My friend: Maybe they’re trying to emphasize stuff for kids.

Me: Then why not go to core Christian principles? It is the Young Men’s Christian Association, after all.

MF: What if people get offended?

Me: So what? No one is making them join. What about this: The “Thou shalt not murder” room.

MF: But some people might have a problem with a Christian message.

Me: Well, technically, the Ten Commandments are Jewish. But really – what group would have a problem with not murdering?

We're never building a house together or undertaking major renovations

2010-10-10T08:36:00.003-07:00

posted 06/21/08

Me: This guy is being charged with killing his wife during a scuba-diving trip on their honeymoon.

SH: Wow.

Me: I wonder if they were in the middle of moving.

How to buy a carpet

2010-10-10T08:36:00.001-07:00

posted 06/20/08

Monday June 9
Go to Carpet Distributor #1
Me: Do you have any red plaid carpet?
CD#1: Yes – here it is. Made by only one manufacturer.
Me: How much does it cost? Is it in stock?
CD#1: Let me call. Oh. They stopped making this style two years ago. Let me call the rep. There’s a new style. He’ll send a sample.

Tuesday June 17 [8 days later]
Me: Has the sample arrived yet?
CD#1: No.

Get on the internet. Find other distributors of same manufacturer. Call to see if any of them have a sample. I just want to see the darn carpet. Am I asking too much? No one has a sample.

Carpet Distributor #2: I can ask my rep to get one.
Me: I’ve already asked CD #1 to order one for me.
CD#2: You know, we beat their prices by 40% most of the time.
Me: Keep talking.

Email the manufacturer. Is the carpet in stock? What is the lead time to get it?
Mfr: Scottish Plaid color 03800 [kinda brown] would be the closest to red. In order to check stock and to get the time frame for shipping you need to contact our customer service order desk at 800-shaw-usa- option 2. If you are not a shaw dealer then you will have to order through a local dealer. You can visit shawfloors.com to find the retailer nearest you. thanks.
Me: [Then why do you have a red version on the website?]

Wednesday June 18
Me [Call manufacturer]: Why do you have the red version on the website if you don’t have it in stock?
Mfr: We have the red.
Me: Great. What’s the lead time? I have a naked basement floor and nowhere to put the rec room furniture.
Mfr: I can’t tell you. You have to ask a distributor.

Thursday June 19
Call CD#2 again. He’ll have the sample by Monday. I mean, how hard is it to get a 5” square of carpet to someone in two days? It’s nice to be working with someone who appears to be interested in doing business with me.

Friday June 20
Discover that the basement doors are warped from the flooding. Good grief.

A Barbie in every toybox

2010-10-10T08:34:00.000-07:00

posted 06/19/08

At TJMaxx the other day, sorting through the underpants, trying to find at least one pair with a smidgen of cotton in it that didn’t also look like something my grandmother would wear (designers! Know ye nothing of women’s bodies, natural fibers and comfort?), I overheard the woman next to me say in her inside voice of loud desperation to her two children, “Boys! Be nice and share! It’s good to share!”

Why?

Why is it good to share?

Why do we (the collective “other people with whom I absolutely do not agree because they are wrong” we) force little kids share their stuff?

We don’t make adults share their things. No one gets upset if a grown man doesn’t share his brand-new Mercedes convertible or riding lawnmower with his neighbor or even with his brother. No one says, “What a selfish jerk!” (Except maybe the brother.)

No one thinks that the woman with the new Kate Spade purse is a big meanie for not lending the bag to her best friend if the friend demands it.

So why should kids be forced to share against their will?

More specifically, why should kids be forced to share against their will when it might cause whining? I would think that parents would want to minimize the noise, stress and aggravation at home and would thus implement policies to that end. Wouldn’t you have a strict “no required sharing” policy? That way, no child could ever come to you and complain that Suzy wasn’t sharing her Barbie because your answer would be, “It’s her Barbie. Go play with your own toys and leave me to my People magazine and Pimms.” Give each kid his own toys, draw a line in the middle of the room with a Sharpie and be done with it.

Do liberal parents force sharing more than conservative parents? Liberals, who are convinced they can change human nature, despite thousands of years of evidence to the contrary (that human nature is immutable, that is), might be more likely to force socialist policies on their kids by making them share their toys, even though children have a highly-developed sense of property rights and know there is something inherently unjust about having to give away something that is theirs. Ha. They are just creating future conservatives, so it’s all good.

When I am in charge, it will be illegal

2010-10-09T16:04:00.000-07:00

posted 06/18/08

1. To install carpet over hardwood floors
1a. To install cheap, ugly carpet over hardwood floors
1b. To pay almost as much to install cheap, ugly carpet as it would have cost to refinish the floors
2. To paint without removing switchplates first
3. To punch a hole in the wall for a new outlet and not patch the plaster before putting on the new plate
4. To paint the walls but not to paint the trim
5. To take the shower curtain rod (not the kind that is mounted to the wall but the kind that stays up with pressure) with you when you move out of a house
6. To take the dryer vent hose with you when you move out of a house, especially if you have adapted said hose to the egress, which is not the standard size on which 4” hoses fit but only 3”, which requires a special adapter available only at heating supply stores. Wholesale.
7. To install kitchen cabinets 30” high with no shelves. Three of them. Most cooking equipment is just not that tall.

Sleepless in LA

2010-10-09T16:03:00.002-07:00

posted 06/17/08

Me: How was it sharing a room with your co-worker at that trade show?

SH: Fine.

Me: Did he snore?

SH: No.

Me: What did he wear to bed?

SH: Athletic shorts and a t-shirt.

Me: OK.

SH: With the t-shirt tucked in.

Me: To sleep?

SH: I think it’s an Asian thing.