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.

Roly Poly Bugs Have Nothing to Do with Watermelons

The other day when it was about a bazillion degrees out, I decided to eat some watermelon. Nothing odd about that, right? What was odd was when I looked to my left and a bug was running up to me. A water bug!  I decided that was hilariously clever and took to Twitter to tell the world about the irony of such events.

Then B came upstairs and I relayed the story to him.  His exact words? "Couldn't have been a water bug."  He was so definitive and stern. And so wrong. Why, yes it was a water bug, I KNOW WHAT A WATER BUG LOOKS LIKE, I GREW UP COLLECTING THEM! (Maybe I didn't tell him that last part as it sounds kind of serial killer like).  B was insistent and then informed me that waterbugs are really roaches and that landlords just call them that so people won't complain about them.

Then I lost my shit.

ROACHES? ARE YOU SAYING I JUST KILLED A ROACH? WE HAVE ROACHES? I GREW UP WITH ROACHES? I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THIS IS TRUE.

He tells me to Google it, so I do and I get this:

INSERT AWFUL IMAGE OF GROSS ROACH BUG HERE.

Seriously, I cannot even pick one for you to look at because they are all freaking me out.

Suffice it to say, that is NOT what I saw and NOT what I killed and most definitely NOT what I collected as an oddball child that might have serial killer tendencies but never killed anything.  What was I referring to? Well, as I said to B:

No, no, no.  My bug was like a roly poly type thing that rolls into a ball when you touch it.  I then googled "roly poly bug" and up came this:

source: flickr.com

Much cuter, right? People (other than me) collect them and give them playgrounds even:

source: toyreport.org

Nobody needs to use their imaginations these days. Geesh!  Also, I no longer feel like the biggest used to be nerd kid.

While I am relieved to note I do not have roaches, it kind of makes the whole watermelon story a lot less ironic, doesn't it?

Also? I write about bugs a lot.

I Don't Care Who Died on What Cross, I Just Need Some Cash!

With today being Good Friday and all, B and I decided to go for fish and chips like good nonpracticing Catholics (and at least one of us not at all Catholic). This required cash because the place only accepts cash. Seriously. We were there today and the guy in front of us tried to charge his dinner. The cashier laughed at him. He thought it was a joke and then realized it wasn't and she was laughing AT him.  He then realized he had to leave and find an ATM in a rather rough side of town. Definitely no joke there.  Oh, but they do take checks. CHECKS! Who carries those anymore? The guy looked at her like she said they take blood samples as payment.

Anyway, I headed off to an ATM in a good neighborhood (yay to planning ahead) after I left the office.  Just as I pulled my card from the machine and turned around, an older lady in her 80s came in:

Lady: Is the credit union CLOSED?

As I turned toward the totally dark and obviously closed bank, I say:

Me: Yes, it appears that it is.

Lady: WHY?

Me: Good Friday?

Lady: What?

Lady: There is not even a sign posted.

Me: It is right there. 

I point to a large sign that says the credit union will be closed all day in observance of Good Friday.

Lady: Wait! It has been closed ALL DAY?

Me: I have no idea.

As I leave, I hear her muttering "That is just STUPID." She then walks in the rain to her car, gets in and THEN proceeds to put on a plastic hair protector.  As she is tying it under her chin, another car pulls up and a woman gets out.  The old lady rolls down her window and yells:

"IT IS CLOSED. THE CREDIT UNION IS CLOSED AND HAS BEEN ALL DAY. DON'T BOTHER!"

She may have also muttered something about Good Friday.  New lady says "I'm just here for the ATM..."

Interesting.  So was I. It seems the only person that wasn't was the older lady. Is she against the ATM? Does she not know how they work? What is is that she needs done by a teller that she cannot do herself at an ATM?

Maybe the old lady should go to the fish place. She would feel right at home at a place that only does actual cash transactions and nothing with those "newfangled" ATM things. I can just picture her walking in, seeing the long line and exclaiming "Is there a LINE? WHY? What does Good Friday have to do with FISH? ...stupid..."

Happy Easter!

Hackers, Robbers and Fires - Who Can Get Any Work Done Around Here?

So it's been a rough time at the office lately.  I will give you one guess as to what's been happening. Yes, all is revealed in the title. Yes, all of those things happened at my office. In the span of a week. Craziness I tell you.

Monday started off with a warning that our network had stopped an attempted hacking.  Some people had to change their logins and passwords and double secret probation security was put on high alert.  Meanwhile, I wandered around asking why someone would ever want to hack the network of a law firm.

BORING.

Seriously. What will you get there? Boring letters to the court. Boring briefs to the court. There would be no smoking gun. Ever. All of this leads me to believe that it was an inside job by an outside person.

I will give you some time to think about that.

Fast forward to Thursday and I am on may way into the office when I get a phone call telling me not to bother hurrying because our building is on lockdown due to a suspicious person.  That suspicious person? He is called a robber.  He broke into a suite in the early morning hours and then ran away with a safe and some cash trailing behind him like a cartoon.  Another inside job from the outside. I think. I really have no idea about that business.  Luckily by the time I got my daily Starbucks a/k/a Sweet Heaven, all was well and I could get inside.

Fast forward to Friday at lunch.  It was unseasonably warm. I left my jacket in someone else's office.  I packed up my briefcase of work to do at home over the weekend. I was enjoying lunch with other like minded colleagues when one got a phone call. As soon as I heard him say "WHAT?", I just knew it.  "ARE WE LOCKED OUT OF THE BUILDING AGAIN?" Kind of.

Our building was on fire.

No worries. Just an ELECTRICAL fire. We were locked out. Our belongings were locked in. The wind picked up. I spent the next hour and a half driving around the parking lot with some colleagues finding other people to talk to about what was happening. I took a client conference call in the car.  Meanwhile other offices passed their time in different ways.  One group prayed. No one was in danger. Did they really want to go back to work that much? Another group played hackeysack.  Does that even exist anymore? Then some guy broke out a guitar and started playing to a crowd while people taped him on their cellphones. Who the hell brings a guitar to an office building? That guy.

Just as those in charged called it a day, a giant "YAY" came forth from the crowd and we were let back in. Why everyone cheered to be let back into an office on a Friday afternoon when the sun was shining is beyond me.

Also? We could go in but there was no plumbing and only half electrical and no heat.

"YAY."

They Know Your Every Step. Especially When You Tell Them Your Every Step. Also, Reindeer Are Super Fast.

So the last time I posted, Brad has escaped but miraculously returned the next morning like a grimy Christmas present.  You will also recall that I had quite the conversation with the delivery place whom we thought were the reason for Brad's Great Escape. Turns out it wasn't so, but in the meantime a strange thing happened. Or so I thought.

After I finished yelling at the operator, she told me that she could tell me which branch delivered my package. I gave her my zip code, she told me what branch and then proceeded to tell me they don't have a phone number. I found this hard to believe but just declared "I WILL JUST GO THERE IN PERSON AND DEMAND TO SPEAK TO MY DRIVER. GOOD DAY!"  

And then I didn't give it anymore thought until I came home, discovered the ripped screen and told B that I didn't think the delivery place had anything to do with it.  I did not tell him, however, that while he was out searching for Brad, the delivery place drove by. He probably would have been angry that I didn't chase the driver down.

The next day after Brad was safe and sound and I was back at the office, I received a text from B indicating that the delivery place had called him and told him that they spoke to the driver who remembers seeing Brad on the catio. B told them not to worry, Brad may have been spooked, got supercat strength and busted out the screen. Not their fault.  Well, not really.

Meanwhile I sat in my office perplexed.  How did the delivery place know to call B? How did they get his number? When I called, I only gave them our zip code. I did not call from B's number. Hell, I didn't even call from my number.  I considered this an amazing show of just HOW GOOD THEIR TRACKING COULD BE. I discussed it a lot with my coworkers and would say things like:

"How did THEY know?"

"Did they just ask EVERY driver if it saw a cat?"

"Did they just narrow down deliveries in that time frame?"

"Did they narrow down deliveries by zip code?"

"Do they have a satellite?"

"Are they watching me RIGHT NOW?"

Yes, I would look up and around the ceiling at that last one.  By the time I got home I was full of conspiracy theories and thought we might have to run like Will Smith in that movie where they were tracking him all over when he mistakenly took a package in a store and the woman behind me in the theater kept gasping at "ALL OF THAT TECHNOLOGY."

So I came home prepared to tell B that we were going to have to pack light and really, how does one go on the lam with three cats and a dog, when B said:

B: What in the hell are you talking about?

Me: The delivery place! They knew to call you! I didn't give them ANY information.  They have satellites. They are watching us.

B; What...what?

Me: HOW DID THEY GET YOUR PHONE NUMBER? HOW DID THEY KNOW TO CALL?

B: I emailed them yesterday.

Me: THEY KNOW EVERYTHING WE DO!!!...wait, what?

B: I. Emailed. Them.

Me: Well, hell, why didn't you tell me that? That makes a lot more sense.

B: Doesn't it?

So the delivery place isn't watching me. Allegedly. They are still suspect. Don't worry though, I am sending Vicky after them.

On a completely different topic, watch the video below. This man's wife literally gets taken by a reindeer and he does NOTHING. He barely moves.

I would like to think if we were in the same situation, B would at least TRY to run after me. However, I may be mistaken. B's response was "reindeer are REALLY fast."  Well, gee thanks. Apparently, I don't have much to worry about though as B assures me I would never be somewhere where I would have to wear a big furry parka, outside in the snow with a reindeer in the vicinity.

He is probably right. Just to be safe, I am going to get one of those kid leashes for us. If the reindeer gets me, he is coming along too. Ha!

It's All Full of Hilarity Until the Weather Interrupts Your Movie Watching Time

I saw this video about a week ago and thought it was absolutely hilarious. This woman called the TV station to complain about the weather guy interrupting the season finale of Criminal Minds to alert viewers of severe weather. After all, he could have just waited until a commercial, right?

Take a listen:

My favorite parts included:

"This is nowhere near ME"

to the ultimate:

"I really don't care about THOSE people"

That much is obvious.

And so I forwarded this video on and made fun of the video. I talked about how the lady was all "ME, ME, ME" and had no empathy for those that could be in the midst of a tornado or something. I thought I would NEVER be like this lady. After all, which is more important TV or life? Well, I thought I knew the answer.

Until last night.

There I was watching From Dusk Til Dawn for about the 17th billion time when it was interrupted with a LOUD beep and an old 80s looking computer font thing that said there was a severe weather warning for my county until 10 minutes from then. I listened carefully to make sure it was nowhere near me and got only mildly irritated when I realized it wasn't and that I was missing the sexy strip dance with Salma Hayek.

Then the second interruption came five minutes later to let me know that it had expanded to another county. Again, nowhere near me. Because it came so fast on the heels of the last one, I may have muttered "Really?"

Then the third interruption came five minutes later. This one brought news of a tornado funnel being seen. WAY far away from me, although I listened carefully to make sure it was not me. To this I said, "Okay..."

Let me tell you, though, after TWO more interruptions, both of which were identical to each other and, actually, identical to the very first one, I actually screamed "COME ONNN!!!"

Yes, I became that woman. I thought things like "Don't they know this is the GOOD part?" and "This weather is nowhere near me!" and "I should just go to flippin' bed if I am just staying up to hear a bunch of beeping!"

In my defense, I did not call the cable station and yell at them. I am intelligent enough to know how important severe weather alerts are to those in the area.

But, if it had been the series finale of Lost, I cannot say what I would have done...

It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Shreds a Finger

Last week I was having problems with my assistant. She wasn't assisting me. At all. Not only that, but what she was doing reached new heights of problematic so I took it up with my HR guy. Later, my colleague reported that my assistant was in there talking to the HR guy:

J: Sounds like HR guy is having a meeting with your assistant.

Me: I was wondering. Can you hear them?

J: Not really. Sometimes I can. It cuts in and out. I could definitely tell that it was her talking about the things you emailed her. *

Me: Oh good. I hope she doesn't plan on killing me later.

J: Ha. Ha.

Me: It's all fun and games until someone has a weapon.

J: Go and take her scissors out of her desk. Although I guess she could always try to stab you with a pencil.

Me: Great! I have already suffered one scissor injury already. Another one would just make this week PERFECT.

Yes, I had already been cut with scissors. The night before. By my HUSBAND. You see, my mother decided to gift me with these scissors that I guess would be called shredding scissors. They have many blades and can shred documents. Although not credit cards. Trust. I have the injury to prove it.

B was very eager to test out these new scissors and I insisted they could cut up credit cards. In fact, I was going to hand him one to cut up RIGHT THEN. So I leaned over with the card and B totally cut my finger. I immediately screamed "LOOK WHAT YOU DID" to which he responded "it is so deep it is not even bleeding yet." Nice.

Then it started bleeding. Yes, I thought I might have to get stitches. No, I did not. Yes, I had to beg B to help me put a band aid on it despite the fact that he is the one that injured me. So he slapped some Neosporin on it and declared "It will be healed in 5 days. That is what the tube said." For the record, there is a scar.

And I still have that damn credit card.**

*Apparently my assistant did not like my helpful emails pointing out her problematic assisting.

**But I don't have that assistant anymore.

***I win.

Sometimes I Can Only Process One Thing in My Brain. That Makes it Monotastic Time!

One week ago I had a trial. It lasted two and a half days. I spent a week and a half preparing for it. All I could think about that entire time and almost through today, a week later, were the details of the trial. Seriously.

I know every date that woman had treatment. Every doctor with whom she treated. The dates she received care by friends. The dates she missed work. Her alleged injuries. The name of her children.

But that is all I know.

My brain, although I would like to think it is quite large, when it goes into trial function, can only process one subject - TRIAL. In fact, my response to almost everything was screaming "I AM IN TRIAL." It didn't matter what the question was:

"We need to talk about refinancing" : I AM IN TRIAL!

"What kind of new car do you want?" : I AM IN TRIAL!

"Are you going to eat that?" : I AM IN TRIAL!

Special shout out to B who put up with me for those two weeks. I am sure it wasn't easy. Also, a special shout out to Jersey who was quite distracting when I needed it most.

Anyway, I am here to say that now I have put it all behind me and I am ready to use sentences that do not involve the words "trial," "objection," "your honor," and "assholes." Okay, maybe not that last one.

Trial is exhausting.

Tonight while driving home, I stopped at a light and saw a man on the corner with headphones on - dancing away. Actually, he was putting on quite a show for those watching. Huge smile. Crazy moves. Seriously a cross between rap and the robot? Anyway, he made me smile. In fact, he was in the exact spot that the guy told B that he was just "singing a song." This guy was just dancing a dance.

And it reminded me of a conversation earlier today when a colleague asked if I ever wished I was doing something else with my life. Something creative. I told him that I thought about that a lot. Lawyering is exhausting, frustrating and time consuming.

And tonight? Tonight I wanted to be that man on the corner, just dancing a dance with the hugest smile ever. No obvious cares.

Lord knows I shouldn't sing in public.

I Got Someone Fired on Christmas Even Though I Don't Have that Power, But She Didn't Know that a/k/a BagelGate 2009

Fridays in our office are Casual Day. If you are not meeting with clients or in court, you can wear jeans. Unfortunately, I do not get to partake a lot because I am usually in court. Hence, Fridays seem to be Dani Wears a Suit Day. Not as exciting or as comfortable.

Fridays are also Bagel Day. One person is the designated bagel person. Usually I do not have my first pick in bagels and end up taking whatever is left over, or nothing at all. That would be because I am in court. However, when I am there for jeans and bagels? I call that heaven.

So last week we knew there would be a skeleton crew on Christmas Eve. For some reason we were going to be open all day (that later changed to 3 pm). I was only going in until lunch and because of lunch, which I had scheduled for just a few miles from the office. When the email came asking for a head count for people that would be in the office for Bagel Day, I replied right away.

Christmas Eve became my heaven.

I got there bright and early at 8 am (well for Christmas Eve that is bright and early) and began telling everyone how excited I was for my bagel. S was excited too. Then at 9 I began to complain that I was starving. After all, I didn't eat breakfast in anticipation of this bagel. Then at 9:10 I heard there would be no bagel because the bagel person claimed no one responded to the email.

Christmas was RUINED!

I went to my sent box and the email was there. S claimed she sent one too. We grabbed our coats and on the way out to the bagel place, we made a stop at the Bagel Person's office:

Me: YOU ARE FIRED

BP: I am sorry

Me: YOU ARE FIRED

BP: Only 5 people responded, so....

Me: Wait...huh? WHAT?

BP: There wasn't a big response...

BP: Do you want some of my candy bar?

Me: I WANT A BAGEL

Me: I AM GOING TO GET A BAGEL

And so I got a bagel. A much better bagel actually than I would have had if the person had come through. Of course, the better bagel required me to put on my coat, go outside, DRIVE to the bagel place and waste what little time I had planned on spending in the office. So, there was that.

Also? 5 people? That IS A RESPONSE! If you ask "how many people will be in so I know how many people to buy bagels for" and 5 people respond, BUY FIVE BAGELS. At the very least, email those 5 people and tell them they are on their own. That way maybe the will not rely on your bagel. Maybe they will eat breakfast.

Lesson here? The bagel you buy could save your job.

Another lesson? Buy your own damn bagel!

*No actual people were fired in BagelGate 2009. I do not have that kind of power.**

**Even if I had that power, I probably wouldn't fire someone over BagelGate 2009.***

***But I might really want to.

And Then the REAL Dani Came Out

I have been at the new office for just over 6 months now. I may not have told you I got a new job, but I did shortly after I had my gallbladder removed. I love the new office and the people I work with, which is always a plus. I do miss some of the people that I used to work with, but we try to stay in touch.

Anyway, as those of you that have had more than one job know, when you start at a new place you tend to be quieter, more reserved at first. The same is true of me. Although right now I know some people reading this are probably screaming "LIAR" at the screen. I said MORE reserved, not totally reserved. Later, though, at some point, you feel comfortable enough and the real you comes out. That happened to me with my new colleagues just the other day.

I went to lunch with three other female attorneys. There was a wait and we had to give our to the host who said it would be a 10-15 minute wait. Then a party of 3 came in and gave their name. Then a part of 2 came in and the host SAT THEM AT A TABLE FOR FOUR. So I started to get a wee bit irritated. Then the host took 4 menus and put them at a table of four without taking anyone there. I looked at a woman in the party of 3 and said "is he seating invisible people now?" She just shrugged while also looking perplexed. The host then came over and SAT THE PARTY OF 3 that came in after us. I truly thought my head was going to explode! The minute he came near me, I lunged toward him with my finger out and growled "I ASSUME we will be seated now." My coworkers were shocked and amazed. The host? Not so much. Do you know what he said?

"I already have a table for you."

Um, where would that be exactly or do we have to psychically find it I wonder? He then points at the table where he put the menus. Now how in the heck were we supposed to know that we were to sit there when the HOST did not seat us? A woman from my office asked "are you going to walk us there" at which point I muttered "apparently NOT" and led the way to the table.

That, my friends, is the real Dani.* She's back. She's bitchy. And she's been storing pent up rage and incredulous disdain for MONTHS.

Watch out.

*Actually, it is Stage 1 Real Dani. Stage 2 would probably have involved another head explosion after the host pointed to "our table" and perhaps some cursing. Okay. Definitely some cursing. Stage 2 has not yet been revealed.

It's Ms Psychic If You're Nasty

I would like you all to know that I am truly psychic. How do I know this, you ask? Well, just this morning I was driving to the office and stumbled upon an old 90s Janet Jackson song. Which one is not important (mainly because I cannot remember). What is important is what I thought at the time, which was:

"I wonder what Janet is up to these days. She is so off and on with her recording and performing. Heck, the last time I saw her perform was after MJ died. She sang his songs SO good. Hmmm...I wonder if there is going to be increased pressure from her now that MJ is dead. Will she have to go around singing his songs all the time? It must be hard to have a sibling die. I wonder how she is doing. Will she ever recover?"

As you can see, I have quite the stream of consciousness. I then thought about the 1,567,823,000 things I had to do at the office and promptly forgot the exchange until JUST NOW when I saw a commercial for Janet's first live interview since MJ's death where they will address what she is doing now, how she is feeling, and what her plans to perform are. And it is on TONIGHT.

I am totally psychic.*

*Please refrain from pointing out that the reason I even heard the Janet Jackson song was because of the interview airing tonight. I can refute that theory with hard evidence.**

**My hard evidence consists of the fact that I was listening to Sirius at the time so there was no pressure to advertise or to conform*** like the regular ol' FM stations.

***Sirius may not conform but it sure does play the same songs over and over. Really. There has to be more than the 100 songs I hear on the 90s channel released in that time period. TEN YEARS PEOPLE. TEN YEARS. FIND A NEW SONG!

My Vacation Left Me Flushed but Not Full*

We are back from Vegas none the richer. In fact, we may be poorer. However, a good time was had by all.

I am sad to say that despite both of us taking our cameras, no pictures were taken in front of the fountain, or anywhere else for that matter. It was one of those vacations.

Okay, I lied. I had to take a picture of my big "win."

A Royal Flush baby --

Do you know how hard those are to get? REALLY hard. This was on my last night there. Actually, I may have been asleep at the machine when this occurred. I remember thinking "everyone should get one royal flush before they leave Vegas." Apparently I am clairvoyant and should really start working that skill to my advantage more often.

You know what would be really impressive? If I were playing the $1 slots at the time. Or even $.25 slots. Hell, even nickel slots. Where was I?

Oh on the penny slots of course. Hey! $10 is $10. Especially after you had just blown through roughly $345. But who's counting?

I was SO excited when this occurred that I wanted to tell B RIGHT THEN. Alas, I could not. Despite the fact that he was only about 20 feet away from me in the poker room, where I hear they play poker with REAL CARDS and not just a touchscreen like on my beloved machines, I had no way of contacting him because he did not have his phone on him. Remember the oh so organized man? Yep, he didn't bring his phone with him. Forgot it at the house. Remembered when we were too close to the airport to turn back. This required old fashioned scheduling while in Vegas that went a little something like this:

B: Where are you going to be?

Me: On some slots.

B: Which ones?

Me: Poker ones. Penny ones. Somewhere.

Me: I don't know. I DON'T HAVE A PLAN. IT IS VACATION!!!

B: Okay.

B: How about we meet in the room at 1:00?

Me: Oh, did you manage to remember to bring your watch?

B: Not funny.

Me: Oh, but it is.

So, in any event, no phone call about the Royal Flush.

However, after B lost all of his money, he joined me at my machine. The same Royal Flush machine. I excitedly told him how it happened. He longingly looked like he wished he had his own Royal Flush. After a while, I said to him "I wish I could get another one just so you could see." He thought it was because I didn't think he believed me. I just wanted him to experience the joy. Shortly thereafter, he did.

The cards lined up again. I was being WILD and playing 25 hands. The main cards revealed an ace, jack, 10, and king. I just needed the queen and had 25 chances. B said "you are bound to get ONE." I put my hand on his thigh, held my breath and got TWO:

And then I cashed out, $20.00 richer. Well, at least $20.00 less poor.

Now, THAT is a vacation.

*I have NO idea what that title means.

Crime Watch Wednesday: Why Steal Valuables When You Can Just Eat Turkey?

This week's crime watch chronicles comes courtesy of my Mom. Yep, I now have the whole family involved. Mom wants to point out that she has stupid criminals where she lives too. She is right. Take a gander:

A woman was the victim of a hungry thief. Upon arriving home to her apartment, the woman found that someone had entered her apartment and ate some turkey and cheese out of her refrigerator. There were no broken windows. The door was locked at the time. The woman stated that she had lost her keys in the utility room several weeks prior and never changed the locks.

Okay, let's review. You come home to find all the windows and doors locked. The ONLY thing missing is some turkey and some cheese from your fridge. Do you immediately think it was a criminal? Or do you blame your roommate? Perhaps wonder if you ate too much the night before? I am pretty sure that leaving unmarked keys in a utility room is not going to give enough information for the thief to know which apartment you live in. Also, if you lost your keys and did not have your locks changed, how are YOU getting into the apartment?

You know what I think? I think it was the maintenance people. It is always the maintenance people.** I, too, have a similar, but entirely different story related to this one.

One time I lived in this mid rise apartment where my garbage disposal always smelled like something died in it. I used lemons. I used soap. I used special garbage disposal cleaner. Nothing helped. Finally I told the manager she had to do something about it. I was promised something would be done.

One day after that, I came home to my locked apartment on the 12th floor to find my refrigerator unplugged, and a set of tools lying on my kitchen floor. Clearly, the maintenance man had been there and left, without his tools, and without plugging my fridge back in. Your guess is as good as mine as to why he unplugged it in the first place. Regardless, my food was no longer cold and I was steaming mad.

So I storm down to find the manager. The woman proceeds to tell me that there is a new manager that has taken over and gives me his apartment number. Immediately upon him opening the door I angrily wonder why the maintenance people left before completing their job and, more importantly, left all my food to spoil.

Manager: Are you sure it was maintenance?

Me: Am I sure it was maintenance?

Me: I CALLED for maintenance.

Me: There are TOOLS on my kitchen floor.

Me: Who the f*** do you think it was?

Manager: It could have been thieves.

Me: Thieves?

Me: It could have been THIEVES?

Me: What the f*** were they stealing????

Me: And why were they attempting to fix my garbage disposal???

Manager: We have had a bunch of thefts of fire extinguishers lately.

Me: Have you lost your ever loving mind???

Me: HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?

Me: These were not THIEVES.

Me: Tell you maintenance people they have until tomorrow to get their tools or they are mine.

Miraculously the tools were gone when I came home.

The thieves must have been listening.

* I just realized there is no first asterisk. You may now proceed to the second asterisk. Do not stop. Do not collect $200. However, if you have $200, please give it to me. I am in Vegas you know. I am broke.

**My apologies to maintenance people who are not thieves. That is probably almost all of you. You are easy to blame though. So are cleaning people who eat lunches. Except they don't. WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE LUNCH EATERS. Ahem.

***I have a foul mouth. This guy did not. He was scared of me. I liked it that way.

Feline of the Corn

Does your cat eat half a thing of corn bread that you left on top of the microwave that was in a sealed package?

Does your cat CONTINUE to eat the corn bread even when you say "HEY - what are you doing?"

Does your cat STILL eat the corn bread even after you yell "ARE YOU F'ING KIDDING ME"?

Does your cat not even flinch when you come at him with the Dustbuster to clean up the corn bread pieces strewn all around the dining room?

Does your cat come crying to you later attempting to make you believe he is starving despite the fact that he JUST ATE CORN BREAD?

If so, congrats, you have a Chester.

And here I thought it was strange when he ate a tomato.*

*One time I left a tomato on our counter at the condo and woke up to see tiny little bite marks in it. Those cats will eat anything!

Take Me Out to the Ball Game...Listen to Me Complain

Well it is no wonder that B doesn't take me to the ball game* too often. First, as you know, I don't really follow sports. Second, I like to discuss what is going on around us, not necessarily what is happening in the game. Third, when I do decide to discuss what is going on in the game, I quickly become an "expert" much to the amusement and/or frustration of B. Here is a prime example:

[Scene: Baseball game around the 5th inning]

Me: Oh GREAT, Smith is up to bat? We are SCREWED.

B: Like you even know what you are talking about!

Me: Oh, I don't know? I DON'T KNOW?

Me: You know he is just going to hit it up and to the left like he does EVERY.SINGLE.TIME and then he will foul out, or whatever it is called, and then all of these men on all of the bases out there? WASTED.

Me: Yes, Smith, you will be WASTING ALL OF THOSE HITS!

Me: I mean, really. Look at his stats - they are AWFUL.

B: You don't know what you are talking about.

Me: Really? Why are his RBIs so low? Huh?

B: They are low.

Me: What are RBIs anyway?

B: {sigh}

*****

[Scene: Later in the same inning]

Me: Now THAT guy has GREAT stats.

B: HE IS ON THE OTHER TEAM.

Me: Huh.

Me: We are SCREWED.

You know what is fun though? When the guy in your row decides to walk down in front of you for the second time and then stop RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE and say "maybe I should have gone the other way" while doing some weird back and forth maneuver RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE that prompts your spouse to say "nice of him to wave his junk in your face" and you to say "thank God he is wearing pants" and thinking what you really wanted to say to the guy was "HEY, I think you left your penis on my face."

Finally, no baseball game is complete unless it is at or below 50 degrees. Seriously, the last three games we went to in different months? FREEZING. Here is photographic evidence:

Yes, I am wearing a sweatshirt AND a fleece AND gloves AND drinking a hot chocolate. You will also notice there is no one around me. That is because they were smart and stayed home and watched it on TV with their heat on.

I love sports.

*Or a football game. Or a basketball game. I am a bit better with hockey. A bit.

Hay! Can You Stalk My Pumpkins?

Sure, B thought his giant pumpkins were great. However, B had bigger plans for our yard. His plans involved going to the cider mill* and then finding some hay and some corn stalks. After all, what is a giant pumpkin patch in your yard without hay and corn stalks?

So we set off on our journey and went to the cider mill with B's sister and husband and our nephew, L. Turns out L likes pumpkins just as much as B. And since he is still small, they all look giant to him. Bet he ends up growing big pumpkins in his future.

After eating too many donuts and drinking cider and feeling pumpkins, B and I set off to find the perfect hay and cornstalks. Rather, the only hay and cornstalks. We only found two places - one that sold hay and one that sold cornstalks. That was good enough for B's master design. Take a gander:

B says the key to designing is to always work in 3s. Hence the 3 pumpkins on our stairs.

And the two pumpkins and one hay bale in the corner.

And the 1 pumpkin, 1 hay bale and 1 cornstalk by the tree.

B also bought this nifty fall corn bundle to hang on our door.

And little pumpkins for my desk! We only bought one but the guy selling them threw in 2 for free. He must subscribe to the B plan of 3s.

I was so excited about our fall display, but do you know that not ONE neighbor has commented on it? WTF? All summer I had to sit and listen to people talk about the house next door:

"oh, nice flowers"

"I love your shrubs"

"how did you cut your lawn with those lines"

"you built that garage from scratch?"

Yet, no one can be bothered to comment on our pumpkins aside from some girls that B may have scared off? It is not like people don't walk down our street EVERY DAY. Or drive down it. Yes, people would STOP THEIR CAR to say those things to our neighbor.

Okay, it is not a competition.

And I am not bitter.

But it is and I am.

*Somebody forgot to charge her camera before going to the cider mill. Sadly, that leaves you without a picture of me looking like a scarecrow while holding three corn stalks.

**I know you like what I did with that title there, I incorporated 3 of the major themes of these photos. B would be so proud.

It's the Great Pumpkin...

If you are a loving and supportive wife like myself, if your husband came home and said that he and his friend, S, were going to grow the BIGGEST PUMPKINS EVER at work, you would say:

"Really? That's nice."

And then you would ask that same husband no less than five times in two days why the heck there is a cup with dirt in it in the backyard. And each time he would exasperatedly yell "it is a PUMPKIN for my sister," and you would say:

"Oh. That's nice."

In fact, being as supportive as you are, you cannot even remember how many conversations about pumpkins there have been in the past couple of months. However, once you opened your email and received the following pictures, you started to take notice:

and you said to your husband things like:

"Wow! That IS a big pumpkin"

and

"Nice measuring gauge you have there - drink much on the job?"

and

"How many of those pumpkins are you growing there?"

and finally:

"Really? That's nice."

Then, in the next couple of days when you see that you and your husband have a mutual friend on facebook with the last name of "Pumpkin" and a picture that looks like this:

you start to pay closer attention. But do you know when you REALLY start paying attention? When you get an email from Netflix that your husband has rented a movie called Lord of the Gourds.* That is when you realize you have totally been lacking in your wifely duties. Of course, you rectify this at once:

Me: You call ME a geek? ME?

B: What?

Me: Why are you renting Lord of the Gourds from Netflix?

B: What?

Me: It is a MOVIE about PUMPKINS.

B: And other gourds.

Me: I'm sorry, did you just say "and other gourds"? Because that is really not helping your case.

B: I need to learn more about pumpkins.

Me: IT IS A PBS DOCUMENTARY. You are renting a PBS DOCUMENTARY.

Me: I am married to an 80 year old.

Whew! Wifely duty crisis averted.**

*Why do I think gourds is spelled with an "h"? I must be confusing ghouls with pumpkins. Is it Halloween yet?

**Also, B is a rockstar for growing these huge pumpkins. Really. I hope he and S win awards. And that they can find a forklift to transport the pumpkins to the places that give awards.

***To see B's sister's pumpkin, go here.

****I love pumpkin pie.

A PB and What?

Anyone that follows me on Twitter knows that I love me some Potbelly's. And for those that do not follow me, what are you waiting for?

Anyway, I haven't been to Potbelly's much since the gallbladder removal and since I moved to a new office, but when I was going there I found a new/old sandwich to fall in love with - the PB&J. Yummy goodness. Yes it is merely peanut butter and grape jelly on a big sandwich roll, but it is toasted and oozes goodness. Makes me feel like a kid again.

So, one day, while I was sitting there eating my extremely awesome but utterly messy sandwich I find this guy staring at me. He was one half of a couple sitting nearby. After looking right at me and right at my sandwich, he turns to his other half and says:

"What is a PB&J? Is that just peanut butter and jelly? I wanted to try that but I chickened out."

First, what else would a PB&J be? Second, he was LOOKING RIGHT AT ONE so he knows damn well it is just peanut butter and jelly.

He's right though. It must be really scary to try a sandwich that shares the same name as a sandwich you grew up with and should be familiar to you as opposed to, I don't know, something called a "Wreck" full of any number of processed meats and cheeses.

Baby steps, dude. Baby steps.

A Three Hour Tour a/k/a These Old Houses... Part 1

Every year, a neighborhood in a big city by us has a walking tour of the homes. B and I try to go every year because the homes are phenomenal. They are old, like our house, but three and four times the size. Plus, you get to go in and see all of the features, the remodeling, and hear the stories of past owners and how much it cost to build the house originally (usually between $10,000 and $15,000).

Typically, it is HOT when we do this. One year I thought I was going to die. In fact, my memory of that tour involved me crying out inside my head every two minutes I AM GOING TO DIE while sweat dripped all over me. Sexy.

This year, however, the weather was perfect. It was sunny with a breeze. Perfect walking weather.

Take a walk with me and see what we saw.

A view of the street and those huge gorgeous trees. Also a view of a line to get into one of the houses. The good houses always have long lines:

Some houses from across the street:

A picture of B acting exasperated at my picture taking:

Beautiful dark red plum looking tree. This photo courtesy of B:

This house was owned by Jack White of the White Stripes. Apparently they recorded one of their albums in the foyer. Yes, it is that big. The latest owner renovated and changed a lot of stuff that Jack had done to the place. They had before pictures throughout the house showing what it looked like when Jack White was in it. Most of the rooms looked better after, however, B thought the study looked better before. Jack White liked a lot of reds and whites (no surprise) and dark rooms. B likes dark rooms too. I prefer light and airy.

I don't think any one in that line knows the house used to be owned by Jack White. We sure didn't. It was not listed in the book.

Below is a house not open on the tour. They rotate houses year to year. Sometimes the same ones are on the tour; other times they are different. Some houses that are not open still have signs in front of them telling you famous owners of the home and some history.

Look at those columns:

This house even had singing boys and a man with a cello. I think. I am so not musical. Then again B thought they sounded like they were screaming.

The VERY long line we were standing in:

We are getting closer. Also, notice the woman on the stool. Can you even see the stool? I think it was getting closer too:

B and I liked this tree. We both took a picture of it:

Tours are fun. Tours are also annoying. Just like in school, there are always some people who want to show off. In our case, it was a 90 year old man who must have read up on the history. That is fine. It was fine when he informed his companions all about the house we were waiting in line to see. No big deal. You know what was NOT fine? This:

Docent: This house was owned by the same man that founded the zoo.

Old Man: Contrary to popular belief, you are right.

Okay, I have no idea what he just said. Did he mean we all didn't believe she was right? Did he mean we all didn't believe the zoo man owned the house?

Old Man: The man that founded the zoo owned this house.

Hi redundant. We covered that, remember?

Docent: [Pause]

Docent: In 1918...

Without missing a beat, God bless her.

Then we went inside. Once inside, the next docent started talking about the pewabic tile around the fireplace and how the blue glazed tile was a secret recipe that was lost over the years and cannot be replicated.

Old Man: That's not true!

Docent: Oh? You have the recipe?

Old Man: No, but I can tell you where it is hidden.

At that point, I turned to B and said "You have GOT to be kidding me!" followed by "We have got to get the hell out of here before I kill this man!" And we did. Thankfully, no one else was quite as disturbing on the rest of the tour, except for maybe the twins...

*to be continued with pictures on Thursday!