Stealth Mode

Back in June of 2011, I towed my VW trike down to Paragould, Arkansas, to have the transmission converted from manual to automatic, among other things.  Almost two years later, and I was finally able to bring her home this Memorial Day weekend.  It's at the very end of the journey home that this story takes place.

Two whole years; I could hardly believe it.  I never would have dreamed it would take so long.  I had so wanted to ride home, but the engine hadn't been properly broken in yet, so it was recommended to trailer it.  A friend went with me and let me borrow a trailer.  It was a tight squeeze, but we finally managed to get the trike tires stuffed between the wheel wells of the trailer. 

Approximately 14 hours later, we arrived at my friend's house at 1:30am.  After much pushing and prodding, the trike was extricated from the trailer and ready to roll.  Exhausted but happy, I planned to use my last bit of energy to make the maiden voyage home.  I pulled away from the curb around 2am.

The sound of the purring engine, the cool wind whipping past, it was exhilarating! Cycle therapy at its finest.

The ride was going fast and soon I was on Highway 394.  But as the Penn Avenue exit approached, the engine suddenly died.  I quickly took the exit and coasted to the intersection.  Just as I reached the intersection, the engine came back to life and I started driving down side streets to see if the engine would continue running.  It did, and I eventually drove back to Penn Ave to get back onto the freeway.  I noticed a trooper had someone pulled over a block behind me and I could see flashing lights on the freeway below.  Apparently the cops had a sting set up for drunk drivers on this lovely Memorial Day weekend.

While I was waiting for the light to change so I could enter the freeway, the trike died.  Crap!  I quickly shut everything off.  My trike has two gas tanks with a lever to switch back and forth.  When I was leaving, I asked my friend to turn the lever to the main tank.  I took off my glove and felt for the lever below me.  It was set to the auxiliary tank instead of the main tank.  Whew!  Easy fix!  I flipped the lever and quickly stuffed my glove back on.  The stoplight was beginning its third rotation.  I was sure if I didn't move soon, the trooper  in the next block would come to see what my problem was.  I really didn't feel like talking to the police at 2am!  Trike started easily, light turned green, and I was off!

Before I reached Highway 100, I passed three more troopers with cars pulled over.  It sure is a good thing I don't drink and drive! 

As I was heading up Highway 100, a car pulled up beside me.  My trike tends to draw attention, so I am used to this.  I looked over at the car, expecting to see someone giving me a "thumbs up" but the guy was gesturing wildly.  Oh great, a psycho!  Just what I need at 2:15am!  Then he rolled down his window and tried to add yelling to his wing flapping.  Ugh!  My mind started racing through all the things that could be wrong with the trike, but I just shrugged at him because there was no way I could make out what he was saying.  Finally he quit flapping and started pointing toward the front of the trike.  Now we were getting somewhere!  I raised myself above my short windshield and looked....  Crap!  My lights weren't on!  I yanked them on and all was right with the world.  Crazy Man sped away.  Thank you, Crazy Man, you're the best!

I had been in such a hurry to get back on the freeway that I had forgotten to turn on my lights.  My current headlight is rather dim and the highway lights were bright.  I never even noticed.  And apparently the troopers didn't either, because I passed three of them while I was riding with no lights and not one of the troopers came after me.  I will have to thank the person who did the work on the trike for giving me a stealth mode option. 

Oh.  Did I mention my trike is green?

Don't cry over spilled oatmeal

For those of you who have ever had a difficult in-law live with you, this one is for you.

The best way to describe the state of my mother-in-law's mind at the time of this incident would have to be delusional.  For the whole time we lived under the same roof, she always seemed to be in her own little world where nothing else mattered but her wants and desires.  I think she would have been happiest if we had relinquished the reigns of the household into her "capable" hands.

This story took place in our kitchen, late at night, on one of the hottest, muggiest nights of the year.  Our air-conditioning had never been the greatest.  When the sun would beat down all day and the temps were in the 90's, we were lucky if it was 10 degrees cooler in the house.  Trying to sleep in that weather was always difficult for me.

My mother-in-law loved to cook large batches of food that she would nibble throughout the week.  Unfortunately, she loved doing this at night, usually around midnight or later.  The problem was, I had to get up in the morning and go to work.  Struggling to fall asleep in the heat and then having to endure the smell of her food as she was cooking, did not make me very happy.

No matter how many times I told her to cook during the day, (since she didn't have a job and was home all day) it always ended up being close to midnight before she'd pull out the Le Creuset cast iron pot.

Her favorite thing to make was oatmeal, a whole vat of it at a time.  

On this night, I saw the telltale signs around 11 p.m. or so.  Pot on the stove. Oatmeal container next to it.  I started to get worried.  With the heat I didn't know how I would get enough sleep to face the next day at work.  I politely asked if she could wait until the morning, since it was supposed to cool off the next day.  I thought I got through to her.  It would have been a first, but I was hopeful.  I went back to my room.  

About 5 minutes later, the smell of oatmeal danced down the hall and into my nostrils.  It probably wouldn't have been so bad, but I knew what was coming next.  She always put creamy JIF peanut butter in her oatmeal.  Not only would I have to endure the extra heat and humidity that boiling food on the stove would cause, but now I would have to try to ignore what smelled like peanut butter cookies wafting through my room.  Peanut butter cookies….I love peanut butter cookies!  Aughhhhhhh!

I tried to stay calm.  I tried to be understanding.  But why, when she always did what she pleased and didn't care about anyone but herself.  Anger started rising.  Must…stay…calm.  I knew if I went out there it was going to be ugly.  Patience…..understanding…………PEANUT BUTTER!  A scream ripped through the inside of my head, "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY MORE!!!!"

Down the hall I went.  I was about to do something I had never done before in my entire life, I was going to completely lose it.

Mother-in-law was at the stove, merrily stirring her bubbling vat of faux-cookie-smelling-oatmeal.  I gritted my teeth.  I went over and opened the kitchen door that leads out to a nice screen porch and flipped on the lights.  Circling back, I grabbed a couple of pot holders, went over to the stove, and whisked away the vat while she was still stirring.  Then I barreled out to the screen porch, fumbled with the screen door with my hands full, stomped down the wooden steps to a cement patio, and hurled the cast iron pot, and the sloppy glop within, toward a sloping flower bed a few feet away.

By this time, mother-in-law had wandered out to the screen porch, dazed and confused and angry.  

"Well!  Bring it back in here so I can wash it because I'm not going out there to get it!" she said in her annoying clipped, snotty voice.

Is it possible to go beyond completely losing it?  Why yes, yes it is.  And I went.  Completely.  Beyond.

While she was speaking, I had started back up the steps, but at her words, I stomped back down them again.  I rushed toward the flower bed, not seeing a landscaping rock hidden in the shadows, and fell to my knees.  I was up on my feet again like a springing cat.  I felt no pain.  I dashed over to the pot, no potholders this time, and yanked it up by the handles. I think the heat of my rage was hotter than the pot, because it didn't burn me.

Like a discus thrower at the Olympics, I hurled that pot with all my might into the back yard.

"Well!  It can just stay out there because I'm not going out there to get it!" she quipped in the same snotty voice.

"GOOD!" I yelled back, "IT CAN STAY OUT THERE 'TILL HELL FREEZES OVER!!!!!"

I stomped back up the steps to the screen porch as she wandered back into the house.

"Well!  Now I don't have enough oatmeal to make another batch!" she fumed.

"GOOD!" I yelled at her again, stomping down the hall and slamming my door as hard as I could.

I still didn't sleep well that night, but I sure got a lot out of my system!  That pot sat forlornly in the green grass for a couple of days before we called a truce.  

While writing this, I got curious and measured the distance I hurled that silly pot.  Approximately 35 feet.  Not bad!  

The Spider Chronicles 2012

Every spring, when Minnesota weather is still trying to decide between winter and spring, the creepy crawlies scurry into the house during the cold and wet spells.  My main nemesis: the yellow sac spider.  Since it would be really boring for me to say, "I killed a spider," this spring I have been writing crazy little blurbs when I kill one.  Highly embellished, but sprinkled with truth, the following is my collection know as "the spider chronicles."  Enjoy.

March 30, 2012
As I reached to turn on the water in the shower this morning, I was suddenly confronted with a tap-dancing yellow sac spider singing "Hello my baby, hello my honey, hello my rag-time gal." So I killed it. It's too early in the day for singing spiders.

April 25, 2012
My past caught up to me last night when a yellow sac spider confronted me asking where his singing and dancing soul brother was. I asked him what he did. He said he was part of a Mariachi band. So I killed him. It was too late at night for a spider with maracas.

April 30, 2012
As I was on my way out the door this morning, I was surprised to see a baby yellow sac spider wielding a pin-sized sword. So I asked him, "What is your schtick, peewee?" The baby stood it's ground and said "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." So I killed him. I didn't have time for melodramatic spiders.

May 5, 2012

As I shut off the light in the kitchen last night, I saw movement on the ceiling and heard the jingle of tiny carabiners. I quickly turned the light back on and saw a yellow sac spider, with the tiniest green beret ever, frozen in mid-air and staring back at me with a sheepish grin. "Oorah?" he squeaked in his high-pitched voice. "What on earth is going on here?" I countered. "That's classified, Ma'am" he said, trying to look menacing. So I cut his line and killed him. The only one doing a black ops mission in the kitchen after midnight is going to be me.

May 30, 2012
Waiting for a stop light on the way home from work Tuesday, suddenly a big gangly spider was boogeying across my windshield! I frantically reached for the button to put the window up, but not before I heard the theme from Shaft drifting in from the itsy bitsy boom box he was carrying. Next I scrambled for the windshield wiper to wipe him out of existence, but he just busted a few Deney Terrio moves, thumbed his nose at me, and boogied out of view. Canyadigit?

Microsoft logic: an oxymoron

I try to avoid Microsoft products whenever possible, but it is usually inescapable at my place of employment.  This morning I had the privilege of witnessing the logic of Microsoft "security" in action.  


I started my work day like I always do, by logging on to the Microsoft network and opening Outlook to read any new mail.  After that, it was time to start the real business of the day.  Everything was running smoothly until about an hour into my routine.  Suddenly, a dialog box popped up announcing that I needed to log into Outlook.  Hmmm...I was already logged into Outlook and it was working just fine.  I tried re-entering my password, but the box didn't go away.  That was annoying.  I finally clicked the close button to get rid of it.  I hoped that was the end of it.


A short time later I found the need to look up something on the internet.  I opened Explorer and tried to authenticate through the firewall.  It told me my user name or password was incorrect.  No they weren't.  So I entered them again.  And got the same error.  Ugh!  First mail and now the internet.  I tried a couple more times but got the same error.  Was there something someone wasn't telling me?  Did I need to ask my boss if I still had a job?  No no no.  This was ridiculous.  So I submitted a support ticket to our IT guru.  


The guru replied a couple minutes later.  My password had expired at 9:05 am and I needed to log in again.  Are you kidding me?  I could understand if the password expired and a new one was demanded at the next log in.  Oh no, it just quit working.... without any explanation.... and locked me out of my account.  Thank you, Microsoft.  That made me feel so much safer.  I no longer needed to worry about me stealing information from myself, because Microsoft had my back.


I'm not extremely familiar with Microsoft, but I seem to recall in the recesses of my mind that they had a annoying dancing paper clip at one time.  I haven't seen it in the version we use at work, but my guess is that he is hiding in the code somewhere, waiting to mess with people when they least expect it.

Green Eggs and Ham?

The Problem...

There was one episode that pre-dated our limecapade, but it definitely deserves mention.  It was the night before my boyfriend shipped out for his two weeks active duty in the Navy.  It was late, and we were tired, so we went to the local 24 hour restaurant for supper.  We were both actually in a breakfast mood, so my boyfriend decided he was going to order his favorite, Eggs Benedict.  "Hi, my name is Jim," said our server as he approached our table.  And with that one simple sentence, our adventure began.

The Search...

Jim was a very young guy and kinda shy.  He took our order and my boyfriend ordered Eggs Benedict.  Jim turned to leave, then turned back and asked him how he wanted his eggs.  We were both perplexed at this question.  Eggs Benedict only comes one way!  My boyfriend told him that he wanted them the usual way and to just give the order to the cook.  The cook would know how to fix it.

We both thought that was an odd question, but Jim trotted off to the kitchen and we made chit chat while waiting for our meals.  And we waited.  And we waited...  And we waited.......  Now we were getting annoyed.  I think we were the only, or almost the only, patrons in the restaurant at the time.  How long did it take to make two breakfasts?  Finally Jim comes back out and stammers that the cook isn't sure how to make the Eggs Benedict.  So my boyfriend started to explain things to him, but he asked my boyfriend to hold on.  Jim went over to the next table, grabbed a chair, came back to our table, and pulled up his chair to sit with us.  "OK," he said, waiting for my boyfriend's explanation.  That was the defining moment.  We had suddenly crossed over into the TwiLime Zone!  My boyfriend patiently explained the nuances of Eggs Benedict to him and Jim finally felt confident that he knew what it was.  Back to the kitchen he went.

The Solution...

Success!  He finally brought us our meals and the eggs were prepared correctly.  After we had finished our meal, the manager came out and apologized profusely for all the problems.  She explained that they were short-staffed, and that in actuality Jim was a busboy, not a waiter!  Well, that explained a lot, but it begged the question, who was the cook?  The janitor?

Conclusion...

If you go to a restaurant late at night and your server is named Jim, don't order eggs.

In Search of a Resumé

The Problem...

As a lot of us are doing these days, I've been sending out resumés to prospective employers.  Crafting the best possible resumé and getting it noticed is our primary concern.  Combined with the fact that I'm ultimately looking for a career as a photographer, the visual impact of my resumé is very important to me.  I decided on an 8 1/2x11 brochure that folds open to 11x17, giving enough room to add some photographs.  I have a printer that will print 11x17, but not easily on the heavier paper, or without smudging.  So off I went to my local copy center.

The Search...

The guy at the copy center was very nice and helpful.  He got the paper I wanted and ran a test copy.  Oh no!  The black and white photo on the cover looked more like it had turned into a poster.  The shading was all compressed and not blending.  Ugh!  We decided it must be the PDF screwing things up, so he suggested saving it in Photoshop or Illustrator format.  Just to be sure, I went to a copy center/office supply store down the street and tried again.  Nope, still a poster picture.

My document file wouldn't easily convert to Illustrator, so I had to lay out my whole resumé again in the new format.  I went back to the office supply store and tried again.  Yes!  The image looked like a photograph.  No!  Now there was a funky line running through the image.  Ugh!  The lady who was helping me thought there was a problem with their printer, so she would call technical support to fix it.  She called the next day to say it was fixed, so I returned that evening, hopeful that I would get my resumé this time.  Ugh!  Still a funky line!  She said she would call and have technical support come out again.

Discouraged, I went back to the original copy center to see if they could print it, now that it was in the format they suggested.  This time the person who came to help me was a real jerk.  First he tried the Illustrator file, but it wouldn't open because they have an older version than I do.  Then he saw the PDF and wanted to try printing that.  I explained the problem with the PDF, but he wouldn't listen to me.  I think he though he was smarter than the employee who helped me before.  So he ran a test, and yep, poster picture again.  When I showed him the problem, he didn't understand what the big deal was.  He thought that should be good enough for me.  I explained very nicely that I needed it to look like a photograph and I couldn't use that copy.  So he TOSSED my flash drive across the counter at me, turned, and walked away.  I was shocked and speechless!  I wasn't even being a crabby customer!  This was too much, so I just left.  I wish I had taken his name so I could complain later.  I will never get copies there again!

The next day I went to an office supply store in a different city.  I had a very nice lady help me.  I explained that their other location couldn't print the file without the funky line.  Her first attempt was a poster picture, but after a few tweaks, she got it fixed.  And best of all, no line!  Finally, I would get my copies.  But wait!  Then I found out, for some reason, they don't have the same paper as their sister location.  Ugh!  She called up the store by my house to verify, sure enough, not the same paper.  But they did say that the technician had come out and the funky line should be gone now.  I was so close to victory, I could taste it.  Although it tasted a little like citrus to me.  hmmmm.  So off I went, back to the first store, with visions of resumés dancing in my head.  I walked in, went up to the counter, explained who I was, and waited with bated breath.  Oh yes, she assured me, the techinican was out yesterday afternoon and it should all be fixed.  Yesterday afternoon?  I was there last night after the technician had been out and it still wasn't right.  Ugh!  Ok, that did it.  Now we had crossed over into the ridiculous.  That's the signpost up ahead!  Your next stop--The TwiLime Zone!  She said she could give me paper to take to the other store.  I had just come back to my side of town, and I really didn't want to go back there again.  She said she'd call tech support again and call me the next day.  She didn't.

The Solution...
It was time to take matters into my own hands.  I redesigned my resumé layout into a standard two page 8 1/2x11 and printed it on nice medium-weight paper.  I went to the office supply store and bought some brochure pockets for holding the finished resumés.  I even asked if they had some Astrobright lime business envelopes.  I figured it would get the envelope noticed by the employer, and would be a great inside joke.  No such luck, of course.


Conclusion...
After all this work, I hope I at least get an interview from one of my resumés.  Maybe I should have included a copy of this blog post!

How it All Began

The Problem...

It all began many years ago, on a very exhausting evening in Ohio.  My boyfriend and I were in an unfamiliar town, trying to deal with a particularly stressful family emergency.  When it was time to try and relax and settle into the hotel for the evening, my boyfriend decided he would like to kick back with some Corona.

The Search...

We headed to the liquor store and picked up some nice, cold Corona.  What goes best with Corona?  A lime!!!  The liquor store didn't have them, so we figured we'd hit the local grocery store on the way back to the hotel.  Unfortunately, the first problem in this town was that all the grocery stores seemed to close up tight at a ridiculously early hour.  We went to one, then another, but they were closed.  Then we made the rounds of the local convenience stores.  Not a lime to be found.  At this point, we had spent way too much time on this.  We were so tired and emotionally drained from events earlier in the day, that instead of getting angry over this, we both thought it was extremely funny.  Each fruitless stop on our escapade (pun intended) just seemed more and more ridiculous.  I think it provided just the comic relief that we needed that night.


The Solution...
Eventually we stopped at a gas station.  They didn't have fresh limes, but they did have lime juice in those little, lime-shaped bottles.  This was as good as we were going to get, so off to the hotel with the prized liquid.  I asked my boyfriend how it tasted with the lime juice.  His reply was "Eh, not as good as a fresh one."


Conclusion...
So now, when we have a difficult day trying to find something or somewhere, we may say "I went searching for a lime today."  Or, "I was looking for such and such today, and they were all looking a bit green."  A small inside joke that helps diffuse the frustration of the situation.  A small inside joke...that I have now shared with the world.