Wednesday, April 20, 2011

I'm the Nancy Drew of Vacations

For Christmas last year, Mommy Dearest and The Dude (this is Dad's new Blog moniker....or Blogiker if you will) gifted Husband and I with a mystery weekend away.
Seeing as we'd have limited funds to do anything more than eat, pay rent, fill cars with gas and stash away every stray penny to our savings account for our future home, they thought we might eventually need a vacation.
Now, it being a little over four months in, they thought right!
We leave tomorrow for.....somewhere (isn't that the point of a Mystery Vacation?)
My coworkers don't seem to grasp this concept. In fact, they can't get past THEIR OWN confusion to see the thrill of it all.

My conversations at work have gone a little something like this:

Me: "I'll need that by Wednesday afternoon at the latest, otherwise it'll have to wait until Monday because i'm on Vacation for the rest of the week."

Them: "Oh you're going on a vacation? That's nice! Where are you going?"

Me: "I don't know"

Them: "You don't know?? How don't you know? Didn't you plan something? Oh! Are you staying home? is it a Stay-cation?" (I hate this term by the way....Stay-cations are bullshit. It negates the point of a vacation, the root word of which is to VACATE- you can thank my gramma for that lesson in root words)

Me: "No, I mean I really don't know. I know I'm going somewhere, I just don't know where. My parents planned it as a Christmas present, we'll find out where we're going just before we leave and then other surprises will unfold while we're there."

Them: "But what will you pack? What will you do? Are you flying or driving? What if you need a jacket? What kind of shoes? Do you need a fancy dress? Where will you eat? What will you eat? Do you need reservations? What if you don't like it? What if you're hiking and you don't have the right shoes?"

This is usually the point where I run for cover before their heads explode.

Seriously people, chill...I'm sure my parent's won't send me into the bear infested wilderness without a fancy dress or proper footwear....right? RIGHT?!

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The more you know...

Things I learned today this week (see my complaint with blogger  below):
- Turning 26 has little impact on the age you act when hungry, tired or cranky. I still act like an ill-adjusted 3-year-old with anger management issues. Give me a granola bar or some crackers and BAM! Back to being 26....well, sorta

- Contrary to my belief, Butter Lover's popcorn has fewer calories and saturated fat than the light buttered popcorn I had been buying because I thought it was "healthier." What a Crock!

- On another popcorn-related note, unpopped microwave popcorn has 130 calories. Popped microwave popcorn has only 70. Which begs the question, what nut job is eating a brick of coagulated microwave popcorn butter and popcorn kernals?? Why not just eat suet you Whack-a-Doodle?!

- I can beat Sudoku on my nook in 10 minutes or less....on the easy mode. With hints.

- In Realtor's terms, an open house from 1-3 really means starts at 1, ends at 3 or when I have two offers that are good enough for me, whichever comes first.  In our case, when we arrived at 2:45, the realtor was just pulling out of the driveway. She made sure to reprimand us first for being "late" then, after we mentioned the time, admitted she'd gotten two offers already so -shrug-.

- That if you schedule a post to go "live" on Monday morning, it'll wait until Tuesday evening to send you an e-mail alert that you have "un published blog drafts, would you like to publish them now?" Wasn't that the point of scheduling it to publish? So that I wouldn't have to log back in to click the damn publish button??

- Also? Apparently my nook believes that a spa is a place for wonder I had such a hard time on that crossword puzzle. I have to disagree with the nook on that one:

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

What an odd life I do lead....

Gosh, if you re-read some of my posts it's like a smorgasboard of humiliating tales, weird creepy people and just downright absurdity.

So, in keeping with the trend, file this one away in the WTF file, mmkay?

There's a coffee shop around the corner from work that I walk to with a coworker to sate her penchant for extra-hot Chai Lattes (the gal is a woman after my own heart I tell ya).

One day last November I decided on one of these little outings that I would partake in the lovliness that is an extra-hot Chai Latte.

It should be known that the counter guy knows my coworker not only by order, but by name as well, considering she's a daily patron.

Make sure the record shows that the counterhelp did not ask for my name when I placed the order.

It should also be known that said co-worker is about 5'10". Tall? Yes. Freakishly so? Absolutely not.

Let the record show that I, myself, am 5'6". Tall? Not necessarily. Average? Sure.

I paid the counterhelp, took my receipt and didn't think anything more of it until several weeks later when I was cleaning out my wallet and saw on the reciept that the order identifier was for "short lady."
Stop by again soon...yeah, right

Short Lady?? Short. Lady??

What the hell?

I stared at the offending words incredulously, as if I had imagined them.

I took a second look. 

Nope. Not a mistake, there it is right there in black and white: Order for: short lady.

Although it's crazy to feel offended, I couldn't help but feel a latent embarrasment for myself.  How had I not read the reciept until now? More than that, is that the best identifier the counter guy could come up with? How about (coworker's name)'s friend? Or girl with the blue top?

I don't remember the cafe being all that busy, certainly the counter guy could have been a little more creative and, ahem, nicer?

It should be known that I thought I had thrown the reciept away and it was not until this morning when I was digging through another wallet that I rediscovered it and got to relive the humiliation. Yay for me!

I placed the found reciept in my current wallet this morning before heading out the door, determined to confront the cashier guy should my coworker decide she needed an afternoon Chai.

Sure enough, she popped her head out of her office and, shortly after noon, we made the short trek around the corner to the cafe.

Armed with the offending reciept in my pocket, I felt the butterflies and anxiety begin to create a pit in my stomach.

After she ordered and moved aside to wait for her beverage, I slapped the reciept on the counter and said "So this is my identifier? What are my options in switching to another one in the future when I order my drink?"

The counter guy looked at me as if I was crazy to even be contesting him and said, unflinchingly, "We get to type in whatever we want."

"In that case, I suppose of all the other things the person could have called me I should be glad I got short lady then. Am I right?"

All he did was blink back at me.

Moral of this story? Sometimes the silver lining hurts, folks.