By the way, my potty is fixed. Yay!
More later, still sorting out this Katrina stuff in my head. My aunt’s house is under water. She and her pets are fine and with other family members, but everything she owns, including many of the family relics, is probably washed away.
Tom and I did eventually make it to Pittsburgh. They ended up fixing the mail server sometime after 9 PM, and by then I was freaking hungry and we decided to have dinner at the Elephant & Castle before we left with his boss and his former coworker.
Seizing the opportunity, I decided to use the E&C’s restroom while we were there. Except, their ladies’ room had Zero Toilet Paper in any of the stalls. People. What GIVES with my inability to find a decent bathroom?
We finally took off around 11:30, deciding to get as far as we could, and then find a place to crash for the night before finishing the trip in the morning. We got to Hagerstown, MD and drove around and around, trying to find suitable non-smoking accommodations. Everything was FULL. In HAGERSTOWN. WTF?
We ended up crashing at a Quality Inn which, shall we say, has seen better days, but it was clean, the doors locked, and it had working toilets. Which, hey, is a step above my own apartment.
We were on the road the next day before 8. Grabbed some breakfast and hit the PA Turnpike, great. We zipped along in Tom’s shiny new Jetta, and then suddenly we stopped.
There was an accident a couple miles ahead, just on the other side of the Allegheny Mountain tunnel. We were parked on the turnpike for half an hour.
I called my Mom, who had been worried about us taking off so late the night before. “Hi Mom, just wanted you to know that we’re perfectly safe and well, we’re just parked. On the turnpike. If you see the accident on the news, it isn’t us, but it IS going to slow us down and we don’t know when we’ll arrive.” You know how moms are, they like that kind of stuff.
We finally arrived around 11 AM. After chatting with my parents a bit, it was time to salvage what was left of our planned outings for the weekend- it was too late to go get garlic and basil sausage from Jimmy & Nino’s in the Strip, and it was too rainy for a trip to Kennywood, but there’s always Primanti’s for sammiches. The Strip location is open 24 hours. It’s also the best migraine food there is, which is good, because the broken-toilet-delayed-departure-lack-of-sleep had caught up with me and I had Migraine Hunger, which can only be sated with carbs and grease.
We thought we might walk around the Strip a bit after lunch, but it was pouring rain, so we decided to head straight to Squirrel Hill to find the Penzeys retail location for Lisa. After battling our way from the Strip to Squirrel Hill (think Clarendon to Old Town), we found the address that was listed on their website when I checked it last week only to discover:
“Penzey’s has moved! Please come visit us at 1729 Penn Avenue!”
Tom says, “1729 Penn Avenue. Tiff, where is that?”
*blink* “That’s in the Strip, baby.”
Of COURSE it is. So back to the Strip we went. The place is around the corner and on the same block as the Primanti’s where we had just eaten lunch. We would have seen it had we decided to take that stroll around like we wanted to. The staff was very helpful and quite apologetic for the wild goose chase we had been sent on. They were reeling from the huge influx of business that morning- their space in the Strip is much bigger than the Squirrel Hill store and they hadn’t finished expanding their inventory yet, plus Saturday morning in the Strip brings like 4 times the foot traffic that a week in Squirrel Hill brings- it’s now down around the ethnic markets, the butcher shop, the diners, so it’s right in where people are doing their shopping anyway.
But we found what we wanted. After a little walk around the neighborhood to see what else might have changed, we declared victory and headed back to the house. The rest of the weekend was pretty much without incident. Finally. We spent the weekend in a house with Three! Working! Toilets! and not one of them broke while we were there. Huzzah!
So, Tom and I had originally planned to leave for Pittsburgh early this afternoon. And yet, here it is, quarter-to-nine as I type this sentence, and I’m still in Arlington. Let’s examine the chain of events that caused it, shall we?
We had originally planned to take the day off work and leave around midday, arrive in Pittsburgh in the early evening, and go to Kennywood Park which is, in my not-so-humble-opinion, one of the better amusement parks in existence.
But we had to change plans because Tom had a meeting with a potential client late that afternoon. In Leesburg. Now, this is 100% peachy with me, because getting Tom closer to leaving his soul-sucking job is HIGH on my list of personal priorities. So we figure we’ll leave around 6:30 after Tom gets home from the meeting.
Meanwhile, the plan was for Tom to crash at my place the night before- work on his bathroom started yesterday and he literally had no bathroom fixtures. Since my bathroom is fully intact, he’ll stay with me for the duration. Except we get to my place last night to discover that my toilet is ALSO NOT WORKING. Like, we have to flush it with a bucket. Which is still a step above NO toilet, but is severely less than ideal.
So Tom heads off to work today and I’m at his place with the cats, trying to keep them from freaking out while people continue to make loud demolition type noises in the bathroom. Tom heads off to his client meeting, I get our stuff together for the trip, 6:30 rolls around and… no Tom. (Meanwhile, as I’m sitting in a house with no bathroom, I’ve had to drive down the hill to Shirlington and use the movie theater’s restroom at one point.)
Right after 7, Tom calls. The client insisted on taking them to Happy Hour. Now, being in a sales and people-oriented business myself, I am well aware of the importance of having cocktails with your clients. So again, no annoyance here.
But then Tom said the fateful words. “Well, we’re having problems with the mail server.”
I push the matter from my mind and prepare to leave at 8. I turn on the TV and wait.
Eight o’clock. Eight-thirty. Eight-forty. The phone rings.
“Baby, we have a dead mailserver. This is going to take a while.”
Shit.
So I’m sitting here, not sure what the plan is. We may have to do half the drive tonight and crash in Breezewood along the way. We had planned to go to the Strip District tomorrow morning, and it’s best if you go early, so leaving tomorrow morning would sort of screw up that plan.
*sigh*
I’m not mad at anybody. Just sort of generically irritated at the situation. Bah.
Tom and I went to see The 40-Year-Old Virgin on Saturday, mostly because we think Steve Carell is hilarious.
I wasn’t expecting much- it seemed like the kind of movie that blows it during the trailer by showing the only truly funny moments in an otherwise dumb flick. I expected that “Uncool is trying to give an honest man a big box o’ PORN, Andy!” was going to be the funniest part.
But I was quite mistaken. This movie is hilarious, front-to-back. By the last scene, Tom and I were laughing so loud and so hard that the people next to us were staring.
A note on a scene they show in the trailer: That chest-waxing was real. You can tell as you watch the movie because you get a better look at Steve Carell’s face and his eyes are all bloodshoot and watery, but you don’t want to believe it. But indeed, he decided to fully commit to the scene and actually get waxed.
I don’t think it’s too much of a spoiler to say that one of the reasons I expected the movie to be bad is that I expected it to be two hours of juvenile mockery of some big dork who can’t get laid. In fact, this was not the case. They joke about that for about 30 seconds, but then the rest of the movie treats the main character, Andy, quite gently and explores how all the pressure from his friends makes him more uptight and withdrawn from social situations. It actually ends up validating Andy’s choices and making fun of the pathetic schemes his friends cook up while they’re trying to get him to have sex.
And then there’s the last scene. I have two words for you:
(more…)
I’ve had a weird couple of days.
First there was the guy who called me a nasty name in a dispute over a parking space at Harris Teeter. I would have paid good money to have had that be the exact moment when Tom stepped out of the car. I would have derived intense joy from watching the guy’s expression change as he realized the extent of his miscalculation.
Then there was this guy who filled out his application and left before the interview, without a word to anyone. I guess this is an example of why people use agencies… we’re good at screening out the crazies.
Remember how excited I was when I ordered my Digital DJ bag from Timbuk2? It seems to have been discontinued. Fortunately, I got mine before they killed the product.
Not to worry if you didn’t get one, though. A friend has introduced me to the most brilliant thing I’ve seen. Instead of wondering why it is women’s purses never seem to have pockets, you can just get a set of removable pockets to add to your favorite handbag.
I need some before I head to Atlanta for the company party… Gotta put something into the girly bag to keep my stuff straight.
I’ve still got my Volkswagen Roadside coverage through mid-February, yay! So despite the best efforts of the two dumbest Volkswagen Roadside call center reps ON THE PLANET, my full-size spare has been successfully attached to my car and Gustav is once again driveable.
Turns out, it’s just a little nail hole in the tire that I ought to be able to fix myself with a puncture-repair kit. So woo for not having to buy a new tire right away. Unfortunately, the flat is on the same side of the car where I had that little run-in with the parking garage a few months ago, so between the spare and the denting and scraping, my poor little Bug looks sort of gimpy. So when I get the kit, I’ll also get the rubbing compound that will help me get at least the paint scrapes off it.
Getting the appointment set to get the tire changed was an adventure in itself. Tom offered to change the tire for me, but because the car was parked on a hill at the time, I insisted on having a tow truck come out. So I called Volkswagen near the end of my workday yesterday. The rep I spoke to seemed unnaturally interested in who the original owner of the car was and asked me if I knew. Um, no, I bought it from a dealer. The guy said that he’d have the contracted garage call me back right away.
“I only have 10 minutes to wait.”
“Well, it’ll be soon.”
“Within 10 minutes?”
“Soon.”
The garage ended up calling my office at 6:30 PM, more than an HOUR later. Fortunately, some of my coworkers were still here. Did they ask for me? No, they asked for the original owner of the car. Dumbass had put the previous owner’s name on the order. Apparently the person on the phone was the second dumbest person in the world, because my coworkers had a terrible time getting her to understand that she was calling for the wrong person.
But I wasn’t there for all this; this was about when I was getting home. Around 7:30 or so, I call Volkswagen again and ask why I haven’t heard from the garage. “Oh, I see, the previous rep put the previous owner’s name on the order. The tow truck was dispatched at 6:30 and should be there before 8.”
Fortunately, I went outside just then to get some stuff out of my trunk, because I heard the tow truck pull up.
The guys worked quickly, and were able to use the tow truck’s mechanism to grip the car so it wouldn’t shift on the incline while they worked. Ah, professionals. The whole adventure took maybe half an hour and they were on their way, advising me to fix the tire rather than replace it.
Yay!
All I wanted this morning was to get in my car and drive to work.
My car had other ideas.
My right front tire is flat. Don’t know why. Don’t know if I can still get Volkswagen Roadside to fix it (which reminds me, I need to sign up for Triple-A or something).
It’s a minor inconvenience in the cosmic scheme of things, but when you are intent upon getting in your car and driving to work, it’s a fairly obnoxious problem to have.
Tom drove us to work today, because he rocks like that.
Upon reading Sgt. Mom’s entry that mentions how children should address adults, I was reminded of another “Wow, I’m really a grownup!” moment.
Shortly after I moved out of my parents’ home and into my first apartment, I saw one of my new neighbors playing in the apartment parking lot with his son. He had his son come over and “Say hello to Miss Tiffany.”
Daaaamn. I’m old enough to be addressed as “Miss Tiffany” by a 10 year old.
And then when Alex Wasylik came along and was old enough to start learning how to address his parents’ friends, Tom and I became “Uncle Tom and Aunt Tiff,” once it was decided that “Mr. Tom and Miss Tiff” seemed a little… distant for a kid whose diapers we helped to change.
Miss Manners thinks its egregious when adults say things like, “I’m not Ms. [surname]! That’s my mother!” She thinks it confuses children about how they should address adults. I suppose she’s correct, but I’m going to be a little weirded out the first time a child opens his or her mouth and calls me “Ms. Baxendell.”
(Not least because little kids have a TERRIBLE time with that name…)
There’s a pre-season game tonight between the Steelers and the Philadelphia Eagles (that’s pronounced “Stillers ‘n’ Iggles,” by the way).
You know how excitable Tom gets before baseball season? Well, I’m not quite that giddy, but I’m getting there…
Time to get out the Terrible Towel…