$30 Dip

Today I went to the grocery store to buy supplies for a new dip I'm trying for Thanksgiving. Per usual, I had to buy all the ingredients on the list and the grand total for this measly dip...$30! This better be some darn good dip!

Granted I don't cook much so I don't already have things like balsamic vinegar and cayenne pepper, but good gravy! This is exactly why I don't cook! If I have to spend $30 for every meal...or appetizer, no thank you. I'll stick to my $3 Lean Cuisines.

Tis the Season

Salvation Army bell ringers. Yes, they serve a purpose. I appreciate the good they are doing for the world, but at the same time I am not ashamed to admit they are driving me bananas! And it's not even Thanksgiving yet!

They are posted at every entrance to every store, everywhere. They ring their bell and give me that look like, "Shouldn't you be putting money in my little red pot?" Now let's be honest, I'm walking into a store to spend money, so I should be putting money into the pot, but I don't. There are so many of them if I gave to one, I'd feel obligated to give to them all. I enjoy the people who say, "I'll catch you on the way out." Right.

Now, let's say I gave $1 to every bell ringer I saw. I'd be broke before Thanksgiving! Giving a dime to them all would be more reasonable, but can you imagine the look of disdain I would receive as my change plinked into the bucket. I think once you donate you should receive a button saying, "I donated."

And then there are those times when you think you've made an escape and managed to find that one door that's unattended. You see the bucket, but there's no ringer, so you quickly park and make a mad dash for the door. But then, out of nowhere, the ninja bell ringer appears as though they've been lurking in the shadows waiting for you.

And the incessant ringing! Can't they just agree to ring once a minute? Instead of the constant ringing, ringing, ringing. I know, tell us how you really feel, right? I'm just saying.

Whew. I feel better. Thanks. Now I'm going to go get a 4th job so I can afford the Salvation Army. Happy Holidays!

To "Sesame Street" or not to "Sesame Street"

Today, while babysitting at Jazzercise, my usual set of kiddos were doing their usual activity: making me "food." This activity consists of them asking me what I'd like and they scrounge it up out of the play food area and serve it to me. (Why isn't this reality?)

Around the 3rd order I decided I wanted a cheeseburger. I was given two choices of buns: "With sesame streets, or without sesame streets?" Apparently "sesame streets" are what they put on the buns for adults. Happy meals do not come with these, they do however come with a toy.

I learn so much from moments such as these.

Another Blonde Moment

Scene One: A Grocery Store
I had bought all my groceries, done a great job of being green by bringing my own bags, and the sacker had bagged all my groceries. I bought the usual items: frozen dinners, Diet Coke, and a special treat, some popcorn.

Scene Two: Home
I unpack the groceries and discover that my popcorn isn't in the bag. I am disappointed as I was looking forward to this tasty treat. This isn't the first time I've purchased something and it hasn't made it into the bag and I know that if I bring my receipt back to the store, they'll give me my missing item. I'm too lazy and move on.

Fast forward several weeks.

Scene Three: Home
I am packing my lunch before work when I reach into the freezer and what do I discover? My popcorn! (sheepish grin)

Dear Thighs,

I've noticed your hard work lately in trying to hold my pants up by expanding your girth, however, this is not your job. Your job is to remain slim and trim and to look awesome. While I appreciate your effort in going above and beyond, it's been a while since I remember you doing your job. Please leave it to the belts.

Sincerely,

Self-esteem

Compliment: You're Doing it Wrong.

Today I was standing outside my classroom door, greeting my students, when a colleague approached me and said, "Wow. You look comfy today." To which I replied, "Wow. That doesn't sound like a compliment." (I know, sarcastic, but c'mon!)

She then started to backpedal. "No, no! I like your pants."

Yeah. And you look fat in that dress.

What's in a Name?

Today, while babysitting at Jazzercise, one four-year-old girl said to a five-year-old boy, "Is it OK if I just call you Trevor? Cause I don't know your name."

I'm all for this. Let's not bother with asking. Let's just pick names for people. You- you look like a Denise.

I'd Like to Give a Shout Out...

To Community America for their fabulous automated voice system. But first, I will credit them for calling and checking on my "suspicious account behavior". No, really. Thank you. Having had my identity stolen before, this is much appreciated.

However, the system they have to check the transactions leaves much to be desired. Somehow, just from the phone you call from, they can identify your account. Then you enter your last 4 digits of your SSN. And then comes the robot with the Asian accent.

First the regular robot says, "Please verify the last 4 transactions." Then the robot with the accent says something and the date and amount. You are then supposed to verify it. My particular robot said, "Sahltay Eegwanay. August 18, 2009. $10.52." You'll have to imagine the accent yourself. Then you're supposed to press 1 to verify, press 2 if you don't recognize it, press 3 to repeat the transaction.

I had to repeat it about four times before I finally figured out what the heck the name of the business was. And it was only because of the date and then amount. Mind you I was driving at the time so I had no bank statements to look at.

The transaction was for my lunch today. Salty Iguana. That's not what was said. They should really think about some quality control. That robot should be fired for not learning phonics.

Check Your Battery!

Ever since I was little, people haven't been able to figure out what my name is when I say it. And trust me, it's not because I have a speech impediment or have a lack of enunciation.

My first memory of this recurring problem was when we used to visit Santa every year. I'd sit on his lap and he'd say, "What's your name?" I'd tell him and then he'd reply, "What would you like for Christmas, Katie?" Crap. I knew then I wouldn't get what I was asking for because he didn't know who I was.

As the years passed this problem continued. Everywhere I went and I had to introduce myself people could never get it right on the first try. The first guess is always, "Katie?" No. I try again. Then, "Hayley?" Nope. One more time. Then it's usually some unique name they've come up with like "Kayley". If only they wouldn't quit listening after the first syllable they'd stand a fighting chance.

This is why in college I switched to my "bar name" of Kelly. It solved so many problems. The problem of a) no one could figure out what I was saying in a loud bar and 2) I didn't want the gomer to know my real name anyway.

This morning while working out this same problem arose. Our instructor shouted (over the loud music) to introduce yourself to the person next to you. I did and of course we went through the above routine. I left her thinking my name was Hayley because it was just easier that way.

Jazzercise is kind of like a bar. Loud music, lots of people watching, some inept dancing...I should have gone with Kelly.

Cats

Cats have an internal signal that goes off whenever you are doing a project on the floor that is very cat unfriendly. They sleep all day and as soon as you hit the floor with scissors, glue, and things that need to be placed just so, here they come!

Today I was making a job chart for my classroom and had to lay out letters across the top of my poster board. All day my cats had been sleeping. I mean all day. Couldn't even lift their heads to speak to me as I passed. The second I started laying out the letters they both came down. Of course the letters got messed up, everything got out of alignment. One sat on the materials, another played with the ruler. Sigh.

I remember this happening when my mom used to try and cut out patterns on the living room floor. They just can't help themselves.

Karma

Yes, I've been blog-happy lately. Enjoy.

Those of you who are lucky enough to be my facebook friends may recall that earlier this week my status was that I was, "delighted to find a 9th Pop-Tart in my box of 8."

It really was quite exciting. First I was pissed because I thought they had jipped me and I only had seven. There was one lonely tart in a package, sealed all by itself. Then I counted again and there were four other packages of two. Delight.

After posting this on facebook, most of my friends were happy for me but one naysayer said that it was failed quality control and I should worry. Debbie Downer! I was still ecstatic.

Yesterday I reached into my cabinet to pull out a package of 100 calorie chocolate covered pretzels. This box lives on the top shelf so I just blindly grab and pull down. When I did, I discovered that I had...an empty bag. Mind you the bag was sealed, but it was sans the pretzels. I've been robbed!

So I guess this is Karma repaying me for that extra Pop-Tart. I knew I had to make it up somewhere.

Am I Senile?

After yesterday's eye doctor debacle I was convinced that I had gone crazy and my blurry vision was a figment of my imagination. Turns out, according to my trusty doctor, that my vision has changed since May (yes, just mere months ago) and a new prescription was in order. So, the technician took me to a room where she gave me a trial pair of these new contacts. I threw away the contact from my right eye and put the new one in, no problem. Then, you know me, starting gabbing and just went about my business, put the left one in, and left.

The rest of the day I was still thinking, "Are you sure Doc? I really think there's something wrong with my left eye (the original problem and reason for the doctor visit)." I went through the day with my vision still blurry.

At one point in the afternoon I decided to take it out and put in back in again. Didn't fix it. Noticed that it looked like it wasn't fusing to my eye properly. Huh. Had my sister look at it. She confirmed it didn't look right (the contact, that is).

Last night when I was taking out my contacts I discovered that I was wearing three. One in the right and two in the left. Yep, never took the old one out before I put the new one in. Explains a lot.

And to add to my senility, as I walking out of school today, I reached in my purse to answer my phone and only then realized I had a hot pink post-it stuck to my boob. I wonder how long that magic had been happening.

A Trip to the Eye Doctor

So...I'm at the eye doctor today. I sign in, prompt as usual, and take a seat the adequate distance from the desk and the one other patron in the waiting room. I take out my book.

I had just checked out this book at the library mere moments before and it's by a fairly new-t0-me author. Things like this scare me. I don't like change. I open the book and begin reading and become slightly frustrated as the book has all this navy lingo that I don't understand. Sometimes her books are hard to get into but generally turn out to be really good. So I have to concentrate extra hard to try and process this lingo. Add the problem that I'm already having with my vision, hence I'm at the eye doctor, and my ADD and things are getting a little difficult.

Enter the woman at the optical store. About 20 feet away is the entrance to the optical store where an elderly woman is trying to decide on what new pair of frames to buy. The young clerk is trying very hard to help her make a decision as she gives an entire Shakespearean dialogue regarding every pair. Once she finally decides she has to go into detail about the payment. Is it tax deductible? The clerk told her about 5 times who to make the check out to. Yes, check.

The next layer to this montage would be the two elderly gentlemen. Brothers, boyfriends, I dunno. But they had a running commentary about everything. And they were loud breathers. And the waiting room is bigger than my living room but they chose to sit right across from me. I'm trying to read navy acronyms, the lady in the optical shop is filing taxes, the gentlemen are breathing loudly...enter couple #2.

Now by this time my appointment has come and gone. I'm annoyed. I've read two pages, one page I read three times. Couple #2 came in, sat down...right next to me! There's an entire side of the waiting room that is completely empty. Not only that, they both decide to open peppermints at this time.

ADD

blurred vision

Navy lingo

"Who do I make my check out to?"

Loud breathing

Candy wrappers

WTF?

And then they called my name and I bolted.

Dr. Doolittle

I don't know what it is.  I seem to attract wildlife.  This would be fine normally, but I seem to attract the wildlife in places where it shouldn't be.  

Growing up there was an incident with a pot-bellied pig in the front yard.  In college there were the bats in the dorm and the bevy of birds in my apartment.  Several years ago while driving to work, a mouse crawled out of the hood and appeared on the windshield.  Last year a squirrel was hanging out in my living room when I got home from work.  Today I came home and there was a bird in my garage.  

There are also two neighborhood cats, who happen to be doppelgangers of my two cats, that insist on sleeping on my deck.  This causes much ruckus in my home and inappropriate naughty behavior.

Why does this happen to me?  I never handle it well.  Sure, I like animals, but generally domesticated ones.  

A Good Night's Sleep

When I was a sophomore in college, there was a power surge in the apartment that I shared with my sister that killed my computer, tv, printer, and who knows what else.  Those are just the expensive things I can remember.  Needless to say, I had to buy a new tv.

My friend and I ventured out to Kmart to buy one.  I brought it home, after much distress of trying to load it in the car (why do we never think of these things when heading on such excursions?).  It was a delightful tv.  Brand new, built in tv guide and everything.  I still have this tv to this day, 8 years later.  

However, for the past 8 years, this tv has been haunted.  Every night at 3am it turns on to channel 46.  It's done this forever.  I've lived in 3 different cities and six different residences during this 8 years and it always remembers:  3am, channel 46!

In Manhattan it wasn't so bad because that channel was Nick at Nite.  Now, it's Discovery Health or something yucky so when I wake up and find it on, I'm lucky to not have my contacts in as babies are being birthed and tumors are being removed, etc.  Every night, it wakes me up and I turn it off.  It's always a good opportunity to go to the bathroom, but really?

BUT, yesterday I was fiddling with the clever built-in guide that has become not so clever in it's old age when I stumbled across a new menu I'd never seen before.  After punching several buttons I found that my tv has had a recording set for 3am, channel 46, for years!  Now tell me why it needs to be on to do this alleged recording?  And how does it plan on recording anything with no DVR or VCR.  And furthermore, who set this recording?  Grrr.  Regardless, I turned the stupid scheduled recording off and last night, for the first time in years....I slept through the night.  

Busted!

Well the mystery of the uprooting shrub has been solved. I came home to this last night. This is my neighbor's dog. Poor Callie. She knows not what she does. See how she hangs her head in shame?

It's On!

Someone(thing) dug up my shrub again! This time it was dragged halfway down the driveway. I don't get it. But, it's on! I've got nothing but free time for the next week so I can takeover on surveillance duty.

Not Just a Jewelry Dish

I've been getting massages for years. My mom always gets me gift certificates for Christmas and my birthday which are much appreciated. In fact, I don't think I've ever had to pay for my own massage. Fabulous.

It has only come to my attention in the past few months that you are supposed to tip your massage therapist. Blonde moment! Now, yes, they provide a service so I guess I should've thought of that, but sometimes people have to tell me these things.

The realization came to me when I was purchasing a gift certificate for a massage for a friend. I saw, printed at the bottom, "gratuities not included." Ahhh! So for massage, after massage, the poor therapists have been getting jipped. They probably think I'm the worst customer ever. I'm surprised I still get my post-massage tootsie roll.

Now mind you, there's a little ceramic dish that sits on a stool inside the room. I always assumed, since it's right by where you hang up your clothes, that it was to put your jewelry in. I even got a similar dish with cookies on it from a student for Christmas one year and it's now on my dresser...with jewelry in it! I guess maybe I should put it on my desk at work and put a sign on the classroom door that says, "Gratuities not included." What do you think would happen?

So, in case any of you are as stupid as me...it's not just a jewelry dish. You should tip them (if you want your tootsie roll).

Who Throws a Shoe?

Almost on a daily basis as I'm driving around town, I see a shoe laying in the street. I always wonder, how did it get there? I mean, did someone throw it out the window unbeknownst to the owner? Or perhaps the owner of the shoe did it on purpose. Maybe they had their foot hanging out the window and it fell off. It could be that it smelled so bad they had to get rid of it immediately. Maybe it was a child that was so mad at their mom or dad that they through their parent's gym shoe out the back window in a fit of rage. Who knows?

All of these possiblities swirl through my brain as I drive past these shoes. It's always a single shoe, no mate. Most often it's a tennis shoe, though the other day I saw a sandal.

If it were my shoe, and I knew it had been flung overboard, I would stop the car to retrieve it. That's what I've done for hubcaps in the past anyway. I mean, it's a shoe for Pete's sake! Wouldn't you want it back?

Someone is messing with me...

Saturday night at 9pm my sister and I planted shrubs by my driveway (no comments from the peanut gallery please, I do have a social life). Three shrubs were planted to be exact. Much labor was put into this, mind you. And those of you who know me know that I don't do physical labor.

Every day this week I have come home from work and the middle of the three shrubs has been dug up. ??? My neighbor has a golden retriever and I talked to her about it, the neighbor, not the dog, and she said that her dog isn't a digger. So tell me this, who's digging up my shrubbery?! A very large squirrel?

I'm getting tired of replanting it. I didn't really enjoy planting it in the first place. I'll have to set up a spy mission. I'll have Roberta do it.

Heartless

That's what I am. Whenever those precious little children park themselves outside of Wal-Mart or any store for that matter and try to sell me things, I totally dodge them. I try to go in a different door, I avoid eye contact, but my best trick, is faking a phone call. I know, I know, this is how heartless I am. It's terrible. But I can't bear to say no to them. That and the last thing I need is a pack of cookies.

If this is a common problem for you, I highly recommend this tactic. It's quite simple. You just pick up your phone and start talking, having a one-sided conversation. Just pray that the phone doesn't start ringing as you are "talking" on it. Then you're totally busted and you'll have to buy the whole lot of cookies, or toys, or whatever.

I do my part for mankind. And maybe I'm not heartless after all. Maybe I'm being kind by avoiding having to break their little hearts by telling them no. At least that's what I'll keep telling myself to feel better.

People Watching

People watching is one of my favorite past times. There is no greater place to do this than your local exercise joint, in my case, Jazzercise. It's a great place to work out because no one really cares what they look like or how they move, everyone just dances their little hearts out. This makes for great entertainment for people-watchers like me. I love that they are letting loose and "dancing like nobody's watching," but someone is: me. Don't get me wrong, I love Elaine from Seinfeld.

On another Jazzercise note, I've decided to chew gum while exercising. It makes me feel like less of an asthmatic yeti when I'm working out. I think the constant chewing requires me to actually breathe continuously throughout the class. However, I must caution you who may want to try this: I have had several near-choking experiences when doing stretches. Those, "tilt your pelvis forward and stretch your arms to the back wall," numbers should really include, "and push your gum to the front of your mouth or you'll aspirate." No worries. I haven't choked yet.

Blame Woody

Yesterday my crappy phone decided to stop working. This is a problem as I have no home phone, so I was out of commission for a brief moment in time. I had to get that crappy phone because I dropped my awesome hot pink phone in the toilet. Whoops.

I went to T-Mobile right after work today to see what they get do about this phone that I didn't really want in the first place. Of course they told me I bought a phone that sucked from the get-go (where were they on that when I bought it?) and that I would need to buy a new phone. Sigh.

They suggested some phones, all of which weren't pink mind you, so I settled for one that was conducive to texting and would suit my needs. Woody, yes that was his real name, was helping me in this adventure. I told him as he was ringing me up that some of my numbers were saved to the phone, not the SIM card, and would he kindly transfer those. If I knew then what I know now, I would have just sacrificed those friends.

One hour and a half later I was 112 contacts lighter and dangerously and uncomfortably close to a date. Woody sweated profusely as he desperately tried to figure out what happened to all those 112 friends that he decided I no longer needed. He'd ignore me for long periods of time then say things like, "So...what do you do?" Smirk, wink. Ugh.

Then, after an hour of sitting on an uncomfortable stool, having to go to the bathroom and dying of hunger (I wish I'd brought provisions), Woody asked for my zip code. "Do you live around here? Like close?" Really? No, seriously? That's the oldest line in the book? No I don't live around here and I don't come here often. I hope never to come here again!

I now have this stupid, ridiculously expensive phone and hopefully, all of your numbers. If not, it's not my fault. Blame Woody.

And So It Begins

I decided to start another blog because...well because I have so many things to say and let's face it, I'm a freakin' riot. I thought and thought about the clever and witty title for my blog...then it came to me while driving in the car this week (note title of blog). I came home and Googled it just to make sure no one else had stolen this genius idea out of my brain when I found this video.

Those of us "sarcastics" (did you know there's really no name for a person who is sarcastic? I know, I looked it up) are a special breed. I've found that out that hard way. Did you know that sarcasm is not acquired in the human brain until approximately age 10? As a teacher, I can justify that.

So, if you enjoy a good story that is laced with sarcasm, enter here.