And now for something completely different...

 

Howdy all! I know, I know, two blogs in two days? Who is this?

Well, I promised I'd tell you all about my continuing job saga, so here we are.

okay, back in the spring of 2022 I was laid off from what I thought was going to be my job until retirement. Turns out, the owner sold the company, the new owner didn't know jack or squat about running a company, and the result was Sarah had to find a new job.  (The two owners are doing just fine, so how is that fair?) 

After a few months on Unemployment, which isn't as much fun as one would think, I started the cubicle life at Generac.  That lasted six weeks. Not because I didn't get along with anyone, I really, really liked the people I worked with.  I am in touch with several of them still, more than a year later. Not bad for 6 weeks of work. But the cubicle life was not for me.

So I landed a gig at this wee little IT company. I know, you're all thinking; IT?  Sarah?  Sure, why not?  It was sold to me as a really simple, no stress, gig with an absentee owner and permission to watch whatever I wanted to online.

PERFECTION!

And it was. Until the guy who trained me retired.  Then I went from the part time girl with no responsibilities to the part time office manager who had to run payroll and pay bills online and make sure the rent check got out on time. And all that I managed just fine.

What I couldn't manage was the suddenly not so absentee owner who turned out to be...well, for those of you who've read my Elsie W books (NOW AVAILABLE ON AUDIBLE) let me put it this way: Like Elsie, but with paperwork and general disorganized computer stuff instead of food.  Also, when the moon was full he'd freak out over pretty much everything.  Especially me.  And how I wasn't selling anything.  

Um...I'm a receptionist/office manager/ paperwork pusher at a small IT company. What, exactly, was I supposed to sell?

Yeah, so this became a theme: Full moon, boss yellling, Sarah bewildered.  A girl can only take so much of that.  I've heard this song and done this dance (Evil Bossman, NBM) I'm all done with the overlord cray-cray that makes me cry at work.  So, at some point in September I started looking for a new gig.

I actually got a new gig, with a previous employer, but it's a start up and so far, so clients. So that's on hold. Meanwhile...

October: The moon was full and the boss was in the office. In spite of the fact that we had a ton of stuff going on and he was behind on everything, he took an hour or two to listen to all of my incoming phone interactions with customers.  And then he called me up to his office.

He informed me that he was writing me up for insubordination because in all the phone calls he'd listened to, I wasn't acting like a salesperson. In fact, he asked, what was the point of me, he had an automated phone system, that could do everything I was doing in the office, but for free.  I tried to defend myself, explain how a number of the calls weren't even involving any sort of anything, but he said, "If you try to defend yourself, I'll fire you right now. Or you can leave."

Two things: 1)  Home slice doesn't quit without a new gig lined up.  Boss is going to have to say the words that gets me unemployment.

2) This wasn't the first time he'd asked me why he was paying me for anything.

Job search started to get a bit more serious.

November:  The first day back from Thanksgiving, Boss calls me on my cell before office hours.  He says, "When Bob gets into the office, send him home. We don't have enough work for him this week and he's not doing anything anyway."

A little background on Bob:  Boss wanted a sales guy, someone to pick up the slack for tech #1, and someone to maybe sell a new tech product Tech #1 and I had been talking about for months.  The first guy he hired was some guy he met in a bar.  Brought in without any background check or even a resume.  He couldn't work before noon because he had one of those breathalyzer starters on his car and couldn't get sober enough to start the car before noon.

He lasted four days.

Second tech was a younger guy, bright, personable, really quick learning.  Also hired without a background check or any phone calls to what I later found out was a REALLY spotty resume with a ton of gaps in time.  He often called in saying he was "working from home."  (We had no work from home.)  Turns out, he had a raging cocaine problem.  

He lasted four weeks. Showed up to work six days of that.

Boss and I had a long talk after that. I said, to comply with our business insurance we had to do some kind of background check on our employees since they go into people's homes.  He promised the next guy he'd give me time to at least check on references and former employers.

A week later, Bob showed up. Former Navy, older than I was, and with about 10% more tech knowledge than I have.  Nice guy, showed up for work every day, and did what he was told. But NOT a quick learner, took more of Tech #1's time for everything.  However, a solid dude.  (I looked at his resume after the fact and wondered why Boss considered him a "tech.")

Anyway, after three months, Bob hadn't become the salesperson Boss wanted him to be. That was a shock to everyone, because no one else in the office, including Bob, knew he'd been hired to be a salesperson. So when Boss wasn't yelling at me, he was yelling at Bob.

Back to the day after Thanksgiving.  I'm told to tell Bob to go home.  Well, when Bob showed up, it was clear that Boss had already sent him a text. 

And then there were several unpleasant phone calls, all on speaker phone (because Bob's hearing wasn't great) and all loud (because Bob is a loud person and Boss yells a lot).  Tech #1 and I sat at our desks and listened to the fallout.  Bob packed up his desk, gave us the key and walked out.

He said he was fired. Boss said he quit.  I had to deal with the Unemployment paperwork battle between them.

That's when I started going on interviews.

Remember, I do have a job waiting in the wings, but no word from new boss, so I accepted a job in the workman's comp industry, the same industry I had hoped to retire in. I went in interviewing for one job, and came out with an offer for another.  

I'll be sorting medical documents.  No phones. No customers.  NO SUPER SECRET SALES DUTIES.  For the first time since...oh...1993, I won't have a job involving a forced smile and cheerful phone manner.

I cannot wait.

Anyway, so last week I gave my two week notice.  

It's such a small company, I thought about giving longer notice. And then I remember the number of times Boss invited me to be fired or quit.  Well, two weeks he gets. At Christmas.  

Yesterday, Tech #1 suggested I send Boss a list of things I do. Now, Boss is the guy who hasn't been in the office since I gave my notice last week, and only talked to me one time, telling me to pick up Christmas cards for him to put our Christmas money in. (Yep, I had to buy my own Christmas bonus holder.  And he didn't ask me for a receipt.  Just like I dropped $70 on wall hangings to make the office look less like a prison...) 

So I made the list.  For someone not worth the money they're being paid, I sure do a lot when you put it on paper.  And hey, most of it is things like, paying bills, running payroll, making bank deposits. You know, all that stuff that keeps the doors open.  

I sent that list to him. Boss did pop into the office at the end of the day.  He skittered to his office, put some cash in our cards, and handed me the cards. Didn't even sign them. So I can reuse them.  He thanked me for the list, but didn't answer any of the questions I had regarding training the young lass (the one person I hired in the midst of his series of bad hires. I'm 1-1 he's 0-3.) in what I do so Boss doesn't lose his healthcare or gets overdrawn on his accounts.

What he did do was bitch about the state of healthcare in the US because he has to go into the doctor's office each week for allergy shots, and then gripe about being sick. And then he coughed on me.

I have two more days left. I start the new gig on January 2.  I will probably have to go back to the old office at some point to 1) drop off my key because no one else will be in the office on my last day to take it and 2) run payroll so I get my last check.

So there's that.

Well, it all comes out in the wash. Literally.

 

Hello and happy holidays!

Egads!  How is it December 20 already?  I realize my last blog was in September...and I can't believe that!   I have so much to blog about here at the end of 2023!  WOW!

Okay, first up:  I'm once again changing jobs.  As of December 29, I will no longer be working for a small tech company. Turns out, I don't play well with computer geniuses.  Who knew?  More on that  in a later blog, I promise!

New Year's Resolutions coming up. This year was an epic fail. LOL

Also, do I have a story about a storage shed for you!  But that's a blog for another day!  (Since I'm in the last gasps of my time here at the old job, maybe I'll just spend the week blogging!)

But today I'm here to talk about appliances, specifically the washer and drier. I have at least one friend who is sitting there going, "oh yeah..."

This past autumn my washer failed me. More specifically, Peaches sent us a text that read, "I think I broke your washing machine."

I mean, she hadn't. That thing had been making a fairly alarming noise for a while. But Hubby was in Colorado and I wasn't about to alert him to that while he was 2000 miles away.  

Hubby hit his phone and found a new washer for $650.  Could be delivered to the house in a couple days.  I thought, winner winner.

But, Hubby had other ideas.  

He has a cousin who owns a bunch of apartment units in La Crosse, WI.  (Three hours away from us on the opposite side of the state.)  He contacted said cousin who told him, yes, he had a washer/drier pair he could sell to us for $400.  He would only sell us the pair, not just one.

Okay, excessive, but bigger win!

Except, how does one get a washer/drier across the state?  Well, that's easy!  We have some very good friends...at least they were our friends at the time of the broken washer...lol...who live in the La Crosse area. They own a truck with a trailer.  And they are the nicest people in the world who, for whatever reason, like us and will do things for us.  (Seriously, we love these friends, but they are too nice!  We will call them Sylvie and Max.)

So Hubby contacts Sylvie and Max and sets up a time for them to bring us the washer/drier. He venmos the money to his cousin and, for $400 we are a GO!

Now, one does not simply expect friends to drive across the state with appliances for free, so we told Sylvie and Max that we'd buy them lunch.  And, Hubby, knowing lunch was just not enough of a thank you, also got a Kwik Trip card for $100 to cover gas.

So on a rainy day, Sylvie and Max delivered and helped install the washer and drier. Hubby bought a bunch of new hoses and whatnot, to the tune of $50.  (A move I don't begrudge, it's just smart to get new connections for new-ish appliances.)

Lunch, with tip, wound up being somewhere north of $125 because we're not just going to take them to Mcd's. We went to a nice place with tables and wait staff and adult beverages.  

Let's look at the running tab:

$400 for the appliaces. 

$100 Kwik Trip.

$50 for hoses

$125 for lunch.  

Total:  $675 for the "cheaper" way to go.

Now, the upside was we got to see Sylvie and Max, which is priceless, so while this is amusing, I'm not griping.

But wait.  The story doesn't end there.

Normally, Hubby is a handy dude. He can, and has, fixed appliances all over the house. So when we started this journey of the broken washer, I didn't question him as to whether or not he could fix it.

Guess what?  He could, and he did.

For $18.

Yep, turns out, while he normally would have checked to see if he could repair the machine prior to replacing it, he didn't do that this time around. Until after the fact. And he got it working beautifully right away.

For $18.

But wait, the story still isn't over.

Our basement is not one where we can keep two washers and two driers happily. I wish it were.  It would ease  a number of arguments with Skippy about whether or not we get to move each other's laundry.  So, we had to get rid of the now extra pair.

Hubby listed them on Facebook Marketplace. He sold when quickly to a fella a couple miles away from us.

For $600.

Here's the best part:  While the guy buying the appliances lives close, he was actually buying them for his daughter...who lived...

IN LA CROSSE!

Are you laughing now?

That's all I have for the moment, except I'm going to leave you with this image:

some of you will find it funny. But, my friend "Jubilee" is going to find this hilarious.

Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas! 

Next thing they'll ask is if I want fries with that....which would be less weird.

 

Howdy ho everyone!  

So this week was my annual women's stuff doctor's appointment.  By the time you get to be my age, and I'm quoting a doctor person on this, "they really aren't all that interested in that part of you."  so really, it's my Biannual women's stuff doctor's appointment.  Except I have been pushing it off, because it's ridiculous, and because it's annoying so, actually, it wound up being my TRIENNIAL women's stuff doctor's appointment.

I won't go into the gory details. If you know, you know and if you don't...TODD...you really don't need to.  

A couple things changed since the last time I was in there for my poke and scrape.  First, my insurance company changed. Hubby got a different job, so I had to go through that whole thing with the card and the copier and all that.

The next thing is I had to sign a sheet saying that this was an appointment ONLY dealing with my annual check up and anything else would be billed separately.  I found this interesting. I mean, what, if I ask a question about menopause, is that separate from the poke and scrape?  

Okay, so I settle with a book, but I don't get to read it because for the first time ever, my doctor isn't in some delivery room someplace.  So we do the weight...yay...and the blood pressure (shockingly good, right on point, which was unexpected because I've had a rough week) and a couple other GYN directed questions from the nurse.  

Then she says something I couldn't believe I was hearing:  "Hey, do you want a tetanus shot today?"

Now, I'm not a genius, and I certainly don't pretend to know much about health insurance.  But I'm pretty sure that I just got upsold on a tetanus shot that did not fall under the canopy of the annual check up.

Oh crap! I asked if the piped in music was new...I'm so totally getting billed for that.

This is the weirdest combo platter of medical stuff I've ever been offered.  I didn't even know the GYN nurses knew how to deal with anything other than, you know, female whatnot.

So, hey, why not. I mean, I'm also due for a shingles, flu, and Covid booster.  Just shoot my arm full of all manner of viruses and let's see what happens. Like getting French fries AND onion rings and Cheese curds at Culvers.

Well they just did the tetanus that day. I have to go someplace else for the rest. Although, given how crappy I've felt since I got the shot, I'm wondering what else they put in there. Oh, and of course I can't wait until I see the extra bill for the shot...and the chitchat about the piped in music.

In my defense, Gordon Ramsey never said NOT to do this!

 

Hello and howdy!

So...there's been one, okay, maybe two, kitchen disasters this past week in the Bradley kitchen.  And before anyone asks, no, I didn't take pictures. Why would I do that?

The first one I've been pretty up front about:  I managed to make a meatloaf so disgusting, we couldn't eat it.  

How does one ruin meatloaf?  

That's a fair question.  I mean, I've been making meatloaf for decades, and I make pretty good meatloaf. I'm not bragging. I do.  I generally mix a couple kinds of ground meat, whatever I happen to have, add eggs, ketchup, dried minced onions, some bread crumbs and I bake.  Out comes dinner.  No fuss no muss.  Generally no leftovers.

And yes, last week, I managed to make a meatloaf Skippy wouldn't eat and Hubby wouldn't taste. That's how bad it was.  It tasted like feet.

What was it?  Well, I had a pound of ground turkey, and then I had like six brats in the fridge. So I took the brat meat out of the casing, mixed it with the turkey and all the other stuff I dump in a meatloaf. It was a bit pale, but otherwise looked right.  Then I baked it.

The end result?  Skippy took a bite and asked, "So, how do we feel about the meatloaf tonight?"

I'd already tasted it and was dialing up Marco's for pizza.

Okay, that was number one.

Number two...well, I haven't told anyone about this.  But I did something with eggs that wound up making such a mess, I actually threw out a space rug from the kitchen.

Here's how this went down:  I was alone Saturday afternoon. I'd just gotten done with Farmer's Market and I looked in the fridge. I had two raw eggs just sitting there because my 18 egg carton wore out and these two didn't have a home in the 12 egg carton I'd just bought.  so, rather than leaving two raw eggs in the fridge to make a mess (I'm thinking here) I decided that for lunch I'd have egg salad. I just had to boil the eggs.  

But I was in the middle of cleaning up the kitchen and didn't want to take the cover off the stove because I had a bunch of stuff piled on there and it would take too long.  So...

I got my handy dandy microwave pot from Pampered Chef out , put some water in there, and put the eggs in as well. Popped the lid on and into the microwave it went.

For three minutes. You know...because I didn't want an over boil mess in the microwave.

Well three minutes passed and I knew those eggs were in no way going to be hard boiled. But there was no over boiling, so that was good. I put it in for another 3 minutes and went about my business peeling the ears of corn I'd bought at the Market.  

Fun fact. I can clean four ears of corn in one minute 23 seconds. I know this because when the timer on the microwave hit one minute 37 seconds, the eggs exploded with a force that blew the top off the microwave pot and blew the microwave door open.  

I'm not saying it was a mess.  I am saying I considered buying a new microwave.  It was like two sulfur bombs exploded and there were tiny bits of egg white, yolk, and shell shrapnel all over the immediate area.  

I think it's a testament to how much of a mess I am in the kitchen that I didn't even swear or anything. I just looked at the microwave, dripping with egg shards, and calmly made three decisions.

1) I was going to finish peeling the last two years of corn.

2) I was going to light a couple highly scented candles.

3) The space rug immediately below the microwave was going to be the catch all when I did cleanup and I was then going dispose of the whole mess as a mobster might a dead body: wrapped in a carpet.

Cleanup took a while, and honestly, I won't be surprised if we find more bits of shell or dried egg lying around in the coming weeks.  

I'd also like to point out that not once on any of his many shows, has Gordon Ramsey said to NOT boil eggs in a microwave!

I think now is a good time to remind you that I recently wrote and published a cook book!  Sarah's Cookbook for Real Humans who would Rather Watch TV than Cook. is available on Amazon in print or digital form. Sorry, the Turkeybratloaf recipe is NOT in there.

The Second Balcony is the place to be!

 

Good morning!

So last night Hubby and I went to enjoy my Mother's Day gift from him and the kids.  We went to see Rick Springfield at the Pabst Theater in Milwaukee.  Now, I haven't seen Rick in concert for a few years for a number of reasons:

1) He really hasn't been close by for a couple years.  And I'm not one to get in the car and road trip all over anymore.

2) Many of his fans have had a tendency, in the last ten years, to be out of control hags who are rude to those around him and dump drinks on everyone, especially me. (I will site the "unplugged" show at the Barrymore, the show at the Crystal theater in the Dells, and the last Summerfest show I went to where one of his "front row fans" literally got into a fight with the bass player of the band preceding rick because, well, he wasn't Rick.

3) There is no 3. I just haven't wanted to be associated with the rude, drink dumping drunkards I kept running into at his concerts. Which is a shame, since a most  Rick fans are awesome, and Rick always puts on a super show.  I mean, I've seen him more than a dozen times, obviously I enjoy the shows.  

But I digress.

So we made it a date night, Hubby and I.  We had a quick sandwich and adult beverage at the Newsroom Pub, which is right across from the Pabst Theater and makes some of the best drinks and sandwiches around. The prime rib sammy is AMAZING.  Plus, the fries are actually worth the red calories on Noom.

From our vantage point, we could see concert goers walking up and down the street. It was then that Hubby said the funniest thing of the evening, "There's a lot of Meloxicam coming to this concert tonight."

For those of you with joints that work: Meloxicam is the drug of choice for many of us who have arthritis.  

Hubby wasn't wrong.  I mean, one never thinks of themselves as old, not really, until one sees a stream of one's contemporaries navigating a city block of sidewalk with canes, walkers, and that fun side to side gate many of us have thanks to bum knees and hips.

Hey, when did we Rick fans get so old?

Not an actual group from the concert, but not far off.

After dinner, we headed to the theater, which is a beautiful place.  There's security, of course.  And I'd like to point out that I spent some time earlier in the day swapping vital items from my normal purse to my tiny concert going purse.  I sailed through security.

And then there was Hubby.  

Now, to be fair, Hubby subscribes to Gibbs' rule 9: 

Rule #9: Never go anywhere without a knife.

In this post 911 era, however, following that rule has proven to be a little...inconvenient.  Especially since Hubby tends to forget that he has a knife on him.  It's a tiny little thing, hooked on to his keyring.  

I can't tell you how many knives he's had to surrender at airports, plays, and yes, concert venues. Sometimes he remembers it's on his ring. And sometimes he does not.

Last night...he did not.

So I got through security, which was one lovely older lady holding a tiny flashlight and yelling, "put your hands over your heads" as we walked thorugh the metal detector.  She fished through our wee purses.  Gents handed her their wallets and...keys.

"That can't come in here," she says to Hubby, pointing at the tiny knife (seriously, no longer than a key).  Fortunately for Hubby, we were parked in the underground lot directly under the Pabst.  

Ten minutes later, he was back from the parking garage and we were headed to the Merch booth.  That wasn't a bad line. I did notice that after all these years of touring the Upper Midwest, Rick's T-shirt people finally got the hint and started offering bigger sizes...up to 4X.  SWEET!  We fluffy Rick gals like our concert gear BIG!

Our seats were in the second balcony.  If you've been in these big, old, classic theaters, you know the seats tend to hearken back to yesteryear when people were mostly starving and were shorter than we tend to be today.  Also, in the second balcony, the stairs are STEEP getting to the seats toward the front of the balcony, which we were. 

I settled into my seat and looked around, waiting to see the faces of the people behind me, people who would, undoubtedly, be the ones to dump an adult beverage on me.

There was no one.  Not for three rows of seats, there was no one.

Well, we were still half an hour from go time, so I wasn't all that confident.

Next to us was a family. Yes a family.  Mom, Dad, one wee boy of about 7, and two preteen girls.

"Well," says Hubby, "at least the people next to you won't be drunk."

Silver lining, for sure.

however, between the girls and me were two seats. Two seats which would, very likely, be filled by someone who would have to use the bathroom six times.

Second balcony people don't get anywhere this close.

Time ticket down.  Seats in the row right in front of us, the people in the front row of the balcony, filled up.  Seats across the aisle filled up.  But NOTHING, no one next to us and, more importantly, no one BEHIND US!

The lights went down, the roar of the crowd went up.  LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: RICK SPRINGFIELD!

Sure,  in the second balcony we were having fun that looked like this:

but felt like this. That's how much room we had!

No one to the left of me for two seats. No one behind me for two solid rows!  I'm sorry, Rick, buddy, that you didn't sell out. But we in the second balcony WERE ROCKING OUT!  It was AWESOME!  There was a group of women, small group, couple rows up who were dancing and singing with the joy only people in an unconfined space can feel.

Meanwhile, next to me:

The two young girls, and honestly, they couldn't have been more than 11 years old, were bouncing in their chairs and squealing and singing

ALMOST AS MUCH AS I WAS!

I haven't a clue where Mom went. She might have had one of those front row seats, I don't know. She handed earplugs to everyone and then vanished.  Dad and wee Brother also relocated, but they went to the landing above us at the entrance to the balcony. So Dad was able to see his girls having the time of their lives.

Reminded me of when I took Peaches and a friend to the Jonas Brothers concert years ago.  So adorable.  And the fact that they were enjoying MY fave from my younger years was all that much more fun.

The concert was AMAZING.  Rick has always been a great musician, something that was lost for a time in the midst of his teen heartthrob years.  His albums, btw, in the last 20 years, have been far superior in quality and musical interest than his "hit albums' from the previous 20 years.  He played a number of songs I haven't heard in concert, which was a blast.  

As concert goers will tell you, there's a lot of distortion at live shows.  So when Rick started talking on the mic, I plugged my ears to filter out the distortion and hear what he was saying. I always tell myself I'm going to bring earplugs and then I don't.

Well, wouldn't you know it? Those delightful little woodland fairies next to me saw me plugging my ears. One of them tapped me on the shoulder and handed me extra earplugs.

Sniffle.

Now able to hear everything, I was at a whole new level of happy.  When he started in on "Don't Talk to Strangers" a concert favorite, the whole place went crazy.  But NO ONE enjoyed that song more than the second balcony and especially those of us in Aisle B on the left!

By the time he did Jessie's Girl (shirtless), the tweens were in a level of girlish glee generally reserved for only the biggest of boy bands and, you know, Taylor Swift.  

Props. This guy is almost 74!

Meanwhile, Hubby noted that Rick about to turn 74.  "Which means I have 18 years to get into that kind of shape."

I love Hubby. He makes me laugh.

I wanted to stop and thank the father of the two girls for raising them right: You know, sharing earplugs, enjoying the concert properly, not dumping anything on me, oh, and loving Rick Springfield.  But they took off before the encore was over. Which was smart. I mean, who wants to get stuck in the traffic jam of walkers and canes?

We got out of the concert without incident and, I should note, we only took the elevator down one floor instead of two because, as the guy with the liquor cart told us, "There are people on two who need the elevator more than you."

That was the perfect ending to a great evening!  

FIVE FOR FRIDAY! Why I want to move to Middle Tennessee.

 

Good morning all!  Welcome to the Five for Friday!  This week we're going to address the five top reasons I want to move to Middle Tennessee, and no, it's not because I love Nashville. I mean, I do, but that's not in the top five reason.  Or maybe it is. I don't know. All I know is I've been home from my vaca in Middle TN for a week and I want to go back RIGHT NOW!

(A gentle reminder:  I do not deal with politics in any manner, nor do I allow political comments on my blog or FB page. This blog is for entertainment/humor purposes.  If you want to bark about the political policies of any state, go someplace else. Thank you!)

So here we go with the top five reasons I want to move to Middle Tennessee.

5) They name roads after people they don't know.  Which means I have a shot at getting a road named after me!

I'm not even making this up:  We stayed at place in Lieper's Fork, TN, which is close to Franklin, TN, which is kind of close to Nashville.  If you're in the area, you'll either drive on or cross MACK HATCHER MEMORIAL PARKWAY about fifty times.  It's a very large highway project that was completed a few years back. It's a road that circles Franklin.  If you're in the area, you cannot miss it.  Also, it's new, it's beautiful, and it clearly cost a crap ton of money.

But: who was Mack Hatcher?   Turns out, most of the people who voted for and paid for this highway project had NO CLUE who this dude was. (click on the link to read the news story that the local papers pulled out of dustballs because even the news people didn't know!)

What this means is that I, a fairly unknown entity who works very hard to be a public figure, have a shot at getting some kind of road or avenue or lane named after me...if I move to Middle TN.  I'm pretty sure THAT would boost my book sales, right?

4) Really interesting Civil War history.

This isn't political, this is history, and Tennessee as a state, and Middle Tennessee as a location, is silly with it. Did you know that Tennessee sent more troops to fight for the UNION than any other Confederate state?  And some of the worst battles in the war were fought in Tennessee. 

It's also why, to my complete astonishment, there's a statue honoring Union Colored troops and then not fifty feet away another statue honoring Confederate soldiers in Franklin. I find that fascinating and I want to know more!

3) Biscuits, Biscuits everywhere!

It should come as no surprise that I enjoy a good biscuit. And I'm sure most people know that the best place to find biscuits (the American kind, not the British word for 'cookie') is in the South.  

Did we eat biscuits while we were there?  You know we did!

Pimento cheese and fried green tomatoes on biscuits from the Loveless Cafe.

We ate at the Loveless Cafe (thank you to the show, Somebody Feed Phil, and enjoyed their lard based drop biscuits.  They were good. They were solid and fluffy all at once. I thoroughly enjoyed the pimento cheese (don't knock it 'til you try it) and fried green tomato on the biscuit.  

Then...

It's called the SEC (without cheese for me) and a side of sausage gravy at Biscuit Love.

Then we discovered a happy little place called Biscuit Love where the biscuits were butter based, layered, melty, and beautiful.  In the battle of the biscuits, (so far) this was my favorite.

But THEN...

Oh don't get excited, this is still from Biscuit Love, 

The BONUT.

Those geniuses created the BONUT.  This their biscuit batter dropped into frying oil, then set on a bed of blueberry compote and DRIZZLED (see picture above, if that's drizzled, well, I'd hate to see FROSTED) with a lemon, mascarpone creme.

So, yeah. I need to move to further my studies in biscuits.

Honorable mention, because it's not a biscuit, but it is a baked good:  Five Daughters Bakery

Why this bakery?  Well, their specialty is a little thing called a 100 Layer Doughnut.

Sorry, bakeries in Wisconsin. All other pastries are ruined for me forever.

2) Property Taxes

This is going to be short and sweet.  I enjoy looking at real estate listings in places we visit. I like to see what housing prices are and what property taxes look like.

Know what property taxes are on a $3 million dollar condo in the heart of Downtown Nashville is? We're talking a 3 b4ed, two bath, high rise, all updated, all glorious condo.

$300 a month.

That's what I'm currently paying on my modest little spot here in Wisconsin.

Oh, what about the HOA fees, you ask?  On that $3 million listing...$280 a month. I've seen HOA fees DOUBLE that on a 1 and 1 condo here in Waukesha.  And those don't include underground parking!

Oh yeah, all this and NO PERSONAL INCOME TAXES.

Middle Tennessee here I come!

1) You aren't going to believe this.

If you've read this blog for any amount of time, you know I have one big, overwhelming issues that tends to cloud my opinion of all public spaces: The restroom.

I'm here to tell you...EVERY. SINGLE. RESTROOM. WAS. CLEAN.

We went to public restrooms in a large food court, at a professional baseball game, in a concert venue, in restaurants, and even one in a little dive bar only locals go to:  EVERY SINGLE ONE WAS SUPER CLEAN!  

Not just acceptable...no no. I'm talking about CLEAN.  The one at the baseball game even smelled like FRIED CHICKEN.  WHAT???????????????

I didn't see any paper products on the floor, there were no unflushed toilets, and everything was shiny and nice.

(On a side note...Indiana still remains the state with the GROSSEST public restrooms. What's the deal, Indiana?)

Every public restroom I go into from now on is going to be judged by this experience.  It wasn't one location, it was all of them, and all of them were fresh, good smelling, and clean.  AND THAT, my friends, is the biggest reason why I want to move to Middle Tennessee!

Sarah goes to a concert. None of this should surprise anyone.

 

Good morning!  

So last week Hubby and I took some time off, rented a car (because the Mighty Cube and the Less-than-Mighty Scion weren't going to make this trip) and drove to Nashville to see John Mellencamp at the Ryman.

That's right. Sarah went to another concert.

Before I get to that, I have to share this video:

Sarah's drive in Indiana

Just click on that and enjoy me filming what looked like the end of days...and which Hubby set to a little Metallica...which didn't help. LOL

Anyway, okay so we went to this concert at the Ryman, the holy high church of music.  Or something like that.

This is from the balcony. And yes, those are wooden church pews.


I've never been to the Ryman for a concert, but the rest of the family has been and all of them rave about the coolness of the place.  

I get it, historical. Great acoustics.  "All the talent that's tread these boards."  

Let's look at this from the viewpoint of an upper middle aged woman with advanced arthritis in her feet and knees.  The stairs are a BEAST.  I'm not even kidding. We walked up the stairs to get in the line for the merch booth. And those stairs are STEEP. Like break your knees steep!

So up the stairs we went and whilst hubby was in the merch line, I bought two bottles of water. Now, here's a fun fact about John Mellencamp and his concerts:  He does NOT allow bottle caps in the venue.  so if you buy a bottle of water or soda, the person selling you the beverage has to remove the cap.  now, I was prepared for this because we'd seen Mellencamp in Milwaukee a couple years ago (when a fist fight broke out behind our seats and I got a rum and coke dumped on me.) but the woman at the Ryman was gob smacked about it.  We had a lovely conversation as she removed the caps from our water bottles.

No bottle caps for you!

Now loaded with uncapped water bottles, I go back down the stairs, painfully, and we head to our seats. Since the seats are all wooden church pews, not the padded comfy ones churches have now with the wider seat base and padded backs, nay nay:  These were narrow, hard-core, old-time church pews and you best pay attention: anyway, where was I?  Oh right, since these were narrow wooden pews, there is a specific way in and out of your seats. We were on the end, because Hubby loves me and knows I have to be on an end.  But the downside to that was that anyone in the middle might need to climb over us to get out. That's fine, most of the time. I mean, once the concert for which you purchased tickets begins, you're going to pretty much stay in your seat and LISTEN TO THE MUSIC, right?

Apparently not for the delightful trio I'm going to call "Drunk girl 1, Drunk girl 2, and drunkest guy in the building."  And OF COURSE THEY SAT NEXT TO US.  We all know it's not a concert unless Sarah is seated within spilling distance of the drunkest person in the room.

 Okay, so DG1 was already in place when we got there.  Great. She's on the other end of the pew. No biggie. And I honestly thought-believed-hoped that would be it.  Just the one girl.  But then, as the lights started to go down, DG2 showed up. And instead of climbing over her friend, she climbed over us.  Well, okay, we'll let that one pass. I mean, our seats were closer to the door, so it's fine, the first time.  But she'd certainly opt to crawl over her friend later. Right?

And then, at some point during the first song, when it's good and properly dark in our rows, DGITB (drunkest guy in the building) shows up.  And did he crawl over his friends?  Of course not!  Nope, he crawled over the two of us. Now, Hubby was standing.  But I was still sore from going up and down those stairs so, since Mellencamp wasn't playing "Jack and Diane" I was sitting.  But, in accordance with the time-honored rules of pew sitting, I turned to my right so DGITB could ease past me.

And he was oh so close...except not.  Because remember, he's the DGITB.  So of course, he stumbled against my knees and tromped on my arthritic big toe.  Good times.

As the happy time Trio settled themselves in their spaces, Hubby sat and I asked him, "How many times will DGITB have to get over us to get out?"  

"0," says Hubby.

"2," says I, rubbing my big toe.

The correct answer: 2.  The first time, and bear in mind, they are sitting NEXT TO A FRIEND on the other end of the pew...and could easily crawl over her, was weird.  First DG1 crawled over, and then DGITB.  They walked literally three feet ahead of our seats to stand in the aisle and whoo hoo for about four minutes.  Then they came back and this time, DGITB tried to stride complete over me.  

I think we all know that didn't go well.  

He crashed into my knee and tromped on my arthritic toe...again.

DG1 was behind him this time and she leaned in a yelled "Sorry, I've never seen him up close!"

Yeah, I got news for you, honey. You still haven't.  Three feet closer from where we were did NOT constitute "Up close."

At this point in the concert, Hubby's water bottle is empty. He leaves the auditorium to see if he can find a bubbler (water fountain, whatever) to refill (because, you know, the environment). While he's out, I get a case of the nervous knee. Now, anyone who's sat in a movie or a play with me will know what's happening here. I have these moments where I bounce one knee aggressively for several minutes.  Most people can't stand it, which is why I often spend time at movies and plays standing in the back or in the doorway.  Such was my problem at the concert. Since hubby wasn't around to annoy and DG1 and 2 and DGITB were all whoo hooing to another song, I bounced away.

But I forgot one big thing.

There was no bottle cap on my water bottle.

And the water bottle was on my bouncy knee.

That's right, friends...this time the drink that got dumped on me...was MINE!

So now I have a bouncy knee, a sore toe, and wet pants.

Which I have to explain to hubby when he returned.  He enjoyed that.

Oh and no, he didn't find a bubbler, so I gave him what was left in my bottle of water.  You know, I was all refreshed and crap after dumping half of it on myself.

So we're back to enjoying the concert and Mr. Mellencamp takes a moment to pause and tell us a tragic story about an encounter he had with a homeless person in Oregon.  Here's how that went:

Mellencamp:  Story, story.

DG2: AWW!

Mellencamp: Story, story.

DG2: AWW! (louder)

Mellencamp: Story, story.

DG2: AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

Mellencamp: Emotional point of the story.

DG2: ....

Guess she blew out her AWWWS too soon.  What is that; "premature awwjectulation?"

Back to the concert, cuz we aren't even close to done.

Now the Happy Time Trio decide it's time to leave the pew again. And did they leave via the on which they were sitting?  OH NO THEY DID NOT!  Holding hands this time (for balance, most likely) they dragged themselves past us (I opted to stand this time to try and save what was left of my knees and feet). I don't know where they went, but about then minutes later they returned, again, holding hands, and again shoving past us in the narrow pew spaces.

Yep, I was done. I needed to get out of the place and since he'd played "Jack and Diane" and "Scarecrow" I was good to miss a few other things. Like a cut from his new album. Don't really care for the new stuff.  LOL

So I head out to the restrooms (more on TN restrooms in my next 5 for Friday) and upon returning to the theater, I opted to stand in the back.  And that's where I found myself next to "Indian guy with heavy accent who either doesn't know he's got an accent or can't hear the concert going on around him as he's trying to start a full-on conversation with me."

"It's better here," he says.

"Yep." Says I.

Mellencamp starts in on "Gloria," which is an awesome concert tune and I wanted to sing along.

"They don't want you standing in the aisles," says he.

"Nope." Says I.

"My friends, they tell me to stay in the seat..."

"G-L-O!" Sings I (with the crowd).

"But I like to stand and be..."

"R-IIIIIIIIIIIIII" sings I (with the crowd).

"Back here where it's better."  

I mean...dude, read the room!

"G L O R I A!"  Howl I along with the other concert goers. Except the guy next to me.  Who seems to want to talk more.

So, I go back to the pew.  And the rest of the concert is perfectly fine and lovely and fun.  By the time we got out of the Ryman my pants were dry and Hubby was a happy guy.

And that's my trip to the Ryman to see John Mellencamp.