The Amityville Office

My office is not haunted, that I know of, at least.  However, it is filled with bugs. Way too many bugs for an office on the second floor. Again, I am puzzled as to how the bugs get there, kind of like the ants.  The flying bugs I can see making their way up to us, but the crawlers? Why did they choose the second floor over the first?

Now when I say filled with bugs that might be a slight exaggeration, but only slight. In fact, just last week I saw two GIANT horse flies, a dead bee, a giant crawly thing and a mosquito that I squished in my office. That was in one day. Just one.  Here is where I will tell you that my office building is really nice.  I know you don't believe me, but it is true. I guess bugs just like nice offices.

I first noticed this bug problem shortly after starting. There was the ugliest scariest looking bug in my office one day.  Luckily he was only by the door and after I glared at him awhile, or shrieked, he casually walked across the hall into the office of a guy who is rarely there, so I proceeded to get up and shut his door.  The bug made an appearance later that week at which time I decided SOMETHING MUST BE DONE. So I went to one of the partners (yes I go straight to the top) and said "come kill this crazy looking bug."  He took one look at the bug and said "oh, that's a [insert crazy long bug name here] bug. We get those all the time." and then he WALKED AWAY.  Um, no.  I made him come back and kill or remove the bug. To this day I am not sure which he did. He was right though. I saw quite a few of those bugs throughout the past couple of years. Usually just walking along the walls minding their own business. To say I and the bugs have become friends would be a stretch, but I have learned to tolerate their presence.

The huge horse flies, dead bees and mean looking bugs? Those things are new. They stormed in all at once and quite honestly, I think the office is possessed. After spotting the two horse flies and passing the dead bees, I was beginning to think that our office was resembling the set of a horror flick.  Then I went into a partner's office.  We were discussing important things, no doubt, when he pointed and said "Is that a fly on the wall?"  Sure enough, he was pointing at one of the huge horse flies.  His question unleashed all of my fears and so I responded accordingly:

"Yes! That is a huge horse fly [pointing at fly]! He is one of TWO huge flies. This office is full of bugs - full of them! There are these two HUGE horse flies, dead bees, mosquitoes and crazy crawly bugs. Look, I am telling you right now, this office is like The Amityville house.  And, if I hear anything that remotely sounds like "get out!" I am getting the heck out of here without a second thought. I hope you are with me."

You are wondering if I really did say that. Yes, I did. And I really would be out of there. If a building speaks, you have to listen. Especially when there are horse flies, bees and other bugs all around you.  And also, when your phone was previously haunted.  If my love of horror movies has taught me anything, it is to pay attention to the signs.

I am calling in sick tomorrow.

Fall is the Season for Falling.

This weekend B and I accompanied the family to an old time Halloween trick or treat event. You can see some pictures here.  We walked through the village with all the employees in costumes, some even scary.  And we got to trick or treat - as adults. How fun is that? I wasn't even wearing a costume. I am such a spoil sport.  You can also see the treats we got here.

Now, I must say, my family-in-law is no less warped than I which is why I really love them. Let me give you an example.  My nephew starts crying, probably because he was the only one in costume yet he was stuck in a stroller not able to see a thing.  My brother in law took him out to carry him. My sister in law then pushed an empty stroller - well not entirely empty, full of everyone's trick or treat stash.   We enter a VERY dark drawbridge where we have been told there may be a monster. I don't like that. Monsters are not that big of a deal.  Being jumped at and screamed at in the dark on a bridge scares the bejezus out of me.  So, I tell B that he must hold my arm because I am scared. 

B then proceeds to announce to everyone that I am scared because I do not like drawbridges where you can see in between the panels.  Okay, that is true. But I hadn't even noticed that until he said it. I am sweating right now just thinking about it.  B, fondly remembering the terrifying story I told him about my childhood and how I cried all the way across one of these bridges and almost refused to go back, decided it would be funny to try to TRIP ME!  Are you kidding me? My husband is cruel. Plain and simple.

The best part, however, came upon exiting the dark drawbridge. For some reason everyone was screaming inside the drawbridge for no apparent reason (other than I who was screaming at B for being so cruel) until we exited. Just as the crowd quieted down, my sister in law announced "my baby's gone!" to which we all immediately laughed knowing my brother in law had him.  Those around us were not laughing. In fact, we even got a few dirty looks.  Geez, kind of ruins the whole trick part of trick or treat, don't you think people?

I must say, though, that this event was much better than our trip last Christmas when I did not have long johns, froze my butt off and also tripped and fell - to the ground.  My brother in law was kind enough to tell us to watch our step and remind me of that fall this time around.  I like to think he was being kind and protective. Unlike B who, had he remembered, would have said "don't fall" knowing that I would indeed, fall.  Which all stems from this story:

It was our first year together in the fall. We decided to go on a date to the apple orchard.  B thought it would be a good idea to walk down by the river.  On the way up, for no apparent reason, B said "be careful, don't fall" to which I immediately tripped and fell. In the dirt. Which was wet. And it was raining. I looked like a total disaster.  There have been a couple of times since that episode where I have immediately fallen upon B telling me to "watch out", "be careful" and "don't fall."  It is like some bizarre trigger and he knows it and uses it to his advantage. In fact, he may have said it last year at Christmas.  

I wouldn't put it past him. 

She Who Laughs Last Gets the Cookie

At a reader request, I have diagrammed my parking story where a lady parked behind me after I drove through the parking space and then inexplicably wanted me to move after I apologized.  Not sure the diagram really helps though. I believe it is puzzling because it just does not make any sense. We were both parked - no reason for anyone to move. As you can see she would have been only slightly closer to the store if she had been where I was.  

Posting this, however, reminded me of another story of cutting in front of people but this time I was the cutee* or the-one-who-was-cut-in-front-of.  A few weeks ago I decided to go to Panera to get some yummy soup for lunch.  I was on the phone with my mom while I waited to be called next in line.  (No worries, I do not talk on the phone or hold it to my ear while I am ordering and paying at a restaurant, or in a bank or in a store -  I have some manners). The way this place is set up, there are five different cashiers spread out over about 12 feet.  So, people form one general line and wait for the next available cashier to wave them over.  At the time, I was the only "people" waiting. Suddenly, I see two men walk in, walk AROUND me and proceed to stand in front of me as I if I were just standing there like some lost little child.  I immediately said to my mom "I have to go, it's an emergency" and hung up my phone.  I needed total concentration.

I put on my real angry face and huffed.  No one listened. The guys got called to a register and, as luck would have it, I was called to one two down from them. There was another customer between us.  I ordered my soup and drink and also a chocolate chip cookies (god, I love those things).  The cookies are usually placed out in front of the cash registers and can disappear quickly.  I had not yet taken my cookie, and was just about to put my change away, when I hear one of the two rude guys say "and a chocolate chip cookie."  That was it - game on!!

As soon as I heard those words, I quickly scanned the cookies, saw ONE chocolate chip cookie and swooped right in. I reached ACROSS the person in between us and snatched the last chocolate chip cookie while saying Ha! inside my head.  As I took the cookie, I heard the cashier say "it appears we have no more chocolate chip cookies."  Double Ha!  Who's going to cut in front of me now? Huh? The person WITHOUT a chocolate chip cookie.  That's who.

Guess who didn't have the last laugh? That would be me. I sauntered over to the pop machine, all proud of myself and my not so secret revenge**, and as I put my cup down on the counter and reached for a straw, rude man came and filled his glass, right under my nose.  Well played, rude man, well played.  He probably deserved a cookie for that slick maneuver. Too bad, I had the last one.

Maybe I did have the last laugh after all.  

UPDATE:  This post made me want Panera so I went today. The cashier must have recognized me because after I said I wanted a cookie and then noticed there were no chocolate chip ones, I started to say "do you have any..." and she replied "yes" and went to retrive a chocolate chip cookie without me specifying what kind.  So, she either thinks I am (a) a crazy lunatic that will do evil unspeakable things for a chocolate chip cookie or (b) I am a cool avenger righting the wrongs in the world one cookie at a time.  I'd like to think (a) but the truth is she probably thinks (b) and just wanted me the heck out of the place!

*this is obviously not a word. Spell check keeps wanting to make it cutey, but that would take away from the viciousness of this crime.

**I am not normally so vengeful. At least, I don't normally act on my vengence.  Don't judge.  It was a cookie you know. A very, very good cookie.  

Dear Riddler...

No this is a not a letter to me, but I sure wish it was and that I was an advice columnist because I would have plenty to say.  Of course, no one would send me any letters after reading my advice and the column would quickly dry up and I would be broke in no time, but I would have had some good times.

So,  I get a bunch of magazines.  Too many, I am sure B would say. Well he does say that while accusatorily pointing at the stack and failing to realize how many Esquires and Maxims are mixed in.  Those aren't mine, ya know. Anyway, some of these magazines are what we call "girl" or "women" magazines. Not girlie magazines. And not Playgirl.  Magazines for the young woman or family gal.  One that I regularly read is Redbook.  Another is Cosmo, but I am about to cancel that because really, are there honestly 100 different ways to please your man EVERY month? Wouldn't that equate to 1200 ways to please your man in the course of a year? Who has that much time?  Sounds exhausting. Can't you just pick a couple that are good and stick with those?  

In these magazines, there are always advice columns.  Cosmo's questions, to no surprise, are about sex. Didn't they cover that from cover to cover? (Say THAT three times fast).  While Redbook's questions, on the other hand, tend to be broader and cover a wider range of topics such as family issues, health and apparently, work.  The latest issue offers this letter. I thought it was a joke:

I have a coworker who won't confide in me or anyone

else at our job anymore.  Also, when I dish to her about

other people we work with, she doesn't even respond. I

want her to confide in me because I think she needs my 

help to get her life together - she's made some very bad

dating choices in the past, and I don't really care for how she

does her makeup or hair.  I think she needs my friendship, 

because she sounds so pathetic.  The other coworkers

suspect that she stopped confiding in us because she

thinks we talk about her behind her back - buy we only

do it because we care.  How do I get this coworker to let

down her guard and let me back in?

(Redbook, November 2008)

I kid you not, that is the letter.  Now the advice columnist was probably kinder than I would have been although she was straight to the point in declaring who exactly was pathetic, without using those exact words.  I, on the other hand would start by saying unless you are God himself, you should not be authoring that letter and I would venture to say even He would not do that.  I would follow that with these points:

• is this a joke?
• really...you can tell me.
• I won't dish to anyone I swear. I don't even know what dish is when used as a verb, I just use it to describe my nouns, the dishes.
• but if you want me to gossip, I'll gossip. I can gossip with the best of them. Did you hear about the coworker who thinks she's above everyone and has better relationships, hair, makeup, friendship and life?
• you didn't huh? Maybe no one is confiding in you.
• I wonder why they have their guard up around you. Why is there this wall?
• it is like they cannot let anyone in and "be themselves" around you. Strange.
• maybe if you try harder you can be let back in. 
• perhaps you can start by offering unsolicited advice about their relationships...
• and their makeup...
• and their hair.
• but not directly to them...
• behind their back...
• because you care, of course.

Now, I could give real advice in response to this letter. But I will let the professional at Redbook do that.   She is paid and probaby certified and licensed and such.  I am just a girl, not yet a woman, or something like that.  I will just stick to what I know.

About those 100 different ways to please your man...

Not So Secret and Not So Blind Update

So, I totally had to change my scheduled post today so I could come back here and update you as to yesterday's events.  After all, at least 3 of you asked. That is demand enough for me.  This is what I got for information on the big "date." 

Day after date:  

I see friend and say "how was the date?" He says "okay."  I express complete and utter shock that there actually was a date.  He just shrugs and says "I'll see her again."  

Day after day after date:

I realize that I am missing a CRUCIAL piece of information - her name.  Would also like to see what other details I can drum up.  So I see friend and have this exchange:

Me:  What was that girl's name?

Friend: Girl? What girl? 

Me: The girl from the other night - your "blind" date.

Friend: Oh you mean the woman?

Me: Sure...whatever...what was her name?

Friend:  Randy

Me: RANDY? Her name is RANDY? She's a guy!

Friend: She spells it with an "i"

Me: I don't care if she spells it with hearts and flowers, she's a guy!

Me: She is SO a guy!! She's a guy!  [This also involved me pointing at him while chanting]

I then turn to a nearby person who is half participating (mainly eavesdropping) in the conversation and say, "She is SO a guy!"  

Friend: No, she is all woman.

Me: She's a dude.

Friend: I am telling you she is all woman, I know.

Me: A boy can buy boobs too you know.

I turn to other person, "It is true, boys can buy boobs. That means NOTHING."

Friend:  I know for a 100% fact that she is a woman*

Me: [speechless]

Me: Oh.

Me: And the date was just okay??

*He knows because he looked at her driver's license. What were YOU thinking?

Double Secret Blind Date

I know you are wondering, how can a blind date be double secret? Isn't a blind date, well, a blind date? The answer of course is no.  Let me fill you in on the double secret blind date of which I just became aware of today.*  A guy I know told me he had a date.  Not that he is an infrequent dater by any means. In fact, he dates a lot. He only tells me about the unusual, unique or downright hilarious ones.  So I brace myself for a doozy of a story. Instead I get a voicemail. His voicemail.  It went something like this:

"Hi Riddler's Friend. You don't know me but a mutual friend told me that I should call you so that we could go out.  I am 5'4, lean, with long blond hair and big boobs. So give me a call."

I decide this is a joke. This is a joke, right? No, says my friend. He insists he talked to this woman on the phone and he is going out with her tonight. During their conversation he found out she is a personal trainer, runs triathlons, and could kick his ass. I am convinced she is a boy.  What he did not find out is (1) who told her to call him and (2) her name. (I don't know how he called her without knowing her name. I presume she just answered).  You heard that right. He is going out with an unnamed woman whom he does not know referred to him by some alleged unnamed friend.  How much more double secret could it get?

Even though he is a boy, I ask him if he is taking a friend, or perhaps a weapon, with him?  He just laughs.  I remind him that (a) she sounds like a boy, or at least a mean-kick-your-ass girl, (b) she can kick his ass and (c) HE DOES NOT KNOW HER NAME.  Really - we may never hear from him again after tonight. He assures me he is going somewhere where he knows a lot of people.  Yep, everyone but her I guess.

And let's get back to the voicemail. Pretend this is real. Who describes themselves like that? Really?  Who says 5'4", lean, long blond hair and BIG BOOBS?  A boob that's who.  Not sure it would be someone I wanted to date. Can you imagine, girls, if a boy called you and said this:

"I am 6'2", athletic, dark hair and I have a big penis."

On second thought, maybe she has the right idea...

*Yep, I just coined the phrase double secret blind date. Feel free to use it in the future. Just don't actually go on one. 

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

I will never think the same of this saying ever again.  I blame independent films in general and IFC specifically.  It all started out as a normal lazy Saturday day. The kind where I lay around and do nothing other than sleep, occasionally broken up by getting wrapped up in some movie that I just CANNOT stop watching.  

Independent movies are awesome.  They are edgier and deeper. Sometimes you can see well known actors/actresses in atypical roles.  You feel pretty elite and uber smart watching them. Until you watch the movie entitled "Sleeping Dogs Lie."  The guide on the TV said something like "a young girl's past indiscretion ruins her relationship" or something. I swear I was not even clued in by the title, but I got a clue in the first five minutes.  Let me put this to you delicately - young girl, foolish perhaps, alone in dorm room, with her dog, ewwwwww. Got it?  Use your imagination and then make it worse.  Luckily THAT scene did not play out in the movie.  And as crazy as this is, I continued to watch it. The rest of the movie centered on her insane desire to be COMPLETELY honest with her fiance prior to marriage. She gets all kinds of advice from people encouraging her to be honest without any clue as to her "secret."  She tells.  She is overheard. Her parents are told.  Hilarity ensues.  No, really, horror ensues.  

I watched the entire movie.

Is there something wrong with me?  Seriously. This was almost as bad as the time I got sucked up in the movie that went something like this - mom with broken leg, son caring for mom, cabin in the middle of nowhere, dad away on work trip, ewwwwww.  What is with these movies? What is with me watching them? 

About 3/4 of the way through the movie, B comes home, looks at the TV and says "I know what this is."   Let me give you some back story.  B thinks he is the king of movies.  It is true, you can ask him.  In fact, when we first started dating, he bragged about this incessantly.  He actually challenged me to name 5 movies that he hadn't seen that were not "chick flicks, stupid, or very old." I did.  I found 5.  I won.  He conveniently does not remember that entire conversation.  However, it occurred and I demoted him to the prince of movies.  So, quite often, while I am watching a movie, he will come in and declare he has seen it, attempt to name it within 30 seconds and if he is right shout "Ha!"  Um, okay.  

Back to this movie.  B insists he has seen it.  I say "Ha! I know you have not seen THIS one" thinking there is NO way this boy saw this movie.  He doesn't even like independent flicks.  He turns to me and says "oh yeah? It is the movie where the girl and her dog...."  I about fell out of my chair.  He really saw this movie!  Later, when I just wanted to know what happened and was getting bored, I asked him to tell me and he could. B sat through the ENTIRE movie! What is wrong with him? What is wrong with me?  Are we just some crazy obsessed sexually inappropriate movie lovers? Or are we uber smart, sophisticated and cultured?  

I say the latter.

P.S. Sorry Moms for the subject matter. Yes, I have two Moms. No they are not gay. Didn't we cover this already?

One Time at the Hockey Game

Recently we went to a hockey game with our friends S & R.  We scored free tickets for good seats and were happy because it is rare that we get to go to hockey games.   You know why I was happy? Shenanigans always occur at sporting events - in the crowd.  As I told you here, sports are really not my thing. My job when attending is to observe everything going on around us and report it to B.  B then reports everything that is happening in the game to me. We tend to ignore what the other is saying.

So this game's audience did not disappoint.  Within the first period, four people came and sat down in front of us.  These were the four most mismatched people I have ever seen.  There were two girls and two guys.  The girls were young and pretty, maybe 21.  The guys were neither. The first guy was probably in his 30s and the second was probably in his 60s.  Neither guy was particularly attractive.  At least the 60 year something had some game. He talked up his girl and they laughed.  The other guy sat like a lump barely speaking to his "partner." We tried to imagine how these four came across each other's paths, but could not come up with anything.  Thinking for sure that these four would be our entertainment for the night, we settled into our seats for the "show."  However, as it turns out, different hilarity was about to ensue.

In front of the four mismatched beings, were two very drunk young guys, probably around the girls' age.  When the home team scored, the two guys proceeded to high five everyone, including the young girls.  That is when they noticed the girls or what I like to call "game on!"  They start not so subtly staring at the girls, talking about the girls and wondering about the girls and the guys accompanying them.   Much to everyone's disappointment, the four mismatched ones decided to leave.  As they got up, the one girl's ever elegant tramp stamp, a pistol with a flower, was exposed.  Query - do you think at some point someone called her a real "pistol" and she decided to go with it or was she all gangsta'? Feel free to discuss.  Another query - when the two young drunk guys high-fived the girls, did the 60 year old think to himself "ahhh...young kids, they are so cute...wait, I am with one?" Did he feel threatened at all?  And more importantly, did he think he really had a chance with this girl?  These thoughts keep me awake at night.

After the girls' departure, the drunk guys continued to keep us entertained by setting their sights on new young girls that arrived with their thong underwear exposed (these boys loved the classy ones), singing, standing up and dancing seemingly suggestively but mostly sloppy, disappearing for over a period (at least one of them while the other tried to call him), and then, after I had remarked that the older couple sitting next to them were trying to sit as far away from them as possible in connected seats - the boys decided to leave at which point the drunker of the two said to the couple "see you in the future." Not sure if that was a promise or a warning but it sounded like a threat. The woman apparently felt the same way because she actually recoiled from the boy.

After their departure all was not lost for entertainment purposes. There was the drunk girl in the section to the left of us who fell down the stairs, fell up the stairs, walked at a 90 degree angle, and danced to the Happy Birthday song. Yes, as in "Happy Birthday to You." That song. And, last but not least, was the farting couple.  B and I told S&R early in the game about them. Last time we sat behind them and almost died.  We decided it was the woman because it would happen when the husband was off buying an entire pizza to eat by himself.  As we were discussing it B remarks "it smells like someone is farting right now."  And it did. Two hours later - mystery solved.  I spot the farting couple a few rows down and shout "it's the farting couple."  Luckily they didn't hear me, but we sure smelled them.  (Another fun fact - I like to shout and point during hockey games.  I don't know why. If there is a fight on the ice, I will shout and point "fight!"  Sometimes this is followed by "Git 'em.").

All in all a good time was had by all, but especially by us because we got to witness the entire circus. And it was a circus.  In fact, I heard a lady say to her friend who arrived precariously holding a pizza box with three drinks on it "that is quite the circus trick you've got going." And then she sang the circus music song.  I cried to B "she is singing the circus music song!" to which he replied "I guess you're not the only one."   But she didn't dance and march like I do when I sing it to B.  Nobody can do that.

Just Say No to Centipedes

Recently I was reading a post by Daddy Likey and it referenced centipedes. There was a drawing and a link to a big ugly picture of a centipede. If you go to her blog, do NOT click on the link as it is sure to frighten you. I know you will probably click it anyway as that is what I did.  She then posted a follow up where she offered her father's explanation as to why centipedes are awesome. I wish I could believe that, but centipedes creep me out.  The thought of them makes me shudder.

It all stems from an experience in my childhood home.  Now, I never liked centipedes and would kill them on sight.  They gave me the heebie jeebies, but even more so after this incident. I was down in our basement which was like any other basement, dark and damp in some places.  I was over in the laundry room by the sink cleaning something or another when I decided it was too dark.  I reached up to the pull cord on the light bulb when I felt something fall on my head. What happened next still gives me nightmares.  I reached up to the top of my head and my hand felt a CENTIPEDE ON MY HEAD.  I screamed, squealed, flung the centipede into the tub, squealed some more and ran upstairs.  Up there I did crazy dances and moves to ensure that I had rid myself of the centipede (even though I saw it in the tub).  All day I imagined things crawling on me.  Things with hundreds of legs. Centipedes.  Now, whenever I see one, which is rare, I remember that day and that feeling and immediately touch the top of my head. In fact, I want to touch it right now. That is how clear the memory is.  I shared this memory with B to which he responded "Gross."  It is really more creepy than gross, but I think he got the point.

Now Daddy Likey's father talks about the benefits of centipedes and how they eat all of the other bugs.  That sounds great - in theory.  However, I would rather see big biting ants, lazy spiders and the mosquito I killed the other day then have a centipede run across my path.  And the ones that grow up to 10 inches long? Seriously? I can't even think about it. And her father says the centipedes are more concerned with escape.  Well, he never met the centipede from my childhood home because the surest way to escape was NOT to land on my head.  Did the centipede think I was not going to notice and carry him to safety?

Okay, enough about that. I have the creepy crawlies again.  My point? Centipedes are fast moving, many legged evil things whose creepiness is not forgiven by the fact that they eat other bugs.  Oh, and if you are ever in a dark basement, wear a hat.

The One Where I Am Mistaken for a Vet...

Recently we spent about...um...A LOT OF MONEY to save our Mooch. Although financially burdensome, we love our cats and are glad we did so. Now, having spent ALL of that money, you would think that perhaps the vet and the vet's office could do their job?  I mean, we ARE paying them?  No, they would prefer we do their job for them.

First example:

B asks me to drop Mooch off at the vet because they have to test his urine.  I drop him off early in the morning. The lady behind the counter looks at me like I have asked her to do the most ridiculous circus act on earth rather than what I really asked - could you take my cat like YOUR OFFICE ASKED?  She takes the cat, takes my number and assures me that they will call me the minute Mooch pees. Yep, great.  Meanwhile I am thinking, lady you are keeping him all day because I am not traveling 45 minutes from my office in the middle of the day to retrieve the cat.

Later, I get home and ask B what happened with Mooch? Well, Mooch did not pee ALL DAY. Yep, just sat in the vet's office not peeing. Did they give him water? Don't know. Did they squeeze his little bladder? Don't know. Aren't they professionals? Don't know.  I ask what the next step is. Who is taking Mooch in tomorrow?  No one says B.  The vet wants us to lock him up in the bathroom on special paper kitty litter and then collect it and drive it to them.

STOP

What?

There a few things wrong with this scenario:

1.  The cats hate to be locked up. They will cry all night long

2. The bathroom is right by our bedroom. Hence, I will cry all night long.

3. Our condo is not big enough to find a room where we would not hear him cry all night long.

4. Mooch hates paper kitty litter

5. Mooch is obviously stubborn and will not pee on demand, even after waiting 8 hours

I declare this plan to be absolutely ridiculous.  Instead, we wait two days and I take Mooch back to the vet. I tell the lady we cannot get him to pee, to which she responds "not even locking him up on the paper kitty litter?" to which I respond "nope - I guess he is really stubborn like the other day when YOU had him for 8 hours and he wouldn't pee.  Guess you will have to try again." Miraculously they got him to pee that time.

Example 2:

B asks me to go pick up cat food from the vet's office. Thanks to Mooch's ailment, the cats are both on special prescription food to ensure neither gets kidney stones in the future. And special water. Damn these cats are frickin' expensive.  So, I call the vet's office to inquire as to when they open the following day.  The lady says "oh yeah, I have your food right here for Riddler."* Great, this should be easy.  Nope.

The next day I go to pick it up early in the morning and am confronted by a different lady, the one who did not want to take my cat. Apparently she doesn't want to help me either. Upon being told that I was there to pick up food, she gives me a blank stare.  "You know food for Riddler."  Blank. With a big sigh she heaves herself off the chair walks over to some food and says "oh yes. What kind?"  What do you mean which kind?  I say "the kind that is reserved for Riddler, I don't know. It is prescription."  She says "well there are 9 different kinds of prescription."

STOP

Do I look like a vet? Do I look like or sound like I have any idea what kind of food I am there to purchase? Do you not work in the vet's office? Did we not call to reserve the food? Can you not look up my cat's records? WHY AM I ALWAYS DOING YOUR WORK FOR YOU?

I reiterate "food for Riddler."  She finally sighs, goes over to the file cabinet and declares "it must be C/P."  I say "if you say so."  She doesn't seem confident. I no longer care.  I pay $25.00 too much for the little bag and am on my way.

I am no vet.  And apparently the vet is no vet. The vet's office is no vet's office. And I am eternally stuck in a looping soundtrack of circus music.

Now because the cats were mentioned, here is a picture for you.  Mooch loves snuggling under hot towels (or rags as the case may be). Chester loves hovering over him.

*Our last name is not Riddler, but I suppose you knew that.

My Mail Traveled into the Future

You may not believe me, but it is true. Somehow my mail defied all mail procedures and ended up delivered on the day I mailed it.  Don't believe me? Let me give you a run down:

It is Saturday afternoon and I hear the mailman downstairs.  I yell "shit" and proceed to quickly grab my movie, the sleeve and the Netflix envelope, stuffing it in all in and hoping to catch the mailman because I know there will be no mail Monday and I need my next movie NOW.  After all, I have decided that October is horror movie month and I have a lot of catching up to do.  I run downstairs, catch the mailman and hand him the movie.  I realize that, because of the no mail on Monday, my next movie will not come until Wednesday. But I am okay with that.

Imagine my surprise when I got an email this morning that Netflix has received my movie! How is that possible? The shipping address was at least an hour and a half away.  I gave the movie to the postman* on Saturday.  There was no mail on Sunday or Monday. Did they receive it Saturday?  Did the postman drive it there himself? Why would he do that? We are not even on a first name basis. And the post office is notoriously slow.  Netflix should not have received that movie until Tuesday.

Can someone explain this to me?  Some super uber-geek out there - can you give me a tutorial on time travel?  I am a geek, but not about that.  Or, if you happen to work at the post office, could you tell  me if this is possible? Because I am stumped. It is almost like my own personal riddle:

A movie is placed in a mailbox on Saturday.

There is no mail delivery on Sunday.

There is no mail delivery on Monday.

How was the movie received and acknowledged on Monday?

I bet the answer lies somewhere in those words, but I am no Riddler! 

UPDATE:  The movie arrived TODAY. TODAY.  How is that possible? It was mailed on Saturday. How could it be mailed, received and another one shipped all on the same day? How? My post office has clearly been messing with the time/space continuum (I don't even know how to spell that) and it is freaking me out!

*Every time I hear the word postman I start to sing "Mr. Postman" to the tune of "Mr. Sandman" which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.

I'm No Riddler

Yes, I am afraid it is true. Although my blog is called Riddle Me This and sometimes there are Ramblings of a Riddler.  I am, in fact, no riddler.  This was proven the other day when I was unable to solve a riddle on demand.  All I wanted was my lunch.

I arrived at Potbelly's, excited that I had found one close to work, and even more excited about their dreamy oatmeal chocolate chip cookie.  As I was waiting for my sandwich to come out, the overly excited and irrationally happy counter guy announces:

OEIHCG: We've been waiting ALL day for you to arrive!

Me: [blank stare]

OEIHCG:  In fact, we cooked up this riddle just for you!

Me: [wondering if he knows I have a blog called Riddle Me This]

OEIHCG:  Do you think you can answer the riddle?

Me: No.

OEIHCG: Oh, come on, give it a try! I promise it is easy.

Me: It doesn't look easy - look there is math in it! I don't do math.

OEIHCG: You don't have to do math, that is the trick.

Me: I don't know...

OEIHCG: It is really simple - try not to think too hard.

Me: Um, I don't even think this hard at work.

OEIHCG: hahaha

Me: [no, really that is true]

Taking pity on me, and probably due to my total lack of participation, he gave me the answer.  All I could think at the time was - I am no Riddler.  Of course I never claimed to be a Riddler exactly. I do not post riddles and all the people doing google searches for riddles regarding ants in the carpet and elevators were probably disappointed to end up here and here.

So, it is really no surprise that I could not solve the riddle.  B, however, insisted that it ruined the whole effect of my blog. I think he has read it once. And he could not solve the riddle either. We are a riddleless couple I suppose.

Can you solve it?

How many bricks does it take to complete a 4' x 4' x 2' wall?

Remember - no math and don't think so hard.   It would also help if you were good at solving riddles.  And if you are, or better yet, if you are good at making up riddles, let me know. I have a few google searches I need to address.

The Riddler*

*yes, I still get to keep the title. It is my blog after all.

Memos and Briefs on Driving

MEMO

To:  Guy Driving to the Left of Us

From: Me

It is NOT okay to drive down the street without a shirt on.  Especially when it is below 50 degrees out and I am wearing gloves.  Especially when we cannot tell if you are wearing pants. That will result in me yelling to B - "BUT IS HE WEARING PANTS?"  That mystery remains unsolved.

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MEMO

To:  Guy Driving to the Right of US

From:  Me

If you have to hold an ice pack to the side of your head while driving, you probably should not be driving - concussion and all.  I see you have a passenger.  Perhaps your passenger can drive? And perhaps along the way he can take you to a hospital for your injuries.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MEMO

To: Lady in the Lane Next to Me

From: Me

Hi! Perhaps you did not see me, driving in my own lane, going the speed limit next to you. I know you want to be where I am, who doesn't?  However, you cannot beep at me as if I am doing something wrong because you have decided RIGHT AT THAT MINUTE that you MUST be where I am. Relax!  You can either (a) speed up and get in front of me or b) slow down and get behind me. Putting on your turn signal will not help either.  Here's the thing - our cars are side by side. You cannot be where I am without slowing down or speeding up. And, no, it is not MY job to assist you in lane changing.  If you continue to beep, I will just smirk at you.  You know how mad that makes you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BRIEF -

The other day I was driving behind a guy with a personalized license plate that said " I TILE".  At first I thought the meaning was so clear - "oh he tiles! Like floors and things."  That was immediately followed by - "but what if he plays Scrabble? What if he plays Scrabble and is always looking for the 'i' tile?  Or he always wins using the 'i' tile?"  Now the license plate isn't so clear anymore is it?  Am I the only one that thought of Scrabble?  Please don't answer that.  

BRIEF -

The other day I went to the grocery store and was happy to see a parking space up front and then ecstatic to see that I could pull through it to avoid reversing in the future.  Reversing is so troublesome.  I just like to move forward.  As soon as I put the car in park, I saw an SUV about to pass me and it dawned on me that this woman may have seen the empty parking space I was in and hoped, like I, that she could get a space up front.  However, she was not in my lane at the time and she did not have a turn signal on.  Nothing clued me in besides a hunch.  My hunch was right because she ended up parking in the spot behind me after completing a 17 point turn to get into it.  This made me feel bad.  And for some reason, I decided to apologize.

Heading to the back of my vehicle where I keep my reusable grocery bags (I am so green!), I see her get out of her vehicle and I say "I'm sorry. I did not realize you were planning on parking here or I never would have pulled through."  And then, this happened:

She got back into her vehicle and started her car!!

What the heck? Did she REALLY think I was going to apologize, get back into my car, start it and MOVE IT?  And move it to where? So she could pull through and then I could pull behind her? What is this musical parking spaces?  So I did what anyone would do, I turned around and got my bags out of my car.  She proceeded to turn off her car and get back out.  I apologized again and she glared at me and went into the store.

No good deed goes unpunished. Lesson learned - do not apologize especially when you did not do anything wrong. Some might take it as an admission of guilt.  And some might want you to unexplainably move your vehicle.  Next time, just park.

The One Where I Look Like...

Yesterday I was at yet another proceeding wearing another dark suit. Luckily no powdered donut holes were to be found as it was an afternoon proceeding. As an aside, it is not really fun to go to the grocery store with people that read your blog like, say, your brother and his girlfriend. They just end up saying witty things like "stay away from those donut holes," "watch out that has powdered sugar", and "the corn is not giving you the evil eye."  Back on point - at a proceeding in a dark suit.  In the middle of the proceeding, as one of the in charge people is speaking, I can see and hear one of the guys across from me whispering (not so quietly) about me.  I hear snippets like "her glasses" and "see, look at her."  I loudly proclaim "I CAN HEAR YOU" which stops them for all of two minutes and they are back at it again, disrupting me and the proceeding.  When the person in charge stops speaking, the guy across from me announces to the whole room:

YOU LOOK LIKE SARAH PALIN.

Oh boy.  I really look nothing like Sarah Palin. I am pale, she is not.  We have different facial features. I have about 1/100 of her hair (seriously my hair is super thin and super fine).  So I tell him it is probably the dark suit.  My client chimes in with "and your hair is up."  But, he was not satisfied, that man.  He declares that I do not have the right glasses and that I should put on his client's classes. A man.  I repeat "you want me to put on his glasses?" Oh yes, he did. Well, as soon as I put them on, there was a collective gasp from the room and everyone chimed in "oh you DO look like Sarah Palin."  The injured party says "maybe if you had a little more poufy hair on top."  Thanks?

However, after expressing concern as to whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, I was told I was a beautiful woman so it was a good thing. I was also told that I was much more smarter than Sarah Palin.  I will take that as a compliment.  Sarah probably will not.

Then they asked me to do math and my reign as a really smart beauty queen came to a screeching halt.

Joyriding Without Any Keys

When I arrived home from work today I discovered that it was pretty damn cold in our house so, of course, I broke out my new Uggs and my fingerless gloves, threw on an extra sweater and started surfing the Internet.  A girl has to catch up on the 500 or so posts in her Google Reader after all.  By the time B came home, I felt like an icicle.  I pronounced "it is COLD in here" and to prove my point I touched him with my ice cold fingertips.  Usually, B knows when fall has arrived because my nose turns ice cold. I am like his seasonal thermometer. Speaking of thermometers, he won't turn on the heat even if my nose and fingers are ice cold.  After all, the thermometer says 60 degrees. I have tried numerous times to explain that 60 degrees inside when it is 40 degrees outside feels different than 60 degrees inside when it is, I don't know, 80 degrees outside. B does not see the difference.  I know this.  So this time of year, I wear lots of sweaters, gloves and boots. That is how we stay in love.

A couple hours after arriving home, B decides he wants to go out driving in his brand new car. Yes, after pouring his money into little green, as I call it, about four times since December, he decided a new car was in order.  It is B's first ever new car as he always buys used.  He has not had a chance to drive it much since he brought it home so he decided to go for a little joyride and I went along.

After zipping around and practicing driving REALLY fast on highways and in residential areas and nearly getting creamed by some really old guy who braked every 10 seconds and then changed lanes suddenly, we finally headed home. About a block from the house, B says "you do have a house key don't you?" Um, no.  See, I left my house key...with my car key...at the house. I was not driving. B was driving.  B only brought THE key to the car. That's it.  B asks "well, did you lock the door?" Of course I locked the door!  It is night. We were leaving.  B asks "did you lock the balcony door?" Of course, I locked the balcony door. I don't want people breaking in. So now we have one car key, no house keys, and an open window on the second floor of a really tall building.

B scales the building like Spiderman (not like The Hulk) and determines that yes, indeed, the balcony door is locked.  Meanwhile, like some crazy MacGyver episode, I am trying to find something in my purse to insert into the doorknob lock because I am convinced if I insert something and rattle the doorknob, it will open. (How scary would that be if it were true?).  The car key is too fat. The pen is too short, the penny just doesn't even make sense. Why did I try the penny? B keeps asking if I "got it" as if anything I am doing has even the remotest chance of working.  God we are delusional.

B decides to go across to the neighbor's house in search of a better MacGyver or a ladder or something. I see him and the neighbor come out of the house and go across the street where they disappear for a LONG time. Meanwhile I am freezing (thank god for the gloves and multiple sweaters) and contemplate going back into the car where the heated seats are. Instead, to pass the time, I call my mom to tell her of my exciting weekend night.  We reminisce about all of the times that we had to go through the back window at my childhood home. Let me clear that up - how many times I had to go through that window. I swear it seemed like it was a weekly event. Of course, I was young so I thought it was very exciting and fun and MacGyverish.  Now, not so much.

Finally, B and the neighbor arrive with a ladder.  B climbs the ladder up to the window and as he is going through he says "here's a blogger for ya."  Sigh. He knows me so well.

Dream a Little Dream

Lately, people have been asking me if I want to hear their dreams. Inevitably I try to "one up" them with my dreams because, honestly, my dreams are messed up.  For example, today a secretary came into my office and said "I have to tell you about this strange dream I had" to which I responded:

"Was it as strange as the dream I had that I was kidnapped and about to be tortured with an over abundance of Christmas tree lights and a bathtub? Or that when I realized that torture is painful I tried to steer my dream away from it because I can do that.  And then the torturer said to me 'you do realize your hair makes you look like a skunk' and I reluctantly agreed before waking myself up to pee because I still did not want to be tortured."

Nope, her dream was nothing like that.

It is strange to me when people cannot remember their dreams. I remember almost all of mine or at least snippets.  Like the other day when I dreamt my boss turned my trial into a high school play and I had no lines. I am sure there is meaning in there and the meaning probably isn't even a "beneath the surface" kind of meaning.  I am choosing to the ignore the meaning. It was a former boss anyway.

I also dream in color.  People have asked me before if I dream in color or in black and white and I never really knew the answer until the time I dreamt the Incredible Hulk was chasing B and I. The Hulk was definitely green.  You know what else I learned from that dream?  That when the Hulk is chasing you and tells you that it is "time to write your will" and you decide to go seek shelter at an old hospital, and then you decide to take the hospital stairs because there is a sign saying "for humans only" (that will teach that Hulk!), you might not want B with you. Because he will become fascinated with the "history of the stairs" and all of the great people that walked the stairs thereby slowing you down immensely.  That dream also taught me that it is important to buy tshirts to blend in with the crowd when being chased and that atrium glass is super strong and will not even break when you are under it and see big giant Hulk feet slide across it.

When I am not dreaming about work or superheros* turned evil, I like to dream about real life things like grocery prices.  Or so B tells me.  After one rough weekend of shopping with my mom, B informed me that I was talking in my sleep, moaning about those "damn grocery prices."

Of course, B is one to talk.  One night I was awakened by B hitting me not once, but twice, in his mad scramble to get the covers off of him and out of the bed. Alarmed, I sat up and asked what was going on.  B said "there was someone on top of me."  Looking around the room (which is not that big I might add) and seeing no one, I realize someone had been dreaming.  "There's no one here. Go back to sleep and PLEASE keep your fists to yourself. How am I going to explain bruises at work?"  Luckily, no bruises.  And B? He had no clue. Could not remember a thing. When I told him what occurred the next morning, he uttered one of his favorite lines "I am not responsible for what I do when I am sleeping."  Now, if only I could make him more responsible when I am sleeping. Maybe then, it would not be so difficult escaping from The Hulk.

*Is it superheroes or superheros?  Does it even matter? Is anyone reading this?

The Battle With the Donut Hole

About a week prior to my battle with the can of corn came the battle with the donut hole.  I am sure you can guess who won.  Like the battle with the corn, the donut hole battle was also messy, albeit without the gushing blood.

Let me preface this story with a tale of a young girl* exploring new avenues in her career, meeting new people, entertaining new clients.  A couple of months ago there was a shift in my firm sending me down a new road entirely.  This road involves client lunch meetings, which inevitably involve good manners.   Now, I happen to think I have pretty good manners.** However, things are elevated to another level entirely when you are entertaining clients in some of the best restaurants in town (or hobsnobbing as I tend to call it).  For the past few months I have been working on impeccable manners and a sense of belonging, which is also required.  I thought I had it down rather well.  Until the donut hole.

I know you are thinking to yourself "who serves donut holes at fancy restaurants during client meetings?"  The answer is no one. The only good part of this story is that I was not at a fancy restaurant at lunch, however, I was with clients.  And I was presiding over the hearing.  Yes, I was one of three in charge people.

As we are sitting there during a break in the proceedings, I noticed a box of donut holes.  Okay, I lied. I noticed them as soon as I arrived that morning but since I had just had breakfast, I thought I should pass.  About 20 minutes later, I thought I should have one.  I justified this thought by saying I would only have one.  After all, just one donut hole could not hurt could it? The answer is yes.  Especially when it is powdered.  Yes, I chose a powdered donut hole. No, I am not seven. However, like a seven year old, I was so attracted to it.  Looking back, I should have chosen the cinnamon powdered, it would have been a lot less messy.

Having made the choice in my head, I ever so daintily reach in the box, pick up a donut hole, pick up a napkin with my other hand, place the donut hole on the napkin and gracefully sit down.  And, I am not lying, in my head at the time I thought this:  "You are so graceful".  Ha!  At that exact moment I look down to discover that the donut hole has ROLLED OFF THE NAPKIN ACROSS MY LAP AND ONTO MY SEAT leaving a trail of white powdered sugar EVERYWHERE. (Note: I was wearing a dark suit).  I quickly recover the donut hole and put it back on the napkin and then on a table while reaching for another napkin to do something about this powdered sugar all over me all the while hoping that no one would notice.  That's when I hear the guy whose office we are in say "I usually just ask them for an assortment. Maybe next time I will tell them no powdered."  I whip out some witty remark like "but then I would not have powdered sugar all over me" while slowly realizing that the powdered sugar is NOT coming off my suit.  Now I am starting to look like someone that has a worse habit then eating a powdered donut hole.

As it is becoming abundantly clear that supplies other than a paper napkin are needed, I jump up and run over to the other table for water all the while hoping that no one else comes back into the room.  I take my napkin and dip it in the pitcher of water*** and look down to wipe it off of my pants when I realize the sugar is EVERYWHERE. It is on my pants, across my stomach, UP MY ARM??? What the heck? That donut was a wild maverick - how the heck did it get up my arm.  Luckily the water took most of it away even though you could still see it if you knew what you were looking for.  I pondered for a moment going home on the way back to the office to change but remembered I had nowhere else to be that day so I decided not to waste the time.  Then, I ate the donut hole.  I made sure to sink my teeth in extra good to exact some revenge.

After the proceeding ended, I headed back to the office where I proceed to tell the story to the secretary that sits outside my office.  I like to use my coworkers as test dummies for blog stories.****  At that exact moment, a partner comes up and tells me we are having an important client lunch at a fancy restaurant. Good thing I chose not to stop at  home and change.  All was saved by the secretary who told me to use a towel and warm water.  You could barely tell that I had encountered a powdered donut.  And, luckily, all went well at lunch.

As for me, I just can't win with food these days.  But that won't stop me.  I won't stop baking, cooking or eating.  And, lucky for you, I won't stop blogging. When hilarity ensues, blogging will follow.  And where a powdered donut hole goes, apparently powdered sugar will follow and then some!

*This is the part where B snorts and laughs and informs everyone that I am not young.

**Please do not inform Ms. Manners that I think my manners are good. Then she will come on here and judge me and nobody wants that.

***Yes, I dipped my napkin in the pitcher of water. I can only hope no one drank it or that they like their water tasting slightly like powdered sugar. Please don't tell Ms. Manners on me. I am afraid I won't be allowed to attend anymore important lunches.

****My mom does not think my coworkers would like it if they knew I called them test dummies. I figured they would like it more than COWS.