So a month or two back there were a couple of break-ins in our neighborhood. A few houses were burgled. That's what burglars do, right? They burgle stuff. Anyway, unbeknownst to me a war was raging between our neighbors. Not a real war, although one guy put up some razor wire and does have an aircraft carrier parked in his driveway (I think I would see this as an act of aggression, but everyone else seems to be ok with it). The real war is a war of words raging on the Home Owners Association Message board. I didn't even know we had a message board, in fact I don't really know how I found out that it existed. But I've copied and pasted some of my favorites. Theses are all direct quotes. Its good readin'.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Won't you be my neighbor?
Saturday, May 23, 2009
On Restriction
Until recently I haven't really been too concerned about travel restrictions. Some of them just make sense. I mean, it is fairly obvious that 4 ounces of hair gel is way more dangerous than 3 ounces. Especially if it is not stored in a transparent zip top bag. And what about those lethal tray tables. It is common knowledge that if left in the down position during take off or landing lives will be in danger.
But lately there is one travel restriction that I find to be absolutely ridiculous and almost unbearable. The restriction? No strollers on the escalator at the mall. Why no strollers? I don't know. I don't see stickers plastered everywhere restricting any other four wheeled vehicles from using the escalator. Does that mean if I was traveling via, say, a riding lawnmower I am good to use the escalator? What if I was pushing one of those media carts that your elementary school librarian used to push the laser disk player and TV on. Ahhh, laser disks. Do you remember laser disks? You know, a paper thin disk the size of a tire swing that played low definition movies. Can't believe those didn't take off. Anyway, I guess I could take one of those on the escalator, because it isn't expressly forbidden.
But lately there is one travel restriction that I find to be absolutely ridiculous and almost unbearable. The restriction? No strollers on the escalator at the mall. Why no strollers? I don't know. I don't see stickers plastered everywhere restricting any other four wheeled vehicles from using the escalator. Does that mean if I was traveling via, say, a riding lawnmower I am good to use the escalator? What if I was pushing one of those media carts that your elementary school librarian used to push the laser disk player and TV on. Ahhh, laser disks. Do you remember laser disks? You know, a paper thin disk the size of a tire swing that played low definition movies. Can't believe those didn't take off. Anyway, I guess I could take one of those on the escalator, because it isn't expressly forbidden.
Why all the whining? Why not just take the elevator, you say? Have you ever tried to find an elevator in the mall? They put one in each department store at opposite ends of the mall. As if fighting your way through a sea of prepubescent teens to another zip code wasn't bad enough, you then have to hope the signs will actually lead you to the elevator. I swear one department store we were in made you circle the store twice before finally coming to the elevator stashed in the furniture department. Who knew department stores had furniture departments? Who says, "Hey honey, lets go to the mall and pick up an Orange Julius and a chaise lounge?" I swear, its like trying to find a warp zone on Super Mario Brothers. The other option is to use the one well-marked elevator out in the open. The only problem with that, is that anyone with a stroller is also looking for that same elevator and the line looks like cattle headed to a slaughterhouse. When (or if) you actually make it to the elevator you get jammed in to a shoebox which clearly is not made to hold more than 2 people let alone the SUV's of the stroller world. And once you're in there, the tension builds. Here you have two estrogen enraged mothers each with this new bundle of joy in their lives. They are used to people gawking and oohing and ahhing over their little man cub. Along for the ride are the husbands who in the event of a physical altercation would be forced to make some attempt to protect their baby's mama. The akwardness is potent and nauseating, like a fart in the shower. Its like bringing two sumo wrestlers to an all-you-can-eat buffet, egos will be crushed and someone's going home hungry...for attention. Rarely can the silence last. It is usually broken by some lame line like, "So... how old is he, or...uhh... she?" Having spent years creating akward silences, I am never the one to crack under the pressure and actually relish the opportunity to watch the other couple squirm. You can almost see the discomfort pour out of the opening elevator doors as the couples back out their little baby movers, careful not to make eye contact with each other.
All of this could be avoided if they would just let strollers on the escalator. What is keeping me from giving it a try? I know what you're thinking, "You don't seem like the type to follow all the rules. Especially the dumb ones." I mean really, will some kind of alarm go off if I take the stroller on the escalator? The truth is, at the bottom of the escalator sits Frankie, "The Triangle's Smallest Balloon Artist." Honestly, do they really expect me to believe that a there is seriously a midget balloon animal maker? Come on, it is too obvious. And too convenient. Franky is clearly an undercover agent sent to keep people like me from enjoying the convenience of an escalator trip with my family. So for now Frankie and his escalator mafia win and I am relegated to riding the elevator. Which I guess isn't the end of the world, as I did see a nice entertainment center last time through.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
I've been to Hell and back
You know, I’m not real sure exactly what Hell would be like. I obviously hope to never find out. But the image of a burning fire and brimstone Hell seems kind of silly to me, because I think you probably would eventually just acclimatize to the heat and it can’t really be so hot that it kills you, because you are already dead. Then, if there is a lake of fire there has to be a beach at the lake, right? Sounds like a party to me! And if the people who you traditionally think of as going to Hell actually go to Hell, then they are most likely looking for a party anyway, right? So I have always thought of Hell as a more personalized place. A place specially tailored for each of as an individual. Recently I had a taste of my own personal Hell. It is a little place called…Babies- R-Us! I don’t know if anyone has been here, but it is a place where women wander around aimlessly led by lists of stuff that the registry book has convinced terrified mothers-to-be they can’t live without, but that no one actually needs. Mothers have had children for thousands of years without having a timer that “syncs to the baby’s natural cycle” and notifies you when it is time to feed them. Now admittedly, I am not a father quite yet but I always thought the screaming baby would be a pretty good indicator of its need for attention.
Men have it worse than the women. At least the women have some kind of goal associated with their visit. The guys that wander around have this glazed-over look and just consistently nod their heads and mutter under their breath over and over again, “Yes, dear. What ever you think is best, dear.” What is really going on in their head involves something more along the lines of: “A wipe warmer? What on earth do we need a wipe warmer for? I had my butt wiped with cold wipes and look how good I turned out. Millions of years…cold wipes…let the baby choose… dirty diaper or cold wipes… can’t we just microwave them…? (Men actually mumble in their thoughts too).” But all that comes out is, “Yes, dear. What ever you think is best, dear.”
You see, the strategy here is two fold. First, by agreeing with everything, we hope that we can get out of the store faster. Two, we are concentrating on running a real-time cost-benefit analysis. We are comparing the monetary cost of whatever far flung object our baby momma is insisting that our offspring will perish without, to the emotional, opportunity, and occasionally, physical cost of an angry wife. It usually goes something like this:
Wife: Look at this; I think we need one of these.
Man: $42.99 for a wedge of foam to hold the baby’s head at a perfect angle while preventing a flat spot on its soft skull. Hmmm, sounds important.
(Meanwhile, in his head): $42.99, are you serious? Why don’t we just burn it? At least then we could warm our hands before it is completely wasted. But if I say no, she will be mad at me for the rest of the day and think I don’t care about the baby.)
Man: Yes, dear. What ever you think is best, dear.
Pretty much no monetary amount is worth saving if it causes you to go toe-to-toe (belly) with a hormonally driven, emotionally unstable pregnant woman. Especially when surrounded by a store full of other hormonally driven, emotionally unstable pregnant women, you’re in their world, now. That’s like attacking Al-Qaida in their mountain retreats. You don’t win those, and very rarely do you walk away alive. So instead, you slip into a semi comatose state and silently monitor the dropping balance of your checking account. It hurts, I know. And there is no epidural for that kind of pain.
In my case, there is a third reason to agree with everything. There is a REI next door and if I behave, then I get to go in there for a minute.
Part of what causes me to suffer so much while there is the stupidity of the some of the products. Gallons of “Nursery Purified Water.” How on earth can you be a good parent and feed your new baby normal purified water when you can pay $4 a gallon for “Baby Water?” Then there is the big sign hanging over the gift section called “Birth and Up.” Is there another option? Birth and before? What, are we giving prenatal gifts now? Really? Not to mention the baby blanket that says, “Boys Rock!” I think I am going to spend the first 20 years of my daughter’s life trying to prevent her from even knowing that boys exist, let alone rock.
I guess that Babies-R-Us can’t actually be my Hell because I did chuckle at a couple of things while there. The first was the 17 year old boy who proudly wore his purple employee’s shirt as he helped the customers find things they didn’t need. What on earth would inspire a teenage boy to work at Babies -R-Us? Did he lose a bet? Is he a little sweet? I asked my wife and she suggested maybe it was to pick up chicks. Like taking Home Ed in high school. If that is the case, well done buddy, well done.
The other thing that made me laugh was the, “Go, Diego Go!” potty training toilet seat. I looked around for other seats that were personalized toilet seat like, “Go, Tommy Go!” or, “Go, Sally Go!” ‘Cause a little encouragement can go a long way! It was even funnier when I found out that Go Diego Go is the name of a TV show and not just a vigorous encouragement for a Spanish boy to use the potty.
All things considered, I think my personal Hell will most likely be a combination of Babies-R-Us and window shopping, with a smattering of “What not to Wear” and a full season of the WNBA thrown in for extra suffering.
Men have it worse than the women. At least the women have some kind of goal associated with their visit. The guys that wander around have this glazed-over look and just consistently nod their heads and mutter under their breath over and over again, “Yes, dear. What ever you think is best, dear.” What is really going on in their head involves something more along the lines of: “A wipe warmer? What on earth do we need a wipe warmer for? I had my butt wiped with cold wipes and look how good I turned out. Millions of years…cold wipes…let the baby choose… dirty diaper or cold wipes… can’t we just microwave them…? (Men actually mumble in their thoughts too).” But all that comes out is, “Yes, dear. What ever you think is best, dear.”
You see, the strategy here is two fold. First, by agreeing with everything, we hope that we can get out of the store faster. Two, we are concentrating on running a real-time cost-benefit analysis. We are comparing the monetary cost of whatever far flung object our baby momma is insisting that our offspring will perish without, to the emotional, opportunity, and occasionally, physical cost of an angry wife. It usually goes something like this:
Wife: Look at this; I think we need one of these.
Man: $42.99 for a wedge of foam to hold the baby’s head at a perfect angle while preventing a flat spot on its soft skull. Hmmm, sounds important.
(Meanwhile, in his head): $42.99, are you serious? Why don’t we just burn it? At least then we could warm our hands before it is completely wasted. But if I say no, she will be mad at me for the rest of the day and think I don’t care about the baby.)
Man: Yes, dear. What ever you think is best, dear.
Pretty much no monetary amount is worth saving if it causes you to go toe-to-toe (belly) with a hormonally driven, emotionally unstable pregnant woman. Especially when surrounded by a store full of other hormonally driven, emotionally unstable pregnant women, you’re in their world, now. That’s like attacking Al-Qaida in their mountain retreats. You don’t win those, and very rarely do you walk away alive. So instead, you slip into a semi comatose state and silently monitor the dropping balance of your checking account. It hurts, I know. And there is no epidural for that kind of pain.
In my case, there is a third reason to agree with everything. There is a REI next door and if I behave, then I get to go in there for a minute.
Part of what causes me to suffer so much while there is the stupidity of the some of the products. Gallons of “Nursery Purified Water.” How on earth can you be a good parent and feed your new baby normal purified water when you can pay $4 a gallon for “Baby Water?” Then there is the big sign hanging over the gift section called “Birth and Up.” Is there another option? Birth and before? What, are we giving prenatal gifts now? Really? Not to mention the baby blanket that says, “Boys Rock!” I think I am going to spend the first 20 years of my daughter’s life trying to prevent her from even knowing that boys exist, let alone rock.
I guess that Babies-R-Us can’t actually be my Hell because I did chuckle at a couple of things while there. The first was the 17 year old boy who proudly wore his purple employee’s shirt as he helped the customers find things they didn’t need. What on earth would inspire a teenage boy to work at Babies -R-Us? Did he lose a bet? Is he a little sweet? I asked my wife and she suggested maybe it was to pick up chicks. Like taking Home Ed in high school. If that is the case, well done buddy, well done.
The other thing that made me laugh was the, “Go, Diego Go!” potty training toilet seat. I looked around for other seats that were personalized toilet seat like, “Go, Tommy Go!” or, “Go, Sally Go!” ‘Cause a little encouragement can go a long way! It was even funnier when I found out that Go Diego Go is the name of a TV show and not just a vigorous encouragement for a Spanish boy to use the potty.
All things considered, I think my personal Hell will most likely be a combination of Babies-R-Us and window shopping, with a smattering of “What not to Wear” and a full season of the WNBA thrown in for extra suffering.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Dear Netflix,
I wrote this letter to Netflix before I realized that you can't contact customer service via email. You have to call them. Who would have thought? A big, new, high tech internet-based company and you can't email them. Crazy, I know. I guess I'll have to call.
To Whom It May Concern:
I have been a loyal customer for several years now and I really love the service you provide. You guys have always been great to me and I have a small favor to ask and I am hoping that you can help me. You see, I have been waiting on a couple of movies that have been at the top of my queue for several months, but they keep getting skipped over. In fact, one of them says “Long wait” and the other says “Very long wait.” Generally, this would not be a problem; I can wait for most movies. However, the movies that I am waiting for are titled, “Laugh and Learn About Childbirth: Disc 1 and Disc 2.” And frankly, I think I’m running out of time. I’m thinking I’ve 2 weeks. Maybe 3 weeks, tops. At this point I don’t really care so much about the laughing part, but the learning I think might be something I need to experience. You see, we went to this “How to survive the first 3 months with your new baby” class not too long ago, so I feel like I have at least some idea about what I’m facing there. But when we were there I saw some pictures that I didn’t quite understand and have me slightly terrified. Hence, the need for childbirth videos. I recognize that getting any kind of medical or parenting advice from a video is kind of shady. I understand that, but I’m ok with it and at this point I don’t really have a choice, as all the local classes are full. You guys have the ability to keep me from being forced to get that information from YouTube. Think about. Do the right thing. I’m sure that there may be other people in my shoes, but did they send you an email? I promise I’ll watch it the day I get it and stick it right back in the mail. I might watch it twice if it is really funny or if I need to take notes. But either way, right back into the mail it goes. Thank you for your consideration of my special request. Please let me know if you can help.
Thanks,
To Whom It May Concern:
I have been a loyal customer for several years now and I really love the service you provide. You guys have always been great to me and I have a small favor to ask and I am hoping that you can help me. You see, I have been waiting on a couple of movies that have been at the top of my queue for several months, but they keep getting skipped over. In fact, one of them says “Long wait” and the other says “Very long wait.” Generally, this would not be a problem; I can wait for most movies. However, the movies that I am waiting for are titled, “Laugh and Learn About Childbirth: Disc 1 and Disc 2.” And frankly, I think I’m running out of time. I’m thinking I’ve 2 weeks. Maybe 3 weeks, tops. At this point I don’t really care so much about the laughing part, but the learning I think might be something I need to experience. You see, we went to this “How to survive the first 3 months with your new baby” class not too long ago, so I feel like I have at least some idea about what I’m facing there. But when we were there I saw some pictures that I didn’t quite understand and have me slightly terrified. Hence, the need for childbirth videos. I recognize that getting any kind of medical or parenting advice from a video is kind of shady. I understand that, but I’m ok with it and at this point I don’t really have a choice, as all the local classes are full. You guys have the ability to keep me from being forced to get that information from YouTube. Think about. Do the right thing. I’m sure that there may be other people in my shoes, but did they send you an email? I promise I’ll watch it the day I get it and stick it right back in the mail. I might watch it twice if it is really funny or if I need to take notes. But either way, right back into the mail it goes. Thank you for your consideration of my special request. Please let me know if you can help.
Thanks,
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)