Valentines Day - The Day After

Hubs and I have been married since 1989.  Some of my favorite readers weren't even born in 1989.  Don't deny it, I know.

This is close to two dozen heart days we've been through together.

So yesterday was Valentines Day and there were none of the following......

1.  Flowers

2.  Candy

3.  Cute little stuffed animals

4.  Lingerie

or much to the hubs chagrin......

5.  Sex.

He did offer to take me to Taco Bell, so he definitely knows how to get in my pants, but alas, apparently I'm not to be trusted with sharp objects, blunt objects or heavy objects.  Oh or hot things.  I managed to hurt my back while hubs and I were dragging a ten ton desk out of the back of my truck into the house and once you've been together for twenty plus years you don't want that pain look on your face while you're gettin' busy, so the sex was out.

He sent me a really sweet text and I sent him a sweet one back and that was, as they say, that.

There was a bit of drama as we had to take one of the kitties to the vet and he got a little action via a thermometer for the big day.  Pretty sure he's not a gay kitty.  He was not happy.

Sorry Hallmark, Godiva, Priscilla's and Gund, but you didn't get any money out of any of us yesterday.

We stopped by Food Lion and got the fixin's for a taco salad, watched Food Network and waited for the Kitty Princess to get home from work.  We picked up a little stuffed ladybug for her that sings "Be My Baby" and she squee'd and we called it a day.

Oh and I stalked her newest "guy who is liking me but I'm not sure I like yet" on Facebook.

All in all it was a good day.  A love day.  Just like every other day around the Riley household.

OMG ur my bff ur txt r wtf made me lol

Yeah.  That should probably be 'nuff said, but no, I'll go on.

Texting is convenient.  It's fun sometimes, other times it's semi-necessary.  Like when you remember in the middle of dinner with your parents that you forgot to tell your husband not to mention that your mom's meatloaf gives you indigestion.  Or that your daughter got a new tattoo.

Otherwise, there's a time and a place.

Having existed in a pre-texting world, I know for a fact that there are some things it's entirely possible to do without having a phone either attached to your skull or your fingertips.

I'm going to come up with a texting collar.  Slap it on in the morning and it's like one of those dog collars that gives you a jolt when you go too far.  Pretty sure I'll be using it all the time.

I once went to a gun show and this guy asked me if I wanted to look at a tazer.  I told the guy that would be like giving a ball to a kid on a playground.  Impossible not to play with.  If I had a tazer I'd be in jail within minutes.  Literally.

Since I'm in a mood and texting rules don't really exist, I made my own list for your reading entertainment, and well to be distributed world-wide when the shock collar debuts.


Do not text when you're completing a transaction.  Anywhere.

Do not text while you're driving, even at stoplights because that light always turns green before you're done and then I'm sitting behind you wishing you had on a dog collar so I could zap your rear end repeatedly.

Do not text WHILE I'm trying to have a conversation with you.  UGH!

Do not text during dinner, in or out, dinner is for eating and for talking.  To actual people.  Who talk back.

If you're going to text in the movie theatre, at least turn the volume off so I don't have to listen to your asinine notification tone when you get eight billion texts back during the movie.

Do not text me back with "k".  If I've gone to the trouble to text you, you can at least give me a whole word in return.  Is it really that hard to add and "o" and an "ay"?

Do not forward jokes texted to you to every single person on your contact list.  It's annoying.

Do not text me a photo of you penis or your breasts, if I wanted to see that, I'd have asked.

For this rant, the last and perhaps most important is to remember that English is actually a language and should be used as such.  I don't have a degree in deciphering semi-words or letters into a legible sentence.  Unless you're FOUR and you're texting me, please try to speak in complete sentences.  If you can't survive without throwing in a "u" or a "ur" please just wait until you see me and skip the text altogether, or here's a thought......

Pick up the phone and call me.

Then again, maybe I'm just being a grumpy old woman.  Do you have pet text peeves?

Raising My Mini-Me

For as long as I can remember, my husband has routinely looked at me and my kiddo and muttered something along the lines of "you two are just alike" or "you're just like your freaking mother".  Sometimes it's a compliment, sometimes, not so much!

Since she's gotten older it's becoming more and more obvious just how alike we really are.  I've apologized to her profusely for that by the way.  We feel the same way about most things, we like the same kinds of stuff, she can pick out stuff I love and I pick out stuff she loves.  

We've gotten to the point that no less than two and up to six or seven times a day we have a STOP IT moment.

What's a "stop it" moment?  Well it's when we both say the exact same thing at the exact same time without any prior knowledge or planning.  Not simple stuff like hello, or hey, or how's it going.  Stuff like "Did you see the meteor shower last night" or "Where in the world does Fran Dresher find those awesome little suits" or "I wonder if the Mayans were just playing a practical joke on the entire universe."  Out of the blue, same exact thing.  Weird?  Maybe.  Funny?  Oh yeah.

Well last night we had an emergency.

We had dinner while watching American Idol.  Then around 11:00, we started craving dessert.  Not just any dessert, because I combed the pantry and fridge and nothing there that would work.  No, we wanted cake.  Oooey, Gooey, Thick, Luscious, Melt in your mouth, Chocolate Cake.  

Nothing doing except we run right out and get said cake.

Since when do grocery stores close at 11:00?

Ugh.  Food Lion, closed.  Martins, closed.  

So we figured we'd go to Wally World.  I think we picked the only store in the entire city that what?

Closes at 11:00.

Well the hubs had already said he didn't like us going out that late.  So what did we do?  Told him we'd be fine, we'd only be gone a few minutes.  Then promptly forgot our phones.  Both of us.  Forty five minutes later, I figured we'd better call and check in before he called the cops and reported us missing.  Used a payphone at Walmart to tell him we left our phones at home, told him that everything was closed, that we were going to another WalMart to find cake.  Good deal.

We'd taken her car since it gets better gas mileage than  "Little Miss Can't Pass a Gas Station", so we get back in the car, windows half way down, in our pajamas and slippers, Motley Crue blasting on the cassette player, (Yes, a cassette player, my kid rocks!) and yelling at each other over the music while we weren't singing along to "Smokin in the Boys Room".

She was telling me about a dream she'd had where she owned a Saint Bernard that had a bear head and she was with this guy she used to know walking around in Carytown.  Well whenever a car went by, her bear headed st. bernard would get scared and jump over her head.  When they came to cross streets, he would jump from one side of the street to the other.  There were some other oddities too, but I don't remember them all now.  I do remember in the dream she told her bear headed st. bernard not to do that because it was freaking people out.

Well, that's another thing she gets from me.  The weeeeeird dreams.  Then it happened.

When she finished telling the story, at the exact same time, she said "Thanks for that by the way" and I said "You're welcome."   No pause between when we started talking, no cues or anything, at the exact. same. time. 

I told her it's starting to get creepy.  It's one thing when we say the same thing at the same time, it's a whole nother universe when we start anticipating what the other is going to say and answering before it comes out of the other's mouth.  Seriously though, it cracked us up.  We laughed until we cried.  It was awesome.

We finally made it to an open all night WalMart and discovered why you never go to the grocery store hungry or craving something.  We came home with Double Stuf Oreos, Cream Cheese Iced Brownies, a half dozen Boston Creme Donuts and our cake, which we didn't even cut.  I ate a donut and she had a brownie and we crashed after our most excellent adventure.

How awesome is it that my kid is my best friend in the world?  She just rocks my socks off every single day.

Me and my little Mini Me.  Too funny.

The chewing out we got from the hubs when we got home will be another post entirely!

Do you want fries with that?

I think with age comes a certain lack of tolerance.

Maybe because we know a thing or two about life, or maybe just because we really listened to that "Everything I need to know I learned in kindergarten" book stuff.

Pretty sure they mentioned something about paying attention, or doing your best, or something along those lines.

Things that are apparently ignored at fast food restaurants around the world.

I won't say that I've never made a mistake, although I refuse to admit it in any case.

I've worked as a waitress.  Against my will.

Maybe I'm just old and don't understand how freaking difficult it really is to put an order of french fries in a bag.

How many of you have gone through the drive through of a fast food place only to get home and realize you've got either someone else's order, or your server was a complete and total moron?

My daughter and I gave my husband our order and he didn't even have to ask us to repeat it.  Simple really.

A couple of orders of nuggets, fries and sweet tea.  Easy peasy.

If it had been the first time this has happened, I could blow it off.  Mistakes happen.  People screw up.  Things get crazy.  Orders get messed up.  But really?

Every.

Single.

Time?

I think not.

It's not just Mickie D's though.  BK is just as bad or worse, Taco Bell is quickly catching up and even the elite of the bunch, Arby's is pretty freaking pathetic.

After paying two trillion dollars US for a few sandwiches and some waffle fries, I got fed up with Arby's.  I called them.  Told them I might be having pms or maybe some hormonal imbalances due to the "change" but I'm finding it totally unacceptable to put out a second mortgage on your house for some roasted moo cow only to get home without said roasted moo cow.

Their reply?

"Oh, we're so sorry, you can just run right up here and we'll give you the missing items."

REALLY?

This is where it got ugly, I'm sad to say.

I drive a 2000 Dodge Durango.  I have to pour at least $10 of gas in her just to get her to wake up and turn over a time or two.  Arby's is approximately 8.4 miles from our house.  Round trip of 16.8 miles.  My truck gets about 8 miles to a gallon.  Gas is hovering around $3.50 a gallon.  Do the math people.

I graciously informed the manager that I would not in a million years, no way in hell, he was out of his freaking mind if he thought I would drive back up there and then back home, spending at least $7 in gas to pick up a $5 sandwich.

How do two $5 sandwiches, some fries and drinks add up to two trillion dollars anyway?

Getting back to topic, no.  That's not acceptable.  It's not MY fault their drive through attendants or staff or whatever they call them cannot manage to look at a printed order and compare the items in the bag with said order and get. it. right!

Since the manger didn't seem to like the idea of paying me for gas for my sweet, darling Durango (yes I have to sweet talk her, if she even catches wind of a slur, verbal or electronic, it's war) he agreed to duplicate the order for free the next time we stopped by.  We exchanged names, phone numbers, etc, much like a car accident victim and I was satisfied.  Thought for a moment about feeling guilty for questioning his abilities to differentiate a moron from a human being qualified to read, but I managed to shut it down.

Ugh, I'm wandering into rant territory here.

Have you noticed that if you leave the drive thru and say "Thank you" upon getting your food, most often the response is "You're welcome."  REALLY?    How about "No, thank YOU for choosing our establishment!" or maybe "My pleasure, thank you and come again!"

When did we relegate the morals of customer service to a bunch of tweens who are failing English and can't even make change unless a digital screen tells them how much they have to give you back?

Why am I thanking a kid who looks at me like I've grown a second head when my order comes up to $5.01  and I hand over a twenty and a penny.  Would they really rather gather up three quarters, two dimes and four pennies from the drawer to dump in my hand or on the ground beside the car when they just dump it without even looking in the direction of their actual customer?  Why am I thanking them when they completely "forget" they owe me another fifteen dollars?

Is it just me?  Am I turning into a nasty old woman in my old age?

It's not just fast food either, although they're the worst.

It's everywhere.

The mall, restaurants, bookstores, traffic.  You name it.

I once got into an actual drag race with a 17 year old driving his Daddy's Beamer just to get out of the high school parking lot.  Yes, I'm stubborn.  There comes a time when you have to put your foot down.  On an accelerator or as a figure of speech.

Does anyone teach kids anymore what the word "polite" means.  Or just "manners"

How many times have you been walking into an establishment only to have the door slam shut on you by some snot nosed kid who has no clue the right thing to do is hold the door for the next person coming in behind them?

Then there's the whole texting thing.  Not reserved for kids and teenagers this time.  There should be texting rules.  You should get zapped like those dogs with the collars when you break the rules.  Wow, I just created a whole post for another day!

I remember when cell phones came in bags and about the only thing they were good for was for calling 911 or the coroner.  Sometimes, they could be used effectively as weapons too.

I'm going to go off topic if I keep it up here.

Note to self:  Make notes for future blog posts.  Do NOT go off topic.

Have you ever sat in  your car in the drive thru while waiting for the drive thru person's boyfriend to finish talking to her while standing at the window outside?  Isn't there a sign or something that you can't just "walk up" to the drive thru?  Isn't there a car required in that equation?

To be completely serious, I think there's a lesson to be learned here.  McDonalds was the leading source of employment in the United States in 2011.  They make literally billions of dollars every single year.  And yet they have not a clue about real customer service.  We have enabled them to carry on business as usual because they're convenient.  I know we're all busy, I know there are days when cooking dinner and getting in on the table, just isn't an option.  But should we accept just anything because of it?  Should we just let it go when we pay for things we don't get, or when we get the wrong things?

I've started being bitchy about it.  I call.  I send e-mails.  I call their customer service hotline.  I'm tired of being treated like their next ten dollar bill instead of an actual paying customer.

I totally deserve to get my fries with that.

Superbowl Sunday and a womans place is.....

Not in the kitchen!  At least not in this household.

Sure I might whip up some wings and maybe a taco salad or some potato skins, but for this woman?

I'll be parked in front of the television for all four quarters of the game.

Eating, yelling, burping and maybe even a little fart or two.  Just for effect.

Most likely I'll be wearing my cow pants, sans the cow slippers.  Unfortunately they passed on a month or so ago.  I cried.  I miss them still.

My hair will be mussed and unless I keep on the makeup I wore to church, there won't be any of that either.

I asked the Kitty Princess if she was going to watch the game with us.  Here's how that conversation went.

Me:  Are you gonna watch the game with us Sunday?

Her:  I don't know who does Dad want to win?

Me:  The Giants.

Her:  Who do you want to win?

Me:  The Pats.

Her:  I'm going out.

It'll be fun and games in the Riley household Sunday for sure!

Not me on Superbowl Sunday.

Me.  Superbowl Sunday.  Except with more non-equipment type padding.