Thanksgiving

The Cali girls have arrived in Nashville for Thanksgiving. And there are certain ways you can tell the girls are in da house:

• Well, the first sign is that case of wine spinning around baggage claim. That’s right – we travel with our own wine.
• Since the wine was all tucked underneath the plane, we had an opportunity to carry-on the bread crumbs. That’s right, a whole briefcase-sized bag of special California bread crumbs. I hope everyone likes them some stuffing. [we’re going to the heartland….and yet….we brought bread]
• You can tell the Cali girls are in town because there’s already been a petition started in my sister’s suburban Hermitage neighborhood to begin curbside recycling. [Petitions…it’s what we Californians do]
• Speaking of recycling, that box that was originally full of wine is now packed with reclyclables and compostables for the return trip [careful with that, baggage handling]

And the best way you can tell that the Cali girls are in the house…there’s a salad with dinner.

 

=)

Facebook

When the end of days occurs…it is somehow going to be connected with Facebook, I just know it. After resisting the FB lure for years, I have finally succumbed to this insidious hobby by “friending” three people. I had to get on there to track down a friend [Sarah] that seems to only be communicating via Facebook [Palin] these days.

When I logged on – the first thing that struck me is the constant stream of friend recommendations. Why does FB care if I only have 3 friends? What do they know about what’s coming that I don’t? This constant pressure to “friend” is like a pyramid scheme I haven’t figured out. [Has anyone checked to make sure this isn’t just some portal to Scientology?]

The second thing I noticed is that I already had like 57 friend requests. I don’t even know most of these people. And most of the one’s I did know were a little iffy:

• My entire third grade class.
• Every single last friend of Susie from my 3rd grade class. Isn’t there some etiquette about trying to “friend” friend of friends? In fact, there should definitely be classes of friends on here….Friends; Friends-of-Friends; Yeah-Her-Name-Sounds-Familiar Friend, She-Can-Help-Me-Get-A-Sale/Job/Loan Friend; I’m-Only-Friending-You-Because-You-Saw-Me-On-Rita’s-List Friend; etc. You know…categories…just like we have in real life. [What?? I’m in your crazy-blog-lady category?!?]
• The Prehab Center…I’ve only been on FB for 20 minutes and the Prehab Center knows enough to intervene?

Actually – I found the whole list overwhelming so I am sticking with my list of 3 friends. But I did enjoy looking at all the pictures people use. I LOVE the profile photo’s that look like professional head shots. Someone is either in sales or trying to “friend” an ex.

And why do all your “friends” get notified about everything you do? Do I really want to know that “Rita P and Your Boss are now friends.” Really, ignorance is bliss.

 

The worst part? If any of your friends are on-line, you are automatically asked if you want to “chat”. Oh great....“SaveMeTheCall” just went obsolete.

Fired!

Let’s be clear about who wears the pants in this pantsuit-wearing family…it’s Julieta, the cleaning lady/dog sitter/military junta. After a somewhat bumpy start [see post  >> http://savemethecall.blogspot.com/2008/11/that-cleaning-lady.html ], we have settled into a nice little routine around here that involves Julieta’s near-residency and a small stipend from Molly’s trust fund. Unfortunately, however, the apple cart went flying yesterday when we canceled our Thanksgiving “booking” for Julieta’s dog sitting [what?! It was two whole days notice!]

Knowing that last minute changes are about as popular as the pens I leave in my pocket on laundry day…I [of course] made RITA deliver the bad news [while I pretended to be trapped in my office on a conference call]. I guess Julieta stewed about it all day when not bouncing quarters off the bedding because as she was loudly and defiantly packing up, she apparently told Rita “I quit!” And while not explicitly clear, I don’t think she was just quitting the dog-sitting gig. I think we were getting fired from the whole package of bundled services.

You really want to see Rita freak? Present her with the hard reality of no one coming to clean up the mess I leave behind me. “Panic” is not too strong a word. I am completely oblivious to the Crisis in the Kitchen until Rita races into my office exclaiming “You’re the one who fixes these things…go talk to her!” ummmmm, okay honey, but I don’t really “fix” things as much as I capitulate – you got that, right?

So there I am on the side steps of the house, trying to talk some sense into Julieta and ensure that I don’t ever have to dust the wine room. It was not pretty. It was like every bad break-up fight you’ve ever had [Molly go inside, the grown-ups need to talk.] ….tears and shouting and hysterics [and that was just us] …every transgression that ever happened got trotted out…”I KNOW we canceled on you back in August and you’re right, we NEVER remember to replace the windex. How can we make it better? Can we just sit down and have a Family Meeting?” The neighbors probably thought we were crazy. [it didn’t help that Rita & I were still in our pajama’s at 2 o’clock in the afternoon – but hey, I work better in pj’s!] It was completely reminiscent of a Christopher Guest movie [I’m guessing I’m the Jane Lynch character].

Apparently, the key to negotiating with McC and Rita is to use broken English…cuz we folded like a cheap tent. “Okay, what if we pay you for the whole week ANYWAY? And you can still come over and spend an afternoon with…ummm “OUR” dog…and don’t even worry about doing the cleaning next week…take the week off. No?” Okay Julieta…I’m going to write down a number on this piece of paper…

I think in the end we are going to pay her extra to not come to our house, we will begin tidying the house before she arrives and we will…at least occasionally…refer to the dog as Molly Martinez.

But it’s fixed.

Beirut

As of late, our quiet little neighborhood has taken on the air of a spring-time market…in Beirut. It seems like the state of California fiscal situation is not so precarious that they can’t afford to replace every water and sewer pipe in the neighborhood.


As construction begins, I get to enjoy not only neighborhood streets that resemble any given road in Posey County Indiana [PoCo for life], but ALL of my work calls are now accompanied by the symphony of dump trucks, jack hammers and….wait for it….Molly in a constant state of ape shit.

And just to get us off on the right foot with all of this construction, the orange-vested men were in the front of the house yesterday with a camcorder filming our yard, porch and driveway. Imagine looking up from your morning coffee to see some strange man filming the front of your house. [America’s Most Wanted?] It turns out they were just making a record of the “before-scape”. [Nothing says “mass-destruction” like the need to FILM the yard that you soon won’t recognize]. Throughout the duration of their 10 minute movie shoot, there’s a little white dog hurling herself at the screen door while barking herself into hysterics. Make sure you get THAT on tape.

But at least they waited to shoot the scene until I started my third quarter conference call With. Half. The. Company. One of my friends asked why I didn’t just put the call on mute…but it was MY conference call. So I conducted the better part of the meeting while teetering on the edge of the back porch, trying to shout over the dog locked in the bedroom all while not taking ONE more step lest I fall out of range on the home phone. On the afternoon iteration of that same call, the CEO kicked it off by asking if my dog would be joining us for THIS review. Good times.

And they haven’t even started construction in our yard yet.

No Free Lunch

My last few work trips have actually been peace missions…opportunities to get out & meet some of the people on my team. I call it the Kinder, Gentler BTB tour [also known as the "no-one's-getting-placed-on-a-performance-plan" visit]. Aside from the REAL meeting with the site manager, the entire team-wide agenda generally consists of a tour, a quick pep talk/thank you and lunch with the team. The lunches are generally a hoot. Last week in Cincinnati we ordered Skyline Chili…thereby combining two of my least favorite foods (spaghetti noodles and soup-like-chili. I guess that’s what happens when you won’t approve overtime.) Of course, I shouldn’t complain because 1) at least it wasn’t spiked and 2) lunch for the ENTIRE team cost me $33.41. $33.41 for 6 people! “Ummmm….did I fail to mention that we weren't going Dutch? What? You used coupons?” I guess I should be embarrassed to report that lunch in the airport yesterday cost $26 [no coupons].

At the next stop of the tour – Hattiesburg, MS – we were REALLY extravagant and ordered Roly Poly sandwiches. Seriously, people – has no one heard of an expense report before? Of course, I was halfway through my Roly Poly turkey wrap before I realized the rest of the office was still saying grace [I thought it just got quiet when everyone started to eat].

In Lexington, we ordered sandwiches from "Butt Rub Bar-b-que.” I was going to ask them to repeat that, but I wasn't sure I wasn't in the middle of an HR violation. After lunch, I gave my whole big pep talk and went over results and how great the team is – my whole spiel. When I finished, one of the girls raised her hand (!) and the ONLY question I got was "how do you say your name again?"


I think I’m really making a difference out there.

Traveling Through

I'll admit...I often head to the airport wondering if something blogworthy is going to happen. A long blog = a long day.

Such was the case last Friday when I was in every airport on the eastern seaboard. Okay, okay - I exaggerate, but I did manage to buy a starbucks in five different airports, if that tells you anything. [Who is my travel agent again? oh that's right, it's the girl who can't remember to pack her power cord on a consistent basis.]

The day started at the unnatural hour of 4:30 a.m. at the Philly airport for my non-Southwest (!) flight. First, I didn't know that airports closed, did you? Arriving at the airport before it opens is REALLY demoralizing. Second, my watch said 1:30 a.m., traditionally considered the END of the day, and not the beginning of the day. Third, any boarding pass leaving from gate CXLD signals a really shitty morning. [When you ask the gate agents where gate CXLD is, they just look at you sadly on account of your bad luck coupled with your dim wittedness]. Not to worry though, the canceled flight was reinstated 15 minutes before [scheduled] takeoff. Little did I know I was boarding the Gitmo Express where my fellow passengers and I were going to be stranded for 75 minutes without so much as a cup of coffee ["Diet Coke.  I demand a Diet Coke"]

Who needed coffee, though, when the pilot came on the loudspeaker every time I started to doze off to declare that "I really don't know what's going on. [Boot up your laptop and find out?] But I am hoping we are going to have you out of here in the next 5 or 10 minutes". You know....I am not sure a clueless freaking pilot is on the pre-flight checklist, so I am guessing it's going to be a tad longer than a commercial break before we get going. And sure enough...the ground crew must have stayed up late watching the World Series because my 1 hr and 11 min flight took off 1 hr and 21 minutes before my connection in Charlotte.

Which meant I had PLENTY of time for that coffee in Charlotte.

Trick or Treat

They warned me that Halloween in Kensington (our neighborhood) was a popular affair. That they "bus the kids in" to take advantage of.....the absence of candy corn? Nonetheless, I thought the neighbors were crazy when we showed up at their house on Saturday night and found 6 Costco-sized bags of candy on hand. At first, we were worried kids were skipping the house, so somebody put tea lights at the end of the driveway and made a virtual runway for trick-or-treat landings.  I thought the combination of open flame and flammable kid costumes was a bad idea, but it sure pulled the kiddies in.

At any point in time between dusk and lights-out at 8:15 (a/k/a the "make it stop" point), there was a line of trick-or-treaters that was 20 kids deep (!) You would have thought we were handing out flu shots. There were so many kids that our little dinner party initially took shifts on the porch handing out candy. Rita was relieved of her candy-dispensing duties when she demanded to hear "trick or treat" before parting with the Milky Ways. [I was relieved of my candy-dispensing duties when I spilled beer in Spider Man's jack-o-lantern candy bucket. He's going to have a tough time explaining THAT one to his parents.]

Then our buddy Joe showed up in his grim reaper costume and became the permanent candy-giving ambassador for the house [costume = duty]. Things only got busier as the grim reaper kept shouting "I have cahn-dy" (apparently the grim reaper has the hint of a Boston accent, who knew). Anytime there was more than about six seconds of conversation at the front of the line, though, some kid in the back would yell "Hey mister - hurry up!" It all had the eerie feel of the department store Santa scene from "A Christmas Story".

But I can proudly report that Molly didn't bark once [except at the kid dressed like a mailman].

The next morning, it looked like the neighborhood had hosted an all night rave sponsored by M&M Mars.