Blurbs

Hi.  Misc for you today.

1.  I need some perspective here.  I never thought of myself as a grouchy old lady who hates kids– I love kids! I’m loaning my body to one!– but our neighborhood’s roving band of kiddies is working on my last nerve.  So, we live in a townhouse community, meaning we knew we were taking a hit on privacy… and I would forgive a reasonable amount of trespassing because it’s hard for all of us not to be all up in each other’s bidness… but I was not prepared to have groups of kids playing in our driveway (running between the cars!) and corralling right in front of our big living room window.  (Our window is big and low, so when they do this and we’re on the couch, we’re eye level and separated by like 9 feet.  It’s really uncomfortable). I do not even know who to whine to because I have no freaking idea what adults these effers belong to.

Yesterday it reached new levels of crazitude.  Some kiddie was again playing right up at the window, and Chooch is understandably flipping the eff out, and the window was open… this kid turns right to the screen and starts, like, interacting with Chooch! THEN he starts calling over to ME, sitting innocently at my desk in my living room! I mean the kid was a sweetheart, just asking a bunch of questions about Chooch, but WTF… going up to strangers’ windows and starting conversations with them between the screen?! What if I was Jerry Sandusky??

I don’t know… do you agree that’s inappropriate kid behavior or am I being grouchy? I remember being a kid and being tempted every day to cut through yards to shorten my walk from the bus stop… except I was TERRIFIED at the thought of it and assumed I’d be shot immediately.  I think once I did cut through a yard because, I don’t know, there was a tornado or something… and I was consumed with guilt and thought I was on the fast track to a life of crime and jail time.  And here these guys are having parties in my flowerbed! KIDS TODAY.

2.  Holy poo, I am a walking pregnancy stereotype right now.  You know I’ve never really felt strong cravings in that I’ve needed something specific NOW (except maybe for french toast day that I mentioned)… but there have been a handful of foods that I’ve been oddly attracted to and eaten irregularly large amounts of (chocolate milk, grilled cheese and tomato soup, bread dipped in olive oil, garlic bread).  NOM.  Also sort of on that list is burgers… I’ve had a few burgers in these last few months that have been life-changingly delicious, and a few that have nauseated me horribly.  So strange.  Anyway… boring… I just want to put on the official record that last night I ate two turkey burgers and two bowls of ice cream for desert.  The two bowls of ice cream may have also been topped with oreos.  5.5 oreos.  Possibly 6.5 oreos, the math is hazy. If I get to January without turning into Honey Boo Boo’s mom, I will be really proud of myself.

3.  UGH Pennsylvania Yoga blows.  It’s so exhausting to start from scratch finding classes and teachers you like, especially since I’m already picky and now extra critical having been teacher trained.  (Ugh I am also doubling down on finding actual classes to teach.  It’s no longer cute that I haven’t made money doing so yet!).  In the event any of these unnamed institutions want to hire my fine self, the below complaining will self destruct.

So, first I excitedly tried out a prenatal class.  We have one prenatal place in the area so I was pretty determined to love it.  MEH.  The flow made zero sense to me.  Newsflash, instructor chick… poses that require your tummy to fold flat against  your thighs are rendered impossible when a fetus has gone and occupied that space! Forward fold to a runner’s lunge? Huh? IT NO WORK.  Umm, we also all hung out in eagle pose forever.  I mean the poor 3rd trimester chicks couldn’t even get their leg over their belly; I could still manage to wrench my leg over but I’m standing there wondering why I’m CLAMPING my legs together in a prenatal class.  Dude if I have any chance of birthing without getting sliced open like a salmon, then I have 3 months to stretch my Justin Bieber hips into BURTHIN’ hips.  Hit me with some squats or something.  Sheesh.  Oh, we also finished class in a deep supine twist which, as I was taught at least, is flat out bad for pregs.  I left pretty bummed. 

I went to another place and it was otay but nothing to write home about.  I am excited that earlier this week I think I found a studio that might be “the one.”  One hypothesis I have about the Yoga “scene” around here– sorry to use that word, I sound like a douche– is that while there are not a lot of people who do it, the people who go are GUNG.  HO.  Like, everyone knows each other and it has been truly awkward walking into these classes because everyone gawks at me, and I get the impression they don’t see a lot of new faces.  Like, the class earlier this week, there were I think 7 people in the class… me plus a handful of other women, all most definitely in their mid to late 40′s, maybe older.  And while I have to stick to the company line that Yoga is not a competition, I must say these broads making menopause jokes totally kicked my butt!  I mean they are popping up into headstands in the middle of the room, shooting from crow to chatarunga, plopping down into full splits (or whatever the sanskrit name is)… mostly while I’m gazing in amazement from the comfort of my child’s pose (wide legged of course.)  I remarked to the teacher afterwards what a strong class it was, and she’s all “Yea, we’ve all been doing this class together for like 10, 15 years.”  Dayum, Pennsylvanians!

Sadly, I’ve had the best experience doing my own practice on my back deck while praying nobody happens to walk by and get an eyeful of me in a sports bra doing goddess pose.  With a big old bump. It’s the stuff nightmares are made of.  And probably would get me a HOA citation or something.

Hell is Whole Foods on the Weekend

Reading Rainbow

That time again!

First though can I whine about the library? This pains me because I love the freaking library.  I love it like a 4 year old loves it.  I want to go sit with the 4 year olds at story time I love it so much.  As far as I am concerned, libraries are the ONLY thing the government does right.  You think I buy all this stuff!? Heck to the no, man! Whenever I get depressed about taxes, I think of what a joy the library is.  Unforch there’s trouble in paradise.

• They replaced librarians with annoying touch screen self check-out machines.  (So not cool).
• Arlington county’s library website used to be acornweb.org.  How catchy and easy to remember is that! Acorn.  Like the nut! Web.  Like the internet I use to visit the site! Acornweb.  Web of acorn.  Now unfortunately the domain has changed to one of those ever-annoying addresses like http://library.arlington.county.state.va.us.planetearth.milkyway.gov.  There is no hope of remembering it and my favorites list is cluttered beyond recognition so I’ve just been getting frustrated and Googling it.  GOD MY LIFE IS SO DIFFICULT FEEL BAD FOR ME.
• Which brings me to the kicker… I went over tonight to replenish my stack and the effer is closed! Not like whoops-I-thought-it-closed-at-9-but-appears-to-be-8 but like closed closed.  The sign just noted “Thursday: Closed.” WTF! What the heck other place in the universe is just plain closed on an entire day of the week! (And yes, I’m aware that their reasoning is probably “budget cuts” and I sound like a big ol’ smelly hypocrite cause I just complained about paying taxes.  Hand me the government’s checkbook and I can assure you there are 14 berzillion useless POS items that should get tossed before touching the library).

Anyhoo.  Moving along!

The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali: Illuminations Through Images, Commentary, and Design.  Otay! Well let’s not linger here long because I’m not sure a reference book on the 8 Fold Path of Patanjali is really of popular interest.  But, I know there are a few Yoga readers out there, so if this is up your alley I completely recommend! Wonderful analogies, anecdotes, really does a great job making relatable sense of something translated from Sanskrit, thousands of years old, and already pretty complicated to start with.  4 woms!

 

 

Powered by Happy: How to Get and Stay Happy at Work.  Before you go thinking I’m all work-depressed again (I love you employers!) this author participated at an event of ours so we got a bunch of free copies and I read it.  Nothing terribly earth shattering, but a quick and easy read and definitely good insight on, like it says, staying happy in tough environments! 3 woms…

 

Food as Medicine: How to Use Diet, Vitamins, Juice, and Herbs for a Healthier, Happier, and Longer Life.  Yep another installment in my nutritional self-help phase.  So, this book was OK, I mean nobody needs a book to tell them broccoli is good for you, but it actually goes through everything and explains why, and what you get out of it.  But, I wanted to hit the author multiple times.  For instance, once he goes off on all the health benefits of salmon (again, duh), but then says not to eat farmed salmon because they’re fed GMO-ed corn, given hormones, other things that will apparently kill you, etc.  So I was like “Ahh got it, just buy the wild stuff.  K.”  But then he says the wild salmon are swimming in toxic, mercury-infested water which will also kill you.  And if your’e a woman the mercury stays in your system for like 15 years and crosses placentas and will kill your baby too.  Where do I get salmon then dude!? Do I have to breed these effers myself and feed them organic salmon food?! Time 2 I wanted to hit the author was then when he goes on and on about some smoothie that is awesome, and has turned around the health of all his clients, and will make you never get a disease ever.  I’m waiting excitedly for the recipe and he’s all “The recipe is quite simple: bulgur puree, cream of wheat grass, distilled coconut water, organic fresh pressed ginger slivers, imported rosemary extract…” A dramatization but you get the idea.  Completely unreasonable.  Time 3 I wanted to hit him, the final straw, was when he explained a month-long detox that involved consuming nothing but juice and tepid tea.  Am I the only one who thinks you would literally starve to death if you tried that?!  Not even a note to consult a doctor! Unbelievable! This is gonna cost him in the wombat department…

 

 

Faith.  I really liked this book.  Fiction inspired by- wait for this- the Catholic sex abuse scandal.  (It’s better than you’d think).  Definite page turner.  The writing was not especially deep or multi-dimensional but again, I really did like it.

 

 

 

 

Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life.  I loooved this book long time.  I think I already posted a blurb from this.  The author is a riot and so very wise.  Again, not sure how interested people are in a book about writing but if that remotely sounds interesting to you, pick this shiste up.

 

 

Marriage and Other Acts of Charity.  I actually picked this up on a whim (it was sitting close to Bird by Bird) and ended up A-DOR-ING it.  The author is a minister and the chaplain for the Maine Game Warden service.  She also was a young wifey and mom who lost her husband in a car accident.  I know I think she already has memoirs on that; this was more commentary on marriage, love, and family from both her own journey and people she met through her work.  It was so warm and hilarious, loved it.

  

My Own Country: A Doctor’s Story.  I picked this up because after Cutting for Stone (I worship that book) I needed to read every word this man wrote.  Sorry if that sounds stalker-y and weird.  Well this is his memoirs from treating some of the first AIDS cases in rural Tennessee in the early 80′s.  Chea.  Extremely well written (of course) but depressing as can be (of course again), though it did have warm and uplifting moments and a hopeful kind of theme.  So I guess 3 woms for something really well done that I would never choose again…

 

 

The Lonely Polygamist.  Exactly what it sounds like, and I freaking loved this book.  Just beautiful fiction.  One of those really long books you can just get totally immersed in. Loved.  4.5 woms even!

 

 

This is Where I Leave You.  A family is stuck spending 7 days together after the father dies; personal growth ensues.  Another quick, good read but not much depth.  Very funny though, definitely had some public LOL-age. 

11 Reasons I Want to Stab My Dentist

 Look, I realize this is not groundbreaking news here.  And saying “Wow the dentist is awful” is pretty much the observational equivalent of “Breaking: Better Places to Spend Your Time than the DMV.”  Whatever.  I just went this week and every time I set foot in that place, my hatred is re-birthed with a new fervor. 

 

The Reminder Postcard.  It’s the end of the long day.  You’ve arrived home and are tending to the mail.  Oh how nice of her to send a card! Oooh People magazine! 

 

OMG WTF is this!?!?

 

 

Oh hahahahahahaha aren’t you dear I HATE YOU.

 

Wha…. Whuh…. how is this possible?! I was just there…. LIKE….. 8 weeks ago!?!?  I mean, just yesterday I was sitting there in the chair, penning my own damning reminder card, knowing I was the furthest possible amount of days away from my next trip.  

 

BS Cancellation Policies.  From there, the dread builds until the day has arrived.  And if you’re like me, you start to cycle through the stages of grief, usually getting hung up at “bargaining” and trying to rationalize an excuse out of it.  On the day of my appointment this week, I made the most excellent decision of enjoying some office holiday awesomeness in the form of Harry and David’s Moose Munch.  Is there ANYTHING yummier than that filth? NO.  Except then I was like Oh CRAP I’m supposed to be at the friggin’ dentist later today. OH I KNOW I’LL CANCEL IT.  Not like I can walk into the dentist all “Oh hi….Don’t mind this layer of caramel on my molars! This is totally a one time thing and not indicative of my daily habits at ALL.”

 

Me: Umm hi.  I have an appointment later? If I cancel now will I get char…

Evil Dental Office: Yes.

Me: Oh.  OK.  Umm, see you later than I guess.

  

Coming Clean About Lackluster Dental Habits.  Does your dentist do this? First the hygienist grills me my relationship with my teeth and asks me how many times I floss during the week. 

 

“Well… some weeks I floss, like, every day! Other weeks, umm, less than that.  And by less I mean more like zero.” 

 

“OK.  We’ll say 3 on average then.  It says here you were flossing 5-6 times a week last time you were here.”

 

“It’s possible that was an exaggeration of the truth.” (Note to self: Keep better track of lies.)

 

“OK.  How about fluoride?”

 

“Pass?” 

 

The Television. Unless I am missing the “Induced Coma” channel, there is no possible television programming that could possibly make me feel any better about what’s happening.  Plus, it introduces another element of pressure to choose something socially acceptable.  I’m not sure what normal people watch, but if I’m at home by myself I’m watching Big Cat Diary or Secretly Pregnant or men’s gymnastics.  Other people need not know this.

 

The Stabby Ice Pick Device Thing.  This is THE PINNACLE of dental awfulness.  The cleaning is underway and I’m being stabbed with a pointed object, flinching and whimpering and gazing up at my masked hygienist with desperate, pleading eyes.  ”Is that sensitive there?” she says.  SENSITIVE? Lady we moved from “sensitive” to “OMFG PLEASE DESIST” like 8 teeth ago.   

 

X-Rays.  Correction.  These are the pinnacle of dental awfulness.  Hate.  Going in the thing looks like a harmless little plastic circle but in reality feels like you’re gumming a jungle machete.  And then the hygienist sort of ambles over to the button on the wall to take the picture and I’m like “Move, woman… MOVE!” And does your dentist have this? Mine is all high-tech and the images flash right on a screen on the wall.  So I’m sitting there praying for nice, clear images of my poor teeth yet half expecting…

 

Which brings me to…

 

X-Ray Re-Dos.  Correction #2.  This is the worst  part.  This is reasons I want to impale the dentist numbers 1 through infinity.

 

Flouride.  After about 8 seconds my gag reflex is on Tom Ridge Threat Code Red.  The stuff actually doesn’t taste that bad, it’s just the pressure of sitting there for sixty seconds trying not to gag and spew it all over yourself, or worse, swallow it after being warned by the hygienist to “Whatever you do DO NOT SWALLOW THIS.”  Can someone tell me what happens if you ingest flouride? If I had to guess I’d say it was certain and instantaneous death.  This is what I try to remind myself of when I’m sweating bullets at second 49 and starting to see the face of God.

 

Desperate Longing for the Water Hose.  The only thing that gets me through the horror of the stabbing, the disgusting “polishing,” and the X-Rays is the thought of the sweet succour of the water hose.  And its equally soothing partner, the yin to its yang, the sultan of suction, ladies and gentlemen give it up for your friend and mine, MR. THIRSTY.  At my dentist, after the flouride they hand Mr. Thirsty right over to me and tell me to suck to my heart’s content.  I mouth that thing with an enthusiasm that can only be likened to the famous Virgin Diaries first kiss:

 

 

Encore Appearance from the Stabby Ice Pick Device Thing.  The hygienist is just giving you a final once-over before turning you over to the dentist and she’s all “Oh… what’s… Is that…. a micron of Moose Munch I still see on your right lateral incisor? Here… lemme just…. get that for you quick…” 

 

Condescending Douchebag Dentist.  Seriously I hate mine.  This week he told me he was putting 4 molars on the “cavity watch list” and then followed up with these condescending gems: “I’m trying to work with you here, but you have to work back.” And “You don’t have to floss every day, only days when you chew something.”  Well is that a fact? Come to think of it, an eating disorder would be better than having to come back here.  And sorry that I have a life that doesn’t involve being a fetish-y, tooth-obsessed, dentist weirdo like you.  Whatevs.  Turd.  We’re done here for 6 months.  Suck my tartar, dude.   

A Letter to the Gym

I am super fed up with my gym and sent them this email tonight.  I will of course let you know what I hear from them and reveal their identity if my demands go unmet.  Mwahahaha! (Or as they say in The Muppet Movie… “Maniacal laugh……Maniacal laugh!…….Maniacal laugh!!!!)

_______________________

 

Hi Member Services. 

 

WE GOT ISSUES.

 

Let me tell you a story here.  For storytelling facilitation I’ll give away the ending, which is that for the second week in a row, we had no instructor and no 6:30pm Monday spin class.

 

To rewind a tiny bit.  My husband and new-found domestic workout buddy is a brand new member of yours, having just joined two weeks ago after a positive spin class experience that he attended on a guest pass from me. 

 

I cannot tell you what a big deal that is, Member Services! Cannot tell you! I had to apply ZERO follow up nagging here!  He had a good time and very graciously coughed up his credit card for you people, with the understanding he would be making many more positive spinning memories in the future. 

 

So then last week, we show up all ready and excited like happy little [redacted gym name] members, except 10 minutes past when the class was supposed to start, we’re still sitting there aimlessly spinning on our little bikes, like wayward little lambs out to pasture without a spinning instructor.  Some clueless front desk person finally came in and told us “Oh by the way, this class is cancelled.”  And then cluelessly walked back out.

 

WTF DUDE. 

 

Tonight, we showed up again for class, and were AGAIN left alone and abandoned until someone actually went to the front desk and reported that it looked liked class was “cancelled” again. 

 

OK, the thing is, I COULD have very easily forgiven this if it was an isolated occurrence.  I am THE most forgiving person on your entire membership roster, I guarantee that.  I mean, I am really fired up about this yet the extent of my anger expression is this snarky email.  So if you’re on the receiving end of a snarky email from me, you know you’ve got a SERIOUS customer relations problem on your hands.   

 

But my well of mercy done run dry with you people! You know why? Because I used to frequent your Yoga classes until this exact pattern happened then, too.  A no-show instructor, followed by a SECOND week of no-show instructor, because apparently even though that person was SEVEN DAYS LATE FOR WORK, nobody thought to, you know, follow up! Honestly I have been to your facility maybe like 15-20 times, a whopping 4 of which were to attend classes that never happened.  That is a REALLY ABHORRENT rate! 

 

Do you know that by the second week of failed Yoga class we were so fed up that myself and another gentleman attempted to teach the class ourselves?! More on this later, FRIEND.

 

Let’s further explore the depths of my mercy.  I would have walked away from all of this feeling a LOT better about my customer service experience had any of the following happened:

 

1.  The class was removed from the online schedule.

 

2.  As a local member, I got some kind of email alert saying the class for that night was cancelled.  Do you know how many spam emails I get from you folks on a daily basis!? I ALREADY belong! You ALREADY get my money! And yet every day I’m being asked to Add a Workout Buddy! Get a Trainer! 5% Cash Back If You Pay with Discover! I even get creepy stalker emails saying “We see were at the gym last night… care to take a survey about your experience?” Hi, no, here is a free one-person focus group.  Spare me the crap and just freaking give me some kind of notice if classes are cancelled, turdballs!  

 

3.  There was even some sort of minimal degree of quality control here, maybe for instance that an employee confirms instructors are there and group classes are underway at their scheduled times?! How many zillions of dollars is your company pulling in and that is not on anyone’s freaking checklist? During all 4 of these incidents, it was the actual attendees that had to confusedly wander out to the front desk to ask what the heck was going on.  (And as mentioned, nobody knew what the heck was going on).

 

And I just want to stress once again how fragile your relationship is with this humble narrator and her spouse.  My husband? He joined for the exact purposes of going to these classes and his first two as a paying member have not come to fruition.  His confidence in your corporation is pretty low right now.  Myself? I passed up two gyms closer to our house because they didn’t have group classes and I’m too lazy for a self-directed routine.  However I must say if this nonsense continues I suspect I may be finding some motivation to change my habits. 

 

BUT because I’m merciful, like I mentioned, I’m willing to negotiate.  If you meet the following conditions within 7 business days of receipt of this message, my household will keep our memberships and give you another chance:

 

1.  I want both of our membership fees for November refunded.

 

2.  I want a $10 credit for faux-teaching that Yoga class over the summer and bailing your disorganized arses out.

 

If you fail to meet the conditions in the prescribed time, we revoke our membership AND the following things happen:

 

1.  I get on Yelp and unleash the fury.  And this so-called “Twitter”.  If I can figure it out.  Whichever one I figure out first.  Facebook too.  I’m positive my social networking disapproval will send your corporation crashing to a halt.  Dump the stock now. 

 

2.  I publicly denounce you on my blog.  Yea that’s right.  Get your Public Relations executive on the line.  FEAR ME.  It’s the 346,968th most popular on the internet according to statistics from “bloglovin.com” so you know I command the attention of thousands of impressionable consumers.  And by thousands I mean 3 or 4.  But impressionable consumers DO read Yelp and Twitter I already said I’d trash you there per item #1.

 

Otay, Member Services.  Thanks and I appreciate you listening.  I hope we can work this out.  If you need any further information to meet my demands feel free to reply to this email address.   

 

Toodles–

 

Sarah

Obligatory Penn State Weigh In

Is this as big of a deal everywhere as it is here in the Midatlantic? Or is it just because every fourth person I know (and approximately 99.4% of the people on my facebook) are Penn Staters?

I hate to get controversial, and I’m sure I’m not saying anything groundbreaking, but whatever.  I feel like chatting about it.  It’s my blog and I’ll-repeat-what-plenty-of-people-are-already-saying-but-in-different-words if I want to.

First can I just say most days I kick myself for not having gone to Penn State.  My mom worked for the PSU University Hospital for upwards of 10 years, and as such I was entitled to some sweet, sweet tuition discounts.  On top of in-state rates.  Why I chose to instead borrow Eleventy McBillion dollars and go to GW, I will never know.  Actually, wait, I know… because at 17 I wasn’t capable of making adult decisions (isn’t it crazy that we expect 17 year olds to?!), and I made a second un-adult decision by ignoring the warnings of actual adults.    But this week I’m all Don’t Blame Me I Went Out of State!

I’m totally conflicted over all of this.  I have serious issues with misplaced sympathy, devil’s advocacy, excuse making, etc.  It’s a problem. I just can’t help that my heart breaks a tiny bit thinking of this person- with a wife and children- likely going to jail for the rest of his life.  And seeing Joe Paterno’s fifty year career end on such a terrible, devastating note. 

But then I say to myself GET A FRIGGIN HOLD OF YO SELF WOMAN… Look at what was going on here! I mean… the extent to which crimes of this magnitude were pushed under the rug and not taken seriously is astounding and un-freaking-acceptable.  And the fact that they KNEW and had eyewitnesses to the worst offense (that we know of) and tried to self-police it with THE silliest fake “punishment” in the history of mankind?!?! In case you don’t know what I’m referencing, they caught this guy sodomizing/raping a 10 year old and decided that, well, they would just make a rule that he couldn’t be alone in the locker room with boys anymore.  I mean, I’d say it’s a “slap on the wrist” but no, it’s not anything to anything, a wrist or otherwise.  To me it’s the equivalent of pulling the Uni-bomber aside and being like “Now TED….. What did we talk about? I’m going to need you to back off those letter bombs, mmkay buddy? Last warning this time, alright?”

So, it is a shame, and unfortunate, but there needs to be a clear precedent set that more is expected of leaders.  I love that saying about the right thing to do and the hardest thing to do being the same.  Leaders choose the hard thing.  Always. 

And obviously the MOST important precedent is that children’s welfare trumps SPORTS. 

SORRY.

Don’t get me started on sports.  I was an athlete and I know they are awesome on many levels which I could blab on for hours about, but they are not the be-all-end-all of life and human existence.  And I want to SLAP some of these idiot college kids who at 20 have not faced .04% of the adversity that these victims had experienced at 10 (don’t forget this sickwad found his targets from a football camp for disadvantaged kids).  This is not directed at all Penn Staters, just the immature entitled ones who are all OMG BOO HOO MAH FOOTBALL PROGRAM and are writing statements like “My prayers go out to the victims BUT…”.  No.  Shut your pie hole.  Back away from the keyboard.  There is no but.  Priorities.  GET SOME.

Uhh… The end.  Don’t hate me.

Weekend Update and: I Figured Out How to Upload Videos!

I want to cry that it’s the last day of July.  With four more weeks to go in the depressing march towards Labor Day, today I vowed to take time to appreciate each succulent summer day in August. 

Yesterday we celebrated the joint 30th birthday of our dear friends Dan and Katie, who are possibly two of the most awesome people ever.  The chosen venue for this momentous event: Nats Park on Jayson Werth bobblehead night! YEA!

First, Jeff and I had a horrendous, soul-crushing, hour+ voyage on the bus and metro.  Apparently there was some huge soccer game going on here last night, so we were crammed on a car with nine jillion Olé-ing idiots with no concept of metro decorum.  Like: if a door attempting to close is repeatedly closing ON your limbs/bag/anywhere else on your person, that is an indication your mass exceeds the available volume on the car.  Give up the dream and wait 90 seconds for the next one.  You’ll make it to your precious “match.”  Or: if you’re part of a large herd of people slowly moving together, don’t STOP, bend over, and adjust the velcro on your foot-boot-cast thing.  I am sorry for your orthopedic troubles, but PLEASE, sufferin’ succotash, just excuse yourself out of the flow of people to tend to your metatarsals.  Idiots!

We self entertained…

Spoiler alert… one escalator was functional!

We started off the night in Das Bullpen (the German themed neighbor of The Bullpen… Hee, the name cracks me up).  Uhh, this next sight was DEFINITELY a highlight of the night… omigod, dude! Leave your baby at home OR make the baseball game a little more family friendly by skipping pre-gaming and corn hole!

Game time!

Afterwards we went back to the Bullpen… My husband is a riot…

SUCH a fun night.  Happy birthday Dan and Katie!

And because it’s been 72 hours since I showered the internet with Chooch pictures, here you go   And even if you are sick of him, you cannot deny these are REALLY CUTE:

OK… off to clean, grill, and watch the Bachelorette Men Tell All special tonight!! I mean… uhh… something cultured…

Awful CVS Experience #496

Every freaking time I walk into CVS, I know I’m about to experience the absolute worst customer service the private sector has to offer.  You’re just ASKING to waste 20 minutes, and kill a good mood, and any interaction with an employee is like “Hello! Here is my soul and all that is dear to me, please place under a SLAP CHOP”

Today I once again fell prey to the lure of CVS convenience when I needed to print six (6) photos.  In their defense, they have this great online system where you can upload your crap, pay for it advance, and then- SO GOES THE THEORY- pick them up from your local store and be on your breezy way.  So I did my thang, paid my $2, got a confirmation email and then another email confirming they were processed and ready for pick up.

I walked out of my office building at 5:59 pm and went to the CVS two blocks away.  Inside was a line of probably 10-12 people with one person working a register.  This is pretty much CVS Axiom #1, so no surprise there.  A second employee was assisting one person off to the side of the counter, so I selected that as my target to break the enemy line.  Surprisingly, I was acknowledged within 60 seconds, and told to wait “a minute” for her to finish up with that person.  Well “a minute” turned into, like, ELEVEN as she proceeded to hand-copy a huge receipt worth of data onto another piece of paper.  Yea, I don’t know what the heck she was doing exactly, but I was fuming and close to shouting ”PLEASE SWEET JESUS, just take four seconds to HAND me the envelope with my name on it!!!!! LOGICAL PRIORITIZATION OF TASKS!”

Finally she got to me and I got the standard rundown of questions, with additional long stretches of time thrown in between, as she was sifting through the piles of crap behind the counter.

“Last name?”

Tick…………

“First name?”

Tock………..

“What time you submit these?”

…….TOCK……….

“Spell that last name again?”

Clocks melting…….. seasons changing……..  glaciers slowly eroding……….

“Can’t find it.” (Standard response to any question and therefore CVS Axiom #2)

Well after some head scratching I check to confirm the location, only to find out that I am on (N)th street and my photos are at the CVS on (N-1)th street.  I had just gone along with what the online system defaulted to because the CVS I was at was the only one I remembered ordering photos from.  Who knows why it had the (N-1) location saved.  Anyway.  MY BAD and I realize I sound obnoxious criticizing bad employees when I myself am obviously a huge moron.  HOWEVER, in my defense, I would have taken much more care if this was something work related and not just a personal errand.  Anyhoo.

Down I went one block to (N-1) to see what horrendous and stupefying scene awaited me at the sister CVS.  This time, I found no line, no one behind the counter, just one employee standing with her polo pulled over her head, with her hands on the outside rubbing her face.  Because I really want to be able to share this visual, here is a stock photo to help you out.  Just imagine the hands rubbing the face in an exasperated way.   

Yea, I don’t know.  Well at least she helped me immediately and we started from the top with the question rundown.  The “can’t find it” outcome was identical.  Except she said it in a tone that was kind of like, “Can’t find it.  Go away now?” but I was fired up and walking OUT with those photos, so I said “Well I got an email saying they were processed four hours ago… SOOO……yeaaaa…..”  This at least elicited a response from the manager and the two of them discovered my photos un-printed in the system, seemingly a casualty of the “machine being down earlier today.”  So, many more minutes went by as I stood there and watched them process and print them right in front of me.  Sigh.  Annoying AND kind of awkward because they were majorly goofy photos.    

It was 6:38 by the time I finally made it to the metro station.  Even subtracting for walking time, it was still over 30 minutes that I blew on this miserable task.  CVS, I smite thee!!!!  

The only redeeming thing from this whole ordeal was that as I was leaving, I saw a woman right inside the door getting directions from an employee.  Outside on the curb was (presumably her) SUV, sitting driver-less (!!!) on the STREET, with a large and angry metrobus closing in on it.  Two tween girls were dangling out the window, frantically waving and trying to get her attention inside the store, screaming “MOM!!!! MOM!!!!!!!“.  OMG.  I would have cracked up if CVS hadn’t temporarily disabled my ability to perceive humor/joy.