"T-E-M-P", the New Four-Letter Dirty Word

The name of the game is temp, people. I think we are living in a society where the big businesses like banks and car dealerships think that "temp" is the worst of the four-letter words. I can not believe that as great as this job has been for helping me it has also been the worst kind of disability.

As you may or may not be aware, I've been recently on the hunt for a "new" used car ever since I got pulled over by that cop (who, though I know was just doing his job and protects us, blah blah, I hope still gets canker sores for making me deal with this car crap at the worst time).

I ended up having to go to the MVA to get some temporary (there's that word again) registration because my current car won't pass inspection, unless I want to drop a cool grand on fixing everything. The fact that it would only patch up my car to last another year (as in a TEMPORARY fix) or so combined with the fright my car gave me while trying to maneuver through all that snow all culminated in my decision to finally make an upgrade.

I think the last I mentioned all this I was looking at a 2000 RAV4 that I saw on Carmax. Well, that was soo 12 days ago. I was doing a bit more research and stumbled upon a what has the potential to be my dream car: SUV, four door, sunroof, roof rack, silver, great fuel economy, fold-back seats...all on a 2005 Hyundai Tuscon. The greatest thing is the price, a mere $8500 (for what should be valued as a $10,000 car). The catch? I know, and there is one- the mileage. At 84k miles, its not the greatest for a car only 5 years old, but still, it IS a Hyundai, which I'm told is a pretty reliable brand. Besides, I knew I'd have to sacrifice something.

So last week I contacted the dealership and set up an appointment to see the car. I was determined not to be talked into anything too fast, so I kept my poker face even as they took my car keys to inspect my car while I went for the test drive. We came back and I told them flat out what I could afford each month. The salesman went off to do some figuring and returned telling me he'd need some time to work on the deal, and so I left. After the holidays and much discussion with my fam I decided I was seriously falling in love with the car and would go back and try to get it.

When I returned the second time I brought Joe along and he explained that they still couldn't solidify my deal and that he'd contact me the next day. He did so, via text, and asking me questions about my temp job and finally admitting that without written proof that I would become a "full time" employee, they couldn't approve me. Ugh. I texted back that I'd try with my credit union, which I did today.

I sat across this friendly woman who after chatting for a while explained that the credit union would be unable to approve me given that my occupational status is technically "temporary". She suggested I bring along Joe to see if combined we can get approved tomorrow, so I'm trying to be optimistic. But that's probably just temporary as well....

I'll try to post again tomorrow, but if I can't/forget/don't feel like it, I'll see you all next year!

Steer Unclear

Merry Yuletide everyone. Hope everyone got a nice haul of gifts and the gifts they gave were big successes. That is probably the worst part of Christmas: the anxiety that your gifts will either 1.) not measure up to the gifts the recipient gives you 2.) will not be liked by the recipient. Thankfully as far as I know my gifts were well-received and relatively equivalent (whew! Another year down).

But after that anxiety wore off, I was faced with a kind I had not expected- the fear of trying to get home. Allow me to jump back...

Saturday night, Christmas night, my family was settling in for the night, allowing our full bellies to digest while discussing the days' events. When the novelty of that wore off we eventually came around to talking about when both Hill and I would depart for our other homes; Brooklyn and Baltimore, respectively. I mentioned how I was planning on leaving Monday, and my mother mentioned how a snow storm was heading our way on Sunday. I brushed it off as just a mother's worries and her attempt at trying to talk me into staying longer. I would soon be brushing off alot more than her worries.

Sunday came and the day looked a bit overcast, but nothing serious. I had plans to meet up with an old friend and just as I was getting ready, I noticed the skies had opened up and brought down thick fluffy snow. It had started small only briefly, but before I knew it, the ground was covered. Still I brushed off what was on my car and took off for the restaurant.

Now as I'm pretty sure I've established, I'm not the best with directions, even in places I've been too. I know the area my parents live in PRETTY well, so even if I got a little turned around I figured I'd be able to find my way. I am driving along Route 18, a fairly common and well-used highway and notice the snow is getting thicker and slicker. Cars in front of me are driving extra cautiously, barely going much over 35 mph. I glance over to the other side of the highway and spot several bright flashing lights indicating an accident. My stomach, for the first time (but certainly not the last) lurches into my feet, and I begin to doubt my decision to drive anywhere.

I decide to follow the traffic and get off at the first exit, which I am relieved to find leads me to the area I wanted to be in anyway. The roads are getting even more thickly coated with snow and as I pull up to make a right onto another busy highway, I lose control of my car and it begins to slide. I hold my breath but fortunately the traffic is approaching at a snail's speed, and everyone seems to be paying extra attention due to the conditions. I regain control but not my breath. I am genuinely freaked now, and just when I thought it couldn't get worse, my gas light goes off. Again, fortune is smiling because I am very close to a number of gas stations. I pull up to the nearest one, wait as my car shimmies again, and then gently pull up. There is a line of cars leading out to where I am in the highway, but I stay put and wait my turn.

I awkwardly text my friend that I will be unable to make it, and suggest she either get on the road immediately or else wait till tomorrow. When that is said and done, and I have my gas, I decide to simply go home. I begin to follow the traffic once again, but the roads are getting worse and worse, not to mention the complete white-out in front of me. I find the way I need to go has not been touched by plow or tires and so I choose instead to follow the roads more travelled. I soon find myself hopelessly lost in an area I am unfamiliar with. Every turn I make leads to either a detour or a completely snow-covered road. Bridges are closed. Highways are blocked. I lose control of my car one more time (on a bridge) and for a single brief moment I contemplate abandoning my car and hope someone in my family can pick me up. Instead I take few breaths and carefully follow whatever rear lights I can and purposely keep my car at a steady 15-20 miles per hour. At long last, my patience and care pay off as through the thick white curtain of snow I finally recognize my parents' neighborhood and bring my slippery car home.

It will forever be one of the scariest drives of my life.

Have a similar story? Experience some hellish driving conditions? Feel free to post them here for everyone's reading pleasure.

My Christmas Story: A Very Beanie Christmas

Holy hell, I'm finally back in Jersey. I realize I was absent the past TWO days but what can I say, the holidays insist upon it. Still it was glad to see an old friend once more (at Drag Queen Bingo...yep) so it was worth it.

But I do hate leaving things unfinished and so I give you my final Christmas story...

A few years after the Super Van City incident or the Magic Diary debacle I felt I had outgrown alot of my childish wants. I wasn't looking for just toys anymore, I was looking into investing....into toys. My neighbor friend and I found ourselves beginning to collect and research those cute beanie creatures known as Beanie Babies. We had been given them by our families but when we realized that people were actually collecting them we set to work to see what our current ones were worth. Soon we were joining the masses in every greeting card store, obsessively hunting and buying every $5 animal we could, carefully following the guide of which were collectible and which were not. One day we walked into Intrinsic, a hippie head shop (in the mall, of all places), and in their very back EVEN they had a display full of floppy animals, some even encased for protection of their value: a few of the rabbits and a Garcia, the tied-dyed 60s bear- shocker.

It was around this time that my sister Hill was beginning to shop around for colleges to attend, and so on one trip the whole family decided to go. On one stop in Savannah we were walking around and found a collectibles store. We meandered in, looking at all the toys from bygone years and happened upon a display of Beanie Babies. I suddenly piped in like an expert and began to explain to my fellow family members about which ones were worth anything. I must've impressed them enough because they actually not only withstood my blathering but even incited questions for me to answer.

Eventually the months passed and so did the fever for Beanie Baby mania. I still was happy to read about which were collectible but for the most part I could feel my interest beginning to wain, just, as it happens, in time for Christmas. Months prior I had still been all set for nothing but Beanie Babies, so my mother didn't really even have to bother asking what I wanted for Christmas.

The big day came and after we all had opened several gifts my mother handed me another one. It was a Beanie baby. I plastered my fail-safe smile, the same one I had donned all those previous years, and was told that the rest of my new "collection" was everywhere in the room, so I'd have to go and find them. To my mother it was a cute scavenger-hunt idea, but for me, it was the final humiliation to walk around and fain excitement as I plucked each animal from behind pillows or behind sofas. Finally, my family noticed my lack of enthusiasm and asked the loaded question- "what's wrong?"

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe I had done it AGAIN! Why do these obsessions I have disappear the instant I have it in my hands. I felt terrible but thankfully I didn't have to say anything. My family members have been through this ringer a few time now, and so my sisters chimed in, "she doesn't LIKE them anymore!" My mother, also a veteran to this war, simply smiled, rolled her eyes, and said, "Oh..oh well."

I felt like a total ass, but I was grateful my family could make light of it and rather than crucify me angrily every year henceforth about my fickle Christmases, merely crucify me with jokes and quips. I hope I have grown out of this phase...after 20-something years. But you never know. "Oh, did I say I WANTED an iPad?....ummmmm"

Anyway, hope you enjoyed my tour of the Gifts of Christmas Passed, and hope you have a great holiday, full of embarrassing tales and horror stories about gifts, family, and travel. I'll be back to relate mine sometime next week. Till then, Merry F-ing Christmas everyone!

My Christmas Story: My Magic Diary

Time passed and I became, what I thought was, more sophisticated in my gift-choosing. I felt I had grown beyond just regular toys. Toys were for little kids. I wanted something hip. I wanted something technological. I wanted....a diary.

Not just any diary- the most modern diary that was ever created (at least for the mid 90s). It's been so long since I really tried to remember it, but I assume it did record your thoughts by typing on the keyboard. However, the coolest feature of the thing was claimed to be an address book for storing your friends and family's info AND you could customize a digital image of that person to go with it. It was the most mind-bending technology I had ever encountered...and I wanted one BAD.

SO again, I badger my poor beleaguered parents to get me this thing for Christmas. I tell them it won't be like Super Van City. This is a useful device, not some silly toy. I could use it for school as well as an organizational tool. I'm not sure how I hooked them, but eventually Christmas came and I found myself once again being nudged in the direction of a small wrapped package.

I ripped open the paper, and it had returned...that worrisome pit in my stomach that told me I had just wasted yet ANOTHER Christmas on a gift that wasn't going to last longer than our Christmas tree. I once again plastered the happy and grateful smile on my face as my dad fumbled for batteries. I probably got the first hint that this was a bad gift for me when it required a screwdriver just to open the back and put in the batteries.

Dad handed it back to me and I began flipping through the instructions as to all the things it could do. As I said, I forget alot of these, but I was still mesmerized at the thought of being able to create a doppelganger for for friends and family. So I went to that chapter and began playing with it. After what felt like an eternity I had only completed one person's cartoon-like face. I was getting frustrated that the image didn't look EXACTLY like the person. I decided instead to focus on the basic commands, but as I flipped through the manual I found myself spending more time scratching my head and reading that anything else. I began to find that in the case I need to jot something down or had a thought I never had My Magic Diary nearby or close at hand. Soon, I began to forget all about it entirely, until my parents began to ask what had become of it.

"I'm, um, not sure. Must be around here somewhere," I said sheepishly. Then while rustling through one or the junk drawers my mom finds it and asks me why it's there.

"Don't you like this thing anymore?" she asks. I didn't really have the heart to tell her it's novelty wore off faster than Fruit Stripe Gum's flavor. I tried to play it off, but before long my parents began the running joke of calling any gift they say impractical or useless as the "My Magic Diary."

"Oh you want that? Aw this isn't going to be another 'My Magic Diary' is it?" they'd ask, stifling aggravation first but then blossomed in a good laugh at my expense. I never really did live that one down. From then on, whenever I was looking for a pen in the junk drawer or cleaning out my closets, there it would be. I'd pick it up and see if I could get any of that excitement back that I had for it originally. Instead I would either find myself staring down at a face that was supposed to resemble a friend or else getting frustrated that I need a screwdriver.

Still, as history forever repeats itself, so do I and my Christmas gift obsessions. Read all about The Beanie Baby Incident tomorrow.

My Christmas Story: A Tale of Super Van City

You get the reference right? Ralphie and the BB gun? I had a Christmas like that- gently hinting to my parents about a specific toy I was gunning for, and then when subtly failed having to convince them that it WAS a great toy and perfectly fine for me to have.

In fact, I have had a few Christmases like that. The main differences however in my situations and Ralphie's was that in the end mine didn't exactly end in a happy ending. Instead, they have become the cornerstone to every Christmas gathering with my family, a retelling as traditional as "The Night Before Christmas". So pull up some eggnog and sip a chair...this is the Tale of Super Van City.

Back when Beck and I were kids she used to show me her massive Matchbox car collection. Sound odd for a girl to be interested in cars? Not really. See, Beck's dad was in the car business so she basically grew up around cars and learning much about them. For me, I tended to be more interested in finding a car my Barbie could fit in, but since none of these little cars would do I simply liked to listen to her describe the cars and play with the real opening and closing doors. The more we played with them the less I was focused on Barbie. We especially liked the kind that you could wind up and watch go. My fascination in these "boys toys" emerged enough that year that I was hooked by a commercial for a specific toy: Super Van City.

It wasn't just that it was an entire city that unfolded, complete with road signs and small businesses. It wasn't just that the cars were teeny. It wasn't just that the whole thing folded up into a neat van-shaped carrying case. It was because it was ALL of that. Plus, as we all know, I am pretty much a sucker for any good commercial. I HAD to have this toy, as far as I was concerned. I saw myself impressing Beck by bringing it over, and we could reenact dramatic scenes that required cars...and a city. I was all about it, so when my parents asked what I'd like for Christmas, I said with full certainty- "Super Van City!"

And so the weeks went by with brunches with Santa and school Christmas parties, all the while I kept hoping that this toy that I had build my Christmas around would deliver. At long last, Christmas morning came and when it was my turn to open something my parents excitedly guided my hand to one particular box. I giddily tore open the wrapping and paper, and there it was.....hmmmm.

I put on a bright smile to please my parents, but for some reason the magic felt gone. My dad offered to help me put it together and as we were doing so I felt it- the first pangs of Christmas regret. We opened it up and it did look cool for a little while. But soon I found my interest waining, even giving it over to my little brother to play with instead of me. My parents caught me shuffling the gift away and noted my change in attitude.

"What's wrong? Aren't you happy with what Santa got you?" they asked.

I could feel the lump of tears beginning to well, sad that I had foolishly wasted a Christmas gift on something I didn't really even want anymore, and scared to tell my parents. Eventually, I finally broke out, "I don't think I want it anymore..."

The look on my poor parents face must have been the closest thing to murder I'd ever see. After I had been so adamant about getting it, convincing them that I would love it and play with it all the time, and then to be done with it after 10 mins must have been a harsh blow.

As a little time passed and I watched how much fun my brother had with it I did begin to play with it a bit. But the initial magic of the thing was gone the second I pulled the wrapping paper off. Unfortunately for my parents and me (then and now) I never did quite learn my lesson. Hence, a few years later...with My Magic Diary...

RAV4nia Dreamin'

Wow, did I feel alot better about life today. I placed my new Maryland plates in the back windshield of my car and was therefore able to drive myself to work. Then I get to work and find my boss is out so we could be a little lax. Finally it starts to snow and my fellow fremps and I decide we ought to leave before it gets too bad, so I get to leave work a tad early.

However, I wouldn't be me if I was too Sally Sunny. As I got in my car and began the drive home I noticed not a single plow had come by the roads, not a single speck of salt on the gravel. Maybe I'm thinking too much about what that mechanic said but now I'm kinda petrified that my car is going to spin out of control in such conditions, so I ride my brake practically all the way. I actually do pretty ok. I hit a few patches of slick snow that made my tires lurch but I recovered quickly. The only time I freaked a little was when I was making my way down the home stretch and I felt my car start to swerve uncontrollably. I had gotten a little too relaxed I guess and suddenly I was fighting with my car to keep it from careening into the cars next to me.

I finally make it home without another incident but it has officially started me thinking about trading in the old girl for something newer. Bigger. SUV-er. I know there's probably no chance I'd be able to find one 1.) around my area 2.) with low mileage 3.) of a later year 4.) and most importantly, well within my price range. My dream car right now would be a RAV4 or a CRV, but the only problem is, they seem to be alot of people's dream car, hence their rarity in the Used Car section. Even most car reviewers seem to agree at their all-around perfectitude. Plus it doesn't help that all I can really offer is my clunker and about $500 (oh yeah, and a crappy credit score). Ah well, at the very least it gives me something new to research at work.

Anyway, think I'll leave you with that for tonight- those last two posts were a bit on the lengthy-side, so I'll keep this one short. Stay tuned for next week's posts- My Very Own Christmas Stories, in which each night I shall regale a story about a Christmas in which there was one particular gift I HAD to have...and then what happened when I finally got it and the Christmas magic wore off. Have a good and safe one, and do me a favor NOT be in the stores on Sunday, as I am going to kill myself when I finally begin my Christmas shopping, uuugh.

Driver's Dread: Part 2

So I woke up on Tuesday, bummed out that I couldn't sleep in on my pre-arranged half-day, but so anxious to get this car stuff taken care of I probably wouldn't have slept much more anyway.

I got in my car, said a small silent prayer to allow me to get to the inspection station without being stopped, and went on my way. The inspection station is less than 4 miles away, about a 6 minute drive, yet they were some of the tensest I've ever experienced. As I was driving I passed two cop cars, and I could feel myself beginning to panic all over again. I kept muttering to myself, "They're gonna come get me...they're gonna come get me...". As if it couldn't get worse my gas light went off. Fearing that they would need to run my car to do the inspection I knew I had to stop and get gas.

At the station, I slid my credit card into the machine only to be told to "see attendant". I run inside and find myself BEHIND a state trooper in the line. I pay for my fuel, dash back to my car, fill up, and head towards the station. I made a stupid wrong turn, which caused me to turn around and face ANOTHER cop car that passed by. Finally, I make it to the station.

I hand over my keys to the mechanic. Now, I've been coming to this same mechanic for almost a year, and usually he's pretty good about cutting me a deal or telling me the truth about my car. But lately, it seems I've annoyed him OR he's just been in a bad mood. As I flip through a Better Homes & Garden, my stomach lurches every time I hear him come in from the body shop. Because he usually checks things in my car whenever I get an oil change, I'm not suspecting he's going to come back and tell me there's a major problem, but you never know.

I was actually pretty engrossed in some article about ways to make guests feel welcome, when I hear, "Kris, your car needs work. Alot of it." My heart sinks down to my feet and I stand and mosey over. He begins checking off a laundry list of problems, from the most worrisome (gash in the tire, brakes and alignment) to the least important (my back seat belt doesn't clasp, my driver-side window has a hard time going back up). With every item I see dollar signs. I finally ask what the cost would run to fix everything, and with a final long glance at my report he says, "Probably $1500-1600."

An atom bomb goes off in my brain. Where the hell am I going to get that kind of money? Is it even worth it when my car is over a decade old? I'm banned from my car and now have no chance in hell to get back to using it. I make two calls I dreaded: 1.) the school I'm supposed to be attending and explain (through a cracking voice and wet eyes) that I may need to pull my tuition money to pay for the repairs and 2.) my parents. After discussing things, I go back inside and ask the guy if he could at least replace my brake light, just so I'm not a total target for police.

"Can't do that till we know if its the bulb or something more serious," he says coolly.

"Well, how do I find that out?" I ask.

"By going inside."

"Huuum...," I say, dissatisfied at his response. I then decide to simply try my last shred of luck and get the car home. I hand him my $100 to pay for the inspection, only to hear him say,"Sorry, dear, can't break this."

"Oh man, are you serious?" I ask truly incredulous. How does a business that handles jobs ranging in the hundreds of dollars range NOT have change for a $100? I hand over my credit card, which is then declined (though I wasn't surprised since I've been leaning on it alot these past few weeks). He then tells me that I need to run across the road to the bank and get change.

So in my heels I wait for traffic to slow down and make a mad dash across a two-lane highway. I get the change and run back. I get my keys and drive home in tears, hopeless as to what to do, and still petrified I'm about to be stopped.

I walk through the door of the house to wait for my coworker/fremp who has kindly accepted to pick me up to take me to work, and see the dog has gotten into the garbage and taken a dump by the door. I clean everything up, go to work, get a plan in order for today and hope for a better outcome. Happily, I can say today, with a (temporary) registration in my hands and fresh new Maryland plates, I am able to breathe a little easier. And with that, I'll leave you till tomorrow....

Driver's Dread: Part 1

Although I was given a great tip for a topic today by a friend and reader (thanks Ran!), the past 48 hours have been so fraught with tension and misery that I thought I ought to do the more therapeutic (and entertaining) thing by relaying it all to you. But due to the fact that I have to get to bed soon in order to get up early (and because the dog's ass gas is causing me to feel faint and nauseous), I'll try my best to keep it brief.

First off, has this ever happened to you- You are going about your day as usual, thinking about a whole variety of things: what to make for dinner, when a certain bill is due, if I can afford to go back to school, or more appropriate for this time of year, what needs to be done for the holidays...These are some of the random thoughts that I had been playing with and bouncing around in my head, concerning myself with an assortment of things, and therefore never seeing the curve ball that was about to bean me right in the head...

I was driving home from work on Monday, pondering these kinds of thoughts, when I noticed a cop a few cars back in my lane. I had taken brief notice, muttering to myself about how much I hate when I have a cop behind me because I immediately panic and think I did something wrong. Normally this feeling passes as quickly as the cop does, going into another lane or turning away from me. Unfortunately, this was not the case this day.

He gets close behind me and it is then that the horrible realization dawns on me that he does not simply share my route, but that he is following me. And with that, the lights go off. I break into a cold sweat and my palms begin to quiver. Thankfully I have broken out of that phase where I would just immediately break down into tears. Instead the terror just resides in my throat and shaking hands. He walks over with his sunglasses on, and asks if I know why he pulled me over. I squeak out a "no", and he then tells me my brake light is out.

"oh...oh...ok," I say. He then waits as I fumble in the glove box searching for my registration and suddenly realize I do not hold a current and valid one. I simply hand over my license and he asks when I moved down here from New Jersey.

"I...uhm..I've, uh, been living here, um, at this address, for um, a few months...."

"Is this your current address?" he says, indicating my driver's license.

"No, I um, just moved...."

"What?" he asks.

"No, I just moved here back in July." He tells me to hold on and goes back to his car. I wait for what feels like an eternity, getting bitterly cold as snow begins to drift down, but I dare not to touch anything or do anything. He comes back finally and hands me a piece of paper

"I'm going to be nice and let you off with a warning for the brake light," he says, and then pauses. And just as it had had before, when I thought fortune really was smiling upon me, I have my face slammed down into the mud.

"But if I see you in this car driving, without proper Maryland registration and plates, I'll give you all the tickets you should be getting and have your car towed." I muttered out a thank you, and went on my way home, thinking about what he said. Banned from using my own car? My mind jumped right into all the questions: how would I get to work? What did it take to get transferred from New Jersey registration to Maryland, and could I even afford it? When would I get a chance to do all this without being screwed out of pay for work?

When Joe got home he set to work on trying to calm my fears as I looked up the requirements on the motor vehicle association website, and it didn't seem all that complicated or expensive. There was just one glaring issue: the state inspection. I would need to drive my car to get it inspected. What if I got pulled over again, and by the same cop? Worse, what if I got there and found out my car didn't meet the requirements? Worst of all, what if I couldn't afford to get everything fixed?

These were the new thoughts that plagued my brain all the rest of the evening, during dinner, during X-Files, in the shower, and as I tried to go to sleep. What was going to happen in the morning...I didn't really want to find out. But if you are interested you will, tomorrow...g'nite all!

Nineties Nostalgia

s

---from Georgia

About a week or so ago I came downstairs and noticed Joe was watching "The State" on Netflix, and laughing profusely. I had heard of this show before but I never paid much attention to it until Joe began telling me how fantastic it was. So I sat down next to him on our sofa and watched. Much to my surprise and delight, it was as funny as he described it. And it got me thinking of another show I could allow myself to watch: Beavis and Butthead.

I can hear you intellectuals groan and see you roll your eyes. No, it may not be the smartest show that ever existed, but it will always sort of hold a special place in my heart. Allow me to explain...

Whenever my parents used to have their friends over for parties, my sister and I would sneak upstairs to watch Mtv, the "forbidden" channel. If it wasn't the overtly sexual music videos that turned my mother off enough to ban us from watching Mtv, the nightime cartoons, known as "Mtv Oddities", offered the final blow. But being kids and curious we figured that on those Saturday nights we stood the best chance of tuning in.

I can recall turning off the lights and sitting on the floor of our shared room, getting comfortable while waiting to be sure our parents were distracted enough, and then flipping on in time to chatch Beavis and Butthead. We then proceeded to laugh our asses off while trying to not be too loud so as to tip of our unwary parents. It was one of the earliest times I can recall laughing so hard I couldn't breathe and my sides actually hurt. It was also one of the first shows my sister and I bonded over.

So as I scanned Netflix's selections I was pleased to see that they carried three separate collections of Beavis and Butthead cartoons. I settled in on my couch and proceeded to once agin, laugh my ass off. Maybe not as totally hard as I used to, but I still got up trying to catch my breath.

It's not just what these shows were about, it was of what they reminded us, not to get all Jerry Springer: Final Thought on you. They're like little gems of nostalgia that bring up memories of who we were back then, who we watched them with, and why we tuned in. Or if not, at least they can still make us laugh hard. Uhh uhhh, hard.

Cold Feet...and Hands

Boy, do I feel in a mood. I really shouldn't be: I have a nice little place to live, a semi-well-behaved dog, a good paying job, dear friends, and a great guy.

The thing is- I always get depressed more easily in the cold months. Shocker, I know everyone kinda does. But I have always categorized myself as a summer baby and in the winter I tend to emotionally and physically go into hibernation.

I also tend to get more annoyed, and this year is no exception. Every little thing tends to piss me off or frustrate me: I don't know what to do with my life, I never have enough money, I hope people like me, etc. Of these things I like to think I have little control so instead I focus on the single most-annoying/frustrating thing about this time of year- keeping my hands and feet warm.

There is nothing as aggravating as trying to keep your appendages warm, and for me, it's a constant battle. In fact, when I used to watch television shows or movies and people go running around outside with no shoes on or gloves, I used to think, "I don't care how happy and playful they are, that could never happen. My hands hurt just LOOKING at this." Sometimes my mother would look at my hands and say, "Your fingernails are blue!" My corpse hands, I'd call them.

And this is my main argument against people who LIKE the cold: when you have a chill that reaches down to your bones, there isn't a shower or mug of cocoa that can relieve you. At work, there is no exception.

My office is pretty much cold all year long, which sucks for me, because I can get cold with a hair dryer blowing down my neck in. So, over the past few months I've found methods to deal with it...

1.) Legs or feet under: I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this before, but I've had to tuck my hands under my legs so many times, I swear I'm about to get a backwards Levi's logo embedded into them. When I can barely type it's a pretty quick problem solver, except that the effect wears of quickly and I'm left with cold legs and stiff fingers.

2.) Sneaking for the sink: I will spend the extra minute or two washing out a coffee mug or being extra sanitary scrubbing my hands if it means longer time to scald my hands in the hot water. The problem here is that a.) the sinks in the bathroom rarely have the necessary heat to blast through my frigid hands and b.) usually someone is waiting for the sink in the kitchen so I have to cut my thaw short.

3.) Hot coffee: I am starting to think the main reason I began drinking coffee consistently was due to the wonderful feeling of heat between my hands. Also nice: the feeling of feeling returning to my digits. The problem: it's usually too hot to handle right away anyway so you have to wait before you can comfortably grip the thing and when it does cool down enough it's a race against time before it turns to sludge. Bad also: you can only warm one side at a time. Drag.

If anyone out there has any other tips to beat the cold at work, send em as comments here or on facebook. Gonna hit the bed for now, see yall tomorrow.

3-Day

Monday again, already. Can't believe that we are looking Christmas smack dab in the face, and I haven't set foot in one store yet or clicked one mouse for a shipment of something. I know it shouldn't be surprising, seeing as how I live my life not IN the moment, but in the LAST moment. I probably would've started it this weekend, if only...

Let me say that I had a feeling Friday was going to be a bad day right from the beginning. See, with my job, we are able to get holiday pay (as in payment for federal holidays that close our business), so long as we meet a certain amount of hours leading up to it. Back on Labor Day, when I was all set to receive the rest of my money I looked in my bank account and saw it had not been directly deposited. When I called and asked about it, all I was given was a "Sorry, but you didn't reach enough hours." I was pissed and so I vowed I wouldn't get screwed like that again. And with a reassurance that I would be eligible for Thanksgiving I went on working.

So when Thanksgiving came and went I once again looked in my bank account to verify the second payment was deposited, and again, it was nowhere to be found. Again I called my "boss" and asked about it, holding out some hope that it was a misunderstanding and that it would be there soon.

"Oh yeah, you should be getting it, hang on." A few moments passed before he came back.

"Umm, hey can you hold on one more second? I just need to check something," he said, and slowly, my precious hope began to build. A moment longer and then he came back on the line.

"Ooooh, I'm sorry. Yeah you were still a few hours shy....sorry," I was livid, but I merely sighed with disappointment and hung up the phone.

Back at my desk I was working and sulking (mostly sulking) when I realized I had made an error...two, actually,..on the project I was doing. I suddenly began to panic, fearing the wrath of a certain coworker, who had strictly directed us NOT to do this specific thing. And I had gone and done it twice.

I looked up at the ceiling, as if waiting for either a meteor to come crashing through my skull or some sort of answer from God as to why I was being punished for such a lousy day. As I kept putting off telling my coworker what I had done I began truly wondering what the third bad thing would be; I'm a big believer in the power of 3.

My coworker eventually found me and I just sort of blurted out what I had done, apologizing profusely. Thankfully, he was nonplussed, and reassured me it was not really a big deal, and that it was easily fixable. As he walked away I breathed such a sigh of relief.

Also, I am happy to say, that the third evil thing never came. Though who knows...it may just be waiting till next Friday...

Insectuous

Had kind of a weird moment this morning. I was eating my bowl of cereal in the living room and Georgia was sitting beside me, staring off into space (she was, I wasn't...or maybe I was..who knows).

Anyway, when I finally centered on what she was looking at I realized it was a spider that had dropped down from the ceiling and clinging to a strand of web. I probably would never have noticed it if Georgia hadn't. The strand was so small it looked like the thing was truly hovering in midair.

Still, I leaped so fast off the couch you'd think my pants had caught fire. Georgia just kept gingerly trying to stand on her hind legs to snatch it up so I quickly took one more bite of my cereal and then smacked it with a shoe (the spider, not my cereal. I am a shameful English degree-holder).

Now that I recall, that was the second odd bug-type thing that happened recently. The first occurred yesterday, I think, but this week has been flying by so who knows. One of the fremps gave the other and me a small potted plant to put on our desks, an incredibly sweet gesture. A little while later one of our coworkers stopped by desk.

"So we'll probably have a meeting for that in a day or two....hmm...looks like you have a little friend," he said.

I wasn't sure what he was talking about until my head spun around and noticed one of those damn Japanese stink beetles climbing ostensibly from my little potted plant. Again, I overreacted and immediately pushed my chair away. We all began laughing because it did look as if it was a prank, but the fremp assured me it wasn't and apologized. After that we all quieted down, but I was still left to do something about the beetle. I explained how I was worried about the odor it would emit if I tried to kill it. My fremp Les explained how it really wasn't all that bad, unless you had your nose right up it, and encouraged me to just squash it.

Now, I don't know why, but I have a hard time even taking a tissue to squish a bug- its probably the wimpiest thing about me. I always figure somehow it will escape and suddenly crawl up my arm. It's also difficult because, unlike flies or mosquitoes, this thing is big enough to almost have a personality. I'm not saying I expect it to suddenly throw on a top hat and tap dance, but I'm sure it doesn't WANT to die. I was ready to just leave it alone, but I felt I should try to do my part in eradicating these things from our office.

So, I took a deep breath, plucked a tissue free, and gently place it on top of the beetle. I then knew I wouldn't have the guts to kill it so instead I tried to flick it away. Three attempts and three smacked fingers later, I finally decided to simply let it live. I justified it to myself by thinking I just gave it a pardon and that maybe I'd get some good karma out of it.

Still, things usually happen in threes...maybe I better check the sheets before bed tonight...

Halfway Home

I'm really starting to miss television, isn't that pathetic? And I'm only halfway there...but it's not even the shows I miss. I mean, how can I miss such stellar shows like "The Jersey Shore" or "Billy the Exterminator." And it is nice to not have the constant bombardment of ads. Think abut it..for about 22 minutes of show you see 8 minutes of commercials, and that really starts to add up.

I can already hear certain members of my family scoffing and calling me a hypocrite or self righteous. I was hoping to be clapped on the back like a person who had finally quit smoking, but instead I'm looked upon as just a quitter. They are right to scoff; for one I've been an obsessed television watcher for most of my life, turning into a virtual zombie sitting on my bed watching my small screen of reruns with a towel on my head after taking a shower four hours ago. The other question is why now? For that, all I can say is...why not now? I've been meaning to read and write more, figure out what to do with the rest of my life, enjoy walks and being around three dimensional people; all things that television was imprisoning from doing.

And I'm sure my friends out there who do smoke would say trying to quit smoking and trying to quit television are not the same, and they'd be right. Quitting television is MUCH harder. At least the government has gone ahead and done alot of the work by banning it in restaurants, movie theaters, bars, aquariums, museums, hospitals, airports, etc. And if the inconvenience doesn't do it, the cost will, at nearly $8 a pack. I was spending well over $120 a month for television and Internet. And everywhere EVERYWHERE I go there are television sets propped up somewhere, pleading and tempting me to watch their screens. It doesn't matter which side of the table I sit, a television will without a doubt be nearby.

My biggest fear is causing an inconvenience among my friends. Take last Sunday- we went over our friends apartment for dinner and I placed myself purposely with my back to the television, which was showing football. I kept thinking someone was about to ask me an intense question as they leaned forward. Only when they yelled an obscenity or clapped their hands in victory did I realize they were referring to what was occurring behind me. Even at Joe's parents house, I felt compelled to keep my back to the television, trying to make sure I wasn't in the way nor being antisocial. I also feel bad because I don't want anyone to have to rearrange plans or be a problem to anyone. After all, this is my crazy ambition and other people shouldn't have to pay for it.

I don't mind, truthfully. What I really miss is being part of the water cooler conversations. It's truly amazing how much people bond and begin conversations with, "Oh, man did you see last night's episode?" or "Have you ever seen...". Not a day goes by where I don't hear around me people catching each other up on missed moments or neglected scenes.

But here I am, and I think maybe I'll even tighten the strings a bit more and watch less of Netflix, except for movies and documentaries. If I can make it this long, who knows...let's just pray it's a mild winter and we don't get snowed in...

Dizzy Day

No specific topic tonight. I think I'll just relay the quirky or interesting tidbits of my day. Starting with the night...

It was weird. As I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom before bed last night I started to feel a tad woozy. Not like I was going to pass out, but just like I was in the Tilt-a-Whirl a few too many times. I didn't really think much of it until I tried to go to sleep. I laid on my back staring into my ceiling as if in a trance. I looked over to my window and it felt like I couldn't really focus on it. That ever happen to you? It reminded me alot of when you've had that one too many and you get "the spins". I HATE the spins because then your last chance for relief is taken from you and you have to sit up like a zombie waiting for the alcohol to finally move along.

Anyway, eventually I fell asleep only to be abruptly woken up to the blaring sound of ACDC on my clock radio. Somehow it was set for 12 midnight so Joe and I both popped up out of a sound sleep. I stumbled over to hit it off and fell back into bed. THEN I was pried awake by Georgia's nails on my leg and wet nose on my arm. At some point she had snuck into bed with us and burrowed into my sheets. I was a little miffed, and then when we heard a sharp bark come from the comforter I was even more so. But I couldn't stay mad then...

Finally as I was driving to work I realized we have now turned another corner in our quest for stupid diagnoses. I was listening to the news and they reported how the newest disorder affecting Americans is "Selective Food Disorder", or the "umm can I have that on the side?-disorder" I am a picky eater, but I'm not about to start labeling myself with a fancy disorder. Now finicky eaters have their very own illness they can parade around with. I swear, if anorexia is Catholicism, selective food disorder must be Episcopalian.

Anyway, work was pretty uneventful so I rushed home to beat the rain and darkness to take the dog for a jog when I get the text from Joe that reads, "U r gona b mad at pupy- she ate one of ur boots." I've come home a few times and discovered Georgia had gnawed on one of my boots (usually my rain boots for some reason) but never has she been THIS destructive. She had chewed off the top seam of my rain boots and had then proceeded to chew off the lining inside my leather boots. GRRR.

Luckily by the time I got home Joe had already done a good job of letting her know she did wrong, and she knew. We only had to both walk outside to where she was playing, stand with our arms at our sides or folded, and she knew she had done wrong. Worse, I'm still such a sucker for her cute face that when I try to be serious she knows exactly how to get me to soften. Those big dumb ears flatten, she makes her eyes as big as saucers, and she even quivers. I'm a goner and while I let her know I'm mad it's not long before I start cuddling. Which is exactly what happened.

But anyway sorry this wasn't a set topic. We'll see what tomorrow brings...

Catch Phrase

Happy belated Thanksgiving! I still can't believe the amount of food I put away. You know, normally I try to avoid eating potatoes, stuffing, and macaroni and cheese all at once but Thanksgiving is like a glutton's free pass. And was I a glutton, with double helpings of everything and a sliver of pumpkin pie as well. Jeeze, maybe I should've walked home from New York. And speaking of which..

Yes, I had a wonderful time visiting Joe's family upstate, and no, unfortunately I have no specific embarrasing tales to relay. I didn't spill hot gravy on Grandma, I didn't fall on Joe's mom's hurt knee, I didn't break one of his sister's brand new wedding gifts, I didn't even get a chance to screw up directions...damn you GPS. I got a chance to visit with everyone and the ploy to get them to like me continues.

In fact, whenever I'm in the presence of people that are not my closest friends or family but whom I want to like me I find I become a bit of a Teddy Ruxpin. I seem to have a few prerecorded responses that I deploy depending on the conversation. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, congratulations- you have entered into my "You're not going anywhere so I can be my lousy normal self around you," category. If you do, allow me to explain my certain catch phrases and why they bubble up...

1.) "Wow". You have just said something that elicits a positive yet amazed response. I will say "wow" for anything, usually being preceded by an "oh", from the fact you informed me you got an A on a massive paper i.e. "oh wow!" to the news you are pregnant, i.e. "oh WOW!"

*DISCLAIMER- The "wow" can also sometimes be used when responding to amazingly bad news. The tone here is quieter and deeper, i.e. "You broke your leg? Oh wooow"

2.) "That's awesome." You have just said something funny and when I feel laughing is not enough I will toss in a "that's awesome," i.e. "You showed up in your underwear? Hahhahaha......that's awsome."

3.) "That's great." You have just told me good news. I usually play with the timbre and length of this phrase, i.e. "But you're doin ok? Well, that's great!", or "You made the playoffs? That's greeaat!"

4.) "Really?" You have just told me something incredible. I don't know how else to show my impressiveness. But I AM impressed. It is usually followed by a "that's great," or "oh wow," i.e. "You were prom queen? Really?? Oh wow! That's great!"

5.) "Awww" Can be both for positive or negative connotation. You have just either said something cute about someone or something, or you have poked fun at yourself. "Little Darla's first words were 'pillowcase'? Awww" or, "He said you had chubby ankles? awwww."

I am trying to get off using these words, but they kind of act like my conversation crutches. When I am in fear of not being accepted I tend to lean on these phrases for support to limp through social interactions. But it's not because I don't care; it's more I worry I won't give the correct response so I simply jiggle the Magic 8 Ball and hope the right one sifts through the blue. I think I'm starting to get better about being comfortable around Joe's family. At least I'm not saying things like, "Oh, your flower bed was torn up by wolverines...hmm, 'please try again later'..?"

Fateful Food

Holy hell, is anyone else freaking out that it's almost Thanksgiving? I feel like I was JUST looking at my calendar and thinking, "Oh, we still have a few weeks till Halloween". But it never fails...this time of year is truly a roller coaster. You feel the click, click, click as you roll up towards Columbus Day, pass that and before you know it you feel the first drop of Halloween. From there the twists and turns come faster and faster- Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, Valentine's Day...whew, it hurts my head and wallet when I think about it.

Still, I manage to have spare a weekend here and there, especially when it comes to friends visiting. Thanks again to Ken and Jay for spending the weekend, it was such a blast. And speaking of which...

You know how I say that it seems that fate likes to keep me from being on time? I think, in addition to that, fate likes to mess with my eating. No matter how much I try to be "lady-like" when I'm eating, I always get screwed. Example...

My friends and I were walking around Federal Hill when one brought our attention to a "cupcakery" shoppe as we walked by. Jay asked if we wanted to go in, and we decided to check it out. It was a tiny little place with delicate and enticing cupcakes, however they were shown individually in a small case each, like little frosted gems. I spied some chocolate confection and Jay purchased it for me. As we were walking I tried my damnedest to not make a mess: I carefully mouthed small bites, licking a little bit of frosting with each bite. However, as is the innate engineering problem with cupcakes, I found myself running out of cake and facing a small tower of frosting. I first encountered the faulty physics of cupcakes back in elementary school. There is no easy or clean way to eat a cupcake with your hands, unless u have an exceptionally big mouth. Finally I just had to go for it and smush the rest in my mouth, and hope for the best. There was, of course, collateral damage, and for the rest of the day was constantly wiping my mouth for any phantom chocolate.

But it doesn't stop with cupcakes. My fellow fremps and I decided to grab lunch out once and we opted for Chipotle. I ordered my usual, two soft and one hard tacos, and immediately realized I was putting myself in the middle of a messy meal minefield. It's one thing to be in the privacy of my own home, shoving a taco in my face, picking up whatever scraps have fallen out and dropping them back in my mouth. It's a bit different in public, and especially around work colleagues.

I ran over to grab a plastic knife and fork and tried to elegantly slice my taco with it. Now, I don't know what that thick slab of plastic is meant to cut but it did squat. I barely managed to cut through anything and the fork must've been coated in Pam, cuz every bite slid back in my red basket. Finally, I figured I could either starve or just pick it up and eat carefully-which is what I did. What I hadn't counted on was that my first bite was going to be smack-dab in the middle of the biggest chunk of beef. The rest of the taco fell out as I tried to quickly shovel the big piece of flesh and everything along with it in my mouth, so as to hasten any gross scene I was causing. Unfortunately it was also still hot, so it was scalding my mouth so bad my mouth fell open more. I finally swallowed what I could and quickly hid my mouth behind a napkin.

See? I try to be careful. I try to take my time and eat small bites. Somewhere out there is getting a good laugh at my eating expense. Hopefully you will join in with them. Anyway, thought this topic was especially fitting given the upcoming holiday. Tomorrow's a travel day for me, so if I don't get the chance, Happy Thanksgiving kids!

No Rest for the Bleary

I hate drunk-sleep. Drunk-sleep is in fact not sleep at all. It's more like your body just instantly shuts down. You aren't performing any normal internal body functions, you aren't resting. You are just unplugged. And man was I feeling it today.

I went out last night (hence the missing post) to lift a friend's spirit. Now, I realize it was in the middle of the week, but I normally tell myself it's ok, provided I keep it easy and keep chugging water. I did neither of these things, therefore I was paying for it all day today, including right now.

And this was really the day I wanted to be on my A game. Today was the day I was going back to the Broadcast Institute of Maryland to give them my first check and sign some preliminary papers. But I'll get to that.

I woke up with the feeling of hammers being chucked inside my head. I tried to pull myself out of bed, threw some breakfast down my throat and set off for work. My commute is usually about 15-20 minutes. For some reason today my mind wandered so far and so wide that at moments when I came back around to consciousness I realized I was STILL in my car. It felt like I had been sitting and driving for hours. Plus, it didn't help that there was freaking accident on a major side-road, causing a huge back-up.

I finally get in and all I want to do is lay my head down some more but anytime I found some peace I'd be scared away by someone. In one instance I had my head in my hand leaning it on a pipe in the stairwell when I suddenly heard someone open the door loudly, causing me to jump and continue walking. Even in the bathroom, as I was washing my hands I drifted over to the wall only to hear the door's security buttons beep, reawakening me and sending me on my way. I couldn't catch a break.

Then it looked like my boss was going to skip the day, allowing me to sneak out a little early to go home for a nap before my meeting. It was 11:12 and still no sign of him. Then suddenly, just as I had talked myself into the plan, he came strolling in. F word.

So I waited till the end of the day and realized I had to go home anyway to get my checkbook. I sit in the drive-home traffic, get home to put on some more makeup, and then get back in the car. According to Google Maps, the place should be 12 minutes away, but this being Baltimore, it ended up taking me over 20 minutes- causing me to be late for my appointment; and if there is anything I have been drilled about in the radio biz, it's the importance of being on time.

I finally see the place and park on a residential side road. As I'm walking in I noticed a boy of about 9 or 10 standing outside a store. I keep my eyes down and then I hear, "hello." Just like that. Not intonation otherwise. At first I play it like I didn't hear him. Again, I hear, "hello." I look up and realize his eyes are crossed but that his head is pointed towards me. Trying to be polite and not totally creeped out (btw I'm VERY sorry if this is offensive and I know he's probably a nice kid and his problems are not his fault), I say hello back.

"Watch what I can do." Again, no real intonation and again I sort of play it like I didn't hear him.

"Watch what I can do," he said again.

"Oh, I'm sorry but I really have to go," and keep walking. Now anyone who knows me should know already that I'm usually a nice person, but when it gets dark and I'm in an area I don't really know I like to be Unassuming Sally. Even though he was just a kid I still didn't really feel the desire to be playful. I am tired, nervous, and hungover. So go play somewhere else, Petey.

Anyway, things turned out about even at the Institute. I'll relay more info about it next week. Till then, I'm avoidin' the booze and hittin' the snooze.

Hear U.S.

What a miserably rainy day. I hate when it rains, especially when I have to drive. Walking to my car I try to keep my head down so that no pesky raindrops fall on my glasses, so I don't have to sit in the car and scrub them until they are somewhat clear. But taking them off doesn't help either, since then I have to be careful how I grab them out of my pocket and not end up with greasy finger smudges that take even LONGER to scrub off.

Also, I hate the sound my windshield wipers make. Hearing that screeeeching sound with every swipe sets my teeth on edge. Plus I am always afraid my car is going to hit a wet patch and send me careening into someone's house. And it must not just be me who gets frustrated driving in the rain, because there are literally thousands of Marylanders trying to maneuver every time; usually around OTHER Marylanders who are just plain petrified of any kind of accumulation on the roads, that they drive like Miss Daisy. Oh wait, she didn't drive. Well, if she DID drive, I bet she'd drive like that. But anyway.

Speaking of teeth (remember a few seconds ago?), I was brushing my teeth the other day with what said "Crest" on the tube, but I have a feeling it was mislabeled. I applied the paste to my teeth, immediately getting my old familiar pangs of sensitivity pain, and wondered if someone had replaced it with pure cane sugar. I actually had to suck on my toothbrush for a second.

I looked at the packaging. It's supposed to be that special enamel kind, a good two or three bucks MORE than I would normally spend on toothpaste. I bought it because it said it was supposed to help rebuild enamel AND help sensitivity, along with a whole bunch of other benefits. But if this was supposed to be made to help sensitivity, I'd do better to just brush with chocolate syrup.

It started to get me annoyed. Why is it so much to ask these asshole CEOs to put out a product that actually does what it says- without all the b.s. I wouldn't care about spending the extra money if it actually worked. I then got a great brainstorm for another great television show...

See, it would be like a forum where the head executives responsible for the most used home and health products sat around and are asked actual question by a big studio audience consisting of common folk. Then they'd have to listen to what we have to say, and even better, explain to us why this product works or doesn't. Hell, if two execs actually represent competing products we could pit one against the other, egging on the loser to improve his/her item. That way these people can't hide behind their lobbyists or p.r. people. They would actually have to take their own defective medicine, so to speak. I even thought of some possible titles for the show: "Hear U.S. (like "hear us") or maybe "The Consume/Hear Report". Something with the word "hear" would be good, makes it sound more positive than just "Angry Americans Bitch Out to Overpaid Businesspeople About Their Crappy Products."

Maybe I should pitch it to CNN...oh well, just a thought. And here's another one: I'm tired. And the smell of our over-ripe garbage is making me woozy so think I'll head up to bed. Night, campers.

A Vine, "How Do You Do?"

Yes, I am still here. The oceans did not dry up. The world did not end. My parents met Joe's parents and I've lived to talk about it.

I wish I had some juicy tidbits to share, like someone talking with food in their teeth all evening, or someone spilling a beer on someone else, but truthfully the weekend went by without a real hitch. Well, maybe a small one...

My parents arrived first (something that never happens) and I was able to visit with them for a while until Joe's parents got there. We all had some drinks, went out to dinner, came back for more drinks, and then pretty much everyone went to their respective bedrooms or hotel rooms for a comatose rest.

The next day, Joe's school fair was cut short so he came home much earlier than we expected, allowing us to get a good head start on the wine tour I had planned.

Now, let me explain quite bluntly, that I'm a crappy planner. Sometimes I swear it's not always my fault; I truly believe fate likes to keep it's eye out for me and throw whatever barrels it can my way to make me look like an ass, as I've mentioned before. Still, like Sisyphus hauling that huge boulder up the hill, I try and try to plan ahead, no matter how futile.

I asked my friend Leslie which wineries I ought to hit, since there were a few in her neighborhood. Armed with her suggestions and a logical map I explained the route we would take to my hapless parents and Joe's parents, and we set out on our way.

We were fortunate for a beautiful clear day and as we passed rolling hill after hill, I figured the first winery would be around there somewhere. We followed the GPS and soon found ourselves in a small country town. Ok, I thought, it must be right behind here. However, instead of pulling us out back into the countryside, we were told to make a turn right into what looked like an alleyway. Oh, hell...

My last shred of hope was dashed as I spotted the winery's hanging sign just when the GPS announced we had arrived at our destination. We looked around for the organized rows of grapes, a rustic facility for crushing them; hell, even a tractor. Instead we were met with people's back porches and trash cans.

"Where do they make the wine? In some guy's garage?" my dad pondered. Joe's parents, God love them, just smiled and went with it. I could only hope the wine itself would outweigh the atmosphere of Meth Lab Vineyards. We walked in and behind the counter was a man who looked like a roadie for ZZTop, complete with long gray beard. He barely acknowledged us, only to hand out the glasses and a few sheets of paper with the descriptions of the wines. We asked how much it would be for us to taste.

"Nothin," he muttered out. We soon realized we would get what we paid for. While we assumed at first we could choose which wines we'd like to try, he brought out six and began pouring.

"If you taste anything you don't like you can drop it in that bucket right there," he said. I don't think I hav ever made use of those buckets in any wine tasting I've done, but there, I more than made up for it. While it could just be that my pallet is for sweeter wines, something tells me these were pretty lousy, even fore dry wines. I eventually contributed to the bucket more than I finished my sample. Still, I was there for the experience and wanted to buy a bottle from each place so I chose their one dessert wine. As I was handing him my card I noticed the size of the bottle was only slightly larger than an infant's. I tried to hold back my shock and disappointment, paying full price for basically a single serving. And for a flavor I hadn't even tried yet.

Thankfully, the other two places were more charming and had better quality wine. But if I ever get a hankering for the picturesque scene of alley cats meowing on broken down microwaves and see the stunning blue of recycling bins while sipping my battery acid Cabernet, I'll know just the place.

The Fockers Meet the Griswolds

I know there are probably other things I could be writing about tonight, but really the only thing I can think about is the momentous event that is about to occur. I've scrubbed the oven, mopped all the floors, sanitized the bathroom, and washed the linens. That's right, the folks are coming for a visit. Whose folks? Why, both as a matter of fact!

My parents and Joe's parents are finally coming together to meet this weekend, and while I love seeing both sets of parents, it will be the first time they will be meeting each other.

I've asked around to other unmarried couples to find out if their parents had met each other. Surprisingly, it wasn't that uncommon; some of their parents even hang out with each other. So while I kept trying to keep myself calm, and tell myself it wasn't a big deal, my friend Ashley would read my mind and express the emotions I was trying to suppress.

"Your parents are meeting Joe's parents?? Oooh, thats such a big deal! Are you nervous?"

I don't know why I feel like it's such a big deal. My parents met my first boyfriend's parents back when I was in high school. Of course, I guess the difference is that our area is small, and they were already friends with my aunt and uncle so it wasn't a huge leap.

Plus, being a high school romance, it was a point of fact that our relationship wasn't going to last forever, so the meeting must not have carried as much weight. This, on the other hand, after 7 years, is just a touch more serious.

I know I shouldn't be paranoid or worried. Joe's parents are awesome and so are mine. I guess it's the same feeling you get when you introduce a childhood friend to your new friends. You can't pull any punches because your longtime friend can call you on it. My parents have known me my whole life, witnessing my best and brattiest moments. Joe's parents, however, I think have only seen my best behavior (well, except for those moments of drunkenness, but I think they forgive me for that, haha).

I know it will go well. I know everyone will get along and we'll have a wonderful bonding weekend. But what does happen? Find out on Monday with the Parents Weekend Wrap-Up.