Well, this is strange

We have a Burger King on base, and awhile back one of my coworkers was going to grab lunch. So we pulled up the menu online to play with their little interactive "have it your way" fun thingy. And we discovered a strange thing. Coworker originally said she'd get a grilled chicken salad, because obviously that's the healthy choice. Choosing the fat-free dressing, this is what the nutritional value of the salad is projected to be: We decided to compare that to her number one menu choice at BK: The stacker. Two meat patties, two slices of cheese, two slices of bacon. Yum. (Well, yum until she adds mustard, because mustard is one of the fastest ways to ruin a hamburger.) Anyway, naturally, she would get the meal - fries and a drink. And that's when things got surprising: The Stacker meal (she did remove the stacker sauce in favor of the mustard) had the same amount of Calories and fat as the salad - but it also had far less sodium, and a little less sugar and cholesterol. The meaning she took from this: A bacon double cheeseburger is obviously God's way of telling you that you've had enough salad in your life lately.

Why November is the BEST Month of the Year

1. It's not August.
2. I have a birthday at the end of it.
3. The food...all the glorious food...
4. Two national holidays = two free days off of work. That's probably not why I'm supposed to like Veterans' Day, though.
5. The high temperature is consistently under 90.
6. I get presents. Usually in the form of food.
7. Christmas is right around the corner. Which means more presents.

Sometimes, November is all about me and the food. Actually, that's pretty much my life.

"A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy?"

I'm not one to try and hurry seasons along. When the seasons change, I always think of what I like about the new one. I like all of them, even summer, as odd as that sounds coming from someone living in Alabama. I love that it stays light so long, I love that I am was growing tomatoes in my backyard, I love that it's light when I drive to work in the morning, I love that I can sleep with a fan on, and I love the excuse to drink as many pina coladas as my brain can manage to wrap itself around. Mostly the last one. But this year ... y'all, the heat has turned people into what I can only call Crazy Zombie People Who Are Trying To Destroy My Brain With Their Crazy. And it's close to working. Because the Crazy has reached epic proportions and no amount of rum is curing this. Maybe the problem is that I'm the only one drinking it? Solution: The government needs to change all of our water fountains at work to rum fountains. Fall needs to get here. Soon. The Summer Crazies are making me insane.

Stream-Of-Consciousness Vacation Thoughts That Would Have Been a Weekend-Long Live Blog If I Wanted The Criminals to Know I Was Away From Home

Thursday, 6 AM: The only reason to get up before noon on the first day of vacation is because my sister, the pool and the adult beverages are 8 hours away and not in my backyard.

10 AM: This whole "travelling with a broken CD player and malfunctioning Zune" means that The Professor and I have two options: babble for hours (that would be me) or listen to stupid morning radio shows. HOW do these people get paid for that job? I'm way funnier (in that they are about as fun as watching paint dry) and I have much better taste in music. I just can't play any of it right now.

11 AM: Solution: Stopped to buy a converter so I can plug my laptop into the car. Peace and harmony are restored. This means it's nap time.

4:30 PM: Sister hugged, beverage in hand, pool in sight. We're making Big Plans for the evening that involve a trivia show, more beverages, beach walking, a meteor shower, and midnight swimming. People, we are serious Partiers. BE WARNED.

1:00 AM: We won the Trivia game, but The Meteor Shower That Wasn't has won in life, in that it is apparently an invisible meteor shower? But all's good, because my brother-in-law has taken over making my drinks. I probably should only have 1 of these if I plan to be able to walk tomorrow.

3:30 AM: Do I think I'm still 21 or something?

Friday, Noon: Yeah. Should've stopped the brother-in-law after one drink (where "one" equals "the first one *he* made for me, not the first of the evening). Life Lesson for us all: Just because you have a Master's Degree does not mean you possess a whole lot of intelligence.

3 PM: My niece put in season 1 of The Simpsons and then - OH DEAR LORD - informed me they have the first 10 seasons on DVD.

6 PM Cooking dinner, almost finished and Sis realized we have no wine chilling for dinner. How will we survive? Either push dinner back by 10 minutes or switch to Rum & Cokes earlier than planned.

8 PM: We will live dangerously and go to a LATE movie. Dear Inception: I hope I still have the brain power at 10:30 PM to understand what the hell you are about. I'm not holding out a lot of hope.

1 AM: Holy Dreamworld, Batman. I may never sleep again. Or maybe I never want to wake up? Either choice seems equally dangerous at the moment.

Saturday, 12:30 PM: The Simpsons is officially the stupidest show ever. Thank god for the Internet. The Professor is loving this, though. Wonder what that says about us?

3 PM: We only had the equivalent of 10 bottles of wine in the house. Obviously I needed to buy more while we were out scouring the area for seafood to make bouillabaisse. No crustacean will be safe from our big pot; no Red safe from our glasses. Red Crustaceans are doubly cursed.

7 PM: Sis just decided we've got this bouillabaisse making thing down, maybe could do it in our sleep. We won't, since we're drinking with candles burning and all. But she's right.

11 PM: If you pour the wine into a beautiful pitcher, it will taste better.

Sunday, 10 AM: We're going to race mother nature and take a trip to the beach as soon as we can all get ready. Who do you think is going to win this?

1 PM: We won - the beach was awesome. Then we came home and lunch has now defeated me. Vacations are for naps, right?

4 PM: Sis and I are making a quick trip out to buy something on sale, and as we're leaving she says gleefully: "By the time we get back, it'll be time for a drink". I love the way this woman thinks. PS: The Simpsons live on.

6:30 PM: Even The Professor has reached his limits on watching The Simpsons. I honestly didn't know this was possible. He has also resorted to rum & juice. Light on the juice, I believe.

6:45 PM: While cleaning the beautiful wine pitcher from the night before - preparing to refill it - Sis finds the warning on the bottom that says "for decorative purposes only; do not use to serve food or drink". Plus side of this: if we grow a third eye anytime soon, we'll know what to tell the doctors!

11 PM: Dr Horrible + Rocky Horror + bottle of red = Best Way to End a Vacation Ever.

Monday, 4 PM: Back home. The cats - oddly - didn't seem to notice we even left. I'm glad no one tried to rob us. The cats would've been useless on the defense front. At least they were smart enough to stay out of my rum.

Discovered:

A restaurant in town that has "Crab Cake BLTs", which are made of crab cake, melted cheddar, lettuce, fried green tomato, smoked bacon on grilled Texas toast. If they replaced the Creole Remoulade with a Thai sweet chili sauce, I would probably kill myself eating these sandwiches.

Property Improvement Tour Part IV

So, let's go through the run-down of what I've already spelled out:

1. Replace Lawnmower.
2. Repair Harley.
3. Replace Dishwasher.
4. Repair A/C.

Around the time that the lawn mower died -but before the dishwasher died - The Professor began talking to a Neighbor who who happens to have been a boss for a concrete company for some many years, and happens to do some work on the side. Also for lo these many years, The Professor and I have wanted to expand and screen in our back patio. It's not really big enough for everything we have crammed out there. And I want a June Bug free June. Old June-Bug Infested Back Patio: One night, The Professor came home early from his evening walk and tells me he's been talking to Concrete Dude, who as we speak is going around the house to our back yard. An hour later, we had a plan that included a six gajillion metric tons of concrete and my backyard. The Professor was giddy. All he could think of was the 300+ square feet that he would no longer be required to mow. Yes, please go read that again: Over 300 square feet. 3/4 the size of my living/dining room combined. Our total patio now clocks in at 425 square feet. Ok, I may have been a little giddy too. Fast-forward two weeks, to the evening that Concrete Dude is supposed to come out and start tearing up the ground to prep it for this glorious Outdoor Escape we will build. That just happened to be the same night that Friend J got electrocuted because *someone* <> flipped a switch the wrong way while he was hooking up our latest new dishwasher. I briefly thought of cancelling - we seem to be bleeding money this summer - but The Professor got all rational with the "We're fixing things out of that Emergency Fund you made up build, it's not a crime to use 5% of it!" followed by the "We have the money saved for the concrete already, too!" and finally toppled me over with a round of "Let me pour you a(nother) glass of wine". So. We have a Mass of Concrete in our back yard. And it is a thing of beauty...or as much as a Mass of Concrete can be, anyway.

Appliance Tour 2010 Part III

I really should have led the whole “We-are-nincompoops-when-it-comes-to-home-ownership” stories with the facts that in the two weeks before the dishwasher died: A) We had to replace our lawn mower, and B) The Professor had to take his Harley into the shop because it wouldn’t start. If I remember correctly – don’t hold your breath here – it was something to do with a spark plug or a fuse or maybe a spark fuse? Whatever it was, it was constantly firing and draining the battery, and even I know a drained battery does not a motorcycle ride make. Basically, the problem was something that plenty of people could do on their own. We took it to the shop and paid 5 times too much to have it diagnosed and fixed. Aside: The Professor minus the Harley for 4 days = one very sad husband. So…about a week after the Dishwasher Fiasco was finally over and done with (did I just jinx myself? It will probably devolve into a nuclear weapon in about 20 minutes), I got a phone call from The Professor. It was about 4 PM and I was still at work. I could practically hear the soundtrack of doom playing when the phone rang. He wanted to let me know that it was 84 degrees in the house. And seeing as how the thermostat was set to 78 degrees… Can I even tell you how hard and fast my stomach sank? I know even less about air conditioners than I know about Harleys and dishwashers, but what I do know is this: THEY ARE EXPENSIVE AND SCARY. Mostly scary with a scattering of expensive. Because when it comes to expensive, a smattering is more than enough. So he called up Friend J. And Y’all, when The Prof told me he had called good ole reliable Friend J, I assumed we would just have to start paying that man for allowing me to call him our Friend. I don’t think all the home cooked meals and bottles of liquor are going to cut it for much longer. And dude’s a vegan so I can’t even bake him cookies. Anyway, unbeknownst to us, Friend J’s brother in law is in the A/C business. As in “has his own A/C business with a logo’d truck and an assistant and everything”. So the next evening, A/C Dude & A/C Dude’s Assistant come over and do a few things to the outside unit and then head up into the attic to check out whatever’s up there. All I know is that’s where we go to change the filter, and really we don’t do that as often as we should, because Holy Mary have you BEEN in an attic in July in Alabama? No? Do you know why you haven’t? Because you’re not SUICIDAL. Anyway, Dude’s Assistant comes back down with a piece of paper and says “Here’s your problem” before showing it to me. So I look down and there is a tiny little fried baby mouse on that piece of paper that he had found inside the unit in the attic. A mouse electrocuted himself by chewing on the wiring in my air conditioner. You want to know why? Because he was suicidal from being in an attic in Alabama in July.

The Dishwasher Fiasco, Part II

So, last I left you in this marvelous tale, I was getting a new dishwasher and we all thought the drama was over. You know I didn’t make the process of getting a new dishwasher easy on anyone, right? My first bright idea was to go up the Habitat for Humanity Restore and check out what they had. A friend of mine in Nashville had great luck getting one last year, so I told The Professor we’d head that way. Of course it’s almost an hour away. And when we arrived…the look on The Professor’s face was priceless. “Honey,” says he, says my love, “I’m glad I got a lunch date out of this, because we are not buying anything here”. Well, I got a little huffy and made him at least walk over to the appliances, at which point he said “I’ll wait in the truck”. OK, fine, we go to my second choice. Mazers, which sells scratch/dent/show-room models. It’s where he bought his washer, dryer and refrigerator 7 years ago. And our fridge keeps the beer cold, which is all I need. So, we set off for discount appliance land. An hour later – and after more incompetence & disorder in a sales department than I ever want to see again – oh yes, Mazers, you broke my heart and I’m calling you out BY NAME – I had a dishwasher. It was so disorganized, I almost went up to the loading dock and asked them if they had changed their mind and wanted to keep my little GE for themselves. The next day, trusty old Friend J comes over to install it for us. And things…well, things did not go so well. First off, I headed to the gym, leaving the Professor in charge of handing over tools and stuff. I was done with dishwashers for the day. I figured if I paid for it, The Prof could watch over the installation. So, problem #1: There was no “junction box”, which Friend J assured us was necessary although who knows why. Luckily, we still had the old broken machine – sitting in our kitchen, because we’re classy like that – so he just reached over and took it off and put it on the new sucker. There was also a trip to Lowes involved – although I have no idea what for – because some other $2 part wasn’t included. But finally – finally! – the thing was put together, pushed in and hooked up. At which point it refused to take in water from our pipes. This dishwasher was not out to make friends with ANYONE. The reason was long and detailed, and involved a switch of some kind that Friend J discovered was broken. I understood exactly one word: broken. Guess who spent an afternoon taking the dishwasher back? Our second trip to Mazers took twice as long and – as incomprehensible as it seems – was even more disorganized than the first. First these people who hadn’t wanted to get rid of such a prime piece of kitchen equipment now couldn’t figure out the process to take it back. By this point, The Professor had had it with me and my money saving ways. And when I say he’d “had it”, I mean “almost didn’t allow me to have any input on where we went next” and no amount of kissing and sweet talk was going to get me in this conversation. That’s when I pointed out that I had the credit card. So we ended up at Lowes’, chose a model and had it delivered. Installation was not free – it cost $100+ - they said because they had to get a licensed electrician to install it, and they don’t keep those on staff. I guess that’s true? Doesn’t matter, because Friend J – unbelievably – had promised to help install the new one when it came. So, 2 days later, the boys are back on the kitchen floor and discover that – Surprise! – there was a different part not included with this model. Off The Professor went to the hardware store, instruction manual in hand to ensure he purchased the right thing... Where he was promptly told that the instruction manual was wrong and sold a different part. When he got home Friend J laughed, sighed, and said “let’s go”, taking them to a different hardware store to get the correct part. Back they came, full of confidence that they would get this thing DONE and finally eat dinner. I was given 2 jobs: Cook said dinner, and turn off the circuit at the breaker box. I can handle that! It was only after I ELECTROCUTED Friend J while he was helping with my THIRD dishwasher in 2 weeks that I realized I had flipped the circuit without really looking – and it had never been flipped back on after the last fiasco. It all worked out in the end, leaving 3 important facts: Dinner was damn good, the dishwasher washed the dishes, and Friend J is still a friend. But…I’m thinking that from now on, The Professor and I should just leave the country when we need something repaired or replaced.

It's been awhile since you've seen Layla

So, here she is, taking in what the cats call "A Good Morning Sun-Nap".

She loves to sleep on tote bags (our last Bengal loved to pee on them, so I don't argue with her).

That bag was hanging off the back of the chair until she pulled it around and down onto the seat to make a proper bed for her.

“Wishes Won't Wash Dishes"

It took me five years, 4 book cases, 2 entertainment centers, 1 motorcycle gas tank, 2 flat tires and 1 gas grill to learn it, but I eventually got the message: The Professor and I should not work together on any kind of home improvement/maintenance/upgrade project. The problem is that neither one of us has much skill in fixing/replacing/assembling. I want to study a picture, look at what I’m working on and move slowly, scared that screwing in the wrong bolt will cause my home to spontaneously combust. H e wants to get the entire horrid process over as quickly as possible, so he just starts assembling and/or disassembling – sometimes simultaneously – at will*. And we never seem to find a way to meld these…styles…without a lot of cussing. * I will note at this point that this “ignore the directions and screw everything together” philosophy could be the reason we had to completely take the grill apart half way through assembly so that we could start over. But I won’t. All of this is to say that when I got back from a quick 4 day trip to Florida and found my dishwasher was full of water that had failed to drain – 4 days ago – I was kinda glad The Professor was going to be out of town for a week. If he had been home, he would have been yanking things apart before I could even get to Google to ask its opinion on fixing dishwashers. I did call him and ask if he knew where the owner’s manual could be found, since he moved into the house a year before I did. He laughed at me and said “How the hell do I know? Anyway, we’ll just buy a new dishwasher”. I asked him how the hell he went from “clogged drain” to “replace the whole damn thing!” in 1.2 seconds, because I was determined to fix it. I am woman, here me roar! Surely I could just take off the drain cover, pull out whatever was clogging it, and move on to my wine and my evening. But first? I had to empty the water. Did I mention that there was so much water that when I opened the door, some of it ran onto the floor? And I figured that since it was going to require a lot of bending over and standing back up, I should probably wait to open the bottle of red my sister had sent home with me. Suddenly, just replacing the dishwasher sounded like a good idea. It sounded even better when I got the drain cover off and discovered the things growing in the Deep Dark Places of my Dishwasher. Needless to say, my little “pull off the drain cover and fix it in five minutes” plan did not work. It took me 45 minutes to get the water out. And then I had to figure out how the hell the drain cover came off, because those suckers needed something more complex than a Phillips head screwdriver, damn them. So it took me ten minutes of looking at my tool kit to figure out which unknown Thingy-With-A-Handle would remove those Weird Thingies holding the drain cover down. I was informed later (not by The Professor) that those are bolt screws. Whatever –I felt like a freaking goddess when I finally got them off. Do I even need to tell you that I could not, in fact, clear the problem? It was clearly time for me, Google, and the Wine to have a nice ménage a trios while we figured things out together. By the end of the evening, I convinced myself that I was NOT going to get into any kind of plumbing situation; that I was done, finished, we’d call a repair guy so I could drink my wine in peace without worrying that I’d accidentally jack up all my kitchen plumbing. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of telling that to a friend at work the next day, who has a very big “don’t ever call a professional without spending entirely too much time trying to fix it yourself” mentality. And he convinced me to get into the plumbing. My Friday night was shaping up to be a real treat. Ok, fine, I could do this. It’s just unhooking one little hose from one big pipe. How hard could this be? And he promised to be online to walk me through it when the panic attack hit. So I cleaned out under the kitchen sink, got a big bowl to catch water, and went to it, if by "went to it" you mean "stare at the pipes for 30 minutes before realizing that I actually had to touch the pipe if I wanted to get anything productive done". 30 minutes later – full of furious IM’ing and handholding – I had some things taken a apart, a little more water drained – and nothing fixed. "Don’t worry", Friend typed. "On Monday I’ll bring you something to slide in the hose and loosen up whatever’s stuck." So I ignored the dishwasher for the weekend, which was easy because I pretty much ingore the dishwasher all the time anyway. Guess what? The snake-claw-grabber thing didn’t work either. By now, The Professor was home from his trip and I was finished, done, over it. I turned it over to him and said “I’m NOT pulling this monster out of the cabinets. Call someone, I’m through”. And then I grabbed the rum and the pina colada mix and went outside and pretended I was back in Florida, with the delusion that I had functional kitchen appliances. So, The Professor calls Friend J, who lives down the street. Friend J is a handy guy to have around, if you happen to be as clueless with tools as The Professor and I happen to be. (True Story: Friend J had to use a hammer at our house once and when I handed it to him he laughed and called it a “Baby Hammer”). Friend J comes over the next morning (yesterday) and starts taking things apart –in the correct order, no less. And after much handyman-work-that-I-am-in-awe-of, he figured out the problem. A teeny tiny screw had come loose from the teeny tiny blade that chops up any food that gets past the drain cover. And he found it in the motor. Where it had done Considerable Damage. Guess who’s getting a new dishwasher? PS – they also found the owner’s manual! When they pulled the dishwasher out of the cabinet, they discovered that the people that installed it had left the manual taped to the top of the dishwasher. Brilliance!