Rachel: Contributing to Social Decline since 1984

Washington DC is snowless and boring today... ARGH!

Our neighbors to the south got snow. Our neighbors out west also got snow. Our neighbors to the east? Yes, they too got snow. And of course... Our neighbors to the north got snow. Washongton DC? Totally cursed (or blessed if you are part of the local government here).

Sure, my Christmas was wonderful. Yes, I am totally griping for nothing. After all, I am at work and getting a lot of stuff done. But I wanted to play in the snow. Yeah, it's pretty selfish of me, but I want what I want.

Christmas was pretty sweet. Finally got me a replacement camera... Also went to a "White" Catholic Church with my "not-quite-white" husband. He of course noticed that something was off right away but couldn't quite place what it was. Either way, it doesn't matter if you go to an ultra exclusive, rich, Scottish church to celebrate Jesus birth. At least you celebrated, right?

This year, I am feeling especially grateful. After all, I can kiss my loved one goodnight and that's more than many folks have. Bummer, I know. But sometimes you have to look at the really sad stuff to realize how unsad your life is. Wow, the biggest gripe I have is not getting snow? I'm really blessed! :)

One flurry, Christmas tree and grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich later...

 

And Christmas has come to our home! Last night, while I anxiously awaiting my husband's arrival... I did what every good wife does. I slathered peanut butter and jelly onto wheat bread and stuck in on my newly cleaned George Foreman grill. Of course it was delicious, but dry (i didn't think buttering the outside would have been beneficial for our health). Anthony came home and kept insisting that I come help him with "bags" in the car. I was a little more than annoyed since I have bronchitis and that seemed counter-productive. But I went out anyway.

... And there it was. A big, fat Christmas tree! Of course like a giddy little girl I hopped around until I gave myself an asthma attack. Who doesn't LOVE Christmas trees? (I mean besides people who don't celebrate Christmas and I am certain even a few of them do) After hugging the tree a lot, which had been artfully trimmed by the gentleman near Landmark mall who's tree lot resembles a scene from Charlie Brown, we heaved it up our tiny staircase. Not wanting to ruin my brand new vacuum, I had to tolerate a little needle situation until I could get myself a new broom.

So while it's still not decorated and we managed to overfill the stand severely already, it's Christmas in our house!

Better yet, I had a few tiny flurries this morning to bask in. Dear Santa, please add about 12 inches to that snow and we'll be straight.

25 Days of Christmas.. Kindness? Giving more than just gifts or punches.

Other than giving people gifts (at times really awesome gifts), what do I really do for people each Christmas? Nothing, usually. I generally go about my annoying little way nitpicking over ornament motifs and bitching about my finances. You know what? My finances may never be where I want them to be, so why am I still bitching? What would Jesus do? (Other than be ashamed of my selfish behavior?)

Then I had a thought... Do 25 things for others that have nothing to do with coordinated gift wrap. Things that maybe really, really hard to do. In a pay it forward sort of fashion, my mind started thinking up things that I can do for others. I may never get "good Karma" or have "good luck", but at least I can do something for other people instead of whining over life. At minimum, it will shut me up for a few weeks and Anthony will not have to down any Tylenol on my behalf.

So, like Santa, I am making a list...

 and checking it twice,

 of kind things I can do

 to make me a little more nice.

Yeah, and I think with me preoccupied with niceness, I will "forget" that my team is not making playoffs and that the Eagles actually have a SuperBowl shot... Well... Almost forget. That feel good selflessness might actually replace the longing for apple pie made from scratch!

Perhaps with all this kindness being spread, I'll finally stop whining.. For like a whole week. (If that's possible)

And perhaps this year, I will truly feel fulfilled.

(And not because I ate a little bit of everything and went back for seconds.)

MMMmmm... PIE!

  

 
 

Help! My husband is really tacky... And wants to pick out furniture.

 
Everyone has one. A husband who really wants to be involved in decorating your home. Whether it's for functional (I wants me a Lazyboy, honey) or recreational (I like silver...A LOT!) purposes, men can create havoc for our retro modern living rooms or french country bedrooms. In which case, it might be time to get creative.

Anthony likes dining room chairs with "arms" (help me, please). He also likes reclining everything. He also likes glass... Lots and lots of glass. Hi, Husband, I'm your SUPER clumsy wife, have we met? At this point, we agree on very little. Except maybe, price. It's a battlefield in our home threatening my clean minimalist approach for the living room. I haven't decided on the kitchen, but tacky 70's furniture is definitely out. I really wanted to go for a Gastro-Pub motif, but I am not so sure that's going to happen. What does a woman have to do to get her way these days?

Does equal opportunity mean equal decorating opportunity? Because if so? I, for one will personally accept an apron and bake from scratch to have my decorating dictatorship restored. However, I completely and totally support other women's right to choose the marital path that works for them. Dirty old recliners have no place in my home. Money is better spent on a Dyson in my opinion.

For now, my tactics are pretty clear. Buy as much furniture I can without the husband present then shower him with affection so he's sees that my happiness is his happiness. Should ugly furniture come through my door, he'll see what an angry wife gets him. Of course being the rational person I am, I will accept his ugly piece of errant furniture because I am a good person. Then, when he's at work, I will paint or reupholster it to fit my interior design WILL! Ha!

Buddy Lector. A Truly Disturbed, Plotting, Evil Little Dog.

 
"Wut ees zees? I poop! I poop on zee floor!"

My mom has this dog she picked up from the shelter. Buddy. He’s this crazy, possibly French, a-hole who is all nice to your face but eats your throw pillows in defiance. Somehow, my mother totally adores this dog. So does my sister, at least when she can dress him up as a princess. Buddy loves them too, in a sick stalker-like obsessive manner. Yes, Buddy OWNS them and anyone else willing to visit. Most of the time, I cannot tell if Buddy wants to kiss you or bite your face off. It really seems like that can go either way. Buddy can be the sweetest little puppy, until you cross him. Then you must pay.

Pay for what? According to Buddy, having another dog in the house is grounds for him to straight up pee on mom. And he will. “How dare you bring zees other dog een my howse?” It’s like she personally slapped Buddy in zee face. Imagine my mother’s shock as Buddy hiked up his leg! Very territorial this little French dog is. If you so much as break one of his imaginary rules, it’s over. Your stuff, all your personal belongings, is toast. There’s no amount of fecal matter he won’t roll in to make his point. I assure you, it’s intentional and super gag-tastic.

And Buddy? He doesn’t like you dating either. Lately, his calling card has been to make a poop trail from the hallway to the door so you know you’ve crossed him. Quite literally, CROSSED HIM. My mother, of course, is so terribly embarrassed. Buddy doesn’t like when she has people over of any sort. It’s not his thing. Two people live in that house, no other people should be there. My mother has parties anyway and puts him in another room. Buddy does not take this lying down. It’s on. He will simply void his entire digestive system onto her bed and roll in it. Oh, you put him in zee cage? He will roll around in zee poop in his cage. Have to let him out sometime…

Buddy is always plotting. Sure, today he is happy and cuddly. Tomorrow, he has something very special if a new friend is introduced to zee howse. Buddy wants everyone to know, my mom and my sister, are HIS pets. You can’t be bringing another pet, male, stuffed animal, plastic frog, or fake fur blanket into his world. Don’t even think about ignoring him. Don’t even try to change around the furniture. It’s Buddy’s house, no WORLD, and you just live in it! Crossing Buddy is a scene from Amityville Horror. There’s no amount of “dog whispering” you can do.

Buddy is watching you.

My husband's retail job is killing... ME? Why we dread the holidays.

 

Easter 2010... CANCELLED.

Memorial Day 2010...CANCELLED.

Halloween 2010... CANCELLED.

Thanksgiving is looking like a Red Bull can away from insanity. Apparently, taking even a day or so to visit my mother will be like "pulling teeth". I'd like a study done on how many people "stuck" in the retail industry, freak out and lose it. Because I don't even work in retail anymore, and I am losing it pretty quickly. (Not that I had "it" to begin with) For the love of Pete, my husband needs a new job.

If you need a snapshot into what constitutes romance and quality time in our marriage, picture this: A chubby couple eating quiznos in the backroom of a Rasioshack in Burke. Because that is our life right now. Holidays, weekends, evenings, and more. We spend our lives in the backroom of a small box retail store struggling to stay in business. Adding insult to injury, my husband is the best all around manager in the region and the least rewarded. Anyone want to Falcon Punch RadioShack with me?

Since I am not a customer of the God-forsaken retail establishment, I feel no sadness or guilt trashing their name. Suck it, Shack! RadioShack could change their name 1,000 times over and it still wouldn't matter. They are going out of business. Every year, they make their pay package crappier and crappier. Which shrinks the pool of decent warm bodies to fill their stores with.... Which puts them in their current mess, severely understaffed stores with managers working 60-80 hours per week in the SLOW season. How does a manager leave and find another job? Oh that's right, he can't. Because he's got to be at the store 12 hours a day by himself and talk Uncle Bo-Bo through changing a freaking battery. Which will bring him $4.99 in sales and occupy his time so potential big buyers don't stick around to be serviced. The stores that actually do manage to sell, sell primarily phones and deliver crappy customer service to all the girls and boys. None of this is false, even though it's funny.

Why do I hate the Shack so much you ask? Probably because no matter how well my husband does, they come in and basically trash everything he's done. All while rewarding thieving store managers who provide bad service and lie to sell some phones...THOSE? Those are the ones with better stores and higher pay. AWESOME. All the "Shack" cares about is who sells the most and to hell with good customer service, operations, and honesty. I can't wait for the day my husband finally can find a job so I can eat a real dinner with him again. At our home. Before 10PM. But until that day...

Go to hhgregg.

CraigsList is true entertainment. As a resource? Hit or MISS (or RAPIST)!

 
So, I am looking for part time writing work. You know, the old, "trying to cash in on what you love" tactic. I went against my usual advice and hopped onto Craigslist. Because I am just asking for it... Really, I am. Who really gets a good, part time writing gig from Craigslist and actually gets paid for it? Exactly. (But, I did find some excellent leads I can contribute to that might benefit me in the future. Exposure, Exposure, Exposure)

After looking through your basic "scam" ads that you can "work from home making $10,000 a month", I found something quite entertaining. Here's the advertisement.

Just signed up on a dating site but I don't have the resources to invest a lot of energy into writing girls. The 'virtual flirting' is a fine art. Can you get results? I want to hire someone who can be my assistant in getting responses from select girls. I can take it from there. I'm an attractive 29 year old entrepreneur with a very intense lifestyle. I have no issues getting dates, approaching girls, making friends, or keeping someone interested; I am not a social retard... I just lack the resources to actively pursue and date.

The ideal situation is one where you are working a few hours a week and setting up 3-5 dates a week. I can pay per introduction, but we can discuss compensation. Write me about yourself and why you think you'd be a good fit. I will give you access to my profile and you can initiate contact with girls that meet my criteria.

I am also in need of a personal assistant that can help me book my travels and plan my life. If you excel at this position there may be some stuff down the road :)

Oh yes, he did. Why is it "RAPIST" was the first thing that popped into my head? Clearly, this is a joke or the worst ad ever. Because I am nice, I offered some advice.

Okay so I laughed a little about this one. If this isn’t a joke, you need to better format your ad. Right now, telling people you are going to allow them access to your profile, is BAD. You’ll get psychos..Or you are one. Also, telling the person you’re a hot 29 year old who is an “entrepreneur” screams, “this is a personal ad”! (It also screams you are a broke, ugly dude, possibly a rapist) Also, if you want true quality in the personality and intelligence categories, you cannot open with your hotness/money. Only the cheap trashy ones fall for that. AND…. They are usually crazy. I write. I’m good at any writing. I can draw people in on the most boring of topics (yours included). So as a courtesy, I re-wrote your craigslist ad:

"Busy, professional male requires writer to eloquently convey personality traits and screen potential dates on a personal dating site. Need someone who is a good judge of character and a talented writer. You need to be able to accurately write “as me” and set up meetings with qualified candidates. While I can very easily do this myself, the time commitment and screening process is too much for me to juggle with my demanding career. Also, would consider a freelance administrative assistant in the future to plan travel, work on important documents and provide organizational services. Please keep that in mind as a possible future task, if you are interested."

That doesn’t sound like a joke or like you want to stalk and rape someone.

You’re welcome.

Rachel

Of course I knew that he:

A) Probably won't pay someone to do this.

B) Is probably a dumb, broke guy using this to score a date.

C) Possibly is a rapist looking to meet up with someone.

I was validated GREATLY when I received this in response:

Thanks for re-writing my post. Send me your resume and a headshot if you have one :)

HELL NO. But it's nice to be right, rapist.

My Deer-est Childhood Memories: My mom hunting and harassing.

 
 
There's this book, Twitter feed, and show about "shit my dad says" (mom, that is LITERALLY what it's called). That's all fine and dandy, but none of it can hold a candle to "shit my mom does" (mom, calm down, it's not the Lord's name in vain and it's better than me writing about "shit pop pop says"). Seriously, my mother could be a one woman sitcom or movie. If you think women who love Jesus are boring, you haven't met my mom. Sure, she tends to get "filled with the spirit" and could cry at church (often) but at home, it's all laughs. Either way, boring is out of the equation.

My mom is hilarious. If you are ever so lucky as to meet her, you will remember one thing, she's a riot. One time, I invited a boy over for dinner (stop laughing, I remember his name) and my mother made a 100% home cooked meal. Bread - from scratch. Potatoes - Scratch. Raspberry Jam - SCRATCH. My mom thought she was PG County's Laura Ingalls. Makes sense given we lived in PG County's last scrap of actual farm land (77 acres in the middle of a concrete jungle). So, boy from middle school (one of two I "dated" at the time) comes over to feast. He gets to that Raspberry Jam and declares "WHEW, I am AWAKE now!" BIG MISTAKE! Boy thinks the jam is too sweet and my mother immediately takes theatrical offense to this deciding she's not a fan of this boy. (She also doesn't like a boy she called "HEFFER" because he refused to "go out" with me damaging my swagga a bit) All night, she dramatically brings up how he "hates" her homemade Raspberry Jam. How her feelings are really hurt because most mothers consider scratch opening up the Kraft mac and cheese box. After all, she made that special meal to honor him, our special guest (it was...special).  He's clearly uncomfortable (but still is one of my 2 dates to 8th grade prom - SWAGGA RECOVERED) throughout the night and seriously thinks he's offended my mom beyond repair (yes, over homemade jam). This sets the stage for my mother to later arm wrestle a high school boyfriend (and win) in attempts to put them in increasingly awkward situations. I never dared to bring a boy to my dad, I didn't want them to be shot. So, my mother's antics were the preferred situation.

One night in particular, my mother brings on the hilarity when returning home from visiting friends. She's on a back road, a byway of sorts, that's got a speed limit of 50 (probably reduced by now because it's a back road...socialists). It's very late for us, nearly midnight, and my mother is going about 70 in the fog. Recently, I had just taken driver's ed and decided to showcase my skills.

"Mom, you're going 70", I say in that snotty I-am-always-right voice (*because I AM). Mom is leaning forward in her seat, eyes as wide as saucers, staring at the foggy road in front of her.

"Yes, Rachel I know. I know the road." my mom says as she edges forward more in her seat. It's not that I am nervous, my mom's catlike reflexes have saved our lives in an accident before. I just want to show off my insanely good grasp of driving safety.

"Are your high beams on?!?!" I ask incredulously.

"Yes... So I can see, Rachel." My mother declares. Waiting for the realization of the situation...

"So it's late at night, very foggy, deer season, and you are speeding down a wooded back road at 70 mph WITH YOUR HIGH BEAMS ON?!?!" I summarize in that condescending teenage fashion. My mother is a saint for NOT punching me in the face.

"I'm hunting for deer" she replies casually.

My mother has now shed "saint" and replaced it with "SUPER AWESOME", because that is legendary. Perfect delivery mom. That happened when I was 15/16, at 26, I can still tell that story and have people laughing. What's even better is, my mother "hunts for deer" in her typical Forest Green Dodge minivan. Those who thought she was an average soccer mom, have another thing coming. That Dodge would HAUL. I'm pretty sure my mother still drives like a teenage boy, but that's cool. It's part of her charm.

Guess what, "Shit my dad says"? Your franchise is in trouble.

 

Psychos? Mine lives upstairs. Should I leave a passive aggressive note?

I have a psycho in my apartment building. She's living right above our unit. Each night, she jogs, stomps, runs, builds things with small power tools (NONE of this is exaggerated. Sadly.).... She's just LOUD. It's impossible to sleep through her excessive movements and I am a heavy sleeper. Sometimes I hear her throughout the day too.It interrupts me even on the phone.

Me on the phone: "Yeah, that's no problem. I -"

BANG BANG BANG! STOMP STOMP STOMP! THUD!!!

Me on the phone: "Oh. Sorry... No, I am not at a construction site.... No, I'm sorry, there's not a quiter part of the building I can go to.... Uh uh... the bathrooms even louder... Yeah, sound must travel through the pipes."

It's not just phone calls. If it were, that wouldn't be a big deal. Well it WOULD be but not as much as what it is now. It's like my entire life needs those weird foamy earplugs. Take an average night:

11:00pm - Tucking self in... (THUD...BANG BANG BANG....[running]...CRASH!)

12:00am - zzzzZZZZzzzz - BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG (I sit up, freak out, go back to bed)

2:30am - zzzzZZZZzzzzz- THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP... [rapid banging] (I sit up, contemplate going upstairs to give crazy person the business, decide to wake up Anthony instead) "We have to move, honey" Anthony: mmmhhhmmmm...[snore]

5:00am - zzzzzZZZZZzzz - [heavy running] CRASH... (I scream into my pillow)

7:00am - wake up after hitting "snooze" 22 times.

Should I leave a note? Should I let this total psycho know how much she irritates me? I was thinking that at this point, I have no choice. It's gotten to the point where I dream of stabbing her in the neck. Everytime my son comes over, he tells me it's hard to sleep because of all the noise. Yesterday he zonked out midday because he couldn't sleep the night before. I still can't move just yet... So I am thinking snarky note would be perfect.

Dear Psychotic neighbor,

You are a disturbing human being. You either need a job or a concrete cell for an apartment.My guess is BOTH. It's so routine that you disturb my sleep, I expect that one day I might march up there to give you a piece of my mind. I can assure that won't be pretty. Nothing is more ugly than me, in my jammies, holding a stuffed sheep ready to rumble. Might I recommend you SLEEP at night? Oh, is that something you struggle with? Try tylenol PM, alcohol, or Ambien. If all else fails, try not taking everyone else down with you. I have a job, a long drive to get to said job, and typically these have to be accomplished while alert. I can't be alert when I hear you running a marathon in your tiny little apartment. Our floors are thin. I can hear all the crazy things you do at night, such as streaking across your mansion of 700 sq feet. In case you weren't aware, your apartment is not large. No reason to run constantly. A snail could make it end to end in about a minute 30. Okay? So STFU and sleep, you psychotic cow.

Sincerely,

Rachel. The sane person with a life.

Yeah that's the ticket. A snarky note.

FYI - Operation: WE'RE FREAKING MOVING is ON!

Furniture shopping again... Looks like I am still brainwashed by Ikea.

(Our 2008 Ikea starter furniture)

Sometimes I wonder if there's only one furniture store on the planet. Because it seems like other furniture stores sell only ugly crap at really high prices. Also, I am not one to go to Walmart and pay $200 for a crappy futon that will break in six months. Anymore. Yes, Walmart, you fooled me once but NEVER AGAIN! (Also, please look at Target and re-evaluate the state of your business) Ikea has brainwashed me into drinking their kool-aid (Lingonberry punch) and entices me with goodies (like retro modern furniture and chocolate). Now I don't want to shop anywhere else. Save for a few Craigslist finds that likely originated from... IKEA.

A little one dimensional am I? Please. I think other furniture stores are one dimensional. Remember 1994 when everyone and their mother had the SAME forest green plaid couch?

EW.

Or for 2000, it was all leather, all the time? How about how everyone seems to have the same ottoman with storage for blankets and trinkets... At least IKEA has the guts to sell a butt ugly, puke green couch and you'll like it or else! How about their names for products? Talk about creative! No clue on whether the products are ACTUALLY Swedish but they sure sound cool.

I totally spoke fluent Ikea today, by the way. Pam was looking at Ikea products to fit in her new apartment and I was totally, "try the Klippan series". Yeah. AND...I personally recommend the MALM series for the bedroom. It's very cute and timeless. Also beats the heck out of those THOUSAND pound sleigh beds. MALM has about 100 different mix and match options for your bedroom that will spark your marriage. By spark, I am talking about the shouty arguments while trying to put this stuff together. 

There's this chair, looks like a newer design that I want just because of the name... The KLAPPSTA. Can you imagine entertaining guests?

"This chair? It's imported. It's a Klappsta." (Except it DOES sound like a slang word for someone who's gotten the clap many times. Yeah, everyone knows at least one Klappsta.)

Not only will your guests like the slang quality of the name, but they'll be impressed. Unless they too are Ikea shoppers. Then it might be a little awkward that you are bragging about your $150 chair. It's like the person who brags about their brand new tires... Goodyear. Ikea's clever little wordplay is definitely funner than tires, so perhaps they'll let your cheap furniture brag go. After all, naming kitchen utensils "IDEALISK" is fricken genius. It's a wisk, it's ideal for cooking... It's IDEALISK.

Can I be adopted by IKEA?