Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers

One of my dear friends is having a baby in June, and we threw her a baby shower a few weekends ago.  I should go ahead and put this out there now that I loathe these little get-togethers.  I find them excruciatingly painful.  And it's not that I don't like my friends.   I adore them.  I just hate people in general.  And being around them for extended periods of time just pisses me off.  We here in the psych world call that Social Anxiety.  For our purposes we'll just say I'm a bit of a freak and move on.

Back to the food.  I like being in charge of something involved when I have to go to these things because it gives me purpose.  It gives me a reason for being there, and something to do with my hands, because when I'm in big groups of people I am at a complete loss about what to do with my hands!  Hence, the food.  If I'm in charge of food, I don't have that problem.

When I was little I remember my mom making a whale out of a watermelon.  She carved out the top of the watermelon and fashioned a tail from that part of the rind, and then scooped out the innards.  She was left with a beautiful whale to be filled with balled melon, which is really the best way to eat melon.  There is just something about melon in the shape of a ball that makes it taste that much better, don't you think?

So I decided to make a watermelon whale for this shower.  And it hadn't occurred to me until this very moment while I am writing this post that a WHALE might not have been a good choice for a lady who has been pregnant for the last 35 weeks...hmm

Anyway I was hunting around the internet for a pattern and found some very interesting (and strange) food carvings.  I also discovered a site called "FoodPornDaily.com".  You should check it out.  Just probably not at work.  You don't want to have to explain that one to your IT guy.

As I'm sure you can imagine, I was awestruck by this Food Porn business, and was sidetracked for a great while.  Fascinating stuff.  But when I finally got back to my original task, I found the most amazing idea ever EVER: a Baby Buggy made from a WATERMELON!

I said to myself, 'Self, this is brilliant!'  And I set off to create a watermelon baby buggy.  And create I did.

 

And I filled it up with balled melons.  They really do taste better, I promise.

And check out the watermelon flower that I totally carved all by myself!

I definitely channeled my inner Martha on that one!

I believe they call this karma

Last night I was making dinner, much like I do every night, when the middle finger on my left hand had an unfortunate encounter with the sour cream container.

I know what you're thinking, 'how does one injure one's self on a flimsy, plastic container?!'  Oh but it is so much better than that!  I didn't slice my finger open on the plastic.  Oh, no!  I sliced it open on the FOIL.  You know, that little foil seal that they put under the plastic lid to keep it fresh, or whatever?

Yeah.  I cut my finger on THAT FOIL.  And bled all over the place.  I went to serve dinner to MacGyver, with a paper towel over my finger to stop the bleeding - I'm sort of a pro at this First Aid stuff by now - and told him I cut my finger open.  His greatest fear of me in the kitchen is that I will somehow sever a main artery with a kitchen knife.  So when I said I cut my finger, he came flying out of the chair all "What?! Are you okay? Do we need to call 911?  The national guard?  I know CPR!"  And then I explained to him how I did it.  You know, with the FOIL.  And he had to excuse himself because he was laughing so hard.

And all of this took me back a few years to when I was about 17 years old.  My parents left my brother and I home alone for the evening while they went somewhere.  Portland, I think.  I don't really remember that part anymore.  Just that they weren't home.  My brother was about 14 or 15 and I was being the ever responsible older sister and making dinner.

I used to do a lot of baking when I was in high school.  And I made a mean chocolate chip cookie.  We had this spatula that was the perfect shape for taking cookies off the cookie sheet.  It was big, and round and metal so it slid under the cookie like buttah.  It was my favorite spatula, and I used it whenever possible.

This particular evening I was using it to flip french fries over on the cookie sheet so they could finish cooking.  I had pulled the cookie sheet out of the oven and had it on the stove top so I could flip the fries without searing my arms off, when my little brother came up behind me and did something that made me jump.  I forget exactly what that was now, but I jumped and whipped around, spatula in hand.

It all happened so fast, that the next few moments were a bit confusing.  I watched his face go from laughing, to a little confused, to really, really pale.  And I looked down at his wrist just in time to see blood start gushing out of a 3 inch gash.

So many things went through my head at that moment.  "Great.  My parents leave for one night and I assassinate my brother."  "What the hell just happened?!"  "I wonder if I should call 911 now?"  "What the hell just happened?!" "I wonder if a spatula is considered a deadly weapon?"  And then the worst one of them all, "I don't know where the Emergency Room is!"

So my brother and I look at each other all like, "what the hell just happened?!" and he says, "I think we should go to the Emergency Room."  And it wasn't that I disagreed with him, it was just that not only did I just attempt Spatular Manslaughter, but I was going to have to admit out loud that I didn't know how to get around the block by myself, let alone to the Emergency Room!!

But God Bless my little brother, that kid can get to you Argentina and back with his eyes closed.  A talent he inherited from our father, that sadly, I did not.  Not even a little bit.  So he grabbed a kitchen towel to place pressure on the wound (see, I told you I've had a lot of experience in First Aid!) and I grabbed the spatula so I could plead my case to the doctors and social workers who were sure to place my brother into foster care, and me into police custody upon arrival at the ER, and we piled into the car. 

And my brother, who was on the verge of passing out the whole trip, got us to the ER with no problem.  I'm still so impressed.  That's the difference between my brother and I.  He is so level headed and calm in these sorts of situations, and I'm all, "OMG WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE AND IT'S ALL MY FAULT!!!".  We were also raised Catholic, so I think that has something to do with the guilt factor there. 

We get inside and check in at the little desk and I'll never forget the lady who does the paperwork asking us what happened, and my brother saying, "my sister cut me with a spatula."  And I immediately added, "On accident!  It was an accident!!  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I'M NOT A SPATULA MURDERER!!!"  She raised one eyebrow and looked at both of us for a long minute before continuing.

That was the first of many long stares that evening.  After the doctor saw him, a nice lady (eh hem, social worker) who just wanted to ask me a few questions, took me into a separate room and asked me about what happened.  She wanted to know why we were alone, and did that happen very often, and did our parents know where we were, and has there been a lot of fighting in our family lately, and has my brother been feeling depressed, and would he ever try to hurt himself on purpose, and has anything like this ever happened before, and I was all, "listen lady, I accidentally cut him with the stupid spatula, I swear that's what happened.  See?  I brought the spatula with me so I could show you."  Not that it was helping my case any because, well, it's a SPATULA.

Finally, after my nice lady decided I really wasn't trying to kill my brother, and the nice lady who talked to my brother decided he wasn't trying to take himself out with a spatula, they let us go.  My brother ended up with eleven stitches in his wrist that night.  Eleven.  From a spatula.  The doctor gave us stickers and told us not to kill each other before our parents came home.  I'm sure we were the talk of the break room in the ER that night.

My brother had to have a bandage on his wrist for awhile to cover the stitches, but it unfortunately it looked much more sinister than that.  For weeks my brother had to endure endless awkward questions from friends and teachers asking him if everything was okay at home?  Was he feeling okay?  If he ever needed to talk to anyone he could talk to this teacher or that teacher.  No really, he could come talk if he needed to.  I really do feel bad about that.

What ever became of that spatula?  I'm happy to say, I still have it.  I'm thinking of keeping it for when I have children.  I can tell them the story of the time I was babysitting Uncle Bryan and almost killed him with the spatula.  That ought to keep them from misbehaving!

Yes, I was THAT kid

At work we like us some potlucks.  GASP!  She's writing about work, ohmigod!  Collect yourselves, I promise I'm not going to say anything about all those photocopies of your behind you stuffed into the recycle bin last week. 

As I was saying, we like us a good potluck.  And every time someone leaves the agency we throw a big ol' potluck.  I wonder if anyone has ever been offended that we throw a party in honor of them leaving?  Anyway, there are several extremely talented food-makers in our office.  I always feel good about my contributions until I place them on the table next to these other overachievers' masterpieces.  And then I shut up.

Well today, ladies and gentlemen, I stepped up.  You know in high school, there is always that one kid who messes up the curve for everyone else?  That one kid who brings her project on WWII in the form of a tea-stained, handmade paper diary tied together with twine, and burned on the edges for an authentic, war ravaged look?  Yeah, I was that kid.  And actually, it was middle school.  Well today, that kid came out again for the potluck.

Now, this isn't to say that I think my contribution was even close to the absolutely spectacular culinary creations of my esteemed chefs/coworkers. But for me? This is pretty darn impressive.

Behold!

I assure you, it is as tasty as it looks. 

Here's how to make it!


Baking chocolate (I used semi sweet and white chocolate) - at least one box of each, maybe two
Balloons - these were smallish, so I used little balloons, but they make great bowls for ice cream too, and you may want them bigger.
Heavy whipping cream
Strawberries
powdered sugar
cookie sheet with wax paper

I washed the balloons in water with a little soap, then let them dry over night.  Make sure they are completely dry before doing this, or it won't work.  I know the proper way to melt chocolate is in a double boiler, but that sounds like a whole lot of work that I don't want to do.  So I just stick it in a bowl in the microwave until it is all melty and smooth.

Now the super amazing part.  Blow up the balloons, but not too full, unless you were going for that chocolate splatter look in your kitchen.  Trust me, it's messy.  You want the chocolate to be at least as deep as half of the balloon.  So if your balloon is 4 inches tall, the chocolate needs to be at least 2 inches deep in the bowl.  Take your balloon by the knot in the top, and slowly dip it into the chocolate, rotating it slowly to coat the outside of the balloon until you form a bowl shape.  When you've got a healthy coating of chocolate on the balloon, set it upright on a cookie sheet covered in wax paper.

Work quickly because the chocolate will start to harden and get lumpy.  No one likes lumpy chocolate.  When your cookie sheet is full, place it into the refrigerator or the freezer and let the bowls sit for at least an hour.  This is very important, because if you touch them or try to remove the balloons before they are cooled you will have a chocolate disaster of epic proportions on your hands.  Literally.

While you are waiting for the chocolate to cool and harden, mix a cup or so of heavy whipping cream, and a quarter of a cup or so of powdered sugar into a mixing bowl and beat until it forms stiff peaks.  (Do you see that, Martha?  STIFF PEAKS!  And you thought I wasn't paying attention!)  Chop up as many strawberries as you like into smallish pieces and dump them in.  Fold them into the mixture a few times until it turns a slight pink and they are mixed throughout.  Don't over-mix or you'll have creamy strawberry soup.  With lumps.  Ick.

This is the tricky part.  When the bowls are done, gently take a pin, or scissors, or something sharp, and pop the balloons.  You might get a little cracking around the edges if the chocolate is too thin.  That's okay, really, don't panic.  I usually run my hands under very cold water periodically during this process, because your hands will melt the chocolate as you start pulling out the balloons.  Think cold thoughts while you're doing this!

Gently, GENTLY pull out the balloons, and voila!  One bowl made of chocolate!  Then drop spoonfuls of your strawberry yumminess into each one.  I garnished the one for the picture with a strawberry cut fancy-restaurant style, but for the potluck I just stuck them all on a plate with no garnish.  They disappeared!

A suggestion, you may want to include a stack of napkins.  Or maybe a gross of them.  These can be a bit messy to eat.  Or maybe not.  In which case, bring a camera to catch all of your coworkers or friends with chocolate all over their noses!  That's good fun too!

Death March

Let’s have a lesson in definitions.

Death: (noun) a permanent cessation of all vital functions; the end of life; the cause or occasion of loss of life

March: (verb) to move in a direct purposeful manner; to move along steadily usually with a rhythmic stride and in step with others

And one more.

Coordination: (adjective) able to use more than one set of muscle movements to a single end

Uncoordination would, of course, be an example of lacking the aforementioned skill set.

Bear with me on these, they'll make sense in a minute.

We are a bit short handed at work as of late, and I have no boundaries.  These two things together mean that I have basically been working my happy little hiney off.  It’s exhausting.  And YES, I realize it is totally my fault, and that I need to find some stinking boundaries already.  Or maybe just some medication.  I digress.

Last week I had a particularly eventful day at work, and while I cannot elaborate on the details here, suffice to say that the end of the day, I'd had a brief (but intense) encounter with some of Tillamook’s finest law enforcement officers, had been given one of the worst insults I have ever received by a coworker, found out some extremely disturbing news about someone I thought I knew quite well, and cleaned up poo off my office floor.  That’s right.  POO.

(CBS are you listening?  I have four words for you: REALITY TELEVISION IN TILLAMOOK.  I’m telling you, it’ll be bigger than Survivor.  Call me.)

The whole drive home (all half a mile of it) I was obsessing over how I couldn’t wait to change into comfy sweatpants and hit the couch to watch DVRed episodes of Breaking Bad.  And let me tell you folks, it was heaven.  HEAVEN!  I was settling in and contemplating, if I decided never to move from that spot again, how many days it would take my work to fire me, and whether I could just have my last check direct deposited.  Then MacGyver stands up, puts his coat on and says: “You ready?”

Am I ready?  It’s 7:09pm and I just finished cleaning POO. off my office floor.  What the hell could I possibly need to be ready for?  He must have understood my thoughts in that one, wordless stare, because he informed me that low tide was at 7:15pm and he wanted to take me to this "really cool beach" he found. 

Now, I’m all for long walks on the beach, etc.  And any other day I might have jumped at the opportunity.  But in this moment, this moment right here, my first thought was to call Tillamook’s finest back and file a harassment charge against MacGyver.  OFFICER, HE’S MAKING ME GET OFF THIS HERE COUCH AND I DON’T HAVE TO TAKE THIS KIND OF ABUSE!  But considering my interactions with them earlier in the day, I decided against that.  And I got my ass off that couch.  AGAINST MY BETTER JUDGMENT. 

So we go to this “really cool beach” he found.  And we park.  On the side of the road.  And this is what I see when I step out of the car:

What do you notice about this picture?  Lovely day, blue sky, beautiful ocean.  Ocean THAT IS REALLY FAR AWAY FROM WHERE I AM STANDING.  I turn to MacGyver and ask as nicely as I can muster, “how do we get to the beach?”  

“We go down some stairs.  It’s really cool, you’ll see.”

Stairs?  ARE YOU FREAKING JOKING ME?!

Oh and the STAIRS!  131 of them, to be precise.  I counted.  At least, I’m fairly certain that’s how many there were.  That’s how many I counted in between the parts where I passed out and had to be resuscitated.  I should also mention that these stairs are not STAIRS like you might find in an office building, or apartment complex.  They are STAIRS like the kind that are fashioned out of railroad ties and old pieces of scrap wood and rocks to pick your ways over and climb up on to because the next step down is two and a half feet away.  131 of THOSE kind of STAIRS.  These STAIRS are starting to make me think they deserve the LOWES! standard of reference. 

Remember when I said to trust me, that I would explain these definitions in a minute?  DEATH MARCH.  Does it make sense now?  I thought so too.

MacGyver had told me about this place a few days before when he had discovered it, so I knew there were tide pools and things around here somewhere, but when I got to the bottom of those STAIRS!, I didn’t see any.  That’s not to say it’s not a beautiful place.  It is.  Breathtakingly beautiful, in fact.  But if I’m getting dragged down here, off my couch, after a horrific day at work, completely exhausted, I want to see some damn tide pools!  I asked him where they were, and he points over yonder to some very large, very ominous looking rocks. 

I should mention here, that MacGyver was a mountain goat in a former life.

(Image taken from Flickr by Eickholt)

(Image taken from Flickr by David Couse)

I’m not kidding.  MacGyver is extremely agile on big scary rocks like this.  Me, on the other hand, I am the very definition of the opposite of COORDINATION (see above reference).  I have never been able to able to use more than one set of muscle movements to a single end.  Ask anyone who has seen me play softball.  It’s embarrassing.  And dangerous!  I trip over air molecules.  And I have never met a set of stairs that I have not either fallen down, or up.  Oh yes, I am the master at falling up stairs.  It’s a gift. 

So we go picking our way across these huge boulders that were perched over the ocean and covered with some sort of sea slime – actually, no, MacGyver went prancing over them like the Sugarplum Fairy, and I went sprawling much like Bambi on a frozen lake.  Only less graceful.  Two weeks later when I finally caught up to him,  I was an anxiety ridden, sobbing mess, absolutely convinced I was going to die, we were going to be stranded, the Coast Guard would have to be called to pluck us off of these ridiculous rocks, only to find out that it would be too dangerous to save us and we’d be left for dead and eaten by seagulls and tiny crab creatures I was certain were going to reach up from those dark crevasses in between the rocks and tear my feet off.   

DEATH MARCH.  See, the longer this goes on the more you understand!  I told you I was going to die out there.   

MacGyver, bless his heart, was oblivious to me standing there completely immobilized by my fears of heights, rocks, looming ocean, sea gulls eating my eyeballs, and the crab people that live under the rocks.  Oh, and then I look back and see that the stupid tide is coming in and it’s getting dark.  BECAUSE OF COURSE IT IS.  When I look back, MacGyver has levitated across this huge pool of sea anemones and onto another HUGE rock 20 feet above me.  I start yelling at him, but we’re next to the ocean and he’s deaf, so that didn’t work so well.  I can’t lift my arms above my waist for fear of losing my already precarious balance, so I start flapping my forearms around me and yelling at him to look at me, BECAUSE I AM NOT GOING TO LET THE DAMN TIDE COME IN AND GET EATEN BY THE CRAB MONSTERS!  How about that for a mental image?  Next time you’re stuck somewhere and your bored out of your mind, just picture that.  See?  All better.

He finally sees me flopping around and, thinking something catastrophic has happened,   goes leaping across the rocks back toward me.  I swear, it’s not human.  I point in the direction of the rocks we just came from that are now lapping with water, willing him to understand the direness of our situation.  He takes my hand and moves it about 10 feet from where I was pointing, to a path (if you can call it that) that is completely dry.  Apparently THAT is where we just came from.  I’m guessing he saw one of the crab people at that moment though, because he decided it was time to go.  We made it back with relatively little incident.

Was it worth all that?  I’ll let you decide.

Will we go back?  Totally.  But not when the crab people are out.

Formal Introductions

I realize that I have spent several blog posts referencing El Stinko, but have never fully introduced him.  Drumroll, please!  

This is El Stinko.  Our 1972 Dodge Half Ton Something Or Other.  D-100 I'm told.  To me he's just our big old stinky truck.

We bought El Stinko a few years ago after realizing that neither a Mazda Protege or a Kia Rio were ever designed to carry sheetrock.  At least not very far.  I'll admit I was a little leery of this purchase since the last truck we bought off some guy that lived out on a farm (in a van, down by the river - you get the idea) was a disaster of such epic proportions that we do not speak of it anymore in our house.


MacGyver found it on Craigslist (I swear, he can find anything on that site!) and we drove out to Hillsboro to look at it.  The guy had it parked in an RV storage area.  I don't remember exactly why, but at some point during this little endeavor, the guy wanted MacGyver to go to the back of the RV park.  I think for papers or something.  Anyway I was left back with the car.  And they disappeared for, like, 20 minutes.  And having the overactive imagination that I have, I remember thinking, 'well this is great.  This creep has gone and killed MacGyver.'  I was envisioning him chopping up his body somewhere in the back of this lot, and was absolutely convinced that I was next, and just as I was on the brink of a complete hysteric meltdown, they come walking back from wherever they were.  It was a traumatic 20 minutes.  


After a few hiccups and a fair amount of swearing, we got El Stinko home.  Did I mention how loud he is?  L O U D.  Like, could be mistaken for the entire Blue Angels team taking off in our driveway, loud.  And he has that nasty old, musty, stale cigarette smoke smell.  Since El Noiso just sounds silly, we went with El Stinko.  Which is a boy truck.  Because imagining a girl truck as big, and loud, and smelly as El Stinko would just be scary.

Who ever heard of a snozberry?!

Just for clarification, Madam Veruca, this is NOT a snozberry bush.   Though how fabulous would that be?!  It is, in fact, a blueberry bush!  Actually, TWO blueberry bushes.  The package explained the reasons for needing to plant two bushes side by side so they can, YOU KNOW.  Personally, I think it would have been easier to just get them a room and say, "have at it."  It would be better than the driveway, right?  But I was never very good at the whole plant science thing, so I'll take the package's word for it.

Why I'm not allowed to have candles

I was doing some massive cleaning and gutting of the house this weekend and wanted to light some candles to get rid of that people-funk smell our house gets when the weather is bad and I can't open windows. I found a candle at this cute little restaurant/gift shop here in town that is labelled "Pineapple Cilantro."

Fed up.

I swore when we had our most recent bad experience with a particular home improvement store that I would not speak the name of that particular store.  I have since changed my mind.
Are you ready?  LOWE'S!  See that?  I even included a link for you to go to their site just in case there was any confusion about which home improvement store LOWE'S! is.  Yes, all references to the home improvement store formerly known as Lowe's at our house have been changed to, LOWE'S! And no, LOWE'S!, I would NOT like to build something together.  Unless it is a very tall bridge from which I can fling you and all the horses you rode in on.  Actually, no, the horses can stay.

Let's back up a bit and I'll explain this little rant.

When we purchased this house we knew the heating sources were bad at best.  There are three big baseboard heaters downstairs in the main living and dining area, only two of which work; however, those were our "for company only" heating sources.  It costs us about $30-$40 a pop when we turn those suckers on!  Much too expensive for us to use daily.  We'd been looking around and toying with various heating ideas, but those are expensive too.  Like a thousand dollars or more.  And I'm a cheap-ass.

We also sort of figured that we ain't no stinkin' sissies and we'd just sort of tough it out through the especially cold weeks with space heaters and lots of blankets.  Uh huh.

Fast forward to December.  It had been a particularly cold week here in Tillamook, with temperatures averaging in the teens.  We didn't have any flooding this year, and I think Mother nature was feeling rather upstaged by El Nino.  This was her way of letting us all know she needed some attention.  Personally, I think Mother Nature could sue a little therapy to learn how to express her feelings in a more appropriate manner.

MacGyver and I had gone in to town and poked around at the various heating contraptions during those cold weeks, dreaming of a house in which we didn't have to peer around the fog made by our breath when we spoke to each other.  We compared heat output, cost of fuel, wood versus pellets versus ripping our house apart and installing ducting for a heat pump.  But the conversation always comes back to the one topic that is a perpetual thorn is MacGyver' side: I'm a cheap-ass.  And we left empty-handed.

I came home from work a few days later (and this is where I really wish I had taken a picture) to find MacGyver sitting in his chair, buried underneath every blanket we own.  Sticking up out of that mound of blankets were two small schnauzer noses, and he had a space heater sitting in his lap.  On high.  People, I swear to you that moment immediately ranked into the top ten most ridiculous things of all time.  Right up there with the Snuggie for dogs.

And that's when I said, "That's it!  Get your coat we're going to Lowe's!".  We purchased a beautiful pellet stove, complete with the little kit thing that you put through the wall so you don't blow smoke throughout your house or light the house on fire.  It took four guys and a forklift to get it into the car.  A FORKLIFT.  And just to clarify, we do not own a forklift.  So while I am watching this little charade of forklifting our new pellet stove into the car, I give MacGyver the one eyebrow raised look that asks, "How in the world is this thing going to get out of the car, through two doorways, through the kitchen and into the living room, sans forklift?!".  He just nodded and said "it's okay, I got this".  Uh huh.  It weighs 17 metric tons, but he's "got this".

It was late by the time we got back to Tillamook, and I was scheduled to leave at some ungodly hour of the morning for a conference in Salem the next day, so the pellet stove stayed in the car overnight.  I left the next morning for one of the most excruciatingly boring conferences I have ever been to, and while checking my phone every 12 seconds to see if it was 5:00 yet, I got this picture:

Because MacGyver is actually MacGyver come to life.  This, folks, is our back porch.  And what you see here is a 2x4 spanning the distance between the back porch and the Exploder.  He shimmied the pellet stove across the 2x4 and into the house.  If you have ever wondered how much weight a 2x4 can hold, now you know.  Roughly 17 metric tons.

Now, for many, this would be the part where the story winds down into a happy ending full of warmth and lots of happy fire.   I cannot tell you how much I wish that were the case.  Or how excited I was to come home to a WARM house for the first time EVER.  Except that didn't happen.

When I got home the next evening I found one very cranky MacGyver and the pellet stove in various pieces all over the living room.  I was informed that the thing didn't work.  Well, it worked, but only for a few minutes at a time, and then it would jam.  Needless to say I was unimpressed with the whole situation.

So I called Lowe's (which was well on it's way at this point to becoming, LOWE'S!), and I screamed and yelled and threatened that it would be OFF WITH THEIR HEADS! if they didn't come paint my roses red and bring the Jabberwocky over to heat my house.  And in that moment, Lowe's became, LOWE'S!

Okay actually I didn't, but I did get them to agree to exchange the pellet stove.  We just needed to bring it back.  Which, of course, is 65 miles away.  Because that sounded like fun.  So I got to witness the above pictured process in reverse, and back to LOWE'S! we went.

They exchanged our stove and gave us a 10% discount, which was agreeably better than me having to order all the playing cards to chop off their heads.  We brought stove number 2 home and MacGyver had installed in what I'm sure was record timing.

Cue the lights, orchestra and choir:

This seems to be the new favorite spot in the house!

My mother had a brilliant idea should we ever be forced to shop at LOWE'S! again: make our purchase, drive around the block, return said purchase and exchange it for a new one.  This way we can get all of that business out of the way without having to drive all the way to Tillamook and back.  Genius!

Of Mice and Customer Service

Because sometimes even the most well-intended plans fall apart.


A most miraculous thing happened at our house. We saved a little money. Holy crap!! I know!! I told you it was a miracle. So we started to take stock of some things that were dead, or headed that way, because Heaven forbid we should have money sitting around for too long.

On the top of the list were the windows in our bedroom. You can read more about that adventure here. We had been reminiscing about winters past, and decided this year we would not suffer through another winter feeling the rain and wind blast through our bedroom. We have replaced all of the windows in our upstairs except our bedroom. Windows are fairly inexpensive in the grand scheme of remodeling so we thought that would be a good next project.

The night we had agreed on the windows I was making dinner and noticed that it was taking FOREVER for our oven to heat up, and it just didn't seem to be heating up as hot as it should have been. I stuck a thermometer in there, and sure enough, "375" apparently means "310-ish" in our Oven-Land. Which was fabulous. Because ovens are not as cheap as windows. Especially when one is replacing one's appliances with stainless steel. And we're trying to save money.

We realized last night that we have been matching our kitchen appliances to our dishwasher that we bought a few years ago. It makes me think of that Kohler commercial where that woman meets with her architect in a fancy office and in a very dramatic fashion pulls a faucet out of her purse and says, "Design a house around this." Apparently that's precisely what we're doing. We're designing a house around our dishwasher. That's not weird, right?

One Friday while I'm at work MacGyver tells me he is headed to Portland for some errands and he was going to pick up windows for our bedroom. He said he was going to look at ovens and if he found a good one for a decent price he might pick it up. Even though I REALLY wanted a shiny new stove, I figured that I had fly's chance in a frog pond of actually getting one. Because we're SAVING OUR MONEY, remember?

So I come home from work and there is a brand spanking new stove sitting in the middle of my kitchen floor!!! He had hoped to have it all set up and installed by the time I got home. So there is the stove, and there is MacGyver. Super pissed. I can tell the difference between irritated and I'm-going-to-tear-the-face-off-anyone-who-looks-at-me-sideways, and he was pissed. Okay maybe not quite that mad. But he was pretty mad.

So I ask him what could possibly be wrong with him, since he just bought the most beautiful appliance I have ever seen since our new refrigerator!! He says nothing, and points to the stove. Now no one has ever accused me of being the most observant person in the world, but I really couldn't see the problem. It looked fine. Did I mention BEAUTIFUL? I told him I didn't get it, and he jabbed his finger at the sides of the stove where the knobs are. The back part that sits on top that has the oven display and everything? It has been horribly bent. It looks like the Incredible Hulk, or maybe Hulk Hogan, take your pick, has taken it and bent it forward so that the metal holding it onto the stove are buckled. More likely, it was dropped en route to the store. Now that it was pointed out to me, I understood his fury. We live in Tillamook. The store (which will remain unnamed for fear of future defamation lawsuits) is in Hillsboro. An hour away.

We agreed that I would call and speak to them about remedying this situation. So I called and spoke to Bob (name changed - refer to above feared defamation lawsuit). Bob assured me that he would exchange the oven no problem. We just had to bring it back to the store. Oh wait, no he doesn't have any more left in stock. Of course not. He would happily give us the floor model - that EVERYONE HAS TOUCHED. Would there be a discount? Oh, no of course not, it's not damaged. Nevermind this store sold a broken product that you drove it 62 miles home, and have to bring it 62 miles back. Fine. Whatever.

We drove back to the store and found Bob. He found us a manager to arrange the switch. The manager turns to these two stoners standing around probably contemplating how many bags of Cheetos their paychecks could collectively purchase, and tells them to go get a dolly to pick up the broken range and bring the new one out. We go to customer service and make the trade on paper. And then we wait. And wait. And wait. For 25 minutes. At which time Stoner 1 and Stoner 2 come out with a freezer. FOR ANOTHER CUSTOMER.

I should take this opportunity to point out that this freezer has a HUGE gash in the bottom of it. When the customer points this out, Stoner 2 says, "oh it's fine it's just a scratch." No discount for him either. I'm thinking this particular store should change their motto to "we sell busted stuff for regular prices!!"

When the store manager sees that we are STILL waiting, he asks Stoner 1 what they have been doing. Stoner 1 replies, "getting the freezer...ohhhh I didn't know what you wanted me to do with the stove", as he looks at us. Yeah, great buddy. Go smoke another bowl.

We've now been at the store for almost an hour. Stoner 1 tells us he's going to come help us as soon as he's done with the freezer. Whatever. We go out to the car and wait. Next thing we know, Stoner 2 strolls out of the store without his little apron thing. ON BREAK. He glances up and says, "Uhhh oh he'll be out in just a sec." Are you kidding me?

A few minutes later Stoner 1 comes out with Bob and switches out the stove. 248 miles, 5 hours and an extreme amount of tantrum throwing later, we have a new oven range!



It is wonderful. Our food cooks evenly! When it says it's heating up to 375, it's as truthful as a Boy Scout!! And the best part?

It matches the dishwasher.

An open letter to the traffic on our street:

Specifically those who choose to remove the mufflers from your vehicles. I'm talking to you.

You're very proud of the noise you generate. I can tell, because you step on the gas every time you pass our house. This causes our walls to shake, and our windows to rattle, giving the overall impression that our house is about to implode upon itself. It is not an enjoyable experience.

Actually, as I'm writing this, I realize that I should like to extend this letter to emergency response vehicles as well. I won't argue that your use of sirens is necessary. Though I find it very interesting that you have an uncanny knack for blasting your sirens past our house, and then TURNING THEM OFF two houses down. Because apparently it is very important for us to hear that you are on your way to an emergency. Really, it's just weird.

Storms make the situation worse. I realize that the noise coming from your vehicles doesn't necessarily get louder during a storm, but couple that with rain gushing in through old, poorly fitted aluminum windows, and wind threatening to huff and puff and blow our house down, it really does seem worse.

Yes, un-muffled exhaust-laden vehicles, you have proven to be worthy adversaries these last few years. But we have finally won a round with you. Oh yes.

Please allow me to introduce new addition installed into the front of our house, and the inside of our bedroom: NEW WINDOWS!



That's right boys and girls. Brand new, double paned, vinyl shiny goodness from Jeld-Wen. TWO OF THEM!! Do you know what this means? In case you've skimmed the rest of the letter to get to the pictures, I'll tell you. It means that when I am laying in bed at 11:00 at night trying to sleep, and one of you Speedracers goes blasting down our street in all your un-muffled glory, I CAN'T HEAR YOU. Nope. Not anymore. And when those sirens are screaming past our house on their way to an emergency, I DON'T HAVE TO KNOW ABOUT IT!!!

It also means that I will not have to layer my windowsill with paper towels during the winter to soak up all the water that leaks through. And I won't have to watch our windows bend and bow in the wind when it is stormy.

Score one point for our team. Actually, there are two new windows so I think that allows us two points. TWO POINTS for our team!

Plus, we can have the air conditioner in our room now!! It used to be in the spare room across the hall with a strategic series of fans and open doors to cool off our bedroom. Because we're sensitive flowers and do not enjoy the heat. Yes, I'm well aware of how ghetto it may make the front of our house look. And no, I don't care. But thank you for that opinion.

In conclusion, to all the loud, un-muffled, siren-equipped vehicles in Tillamook, if you should so desire to stage a parade past our house at 1:00 in the morning, I say BRING IT!!! Because I won't hear you.

XOXO


P.S.

A special thanks to my father for coming out to our house when he had hoped to be out fishing to help MacGyver install those windows, and even taking one for the team when one of the old windows decided to explode on him. By the way Dad, Snoopy Band-aids are definitely your style! :) Because let's face it, I talk a good talk, but I'm pretty useless when it comes to helping with a lot of this stuff! :) Thanks again!!!