A Pre-Complaint

Meg knows there is no such word, (she can make up words, too Sarah) but it best describes the feeling she had early this morning when she saw the weather map with a bright purple splotch over her county in Massachusetts. The numbers said 14-20, as in inches of snow. Can you all picture Meg in her cozy bed, wailing at the TV?

Meg thinks she’s had a mostly sunny disposition this winter, but now the whole attitude is taking a turn. Mr. Meg spent 5 hours clearing ice dams from the roof this weekend, as Meg had noticed water dripping inside the house. That’s right, inside. Luckily, I caught that little drip, but sadly, it soaked into the carpet making a nice yellow stain on the downstairs ceiling several days later. So now Meg will have to fix a window casement from dripping, move all the furniture around to paint and fix the ceiling, and spend several days clearing snow. That’s where the whole sunny thing comes to a screeching halt. Because it’s isn’t one storm people, it’s now war.

You see kids, each time it snows, you have to keep up with the accumulation, so you have to run in and out and at the very least, shovel the front walkway for access. Then your plow guy comes after the storm and ponders where to put all the snow, because even he is running out of room. And then several days after the storm, you are still trying rescue your hot tub and deck, make a path for your little dog to run on and do his thing, and you are also trying to create a personal space boundary between your home and the snow, because the snow now has bad breath and it STINKS.

Here’s Meg’s backyard:

Every time I see that sundial which is perched on it’s rather tall pedestal, Meg is all like, yes, I know what time it is, time for a vacation.

Let’s end with a cute snow anecdote everyone!

The town north of Meg and Leo is having enormous problems keeping the streets in their historic districts clear. People can barely park, and snow rage is starting to set in. That town would be Salem, and we all know that witches live there. Quite frankly, they should be using all their powers of good and evil (whatever works best for them) to cast spells and melt that snow. Can’t they do that? Have they run out of eye of newt and toe of frog?

Dear Witches, please contact me if I can assist in any mojo to make this go away. I’ll have my broom warmed up if you need me.


I Can’t Help Myself Friday. State of the Union.

So the State of the Union address was this past week, and yours truly just loved how all the Democrats and Republicans sat together and pretended they weren’t getting cooties from one another. They were all just scrunching themselves into their seats and desperately trying not to brush elbows or make eye contact, and it left Meg in gales of laughter. Don’t get Meg wrong, she loved the President’s speech, but she also loved how how everyone in Congress is just such a poseur and really wanted to erect a force field around themselves like Maxwell Smart.

OK, here’s the question I’m really pondering. After all the pundits weighed in, and the speeches and responses were rehashed, who do you think the bigger beeyotch is, Sarah Palin or Michele Bachmann?

Here is Michele rehearsing her speech:

Oh wait, here’s the real nitwit:

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Umm, does anyone think she was perhaps trying to read off of Sarah Palin’s hand? Yes!

Still astounded? Read the 10 stupidest things she, or anyone on this planet has uttered right here. Minnesota, I don’t know what you were thinking. Please find a spot in your 10,000 lakes for her.

Oh Sarah, you just I love it when you weigh in with the ever fawning Greta Van Susteren, she of the botoxed face that cannot move.

Isn’t she so insightful everyone? Calling parts of the speech WTF moments, raising the specter of Communism, and just generally spouting off like a boiling pot.

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Here’s Jon Stewart challenging Sarah for a little guest spot on his show. WTF. Jon, you know she won’t appear anywhere but Faux News!

OK, darlings let’s all have a martini around 5 today (um, make that 4) and toast ourselves for not having to read off someone’s hand when we make a speech. Because we are so much better than these two.


Can I Get You Another Size?

This is what a saleswoman asked me yesterday when I was in a dressing room at Chico’s. Yeah, I know, who would have thought I was a Chico’s girl, but I like the size range, which comes in 1, 2 and 3. That’s my kind of shopping. Plus, I think if I shop there, I am going to look like the fabulous Chico’s girl, twirling her pearls and leaping into the air in a pair of jeans that fit her so perfectly I want strangle her. Christ, she is having so much in the catalog, that I want to be her friend and join her in all her vacation antics. And look that good, too.

So I cruised the sale racks hoping and find some sweaters that fit. And by fit, I mean I want a sweater that I don’t have to rip from my body the minute I put it on. So the fit part equals “is it cool and made of fibers that don’t mimic a sauna“?

So when the Chico’s chick asked if she could get me more sizes, I was all like, no, you get me a something cooler. Something that has no boiled wool, merino wool, scratchy itchy wool, and no angora fuzz that will drift into my contacts. Something sleek, of natural fiber, and something I won’t sweat in.

She asked me if I was going on vacation, and I replied “no, I’m just going through menopause“. Although a vacation sounds tempting, given the additional 10 inches of snow that dropped last night.

I did score a cute animal print and a coral knit sweater; both of which looked good and inspired me to think about sitting in a nice outdoor cafe in my nifty new outfit, twirling a set of pearls with an entire carafe of wine in front of me. That’s right all for me, I’m not sharing my wine, it’s my daydream. And bring me another while you are at it.


Found and Remembered

I was inspired to go through my closets this past weekend and purge out of style clothes (really Meg, a white long sleeved crocheted sweater?) and unwanted software (hi honey, can we throw out the old Java and Windows crap?) and several antiquated boardgames, the kind where a kid would go “Monopoly Money” – isn’t there an app for that?

As Meg started her sweep of the upstairs, she channeled this old time movie star:

I swear hangers were taking up 95 percent of the room. I also threw out a bunch of my husband’s old stuff, because he is one of those guys that thinks once he can fit back into something, it will look cool. (Trust me, I “lose” or misplace a lot of these things, as in “gosh I haven’t see that t-shirt in ages. I wonder what happened to it“?

I also found a box full of some old school papers and photos, and took a trip back in Mr. Peabody’s wayback machine!

Here’s the cover of an old school project from 5th grade:

We certainly were living in a turbulent time, as evidenced by the words of a young, but sage Meg:

But never fear, she injected a lot of cool sixties humor into that report:

You see kids, when you didn’t want to do something your parents asked you to do, you could get all hippie on them and say “it’s not my bag, Mom“. You would still be in trouble anyway, even if you sounded funny.

Meg’s beloved teacher Miss Waite wrote this one word comment on her math test:

That’s, right, WHY? I keep saying that about math to this day.

Yet, Meg could expound upon both the Industrial and French Revolution with no problem:

Want to see all the stylish fashions of that era?

I know, it looks like an Austin Powers movie. I am the supremely awkward one sporting the lovely pair of cateye frames. I actually surprised myself by still being able to name everyone in the photo. Points for memory on that one.

A lot of things made their way to the local Goodwill box this past weekend, but the most fun of all was sitting cross-legged on the bedroom floor, laughing and smiling, and thinking, I wouldn’t change a thing about what made me who I am.

Except Mom, those haircuts you gave me on the picnic table out back. I gotta call you out on that one.


I Can’t Help Myself Friday. Things That Make You Go Hmm.

I’m feeling a tad surly this morning, as we are being hit with the third significant snowstorm in 6 days, which has given the whole week the aura of Groundhog Day. Not only is the weather making me feel crappy, so is all this stuff:

My new favorite idiot, former Senator Rick Santorum:

“Well, if that human life is not a person, then I find it almost remarkable for a black man to say ‘now we are going to decide who are people and who are not people.”

Huh? What is he talking about? And what the hell is the OTJ Network? Does it mean “Off to Jupiter”? Because I think this guy is from another planet if he thinks he should run for President. Maybe he should team up with crazy Sarah? Bob Kerrey delivered the best line ever about the former Senator from Pennsylvania; “Santorum is Latin for ASS**LE”.

Does Jesse James know how to shut his piehole?

“2010 was actually the best year of my life because I fell in love with my best friend. An amazing woman who stood behind me when the world turned their backs.”

Really Jesse, I can’t imagine why people thought you were a complete toad. And the amazing part is that your “fiancee” isn’t part of a carnival sideshow.

Fountain Lady:

“I’m just like dumbfounded. And all I kept saying was, I fell. I fell. I fell in the fountain. I fell in the fountain.”

Umm, yeah, you were so engrossed in some inane thing on your electronic device you took a header into a Mall fountain. And now you are suing the Mall, because you are an idiot. And also, an apparent check forger and felon.

Shall we end with Jon Stewart today, who gives us a little lesson on civility and discourse in this clip:

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May civility reign supreme this weekend, and please may I emerge from a snowdrift with my sanity intact!


Some Notes on Customer Service

I’m kind of in the mood to boot some bad customer service crap to the curb today, and what better way to do that, than by sharing with you, bloggy friends?

Two weeks ago, your intrepid blogger Meg had a stove top grate slip and drop to it’s death on the kitchen floor, but not before it landed directly on her foot. Luckily, that foot was shod with a sneaker, because crazy things like that happen in her kitchen. Wusthof knives with sharp edges escape from the dish strainer, roasting pans frantically wiggle out of the sink, and so Meg knows, wear footwear in the kitchen to prevent serious injury.

Anyway, after the grate dropped to the floor via her foot, she swore son of a B%*^CH and picked it up. Imagine her surprise when the GE made in China piece of crap snapped like a twig and left her grate in two distinctive parts. I’m not sure where I was on the turnip trick that day, but somehow I thought those things were made of cast iron or some other metal that was impervious to breakage. After close examination, it was apparent that the grate was some sort of composite, perhaps of a substance gathered in the nether regions of China from a contaminated mine, but that’s what makes GE executives rich, right?

So here’s the deal. Meg stupidly orders the part from the nemesis, General Electric. GE takes it’s sweet freaking time sending the grate, to the tune of “Oh My God are you FU**ING kidding me?” dollars, but hey you can’t cook on a stove with the damn thing, right?

Fast forward to this week, when the grate arrives. And Meg thinks great! (Ha, get it?) She sees the part sitting on her front step, in scant packaging. She open the meager box up, and discovers that no bubble wrap or protective material has been wrapped around the part. Well, that certainly doesn’t auger well, does it?

And sure enough, the grate was unpacked, and determine to be, yes, CRACKED AND BROKEN.

Meg quickly and decisively picked up the phone, and called GE Service. She listened to the 2 dozen menu options, none of which said “press #2 if you bought our inferior parts” .

She reached her service rep after several minutes of MUZAK, and relayed her distress about the part:

Me: Umm, Billy Ray Bob, the part arrived in pieces. Thoughts?

Billy Ray Bob: Well maam, I’m gonna give you an RA number for that.

Me:OK, Billy Ray Bob, what might that entail?

Billy Ray Bob: Well maam, you just write this number on the box and Fedex will pick it back up.

Me: OK, Billy Ray Bob, I’m going to package this part back up the way it came. With no bubble wrap, just exactly like it came, because I’m pretty sure that’s why it arrived in that condition.

Billy Ray Bob:: Awwright then maam, that’ll be jest fine.

Did anyone detect an apology for the part arriving like that? A concern that the service department sends out S**T wrapped in NO S**T and might you want another part shipped to you?

Luckily, I DID NOT want another part shipped, I wanted to find another source. I did find one that day, and received my new part within 48 hours for considerably less money, and it was properly packaged and shipped.

And this might sum up the feeling of the head honchos at GE, who probably *should* start taking a few notes:

Care to share a story, anyone?