So Sweet Starbucks

This morning, like most mornings, I stopped at Starbucks before heading into work. I like my Starbucks Mocha because I know non-fat actually means non-fat; calories are low AND it will taste good. Other coffee companies tend to make their non-fat mocha's entirely too sweet. Starbucks downfall is in their attempt to make their employees too sweet.

This isn't new. They've been over the top in their need to find out about my day and how I'm doing for a long time. It's possible that I didn't notice how bad it had become because I wasn't visiting Starbucks every day. I was only the occasional drive thru customer and while I found it slightly irritating, it was something I could live with. But now I find myself a regular customer. And whether a gradual evolution on their part or a sudden, stark realization on my part, Starbucks employees' single white female-esque prying is starting to piss me off.

I believe the turning point came two days ago. I pulled in and the female voice in the speaker offered her name, a welcome to their gleeful village, a pumpkin spice latte and a yummy blueberry breakfast muffin. I quickly declined (nicely) and ordered my standard: Grande-Decaf-Nonfat-No Whip-Mocha. I quickly rolled up my window and went back to listening to Dick Gordon and The Story on NPR. I got to the window and the girl took my credit card and then proceeded to ask me "So, what do you have exciting going on today?"

And that is the moment I realized I had become someone new. I could no longer smile and join in. I couldn't take it. I said "I'm listening to this," and pointed at my car stereo. She awkwardly responded "Oh..you're listening" the word listening trailing off as she tried to look busy until my asshole coffee could be delivered to me. I thanked her for my coffee, felt a twinge of guilt with a side order of indignant justification and headed down the road.

Yesterday, I avoided Starbucks entirely. I simply could not subject myself to the torture. I actually parked my car and went into Fred Meyer to get a Tully's 16 oz nonfat-decaf-no whip-mocha. But as I took the first sip, I was flooded with emotion...I LOVE my Starbucks.Grande.Non.Fat.Decaf.No.Whip.Mocha (SGNFDNWM) and I missed it terribly. I seriously considered throwing out my Tully's crappy excuse for a mocha and head out on a search for another Starbucks where hopefully they wouldn't be so friendly, but I had no time.

This, my friends, brings us to this morning. As I reached my turn at the ordering screen, the strangest thing I have ever heard came from the nameless, faceless speaker: "Hi!! Welcome to Starbucks..my name is (pick a name because I can't remember anything prior to the next sentence)..Where are you headed out there this morning?"

....

....

Wha?

I know I made the face that goes with that. I scowled..a million thoughts raced through my head beginning with "I have to stop loving Starbucks Coffee..I have to quit you Starbucks.." I then considered uttering "work" to the speaker..but I couldn't - I COULDN'T do it. After a LONG uncomfortable pause and quite possible slow shaking of my head, I said, "Can I get a Grande NonFat Decaf No Whip Mocha?"

To which speaker girl repeated what I said and then said "Okay!! That'll be 3.87 and we'll have a challenge for you at the window!!!"

I know I stared in disbelief at the speaker. I know I may have said out loud "A what? A challenge? A challenge...Oh hell no. No challenge for me at the window..unless that challenge is to jump ship on this drive-thru by tearing up and over the curb right here, right now and risk running over the Bullshead Pub Cow as I try to enter Eagle Road from the grassy knoll", as I rolled up my window and drove to the next position in line.

At this point I began madly texting several friends and opted to continue texting as I entered the actual human-money-coffee exchange portal.

I escaped with my delicious mocha and no one offered me Starbucks Trivia, a Magic Show, a personal drive-thru viewing of the Fall Grinder/Mug/Saucer specials nor even the upcoming Christmas CD. I was elated as I drove down the highway.

I called my good friend Suzanne to tell her of insane, unwanted and unwarranted friendliness.

Suzanne replied with "Oh hey..you do know the speaker/order board now has a camera don't you?"

I will spend tomorrow cleaning up the Mocha I spit all over my steering wheel.

The Dishwasher

We had to replace our dishwasher - for the fourth time. One might learn to stop buying the "Stingy Persons Special" but we're now on a serious budget, so we bought another peice of crap. Mr. Infinity spent the entire evening assembling the new p.o.c. and wound up back at the store to buy the missing parts that it should have come with. Watch for my pictures of mold when it begins to leak in future blog posts.

Around 11:00 pm, he wondered aloud, "What should I do with the old one?"

hmmmm.....

So finally, moments ago, I saw him trying to move the old one and I offered my assistance by backing up the dolly to the dishwasher. He scoffed at the offer and said, "I can carry it."

"Oooh," I said. "So manly! Carrying out this heay dishwasher!!"

I opened the front door for him and suddenly realized he was not going much further.

"Oh my god. If you put this on my front porch, I'll kick yer ass!" I said lovingly.

He replied, "I'm nawwwt putting it on the front porch..."

And as he hurled it into the yard, my son was alerted. He came running down the stairs...

"Heyyyy...is that the old dishwasher???"

Before I could process all that was happening, I may have said "OH NOOOO...Come on...at least put it in the trashy neighbors yard, where it belongs..."

But before anyone could realize the twelve year old boy's interpretation of the process of events, I heard him say "Awww...I want it in MY room!"

And I ask you, WHYYYYYY????

It's Not Me, It's You.

You know how much my RV means to me, don't you? You know how excited I was, that day in June when we found the Stingy Person's Special and scooped that little 1987 Fleetwood Jamboree up and called it our own. I could have hugged it and squeezed it and named it George but it's kinda difficult to get my arms around it - it's very rectangular. Plus, you know how I am about hugs. Still, I've cared for it. I treat it just like the real house - it gets the 409 treatment too. So why? Why did it turn on me? And so violently.

It began with a whine - a screech, if you will. Under the hood. So horribly loud that people near us turned in horror and have yet to understand how their hearing loss came on so suddenly and seemingly without explanation.

We wisely decided it would be best to take it to the shop and have that looked at before embarking on this re-enactment of Lewis and Clark's journey to the Pacific. Having already spent more than we should have on the gas leaks that didn't actually exist, we were happy when we arrived to pick up our little Georgie to discover she didn't whine anymore.

And we were ready to go.

Three kids and a Cocker Spaniel? Check.

Mr. Infinity and me? Check.

Shoes to last a week on the road? Check.

Mr Infinity climbed into the driver's seat and proudly set an electronic device on the dash. He announced "THIS is not just a thermometer. THIS will tell both the inside AND the outside temps as we travel. Nice...huh? huuuuuh?"

"Very nice, honey."

About an hour into the trip as I was reading my new book, I was stabbed by a sharp, heavy object from above. "Heyyyy...who..." It was the large mirror from the passenger side visor. Mr. Infinity may be fab in many things, but his sharp reflexes are not on the list. He said "Yeah, I saw it coming loose - sorry - meant to say something." Yeah, that might have been nice. I'm only slightly maimed and this is an easy thing to fix so back to my book. A few miles later - or hours - time seemed to be dragging...oh that's because it was - I noticed the fancy thermometer reading 112 inside and 121 outside. "Um...," I said.

"It might be off a few degrees," he replied.

Nearing the halfway point - only a full hour behind schedule, the winds began to pick up. The rolling casita was being tossed about and the driver was handling the steering wheel as if he were on an SNL set. This thing was experiencing turbulence. It was the beginning stages of love loss. Doubt had crept in. Hanging on for dear life to my door, which I was convinced would open and send me flying into the Columbia River to my right, I noticed a man with arms flailing in a small white car to our left. He was using the universal sign for "some crazy shit just flew off the top of your happy traveling home."
We pulled over to discover that the entire cover to the A/C on the roof had made a suicidal escape. Lost forever on I-84 - RIP AC Cover. We couldn't look back - we had to keep going.

Getting back on the road, we then attempted to turn the cab AC back on - which is completely unrelated to the kamikaze roof unit. It made an ungodly noise and we were made painstakingly aware that we had no AC in the cab. By the time we arrived at GrammaPapaLand, we were all a little stinky and in need of a drink...or eight.

Our trip to the coast was relatively uneventful. The horses and bunnies and wifi made up for the previous day's travel. We were starting to do the math however. This is about the time we realized what 8 miles per gallon really means. We may as well have taken a cab to the coast.

The week was then sprinkled - okay - shutty - submerged with ridiculous amounts of fattening food.

It was time to climb back in and go home.

Three tired, irritable kids and a dirty, matted Cocker Spaniel? Check.

Mr. Infinity and his fat wife? Check.

Anyone give a rat's ass about shoes? Nope.

Leaving Portland was nice and reflective. Somewhere between Portland and The Dalles, we began to get warm.

We hit Burgerville in The Dalles for one last binge for the fat wife of the driver and that's when we faced the fact that we had moved past warm and straight into sweat.

And then we found out we had NO A/C.

There really is no way to describe the panic I felt after I had finished my cheeseburger with special BV spread and fries and Walla Walla Sweet Onion Rings.

It was HOT, man. I don't complain about the heat, but there are CHILDREN in here for the love of god!

Never have I been so happy to see the gray skies as we neared the Blues.

But these weren't just gray. These were really more a shade of hurricane. The water on the road had cars shooting up their own rooster's tails. We had to pull over along with many other cars as the hail came down the size of golf balls. While thankful for the reprieve, we now discovered the leaks in the rolling piece of crap. And as we merged back onto the freeway, we noticed that the fancy thermometer no longer had a reading outside. Evidently, the sensor had jettisoned when it felt it had a chance. We wish it well and do not blame it one bit.
Oh, I almost forgot. I purchased a much needed drink holder in LaGrande for my massive ice water - at the same time that I bought Whatchamacallits, Mini Charleston Chews and Dots. My Dots attempted their own unfortunate liberation. So sad for everyone involved.

The final five hours in the RV allowed us to experience perspiration in a new way - combined with the treats of sugar, chocolate and the random flicking of ice on unspecting passengers. They acted like they didn't like it but I know they did.

As we took the final turn into our subdivision - 10 hours later, the drink holder was the final item to try to jump ship and my entire ice water landed upon my feet. No one said a word.

The now broken up with RV didn't even get cleaned. It was emptied of all personal belongings and taken to storage. It can sit there and think about its actions. It will NEVER go on another road trip outside of a three hour drive again...Oh hai my Durango...I've missed you...what's that? hotel? Yes...that sounds lovely.

Don't Do That!!! Elise - You Do it!!!

No less than 24 hours after Cricket went to the groomer, she rolled in something in the yard.  This blog requires not much more set up than that.  Because what you're about to witness is the dog wasting $50.00 and five hours of her life (the time she spent at the groomer.)   The second video is yet another fabulous moment which defines my excellent parenting skills.

Roughing It

Ahhhhh. Camping - the mountains, the rivers, the smell of pine trees and campfires burning...

....the trimmed shrubbery and green grass.

Wha..?

Seriously.

Of course, I knew going into this that we weren't heading toward the mountains so I'm not sure what I expected. But I felt like we were camping in someone's grandmother's backyard and at any moment we would be chased off the property.

All that said, have you met my family? We don't really "rough it" when we camp as it is, so it doesn't matter whether or not we've parked the house on wheels in bear country or in the neighbor's lawn. What matters is that we've packed the essentials:

Like Fine Wine and Stemmed Glasses

Or my blow dryer.

And even if you're not deep in the wilderness, one can still do traditional "camping" activities such as going for a hike.

That is until the weaker members of the party have to be carried.

Or you might still go fishing

and catch no fish

despite begging and pleading.

Actually though, sometimes it's just about spending quality time together.

In exceptionally close quarters.

Why on earth we want to do this is beyond me. But we do. We will do it again and again throughout the summer months until we can no longer stand the sight of each other or until the aarvee completely collapses into a pile of dust sprinkled with the smallest remains of 1987 wood paneling and and blue velour fabric. It's anyone's guess as to which of these two things might happen first because both are entirely plausible. Had you been with us this weekend (and you might say a quick little prayer of thanks that you weren't) you would be nodding your head in full agreement.

But you did miss out on this and this right here might be the most important reason for all camping trips.

Recycle, Reuse - THROW IT AWAY!!!

I am married to a cheap man. This isn’t a mean or cruel statement. It is simply a statement of fact. And, I might add that if you know me, you know how I enjoy finer things. Therefore, it is probably a good thing that he is cheap. It keeps me in check.

But cheap translates to some as frugal. And frugal translates to savings. And savings – in my book – translates to clutter.

You see, he saves, but he does not know how to organize. That’s where I come in. Usually once or twice a year I go on a rampage in the garage. In the beginning this was very hard for him. When I forced him to get rid of 20 plus empty kitty litter jugs (five years after the cat had died) he openly and loudly protested. Of course, you know the pain involved when I insisted the Spongebob costume he created for himself one Halloween had to go. It was life sized. It was awesome that Halloween. But Halloween was over, folks. Let us also not forget the cast iron skillet that he could not live without. This one was forced into a “One Year Use Clause” whereby if he did not use it in one year, he would kick it to the curb. He even proudly hung it on its own special hook where it sat. For a full year. Unused.

He claims he keeps things because he knows he’ll find another use for them. The extra wood from the deck – yes – I will agree. Enough PVC piping to plumb a small village – perhaps. But many of you know what happened with the old, one wheeled, gas grill. Anything on fire behind the family pool is NOT going to be a safe way to heat the pool for the children. Seriously.
And the “Frankentoys” also known as “Angela’s Dead Curling Iron meets Tickle Me Elmo.” No good can come from that.

Today’s expedition to the cave was not a disappointment. Within moments of pulling items out of the back corner, I realized he not only saved PVC piping, he also likes to save metal rods and old golf clubs. I figure if the head of the club is gone and the club is bent beyond recognition, it’s safe to let it go to the trash or the recycle bin. He honestly couldn’t part with it. WHY?

I really think there’s something to be said about the way a person thinks when they can’t see themselves throwing this item away. How many people are ever unsure about what else this item could be used as?

Evidently his son found a great way to recycle it.

Eventually, I found my way over to the Frankendoll Station. Things become a little more frightening over here.

Poor Fairytopia – I don’t know how it even got out here, but hopefully Woody and Buzz will figure out a way how to rescue it from Sid’s house . Especially since I see the remains of Twister may be involved. Shut up popcorn bowl. No one cares about you.

A glance slightly to the other side of the filthy countertop proves more than frightening. It’s downright disturbing. I don’t know what it is or why we own one, but it seems more than menacing and quite possibly illegal.

The final item that captured my attention could never be described using words. Only a picture could tell you even the basics about it. But even still, you’re not going to know what the hell it is. Nope. Because people don’t have things like these in their garages.

Completely baffled, I foolishly asked him what it was. He said “Oh, you’re going to like this. It even works!!!”

And with that, I was given a demonstration of my husband with a semi-electrical paper-mache helmet on his head…and it did indeed work. It was fully lit up on the inside. Thank PJ it worked. It would have been a dismal failure if it hadn’t, don’t you think?