Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Reindeer games


On the drive to work this morning I get the feeling that someone is riding my bumper, I take a glance in the rear view mirror and I see a fuzzy little pair of reindeer antlers.
I then have to adjust the mirror so that I can see what is attached to this corny christmas decor, and I see a yellow VW beetle. I speed up a little to see A-why is the tiny car in such a hurry, I am in the right lane and B-who is furiously driving this little car. I see a man in his late 30's. I also see that he has a hawaiin lei draping his ridiculous little mirror, but even better - he has adorned his front license plate with a HARLEY DAVIDSON tag. Hardcore sir, hardcore.

Wish I could have rolled down the window and said, "You drive the equivalent to the Vespa of motorcycles, so get off my ass. I totally understand why you are such an aggressive driver though. It is probably mentally and physically painful to drive such a gay looking car. If you really want to be seen and heard on the road so that you can get to work in a timely manner, perhaps you should purchase a loud, manly truck, or harley since you are apparently a fan, not a pregnant roller skate. Just a suggestion."

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

I bet you didn't know


5 fun facts about me that you may not have known:


1-The most expensive thing in my closet would be a pair of Lucchese classic cowboy boots. I could have made half a mortgage payment with those things. But, no matter what I think they will be awesome and in season. They are cowboy boots. If you think otherwise I will kick you, with the boots on.
2- The only hickey I have ever gotten was from a Stingray. I was on one of those cruise excursions where you "swim with the stingrays". Like goobers, tourist bob around with snacks hanging around their necks and are surprised when the stingrays then swarm around them and scare the hell out of them.
3- When I was barely old enough to talk I made my mom play a Randy Travis tape on repeat, my absolute favorite song was Diggin' Up Bones. Sidenote- when I was little I also thought that Randy Travis was the man on the Cracker Barrel sign. Ha, kids.
4- I got my first job when I was 14. I worked for my dad's old car garage, I helped take the front and back ends and all rusty parts off the cars when they came in, and then I sandblasted the rust off of what I could. The guys had to rig a special stool up for me because I was too short to get my arms into the sand blasting machine. That job lasted a year and I threw the towel in and went to work at a coffee shop.
5- I have been playing the Alto saxophone since I was 9 years old, I picked that instrument because I saw it on a PBS special my dad was watching on big band music. That weekend he bought an old used one for me to learn on, it smelled like cigarettes because of all the night clubs it had been in. But I played the hell out of that thing. I later got a brand new one, and I will sometimes go a year or more without cracking the case open, but never ever forget how to play it.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Tom



Last month I got to experience something really awesome. I helped my parents host a reunion for Vietnam Veterans. Specifically, the unit my dad was in in Vietnam, the 1/92 Field Artillery. It took me a year to organize all of the details, visit all of the museums, tour possible hotels, restaurants and so on. Just thinking about the 4 day extravaganza made me tired. I really wish I had been able to do more with everyone, see more of the people and talk to them. Adeline and I couldn't keep up though. I didn't want to subject them to a cranky screaming baby just so I could hang out and chat. But we did make one friend in particular along the way. Tom.

You see, Tom has been battling pancreatic cancer for a while, he had lost well over 100 lbs and was very weak. But he made it a point to make this his first reunion, and boy was he determined. He has always had a hesitation to coming to the reunions, but made the plunge this year. At any rate, on the Thursday of the reunion he was just too tired to finish all of the stops for the day, and I was planning to take Adeline home so she could rest so we offered him a ride back to the hotel so he could rest up as well. That is, if he didn't mind a crazy kid riding along side of him. He gladly accepted the challenge. On the ride to the hotel we talked about his kids, and all sorts of stuff. I told him the last time I was in Dallas (which is the area he is from) it was for a Mary Kay event. He explained that he actually worked for a company that used Mary Kay Ash's original warehouse! Pretty neat. He was so grateful for the ride back, and for the work I had put in for the reunion. I of course told him the thanks should be to them, not me, and that this event was the least I could do. I almost cried on the ride home after we dropped him off. It occurred to me that his battles with cancer were probably related to his service in Vietnam, and his exposure to chemicals like agent orange. Meeting people like Tom really make you think, and appreciate your health. But I applauded the strength he did have and his determination to get to Atlanta (alone) to see these guys he fought next to, even if it were for one last time.

We had our big party on Saturday, and Tom was there all day - he and Brett had a good chat while Brett manned the smoker. Tom told him about his reluctance to come to past reunions, I guess he was worried people wouldn't like him. It seemed to me that he was quite the popular guy though! Which made me happy. At the end of the night on Saturday he was really sad to tell us all goodbye. I think we all got a little choked up, and it really was sad to tell him goodbye.
All in all I would say out of the 100+ people that were at the event, I had the opportunity to talk to Tom the most.

Yesterday afternoon I was told that Tom lost his battle with cancer. 15 days after he returned home from the reunion. My face felt hot, almost like an anger, and then the sadness set in, and it occurred to me that it was now time to go and tell dad the news.
There are just some things that you can't explain.
I can explain this though, I am so glad that I had the honor to meet Tom, and everyone else from the reunion. Now I know why it was so hard for him to tell everyone goodbye that night. At least I can say that I helped provide his first, and only reunion and that it was a memorable one. He is in a much better place now. May you rest in peace Tom.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Technological Baby Steps

I feel like a proud parent,
My dad used the internet to look up an antique shop, all on his own this morning. He even looked at some of their inventory, and contact information.
He is growing up so fast.

sidenote - he did however ask me if his computer had "all of it's parts" before he got started. Someone in the office was going to borrow his monitor last week, poor guy thought it was missing. I assured him he had all of the parts he needed to investigate the antique shop deal.

Next step? World domination. I imagine.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Automation station

As we prepare to move I have been calling all of our utility companies so that I can set up disconnect dates. Of course they are all getting confused about how awesome our situation is and how no, I don't need to reconnect at the new location. I am not moving to a new house, I am moving to mom and dads. Or as Brett and I like to say, with "our roommates" -Grandma's boy reference. ftw.

I also just realized how stupid I sounded on the phone with GA Power. They have 50% of their customer service line handled by an automated person. You know, the one where you have to physically say what you want vs. pressing a number to move onto the next step. I am currently at the office so I know I sounded like an idiot. Another thing I have learned is that those fake customer service reps have really shitty hearing, and similarly can't understand my dialect. Got a lot of -"I'm sorry, I didn't understand you" Yes automated person, you are sorry.
If your office were close to mine the last 10 minutes would have sounded something like this:

"This music sucks, I hate being on hold, oh wait the music stopped!"

"english" ...
"ENGLISH!"
"existing customer" ....
dammit, "EXISTING CUSTOMER!"

"no way I am not saying my social security number out loud. Why can't I just push in my account number? Stupid automation..."
beep beep beep, beep beep, beep beep beep beep

"yes, that is correct"
"YES THAT IS CORRECT"

"disconnect service"
ughhhhhhhhhhhhh "DISCONNECT SERVICE!"

Eventually I got to talk to a person IN REAL LIFE. I think I offended he/she when I said yes ma'am for like the 3rd time.Ok, so it must have been a guy. Or a ticked off lesbian. Who knows, I was sure to be polite either way. I think by the end of the convo he/she felt bad for me and even added in a "good luck with your house stuff."
That was very thoughtful of him/her.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Little Bear's first Halloween


Adeline's first Halloween was a success. We didn't take her trick or treating because she doesn't have any teeth. We did however dress her up, and took her to the festival in town. I was hoping she would be in the costume contest, but we were a little too late for that. BUT we did find out that our scarecrow (in the pic with us) we made for the paranormal group won 3rd place. Paranormal George got us $25, we are only like, $1,975 away from a thermal imaging camera. So, 79 more scarecrow contests and we are set! By then the entire group will be dead themselves, but we can dream.

Anyways, Ms. Baby was a bear for her first Halloween. She didn't seem to be too mad about the costume, it was a chilly day so she enjoyed the extra layers of fur. We let her "help" hand out treats to the kiddos in our neighborhood.
We had some extra treats this year, compliments of my dad.

See, dad's Vietnam veterans reunion just wrapped up 2 weeks ago, and he had boxes of little peanut butter cracker packs, and TONS of baggies of pretzels. So each trick or treater got a bag of Snyder's pretzels, and a handful of candy. EXCEPT when Brett answered the door. I guess he figured he was too good to give the kids pretzels with their candy, so those kids just got candy. After watching Brett's hand pass right over the box of pretzels and straight to the candy a few times a thought popped into my head, "What in the hell am I going to do with 200 bags of pretzels?!". It was at that point I made it to the door before he could to greet 2 new trick or treaters. I of course gave them PRETZELS, and candy. I held my breath waiting for their reaction to getting a bag of pretzels along with the generic boring stuff. And? One of the little boys literally ran, yes ran, leaving a cloud of dust behind him- off of our porch and down our driveway screaming "OH BOY!!!! MOOOOM! I GOT PRETZELS!". I glanced at Brett and smirked. "See, they love the pretzels, please for the love of god get rid of the pretzels."
That little boy totally made my night.

Adeline enjoyed greeting her neighbors for about 45 minutes before ripping her fuzzy little hat off and screaming at us. Not bad for her first Halloween.

Monday, October 31, 2011

Haunted House


To get into the spirit of Halloween I thought I would share a lovely story about my adventures to a staged haunted house. I have to say staged, because with my hobby (paranormal stuffs) I actually visit alleged haunted houses. Which I am surprisingly totally cool with.

But staged haunted houses? no thank you.

I think if I were on a therapist's couch I would have to say that it is a childhood memory that has scarred my desire to ever go to a haunted house.
I recall (to the best of my ability) having to go to a haunted house when I was, hmmm 4? or 5? I am sure I will find out once this is posted. My sister must have thought it would be a cute idea to take me to one. All I can remember is clinging to her friend, hiding in his shirt and screaming crying. The entire time. I love my sister, but that was possibly the worst Halloween idea for her little sister. I am not sure why they even allowed that, Don't those places have age requirements? Height requirements? Anywho. I hate those damn things now.

Fast forward to 2008. Brett and I are invited to go out with his sister and her friends to a haunted house in Dahlonega. I am a little reluctant but decide that I can do this. I am a big girl now! oh boy was I wrong. I was getting freaked out just waiting in line, you know they always have the dressed up people wandering around to spook you before you even go inside the place. So, we dole out our $20+ to get scared and we make our way in.

I had a great plan for tackling this place. Brett is like a wall, so if I hide behind him I can slide right through this joint unscathed. I decide that I will just bury myself in the back of his shirt and zoom past all the spookies. And this plan actually worked for the most part. I would say I had sneaked by about 70% of the haunted house hiding on his coat tails. However, all good things must come to an end. I didn't prepare myself for a break in the line, which caused some lag and then everyone walking fast picking up the pace to cover the break. I didn't see this gap, or the need to speed up, because I was hiding in Brett's shirt so when he sped up I lost my grip and was on my own...

And then I had to open my eyes...To what you may ask? Well, as you all know, the haunted house employees look for people like me. The blatantly scared shitless. So I open my eyes to find no Brett, just a group of killer clowns and a creepy ass zombie chick trying to grab at me. So what did I do? I let my instincts kick in, and I reared back, and punched her. Right in the face, and ran back to my safety net, aka Brett's back side!
I think those guys need to be taught a lesson anyways, it is obvious the people like me don't want to be in their establishment anyways, so just leave us alone! Let's just say I got my moneys worth that night. And so did everyone with me. So now we all laugh about the time I decked the chick at the haunted house in the face. But no one has tried to sneak up on me or spook me, so I would say that is a win.

I now politely decline all invites to go to staged haunted houses, it is for their safety. Because I am nice like that.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Hit and Run

Ever feel like you may be a little too stressed out?
Work has you feelin' low?
Worried about the bills? Traffic? The weather? uncontrollable changes? Family drama?
If you answered yes to any of the above you would be in Brett's boat.

If you want to take your mind off of things, you can always just get hit by a car. That seemed to work for Brett! Compliments of his lovely wife. I made that all possible for him yesterday evening.
Let me fill you in before you get all "that bitch ran her husband over!"

Yesterday we decided to take a look through a house we have a new offer pending on, to take some measurements and what not. We usually meet our realtor as soon as Brett is off work, and fights through traffic, right around dinner time to be exact. Knowing how Brett feels after a day of work and traffic is always a gamble. Yesterday was no exception. I could tell from his face that work must have sucked for him hard core, and his new route home must have been 100%crap.

We all get out of our cars, and a random car with an older woman and a younger guy pulls up to the house (keep in mind this house still has all of its signage/lockbox etc because we aren't under contract or anything yet.) Yet. After staring at us while our realtor opens the lockbox the window rolls down... which is pretty much immediately followed by these 2 strangers getting out of the car. They inquire what we are doing, and if they can come in too and see the house. Our realtor explains that our offer has already been accepted and that we are just there to take some measurements. The pushy woman (who is also a realtor) insists that her little friend wants to take a quick look and be on their way.
sidenote- this part of the story doesn't have too much to do with me hitting Brett with my car, but its a precursor to why he was pissed off pre-car ramming.
This woman explains that her client isn't doing any serious looking because "the boss" isn't with them. Which is this dude's wife. Poor bastard. Well at least he admits she is the captain of that ship -either way, get the hell out of our almost house, for serious. Or make yourself useful and hold this measuring tape/baby/my coat/whatever.

So they pretty much run through the house because we are apparently much more respectful than they are and don't say "go away weirdos". And we finish our measurements and look through. It is time to go home.

Generally Brett is in a rush to get home, so he can have a nice dinner and relax. I figure, he has hopped into his car at lightening speeds and is probably out of the driveway before I can even buckle the baby in her car seat. So I go ahead and throw it in reverse, and roll, right into him, and his open car door. I honestly don't recall hearing a crunch or any crashing noise, just him cussing at me/my car.

So what do I do? I just stop, don't pull up yet, just stop. In my mind this is the only thing that processes:Dude. I just hit Brett. Of course he asks me if I plan to pull up and um, off of him and his car which snaps me back to the situation at hand. I look back and the baby is busy making out with her toy giraffe and has no idea I just tagged her father with our car.

I look up and see that our realtor is in her car just looking down at some papers we just signed. Surely she saw me just hit him. Right? I don't stop to ask questions, I am just too busy trying not to laugh so I just pull out of the driveway sans my husband attached to my car, and drive home. I can tell when I get to our house that he is still super pissed. Like, I am not going to look at you or speak. Alas, I am just laughing. And laughing. And then crying from laughing, which is making the baby laugh. So we are now in the kitchen laughing at Brett. Just waiting for him to decide that he is done with the silent treatment. It doesn't take him long and he slowly cracks and has a chuckle with us.

So, if you think you are having a bad day, it could always be worse. Your loved ones could be running you over with their vehicles. So chin up!

Monday, October 24, 2011

Home Sweet Home?

home sweet home

Unfortunately my home has been anything but sweet lately. I feel like I live in a hotel. Except that everyone has the room key and comes in to look at my stuff.

I love our little house, but that's just it, we feel like we have already run out of room. The barrage of new baby toys and gadgets has not helped our cause.

When we bought the house we are in I was the only one who could prequalify, because the government still hated Brett (and they still do for the most part). At any rate, they granted him permission to now qualify with me for a home loan. They figured they are sucking enough money out of his paycheck each week why not. So we kicked around the idea of selling our house and buying something we can stay in forever. Room to grow. Room to store stuff, room to entertain, you know just ROOM.

So we listed the house, and we had some steady traffic. It of course all seemed easier in my head. When your house is on the market you can't just keep it "clean". We kept our house clean already. Dishes were always done, laundry always put away, baby toys fairly organized, etc... When you are showing your house it has to be like no one really lives there. They need to picture it being their own home. So it is a fun game of "hide all of our shit". Maybe I am a little OCD and it is just now becoming apparent to me.

Another fun factor? Those dogs we have. Seriously, who's idea was it to have 3 dogs!? Damn my fate of obtaining rescue animals. Every time someone would want to show the house I would do the -hide your shit- scramble. Then proceed to stick the baby, and all 3 dogs in my car and drive to my moms until the people were done taking a look see at all of our hard work. An added element of surprise with 3 dogs trying to eat your soul is apparently not a good selling point when showing your home. So I have been diligently removing them for every showing.

Sometimes we would even get surprise guests, the kind that want to walk around while I am bathing my kid, or cooking dinner. Or not even there and the dogs still are, and the house isn't ready. The ones that are just so darn busy they don't want to call first like instructed in order to respectfully show the house. Then they are even more inconvenienced when we say nope sorry, so they rummage around our yard, and try to look through the windows while we live our lives. Or how about the nice old couple who came over early and let themselves in through the garage while I was trying to leave with everyone in tow? What gems, they had a good time talking to me about every tiny thing in the house, and the nice old lady even lifted her shirt up to show me her stomach. Really. I want out of this weird twilight zone! I would say on a good week I would average 8 hours in hiding and then unhiding our crap. I am tired.

Luckily we are finally on our way to selling the house.
But guess what? We don't have a new one to move in to. Yea, keeping up with the Jones' will be easy in a few short weeks. We will be posted up in my old room, at mom and dads. All 6 of us. Who's excited about that one?! It is convenient, no rent, free childcare. But the principal is a killer. I know what you may be thinking, wow those guys are really shitty planners. But we did have a good plan I assure you. We had made an offer on a short sale months ago, knowing the process could be a lengthy one. We had time to kill while we sold our house anyways. The sellers accepted, so yay step 1. At that juncture no other offers could be entertained, so we wait and hope the negotiations are going well, and the bank is on its way to accepting and giving us a closing date. We wait. Wait. Wait. A few weeks pass by, and then a few more. When checking in with the listing agent he appeared to be doing his job to check with the bank involved. And still working on selling our home we decided to be patient and diligent.

Then we get an offer on our house! and we are stoked, and we negotiate a fair price for all involved and we are super relieved. So? I drive by the house we are waiting on just to daydream and I notice the real estate sign is down, and a note is on the door...with information about the new listing agent and company. Um what the hell. We do a little digging and find out not only did the short sale go into foreclosure, it has already been sold on the courthouse steps and will be relisted who knows when, and who knows at what price. Perfect. I really can't understand how realtors get away with not doing their jobs. If they didn't want to do their work they could have at least told our agent. Not like there isn't a lot at stake here.

Anyways, we have been looking like crazy trying to find a house that is not wrecked and ready for us to move into without a total overhaul. It isn't easy even with our new budget. The name of the game is short sale a foreclosure these days. And that almost always means the people wrecked the place in some form or fashion. At this juncture we don't have the time, energy, or resources to remodel a home before we move into it. And maybe we are being a little picky with our wish list, but we don't intend to move again. EVER.

So-that is what is happening to my blog these days. I have been in real estate hell, and my wit has died along with my energy. I can assure you that the move to my parent's house will be providing me with plenty of writing material. So hang in there with me.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

handbasket

Hey where am I going? And why am I in this basket? I may be going to hell for posting this picture, but at least I will be laughing on the way!

Hands down one of the funniest things to me is an asian accent.
So since I found this gem online I just can't stop laughing.




Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Candy Caper


If you came into work and found the above illustrated scenario on top of your desk you would probably think a few things may have happened:
A-perhaps a small family of candy loving mice have taken residence in your office. (One might think the small brown things are droppings, as indicated within the red arrows)
B-perhaps it is "bring your kid" to work day, and someone's child has found their way into your office and has begun constructing the initial stages of a candy bar collage.
C-perhaps someone in the office is a closet eater and they are dumping evidence in your room to lessen suspicion on themselves.

However, I know, that when I come in and see that on my desk none of the above are true. In fact, this simply means that my dad has been here. I know it all too well. Especially when the Halloween season is among us, my aunt stocks the office candy jar chock full of tootsie rolls, junior mints, mini candy bars, jolly ranchers and any other tooth rotting treat you can think of. But do I fall prey to the candy jar's allure? No way. As a new mommy with a metabolism that is a total joke I know that such treats make your clothes shrink.

So how does the evidence of eaten treats wind up in my room? That is easy. My dad has developed an aversion to ripping open candy wrappers, so he sneaks into my office and uses my scissors to cut the open. But that is ok, I love him anyways, even if he does make me look like the fat kid with all of these candy remnants and wrappers decorating my place.

I should be a detective.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Chicken Salads



Let me set the stage: As the local tech guru I get all of my dad's emails forwarded to myself so that they are read and handled in a timely manner. Yesterday we/dad received this email: (name may have been changed to protect the terribly mistaken)


Hello My name is John ______ and I would like to order for individual, grilled Caesar chicken salads in your restaurant for 150 people on 28th September and pick up time is 4pm, and it's for my Mom's Birthday Party. It will be picked up by my courier agent and I am ready to pay the full payment with my credit card so get to me with the following information below...

Restaurant Address:
Total cost for the food:
Personal cell #:
Please Advise.

Best Regards,
John


-----------
Good morning John,
I regret to inform you that you have most definitely contacted the wrong person while ordering your 150 chicken salads. The recipient would have never recieved this message if it weren't for me reading his emails for him. This particular email address ( "Car Man" Dennis) is my 62 year old father who on the best of days does not know how to turn a pc on. The only thing you could order from us would be a classic muscle car, or some commercial floor covering. Just wanted to let you know we certainly are not a restaurant, because your email seems to be pretty important. Hopefully you find the correct email, so your mom can enjoy some salads. The happiest of birthday wishes to her.
Sincerely,
"Car Man" Dennis + his tech savvy kid

p.s. - would you possibly be Canadian? you write like my mother-in-law, especially the -please advise- part.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

registered


An interesting process has come to my attention and I would like to discuss...
And that is the process of people buying items from wedding gift registries.
It is an unbelievable concept to me. A few times a year I find myself looking up wedding registries to try to find something to give to an eagerly unrealistic bride and groom.

Do you ever look at a registry and think, "Who the f*ck made this thing? Did they give the scanner to a 4 year old? Did they forget that they aren't Kim Kardashian?"
I will be perfectly honest, I have seen things like flat screen tvs, video gaming systems (and no, that wasn't mine and Brett's registry). To complete sets of patio furniture, and they need what? a $200 salt and pepper shaker set? Who the f*ck needs a $200 salt and pepper shaker?

After 5 minutes of gawking at the fun prices of things that are somewhat equivalent to a weeks worth of pay you have a heart to heart with yourself. "How much do I really like Bill and Jane?" I remember those bastards got me a casserole dish, and wine bottle opener, I don't even like wine. As you battle it out in your head, you quickly switch the webpage settings to sort the registry in question from lowest to highest price, and then decide how many of the smaller items you can put together without looking like a cheap ass.

Luckily for me I am the craftiest crafter around so I make something very awesome and cool to incorporate into the gift. I even make pretty little greeting cards, so I have a leg up on other guests. Either that, or my pretty handmade stuff distracts them from the fact that I did not pick up that $350 kitchen mixer off of their sadly unnecesary registry (let's just cut to the chase, we know it would be best to just get you guys a set of margarita glasses because I really don't pin you to be much of a baker there susie homemaker).

My suggestion to couples out there? Don't be so pretentious, or you will wind up with like 10 or more $25.00 toasters, and more cheap coffee makers than you can shake a stick at. For real.

Let's discuss. What are some of the most interesting outrageous things you have encountered on registries?

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Designing Rights

As we are nearing the 2 month mark of our real estate shenanigans (trying to find our next place, while selling our current home) I am starting to envision what the next place should look like. And of course, this time around Brett (from now on in this post known as -Go Big-Jones) gets his "man cave". Man cave is loosely translated into movie theater because an area for him to watch movies and get his butt kicked in Call of Duty sorry hun is just what he will need.

I agree(d) to let him have the design rights to his one room, so that I may claim designing rights in the dozen other areas in a new house. I am cool with that. And we don't even have to rock paper scissors for it. I did however tell him, we may or may not have x amount of dollars to save and to invest in upgrades. So lets keep the man cave as basic as possible until further notice! (ie, paint, new carpet, some couches we already have + whatever movie equipment we need) should be sufficient for starters. Should be.

That spiraled into over a weeks worth of researching the coolest, sickest home movie theaters he could possibly find. I mean like, here is my $2 million dollar home, and I only spent $45,000.00 designing this theater. Before I could even blink there were mentions of constructing platforms, recessed surround sound systems, new hallways, secret doors, you name it he found it online and wanted to do it.

During a walk through at a house we like I hear "I could just rip all of these walls out down here, and double insulate them." Oh? I'm not even sure at this juncture that he even owns a hammer. I think he has a few tool sets from Christmas's past, but I am willing to bet they are still in the plastic packaging whence they came. Getting him to swap out the air filter is a task in and of itself. So to imagine him doing a total remodel is rather difficult for me.

I don't mean to post this because I am terrible, and love to dis my husband. I love him dearly, but being a handyman is not his forte. And now that I think of it, neither is being reasonable!


--sidenote: -Go Big-Jones is aware that I am constructing this post to make fun of him, so he insists I leave it up so that later on down the road I can post pictures of the mac daddy version of the theater and be wrong. booboobeeboo.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

The Poster Child for Healthy Living.


Today's post is brought to you by: these shitty tasting carrot sticks I am currently eating.

I swear, I am the worst example of healthy living.

I kinda feel like it doesn't matter if you are one of those weirdo 100% vegan tree huggin' hemp wearin' hippies who only ingests organic mush 24-7 and hikes the Appalachian trail barefoot OR if you are one of those eat whatever, and drink and smoke whatever because only the good die young. There are tons of cases of 90+ year old women who drink wine and smoke because they have done so since prohibition ended. And old dudes who have coveted their special brand of scotch since the paleolithic era. They are perfectly pickled.

I'm sure that the "perfectly pickled" people (say that 5 times fast!) are somewhat of a medical mystery. They probably have been getting yelled at by their doctors for decades, and despite their wishes kept up with those pesky habits.

Why do I mention these things? Because now, now I am a mom, and well no longer 21 - my metabolism went in the shitter after the baby got here. I don't feel quite as foxy as I should, and I actually have to formulate a plan to lose some poundage, and remain somewhat "healthy". I really don't want to set a bad example for Adeline that will haunt her for the rest of her life. And for me diet plans always work better than heavy duty exercise routines. Running, and playing any sort of sport is laughable when I am involved. The only time you will see my ass running is if something is chasing me. And sports, well, I played softball for barely one season when I was 10, and that mostly consisted of me walking up to bat, getting nailed with the ball, and getting to walk to first base. I don't even like sweating. Seriously, I didn't even sweat when I had a baby...Not gonna say it was easy (oh wait, it was) but I just don't like sweating. Which reminds me, I need to get the hell out of GA.

So there ya have it. I am stuck somewhere in the middle of not wanting to become the vegan spokeswoman for PETA who climbed Mt.Everest...Twice... And not wanting to become that 103 year old perfectly pickled pain in the ass who will never die and leave my children their well deserved inheritance. What can I say, I want to have my steak and eat it too!

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

green card

"Do we have everything we need?"
"Yup, I have all of our paperwork, and the scrabooks in this big bookbag. Now, what was your first pet's name? What town was your dad born in? Your favorite color, and I don't know- what would we say our first date ever was?"

That was a little bit of the conversation we had as we were on our way to the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services facility in Atlanta. It felt so strange riding to our first interview just quizzing the person I had married a few months earlier, but had lived with and grown to know for 2 years. We were nervous as hell, if we answered something wrong, or forgot to bring in a certain form, he might be denied permanent residence, or who knows what.

We quizzed each other until we pulled into the parking lot. My stomach was in knots. We get inside the building and some employees who you could tell hated their lives made us remove our belongings and jewelry and walk through a few body scanning devices. After our thorough search and pat down they sent us up to sign in. We had to sign a few things after we checked in. One was a form that asked us what language we needed our interview to be conducted in. What the hell. Is this for serious? Call me crazy but I think MR. AND MRS. JONES would probably like their interview in ENGLISH. I understand we are the only caucasian people within a 5 mile radius, but do you?! That's like trying to card an 85 year old trying to buy booze. It's a little redundant.

Anyways, we took a seat and tried to act like we weren't freakin' out about who our immigration officer might be. As they came out to call in different people we tried to size them up. "that guy looks like a jackass, I hope we don't get him" and so on. We look to the row of seats next to us as a couple is called back, and I can't even make this shit up. The woman (who was the american"anchor" in the relationship) was, no lie, about 6'3'' and I would ball park 250 lbs. Her husband? He was Indian (they were both dressed in full garb and head pieces IN JULY IN GEORGIA). He was maybe 5'5'' and maybe 130 lbs. Anywho, about 15 or so minutes after they disappeared into the enclosed hallway they walked out of the waiting room and we were directly called back. The officer we met seemed nice enough, as she called us back into her rather small office. As soon as we walked in it hit us. A smell that was so potent it reached up and smacked us in the face. It was an incredibly disgusting combo of body odor and curry? maybe? Whatever it was it was obvious that the jolly green giant and her pint sized Indian were probably the culprits. It was so bad the immigration officer asked if we minded her spraying an immense amount of lysol to quell the stench. We said please do.

As soon as we were seated and comfy we had to stand back up again to do our oaths. You know, to swear that we won't lie about anything. sidenote: we were told, and had read to absolutely make NO jokes! about anything...

So, we are in the process of raising our hands and standing to take the oath when Brett's big butt tags the side of my rib cage and I fly into this woman's office wall. Brett without skipping a beat reaches over and picks me up, almost brushing me off and says, "oh it's ok, this stuff happens all the time, I kinda forget how big I am." -I can't decide...can I laugh? I say oh what the hell and let out a giggle and agree "yes and he forgets how small I am!" We do the oath and then Brett gets a special quiz and I am not allowed to talk. Some of the yes or no questions he then gets to answer straight faced involved things like, harboring fugitives, taking part in terrorist organizations, smuggling drugs, smuggling prostitutes, you know THE USUAL?!?!?!?!

And if any of you know my husband, talking to him about any combination of those items and expecting him to not make a joke or laugh is like asking him to stop breathing. Seriously. Luckily after he "took me out" during our oath the woman had warmed up a bit to the fact that we are a ridiculously silly pair of people. So she let a few smirks and comments slide.

Then I get to talk! yay! time to answer questions that have nothing to do with the fact that I may actually be in love with my husband. Wanna get an idea of what they are allowed to ask, and just might ask? Here ya go. Good stuff right? Stress me right out! Then we show off the wedding pictures that further prove we actually like each other, and had a legit ceremony, and didn't blow $30,000 for a weekend because we think scamming the US government is a fun, yet pricey hobby. Then I was asked, "Can I take some of these photos out to keep in your file?". Why no, you can't. Those photos are glued to an immaculately designed scrapbook. Isn't there a $10,000.00+ copy machine that my tax money paid for lying around here somewhere that we can use?

We conclude our interview and Brett gets a handshake and a congratulations- he is now allowed to work and pay taxes. Congrats sucker! But at least we were then on the long road to him becoming a productive "citizen". We are creeping up on our 3rd anniversary now and all he has is a temporary green card. But I will save that headache for another day.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Still a one man wolfpack.

Ok so, aside from the distracting and strange personal photograph (yes, I AM wearing Zack Galifianakis on my chest, and yes I AM also wearing retractable aviators that come with a special leather carrying case. be jealous. or laugh. whatever). But that is neither here nor there. The purpose of this post is to let myself know that I am still me. And I do exist outside of my baby. I mean, she does rock in an inconceivable way. However, I am still pretty cool as well. Or that is what I tell myself.

I thought it might be worth looking at some of the things that used to make me, well, me - pre baby days. Wanted to see if I still have the same interests and hobbies, and if I can figure out what new likes I am in to I can make some fun for myself (for myself...not fun OF myself...I do that enough already).

I still like:
-being lazy and watching random tv series on netflix with my man friend.
-cooking
-being crafty
-talking to dead people
-pretending to be organized
-pretending to be healthy (it helps form the habit people!)
-decorating and redecorating anything I can get my hands on. Which makes the prospect of us buying a whole new house for me to make our own super exciting.


I no longer like:
-getting hammered at smokey bars. I may try this one out a time or two more just to make sure though!
-people who want to waste my time. My time is a hot commodity these days with the baby being around. Dealing with drama is no longer my forte.
-people who say they are my friends but in essence are not. Facebook is the death of the true meaning of friendship.
-with that last line in mind...I am starting to not like Facebook.
-worrying about my image. Just because I don't like it doesn't mean I don't do it though. But really, I am coming to terms with what real women are supposed to look like. I am allowed to have a big ass, and I am allowed to be the color I was born to be (and that's NOT the orange glow created by a fake tan or a real tan that will lead me to a path of skin melanoma).

I'm not really sure that this helped me much, but maybe it will in some way sometime soon. Until next time just remember - I am still a one man wolfpack.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

An Audition for Shenanigans.


Adeline recently had her first commercial audition. Now, I haven't talked on here at all about her new "career" in modeling. I guess I will some time or another. I don't want to be one of those weirdo pageant like moms who forces my kid into weird stuff. But? so far all Adeline has done is get paid to play with toys, not a moment of fussiness, not a moment of being uncomfortable or irritable so for that I can say we are still in the clear of crazy mom status.

Back to the story. Adeline gets an audition for a hospital commercial. It was to be in Atlanta, off Piedmont Road. I decided it would be best to take my sister along for navigational help and moral support. So we loaded up and hit the road. We made it to Piedmont road. And that is when the fun began. For the next half hour we danced around within a .5th of a mile from the studio we were supposed to be finding. So close, yet soooo far away.

The first time I had to turn around I went down a residential street, so I got us tangled and untangled and back onto the main road. The next turn I made was into a car wash establishment, where I very quickly almost got hit by a freshly cleaned Range Rover - I pulled forward to escape hitting or being hit by a car that cost more than my house and soon realized there is absolutely NO turn around whatsoever.

So there we are, headed for a good scrubbing and no where to run. And? we are already almost late for the audition. We decide to play dumb, and we just ask the nice car cleaning man for directions and how to find a way to get the hell out of there without buying a $50 car wash (which I probably needed but we are on a strict time schedule here people!). The man tries not to snicker and shows us the exit way that prevents us from running through the car wash building, but it does take us to the booths where the nice guys dry your clean car. They of course flag us into the next available booth for a good drying and much to their surprise they watch us speed through and make a bolt for the main road. My sister is of course trying to tell me through her laughter that someone has taped all of my windshield wipers down somewhere in this shuffle. And then the manager stops us just before we pull out to ask us if we are satisfied with our car wash. Um yes sir, we have enjoyed this. Did you not notice the 6 weeks worth of dust and dirt on this ol nissan, as well as the custom wiper tape job? I guess he didn't. I am surprised I even found the studio for the audition through my tears of laughter.

Needless to say, we made it to the audition just in time, and she did great. Duh, she got to sit there and play with people in front of a camera for like 60 seconds, and then we mosied on home. Taped wipers and all.

I think if that whole afternoon had been an audition for a reality tv show, we would have gotten the part. Hands down.

Monday, June 27, 2011

A hunting we will go.

So about a year ago we went from a one doggy household to 3 doggy household. We got a brother/sister pair of pups from my buddy Jordan. We named them Bacon and Banana because we are awesome like that. They appeared to be tiny shih tzu pups. Which is workable in our house because I am allergic to most critters that shed.

Long story short, they grew, rather large for "shih tzu" dogs. And they do weird shit (like try to eat scissors, and poop in the bath tub...you know, the usual...)

And then? They decided to show what they were really made of - hunting dogs! I am going to guess some sort of hunting terrier. Like I described somewhere in this post. They like to kill rabbits these days.

This past Friday was no exception. Bacon brought in a teeny tiny (like fit in the palm of my hand) sized bunny. He just brought it in as a gift though, it was scared but not really hurt. So I get home and there is a huggies diaper box on top of my kitchen stove with an assortment of pots and pans sitting on top of it. I ask Brett what the heck sort of set up has he prepared. And then I get to see the little bunny chilling inside of the box on an old t shirt. He looked scared, but glad to be out of Bacon's mouth. I made a joke to Brett about all of the clutter on top of the box, as if a tiny animal could move all of that to escape. We decide that once it is daylight we will release him.

We go to bed. Around 3 am I wake up to hearing all sorts of noises. Apparently "little rabbit" jimmied his way out of the tiny crack of a handle at the top of the huggies box! Jumped from the top of the kitchen counter to the floor, and then through the tiny crack of a door into our bedroom. It was there that his tiny little self awoke the dogs, and they decided to actually chase him down and kill him. I was so sad. My dogs are monsters. I know I know, it is "their nature" to do this sort of stuff. Instinctual right? So is it these natural instincts that make Bacon want to lick the walls like the windows on a short bus? Is it these natural instincts that make Banana want to jump into a bath tub to leave a present? I'm no dog psychologist, but it appears that these two are as dumb as rocks. But I love them anyways.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Business Casual

I think I will let an illustration speak louder than words this post...
I will say this though, my dad brings "business casual" to a whole new level.



I love you dad!

sidenote: the red arrows indicate the possible reasons as to why dad can never find what he needs, thus making me print and reprint dozens of papers.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Mother dear




Well, my first mother's day was a huge success. I got to do my favorite things with my favorite people.


I guess I should start out with Mother's Day Eve... yea my fun started the night before! My dogs Bacon and Banana (what I will refer to as the "bad" dogs, because Agadore is a perfect angel) anyways, they decided to catch, and kill, a cute bunny rabbit for mommy! Unfortunately I prefer my bunnies to be alive and cute, but they got an A for effort, as well as a good yelling to, and scrub down. In 20+ years of small dog breed ownership I have never had to wash blood off of a dog. It was sad. And I am sure it was the first time they have ever had their mouths washed out with soap...little bastards. So after that episode Adeline decides to projectile vomit all over me and the bed (another first!) I mean, not to be too graphic but it made its way into her ear, the top of her head, and even into my armpit. Talent.

I got a good nights rest on the clean sheets Brett fixed up for me. Score.

Woke up and Brett took my mom, Adeline and I to breakfast for my favorite treat at Cracker Barrel. We went home, and I got to do what I do best, NAP. While Adeline and I napped Brett cleaned up around the house. Then I woke up and got to snack on my gift - an EDIBLE ARRANGEMENT, I freakin love those things. I am pretty sure that the edible arrangements company grows their fruit in crack coccaine because I am addicted.

We talked about going to the Indian festival, but decided against it for a few reasons. One? Parking is a nightmare. Two? it was creeping into the high 80's, and well I am allergic to the sun (I am pretty sure Adeline is too) I hate being out in the sun. That is a sure fire way to lose my pale glow! Three? The park that hosts the festival is more like a dustbowl vs. a park. And Four?I am fairly certain a large percentage of the vendors are in fact mexican, NOT Native American. I mean, the goods are even Mexico-esque, I have been to Mexico a few times so I would like to say that I know.

So? we drove to the Booth Western Art Museum instead. We were able to see a ton of Native American stuff (plus cowboys) in the comfort of air conditioning and no crowd whatsoever. I think there were 3 other cars in the parking lot? yea, my cup of tea. I also got to wear my cowboy boots because that's what you do when you go to the cowboys and indians museum. Duh.
And now a milestone plug: We gave Adeline her first taste of rice cereal in her bottle. Not so sure she enjoyed it, but it stayed down so that is a start. And the day after mother's day she started doing her first tummy to back roll overs. So that is pretty neat in my book!


p.s. - on the Mother front: today is my mom's birthday! she is 16, or 61, whatever. She is a smokin' red head, and that is all that matters.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

new haunts

I am gonna keep this post short and sweet, what? You want a funny full length story you can enjoy your popcorn with? Maybe next time dears. (this lady got like 0 hours of sleep and awoke at 3:45am- I apologize but my brain has taken a vacation.)

I would like to state that I have 2 new addictions. One mild, and one not so mild.

The mild addiction? Cruising this website. I have lots to look forward to with Adeline! wooo.

The serious addiction? Couponing. God I am so domestic these days. I just can't stop cutting them and playing with them! ha. But seriously, I have considered things like "where can I start our stock pile?" and "we need 6 boxes of Special K this week. Right?". It is getting bad. I go to my fave coupon site so often Google chrome has saved it for me. Anyone want to start a club?er...I mean host my intervention? I guess it is a healthy-ish hobby because I save tons of money every week. I blame my friends and family for being enablers. Or whatever, it just sounded good.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

the Easter Wabbit


Now that Easter is over, the good ol Facebook is cluttered with Easter pics. Egg hunts, family photo ops, and of course, pictures with the Easter Bunny. For various reasons I opted to NOT take Adeline to see the Easter Bunny. The main reason? they are creepy as hell. I mean really. Look at all the photos that may have flooded your Facebook news feed. Are those rabbits not insanely terrifying?

I am convinced that every year there is a contest within the costume making industry to see who can make the scariest Easter Bunny costume. And? They all win. Every year. Here are their criteria while creating their get ups:

-Is the rabbit going to be over 5 feet tall? Check.
-Is the rabbit going to be over 150 pounds? Check.
-Is the rabbit wearing an obnoxiously printed bowtie and vest? Check.
-Is the rabbit pants-less? Check

Call me crazy, but if I were a child and someone told me to sit on a 5+ft, 150 pound rabbit with a vest and no pants I would cry too. Poor lil guys. Yet every Spring parents pay exuberant amounts of money to do that very thing to their children. And what is the easter bunny's voice supposed to sound like anyways? A cranky, under-payed, middle aged man? I think probably no.

The best part is that after introducing the little dears to the huge pants-less killer rabbit, the little dears learn that said rabbit will be inside their home come Easter morning.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

The Redneck Mafia - the preface




a simple dialogue:

Me: "Home Depot will sharpen mower blades for free I heard. Where is our mower from?"
Mr.Jones: "Your dad. Remember, last summer that guy owed your dad some money and he kept paying him in lawn mowers?"
Me: "Oh right! Cause that's not weird as hell. Fun times, I guess that's how dad rolls."




*an eloquent and well written post to follow explaining how my dad quite possibly runs a redneck mafia

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Four Wheels are a Dangerous Sort.

Lately we have been talking about all of the toys and gadgets galore that are out there for little kids. Brett and I had our share of "big wheels" and what not when we were growing up. I also had a four wheeler, and a golf cart (sounds weird now that I type this many years later...what the hell does a 9 year old need a golf cart for?)

I was saying that if Adeline is anything like me then we can't get her any of those things, we need to fashion a device similar to a hamster ball to keep her from seriously doing some damage.

That four wheeler I had? well it became water logged. Why you ask? Because I parked it in a pond. That is why. I have a well formulated story as to why I drove a four wheeler with myself and a friend on it into our pond, but it seems silly now. So here is the short version: I was a kid, a dumb and accident proned kid apparently.

The golf cart? It had a head on collision with an oak tree. I'm not sure what was funnier, me not seeing the tree directly in front of us, my sister not telling me "hey-there's a tree right there", or flinging my niece from the basket in the back after impact.

It is amazing that I have never wrecked a car. I have however uprooted one of my mom's beloved Bradford Pear trees, while in reverse, in my car (aka the Loser Cruiser). That story I can keep short - I was running late for yoga, realized I didn't have my mat, threw it in reverse and instead of following the path of the driveway I deviated a smidge...Into the yard and by the time I threw it into "park" I was parked alright...ass end of the car slightly elevated and mom's poor tree severely bent just lying in the grass! My response? "It's just sleeping"
Before any tree huggers come to get me in my sleep I must say this: The tree did not die, we sort of rigged up a contraption to hold it back up right so it could live. So there!

So I guess what I need to ask is this, what are the safest riding toys for kids these days? ;)

Monday, April 11, 2011

Auto Enthusiast.

To clear up any preconceived notions - I am not an ungrateful brat. I just like to find humor in everything. Because if you aren't laughing enough you aren't living enough.

I have to put the corresponding image for this post at the bottom of this post because if I leave it hanging at the top you guys won't read a word you will just look at the image and think, "holy shit that is wild looking!" and well you need the story too!

My dad and I have a problem, we like to change cars like we change socks...very often. If anyone knows anything about my dad they would know he is quite fond of cars. Mostly old cars, but he has been known to collect (yes collect) some newer cars too. Back in his hay day of car collecting he had rounded up 40+ cars. Chevelles, mustangs, roadrunners, so many that my brain just shuts down when I try to name all of the makes and models.

When I was 14 he figured it was time to teach me how to drive a stick shift (uuh, why? who knows). So there we were in our looooong driveway in a pristine black and gold Trans Am - Smokey and the Bandit style baby! And just to take the edge off of how damn cool we were I had a pool float under my ass so I could see where I was going.

My first car? Was not that smokin' Trans Am with the pretty gold eagle. When I got my learner's permit dad gave me something a teenie bit different. A 1989 (or maybe 1990?) Lincoln Mark 7...with big Rims, black out tinted windows, and a ghost flame paint job. It might as well have played the theme from the Godfather when you blew the horn. I was the biggest gangster in Canton. Buddies and I nicknamed that one the Stinkin Lincoln.That car was ridiculous. Until I saw my next car.

So, I get my driver's license and guess what the new vehicle is? It was actually new-ish. A flaming PT Cruiser. Let's not take the term "flaming" too lightly here. The flame paint job on this silly little car was literally more expensive than the car itself.

Looking back I realize why my dad did this to me - he wanted to know where I was and what I was doing .at.all.times.
Because when you live in a fairly small town and you are either related to or friends with the entire city- people talk.

I couldn't have even snuck around under the amazing foliage of the Amazon Rainforest in that damn car-which by the way is 1.3 million sq mi of dense forest. So driving my friends to a party or going shopping? Not happening without everyone seeing me and letting my parents know "I saw Stef in that PT Cruiser this weekend!" Well of course you did! you just saw 6 brilliant shades of colors flame painted enveloping a tiny ass car passing by! A blind man could have seen me!

Which also reminds me - just because a vehicle has a flame paint job does NOT mean it is fast. I swear to anything holy that EVERY single time I stopped at a red light some jack ass next to me would rev their engine. Dude, I am 16, and I am in a PT CRUISER. I can't exceed 50mph down hill in a wind storm so why are you trying to RACE ME!?!

This car became known as the "Loser Cruiser". I could also call it the clown car, or a hotwheels car because that is what the children would call it. Kids loved that car, I mean what kid wouldn't - it was more spectacular than a toy car. I recall a toddler balling his eyes out in a parking lot and as I drove by his face lit up like the fourth of July. The Loser Cruiser stopped the tears of babes. Nice.

And so there you have it, and to ice the cake here she is:
* Yes, dad even had a tag made for it with my name on it. You know, in case I ever accidentally parked next to another flaming pt cruiser I would be able to tell which one was mine.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

roadtrip

So this Saturday, April the 2nd we took our first road trip with the baby. I was nervous. But it was awesome. We left around 6am for Columbia SC to visit my bestie Amanda. (I really need to post about our unique friendship that pretty much survived a 13 year gap with flying colors). Anyways - we were on the road so we could see her. Adeline slept the entire drive there. Entire. We got to Amanda's exit in Columbia and Adeline's eyes popped open, which was perfect.

Stop 1 was Amanda's coffee shop College Grounds, and we sampled some amazing doughnuts that she made for us! Stop 2 was the Riverbanks zoo - which is apparently one of the top 3 zoos in the nation. We really had an awesome time. And? It was Brett's first trip to a real deal zoo. Yea, crazy right? There is no reason why a man should see his first giraffe in real life at the age of 27 (unless he lives in a 3rd world country, or a cage in a basement cellar or something). His parents get an F for not ever taking him to a real zoo when he was little, or his schools get an F for not taking him on a field trip to one! shameful! Anyways, it was a huge zoo with an aquarium, and an elaborate botanical gardens area. Here we are:


One of my favorite parts was the kangaroo "walk about" where you literally walk into and through the kangaroo exhibit. I am convinced that all of the kangaroos and walabees were in fact, drunk. Like this guy: Then we hiked to the botanical gardens vs. riding the trolley like all of the fatties. A woman (who rode the trolley) asked how in the world I was wearing a sleeveless shirt because it was cold - I wanted to say "because I actually used my legs and walked here so I feel fine." but refrained. And she asked if we were from Canada, to which Brett said, why yes British Columbia actually. This lady had interrupted our conversation about sister wives (the tv show), so we picked back up where we left off ( which I think was some joke about Amanda making all of the money and me making the babies). So the lady stared at us the entire time we were in the gardens. Brett is such a pimp. haha. We then walked to the aquarium, where we discovered that I am in fact taller than a penguin: Our zoo trip was over and we ended our day trip to SC with dinner at Hunter Gatherer. I got to see Amanda's parents for the first time in 14 years, so that was really great. The ride home didn't go so well, Adeline was fighting sleep like a samurai warrior. The highways in SC are, well, shit. You know when you were a kid and someone would bounce you up and down so that you make those funny noises when you talk? yea, Adeline was doing that, but crying. But when we made it to smoother roads she passed right out.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Dead Horse


I posted this in a note on facebook (or was it myspace? gasp!) back in August of 2008 and I feel it bears repeating:

You can't beat a dead horse
-So go ahead and pick up the shovel
I wish I had realized this a long time ago. You can't fix people, you can't change people. The only person that you can work on is yourself.

Life gets crappy, but it stays crappy only if you let it. If it's people who are making your life crappy, don't wait around wasting your time and energy trying to make them stop. Just go do your own thing.

People lie, some lie big, some lie small. If you find yourself around those who lie big, just let them lie to themselves - they aren't worth your time.
When it comes to fixing people, if at first you don't succeed, just give up.
Why am I writing this? Because people like to beat dead horses, I have done it, you probably know someone who has done it too.
Fair weather friends, shitty relationships, weird family situations, every once in a while we are faced with a "dead horse" and by thinking that we are helping out, we beat them, we try to talk them into going a different way, try talking them into being nicer, or my favorite - hoping they will be smarter. We try to give advice, we try to give money, or other material things. We just know that if they change everyone will be better off.
And that is correct, in most cases we would be better off if we could fix them. But some people don't want to be fixed.

And if they act like they want to be rescued, it is only a matter of time before they are broken once again.
So quit beating your dead horses, just pick up the shovel, and bury their asses, and then start living your life for you, because at the end of the day the battle is with yourself. And if your dead horses give a shit about you, or themselves, they will dig right out of that hole on their own.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

RED FLAG

I think I have talked about this somewhere... Ah yes somewhere in here. You can see that my dad has a lot of people that work for him, and he tries his best to keep us all busy. This makes my day to day work agenda pretty interesting. For instance, this morning after I finished the proposals for the day I was assigned two tasks 1-paint an old bread sign like this one
and 2- go online to Dish Network and set up an installation for him, since he tried twice this week via phone and just cussed them out apparently.

The bread sign was a breeze. I free handed that bad boy and it looks awesome.

Dish Network? Oh dear. Oh d-d-d-dear. I go online and fly through the prompted questions. But when it is time to finalize and pay the fee I get a red I mean RED message saying I can't complete the transaction online, I must call customer service. Oy. I call the 1-800-ah-shit line and try this again. After 45 minutes with a lady who probably lives HERE, we figure out the problem. Dad (and Mom) have been "locked out" for security purposes and can't try to get Dish Network again for at least 30 days.
uhhhhhhhhhh?
30 days?
locked out?
Security purposes?
Yes, my parents, in their early 60's - and mostly retired are a security issue. Please RED FLAG them. I mean, they might be a threat towards each other, but a Dish Network Installer could probably be in and out of there within an hour and come out unscathed. I would recommend the installer be from HERE vs. THERE unlike customer support, but you know whatever.

--My question is...what in the hell did dad say to them that they felt the need to RED FLAG him in the Dish system?Oh what I wouldn't give to see the sidenote that pops up under their names for the customer support staff! Probably something like "-note- Customer is a super cranky old man, do NOT send installers to this location. Customer is probably armed and dangerous. Even if he offers to pay $5,000 in set up fees do NOT send installers.Ever."

Bless my dad's Irish/German heart.