Wednesday, November 11, 2015

a girl walks into an auto zone.....

when i left work this morning, i was able to retrieve one of my wayward wipers. unfortunately, it was in such a sad state that no amount of duct tape, band aids, or even those little shocky-paddle things were going to be able to fix the poor thing. still, no one likes a litterbug, and i figured maybe my dad could use it to beat the person who installed the thing (and its twin).

speaking of my dad, when i called him later and told him my tale of woe, he was very quiet.

as i recall from my teenage years (during which our relationship was strained, to put it nicely), silence is not always a good thing.

in this, case, however, it was followed not with, "what the heck did you do this time?", but with "hmmm...i wasn't sure i'd gotten those on quite right."

"no, daddy. i can tell you with great certainty that you did not."

auto zone was last on my list of errands this afternoon, and i walked in waving my rescued wiper.

the last time i was in the store was several months ago, when i had to bite the bullet and replace my chariot's 12 year old battery. i can't remember whether i posted about my exchange with the salesperson on here or not but long story short, i had a pleasant conversation with the salesperson as he replaced my battery, but had to end it with something to the effect of," i'm flattered, and my boyfriend will appreciate the confirmation of his good taste."

as i recall, the salesperson was due for a promotion, which included a move to another location.

i tell you this because i walked in this afternoon and was a little surprised when the first thing out of the salesman's mouth was, "you ain't driving that little miata anymore?"*

guess that transfer/promotion didn't happen.

during the first wiper installation attempt**, he asked how i was doing. (you know- the normal pleasantries.) i replied that i was "doing okay".

"only "okay"? you looking like you've been doing mighty fiiiiiiiiiiine to me."

oh. my. word.

(i can't recall exactly how i reacted to that. the shock of the utter cheesiness.... and i'm cheesy but, on the cheesiness scale, this was like an extra sharp cheddar. i usually operate at a gouda level, myself.)

i managed to steer things back toward small talk, but he still tried to be smooth one last time.***

after the installation of the second set of wipers was complete, i asked him if there were any sort of warranty against them flying off. if one went sailing into the sunset, could i come back and get free replacements, or would i have to content myself with bringing the wayward blade (if retrievable) in and waving it around while yet another purchase was rung up?

"there's no warranty like that, but let me give you my phone number."****

"oh, that's ok. i live close enough that if something happens i'll just come to the store."

honestly, i'm a little surprised he didn't just try to slip a piece of paper with his phone number scribbled on it under my sparkling new wipers. maybe he isn't that smooth, after all.....

*i feel the need to point out here that this was the second time in less than an hour that i'd had to suppress the urge to say, "are you nuts? of course this isn't my car! i am still young and sexy (said quickly, in an attempt to keep a straight face) and so is my vehicle. MY vehicle- as in MY MIATA- not this land yacht of which i am currently (TEMPORARILY!) the captain."

instead, i went with a short explanation about how i'd swapped with my dad so he could get my holey convertible top replaced.

**i say "first" because the computer apparently lied when it told him the less expensive wipers would work on the land yacht i am currently driving, necessitating a return/refund before the ink on my check had dried completely.

***lest i sound ungrateful for the attention which, frankly, is not something i'm used to, i should point out that i was flattered, but didn't want to get this guy's hopes up. i mean, after all, i have a boyfriend, and the only way i'm trading him in is if i'm trading up to a better model.....say, jason statham or matthew mcconaughey.

****he is smooth as ice, isn't he? (i mean that not in a "vanilla ice, circa 1991" way, but in a "vanilla ice, circa now" way.)

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

when it rains.....

i can honestly say this has never happened before.

here in columbia, we seem to be in the middle of monsoon season, which is one of the main reasons for the great chariot swap with my dad this weekend. (my "new" wheels, which definitely will not attract anyone not already collecting medicare, but at least there's no longer a massive gash above the back window providing great, uh, ventilation.)

it's rained most of the day here, and we're set to have more of same for the next several days. while it just drizzled for most of the day, i drove to work in a veritable gullywasher.

for most of the trip, this was not a problem.

about a mile from work, while stopped at a traffic light with my windshield wipers were whipping back and forth at medium speed, something flew and hit my windshield.

as i said, i wasn't moving, and there weren't any trees around. had some small bird just gone kamikaze on the land yacht? if he dinged the windshield, was this going to be covered by south carolina's "free glass" (windshield replacement) program?

a few more swipes of the wipers, and i realized what had really happened.

make that in one....because apparently the flying object was the passenger side wiper.

this was annoying but since it was on the passenger's side, well, things could be worse, right?

less than a mile later, as i rounded the final corner en route to work, i heard another "thud" and saw something go flying.

(i'd follow this with "on the plus side....." but i'm still looking for it. i think it's probably camouflaged almost as well as windhshield wipers on wet pavement on a rainy night.)

i hope it isn't raining in the morning, because if it is, i am going to have to sit in the land yacht in the driveway at work like a creeper until it stops, as i currently have no handy methods of windshield water removal.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

carnage near the crockpot

proof you can take the kitten out of the wild, but not the wild out of the kitten: while tossing the ingredients into the crockpot for the jalapeƱo popper taquitos i'm making, i pulled a few fatty parts off the chicken breasts and set them aside temporarily so i could salvage the meaty morsels and add them to the pot.
faster than you can say, "holy salmonella, batman!", a certain little furball took off across two rooms and three horizontal surfaces, hunk of fatty chicken as big as her little noggin hanging out of her mouth and dragging across said surfaces.

the sounds i heard while securing the rest of the chicken were reminiscent of some sort of thriller where an alien is feasting on some poor schlub's innards.

when i die, i sincerely hope it's not at home alone with these cats. jagger will probably allow me some dignity, but i'm afraid that if i'm not found quickly, the girls might chew my face off. 

Thursday, July 30, 2015

flattery and a battery

as i get ready to take zamboni to the sears auto center for a new belt (he occasionally sounds like a screaming banshee when i start him and/or his air conditioner), i am reminded that i totally forgot to tell you what happened when i went to get his battery checked out/replaced.
i won't go into every little detail, but while i was chatting with the very personable auto zone employee, apparently lack of awareness of the placement of my shirt hemline vis a vis the waistband of my jeans led to a couple of other patrons getting clear confirmation of the fact that i was wearing underwear. (i'm not sure why this was a big deal- maybe because i'm not a "grandma panty" kind of girl?)

anyway, the second time this happened, our conversation paused, as he told me, "you must be giving one heck of a view back there."

when i passed it off as no big deal ("well, guess they know i wear underwear."), the tone of the conversation changed slightly. (was the proper response to have been horrified? i'm afraid that's just not my style.)

he behaved pretty well, though there were several suggestive hints/compliments regarding my physique. (this, despite the fact that i didn't make it to crossfit yesterday!)

i thanked him for the compliments.

when we were talking about the recent rollerblading incident and how i was still treating some torn up skin, he asked if i needed help applying some salve.

yeah, that's when it felt right to haul out something i don't have to use very often.

i told him i had that situation under control, followed by:

"i'm flattered, but not interested, and my boyfriend will appreciate verification of his good taste."

Saturday, July 18, 2015

habla espanol? guess not

this is my first time traveling solo somewhere where i don't know the main language. (most people are bilingual, but i'd say spanish is definitely numero uno.)

to say my knowledge of spanish is minimal is probably not lying, exaggerating, or otherwise telling an untruth.

still, i thought i'd try to use what little i knew.

i've not been able to work my vast knowledge of colors and numbers (up to twenty though, if i really thought about it, i might be able to find my way to 100) into a conversation yet, but i was pretty sure i knew how to ask the driver of the taxi from the airport how much i owed him.

when i got a blank look in response, i figured he might be hard of hearing, so i asked louder.
still, a blank look.

i called mama (who teaches high school spanish) later to make sure i'd used the proper term.

(i mean, i knew i had not propositioned the guy accidentally, but why the blank look? had i confused "how many?" and "how much?" and stunned him with my ignorance?)

""cuanto" is "how many?" and "combien" is "how much does it cost?," right?"

"uh, honey?" she replied, "i'm pretty sure "combien" is french."

well, guano.

Tuesday, March 10, 2015

you may want to hold your nose for this...

great news:

i have located the source of the awful stench in the fridge at work.

even better:

it did not require me to open the mysterious styrofoam box that's been in there for at least the last month and may or may not contain an internal organ of some sort.

the not-so-good part:

you know how some things cannot be unseen? well, 15 minutes after my unpleasant little discovery, i am convinced that certain things (for example, something from starbucks that probably once involved a venti frappe con leche or whatever the heck it's called when a bunch of dairy that was probably smooth and creamy at the time (but, unfortunately, an unknown number of days later, has turned into something with a texture reminiscent of the back of my upper thighs) is squirted into a (most likely) caffeinated beverage, which is sipped and then left in the fridge for later enjoyment...and then completely forgotten about) cannot be unsmelled.

you know, i've never actually wished my nose could be completely stuffed up before.....
on the plus side:

at least it went (mostly) down the sink drain without a fight. i mean, i had to run a bunch of water after it, but at least i didn't have to beat it down with the wooden spoon i was holding.*

*just in case. i mean, it's not like i walk around with one in my pocket or anything. i'm just happy to see you.

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

working it out

dear "personal trainer" i've run into three times in the past week,

when i first saw your business cards spread around our "state of the art fitness center" (weight machine, treadmill, elliptical, stationary bike and a bizarre device that appears to be some strange hybrid between one of those round discs used for sledding and something i'm pretty sure my doctor had me lay upon during my last gynecological exam) a couple of months ago, featuring a photo of you standing in said "fitness center", complete with the apartment complex's pool in the background, i thought to myself, "what nerve!"

now, i see your brilliance.

this afternoon, as i ran/walked/ellipticized* for 2 1/2 miles, I noticed for the second time in the past week that you were "training" not one, but two, "clients".

well at least i think they were both clients. i mean, the guy was working his tail off. he'd already broken a sweat by the time i walked in.

the girl who came in about halfway through my workout,

i mean, given that most of the effort she expended during her five minutes on the elliptical machine seemed to be devoted to poking at her smartphone instead of, oh, i don't know- actually breaking a she actually paying for the privilege of playing "helpless lump", whining when you tell her to do burpees*, and "ooh"ing and "aah"ing over your abs while declaring that she wants some "just like them"?

if so, then not only do i applaud your resourcefulness (why go to the trouble of working through a "real" gym to train people) and your ability to multitask (two clients at once!), but also your brilliance in figuring out a way to not only work the available dating pool, but to get paid while doing so.


the blonde (well, technically, it's a rapidly fading blend of "electric lava" and "strawberry fields" at the moment) trying to cut down on the junk in her trunk

*not that i'm a fan of burpees either, mind you, but i'm not paying someone to decide whether or not i'm going to suffer through them.