On Many Subjects

I get to strike out on my own, gently guiding over-eager youngsters into financial ruin. We use words like 35 THOUSAND DOLLARS and they reply with, "Like, how many iPods is that?" Then, we have to resuscitate the parents who have just fallen on the floor, eyes glazed over while mumbling to themselves, "My first house didn't cost that much."

Then, the threats start. Mom or Dad begin by saying to the new student, "If you make anything less than an A on everything, I will repossess your freaking braces... retroactively." Ouch! Well, you really don't need your teeth to cook, I suppose, but knocking the kid's teeth out will ruin their chances to star on Top Chef or the Next Food Channel Star, or something. That's what they all want: A chance to shove Rachel Ray off the pedestal. Sadly, they don't realize that only the most talented will go on to TV greatness, unless they are Giada Delaurentis and they have famous relatives who can get them into show biz. Most of these eager, over-achievers will end up as head cook at a Waffle House or maybe as assistant chef at the Holiday Inn. Hey! It's a living.

So, they sign up for culinary school and discover that they have to work at it because this isn't just heating up Microwavable MacNCheese, which is their cooking experience to day. I hear students in the corridor, "They didn't tell me I had to wash dishes, man. Bogus!" I shout out of my office door, "Stop your whining. You have automatic dishwashers." Of course, the inevitable reply is, "Not for the pans, man."

OK. You got me there.

No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed. My mother would make me remake the bed after I did it because there was wrinkle in the spread or the blanket was on crooked. I slept in an unmade last night and survived. I even slept well.

And No, I didn't start a blog just to make my mom cry.

But, some lessons don't go away. I made my bed this morning.

Overheard in Starbucks:

Starbucks Guy: What's your name?
Customer: Craig
SG: Greg?
C: Craig
SG: Jeff?
C: Craig. CRAIG!
SG: Oh. One of those names with all the vowels.
C: I keep fogetting to use Jim
SG: You should. A name just for coffee.
C: A coffee name?
SG: Yes.
C: What happens if I forget my coffee name when you get my coffee ready?
SG: We will keep calling out your name until you answer.
C: But, it won't be my name.
SG: Yes, it will. It will be your coffee name.
C: Just give me my coffee.
SG: Ok. I put Jim on the cup.
C: But, my name is Craig.
SG: Not today.
Me (to customer): What's he going to do when I tell him my name is Sheila
C: Your name is Sheila?
Me: No, but I am going to tell him it is.
C: Why?
Me: I want to know what my coffee name is.
SG (to me): What can I get for you?
Me: Cafe Latte Grande
SG: OK. And your name?
Me: Sheila
SG: Oh no, not again.
Me: What's wrong?
SG: Vowels. Nothing but vowels.
Me: So, what does that mean?
SG: I am putting SAM on the cup.
Me: But Sam is a guy's name.
SG: It is now your coffee name.
Me: But, I don't want to be Sam.
C: Well, I don't want to be Jim.
Me: I just wanted a cup of coffee. Not a name change.

When my children were younger, there was always an argument as to who got to sit in the front passenger seat of the car if we were going someplace. I never found a workable solution until today. I wish I had these rules about twenty-five years ago, but I will post them now for anyone with children, gradnchildren, or friends, and a car.

THE SHOTGUN RULES
version 1.1
The rules listed below apply to the calling of Shotgun (the passenger seat) in an automobile. These rules are definitive and binding.

Section I
The Basic Rules
1. In order to call Shotgun, the caller must pronounce the word "Shotgun" in a clear voice. This call must be heard and acknowledged by the driver. The other occupants of the vehicle need not hear the call as long as the driver verifies the call.

2. Shotgun may only be called if all occupants of the vehicle are outside and on the way to said vehicle.

3. Early calls are strictly prohibited. Shotgun may only be called while walking toward the vehicle and only applies to the drive immediately forthcoming. Shotgun can never be called while inside a vehicle or still technically on the way to the first location. For example, one can not get out of a vehicle and call Shotgun for the return journey.

4. The driver has final say in all ties and disputes. The driver has the right to suspend or remove all shotgun privileges from one or more persons.

Section II
Special Cases
These special exceptions to the rules above should be considered in the order presented; the case listed first will take precedence over any of the cases beneath it, when applicable.

1. In the instance that the normal driver of a vehicle is drunk or otherwise unable to perform their duties as driver, then he/she is automatically given Shotgun.

2. If the instance that the person who actually owns the vehicle is not driving, then he/she is automatically given Shotgun, unless they decline.

3. In the instance the the driver's spouse, lover, partner, or date for the evening is going to accompany the group, he/she is automatically given Shotgun, unless they decline.

4. In the instance that one of the passengers may become so ill during the course of the journey that the other occupants feel he/she will toss their cookies, then the ill person should be given Shotgun to make appropriate use of the window.

5. In the instance that only one person knows how to get to a given location and this person is not the driver, then as the designated navigator for the group they automatically get Shotgun, unless they decline.

6. In the instance that one of the occupants is too wide or tall to fit comfortably in the back seat, then the driver may show mercy and award Shotgun to the genetic misfit. Alternatively, the driver and other passengers may continually taunt the poor fellow as they make a three hour trip with him crammed in the back.

Section III
The Survival of the Fittest Rule
1. If the driver so wishes, he/she may institute the Survival of the Fittest Rule on the process of calling Shotgun. In this case all rules, excepting I-4, are suspended and the passenger seat is occupied by whoever can take it by force.

2. The driver must announce the institution of the Survival of the Fittest Rule with reasonable warning to all passengers. This clause reduces the amount of blood lost by passengers and the damage done to the vehicle.

Please follow the above rules to the best of your ability. If there are any arguments or exceptions not covered in these rules, please refer to rule I-4.

Read the article here.

Lists are supposed to be popular on blogs. I read somewhere that if you can't think of anything to write and nothing funny is going on in your life, to make a list and everyone on Earth and a couple of planets in a galaxy far, far away will read your stuff.

So, here is my list of stuff I know about men.

1. They are very knowledgeable about porn and sports equipment.
2. I know this because they helped me shop for some... sports equipment, that is. When I was younger and into more sporty things than I am now and was trying to get the really hot sporty jock kind of guy to notice me.
3. The jocks never talk to nerdy chicks
4. Or ask them out on dates, regardless of how much sports equipment nerdy chicks ask advice on.
5. They can't cook.
6. I know this because I did all the cooking.
7. They're very smart.
8. I know this because I did all the cooking.
9. And the cleaning.

I haven't written much about the place where I work, but today I decided it warrants a mention. It is a high tech agency that designs websites-the websites that have hundreds of pages for companies who sell hundreds of products. Yep, someone designs those sites. The company's speciality is travel sites, or visitor and convention bureaus, or the Official Website for the City of [insert city name] or the County of [insert county name.]

One of the owners decided it was time to upgrade the office, so there has been a lot of re-decorating going on. He has put in new furniture, a big screen TV, and some hanging lamps that are, I am very sorry to report, orange and don't really match. But, he didn't ask for my decorating advice, so I have kept that to myself.

My boss hired Sal the Bulgarian to paint the office walls. The walls range in color from pale gray to three different shades of aqua-blue to a color that can only be described as, well, um... let me put it this way: If I were writing a novel about vampires, I would describe the color as being the same as dried blood. It is a maroony-browny-icky color. And there are no less than three walls in this maze that have been festooned with this disgusting color.

I have to admit, however, that the three shades of blue are very nice and they match the carpet.

Anywho....

Sal, the painter who told me he was from Bulgaria, worked diligently for two days.

Aside: I had to look up Bulgaria to see if it even still existed and I discovered that it does and it is a state in Southeastern Europe, that borders five other countries; Romania to the north (mostly along the Danube), Serbia and the Republic of Macedonia to the west, and Greece and Turkey to the south. The Black Sea defines the extent of the country to the east.

He was cleaning up his mess and set a paint can on the floor without the lid being hammered down tightly. My boss was hanging pictures on the walls in the same general vicinity and kicked over the bucket of paint. From my desk, I didn't see the actual event, but I heard my boss wail, "OHMYGOD! It's a DISASTER!" I stepped around the corner and, sure enough, there was a huge spreading stain of paint. Which color you may ask? The blood colored one, of course.

Sal steps into action and begins the clean-up process with my boss assisting. They got up most of the liquid paint and was left with a huge blood colored stain that made the office look like an episode of CSI. Then, Sal tells Boss, "You just need to put lots of water on and then clean it up, over and over until the stain is gone." Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

This process worked. The more water they put on the stain, the more paint come up out of the carpet. Boss got the brilliant idea of using the vacuum cleaner to pull more water out of the carpet faster.

Now, dear readers, this would have been a brilliant solution had the vacuum been a shopvac instead of an upright Kirby. And because we live on a planet where gravity works-a discovery I make every morning as soon as I try to get out of bed-and applying the principle of what goes up must come down... well, long story short, the blood-colored paint began running out of the vacuum cleaner, making it look like it suffered a fatal wound. And the consequence is, there was ANOTHER CSI stain to clean up.

Boss: OHMYGOD! It's a DISASTER!

Boss runs with the vacuum and places it outside of the front door (can you put your eye out doing that, as in no running with scissors?) where it continued to bleed all over the concrete walkway. Boss and Sal pour more water on the new stain and sop it up with paper towels... of which we have about twenty rolls stashed in the storage room... or we did before the DIASTER.

Who says, there is no excitement in the work place?

Anyway, Sal the Bulgarian was so upset by the paint DISASTER that he left without taking his check with him. So, I am sure we will see Sal the Bulgarian, again.

I will, of course, update you as to the condition of the carpet when I get to work. If the red stain is still availalble, I may be tempted to put an outline of a body on the carpet.

At any rate, you may ask, what was my role in all of this? Mostly standing in the corner and trying not to laugh out loud.

Boss: Kay Four? Were you sniggering?
Me: Me? No! Never!
Boss: I think I heard you giggling, at the very least.
Me: Giggling during a DISASTER? That would be cruel. Kind of like laughing at a car wreck.
Boss: Exactly. I heard you.
Me: (giggling behind my hand) No, you didn't.
Boss: Yes, I did. You have tears running down your face you are laughing so hard.
Me: It's allergies. I swear.

Update:

Today, the red paint is only just visible on the carpet, however, outside where boss put the bleeding vacuum cleaner is a huge red spot right by the front door. And it really does look like blood on the concrete. Can you say eeeewwwww? And there was a CSI team of investigators out there when I arrived for work.

Investigator 1 (played by David Caruso): It looks like blood.
Investigator 2 (played by Khandi Alexander): We'll have to take it to the lab to be certain.
David: Do you know anything about this?
Me: Yes, I do.
David: You'll have to come to the station so we can talk to you.
Me: We can talk right here. It was a vacuum cleaner death.
David: You mean the vic was killed with a vacuum cleaner?
Me: No. I mean the vic was a vacuum cleaner. You can find the mortal remains in the dumpster by the back stairs.
Investigator 3 (played by Adam Rodriguez): I'll go take a look.
David: Young lady, vacuum cleaners don't bleed. We are not idiots.
Me: I know that. It isn't really blood, you know.
Khandi: We'll determine what it is when we get this sample back to the lab.
Me: I can tell you what it is. It is watered down paint.
David: Really. How did watered down paint get into the vacuum cleaner?
Me: Well, you see, there was this guy from Bulgaria named Sal...
David: Is he the vic?
Me: Oh, brother.
David: This Bulgarian is your brother?
Me: It's going to be a long morning, I can tell.

I have actually discussed refrigerator magnets before. Read about it here. The latest tally on my fridgie magnets that hold up scraps of paper with my version of the Daily News has risen considerably.

Currently, I have grocery lists--"Buy Milk" and the scrap of paper towel that has scribbled on it, "Buy paper towels" and the note pad that sticks to the fridge that says (at the moment) Coffee filters, Garbage Bags and Shampoo. I have pizza coupons and a Christmas card from my Mom and Dad--Great picture this year! I love it! I have a business card from a travel agent, directions to the library, a picture of St. Petersburg, FL, a Calvin and Hobbes comic, a photo of Jon, and a 20% off coupon to Bed, Bath and Beyond. Pretty standard refrigerator fare.

I have a new addition to my list of fridgies and that is those little flat magnets with words on them that can be combined into sentences to express thoughts for the day. The overall theme of the word magnets I have is confidence in yourself as a woman. In the past, I have created sentences that say things like "Your body is beautiful." "Brains are pretty." "I love myself and my life" and "Fun is having funny hair."

Over the weekend, #2 son came to my apartment, with the Divine Miss M, I might add, so he could help me repair my computer whose power supply went down the river. At some point, he combined my little word magnets to say, "I want good body love."

Well, OK. I decided to leave it. I even added, "Right now," to his sentence.

And that, folks, is the latest Daily News from Kay Four's Kitchen.

I love Cracker Barrel for a number of reasons that I will enumerate here.

Cracker Barrel seems to be a haven for the uber elderly. It doesn't matter that these people have shriveled to 4 feet 2 inches and they can't see over the dashboard in their cars. They can't see past the hood ornamnet, anyway, so not to worry. They are surpassed only by the people who arrive by bus. These are the elderly who are the parents of the elderly who still drive.

In this age of Information and the Internet, most people make their own travel arrangements online, never once telephoning a travel agent, yet travel agents abound. I have a personal theory that they are spend their day arranging bus trips from nursing homes to Cracker Barrel.

Anyway, when I go to Cracker Barrel, I feel young! Not only are the patrons on the high side of their dotage for the most part, all the decorations hanging on the walls are antiques. And I don't know what most of them are for. It seems like the Cracker Barrel decorators, who are from Long Island by the way, feel if it is rusty and doesn't have Made in China stamped on it anywhere, then it must be an antique from rural America. For all I know, we could be dining under a Victorian toe fungus gouge.

But, the food at Cracker Barrel is something that is close to heaven. It is guaranteed to add another layer of fat--keeping you warmer in winter so this is a good thing, right?--while tasting like something my grandmother could have created. The chicken and dumplin's are to die for. They make dumplins the way they are supposed to be made and soak them in chichen gravy and we all know that gravy in every from is also totally slenderizing. And biscuits. With REAL butter. And they let you ask for more butter if that tiny pat isn't enough to satisfy the butter craving.

I went there last week with #2, Clover and the Divine Miss M. The baby had a delightful time eating her macaroni and cheese, a kid's favorite. But, her game that night was getting-her-hands-covered-in-mac-and-cheese-and-rubbing-her-hand-on-daddy's-sweat-shirt. It doesn't matter how cute you are, that kind of thing gets old and Daddy got irritated with her. Understandable. So, he removed his sweat shirt and the game was over because rubbing cheese sauce on a t-shirt isn't nearly as fun as rubbing it on a sweat shirt.

But, she didn't deter me from eating my country friend steak and gravy and dumplins and green beans and fried okra. Just like Gramma used to make. AND I brought home the leftovers.

It is my kind of decadence.

The best thing about this restaurant is the shop that you have to enter through and exit through. There are all kinds of wonderous things in there. The toys are incredible... exactly the same things I played with as a child. I don't know of anywhere else on Earth you can find Wooly Willy with the Magnetic Face? A Magic 8 Ball? Jumbo Jacks? Original Slinky? Original Whee-lo? Raggedy Annne? A Sock Monkey? and a Kazoo? You can also get candy from by-gone eras, like the Atomic Fire Balls, Coconut Slice, Peanut Butter Pillows, Necco Wafers and Jordan Almonds. It's like stepping back in time to an over-stuffed country store.

The only negative thing about Cracker Barrel is that it always seems loud in there... but that is probably because most of the old folks elderly citizens eating there leave their hearing aid batteries at home and they have to shout to each other to be heard.

I scoured the Internet this morning looking for something funny to write about and guess what? There isn't too much going on that I would consider funny. I read lots of blogs hoping for some humourous inspiration, but there was nothing.

So, I guess this will be an un-funny post. But, it is so unlike me, I don't know where to begin. Do I discuss politics? Religion? Do I tell a silly joke: Did you hear the one about...?

Hmmmmm.... maybe I will just forget this for a few minutes to see if something inspirationally humorous happens.

OK. Three hours later and nothing has made me laugh.

First, I am going to add this to DigitalJon's Great Idea list.

Is there someone you are angry with? Just have a fight with your boy friend or girl friend? Someone you want to vanish? How about this idea.

Go to your computer.
Create a file with that person's name, for example, "Kay Four."
Then drag the file to the Recycle Bin
You will get a dialog box that asks, "Do you really want to delete Kay Four?"*
You click yes AND you feel instantly better because you just got rid of the object of your anger.

Please note that I used my name as an example and it was not meant to give anyone a good idea! For my part, I would use, Ex-Hubby!