Like Flypaper For Freaks

**This ended up being much longer than I had originally intended, but I think it is worth the read.  So kick back, get comfy, and read on.**

Earlier today I had a woman approach me, seemingly appearing from nowhere.  She asked me for the time, and as I was checking my phone she told me I had nice hair and basically started petting my head.  It was odd.  People that I have mentioned it to find it creepy.  It is a bit creepy, I guess, but weird things like this happen to me all of  the time.

You want a really good example of what I mean, of why a stranger petting my head does not seem too strange to me?  Let me take you back ...

A few years ago my friend and I went on a trip to New Orleans.  We'll call my friend Glinda from now on to protect her privacy.  We happened to be there for the week that included the end of Mardi Gras.  This story has nothing to do with Mardi Gras itself, but it is important because we would otherwise probably have been staying in a different hotel in a far less....interesting area of town.  By "interesting" I mean the hotel told us that we should always take the hotel shuttle or a cab, never try to walk back to the hotel in the dark, and even to be careful walking down the block to Burger King during the day as someone had recently been mugged doing just that.

Glinda and I had been out wandering about in the French Quarter.  We were headed back to the hotel, so we were dutifully waiting in the assigned spot for the hotel shuttle.  I remember there was a drug store -- CVS, I think -- across the street.

As we were waiting for the shuttle we saw a strange woman walking up and down the other side of the street.  She was carrying on quite a conversation with herself, and  then she would randomly ask people for money and get seriously pissed off if they told her no or ignored her.  I don't know that she was homeless, but she was sporting some interesting attire and her hair was a mess.  Eventually she wandered off far enough that Glinda and I were able to get into the store without encountering her.

We made our purchases and went back out and across the street to keep waiting for our lovely shuttle.  The strange woman from earlier returned, and she was working her way up our side of the street.  I have no idea if she was high or just mentally not all there.  This time we were able to hear her asking people for change -- not money in general, but specifically change.  We couldn't leave as our shuttle was due at any time.  Glinda and I came up with a plan: I had about a dollar in quarters in my pocket.  If she got to us before our shuttle arrived then I would give her the change and we would hope she continued on her merry way.

Of course the damn shuttle did not arrive.  I had the change ready in my hand.  The woman was muttering under her breath as she approached.  Instead of asking us for change, as we had assumed she would, she kept muttering and shoved me off the sidewalk into the street, almost in front of a cab.  

Skip forward a bit to Glinda and I having returned to the hotel. It was either later that afternoon or the next day, I don't remember which, and we were sitting outside in the courtyard of our hotel.  We were enjoying the sun and warm weather, away from the craziness outside of the hotel.  Another hotel guest asked if she could join us at our table.  Why not?

We were all chatting for a while, and our new friend told us that she was a psychic.  She asked if we would like her to do a reading for us.  (No, she never asked for any money.)  Free psychic readings?  Of course we said yes.

Glinda went first.  All the woman did was hold her hand -- not a palm reading -- and look at her.  She told Glinda that she saw dollar signs around her, that she would do well financially.  She also told Glinda that she was going to meet and fall in love with a blonde man.  Nice reading!

The woman asked if I would like a reading as well.  Hell yeah!  Bring on Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, please!

I gave her my hand, ready to hear awesome things like she had told Glinda.  She told me I had a big heart.  Aw, that's sweet!  Then she stared at me for a while without saying anything....and then she told me that was it.  She couldn't read me as I was "blocking" her, a very strong block.  What?  No!  I'm not doing anything.  I want to know -- Mr. Right?  Anything?

Nope.  That was it.

We chatted for a while more and ended up telling her about the weird woman who had almost shoved me in front of a taxi.  Our new psychic friend knew who we were talking about!  She and her son had seen the woman doing the same thing outside of a club the previous night.  I mean she described the woman's outfit and hair perfectly.  No way she was making it up -- they had seen the same lovely lady.  New Orleans is a crazy place crammed full of people near Mardi Gras.  What were the chances she had seen the same woman?  So strange.

Then she let the bomb drop: she didn't think the woman was on drugs or crazy, but might have been possessed.  Even better?  She said I had been cursed by the weird woman when she shoved me off of the sidewalk.

Wait, what?

I was not amused.  She couldn't tell me anything other than that I had a big heart because I was "blocking" her, but had no problem telling me that a strange woman on the street had put a curse on me?  Not cool.

Our psychic friend told me that I needed to pick two long fronds off of the palm tree in the hotel courtyard, and then make them into the shape of a cross.  Once I had made the cross I was to hit myself with it three times while asking for the curse to be removed, then sleep with the frond cross near my bed.  Fabulous.

I was skeptical.  I was also not about to ignore the advice of our psychic friend and possibly be cursed.  We were in New Orleans after all, and I did not need any kind of bad voodoo or juju being placed on me.  I did exactly what our psychic friend told me to do.  It was a totally ridiculous situation.  I felt silly doing it.  I'm also pretty sure that, as we speak, I am not cursed.  I will make an ass of myself any day if it might keep me from being cursed.

I know some of you are questioning whether that would actually work.  You might think our psychic friend was just messing with us and making it all up.  I don't blame you.  I thought there was a good possibility of it at the time.

Let me add a bit of credibility to our psychic friend.  Remember the awesome things that she told Glinda? They turned out to be dead-on accurate.  She isn't a millionaire by any means, but she makes a comfortable living.  Her husband?  Yup.  He's blonde.

I might have "blocked" her somehow, and I didn't get to hear about Mr. Right showing up at some point (still single here, universe) but I am pretty sure that I avoided being cursed.  I'm happy with that.

That would also explain why a strange woman petting my head and telling me I have nice hair does not faze me that much.  Weird shit happens to me.  A lot.

There and Back Again: A Walkway Story

For those of you not from the North East, it has been a long winter this year.  We have had lots of snow, it has been very grey, and the "polar vortex" has visited way too many times this year.  On a day like today, when there is actually sunshine and the temperature is above freezing, everyone gets a raging case of Spring Fever and needs to get outside and do something.  It was almost 50 today (heatwave!), so I decided to go take a stroll on the Walkway Over the Hudson.  Many, many people had the same idea.

First tip for local people: the big free spot where people park?  Not plowed.  I was lucky to get a spot in the pay-parking lot.  I was cool with that as I am crap at parallel parking, which was the only other option.  I go to pay my $5 at the machine, and it isn't accepting cash.  Three of us tried.  Back to the car to get a credit card, as that option was working, and I had no desire to get a ticket or get back and find my car towed.

Finally make it out onto the Walkway, and see this lovely sign:

Work zone?  Well that made me a bit twitchy.  I have a thing about bridges.  When I was little I saw footage on television of a bridge collapsing in a flood, and all of the cars on it going into the water.  Many people drowned.  When we covered escaping from a car in the water during Driver's Ed.  in high school I was probably the most attentive student the teacher had ever seen.  I hate, hate, going over bridges in cars.  I'm better if I am driving and watching the road.  Low bridges are okay, bridges like the Brooklyn Bridge with lots of nice safe metal on the side are best.  I worry the entire time crossing the bridge that it is going to collapse, my car is going to go into the water and I am going to drown, and that will seriously piss me off because I am an excellent swimmer.  That's how my brain works, folks:  not worried about falling from a height, anything else falling in top of me, freezing cold water -- just that fact that I might not have a chance to swim away from it.  

The Walkway doesn't bother me as I'm walking and it is really like a big sidewalk in the air.  I'm not afraid of heights. The sign above gave me pause because what exactly were they working on?  Are there screws falling out or something?  Railing about to fall off?  Oh well.  Not in a car, so it will be splat or swim if something goes horribly wrong.  Besides, if it was really dangerous they wouldn't be letting people walk across it.

Turns out the work is installing an elevator.  I don't think it is finished yet.  The deck and the doors are there, but no visible elevator.

Hello, back of the elevator doors!

There had been an organized walk of some sort earlier in the morning.  They were handing out leftover bottles of water if people wanted them, which was nice.  I came prepared with my coffee so I was good to go.  

About three-quarters of the way across to the Highland side of the Walkway there was a group of three people walking toward the Poughkeepsie side, and they were handing out pamphlets.  They gave one to the three people in front of me, and one to me.  I assumed it was something to do with the walk this morning (which apparently was an International Women's Day march), so I took one.  I was so wrong.  

You have got to be kidding me

I believe my exact words were something eloquent like, "What the hell is this?"  And apparently I said them a little louder than I thought, as the guy in front of me started cracking up.  I must really look like I am Satan's Spawn.  Thirteen visits from the God Squad apparently are not enough!  Now I have people trying to save me in the middle of the Hudson River. The part on the back of the pamphlet where it says "Compliments of:" is blank, but I was able to skim and learn that it is written by Ray Comfort.   It basically goes on about the 10 Commandments, assumes that you are a sinner who has broken them and will be going to Hell, and then compares you to a criminal standing before a judge to try and scare you into accepting their point of view.  Perfect thing to hand out to strangers on a beautiful day!  Oh, and then you are to entrust your life to Jesus Christ, and read and obey the Bible every day.  

The walk back from Highland was much less eventful.  Just beautiful weather, lots of people not proselytizing, and some boats and trains going past.

In Which a Disney Movie Creeps Me Out

Let me start by fessing up that I have been known to watch the Disney Channel. I am an adult,  I don't have any kids, no plausible cover story for doing so.  I could lie and say it is to keep up with what my niece and nephew like to watch, but why bother.  I absolutely love Phineas & Ferb, and Gravity Falls rocks my socks.

When it has been a really long day, you cannot beat the teen movies.  Generally they are set in a high school environment that is much nicer than I remember school being, everyone from opposing cliques gets together by the end, and love conquers all.  It's like Lifetime-lite, without anyone murdering a cheerleader, or an ex-wife or something.  It will all come to a happy ending by the end of the two-hour time slot.

That's what I thought, at least, until I tried to watch the movie Starstruck the other night. In fairness to the writers and the good people at Disney, I need to say that I did not watch the whole thing.  I got so creeped out and side-tracked by one tiny part of the storyline in the beginning that I just stopped watching.

Yeah, that's right.  I got freaked out by a teen movie, during prime time, on the Disney Channel.  It's not even a movie that is supposed to be scary!

Here is a recap of what I saw of the movie:

Two sisters live in a small town in Michigan. (I might have the state wrong.) The older sister and her BFF have massive crushes on a rock star/teen celebrity who is constantly in the tabloids, on the entertainment television shows -- basically the Justin Bieber of this movie's universe.  Well, Bieber before the drugs, eggs, hookers era.  The younger sister has zero interest in the guy or his music, and finds her sister's obsession with him annoying and ridiculous.

Nothing creepy so far, right?

The sisters and their family are going to go visit Grandma, who lives in California.  That's sweet.  Guess who else lives in California?  That's right, Rock Star!

There's something about a school dance -- I think the older sister and her BFF were selling tickets or something.  They give younger sister a hard time about "Why would you be going? You're like so not cool!".  Then comes the Big Reveal, or at least it was to me since I stopped watching right after this part.

Older sister and her BFF are obviously SuperFans when it comes to Rock Star.  You get that immediately in the movie.  Now you find out that these two have maybe crossed the line from SuperFans into Creepy Stalker Land.  They show the younger sister that they have been mapping everything about Rock Star from his own online updates, the tabloids, tv, etc.  They know where Rock Star parties, eats, which beach he likes to surf at -- you name it, they know it.  As if that wasn't a little creepy to begin with, they built a pop-up book/map thing of everywhere he goes and when he is usually there.  Older sister is planning to use this to track down and meet Rock Star when they go to California to visit Grandma.

WTF.  That is when I turned off the movie.

I'm going to assume, since this is after all a Disney flick, that it never goes beyond the realm of SuperFan. They know everything about Rock Star: where he goes, his favorite color, his birthday -- all the stuff every teen magazine reports religiously. Maybe Older Sis meets him, maybe she doesn't, but I'm guessing there won't be violence or restraining orders involved in the plot.  Maybe one of these days I will feel curious enough to watch the entire movie and find out.

In my opinion there is a very fine line between harmless SuperFan and Creepy Stalker Land. A SuperFan, when they meet the celebrity of their dreams, is going to either become completely tongue-tied and unable to believe said moment is finally upon them, or they are going to become a crying mess of happiness.  I base this on two things:  I know I personally would probably freeze up completely if I ever met a celebrity, and anyone who has ever watched television or YouTube has seen footage of people (generally teenage girls) crying and losing their minds in such situations.  Creepy Stalker Land winds up with your SuperFan being like Kathy Bates in the movie Misery.

It's got to be hard to be a celebrity, especially now.  Now your fans can follow you on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and find out so much information!  SuperFans can keep in contact with other SuperFans to compare info and keep up with whatever happens anywhere in the world involving their fave celebrity.  On top of that, there is paparazzi and sites like TMZ.  There is an entire E! network reporting on celebrities.  It has got to be next to impossible to have much privacy if you are a celebrity.

I find it kind of amazing that there are celebrities that actually do Meet & Greets/ autograph signings with their fans.  I'm aware that there is probably an insane amount of security at these events, but still.  The celebrity doesn't know what that next person in line is going to do.  Are they super-excited to take a picture with you?  Are they going to assume that since they know everything about you that you will somehow recognize them as a long-lost soul mate and freak the hell out when you don't?

Case in point:

I like the band R5.  I think they are great, they are a regular fixture on my workout playlist.  I follow them on Twitter and Instagram because they are awesome at posting photos from all of their tour stops all over the world. (Also, I really do not care whether you like them or not, or don't even know who they are. That is not the point.)

New Year's Eve 2013.  I did my thing, had some people over, had some drinks, Happy New Year!,  and went to bed.

I check Twitter the next morning-ish (Probably closer to afternoon.  Shush.).  Some people had posted some questionable sentiments in their not-entirely-sober state the night before.  Nothing crazy.  R5 had played a concert that night, so there were a couple of pictures that they posted.  Each had thousands of comments.  I'm thinking it is going to be fans wishing them a Happy New Year, or saying they were at the concert.  Normal stuff is what I am getting at.

Oh no.  Furthest thing from it.

Apparently shit went down at that concert.  I had no idea what happened, but there were girls (well, fans that I am assuming are mostly girls) losing their damn minds  in comments on Instagram and on Twitter.  They were were saying things like: they were crying hysterically, their world had been destroyed, Ross had broken their hearts.  I kid not you not.  WTF.  Did they just announce this was their final show or something?  Did Ross sacrifice a puppy on stage at midnight?

No.  Apparently he kissed a fan in the audience at midnight.  Not a girlfriend he had managed to keep secret from the fangirls, just a chick in the audience.  That was all it took for these ladies to snap.

So to try to bring this all around and back to having a point, SuperFans like the older sister in the movie exist.  They are online finding out every last detail about their favorite celebrities.  Privacy seems incredibly hard to maintain.  News travels insanely fast.  I'm sure there were already SuperFans out there doing the very same thing Older Sister and her BFF were doing in the movie.  I find it incredibly creepy to think that people would try to use that information to stalk their favorite celebrity, and a little disturbing to think that Disney might have unintentionally given some SuperFans a new idea.

Like I said, to me it is a fine line between SuperFan and Creepy Stalker Land.  You can like a band/celebrity and get your fangirl on over them.  It is another thing entirely to amass information on them and make it your mission in life to meet them, to make your world revolve around them.

**I'm aware that I am probably the only person who saw even part this movie and had this reaction to it.   My brain took one tiny part of the story and ran to a scary place with it.  If you actually read all the way through this, thanks.**  

Valentine's Day: The Early Years

a.k.a.

I Have Always Been an English Geek, and Sometimes It Bites You in the Ass

Remember back in elementary school when your class had a Valentine's Day party?  You got to decorate your little box that was going to hold all of the Valentine's from your classmates, and you got to pick out the perfect set of little Valentine's cards -- generally with a cartoon picture on the front and a cute saying on it?  Ah, the good old days!  Guaranteed at least 20-odd Valentine's cards.

I remember one in particular, although I don't remember which year it was.  I think it was second grade in Mrs. Lyons's class, but it could have been 3rd grade with Mrs. Bryant -- that part is a little fuzzy.  The relevant fact is that we had learned how to write a letter, and all of the parts it required.  This was the first Valentine's Day since the knowledge of crafting a letter had been bestowed upon the class.

I had my Valentine's cards, and I was excited about the party.  I was also a freaked-out mess about how to sign the cards. I should have picked the ones that came with the handy "To:" and "From:" lines pre-printed on the back.  Mine were blank on the back, and in my head that meant I had to use a closing before I signed, as that was the proper way to write a letter. 

What closing should I use?  Sincerely?  Yours Truly?  It certainly wasn't going to be "Love".  That was the only thing I knew for sure.  I was a little stress-ball over trying to make this decision.

My mother suggested that I sign them all "Your Friend".  Was that allowed?  We hadn't learned that in school.  Then there was the fact that I wasn't actually friends with all of the kids in my class -- I barely spoke to some of them.  Wouldn't it be lying to say I was their friend when I wasn't?  What if someone thought we really were friends, and I didn't like them?  Suddenly this whole Valentine's Day thing was much less fun than it had been.

I decided to go with "Your Friend", as my mother had suggested.  I couldn't think of a better alternative, and my little rule-following, future-English-major self could not fathom giving out cards that were not signed with a proper closing.

In school the next day we got to distribute our cards, and then we got to open the ones that we had received.  I was so excited!

Some classmates had written "Love" as a closing.  They obviously were not as keyed up about this whole situation as I had been.  I was totally shocked when I realized that some people had just signed their names!  You can't do that -- it's not right!  This is allowed?  My mind was blown.  You didn't have to use a proper closing on a card and you totally didn't get in any trouble!

Oh, but the drama didn't end there, as mind-blowing as that epistolary revelation had been.

I had a crush on a boy in my class.  Of course I never told him this, but I thought he was the coolest -- the bee's knees!  I was a mess about even having to give him a Valentine's Day card, but especially when I had signed all of them "Your Friend".

Everyone was so excited to get their Valentine's cards.  We were checking out the cards, comparing the pictures on them, reading extra little notes our friends had included.  I thought the worst of it was behind me.  Other people had signed their cards with "Love", and no one was making fun of them.  I had been worried for no reason!

And then it happened.

The moment I had been dreading since trying to decide on the proper closing to use, the moment that I thought I had successfully dodged.  I heard someone reading my Valentine out loud to his friends, and then he very loudly said, "Your Friend?  I'm not your friend!" and started laughing.

I was horrified.  If a hole could have opened up beneath me and swallowed me down it would have been a blessing.  I think the teacher told them to calm down or be quiet, I don't actually remember.  I blanked out, froze, shut down.  If I didn't move maybe no one would notice it bothered me.

It wasn't just a random classmate who was laughing about my card -- it was my crush! I was destroyed.

I'm sure he doesn't remember that off-hand remark.  Lord knows I do not remember ever utterance that I made in elementary school.  I'm positive he has no idea how much that hurt my feelings, or how much thought and effort I had put into deciding just how to sign those cards.

It stuck with me, too.  To this day I always panic a bit when forced to put a label on a relationship with another person.  Are we acquaintances or friends? Friends or merely coworkers?  Both?  Don't even get me started on Friend/Boyfriend/Significant Other -- that shit is complex enough on its own.

I realize that it has been many years since elementary school.  I know, rationally, that most people possess more tact and class than a school boy. (You would be hard-pressed to know that by looking at comments on the internet, but I like to think even those people would not be such jerks without the veil of anonymity to hide behind.)  I still worry that I will use the wrong term, and the person will find me later to point out that we are, in fact, NOT whatever label I chose.

So thank you, elementary school Valentine's Day, for the damage that haunts me still.  This is probably why my favorite thing about Valentine's Day is the chocolate.

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!