Bird Feeder Carnage

Something, or someone, destroyed my bird feeder overnight.

At first I assumed the creepy deer were back again.  They raid the bird feeder a lot in the winter.  They sometimes knock it down, but it stays in one piece.  The thug squirrels take out the feeder sometimes as well, at least I assume it was the squirrels that pulled it up onto the garage roof once.  I guess it could have been desperate raccoons as well.

I went outside this morning to feed the feral kitties, and saw the bird feeder on the ground.  Again.  Assuming it was the deer, I went over to pick it up and refill it.  Annoying, but it happens.

This is what I found:

My cool lantern bird feeder has been murdered!

The bird feeder has been destroyed -- there is no saving it.  Glass is smashed all in my flower bed.  The metal frame is bent.  Even the plastic around the solar light that sat in the top was smashed.

So now I'm not sure it was really the creepy deer.  They would have to have been seriously pissed off deer to have done that much damage, and some of the glass was embedded in the ground.

I don't know which is worse, frankly: the idea that there are pissed off deer capable of thoroughly destroying a metal bird feeder scampering around the neighborhood, or the idea that some miscreant was in my back yard breaking shit for fun.

Either way, I am not amused.  

R.I.P. cool lantern bird feeder!  

What Does It Mean?

Normally I don't remember all that much about my dreams.  I might vaguely recall part of it that is totally confusing, or just a feeling.

This morning I remember the whole thing, and it was strange.  Not bad, just...odd, for lack of a better word.  It was peaceful and relaxing overall.

I was mountain climbing with the three other people -- none of whom I actually know.  This is odd for starters because, while I have gone hiking in the mountains, I have never strapped on gear and decided to literally climb a mountain.  And we were climbing in just regular t-shirts, shorts and sneakers.

I was with 3 other people, but they weren't people that I know.  There was one guy who was like my partner/friend/buddy-to-make-sure-I-didn't-kill-myself.  I don't know where he came from, as he isn't even anyone I recognize in passing, like having seen him at work or on television or anything.  Then there was a woman with short, curly blonde hair and glasses -- like groovy glasses.  I remember thinking she looked like a picture from an old yearbook.  There was another guy as well, but he didn't even have a face, that I can recall.  He was just like " random place holder guy", but he seemed to know the most about what we were doing.  Well, all of them knew more about mountain climbing than I did.

We got to the top without any problems, and sat around checking out the view for a while.  It was just bare rocks on the top -- no trees or snow or anything.  A few wild flowers were growing between the cracks in the rocks.  We could look down over a mountain range at the trees below.  It was sunny and warm.

Magically, a picnic appeared and we had lunch.  I mean full-on picnic with a blanket, basket full of food, dishes, etc.  None of us had backpacks, or had carried anything up other than ourselves and we each had a bottle of water.  No one else was up there with us.  It just appeared, and we were all like, "Oh yeah!  It's time to eat lunch now!" and just started eating and chatting like it was perfectly normal for a fancy picnic to appear out of nowhere.

After that we just hung out on top of the mountains for a while.  The picnic magically disappeared, and we were all comfy just lying on the warm stones, feeling the gentle wind blowing over us, watching birds fly overhead.  We stayed up there lounging and hanging around until someone realized it was going to be sunset soon, and we should head back down.

We were repelling down, which was trickier than climbing up -- and that's when I woke up.

My phone woke me up, and I have no idea how the dream ended.

Now, I've tried looking up dream interpretation websites.  They all seem to agree that mountains represent obstacles, and climbing it is overcoming it.  Climbing down seems to mean giving up, or depression.  None of those seem to fit with the happy feeling of the dream.

None of them say anything about climbing a mountain and having a magically-appearing picnic with three people you don't know.

So that was weird.  But I did wake up in a really good mood, feeling very optimistic today.

Garage Door Drama

My garage door has been broken for just about a year now.  I have no idea how old it is.  It may very well be older than I am.  (The former owner very nicely left a washer and dryer here when he moved out.  The dryer, which I still use because it works, is older than I am, the washing machine not far behind.  And I really mean nicely too, as I owned zero appliances or furniture when I bought the place other than some chairs and bookshelves.  But I digress.)  All I know for certain is that he had to repaint the door, as lead paint was chipping off, when I bought the house three years ago.

The door always looked a little rough.  The panels that should be flat are kind of concave.  The paint is flaky.  Who knows how many years the door has been there, guarding the contents of the garage. It has done an honorable job, as there is still legible chalk graffiti on the wall, written by a former owner, proclaiming their love for Shaun Cassidy in a big pink heart.

About a year ago, the poor door opened for the last time.  The screws holding on the bottom of the door literally rusted off, and the very bottom row of panels fell off.  Everything has gone in and out through the side door since that dark day, for fear that opening the poor old door again will cause it to totally collapse.

Poor old door, still working hard..even if a little tilted

For Christmas, my father got me a new garage door.  Awesome present!  He ordered it from Lowe's, to be installed by December 2nd.  A different company that specializes in overhead garage doors will actually be doing the installation.  I was very excited!

So the installation company calls and says they will do the installation at 8am on November 14th.  I remember it specifically because my father was going to have to come over to watch them because I had work and was bringing in a gigantic birthday cake for a coworker, so this was just inconvenient timing.

Meanwhile, Lowe's had called and set an installation appointment for Monday the 18th.  Um, okay.  As long as someone shows up with the door.

The morning of the 14th comes around.  I'm getting ready to leave for work, my father had just poured himself a cup of coffee and was waiting for the installers to arrive.  His cell phone rings.  It's the installers.  They aren't coming because Lowe's did not send them the door yet. Fantastic.  

Monday morning, repeat scenario.  This is the date that Lowe's had said the installation would take place.  I leave for work, my father is waiting at the house.  No one ever shows up.  He eventually leaves and calls Lowe's, where he has to leave a number and a message because no one can talk to him right now.

He eventually speaks to the store manager.  The manager tells him that no one from Lowe's should ever have called to set an appointment for installation to begin with, as they don't do that.  He also was able to tell that my door had not even been finished yet -- they were still building it. 

Say what?  So the door isn't finished, and no one from Lowe's should have called to make an installation appointment, even though someone totally did, and you also gave your installation company the wrong information as they obviously thought they were supposed to have had a door to install on the 14th.  I'm not feeling too warm and fuzzy about this whole process right now.

A couple days later Lowe's calls to find out how the installation went.  Are you kidding?  The door has not been installed.  You have not even built the door yet!  How can you think it was installed when it hasn't been built?

The beginning of last week, it might have been the 26th, we get a call from the installation company.  They are going to come on December 4th to install the door.  Sure, whatever.  I'll believe it when it actually happens.  Who knows, maybe Lowe's actually has built the door and will have shipped it to them this time.

This past Saturday, November 30th, my father gets a call from Lowe's.  They leave a message asking how the installation went.  Seriously?  How can your internal communications be this poor?

So there may or may not be a garage door being installed tomorrow.  Who knows?  We shall have to wait and see.

Meanwhile, last week I picked out a color and style for new siding.  I gave the contractor my choice last Monday.

They were here yesterday to start work.  They have finished the demo, and are already about halfway done putting up the insulation and siding.  In two days!  Less than a week later!  

Maybe Lowe's should talk to them about organization and communication.  

Things might get really interesting at my house tomorrow if the siding guys are here and the garage door actually arrives.  I've got one long skinny driveway and a very tiny backyard for all of them to work in.  Good luck, gentleman!

In Which Instagram's #WHP Kicks My Ass

I love Instagram.  Some might say a little too much.  I'm not one of the people taking pictures of every meal they eat, or endless "selfies".  I tend more toward trying to capture places, or events, or nature -- trees in autumn, the way a moss-covered statue sort of blends in with its surroundings, the Dead End sign directly in front of a cemetery.  You get the idea.

If you are not familiar with Instagram, every Friday they post a Weekend Hashtag Project (#WHP).  They give you a topic or idea that you are supposed to work with over the weekend, and then you post your photo or video using the hashtag they have assigned.  It is really pretty cool to see how creative and inventive people can be, how many different ways people can interpret the same prompt.    At the end they feature what they think are the best submissions.

I try to enter when I have the time to do it.  I actually did get chosen as one of the featured submissions once, when they first rolled out the video feature.  The number of people "following" me went from like 12 friends and family members to a couple hundred.  It was insane!  Also, it happened while my niece and nephew were here visiting, so I got to be "cool" in front of them.  Thanks, Instagram!  Here is the video, if you'd like to see it.


This weekend Instagram posted a project to submit a video shot in slow motion. #WHPslowmotion  Excellent!  I really want to try this.

Except I have no idea how to shoot in slow motion. Best go back and read that write-up again, as I think it gave suggestions on how to accomplish this.

Okay, so it would appear that I need to get an app, since I don't have an iPhone 5S.    They suggest SloPro.  I assume Instagram knows what they are talking about, that this is the best one to use, so I get the app.

Now the hard part: what am I going to shoot that will look cool in slow motion?  Birds!  Birds flying in slo-mo will be pretty neat.  This, as it turns out, will be the easiest part of the whole project.  I stake out the birds in my back yard, and I record them.

Footage, check!

Now to use the SloPro app.

Not going to lie, I wasted quite a bit of time on this part.  Not a lot of directions or help were included on what the hell you are supposed to be doing to edit your footage.  Eventually I figure out how to clip it down to a more usable length.  I was a little nervous that I was probably going to screw up the only usable video I had might make a mistake, and I didn't see an "undo" feature.  Also, there was a wee bit of poor planning on my part.  While recording my bird footage, I kind of spaced on the fact that it was going to take longer to watch in slow-motion.   Yeah.  Little oopsie on my part.  Turns out a minute and a half of footage is way more than you could ever possibly need for a 15 second Instagram video in slow motion.

Moving on.

After a large amount of time -- more than I will ever admit to here -- I get it down to 28 seconds of slow motion video.  Alright, feeling good!  I just want to save it to my camera roll.  I'll pick the 15 seconds to show when I post it to Instagram.   Except, as it turns out, you can't just save it to your camera roll.  You can post it to several places -- Vine, Viddy, Youtube, to name a few -- but not save it to your iPhone.  The option is there, but it is not available.

I click on it anyway.  Turns out you have to buy the app for $3.99 to be able to save to your camera roll.  Mother f@#$ing figures.  You win, SloPro, you win.  I just wasted hours of my life too much of my time on this to not be able to save the damn video.  Here's your money.  Just let me save my damn video.

Now I go to Instagram to post.  Beautiful, lovely Instagram where everything makes sense and there are no problems.  I get the video, I chose the part I want, get all the way to the preview and what the heck has happened to my video?!?!  It looked fine when I was choosing which part I wanted to use, but in preview it looks completely distorted.  I don't have the slightest idea what happened.  It looks almost like I shot it with a fish-eye lens.  I know what I am supposed to be viewing, and I am hard pressed to tell what I am looking at.  I didn't use a filter for fear of messing things up, but something has gone horribly wrong in any case.

I will spare you the gory details where I cursed out SloPro many, many times.  After repeatedly saving different versions of the video, and getting the same spectacularly screwed up results when trying to post to Instagram, I was more than a little frustrated.  I had also spent too much time on this to NOT post this freaking video.  I had it saved to my camera roll now, so maybe I just needed a different app to get it to be normal when I use it with Instagram.

As much as I was hating SloPro at the moment, they might also have helped me dodge a bullet.  Poor planning point #2:  I totally forgot about the background noise.  After watching the same slo-mo bird video over, and over, and over, I realized that the soundtrack was a scintillating composition created of equal parts of me breathing and the melodic sound of traffic on the highway in the distance.  Yes, it did warn about that in the initial Instagram post.  No comments from the peanut gallery.  No one likes a know-it-all.

Fantastic.  Time to hit up Google and find out how to add music to an Instagram video.  I cannot post this video the way it is.  One of the first results is for the app Video Star.  It's got good ratings and, best of all, it is free. I like free, especially after having to bribe SloPro to let me save my video.

So I get the Video Star app.  This looks a little more complicated than I anticipated.  However, to their credit, they have an easy to find Help section, and lots of tutorials for doing fancy things to videos.  It's really a shame that I do not care about multi-layered anything at this point.  I just want to put some music to my damn bird video and post this shit to Instagram.  Is that too much to ask?

Yes, yes it is.

I get the snippet of music I want to use with the video.  Turns out you can take it directly from the music on your phone.  Fantastic!  I thought that was going to be the hard part, that I was going to have to scour the internet for free music that wasn't going to get me sued into oblivion for using it.  What I cannot find, however, is the option to use a video that I already have on my phone.

I waste a lot more time reading through the "how to create a video" section and watching tutorials.  I don't see anything about using a video you already have on your phone.  I'm pretty sure that I could now create a video of my cat sleeping, complete with computer generated flowers blossoming around the edge of the frame, while the dulcet tones of Metallica's Enter Sandman speed her off to little kitty dreamland in the background.  What I cannot figure out how to do is use a video that I already have on my damn phone.

Back to Google we go.  I literally searched "how to import video from iphone to videostar".  My brain was shot by this point.  I just wanted this over and the video posted.  I find a review of the app, and it is there that I learn that you cannot import video that you have already taken.  Are you kidding me?  Are you freaking kidding me?  GAAHHHHH!!!!!

The same lovely review mentions that iMovie is still the best for doing fine editing, adding music, using video you already have, and probably some other stuff but I stopped reading at that point.  iMovie, you say?  I really hope that isn't something you can only get when you buy an Apple computer.  Back to the App Store we go to search for iMovie.

Success!!  Thank you Apple for having an app for that!

And it costs $4.99.

Screw it.  I'm buying it.  I do not care how much it costs at this point!  This sounds like the magical app that is going to solve all of my problems.

So I open iMovie.  I swear to God a choir of little angels should have been playing!  Thank you Apple for making it pretty damn self-explanatory and easy to use.  You can hit one freaking button and get prompts for what everything on the screen does.

Apple, I love you so much right now.  

No lie, using iMovie it took about 15 minutes to edit that video and add music.  Saved it to my camera roll, posted it to Instagram, and it all worked perfectly.  Perfectly!!  If I could reach into my phone and hug an app right now I totally would.

When I think of how long it took to do this, the wasted time and effort I spent on this stupid "fun" project, I could cry.  And the video?  Not anything spectacular.  But I did it.  I realize there are probably pre-teens out there who can knock out a much better video in a fraction of the time, probably with one hand tied behind their back and blindfolded.  I do not care!  I freaking did it!

Here is the masterpiece.  Try not to be overcome by how spectacularly boring it is.  Or to wonder how in the world it took me so long to only come up with this as the result.

 Click to view my labor of love. The bane of my existence. You know you want to. Click me!!

In summary:  Just buy iMovie and save yourself a world of trouble.

**Turns out you can make a whole slow-motion video on iMovie in seconds too -- from start to finish.  Just discovered that now.  F@#$ing figures.**

Don't Let It Snow

So right now the weather forecast for Thanksgiving, and the day before, is still up in the air.  We are supposed to get a big storm.  No one seems sure yet whether it will be a lot of rain and wind, ending with some snow, or whether it will be a ton of snow.

Personally, I never want it to be snow.  I am not a snow fan.  It is pretty once, then it is just a giant pain in the ass.  I don't like shoveling it, I hate having to scrape off the car, and I don't like driving in it.  I don't ski, so there is really nothing enjoyable about it in my book.

It really just drives me nuts that, on the local forecast page on Facebook, people are all excited and saying how much they hope we get tons of snow.

Really?  You want a ton of snow the day before Thanksgiving and into Thanksgiving itself?  Because it is pretty?

To me that reads as, "I like snow and think it would be really pretty to have lots at Thanksgiving!  Also, I don't have to travel at all so I don't give a shit about anyone else."

Why in the world would anyone wish for a major snow storm on two of the busiest travel days?  You want people to be stuck in an airport for the holiday?  That would be a less than stellar Thanksgiving.

You think it would be awesome for there to be a ton of accidents while people try to drive, or walk, to their more local destinations to be with family and friends?  I'm sure all of the paramedics and firemen who would then have to go out on the bad roads appreciate that as well -- especially if they are so busy more people have to get called in to cover.  Or maybe everyone else should just be willing to spend the holiday at home, not with their family, because the snow would be so pretty.

How about all of the highway employees who would have to be out?  Totally cool for them to be out, trying to clear the roads and keep them passable, right?  I'm sure they won't mind missing Thanksgiving with their families because you want it to snow really hard.

Or the poor people who work retail, for corporations that clearly don't give a shit about anything other than the almighty dollar?  (I'm looking at you, K-Mart.  Opening at 6am Thanksgiving morning.  WTF.)  I would be willing to bet that the majority of people who got scheduled to work that day aren't happy about it.  So you want to wish for bad weather to make it even worse to have to go to work that day?  Makes perfect sense!  Let's hope the weather is really bad, then the roads will be bad, and now these poor people can have a longer and more dangerous trip to work.  They really deserve to be punished for trying to keep the job they have!  I'm sure they wouldn't have to worry about being fired if they called in that day.  They already work for a business that cares more about getting people to come buy more shit they don't really need than about the employees spending a holiday with their families.  I'm sure the same corporate overlords would be totally understanding if someone can't make it in because of the weather.

Sorry.  This turned into a rant.  You want to wish for a shit-ton of snow?  Be my guest -- just do it on a different day.

(As a side note:  no one should be shopping on Thanksgiving.  I don't care how great the sale is, or how much you think you need the latest and greatest whatever.  You are part of the problem.  If you keep going shopping on Thanksgiving, then all the stores are going to see is that they can make $$, and then they will open even earlier the next year.  This guy summed it all up really well here.)

The Carrot of Justice

So, I just got one of the strangest phone calls I have ever received.  I'm pretty sure it was a prank on some level -- I'm just not sure if I was the one being pranked, or if someone was messing with the guy who called me.

Around 10:30 this morning I get a phone call. The guy asks for Thomas Anderson.  I tell him he has the wrong number, there is no one here by that name, and we hang up.

Whatever.  Time to get some coffee!

Five minutes later the phone rings again.  Same dude.  Still asking for Thomas Anderson.

I tell him again that he has the wrong number, that he just called a few minutes ago.  This is what ensues...

Guy:  Okay, but before you hang up, is this xxx-xxx-xxxx?

Me:  Yes, that is my phone number.  There is no one here by that name.

Guy: Really?  Huh.  Well, do you know anyone named Thomas Anderson who might have entered your phone number on a website to contact about making a donation?  (Poor guy sounds perplexed.)

Me: No.  I'm really sorry.  The only Thomas Anderson I know of is Keanu Reeves in The Matrix.  I'm sure it is a common name, but I think someone might be messing with you.

Guy:  Any chance this is a new phone number for you?  Have you gotten any other calls for a Thomas Anderson?

Me:  Nope, sorry.  I've had this number for 3 years.  I've gotten lots of debt collection calls for previous people at this number, but not for the name Thomas Anderson.  Usually they are looking for Cyan Gregory or Zeckie Grizzle.

Guy: Zeckie Grizzle?  For real?

Me: Yeah, that's what I thought too.

Guy:  So no one there pledged a donation on the Carrot of Justice website?

Me:  The what?

Guy: I'm affiliated with a charity called The Carrot of Justice.  Someone contacted us from our website, a Thomas Anderson, that they wanted to make a donation and to contact them at this phone number.

Me:  *GoogleGoogleGoogleGoogle*  I've never heard of The Carrot of Justice, and neither has Google.  I just did a search and got no results.

I love Google.  

Guy:  We're real, I promise!  We just don't waste money paying Google to put us in their top search results.

Me: That's a pretty specific name to find.  It should come up before random recipes for carrot juice.

Guy:  Well, we are a small local organization, right here in Colorado...

Me:  Wait, wait, wait.  You're calling from Colorado?

Guy:  Yes.

Me:  You know you're calling New York now, right?

Guy: I am? Huh.  That doesn't seem right. *shuffling papers*

Me: No, it doesn't. There's probably very little chance that anyone from New York has even heard of The Carrot of Justice, much less looked up your website to make a donation.  Also, it's like 10:30 in the morning here, which is what...8:30 in Colorado?  I doubt anyone really wants you calling them at 8:30 in the morning on a Sunday about a donation.

At this point I think we are pretty much done here, so I go to warm up my coffee.  

Guy: *shuffling papers*  Hello, are you still there?  I can't hear you, the lines gotten very static.

Me:  *HOW IS THIS NOT OVER YET*  Yeah, I'm still here.  Just had to get more coffee.

Guy:  Now I hear it.

Me: Now you hear what?

Guy:  That I am really calling someone in New York.  Coffee.  Sounds very different when you say it.

Me:  Okay.  Look, I don't want to waste your time.  I'm not going to give a donation to the Carrot of Justice in Colorado.  

Guy: Oh no, I totally understand!  I wouldn't give me any information over the phone either!

Me: Okay....

Guy:  I just wanted to thank you for all of your help.  You've been really nice to a guy who called the wrong number.

Me: You're welcome.  Not your fault you got bad information.

Guy:  I really appreciate that!  I'm trying to help out a friend who gave me all of these people to call, and I really don't know what I am doing.

Me:  Best of luck with that.  And you might want to wait a little longer before calling people.  Still kind of early to be calling people in Colorado about donations.

Guy:  Good point.  Thanks again!  And they say New Yorkers are all rude. Thanks for proving the stereotype wrong.  Have a good day!

Me:  You too.  Bye!

And here ends the strangest phone call I have ever gotten.  

I honestly do not know if this was a prank phone call on me, or if someone is really messing with a very oddly named charity group in Colorado. Maybe there really is a Thomas Anderson who is very confused about his phone number and messed up the area code or something  wanted to make a donation. (*Edit note: I Googled area codes.  The codes for Colorado are not remotely close to mine, so a typo is not possible.*)   In hindsight, I really wish I had thought to ask what the heck the charity was about.  

So, people of Colorado  -- if you know that this is a real group, let me know please?  And also, you're welcome.  Maybe I really did spare some of you from this guy calling you early on a Sunday morning.

And Thomas Anderson, apparently from somewhere in Colorado, if you really exist -- stop giving out my damn phone number!  

Lucky Number 13

This flag will be coming down immediately.  People are taking it too literally.

I was lucky enough to have the day off today.  My big plans were to sit and relax with my coffee this morning, then go out shopping with my mother later.  Nothing fancy -- she needs decorations for the Moose Lodge, I need to track down candy to try to make candy sushi later this week for a cake.    I call my mother, we make plans, she'll drive and pick me up.  Stores are probably going to be crazy.

Around 11:45 I'm checking out Facebook, drinking coffee.  House is quiet, it's sunny so the lights aren't on. The cats are sleeping or watching the birds -- it's peaceful.

*Ding Dong*

I'm not expecting anyone other than my mother, and it is too early for her to be here.  I can see my front door from where I am on the laptop, and I see the silhouette of a woman in a coat and fancy hat at the door.  My mind immediately screams "Jehovahs!", as they are always nicely dressed when they show up.

Hell no, I'm not opening that door!

I freeze.  No movement will take place.  I shall play possum and hope she goes away.

*knock knock knock*

I duck behind the screen of the laptop, thankful that I wasn't listening to music or playing a game or on any kind of website that makes noise.

*swishhhh*

And something slides under the door, and I see her leave.

Not moving yet, and definitely not opening the door.  She could be lying in wait out there, like a ninja ready to silently pop out and get me.

10 minutes go by....

I creep into my bedroom to look out the window.  They are still there.  Their car is parked directly in front of my house.  Damn!

Grab the phone and creep to the back of my house, just to be sure they don't hear me and realize I am home.  I call my mother:

"Houston, we have a problem.  Jehovahs are encamped in front of my house.  Please delay leave time by at least 15 minutes.  We'll see if this obstacle removes itself."

Eventually their car leaves, about 10 minutes later.

I sneak out onto the front porch -- no sign of them or the car anywhere on the street.  I decide it is probably safe to bring the garbage and recycling cans back up from the street.  I grab the recycling can and make a break for the garage in the back.

No problems, and still no sign of them.  Lulled into a false sense of security, I wander back to the front to grab the garbage can.  Halfway back up the driveway I hear:  "Hello!  Hello Dear!"

I turn around and there it is, the car full of four ladies -- the ladies I have been avoiding.  It's stopped at the bottom of my driveway.  Shit.

I pause to assess the situation, and the driver says something, but I can't really hear it.  All I can make out is the word "library".  Oh fuck me, my cover is now blown.  So I head toward the car and tell them I didn't hear what they said.

Driver:  I said, you work at the library don't you?
Me: Yes I do.
Driver:  I thought I recognized you!
Me: *from the back, walking up my driveway?!  Creepy!*  Yup, you were right!
Driver:  Tell me, did you get the pamphlet that this lady left under your door?
Me: Yes I did.
Driver: Tell me, have you gotten one of these already?  Have other people been through here recently with this pamphlet?

Look familiar, folks?  

This would be the point where I mentally begin kicking myself, as apparently even when I am not at work I can't help but be a helpful source of information to people.  Also, I'm thinking at least one of my neighbors must be less than amused at the constant visits and told one of the ladies that they already had this material.  Probably in a nicer way than I would have.

Me:  Yes, actually.  I got one of those left under my door last week, I believe.
Driver:  Last week?
Me:  Day after Halloween.  I didn't see anyone, but I found it on my porch and it wasn't there the day before.
Driver: Huh.  Someone must have been here already.

And at that point I think I am off the hook.  I'd like to think there is some level of coordination that must have gone wrong, and someone didn't report back that they had tried to save my street already.

I start to back away, and the older lady in the passenger seat chirps up..

Lady: What are those symbols you are wearing on your neck, dear?
Me: *WTF.  Are we not done here?*  My necklaces?
Lady:  Yes, that top one in particular.

These would be the "symbols" being discussed.

Me:  It's a crow.  See?  *And now I have to move back up to the car, and turn it sideways so she can see it is a crow's head.*

Lady:  Oh.  I didn't realize that.  And what's that other one, a turtle?

Me: Yes, it's a turtle.  I like crows and turtles.

Lady:  Oh.  They're...nice.

Me: Thanks! *smile*

Lady: Well, we have to be going now.

Me: Have a nice day!

And as they pulled away I swear I heard her say something about my "symbols" meaning something.

So now I have probably offered proof that I am the Spawn of Satan, and my "symbols" are probably a sign that I am in a cult, or a witch, or the like.  Awesome.  I'm sure that won't make them come back even more to try saving me. Added bonus that it can now be awkward as hell when the patron comes to the library and we both try not to acknowledge her little visit to my house.

And that, friends, is the story of my thirteenth visit by the Jehovah's Witnesses in three years.  

You Think My Blog Is Sexy?

(AKA  Never Look Too Closely at the Info Blogger Provides in the Stats)

WARNING:  DO NOT READ THIS AT WORK, OR WITH SMALL, IMPRESSIONABLE CHILDREN LOOKING OVER YOUR SHOULDER,  OR IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY BAD LANGUAGE, OR DISCUSSIONS OF SEX AND THE INTERNET.  YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  IF THAT BOTHERS YOU, I ADVISE YOU STOP READING NOW AND GO ELSEWHERE.

When you have a blog on Blogger, like this one, you can get all kinds of cool stats -- things that I would not have the slightest idea how to compile on my own.  

Normally I just look at how many views each post gets.  I still get very excited  that people are actually reading this thing.  I’ve only ever gotten two comments left on my blog, one of which is complete spammy garbage, but I leave it up as it is one of my two precious comments.  The little things amuse and excite me.

When looking at the stats recently, I decided to click on the “Traffic Sources” for my blog.  Never, ever do this unless you are prepared to be amazed and/or horrified by the results!  It will show you the Top Referring URLs, Top Referring Sites, and the Top Search Keywords that brought people to your blog.  It also tells you how many times each of them were used.  Pretty cool.

Facebook and it’s mobile version being #1 for Referring URL and site was no surprise.  I post a link to the blog on Facebook when  I write something new.  I want people to be able to click on it and read my ramblings.  So hurrah for that seeming to work!

Then it got strange.

One of the Top Referring Sites I had never heard of before.  I’m not going to list it here -- you do NOT need the surprise I got when I clicked on the link.  I, naively, judged it on it’s URL and thought it was going to be a website like www.meetup.com -- a legit page that people use for book clubs, writing workshops, coffee groups, etc.  The URL had a similar name.  I thought maybe it was for blogging, that’s why so many people had been referred from the site.  Makes sense, right?

Wrong!

I clicked on the link and was greeted by a big picture of a naked woman with “FREE SEX” written above her head.  OMGWTF!?!

I closed that shit down immediately, no lie.

Then I kind of freaked out and texted someone who actually reads my blog and is internet-savvy to tell him of my discovery.  Because OMG Why?  How? What?

I went to take another look at the stats, thinking maybe some kind of pop-up had hijacked my browser. That is when I noticed the top entry for search terms that had brought people to my blog.

“My husband in bathroom fuck me q…”

Fuck me what? Quickly?  Quietly?  Are you in the bathroom with your husband?  Is your husband in the bathroom and you are hiding somewhere else with another man (or woman)?

I have no idea.  That’s where the keyword search trails off.  4 times that keyword search has brought people to my blog! 4! More people have found my blog searching that particular phrase than have by actually typing in the web address.  I kid you not -- I’ve seen the numbers.

I really can’t understand how or why.  That particular phrase has never been used anywhere on my blog (well, until just now).  I may drop the f-bomb on occasion.  I have written about my bathroom twice: once with a middle-of-the-night toilet repair, and once when I thought my mouthwash might be eating my sink and creating a sinkhole.  I also have never written about the husband that I do not have.  I’m still confused as to how my blog got associated with that phrase.  I’m chalking it up to the marvels of the internet.

I would like to apologize to what I can only imagine are a lot of very disappointed people.  

I’m so sorry.

You got pointed here thinking you were going to find some free sex or erotic stories or the like.  You got my blog instead.  I write about creepy deer, a certain religious group’s unending campaign to try to convert me, people dumpster diving like it is a new sport, and random weirdness that only seems to happen to me (like being accused of stealing my own identity while trying to buy cough syrup).

My apologies.  From the number of hits there are many people who are disappointed out there….

Or else you found my blog by accident the first time, you actually like it, and keep coming back?  I like to think my blog is smart and amusing -- those are sexy qualities in a person.  Maybe, a la Justin Timberlake, my blog is bringing sexy back?

Probably not.

**It has been pointed out to me that this particular post might actually end up getting me more traffic from the websites mentioned above.  I guess we shall see what the stats have to say!

In Which I Apparently Still Need to Be Saved

Let me start by wishing you all a belated Happy Halloween, friends!  Hope you had a good time!

As you may recall, I seem to have gotten myself on the "Must Visit List" of a particular religious group.  If you need a little refresher, you can read about my prior encounter here.  

Halloween is my absolute favorite holiday, hands down.  I decorate inside out and outside.  I buy the good candy -- no raisins or healthy treats here!

Now, my special little street is kind of tucked away, and no one really knows we are here.  Usually my trick-or-treaters are limited to my friends bringing their kids over.   I think a picture will best show you the scenario I am describing.

See the house on the left?  That's my house.  Like a Halloween beacon shining in the night.  On the right? That's the rest of my freaking street.  Not a light on in a single house!  Only the streetlight and the lights from the area down the hill.  I live in Party-Pooper Central.  I still got 3 intrepid kids though -- kids I did not know!  Very exciting for me!

What's a gal to do when she loves Halloween but never really gets any trick-or-treaters?  Throw a party, of course!

So last night I threw a little Halloween soiree.  I had all of my decorations out and lit up.  Good friends and fun times!  Everyone had a good time!  (Well, I'm assuming.  I haven't heard otherwise.)

Turned off the lights and went to bed around 2am, after a little bit of clean-up.  Nothing crazy.  We weren't obnoxiously loud, no one called the cops on us.    The important thing here is the time frame, folks.

I get up about 9am, turn on the coffee, and go outside to check that all of my pumpkins are still there.  (There's a story for that, but I'll save that for another time.)  They are still there, in all of there pumpkin glory...and I find a little something else tucked in my front door:

Join us!  Join us!!!!!!!

Are you kidding me?  Are you you freaking kidding me?!

In the seven, seven, hours since I went to bed the Jehovah's have been back again trying to save me! Apparently my status as the Spawn of Satan still holds with them, and they must now think I am trying to bring my friends over to The Dark Side as well.  

I've been told they are out in full force today, as a friend saw a group moving through her neighborhood early this morning.  

I'm not convinced this was a normal proselytizing mission though.  For starters, they didn't even ring the doorbell.  Maybe it was the same two guys I had words with last time and they decided not to chat this go-round.  I suppose they could have been scared of my decorations and didn't dare to see who lived inside. Due to the stealthiness of it all, I think it might have been my neighbor.  She might have pulled a covert op after last night's party.

Can't a gal just have a party without it being a sign that she is damned and dragging her friends along for the ride?

Let me leave you with this little piece of internet awesome:

In Which Buying Cough Syrup Made My Day

I have a little cough.  Nothing terrible, just annoying, and I don't want it to get worse.  It's almost Halloween which is my favorite holiday, I'm on vacation, and I refuse to get sick!  Not happening.

So I popped out to a quick-mart place to get some cough syrup and ginger ale.   I'm not going to name the place or the guy who helped me as he was just doing his job.  I don't want to get anyone in trouble.

Should be a simple and easy transaction, right?  Nope.

He asks for proof of ID to buy the cough syrup.  WTF.  Seriously?  He said it was a new law.  When did this start? Apparently it has been around for a while, and I just don't buy cough syrup often enough to have known about it.

I give the guy my license.  Seems strange to me, but I want my cough syrup and I'm not going to hassle a guy for doing his job.

He looks at my license, looks at me, looks at my license again.  And then...

Guy:  No, no, no!  I do not want this ID.  I want your ID.  You are the one buying the medicine.

Me: I know.  That is my ID.  I just drove here, that's my car, and that's my driver's license.

Guy: No.  This ID is wrong.  This must be your older sister or your Mom.  I need ID for you.  You have to be at least 18 for medicine.

I laugh, thinking he's just being a funny guy and making jokes since it seems slow.  He's an older guy, maybe he's just bored and feeling a little silly today.  Maybe he just flirts with all the ladies that come in.

Guy:  This isn't funny.  I need your ID.

Me: *In my head I was like, "Say what?  OMG he is being serious!"*  Um, that is my ID.  I don't know what else I can show you to prove it.  Credit card?

Guy: No.  No credit card.  I need proof this is you.  You don't look old enough to buy beer, certainly this is not your ID.

Me: Well, then can I just get the ginger ale and have my license back please?

Guy: I don't know.  You might use the fake ID somewhere else.

Me: It. Is. Not. A. Fake. ID.  Give me back my license!

Guy:  Prove it is yours, and I will give you the license and your medicine.  If not, I will call the cops.

WTF!!!!

People, it is a good thing that I rarely clean out my purse, and I have not gone through my wallet in, as it turns out, forever.

I start whipping things out on the counter to try to prove my ID.

Pay stub.  He says it might not be mine.
Credit card. Nope.
Checkbook.  Might not be mine.

What the heck dude, do you think I mugged someone to come buy cough syrup?

Old ID card from Brockport that I still, somehow, had in my wallet.  This gives him pause.

Library staff ID.

Guy: Oh, you work at the library!  This is a good place!  Here, here, take your things!  I will give you all of your things and the medicine!  *smiling*

Me:  Thanks?  *And I paid him, before he changed his mind*

Guy: You're welcome, you're welcome!  (He's acting like we are best buddies at this point.)

Me:  We're cool?  It's okay if I leave?

Guy:  Oh yes, yes.  But you should know, that is a very bad picture of you on the ID.  Makes you look old.  You look like a kid in person.

Me:  Thank you!  Honestly, that is the nicest thing I have heard all day.  You have a very nice day, Sir!  (And I meant it.)

Guy:  You too, my friend!

In short:
--got harassed
--almost had to talk to the cops about stealing my own identity?
--the library is a magical place
--got my cough syrup and ginger ale
--apparently made a new best friend

And also decided there is no way in the world I am ever going there to buy alcohol.  If it took that much to convince him I am old enough for cough syrup I would probably have to leave a blood sample for anything else.

The Chronology of a Monday

I don't know about you, but lately my Mondays seem to really stink.  Anything and everything that could go wrong always seems to happen on a Monday.  Maybe it's just me.  Maybe you have awesome Mondays and think they are the best day of the week.

Today was not a good day.  Everyone thinks that when you work in a library it must be such a nice, quiet place where nothing ever happens and you sit and read books all day long.  That is certainly not the reality of the library I work in, or any other public library I have visited.  

So why don't we all discuss how crap-tastic our Monday was?  I'll go first.  It can be like group therapy or something.  (I have no idea if it will be like group therapy, having never been to group therapy, but people venting their frustrations should be a good thing, right?)  And hey -- if you managed to have a fantastic Monday, feel free to share that, too!  It would be nice to know that someone had a good day.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

1) Immediately upon opening the doors at work this morning the first problem was presented.  Literally less than a minute after opening, the very first patron  through the door tells us that the police had just been in the parking lot, asking if anyone had heard  gun shots.  They said no, and the patrol car took off.  This is worrisome because:

     a) There could be a gun-toting loony shooting outside.

     b) Should we even be open, giving them a very public place to hide and/or several targets in one place?

     c) I don't live that far from work.  My neighborhood is already a hot mess.  I do not need to worry about being shot.  I am rather fond of being free of bullet holes, and I would very much like to stay that way.

2) Next patron tells us that there is a tornado watch until 5pm.  WTF.  We haven't even been open for 10 minutes yet.  Could we possibly slow down the cheerful tidings a bit?

3) Coworker finds this thing in the staff area.  We have had enough weird-ass bug problems that we literally have a bug jar to trap them in.  This thing was too big to even fit in the bug jar.  I'm thinking it is the biggest black cricket I have ever seen -- like the original, primordial cricket.  I took it outside and released it back into nature.  Whatever it is, I do not want it pissed at me.

So hoping it is really a cricket

4) Patron returns a bunch of wet books and dvds, covered with what can only be described as clear slime.  She says she doesn't know how they got like that.  I point out to her that her entire bag is soaking wet and covered in goo.  She says, "Yeah.  Sorry," and throws the goo-bag back into her baby stroller with the baby and leaves.  Now I get to deal with a bunch of goo-covered items, and the desk has a puddle of slime.  Awesome.

5)  The computers start acting up, being more temperamental than usual.  I watch mine do a slow crash, as everything on the screen very slowly disappears from top to bottom to reveal a completely blank desktop.  A coworker whom had just been logged in is now being told her password is incorrect.  Multiple tries before it will successfully let her back in.  The rate this day is going, I think the computers might be becoming self-aware.  It will not surprise me if Agent Smith or a Terminator walks through the door.

6) Sanity break for lunch, wherein I flee the building and keep telling myself, "The day is almost over.  The day is almost over.  Just a few more hours."

7) Within 15 minutes of returning from lunch I am confronted by an older gentleman who has decided that it is a perfectly good idea to partially disrobe and adjust his clothing in the middle of the library, right in front of the book return.  Seriously?  There is a men's room not more than 50 feet from where you are standing. But no, of course it is a much better idea to handle your business in the middle of the floor, with all kinds of patrons and children around.   I mean he had his belt undone, pants unzipped and was adjusting himself and tucking his shirt back in.   W.T.F.  I'll just put that in the Things I Never Wanted to See category, and try to erase the memory of your boxers from my brain.  I may need a drink later.

8) It decides to rain.  Hard.  Like get really black outside and rain so hard the parking lot looks like a lake for a little bit.  Soaking wet patrons, soaking wet items being returned, and the entire library starts to smell like a giant wet dog.  Imagine what a fun place that is to be.

9) On top of all of this, our security company was in doing work on our system for the majority of the day.  We had no idea they were coming.  They tried to stay out of the way, and actually did a pretty good job.  I really didn't mind their presence at all until pieces of ceiling tile rained down upon my head while I was at the circulation desk.  The only place in the entire building where the ceiling tile crumbles and pieces fall, and it is over my head?  I have obviously done something to piss off a higher power.  

10) Just when I think I am nearing my escape, I get to stay at work for an extra hour.  I can only blame myself for this one.  Due to a scheduling problem they had to shift staff around, and I did kind of volunteer my staying as a solution to cover a hole in the schedule.  Obviously, I am a glutton for punishment.  Or crazy.  Maybe both.  I had hit that point where you think to yourself, "Screw it.  What else can possibly happen?"  Definitely time to make more coffee.

I eventually made my escape, without further incidents.  I got home, thinking I had reached a blissfully peaceful place.  I should have known the day was not done with me yet.

11) Cat drama.  One of the neighborhood feral cats whom I call Mama, as she had kittens last year, came to pay a visit this evening.  Normally this is not a problem.  She hangs out in the backyard all of the time, eyeballing the bird feeder, or just sleeping in the shade.  I leave water out for her in the summer when it is super hot, or when it hasn't rained in a long time.  My two cats could not be less interested in her.  Jazz-kitty in particular has watched her countless times from the window, never once puffing up or making a peep.  Usually she acts more like she wants to make a new friend.  

Jazz-kitty being awesome

Tonight, apparently, a line was crossed.  As I am typing this, relaxing and being grateful that the day is over, I hear this weird little mewling/growling noise.  Wiz is passed out asleep by my feet.  Now I'm thinking Jazz-kitty has managed to get stuck somewhere, or hurt herself.  Nope.  I find her on the back porch, puffed up, making weird little noises and backing away from the screen door.  There on the other side of the door, standing on her back feet, front paws and her little nose pressed against the screen, is Mama Cat peeking into the house.  Jazz flees the scene as soon as I get to the back porch.  She has never met another cat (beside Wiz) and has zero clue what to do.  She obviously will not be a great defender if I need her.  Mama Cat goes down the back stairs, sits in the driveway, and just stares at the house.  

Well, shit.  

I can't let her in.  I don't think she has ever been to the vet, so she could have who knows what wrong with her that I don't want my cats to get.  She can't be thirsty, as the rain very nicely filled up the bowl I had left outside for her.  She doesn't appear to be hurt.  So I give her a bowl of dry food, and she goes to town munching away.  Poor thing!  Who knows how long it has been since she last ate.  

Jazz-kitty reappears, apparently realizing that her food had been given away to an interloper.  I expect her to start spazzing out again, getting all defensive.  Nope. She just jumps up in the window, lays down, and watches Mama Cat eating in the driveway.  She doesn't puff up, doesn't make a peep.  So apparently everybody is cool as long as Mama Cat doesn't come near the door to the house.  

Hopefully this is the end of my excitement for they day.  I know it isn't really, as Jazz-kitty will now be running from window to window for the rest of the night, investigating any shadow or sound outside.  If that is all the drama that is left for today, I will be happy.

So how was your Monday?

I Think We Understand Each Other Now

Dear Missionary/Proselytizing People,

Coming to my house and banging on the door repeatedly for 5-10 minutes at 9:30 in the morning on a Saturday is not a good idea.  It's not a good idea ever, to be fair, but particularly on a Saturday morning.

Anyone who actually knows me will tell you that it is never a good idea to try contacting me before 11 am on a Saturday morning -- I'm either already gone to work, or it is probably my one day off that week and I would like to sleep in a bit.

The vigor and duration of your knocking this morning woke me up.  Why you didn't try ringing the doorbell is beyond me, so I assumed it must be a panicked person who had overlooked it.   The thoughts going through my head as I grappled blindly on the nightstand for my glasses were:

--There must be some sort of emergency!  Maybe a neighbor is trying to get my attention because my house is on fire, or my car has been stolen.
--Maybe someone else's house is on fire, or they need the phone to call 911 from a car accident
--What if it is my parents and something happened and one of them is in the hospital?

Notice that none of those possibilities were happy thoughts because no one who knows me would be knocking on my door at 9:30 unless something awful happened!  That is the kind of thing that wakes you up and immediately puts on on alert.  You don't get to wake up and stretch, kind of lazily wander on out to make coffee.  Your heart starts racing, and you brace yourself to deal with whatever shit-storm is about to come your way.

I rushed to the door to see what was going on; glasses askew, bed head in full effect, still rocking my pajamas.  I passed my two cats, who were freaking out and running in the opposite direction, away from the Stranger Danger at the front door.

Imagine my surprise when I open the front door to find two guys in suits, their gold minivan parked in front of my house.  Their little name tags made it clear they were not police detectives, but from a church.

I bet at that moment you knew it was not a good idea to have been so zealous in getting someone to come to the door.  That fleeting look of "Mistake!" crossed one of your faces.  Did it stop you from starting your rehearsed spiel?  Of course not.

And don't say it isn't a rehearsed speech.  Spare me.  I don't know what I have done to convince your church that I am the Spawn of Satan, but my house seems to be on a list of "must-see stops" on your little missionary quests.  I have previously spoken to your people 3 times and told them that I am not at all interested.  I have found your pamphlets stuck under my door, or in my mailbox (which is illegal, just so you know), or under the handle of my front porch door on 8 different occasions.  That is 11 visits in the 3 years since I bought this house.  I don't think your representatives have come to my parents' house that many times in 30 years!

One of the latest pamphlets.  It had been pushed under my front door with such force that it went under my throw rug.  I found it last night when I was vacuuming.

I tried to be polite at first.  I really did.  I said Good Morning.  I let you you make your warm-up small talk.  (On a previous visit one lady asked if my parents were home.  I assured her they probably were, at their own house, but that I owned this one.)  No, I did not invite you in off of the front porch.  I did let you make your invitation to come to church and check it out.  I declined and said I wasn't interested.  

 If you had just accepted my answer and stopped at that point we would probably have been much better off.  You couldn't just let it go though, could you?    

You started the hard sell. You seemed to want a theological debate with a woman in her pajamas that you had clearly just woken up, as apparently telling you I was raised Roman Catholic was not a good answer.  Even your coworker (co-missionary?  proselytizing partner? church companion?  god-squad friend?) seemed uncomfortable.

And that would be when I ran out of "Nice".  I work with the public all day, every day.  I have to be "nice" to a lot of people when they are being total assholes.  My reserves of "nice" are pretty low when you wake me up, don't take a polite no for an answer, and then want to debate.

I didn't even get into the religious debate with you.  I've seen my father try that and get stuck in a half-hour conversation.

No.  Nice had gone bye-bye.

I made it very clear that you had woken me up.  That I did not, in any way, appreciate you pounding on my front door, startling me and scaring the bejesus out of my cats.  That I had, in fact, worked the last 11 days straight and this was my one day off -- my one day to sleep in, relax and drink my coffee at my leisure, get my housework done -- before I had to work another 7 days in a row.  

And then I asked you never to darken my doorstep again.  I informed you that repeatedly leaving unsolicited pamphlets, and repeatedly bothering me at home, was not going to make me want to attend your church.  It was, in fact, having the exact opposite affect.

Do I think it will make a difference?  Not at all.  

Maybe those two particular guys will not come back.  Probably they took this as a sign that I really am the Spawn of Satan, and they will redouble their efforts to save me.

Is there a "Do Not Call" list for missionaries?

File Under: Why Me?

So I'm leaving work on my dinner break this evening, and I held the door for the patron behind me.  Mistake!

It is one of our regular patrons who has been coming in for years.  I don't think anything of it until he links arms with me.

Um, okay.  He's a bit older than me -- like 30 years.  I thought maybe he was having trouble walking, lost his balance, something like that.  But he doesn't let go of my arm once we get outside.

This is the conversation that follows:

Patron: What is that delicious smell?  Is that your perfume?

Me: *looks around, sees no one else in the vicinity*   Yes, I guess it is.

Patron:  I like it.  You smell really good.

Me: Thank you.

Patron:  It's different, kind of mysterious.

Me: Thanks.

Patron: Are you married?

*Now, in my head I start worrying a little bit.  We are drifting in to territory I do not want to cover with this man.  At the same time, I don't want to lie. *

Me: Nope.

We pause as I, thankfully, was parked on the opposite side of the parking lot.

Patron:  Okay, that's good to know.  Well, have a nice evening.

Me: You too.

What.  The. Hell.

None of the patrons who have asked me out at work are anyone I would consider dating.  Let us recount:

-- The dude who learned my schedule, wrote bad love poetry on the internet, was in and out of rehab, and tried to sell his belongings to a coworker.

--Another guy who was older than me, although probably the most normal of the group.  He really likes his Sci-Fi movies.

-- A teenager, and after I said no he wanted me to buy him beer.

-- The guy who needed help writing his resume, had a high school diploma, and was living in his car.

Those are the standouts in my memory.

T.G.I.F.

Santa and His What Now?

First, the briefest back-story  possible....

When I was little, my parents took my brother and I on a trip to The North Pole.  My Uncle John,  Aunt Robin, and my cousins went as well.  When we went to visit Santa he was on a break, and we got to see Mrs. Claus.

Apparently my dear brother was not going to tolerate that.  Later on in the day, he decided to go back and see Santa by himself, without telling anyone.  Not good when you are just a little guy.  We found him, eventually, hanging out with Santa, but not before my Aunt had started checking all of the ponds and water features, sure that he had fallen into one of them and drowned.

The point of this awesome story -- there is an amusement park in New York state for kids that is called The North Pole.  I even included the link above for your enjoyment.

Got it?  Good.  Keep that in mind as you read on.

My niece and nephew are here staying for a few weeks.  Here is a guide to the people involved in tonight's conversation:

L: My niece.  She is 10.
A: My nephew.  He is 5.
Mom:  My mother.  She would kill me if I listed her age.
Me:  That would be me.  And old enough.

This is the conversation that took place in the car earlier this evening.

A: I've never seen snow.
L: I have!
Mom: We know.
Me: Austin that's why you should tell your Daddy that you want to come visit in the winter!
L: For my birthday!!!!!
Me: I tried mailing you a can of snow for Christmas.  Did it work?
L: Sort of, but it didn't really feel like snow.

Kids are chatting in the back of the car...

Me: Maybe we should take him to The North Pole.  They had that cool ice pole thing that was there all year round!
Mom:  Did they have snow?  I don't remember.
Me: I remember Aunt Robin thought Brian had drowned somewhere.

A: I've been to the North Pole!
L: No you haven't!
A: Uh-huh!  I was there, and I saw Santa, and I was throwing snowballs at him and his midget clowns and...
Me:  Wait wait wait...what?  His midget clowns?!
A:  Yeah.  His midget clowns.
Me: You mean his elves?
A: Yeah -- his midget clowns.  The guys in the funny suits.  They hate children.

At this point I kind of checked out on the conversation.  I was laughing so hard about the "midget clowns" instead of elves that I never did hear why he thought that they hated children.

Rich People Problems (a Vassar Story)

*Based on a tiny sampling -- one family, really -- who happened to be sitting near me in the diner.

So I'm in the diner, eating a late lunch with my mother.  It was pretty busy, but nothing out of the norm.  This family comes in, and they get seated at the table right next to our booth.  First it is just 2 ladies, and someone who is one of their daughters. They are looking at the menu, getting settled in, and there was some big hubbub about looking at cakes.  Whatever.  Wasn't really paying attention to them at this point.

Now the Dad comes in.  He apparently has been on the phone with the daughter who is graduating from Vassar this weekend.  She is all upset.  Something about having forgotten Monday was a holiday, and she didn't plan things out right, and now she doesn't know what to do but she is afraid they will be mad at her because her mom is such a phenomenal planner, etc. etc.  Kerfuffle with the waiter about ordering the lunch specials, but can they get the sandwiches and just split the fries between them to be more healthy, blah, blah, blah.  (Waiter dude, I hope they leave you an enormous tip, because this table already seems like it is going to be high maintenance.)

So the family at the table discusses the poor planning problem for a bit, and they decide that the universe will work things out.  There is still room on their flight back to L.A. on Monday.  She can come with them, and she will have to pay for half of her ticket.

Now the daughter who is at the table gets up and says she will go do something.  I couldn't really hear her.  About a minute later she comes back with the chick who is graduating and freaking out over the phone to her father before.  WTF?!  She was outside this entire time?

But wait!  There's more!

So apparently she woke up this morning freaking out because she is graduating, and she will probably never see some of her friends again, and they had all packed up their bags and were loading their cars because they are driving home and live on the East coast, and she didn't know what to do.  Then, she had assumed they were all going to "like spend a week together at the Jersey Shore or at The Cape or somewhere", but all of her friends had decided to just go home after graduation, so her plans "totally fell through."  Then, she forgot that Monday was a holiday, so her assistant won't be there to help her get her belongings out.  (I have no idea what she means about having an assistant.  She's a freaking undergrad student.  Does Vassar give undergrads an assistant?  I assume she means RA in the dorms.)  Also, her friend from Idaho, "had totally packed most of her stuff up in her car and shipped it back home already.  Now she just has a little to take on the plane.  I didn't think to do that."  

Wait...what?

You have a car.  Why in the hell would your friend pack her car full of stuff and pay to have it shipped back to Idaho?  How the hell much stuff can she possibly have accumulated?  One of the beauty parts of having a car is that you can pack it full of shit and drive it to where you want to go.  This must be a rich person thing. I cannot even fathom why the hell you would ship a car home from college instead of driving it.

**At this point an Uncle arrives for lunch, complete with luggage.  He has just taken the train up from New York City.  "Business Class, of course.  Anything else is like being in one of those dirty trains in Calcutta where they pack you in like cattle."  Oh, and apparently the Book of Mormon is "pretty good", but he had some criticisms about the staging of that as well.  But the train ride up here is so beautiful, one of the best in the country.**

Moving on.  Our girl apparently has an apartment lined up in New York City, through a friend's family, but she can't move in until the beginning of June.  Ah ha!  Now I see where the poor planning is coming in!

The solution this family comes up with?  She will pack up her stuff, ship it home to L.A.  She will fly home with them on Monday and stay for a week.  They will worry about packing her stuff up and shipping back to New York after they get home.

For a week, people?  Seriously?  You must have more money than brains, the lot of you.  Do you have any idea how much it is going to cost to ship all of her crap to L.A., only to turn around and send it back a week later?  Why not pay to store it here somewhere?  Vassar will probably store it -- I know they let students rent rooms during the summer.  This makes absolutely no sense.

So the plan is apparently that she will be moving into an apartment on Park Avenue near 70th.  Her uncle asks if it is the size of the table. Hahaha.  Her mother is horrified and asks if it has at least 2 bedrooms.  Are you kidding me?  That's a pretty sweet deal to go directly from college to having your first apartment on Park Avenue.  Our girl informs her mother that it has a door man, "you know, like all buildings do."  Say what?

So now she is all about how great it is going to be, and she'll be the only one there for the summer before her friends move in later, and it will be great.  This is the chick who earlier in the meal, forget the rest of the day even, admitted to freaking out because her friends were leaving, and she was worried about flying home by herself or sitting next to a stranger on the plane.  I'm sure you'll be fucking fantastic living on your own in NYC.  Bonne chance!

Now here is the best part.  She is graduating with a major in art history.  Guess what job she has lined up to work at this summer?  You're never going to guess!  Bar back.  I almost guarantee she has no idea what the job entails.  I hope it is a really busy bar, or she better be getting one hell of a "friend of the family" discount on the rent for a place on Park Ave, especially when you are the only one living there to pay the bills all summer!

Next was a story from the uncle.  Apparently someone they all know, not sure if it is another relative or what, just bought a 2014 Porshe Cayman S.  Yes, it was because of the fender-bender in the M3, so had to get rid of that.  Kept the Range Rover though, so this is just the weekend car.

Conversation moved on to discussing graduation tomorrow.  Apparently they will be going to dinner later in Rhinebeck, "You know, the area where Chelsea Clinton got married."  Yeah.  They will be eating at The Beekman Arms because she wants "a really good steak."  Not to slam the Beekman Arms, but wouldn't be my first choice.  Did you check Yelp even?  I just Googled it, and they came up 7th of the restaurants in Rhinebeck.  This was followed up by a story about this epic party she was at last night, and there were so many people there that the floor broke. Also also?  "Bill Clinton is supposed to be coming to the area to speak somewhere next week.  It's too bad we have to fly home on Monday.  Maybe we could have gone and listened to him."

Then we had to hear stories about how you can ask any of her housemates, she is always the one that cleans the floor.  She doesn't like to do her dishes, but she always cleans the floor.  They have a mop and everything.  Hold up, right there.  I cannot even picture you mopping a floor.  Also, if you live in a house, presumably off campus then, who the hell is this assistant that was being discussed earlier on?  

And right before we finally left, the hubbub about the cakes was cleared up.  Apparently they needed to know what the cakes looked like because they were ordering two cakes for her graduation!  From the Dutchess Diner!  No disrespect to the diner by any means, but what the hell people?!  Not for nothing, but you all seem kind of snooty,  and it seems like your solution to most things is to throw money around.  Why in the world are you ordering cakes from the diner instead of The Pastry Garden, or the CIA, or Cafe Aurora, La Deliziosa, etc?  And please tell me you are not going to bring cakes from The Dutchess Diner to the Beekman Arms and ask them to serve them.  Wow.

That's not even all of it, just the highlights that I remember.  Thankfully we left, as I had about hit the end of my rope.