Snowpacolypse 2010 Aftermath

We had three winter storms in ten days. This was taken after things thawed out, just a bit.

I have a funny feeling that I’m still going to be looking at that pile of snow in April.

Et tu FedEx?

Thank goodness the delivery notice telling me “we delivered your package” was affixed directly to my package, or I never would have known.

If they’re going to play these sort of mind-games, they should go all out, check ‘other’, and pencil in “right fucking here.”

Things that go bump in the night

Just as I was falling asleep Saturday I was jolted awake by a loud CRASH. The cat was next to me on the bed (though she made a mad dash for cover) so I knew it wasn’t her. Since there was no one else here, I decided it must have come from the downstairs neighbor. Replaying in my mind what I’d heard, I decided that it sounded like someone dropped a large metal can full of smaller cans, or possibly dishes; probably in the foyer. Satisfied with this explanation, I dozed back off, though I was still contemplating it. Sometime later I awoke again, worried that the noise could have come from my apartment somewhere. Checking for signs of calamity, I made my way to the kitchen. There, sitting in pool of water amid the shattered shards of the cat’s water dish was my old toaster, which apparently fell from its spot on the shelf of the microwave cart.

I’d refilled the cat’s water when I got home, then gone to bed. A short while later I awoke and went to the kitchen for a drink. I noticed that I hadn’t put her water in its usual spot, next to the microwave cart, so I moved it. At no time during this process did I notice the toaster (which hasn’t been moved since I got a new toaster last Christmas) resting precariously.

Here’s the really crazy part. This isn’t the first time it’s happened!! A couple of years ago the toaster dove into, and smashed, Caldonia’s food dish while I slept.

This is obviously the work of a ghost. A ghost with a taste for toast. Or a ghost that doesn’t like my cat. Or an evil mouse. Whatever the fuck it is, I wish it would stop. One thing’s for certain: I’m getting rid of that damned toaster. Then, if need be, I’ll call an exorcist and/or exterminator.

Spotted in the Wild: The Dreaded Horn-honking Douchebag

Finally saw the horn-as-doorbell idiot in the flesh. While I was out working on my car (@ 8:15AM) there was a familiar blast of steam-boat sounding car horn. Stepping from behind the raised hood I’m face to face with a Cadillac full of (I’m assuming) carpoolers. Lady in the passenger seat says “we weren’t blowing at you, we were blowing for our friend”. I don’t know if they heard me say “Have you never heard of a fucking doorbell?” as I climbed into my car (whose windows, like theirs, were down), but I don’t really care.

What the hell is wrong with people? Surely at least one of those people, too lazy to walk to the front door, has a cell phone and could call their friend to announce their arrival, rather than entertaining the entire neighborhood with their charming novelty horn every Goddamned morning, at 8AM!

Still here, not eaten by bears (yet)

I feel bad for neglecting the blog. If you feel like you’re missing out on your daily/weekly/monthly allotment of Gregisms, you can catch up with me on Twitter (@gargreguan). Anyway, I just wanted to share my latest brainstorm with you, my adoring public.

I’m going to start an “anti-social networking” site and call it…

HateBook(!) As soon as I figure out a way to monetize the thing I’ll be sitting on easy street.

Shut up! I hate all you melon-fevers!

Checks: Are people insane?

As I do almost all of my banking online or via debit card, I use, at the very most, 3 or 4 checks per month. This means that an order of checks lasts me a very long time. After writing the check for my rent (the only check I write every month, I discovered/remembered that I’m almost out of checks. I had noticed this some weeks ago, but since I was still using the freebies from when I opened the account (literally 3+ years ago!) I couldn’t just re-order online and would have to talk to a “customer service represenative”.

So, I call the 800 number and navigate through the menus until I get “Troy” on the line. Troy was quite personable, making chit-chat as he gathers the necessary information (evidently, the weather in Manila, Philippines is quite nice now). Troy asks me if I want the same checks as before, “sure, that’s fine” says I. Then Troy dropped a bombshell; 250 of the rather ordinary-looking checks I’ve been using will cost $77!! First of all, I do not need 250 checks, it’s taken me 3 1/2 years to use 150. Secondly, $77 for checks? That’s fucking crazy!

So, I politely explain to Troy that there is absolutely no way I’m paying that much for checks. With little fanfare he hooks me up with plain-old, regular-ass checks, yellow, I believe, for a much less angina-inducing $21.50 per 150. Assuming I don’t move (or die) I should still be using these checks 5 years from now.

$77 for checks! That’s just crazy talk!

How hard is it to buy stamps?

In the wee hours of Friday morning, I found myself in need of a stamp. Sadly, the Post Office half a mile from my house mysteriously removed their stamp machines some time ago, so I’ll have to turn elsewhere.

No problem, I think, the US Bank (an account I’ve kept open for no reason other than occasional fee-free ATM usage) is just as close and the ATM sells stamps. And so, off I go. After I go through the dozen or so steps necessary to purchase stamps the ATM informs me that my card has expired and asks if I want another transaction. Another transaction? WTF? No, thank you, just give me back my useless card.

So, I return home to search for the ATM card which I assume came, unnoticed, in the mail. No luck. If the card came, it apparently made its way, unnoticed, into the trash. OK, plan B. I can use the debit card for my primary account, pay a fee to everyone involved, and get my stamps. I return to the ATM, only to discover that neither of the possible PIN’s which come to mind will work so I’m thwarted once more.

Dejected, I turn for home and when I’m almost there I realize Fulmer’s (the very conveniently-located grocery store which I hate and never shop at) is open 24 hours and sells stamps. I turn around, zip over to Fulmer’s (which looks suspiciously dark) and head for the door. As I approach the doors a man inside meets me and indicates that they’re closed, they don’t open until 6. Huh, apparently they are no longer open 24 hours.

So after all of this, I head to the Kroger across town where I normally do my grocery shopping, which I know for certain was still open 24 hours as recently as last week. It is open. Victory is mine! Naturally the only cashier working is taking her break, and naturally, the guy filling in for her is unfamiliar with the stamp selling protocol, but after a few false-starts I finally have my stamps.

I place a stamp on my envelope, drive back across town to the Post Office right by my house (you know, the one where they took out the fucking stamp machines) and drop it in the mail. A mere 2 hours after I started this little adventure, I was safely back at home.

And that, friends, is how hard it is to buy stamps.

Contact points

Why is it that my hobbies punish me for neglecting them? Too much time off the bike means a sore ass as I start to ride more. Playing my mandolin too infrequently means seriously painful, bordering on blistered fingertips upon picking it back up. I really need to get busy building up (and maintaining) some calluses.

The Tardiness Conspiricy

Why is it that when you’re running late and in a hurry, everything possible seems to conspire to slow you down? Last night I was running a bit late, getting ready for work. I grabbed my hair brush and it immediately self-destructed. The rubber part which holds the metal bristles divorced itself from the handle and flew off. It only just avoided splashing down in the toilet (wouldn’t that have been a nice touch?).

It’s surprisingly difficult to brush your hair with a floppy piece of rubber studded with metal bristles, particularly given the wild and desperately in need of cutting condition my hair finds itself in. So of course this added more time which I didn’t have to spare to my preparations. I finally made it out the door only to be thwarted and delayed by every red-light I came to, random cops rolling with radar, and an abundance of cars driving 5 mph below the limit.

Really though, if this is all I can find to bitch about, things aren’t going too bad. You know?

Stupid, stupid DST

Guess who got tricked into thinking he’d overslept, made a mad dash getting ready and getting to work only to discover he was 57 minutes early?

Yeah, it was me. Thanks a whole fucking bunch, George W. Bush. Thanks for turning my ‘never has to be reset CD alarm clock’ into a ‘has to be reset four fucking times a year torture device’.

Fucker.

Stupid Groundhog

So, the groundhog saw his shadow, which supposedly means six more weeks of winter. Bah!
At least the New York groundhog (Chuck) fulfilled a long-time wish of mine and bit someone (not just anyone, New York’s Mayor Bloomburg!)

Remember when I said that I didn’t much care about the snow and ice that was forecast for us? Well, I lied. We got it, it’s still around, and I hate it. But I am still taking some solace in my cheerful little Shamrock’s reemergence.

Spring Arrives (in my kitchen)

I have a potted shamrock that I received as a birthday/Saint Patrick’s Day gift a few years ago. It thrived in my kitchen window, producing blooms almost continuously. Back in September, though, it seemed to be becoming less vigorous and I decided that maybe it needed a rest. Being essentially a bulb (actually a rhizome, I believe), it made sense to me that it might need a dormant period, so early in November I snipped off all of its leaves and flowers, stuck it in a paper bag and tucked it away in the back of the refrigerator.

After I did this, I did a bit of Googling and discovered that apparently I should have withheld water until it died back on its own, then put it away for a nap. I really worried that I might have killed it with my impulsiveness, but I stuck to original plan and hoped for the best. I took it out just after Christmas and started watering it. A few weeks went by and nothing was happening, reinforcing my fear that I’d killed it. Then, last Friday, I thought I detected new growth, but feared it was just wishful thinking. Suddenly, Sunday, three leaves shot up! Hooray! I’m hopeful that this means it will begin producing blooms in time for my birthday, as per my plan.

There may be a winter storm warning in effect through Wednesday and we may get another six inches of snow, but I don’t care (much). It’s Spring in my kitchen!