Black Rabbit Ink

One Library. No Books. So Sad.

First, card catalogs disappeared from libraries and were replaced by online catalogs that, while neat, didn't help me out one bit the day the library's server was on the blink.

Now, a library with no books? 

Well, gosh, that just seems crazy. 

I know, I know. It's the Digital Age. We're moving forward.

But is it really a step in the right direction?

When I grew up, no one had a clue what the Internet or netbooks or Twitter were. One of my favorite things to do was go to the bookstore or library, pull a book from the shelf and feel its pages as they flipped along my fingertips, smell the air as it was perfumed with the musky scent of crisp pages, and just enjoy browsing until I found that perfect book. It's really hard to do all that on the Internet. 

Ebooks offer a lot of benefits, sure. I have several on my Ipod Touch just waiting to be read. But, when it comes down to it, when I'm not being too lazy to go to the bookstore or too impatient to wait a day or two until I can go, I prefer holding a book in my hands. It's more personal, more engaging that way. No handheld device or glaring computer screen compares to it.

A library without books, whose shelves have been replaced with a coffee shop, a $12,000 cappuccino machine, and flat screen tvs hooked to the Internet, is nothing but a fancy computer lab to me. 

A library without books is nothing.

Birthdays, Change, and a Jump to the Moon

It’s official. The Princess is a teenager. Today, she turned - deep breath - 13.

She's been growing up so quickly over the last few years. Barrettes and glittery hair bobbles? Not since she was 8. Bright dresses with tights and black-bowed Mary Janes? Now it's black t-shirts, skinny jeans, and shoes with skulls on them. Posters of cute animals and licensed cartoon characters? Um, yeah, Jonas Brothers. Chats about Barbie dolls and Spongebob? Not since she discovered makeup and boys. And, this year, instead of a pizza party at Chuck E. Cheese, she hosted her first slumber party.

Yes, she's growing up. Changing. Becoming more like a little adult each day.

Today, I was thinking about this, about how my little girl is not so little anymore, and remembered something that made me smile.

It was a hot summer evening and we were outside looking for fireflies. She was almost three, wearing a white cotton dress with blue/green swirly patterns and a pair of pink jelly sandals. Her face was scrunched into a mischievous grin and her hair was brushed back, tied into two little pigtails that stuck out like exploding firecrackers. She was running across the yard, her chubby hands clapping together trying to catch the teeny lights blinking all around us.

Suddenly, she looked up. Stars, she said.

Stars, I repeated.

That the moon, she said, her eyes widening.

Yep, I said.

For a moment, she stood quietly, staring at the stars and moon. Then, her tiny legs began to extend, bend, extend, bend. The soles of her sandals thudded on the concrete of the sidewalk, over and over again. Up and down, up and down, up and down...

What are you doing? I asked.

She pointed up to the sky, her eyes shining.

I jump to moon, she said. 

One of these days, her bedroom will be replaced by a dorm room, her roller skates with a car, her allowance with a paycheck. Yes, she’s not a baby anymore, and you know what? That's fine.

I want her to keep barreling forward, pushing her boundaries and following her dreams. I want her to grow and change so that each year she can look back and be proud of how far she has come.

I want her to never stop trying to jump to the moon.

Happy birthday, Princess.

Random Thought #3

My day sucked. Until my husband showed me these pictures.

My mother-in-law is always finding new and interesting animals in her backyard. There have been rabbit families, a baby bear or two (ackkk!), and various snakes, such as the Copperhead I almost stepped on one memorable Fourth of July.

The other day, she found this.

A baby deer. A fawn. Barely bigger than my mother-in-law's itty bitty dachshund, Mitzi. They put it in a bucket so they could move it somewhere safer than the neighbor's hot driveway. It ended up in another neighbor's bushes, hiding in the cool shade until its mother came to get it later that day.

Who can stay mad about picky paperpushers with this little darling staring back at them?

Random Thought # 2

Stephen Chow is a genius.

If you haven't seen Kung Fu Hustle yet, get thee to a video store, or a Redbox, or Netflix, or wherever you go to get movies NOW. This movie has it all: action, adventure, comedy, drama, romance. The plot is fun, quirky, and cartoony with colorful characters that include dancing gangsters and a chain smoking landlady with a big chip on her shoulder. There are not enough words to describe the awesomeness of this movie; so, I've included a clip and the trailer below. 

Random Thought #1

The last few weeks have been super busy: contests, deadlines, trying to reduce the ridiculously huge TBR pile of books on my desk, working on my novel, working full-time at my "real" job, a few online workshops, and, of course, taking care of a house and family too...

Whew!  

I am still swamped, but do have a few updates coming up for you in the next few days. A book review of The Marriage Bureau for Rich People will be posted later this week (again, I’m really busy so it will be a bit shorter than my usual reviews) and I’ll get a new quote up by Friday.

In the meantime, just so you know I haven’t dropped off the face of the blogging world, I’ll be posting little random thoughts for you to laugh at, agree with, or just ignore until I have time to post more writing/reading related content.

And, so, I give you...

RANDOM THOUGHT # 1

Copacabana - sung by Barry Manilow and written by Manilow, Jack Feldman, and Bruce Sussman - is the best song ever written.   

Who knew a mere 4 minutes and 8 seconds of music could convey such a tragic tale of passion, jealousy, and murder? The retro 40's big band vibe mixes with a disco beat into a song that is fun, breezy, and ohhhhh so catchy. But, in the end, the story is a sad one. Here's how it goes:

Chapter 1:

Tony loves Lola. Lola loves Tony. The young lovers work together at the Copacabana, “the hottest spot north of Havana”. He is the bartender. She is a showgirl. Everything is perfect...

Chapter 2:

Until Rico shows up, flashing his diamond and making passes at Lola. He gets a little too grabby, and Tony rushes over to protect his girl. A fight ensues and then – boom – a gunshot.  

Chapter 3:

It’s thirty years later and the Copacabana is now a disco. Lola is still there, but her grief over losing Tony has made her crazy. Wearing her old showgirl outfit, she sits at a table and drowns her sorrow in alcohol until she is so inebriated she can’t see straight.  She is destroyed. The moral Barry Manilow offers up?

“At the Copa...don’t fall in love”.

So. Heavy.

Reasons Why Today Was A Good Day To Be A Mom

"It's a stone heart from Hades!"   Mr. Smartypants, giving me his Mother's Day gift - a stone paperweight in the shape of a heart from Haiti

4 hours of Sing It: High School Musical addition with two giggling children (and occasionally one goofy husband) belting out "Breaking Free" at the top of their lungs. Over and over and over again...

The Princess: Ew, your fingernails are too long! You're like a vampire or something.

Mr. Smartypants: Do I look like I sparkle?

- Conversation heard from the backseat on the way to Mother's Day dinner at Don Pablo's

No. Help. At. All.

Like several of my fellow would-be writers, I have a day job. And at my day job, my team is working on a big project that involves me getting a package shipped out each afternoon for next day delivery. The world as we know it would fall apart if this were not done. Seriously. My boss told me so.

Because some of our packages end up being too large for the unnamed delivery company drop box near my office, I sometimes call for a pickup.

However, recently, the packages for shipping are making it to me later and later in the day. Like, an hour before I am supposed to go home. Naturally, I got curious. How late is too late to call unnamed delivery company for a pickup? Otherwise, if the package is too large for the drop box, I have to lug said package to the local unnamed delivery company on my way home, a real pain in the a** after working 8 hours straight.

So I emailed unnamed delivery company and asked them. Easy peasy - if anyone would know the answer to my question, they would, right? Ah, no. Not exactly. Here's how this went:

Customer (AK Willett) - 05/06/2009 03:25 PM

AK wrote:  If my office closes at 5 p.m., what is the latest time I could call unnamed delivery company to schedule a pickup for the same day?

Response (Customer Service) - 05/06/2009 03:27 PM

UDC wrote: We received your e-mail. Thank you for contacting unnamed delivery company.

You can request an unnamed delivery company SuperFast or unnamed delivery company SortaFast pickup from one convenient location on our Web site, unnameddeliverycompanyrocks.com.

You can schedule an unnamed delivery company SuperFast pickup for the same day or next business day. Unnamed delivery company SortaFast pickups can be scheduled for next business day or up to two weeks in advance.

Unnamed delivery company will pick up your package at the address we have on file for your account. If you need an unnamed delivery company SuperFast pickup at a different address, please call 1.800.unnameddeliverycompanyrocks.

We hope this information is helpful. Thank you for shipping with unnamed delivery company.

Hmmm. Ok, didn’t really answer the question. So I replied back and added more specifics to my query.

Customer (AK Willett) - 05/06/2009 03:55 PM

AK wrote: Thanks. But what is the latest I could call to schedule a pickup if my office closes at 5 (meaning the package would have to be picked up by unnamed delivery company before 5 o'clock)?

2 pm? 3 pm? 4 pm?

Response (Customer Service) - 05/06/2009 04:00 PM

UDC wrote: We received your email. We apologize for the inconvenience.

If you are scheduling a SortaFast pickup, your package will be picked up on the afternoon of the next business day.

In case you are scheduling an SuperFast pickup, you can contact unnamed delivery company in the morning for pickup in the afternoon.

We hope that this information is helpful. Thank you for shipping unnamed delivery company.

Really? That’s the best I can get?  Something like “pickups must be scheduled at least 3 hours before your office closes”  is too technical? Honestly, vagueness like call “in the morning for pickup in the afternoon” is not helpful.

Really.

Not one bit.

I've Been Nominated!

The absolutely awesome Book Girl has nominated me for the One Lovely Blog Award! My very first blog award ev-ah!

According to The Book Girl:

This award is given to new blogs and blogging friends.

The rules to follow are:

1) Accept the award, post it on your blog together with the name of the person who has granted the award and his or her blog link.

2) Pass the award to 15 other blogs that you’ve newly discovered. Remember to contact the bloggers to let them know they have been chosen for this award.

I know I'm supposed to nominate 15 blogs I've newly discovered but, to be honest, that would end up being a list of 6 or so blogs. So I've listed those below with 9 other bookish blogs I just really love visiting every day!

1. Serenehours
2. Juiciliciousss Reviews
3. Reading Keeps You Sane
4. Katie's Book Blog
5. Pop Culture Junkie
6. YA Fresh
7. The Fictionistas
8. Unmainstream Mom Reads
9. Steph Su Reads
10. Reverie Book Reviews
11. KD's Library
12. In Bed With Books
13. Tru Nerd
14. Hope's Bookshelf
15. Look At That Book

You're all doing a terrific job. Keep up the great work!!

The Case of the Mysterious UPS Package

Y'know, I thought I was having a pretty good week. I've made excellent progress on my novel. The kids are at their Grandma's for Spring Break, so Big J and I have eaten out every night at any restaurant we want. Best of all, I received an ARC of Being Nikki by Meg Cabot on Monday (Awesome!!!).

But then, Big J goes and tops me today.

We were getting ready to leave and pick up our Chinese carryout. As the garage door opened, I noticed the UPS truck pull up and park in front of our driveway.

"You order something?" I asked.

"Noooo......" Big J said.

But, see, my birthday and Mother's Day are both coming up next month and Big J has been known to purchase things way in advance and hide them until the big day, very sneak-sneak like. So I wasn't buying it.

"Uh huh. Then why is the guy coming up with a box?"

Big J shrugged his shoulders and started walking towards the street. He returned with the box, laid it on the top of our trash can, and stared at it. For several seconds.

"Well, open it." I said.

He peeled off the tape on one corner and peeked in.

"Should I go someplace else?" I asked hopefully, visions bouncing through my mind of the wonderful birthday presents that might be inside the box.

Sadly, though, it held nothing for me. Big J ripped the rest of the tape off and motioned for me to come over.

It was another box, with a brand spankin' new JBL On Stage Speaker for Ipods in it.

"I didn't order this," Big J said, holding it up and turning the box around and around and around...

For five minutes, we deliberated. Did the company accidentally send it? Was it some sort of scam? Was it a gift? Had Big J ordered it and then, scatterbrained as it was, completely forgotten he'd done so?

We decided to table the mystery of the speaker until after dinner and left to pick up our #4s with fried rice. Twenty minutes later, while sitting at the table scarfing his food down, Big J started laughing. Then choking, because his mouth had been full of rice at the time, half of which had fallen down the back of his throat. "I bet," he said, in between coughs, "it was a contest." 

"A contest?"

"Yeah, I enter those contests on sites like iLounge."

He immediately went downstairs to check his email. Nothing. He pulled up the site's contest page. Sure enough, there was his name, bright and shiny on the list of winners.

Totally. Cool.

Cats + Computer = Headache

It's hard to make progress on a short story or novel or article when you have cats. Because, at least with my cats, I tend to see this instead of the monitor:

Or I'm trying to use the keyboard or the mouse, or both, in spite of the random feline leg or tail or other body part blocking them:

 

Or I'm closing the applications accidentally opened by a misplaced paw:

Or I'm providing belly rubs:

But I think I've finally found a solution:

Yep, I've setup little spaces for them, one on each side of me. I think they're happy with the new arrangement:

 

And I can get some work done. Win-win baby!

The Secret Ingredient is Teeth

We're at Fuddruckers with my dad. We've finished dinner and are sitting around, talking, while the kids eat their cookies.

Mr. Smartypants has a chocolate macadamia nut cookie. The Princess has chocolate chip. Suddenly, Mr. Smartypants gets a confused look on his face. He's looking closely at his cookie. He's pulling something out of his mouth and examining it. He's making a face and dropping whatever it is on the floor. He's quietly putting his cookie to the side of the plate. Something is definitely up.

"What was that?" I ask.

"Nothing..." he says.

"Uh huh." I say. "It looked like something."

He makes a face and squirms in his chair a little. "There was a tooth in my cookie."

"Oh, ok. Huh? Are you sure it wasn't a macadamia nut?" I say.

He disappears under the table then reappears, total "eww gross" expression on his face, and puts a tooth in the middle of the table.

Yes, a tooth. Not a macadamia nut. A freaking tooth.

Now I have the "eww gross" expression on my face.

The Princess actually says it. "Uck. That's gross. I'm gonna be sick." She drops the rest of her cookie on her plate.

I still have the "eww gross" expression.

Big J leans over, glances at the tooth, glances at Mr. Smartypants. "Are you sure it's not yours?" he says.

Mr. Smartypants looks at him like he's crazy. "Uh, yeah." At the same time, he's discreetly feeling around the back of his mouth. His eyes get big.

"I lost a tooth!" he says, startled.

My dad laughs.

The Princess picks up the rest of her cookie and pops it into her mouth.

I wrap the tooth in a napkin and put it in my purse.

Big J sighs. Loudly.

3 Meows for the Birthday Boy!

  

 

Today is Jack Jack's very first birthday!

The picture on the left was taken right after he came to live with us last July. The picture on the right was taken over the holidays. He's becoming such a big little guy!

So, earlier this week, the discussion turned to what we were going to do for this momentous occasion. We learned a few things from the first birthday shindig we had for Milo last year, though. Like:

* Cats don't understand the concept of unwrapping gifts, so don't. You'll only get frustrated when your cat looks at the gift, looks at you, looks at the gift, and looks at you like you're an idiot. Because you are.

* Cats get really freaked out when everyone circles around and starts staring at them.

* Cats get really, really freaked out when everyone spontaneously bursts into a loud chorus of "Happy Birthday" while circling and staring at them. It took us five minutes to get Milo out from behind his kitty condo.

No, this year I think we'll be playing it a little low key. Maybe a few salmon flakes with Jack's kitty kibble. A new toy or two in his bed. A very quiet chorus of "Happy Birthday". And half an hour with the kitty toy teaser pink feathery fish on a string. Man, he loves that thing. Especially when you put it up in the air so he has to jump very, very high.

So I'm hoping this will be enough to let him know we love him, we're glad he's been on this planet for one year, and we look forward to many more years to come.

Happy birthday Jack Jack!

They Came From IKEA

I love books. Love, love, love ‘em. Which means I have a lot. And recently I realized the number just kept growing while, sadly, the places to put them was not. Two short bookcases against the wall of my office were packed to bursting with books, several sitting on top of each other. More were stacked on the edge of my desk. And even more were upstairs in yet another bookcase. But that all changed the other day. Cause I got new bookcases.

As you might be able to guess from the title of this post, they came from IKEA. Looking at it now, I realize that this title could also be the name of a bad horror flick at a drive-in. Hmmm. That might be an interesting movie...

Coming soon to a theater near you: (close up on Bruce Campbell sticking a name tag on and looking tiredly around a warehouse) He was just an aging stock boy that wanted to make a few extra bucks working the night shift. It was supposed to be simple: wait for the truck and unload it. But when the boxes arrived, they had an extra item (cue image of Swedish zombies rampaging through IKEA) and all hell broke loose. Before the night is through, he’ll be wishing he hadn’t picked up an extra shift. And the zombies will be wishing he didn’t keep a shotgun and chainsaw in the back of his truck. Don't miss Sam Raimi's They Came From IKEA!   

Sorry, I digress. No, the bookcases came from IKEA, which meant I had to put them together before I could put anything in them. No biggie. I’ve already put together, let’s see, four dressers, one nightstand, one bed, three other bookcases, and part of an entertainment unit. Oh, and an armoire, but that came from Wal-Mart.  By Saturday evening, I had two big, burly bookcases to cuddle with my books and keep them safe and happy.  I was absolutely giddy.

Check out the before (left) and after (right). Big difference, yeah?

 

Of course, the inspector had to come take a look at each one before I started filling it up.  These bookshelves are Milo approved!

Snip. Snip. Snip...Ooops...

Recently, The Princess asked me if she could cut her bangs. This was as I was laying in my bed, sick with the mother of all colds. Y’know, coughing, wheezing, sniffling…basically a snot-nosed sneezing zombie.  Vaguely I remember peeking out from under the covers, mumbling something like “sure-ungh”, blowing my nose, and retreating back into my shell of sickness. And not thinking about it again. Until yesterday.

She was waiting for me when I got home from work, bounding up the stairs after me into my bedroom . “Guess what?” she said.

“What?” I countered.

“I  cut my bay-yangs.”

It took a moment to sink in. She cut her bangs. Hmm, didn’t realize Big J was taking her to the Hair Cuttery today. She cut her bangs.  She cut her bangs. Wait…SHE cut her bangs?

Oh Dear.

About this time I noticed the bandana camouflaging her forehead. Like a big paisley bandage.

Let me point out right here, I have had more than my share of hair disasters. There was the time I accidently left hair dye on too long – waaaay too long – and changed my red hair to pitch black. Not my best look.  Another time, the day of my senior prom in fact, I thought it would be a good idea to get my very long, very curly locks cut very short. Which is why I have no prom pictures. I won’t even go into detail about the crimping incident of 1992. Let’s just say, I haven’t crimped since.

So I was a teeny bit scared to see what was under there.

Images of Barbies with hair cut by round tip scissors flashed through my mind. Choppy little blonde mullets. I took a nervous breath as she reached back and pulled off the bandage. I mean bandana.

And…

It wasn’t half bad. She had erred on the side of caution and not cut too short or too much. The result was similar to fringe a la the Shaggy Dog, but it was modifiable.  I just needed to shape it a bit.

"Bring me the scissors." I said. She brought me a pair of round tip scissors.

Which made me smile.

Creative Noise

Shortly after we moved into our house years and years ago, I claimed the dining room as MY area.  We ate our meals at the table in the kitchen and if company came over, we went out.  So I shoved the dining table into the corner, added some bookcases and a filing cabinet, and voila! Instant office.

This arrangement has some drawbacks, though. The room is between the kitchen and the living room. While there are French doors separating the kitchen and my office, there is nothing but space between me and the living room. Big ol’ open space.

As such, my office isn’t very quiet. It’s really hard to focus on character nuances when SpongeBob is blaring in the background. Or MTV. The Princess loves her MTV. Music is very distracting for me. Instead of writing, I end up jamming to my song or reflecting on how poignant and emotional life is. You can imagine how unhelpful this is for whatever short story I’m developing.

Noise, however, is a problem no longer. The other day, I was perusing the apps available at the ITunes store for my IPod Touch. My Touch is my best friend. It remembers all of my contacts, updates my calendar, holds pics of my kids, and lets me watch Attack of the Show anywhere I am. Anywhere. It rocks.

So, there I was, looking for an application to help keep track of what I eat everyday (New Year’s resolution #1: lose weight), when I saw them. The equivalent of those machines that play white noise and heartbeats and ocean sounds at the touch of a button. And it occurred to me that this could be just what I needed.

Within 10 minutes I had downloaded the application, synced the IPod, and found my headphones. Slowly, I moved the headphones over my ears and closed my eyes and then….everything disappeared. Except for the sound of ocean waves crashing to the sand. Ahhhhhhh….

Just like that, I was addicted. I downloaded all of the applications:   IDream, 4seasons, Ambiance, ER Ultimate, Paradise, Silent Island, and IMoods. Sounds flowed in and out of my ears. Thunderstorms. A cat purring. The click of someone typing. Jungle echoes. Darth Vader…yeah, you read that right. Darth Vader.

The original idea was to use the sounds to block out the real world while I was writing. Then, while playing around with the various programs, I discovered that one or two, like ER Ultimate, let you make your own sound mixes.  Awwwwe-some.

Know what you can do when you control the sounds? Create sounds customized to what you are writing. Say you’re writing a story about a morning on the farm. You need a mix with the sounds of birds, crickets, and cow moos. Scene in the suburbs on a hot summer day? Playing children, barking dogs, and sprinklers. What about a rainy afternoon in New York? Rain/thunder, wind, and city. Cowboys falling asleep under the stars? Campfire, wolf howl, and snore. It’s like you’re right there.

Now, SpongeBob can be as loud as he wants. All I hear are birds. And tick-tock clocks. And foghorns…

Books were everywhere...everywhere...

Yesterday, Big J and I took Mr. Smartypants and The Princess to the library to turn in books we had checked out before the holidays. At least, we tried.

The library had been closed the day before due to the holiday and, when we arrived, it was closed again due to a county government furlough. Basically, the money to pay its employees wasn't in the budget so they all had to take an unpaid day off. Meaning no library. No big deal, though. We could use the outside book depository, right? Wrong.

I wanted to cry when I saw it. It had become full over the past couple of days. Really, really full. And, rather than come back later and drop their books off, people had just left them. On the ground. On the recycling bin. All alone.

I could not believe it.

Meg Cabot. Ernest Hemingway. A book on Flash programming. Thousands and thousands of pages. Thousands and thousands of words. Stacked up haphazardly in a corner.

What if it rained? What if a kleptomaniac strolled by and saw all of the deliciously tempting books just laying there? What if a dog that loved to eat homework came by and decided to expand his palette?

"We could pack them all up in the trunk and bring them back tomorrow?" Big J suggested.

But we decided against it. Secretly, I hope some vigilante librarian will find out who the abandoned books had been checked out by, go to their homes, and rip up their library cards right there in the doorway while screaming that all of their library privileges had been revoked. No more books for you, you book deserting scum! Ever!

If you can stomach it, pictures of the horrible sight are below.

Fall Rocks. Costume Shopping Sucks.

Ahhh...it's that time of year again. Good-bye leaves, hello pumpkins and apple cider. Good-bye flip flops and tank tops, hello wool socks and windbreakers. Good-bye sandy swimsuits. You I will not miss so much.

Fall is my favorite season, but I particularly love October. The anticipation of the holidays to come, but none of the stress - yet. The haunting chill in the air and leaves swirling in tiny wind tornadoes. The way witches and vampires start popping up on my favorite shows. Halloween is right around the corner. And on the 31st, everyone gets to howl. Or screech. Or cackle. Or make some other ghoulish and creepy sound. 

The one thing I don't like about Halloween? Costume shopping. Oh, for Mr. Smartypants it's simple enough. This year he'll be a zombie pirate. I can totally handle that. The problem is finding a costume for The Princess. About 3 years ago, she began growing like a little weed. By last year, she was almost as tall as me - and I'm not short. So, to put this in perspective, she hasn't been able to shop in the children's section of the costume aisle for a few years now. And, um, have you been to the costume stores lately? There's still plenty of choices in the women's section. The problem is they are all a bit, how should I say it...risque. Skirts slightly bigger than a table napkin, boob enhancing tops, and lacy thigh high tights. This is not what I want my 12 year old to be wearing. And this year, it annoyed me a little.

Don't Diss My Suds!

Yesterday, one of my coworkers expressed their distaste of daytime soap operas. I believe the actual words thrown around were “crap” and “brainless drama” written by "no talent hacks with  IQs the equivalent of Peter Griffin's". Or something like that.

 

Gasp!

 

I immediately felt a need to defend my beloved soap operas. I am, after all, a subscriber of Soap Opera Digest and ABC Soaps In Depth and an ABC daytime junkie. I can’t get enough of AMC, OLTL and GH.  All My Children, One Life To Live, and General Hospital for you non-junkies out there.

 

Anyway, my feathers were sufficiently ruffled and what transpired was a heated discussion of how night time shows like Grey’s Anatomy and Desperate Housewives – which are just soap operas, really, even though they hide behind the apron strings of their serious drama mama – are and are not superior to daytime offerings.

 

So Hot Hot Hot

You may have heard: the East is having a heat wave. And not in a fun, Irving Berlin can - can way. It is HOT. The temperature in my area today is 92 degrees. 92.

I swear it was 100+ degrees on Saturday though. One of those days where the heat and humidity are so high that, if you are outside, just sitting is exhausting. And I did anything but sit that day.

The day started out simple enough. My community was having a yard sale. Time to get rid of all the stuff cluttering up my house, right? Bzzzz. Wrong. Apparently, even die hard yardsalers balk at perusing another man's junk in 90 degree weather. And Big J and I were kind of crazy to be out there offering up our junk. But we already had stickers on the stuff and tables and an empty driveway…

We did get a few customers:

· A little old man riding a bike came up and started eyeing a 25 inch TV, which Big J noted wouldn't fit on the bike.

· A woman who haggled with Big J on the price of a DVD player, bought it, and then brought it back literally within 5 minutes because her husband noticed she was carrying it under her arm and told her she couldn't have it.

· Another woman who lives in our neighborhood wanted something that was $6, went back to her house to get her cash, came back with $3 and said “It was $3, right?” while implying it better be because she wasn’t walking back home for the other $3. Passive haggling. Big J didn’t feel like arguing.

· A woman who brought up 4 items that totaled $20 and wanted to give me $4. I agreed to let them go for $10. No, she said, how about $4? $10 I said. She asked me a few questions about the items, then said "Ok, $4?" And I said $10. Because if I'm willing to go a little down, she needs to be willing to go a little up. That's how negotiation works. Plus, it was 90+ degrees and I was a little cranky since I knew I could sell the stuff on Ebay and get $20 or more for them, if I would just take the time to list and ship them. Which is more time consuming than just setting them on a table in my front yard.

We closed up shop around 11. The Princess and Mr. Smartypants had to go to swim lessons at the Y.  By 2 we were on the road. Did I mention that amid the 90 degree weather, community yard sale, and swimming we had to drive to the Eastern Shore, almost 3 hours away, for a wedding? One of Big J's buddies was tying that knot. On one of the hottest days of the year.  Not a good sign for the marriage.

“It’s inside, right?” I asked Big J on the way.

“Sure.” He said. It wasn’t.

We got there late. There was fog on the bridge,and a wrong turn to a blocked road,and traffic stalled at a drawbridge.

When we finally got there, everyone was outside in white foldout chairs, fanning themselves frantically as the Bride and Groom wiped sweat out of their eyes while saying 'I Do." At least, that's what is looked from the road.

"You wanna drive around for a few minutes and just catch the reception?" Big J asked.

Hmmm. Let's see. Thorougly air conditioned car or sweaty plastic seat. Duh.

We drove around until everyone disbanded and ran into the reception hall. But I don't know why. It may have been cooler outside. 90 people. Two rooms (one a kitchen). A hot stove oozing heat. People going in and out the doors continuously. You do the math. It was suffocating in there. The poor air conditioner never had a chance. At one point, I thought I was going to faint. Poor Big J  had beads of sweat on his forehead.  Ladies were politely patting napkin after napkin on their foreheads. The Princess and Mr. Smartypants had extremely rosy cheeks. And I realized pantyhose and  summer really don't mix.

It was an odd day.

The trip home was just as odd. Going over the bridge, there was no rain and no thunder, but tons of lightening. Flashes and flashes, over and over again.

So today is hot. But at least the air conditioner works. And I'm not wearing pantyhose.

Copyright © 2008 Black Rabbit Ink and AK Willett

I spent my anniversary with bugs. Lots and lots of bugs.

Yep, for our anniversary we went to the BugOut VW car show. It was hot. It was loud with burnouts and tires screeching from drag racing on the track. It was filled with elaborately decorated Volkswagen Beetles and a whole bunch of other VW cars. It was long. It was not romantic. But, it was more fun than anticipated and we were together, so I shouldn't really complain. Next year, though, I just want Outback and roses. Lots of them. Bug free.

Copyright © 2008 Black Rabbit Ink and AK Willett.

Reproduction of any portion of this blog or its posts without permission is prohibited by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This material has been posted on www.blackrabbitink.com. If you are viewing this material on any site besides www.blackrabbitink.com, it has been stolen and used without permission. Violators will be reported to the appropriate authorities.

 

 

Behold the power of Dr. Jones

I work near a movie theater. It's maybe 300, 400 feet away from my office. Usually, if there's a new movie opening, the parking lots get a little crowded by the time I leave work at 5:30. But leaving work today was nothing short of impossible. I'm lucky I got out of there alive. Why? A little thing called Indiana Jones. And his Crystal Skull.

Let me pause here to mention I absolutely love Indiana Jones. Big big fan. Totally excited about the new movie. Even though I wasn't going to see it tonight. Exactly because of the craziness mentioned above.

Until today, I did not realize how far-reaching the appeal of Dr. Henry (Indiana) Jones, Jr was.

First, there where the things I heard going on all day outside of my cubicle.

    "You know it's going to be a stunt double. The man's 65!"
    "I don't care. He's still hot."

    "Naw, man, Temple of Doom sucked. The original was the best."

    "Do you think I should go ahead and get the tickets online?"
    "You haven't? Did you want to see it tonight?"

And the unmistakable whistle of the Indy music every few minutes: Da Da Da Daaaa Da Da Da Da Da Da DAAAA Da Da DA DA DA.

Apparently, Indy fever runs high in my office.

It was even odder outside.

Almost all of the parking lots were filled up, so people had begun to park in our office spaces. To illustrate how massive the amount of people and vehicles were, I have drawn (badly) a representation below. About 100 cars can fit in my office parking lot alone.  So you can imagine how many cars were in all of the other parking lots.

People were everywhere. Families. Couples. Teenagers. Two SUVs trying to turn on the road to the movie theater had crashed into each other and were blocking it. Chaos was everywhere.

All I could say was WOW. Now, that's power.

To you, Dr. Jones, I tip my fedora.

For those of you who have never heard of Indiana Jones (Gasp!) check out:

Copyright © 2008 Black Rabbit Ink and AK Willett.

Reproduction of any portion of this blog or its posts without permission is prohibited by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This material has been posted on www.blackrabbitink.com. If you are viewing this material on any site besides www.blackrabbitink.com, it has been stolen and used without permission. Violators will be reported to the appropriate authorities.

 

What we have here is a communication breakdown

What I say:   Bring all of your dirty clothes down so I can wash them.

What The Princess hears:   Go in your room and read for a while, play with the cat, and do something to really annoy your brother. Then bring me 2 pairs of underwear, a sock, and one shirt to wash. That's all you need to wear to school tomorrow, right? Yeah, pants are so overrated.

What I say:   Bring me the box on the table in the kitchen.

What Mr. Smartypants hears:   Go into the guest bathroom and bring me two rolls of toilet paper and a Spongebob band-aid.

What I say:    The t.v. is acting weird.

What Big J hears:   That 52 inch widescreen HD Plasma t.v. you've been eyeballing at Best Buy for the last 3 months is on sale this week. Go. Now. And pick up a copy of the new Grand Theft Auto game while you're there.

What Big J says:   Do you want to go to a car show this weekend?

What I hear:     Forget about getting anything done Saturday. We're going to be wandering around an unbelievably crowded parking lot for 4 hours in the sun and/or rain, looking under the hood of ridiculously tricked out cars and pretending not to notice the half naked, big boobed car babes trying to sell us motor oil. Which I am so going to be oogling when I think you're not looking at me. Cleaning the house, running errands, and having any "you" time can wait until Sunday.

What Milo says:    Hey guys! I know I'm small and all, but I have a big appetite. Could you please come open the cabinet with the food in it for me? I can push the door open with my paw, see, but it keeps closing...umph...before I get my nose all of the way in. Give a kitty a hand?

What we hear:     Meow.

Copyright © 2008 Black Rabbit Ink and AK Willett.

Reproduction of any portion of this blog or its posts without permission is prohibited by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This material has been posted on www.blackrabbitink.com. If you are viewing this material on any site besides www.blackrabbitink.com, it has been stolen and used without permission. Violators will be reported to the appropriate authorities.

Who's the cutest birthday boy in the world?

Tomorrow is Milo's very first birthday. Yep kids, he's made it to the big number o-n-e milestone. And I have a tiny problem.

I have no idea how to throw a birthday party for a cat.

A birthday party, you might say. For a cat? Well, come on. Look at that face! How could we not celebrate his big day?

If Milo was a human baby, it would be so simple. I mean, you would have guests and cake and balloons with tons of exquisitely wrapped gifts and possibly a clown. Which all is kind of pointless because a one year old baby is going to mash the cake in its hair and play with the paper the gifts are wrapped in more than the actual gifts. A newspaper and a cupcake with a Wiggles DVD playing in the background would be just as swell. And, while Milo has become our baby, in a sense, he is still a cat.

So what to do? I'm not sure he would understand what is going on if we threw a party. It's not like he eats cake. Balloons are a choking hazard. He's an indoor cat, so there's not really any guests to invite. Except maybe that yard cat that occasionally pops up outside our windows, like a little kitty stalker. But I don't think we want to encourage her, so no guests.

Big J thinks Milo needs a tiny party hat and extra food in his dinner dish. The Princess and Mr. Smartypants have suggested taking Milo to Chuck E Cheese. 'Cause Milo is a cat and Chuck E Cheese is a mouse and...well, you get the idea.

I have no ideas though. No experience in the cat birthday department. Flying by the seat of my pants on this one. I figure I'll hit PetSmart tomorrow and spend a small fortune on cat toys. Maybe splurge on some exotic sounding Whiskas. And I guess a tiny party hat if I happen to see one.

Happy Birthday, Milo the Great!

Copyright © 2008 Black Rabbit Ink and AK Willett.

Reproduction of any portion of this blog or its posts without permission is prohibited by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This material has been posted on www.blackrabbitink.com. If you are viewing this material on any site besides www.blackrabbitink.com, it has been stolen and used without permission. Violators will be reported to the appropriate authorities.

You suck, Nickelodeon

It's 10:06 PM.

I have a ten year old, an eleven year old, and a thirty-two year old bawling in the living room.

It's your fault, Nickelodeon. 

E.T. - The Extra-Terrestrial (Widescreen Edition), while a pretty decent movie, will always have that scene. You know. The one where E.T....sniff...give me a moment...dies.

I had it under control. I really did. And then Drew Barrymore started to cry. And Elliott's mother came in and he broke down. And this was after the scientist guy's heartwrenching speech to Elliott about how he had wanted to meet an alien all of his life and he was glad Elliott had met him first (before the scientist, who would have surely dissected E.T. immediately. And then who would Hershey have had to hawk Reese's Pieces?)

I'm only human. I can only take so much. As soon as Mr. Smartypants took that shaky sigh and The Princess reached for a tissue, I knew I was going to lose it. Well, I did.

I know E.T. survives. I know there is a happy ending. E.T. will get to phone home. But, for a moment, I forgot. And as soon as I got ok with the idea that he died, he miraculously came back to life (Ha! Ha! Just kidding kids!) and I started crying all over again. Thanks.

Tonight, you transported me back to a dark theater 26 years ago, where I clutched my Gran's arm and tried my hardest not to cry 'cause my little six year old could not fathom that E.T. had just died. In front of me. When you're six, everything in the movies seems real.

By the time E.T. got into his spaceship and said "I'll be right here" to Elliott in that weird alien voice as he waved goodbye, there wasn't a dry eye in the room.

You suck, Nickelodeon. You too, Steven Speilberg.

Copyright © 2008 Black Rabbit Ink and AK Willett.

Reproduction of any portion of this blog or its posts without permission is prohibited by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This material has been posted on www.blackrabbitink.com. If you are viewing this material on any site besides www.blackrabbitink.com, it has been stolen and used without permission. Violators will be reported to the appropriate authorities.

When Corporate Jerks Attack

The below is an example of an email I received the other day. My birthday, actually. I've changed the actual words, but this was pretty much the gist. Mine, actually is much nicer. So you can image how insulting the original was. And I know it's aimed at the company I work for and not me personally, but really, why? I haven't had a chance to blog about it until now. I did, however, get so pissed off that morning at work that I took pen and paper in hand and wrote out a quick rant on why the below is just dumb. Maybe you out there can relate. It's amazing how unnecessarily rude people can be. Oh, and any identifying company or industry information has been replaced with the word lollipop. The word would be a much sweeter place if we replaced some words with something like lollipop, don't you think?

Hi AK,

Am getting ready to give your lollipops a heck of a time in the lollipop making world.

My  lollipops are going to take your lollipops on in the lollipop market full blast.

(Crossing my fingers to go national before you know what knocked you out)

And super duperly on our the path to doing just that….

Have a great day!

Dummyhead Jones

(555) 555-5555

Imsuchadumbass@dummyhead.com

I'd also like to mention that the above was sent as a reply to a recruiting email that was sent out seven months ago with another person's contact information. I sent that email, but it was clearly indicated in the email to not reply to me. So, kids, what are the problems with this message?

To the person who wrote this:

1)  As I said, I am not the correct person to contact. And I'm so not gonna forward any trash talk emails to the person who is.

2) Um, hello, are you challenging me to a fistfight in the courtyard after school? Cause I graduated from junior high a long time ago. I play with grownups now. And from the sound of your email, you're, like, 15 tops.

3) I think your point was lost in the translation. See, I don't speak Idiot. Is this a threat? Are you trying to scare our company? Or are you just being nice and give us a heads up?

4) I'd like to point out, while I'm at it, that you neglected to mention the name of this big bad company that is going to give us a "heck of a time in the lollipop making world". But you know what? It's all good. I Googled your ass and found the name of this mysterious company on your LinkedIn profile. Ain't the Internet great? It's interesting that your market is totally not in our area. Perhaps you didn't know, but we operate mainly in a tight area on the East Coast, meaning not a lot of our clients come from other states. So, I can't understand why we would be terrified that you're going to go national? Cause we're not a national company. We're small, and if you're making it big in states that AREN'T EVEN PART OF OUR MARKET, bully for you. I'm guessing that would be around 46 states there. Clap clap sir.

5) It may just be me, but I got a vibe off of your email that you sent this to more people than just me. Possibly a template email you just plugged different company names into and sent off? Hmmm. I know I'm not the best when it comes to the business mumbo jumbo, but I would imagine sending off random and unprovoked threatmails is not exactly the way you want to network. See, I think you want to make friends, not enemies. And, unfortunately, by hitting that send button you created many of the latter. Who knows, you're an Idiot, maybe thousands. I have no idea how send happy you got when you started slamming that button down.

If I may, I'd like to suggest you take a look at Send: The Essential Guide to Email for Office and Home by David Shipley and Will Schwalbe. You'll want to be sure and read every single word. It's possible that even someone as dense as you can learn how real professionals act.

You jerk.

Oops. My bad.

Copyright © 2008 Black Rabbit Ink and AK Willett.

Reproduction of any portion of this blog or its posts without permission is prohibited by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This material has been posted on www.blackrabbitink.com. If you are viewing this material on any site besides www.blackrabbitink.com, it has been stolen and used without permission. Violators will be reported to the appropriate authorities.

Birthday Bloopers

Today is my birthday. Big J is out of town, so my Dad called and asked if he could take Mr. Smartypants, The Princess, my sister, and myself out to celebrate.

The plan was to meet at Chili's at 6.The kids and I left a little early and got there around 5:45ish.

"The rest of our group isn't here yet." I told the host.

"How many in your party?"

"There'll be 5. I think."

He disappeared and returned a few minutes later, saying he had set up our table and why didn't we wait for the rest of our party there? Okey dokey.

So we ordered sodas and waited. We ordered cheese fries and waited. Then we just waited. And waited.

Around 6:15, right after our waiter walked by us for the twentieth time and gave a sideways "any day now" glance in our direction, I turned on my cell phone and began searching my directory for my Dad's cell number or my sister's cell number. Nothing. I'm a bad daughter/sister. I didn't have either. Trying to magically pull the numbers out of thin air didn't help at all. Why can't that ever work?

I'm going to pause here and mention that I am notorious for NOT turning on my cell phone. It's a big joke to everyone I know that I even carry one. "Why?" my mother asks.  In case I have an emergency I say. "What if someone else has an emergency and needs to reach you?" Well, yeah, good point. Kinda dumb if you really think about it. I know.

The point is, I actually had the thing on and was in the process of scrolling through my number directories for the third time when my Dad called.

"Are you on your way?" he asked.

"We're already here."

Pause. "So are we. Where are you?"

"Ah, sitting down?"

"So are we."

At this point, we both turned and realized we had been seated three tables away from each other, waiting. On each other. For thirty minutes. The situation was absolutely hilarious. I had giggles for a good 10 minutes just thinking about it. My waiter was a little pissed that we switched tables, but what could I do?

Adding to the oddness of the evening, random people who work in my office kept walking by on their way to the restroom. I have never seen anyone at work outside of work. It just has never happened. Yet, on this special evening, it did and just made everything seem that much more comical.

The rest of the evening was pretty normal. Dinner was good, the company was better. Big J made me a cake before he left yesterday and had the kids surprise me with it. I tucked the kiddles into bed and spread out on the couch, remote in hand, somehow ending up on the Classic MTV channel watching reruns of Yo!MTV Raps. Which really seemed apropos, you know? No matter how old I am, when the video for "Parents Just Don't Understand" by DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince comes on I am back in junior high. I could be turning 100, and I'd feel like I was 13 again. And it's nice to be reminded of that when you feel just plain old.

Another year older. Kind of feels the same. But it was a really good day.

 

Copyright © 2008 Black Rabbit Ink and AK Willett.

Reproduction of any portion of this blog or its posts without permission is prohibited by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This material has been posted on www.blackrabbitink.com. If you are viewing this material on any site besides www.blackrabbitink.com, it has been stolen and used without permission. Violators will be reported to the appropriate authorities.

 

Markers, Thumbtacks, and White Boards, Oh My!

I admit it. I'm addicted to office supplies.

Pens, pencils, paper clips, you name it. Honestly, I shouldn't be allowed anywhere near an office supply store. Not Staples. Not Office Depot. Heck, not even the office supply aisle at Target. The results are always the same.

As soon as I see the rows of notepads, binders, white boards, and desk thingamabobs, my brain starts to swoon. Thoughts start manically bouncing around. I could get a lot of loose papers organized in a good binder. Look, those cute erasers are on sale! OOOO, check out the big rubber band ball! Better get two!

Do I need any of this stuff? Nope. But chances are good I'm gonna walk out of the store with one or two of them. Maybe all. Depends on how itchy my credit card finger is.

Know that red EASY button in the Staples commercials? Yep. I own one. It was under five bucks and right by the registers when I was checking out. I'm weak. I couldn't resist. Sadly, it doesn't work in the real world. But it is kind of fun to press it and here the little voice say "That was easy!" The Princess and Mr. Smartypants think it rocks. When it was on my desk, they could press it over and over again. And again, and again...After a few days, it was relocated to a back shelf in my office. Ah, I miss you EASY button.

The Electronics department is definitely not my friend. For some reason, I always enter the store convinced I need a new printer. I have no idea why - I have a perfectly decent one at home. However, I'm too cheap to keep up the maintenance so the idea is usually squashed once I visit the ink aisle. I go through ink like crazy. I really like to print things. When I have ink. I haven't printed anything in a while.

Lately, I've been ogling the digital voice recorders. Before that it was the paper shredders. I actually did buy one of those. Diamond cut baby!

Today, I found myself standing in the checkout line scanning those last minute temptations around the registers. Mmm, gum. Hey, I could use an eye glass repair kit...Look, little post-its for my purse! MiniMarkers! One by one, they fell into my shopping basket.

It was then that I realized, I have a problem. When Milo is anywhere near catnip he goes nuts. He's roughhousing with his toys. He's chasing his tail. He's flying through the air off the back of the couch. He can't help it.  And I, like Milo, go nuts when I'm around office supplies. I want to take everything home with me. I am subconsciously trying to build the ultimate office area. And Staples is my catnip.

I got out of line. It hurt, but I put back my items from whence they came. Goodbye, wrist pad. Another time, stapler. See ya notebooks, banker's boxes and magazine holders. I walked out of there with my head held high and my credit card balance the same as when I had entered.

The store doors swooshed closed behind me. A voice in my head screamed "Wait! You forgot something!" But I ignored it. The sun was out. The birds were singing. I got in my car and patted myself on the back. It was good to not buy things sometimes. Mature, even.

Then that voice in my head got an attitude. "That was easy....dummy. You forgot to get glue for The Princess's history project. The one that's due tomorrow? Way to go, Supermom."

Sigh.

Thirty minutes later I emerged again from the store, glue in hand. And a wrist pad, a stapler, 3 notebooks, 6 banker's boxes and 2 magazine holders (which, technically, were bundled together so they really only count as one thing).

I'm an addict. I admit it. But I'm a well stocked addict.

Copyright © 2008 Black Rabbit Ink and AK Willett.

Reproduction of any portion of this blog or its posts without permission is prohibited by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This material has been posted on www.blackrabbitink.com. If you are viewing this material on any site besides www.blackrabbitink.com, it has been stolen and used without permission. Violators will be reported to the appropriate authorities.

It's not pink eye

Mr. Smartypants was born with under developed lungs. He spent the first two weeks of his life in intensive care. It was touch and go until suddenly everything stabalized and he could breathe on his own. Those were 2 two of the worst weeks of my life. I thank God that his time there was short and the outcome was good. Other parents are not so lucky.

When he was nine months old, he developed breathing problems that the doctor said would either disappear as he got older or turn into full blown asthma. Twice a day, for 15 - 20 minutes, he inhaled Albuterol through a mask using a nebulizer. He became so used to the procedure,  he learned to put his own mask on when it was time and sit patiently until it was over.



Three must have been the magical age his doctor mentioned. Since then, we haven't used the nebulizer once or run frantically to the doctor's office because his wheezing was so sporadic.

Within months of turning four, an accident almost completely severed his left pinky. Five hours in the emergency waiting room. One year visiting doctors, having surgery, and going to rehab. I will never forget that night in the emergency room. I had to hold my baby down while the doctor sewed his pinky back on, temporarily, until we could get an appointment with a hand surgeon - two days later. Miraculously, the nerves in his pinky were not damaged.  Today, the only reminder of what happened is some scar tissue which makes it hard to bend his pinky down.

We are constantly battling eczema flare-ups on his arms and legs. He always has a runny nose. We travel with a towel and bucket if we are going to be in the car for more than an hour. All of this, yet he is one of the happiest, most energetic and positive people I have ever known.

Why tell you this? Probably guilt. He has a new oddity to add to his already overwhelming resume of medical mishaps. And, even though it isn't hereditary, I just know it's all my fault.

When I was a kid, my mom spent several mornings warming up washcloths and removing the crusty, gunky eye goo keeping my eyes locked shut. Years later, I found out I have chronic blepharitis. Once the goo was gone, my eyes were red. Like the zombies in 28 Days Later. Like a really bad case of pink eye, but not contagious. Just really really red.

This morning, The Princess told Mr. Smartypants that the Sandman had left sand (i.e. gunk) in his eyes. After a quick rubdown with a warm washcloth he looked at me with his bloodshot devil eyes and asked "Is it ok Mommy?"

Oh, just stab me through the heart with a big ol' guilt knife right now. My fault! My fault! Somehow, this is my fault! All I could say was "Uh, sure baby. Let's put some drops in just to clear it up a little."

The Karma police were quick to issue a punishment. As I type this, my eyes are bloodshot, burning, and a little blurry from drops. Luckily, we have an adequate stock of Visine-A.

Copyright © 2008 Black Rabbit Ink and AK Willett.

Reproduction of any portion of this blog or its posts without permission is prohibited by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This material has been posted on www.blackrabbitink.com. If you are viewing this material on any site besides www.blackrabbitink.com, it has been stolen and used without permission. Violators will be reported to the appropriate authorities.

 

I found your long lost cousin. Now, can I interest you in a '82 Chevy?

Picture of the day It looked like the building was abandoned. Apparently the one stop used car and detective agency business is not that lucrative. It's a really interesting idea, though. And if anyone stiffed you on monthly payments, well, you could probably hunt them down really easily.

 

Copyright © 2008 Black Rabbit Ink and AK Willett.

Reproduction of any portion of this blog or its posts without permission is prohibited by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This material has been posted on www.blackrabbitink.com. If you are viewing this material on any site besides www.blackrabbitink.com, it has been stolen and used without permission. Violators will be reported to the appropriate authorities.

 

The Grocery Store Post

I have my groceries delivered to our house. Yes, I am that spoiled. But it’s less about being lazy and more about avoiding the stress of shopping. Especially at the supermarkets in our area; you’re lucky to get in the store unscathed. The parking lot is a zillion accidents waiting to happen.

If you’re trying to park, other cars make it their goal to back into you, whip around corners, drive down the middle of the row so you can’t pass them and pull through spaces all willy nilly. It’s very unnerving to pull into a parking space and meet a Volvo coming at you head on full speed. And walking into the store? Pedestrians are just moving targets. I am convinced the crosswalk markings are purely for decoration. Drivers would rather hit you than stop – you’re just another speed bump. Big J once came within centimeters of kicking a car that sped up to pass us as we were crossing the middle of the road – not starting to cross or almost done crossing, but physically on the line dividing the lanes.

Once you’re in the store, be prepared to use your cart (if they aren’t all already gone) as a cattle prod. People block aisles, talking and ignoring the fact that the canned corn is five feet down the aisle and they are totally in your way. A cart making a beeline for them with no regrets is a good way to break it up. Of course, I always say “excuse me”, just to be all civilized and stuff. Sometimes the store is so crowded that shopping cart command centers, otherwise known as a half full cart and a bored kid, line the aisles, disbanding when the mother runs back from the other side of the store, her arms crammed with falling cracker boxes and precariously balanced frozen pizzas while she kicks a pack of toilet paper across the dirty floor. Checkout lanes are always slow, and if you choose the “convenience” of self checkout, well, good luck. There will always be:

a) someone who has never used any form of technology and has to read all of the directions in triplicate.
b) someone who constantly messes up the process and has to wait for a manager to reset the system (which, to be honest, is usually me so I stick to the looooooong checkout lanes with actual people, who tend to mess up the process anyway, but at least then it’s not my fault).
c) someone who spills, breaks, or otherwise creates a big honkin’ mess with an item (that would be Big J and a jar of spaghetti sauce - not his best day).
d) line cutters who shimmy up behind someone who is checking out and pretend not to notice the impatient snaking line of people behind them or the Please Form Line Here sign three feet away from the registers.

Anyhoo, all of this is why I have chosen to pay 10 bucks and have someone else do the legwork. The other day, though, something happened that was, for lack of a better word, i-c-k-y. The truck with my groceries pulled up and the delivery guy started bringing several bags up my front steps. Ever helpful, I opened the front door and started tossing bags back at Princess and Mr. Smartypants to take into the kitchen. As I was picking up a grocery bag the guy was putting down, I accidentally dug my pinky nail into his hand. Naturally, I started blubbering “Gosh, I’m so sorry!” and he just smiled at me and said “That’s ok, I liked it.” Pause. Grungy delivery guy say what? He could’ve said “no problem” or “naw, it’s ok” or even “jeez, lady, what are you, some long talon freakin’ vampire” but instead I got “That’s ok. I liked it.” Uhhhh…..ewwww? I must have given him an icy look, because he got right back to business and quickly left. I know he was only joking (at least, I’m 84% sure…), but, c’mon man, you’re on my steps in front of my house where I live with my two kids who are standing right behind me, and you start cracking wise about masochistic tendencies? Sheesh.

But again, 10 bucks and a lot less stress, so I don’t think this will strain my relationship with the home delivery supermarket service. It just means Big J will be signing for the groceries from now on

 

Copyright © 2008 Black Rabbit Ink and AK Willett.

Reproduction of any portion of this blog or its posts without permission is prohibited by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This material has been posted on www.blackrabbitink.com. If you are viewing this material on any site besides www.blackrabbitink.com, it has been stolen and used without permission. Violators will be reported to the appropriate authorities.