Must Every Birthday Include a DOG?

My 54th birthday was this past July 3^rd.  It turned out even worse than the big 5-0 birthday when my husband gave me the gift of a puppy that I didn’t want.  Once again, I wound up getting a dog I didn’t want.

Sigh.

My son & his significant other were asked to babysit a 4 year old poodle & decided they had better things to do, so Gee Mom, Can You Please Please Pretty Please With Sugar On Top babysit this sweet little poodle for us while we go up into the mountains where no cell phone service is available?  Pleeeeeeeeeze?  He was desperate enough to offer to pay me, even.  “Name your price Mom,” he pleaded, “and by the way, Happy Birthday!”

What Ever.

“Ok kid, drop the mutt off at the house & leave a check on the kitchen table,” I told him, not one to turn down some payback for 26 years of torture.  Chuck & I were out enjoying a street festival at the time & we weren’t scheduled to return home for a couple of hours.

When we arrived home, the new dog, whose name I had forgotten, was acting all skittish & hyper, as evidenced by the pile of doggie turds all over my nice clean kitchen floor. Hmmm.  This could turn out to be an even bigger aggravation than I’d originally anticipated. Should’ve charged the kid even more…..

Chuck went to the front door & cracked it slightly to look at the driving rain….and watched  in horror as the Poodle  squeezed himself right through the small opening.  He took off like a shot, out the door & down the street he ran.

Two hours later, in the pouring rain which never occurs in Colorado except when it’s least welcome, we were still trying to corral this dog back into the house.  I drove the car around the neighborhood while Chuck, wearing flip-flops, wading through the puddles and cussing like a sailor, tried to coerce this mutt into the car or back to the house.   I would throw the car in park, jump out & tempt him with squeaking doggie toys& jerky treats, making kissing noises & speaking oh-so-sweetly to a dog I had no idea the name of. “Here doggie…here doggie….” Oh for Petesake, when it rains it really does pour.

Several calls to my son revealed he was incommunicado in the mountains. A call to my daughter who does know the dog’s name revealed she was enjoying a massage & not available either.  Oh that figures!

We almost had him, too, before he suddenly turned left, right before hitting my garage, and took off like a gazelle right out of the neighborhood entirely.

Six hours later, we were still driving around, Desperately Seeking Mikah, which happens to be his name, as it turns out.

This dog was nowhere to be found. He’d run away. The dog we were responsible for was gone without a trace, and now I would have to tell his owner that I’d lost her best friend & closest companion.

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Happy Birthday To Me, once again.

I called Animal Control who took a report & told me to post the dog missing on Craig’s List.

What?

Who is going to post a found or a missing dog on Craig’s List, I wondered?

I posted the plea & emails started flooding in right away!  Thank you dear Lord, someone found the dog!

Remember when Spam was a congealed mess of ham bits & God-knows-what-else that came in a can with a key, available at your Friendly Neighborhood Grocer?

Well, nowadays Spam comes in a new format: as emails from people letting me know that Obama has much millions of unused dollars for my taking only if clicked on these link provided for the convenience of many & just for the asking.

Who knew?

And who, by the way, is Craig anyway & is he aware of all the scams being perpetrated on his List??

It’s now 3 days later. 20 federally illegal Lost-Dog-signs taped to mailboxes & telephone poles later, 9 hours of driving & 2 tanks of gas later, and still No Mikah. Many tears were shed, much climbing through scrub & brush took place, & plenty of accusations were hurled at one & all, but still no dog turned up.

The only thing that did turn up were dozens of unwanted & unnecessary emails from people who had no idea of the whereabouts of the lost dog, but promised me riches beyond my wildest imagination, great prices on prescription drugs with no prescription, and a longer, stronger penis in only 30 days.

For my 55th birthday next year, I’m forbidding phone calls, gifts, cakes, or birthday wishes in any form. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll play it safe and stay in bed all day.

Designer Water: Similar to Designer Jeans?

In the 21st century, it’s become chic to drink designer water, have you noticed that?  We can now choose from a wide variety of different waters…..from the springs of the Rocky Mountains all the way to the glaciers of the North Pole.  We have to decide if we want our water sparkling or flat; flavored or straight; with Splenda or sugar but certainly no High Fructose Corn Syrup, since HFCS are no longer acceptable in our society.  Do we want naturally sparkling water from some spring-fed something-or-other in France, or the non-chic & quite ordinary carbonated type, also known as seltzer?

Designer drinking water is not the same thing as designer jeans, let’s face it.  We pay a lot of money for a pair of jeans to make our butts look cute…..and that, to me, constitutes justified spending. If we lay out a load of cash for a case of water, well, that’s just a load of horse-pucky, as I see it.

Water quenches my thirst & keeps me hydrated; jeans make me look good.  DUH! I think I’ll take my drink of water from the kitchen sink & save my hard earned moolah for the perfectly fitted jeans thank-you-very-much!

Suddenly, it seems, purchasing water has become quite confusing.  Whether it’s distilled water for our garment steamers, sleep apnea CPAP machines, or ordinary drinking water, the entire H2O market has gotten quite complicated & ridiculously expensive to boot.

If I want to purchase some Evian water from France, which, by the way, spelled backwards is Naïve……..I have to spend a fortune to do so.  I wonder why my drinking water has to come from France?  Fine champagne I can understand.  But water?

If I buy a case of water at the grocery store for $3.99, I expect it to have Nutritional Information on the label of each bottle.

Nutritional Information on water?  OK, I suppose I should  make absolutely certain each bottle contains zero calories, zero grams of fat, carbs & protein….just in case that water may blow my diet, but what do they mean by ‘solid parts’ ? Should water contain ‘solid parts’ of any kind? 

For the purposes of writing this article, I fished a bottle of Arrowhead Pure Quality Water out of the kitchen garbage can here at the office. The drinker paid $1 for 20 ounces of 100% Mountain Spring Water “Only from carefully selected mountain springs” all over California. One source of this water comes from Deer Canyon Springs and/or Coyote Springs.  How, I wonder, does one go about ‘carefully’ selecting springs to draw drinking water from?  And wouldn’t coyotes & deer leave deposits in those springs that we humans would not want to drink?

Perhaps that is where the “solid parts” info comes from on the Nutritional Information?

(((((Shudders)))))

I remember watching a television show a while back about a fancy restaurant in New York City that decided to conduct a little survey about drinking water. They offered up about 12 different designer waters on their menu, ranging in price from $3 to $12 a bottle.  The waiters went out back into the alley behind the restaurant, snickering all the way, and filled up the designer labeled bottles with water from the hose. They then offered the diners 3 different ‘brands’, to see which one was preferred.  The diners, unaware of the scam, most often selected the $12 water bottle as ‘tasting best’.  When they were informed of the fact that each bottle contained the exact same water coming from the exact same hose from the back alley, well, lots of embarrassed giggling followed suit.

Was it W.C. Fields who uttered the infamous quote, “There’s a sucker born every minute”?

When I was a kid, I drank water from the hose in the yard. I could care less if the spigot was rusted or what the water tasted like or didn’t taste like…….if I was thirsty, I drank it, and, believe it or not, I’m still alive today. GASP! And, for centuries now, dogs have been drinking water from toilet bowls and they haven’t died off as a species.  Just some food for thought there…..

I read an article the other day about the growing problem with waste management of all these empty water bottles. If all our empties were laid end to end, the bottles would circle the earth twice. Hmmm. I wonder if we’re overdoing it a bit with the designer water bottle craze?

When I dined out with my daughter last week, the waiter asked us what type of water we’d prefer with our lunch.  I told him, “The free kind.”  My daughter looked daggers at me, of course, but guess what?

I. Don’t. Care.

I refuse to go to a restaurant and pay for water. I prefer to save my money for things with just a tad more value……call me crazy, it wouldn’t be the first time.

I heard my daughter discussing ‘bathroom’ water versus ‘kitchen’ water with her friends not long ago.

“How disgustingly gross is it to get a drink of water from the bathroom sink? Ewwwwwwwwwwww! I would rather die of thirst!”

Um, raising my hand here with a question:  Is there a different set of plumbing pipes leading to the bathroom than there is to the kitchen? Because if there is, I have no knowledge of it nor did I pay extra when building the house for ‘clean’ pipes leading to the kitchen versus ‘dirty’ pipes leading to the bathrooms.

“Silly children,” I told these girls, “just make sure you don’t fill your Dixie cup up from the toilet and I’m sure you’ll be ok.”  As a matter of fact, the dogs seem to be just fine in spite of not being tall enough to reach the bathroom faucet.

If you find yourself leaning towards being a Purified Water Snob, or, if you’re starting to wonder whether you should become a Purified Water Snob based on what everyone else is doing, ask yourself a question:

How are ice cubes made? As far as I know, they’re made from regular old tap water. So, even if you do drink bottled water, your iced drink still contains a bunch of cootie-filled little cubes you never even thought about until now.

Raising my glass of good old American Sink Water to let you know it’s OK to Just Say No to Nonsense!

When I Got Back Home From Italy, I Kissed My Toilet Bowl

For two glorious weeks in June, 2009, my brand new husband & I took off for a romantic, fun filled adventure in Italy. It was a delayed honeymoon of sorts, and we had the time of our lives.

There was only one fly in the ointment.

For such a civilized country as Italy, the toilet situation is just as UNcivilized. We take our toilet bowls for granted here. They're clean, they're white, they flush, they have water in them, toilet paper nearby, and doors to close for privacy. The bathroom here in the U.S. is a retreat...a place to go  and sit back, relax & have a moment of peace & quiet.

In Italy, toilets are a horse of another color. While we did have a tiny water closet *WC* on our tour bus, it was for emergency use only. Our tour guide Liz gave us the run down on finding usable toilets in every city & town we visited. We are women...we need toilets....we line up like good little soldiers & do a little dance while we wait our turn to use the blessed WC.

Every single bathroom in every single hotel in Italy has a bidet. The room may be 5 square feet in total but a bidet IS squeezed into the tiny space no matter WHAT. The hotels provide little in the way of luxuries in the bathroom.....one roll of toilet paper, no tissues....maybe a tiny bottle of shampoo & a sliver of soap. But they DO provide shoe sponges. Out of all the toiletry items we COULD use, a shoe sponge isn't one of them. What on earth would I need a shoe sponge FOR? Cleaning my sandals? Shining up my sneakers? Folks, on several occasions, I thought about using that shoe sponge for toilet paper, let me tell you. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

In San Gimignano, dear Liz led me to a latrine. A hole in the floor that you squat over while praying feverishly not to wet the clothing lying down around your ankles. I told Liz I didn't have to go THAT badly....I'd wait for a more civilized toilet.  I'd have used the WC on the bus if I knew my other choice was to be a latrine. Sigh.

We'd stop frequently at gas stations to get coffee & to use the toilets. Most of them don't have toilet seats. Liz told us it was the Italian LAW. Imagine having a law about toilet seats?? If we were lucky enough to find toilet paper, it was a small piece & to be used sparingly yet lovingly. A piece of paper to truly appreciate. Many times I swiped the tiny napkin they gave me with my cappucinno & furrowed it away in my purse for later use.

I ran into a toilet bowl with a seat one day....it was on a spring action thingy & automatically popped up. I was thrilled. I carefully put the seat down & it shot back up violently.  4 or 5 times this happened but I valiantly kept at it...I HAD to make this work. I finally sat my butt down on the toilet seat & I felt a huge sense of accomplishment: I DID it! Next thing I knew, the toilet sprayed water all over my butt!  Who knew I’d be getting a shower along with a tinkle?

When the seat went down, the water automatically started spraying! How gross is THAT? Naturally, there was no toilet paper to mop my butt off with. I slunk out of that stall feeling small & ashamed....the toilet won, I was defeated.

Tourists are able to use the toilets in coffee shops if they make a purchase. Sitting in an outdoor cafe in Florence sipping my espresso, I decided to make use of the WC before taking off. Get while the getting is good. The waitress led me to the back of the shop. She opened a TRAP DOOR in the FLOOR. I started to sweat. Before me lied the steepest, darkest stone staircase I'd ever seen. She motioned me to go down. Gulp. What? Go down into the bowels of the cellar to do my business? Yessiree. I groped my way down to a dank, nasty, red-hot cellar filled with boxes. A tiny door read WC & I knew I'd found my way. But, where was the light? I took out my trusty Bic lighter & waved it around. I started laughing......I'd have to pee by the light of my Bic! And figure out how to do my business one-handed at the same time!  I was frazzled by the time I clawed my way back to Chuck who was calmly people-watching at the table outside. I told him he HAD to go use the WC.....JUST DO IT! I snickered as I watched him enter the shop. He came back awhile later....with a wet stain on his pants! He didn't have a lighter & had to pee in the dark! Ah....I never knew smoking cigarettes could be a GOOD thing after all.

The flushing mechanisms vary widely in Italy as well. Most of them are on a wall panel & just require pushing a button. Others have knobs that you either push or pull. After pulling a few knobs clear OFF the wall, I realized those were the ones that required pushing. One night we had a 9 course dinner in a parking lot outside of a run-down restaurant. They couldn't accommodate 39 people inside so they set up tables on the gravel in the parking lot. Fortunately, the food was unbelievably delicious so the view, or lack of view, wasn't a big deal. We were able to go inside to use the WCs though, fortunately. I found a large stall with a door, I was very excited indeed. I'd be able to do my business in privacy & luxury...yayyyyyyyy!!! When I was ready to flush, I didn't see a way to do it. All I saw was a huge steel lever on the wall. What to do what to do? I gingerly cranked the lever & it came crashing down to the floor with a huge CLANG. That brought the Italian speaking waiter rushing over to my inner sanctuary asking if I was ok. I hung my head in shame as I exited the stall. Why oh why do the Italians make it so darn hard to take a pee I wonder?

We had many more WC experiences in Italy & they were all different...all challenging....all crazy. As a group, we were laughing like hyenas one night as we discussed how we planned to kiss our toilet bowls when got back home.

When I walked through my front door & saw my powder room, I was thrilled & ready to get on my knees & kiss the porcelain. Right then, the doorbell rang & my next door neighbor informed  me that our sewers were sinking. The builder had screwed up the installation of the sewer lines & they needed to be repaired to the tune of $5,000.00 to $15,000.00 depending on the severity of the damage. The porcelain kissing would have to be delayed while I pursued class action suits, lawyers, sewer companies & all the joy that's likely to be involved in this little adventure. 

I can’t seem to escape the Toilet Bowl issues in this country or outside of this country.

Sigh.

Coming home to reality bites.

Cleaning the House For the Cleaning Lady

I treat myself to very few luxuries in life. For the most part, I dye my own hair with my daughter’s help because I don’t have eyes in the back of my head.  I do go to a salon once a month for a haircut & I maintain a set of acrylic, French-tipped nails.  Right before my wedding day on September 6, 2009, I decided to have a set put on so I’d look bee-u-tee ful for my big day & I’ve been hooked ever since.

Acrylic nails never break, they always look perfect & besides, they make great screwdrivers! I can slice open a UPS box with my thumb-nail instead of searching high & low for a real tool to do the job.  What a deal.

So, there you have it. I treat myself to two luxuries a month; acrylic nail re-basing & a haircut. Whoop-de-doo.

Working full time, raising a teenager, 2 bad dogs, a cockatiel & being a full time wife to my dear husband takes up most of my time so I’ve allowed myself to have a cleaning woman come in twice a month.  I’ve had a cleaning woman working for me for the past 15 years or so & let me tell you something; it is very easy to get used to someone else doing the heavy cleaning.

Of course, it’s necessary to straighten up the house prior to her arrival every other Tuesday morning.  If there’s a ton of junk cluttering up all the surfaces in the house, it can be pretty tough for her to move it all out of the way to do the scrubbing.

So, for the most part, I straighten up the house for her arrival. But I don’t leave it spotless because that’s her job.

After the cleaning lady left my house last week, she wrote me a note to call her, which I did when I got home from work that evening.  She wanted to tell me she couldn’t find cotton sheets for the bed so she made it up with the fleece set instead. It’s June & 90 degrees out, but that’s beside the point I guess.   If we suffer from night sweats due to the incredibly hot sheets, so be it, we will live.  If worse comes to worse, I will change the sheets myself (((((putting back of hand up to eyebrow & batting my eyes here, can you feel it?))))))

One must be very careful not to Tick Off The Cleaning Lady Or Else She May Quit, God Forbid.

She had something else to tell me in addition.  The next cleaning she’d do for me would be her last.  Although she ‘loves’ her job, she doesn’t ‘love’ her job at my house.

What?

After  years of loyal service, she was finished with me? Dumping me like an online dalliance who doesn’t have the chutzpah to call & break up with you, but sends you an email instead?

Well, at least she called me instead of texting or emailing….

So, “What’s the problem?” I ask her.

“Well,” she says, “I leave your house in a bad mood every time I clean it,” was her cryptic response.

I pay the woman $100 to clean 1 floor of living space; a kitchen, a family room, a dining room that is never used, a study, 2 bedrooms & 2 ½ bathrooms.  It normally takes her 2 ½ hours  to do the job, which translates to $40.00 per hour for her time.

Forty dollars an hour.  Gee, in my world, that is a lot of money for very little time. Not that she doesn’t work hard for that 2 ½ hours, she does, but $40 per hour is still a lot of money to pay for unskilled labor.

At first I felt panicked at the thought of not having a cleaning lady anymore.  Holy cow, might that mean that I would have to sweep & mop & vacuum & scrub & dust & scrape??

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I collected my wits about me & asked her if she’d like a raise?

“No,” she said, “that wouldn’t make a difference. “

What?

So, if I paid her fifty dollars an hour to clean my house, that still wasn’t enough?

I suppose what she wants is for me to thoroughly clean my house before she arrives!

Wouldn’t that be convenient?

Then she could sit on the couch & eat bon-bons & pop In a DVD to entertain herself instead of working to make $100.

If she’d like to discuss ‘bad moods’ on the job, boy can I tell her a thing or two about a job that puts me in a bad mood, which I do for way under $40 an hour, never mind $50!  My dear former cleaning lady ought to work at my desk, on a computer program that is so fouled up, it takes 4 different Help-Desks to maintain it! Working in the federal government is sort of like entering The Twilight Zone. What other organization on earth would insist on creating 768 pieces of paperwork to pay a $1.55 bill?  I may spend 2 hours on one invoice, or, $34.55 in expenses to pay $1.55.

Insanity? Uh huh.

So please, let us NOT talk about jobs that put a person in a ‘bad mood.’

Maybe I should quit my loathsome job & become a cleaning lady…..for $50 an hour, which would be a huge pay raise for me.   After all, the only crap I’d have to deal with would be located in the toilet bowls & that job would be finished within 20 minutes.  In my current job, I deal with crap all day, 8 hours a day.

But maybe I don’t understand the Rules of Being a Cleaning Lady….

I thought cleaning ladies cleaned. I thought it was expected they arrive at a less-than-perfect looking living space & actually made it look neater & tidier; I thought, silly me, that that was their job!

Maybe I’ll put an ad in the paper & offer my cleaning services, for $50 an hour, and the ad would read something like this:

For Hire: $50/hr: Cleaning lady.  Please be sure your house is perfectly neat, tidy & clean before I arrive at your doorstep.  I don’t do windows, toilets, counter-tops, floors, vacuuming, mopping, dusting, and I do not load dirty dishes into the dishwasher.  My favorite snacks are Doritos, low-salt peanuts, dark chocolate brownies & Fanta Orange soda.  I prefer romantic comedies on DVD; nothing too deep or serious, please, since I cannot risk being in a bad mood when I leave your home. Serious inquiries only, call 555-2345.

Hmmm. $50 an hour to deal with crap, or under $20 an hour to deal with crap.

I may just have to  trade in my computer for a Swiffer.