I Feel Like I Should Whisper This...

But I had an outstanding weekend. We didn't go anywhere or do anything out of the ordinary, it was just a perfect, at-home weekend. We slept in, we ate too much, we worked in the garden, we mountain biked, we watched dumb movies, we hung out with friends. Just your average awesome long weekend. Oh, and the weather was glorious, which didn't hurt.

Photographic evidence:


(This one cracks me up. Every time I ride past it I think about the beaver who worked all day chewing through this tree trunk before looking up and being all, "Well, shit." Then of course I had to have a go. Delicious!)


Not pictured: Monday morning I was sitting on the couch watching the B-52s on TV when Stella hopped up next to me all, "Heeeeey, nothing to see here." I looked over and noticed a TAIL sticking out of her mouth. I shrieked, she dropped the chipmunk and it took off like a tiny furry rocket. Kenny (who's an experienced chipmunk wrangler) went into action and we were on the floor in the dining room with shoe boxes at hand. I ALMOST had the chipmunk before it cut left under my hand and went....under the refrigerator.

Now, I'm going to pause here and tell you that if you're one of those people (like me) who've never bothered to pull the fridge away from the wall, you should probably sit down. It. Is. Horrifying. I had no idea the sheer density that undisturbed dust can take on, especially when it's coating wires and fans and cords and cables that you're trying to see around in order to find a tiny rodent. Horrifying.

Anyway, Kenny got the brilliant idea to shoot compressed air from a can under the fridge to scare out our little friend. He got behind the fridge and I lay in front of it, shoot shoot shooting air. Seconds later a tiny fuzzy face looked out at me and I panicked and shot that poor guy with compressed air RIGHT IN THE SNOOT. Sorry little dude!

He finally made a run for it and headed for the doorway down to the laundry nook. He did a flying banzai leap over the two stairs and dove under the dryer. We left the outside door open all day and (hopefully) he made it out to freedom.

ADVENTURE. Right here! Who needs to leave the house? Not us.

Fine. Be that way.

What's up? So, what happened that I went from righteously wronged to crazy shrill bitch? I went from getting ten comments to getting no comments. Was I wrong about not wanting to pay for cucumbers I didn't actually purchase? Hmph. I forgive you, but don't let it happen again.

Anyway, it's nigh upon a holiday weekend! I'm very happy about this even though I'll be spending some of it priming the hall and bathroom. Eventually I might actually paint that shit. One day it might just happen. Things have been pretty good around here except for our adventures in trying to get off the bubbling crude. Oil, that is. We have oil heat and that shit is crazy expensive. Who's looking at $1,000 a month for heat this winter? That would be us.

So, we decided to forget about ever having nice furniture and get a heat pump instead, especially since our central air unit is on it's last legs. The first estimate was got was in the neighborhood of $5,000. Holy shit. That seemed like a lot. So we call another company, a reputable nationally-known company. The guy came out and gave us another estimate - $12,000 and change. Well, fantastic. Guess which one we're going with?

Now, writing all that just smacked of work so here's a little distraction for you in case you're working too hard or something.

If you aren't checking out Nataliedee on a daily basis you are missing out. Like, totally. Her comics are pretty much everything a comic should be.


And why aren't you checking out Vintage Microwave every day? You should be. Also, please don't show that website to my mom because she has some weird affliction where she thinks all her old crap is priceless and rare. I've told her more than once that old does not necessarily equal antique (and eBay has pretty much ruined "rare" for both old and antique stuffs) but she thinks all her broke-down old shit is just a goldmine and I'll bet she'll feel the same way about other people's broke-down old shit, but who can say. eh, maybe not. She's a hoarder, but selective. (Sorry mom, I love you but it's true.)


And for a great everyday people person blog, try Streaks on the China. Sara is awesome and I completely envy her magical eye for cool estate sale finds.


Alright then! Why don't you leave me a comment and tell me about your favorite blog or website? I need entertaining.

Please Be Rude to Me, Part Two.

First, can I just say how touched I am by all the kickass comments? Thanks for getting my back, y'all. I think the one that actually made me LOL was this from Carol:

I think I saw that booth at my local craft fair but it was selling hand painted saw blades. Or maybe airbrushed tee-shirts. I forget.

Mostly because we've actually done shows where painted saw blades were the big thing. I mean, really. I am in the wrong business.

Anyway, the rudeness did not stop that Sunday. On Monday it was followed up by some breathtakingly bad customer service, which I will tell you all about in a minute. First, I have to tell you about the show we did last Saturday. It was a small show that has the #1 benefit of being held the day before Mother's Day. This is awesome because it was all about tired husbands being railroaded into buying things. It was like performance art, watching these tired, overwrought moms get their due.

"LOOK, HONEY. THAT NECKLACE IS NICE. I REALLY LIKE THIS ONE TOO. WHICH ONE DO YOU LIKE BEST BECAUSE YOU WILL BE BUYING ONE FOR ME."

Ha, we did well. This show is local and held in the neighborhood where I grew up, more or less. You know what that means! Who did I run into?

1. my middle school art/gym teacher
2. my middle school English teacher (she's married to the art/gym teacher)
3. my junior year prom date (he introduced me to his wife that way! Dude. We were only ever just friends. It was a fun prom, unlike the one my senior year.)
4. a very cool woman I used to work with at The Byrd. (We were flapper popcorn girls together.)
5. two different mountain bike posse friends.
6. my friend Noah (of Skull-a-Day fame.)

I think there was more, but that's all I remember. The best part was at the end of the show when another vendor came over and, no lie, told us how much he loved our tablecloths. BOO YA, plate-mirror bitch!

Okay, on to the rudeness! Now, in the town where I live there is a very powerful local chain of grocery stores, a company that prides itself on it's excellent customer service and mostly they do okay. My first job was as a grocery bagger in one of their stores and it wasn't the worst job I've ever had. I pretty much give them all my grocery business because it's a nice clean store and I know where everything is. The cashiers are generally friendly and rarely check the expiration dates on my coupons. That changed a few weeks ago.

So, I do my usual big shopping trip, get in line and pile my stuff up on the checkout thingy. My cashier, Monica, was not terribly friendly, but that's fine, I don't really care as long as she's accurate. Eh, not so much with that either. I'm watching the items on the little screen and I notice that I've been charged $3.87 for cucumbers. The problem is, I didn't actually buy any cucumbers. Here's how the rest of it went down:

Me: Hey, sorry, something rang up as cucumbers, but I didn't buy any.
Monica: ... (says nothing, pages back to see the cucumber listing, then continues to ring up my groceries without actually fixing the problem, as if I won't notice.)
Me: Uh...
Monica: (refuses look at me directly or acknowledge me.)
Me: those apples just rang up as oranges...
Monica: (continues to ignore me, but fixes the code this time.)
Me: ...and I'm still wondering about the cucumbers? I didn't buy any.
Monica: (continues to act as if I haven't spoken.)
Me: ...um...
Monica: (finishes ringing up my stuff.)
Me: Hi, really, can you take off the cucumbers? I didn't buy any.
Monica: *sigh* (addressing the bagger) DID YOU BAG ANY CUCUMBERS?
Me: Hey! I think I'd remember buying four dollars worth of cucumbers.
Bagger: no.
Me: I'm not LYING.
Monica: *sigh* (removes the charge, hands me the receipt, turns her back on me.)
Me: (to the bagger): How are you today?
Bagger: (petulantly) fine.
Me: OKAY GREAT.

I'm still pissed off about this and it's been a week and a half. I didn't actually complain to the manager, though I probably should have, because I don't like being the shrill complainer more than I already am, you know? I think my lesson here is to avoid Monica like the plague.

Don't hold back, now.

Last weekend we had a local two-day craft show that went pretty well, I think. The weather was glorious (which doesn't necessarily equal good $$, but it's nice for us in general) and the crowds were quite good. Very few crazy people and lots of repeat customers, which is really flattering. There's nothing nicer than someone coming up to tell you how much they loved the necklace they bought from you last year. I could hear that all day and never get bored. You love me? Really? YOU DON'T SAY. PLEASE KEEP TALKING.

There was a lot of good art/craft at this show and also some that fell into the "breathtakingly weird" category. The painter across the way certainly was part of the latter and, because I completely lack morals or decency, I asked Kate to take a picture:


I mean, how on earth would I ever properly describe this stuff with plain old words? My favorite one was on the other side of the divider and it involved a pictorial of the caves of Lurray Caverns complete with ghostly cavern people-creatures. Wow. Clearly. On. Something. The paintings certainly did keep us entertained all weekend - better than TV! She even sold a couple which just...wow. Good for her.

We spent most of Sunday going into a gradual slump as the weekend wound down and sales slowed. We were not all that excited about the process of breaking everything down because what a pain in the ass that is. Near the end of the show the woman from the booth directly across the aisle who sold ugly plate-mirror hybrids came marching over and said,

"I've been looking over here all weekend and I couldn't stand it any longer..."

Now, because I'm a flopsy fucking moron, I sort of assumed she'd been glazed over with love for a our shiny baubles and wanted to buy something. Oh ho ho! How funny that is.

No, no, instead she spent the next 20 minutes telling us how incredibly awful our booth display is and how we need to throw out our table cloths because they, "don't make sense" and blah blah blah. Then she talked about how she's been doing shows for 20 years and has held booth design seminars and has really figured out what works. I stood there glaring mutely while Kate (poor Kate, always the mediator of rudeness and crazy) was very kind and took her unasked-for criticism gracefully.

So I ask you, what the hell? What on earth? Who does that? Just for the record (and because I lack morals and decency) I asked Kate to take a picture of her booth:



Now, here's our booth:



Not perfect, sure, but cute, right? At least we aren't selling ugly plate-mirrors. I mean, damn.

Six Things You Didn't Really Want To Know Anyway.

I got tagged, like, weeks ago but I've been crazy-busy with all manners of things and memes have too many damn rules anyway. That said, I like to be thought well of so here you go, Jeanne:

Here are the meme rules:
1. link to the person who tagged you (check)
2. post the rules (check)
3. write six things about yourself (check)
4. tag six people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs. (eh.)
5. Let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment on their sites. (eh.)
6. Let your tagger know when your entry is up. (yes, ma'am.)

Six things you probably already know about me because I pretty much tell you guys everything:

1. I'm shallow. Okay, maybe not shallow, but I like stuff. Pretty stuff. Pretty stuff for me. I like to have nice things and I spend a lot of time thinking about my things and plotting about new things I'd like to have and wear. I like to organize my closet, shoes and handbags, and just sit back and look at them all. I like to tuck away a particularly loved item and not use it for a while just so it will feel new again when I do. I like to look cute. I like my legs when I wear heels.

2. I'm pretty close to having OCD, I think. I have a particular schedule I run by and I don't like having that schedule messed with and I will go to great lengths to try to keep things the same in the face of change. Example: I have a snack every morning around 10am. Yesterday, a staff meeting was scheduled from 9:30-11:00. This was Not Good as it completely blocked my snack time. My solution was to stuff a handful of pretzels in my maw at 9:27 even thought I wasn't hungry yet. See also: closet doors must be closed before I can fall asleep. And, I own flatware I refuse to eat with because it's not quite right. Only a first-world idiot could be so picky.

3. I've toyed with the idea of going back to school to get a master's degree and then I laugh and laugh because, WHY. Mostly I think I just want to read fancy books and have someone tell me what they mean.

4. Every thought in my head shows on my face so I have to constantly readjust and try to deadpan it. This is why my previous (crazy) boss used to get mad at me for giving her what she described as, "that blank deer-in-the-headlights look." What she didn't know was that it was just covering up my "You-are-a-crazy-crazy-horrible-bitch-look."

5. Hey, you know those people who are all, "my house is messy, but it's not dirty." Yeah, well mine is messy and dirty. My kitchen floor has it's own post office and stop light.

6. Even at the ripe old age of 36 I still feel like I'm about 12, which is why it's so freaking strange to me to wonder if perhaps I'm really too old to be wearing a short skirt . Then, the other day I discovered I have knee wrinkles. KNEE WRINKLES. I weep. This whole age thing became especially clear to me when I was browsing for books in the library yesterday and pulled The Headmaster Ritual off the shelf, only to realize it was written by the little brother of my best friend from elementary school. DANG. In my head, he is still six years old and eating cereal with apple juice instead of milk. Who gave him permission to grow up?

That's all I've got today kids, but stay tuned! Upcoming blog topics:

- A cashier was really fucking rude to me!
- Stories of a two day craft show in which someone was really fucking rude to us!
- Mad gunman on the loose where I work! I left at five anyway!