The Scene In Which Apparently Gardening Fails Me

I have two very major confessions to make, friends. Be gentle.

First. (And this, if you know me and have, say, driven past my house in the recent weeks is not so much a confession as an acknowledgement.

MY YARD LOOKS HORRIBLE.

Seriously, summer has wreaked some HAVOC on the yard. Dead. Crunchy. Brown. The flowers have all gone to seed and past it. The bushes grew out of control and resemble sea urchins. The phlox is spiny and woody and brown (and half-dead thanks to some overzealous mowing by one of my neighbors, but it was on his side, so that's not even contributing to the awfulness).

And I just need to get out there and clean it up. I know I do. (And I don't want to hear that if I stopped writing this blog and just did it it would be done, because this blog only took me 7 minutes to write and my yard is going to take many, many more minutes than that thankyouverymuch.)

Confession #2 is not really a confession but a confirmation of what you already might know having seen my yard, and that is that I really like color palettes in the purple/pink/green range. Purple phlox. Butterfly bush. Lavender.

I like THINGS TO MATCH.

Naturally, the potted plants that dot my porch also contain pink and purple plants throughout the summer months. But as the summer dried those suckers up faster than you could've fried an egg on the sidewalk some days this August, last week I decided I was going to put my fall plants in.

I happened to be at Lowe's with time to kill and hit the gardening section, where I was promptly disappointed by the lack of creative fall offerings. There were mums. And....mums. And....wait, wait....mums.

For someone who was craving some ornamental cabbage, maybe a few fall grasses, and such, it was a letdown.

Nonetheless, I rebounded, and even did something that for me (the person who likes THINGS TO MATCH!) was way crazy.

I picked twenty small mum plants off a buy-one-get one shelf with absolutely NO color indication. The photos ranged from pinks to yellows to reds and oranges and purples. I even went so far as to deliberately pick plants off different shelves and from different pre-packaged flats. I was determined to have a colorful splash out front, if only to make up for the hideousness that is the rest of the yard.

So I eagerly went home, planted all my mums, watered dilligently, and waited for the first signs of color.

This weekend, they began to bloom.

They are ALL YELLOW.

Every. Single. One.

Friends, I swear, I couldn't make this up if I tried.

The Scene In Which The New AT&T Commercial Is Exactly What's Wrong With People.

It's a bold assertment, to be sure. But really, how can this NOT be indicative of how our society is heading down a thorny path of bratty behavior, requiring instant gratification to be "happy?"

The commercial centers around a guy named Steve. Steve has gone out for a long bike ride on a beautiful day.

On his long bike ride Steve starts to get worried. What if someone is trying to reach him with better plans for the day? What if one of his friends gets concert tickets? What if he's missing out on something cooler to do?

Luckily Steve has AT&T! So he ducks into the nearest coffee shop and checks in via his laptop. He is relieved to find out he isn't missing out on anything and can now thankfully finish his ride in peace.

Steve? Sucks.

Seriously, folks! When did we come up with this theory that it is unacceptable to simply enjoy an activity that WE HAVE CHOSEN TO DO?

Why is it hard to imagine that, on a beautiful day, Steve has chosen to simply take a bike ride- choosing to forego other opportunities that may have come along? Besides, what if those opportunities don't come via social networking or mobile devices? Sure, Steve's friend could call his mobile phone, but what if he JUST STOPS BY THE HOUSE?? Can we ever leave the little bubbles we've created knowing that we might miss out on something if we do??

Secondly, WHY must we be tethered by these little beepy things constantly? Sure, I'm as bad as the next person about getting on Facebook while I'm at my computer or being sure to take my cell phone with me when I leave for the day, but really Steve? A LAPTOP ON A BIKE RIDE? If the whole point is to get out and enjoy the beautiful day, here's a radical thought- GET OUT and ENJOY the beautiful day!

And finally, the idea that only when he's been assured he's chosen the best option can he truly enjoy it? Really, Steve? Can you imagine the horror he must face every day having to constantly ask whether he can be happy with something when there is a possibility that there is SOMETHING! MORE! OUT THERE! Even choosing a muffin at that Starbucks he was forced to stop in so that he could check his precious messages becomes an issue. Maybe he wants blueberry. Maybe he wants raspberry. But maybe he even wants a pumpkin scone! And it's the last one! And if he orders it they are going to bring out a tray of something else and maybe he'll want THAT MORE!

I rant, yes.

But I rant because the first time I heard this commercial I was taken aback. And the second time I heard it I started to get alarmed. And the third time I heard it I started wanting to punch Steve and tell him to grow a pair.

Now, if you'll pardon me, I'm off to take a bike ride. And celebrate switching to Brighthouse.

Not Me! Monday

Well readers, it's our fourth Not Me! Monday and I've got a bit of a dilemma. Because I took forever to get on the Not Me! train, the train has in fact left the station. As in, MckMama's moved on from the idea for awhile, and since it was kind of a group-blogging-thing to do, I feel weird stil doing it when, ummm, no one else is.

Not that that's ever stopped me from doing anything before.

See "perm," circa 1995.

See "bangs," circa 1986.

So I need some feedback. If you're reading, do you enjoy the Not Me! Mondays? Want to see them continue, albeit without the nifty logo? Don't care? Weigh in!

The Scene In Which My Dog Has Developed A Potty Mouth

Has this happened to anyone else?!?!

Finnigan The Blind, my absolutely fantastic, lovable, sweet little rescue pup who has been with me for three years (count 'em, THREE YEARS. THIRTY SIX MONTHS) and has never, ever, ever, EVER done anything like this, has suddenly developed a potty mouth.

More specifically?

His new favorite water bowl is my downstairs toilet (NEVER before. EVER.) and, worse, he has developed an innate ability to ferret out and EAT! CAT! SHIT! from the feral cat who counts our house as one of her roaming sites.

So lately, the peaceful silence around my house has been broken with phrases like this, which I actually just said to the little beast a minute ago when he tried to kiss up to me on the couch after a feast of cat about 20 minutes ago: "Don't even think about kissing me with that cat-shit mouth, buster brown."

Help!

The Scene In Which I Have Possibly Found The Cure For Cancer. In My Fridge.

With summer coming to an end, the last few weeks had been pretty busy at the condo. As a result, the refridgerator hadn't been getting its normal level of attention - the kind that comes when you are home regularly and eat the food you've purchased and consume the leftovers that are lurking inside and generally keep things clean.

But Younger Brother and I have been traveling a bit, and I've been slammed with end-of-summer weddings and have been eating via the grab-and-go method, and in general, the fridge just needed a little attention.

Especially because....(cue Jaws theme).....there were......FOIL WRAPPED ITEMS.

Lurking.

Any person who has ever cleaned a fridge out knows foil wrapped items are the worst. Tupperware is the best. With Tupperware, you can at least see what you're getting into when you discover the leftover taco meet from two weeks ago or the other half of a now dessicated can of chicken noodle soup. You can even make the enlightened decision, as I've been known to do a few times, of chucking the entire Tupperware container into the trash without the benefit of opening the lid and debating, via smell, whether the container is salvageable or not. But foil, now, well, foil's another story. And mysterious foil-wrapped packages are the worst. And here's the thing about them- at least for me - you Can't! Not! Open! Them!

It's just not possible!

I've GOT to know what it is I'm throwing away! After all, I could be mistakenly throwing away something that was wrapped in foil only yesterday. It could be a brownie or two! It could be CHEESE!

Or it could be something that perhaps once was meat that I'm pretty sure my brother cooked for dinner a week ago. Ew.

It might even be the cure for cancer.

Though unlikely. But I'll check.

The Scene In Which The Hair Dryer Dies

This week marked a sad moment at my house as we laid a dear friend to rest.

My hair dryer.

Dramatic? Yes. But seriously, ladies, you know how it is, right? One minute you're happily humming along to whatever song's playing in your head as you point that piece of heated plastic at your scalp, and the next, the device that's given you confidence and style for the past two years starts starts making The Death Noise.

nnnnnnnnnnrrrrrrrrrrrrr (regular noise)nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnrrrrrrrrrrrrr.............. (spark spark spark spark)NRNRNRkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk kkaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaappppbbbt.

Guys? You with me? It's kind of like an Indy Car that gets a flat one lap from winning it all but still miiiiiiight pull it off and yet you're torn- because you're cheering like hell for the little guy to putter it over the finish line to glory BUT you're also keenly aware of the fact that sooner or later, homeboy's gonna burst into flames.

So yes. It was a sad day when we laid Ol' Dryer to rest. And composed this ditty in its honor.

sing it with me (to the tune of American Pie)

So bye bye, Turbo one-eight-seven-fiiive
Had a good run while it lasted but now my hair you don't dry
And when I turned you on and scary sparks they did fly
I knew today it'd be to Target I driiiiive.

Not Me! Monday

It's another Not Me! Monday and boy, has it been a week for it...though I am super impressed by myself that I have my post ready to go at 8 AM! Woohoo for getting into the method of writing things down as they happen instead of trying to remember them all when I actually get a chance to sit down and compose a post.

This week, I definitely did NOT lock myself out of my house by breaking my key off in the door. Nope, not me!

After NOT doing that, I did NOT go to my hair appointment (with greasy hair) only to find I'd scheduled wrong. Upon learning that I definitely did NOT have to beg another stylist to wash my hair for me, since I was locked out of my house. Nope, not me!

On Friday night, my friend definitely did NOT open his door to find me standing on his porch, leaning forward, and frantically trying to shake/swipe a bug out of my, um, chest area. Nope! Because really, WHAT are the odds that at the exact second I'm carrying a heavy vase of flowers up the stairs to someone's house a bug is going to land on me, and really, WHAT are the odds that the same bug is going to fall down my shirt?

And what did YOU not do this week??

The Scene In Which I Do Not Have The Day I'd Planned

Today, I had one of those days that just kind of turns out to be a clusterf***.

You know, the kind where you wake up late with greasy hair 'cause you didn't wash it yesterday 'cause you're getting it cut today.

Lock yourself out of your house 'cause your key breaks in the door as you're trying to pull it out (needless to say, this happens while in "locked" mode, not "unlocked," 'cause that would be easy.)

Get to your appointment and wind up not getting a haircut 'cause you wrote the wrong day on your calendar and your stylist is on vacation.

Beg a random stylist to wash your hair 'cause it's a greasy mop and now you're not sure how many meetings and things you're going to have to attend today in your shorts and t-shirt 'cause you're locked out of your house.

Blow dry and style your own hair even though you're at a salon 'cause if one thing goes right today, it's gonna be that you don't look like crap.

Realize you've got to call your afternoon meeting and reschedule 'cause your files are locked in your house which you are locked out of.

Realize you've got to call someone else to get the number of your afternoon meeting 'cause the number is locked in your house which you are locked out of.

Realize you've got to call a third person to get the number of someone else to get the number of your afternoon meeting 'cause the number is locked in your house which you are locked out of.

Make said calls.

Get excited about being able to run errands instead of having a meeting because you really need to return a few things which are, oh yeah, locked in your house which you are locked out of.

Get excited about having the time to shoot some photos for a meeting that you need to do and you just need to grab your camera which is, oh yeah, locked in your house which you are locked out of.

Get excited about getting some much needed work done except that you just need your laptop and it is, oh yeah, locked in your house which you are locked out of.

Go to Lowe's and buy a new lock 'cause you know you're going to need one 'cause you've needed one every other time this has happened and you're going to be all AHEAD OF THE GAME this time.

Get home and meet the lock guy who is able to fix the lock without using the new lock you've just purchased at Lowe's 'cause he's just better than all the other locksmiths that have been summoned in the past.

And this is why my blog is called "That Wasn't In The Script." Because sometimes, friends, IT JUST WASN'T.

But at least I have nice hair.

The Scene In Which I Have Spent $23. On Something.

Earlier this week I got my credit card statement, and like most months, gave it a quick perusal to be sure nothing was out of the ordinary. Sure enough, it all seemed legit- a couple tanks of gas, a few (or four...or seven...or eleven) trips to Starbucks, some purchases at Lowe's, and of course, the $23 I'd spent at the "Family Name's Feed and Mercantile" in Some Town You've Never Heard Of, Indiana.

Whaaaaa?

I racked my brain.

I rifled my reciepts.

I tried to remember WHAT I could have POSSIBLY spent $23 on at a FEED STORE somewhere in East Jesus, Indiana.

And I couldn't.

So I called my credit card company and spent about five minutes on the phone explaining to the nice young man that, in fact, I had not spent $23 on something at a Feed Store.

And then I got on with my life quite nicely until today, when I went to grab a few things out of my purse so that I could put them in another purse.

And felt the crinkle of a shoved-down reciept.

For $23.

To the Feed and Mercantile.

Whaaaaaa?

I racked my brain.

I rifled my (now found) reciept.

I tried to remember WHAT I could have POSSIBLY spent $23 on at the FEED STORE somewhere in East Jesus, Indiana.

And I couldn't.

So I called my credit card company and spent about 5 minutes on the phone explaining to the nice young woman that, in fact, I had spent $23 on something at a Feed Store.

But, hand to God, I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHAT.

The Scene In Which I Ruin The Cashier's Day

Today I was out and about running several errands on the northside, and though I was still a bit far from home, stopped at a Kroger up there to pick up a few items.

(Side note: HOLY HELL, are northside groceries nice!)

I grabbed the couple items I needed and proceeded to the checkout, where I chose the "5 to 15 ITEMS" line because I had 6 items, thankyouverymuch, and didn't want to wait in the "UNDER 5 ITEMS" line or the "ALL OTHER ITEMS" line.

And met "A," the cashier. (Names have been shortened to protect the innocent.)

Who, I now feel, may have been strategically placed in the 5 to 15 item line. Because his pace reaaaaally wasn't fast enough to placate someone with only 1 or 2 items and, forced into the large-item-load line, might have spontaneously combusted with indignation. There was a liiiitle bit of an OCD thing going on.

At any rate, after uttering a string of phrases that I could only assume related to paper versus plastic bags (though possibly not, since unable to understand I just said "Paper!" to his inquiry, and wound up with plastic), he asked, "Kroger card?"

"No, actually, I don't have one." I replied.

Which is strange, because being that it's one of the larger grocery chains in the city (including one literally within walking distance of my house) so you'd think I'd be able to produce one from the depths of my purse.

However.

What you've got to take into effect here is that my closest Kroger hasn't earned the nickname Kroghetto on it's own. No, friends, it's taken YEARS of sad neglect to accomplish this mean feat. I'm not even kidding, there aren't words to describe the depression of shopping there. I literally get in my car, drive PAST it, and go to another grocery store 10 minutes away for groceries.

Lest you think I'm dramatic, I challenge you to come down here and shop here, holes in the floor and all. And deal with interactions like this one, circa 2007 or so:

Me to Employee: "Hi. Do you have citronella candles?"
Employee: "What are those?"
Me: "They're larger candles to burn outside....they keep bugs away?"
Employee: .......
Me: (Seriously??) "They're probably by the bugspray? If you have that?"
Employee: "Well, I don't KNOW if we have them, but if we do, then yeah, they'd probably be by the bugspray."
Me: (Wow. You don't say.) "And where's that?"
Employee: "By the seasonal stuff."
Me: (annnnnnd that would be where......?)"Ok....."
Employee: "You're welcome!"

Given this level of customer service it's rather unsurprising that I choose to shop elsewhere, and that I haven't been offered a card when I've stated that I didn't have one during checkout. IN FIVE YEARS.

So you can imagine my level of shock when A stopped what he was doing, secured me a card, scanned it,and handed it over.

I was elated!

Until he handed me the registration form to fill out.

Which I don't like to do.

Because, I mean, COME ON. I hate these things. You'd think it would be enough to know that I prefer to buy organic bananas over any others. That I am bizarrely fond of Asian Sensations General Tso's frozen chicken. That I buy milk nearly every time I'm at the store but rarely buy cereal (oh my god, what does she use it for? she never buys cereal!). That I have a fondness for mild cheddar cheese and that I have not purchased a caffienated drink since October BUT NO, THEY ALSO WANT TO KNOW WHERE I LIVE.

Well, tough.

So I filled out my first name and last initial, and my zip code. Because I'm not above giving the folks what they need for demographic research, I just don't want my mailbox filled with junk.

A took this as a personal affront to his kind gift of a card.

"Can you fill out your address please," he requested.

"No thanks. Not if it's not absolutely required for a card," I said, reasonably I thought- especially as I KNOW it's not required, it's just PREFERRED, so that the store and/or their "affiliates" can track my information and use it to back up studies of why we should increase the amount of cage-free eggs at my local store because many people in my age range that live there buy them. And then send me mail regarding the fact that they have them. And coupons. And mail about other unrelated products.

Unfortunately, this may have triggered the OCD a bit for A. Because, I'm sure, the employees are trained to do everything they can to GATHER! THAT! INFORMATION!

"Can you JUST FILL IT OUT?" he asked, growing agitated.

"Nope, I really don't like to. Is it required?"

"LOOK," he said, "WE DON'T SELL IT, OKAY? JUST WRITE IT DOWN."

"Thanks, but I'm fine with this the way it is."

"FINE," he relented. "BUT PLEASE PUT YOUR PHONE NUMBER."

"It really won't help anything," I said (because I do have a number that I give out that's not actually a number I use.) "It's not tied to an address, and I don't have a phone extension hooked up to it."

"WE DON'T SELL YOUR NUMBER!" he practially spewed. "JUST WRITE IT!"

"Yes, but I'm just not going to do that. You can have the card back."

"IT DOESN'T MATTER!" he said....though to what, I don't know.

Muttering what I can only assume were curses under his breath, he snatched the card out of my hand and made a dramatic show of crumpling it and tossing it into the trash at his feet.

And that's the story of how I'm pretty sure I ruined A's day.

But I did save $1.98.