Scraps Of Life

Abigail the Puppy Princess

Mom and Dad went to Disney World and all I got was this goofy hat! But don't I look cute?

What a tease!

So yesterday I had to call DirecTV to see why we were not getting the local channels like we were supposed to. Time spent on hold: approx. 20 minutes for the 58 minute total call.

What gets me is the "breaks" in the musak and promo messages: You listening along, trying not to fall asleep on hold, when a message comes on--usually something about the upcoming Pay Per View or How important my call is to them--then, before the message is complete there's a break. Not just a pause, but a white-noise of phone bank operators break that makes you think you've just been promoted to active call status for about 2 seconds, then you're back to musak. Of the 20 minutes I was on hold both before and between servicers I must have experienced this call tease as many times as there were minutes.

The good news is that we (sort of) know what the problem is and V might be able to remedy the situation this weekend. All depends on how the new XTerra stereo installation goes I suppose!

Pleasantries a Nuisance in the Drive-Thru

So today I had an errand to run down to the post office. And since I now have a PIN number I can remember I have grown accustomed to using debit card on these errands, getting $10 cash back, and stopping by Wendy's or Rally's for lunch. Today was no exception.

I pulled up to the speakerbox when it was my turn and spoke the following:
"A number seven with a rootbeer, please."

That please was apparently more than the young man, presumably from around here, the South, where Ma'am and Sir are quite often used along with other such pleasantries such as please and thank you--quite normal, even among some of the sullen teens I know.

Despite that I spoke very clearly what he then asked was:
"A number seven , is that correct?"

Me: "yes?" with some (not unfounded) trepidation.

Speakerbox: "Would you like to Biggie-size that combo for 39 cents?"

Me: "no thank you"

Speakerbox: "And what would you like to drink with that?"

Me: " A rootbeer. Could you repeat the order back to me?"

Speakerbox: "Sure, that was a number 7, PLAIN, with a Rootbeer"

Me: "No, I didn't say plain, I just want a number 7 REGULAR with a Rootbeer."

Silence, I'm sure he was thinking to himself, yes you did, but whatever lady. Then gave me my total and life progressed.

And then I was left to wonder, what did I say that could possibly sound like "plain"? Then I realized, the 'please' had confused him. How sad is it that a simple pleasantry is apparently so little heard in mundane situations that someone cannot recongnize its utterance? I suppose it just means I should be rude and demanding like everyone else to make sure there are no misunderstandings. Sigh...

Duty Before Beauty

I suppose I should mention, just in case I haven't before, that I have a slight, uh, "thing" for shoes. I wouldn't necessarily go so far as to call it an out and out fetish, but Imelda Marcos is definitely a kindred spirit.

So anyway, I'm very picky about what shoes I'll buy and wear. For the most part practicality is not important. Cuteness and the ability to make my feet look dainty is the utmost factor. Oh, and they have to be on sale. (Hey, I may love shoes but I'm also on a budget!)

When it comes to athletic shoes I have a strict "only when absolutely necessary" policy. Basically, I don't like them. But in doing copious amounts of reading and research for my upcoming Disney trip (wohoo!) the mention of footwear was made. Namely that thin-soled shoes would not protect the tooties from the heat radiating up from the concrete walks of The World. Drat. Wouldn't you know I was planning on traipsing around EPCOT in my cute, dainty (thin soled) Keds-style tennis shoes.

Sigh....I knew I was beat I just didn't want to admit it. Even still I hemmed and hawed and finally broke down and bought a pair of very athletic looking shoes. They do nothing for appearances, being a basic white with silver and navy accents, and make my feet look very wide, but at least they do not contain the massive arch supports that make my feet cramp at the mere thought. Dutifully I purchased them and wore them around the house on Sunday and to work on Monday. They survived and so did I, but I really do not like them. Nonetheless I have sufficiently broken them in and shall barely glance at them til it is time to pack for our trip.

I really do not like them!

Laudry Rack Stages Silent Protest

Dateline: Laundry Room

A beleaguered laundry rack voiced its displeasure today while the family it served was at work. A lone witness, the pup Abigail, was unable to accurately report the events of the day.

The lady of the house attempted to enter the laundry room upon her arrival home, only to find the way blocked by the mop, a rack sympathizer.

Previous comminiques had been made by the rack, in the form of drooping ends and disengaged bases, but never anything so drastic. Today's protest was evidently a botched suicide-bombing attempt: its drastic pitch forward and to the side was cushioned by the mound of clothing spilling from it's pole. Only minor reconstructive surgery was required.

Peace talks occurred while responsibilities were redistributed throughout the home. The rack stood its ground and has refused to comment on the liklihood of future protest.

Reunion Part 3

Now after leaving the picnic at the old stomping grounds I had about 3 hours to refresh before the get together at Amanda's. Since Van had decided he had enough of being "the old guy" at these functions and begged off the final phase, I had a little extra time so did the very exciting thing: grocery shopping.

That complete I could get back to the hob-nobbing agenda and was back out the door about quarter to 5. Thank goodness for driving directions otherwise I would have been SO very lost. Who knew that a street by the same name would not lead to the house on the invitation? Thankfully yahoo did and I was probably the only one NOT to try that route.

Most of the guests were the classmates from our 4 years (or more in some cases) of gifted classes, with some band friends of Amanda's and others thrown in. I was surprised, I'll admit, at how easily everything went together. You see, back in school even within the gifted group there were cliques and the main clique was represented tonight--one that I was not really a part of. Many of the reminesces (?) I was not a part of but at the same time no one even really made anything of it. I didn't feel left out, and that pleasantly surprised me.

Connections were funny: like Chris knowing my old roommate Sam through school, or Julie being friends with Van's niece Zan. We talked about those who were not there (mostly in the vein of--do you know what so-and-so is up to). In some ways it was like the 10-year break hadn't happened and then in other ways it certainly had: but time was for the better.

After a few hours we moved to the restaurant for the rest of the evening. We were down in this little corner of the Down Below, just us, a few tables, 3 pool tables, a foosball table, and a jr. Pac-Man game, which Matt was quick to utilize. Orders placed Julie and Matt played a comical game of pool--I'm not certain who won but I'm pretty sure it was Matt.

A DJ showed up in the other room and we suddenly had background music, then a band showed up to compete for stage space. Julie knew the band but was not in favor of their music choices (lots of covers, very few done well). Matt and Chris played pool, and were slightly better matched. Much time was spent dodging sticks in the back. The music, from whatever source, made it necessary to shout to be heard...that and the hilarity of some of the conversations, and I rapidly began to loose my voice.

About midnight I checked my phone to see a voicemail from Van hoping I was okay, and I figured it was a good time to call it a night. I made my good-byes, hoping to stay in touch with them all. Truly determined to at least try!

Overall, there was some let-down in some of the events not panning out as hoped for, but really the way things worked out was so much better. Just over a dozen people in the back room of a bar is much more intimate and lasting than 50 people or more at a hotel cocktail party. Make the best of the situation you know?