Oh silly girl, did you forget to bring your man with you?

Good afternoon!

So while Hubby is on vacation hiking mountains and enjoying temperatures in the low 50's (f) in August, I decided to get a couple little projects done around the house.  Yesterday, I replaced all the burned out lightbulbs and almost all the dead batteries.  I say almost all because I need a tiny screwdriver to replace the ones in my Partylite LED color changing candles and I can't find it.

These should just come with
a tiny screwdriver.

And after reading that sentence, I realize that what happened at Home Depot today might not be QUITE as unbelieveable as I first thought.

Today's project was going to involve getting rid of a very stanky area rug in the tv space in the basement.  I bought it a number of years ago because I needed something to cover the Slimfast stains on the carpet upstairs.  (Not sure how I managed to get as many Slimfast stains on the carpet, since I tend to buy the stuff, but not actually drink it, but oh well.) Since then, it's been down in the basement where no one really sees it, which is good since no one really likes it.  It's black, which shows every speck of food or hair or whatever, and it's shag...yes, I bought a shag area rug.

Get here early on Weekends, or
abandon all hope.

So today I went to Home Depot to get a couple packs of those colorful puzzle squares you put on the floor.  We have them in another part of the basement, the spot we affectionately call the workout area. I knew I could get these squares at one of two places:  Sam's Club and Home Depot.  Since it was after noon on a Saturday, there's no way I was going to Sam's Club.  That place is a circus on Saturdays if you don't get there early enough.

Had I gone to Sam's Club...I would not be blogging.

No, I decided to go to Home Depot.  I hate Home Depot, and I never, repeat NEVER go there without my husband.  I usually only go with him if I can't figure out a good reason to NOT go with him or if we're doing a project where I really do care either how much it's going to cost or how it looks.  So no, I don't go to Home Depot that often.

But I went today because I needed one thing:  Floor squares.  I got there and saw a very good deal on some general kitchen cleanser.  We need some good general kitchen cleanser.  (I don't want to bore you with details, let's just say that putting something in the basement microwave and then forgetting about it for three weeks tends to leave behind a very interesting odor...and colorful flora and possible fauna.)

Then I remembered I needed toilet drop ins, you know the ones that turn your toilet water blue?  I love those.  And while getting the drop ins I saw they had a good deal on toilet bowl cleaner.

I was starting to like Home Depot.

Then I went to Flooring and found the squares, except the ones I found were bigger than I remember, and there were only four to a pack.  I do not remember THAT being the case the last time I saw this product at Home Depot.  I looked for someone in an orange apron to help me, but one guy was on the phone...I hope that was a personal call, because if he was talking to a customer...yikes!  And the other guy was, also on the phone, and making a very big deal about watching me and then starting up a conversation I thought might be completed.

Sort of made me wonder about the Flooring Department and their dedication to their customers.

I walked around looking for an alternate package of the squares, or, conversely, a Home Depot Employee who WASN'T trying to avoid me by being on a phone call.  (I was starting to believe the Flooring guys were talking to each other.)

I walked three aisles down, was passed by an employee who took one look at me and was suddenly wildly interested in taking up running.  Finally I found a gent not doing anything.  I said, "Excuse me?"

He looked at me.  He picked up his water bottle. He unscrewed it.  He took a long drink.  Then he said, "AHHHHHHHH."  Then he screwed the top back on. Then he set it down.  Then he looked at me again, surprised I'd stayed for all of that. "Yes?"

"Do you have any other options for these floor squares?  I was here a few weeks ago and there were packs of eight or ten, but I'm not finding those."

He looked around, and I realized he was looking for MY MAN.  Seeing no man who would claim me, He said, "No, we don't have any of those."

I was about to thank him anyway, when he added these words:  "We don't have Flooring here. This is the chain aisle.  You have to go back to Flooring."

Oh, yes, I see.  The Motto "You can do it, We can help" needs to be amended to "You're going to have to do it since we'll only help you if you're actually in our aisle."

"I was in Flooring."  

"Oh, then ask someone there."

"They are both on the phone."

"Oh, well, sorry.  We don't have that in this department."

I walked away.  Good luck, buddy, getting to be employee of the month in the CHAIN aisle.

I made one more loop around Flooring.  And yes, they were still both on the phone.  And I went to check out.

I have a rule about checkouts, and it's one my hubby taught me:  Avoid the dude.  Never go to the checkout where there's a dude.  It's a good rule. At the very end of the row of checkouts,there were two women at registers.  One was very busy with a customer.  The other one was very busy NOT making eye contact with me.  Oh she saw me...and she could have waived me over, but she didn't because, see, I hadn't brought a man with me and I was pushing a cart full of colorful floor squares.  I was one sticky face short of a lost child.

I finally got to the cashier and she started scanning my stuff.  And that's when the final insult of the day was hurled at me in the form of a Bill Engvall "Here's Your Sign" moment.  The cashier looked at my cleaning items and said, "Oh, are you spending the day cleaning the kitchen?"

No, I wanted to say, I'm going to soak the floor squares in the cleaners, set them out in front of my office and light them on fire, creating the world's most beautiful, lemony smelling molotov cocktail.

Here's your sign.

I don't so much digest veggies as I reconstruct them in a different form.

Good evening!

Most of you know that Peaches and Hubby are vegetarians.  I, too, have dabbled it in, and sort of follow a 5 day a week meat free life.  (Hubby has lost 25 pounds in 3 months.  I gained 2.)

Those of you who know me know I have an issue with using bathrooms that are not my own.  I am uncomfortable using restrooms in gas stations, other people's homes, and the mall.  Porta potties are right out.

Over the holidays, and not enough time has passed for me to give any more details than "over the holidays"  I attended a gathering of people I know at a home to which I'd never been.  (I'm using correct grammar to cover up the vile horror that follows.) 

It was one of those gatherings where you need to be fairly polite, and food and beverage is involved, but a ready restroom might not be.  In situations like that, when I know I will be unable to use a restroom separated from the festivities, I will curtail  (it's a word) my intake of food and drink until such time as I can be sure a restroom is private...and nearby.

Following a fairly strict vegetarian diet, as I did during the holidays, I found that my output was far different than it had been when I was consuming cooked animal flesh on a daily basis. I won't go into great detail  (yet)  but it's just different.  Any change in diet will do that.

So at this gathering, even though I was being good, I realized that I was in need of a room of requirement.  (Thanks J.K. Rowlings.)  Having never been to the home in question, I asked the host where the nearest restroom was.

Oh goody...a tiny powder room four steps from the kitchen table.

Seriously.  Who decided having a one holer next to where people eat was a good plan?  My grandparents stuck their outhouse a city block away from the kitchen.  I realize that it's easier to put rooms that need plumbing next to each other, but a powder room next to the place where people are eating is NOT my first, second, or third choice in design.

Like this...only smaller...with more decorations...and oh yeah...and NO FLOW TOILET!

But needs are needs, so I went in to the tiniest  (And I grew up in a home that had one of these powder rooms.  It was was so small, an adult couldn't sit facing forward.) most decorated powder room I've ever seen.  Potpourri and tiny little nick nacks filled the limited space.  I almost didn't see the throne because it was covered in one of those decorative fuzzy deals.  (If you come to my house you get an uncovered seat, and you'll like it.  I feel no need to camouflage the toilet.)

You know how when you're at a gathering you start a mental clock once you're in the bathroom so that you don't stay in there too long, thus drawing looks and comments from those outside?

Well, this wasn't one of those breaks I could just take and get out in the respectable amount of time.  So I was already at the red zone time wise when I flushed.  I washed my hands and, because I have these issues about bathrooms, I double checked to make sure I hadn't...you know...left anything.

I was horrified to see...twigs and leaves.

At first I thought, "It's such a small space, I must have bumped a bit of potpourri into the bowl."

I could not get that lucky.

My next thought was, "When was I chewing on an elm tree?"  Because that's what it looked like.

Did I mention, by the way, that the tiny toilet was also a water saving low flow toilet?

After about the sixth flush...and I'm beyond my time limit here, the clock in my head is screaming...I resort to the only thing I can do: 

I fish what's left out and put it in the sink...and rinse it down.

Don't you judge me.  I'm not making it up. These were twigs and leaves.  TWIGS AND LEAVES.  Like they'd just fallen off a tree.

I'd been in that tiny room for a lifetime...probably nine minutes.  I emerged after pretty much using up all the soap  (I even thought about using one of those decorative little soaps) to wash my hands.  I didn't make eye contact for the rest of the night.

I'm not eating chicken. 
I'm helping the digestive
process.

Since the holidays I eat a little meat now and then.  I find that, in the digestive world there's a food chain, and the meat devours the plants even on the inside.  And I think I'm good with that.


A couple palate cleansers:

See, I wanted something cool and defining, but the "Rachel" was already taken.  So I got this.

The Kate Gosslein haircut is OVER. It looks like a porcupine got flattened and then stuck on your head.  It looks like a bed head nightmare.  You look stupid and people are making fun of you.  Kate, the creator of this nightmare, isn't even wearing it anymore.  Stop wearing it!

Something no one will EVER say to me:  Your underwear is ruining your butt.  Stop wearing underwear.

Elsie and NBM have begun a battle over Elsie's George Foreman grill that would make George proud.  Who will emerge with the championship belt?  It's even money right now.  Stay tuned.

Elsie W takes recycling to a whole new level.

Good evening. 

So last week at work was very stressful.  PM was on vacation.  This means the office was missing it's "Jasper."  (If you know the "Twilight"  books, you know that Jasper Cullen has the power to diffuse highly emotional, tense situations with a glance.  PM sort of has that power over Elsie and NBM.)

I'm sorry Alice.  Not even I
can calm the battle that brews
between NBM and Elsie W.

I tend to get more tense as tension builds around me, so I would make a lousy Jasper.  I picture myself more as a Bella...although I would more than likely go for the tall dark, and you know, ALIVE wolf guy.

But I digress.

I've mentioned before that Elsie is oblivious to the office except for the parts of it she uses every day.  For example, while she walks past the coat closets every single day, she has no idea that there are coat closets in the office.

We keep the extra T.P. stored in the coat closet.  Everyone in the office knows this, and I've told Elsie this at least three times.

Wars have been started over smaller things than this.

Elsie, as you all know, also has an issue with bathroom etiquette. The woman doesn't always remember to flush, I don't know why I should expect her to put the new roll of TP on the spindle.  She never has, she never will.  But, since my arthritis pain is at an all time high, I don't have the hand strength to change the spindle myself.  So for the last couple weeks, we've been balancing the roll on the spindle.  That seems to work.

Until today when, I guess, Elsie decided that the active roll of TP should go on the back of the toilet tank.  A fairly safe spot most of the time, but not when a completely oblivious maniac is making personal calls in there.  At some point, during an especially flail worthy call, she must have knocked the roll into the toilet bowl.

A danger zone not even Kenny Loggins could have imagined.

A normal person would have disposed of the roll and fetched another from the storage closet.  (Typically I put two rolls on the back of the tank should the active roll run out...there were two on the tank on Friday.  It's Monday, and there wasn't a single roll there.  She's the only one here on Saturdays.  You solve the mystery.)

Anyway, did Elsie dispose of the dripping roll?

If she had, I would not be blogging.

Here's what's really funny:  This is as close to what Elsie looks like as I can find without actually putting her picture on this blog.

No, instead she must have decided that since the roll wasn't completely soaked to the core, it was still good.  Which means when I next went in there  (and due to the fact that she has pretty much made every corner of that room as gross as anyone could wish, I only use the place when I MUST, like when I can't get to the Culver's on the corner) I was delighted to set my searching hand on a completely WET roll of TP.

Folks, show of hands, how many of you would use any of that paper on any part of your body?

Nope, I didn't either. 

Having learned that when it comes to the bathroom at work, I need to carry pretty much all my supplies on my person  (because any supplies not chained down can, and do, disappear several times a day) so I had a couple tissues in my pocket to cure what ailed me.

I then went to the closet  (Where I store the fresh coffee grounds as well.  Everyone in the building knows it's there except Elsie who has to by now be wondering what sort of Elfin magic I had to conjure up coffee every day where there is none.) and pulled out again two rolls for the back of the tank.  The wet stuff....well, I just left that out so the next person to use the bathroom could enjoy the same excitement of reaching for clean TP and touching wet TP.

Hey, Elsie, she truly recycles everything...even wet TP.

Now if only I could get her to stop throwing soda cans and plastic bottles in my trash.

Grandma, there's a big fat blogger in the toilet!

Hey everyone!

Since we've been having such magnificent weather here in Wisconsin the last several weeks and since, let's face it, I'm just not getting over to Gold's  (sorry KRAM...I'm still adjusting to my life.)  I've been taking walks at lunch time.  Granted, it's not a sweaty run on a treadmill, but at least I'm getting out of the building and moving my fanny.

One of the things I like doing is walking over to the Culver's, which winds up being almost a mile an a half round trip.  Now, before you get all up in arms about my destination, no, I do NOT eat at Culver's all the time.  But I have about 40 minutes for a walk, and this is a good stop and turn around point.

And, truth be told, I really like using their bathroom.

Those of you who know me know that I have issues using public restrooms.  I'm very particular about where I will and won't go.  Porta potties are right out...unless it is an absolute necessity.  I also don't do gas stations, unless they are Kwik Trip.  Highway rest stops?  Maybe, but not in Indiana (sorry, too many bad experiences there.)  And as for restaurants, I generally do use those...with the exception that I refuse to use a McDonald's restaurant if it's just off the interstate.



This sort of thing isn't
my problem at Culver's.



But the Culver's near my work has a nice enough rest room.  It's generally tidy, there isn't a ton of water on the counter  (seriously...why can people NOT wipe up after themselves?  I'm not buying for one second that bathroom counters sweat so much there are puddles.)  and there is almost always paper towel.  (I haven't quite made the jump to hand driers.  I need the confidence paper products give me.)  Also, unlike at work, I am not the only person capable of changing the toilet roll.

Anyway, so the other day I was on my walk, and I stopped at the restroom for a break.  While I was in there, a grandmother, I'm guessing since she sounded like a grandma, and her young grandson came in.  From the sound of things, they used the handicapped stall because grandson needed a bit of help and let's face it, all other bathroom stalls are far too narrow.  (This isn't my fat imagination either...bathroom stalls, like airplane seats, are getting more narrow.  I'd never stop going to an eatery that had stalls I didn't have to back into because they were too narrow for me to turn around.)



Only one of these is human sized...



The point of all this is that the conversation between these two made me laugh, and I'll share it with you because I hope it does the same:

"Oooh grandma, this is a nice bathroom."

"Yes, it is."



"But I don't have to go potty grandma."

"Well, let's just try anyway."

"Grandma, what does that sign say?"

"Please do not flush down any...paper.  Use the box instead."

(I'm guessing grandma didn't want to have to explain "feminine products" to her grandson.)

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're not supposed to flush down stuff that doesnt' belong in the toilet."

"But toilet paper is paper."

"Right, but it's toilet paper."

"So it goes in the toilet."

"Right."

"And poop.  Poop goes in the toilet."

"Right."

"So grandma...what's in the box?"

(AT this point I hear the soft squeak of a sani box lid being opened, and then a quicker squeak of it being slammed shut.)

"Oh nothing, nothing you need to see."



"But what is it?"

"Are you about done?"

"I said I don't have to go."

"But you haven't gone in a long time and you just ate.  Try to go."

(I hear the exaggerated sounds of of newly potty trained child pushing.  Then a I hear a surprised giggle.)

"Grandma...you don't know...I have a big poop coming!"



"I thought you might."

"A great big giant poop!"

"Yes, that's nice."

"I think this poop is bigger than I am!"

(What's a grandmother going to say to that?)

"So I wanna see it?"

I hear little feet hitting the floor and a flushing.  Then I hear this:

"Grandma...is that all there was?"

"Yes."

"That wasn't a very big poop.  I thought it was going to be bigger."

(Hey kid, remember this moment because someday your wife is going to put on 50 pounds in a pregnancy and push out an 8 pound baby...Yeah, I thought my kids were going to be bigger, too.)

They washed hands and left.  I waited a moment so that they wouldn't know Id been listening. 

Well, that and I had to stop laughing.

So my friends, remember this:  No matter where you are, no matter what you're doing...you're probably being observed by someone who writes a blog.  And if you're really unlucky...that someone might just be me!

Relaxing weekend...yeah, right.

Greetings!

I should be working at something other than this, but I have to bring up the subject of summer weekends.  Once you're past the age of 16, I'm sorry, but the summer loses most of its magic.  Right now my kids, 13 and 16, both think summer is this lovely golden time of sleeping until noon, lazing around the house all day, and facebooking until the wee hours of the night.

Sure, for you.  But Skippy, the oldest, will be looking at colleges next summer.  Life, as far as he knows it, will be over.  And Peaches, well, she's already in a couple of classes this summer, so her evenings are taken with gymnastics and cheer camps.

But for adults, we know summer is a myth.  Lazy hazy days?  My sweet aunt fannies' fanny.  Even when I was a "stay at home mom"  (read here, the mom everyone dumped their kids on in the summer.)  I spent a ton of time running kids to the zoo, the park, the pool, the beach, the museum, the library, the video store, the grocery store, the liquor store  (HEY...you try dragging six kids, four of which are not yours, all over God's green earth and see just how long you can go without a little visit to the "grown up cabinet.")  Sure, I miss those days because bathing meant swimming in the pool, a rainy day meant movie marathons, and there's something endearing about six grubby pairs of socks wedged under the back seat of the car.

Now, however, those kids are teens and want nothing to do with me, with the park, the zoo, the beach, the museum, and the library.  The video store, will that's a maybe, but only if I rent the movies and then walk away, never acknowledging your relationship to them. 

So my mother decided I needed a relaxing weekend.  For the last three years she's decided this.  Three years ago we rented two mobile homes on a river with enough extended family to make two mobile homes seem....well, like two mobile homes.  Two years ago we borrowed my boss's adorable place on a lake.  I spent my relaxing weekend cleaning up after the extended family.  (That weekend was everyone's FAVORITE, btw.  Of course it was.  They weren't the ones who had to listen to the boss's comments about grubby socks left under a random bed...)  LAST year we borrowed my uncles time share.  Sleeps 8.  Right.  Only if the 8th person doesn't mind sleeping on the stone kitchen floor.  GUESS WHO THAT WAS?

So this year my mother has decided that family togetherness will be lovely renting some random two bedroom one bath cabin for a week.

Can I repeat that.

Two bedrooms.

One bathroom.

At last count, the number of people she was insisting showed up:  10.

Two bedrooms.

One bathroom.

Relaxing? 

I don't say this EVER...but THANK GOODNESS for work!  Skippy, Hubby, and I are in luck.  We have to work!  Peaches is not so lucky.  She'll be toting herself back and forth from the cabin to do her stuff in town.  After all, my mother informs me, that's why I picked a place close to home....

Couldn't we just pitch a tent in the back yard?  Our house sleeps 10 without putting a single body on the floor.  We have TWO bathrooms.  More important, we have FOUR TV access to a city pool, and hot running water.  Oh, and our house is fairly bug free, and has central Air.  Plus, no packing! 

Of course, looking at the pattern, these relaxing weekends are getting closer and closer to home.  Maybe next year we will just all camp out here!

Hey, if they want, I'll charge them all rent and they can bring their own linens...

Anyway, hey, enjoy the 4th of July!  And, seven more weeks of summer vacation before we can lock the kids back in school where they belong!