Sarah either lost her mojo or that was the WORST Target cashier EVER!

Happy Friday All!

First of all, I have to share this with you:  I'm sitting in my home office working and hubby is in his home office working.  He's got his record player going (Yes, his office is very retro.  Leather chair, record player, Sinatra album covers on the wall. He's a smoking jacket shy of transporting himself to another era.)  Suddenly, he blares Big and Rich's "Save a House Ride a Cowboy."  We have a moment jamming to that fun, wildly inappropriate tune.

26 years married and I just love him to pieces.

Meanwhile, I've just returned from Target where I've had a terrible experience. Now, normally my Target experiences aren't nearly as colorful as my Walmart experience. For all Target says they're inclusive to everyone, I find way more diversity at Walmart.  Maybe it's because Walmart has a wider selection of items whereas Target has wider aisles.  Who knows.  But, normally I can go to Target, find 80-85% of what I'm looking for (I never find everything. I mean, it's Target.  It's not like they carry everything. Like plus sized clothing.  Or running shoes for women.  Or the right kind of gummy

melatonin.)

Anyway, I was at Target today and I went for one thing: cubed cheddar cheese.  I wanted to put it in a pasta salad because Hubby requested it and I like to make stuff he requests because he doesn't usually ask me to make stuff.  Well by the time I got to the check out I had the cheese and about $50 worth of other stuff.

I'm a people person. I like chatting with complete strangers about nothing.  (I get a little more standoffish once I get to know people because then I feel like I have to be better behaved or something. It's a thing I have.)  I am GREAT in check out lines because I can chat with the cashier non stop.

Except today.

I got my stuff on the belt and the guy said, "Hi.  Do you have coupons?"

I have coupons, tons of them. But they are all at my house.  Because all I needed was cheese.

He says nothing else, which is weird because they are always pushing the Red Card, which I have.  He scans my stuff and when he gets to the cheese I say, "I came for the cheese. The rest of this just fell into my cart."

Now normally that line would have the cashier in stitches.  

Nothing from this guy. NOTHING.  He didn't even look at me.  He just kept scanning and putting stuff on the end there so I could put it in my cart.

I tried again, "But you know, it's Target, you never get out of here for under $80."

That's a line that has had people waiting behind me laughing in the past. But NOTHING from this guy.  He stops scanning and tells me my total.  I insert my card.  I want to make a comment about the noise these new chip readers make  (Seriously, do they have to sound like a fire alarm on the Enterprise?) but why waste my good cashier chat lines on this guy?

I put the last of my items into my cart. He doesn't even say thank you or anything.

Now, either I've lost my mojo or I just had THE WORST cashier experience ever.  I actually fretted about this on the way home. Because, hey, if I'm not funny anymore, what's the point?

So I thought, "Well, I'll try this story out on my readers and see if I'm still funny."

So readers, you be the judge. Have I lost my power of mirth?

Oh, I should warn you...TODD...that this little story involves female punctuation.  YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.

Last week I had yet another female punctuation.  (Seriously, can we just get on with menopause and be done with this nonsense?)  I'd run out of my female protection items so I headed to tho nearest grocery story to restock. 

Now, the nearest grocery store...well, the name doesn't matter. It's worse than Pick N Save, that's really all you need to know. Well, that and it's been sold and will be a different grocery store by the end of the year.

I never go there. But I was on that side of town.  I walked in and it was rather like walking into a funeral home.  It was quiet, devoid of people..and you just had a feeling that death was coming or there already.

First I needed a couple birthday cards so I headed over to the card and flower section. Let me tell you, when a grocery store changes goes out of business I guess the card and flower area is the first to die.  The birthday card rack looked like the recycling dumpster opened up and envelops and crappy "from the dog" cards fluttered out.

Not happy there I headed over to the feminine aisle.  It still looked pretty well stocked so I looked around for my usual brand and then I remembered that in the 35 years I've been having my female punctuation, I haven't settled on a specific brand, style, count, lining material, or length. The only thing I do know is that I ALWAYS hate ALWAYS. I hate the lining, I hate the fact that even with wings those puppies leak all over the place.  It's gross.

So count me among the surprised when I plopped a package of ALWAYS in my cart. I mean it looked like a new product. and the label promised 10 HOURS OF PROTECTION.  I mean, look at the picture...10 hours.  

Well, I thought to myself, this must be the most magical of all the feminine punctuation protectors ever invented.  I must try these out!

I was meeting friends for adult beverages that evening, and I thought this would be a good time to test the ten hour thing.  Not that I was going to be out for ten hours.  No, I don't do that anymore. No I figured it this could handle a three hour "drinks" date with the girls from work, then this would be the thing I bought from now until that blessed day when I no longer need these stupid things and I can write about other fun things like hot flashes and decreasing bone density.

I opened the first one...and I wasn't happy.  The thing is so long that it's actually long than the wrapper it's in.  And because it's too long for its wrapper, the adhesive flap at the front end was folded over on itself. I looked. This was the case for every single one of the items.

Not a great start.  I mean did they make the pad in the US and the wrappers in Germany>  Is is this metric thing?

Still, a 10 hour promise is nothing to snort at...mostly because if you snort hard enough, and ladies, you will be me up, you can create a heavier punctuation flow.  Exclamation points and quotation marks all over your jeans. It's not pretty.  The same goes for laughing, sneezing, coughing, and oh my lord, standing up.  Standing up after you've been sitting for a bit is sort of like opening up the dam.  I'm not kidding.

So I decided the ultra protect myself.  while I'm completely sub par at most things I am in the top percentile of accidental punctuation.  So I slapped two of those extra long dealies in and I was pretty much covered stem to stern.  I mean, through the transitive property, I should be covered for 20 hours. But I knew better than to expect. I figured I'd be happy if this got me through meeting the girls and maybe a tiny bit of the evening at home.

Off to happy hour I go.

We had a very nice evening.  Couple of hours chatting about the kids and work and pets while nursing a blue beverage and then it was time to go home.  And I stood up.

10 HOURS MY SWEET AUNT NESSIE!.

Two hours. Two hours and then I stood and BAM POW I needed a towel to sit on going home.

Got home, had to put everything in the laundry. I actually think the new item made MORE of a mess.  Seriously.  10 hours?  More like 10 minutes!

Oh, and the lining is still that nasty plastic stuff they ALWAYS use, so yep, on top of everything else, I had a pleasant little irritation going on.

Sheesh.

So my friends...have I lost it?  Is the cashier at Target right?  Am I no longer funny?

Pat Benatar, Melissa Etheridge, a throwdown in the restroom, and a very unfortunate dance move.

Good evening all!

For the last few years I've regaled you with tales of my mishaps at rock concerts, primarily Rick Springfield concerts. Nothing against Mr. Springfield, I believe my love for him and his music is well documented, but sometimes his fans, my Rick sisters as it were, get a little out of hand and I wind up wearing a rum and coke.  This has happened several times.

So last week I decided to take Hubby to see his favorite rock star of all time, Pat Benatar. She was playing at the Wisconsin State Fair.  Also playing that night, actually Ms. Benatar's opening act, was Melissa Etheridge. I was excited for an evening of rocking out, even though I'm not as familiar with the the lyrics of the ladies, I knew it it was going to be fun.

Looking back on the evening I can say this:  At least no one poured a rum and coke on me.

My other concert mishaps, however, were there...in spades.

It started in the restroom.  After wandering the fair grounds for a few hours with Peaches and one of her friends, we decided to hit the restrooms before the concert so we wouldn't miss one rocking minute.  I got in line and waited my turn just like all good restroom users should.  Even from my place in line outside the restroom I could hear the ruckus and by the time I got into the restroom I witnessed a very heated yelling match between a restroom attendant and a restroom patron.

Restroom attendants at big outdoor events like a State Fair or Summerfest have a thankless job. Seriously, has anyone thanked these people?  They work in the WORST place on the grounds.  It always smells, it's always humid, it's always damp, people are in there releasing all sorts of bodily fluids and if those patrons miss the bowl or the sink, it's up to the attendants to clean it up.  

So I do not blame the attendant on the 11th day of the fair for being a little short tempered.  And I have no idea what the yelling match was about. All I know is that there was a lot of finger wagging, a lot of "oh you better nots" and several "come on one step closers."  I even asked the lady standing next to me what was going on. Just my luck, I asked an Asian lady who didn't speak a lot of English. I'm sure she explained the scene to me just fine...but I don't speak her language and it was noisy, so I missed it. I'm not sure if the patron through the attendant was blocking her way to a stall or what.  All I know is that the whole time I was in there they were yelling at each other and when I left, the other patron left, but then she WENT BACK IN to finish the fight.  

Oh, but that was just the opening act.


Once at the concert I settled in for a relatively calm first half. I mean, I'm really not that familiar with Melissa Etheridge's work so I figured I'd let her more enthusiastic fans get all riled up. Which they did.  Especially the guy next to me.

Now, I was going to entitle this blog, "What does a Melissa

Etheridge concert and a 1939 Nazi rally have in common?"  but I did not want anyone to think that I was equating Ms. Etheridge with the Nazis.  Quite the opposite. (and let me say this:  THAT WOMAN CAN PLAY!  Holy cats!  I was blown away by her guitar skills, especially with her 12 string when she and her bass player did a duet and gradually crouched down closer and closer to the ground and then they were kneeling on the ground and still playing...and then she got up...and did not groan or hold her hip?  AWESOME!  Because I can't do any of that!)

No, my reference to the Nazis was all because of the dude next to me. I'm sure he's a lovely guy. I'm sure he's Melissa Etheridge's biggest fan. I'm not saying he's her only male fan, but he certainly was the most enthusiastic.  Unfortunately...he had this move,,,you know how guys will pump their fists to the sky when they're really worked up about music?

Yeah, that. Only not a fist, a flat, open hand. And not a pump to the sky in time...more like...a straight armed salute.

You know...like instead of singing "Come to my window" you'd sort of expect him to be saying, Sieg HEIL!


Yeah...that was one really, really unfortunate dance move.  And after a while, he stopped doing that, which is good, but then he switched it out for something almost worse.

You know that hand gesture some guys do to indicate finger sex?  Yeah....that was his other move.

Which is did directly facing me.

Meanwhile, Hubby was having his own issues. The last time we went to a concert at State fair was a few years ago, we saw Rick Springfield, and while I had a great time, Hubby was in front of a line of women who kept kicking his chair right into the back of his legs.  This time around I got the chair kicker  (more on that later) but Hubby's view of the stage was blocked by "people dancing and pretty much groping each other until the security guy told them to knock it off." Thank goodness for the big screens, which gave hubby a good view of what was happening, but then turned my attention in the direction of Porno Nazi.

The couple in front of us was very nice. In fact, during the break between Etheridge and Benatar, hubby complimented them on not being jack wagons.  They laughed and said they couldn't promise anything once Benatar took the stage.

Now I'm pretty sure that couple, Porno Nazi, and we were the only ones who did NOT switch seats between the two acts because the crown for Benatar was very, very, very different than the crown for Etheridge and we didn't move, everyone else seemed to change seats/tickets with others.  Most notably...

THE PEOPLE BEHIND US.

Now, during Melissa Eltheridge, I didn't even notice the people behind us.  Well, except for the guy in the Hawaiian shirt who apparently was dancing in such a manner that the security guard  (who spent a lot of time in our aisle) had to tell him to "STOP IT" several times.  But other than that, I didn't notice anyone behind us.

All that changed about 45 seconds before the opening film for Benatar came on. If you've been to one of her recent concerts, you know she and her husband have this film sort of showing their timeline from just starting out to getting together to becoming awesome.  The film takes about ten minutes.  I've heard it's great.  It looked nice. Unfortunately I didn't hear much because the people behind us, in changing seats with someone else, got tickets mixed up and there was very nearly a brawl because two couples were arguing about the same seats. Once again, the security guard, who I've seen enough now to probably invite him to Peaches' wedding, had to come down the aisle and hubby turned on his flashlight on his phone (because he's helpful that way) and everyone looked at the tickets.

In the end, one couple got the seats and the other couple did not.

And everyone enjoyed the concert without incident.

Nope.

For the next forty minutes...pretty much half the time Benatar was on stage, the WOMAN behind me WOULD NOT SHUT UP ABOUT HOW MAD SHE WAS.  She even tapped me on the shoulder and said, "are you in seat 2?"  I said yes. But what I wanted to say was, "YES AND WOULD YOU SHUT UP?  YOU HAVE THE SEATS.  YOU WON.  SHUT UP AND LET ME LISTEN BECAUSE YOU ARE LOUDER THAN A VERY LOUD ROCK CONCERT!"

But I didn't.

Nope for a good forty minutes or more during the concert this woman griped about her tickets and having to prove they were the right seats and how SHE'S JUST SO MAD.

And then the guy piped up and I had a flashback to a Rick concert.

Remember the woman who never got out?  The woman who only knew "Jessie's Girl" and was so hammered she dumped her whole drink on the floor which then ran over my feet and she kept screaming for "Jessie's Girl" during a very quiet, stripped down show?

Yeah, so the guy behind us kept yelling "PLAY LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD!"

Every time there was a break between songs, when they were telling stories about the 80's and the music, you know the cool stuff you only get at concerts, this jag weed is yelling "PLAY LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD" and then proceeding to tell anyone around us that it's the only song he likes be her.

He was one rum and coke short of being the woman at the Rick concert.

Now here's the funny part.  Because I work hard and save money and go to concerts as a special thing.  This was a father's day gift to Hubby.  Obviously, not everyone does. Some people just go because it's fun and no big deal to drop a couple hundred on tickets.  That would be the group behind us.  

As an homage to Prince's passing, they played "When Doves Cry."  It was great. But the nobs behind us had this conversation:

"PLAY LOVE IS A  BATTLEFIELD"

They start to play When Does Cry.

Woman:  Is that Love is a Battlefield?

Guy:  huh?

Me: (inwardly) THAT:S NOT EVEN HER SONG!

Some time later they DID play Love in A Battlefield.  Jag weed behind us talked through the whole thing and then halfway through the song they left.

I can't even make this stuff up.

As for Porno Nazi, I think he wore himself out during Etheridge because he sat very nicely and quietly during Benatar and didn't do anything weird or gross at all. Good little Porno Nazi.

But like I said: No one poured a drink on me.

Yep, they still taste great. Crap.

Good evening!

I'm tearing myself away from Olympic coverage a few moments because 1)  I'm already overwhelmed by what's in my DVR and 2)  I just spent four hours watching the Cycling Road race and I'm trying to calm down from the finish.  (Cooler than the Tour de France?  No, but close!)

As many of you know I made a New Year's Resolution back in December of 2014 to NEVER eat at McDonald's, Burger King, Wendy's, or Arby's. For almost four years I'd eaten more fast food from these four places than one human should and it was time to cut it out.

It wasn't that hard, after all, once my services were no longer required at Stuff, Installed.  I was no longer driving 30 minutes one way every day, passing these purveyors of greasy, salty goodness.  I no longer had to escape an office for an hour.

So yeah, of all my resolutions, this is one I was actually keeping. Until two weeks ago.

Two weeks ago I met my friend Marie in a McDonald's parking lot.  We were headed to Renaissance Faire in Bristol, Wisconsin, and I was meeting her and her husband at the halfway point between her place in Madison and mine in Waukesha.  The outlet mall city of Johnson Creek. We decided to catch a quick lunch before getting on the road and since we were just right there...hey, I figured I'd just get a salad or something healthy and move on.

Nope.  

Guess what they've done since 2014?  They put breakfast on their all day menu. And guess what's on the breakfast all day menu...

Sausage egg McMuffins.

Yep, my old standby. My "I'm going to have oatmeal....oh wait, it's two for one mcmuffin day, let's do this" item.  My mega super weakness.  

Kryptonite.

But it gets worse. 

Now I could have just gotten one single Sausage Egg McMuffin.  I could have. I could have eaten it and been done with it, minimal harm.  But I didn't. Instead, I ordered the meal...and ANOTHER one.

So, two sausage egg McMuffins and a meal.

I was falling off the wagon HARD.

When I got to my table, however, I realized I was out of practice. Instead of two Sausage EGG McMuffins, I simply got two Sausage McMuffins. I'd ordered the wrong thing. 

I was disappointed for a moment, and then I bit into one and it didn't matter. Now I understand what all other addicts talk about.  This fluffy girl bit into that delicious, warm, cheesy, salty, sausagy, bit of hand held heaven and that was it.  Angels sang, the devil on my shoulder howled with glee, and I may have lost consciousness from pure ecstasy for a moment.  

It took me no time to polish off one, then two, then down the hashbrown thing and wash it all down with a diet coke.  (Something else I've all but shut out of my life.)  The worst of it is, I wanted more. I wanted two more, three more, I wanted MORE!

Thank goodness I was with Marie, who is my skinny friend. Marie has limits to just how much she'll horse down at one sitting.  (My other friends do as well, I just happen to be with Marie on this occasion.)  So I didn't go back up there and order more.

But it gets worse. 

So that was two weeks ago.  I thought I was over it.  I thought I'd gone through the worst and was good to go.  But then today, sitting at Starbucks, sipping my black unsweetened ice tea, I had a horrible thought.

I'm thinkin' Arby's.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!