I feed everything that comes near me -- if you know me, you know that. I am Mother Nature. I keep a bag of cat food in my trunk, because you never know when you're going to need some kibble.
So, basically, the animals get to know me and run towards me when they see me. And this is why I'm not surprised that there is a duck on my back patio hanging out with me right now. He came because I always give him bread (bless his little heart).
He came. He ate. He puddled.
And it reeks. Duck pee smells kind of like cat poop. Don't know why, don't care to know why, but it does. Enjoy.
May 16, 2008
May 13, 2008
Storebrand coffee
Attention coffee drinkers: Coffee is NOT the place to save a buck on your grocery bill. This I just realized after trying out Publix's "Special Roast" coffee.
Special roast, indeed.
My regular coffee (I heart you Don Fransisco Vanilla Nut!) is about $4.29. This muck that Publix sells goes for $2.99. I convinced myself to give it a try -- coffee's coffee, right? -- and have been kicking myself every cup since.
In the words of Charles Barkley, "It's turrible." And the worst part is, I feel like if I don't finish this entire package of blah beans, then I've actually wasted money instead of saving it! That's what I get for being cheap, I guess.
Bonus el-cheapo shopping tip: Don't "save money" on toilet paper, either.
P.S. Here's Frank Caliendo doing Charles Barkley... You'll see what I was talking about.
And here's another video, of the real Charles Barkley being a dumbass.
Special roast, indeed.
My regular coffee (I heart you Don Fransisco Vanilla Nut!) is about $4.29. This muck that Publix sells goes for $2.99. I convinced myself to give it a try -- coffee's coffee, right? -- and have been kicking myself every cup since.
In the words of Charles Barkley, "It's turrible." And the worst part is, I feel like if I don't finish this entire package of blah beans, then I've actually wasted money instead of saving it! That's what I get for being cheap, I guess.
Bonus el-cheapo shopping tip: Don't "save money" on toilet paper, either.
P.S. Here's Frank Caliendo doing Charles Barkley... You'll see what I was talking about.
And here's another video, of the real Charles Barkley being a dumbass.
May 12, 2008
The cable company
Being the cheap person that I am, I called my cable company to see how I could lower my bill. Turns out that if I get a cable box, and subscribe to their 6-month promotion of HBO and OnDemand, my cable would be cheaper than it is now -- and don't get any of that fancy stuff!
So I'm all in. Sign me up!
They send the cable box. I wake up the next morning (Saturday morning, my day off) and launch into getting this thing plugged into all the right places and all the right stuff plugged into it. I need my DVD player, the VCR, my Nintendo (old school... boo yah!), the TV, the cable Internet box and the wireless router all somehow connected to this one little cable outlet in the wall.
Thank God I had help. It took two of us, and the only technology we had to sacrifice was the VCR (fine, I guess if I haven't used it in 2 years I probably don't need it). I call the cable company to do this "simple" activation -- it's supposed to just magically start working 45 minutes after I call -- and that's where the trouble begins (never mind the last half hour of trouble trying to hook the damn thing up). It's not doing what it's supposed to do. In fact, it's not doing anything.
You're sure the little green light didn't turn off? Yes, ma'am. You're sure it's connected to the right spots? Yes, ma'am. You're sure you plugged it in (Are you serious? Perhaps the fact that the little green light was on could have answered this one). Yes, ma'am. Well let me transfer you to tech. Yay...
Tech: Same questions. Same bullshit with the little green light (ooooh, pretty...), plus he was able to make some error message appear. This is progress?
I give up for the day.
Next day, I find out that to get a new box (to replace the broken one they sent me), I have to either stay home from work to wait the Cable Guy or drive all the way to my "local" Comcast place and trade it in myself. So, wait. You're telling me that you guys sent me something busted, and now I have to go out of my way to fix it? I don't even want this damn box!!! I'm just trying to save 10 bucks (which, by the way, I've already spent in aggravation).
I'll skip to the punchline: I end up leaving work a little early today to drop off my box. They said the place was open till 6:30. It took me 40 minutes to figure out where 1400 W. 16th St. or wherever is because my Internet was down (no Mapquest) and this "local" spot doesn't have a phone (thanks for your help with that one, customer service lady).
Anywhos, I get there at 6:10 p.m. Eastern Standard Time -- and the place is closed. I would have thrown that friggin' cable box right through their window if there hadn't been someone else in the parking lot in my same situation. We bitched about Comcast to each other for a minute, then I drove off, fuming as I dial another (unfortunate) customer service rep.
In the end, I get nothing. In fact, this ballsy woman had the nerve to give me the silent treatment on the phone. Come on, if I yell at you for something you had absolutely nothing to do with, at least fight back a little. This was no fun. So I thanked her rudely for her help and hung up on her silent ass.
And drove home with my busted cable box. I guess I'm saving the $10 whether I plug it in or not, but still, I'm sure there's something lovely I'm missing on HBO right now...
So I'm all in. Sign me up!
They send the cable box. I wake up the next morning (Saturday morning, my day off) and launch into getting this thing plugged into all the right places and all the right stuff plugged into it. I need my DVD player, the VCR, my Nintendo (old school... boo yah!), the TV, the cable Internet box and the wireless router all somehow connected to this one little cable outlet in the wall.
Thank God I had help. It took two of us, and the only technology we had to sacrifice was the VCR (fine, I guess if I haven't used it in 2 years I probably don't need it). I call the cable company to do this "simple" activation -- it's supposed to just magically start working 45 minutes after I call -- and that's where the trouble begins (never mind the last half hour of trouble trying to hook the damn thing up). It's not doing what it's supposed to do. In fact, it's not doing anything.
You're sure the little green light didn't turn off? Yes, ma'am. You're sure it's connected to the right spots? Yes, ma'am. You're sure you plugged it in (Are you serious? Perhaps the fact that the little green light was on could have answered this one). Yes, ma'am. Well let me transfer you to tech. Yay...
Tech: Same questions. Same bullshit with the little green light (ooooh, pretty...), plus he was able to make some error message appear. This is progress?
I give up for the day.
Next day, I find out that to get a new box (to replace the broken one they sent me), I have to either stay home from work to wait the Cable Guy or drive all the way to my "local" Comcast place and trade it in myself. So, wait. You're telling me that you guys sent me something busted, and now I have to go out of my way to fix it? I don't even want this damn box!!! I'm just trying to save 10 bucks (which, by the way, I've already spent in aggravation).
I'll skip to the punchline: I end up leaving work a little early today to drop off my box. They said the place was open till 6:30. It took me 40 minutes to figure out where 1400 W. 16th St. or wherever is because my Internet was down (no Mapquest) and this "local" spot doesn't have a phone (thanks for your help with that one, customer service lady).
Anywhos, I get there at 6:10 p.m. Eastern Standard Time -- and the place is closed. I would have thrown that friggin' cable box right through their window if there hadn't been someone else in the parking lot in my same situation. We bitched about Comcast to each other for a minute, then I drove off, fuming as I dial another (unfortunate) customer service rep.
In the end, I get nothing. In fact, this ballsy woman had the nerve to give me the silent treatment on the phone. Come on, if I yell at you for something you had absolutely nothing to do with, at least fight back a little. This was no fun. So I thanked her rudely for her help and hung up on her silent ass.
And drove home with my busted cable box. I guess I'm saving the $10 whether I plug it in or not, but still, I'm sure there's something lovely I'm missing on HBO right now...
Apr 22, 2008
Medicating the cat
Everything you've ever heard is true.
That email forward that goes around every so often is true.
I'm not sure if any of you have ever tried to give a cat medicine, but personally, I'd rather eat fish (and anyone who knows me knows I. Don't. Eat. That.). The cutest wittle kitty can turn into the most ferocious beast during this process.
Take Pimp (my feline son), for example. He's a big boy, and he needs to take antibiotics twice a day for two weeks. It's a liquid that I need to squirt (God, I hate that word) into his mouth with this syringe -- and he's not having it. He scratches. He flails. He kicks. He hates.
And he ends up wearing antibiotic all over his face because of it. Dude, I'm trying to get this in your mouth. Everybody just relax, and this whole thing will be much less painless. For both of us.
Anyway, it's bad enough that I have specific "cat medicating" clothes (cat hair and claw holes), but I also have to so a sneak attack because he knows what's coming when he sees the bottle, me randomly changing clothes or, if he's a little late on the pickup, me coming toward him with the Syringe of Doom.
Whoosh! What was that? Oh, it's just the cat under the bed. Looks like I'll be late to work...
Now who wants a treat...? ;)
That email forward that goes around every so often is true.
I'm not sure if any of you have ever tried to give a cat medicine, but personally, I'd rather eat fish (and anyone who knows me knows I. Don't. Eat. That.). The cutest wittle kitty can turn into the most ferocious beast during this process.
Take Pimp (my feline son), for example. He's a big boy, and he needs to take antibiotics twice a day for two weeks. It's a liquid that I need to squirt (God, I hate that word) into his mouth with this syringe -- and he's not having it. He scratches. He flails. He kicks. He hates.
And he ends up wearing antibiotic all over his face because of it. Dude, I'm trying to get this in your mouth. Everybody just relax, and this whole thing will be much less painless. For both of us.
Anyway, it's bad enough that I have specific "cat medicating" clothes (cat hair and claw holes), but I also have to so a sneak attack because he knows what's coming when he sees the bottle, me randomly changing clothes or, if he's a little late on the pickup, me coming toward him with the Syringe of Doom.
Whoosh! What was that? Oh, it's just the cat under the bed. Looks like I'll be late to work...
Now who wants a treat...? ;)
Apr 19, 2008
Old guys who look at you and say, "yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah"
Allow me to set the scene:
I'm leaving the beach, so I'm in a bikini top and some little shorts, and this nasty old(er) man (he has bleach blond hair for some reason, and it's thin; i could bounce a quarter off his stomach, because his beer gut is so solid; he has a chain on that is too thick, and it's ridiculous because he's not gangsta; and he's wearing some Volcom boardshorts, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know what Volcom is).
Anyway, he looks me up and down as I walk by and says, "Yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah." Huh? NO-NO. NO-NO.
It was actually pretty comical. Aside from the fact that I suddenly felt the urge to bathe in bleach and hydrogen peroxide, I couldn't help but shake my head and giggle at this poor old man. I wonder if that yeah-yeah mess has ever worked for him? I imagine he's been trying it for the last 50 years, figuring that one day some young filly would bite.
Move along, Gramps. I hear they're having 2-4-1 Metamucil martinis at the Bingo hall.
I'm leaving the beach, so I'm in a bikini top and some little shorts, and this nasty old(er) man (he has bleach blond hair for some reason, and it's thin; i could bounce a quarter off his stomach, because his beer gut is so solid; he has a chain on that is too thick, and it's ridiculous because he's not gangsta; and he's wearing some Volcom boardshorts, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know what Volcom is).
Anyway, he looks me up and down as I walk by and says, "Yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah." Huh? NO-NO. NO-NO.
It was actually pretty comical. Aside from the fact that I suddenly felt the urge to bathe in bleach and hydrogen peroxide, I couldn't help but shake my head and giggle at this poor old man. I wonder if that yeah-yeah mess has ever worked for him? I imagine he's been trying it for the last 50 years, figuring that one day some young filly would bite.
Move along, Gramps. I hear they're having 2-4-1 Metamucil martinis at the Bingo hall.
Putting laundry away
Anyone else?
I'll wash laundry day in and day out. That's no problem. It practically does itself. But PUTTING IT AWAY? I'd rather scrub the toilet, toothbrush the bathtub grout, vacuum the whole house and mow the lawn with my teeth.
So I just pile it. High. And the pile becomes my closet. Try as I often do to get someone else to put it away for me, it just doesn't happen. I have no idea why my friends wouldn't want to come over here and hang up my clothes...
Now this is a service I'd pay for. I don't need a whole maid, just someone to put my laundry away, and that's it. What do you think a reasonable fee for that would be? $10 a pile? $15? Shit, I'd pay it.
Who wants a quick 15 bucks?!?
I'll wash laundry day in and day out. That's no problem. It practically does itself. But PUTTING IT AWAY? I'd rather scrub the toilet, toothbrush the bathtub grout, vacuum the whole house and mow the lawn with my teeth.
So I just pile it. High. And the pile becomes my closet. Try as I often do to get someone else to put it away for me, it just doesn't happen. I have no idea why my friends wouldn't want to come over here and hang up my clothes...
Now this is a service I'd pay for. I don't need a whole maid, just someone to put my laundry away, and that's it. What do you think a reasonable fee for that would be? $10 a pile? $15? Shit, I'd pay it.
Who wants a quick 15 bucks?!?
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