One of the parents at Judah's preschool likes to greet me in a very strange way. She says "You look tiiiired". I always find it kind of strange when people say that to someone who isn't really a close friend. If a close friend told me that, I'd probably say "Yeah, no shit Sherlock, I've got an infant at home and a preschooler who wakes up crying at 2am every night." But because this is someone I barely know, I have to be civilized and show some restraint by saying something far less biting. Something like "oh well, ya know, the baby" and shrug it off. But yeah, I don't like the idea of looking like a worn-out shell of my former, more vibrant and energetic self.
The more I think about it, the more I can't really understand why someone would even venture to say "you look tired". It's akin to saying "you're looking old these days", or maybe "you're really looking like you're getting out of shape." Years ago, a co-worker once told me "You look tired", when it wasn't the day after one of my partying binges or a night after frolicking in my bachelorhood, so I thought I should be looking fairly bright-eyed. I took offense to the remark, so I said "thanks!" The co-worker was caught of guard and said "oh sorry, I didn't mean it like that." Which brings me back to the point. Why would anyone, unless you're good friends, make a remark that you look tired?
Lily told me that this parent at the preschool told her she looked tired too, and it started to become clear: That's this parent's way of connecting, of making conversation. Well the next morning, I ran into her and she said "you look tiiiired", and I did the same old "well... ho hum" routine. And she actually came back and told me that her daughter had been waking up in the middle of the night crying every night. And she said "See? I have the bags under my eyes now." I wasn't gonna say anything about the bags, but next time I see her I'll have to say "You look tiiiired" and see what she does. I'll probably get slapped.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
I Fought the Law
I'm convinced that living in a car town like Los Angeles, two things will happen to you eventually: 1. You'll be involved in a wreck. 2. You'll get a traffic ticket. During my first year here, I was able to get both of those eventualities out of the way. I neglected to consider the possibility of multiples of either. And now I've had the pleasure of getting more than one ticket.
You may or may not know this, depending on how well you paid attention to the written material for obtaining a driver's license, but those little double yellow lines on the road? Don't cross 'em. There are a few circumstances where you may cross them, but it's usually a good idea not to. Because you might pull the crossing of the double yellow line maneuver, and subsequently have officer friendly pull up next to you and tell you that he's pulling you over. Which is what happened to me back in December.
There are several websites out there that will help you fight all sorts of traffic tickets. Do not use this one. I did, and I paid my $25 donation so that I could receive "personal attention" to my case. All I got was repeated e-mailings from said website reminding me to pay my donation, or that my deadline was fast approaching, or e-mails that I sent to his address bouncing back to me. The deadline has passed and I'm still getting e-mails reminding me to pay. Sheesh.
The single most important bit of information that I was able to glean from the website (or any of the websites that I found on the subject) was that you should never ever just pay the fine. In California there's this little process called "Trial by Declaration" whereby you say you want such a trial, you submit a couple forms with maps if you choose, and you never have to step into a courtroom. You should always contest the ticket, even if it's something as simple as writing "NOT GUILTY" on a sheet of paper. By going down the Trial by Declaration path, you are forcing the officer who gave the ticket to write up their own recount of the events leading to the ticket. If they don't file a report, you win. Plain and simple. If they do file and you lose, you can always go to a regular trial. Or you can pay the fine and get a point on your driving record and pay higher car insurance bills, etc. But who wants to do that?
So I did the Trial by Declaration thing. I included a bunch of maps from different angles showing what went down. Still, I wasn't very optimistic that I'd win. A few weeks passed, and I was getting the feeling that my car insurance bill was about to get a lot more painful. I received a letter in the mail from the Los Angeles County Clerk, i.e. The Law, and I knew this was it. I tore open the letter while chanting "please be good news please be good news please be good news..." and I scanned the letter for the words. NOT GUILTY with a check box next to it. Yes! I jumped up and down with the letter in my hand chanting "NOT GUILTY! NOT GUILTY! NOT GUILTY!" Judah got up from eating lunch and pointed and laughed. Lily didn't know what to make of it. At the time you're reading this, I'm still jumping around in the entry way of my house chanting "NOT GUILTY! NOT GUILTY! NOT GUILTY!"
You may or may not know this, depending on how well you paid attention to the written material for obtaining a driver's license, but those little double yellow lines on the road? Don't cross 'em. There are a few circumstances where you may cross them, but it's usually a good idea not to. Because you might pull the crossing of the double yellow line maneuver, and subsequently have officer friendly pull up next to you and tell you that he's pulling you over. Which is what happened to me back in December.
There are several websites out there that will help you fight all sorts of traffic tickets. Do not use this one. I did, and I paid my $25 donation so that I could receive "personal attention" to my case. All I got was repeated e-mailings from said website reminding me to pay my donation, or that my deadline was fast approaching, or e-mails that I sent to his address bouncing back to me. The deadline has passed and I'm still getting e-mails reminding me to pay. Sheesh.
The single most important bit of information that I was able to glean from the website (or any of the websites that I found on the subject) was that you should never ever just pay the fine. In California there's this little process called "Trial by Declaration" whereby you say you want such a trial, you submit a couple forms with maps if you choose, and you never have to step into a courtroom. You should always contest the ticket, even if it's something as simple as writing "NOT GUILTY" on a sheet of paper. By going down the Trial by Declaration path, you are forcing the officer who gave the ticket to write up their own recount of the events leading to the ticket. If they don't file a report, you win. Plain and simple. If they do file and you lose, you can always go to a regular trial. Or you can pay the fine and get a point on your driving record and pay higher car insurance bills, etc. But who wants to do that?
So I did the Trial by Declaration thing. I included a bunch of maps from different angles showing what went down. Still, I wasn't very optimistic that I'd win. A few weeks passed, and I was getting the feeling that my car insurance bill was about to get a lot more painful. I received a letter in the mail from the Los Angeles County Clerk, i.e. The Law, and I knew this was it. I tore open the letter while chanting "please be good news please be good news please be good news..." and I scanned the letter for the words. NOT GUILTY with a check box next to it. Yes! I jumped up and down with the letter in my hand chanting "NOT GUILTY! NOT GUILTY! NOT GUILTY!" Judah got up from eating lunch and pointed and laughed. Lily didn't know what to make of it. At the time you're reading this, I'm still jumping around in the entry way of my house chanting "NOT GUILTY! NOT GUILTY! NOT GUILTY!"
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Blue Jean
Recently I've noticed something going on with several pairs of my pants: The right leg knee area is getting worn much faster than the left. Lily pointed it out on my favorite pair of black pants. The area has a worn gray circle right below where my knee is. No such gray circle on the left. And then I noticed the same thing on a pair of what I like to call "leisure pants" that I wear around the house. Call them sweats if you want, but they're more styley than that. Anyway, the leisure pants have a hole in the right knee area where the black "non-leisure" pants are gray.
I finally figured out what was causing the extra wear: Every time I bend down to the boy's level to do whatever - help brush his teeth, put on his sunscreen, etc - I'm kneeling on that right knee. Now I'm trying my best to kneel on the left, but old habits die hard, so I figured it's time to buy a new pair of pants.
Lately I've been into buying proper trousers rather than going with jeans all the time. I especially like the "old man" style that's become more readily available through skater-wear shops like Volcom. The "old man" thing helps because I'm fitting that description more and more these days, plus when I get really old it won't look like I made some major wardrobe switch. But seeing's how my one and only pair of jeans sports a threadbare look in the ass section (not that the ladies probably mind that too much), I thought I'd try to replenish the jean supply. That supply being one pair.
So off to H&M I went and by the luck of the gods I was able to find a nice pair that looks sorta modern and actually fits. And when I arrived home, I found a box delivered on my doorstep with to: my name and from: the name of my best friend from high school. I opened the box and there was a card that said "Here are the new jeans I told you about at the reunion. Hope they fit!" I don't remember having any such conversation, but I also drank a reunion's worth of beers there, so there ya go. Lily demanded I try them on immediately, and they fit perfectly! Two pairs of jeans in one day. My right knee will never be the same again.
I finally figured out what was causing the extra wear: Every time I bend down to the boy's level to do whatever - help brush his teeth, put on his sunscreen, etc - I'm kneeling on that right knee. Now I'm trying my best to kneel on the left, but old habits die hard, so I figured it's time to buy a new pair of pants.
Lately I've been into buying proper trousers rather than going with jeans all the time. I especially like the "old man" style that's become more readily available through skater-wear shops like Volcom. The "old man" thing helps because I'm fitting that description more and more these days, plus when I get really old it won't look like I made some major wardrobe switch. But seeing's how my one and only pair of jeans sports a threadbare look in the ass section (not that the ladies probably mind that too much), I thought I'd try to replenish the jean supply. That supply being one pair.
So off to H&M I went and by the luck of the gods I was able to find a nice pair that looks sorta modern and actually fits. And when I arrived home, I found a box delivered on my doorstep with to: my name and from: the name of my best friend from high school. I opened the box and there was a card that said "Here are the new jeans I told you about at the reunion. Hope they fit!" I don't remember having any such conversation, but I also drank a reunion's worth of beers there, so there ya go. Lily demanded I try them on immediately, and they fit perfectly! Two pairs of jeans in one day. My right knee will never be the same again.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Blind
I pride myself on being prepared. Prepared for the weather, prepared for when the baby's diaper blows out the side. Prepared for any foreseeable event when I travel. I have lists on the computer that remind me what to bring to be prepared, and I have post-it notes on the nightstand to remind me of things that didn't make it to the computer. When I travel I have almost no need for a flashlight, but I'll be damned if I'm leaving it at home. But in the event that I do leave it at home, that will be the one time the rental car breaks down in the dark in some sketchy area.
And because I pride myself on being prepared, you can imagine my surprise when I reached into my bag after making it through airport security at LAX, and I didn't have my glasses. Not sunglasses, not something I could just pick up at the grocery store, but my eyeglasses. It's not like I'm Mr. Magoo or anything, but no eyeglasses equals headaches, so it's more than a minor annoyance. I briefly considered having them shipped up to me, but then I briefly considered how smashed they'd be when they arrived.
The conclusion was to call my eye doctor's office, have them fax the prescription to me, then go down to the nearest LensCrafters and get the cheapest pair of glasses I could find. I called LensCrafters to make sure they'd be open after work, and I hopped on the bus down to the mall. I looked on the little mall map for LensCrafters and it said it was on level "M". Mezzanine, right. I go up to the Mezzanine level and there's no LensCrafters. I not-so-quickly discover that it's not the Mezzanine level, but the "Metro" level, which they mean as the basement level. Right.
Upon entering LensCrafters, I immediately head for the cheapo glasses. And the cheapo eyeglasses consisted of mainly Bill Lumbergh style glasses. I tried them on and almost laughed myself out of the store, but I opted for some Sarah Palin type glasses. I handed the glasses and my prescription to the nearest LensCrafters employee and we started filling out paperwork and taking eye and face readings for these cheapo glasses.
The employee takes my paperwork and goes to the room where they hammer out the prescription lenses, and comes back 30 seconds later. "The machine is broken. Would you like to come back tomorrow?" I'm about ready to start a riot and start clearing the walls of all the pretty little designer frames, but I tell him "Nah, I'll just go without. Thanks." I figured by the time I came back after work, I'm already halfway through my travels, so why bother paying for some lame frames? And now I've convinced myself of the bright side: At least I wouldn't be losing my glasses on this little trip.
And because I pride myself on being prepared, you can imagine my surprise when I reached into my bag after making it through airport security at LAX, and I didn't have my glasses. Not sunglasses, not something I could just pick up at the grocery store, but my eyeglasses. It's not like I'm Mr. Magoo or anything, but no eyeglasses equals headaches, so it's more than a minor annoyance. I briefly considered having them shipped up to me, but then I briefly considered how smashed they'd be when they arrived.
The conclusion was to call my eye doctor's office, have them fax the prescription to me, then go down to the nearest LensCrafters and get the cheapest pair of glasses I could find. I called LensCrafters to make sure they'd be open after work, and I hopped on the bus down to the mall. I looked on the little mall map for LensCrafters and it said it was on level "M". Mezzanine, right. I go up to the Mezzanine level and there's no LensCrafters. I not-so-quickly discover that it's not the Mezzanine level, but the "Metro" level, which they mean as the basement level. Right.
Upon entering LensCrafters, I immediately head for the cheapo glasses. And the cheapo eyeglasses consisted of mainly Bill Lumbergh style glasses. I tried them on and almost laughed myself out of the store, but I opted for some Sarah Palin type glasses. I handed the glasses and my prescription to the nearest LensCrafters employee and we started filling out paperwork and taking eye and face readings for these cheapo glasses.
The employee takes my paperwork and goes to the room where they hammer out the prescription lenses, and comes back 30 seconds later. "The machine is broken. Would you like to come back tomorrow?" I'm about ready to start a riot and start clearing the walls of all the pretty little designer frames, but I tell him "Nah, I'll just go without. Thanks." I figured by the time I came back after work, I'm already halfway through my travels, so why bother paying for some lame frames? And now I've convinced myself of the bright side: At least I wouldn't be losing my glasses on this little trip.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
The Mob Rules
Being the good consumers that we are, Lily and I finally made a date with destiny and purchased a Costco membership. Really the reason we were there to buy in bulk was the party we were hosting at our house for Judah's birthday. The big 0-3! And 62 people had RSVP'd yes to our Evite, so we knew it was gonna be a rager.
So off to Costo were we to buy party platters, pastries, and paper towels. Among other things. And if you've never walked into a Costco, add it to your list of things to witness in life. It's insane. Huge numbers of people ambling around a huge warehouse with huge shopping carts, big enough for two kids to sit side-by-side in the kid seating part. It was only Thursday and it was so packed that it was hard to imagine what it would be like to go on a weekend when the regular folks aren't working. The place was so buzzing that there was barely enough room to maneuver the cart around without getting into a 20-cart pileup.
The packed atmosphere began to drive us mad after about 10 minutes. It seemed that no matter which way you turned your monstrous cart, there'd be somebody either barreling down the lane, or a cart in the middle of the aisle to go look at 1000 count bottles of Advil. I just wanted to pull over to get out from behind the "wheel", so to speak, and there's someone either staring at the warehouse ceiling standing in the place I want to pull into, or pushing their cart at a snail's pace while gabbing on the cell phone.
And then there's the samples. Costco likes to set up stations throughout the warehouse to cook up some vittles for the hungry shoppers to try out. Experienced Costco shoppers seem to know the drill and about how long things take to cook there, because it seemed that as soon as a dish popped onto a plate, five ravenous shoppers descended on the spot to gobble it up. I tried multiple times to get to the tamales, but I wasn't fast enough. Gotta go back more I guess. Or climb over people's carts like everyone else does.
As we meandered through picking up items for the party, it began to dawn on me how Costco really gets you. It's that EVERYTHING is there. You may go there to buy bulk food, but along the way you see a TV you like and think "yeah, I need one of those too", and you walk by a cross-training/treadmill-type machine and think "I'll pick that one up next time I'm here". You're at Costco, where everything is a little bit cheaper, so how could you go wrong?
We finally managed to get everything we needed for the party, and headed to the checkouts. The good thing is that Costco checkers are way more helpful than the ones at Trader Joe's. Don't get me started again. Costco likes to put your stuff in boxes instead of bags. I guess that's somehow better, but now we've got this influx of cardboard to deal with. The bulk goodies would hardly fit in the back of the wagon. As we left the equally insane parking lot, I couldn't help but wonder "is this the beginning of the end?" It might be, but I'm looking forward to that next grocery run so I can get the treadmill.
So off to Costo were we to buy party platters, pastries, and paper towels. Among other things. And if you've never walked into a Costco, add it to your list of things to witness in life. It's insane. Huge numbers of people ambling around a huge warehouse with huge shopping carts, big enough for two kids to sit side-by-side in the kid seating part. It was only Thursday and it was so packed that it was hard to imagine what it would be like to go on a weekend when the regular folks aren't working. The place was so buzzing that there was barely enough room to maneuver the cart around without getting into a 20-cart pileup.
The packed atmosphere began to drive us mad after about 10 minutes. It seemed that no matter which way you turned your monstrous cart, there'd be somebody either barreling down the lane, or a cart in the middle of the aisle to go look at 1000 count bottles of Advil. I just wanted to pull over to get out from behind the "wheel", so to speak, and there's someone either staring at the warehouse ceiling standing in the place I want to pull into, or pushing their cart at a snail's pace while gabbing on the cell phone.
And then there's the samples. Costco likes to set up stations throughout the warehouse to cook up some vittles for the hungry shoppers to try out. Experienced Costco shoppers seem to know the drill and about how long things take to cook there, because it seemed that as soon as a dish popped onto a plate, five ravenous shoppers descended on the spot to gobble it up. I tried multiple times to get to the tamales, but I wasn't fast enough. Gotta go back more I guess. Or climb over people's carts like everyone else does.
As we meandered through picking up items for the party, it began to dawn on me how Costco really gets you. It's that EVERYTHING is there. You may go there to buy bulk food, but along the way you see a TV you like and think "yeah, I need one of those too", and you walk by a cross-training/treadmill-type machine and think "I'll pick that one up next time I'm here". You're at Costco, where everything is a little bit cheaper, so how could you go wrong?
We finally managed to get everything we needed for the party, and headed to the checkouts. The good thing is that Costco checkers are way more helpful than the ones at Trader Joe's. Don't get me started again. Costco likes to put your stuff in boxes instead of bags. I guess that's somehow better, but now we've got this influx of cardboard to deal with. The bulk goodies would hardly fit in the back of the wagon. As we left the equally insane parking lot, I couldn't help but wonder "is this the beginning of the end?" It might be, but I'm looking forward to that next grocery run so I can get the treadmill.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Baby Come Back
Judah's preschool has asked that all parents pack a cloth napkin into the kids' lunches. Like 3 year olds are using napkins. Actually they use the napkins as a sort of tablecloth/mat area so they don't infringe on each others dining space at the kiddie tables. Still sounds crazy to me, but who am I to argue. And being that I'm packing Judah's lunch every morning, I'm using the only available cloth napkins to be found at our house - Lily's good ones. Lily doesn't like that.
So on my weekly pilgrimage to Target, I decided to buy some cloth napkins to be dedicated solely to Judah's lunchbox. Target didn't have much of a selection. Not much that fits into the "boyish but not branded by Disney/Pixar, Thomas the Train, or Spongebob" category. They had plain colors like green, red, and yellow. I opted for the green ones thinking that they'll hold up the longest over repeated food spillage. They came in packs of four, which works out great for the number of days in the school week. Laundry or dipping into the good napkin stash would be necessary.
Except that when I got home from Target and Lily inspected the new napkins, she noticed that there were only three in the pack. Damn! A return trip to return would be necessary. Which is what we did yesterday. Returning stuff at Target is never a big deal. The people working at the counter could care less why you're returning merchandise, so no need to make up any excuses, just show 'em the receipt and you're good. I had no need for an excuse, only that there were three napkins instead of four. As I stood in line, I contemplated the possibility that they might think I'm lying and I still have the fourth napkin at home. But why the hell would anyone make a return trip to Target and stand in the return line just for one napkin. I felt guilty of theft,nevertheless.
It was my turn to return merchandise, and Brendaisha would be assisting me. "Can I help the next guest?" she said with a blank stare that could only be achieved by burning countless hours of your life listening to return stories at Target in Los Angeles. I wondered why Brendaisha's mom couldn't have stopped at "Brenda". Why the "isha"? I'm sure her friends called her "Brenda" anyway.
"This pack is suppposed to have four and there were only three in there." I told Brendaisha holding my receipt out like it was a passport. Brendaisha (I'll stop with the "isha" from here on out if you can follow along) scanned the napkin package, then the receipt, and she asked if I wanted a refund or exchange. I asked for an exchange. I should have asked for the refund, because it would save me a trip back to Brenda. She told me I didn't have to wait in line next time.
After I walked to the napkin area and selected a pack that had four napkins, I went back to Brenda, who was blankly staring at a bearded man telling her some lengthy story about a Dirt Devil vacuum cleaner he wanted to return. She obviously didn't care, but it made me think that the guy had something to hide by telling a story instead of saying "it's broken" and leaving it at that.
The refund line had three ladies waiting, and they didn't look like they'd be too happy to see me jump to the front of the line. They just didn't know about the arrangment Brenda made with me. So I sidled up to the counter and didn't dare look in the ladies direction. I waited for the vacuum man to finish his story.
Another Target refund counter casualty walked over and opened up the register where I waited and told me "sorry, but you're standing at the register". Oh, my bad. I moved away from the register and lady #1 in line got down to business. Finally Brenda was ready and she took my new pack of napkins and the exchange receipt and sent me on my way. Except that we were buying some gift wrap and some gifts for Judah's birthday, so we still had to go through the regular checkout.
And when we were through the checkout, I got a coupon, as all Targets like to give out when you're leaving so you'll come back. But this coupon was for a free Choxie chocolate bar. Like free as in redeemable right now no purchase necessary. All that returning business made me hungry , so I asked the checkout gal about the coupon and she said "oh yeah, go ahead and get it" and she motioned toward the rack of candy right at the checkout.
I had no idea what a Choxie bar was or what one looked like, so I scanned the candy rack and finally found a group of Choxie dark chocolate espresso truffle bars. Two bucks. I grabbed one and handed the bar and my coupon to the checkout gal. She scanned them both and the word "VOID" appeared on the screen. She looked at the coupon and said "oh you have to buy three dollars worth of something to get it". She moved onto the next customer in line. I looked closely at the coupon and it said nothing about buying anything. It did however say "up to a $3 value", which meant that the $2 Choxie bar in my hand would fit the bill.
I went to the 6-item max express line to see if I'd get a different result. The lady in front of me clearly had at least 8 items, but I waited patiently for my turn. The Target employee scanned the Choxie bar and the coupon and the screen said "VOID". The employee turned to the manager standing next to her and said "it's not working". The manager said "punch in the code". The employee again scanned the code. Same result. The manager looked at the coupon and said to the employee "I think he has to buy something." I said "it says free and it's worth a three dollar value and the bar is only two bucks." No sooner did I finish that sentence than the manager held up the "shush" finger (performed by pointing the index finger skyward and moving the arm toward the intended recipient) and told me "we're trying to figure this out". They resorted to some sort of manual override, and I walked out of Target with my free Choxie bar.
On the ride home I ate two squares of the chocolate. Lily asked "was it worth it?" It was and it was delicious. Free is damned tasty.
So on my weekly pilgrimage to Target, I decided to buy some cloth napkins to be dedicated solely to Judah's lunchbox. Target didn't have much of a selection. Not much that fits into the "boyish but not branded by Disney/Pixar, Thomas the Train, or Spongebob" category. They had plain colors like green, red, and yellow. I opted for the green ones thinking that they'll hold up the longest over repeated food spillage. They came in packs of four, which works out great for the number of days in the school week. Laundry or dipping into the good napkin stash would be necessary.
Except that when I got home from Target and Lily inspected the new napkins, she noticed that there were only three in the pack. Damn! A return trip to return would be necessary. Which is what we did yesterday. Returning stuff at Target is never a big deal. The people working at the counter could care less why you're returning merchandise, so no need to make up any excuses, just show 'em the receipt and you're good. I had no need for an excuse, only that there were three napkins instead of four. As I stood in line, I contemplated the possibility that they might think I'm lying and I still have the fourth napkin at home. But why the hell would anyone make a return trip to Target and stand in the return line just for one napkin. I felt guilty of theft,nevertheless.
It was my turn to return merchandise, and Brendaisha would be assisting me. "Can I help the next guest?" she said with a blank stare that could only be achieved by burning countless hours of your life listening to return stories at Target in Los Angeles. I wondered why Brendaisha's mom couldn't have stopped at "Brenda". Why the "isha"? I'm sure her friends called her "Brenda" anyway.
"This pack is suppposed to have four and there were only three in there." I told Brendaisha holding my receipt out like it was a passport. Brendaisha (I'll stop with the "isha" from here on out if you can follow along) scanned the napkin package, then the receipt, and she asked if I wanted a refund or exchange. I asked for an exchange. I should have asked for the refund, because it would save me a trip back to Brenda. She told me I didn't have to wait in line next time.
After I walked to the napkin area and selected a pack that had four napkins, I went back to Brenda, who was blankly staring at a bearded man telling her some lengthy story about a Dirt Devil vacuum cleaner he wanted to return. She obviously didn't care, but it made me think that the guy had something to hide by telling a story instead of saying "it's broken" and leaving it at that.
The refund line had three ladies waiting, and they didn't look like they'd be too happy to see me jump to the front of the line. They just didn't know about the arrangment Brenda made with me. So I sidled up to the counter and didn't dare look in the ladies direction. I waited for the vacuum man to finish his story.
Another Target refund counter casualty walked over and opened up the register where I waited and told me "sorry, but you're standing at the register". Oh, my bad. I moved away from the register and lady #1 in line got down to business. Finally Brenda was ready and she took my new pack of napkins and the exchange receipt and sent me on my way. Except that we were buying some gift wrap and some gifts for Judah's birthday, so we still had to go through the regular checkout.
And when we were through the checkout, I got a coupon, as all Targets like to give out when you're leaving so you'll come back. But this coupon was for a free Choxie chocolate bar. Like free as in redeemable right now no purchase necessary. All that returning business made me hungry , so I asked the checkout gal about the coupon and she said "oh yeah, go ahead and get it" and she motioned toward the rack of candy right at the checkout.
I had no idea what a Choxie bar was or what one looked like, so I scanned the candy rack and finally found a group of Choxie dark chocolate espresso truffle bars. Two bucks. I grabbed one and handed the bar and my coupon to the checkout gal. She scanned them both and the word "VOID" appeared on the screen. She looked at the coupon and said "oh you have to buy three dollars worth of something to get it". She moved onto the next customer in line. I looked closely at the coupon and it said nothing about buying anything. It did however say "up to a $3 value", which meant that the $2 Choxie bar in my hand would fit the bill.
I went to the 6-item max express line to see if I'd get a different result. The lady in front of me clearly had at least 8 items, but I waited patiently for my turn. The Target employee scanned the Choxie bar and the coupon and the screen said "VOID". The employee turned to the manager standing next to her and said "it's not working". The manager said "punch in the code". The employee again scanned the code. Same result. The manager looked at the coupon and said to the employee "I think he has to buy something." I said "it says free and it's worth a three dollar value and the bar is only two bucks." No sooner did I finish that sentence than the manager held up the "shush" finger (performed by pointing the index finger skyward and moving the arm toward the intended recipient) and told me "we're trying to figure this out". They resorted to some sort of manual override, and I walked out of Target with my free Choxie bar.
On the ride home I ate two squares of the chocolate. Lily asked "was it worth it?" It was and it was delicious. Free is damned tasty.
Friday, November 28, 2008
That's Amore
Last weekend I went to a friend of Judah's for a playdate. The playdate was for Judah not me, silly. It was a friend of his - named Alida - who attended the same daycare until just recently when they went to different preschools. The family is Italian. Not Italian-American, but actually from Italy until just a few years ago. Their English is very good. But their parents, who live in Italy and were nearing the end of their visit, don't speak English at all.
Judah and his friend played outside for a while, then inside when it got dark. It looked like it was about time to leave until Alida's mom told me she made dinner for Judah. I'm thinking "No dinner for me? Oh, I guess I'm getting fatter and fatter, so nevermind." Alida and Judah ate the most elaborate dinner I've seen for preschoolers as they watched Finding Nemo. Alida's dad and I talked shop. Soon after Judah's dinner was done, I was about to leave again when Alida's mom told me that dinner was ready. For me and the rest of the adults this time. So I guess I'm not getting that fatter after all.
We sat down at the table with the parents (not just the parents of the preschoolers, but the parents of the parents of the preschooler who lives there) and we had a lovely dinner that consisted mainly of conversation spoken in English. There were a few minutes of Italian for the Italian speakers, and I felt compelled to follow the flow of whoever was speaking even though I could barely understand more than a word here or there. Words like "vino" and "pasta".
After dinner I got Judah's shoes on and put on our jackets and started saying goodbye. In my vino dampened mind I decided that it would be clever to try to say "have a good journey" in Italian. Not that I knew how to say that, but I quickly recalled from some Berlitz French lessons somebody saying "Bonne Journée". And I thought, "it must be 'Bon Journo' in Italian, and I went with it. I leaned in to Alida's grandma's cheek to do the Euro double-kiss thing and she smiled and said "Arrivederci!" I said "bongiorno"! Only later that night did I realize I really said "hello". What a dumbass American I am.
Judah and his friend played outside for a while, then inside when it got dark. It looked like it was about time to leave until Alida's mom told me she made dinner for Judah. I'm thinking "No dinner for me? Oh, I guess I'm getting fatter and fatter, so nevermind." Alida and Judah ate the most elaborate dinner I've seen for preschoolers as they watched Finding Nemo. Alida's dad and I talked shop. Soon after Judah's dinner was done, I was about to leave again when Alida's mom told me that dinner was ready. For me and the rest of the adults this time. So I guess I'm not getting that fatter after all.
We sat down at the table with the parents (not just the parents of the preschoolers, but the parents of the parents of the preschooler who lives there) and we had a lovely dinner that consisted mainly of conversation spoken in English. There were a few minutes of Italian for the Italian speakers, and I felt compelled to follow the flow of whoever was speaking even though I could barely understand more than a word here or there. Words like "vino" and "pasta".
After dinner I got Judah's shoes on and put on our jackets and started saying goodbye. In my vino dampened mind I decided that it would be clever to try to say "have a good journey" in Italian. Not that I knew how to say that, but I quickly recalled from some Berlitz French lessons somebody saying "Bonne Journée". And I thought, "it must be 'Bon Journo' in Italian, and I went with it. I leaned in to Alida's grandma's cheek to do the Euro double-kiss thing and she smiled and said "Arrivederci!" I said "bongiorno"! Only later that night did I realize I really said "hello". What a dumbass American I am.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Chocolate and Cheese
Yesterday I walked in on Lily and Judah laughing in the living room. Lily saw me come in, she turned to Judah and said, "Tell daddy what you told me". And without hesitation, Judah looked at me and said "You're getting fatter and fatter". Oh, kids just say the darndest things, don't they? I mean, I KNOW I'm not fat. But then why would the boy say I'm getting fatter? And fatter?
I guess for starters, I haven't been to the gym in like, forever. And even when I was going on a regular basis, it was probably only twice a week at best. But I do try to watch what I eat. Except for lately with the whole "newborn/no sleep/gotta do whatever I can to stay sane including eat junk food" diet. Cookies and cream ice cream has been a favorite lately. And chocolate chip cookies. And leftover halloween candy. But I deserve it! I'm not getting a regular night's sleep!
Okay, so maybe there is a bit more pudge around my waist. And maybe my face. So I suppose that means hauling my fatter and fatter ass back to the gym where it belongs. Except according the the Alex Hauser rules of fitness, which clearly state that you work out hard and watch what you eat all year, but when the holidays roll around, forget about it. You slack off and eat whatever you damn well please. I know we're not actually at the beginning of the holidays yet, but who starts a workout regimen in November? Nobody, that's who. I'm gonna eat a bowl of cookies and cream ice cream right now just to prove it. I'll show that kid who's getting fatter. And fatter.
I guess for starters, I haven't been to the gym in like, forever. And even when I was going on a regular basis, it was probably only twice a week at best. But I do try to watch what I eat. Except for lately with the whole "newborn/no sleep/gotta do whatever I can to stay sane including eat junk food" diet. Cookies and cream ice cream has been a favorite lately. And chocolate chip cookies. And leftover halloween candy. But I deserve it! I'm not getting a regular night's sleep!
Okay, so maybe there is a bit more pudge around my waist. And maybe my face. So I suppose that means hauling my fatter and fatter ass back to the gym where it belongs. Except according the the Alex Hauser rules of fitness, which clearly state that you work out hard and watch what you eat all year, but when the holidays roll around, forget about it. You slack off and eat whatever you damn well please. I know we're not actually at the beginning of the holidays yet, but who starts a workout regimen in November? Nobody, that's who. I'm gonna eat a bowl of cookies and cream ice cream right now just to prove it. I'll show that kid who's getting fatter. And fatter.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Blew
Last weekend I was hangin out eating lunch with Judah after a morning of hangin out, and mom and the new baby girl were asleep in the bedroom. Judah seemed really tired, which is usually the case around lunchtime, because that's also right before naptime. He wanted to sit on my lap to eat lunch, which isn't the norm, but he's so darn cute and cuddly at this stage that I wasn't gonna argue. I tried to get him to eat more of his lunch, but he seemed too tired to go on, so I put him to bed for his nap.
Then I think I watched a little bit of some college football game that I have no connection to, because I really don't know what to do with myself when everyone else is asleep at my house. The next thing ya know Judah is screaming at the top of his lungs crying. I went to his room to see what was up. He had puked all over himself and some of his bed. The vomit was mostly the eggs from breakfast, and I was surprised that those bits weren't more digested by then. He had managed to keep most of his bed clean, instead sending the majority of it onto my pillow, which was left there from the morning cry session of "DAAAAAADDDDYYYYY" over and over, when I was too tired to do anything but grab my pillow and go to his room to quiet him down.
The funny thing about kids and puke is that they don't understand what's going on. I wonder if they think their insides are coming out. Being a college graduate and veteran of puking, I know very well the ins and outs of that exercise. But kids must think the world is coming to an end when they hurl. Judah evidently did. I got him cleaned up, then concentrated on getting the mess in his room cleaned up and everything into the laundry. Thank god we have our own washing machine.
Lily woke up with all the racket, and she came to the living room to help Judah settle down. After I got the laundry going, I decided to water all the plants, which Judah likes to help with. We watered a few of them, and he got distracted and started playing with his trucks or trains or something. I heard him make a weird sounding cough and I turned and asked "are you okay?" Which was followed by a quick blast of mostly watery puke from his mouth. Right onto the rug. Lily said "I think it was mostly water" nanoseconds before Judah let loose with another, bigger blast of puke that wasn't mostly water. I grabbed his hand to get him off the rug, but again, Judah must have thought the world was coming to an end because he was crying and not moving. Another blast of puke. I managed to grab him and get him to the toilet for the final purge.
I don't know why I expected him to be able to give me some sort of sign like "Hey dad, I'm about to throw up here. Get me to the nearest bathroom". No, preschoolers don't have that sense built up yet, like they will in high school or junior high or whenever the kids really start drinking these days. So I'm resigned to the randomness of it. At least with dogs, they make that stomach pumping noise before they let loose some dog vomit. Eww.
Then I think I watched a little bit of some college football game that I have no connection to, because I really don't know what to do with myself when everyone else is asleep at my house. The next thing ya know Judah is screaming at the top of his lungs crying. I went to his room to see what was up. He had puked all over himself and some of his bed. The vomit was mostly the eggs from breakfast, and I was surprised that those bits weren't more digested by then. He had managed to keep most of his bed clean, instead sending the majority of it onto my pillow, which was left there from the morning cry session of "DAAAAAADDDDYYYYY" over and over, when I was too tired to do anything but grab my pillow and go to his room to quiet him down.
The funny thing about kids and puke is that they don't understand what's going on. I wonder if they think their insides are coming out. Being a college graduate and veteran of puking, I know very well the ins and outs of that exercise. But kids must think the world is coming to an end when they hurl. Judah evidently did. I got him cleaned up, then concentrated on getting the mess in his room cleaned up and everything into the laundry. Thank god we have our own washing machine.
Lily woke up with all the racket, and she came to the living room to help Judah settle down. After I got the laundry going, I decided to water all the plants, which Judah likes to help with. We watered a few of them, and he got distracted and started playing with his trucks or trains or something. I heard him make a weird sounding cough and I turned and asked "are you okay?" Which was followed by a quick blast of mostly watery puke from his mouth. Right onto the rug. Lily said "I think it was mostly water" nanoseconds before Judah let loose with another, bigger blast of puke that wasn't mostly water. I grabbed his hand to get him off the rug, but again, Judah must have thought the world was coming to an end because he was crying and not moving. Another blast of puke. I managed to grab him and get him to the toilet for the final purge.
I don't know why I expected him to be able to give me some sort of sign like "Hey dad, I'm about to throw up here. Get me to the nearest bathroom". No, preschoolers don't have that sense built up yet, like they will in high school or junior high or whenever the kids really start drinking these days. So I'm resigned to the randomness of it. At least with dogs, they make that stomach pumping noise before they let loose some dog vomit. Eww.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
The Golden Age of Wireless
My iPhone was stolen this week. Some people might think "Haha, stupid iPhone haver. Serves you right for havin' a stupid iPhone." Well, the joke's on me I guess. I won't get into the nitty gritty of how it happened, because that would make me seem like an even dumber stupid iPhone haver. But I would like to share what happened after the thievery.
After the requisite self-hatred for being a dumbshit who got his iPhone stolen, I started to piece together the things I probably SHOULD have done to protect myself. Oh, simple things like password protecting my phone. Or password protecting my SIM card. Or doing this or this or this.
But no, I thought that I would always have this phone and I never thought that anyone would ever steal it. But the funny thing about an iPhone is that it's a computer in your pocket. And that computer can be used to steal your identity and make your life a lot more complicated than it is right now. As I was lying in bed that night at 3 am wondering if somebody was coming to my house (because they had my address now) to steal more stuff, I considered that I should probably have locked the damn phone in the first place. I spent my afternoon changing all my passwords and deleting shit.
The next day I looked on my credit card's theft protection policy and saw that my phone was covered. Whew. But in order to get reimbursed, I'd have to file a police report. With the LAPD. Nice. I knew that would be pleasant, but necessary. So I made my way down to the police station closest to where the theft happened, and lucky for me, 2 hours free parking on the street outside. I walked in to see two men in blue staring at me, one of which looked like he had had about a dozen too many donuts. I walked toward him, as he was the guy directly in my path, and before I was two steps toward him he pointed his finger to the right, to a much younger much leaner cop. And that cop didn't seem too excited to be helping me.
I told him my story, and he stated "we're gonna have to list that as a 'lost' item because you didn't actually witness the theft". How many people actually see somebody steal their shit? Unless you're getting mugged, you're not seeing anything. So I told him that I called my phone and somebody answered, so I KNOW it was stolen. Apparently he thought that was good enough, cuz he changed the lost to stolen. I told him how AT&T wasn't gonna replace my phone with anything but a non-iPhone Nokia lame piece of shit for the low price of 50 bucks. At the end of the report, he told me his own story of how his iPhone had gotten water splashed on it in a scuffle, and AT&&T was ready to charge him full price to replace it. This for a guy who was Protectin' and Servin'. I told him they should give him a new phone for free. I walked out with copy of police report in hand.
And I went straight to the Apple Store in Century City to get a replacement. Now I couldn't just go without a phone for a while while my wife's in late/delivery stage of pregnancy, could I? I ordered basically the same thing as the first time. We were almost done with the transaction when the Apple sales rep told me it would be a $549 "upgrade" instead of the retail $299. That for being the asshole who had his phone stolen. Yeah, I wanted that to happen. After talking to two AT&T phone reps who toed the company line of screwing theft victims into paying more than full price, the Apple guy finally got his manager and got me the phone for the same price I paid pre-thievery. And the Apple Store guy told me how I could call AT&T with the SIM card nubmer and have them shut off the phone completely. I did that the next day.
Now all is back to the way it was before the theft. Except I'm down another $375 or so until the reimbursement arrives, if it arrives at all. And that shit is locked down tight. Takes me another 5 rings or so to unlock and answer the damn thing, but I'm not going through all that again.
After the requisite self-hatred for being a dumbshit who got his iPhone stolen, I started to piece together the things I probably SHOULD have done to protect myself. Oh, simple things like password protecting my phone. Or password protecting my SIM card. Or doing this or this or this.
But no, I thought that I would always have this phone and I never thought that anyone would ever steal it. But the funny thing about an iPhone is that it's a computer in your pocket. And that computer can be used to steal your identity and make your life a lot more complicated than it is right now. As I was lying in bed that night at 3 am wondering if somebody was coming to my house (because they had my address now) to steal more stuff, I considered that I should probably have locked the damn phone in the first place. I spent my afternoon changing all my passwords and deleting shit.
The next day I looked on my credit card's theft protection policy and saw that my phone was covered. Whew. But in order to get reimbursed, I'd have to file a police report. With the LAPD. Nice. I knew that would be pleasant, but necessary. So I made my way down to the police station closest to where the theft happened, and lucky for me, 2 hours free parking on the street outside. I walked in to see two men in blue staring at me, one of which looked like he had had about a dozen too many donuts. I walked toward him, as he was the guy directly in my path, and before I was two steps toward him he pointed his finger to the right, to a much younger much leaner cop. And that cop didn't seem too excited to be helping me.
I told him my story, and he stated "we're gonna have to list that as a 'lost' item because you didn't actually witness the theft". How many people actually see somebody steal their shit? Unless you're getting mugged, you're not seeing anything. So I told him that I called my phone and somebody answered, so I KNOW it was stolen. Apparently he thought that was good enough, cuz he changed the lost to stolen. I told him how AT&T wasn't gonna replace my phone with anything but a non-iPhone Nokia lame piece of shit for the low price of 50 bucks. At the end of the report, he told me his own story of how his iPhone had gotten water splashed on it in a scuffle, and AT&&T was ready to charge him full price to replace it. This for a guy who was Protectin' and Servin'. I told him they should give him a new phone for free. I walked out with copy of police report in hand.
And I went straight to the Apple Store in Century City to get a replacement. Now I couldn't just go without a phone for a while while my wife's in late/delivery stage of pregnancy, could I? I ordered basically the same thing as the first time. We were almost done with the transaction when the Apple sales rep told me it would be a $549 "upgrade" instead of the retail $299. That for being the asshole who had his phone stolen. Yeah, I wanted that to happen. After talking to two AT&T phone reps who toed the company line of screwing theft victims into paying more than full price, the Apple guy finally got his manager and got me the phone for the same price I paid pre-thievery. And the Apple Store guy told me how I could call AT&T with the SIM card nubmer and have them shut off the phone completely. I did that the next day.
Now all is back to the way it was before the theft. Except I'm down another $375 or so until the reimbursement arrives, if it arrives at all. And that shit is locked down tight. Takes me another 5 rings or so to unlock and answer the damn thing, but I'm not going through all that again.
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