In Which I Scare the Hell Out of Myself

Been a while, huh?  I did warn you that I kind of suck at remembering to update.

So here we are, back again.  You might have heard that Nor'Easter Athena was hitting the North East (surprise!) right now.  We didn't get that much snow here, but the wind is still crazy.  I can hear it howling past the sides of my house, and I have to keep a rocking chair propped up against the door on my front porch so it doesn't continually slam open and shut.  I know it is very windy out -- important fact to keep in mind as you read on.

About 2 o'clock this morning it must have gotten very windy.  Jazz-kitty starts bugging out and wakes me up jumping on and off the bed.  I got up, gave her some treats, and hoped she would calm down.  I figured while I was up I might as well take a gander at the back yard and see how much snow we had gotten.

I go out on the back porch, note that there isn't much snow, and then I notice the side door to my garage.

Why the hell is the door wide open?

Now, I had gone out before work that morning to retrieve my shovel and ice melt, but I know I did not leave that door open.  I'm a little OCD about making sure things are secured when I leave a place -- just ask my coworkers.  I know that door was shut.

Remember that it is 2 in the morning.  I'm half asleep.  Rational thoughts are not the ones taking precedence in my brain at this point.  I try to tell myself that it must be the wind that blew it open.  That must be it.  I snuggle back into bed, and just as I start to drift off my brain decides it is time to remind me that it might be a burglar or a homeless person.  Thanks, brain!  Just what I needed to dwell on in the middle of the night.

So I get up again, a little freaked out at this revelation.  I go out on the back porch and look again.  Yup.  Door is still open.  Shit.

Does it occur to me that there are no footprints in the snow, so very little chance anyone has gone in or out since I got home hours earlier?  Nope.  However I do jump to the conclusion that a poor homeless person would have shut the door behind them to keep the relatively warmer air inside, so cross that off the list of horrible scenarios running through my head.  

Now on to the thought of a burglar, rummaging my garage as I stand there in my pajamas on the back porch like an idiot.  That motivated me to get back inside and make sure the back door was securely locked.

WTF do I do now?  No way in hell am I wandering out to the garage in the middle of the night to confront a possible pissed-off burglar.  Yeah, in my mind it morphed into a shady character complete with black ski mask that was pissed because after breaking in he/she realized I had jack shit of any value in the garage, except for maybe my brother's tools.  I'm not going to call the police about this either because I don't want to be the crazy lady who called because the wind blew her garage door open.  No way.  I have to call them enough at work that I don't need them thinking I am a nutcase.

But what if my imaginary, pissed-off burglar is so angry at finding nothing of any value in the garage that they decide to break into the house?  What the hell am I going to do then?  I needed a plan.

So I made sure my purse, my car keys, and my cell phone were all next to my bed.  If anyone tried to get in I could climb out the window and call the police, and drive to safety.  That's a good plan!    I'm so smart!  And then I grabbed the baseball bat just in case I had to beat the living shit out of someone.  Back-up plan.

I finally managed to drift off to sleep around 4 in the morning.  Here is my spectacular thinking on why it was safe to do so:  my neighbors would be up in a couple of hours to get ready for work and shovel if necessary. A smart burglar would want to leave before anyone saw them, so they obviously must have left the garage by now.  That was literally how I convinced myself to get some sleep.

When I woke up this morning and was more lucid, the first thing I did was look at the garage again.  The door was still open, but it looked so much less ominous in the daylight.  It did occur to me then that I was a moron and there were no footprints, just tracks from stray cats, birds, and squirrels. 

 I called my mother and kept her on the phone while I went out to look around and see if anything was missing, just in case an axe-murderer was waiting to get me.  Nothing was missing, no sign of anyone or any furry animal friends having been inside.

And then she tells me, after I got back inside the house, "That happened last week too, during the hurricane while you were at your brother's.  Dad thinks the latch is old and doesn't catch well.  He's planning to put another lock on it this weekend."

........

Seriously?!

AC Love

I loved my AC, then I didn't, but now I do again

Currently, at 6pm, it is 96 degrees outside, with a heat index of 103.

I had the day off and have spent it cleaning the house and getting ready for the arrival of my niece and nephew.  My house is not huge, but there is absolutely no shade on it.  It literally bakes until the sun sets.

I have had 2 air conditioners running a majority of the day, and it has managed to keep the house at about 83 degrees.  Not horrible, but not great either.

Did you ever get a craving, and you know that nothing else is going to get accomplished until you do something about it?  I got wicked craving for Dunkin Donuts iced coffee.  Literally could not stop fantasizing about it.  Sure, I could make iced coffee at home, but it never comes out as good.

I was hot from cleaning, and a bit pissed off that I was running two air conditioners and still watching the temperature in my house climb.  Screw it!  I'm going to DD.

Here is how you regain your love of your AC, which you had been totally convinced was slacking off on the job:

1) Decide you need iced coffee.

2) Step out onto back porch and notice a temperature difference.

3) Check thermometer on back porch, where it is registering 98 in the shade.

4) Get in car.  Die of heat.

5) Crank AC in car and drive to DD, hoping you don't melt into a puddle before arriving.

6) Get iced coffee.  Bliss!

7) Drive home and notice AC in car is finally winning the battle with the heat just as you pull into the driveway.

8) Go back in house and realize how cool it truly is.

9) Reaffirm love and affection for your AC out loud, and promise to never doubt it again.

Bingo: a library story

I'm in the middle of working 11 days straight at the library.  I'm not even sure what day it actually is anymore.  It's all beginning to blur into one big mess of patron problems.

To keep myself amused, I have been playing a game every day: Library Bingo.

Author wishes to remain anonymous, unless someone wants to make it into a real game.  If that's the case, I'll be happy to put you in touch with them. :)

To give you an idea of how my week(s) have been going so far, I'll just say that if I had gotten the square "Found Drug Paraphernalia" on Saturday then I would have had a bingo.   I'll let you all guess which other squares were involved.

Cringe Wall

I like to read the reviews by other users on Amazon.  If you have never bothered, you need to check it out. 

There are people who write intelligent, well-thought out and rational reviews.  These can be very helpful in deciding whether or not you want to bother reading a particular book let alone spend your $$ on it.  There are the reviews that are so crazily positive that you wonder if the writer knows the author, if the writer perhaps is the author under a different name, or works for the publisher.  There are the negative reviews that make you wonder why the person ever bought the book if they hate it that much,  if the writer knows the author and hates them as a person, or if it is someone who just gets their kicks out of writing mean things on the internet.  All of them are valid, and can be helpful or amusing.

Then we have the reviews by the people who can't spell or stray so completely off topic as to no longer resemble anything like what they were meant to be.  They might be good or bad, but I put them into their own special category because after a certain point I can no longer take seriously any criticism that might have been made about the book. 

A couple of typos I can forgive and ignore.  When the entirety of the review is 2 or 3 sentences long and filled with misspellings  and other errors?  We are done.  Maybe the reviewer is a genius -- doesn't matter.  If you are writing a review trashing someone else because you think they are a horrible writer and you keep spelling things incorrectly while doing so, then I have to wonder how you feel qualified to judge whether something is poorly written. 

I just read a review that I am pretty sure was meant to be scathing, but there was no way I could take it seriously.  A review titled something like "A Big Looser, All About a Looser" is ridiculous.  Obviously you meant loser, looking at the context of the review.  Do you realize the difference the extra "o" makes?  I think we know who the loser here is, pal, and it isn't the published author.  The word quickly?  Not quicle...at least I am assuming that is what the word was meant to be.  Also, I honestly don't know how gay marriage got involved in a book about a guy struggling through rehab/screwing his boss's wife.  No other review even remotely touched on the subject, and you took off on quite the rant.

I can amuse myself for quite a while reading reviews, but after a time I start to hit the Cringe Wall.   You are not familiar with the Cringe Wall?  I bet you are, you just don't have a nifty name for it.  You have encountered it before: reading reviews on Amazon, public comments on a news story or website, etc. There are 4 main steps in reaching the Cringe Wall -- at least in my experience.

1)  At first you are amused by the misspellings, you assume it is all typos.  After a while it gets annoying, but it can take a bit depending on your mood and the frequency of the typos.  This is the internet, so perhaps some of these nice people are commenting in a second or third language, and you have to cut them some slack.

2)  Now it is starting to bug you that people can't even be bothered to check their spelling, or the facts in the material upon which they are commenting (like the author's name, or a specific fact in an article). Simple things that you would think people would like to get right, especially if they are posting it under their name -- sometimes even their real-world name!

**The next 2 steps can happen in the order listed or vice-versa if you can push through the Cringe Wall and continue reading.**

3) You start to notice that the number of posts that are riddled with mistakes far outnumber the few that are spelled correctly and are at least marginally on-topic.  This causes you to seriously wonder whether everyone else is stupid, or if you are much smarter than you ever realized.

4) Eventually you get to be a bit horrified.  You start to ponder how badly the American school system is doing, and how many generations have been impacted by its slow deterioration.  You have hit the Cringe Wall -- the point at which you must stop reading before your brain explodes or you lose all respect for your fellow humans. 

For example, I often hit the Cringe Wall when I am reading the comments on a news story and someone from another country has to correct an American citizen on how our government works.  I don't care what part of the political spectrum was trying to make the point.  It is a sad, sad day for this country when someone from Australia has to explain to an American that we have 3 branches of government, for example.  Basic shit that I assumed everyone learned in elementary school.

The Wedding: A Neigbor Story

So, I got home this afternoon to find a couple of guys standing in the neighbor's driveway, and saw a bunch of chairs and decorations in the back yard.  I think it was literally the first time I ever saw it open.

I put my groceries away, and then wandered on over to ask what was going on, were they having a wedding?  Yup.  Now, at that point I fully expected that he was going to say tomorrow, possibly Sunday,  You know, not right away since they just poured cement in the yard less than 24 hours ago.

He said 6:30 tonight.  What?!  That's like 3 hours from now!

The bride was going to be entering up the driveway and into the back yard.

Well of course I asked if they needed me to move my car.  Not that my car isn't great and all, but I don't know that anyone wants to be looking at it on their wedding day.  No, they said I could leave it there.  I told them they could park people behind me if they needed to.  Our street gets crowded pretty fast, and there is still all of the equipment from the yard work parked in places.  I dragged my garbage cans around the corner, out of sight.

It's gets closer to wedding time, and it is really quiet next door.  Finally some music kicked on and people started showing up!

I could totally overhear conversation next door while still in my house, since the windows are open.
--They can't put out enough chairs, and at least 7 people will have to stand.  (Really?  How bad could the backyard have been that you needed to pour cement?  I'm guessing it isn't dry and that is why you can't put out all of the chairs.)
--something about the water in the pool being too cold.  (WTF are they swimming at this thing?  What else could the water be too cold for?)

At some point a dog got involved.  I didn't see it arrive, and to the best of my knowledge my neighbor doesn't have one.  It barked a little bit when more people started arriving, and people were making jokes about how it thought everyone was there just to play ball.  It really didn't bark much at all.

Eventually some smooth and mellow music kicked on, and I was getting excited to try and see the bride.  I wasn't even sure who was getting married.  Wasn't my neighbor -- can't divorce anyone fast enough to make that possible. 

6:30 comes and goes.  Hardly anyone is there, the bride is nowhere to be seen.   Cover story to hide the fact that there are bodies under the cement?  Still possible!  What if we have a runaway bride?

Minister arrives.  Well I'll be -- maybe there really is going to be a wedding.  Around 7pm a bunch of people all start showing up.  Switched to more party tunes than smooth and mellow.

7:15 wedding began!  Bride looked lovely, but I still have no idea who she is.  7:30 wedding is over!  Holy quickness, Batman!

That was literally it.  All done.  No stopping for pictures afterward.  They all left to go somewhere else for the reception.  They locked up the yard too, so I couldn't even see what the pool was too cold to do.

Maybe they didn't want to have a reception there with bodies under the cement.  I'm just saying.  Still totally possible!  Why else would you pour cement in the back yard, and why bother for a wedding that only lasted 15 minutes?  You could have strewn flower petals on the ground to disguise whatever the problem was for a lot less money and more romance.

OMG It Better Not Really Be Bodies

You might remember, friends, that I previously mentioned having some interesting neighbors.  Over the weekend some things happened, leading to some odd developments last night and today.

The neighbor had a lot of work being done in the back yard.  (This would be the neighbor with the husband who, according to neighborhood gossip, was arrested for dealing drugs and running guns.  He might be a former husband at this point -- he certainly isn't living there any more.)  There were a bunch of guys over, fixing the garage and stuff.  They were there all day, working hard and making lots of noise.  That was over the weekend.

Last night around 10 pm, I hear a lot of people talking, and I notice there are all of these lights in the back yard next door.  WTF?  That is not a normal hour of the night to be doing gardening or any kind of project.  I wrote a status about it on Facebook because it was weird, and more than one person suggested that they were burying the bodies.  Funny, right? Of course it is -- especially for those familiar with my neighborhood!  I lol-ed, said it wouldn't surprise me.  You get the idea.  The guys were there until about 11pm.

So imagine my surprise when I come home for lunch this afternoon, and my driveway is blocked by a large truck.  Annoying, but not a huge problem.  The guy offered to move it, but I told him not to bother as I would be going back to work shortly.

Then I took a good look at the truck.

It was delivering cement.  I shit you not.  They were freaking mixing and spreading cement in the fenced-in back yard where the shady "cover of darkness" yard work was being done last night.  I cannot make this stuff up.

I kept it together and smiled at the cement-truck guys while I went into the house, and then I had a slight freak out.  All I could think was,  "Holy shit there might really be bodies!"

I went back to work, and I really hoped the truck would be gone when I was done for the day.  It was gone when I returned home, but there were still 2 guys there working.

Well, more than two.  Two Hispanic guys who actually appeared to be doing all of the work, and one guy blabbing and hanging out in the back yard, who I assume was supervising the operation.

One of the guys was out front, apparently finishing up some yard work.  The other was in the fenced in back yard with The Blabber.  There was a pile of mulch in the neighbor's side of the driveway, and a bunch of tools.  There is still some kind of a mini-bulldozer parked across the street, and another piece of equipment around the corner and a big pile of rocks.

So these two Hispanic guys (they were speaking Spanish to each other, which is why I say that.  I don't know what country they emigrated from, obviously) are busting their asses.  They had been there for several hours at this point, as they had been with the cement-making crew earlier.  The Blabber was still in the back chatting and yucking it up with whomever else was back there.

It was hot out today.  Not horribly hot, but the humidity was nasty, and it has been raining the past few days.  Not fun weather to be doing a lot of manual labor, is my point.  I had all of the windows open in my house, trying to cool it off.


They took a break around 5:45 or so, and I think that was only because The Blabber had a visitor.  He had taken several very loud phone calls by then, and then sauntered out across my yard to meet a guy who had parked across the street.  The guy brought him a nice, cold drink -- cause he had worked so hard shooting the shit and all.  Nothing for the two guys who were doing all of the work.  They were sitting on a bucket and leaning on a wheelbarrow, and they had an almost empty gallon of water that had been sitting in the sun in the driveway.  Nice.

So, as soon as The Blabber and friend went into the back yard to have more Happy Chatty Fun Time, I took the two guys a pitcher of nice cold fruit punch and some cups.  I felt bad for them -- but I didn't want the people who may-or-may-not be burying bodies in cement to see me and get pissed off.

The Blabber left shortly after, so no more work was done.  The bulldozer is still across the street, the other thing is around the corner with a pile of rocks.  I have no idea if they will be back tomorrow or not.   I guess I will find out in the morning.

So in short:  there may or may not be bodies buried in cement in the yard next door.

Lurlin Kerl Dotter

Did you ever notice that, no matter where you are from, you don't seem to think you have an accent, it is people from everywhere else that have one?

We get a lot of people at work who have accents.  Some of them have emigrated here from other countries, some have moved to the area from different states, some are from other parts of the state.  Generally, I don't have a problem understanding them.

Except for one patron.  We call her 30 Cents.  She left one day complaining about a fine, and on her way out the door said, "30 cents my ass!"  but it sounded more like "ayh-us", like it was suddenly a two or three syllable word.

She is from the South somewhere.  I don't know where -- somewhere deep in the South, would be my guess.  I've traveled to a few different areas in the South, spoken to a lot of people at work  from a lot of different places, and I have honest to God never heard anything like this accent.  The heaviest, most fake Southern accent you have ever heard in a television show or movie has nothing on this woman.

30 Cents has now stumped 3 different staff members when trying to figure out what she was saying.  We get it, eventually, but she usually has to repeat herself a few times. 

I'll give you an example.

One time it sounded like she asked for books on lurlin.  WTF is lurlin?  Even Google was stumped on  that one.  After repeating herself a couple of times, for more than one staff member, she gave us more information.  All we got out of it was that she wanted a book about Lurlin kerl dotter.

....blank looks all around.

Do you know what "lurlin kerl dotter" translates to?  Loretta Lynn: Coal Miner's Daughter.

Where is this accent from?  Does anyone recognize the phonetic spelling?  I can't ask her as I will never understand the answer.

I have helped a patron where we were basically playing charades to get our point across, while he tried to speak English (his third language) and I dredged my high school French classes from my memory to help him get a library card (French was his second language).  I have written copious notes back and forth with a deaf patron trying to explain her fines.  My Espanol es mal, but it can work in a pinch.  I have pulled up online translators in an attempt to help a man who only speaks Russian.

They all pale in comparison to 30 Cents.  I think the most frustrating part is knowing that she is speaking English.  She is from the same country and we can't understand a damn thing she is saying most of the time! It must be annoying to her as well.

(Is it wrong that I feel a tiny bit better because two other people also have had trouble understanding her?)