Random Blogginess

Mood: Slightly out of sorts (Not quite sure what's going on...vaguely frustrated with life right now)

What I'm Watching: More To Love (Yep. More silly reality tv...I've embraced my inner reality tv junkie!)

Just some random mini-blogness tonight:

• Have noticed fighting neighbors across the hall have not picked up their papers for the last couple of nights. Hoping they're just away for a while but keeping nose out for any funny smells coming from their apartment.

• The local Cable Company? Officially on my list! I pay an obscene amount of money for cable service and really? watching my channels randomly flip from one to the other every 2 seconds for nearly 15 minutes just because their emergency alert system had gone haywire is the last in a long line of reasons why I'd like to tell them to take their cable service and...well...fill in the rest with your favorite analogy here. However, due to my recently admitted shameful addiction to reality tv and our inability to have a satellite system installed (thank you stupid landlord), I'm forced to keep the cable service...for now.

• Mother nature seems to be confused as the weather is currently more in keeping with early to mid October than the first of September. I love fall weather but I'm hoping that this doesn't mean that we'll be having an early and hard winter....hope it just means a longer autumn, which would be lovely.

• Finally put in for some vacay time at work! YAY!!! The first week in November is all MINE! Can't go anywhere because Scott still doesn't have vacation time but after 3 years with no time off, it's time to just take a break from the office...even if it's just staring at the walls and watching stupid daytime tv!

Bad Boys, Bad Boys, What You Gonna Do?

Mood: Frustrated (Writing is not as easy as it should be when your fictional characters refuse to cooperate with you).

What I'm watching: The Police Women of Broward County (Really? Someone should tell the blonde one that the only time that she should be wearing her hair that way is when she's working under cover as a cheap hooker).

I've long since accepted that living in an apartment and sharing thin walls means that I will know far more about my neighbors than I ever cared to know. I know when they're fighting, when they're *ahem* not fighting, what they're having for dinner and that the guy next door should probably see a doctor about his frequent bathroom issues.

So, when the neighbors across the hall started having one of their epic arguments the other night, I didn't think too much of it. When the police showed up it started getting slightly more interesting. Seems that the wife wanted to use the computer and the husband didn't want to let her so he tried to grab the power cord and then attempted to run her over with his rascal scooter. Yep, that's right, our disabled neighbor tried to run over his slightly less disabled wife with his scooter and the police were called to referee the computer argument.

Seriously? They should have just called my mother who would have taken the computer cord, slapped them both and sent them to bed without dinner. But, since they called the police, the officers who responded did their best to diffuse the situation and told them to give one another some space for the rest of the evening. The officer's parting words "Don't start in again the minute we leave." Of course they promised that they wouldn't.

Right. Uh-huh. Like that worked. See, my mother never would have fallen for that and before the officers had even pulled away from the curb, the argument was one once again. Within 10 minutes, the wife was in the hall on the phone with the police again. By this time I was starting to think that I should be standing outside in my bare feet with a baby on my hip while Scott stands next to me wearing a wife beater and drinking a beer. Fortunately, we have far more class so we watched the drama unfolding through the peephole in our front door.

This time the police asked the wife to leave for a while to give the situation a chance to cool. This was probably a wise decision, especially since the husband announced that he'd run out of prozac and so is now unmedicated. By the next morning the wife had returned and the fight was on once again and continued off and on over the next day or so, but, as Scott pointed out this morning, things have been eerily quiet over there for the past 24 hours or so.

Hopefully they've managed to patch things up and work out a sharing schedule for the computer but if a funny smell starts eminating from their apartment over the next week or so I'm not going to be a bit surprised.

Eye Witness Report: Pig Tour 2009

Mood: Worn out (really worn out)

What I'm watching: Dateline, Real Life Mysteries (here's a thought, if a guy's last two wives have died under very suspicious circumstances, he might not make the best dating material...I'm just sayin').

Scott and I went to the Illinois State Fair this weekend. With all the things to see and do at the fair, my husband still insists on benchmarking the entire event by the foods that he's managed to consume (which has led me to dub it "Pig Tour 2009"). If it was deep fried, on a stick or somehow jammed into a bun with onions and peppers, he needed to eat it. Everything from a polish sausage to fried alligator (yes ALLIGATOR! Which surprisingly wasn't as disgusting one might expect) was consumed through the course of the day. FYI? A chocolate covered, deep fried twinkie? Not nearly as good as one might expect.

In addition to all the food, we saw our share of animals (is it sad that I want a pony?), arts and crafts displays (although really? some of what passes for art really just looks like a big pile of junk to me), and very interesting people (very interesting people).

We also did something that neither one of us has ever done before. We got a psychic reading. Now, I do believe that some people have some special 'abilities' for lack of a better term, but I also believe that most psychics who are out there making a living at it are probably just really good at reading people and making guesses.

But, I decided to go for it since it seemed like a fun and harmless way to pass some time. Besides? I figured that she would be completely wrong and Scott and I could spend the afternoon laughing about her erroneous assumptions and predictions.

Please note: I'm not laughing. I sat down, gave her my name and my birthdate....that was it. I tried to keep my face as unemotional as I could no matter what she said. To the point where she finally said that I was going to have to let her know if she was on the right track. She was. Uncomfortably on the right track as a matter of fact. She knew things that no one should have/could have known by just looking at me. Very specific things that couldn't just generally be guessed or generalizations that could be applied to anyone.

Not everything was spot on but I'd say fully 90% of what she said was so specifically accurate that it was all rather a bit unnerving honestly. The good news? She encouraged me to continue with my writing, (she said this a couple of times even though I never confirmed for her that I wrote). She said that I wasn't confident in my creative abilities (that's a given...what writer doesn't sometimes feel like a talentless hack?), but that I should continue to work on it...that I *needed* to write.

Lots to think about....

Chicken or Beef?

Mood: Blah. (It's been a long day)

What I'm Watching: Ghost Hunters (Ghosts totally rock! Well when they're not making a mess in my house!)


Really Peta? You honestly think comparing overweight people to whales in this picture is going to turn my fat arse into a vegetarian?? It's just far more likely to just make me hate self-righteous tree hugging hippies.

Sorry folks but I have to admit that I LOVE meat. Yes, I know, "Meat is Murder" but, in my opinion, it's tasty, tasty murder! I freely admit that I would probably chase a cow down in the field for a good steak, I love me some chicken and yes, I sometimes even eat *gasp* pork on occasion. None of that makes me a bad person, nor is your referring to me as a "whale" likely to motivate me to suddenly decide to become enamoured of the vegan lifestyle.

But, lest you think I have no standards at all, I must assure all of you that is not true. I, too, have my own"ethical standards of food consumption". It's simple really; I don't eat anything that is cute. That's right...if I see it in nature and say "awwww" or if I want to pick it up and cuddle with it, then I won't eat it. So, I don't eat: veal (baby cows are adorable), lamb (just too darned cute), deer (how could I eat Bambi?) and Rabbit (c'mon, who could eat cute little bunnies?) just to name a few. Luckily for me, cows, turkeys, chickens and pigs are incredibly ugly creatures.

Mmmmm....steak.

Wal-Mart? You're Now On My List!

Mood: Stressed, frustrated, out of sorts (I'm feeling all PMS-y right now)

What I'm watching: Make It or Break It (my very favorite new show...should be cheering me up but, honestly? Not so much.)

I'd like to know just when it was that stores decided it was okay to stop their shoppers at the door and demand to see the receipt for what they've just purchased as though they are common criminals? Honestly? I find the practice demeaning, degrading and dowright annoying.

It happened to me just this morning at Wal-Mart. Already in a crappy mood, I had to stop at Wal-Mart and buy a new printer and some ink for my boss. I had just made my purchases and was on my way out the door when the intrepid Wal-Mart door greeter chases me out the door and demands that I stop and show her my receipt.

Now, I didn't set off the alarm, all of my purchases were neatly bagged in the requisite plastic Wal-Mart shopping bags, and I was dressed in my "I'm a church secretary" finest so I'm not sure what it was that made this teenage moron think that I was a shoplifter but I stopped, dug through my purse and found the receipt that I had neatly tucked away in the pocket of my checkbook wallet. I stood there while she checked and double checked the receipt against the items in my cart before she finally decided that I wasn't an immediate threat to Wal-Mart's bottom line and allowed me to go on my not so merry little way.

Honestly? Do they really think that I would not only be able to shoplift all that stuff but also be able to steal Wal-Mart bags from right underneath the cashier's nose, bag everything up and head out the door without anyone noticing? If so, they are either severly overestimating my criminal skills or they are seriously lacking in the security department.

Really retailers? In this economic recession is it really a good idea to alienate those of us who are actually able and willing to spend our hard earned dollars in your establishment? One of these days someone is going to go completely ape shit on your asses and I'm just going to bet it's going to be me.

And This May Be Why I No Longer Work Retail...

Mood: Lazy (It's been a busy, busy day and now I'm just plain old lazy)

What I'm watching: Women's Nationals Gymnastics (apparently watching the cheerleading thing last night didn't properly quash my self esteem so I'm going back for more).

Scott and I had to brave Wal-Mart today since we needed Wal-Mart type stuff (body wash, toilet paper, etc.) and we also needed a good price on a new tire for Scott's car.

Normally a trip to Wal-Mart isn't a huge deal but today, well, it was it's own little slice of hell on earth. Why? Three little words. Back.To.School. The aisles were crowded with stressed and weary adults dragging around their cranky and overstimulated offspring. There was yelling and screaming (from the adults) and whining and tantrum throwing (from the children) and snide, irritated comments (from people like me).

Also? We saw a woman have a monumental melt down. She was in the front of the store, screaming at the Wal-Mart greeter that she'd lost her father. Now, we're talking about a woman who was at least 40 years old (with bad make-up making her look an incarnation of Bette Davis ala Whatever Happened to Baby Jane) and she's screaming like a banshee because she's lost her father.

After listening to her yelling at the poor Wal-Mart greeter for about five minutes (and honestly, what power does the Wal-Mart greeter really have?) I was finally able to riddle out what was going on (FYI? Screaming? So not helpful in establishing meaningful communication). Seems her father is something like 95 years old and not in good health. He was riding one of those Wal-Mart carts and had, apparently, gotten himself lost. And, it seems that this woman believed that this was somehow the problem of those who were working at Wal-Mart. She kept screaming that it was important, that they needed to do something that it was a VERY SERIOUS ISSUE.

As I was listening to her rant I began to wonder about a couple of things. First, just what did she expect the people at Wal-Mart to do? Did she expect a super secret Wal-Mart swat team to storm the store and find her father for her? Did she think they'd issue a code Adam for a 95 year old man riding a motorized cart? And, really? If her father's condition was that delicate and he was that unstable then why the heck didn't she stay with him in the first place? I mean, we're not talking about a three year old toddler who can take off like a shot the minute you turn your back. We're talking about a 95 year old man in bad health riding on a motorized cart that goes all of two miles per hour. How the heck does he get away from you in the first place??

I have to say that I stood in silent awe as I watched the employees listen to the screaming without resorting to physical violence. I was impressed as they paged the 95 year old man without ever once pointing out to the hysterically crazy woman that, really, she should have been taking better care of her father and that it wasn't their fault that he'd gotten lost. Personally? I think I would have flicked her in the head and told her that her father had probably run away to get a break from her insane self.

And this may be why I'm no longer employed in the retail sector.

The Power of the 'Y' Chromosome

Mood: Relieved (It's Friday and my super great boss is back from his sabbatical. YAY!)

What I'm Watching: Cash Cab (Its time for a RED.LIGHT.CHALLENGE! Seriously, I'm frightened by the amount of useless trivia crammed into my tiny little brain.)

I know that men and women are biologically different. I took 8th grade biology and learned all about the bits and pieces the anatomy and the gene science behind it. What they fail to tell you during those classes are the true differences between men and women have very little to do with anatomy. Oh, sure, that 'y' chromosome is responsible for all kinds of "guy" traits like hairy chests, deeper voices and that annoying need to attempt to jump up and hit the tops of doorways and awnings, but really, it's also responsible for what I like to call the 'y' factor.

A prime example of this phenomenon occurred this morning as my loving husband was getting ready to depart for work. Like a 2009 incarnation of Donna Reed, I walk him to the door and wave as he's pulling out of his parking spot. Which, as it turns out, was quite a good thing since his back tire was completely pancake flat.

I flagged him down and pointed out the issue. Considering the fact that he works about 40 miles away and that, if he took time to change his tire, he would be late for work. I offered to let him take my car. I can walk to work as it's not terribly far from our home.

He refuses the offer. Why? Because his car has an "awesome" sound system and he wants to listen to his 'tunes' as he drives. *sigh* FINE. Besides, he says, changing a tire doesn't take that long.

1/2 an hour later, as I was attempting to lift the back end of his car, I was begging to differ with him. Turns out his jack is too big to fit under his car when said car has a completely flat tire. Unfortunately, as I'm not the Incredible Hulk, I was unable to lift the back end of the car a sufficient distance. Once again I offered to let him take my car. The answer? Still no.

Getting nowhere with his jack, I suggested that perhaps the jack in my car would work. Of course, getting at this jack required taking everything out of my trunk (no easy feat) so I once again made the offer of my car. Of couse, we all know the answer by now...don't know why I kept asking.

Luckily, my jack did work. Yay. Scott wrestled his tire off the car, we pulled the tiny spare donut type tire out of the trunk and installed it. When the car was let down, it was painfully obvious that this tiny tire was all but flat itself. Once again I reminded him that he was going to be VERY late for work and that maybe he should take my car. Nope. *Sigh*

He got air in the tire and set off on a 40 mile drive utilizing a tire that is rated not to allow speeds in excess of 50 MPH. And what does this genius do? He gets on the interstate where the speed limit is 65 MPH.

Yep. It's truly is the 'y' chromosome. As in "why do you have to be so stubborn?" and "why do you always have to do things the most difficult way possible?"

*Sigh* Really? I'm pretty sure I wouldn't get convicted if I actually got a jury of my peers.