Also, it is Not a Birthday Celebration Until Your Husband Threatens Someone with Bodily Harm a/k/a Romance at its Finest

B would like me to point out that my entire birthday was not full of gas problems and starvation. He is right. He took me out to a nice dinner that night. He also decided we should stop at our local big box store to pick up some Coke Zero. I have a drinking problem. He was excited because the cases were on sale for $5.00.

They didn't have any.

The rest of the story is best told through a conversation with my Mom:

Mom: Hi! Done with dinner already?

Me: Yes, we are at the store. B wants to buy some Coke Zero because it is on sale. They do not have any. He just got into a huge argument with a random worker he dragged down the aisle.

Mom: Uh oh.

Me: Yep. He told the guy he just didn't believe there weren't more in the back. This was [insert big named store here]. They had to have more than 5 cases. Then he pointed to the area and made the guy count with him as to how many cases could fit in the empty spot.

Mom: Oh boy.

Me: Yep. Then he told the guy to "grab your two way. We're going in the back." B took the guy in the back to convince him that there are no more cases.

Me: I haven't seen him since.

My Mom and I discuss B's penchant for trouble making for a good 10 minutes.

Me: This is boring.

Mom: I bet.

Me: Oh no!

Mom: What?

Me: The guy is back! Gerry is back but B is nowhere to be found?

Mom: What?

Me: Where is B? WHAT DID HE DO TO B?

Mom: I don't know! Where could he be?

Me: Do you think Gerry killed B? I SAW YOU GO IN THE BACK WITH HIM - THERE IS A WITNESS!

Mom: Are you yelling at the worker? Really?

Me: YES! How else will he know that I can turn him in if B shows up dead somewhere?

Me: How am I even supposed to find B, dead or alive?

Mom: I wonder where he is...

B was safe. The store employees, however, were not. He made his way up to the Assistant Manager who still could not produce any cases of Coke. There was some lame explanation as to how the Coke guy makes deliveries every day. My Mom pointedly stated that delivery five cases of pop a day would seem like a waste of gas. So true. That is why we are not heads of corporations I guess.

The assistant manager did let B get two 12 packs of Coke for $5.00 much to the confusion and bewilderment of the cashier who said "But they are $3.98 each!"

That B. He is getting things done.

Best birthday gift ever.*

*Well, actually, an iPhone would be the best birthday gift ever. Stupid Apple & AT&T - OPEN UP THE IPHONE TO ALL CELLPHONE PROVIDERS.**

**This has been a public service announcement from an avid Apple fan and lifelong Verizon lover.

***You are welcome.

What Does Your Puppy Do All Day? Mine Takes It to the Mat

You may not know this, because I sure didn't, but there is this thing called Puppy Daycare.

Puppy Daycare.

Let that sink in for a minute.

Like regular daycare, you pay a weekly fee which you are charged no matter if your puppy goes once a week or all five days. Unlike regular daycare, you do not have to obtain a second mortgage on your house to pay for it. You do, however, have to give up a week's worth of groceries. Okay, maybe a week's worth if I am shopping because I rarely buy us any meat. How do we survive? No wonder the cooking blog is so sparse.

In any event, B decided that Jersey should go to puppy daycare. He stumbled upon a place, checked it out, and brought home a flyer. I thought it was a bit pricey considering they recommended about 4 months of "daycare." The upside was that you could drop your dog off at 7 am and pick her up as late as 7 pm and someone else took care of her and attempted to potty train her during that time. In fact, that alone might just be worth the fee.

So, I thought we had decided it was too much money. I thought wrong. Come one Tuesday, I come home and inquire as to where Jersey was. B responds "at the daycare." Wait. What. Huh? When did "we" decide this? Memories of how Jersey came into our life suddenly flash in my head and I realize B is once again operating as a royal "we." Huh.

Then Jersey came home. She was happy and tired. Tired. As in not trying to bite my arm, chew my toes or jump in my lap every two minutes. Point made Puppy Daycare. You win this time.

Also? She got a report card. I wish I were kidding. See for yourself:

After I stopped laughing my ass off, I examined it a bit closer. How informative was this little orange piece of paper? (Yes, I know it looks yellow. Stupid scanner.) We know that Jersey had three playmates. Hopefully she didn't try to eat them like she does Brad. We know that she was happy and playful. No surprise there.

Wait. Talkative?

Let's not encourage that Puppy Daycare. Chester used to be quiet until Mooch taught him how to bother us and now he won't shut up.

Shy? Ha! They must have been talking about Teddy. Jersey is anything but shy.

Finally, we learned what our puppy likes for hobbies - going outside and wrestling. You don't say? How unusual for a puppy.

As you can see, this was money well spent. We basically paid $50 for an orange piece of paper filled with information we already knew and for someone to watch, entertain, and potty train our puppy. Who's fooling who here?

We are fools.

Damaged, Dodged, Deposed, Discussed a/k/a Things I Did Last Week

Last week flew by and I barely posted. This caused me to stop and think about what I did all week:

1. Totally wiped out my computer at work with some spyware.
2. Became the office joke for wiping out said computer ("maybe you shouldn't surf for PORN")
3. Tried to explain I was really just using an online translator ("yeah for the PORN")*
4. Tried to figure out how to work for the next three days without a computer (how does one answer emails, bill time, generate documents, and review what's been done previously on a file without a computer? It was like living in the dark ages - pen, paper and my brain only. I barely survived!)
5. Tried to avoid the sickness plague that took over our office. Seriously, they were dropping like flies. One day we had four people leave early while another 7 were already out. By Friday we were down to just a few. I did not stick around.
6. Spent four and a half hours in deps on Tuesday. No break. No lunch. VERY crabby!
7. Spent four hours in court on Friday. No break. No lunch. VERY VERY crabby!!
8. Took a deposition of a surgeon and watched my opponent attempt to rip him to shreds, only to ask him after the dep if he would treat him for his carpal tunnel.
9. Discussed Tiger Woods. A lot.
10. Came home to numerous boxes and packages on our porch. I love online Christmas shopping.
11. Thought about plans for exciting new things for the blog next year.**
12. Cleaned, straightened, grocery shopped, meal planned, and strategized for our housewarming/holiday party.***
13. Watched B put finishing touches on different parts of the house for said party.
14. Finally, got to sleep in on Saturday.

I expect this week to be less hectic with more posting. Let's see if it shakes out that way.

*Obviously, the most important thing in watching porn is being able to understand what is being said. Actions be damned - the dialogue is all that matters!

**Are you intrigued? Excited? Curious? Are you even paying attention???

***Party post to come soon although I ended up not taking a lot of pictures. Boo on me!

It's a Snack War! Or is it a Snack Store??

You all know that my office* loves its snacks, right? They always have an abundance of cheezits cheeseballs, goldfish, and two kinds of pretzels. Even the clients love the snacks. Well some may say the love for snacks went a bit too far.

First, someone decided we needed healthy snacks. Although, generally a good idea, that meant one of the above snacks had to go because there wasn't enough room. Sadly it was the nugget pretzels and the goldfish. People cried. People wailed. I just thanked God the cheeseballs stayed.** In their place we got a wide variety of snacks that would make their debut every Monday. Yes, only one snack at a time and only on Monday. They would just appear in a basket. If they were good snacks and disappeared quickly, we still had to wait until the following Monday for more snacks. The anticipation and tortuer and wondering was just too much for me to handle. Until the raisins debuted. Then I just laughed dismissively and made myself a big ol' bowl of cheeseballs.

Next came the fresh fruit. That was brilliant. Except it was pay for your own on the honor system and some of the fruit was very expensive. I stuck with bananas as they were only a quarter. Helluva deal folks. Of course, I didnt eat them in the office. I took them home to put them in my cereal. Who wants to buy a bunch of bananas that go bad when you can just get one in your office? My logic astounds me.

Finally one day I happened to look at our vending machine. Yes, throughout this all we still had a vending machine with your usual array of items - candy bars, chips, donuts, etc. Well I noticed it was looking quite sparse:

A closer look revealed that it was almost empty:

When I inquired as to what was going on, I was told that a new company bought the old company but they were in a fight over who gets what profits or something so the old company stopped stocking and locked the machines so the new one could not get in. It was a snack war! I pondered whether there was a snack mafia and whether a shoot out would occur in our kitchen. Luckily, our receptionist packs some heat.*** So there we were with limited snacks and stale chips. This did not deter some people in the office who continued to purchase snacks WAY beyond their expiration date. I then pondered if we would need to call an ambulance. Apparently, though, chocolate never really expires. Think about THAT.

In order to pacify the peeps who were upset about stale chips and nonexistent junk food, the office decided to bring in its own snacks to sell. It started out small:

And then grew to epic proportions:

A partner was overheard remarking "Are we going to install a uscan in here."

It does look a bit like a grocery store, no?

*My former office, but that's for another post.

**The big man is looking out for me!

***The receptionist got a CCW license and started carrying a gun. Try swiping your cards through our secured doors again client man!

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!

Who's A Hoarding?

B accuses me of hoarding all of the time, but this is where it comes in handy. See that picture? It has 10 boxes of cereal, and three boxes of oatmeal in it. I went a little wild during a cereal sale and brought all of that home. Lucky for us, we have these shelves in the basement since the tiny pantry in the kitchen will only hold about two boxes.

B laughed at all of my cereal and scoffed when I said we eat a lot.

That picture was taken on March 22nd. It is April 2nd.

We only have four boxes of cereal and one box of oatmeal left. That does not count the three boxes of cereal and two boxes of oatmeal we ate from the pantry.

Who's laughing now? Heck, in another week I will need to buy more cereal.

Maybe someone around here *ahem* needs to start cooking more meals.

B?

I Just Got Out of the Hospital, Of Course I Want Some Beer

Last night I decided to make tacos. This time, however, instead of calling B and asking him to pick up all of the ingredients, I took the time to go to the store myself. Passing up the first grocery store that I deemed to have crazy people based on who I saw going in and out, I settled on the grocery store near our house. Yep, no crazy people there.

After getting duped into putting two quarters into the parking meter (it said 50 cents for an hour which sounded like a deal - too bad I was only there for 15 minutes), I went into the store and quickly got the meat and the cheese and headed to the express line. You know it is never express.

As I put my stuff on the conveyor belt, I notice that the guy in front of me seems to be wearing a hospital bracelet. You know those plastic things they slap on you as soon as you are admitted and that B rips off the moment we are past those sliding doors? [Side note - I can never get those damn things off without scissors. B must have brute strength.] So, I take a closer look at the guy's arm and clearly see the name of a hospital. Then I look at his items - a six pack of beer, a steak and a pot roast. That man is on a mission. Not sure what he was in the hospital for, but if it has anything to do with his diet, he is headed right back in.

After my observation, the guy turned to me and made nice comments about my reusable grocery bag and just like that I forgave him for his craziness. I am easy like that. Compliments go a long way. Instead I focused on the reason that we were still waiting in line - the lady in front of us. She had the cashier weighing her cookies. Her cookies that came in a prepackaged bag like Famous Amos or something. It said 14 oz on the bag but she did not believe it. And do you think our cashier knew how to weigh something? No. And do you think our cashier was going to cater to this woman's every whim? Yes. One manager later and the lady was told that, indeed, the cookies weighed 14 oz. She harrumphed (is that a word?), grumbled something about 93 cents per ounce (there was no way she was paying $13.00 for those cookies) and bought the cookies anyhow. Way to make a stand.

Meanwhile hospital guy is looking at me like "can you believe this lady?" I give him the look that says "no, I CANNOT and I THOUGHT THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE EXPRESS LINE!" We have a moment.

Until a moment later when his things have been totaled and he then decides to pull out his checkbook. And then ask three times how much it cost. Then lament about the fact that he is spending $22.11 (yes I memorized it) on beer and beef. Then ask again how much it was. Then ask what the date is. Then VERY slowly tell the cashier that he is making the check for $20.00 over to get the cash back. Now I cannot even look at him because I know my face will scream "I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS - I THOUGHT THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE EXPRESS LINE AND WHY WEREN'T YOU FILLING OUT THAT CHECK WHILE WE ARE WAITING ON THE COOKIE LADY." So instead I make a blank face.

And a manager comes over because the cashier does not know how to deal with the check. Then the man decides he wants a paper bag for his stuff that is already in plastic bags "To save the environment," he says while looking over at me.

We do not have a moment.

I am easy, but not that easy.

Public Service Announcement to the Makers of Coupons

Dear Makers of Manufactured Coupons:

Please stop making your coupons so large that they cannot fit into any of my coupon holders. Coupons should not require my carting around some kind of carrier that is the size of a legal sized document. Coupons do not need huge pictures of the product on them. Can you just stick with the facts, please? What do I need to buy, how many do I need to buy, how much is the coupon worth and when does it expire. This can all fit into a 3" by 5" piece of paper. Trust me it can.

If you insist on making your coupons the size of greeting cards, I will not be clipping them. If I don't clip them, chances are I am not going to be purchasing your product.

Consider yourself warned.

Love,

The girl who loves coupons but does not love carrying a full size accordion file with her to Kroger.

You Do the Crime, You Can't Have the Cracker

Around these parts, we get a little community newspaper every week. Maybe some of you get one in your parts as well? One of the features of these newspapers is usually a crime watch section that tells you what criminal activity has occurred in the past week. Given the nature of these small communities, the crime watches are usually not that involved. Typically you seem some foiled break in attempts, a lot of stolen cars, "suspicious" individuals stopped, and maybe a drunk driving. But every once in a while, a gem will appear. Like this week, when B read me this story. I wish I could have videotaped B's reading because it was hilarious, but, alas, you will have to live with my writing. So here is the "crime" breakdown:

Suspect* enters store and purchases a $.50 piece of candy with a $20 bill.

Suspect then tries to get three $5 bills for a $10 bill.

When that didn't work, suspect tried to get a $5 bill for 4 $1 bills.

When THAT didn't work, suspect told the clerk that he wanted to purchase a $1.09 chocolate covered graham cracker and stated he wanted his original $20 bill back and to start the "transaction" all over again.

At that point the clerk recognized the suspect from his picture being hung in the store**. Clerk must have then said something to the suspect.

Suspect then became agitated and threw the cracker on the counter and left.

Suspect was later found and arrested for attempted larceny and trespassing.

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

Really...is this not THE oldest trick in the book? Trying to get more change back then what you gave and making multiple transactions to fool the clerk? This criminal is a big spender though. Way to break out a $20 for a $.50 piece of candy. Couldn't afford a whole candy bar?

Now, if you are going to try a very old, unoriginal scam, do you think maybe you might want to try it somewhere new? Perhaps not at the place that has caught you before and has felt the need to post your picture?

The clerk had infinitely more patience than I. I think upon the first request for change, he would have been denied with some remark like "This isn't an ATM, son" said in my best Samuel Jackson voice, of course.

That $.50 piece of candy and $1.09 chocolate graham cracker cost this suspect a lot, at least a few days in jail.

Maybe he should have kept that cracker.

*Suspect is a highly technical term used when the person has not yet been convicted of the crime even though we all know he did it, there were eye witnesses and in some instances, even confessions. Drives me crazy. Almost as crazy as the overuse of the word "allegedly."

**I am surprised it took the clerk that long to recognize him actually. Perhaps he tried it on a new clerk and thought that was mixing it up enough.

Can You See What I See?

You can now! And what I hear.  Here is the first installment, and maybe the last depending on my whim, of Seen and Heard.  These are little tidbits that cannot hold their own separate blog post, so I gathered them here for your amusement.  Enjoy!

HEARD - from B while on a plane to Vegas upon finding an advertisement for The Beast on our tray table - "Nobody puts Baby on a tray table."

SEEN - A man downing a packet of Splenda in Stabucks. From the packet. By itself. I know it says it tastes just like sugar, but it doesn't and it certainly isn't a pixie stick dude. Really.

HEARD - at Starbucks "This vanilla must be dehydrated" while holding the vanilla shaker "you know, because vanilla is usually liquid."

HEARD - "by now we were all supposed to be wearing jet packs" by B - all the time. What is with men's obsession with jet packs? Not going to happen. This is not the Jetsons.  And the dinosaur age was not like the Flintstones.

SEEN - two girls dressed for homecoming trying to get out of a restaurant door. First one pulled the first door. The second pulled the other door. Finally, they realized they had to push.

SEEN - giant empty bag of Swedish Fish in my office garbage, yet no Swedish Fish in sight ever. Are they hiding them from me? I only love those above all other candy.  Gonna have to go fishing. Yeah, I said that.  You know you chuckled.

HEARD - "isn't coming in today. Her hair is falling out or something."

SEEN - covered concept car being driven down the road. How fun can that be to drive? No one can tell what kind of car it is.  You look like you just forgot to take off the cover or something.

SEEN - guy with one of those grocery carts that has the baby seat fixed in it. He didn't have a baby. Just a bag of peas where the baby should be. Creepy or convenient?  

HEARD - "Hello" by guy on way into Starbucks that sounded an awful lot like a character in the Fashion Fits game I was playing nonstop at the time.  Coincidence or pure insanity? You decide.

And a random picture of Mooch and Chester in a rare moment of love circa New Year's Eve 2008:

A Bad Case of the Mondays

I know it is not Monday, but that doesn't mean I cannot talk about Monday. Or Mondays as in plural. As in bad Mondays I have had lately.  Two to be exact, although one was much harder on B than I.

The Monday before last was after Sunday.  Wow logic, right?  Well Sunday has now become Family Dinner Day in the Riddler household.   This involves my making up some concoction to throw in the crockpot because it is so easy while trying not to cut off any appendages in the process.  There are currently three in rotation (1) applesauce chicken, (2) candy chicken, and (3) slimy pot roast. Yep, this isn't going to become a cooking blog anytime soon.  Family Dinner Day culminates with B and I eating said dinner on the couch, in front of the TV while watching an episode of season 2 of Dexter.  Nothing like crockpot cooking and a serial killer to equate to quality family time.  The cats even get involved by trying to sniff around for leftovers as if they eat chicken or pot roast.  They are especially fond of the applesauce chicken it seems.

So the Sunday before last was quite hectic.  I was out with my mom actually shopping for what we were going to eat and running late.  Crockpot cooking is fun and easy but it requires time. Usually at least 4 hours.  And B? He prefers to eat his dinner before 8 pm.  So I wanted to get home and get the dinner cooking.  Well, that did not occur until 3.  Around 6:30 I decide dinner is done, however, the chicken was slightly pink so back in it went.  When we finally went to eat it B declared it to be "not pink" and all was good. Of course, he still proceeded to microwave his piping hot chicken to "make sure" it was done. Don't know if microwaves kill salmonella, but he seems to think they do. Dinner was good. Dexter killed some people. Cats begged.  All was well in our world.

And then Monday.  I come home from the office around 5. B announced that he was sick and had been vomiting since 4.  That's a lot of vomiting. Sure enough he ran back into the bathroom and proceeded to vomit every 15 minutes for the next 5 hours!! I thought for sure I killed him.  In my rush to cook dinner, I gave him salmonella.   Panicked, I instant messaged my Mom who told me that (a) he would have gotten it sooner than 24 hours after eating and (b) I ate the same thing and I was fine.  Relieved that I had not inadvertently poisoned my husband, I spent the rest of those 5 hours wondering if he was going to live and cursing that we did not have two bathrooms.  Seriously.  My poor bladder. I held it so long because I did not want to be in there when the 15 minutes was up and B needed the room.  Then I made the mistake of sleeping with him.  He was moaning and thrashing about.   Around 3 am, all was calm in the world.  2 hours and 40 minutes later, I arose for work and thanked the gods above it was Tuesday.  By 1 pm, I was nearly passing out from lack of sleep and headed home to find a nonpuking B to my relief. And although B proceeded to recover the next couple of days and could not really eat until Wednesday, it was not so bad as it was on Monday.

So, this Monday had to be better, right?  Well the pot roast on Sunday was fully cooked - no food poisoning for us.  B did not contract a violent stomach virus - score!  But, alas, something even more horrifying occurred...

I lost the keys to my office snack drawer.  

I cannot get to my snacks. At all.  Oh, also my dictaphone is in there but I am considering that less of a crisis.*  The thing is...I don't usually eat the snacks in that drawer.  In fact, I was going to do a blog post about the contents of the drawer because I seriously have no idea what is in there. I constantly throw things in there, never to be pulled out again.  After reading another blogger's list of things found in her office drawer, I figured that would be fun. And it would. If I knew what the heck was in there! Now I may never know.  At least it was nothing perishable. 

I think.

And Monday? Monday I REALLY needed some snacks.  I remember staring blindly at my key ring unable to comprehend that those two little keys were no longer there. Yes, there were two keys. Yes, I kept them on the same key ring. Yes, I am an idiot.  An idiot without snacks.  I resolved myself to the cheese balls in the office kitchen, which are quickly gaining more popularity than the cheezits, but it was not the same.   Everyone at work was put on high alert for my keys (although I really think they are at the grocery store from Sunday). Coworkers sent me links to videos and how-tos on how to pick a lock. I tried one that involved a binder clip and a paper clip.  I still don't have any snacks. We all know I cannot pick  a lock. At least this time, I didn't use a penny.  Defeated I went home and told B my woeful tale. B, with a look of total shock said:

"You didn't tell me you had snacks in your office drawer!"

As if I am withholding snacks form him or something.  Okay, I have been known to do this. In fact there are mint M&Ms hidden right now (although not in my office drawer thank God), but this is for his own good. This boy goes through sweets like you would not believe. I hide them until he is out and then unveil them to become the snack hero.  Although if I am not quick enough, the next time I go to bake cookies, I will notice I have a lot less baking chips.  I will then confront B who will say "I have a problem."

He and I both.  I think it is called Mondays.

*However, had my iPod been in there like it usually is during the week to protect it from thieves, that would have been a CODE RED CRISIS and a locksmith would have been called.  I live for iTUnes. Sad but true.

Where's Dani?

So it was brought to my attention that I am a horrible blogger and have been neglecting my posting duties. Thanks bro!  But he is right and it is true.  In fact, I thought I last posted on Thursday, but it looks like it was really Wednesday. That is a long time.  Too long.  I would like to say it was because I was off on some wild and crazy adventure but that would be a fib.  The truth is...

I have been doing nothing. Literally.  Getting up early to get to the office early is not only ridiculous, but apparently exhausting.  Couple that with the fact that arriving early does not necessarily mean I leave early and some days it is unbearable.  Feel bad for me yet? Nah, I didn't think so.

Here's what I remember since I last posted:

Thursday is a blur. B was recovering from some disgusting virus so we went for a romantic dinner at the coney island.  Then...nothing.

Friday was just too much for me I guess. I fell asleep at 7:00. That's PM in case you were wondering.  After returning from dinner which involved watching a man in a wheelchair use his legs to literally walk while seated which made B declare that "defeated the whole point of a wheelchair" and I to declare "maybe his butt was sore" which made absolutely no sense, I decided to lay down because I had a slight headache. I even left the bedroom light on so I wouldn't fall asleep.  After about an hour, I got up and moved to the couch to watch TV. I proceeded to do this for the next two hours. With my eyes closed.  And my mouth open.  There may have been snoring involved.  Thereafter, I moved back to the bedroom, told B I was going to bed to which he responded "you probably shouldn't have left in the first place." Touche.*

Fifteen hours later (don't judge - I was exhausted) I awoke to GET THINGS DONE.  This involved going online, getting lost in blog reading and being disturbed a couple of hours later by B who declared we had to go to the cider mill right then and there as it was NOW OR NEVER.  Although thrown about as a threat, I took it as an invitation and off we went to eat donuts and drink cider and watch cider being made yet again.  Every year it is the same routine.  And every year we act surprised as to how it is done.  Like we don't know that crushed apples will come down the chute, wrapped in the tarp to be crushed. Every year I will ask B "but where does the juice GO?" and every year he shows me the keg like contraption complete with a hose.  Oooooh and ahhhh.  Although we do not ooohhh and ahhh audibly like some people in the audience did.  Made me wonder just what they thought was going to come down that chute? Coal?  Maybe nothing.  In the wise words of a nearby three year old "maybe the apples are all stuck together."  It could happen, I suppose.

And Sunday? Oh Sunday. Full of breakfast, mad grocery shopping and deal seeking. I do not know how those deal seeking people do it. I get stressed every time.  You know what doesn't help being stressed while seeking deals?  Being stalked by a guy in a scooter stuck perpetually in reverse.  Nothing gets a greater rise out of me then hearing beep-beep-beep.  That stupid annoying reversing sound found on all trucks and apparently on scooters at the grocery store.  And this man? HE COULD NOT DRIVE FORWARD.  All he did was reverse.  Beep-beep-beep. And follow me from aisle to aisle. I was quite honestly going mad. At some point I just yelled "I can't take it anymore" and ran from the aisle with my cart while some lady looked at me strangely.  Later, upon finding my Mom and griping about said man, she informed me he was following her too.  Like mother, like daughter, stalked by crazy reversing guy.

And what was the craziest thing to have occurred this weekend? I worked, real work, from home. Rarely happens. I just cannot focus as well at home. But THINGS NEEDED TO BE DONE.  Like how I phrase important things in all caps? Gives them greater effect.  Anyway, lots of work was done. Hours of work.  This occurred while the "slimy but good" pot roast was cooking and the "yummy" cookies and the "somewhat crispier" cookies were baking.  Yes, it was family dinner day and although B said the pot roast was slimy, I will forgive him because (a) he does not like gravy - silly boy, (b) he also said it was good, and (c) he did not suffer from food poisoning or immediately contract a violent stomach virus like after last week's cooking.  But that's a post for another day....

*That word does not have the same effect if the accent is not present on the e.  Touche to that as 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?

What's Pork Got to Do With It?

Lately (as in once every three or six months) I have been attempting to cook. I will be the first to admit that I am not a good cook...yet. Of course, I do not cook very often either. Practice makes perfect, or at least edible I am sure. Somehow I am more comfortable with baking, although not yet completely from scratch which is a goal. So, the attempts at cooking have been interesting to say the least.

My very first attempt to cook us dinner was years ago when B and I first moved in together. I made some honey mustard chicken something. The first problem is that B does not like mustard. The second problem is that I completely forgot. When I retell the story I like to say that I had made it just for myself, after all he was not home at the time. The truth is, I forgot he didn't like mustard in my excitement to cook something and it sounded good to me. It was not good. Not. Good. It had too much of a mustard taste. I know, ironic?

Fast forward a couple of years (yes, except for a one time taco fiesta, it took me years to get over that awful meal and probably took B that same amount of time to be willing to try anything else I cooked). The next dish was lasagna. How can you mess that up, right? Ha! I did. Looking back at the recipe, I now realize what I had done. Even then I had an idea, but was too scared to stray from the recipe. I am not a cook after all, what do I know? The result - lasagna soup basically. That lasagna had so much liquid in it, it took me forever to figure out where to find the noodles! B's response? "It tastes okay." Yes, he ate it. What a trooper!

Disheartened by the lasagna debacle, it took me a while to try something else. Next up? Some baked chicken with cheese. How hard could THAT be, right? You cannot mess up baked chicken. Here's a fact - you cannot mess up baked chicken, however, you can make it look ugly. That chicken dish was good. B said so. What he also said was, "you sure aren't into aesthetics when you cook, are you?" Listen here bub! This isn't a four star restaurant! As a matter of fact, this is a no star place! I am trying to make edible meals, presentation be damned at this point!

Finally, I decided to branch out, make things a bit easier. How can anything be easier than baked chicken you ask? A crockpot!! And now, my friends, we get to the point of this post. I found a super easy recipe for pork loin which was coincidentally on sale at the grocery store. Eureka! Wait...does B like pork? You know I cannot remember his likes/dislikes at any given time (see above). Let me ask:

Me: Hey! Do you like pork?

B: What do you mean?

Me: Do...you...like...pork?

B: What kind of pork?

Me: What do you mean what kind of pork? Pork pork.

B: I like ham.

Me: Okay, I am not talking about ham. I am talking about pork. Like pork chops, pork loin...

B: I like ham.

That was the extent of the conversation because I gave up. Instead, I made pot roast which B declared was "good." See? I am getting closer to being a one star cook. So much closer. The pork talk passed. Time passed. But the pork was always on my mind. It was brought up again yesterday while at Chipotle (yum giant burritos - I LOVE you). After I had ordered, I looked back to find B ordering his usual - a CARNITAS burrito. That is right my friends, pork. As I watched them put the pork in his burrito, I remarked how gross it looked (it did look gross) and then it hit me:

Me: Wait! You like pork.

B: What?

Me: Pork! You like pork. Your burrito is pork.

B: And?

Me: Remember I asked you if you liked pork and you did not know?

B: No, I told you I didn't like ham.

Me: I didn't ask you if you liked ham.

B: Well I like spiral ham, like you know honeyed ham?

Me: I AM NOT TALKING ABOUT HAM!

B: Ham and pork come from the same place.

Yep, and milk and beef come from the same place too, but when I ask you if you like beef, it is not acceptable to answer "I like milk."*

So, it is back to the drawing board for me and dinners. I think I will just avoid the whole pork discussion until I run out of other things to cook in the crockpot. That could take years, or at least 365 days if I follow A Year of Crockpotting. (A great blog, by the way. You should check it out).

*I do realize that comparing milk/beef to pork/ham is like comparing apples to oranges, but I like all fruit.

**Have you ever googled the question "what is the difference between pork and ham"? I just did. About a million results. Who knew everyone pondered this question?

Assistance on Aisle 10

My mom and I took a quick jaunt to our local big box store this holiday because I decided to try out my new crockpot and needed a pot roast to act as my guinea pig. This trip was anything but quick.

We get into one of about four lanes out of 100 that are open and just wait...and wait. After standing there a while and becoming the middle of the lane, we realize that we each have under 20 items and could actually be in the express lane. We look over to see that there are lot of people in those lines and decide to stay right where we are. That was our mistake. We weren't thinking. Even if there were a lot of people in the express lanes, they would move faster due to the small amount of items unlike the two cart fulls in front of us. The first cart's total came to $222 and some cents. The second cart, that cart was the problem. The total there was $98 and some cents. As a side note, prior to ringing up the $98 cart, the cashier tells a man two people behind us that he is her last customer and after that she is closed. He gives her a blank stare. She repeats herself and asks him if he understands. He nods with a blank stare. I immediately think "that's not good."

Back to the $98 cart. It is all scanned and the lady puts her card through at which time the cashier informs her she owes $8.67. The lady is baffled. Discussions ensure. Apparently she has a bridge card and either (a) she bought some items that were not allowed or (b) she did not have enough of a balance for all of her purchases. She disputes either one insisting that she purchased only allowable food and that she checked her balance before coming in and it was over that amount. Manager girl is called. She repeats what the cashier said. They are scrutinizing the receipt to figure it out. They attempt to subtract items from her order. That does not work.

Meanwhile my mom informs me that the "last" guy in line has not told anyone that the register is closed. I look back and there are 5 people in line behind him!! I wait to catch his eye and then give him my disappointed in him look. He turns his blank stare elsewhere. Moments later the lady behind us turns to the guy and says "Didn't you tell all those people behind you that she was closed?" He gives her the blank stare. She attempts to tell the first lady behind him that the register is closed. The lady says something about being in line when the light was on or some other random reason that she belonged in that line. However, since the line is moving slower than molasses, most of the people left and went to other slow but faster moving lines.

Back to the register - still attempting to remove and still not happening. I turn to my mom and tell her that I am about to offer up $8.67 to this lady so we can just get out of there. Then the manager tells the lady that they can take her to a different register and try to ring it up again when the lady informs them that she wants no part of that. Huh? What? I put my money back in my pocket because now I am mad at this lady who is unwilling to do anything to help them fix this. Apparently she believes it is the store's problem. I am not sure how the store is at fault when your card will not do what you think it can do. The store does not control that. The cashier is just standing there next to the manager with dead eyes. I imagine her thinking she is never going to get her break and she is going to have a lot of angry people to ring up in a minute.

At this time the "last" guy in line decides to yell "Send her to customer service so the rest of us can get out of here!" Really? The guy who cannot even manage to follow one simple request to tell people behind him that the register is closed now wants to bark out orders for other people to follow? You have got to be kidding me! I actually say this out loud. He does not hear me.

Finally, the manager convinces the lady to go to customer service and this whole debacle ends. Not a moment too soon, I might add, for I found myself repeating over and over "really? you want to bark orders when you cannot even follow them" in the direction of the "last" guy and I was getting louder every time. At some point, he was bound to hear me.