First of all, I would just like to say that the individual sitting in front of me seemed to have a short man’s complex already and probably didn’t like tall women to begin with [I can safely say that in this blog because my male readership (of one) is quite tall]. Second, I was just trying to HELP [nothing good ever follows THAT lead-in]. Neither the suitcase NOR the briefcase involved were.even.MINE!!
What DOES one say when they are trying to warn a fellow, petite passenger about plummeting overhead baggage that may have shifted before takeoff??? “Fore”? Well, whatever you SHOULD yell, it is decidedly not….“WATCH OUT, Little Man”
[=) =) double smiley face???? “MISTER Little Man”????] Ummm…NO….Mr. Little Man was NOT amused. After the PC-pile-drive, Napoleon held his head for like twenty minutes.….Give me a break, Precious and MAN-UP – it wasn’t like it was a freakin’ anvil that fell…it.was.a.duffel.bag.
After takeoff, as the flight attendant was shimmying up the aisle with the drink cart…she leans over to me and whispers – “did you see the man in front of you get hit by a falling bag?” It took all my normally absent common sense to resist the urge to say “See it??? I DID it!” As she rolled on, I realized that Mr. Little Man is filing.a.claim.with.USAir!!!! Some people will do anything for free drink coupons.
From there on – I swear to god – he may as well have been an unescorted minor – and not just because of his height. Each flight attendant checked on him every time they went by. All I can say is his damn Bose “head-surround” ear phones don’t seem to bother his boo-boo all that much. He even took a nap at one point. I was so worried he was in shock I kept “dropping” things on his head to make sure he was okay.
Last I saw him, he was standing in the galley after we landed waiting for the paramedics. After getting his name, I told Les I was putting him in my blog and I didn’t want to call him “Little Man” in the whole post. He looked like something ELSE had fallen on his head.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Hampton Inn 2.0
If it’s another Hampton Inn blog…Maeve must be on the road again. Greetings from Hattiesburg, MS. Home to Brett Favre and nothing else.
Is there a better symbol of mediocrity than the Hampton Inn? Their idea of an upgrade is the handicapped room. If it were a Brady, the Hampton Inn would be Jan [no slam against middle children, mind you].
Most Hampton Inn rooms now come with a microwave oven (that is roughly the size of Barbie’s first microwave) and a little dormer fridge. But get this…the microwave comes with a dial…it’s not even digital. I’m still looking for the “EZ Bake” logo on it. Of course, the fact that it could be “EZ Bake” and yet still meet 100% of my culinary needs surprises nobody. Hampton Inn’s newest “revenue enhancer” is selling groceries in the lobby. So I just paid $6 for a freakin’ lean cuisine. Since the microwave only cost them $20 at a yard sale, they are going to have a four-day ROI on this thing.
And then there are the HOT free breakfasts…what does it say that it has to GRADUATE to the McDonald’s $1.99 menu. I swear…the breakfast looks remarkably like that fake food you got with your childhood cardboard grocery store. The fried/steamed [“freamed”?] eggs are scarily picture perfect. And can I just make a small observation that Hampton Inn “Kitchen Hostess” is just one rung above Grade School Cafeteria worker in the Darwinian hierarchy of food service employment.
Today’s exercise in mediocrity? No hot water in the shower. I guess they used all the hot water in the egg steaming. And after negotiating with them for another room in which to shower they finally handed me a key and said “we THINK this room is empty.” Of course…there must not have been anyone in there or this would be an ENTIRELY different post.
Is there a better symbol of mediocrity than the Hampton Inn? Their idea of an upgrade is the handicapped room. If it were a Brady, the Hampton Inn would be Jan [no slam against middle children, mind you].
Most Hampton Inn rooms now come with a microwave oven (that is roughly the size of Barbie’s first microwave) and a little dormer fridge. But get this…the microwave comes with a dial…it’s not even digital. I’m still looking for the “EZ Bake” logo on it. Of course, the fact that it could be “EZ Bake” and yet still meet 100% of my culinary needs surprises nobody. Hampton Inn’s newest “revenue enhancer” is selling groceries in the lobby. So I just paid $6 for a freakin’ lean cuisine. Since the microwave only cost them $20 at a yard sale, they are going to have a four-day ROI on this thing.
And then there are the HOT free breakfasts…what does it say that it has to GRADUATE to the McDonald’s $1.99 menu. I swear…the breakfast looks remarkably like that fake food you got with your childhood cardboard grocery store. The fried/steamed [“freamed”?] eggs are scarily picture perfect. And can I just make a small observation that Hampton Inn “Kitchen Hostess” is just one rung above Grade School Cafeteria worker in the Darwinian hierarchy of food service employment.
Today’s exercise in mediocrity? No hot water in the shower. I guess they used all the hot water in the egg steaming. And after negotiating with them for another room in which to shower they finally handed me a key and said “we THINK this room is empty.” Of course…there must not have been anyone in there or this would be an ENTIRELY different post.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Vice President of WHAT??
Has everyone seen the picture of Dick Cheney wearing a COWBOY HAT to give the commencement speech at the U.S. Coast Guard Academy??? Well, check out the following picture (i can't believe i am permanently adding a picture of Dick Cheney to my blog):
A FEW things pop to mind [please…comment away]:
- Today’s Commencement Address: “The Rootinest Tootinest Democracy in the Whole Wide World.” by Dick Cheney
- No country for old men
- Darth Vader at the OK Corral
- Did he lose a wager in a cabinet meeting or something? Next thing you know you are going to see Bush’s Secretary of Edumacation wearing a sombrero to the Immigration bill signing.
- And McCain is worried that Iran won’t take BARACK seriously???
- Is he supposed to be incognito? Ummm, pssst…Sir!….the subpoena servers are still going to be able to find you.
- This is what NOT to wear to a job interview…well…unless you want to go to work for a big, dopey manchild who thinks he’s a real live cowboy. Oh wait a second… (besides, that’s Scott McLellan’s line.)
- I bet it his gay daughter is the one who told him it makes him look smarter
- Apparently the Vice Presidency is a natural stepping stone for Mayor McCheese
- “W….I wish I could quit you”
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Does anybody need a futon?
You know what is a LOUSY start to a holiday weekend? Renting a truck. Nothing good ever follows a truck rental. What is it about a day off work that makes people decide to work!?!?! The earlier basement cleaning turned out to be just a light dusting…this past weekend it was time for the heavy lifting…that’s right….Goodwill.
And let me just tell you…giving your stuff away at a metro Goodwill is like a sociology project. You know all those recovering addicts that Goodwill helps? Well, I think a few of them decided to cut out the middleman (Goodwill) and go straight to the source (me) because they were ALL there at the Goodwill on Saturday. (However, I am not so sure about the “recovering” part of this particular assemblage.)
Seriously, this cross-section of humanity included a blue-shirted Goodwill worker who knows that a holiday weekend coincides with unloading 800 truckfuls of other people’s garbage, another guy who was suffering from a deficiency of fingers AND teeth (someone REALLY lost a bar fight), a guy who looked remarkably like the tattoo “artist” who removed my belly ring and a baseball-cap-wearin’, beer-stinkin’ wretch who hadn’t showered in days [oh wait...that was me!]. It was a veritable beehive of dereliction right there in front of the Goodwill.
And then I had to negotiate for them to take half the stuff! Seriously…how bad does your junk have to be for the Goodwill to reject it!?!?! “But it’s an ANTIQUE Wilco radio – it’s not SUPPOSED to work.” “What.do.you.mean you won’t take the futon?!?! Look my friend, I am here for two reasons…a tax deduction and to ditch this futon. [and oh yeah…to donate to a worthy cause, blah, blah, blah] “I mean…the REST of this crap I can dump illegally – but I need YOU to take the futon.” At which point…it's sad to say…I tried to bribe the Goodwill guy to take the futon. How.low.can.you.go when you try to bribe the Goodwill guy??? And get this…he declines. And not just declines, but declines righteously, with a tone of well-earned superiority. Excellent…this basement-cleaning has ruined my Saturday AND my integrity.
The guy must have ultimately felt sorry for me (which is pretty rich in irony given the company we were keeping at that moment) because he finally did agree to take the stinkin’ thing – “but no receipt for it” [he knows how to hit me where it hurts]. But it was good timing, because I was just about to offer Mr. One-Tooth sixty bucks to take it. I guess he’ll just have to settle for a Wilco radio.
And let me just tell you…giving your stuff away at a metro Goodwill is like a sociology project. You know all those recovering addicts that Goodwill helps? Well, I think a few of them decided to cut out the middleman (Goodwill) and go straight to the source (me) because they were ALL there at the Goodwill on Saturday. (However, I am not so sure about the “recovering” part of this particular assemblage.)
Seriously, this cross-section of humanity included a blue-shirted Goodwill worker who knows that a holiday weekend coincides with unloading 800 truckfuls of other people’s garbage, another guy who was suffering from a deficiency of fingers AND teeth (someone REALLY lost a bar fight), a guy who looked remarkably like the tattoo “artist” who removed my belly ring and a baseball-cap-wearin’, beer-stinkin’ wretch who hadn’t showered in days [oh wait...that was me!]. It was a veritable beehive of dereliction right there in front of the Goodwill.
And then I had to negotiate for them to take half the stuff! Seriously…how bad does your junk have to be for the Goodwill to reject it!?!?! “But it’s an ANTIQUE Wilco radio – it’s not SUPPOSED to work.” “What.do.you.mean you won’t take the futon?!?! Look my friend, I am here for two reasons…a tax deduction and to ditch this futon. [and oh yeah…to donate to a worthy cause, blah, blah, blah] “I mean…the REST of this crap I can dump illegally – but I need YOU to take the futon.” At which point…it's sad to say…I tried to bribe the Goodwill guy to take the futon. How.low.can.you.go when you try to bribe the Goodwill guy??? And get this…he declines. And not just declines, but declines righteously, with a tone of well-earned superiority. Excellent…this basement-cleaning has ruined my Saturday AND my integrity.
The guy must have ultimately felt sorry for me (which is pretty rich in irony given the company we were keeping at that moment) because he finally did agree to take the stinkin’ thing – “but no receipt for it” [he knows how to hit me where it hurts]. But it was good timing, because I was just about to offer Mr. One-Tooth sixty bucks to take it. I guess he’ll just have to settle for a Wilco radio.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Belly ring
Like I said…some adventures just SCREAM to be included in a blog, e.g., removing a belly ring. It’s one thing to be the only accountant at the office pool party with a belly ring. It’s another thing to be the only “invitee” at the G-7 summit in Rio to have a belly ring. The fact that eighty percent of you reading this are thinking…"Maeve still has that ridiculous belly ring?" only emphasizes the point.
I understand that you SHOULD be able to just unscrew a belly ring. But despite about two years of effort, I could NOT get the bastard out. What does it say about me that I can’t even figure out how to unscrew a belly ring? I am in the lower 10 percentile of belly ring wearers?!?!? And yet still the smartest McC =)=) [double smiley face]
Which brings us to minor surgery 101. You know what’s better than getting your belly ring pierced when you’re young, foolish and drunk? Getting it taken out when you’re old, foolish and sober. I do have to hand it to my medicinal friends…what they won’t come across with in prescriptions, they are HAPPY to contribute in antiseptics. All we needed was a surgical element. I was hoping to use something from the Williams Sonoma collection…so imagine my anxiety when the garage door (!) went up. Instead of Williams Sonoma, I got the ONLY non-pristine element in all of Rita’s house. Remember that Twilight Zone movie where they methodically cut off fingers with a used, rusted stem-cutter when the bettors couldn’t light the lighter? Well…somehow…Rita ended up with the props from that movie and decided to use it on my belly ring.
Let’s just avoid the #&$^#$ cuss words and say the home remedy was unsuccessful. So after cerrating the damn thing to a fine point on three-quarters of the perimeter, we set out on a cultural tour of SD’s underbelly to find a tattoo parlor. Oddly…the underbelly was largely within walking distance of Rita’s house…
The FIRST tattoo parlor…honest-to-god…was closed on account of “infestation”. Did I mention SOBER?? The SECOND tattoo parlor [how often do any of you get to say “the SECOND tattoo parlor” on any given day!?!?] apologized profusely that their “piercing artist” was on sabbatical [rehab?]. Finally…the THIRD tattoo parlor said “sure – come on back”. 20 seconds later it was all over. It would have been smooth as silk if not for the aforementioned cerrating.
But the trip did give Rita a chance to get my name tattoo’d on her ass. =) =) =)
I understand that you SHOULD be able to just unscrew a belly ring. But despite about two years of effort, I could NOT get the bastard out. What does it say about me that I can’t even figure out how to unscrew a belly ring? I am in the lower 10 percentile of belly ring wearers?!?!? And yet still the smartest McC =)=) [double smiley face]
Which brings us to minor surgery 101. You know what’s better than getting your belly ring pierced when you’re young, foolish and drunk? Getting it taken out when you’re old, foolish and sober. I do have to hand it to my medicinal friends…what they won’t come across with in prescriptions, they are HAPPY to contribute in antiseptics. All we needed was a surgical element. I was hoping to use something from the Williams Sonoma collection…so imagine my anxiety when the garage door (!) went up. Instead of Williams Sonoma, I got the ONLY non-pristine element in all of Rita’s house. Remember that Twilight Zone movie where they methodically cut off fingers with a used, rusted stem-cutter when the bettors couldn’t light the lighter? Well…somehow…Rita ended up with the props from that movie and decided to use it on my belly ring.
Let’s just avoid the #&$^#$ cuss words and say the home remedy was unsuccessful. So after cerrating the damn thing to a fine point on three-quarters of the perimeter, we set out on a cultural tour of SD’s underbelly to find a tattoo parlor. Oddly…the underbelly was largely within walking distance of Rita’s house…
The FIRST tattoo parlor…honest-to-god…was closed on account of “infestation”. Did I mention SOBER?? The SECOND tattoo parlor [how often do any of you get to say “the SECOND tattoo parlor” on any given day!?!?] apologized profusely that their “piercing artist” was on sabbatical [rehab?]. Finally…the THIRD tattoo parlor said “sure – come on back”. 20 seconds later it was all over. It would have been smooth as silk if not for the aforementioned cerrating.
But the trip did give Rita a chance to get my name tattoo’d on her ass. =) =) =)
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Basement cleaning
Cleaning out someone’s basement (or garage) sure reveals a lot about a person. So here it is…tales from the crypt of my basement-cleaning expedition:
- It’s hard to believe that futons were EVER in style, isn’t it? (what…they weren’t?!?!?) And this PARTICULAR futon is like a ship in a bottle…no IDEA how we [Lorri Morgan] got it in here, but we have to bust open the stairwell to get the bastard out.
- There were about a dozen boxes of Artrageous CRAP in this basement from 2004. Artrageous a Can-Can. Either I was a REALLY dedicated volunteer or LOUSY at returning things [comment function disabled].
- There were FOURTEEN Tivo boxes in that basement. Apparently, the prior occupant didn’t get ALL of her things out upon “movin’ on up”. I keep looking for the Chinese children making all these gadgets…but thankfully, no dice. But…every.last.box had a cut-out UPC code (the Rebate Fairy has been good to SOMEONE).
- All those work files I thought I would need after that last subpoena appear worthless. [And you guys wonder why I don’t leave this site open for potential clients to google].
- If I successfully negotiate the release of another couple cases of Montelana wine deliveries, can I start calling this “my wine cellar”? What?….wine cellars and futons are mutually exclusive? Got it.
- I own the entire contents of the 1995 Pottery Barn catalogue. Remember that wall of CRAP I used to have?!?!?!? Yard sale Saturday.
- Judging by the basement rejects…I’d say my Christmas shopping is FINISHED (What scholarship grad student doesn’t need a futon!?!?!?)
Monday, May 19, 2008
UPS
I hate UPS. Getting a package from them is like negotiating a hostage release. I have SERIOUSLY never seen a delivery company so disinclined to actually make.a.delivery. They have a delivery record that is unblemished by success. According to UPS, you.veel.be.there.vaiting at the appointed hour (which happens to be between 9 a.m. and 7 p.m.) or you will get a little.yellow.postie.note telling you how bitterly close you came to actually getting your urgently-needed, can’t-work-without, extra-shipping-costs, new laptop. Those yellow posties are my nemeses!!! Damn you Yellow Posties!
Don’t worry UPS – I GET that you are a.little.brown.army of uniformity…but SOME of us have LIVES (read: happy hours) between 5 and 6 p.m. when you keep trying to deliver that package from Chateau Montelana.
And what a motley crew of undeliverable packages there are…the aforementioned weekly stipend of non-swill wine, whatever IT gadget Nicola has ordered to cure my latest technical catastrophe, an alarming number of replacements for lost power cords and not NEARLY enough packages from…say…work (but oddly…not a SINGLE graduation/birthday/mother’s day present in the bunch).
Honestly, it has proven easier to see Barack Obama than to catch a glimpse of the UPS man. The probability of the UPS man arriving is DIRECTLY correlated to Molly’s need for a walk. Meet the wine delivery or walk the dog? Talk about your modern-day Sophie’s choice…
Don’t worry UPS – I GET that you are a.little.brown.army of uniformity…but SOME of us have LIVES (read: happy hours) between 5 and 6 p.m. when you keep trying to deliver that package from Chateau Montelana.
And what a motley crew of undeliverable packages there are…the aforementioned weekly stipend of non-swill wine, whatever IT gadget Nicola has ordered to cure my latest technical catastrophe, an alarming number of replacements for lost power cords and not NEARLY enough packages from…say…work (but oddly…not a SINGLE graduation/birthday/mother’s day present in the bunch).
Honestly, it has proven easier to see Barack Obama than to catch a glimpse of the UPS man. The probability of the UPS man arriving is DIRECTLY correlated to Molly’s need for a walk. Meet the wine delivery or walk the dog? Talk about your modern-day Sophie’s choice…
Friday, May 16, 2008
Barack Obama here
Attend one Obama rally and you are prominently committed to mailing list mania. Which means I get hourly updates from B on the day’s happenings. Thank goodness…otherwise I would have to read the newspaper or something. The $25 donation couldn’t have helped…(just like a stray dog – if you feed it once…). NOT that I am comparing Change I Can Believe In to a stray dog (that’s Bill Clinton’s job).
ANYWAY, it’s a good thing I have checked all my objectivity at the door with regards to President Obama because otherwise, I might JUST have become jaded by the daily correspondence from Messrs. Obama, Plouffe, Kerry, et al. Honestly…if your name is Kennedy, you have recently sent me an email. And they all start out the same way…
Maeve,
[I LOVE that we are on a first name basis…can I call you “B” – cuz I already do],
John Edwards/George McGovern/Ben Affleck here. This is a critical time in America’s history….
[I don’t know about those other two jokers, but if Ben Affleck is worried…]
Then there is the standard three paragraph description of “how-we’re-still-ahead-of-Hillary [“Scoreboard! Scoreboard!”] / getting-shellacked-in-WVa-doesn’t-matter [only uneducated rubes come from WVa] / you-can-make-a-difference-in-Kentucky [seriously...can ANYONE make a difference in Kentucky? They don’t even have Starbuck’s].
And amazingly, they all END the same way…
You got us where we are today. Please help by making another donation of $25 now.
[don’t forget…stray dog]
I am telling you what…all these emails from B are REALLY getting in the way of my Dancing with the Stars e-updates. Just sayin’.
BTW, that WVa thing makes more sense if you know that Nicola was born there =)
ANYWAY, it’s a good thing I have checked all my objectivity at the door with regards to President Obama because otherwise, I might JUST have become jaded by the daily correspondence from Messrs. Obama, Plouffe, Kerry, et al. Honestly…if your name is Kennedy, you have recently sent me an email. And they all start out the same way…
Maeve,
[I LOVE that we are on a first name basis…can I call you “B” – cuz I already do],
John Edwards/George McGovern/Ben Affleck here. This is a critical time in America’s history….
[I don’t know about those other two jokers, but if Ben Affleck is worried…]
Then there is the standard three paragraph description of “how-we’re-still-ahead-of-Hillary [“Scoreboard! Scoreboard!”] / getting-shellacked-in-WVa-doesn’t-matter [only uneducated rubes come from WVa] / you-can-make-a-difference-in-Kentucky [seriously...can ANYONE make a difference in Kentucky? They don’t even have Starbuck’s].
And amazingly, they all END the same way…
You got us where we are today. Please help by making another donation of $25 now.
[don’t forget…stray dog]
I am telling you what…all these emails from B are REALLY getting in the way of my Dancing with the Stars e-updates. Just sayin’.
BTW, that WVa thing makes more sense if you know that Nicola was born there =)
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Being home
Since this is the FIFTH week in a row that I’ve been home, I thought I would blog about what’s it’s like to actually be home. Wait.just.a.second…did I get FIRED and someone forgot to tell me? (not AGAIN!!)
But there have been some things I’ve noticed since I’ve been home:
But there have been some things I’ve noticed since I’ve been home:
- I have much better things to do than write a blog. (don’t worry – the blog is back on track now…I’ve got some inventory to burn through)
- Dress-up-day now means a shower AND no ballcap. It’s really a good damn thing I have happy hours planned or we’d be on orange alert for shower frequency.
- I have realized that since I am RARELY home, that when I AM home, I spend what would otherwise be my workday doing things like running errands, catching up on mail and going to appointments [don’t mind me…I’m just practicing the speech for my boss and if any of you are talking to her…ixnay on the appyhay ourshay Get it?]
- The mailman is pissed because he actually has to STOP at my house now (my mail delivery had been on “hold” since 2006). And that’s bad news for the mailman because ever since I disclosed my address to “Obama for America”…I seem to be getting about 300 pamphlets a week.
- Molly wants to know when she gets to go back to Nicola’s FUN house. The land of milk (bone) and honey. "Shut up and go get a carrot."
- I have sort of gotten used to the Hampton Inn. I keep expecting that little Spanish-speaking lady to come around and make my bed…[and anyone who comments “I didn’t know Rita could speak Spanish” is getting a complimentary registration on “Obama for America”]
=)
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
McFamily Reunion - postmortem
Much to my disappointment, I don’t have a thing to write about the McFamily reunion (under threat of excommunication, I don’t have anything to write. Although I don’t think excommunication in the McConville clan means they don’t talk to you…I think it just means they don’t stock your beer anymore). Actually, there was some pretty blog-worthy banter, but it all seemed to be at my expense…and THAT ain’t no fun to write about [Really? One of those crazy dog women? It was the mother’s day card for “nana”, wasn’t it?? Just the fact that my dog has a “nana”, I see.] I DID note that somewhere along the way (2004?), I have CLEARLY worn out that “my presence is my present” thing…I.GET.IT already, sheeesh.
But between free graduation dinners and free mother’s day’s breakfasts…the price was right. Aside from that private hotel room for Molly, I spent like…ZILCH…awesome. Let me know when we are getting together for mom’s birthday. Well, except…of course…I DID spend that $200 dollars on your present, Mom (I mean…those hummingbird feeders aren’t as cheap as they look…especially as cheap as THAT one looks.)
But between free graduation dinners and free mother’s day’s breakfasts…the price was right. Aside from that private hotel room for Molly, I spent like…ZILCH…awesome. Let me know when we are getting together for mom’s birthday. Well, except…of course…I DID spend that $200 dollars on your present, Mom (I mean…those hummingbird feeders aren’t as cheap as they look…especially as cheap as THAT one looks.)
Friday, May 9, 2008
On the road again
Know what is even more fun than driving seven hours? Across Kentucky? With your dog? Tracking a rainstorm for seven.hours, across.Kentucky, with.your.dog – THAT’S what. That must mean its time for the annual pilgrimage to the Ft. Wayne home of my comment-giving sister!! When asked if she could have picked a MORE inconvenient place to live, my sister simply replied “San Diego?” ohhhh….its going to be THAT kind of weekend, is it? =) Hee.
But my dog could NOT have been better for the seven-hour drive. She slept every minute door-to-door for seven hours [have I mentioned that it’s a seven-hour drive?], waking only to bark at the baristas during our four trips to Starbucks….NONE of which happened to be in Kentucky as they have something against all non-truckstop coffee (AND cell phone coverage). But just because Molly slept doesn’t mean her breath did. I don’t know what small animal crawled into my dog’s palate and died there, but after being confined in a vehicle with her for seven hours, the paint peeled off my toenails like it was being pressure-washed. She yawned somewhere near Louisville and my car shifted gears. [Good thing she doesn’t read this blog or I would have had to hang a smiley face off the end of that last sentence.]
By the way…do you know how long a tank of gas lasts in the Nissan? Six hours and fifty minutes, THAT’S how long.
But it was all smiles when we finally arrived…Anne Louise had the fridge out in the garage all stocked (why do all the McConville’s have a fridge out in the garage?), there was a guest basket in my room and mints on the pillows. Apparently, we are all trying to out-Nicola one another. And my always-on-a-diet puppy ESPECIALLY liked the trough-sized bowl of dog food that was set out for their apparently self-controlled Labrador. Well….she enjoyed it right up until she ate herself into a freakin’ coma (I was distracted by the garage fridge).
Wonder if Nicola will take Molly back to Nashville with HER on Sunday?
But my dog could NOT have been better for the seven-hour drive. She slept every minute door-to-door for seven hours [have I mentioned that it’s a seven-hour drive?], waking only to bark at the baristas during our four trips to Starbucks….NONE of which happened to be in Kentucky as they have something against all non-truckstop coffee (AND cell phone coverage). But just because Molly slept doesn’t mean her breath did. I don’t know what small animal crawled into my dog’s palate and died there, but after being confined in a vehicle with her for seven hours, the paint peeled off my toenails like it was being pressure-washed. She yawned somewhere near Louisville and my car shifted gears. [Good thing she doesn’t read this blog or I would have had to hang a smiley face off the end of that last sentence.]
By the way…do you know how long a tank of gas lasts in the Nissan? Six hours and fifty minutes, THAT’S how long.
But it was all smiles when we finally arrived…Anne Louise had the fridge out in the garage all stocked (why do all the McConville’s have a fridge out in the garage?), there was a guest basket in my room and mints on the pillows. Apparently, we are all trying to out-Nicola one another. And my always-on-a-diet puppy ESPECIALLY liked the trough-sized bowl of dog food that was set out for their apparently self-controlled Labrador. Well….she enjoyed it right up until she ate herself into a freakin’ coma (I was distracted by the garage fridge).
Wonder if Nicola will take Molly back to Nashville with HER on Sunday?
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Family reunion
Okay – I know there’s been a dearth of good blog topics here lately, but this weekend is going to be what I like to call a “target-rich environment”. The whole McFamily is getting together in Indianapolis – even the ones we don’t like. That’s right…it’s a Graduation/Mother’s Day/Birthday extravaganza. McMardis Gras. Put every member of the McFamily together and watch the sparks fly. Otherwise known as “my adolescence” =)) [double smiley face everyone].
See…we seem to avoid the worst of the drama when not EVERYONE is together. It’s like a familial version of the Horcruxes…lethal when all are united….they-who-must-not-be-assembled. Better that at least ONE sibling is missing…doesn’t even matter which one – although we all have our favorites. It’s as if the tension of not having anyone’s back to talk behind forces the whole dynamic off-kilter. Throw in a smattering of non-smoking hotel rooms, this offensive blog and a plethora of holidays that give everyone an opportunity to feel slighted and we are talking Britney Spears/Dr. Phil territory. Nothing says “we’re proud of you, Michal” like two aunts throwing punches in the hotel lobby. =) Smackdown in Indianapolis. By Sunday it’ll be time for a “family meeting”.
Hee. And if anyone does not know that I am completely kidding…than they do NOT know how hard Nicola can bicycle kick…
See…we seem to avoid the worst of the drama when not EVERYONE is together. It’s like a familial version of the Horcruxes…lethal when all are united….they-who-must-not-be-assembled. Better that at least ONE sibling is missing…doesn’t even matter which one – although we all have our favorites. It’s as if the tension of not having anyone’s back to talk behind forces the whole dynamic off-kilter. Throw in a smattering of non-smoking hotel rooms, this offensive blog and a plethora of holidays that give everyone an opportunity to feel slighted and we are talking Britney Spears/Dr. Phil territory. Nothing says “we’re proud of you, Michal” like two aunts throwing punches in the hotel lobby. =) Smackdown in Indianapolis. By Sunday it’ll be time for a “family meeting”.
Hee. And if anyone does not know that I am completely kidding…than they do NOT know how hard Nicola can bicycle kick…
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Exit strategy
Okay, how the HELL do I get out of this daily blog??? Seriously. 41 (!) posts later…I feel like Donald Rumsfeld…I mean…WHAT is the exit strategy??? (nothing like a little neo-con metaphor to set the right tone). It’s the equivalent of a part-time job…for a high school newspaper. I have seriously considered several solutions to achieve shut-down or make this blog financially viable:
- Outsource this thing to India. I mean…what’s an extra $1.35 in expense a day??? I give more to Sally Struthers. But then I realized my humor doesn’t exactly translate (“Riyadh Rockettes” in Hindu doesn’t mean nothing but trouble)
- TRY selling all of your email addresses (didn’t know the blog logged such things, now didja?). But apparently….the internet is SATURATED with all of your email addresses ALREADY. Thanks a freakin’ lot. (How much internet shopping do you people do??) Now the email addresses of my Brazilian travel mates – THOSE I have made….I mean I COULD make….some serious money off of!!!
- Sell advertising on this thing. …but 8 hits off of mostly-McConville-named visitors does NOT make a very persuasive sales pitch. I guess the Irish-Catholic-albino demographic is not what it used to be...there’s only so many lite beer/suntan lotion advertisers out there.
- Just write a couple of lousy posts in a row and that should take care of it…what? I’ve already done that and Rita’s the only one reading this thing anyway?
I figure the inevitable exit strategy will involve some HUGE blow-up in the McConville clan…The savemethecall blog will just flame out in a barrage of restraining orders…just like the last one =)
Monday, May 5, 2008
Lean Cuisine
Someone recently asked me if I can blog about anything. Well, anything that isn’t likely to piss of a member of my family...sure. I didn’t say it would be funny, just that I could…in fact…blog about just about anything. Which brings us to Lean Cuisines.
See…everyone should have a signature dish…MINE is Lean Cuisine – specifically, the chicken pannini sandwiches. Mmm, mmm. I especially like the southwest chicken club because I think the little SPLASH of color from the faux veggies really classes it up.
Seriously, so delicious and only.300.calories. I can eat three of ‘em for lunch, no problems. And they come in the PERFECT square box…imminently stackable. You can easily get…like…forty-three of ‘em in one grocery cart (trust me). Well, assuming the three cases of Diet Coke are not already in there. I can stack all 43 of ‘em in my freezer, too…like a low-calorie fortress around the cookie dough ice cream.
And while some people may balk at the 540 mg of sodium…I do not hesitate to add just a little more salt before eating. And not just ANY salt, either – but that big, chunky sea salt from the ingredients cupboard =) Mmmmm. The perfect little vessel for salt.
And THAT, my friends, is the Lean Cuisine blog. Tune in tomorrow when I blog about the farm bill.
See…everyone should have a signature dish…MINE is Lean Cuisine – specifically, the chicken pannini sandwiches. Mmm, mmm. I especially like the southwest chicken club because I think the little SPLASH of color from the faux veggies really classes it up.
Seriously, so delicious and only.300.calories. I can eat three of ‘em for lunch, no problems. And they come in the PERFECT square box…imminently stackable. You can easily get…like…forty-three of ‘em in one grocery cart (trust me). Well, assuming the three cases of Diet Coke are not already in there. I can stack all 43 of ‘em in my freezer, too…like a low-calorie fortress around the cookie dough ice cream.
And while some people may balk at the 540 mg of sodium…I do not hesitate to add just a little more salt before eating. And not just ANY salt, either – but that big, chunky sea salt from the ingredients cupboard =) Mmmmm. The perfect little vessel for salt.
And THAT, my friends, is the Lean Cuisine blog. Tune in tomorrow when I blog about the farm bill.
Friday, May 2, 2008
is it the weekend yet?
It MUST be the weekend already...cuz i got nothing to post for today =) plenty of air travel this weekend though...so i am sure things will be looking up by Monday.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Annual Physical
I went to my “annual” physical yesterday (annual in title only). Not to worry, it was only a routine checkup. I hear that’s what you do when you start getting older and I have always been a bit of a prodigy =) [again…comment functionality is disabled] Actually, I thought it might be nice to actually HAVE a GP so I didn’t have to always steal Amy & Emily’s prescription pads. =) =) [double smiley face]
First of all, why does EVERY.single.person in a doctor’s office get to wear scrubs? Listen lady, you and I do the EXACTLY the same job – why do you get to wear the World of Disney pajamas to work while I have to sit at home and work in my… oh, nevermind. (Seriously…why does ANYONE get to wear the World of Disney scrubs to work?)
There isn’t really all that much to a physical…get weighed, get grouchy, get blood taken. The nurse did take my vital signs and they turned out to be…well…not so vital. Seems that I have a resting heart rate of 43. Now, I don’t even…like…watch ER, so I don’t know what that means – but the doctor DID exclaim ”WOW – 43! That’s like professional-athlete low. Did you used to be a professional athlete???” ummm.….am I being Punk’d? Turns out I have the biology of a professional athlete even if I have the habits of a professional twinkie-eater. Sorry doc, those 9-minute milers [I wish] aren’t making the pros like they used to and no.I.don’t.play.basketball. No wonder I never have any trouble sleeping…turns out....I’m barely awake.
First of all, why does EVERY.single.person in a doctor’s office get to wear scrubs? Listen lady, you and I do the EXACTLY the same job – why do you get to wear the World of Disney pajamas to work while I have to sit at home and work in my… oh, nevermind. (Seriously…why does ANYONE get to wear the World of Disney scrubs to work?)
There isn’t really all that much to a physical…get weighed, get grouchy, get blood taken. The nurse did take my vital signs and they turned out to be…well…not so vital. Seems that I have a resting heart rate of 43. Now, I don’t even…like…watch ER, so I don’t know what that means – but the doctor DID exclaim ”WOW – 43! That’s like professional-athlete low. Did you used to be a professional athlete???” ummm.….am I being Punk’d? Turns out I have the biology of a professional athlete even if I have the habits of a professional twinkie-eater. Sorry doc, those 9-minute milers [I wish] aren’t making the pros like they used to and no.I.don’t.play.basketball. No wonder I never have any trouble sleeping…turns out....I’m barely awake.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
