Knock! Knock! Mo Fo Karma Wants Her Five Dollars Back

Sometimes karma doesn't come around until much later. So much later, in fact, that the person wishing for karma to come back around never really knows if it does. That was not the case for my friend last week.

My friend was on her way back to the office and stopped to get gas. She noticed a beat up old van with a walker visible in the window and a man that appeared to need assistance. He told her that he just got out of the hospital and needed gas money to get home.  Feeling in a caring mood, she offered him the $5 that was in her wallet. He graciously accepted it and thanked her profusely.  Before my friend could put her gas cap back on, he was gone. He did not get gas.

That got her goat.  

If she had a goat.

You know what I mean.

Karma was on duty and caused my friend to look across the street where she spotted the man's van pulling into the liquor store.

That got her goat.

See above.

She hopped in her car and went to the liquor store. She rushed inside and found the man, not even buying liquor, but buying a lotto ticket. Then it went a little something like this:

She:  Gas money? REALLY? Gas? Where's the GAS?

Man: What? It's only a lottery ticket.

She:  I want my $5 back! NOW!

The man rifled through his pockets. The cashier grinned and gave my friend a thumbs up. The man then said he must have left it in his car.

She: Oh good. Then I will just follow you out to your car to retrieve it.

Apparently, he did not think she would go through with it as when they got to his van, he pulled the $5 out of his pocket and meekly handed it to her. Then he got THE LECTURE:

She: You are what is wrong with people today! You are what makes people like me not want to give to people in need because they might get scammed by people like you!

Then she went to her office.  Still mad.

Without her goat.

Or is it with her goat?

I don't even know what that expression means. I do know that there is a man out there that might think twice before he pulls that scam again.

Or at least maybe buy his lotto ticket at the gas station.

 

P.S. The first part of my title is from The Bloggess. If you are not reading her blog, you should be. In fact, you should start with this post.

Sunday Sweats: All That Hard Work Was for the Dog(s)!

It has dawned on me that I have not really posted much about stuff that we (meaning mostly B) have been doing around the house.  Since nothing major has happened, I tend to forget about the little things. Luckily, we do take pictures though.  I stumbled upon them and thought I should start posting about them.  I am going to try to do a post at least weekly about what has been happening until I exhaust all that has been done. Knowing B, that could take a long time! He definitely doesn't like to sit idle.

Remember when we felt bad for Jersey and B built her an area so she could roam free while we were out or at work instead of being cooped up in a crate?  Well, I forgot to follow up and tell you how that worked out.

It didn't.

The very first day we tested the new enclosure, I came home and was shocked and puzzled as to why I could see Jersey through the back door wagging her tail at me as if to say "what too you so long?"

Turns out, wood is not going to stop our dog. She chewed a hole in the wood and escaped.  How long did it take her to do this you wonder? Was it our entire work day? No.

It took her less than an hour.

Do you see that hole? It is not even as big as the dog.  She managed to chew through there and get free.  It is not even close to the ground!

Our dog is a beast and she will not be contained!

I felt bad for all of the time that B put into the enclosure.  Jersey did not feel so bad. She felt pretty good, roaming through the house free for an hour. At least she didn't destroy anything in the house.  Jersey was all for freedom.  B had other ideas.

Stay tuned...

I See Your Quarter and Raise You a What the Hell Just Happened?

Getting through the security lines at the courthouse is always an adventure. There is one particular court that is always changing the rules - keys out, keys in, no cell phones, who cares about cell phones, feel free to bring your bayonet in by all means.  There is also no telling as to what will set the metal detector off except that it undoubtedly will not be metal.

So it was no surprise that we were waiting there, me and 20 other people, stuck behind a lady that basically had to undress to get through.  I could sense some annoyance coming from behind me, but I decided to focus on my own annoyance instead. First mistake.

As soon as the woman in front of me was cleared and before I could even think to take a step toward the detectors, a woman behind me practically barges her way through me to get into line.  My usual decorum evaporated:

Me: "Oh, EXCUSE ME!

Lady: "What?"

As I stand there with my arms open wide and about to shout "what do you think", she points to the ground behind me and says "There's a quarter."  

Here's where I would tell you that I retorted with a "Nice try old woman. Don't try to distract me with shiny things.  I don't need money that bad" while pushing her out of the way and running through the metal detectors screaming "I am coming your honor."  Sadly, that did not happen.

What happened? I was totally caught off guard and turned to find that there WAS a quarter there on the ground. I then wondered why there was a quarter there and how she knew there was a quarter there and if she was a member of MENSA.  Meanwhile, she was through the detector and off like an apparition.

That is, until I caught up with her on the elevator and she proceeded to answer her cellphone like this:

I AM ON THE ELEVATOR IN COURT AND I CANNOT TALK RIGHT NOW SO I WILL HAVE TO HANG UP, BUT WHY ARE YOU CALLING?

Luckily, I got off one floor after the phone call came in and before I totally lost my hearing.  Later when I relived this event with those that I work with, I could only think of one thing:

I really wanted to pick up that quarter.

Crime Watch Wednesday: Where There's Smoke...There's an Air Gun...and a Pipe...and...

This week's crime watch chronicles bring us the cautionary tale of being on your best behavior while driving around doing illegal things:

Two 16 year old boys were stopped for throwing smoke bombs out of a vehicle in full view of police. The officer smelled another kind of smoke in the vehicle and the boys were booked for possession of marijuana, drug paraphernalia, and a Airsoft gun.*

Only the youth. Really. If you are going to drive around smoking pot, carrying a pipe AND possessing marijuana cigarettes** as well as have an air gun in your possession, it is probably best NOT to send smoke signals to the cops to come get you.

Really.

*I don't even know what an Airsoft gun is but it doesn't sound very dangerous, does it?

**Who the hell calls them "marijuana cigarettes"?  JOINTS! They had JOINTS!

***Also who needs a pipe if they are rolling cigarettes? I am SO confused!

Is it Aggressive Chewing or Insanely Maniacal Destruction?

Jersey is what you would call an "aggressive chewer." That means there are not a lot of toys that I can buy her. Almost every single cute or fun looking toy says "not for aggressive chewers." I know they are right because I can see the little parts that she would bite off in a heartbeat.

This makes my job a bit harder. Being so aggressive and chewy, Jersey needs to be occupied often or else she will take to chewing the rug, the carpeting or poor Brad. We buy 1-2 rawhides a week and I think we may be up to 3 now.

So, the other day, when I was in the store and found a line of heavy, duty, durable toy line made for those dogs that love to chew, I felt that I stumbled into heaven. Well, doggie heaven. I thought about which one to buy first and settled on the three ring one. The rubber rings were even chicken flavored.

Jersey, in her typical fashion, gingerly took the toy from me, ran away with it and started to go to town on it. She LOVED it.

Notice that this new toy is so awesome, even the rawhide in the background went untouched.

A mere 12 hours later I was awakened by Jersey swinging her head ferociously on the bed with something in her mouth. It was the rope ring. She managed to tear it apart. By the time I awoke, the rope was a collection of strings. B called that the "weak link."

I think Jersey is a superhero dog.

How Was I Supposed to Know French Toast was Bread Especially When it Tastes Like Dog?

Remember how I gave up bread for Lent and no one knew what that meant? Well, it didn't get any easier in those 40 days. FYI - Lent is 40 days long. That is hella long when you cannot eat bread or sweets.

Anyhow, I was constantly having to answer questions about whether a particular item was considered bread. Wasn't bread a starch? Isn't pasta a starch? How can you eat pasta? Or - rice is a grain, bread is made with grains - YOU ARE CHEATING! It was like taking the LSAT all over again. Sometimes I just gave up and agreed with people.

It was a tough 40 days.

However, I was doing good. No bread. No toast. No bagels. It was a sad existence but I was prevailing. I was a winner. That is, until shortly before my trial. B wanted to go out to breakfast which is unusual for him. In fact, I think he ordered lunch. Actually, I think it was almost lunch time, I just hadn't eaten breakfast. Anyhow, none of that is the point.

This is the point.

We ordered our food (whether breakfast or lunch) and eagerly awaited for it to come. Once the plates were delivered, however, I suddenly gasped - LOUDLY:

B: What is it?

Me: This is TOAST.

Me: I have a giant plate of TOAST.

B: What did you order?

Me: Um, french toast...

Me: That's BREAD.

B: No shit.

Me: I hope God forgives me.

So, yes, I messed up by eating something with the very name of the thing I gave up. Seriously. It couldn't have been any worse unless I ate, I don't know, BREAD.

Also, disturbing? The French Toast tasted like Jersey. I know what you are thinking - "are you insane in the membrane?" Perhaps. But when I was eating the french toast I thought it tasted like Jersey, or had the same consistency? No, I have never eaten dog and I certainly haven't eaten Jersey. I imagine, however, that is what it would have tasted like. I even shared this with B. He must be used to my insane commentary because he didn't even blink. Later, however, he grabbed a piece, shoved it in his mouth and in between chewing said:

"This doesn't taste like Jersey at all."

As if that was a perfectly acceptable thing to think, but I was just wrong.

God, I love that man.

Also, God, I am sorry that I ate toast that I should have known was bread because the recipe is basically "dip BREAD in egg and grill it."

39 out of 40 ain't so bad is it?

Crime Watch Wednesday: Of Course it is Valuable, I Use it to Wipe my Ass!

...and we're back!*

Finally, the moment you have all been waiting for...another Crime Watch Wednesday edition. To ring this year in right, albeit three months, late, let me tell you the tale of a woman to whom money means nothing. Literally.

You see, our friend, had a wee bit too much to drink and decided to make her way out of the parking lot. The problem? She had to pay first. No problem for this gal. After all, she had a baby wipe.

Yes, she tried to pay her parking fee with a baby wipe.

The employee called her "confused." The police called her "drunk." I think the police were on to something considering she (1) backed her car into a parked vehicle, (2) didn't know her name, (3) couldn't speak, (4) stated she had several drugs at home that she needed to get rid of, (5) blew more than three times the legal limit for alcohol.

Oh, and she mistook a babywipe for money. A babywipe. You know what this means, right?

She has a child.

Also? She is borderline genius. Why genius? Because babywipes are thick like money and feel gritty too. Why borderline? Because they are WET.

In other news, I have elected to travel around with a large supply of Puffs with Lotion. Why, you ask? They are thicker than regular kleenex and when grouped together can look like a wad of cash. They are also very soothing. Allergies? Check. Parking fees? Check.

Genius.

*Users of Gmail should recognize this saying. It always pops up in the status/chat section. Even if you didn't know it was gone, it will remind you that it is back. Google is nice that way.

When You Plan on Staying Home Sick from Work, it is Probably Best to Actually Tell Your Office

It is early morning. Dani woke up to her usual routine - shower, breakfast, internet, dress and leave for the office. However, somewhere between breakfast and internet, Dani decided she wasn't going to be able to get to the leave for the office part. She thought she was getting better. She went to the office the day before, but today she needed more rest. And more Nyquil. So she emailed her secretary, took another dose and went back to bed.

And so she slept.

Meanwhile, at the office...nobody has heard from Dani. Everyone is asking her secretary where she is, but nobody has an answer. Her secretary emails her, but gets no response.

And so she sleeps.

Around 11 am, the office starts to get worried. Dani's co-worker calls and gets her voicemail. One of the partners calls and gets her voicemail. The managing partner calls and gets her voicemail.

She still sleeps with the faint sound of the phone ringing in the background. They will call back, she thinks.

Meanwhile at the office...panic has set in. "There was an accident on the freeway," someone suggests. "We should call her old employer for contact information" screams another. Someone texts her. Another calls her. THERE IS NO ANSWER they yell to each other. The whole firm has gotten involved. They have notified one employee that she has to drive to Dani's house to see if she is okay. Someone else suggests they call Dani's cell phone company to find a signal on her. A third person starts scrambling through papers to find info for B.

And so she sleeps.

And then she is startled awake at 2:00 p.m. by her husband screaming:

GET UP! YOUR OFFICE IS LEAVING ME MESSAGES. CALL THEM!

And so she awakes, stumbles to her phone to find 3 voicemails, 5 missed calls, 2 emails and a text message. She notices that there is a big red X next to the email she sent at 7:30 a.m. saying she wasn't coming in. She calls the first number she recognizes and is greeted with WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD. Word is spread that Dani is, in fact, alive. And sick. And sleeping.

And so she went back to sleep.*

In other news, have you lost something? Have you wondered whatever happened to that ex or long lost friend? If so, get my office on the case. They will find what you are missing in less than 5 hours - guaranteed!**

*I didn't really go back to sleep. Unless you count the times I dozed off during my marathon Dexter sessions. So I had to watch 3 of them 2 times? I was sick!

**I have to say that I am very amazed at the lengths my coworkers went to find me and to make sure I was okay. I feel very appreciated. And stalked.

Crime Watch Wednesday: Ring My Bell at Your Own Risk

Remember the last time I posted a Crime Watch Wednesday? My OWN Crime Watch Wednesday that never made it into our crime watch chronicles despite how amazingly hilarious it was? Well, yes, I am still bitter. Why? Because instead of my awesome misdelivered package/horror story/the call is coming from ACROSS THE STREET debacle, the chronicles have just chosen something utterly stupid.

Now I know you are asking yourself - "Really? How could someone calling the cops over a misdelivered package with the recipeint's phone number on it NOT be the dumbest thing ever to call your town's cops about?" Well, readers, let me introduce you to the guy who doesn't know what a doorbell is for:

A local resident recently called the police after someone rang his doorbell. He told police that he was not expecting anyone and, thus, he found the ringing of his doorbell to be a huge breach of security. Apparently the alleged perp a/k/a person ringing the doorbell had not received the resident's security policy. The man was also disturbed because it was 6:00 pm and past his bedtime. Before calling the cops, the man was nice enough to send his son outside to see if there was a burglar or murderer out there. However, no one was seen. The police also attempted to locate the doorbell ringer with no luck.

Someone rang his doorbell. HIS DOORBELL. Why else would you have a doorbell? Hell, if you are expecting someone, then you could just open the door when they arrive with no need for a doorbell. DOORBELLS ARE FOR STRANGERS TO ALERT YOU THAT THEY ARE ON YOUR PORCH. Generally, they mean no harm to you. In fact, I would venture that someone that wanted to hurt you would probably not be so brazen as to ring your bell.

In other news, you are a terrific parent sending your son out there to explore what you feared. You are an even better citizen for sending our police out there to locate this dangerous perp. We can all sleep better tonight. And by tonight I mean at 11 pm. That is when it is really dark.

Dear unknown scared man: the next time someone rings your bell, ignore it. Or, if the noise scares you, disable it. That is what we did.* We have no idea who is on our porch and we like it that way.

In other news, who didn't think of this song when they read this post?

*Actually ours has never worked. Then again, we have never tried to fix it, have we?

Crime Watch Wednesday: Some Like It Hot

This week's crime watch chronicles highlights our town's finest performing their duties for this town's dumbest:

Police were called for a possible LOS. (That's Left On Stove for all of you non-policemen out there). A woman on her way home from the bar called to say she thought she might have left the stove on and wanted the police to check it out. Despite the insanity of her request and despite the fact that HOURS had passed since she left the stove on, the police responded to the call. An officer was dispatched to the home. Upon an inspection through a window, and having seen (a) the house still standing, and (b) no smoke or flames, the officer CALLED the lady back and gave her the update.

You see, I don't believe this was part of the "Getting to Know Your Neighborhood" package we received when we first moved in. How was I supposed to know that you could contact the police to check to see if you left your stove on? Or that the police would kindly call you back while you are on your way back from the bar so you wouldn't have to fret and could concentrate on attempting to drive sober although you are really wasted. The police better hope we do not have a large closed head/traumatic brain injury population or they will never have a moment's peace. They are known for leaving stoves on left and right.*

Speaking of which, I could have used their assistance on more than one occasion recently, the police that is. If you will recall, the stove that came with our house is from 1952 - the Ropermatic. It is a gas stove with a gas leak. We only just recently replaced it. Safety first, people! Or, in our case, like fourteenth. Anyway, before replacing it, there was quite the procedure to ensure we were not being infused with noxious gas on a regular basis. First, the gas had to be turned off after every use. The routine would be turn gas on, light the burner (Yes you had to manually light it! Hello - it is 1952 in our kitchen! You also had to wear an apron and heels. B looked so cute). When you were done you were supposed to turn the gas off first so that you could see all the flame went out before you turned off the burner, thus making sure no extra gas escaped. Sound easy? Maybe it was, but really not the point. There has been more than one occasion in which I did not comply with said rules.

One day B came home and asked me to come downstairs. I was super excited thinking he had brought me a present. For being wonderful, you know.

B: Come down here.

Me: YAY! Presents {insert clapping}

B: What? Just come down here.

Me: Well, I don't like the tone your voice has taken.

Upon arriving downstairs:

B: Notice anything unusual around here?

Me: {looking around} Well, I don't see any presents, that's for sure!

B: Why would there be presents?

Me: The real question is why AREN'T there presents?

B: DO YOU SEE ANYTHING UNUSUAL AROUND HERE?????

Me: no.

B: Really? NOTHING?

Me: um, NO.

Apparently I was completely oblivious to the burner that was STILL BURNING on the stove. Flames and everything.** I told B it had only been on for 5 minutes, but really it was 15. I am sure B thinks it was 30.

Do you think the police would come if I called them from upstairs to see if the stove was on?

"The call is coming from INSIDE THE HOUSE"***

*I may have a brain injury.

**Then there was the time I just left the gas on but turned off the burner. B accused me of trying to kill him. Good thing he doesn't smoke...

***Can you name that scary movie during this Halloween week?

****I write about fire a lot, don't I?

Crime Watch Wednesday: You Talking to Me?

This week in crime news we have the man who walked out of a store with two cases of beer without paying and without looking back:

A man walked out of the grocery store with two cases of beer that he did not pay for at 10:10 a.m. the other day. The suspect, wearing all black, was confronted by employees of the store whom he ignored as he nonchalantly walked down the alley.

He ignored the employees and just continued to walk down the alley. Not run, walk. Not much of a confrontation if the other side is ignoring you, is it? This man is all kinds of awesome for a thief:

1. He wears all black like in the cartoons.
2. He doesn't bother with small theft, he goes straight for two cases.
3. He doesn't care if his stolen goods are heavy or awkward to carry. He does not plan on running.
4. He doesn't run.
5. He just saunters away.
6. Down an alley.
7. While being confronted about his theft.
8. He also drinks beer, a lot of beer, at 10 in the morning.

That is why we salute you -

Mr. Sauntering-DressedinAllBlack-Nonplussed-EarlyMorningBingeDrinker!

For you make our newspaper, and the crime watch chronicles, complete. Cheers!

Crime Watch Wednesday: It is Not the Wrong Way if You are Crosseyed

This week's crime watch chronicles brings us the story of a man so inebriated and so consumed with the idea of further inebriation, that he couldn't see straight or, apparently, see which way traffic was going:

A man was stopped after driving the wrong way down the street. The man admitted he had been drinking and that he was on the way to get more alcohol. The man also admitted that he was an alcoholic. His blood alcohol level after being tested was almost three times the legal limit. He may be dead.

No, the last sentence was totally me. Of course he is not dead. He is probably free and driving the wrong way down a street as I type. I have a feeling that nothing the man said to the police was a surprise. After all, finding someone driving the wrong way down a street would lead to the assumption they are drunk. Finding out they are, in fact, drunk and on the way to purchase more alcohol would lead to the conclusion that the person is an alcoholic.

Way to go Mr. Obvious. Now, if you could become Mr. Observational and drive the right way down the road, we would all appreciate it.

Better yet, stay off the road.

All He Wants to Do is Dance...

Usually when I receive our local neighborhood paper, I have to scour the crime watch section to find a gem. Not this time. This time, the heading said it all:

Man Denies Dancing

Intriguing. What is wrong with dancing, I thought? Surely it cannot be a crime. Why would the man deny it? Must read on.

Apparently, the police were called with a complaint of a man dancing in the rain at 3:30 a.m. When the police arrived, the man denied that he was dancing and stated that he had just been riding his bike. The police told him to move along.

Um...okay. Let's review. The man was accused of dancing, not singing. It was the middle of the night. It was raining. How the heck could the person reporting it even know it was happening unless the man was tap dancing or had a soundtrack or the person was an extreme busybody? Last time I checked, dancing was really quiet. Was the reporting person just miffed that the guy seemed to be having fun in the middle of the night while he/she had to get up the next day for work?

Then I began to ponder...is dancing in the rain, or dancing in public at all, really a crime? Is calling the police justified if there is no nuisance allegation such as loud noise? Well, I am here to tell you in my new little town apparently it is. One day recently I went to the library to research city ordinances on an unrelated subject. Unable to find my exact ordinance, I ended up reading almost the entire book. Way in the back I found an ordinance about singing and dancing not being allowed past a certain time at night, no matter the noise level.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am now living in the movie Footloose.

Could someone please send Kevin Bacon* or Chace Crawford** my way? This town needs someone to shake it up! We need to put an end to people getting busted for boppin'!***

We need to be able to dance in the rain!

Well, not me. I prefer to sleep.

In other news, apparently relaxing on an air mattress in the bay of a lake will also get you trouble. Who knew?

*And I mean the Kevin Bacon of 20 years ago

**Chace Crawford is the new Kevin Bacon for the remake of Footloose, have you heard? How timely is this post?

***That is a phrase right from Footloose. No, I don't regularly use the term "boppin'"

Riddles Are Easy When You Cheat

Potbellys always has riddles. I never know the answer even when pressured. They had the same riddle for days last week:

A sundial has the fewest parts of all time pieces. What has the most?

I thought about it once, decided it was making my head hurt and never thought about it again. On Friday, when I was in there, a guy strolled up behind me and said, without any preface:

"I haven't given this much thought but an hourglass?"

Bastard! At first, I thought "What a show off" and then I thought, "why is he so much smarter than me?" Then I realized that a mere moment before, I had heard the sandwich guy ask him "same thing as yesterday?" Obviously he had been in there the day before, read the riddle, and Googled the answer! Sure enough, when I got home, I googled it and found the answer. You know what that means, don't you?

That bastard is STILL smarter than me.

So there you have it...the first real riddle on this site courtesy of a sandwich shop and the answer courtesy of same random guy who cheated with Google.

Crime of the Week

Courtesy of our local paper of course:

A man called the police at 3:25 a.m. stating that someone had tried to break into his home. He attempted to catch the thief, chasing him, only to lose him in a neighbor's yard. The police, however, were lightning fast and caught the young thug. It was then determined that the young thug was, in fact, the man's 17 year old son who was attempting to sneak back into the house without waking his parent.

Um, yeah...that plan FAILED. Not only did you wake your parents, you RAN FROM THEM. And then they had to call the cops who also CHASED you and detained you.

On the other side, his parents should take heart, their kid is apparently no thief.

Laying Down the Law

Upon arriving home last night, B rushed me into our bedroom so that I could see all the work he had done. On the way up there he informed me "there are some new rules" in reference to the bedroom. I love when B tries to institute new rules. While some of them make sense, some of them are just too cute like the "one shoe in, one shoe out" rule where if I buy a new pair of shoes, I have to get rid of a different pair. As if that is going to happen. Whenever B comes up with what I think is a harebrained rule, I just come up with a counter one that is equally harebrained and effects him like the "one watch in, one watch out rule." You don't mess with B's watches. Match. Point. Win. You don't play logic games with an attorney.

So, anyway, I headed upstairs eager to see the bedroom and to hear about this new "rule." B had painted our bedroom the night before and that day had apparently put everything back in the room including our dressers on the respective sides of the room. That sound crazy, perhaps, but it is strange to go to your dresser and have someone else's alarm clock on it. Maybe I am just strange.

Anyway, it looks good. Much better than what we started with and I even like the color of the walls - "porpoise" despite the fact I thought it should be green like a turtle (obviously confusing "tortoise" with "porpoise" much to B's amusement). After telling me all that he had done, B announced his new "rule":

B: [pointing] And THAT will not be in this room.

Me: What are you pointing at?

B: That! I am pointing at that hamper.

Me: You mean the LAUNDRY BASKET?

B: Yes.

Me: That is not a hamper. It is a laundry basket.

B: Whatever.

Me: Um, it is YOUR laundry basket.

Me: It had YOUR clothes in it.

B: Well, it doesn't anymore.

Me: Um, okay. But it is still YOUR laundry basket. Mine is in the other room with that other thing I call a hamper.

B: I am just saying, no laundry baskets in the room anymore.

Me: So, basically you just instituted a new rule about yourself?

B: Whatever.

Yep, way to lay down the law. To yourself. About yourself. Glad I could be there as a witness though.

I will help keep both of "you" in line.