My five year long love/hate relationship with the Temper-Pedic® bed is over. While it was good for all the tender points FMS hath wrought upon my body, it was horrible for my back. You know all the commercials that point out how it conforms to your body to provide excellent support? What they don't say is "Oh yeah, you'll sink into this mattress like a stone, and you'll feel all comfy...until to try to roll over. The memory foam--surprise!--will remember your form and take a long-assed time to spring back, which means you'll just fall back into the hole and be stuck in the same freaking position all freaking night long, and a few months later that form will be permanent, and your ass will sink a little lower even, leaving your back in so much pain that even Vicodin won't touch it. But hey! It's frakkin' MEMORY FOAM! So it RULES!"
Yeah. That about covers it.
I think giving it five years was long enough. Last week the Spouse Thingy went out with me--in pouring, pounding rain, I might add, which might mean he kinda likes me a little bit--to go bed shopping. The first place we went is a decent enough place to buy a bed, and the old guy there is helpful enough, but the "best" bed on the floor was a brand I'd never heard of, and while it felt like a bed I would love for a long time, I wasn't quite ready to slip a ring on its box-springy-finger and commit.
So, we went elsewhere and looked at a Sealy--which was decent enough--and then home to scope out the first bed online.
Surfing for reviews on the Chateau line of this company's beds didn't turn up much, but on the company itself...very mixed reviews. Too many people hated them, which seems normal with beds as they're either a love them or hate them kinda thing, but I got the impression trying to get help with warranty issues was a PITA.
If I'm going to commit to many years of my life with a mattress, and part of them bare assed nekkid, I want the assurance of a little support, you know?
Shut up. You get nekkid in bed once in a while, too. Sometimes you're not even alone. I hope.
So the next day we drove across town to scope out a friend-recommended bed brand; I didn't have high hopes for the place we were headed to first--any place with "discounters" in the name tends to make me think of cheap bug-infested crap--but the sales guy there took a lot of time with us and didn't try to steer us towards the pricey merchandise just because he could. He actually asked a ton of questions about sleeping issues, took note that I needed something firm for my back yet soft for all my tender points, and had us try out at least 6 different mattresses...and once I'd declared "I think this is the one" he had us go back and try them all again just to be sure.
You know, there are limits to how you can try out mattresses in public? Lesson learned.
The one I thought was the right one turned out to be the one recommended to me, but at least the guy gave us tons of options. Better yet, it was nearly a grand less than I'd seen online and he threw in the bed frame (not a cheap one either...though I know all the stores will throw it in "for free, because I'm the manager and I can do that") and delivery.
I was not at all sad to see the delivery guys haul away the Temper-Pedic...I'd had high hopes for that bed and it dashed them every night.
Four nights on the new bed...very nice. My back isn't miraculously cured, but it's also not screaming at me from the moment I wake up.
Better yet, the cats seem to approve.
And face it, without kitty approval, it means nothing; it would just be an expensive lump in the middle of the bedroom floor.
Monday
Friday
22 January 2010
I'm not on Team CoCo.
I'm not on Team Leno.
I'm pretty firmly ensconced on Team WTF People It's Just Late Night TV And Doesn't Really Matter.
But I have paid attention to all the hoopla because 1) I don't have a life and 2) Who the hell can even get away from it? It's not even limited to tabloid TV; the entire NBC screw up is being dissected on the national news. People are talking about it on the radio, in newspapers, and blogs. I know way too much about it because we're being beat half to death with it.
People blame Leno; he's selfish and should have just walked away from NBC when his prime time show tanked.
People blame Conan; he couldn't pull the ratings he needed, so he should have just walked away.
People blame NBC affiliates for whining about their lost ratings and revenue that came with having Leno in the 10 p.m. prime time slot.
So let's blame Leno again.
How about we back track and lay the blame at the feet of the person actually responsible for the entire fiasco? All those people upset by Conan leaving and Leno taking back the tonight show, just go find NBC head honcho Jeff Zucker and pull his hair until he cries. Because in reality, it was his idea five years ago to take the late night ratings leader, give him an end date, and move Conan into the slot. It was his move to not let Leno out of his contract, dropping him into the 10 pm slot.
Don't blame Conan for wanting out after they wanted to push him back to 12:05; that wasn't the gig he signed on for. He was given The Tonight Show not Hey Let's Follow Jay. He wasn't given time to rebuild an audience, either.
Don't blame Leno for wanting to take the Tonight Show back; he didn't want to give it up in the first place and he was the ratings leader. If you were a workaholic and had his contract, you'd go back, too.
And if you were on Team CoCo and are super pissed, pull Zucker's hair a little harder, because in the end it was all about money; they got Conan out the door for $45 million; it would have taken $150 million to get Leno out.
When you're done pulling Zucker's hair, you might want to find out why the hell he's still in charge at NBC, because he's made some really stupid choices.
And then get the talking heads on TV to stop making such a big deal about it. Six months from now no one will give a damn. It's not news. It's not remotely news.
I'm not on Team Leno.
I'm pretty firmly ensconced on Team WTF People It's Just Late Night TV And Doesn't Really Matter.
But I have paid attention to all the hoopla because 1) I don't have a life and 2) Who the hell can even get away from it? It's not even limited to tabloid TV; the entire NBC screw up is being dissected on the national news. People are talking about it on the radio, in newspapers, and blogs. I know way too much about it because we're being beat half to death with it.
People blame Leno; he's selfish and should have just walked away from NBC when his prime time show tanked.
People blame Conan; he couldn't pull the ratings he needed, so he should have just walked away.
People blame NBC affiliates for whining about their lost ratings and revenue that came with having Leno in the 10 p.m. prime time slot.
So let's blame Leno again.
How about we back track and lay the blame at the feet of the person actually responsible for the entire fiasco? All those people upset by Conan leaving and Leno taking back the tonight show, just go find NBC head honcho Jeff Zucker and pull his hair until he cries. Because in reality, it was his idea five years ago to take the late night ratings leader, give him an end date, and move Conan into the slot. It was his move to not let Leno out of his contract, dropping him into the 10 pm slot.
Don't blame Conan for wanting out after they wanted to push him back to 12:05; that wasn't the gig he signed on for. He was given The Tonight Show not Hey Let's Follow Jay. He wasn't given time to rebuild an audience, either.
Don't blame Leno for wanting to take the Tonight Show back; he didn't want to give it up in the first place and he was the ratings leader. If you were a workaholic and had his contract, you'd go back, too.
And if you were on Team CoCo and are super pissed, pull Zucker's hair a little harder, because in the end it was all about money; they got Conan out the door for $45 million; it would have taken $150 million to get Leno out.
When you're done pulling Zucker's hair, you might want to find out why the hell he's still in charge at NBC, because he's made some really stupid choices.
And then get the talking heads on TV to stop making such a big deal about it. Six months from now no one will give a damn. It's not news. It's not remotely news.
Wednesday
Tuesday
19 January 2010
When the Boy told Max his plans, Max leaned back and said "Shut yo mouth! No way!"Ok, no. But he might have. You know, if he could speak.
Next month the Boy is going to engage in what is fondly known as The Polar Plunge. He's going to jump into some extremely cold water for the sole purpose of helping to raise money for the Special Olympics.
Fine, there might be a
Because I would really like to see him freeze his nads off, I'm trolling for sponsors. A buck here, a buck there, it all adds up. And if you can't sponsor, it would be awesome if you could spread the word for him.
Curt Thompson's Donor Page
If he can raise $10,000, he'll get to repeat the plunge in some nice snow-runoff water in March. And that would totally be worth it...
Sunday
17 January 2010
Bullets 'cause I'm boring
- Y'all know that church sign picture was likely created with a generator, right? It's not like the First Baptist Church of Haiti actually put that up...
- Over the holidays I didn't obsess about my weight and figured a couple of pounds wouldn't kill me. It did not, but I am just now down to my pre-Christmas weight and annoyed that it took this long.
- Memory foam does not return as well as the commercials suggest and indents too easily; I have a love/hate relationship with the TempurPedic bed, and lately there's not a lot of love there.
- That did not come out the way I intended...
- I watched 8 episodes of Heroes over 2 days this weekend, and it actually felt like I had accomplished something.
- Clearly, I need a life.
- I've had fun teasing Murf about his graying hair, but after today I obviously need to stop, as evidenced by how much gray was on the floor when I got my hair cut today.
- Now I'm all itchy because of the tiny pieces of hair that wound up down my shirt.
- I need to stop watching HGTV before it compels me to rip my kitchen apart and cause thousands of dollars in damage.
- I'll give $2.50 if someone will come fix lunch for me and then clean my kitchen.
- No? You people are cheap...
Thursday
Monday
11 January 2010
OK, deep down I'm 12. Or maybe 8. And because of that, I've been reluctant to swallow the horse-pill sized supplements my endocrinologist requested I suck down on a daily basis.
But then I discovered these.
Gummis for grownups. All the Calcium and Vitamin D an adult needs in two not too little chews.
Behold...I was willing to take my supplements. Because what could be better than medicinal gummis?
But then...then...A friend told me that the Viactiv chocolate chews I used to hate now taste a whole lot better, and I might find them more palatable.
Damn. She was right.
Another source of Calcium and Vitamin D. A chocolate source.
And THEN... I found some Caltrate chewable tablets
Gummis for grownups. All the Calcium and Vitamin D an adult needs in two not too little chews.
Behold...I was willing to take my supplements. Because what could be better than medicinal gummis?
But then...then...A friend told me that the Viactiv chocolate chews I used to hate now taste a whole lot better, and I might find them more palatable. Damn. She was right.
Another source of Calcium and Vitamin D. A chocolate source.
These taste like SweetTarts.
I am totally set to meet my RDA of Calcium and Vitamin D...and then some.
Can we say "hypercalcemia?" I knew we could.
This isn't a give the blogger a freebie review...it's not a paid review. I bought 'em all and tried 'em all, and lemme tell you, if you don't take Calcium and Vitamin D (both of which I am low on, but have had more than one doc tell me most people should be taking) because those damned pills are so freaking big, these are a really good alternative.
But while you're indulging your inner 8 year old, keep them out of reach of the real rugrats, because they're that good. Let's not OD the spawn...
11 January 2010
Quote of the Day:
Unfortunately, I was trying to swallow some diet Cherry Dr. Pepper as I was reading that, laughed, it went up into my sinuses, and I'm in some real pain right now... So thank you, Loralee...
I want to marry Air Supply and have little cheesy music babies with them.
Unfortunately, I was trying to swallow some diet Cherry Dr. Pepper as I was reading that, laughed, it went up into my sinuses, and I'm in some real pain right now... So thank you, Loralee...
Thursday
7 January 2010
Proof you can get anything at Walmart:
Sorry about the picture quality...I was laughing and kinda shook my iPhone while I took the picture.
Guys...don't strain anything on your mad dash to get to Wall World...
Sorry about the picture quality...I was laughing and kinda shook my iPhone while I took the picture.
Guys...don't strain anything on your mad dash to get to Wall World...
Tuesday
Thursday
31 December 2009
Because we are hard core partiers, and the Spouse Thingy finally had a New Year's Eve off, we decided to go all out and celebrate in a major way this year.
Which means, basically, that we were all, "Maybe we'll go to a movie and then go get some Chinese food," which eventually became, "We really should have picked a movie sooner because it's getting kind of late," and then "Well, call and see if the Chinese place is still open."
I mean, it was 8 p.m., who eats that late?
We headed out to find this brand new Chinese restaurant/Sushi bar (yup) and behold, it was right where the last Chinese place was located in beautiful downtown Dixon. We peeked in the window and decided that we might be able to get a table, what with the 5 other customers inside spread out between the 6 foot long sushi bar and two of the booths.
This is one of those spectacular places, where the decor is mid-century modern with dashes of duct tape on the vinyl booth seats and unlit paper lanterns dotting the ceiling. When we walked in we were immediately taken with the heavy smell of grease in the air, and the 19" TV perched behind the cash register that probably had full use of its color spectrum in 1985 (the TV, not the cash register. I could rephrase that but I'm too lazy to. Also, I dangle participles. Or articles. Whatever.)
It was so inviting that of course we stayed, and because I am hard core, I ordered the Kung Pao chicken because it had a little hot pepper drawn next to it on the menu, and some chicken chow mein. The Spouse Thingy, being slightly less hard core, ordered sweet and sour chicken, the yardstick by which he measures all Chinese restaurants.
He surmised that this end-of-year dietary blowout just might wind up being a cause of massive amounts of weight loss, in the form of bodily evacuations of the unpleasant sort. And hey, what a way to start a new year, ten pounds lost in one night.
The thing is...the food was excellent. The chow mein was not too oily (as it is at the other place we've tried a few times) and the sweet & sour chicken was just right. The Kung Pao was awesome, and not too spicy.Well, not until the Spouse Thingy
pointed to a red pepper on my plate and said, "Go ahead. Take a bite of that."
The red hot chili pepper in my Kung Pao Chicken
Now, because I am hard core I forked one of these bad boys up and bit off the end. And it wasn't so bad, kind of spicy and not much flavor...
AND OHMYGAWD OH HOLY HELL WHAT HAPPENED TO MY MOUTH!!???!
Almost instant fire. The pain began at the tip of my tongue, and with the force of a culinary blowtorch it spread to my lips and the roof of my mouth. It was burning piled upon a vice clamp being squeezed over my lips and tongue with fire ants and a sadistic kid with a magnifying glass under the sun.
The Spouse Thingy laughed, until he realized I was in some real pain.
And then apologized, and then laughed some more.
Liquid did not help. Chow mein did not help. A bite of sweet and sour chicken did not help. But, as minutes ticked by slowly, the fire abated and I took another bite of my Kung Pao, and then,
OH HOLY CARP!
I shoveled in the rest of the chow mein, because hey, it certainly couldn't hurt. And then there was the fortune cookie, which when sucked upon, actually did help. As did the promise of ice cream...when all else fails, give the hard core New Year's Eve partier some Dreyer's slow churned chocolate ice cream, and pray that the fact she is also lactose intolerant doesn't rear its ugly head.
After all that--again we have this hard core nature--we headed home to feed the kitties.
At 9 p.m.
Because that's how we roll.
Happy New Year!
Which means, basically, that we were all, "Maybe we'll go to a movie and then go get some Chinese food," which eventually became, "We really should have picked a movie sooner because it's getting kind of late," and then "Well, call and see if the Chinese place is still open."
I mean, it was 8 p.m., who eats that late?
We headed out to find this brand new Chinese restaurant/Sushi bar (yup) and behold, it was right where the last Chinese place was located in beautiful downtown Dixon. We peeked in the window and decided that we might be able to get a table, what with the 5 other customers inside spread out between the 6 foot long sushi bar and two of the booths.
This is one of those spectacular places, where the decor is mid-century modern with dashes of duct tape on the vinyl booth seats and unlit paper lanterns dotting the ceiling. When we walked in we were immediately taken with the heavy smell of grease in the air, and the 19" TV perched behind the cash register that probably had full use of its color spectrum in 1985 (the TV, not the cash register. I could rephrase that but I'm too lazy to. Also, I dangle participles. Or articles. Whatever.)
It was so inviting that of course we stayed, and because I am hard core, I ordered the Kung Pao chicken because it had a little hot pepper drawn next to it on the menu, and some chicken chow mein. The Spouse Thingy, being slightly less hard core, ordered sweet and sour chicken, the yardstick by which he measures all Chinese restaurants.
He surmised that this end-of-year dietary blowout just might wind up being a cause of massive amounts of weight loss, in the form of bodily evacuations of the unpleasant sort. And hey, what a way to start a new year, ten pounds lost in one night.
The thing is...the food was excellent. The chow mein was not too oily (as it is at the other place we've tried a few times) and the sweet & sour chicken was just right. The Kung Pao was awesome, and not too spicy.Well, not until the Spouse Thingy
pointed to a red pepper on my plate and said, "Go ahead. Take a bite of that."
The red hot chili pepper in my Kung Pao Chicken
Now, because I am hard core I forked one of these bad boys up and bit off the end. And it wasn't so bad, kind of spicy and not much flavor...
Almost instant fire. The pain began at the tip of my tongue, and with the force of a culinary blowtorch it spread to my lips and the roof of my mouth. It was burning piled upon a vice clamp being squeezed over my lips and tongue with fire ants and a sadistic kid with a magnifying glass under the sun.
The Spouse Thingy laughed, until he realized I was in some real pain.
And then apologized, and then laughed some more.
Liquid did not help. Chow mein did not help. A bite of sweet and sour chicken did not help. But, as minutes ticked by slowly, the fire abated and I took another bite of my Kung Pao, and then,
I shoveled in the rest of the chow mein, because hey, it certainly couldn't hurt. And then there was the fortune cookie, which when sucked upon, actually did help. As did the promise of ice cream...when all else fails, give the hard core New Year's Eve partier some Dreyer's slow churned chocolate ice cream, and pray that the fact she is also lactose intolerant doesn't rear its ugly head.
After all that--again we have this hard core nature--we headed home to feed the kitties.
At 9 p.m.
Because that's how we roll.
Happy New Year!
Sunday
27 December 2009
I wound up at Wendy's this afternoon, because I needed socks. I left the house at 2:20 and headed for Walmart, because they have socks, and because--conveniently--Wendy's shares a parking lot with them and I wanted chili.
Ok, mostly I just wanted to get out of the house, but socks and chili made for a good excuse.
I sat there with my hot chili and plain ("are you sure you don't want butter and sour cream?") baked potato, minding my own business. Still, I couldn't help but overhear the woman at the counter demanding to speak to the manager. I have no idea what she was upset about, but from the tone of her voice and the venom she spit while demanding him made it pretty clear she was super pissed.
He was not in; she wanted his phone number. His personal phone number.
Wisely, the shift manager refused to give it to her, but did offer her various other numbers to call, as well as the time the manager would be in.
That apparently was not good enough. She stomped off in a huff and tried to slam the door on her way out...not so easy when the door has a slow-stop hinge. It whooshed slowly, forcing a burst of cold air to wash over me.
It was a diversion for 2 minutes. And while there were plenty of other people around, I wasn't sitting close enough to eavesdrop on any conversations. What I did was eat my chili and curse myself for sitting so close to the door, because in spite of my spiffy neon orange sweatshirt, by that point I'm pretty sure my nipples were close to be able to cut glass.
(Apologies to my kid. I'm pretty sure he thinks I don't have nipples. Or that they ever stand up and get perky.)
A few minutes later the door swung open and this very nicely dressed guy walked in; suit, tie, neatly trimmed beard. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the previously pissed off woman in the parking lot, still looking pissed off, so it didn't take much to add 2 and 2.
So yeah, I paid attention, because it might be entertaining.
He marched toward the counter, stopped about 5 feet back, and huffed, "You...you...Mexicans!" and then turned around and headed for the door.
I didn't realize I was saying it out loud, but what spun through my head and then slipped out my mouth was "What the fuck?"
He looked right at me and said rather proudly, "I said that."
"Yeah, I know. Very classy of you."
He threw the door open and left, and I watched as he walked across the parking lot and kissed his previously pissed off wife/girlfriend/hookup like he was some sort of hero.
This is the joy of living in a small town, because dammit, that was major confrontation...
Seriously.
Ok, mostly I just wanted to get out of the house, but socks and chili made for a good excuse.
I sat there with my hot chili and plain ("are you sure you don't want butter and sour cream?") baked potato, minding my own business. Still, I couldn't help but overhear the woman at the counter demanding to speak to the manager. I have no idea what she was upset about, but from the tone of her voice and the venom she spit while demanding him made it pretty clear she was super pissed.
He was not in; she wanted his phone number. His personal phone number.
Wisely, the shift manager refused to give it to her, but did offer her various other numbers to call, as well as the time the manager would be in.
That apparently was not good enough. She stomped off in a huff and tried to slam the door on her way out...not so easy when the door has a slow-stop hinge. It whooshed slowly, forcing a burst of cold air to wash over me.
It was a diversion for 2 minutes. And while there were plenty of other people around, I wasn't sitting close enough to eavesdrop on any conversations. What I did was eat my chili and curse myself for sitting so close to the door, because in spite of my spiffy neon orange sweatshirt, by that point I'm pretty sure my nipples were close to be able to cut glass.
(Apologies to my kid. I'm pretty sure he thinks I don't have nipples. Or that they ever stand up and get perky.)
A few minutes later the door swung open and this very nicely dressed guy walked in; suit, tie, neatly trimmed beard. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the previously pissed off woman in the parking lot, still looking pissed off, so it didn't take much to add 2 and 2.
So yeah, I paid attention, because it might be entertaining.
He marched toward the counter, stopped about 5 feet back, and huffed, "You...you...Mexicans!" and then turned around and headed for the door.
I didn't realize I was saying it out loud, but what spun through my head and then slipped out my mouth was "What the fuck?"
He looked right at me and said rather proudly, "I said that."
"Yeah, I know. Very classy of you."
He threw the door open and left, and I watched as he walked across the parking lot and kissed his previously pissed off wife/girlfriend/hookup like he was some sort of hero.
This is the joy of living in a small town, because dammit, that was major confrontation...
Seriously.
Thursday
Tuesday
22 December 2009
So far only for the Kindle:
For only $3.99...the first three books in the Charybdis series.
Not exactly worth your time if you've read them but still... I just like the cover image.
And there will be a print version next month. A massive print version...not sure what the list price will be.
For only $3.99...the first three books in the Charybdis series.
Not exactly worth your time if you've read them but still... I just like the cover image.
And there will be a print version next month. A massive print version...not sure what the list price will be.
Sunday
Friday
Thursday
17 December 2009
MSNBC.com has a slide show of the Decade in Pictures up right now...there are some really cool pictures there--some are pretty graphic but they give you a black screenshot that lets you bypass those is you want--and some are just outright funny, like Squirrel Kung Fu, and this one, my favorite:
Heck of an arm on that nun...
Heck of an arm on that nun...
Wednesday
16 December 2009
Barnes & Noble, apparently because of the introduction of their Nook e-reader, has been embracing e-books written by other than A-list authors. This is a good thing, as it gives me another venue for sales.
They obviously have some kinks to work out, though, as evidenced by this:
That's not exactly the correct cover to go with Charybdis.
Of my other books, only 2 have the correct cover images; the rest are covers for my books, just swapped around. As Simple As That has the cover for Charybdis; It's Not About the Cookies has the cover for Finding Father Rabbit. Other indie writers are having the same issues, and it's become a "Who has the funniest cover error?" game.
Supposedly they're working quickly to correct the errors...still...it made me LOL a bit...
They obviously have some kinks to work out, though, as evidenced by this:
That's not exactly the correct cover to go with Charybdis.
Of my other books, only 2 have the correct cover images; the rest are covers for my books, just swapped around. As Simple As That has the cover for Charybdis; It's Not About the Cookies has the cover for Finding Father Rabbit. Other indie writers are having the same issues, and it's become a "Who has the funniest cover error?" game.
Supposedly they're working quickly to correct the errors...still...it made me LOL a bit...
Saturday
12 December 2009
I'm watching Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer for the first time in years, and wondering how the hell this became such a classic. Face it, Santa is a douchebag, the elves are total dicks, and the reindeer are freaking sexist. Sure, there's redemption in the end, but really...Santa is someone who should have never needed redemption.
It really is a major suckage as far as cartoons go.
Just sayin'...
It really is a major suckage as far as cartoons go.
Just sayin'...
Wednesday
9 December 2009
Bulleted for the hell of it...
- Max seems to be feeling better. He's eating for the most part; he's asking for food and slurping down more than half. That tells me he's not 100% because, face it, this is Max. he lives for his food.
- My endocrinologist says I'm mostly normal; I can achieve optimum normalness with salt.
- Christmas shopping is 98% done. Most of it is even wrapped.
- No gifts will go under the tree, however. It's too visible from the front window.
- We did our annual Toys for Tots shopping trip tonight. Spent a little less than last year, but got way better toys, I think. And we still filled two carts.
- Our neighbor must be a life long Californian and not used to sub 30 temperatures, as evidenced by the ice covering her driveway because she forgot to turn the sprinkler system off.
- I would like Santa to bring me a new lower back. He can do that, right?
Monday
7 December 2009
The good news is the new sofa was obviously treated with Scotch Guard before it was delivered.
The bad news is I discovered it when Max threw up all over it last night.
Ugh.
He was feeling sick most of today--couldn't even bring himself to eat breakfast--but he seems much better now and ate some dinner.
But...ugh...I hate cat barf, but I'm glad he did it when I was right there to get it cleaned up quick. The bathroom carpet didn't fare as well, but that I can toss in the washer...
The bad news is I discovered it when Max threw up all over it last night.
Ugh.
He was feeling sick most of today--couldn't even bring himself to eat breakfast--but he seems much better now and ate some dinner.
But...ugh...I hate cat barf, but I'm glad he did it when I was right there to get it cleaned up quick. The bathroom carpet didn't fare as well, but that I can toss in the washer...
Sunday
6 December 2009
The economy is supposed to be in recovery, right? People are supposed to be out spending money? Are they shopping in droves near you?
I dragged my feet this morning because I had to head to Walmart to return a purchase that in hindsight was the not quite right thing to buy...I dreaded it because of the weekend holiday shopping crowds.
Except there was no crowd at Walmart.
I then went in search of blue LED lights, and while I didn't find them, I also didn't find long lines in any of the places I looked. On my way home I stopped back at Walmart for yogurt and milk, and the only people with loaded carts were grocery shoppers.
I hope it's just that people are waiting for better sales...right now it doesn't look like a recovery to me.
I dragged my feet this morning because I had to head to Walmart to return a purchase that in hindsight was the not quite right thing to buy...I dreaded it because of the weekend holiday shopping crowds.
Except there was no crowd at Walmart.
I then went in search of blue LED lights, and while I didn't find them, I also didn't find long lines in any of the places I looked. On my way home I stopped back at Walmart for yogurt and milk, and the only people with loaded carts were grocery shoppers.
I hope it's just that people are waiting for better sales...right now it doesn't look like a recovery to me.
Saturday
5 December 2009
Yesterday, I caved into a moment of blatant unkindness, but I don't feel particularly sorry for it.
It also happens to be this years holiday make-a-person-feel-bad moment, something at which I apparently excel.
In search of a particular gift, I went to several stores, including Sam's Club. The parking lot was surprisingly packed for a weekday afternoon (don't you people have jobs?) and one lane was jammed with oversized trucks crammed into compact car slots. Because really, who wants to walk that extra 15 feet when there's a perfectly good, way-too-small place to park right there?
I left Sam's empty handed; walking in the same lane in the parking lot as I was a much older couple. They shuffled along slowly, pushing a cart, probably going as fast as they could. They weren't walking down the middle; they were reasonably close to one side, just shy of the ends of all the vehicles parked there. Between them and me was another woman. An extremely obese--beyond morbidly obese, we're talking pushing 500 pounds here--waddled behind them.
No, waddling is mot my unkind contribution to this holiday season. It's an observation. Her legs moved in a static motion that didn't allow for the bending of knees and I was actually surprised she was mobile at all.
She was not a nice person, at least not yesterday. She was in a hurry to get to her van, and the old people were in her way. She berated them angrily: "Move the fuck over. Get out of my goddamned way, you're too fucking slow."
By then I was close enough to pass her up, and said as I went by, "Just go around them."
There's the rub.
She couldn't.
Between the trucks parked in the wrong places and her sheer physical size, she couldn't go around them. And the suggestion that she do just that pissed her off and she turned her ire to me.
"I can't, and they need to speed the fuck up or get out of my fucking way."
And then it came out, that which 1) probably embarrassed her and 2) made her want to deck me--I'm 99% sure she wanted to slap the hell out of me.
"It's not their fault you can't get around them."
By then the older couple was at their car, and I hope they didn't really hear any of that. Neither of them said a word or acted like they heard anything going on behind them, and if they did hear they were good about not showing it.
But Miss Congeniality certainly heard what I said.
Yes, it was mean. No, I don't feel all that bad about it. If she'd just been walking along and minding her own business, I wouldn't have said a word. If she'd been in my way, I just would have slowed down. But the way she sniped at that couple, her choice of words, pissed me off to no end. They couldn't have walked any quicker than she could have slipped around them, and didn't deserve the venom spit their way.
Hopefully, that's the only Feel-Bad holiday moment I'll inspire this year...but I am awfully good at it.
It also happens to be this years holiday make-a-person-feel-bad moment, something at which I apparently excel.
In search of a particular gift, I went to several stores, including Sam's Club. The parking lot was surprisingly packed for a weekday afternoon (don't you people have jobs?) and one lane was jammed with oversized trucks crammed into compact car slots. Because really, who wants to walk that extra 15 feet when there's a perfectly good, way-too-small place to park right there?
I left Sam's empty handed; walking in the same lane in the parking lot as I was a much older couple. They shuffled along slowly, pushing a cart, probably going as fast as they could. They weren't walking down the middle; they were reasonably close to one side, just shy of the ends of all the vehicles parked there. Between them and me was another woman. An extremely obese--beyond morbidly obese, we're talking pushing 500 pounds here--waddled behind them.
No, waddling is mot my unkind contribution to this holiday season. It's an observation. Her legs moved in a static motion that didn't allow for the bending of knees and I was actually surprised she was mobile at all.
She was not a nice person, at least not yesterday. She was in a hurry to get to her van, and the old people were in her way. She berated them angrily: "Move the fuck over. Get out of my goddamned way, you're too fucking slow."
By then I was close enough to pass her up, and said as I went by, "Just go around them."
There's the rub.
She couldn't.
Between the trucks parked in the wrong places and her sheer physical size, she couldn't go around them. And the suggestion that she do just that pissed her off and she turned her ire to me.
"I can't, and they need to speed the fuck up or get out of my fucking way."
And then it came out, that which 1) probably embarrassed her and 2) made her want to deck me--I'm 99% sure she wanted to slap the hell out of me.
"It's not their fault you can't get around them."
By then the older couple was at their car, and I hope they didn't really hear any of that. Neither of them said a word or acted like they heard anything going on behind them, and if they did hear they were good about not showing it.
But Miss Congeniality certainly heard what I said.
Yes, it was mean. No, I don't feel all that bad about it. If she'd just been walking along and minding her own business, I wouldn't have said a word. If she'd been in my way, I just would have slowed down. But the way she sniped at that couple, her choice of words, pissed me off to no end. They couldn't have walked any quicker than she could have slipped around them, and didn't deserve the venom spit their way.
Hopefully, that's the only Feel-Bad holiday moment I'll inspire this year...but I am awfully good at it.
Thursday
3 December 2009
Sunday night I was sitting here, in front of a nice fire with the TV blaring complete crap, with my laptop warming my lap. I was playing around at JigZone as I am wont to do when I'm avoiding doing anything that is actually productive.
I noticed that the battery icon came on, indicating that the laptop was operating off the battery; I didn't think much about it, because once in a while it does that. A few minutes on the battery, then it recharges.
But this time it kept right on working off the battery. So I set it aside and looked at the power adapter, and the little green power light was not on.
I shut down to preserve what power there was left in the battery, reasoning that the adapter was shot, and I would just go get a replacement in the morning.
It seemed reasonable at the time.
However.
A new power adapter was not the answer, because it did not work. And the laptop would not power up at all. The Spouse Thingy has the exact same laptop, so I plugged the old adapter into it; no dice. I plugged the new adapter into it; it worked. I then plugged his adapter into my laptop; nothing.
This distressed me mightily, as I can't just sit here and watch TV. If I'm watching TV, I tend to have the laptop here, and I surf the net or do puzzles and JigZone. So we took the sad little dead laptop the the local computer geek, who said it sounded like the motherboard...but as it was a relatively new laptop, he suggested I save the bucks it would cost to have him open it and try calling Gateway, because it was still under warranty.
And this is where Thumper learned a lesson: when you buy a laptop, or any computer really, register it with the manufacturer. and keep the receipt. I did neither; Gateway had no record of my purchase, and I had no proof.
So I got online with my ancient desktop system and whined to Murf, who was only online to check email and peek at Facebook. He didn't have a lot of time, but he listened to the details of my favorite toy's demise, and called his friend Dack, who does unspeakable things to computers these days.
Dack asked a lot of questions, but in the end said he was fairly sure I'd gotten a power surge that took out the adapter and the motherboard. He asked what model Gateway I had and looked it up in his nifty database and reported back the price of replacement parts.
Almost the cost of a whole new computer.
He also recommended I get a much better surge protector, because, obviously, I cheaped out on the one I was using (and, um, yes...I did...)
Funny, more than one person suggested I get a better surge protector. My cheapness apparently shines through.
So.
Now I sit here with a spiffy new laptop, but it is not with the thrill I would normally get from getting a shiny new toy. I got this one with replacing the ancient desktop system in mind, as it's not very happy about some of the software I ask it to run, and in the next year I plan on upgrading the publishing software.
No, I did not want to wait for Christmas to see if Santa would replace my laptop. Since this is at least 50% a business need, Santa could not be sure exactly what I would need.
Besides, as a business purchase, it's at least 50% tax deductible.
And yes, I registered this laptop. And I'm keeping the receipt.
Just in case.
I noticed that the battery icon came on, indicating that the laptop was operating off the battery; I didn't think much about it, because once in a while it does that. A few minutes on the battery, then it recharges.
But this time it kept right on working off the battery. So I set it aside and looked at the power adapter, and the little green power light was not on.
I shut down to preserve what power there was left in the battery, reasoning that the adapter was shot, and I would just go get a replacement in the morning.
It seemed reasonable at the time.
However.
A new power adapter was not the answer, because it did not work. And the laptop would not power up at all. The Spouse Thingy has the exact same laptop, so I plugged the old adapter into it; no dice. I plugged the new adapter into it; it worked. I then plugged his adapter into my laptop; nothing.
This distressed me mightily, as I can't just sit here and watch TV. If I'm watching TV, I tend to have the laptop here, and I surf the net or do puzzles and JigZone. So we took the sad little dead laptop the the local computer geek, who said it sounded like the motherboard...but as it was a relatively new laptop, he suggested I save the bucks it would cost to have him open it and try calling Gateway, because it was still under warranty.
And this is where Thumper learned a lesson: when you buy a laptop, or any computer really, register it with the manufacturer. and keep the receipt. I did neither; Gateway had no record of my purchase, and I had no proof.
So I got online with my ancient desktop system and whined to Murf, who was only online to check email and peek at Facebook. He didn't have a lot of time, but he listened to the details of my favorite toy's demise, and called his friend Dack, who does unspeakable things to computers these days.
Dack asked a lot of questions, but in the end said he was fairly sure I'd gotten a power surge that took out the adapter and the motherboard. He asked what model Gateway I had and looked it up in his nifty database and reported back the price of replacement parts.
Almost the cost of a whole new computer.
He also recommended I get a much better surge protector, because, obviously, I cheaped out on the one I was using (and, um, yes...I did...)
Funny, more than one person suggested I get a better surge protector. My cheapness apparently shines through.
So.
Now I sit here with a spiffy new laptop, but it is not with the thrill I would normally get from getting a shiny new toy. I got this one with replacing the ancient desktop system in mind, as it's not very happy about some of the software I ask it to run, and in the next year I plan on upgrading the publishing software.
No, I did not want to wait for Christmas to see if Santa would replace my laptop. Since this is at least 50% a business need, Santa could not be sure exactly what I would need.
Besides, as a business purchase, it's at least 50% tax deductible.
And yes, I registered this laptop. And I'm keeping the receipt.
Just in case.
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