Chick Caves

Yup.  I'm ticked again.  'Bout to get on my soapbox.  Here goes.

I just read a piece from here:  http://community.allstate.com/community/allstate_blog/blog/2012/02/22/a-mom-cave-to-rival-any-man-cave?cid=OTC-SOC-PB-BLOG&att=OB_A-Mom-Cave-to-Rival-Any-Man-Cave

First:  I guess I have to have a StepMom Cave or perhaps a Nanny cave; for those of my female friends who are childless, are they not allowed to have caves???     And, what if my friends who ARE moms want a WOMAN cave (because, after all, the article tells us that Mom cave tech involves "sound (toddler!) proofing".  That sounds like a "I'm not Mom in here" cave). 

Second:  Really???  "Man cave diversions:  Darts.  Pool.  Air hockey.  Mom (not woman)(yeah, I know, I'm hung up on that) cave diversions:  Magazines.  Crafts.  Yoga mats."

Ok, yes, I am working on setting up my craft room.  I am working on getting my fabric and yarn organized.  In a room with 2 walls of shelves for books (and other stuff, like family photos and mementos).  And I have one shelf of craft books/magazines.  I like magazines.  I keep what I want and throw the rest (which is why I have some craft magazines, because I like most of the ideas, and some issues of Bon Appetit).  But yoga mats?  Yeah, not in this lifetime.  But this is my CRAFT ROOM.  Where I organize things (ok, will organize things) that I and the church and Sunday School can use.  And since there are multiple sharp things in there, my grandchildren would not be allowed in (so I guess a "I'm not Nanny in here" room).

If I were to have a WOMAN cave, I would also have a dart board, a pool table or pingpong table, and air hockey.  I used to kick butt at air hockey.  And I'm decent at darts, although it's been a while.  And maybe a decent table for cards, chess, backgammon, other board games.

And while I might not have a keg...ok I WOULD not have a keg...why would I have a juice and wine bar?  Give me an espresso maker or a gas stovetop so I can boil my water to heat a good cup of tea.  Yes, right in my woman cave.  Perhaps a complete gas range so I can bake while I'm at it.  Or at least a microwave so I can heat the snacks we're going to be eating while we're shooting pool/playing cards.  And a fridge.  Not a mini fridge, they are too small to hold much of anything upright.  And, if I'm going to be heating frozen snacks, I need to be able to have them in the room, so a fridge with a freezer.

A velvet loveseat?  Nice to look at, but I'd rather have that in the formal sitting room and have comfy leather couch that I can stretch out on in my cave.  'Cause have you ever tried to stretch out on a loveseat?  I mean, I'm short, but not that short.

Oh, yeah, and my favorite:  a theme of "Hamptons beach retreat"?  WOW.  Not likely.  SO not likely.  Don't get me wrong, I miss the ocean, and I have one small basket of shells.  But Hamptons beach retreat?  Yeaaaahhhh...no.

Ok.  Done ranting.  So remember:  I do not have a Mom cave.  I have a craft room/library.  And it's not likely I'll get a woman cave.  Because I really love my husband.  So if we ever have a game room, it'll be our game room.  And if we ever get a workshop, it'll be our workshop.  And if we ever win the lottery (which is really unlikely since we never buy tickets), we probably still won't have man and woman caves - because we not only love each other, we like each other, and we'd be spending enough time with each other that it would be silly to have separate rooms to "play" or watch tv in.  Except when Walking Dead is on. 

Fast Food Rage

My sister coined the term, at least in our family, for the anger at the poor food/service at fast food restaurants, particularly at the drive through windows. Fast Food Rage. I have experienced it not once, not twice, but three times in the last 5 days; twice today.

Now, I understand, some fast-food workers are not well-educated, not well paid, not well motivated. I do. And I say this as someone who worked at a fast-food place. It is, in some cases, an entry-level job, a part-time job for those who are in school, or a second job. Not in all cases. And I am NOT writing this to disparage those people who choose to work at a fast-food place, either as a way to learn job skills or as a career. I am not. I am just writing this to ask them to consider those aspects of their job that they can improve on so I stop getting aggravated when they tick me off...I mean make an error.

Take last Sunday, for example. I headed to Johnstown to complete my hunter/trapper education course. I needed to eat lunch, and I didn't want to be late, so I decided to stop for fast food. Because it's fast. And, mostly, food. And fast.

So I went one of the two "Meatpatty MaleMonarch" locations that I know of on the route. I pulled up to the menu board/order box. I was greeted, placed my order, and was given the dollar total including tax. There was one vehicle ahead of me. I pulled up, waited for the other vehicle to leave the drive-up window, pulled forward, and waited. After a couple of minutes, a woman came up to the window, opened it, and asked, "Can I help you with something, Ma'am?" I looked at her kinda weird, and said, "Yes, with the order I placed." She said, "Oh." and walked away. ANOTHER woman came up to the window, and said that they were having problems with their headsets, and didn't know what I had ordered. She then asked me what I would like.

Now, what I WANTED to say was, "Really? Because you GAVE me a dollar amount due that included the TAX for the item I ORDERED." What I SAID (and, I will note, calmly) was, "What I'd like is to take my business elsewhere." And I drove away.

I then went to the OTHER "Meatpatty MaleMonarch" location in town (which was also on the way to where I was going) and ordered the same item. Because it was what I wanted. The young man gave me the SAME price as at the first location. I drove around, was greeted, GOT MY FOOD without being asked again what it was, and my change. I asked to speak to the manager, and she was promptly called over. I thanked her for her drive-thru person's attitude, told her what happened at the other MMM location, and suggested she call them and thank them for sending me to her because of their incompetence.

Today, I found myself in Johnstown again, this time to visit someone in the hospital. When I left the hospital, I decided that, since it was 1 PM, I should probably eat. So, I pulled into the drive-thru of the "Southern-State Non-Broiled Poultry" and was asked what I'd like. I said I wasn't sure yet, and the person told me to let them know when I was ready. You would THINK this would be the time to tell me you don't have something. You would think. I placed my order - for a sandwich meal with fries and a drink. To be greeted with "Um, we don't...um...have any...um fries now, it'll be about 10 minutes before we can do them. Would you like...oh, mashed potatoes?"

Yeah. I want to eat MASHED POTATOES while I'm DRIVING DOWN THE ROAD. Now, the image of my Uncle John, who was pulled over for steering with his elbows while he was eating a bowl of cereal flashed through my head (no lie, the newspaper headline read, "Snap, Crackle, and Pull Over"). But I calmly said, never mind, I'll go elsewhere. Because I had another hospital visit to do in another town, had some errands to run while in that town, and had two (count 'em, two) meetings this evening.

So, I decided to give my first MMM another shot. They were right down the road from the SSNBP, and I wanted it FAST (the first word in Fast Food)(which means it's more important than it being food). I pulled in, asked for a particular sandwich meal. I was told, "Our broiler's down. We don't got any meat now. Just chicken and fish."

Thought one: CHICKEN AND FISH ARE MEAT.
Thought two: You don't got? What happened to we don't have? We have no?
Thought three: I could have ordered chicken or fish. But I don't like the chicken or fish at MMM, only the beef. Or whatever those patties are made of.

So, I said that I would, again, take my business elsewhere.

I then went on to a Founder'sDaughter'sName location, where I ordered my favorite meal there. I was given a price. I drove up to the window. I handed my money. I was handed my food. I was handed my drink. I was handed my change. WOOHOO!!! I thanked the person at the window - I told them they were the 3rd fast food place that I had been to in 5 minutes. I told them they would no longer be my third choice. They smiled widely and wished me a good day.

And it was good.

Stories for Another Day, Part 3*: The Elephant in Our Bedroom

So, last night, neither Hal nor I slept well. We both got up around 2 am, were up for a little while, and then went back to bed. And that's when these two dreams happened. Well, actually, they happened some time later, after Hal had gotten "up" up (as in, got up to get ready to go to the office).

First: Hal and I were in our bedroom. Only it wasn't our bedroom, it was a room with twin beds, located in my Aunt Tillie & Uncle Bunnie's house, and the bedrooms were interconnected (which they were not at my aunt and uncle's, but I digress...). We had come upstairs to go to bed after finding one of our elephants had died. When we were in bed(s), our other elephant, Lucy, whose trunk was cut (like, 3/4 of the way through it about 2/3 of the way up the trunk) (but she was still swinging it), was crying. Elephant tears (as opposed to crocodile tears). Hal told her to settle down, I reached out and patted her trunk. She turned around and settled. I left the room (through a door that does not exist at either house), and walked down the hall, taking a step down, continuing down the hall, taking another step down, and going to the back door, all the while thinking this would be a great facebook post - that Lucy had turned around in our bedroom - but that no-one would believe that we had a pet elephant...

Mind you, NOT thinking that there would be no way that I would get an elephant into our house, up the stairs, and in through the bedroom door. Yeah. Just that no-one would believe we had a pet elephant. Named Lucy. That had room to turn around in our bedroom.

Back to the dream: At the back door (which was decidedly at my aunt and uncle's, including the 2nd step down in the hallway which led to the bathroom and laundry room)(and how did they raise 3 kids in a house with only one bathroom, anyway???), I looked out, and copious amounts of dirt and mud were being pushed out from under the steps through the space between the top of the porch and the drop-down board (I know there's a technical name for that but...) - so I called Hal. 'Cause he's my husband and I call him when I need something scary taken care of... And by the time he gets there, out pops this beautiful bird, mostly white, with blue on its head, tuft and down its neck. Not a bird I have ever seen. I remember thinking in the dream that it was something that belonged in a tropical setting, not in NJ or PA.

So, then, I don't know if it's part of the same dream or another, I was sitting on a couch, by a table. On the table were piled kid's plastic building blocks. Not built into anything, just piled. And they started falling onto me, the couch, and the sheet that was covering me. And Hal was there. Neither one of us knew WHY the blocks were falling on me. Until I saw IT. And could not figure out if it was a large black moth or a small...BAT...because its face looked like a bat face but the wings were rather powdery looking. I yelled for Hal to look at it, but then it went down the back of the couch UNDER THE SHEET and I tried to trap it (or at least keep it from crawling on me). I remember yelling Hal's name over and over...and over...and at some point I became aware that I was in bed, that I was not in that dream anymore, but I still could not wake up - I was yelling "Hal", "Up!", "Wake", "Help", and was hitting the blankets on top of me, trying to get his attention. I even dreamed in this part, that Hal walked into the room and ignored me because he thought I was kidding. I woke myself just as he came up the stairs to finish getting ready for work.

Now...understand that I have nightmares about every other month. And, when I try to wake myself up screaming, Hal gently reaches over, puts his arm around me, tells me it's ok, he's there, and that he loves me. So it's not like he would ignore me - I just think that in my state I must have been thinking, he'd wake me if he knew. Especially if he knew it was about a bat, because he knows how I feel about them. (FYI: They are fine if they stay outside. In my turf, they need to go.)

As for Lucy - I know that Lucy the Elephant in Margate, NJ is in my mental history. Not that I've ever been to her - I think I've been past her. But why was her trunk cut? Why was she in our bedroom (unless it's because I was gassy last night...and whenever "that" sound escapes, one or the other of us calls out "It's an elephant!")(yes, we're that old and still do fart jokes). Crying? Well, our one cat, Callie, cried for months after Wesley, the cat we adopted with her, died (poisoned Chinese cat food). I may have heard her in the middle of the night, and just made her an elephant instead of a cat. But it's the year of the dragon...

Yeah, don't try to analyze them for me...just understand, these are NORMAL dreams...and if I take a sleep aid, they are worse. So yeah, I deal with my insomnia by just not sleeping.

*Yes, I skipped parts 1 & 2; weird dreams was the 3rd mention of "Stories for Another Day"; I'll get to 1 & 2...yup, you guessed it, another day.

New Bathing Suits and Other Horrors

If you've read my blog at all, you KNOW how much I LOVE clothes shopping. Yeah. Like, I'd rather have my finger or toe nails pulled out one-by-one. Or go to a lecture on medieval personal hygiene (wait, that could be interesting). Or...well, you get the picture. I hate the prices, I hate the styles, I hate having to try clothes on.

This summer Hal and I will have been married for 10 years. Yup, 10 big ones. And while we loved camping last year, we decided that for #10 we should do it up bigger than normal. So we are going on a cruise this year. Yes, I know, that ship just went aground and a number of people lost their lives. We'll have a different captain (dear God, we'll have a different captain, right?)

I decided, for a cruise, I should probably have a bathing suit. Not one from Goodwill, like I bought last year (and put shorts on over it). But a real, new bathing suit. From a "buy new stuff here" store.

Understand, I don't swim much. I was in my Goodwill suit twice last year. Which is more than I've been in a pool in...a while. I was in my 30's when I learned how to swim. At the Y. With a very patient instructor. I was not the only newbie in the class, so I didn't feel too bad. I was told that I was odd in that I swim underwater, not on the surface. I guess that's odd. I don't know.

So...for the last month or so, I've been looking for a suit. Something befitting someone of my age and...um...size. And budget. I think I'd have better luck finding a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, a buried treasure, or the cure for the common cold.

I have found several that I like...my colors, my style...oops, out of my size. My color, my style...bottom in my size, no appropriate top (or vice versa). My color, my size...and showing more flesh than my doctor normally sees. My color, my size, my style...and costing more than my first car did.

So. Yeah. Probably not going to buy a bathing suit for the cruise. Will wear some nice flowing skirt or maybe a pair of shorts (if I don't go insane trying to find a pair that's...appropriate).

Hints from - and to...

I grew up reading "Hints from Heloise" in the local paper. The Asbury Park Press, to be exact. When my grandfather sold his house, we found a brown paper bag full of columns that my grandmother had cut out. Reading them, I often thought, 'how silly, we've always done this, why are people just finding this out?'...and then realized that we had ALWAYS done that...since Nanny read it in Heloise.

I still read the column, now written by the original Heloise's daughter, now in the Somerset Daily American. One of last week's letters was simply printed by Heloise, with no response from the columnist. The woman wrote, and I quote:

"Dear Heloise: Here is an idea I tried: My husband brought home a bottle of orange-colored hand soap. My kitchen is blue and white, with red-apple accents. My solution: A few drops of red food coloring, and I have red soap now!
Thanks for all your hints and help.
_J.K., another Texas homemaker"

Really??? I'm wondering if J.K. stands for Just Kidding - really??? Your freaking hand soap can't be orange? Because it clashes with your blue and white and red-apple accents???

Wow...glad I did not write this column, my answer would probably have been something like, "You need an appointment with your therapist to deal with your anal-retentive behavior." Heck, I'm surprised her solution wasn't to repaint the kitchen or throw out her red-apple accents and buy orange-orange accents. Or orange-tangerine...or tangerine-orange...

If you've been to my house, you know, I'm thankful if I can find the hand soap refill...be it clear, orange, blue, chartreuse. My towels don't match - they function. My bathroom - well, it finally (almost...) matches, I have a little bit of touch-up painting to do, need to mop and get the new rugs down...by the way, it's dusty pink and white, with blue accents. And I have dark green, red, and beige bath towels. And light green frogs. Because I can.

ENOUGH already!

I have a friend whose post on Facebook yesterday involved being tired of Christmas carols already. Yeah. It's not even Thanksgiving.

I remember as a child the magic that happened sometime between doing last-minute Thanksgiving meal grocery shopping on Wednesday night (you know, when the pie didn't turn out right and you had to run to the store and hope they had some kind of pie, somewhere) and "Black Friday" shopping (which, many, many years ago, started at a reasonable hour like 9 am). The stores (Britts in Freehold, in particular) turned into a Christmas wonderland, the shelves were full of toys (looking back, those shelves were probably set up in advance, because they were in a section of the store that could be closed off to customers in the days or weeks leading up), Santa's throne and SANTA were there...the day after Thanksgiving.

No Christmas carols were playing, no artificial trees (silver aluminum, anyone?!), no decorations - not even any Salvation Army bell-ringers, until then. No toy ads on tv, no Christmas movies on the Hallmark Channel (ok, there WAS no Hallmark Channel)...

There were no stores open on Thankgiving Day. It was *gasp* a day of giving thanks to God, of food, of family, of food, of football, of food (do you see a pattern???), of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade (on TV of course) followed by Laurel & Hardy's March of the Wooden Soldiers on Channel 11 out of New York, followed by King Kong, Son of Kong, and Mighty Joe Young, in succession, on Channel 9. And more food.

The big meal was at noon (or very shortly thereafter); then naps (between/during movies, of course), card games, board games, jigsaw puzzle on the card table, cutting the leftover potatoes (which there were always plenty of) to make potato salad to go with the cold turkey and ham sandwiches we'd have for supper. And the washing of the dishes (one of the few times the "good" china and the "real" silverware came out of the cupboards). And the cooking of macaroni to make macaroni salad (not pasta salad. macaroni salad. elbow macaroni.). And we'd nibble all day.

Don't get me wrong. I love Christmas carols (Destiny's Child's "I Got Your Back This Christmas" is a particular favorite...) and Christmas movies. I love buying gifts for those I love, as well as buying gifts for some that I will never meet. I love the Salvation Army, and what it does for those who are members and those that they serve. I love Santa. I love the street in Hal's hometown of South Connellsville, where like 6 or 8 of the neighbors put on a big display of EVERY CHRISTMAS LAWN ORNAMENT EVER MADE of plastic, wood, inflatable, you-name-it, and string lights across the street. I do.

But I have to agree with Lucy Van Pelt. I think Christmas is now "...run by a big eastern syndicate, you know." We go from decorating like mad for Halloween, to forgetting Thanksgiving (or making it just another day to shop), to getting so bought in (pun intended) to the commercialism that we forget what the season is about. We are so caught up with what we HAVE to buy for our kids, or the holiday (we forget HOLYday) will be RUINED for them. Peace on earth? Forget it, punk, I saw that (insert hot toy of the year here) first, and I'm going to knock you out of the way to get it for my kid!

As we near the season of Advent: breathe. slow down. learn to say no. And yeah, if you're tired of the Christmas carols and movies already - turn them off til after Thanksgiving.

Give that Man a Ham Sammich

Yeah, I know, it's already fall...

But this past Spring/Summer, Hal and I finally sat down and watched "24". All of it. We hadn't watched it when it was in its first run, for a variety of reasons. Mostly, we were in seminary when it started. Really difficult to decide to watch a show that runs the way "24" did, when you didn't know from term to term which nights you'd have classes, and frankly, studying Hebrew and Greek (not to mention theology, ethics, et al.) made it difficult to watch anything that required thought.

So, when we found "24" on Netflix, we decided to go for it. We decided to watch a season at a time, then take a short break - because after a week of action and violence I would wake up dreaming of being involved in shoot-outs. So, yeah, we'd take a break after every season. We would watch 2-3 episodes a night, a few more on Sunday afternoons. Sometimes, on our Fridays off, we'd watch as many as we could if we were near the end of the season. And yeah, we got hooked. It wasn't an either/or thing - both Hal and I liked the show.

There was one thing that bothered me. A lot. Kiefer Sutherland is quoted as having said, "There are two things that Jack Bauer never does. Show mercy and go to the bathroom." (taken from IMDB). I would add, Jack Bauer never EATS or DRINKS!!!

I really thought that Jack was going to get breakfast, or at least coffee, in Season 8; but then, as he's standing at his kitchen counter, Rene gets shot by a Russian sniper. Jack, having had nothing to eat or drink, having been shot, stabbed, beaten, maybe tased, gets shot at again, now carries Rene to the hospital, then goes out, kills a bunch of bad guys, and saves the day. Because, of course, he's Jack Bauer.

Now, I understand, we don't want episode 5 of a season to be Jack Bauer waiting to be seated at a restaurant, episode 6 of him being served drinks and waiting for his steak (well-done, he sees enough blood when he kills bad guys) and baked potato (butter, sour cream, or both?) to come, and episode 7 of him cutting and eating his steak, waiting for dessert (Chocolate cake - I don't see Jack as a creme brulee kind of guy), and paying the bill.

But once, just once, could they not have whipped through a drive-thru on way to commercial break, opened with a different scene, then cut back to Jack wiping the mustard (ketchup?) off the corner of his mouth, and saying, "Damn, that was a good burger and chocolate shake!"

Just once, could Chloe not have come to Jack in the (infirmary/holding cell) of CTU and said, "Jack - here's Dave's sandwich. From the fridge. In the break room. He was killed in (the ambush at the safe house/the ambush on the motorcade/the attack on CTU) {because you KNOW the other CTU agents were useless.} I thought you might be hungry. Because you never eat. I hope you're not Jewish. Or Muslim. Because it's ham. and cheese. together."

Of course, Kiefer, if you ever want to kill off Jack, Chloe would be the one to poison his food. Because he trusts her. And she's been above reproach. But nah, she'd never go for that...unless someone was holding Morris or their baby hostage.