Betamax killed the Gadget Guy

My father was burned by new technology once in his life. Despite my afflicted memory, I know I was pretty young when this happened, probably 1983. One day this new fangled machine showed up at our house. My father explained that we could program it to record television when we weren't home and then we could watch it later. It was called a Betamax. Even at that young age I remember my father talking about the superior technology over VHS. That in fact was true, however not many people had them since VHS was cheaper. Several things became apparent very quickly.

1. More than half the video rental stores only carried VHS
2. If they did carry Beta, they carried half the selection of movies that they had in VHS

It was a bit like having a Ferrari and only a dirt road on which to drive.

Eventually we admitted defeat and bought a VHS. Movie night got easier after that but I think it permanently damaged my father's early adopter tendencies.

To support my theory, here are a few technology milestones from the last 30 years:

• I recall flipping an actual dial on the TV for many years.
• Cable arrived in 1993. Who needs cable when you get television for free? (Cable? That's just crazy!).
• My parents had a CD player in their car before the house and that was only because it came standard. (Who knows how long CDs will be around and you'll have wasted all that money!)
• The DVD player was purchased sometime in or around 2004.
• Verizon recently offered them free DVRs with their FIOS install, my father said he didn't want them.
• It's entirely possible that I can run to the library and do research faster than my parent's computer loads wikipedia.
• My father boycotted the cell phone after his company made him carry a bag phone in the mid-80's. This boycott lasted until this year when he finally gave in. He used to tell us he didn't want people to find him; I guess he got tired of people not being able to find him.

Now you might be thinking that my father is somehow technology inept. Not so. The man is genius with anything that requires power. I honestly believe the Betamax is what did it. Who knows what kind of greatness could have been achieved in home theater at our house if that awful midget video recorder hadn't shown up?

Mommom Update
On a side note, for those of you who have been wondering where my grandmother is lately. She's back from my uncle's house in Ohio. She's surprisingly more coherent than she was two months ago. I believe this extraordinary turn of events is partly because of some new dementia medication and partly her newly acquired cane. We tried for months to get her to use a cane. My grandfather had a number of nice canes that are now collecting dust somewhere. I think she almost spit the last time we suggested it. She came back from Ohio with a sawed off snow shovel that had a rubber stopper around the bottom. She loves it, won't go anywhere without it. The former snow shovel of my uncle is my Mommom's new woobie. Hey, whatever works.

I called home today and the line picked up quickly. I hear my grandmother yelling, "Will someone please tell me who I was just talking to?". Then I hear my mother tell her, "that was your son Bill". It's pretty clear that the phone is nowhere near any of their ears. Finally they hear me screaming "HELLO? HELLOOOO?" and my mother retrieves the phone from the table.

Good thing my parent's both got cell phones, I suspect I will be getting a lot of busy signals at the old homestead while Mommom is in town.....

I write because I care, I give because I have to...

I would like to dedicate this rant to my work husband. Although he’s sold out by actually donating to the United Way, no one has been more vigilant at harassing the crap out of our team leader. Tirelessly he emails and taunts her. Nothing she does is good enough.

“Are those the best prizes you can come up with?”

“How many times a day are you going to email us?"

"Quit junking up my inbox with your crap”

“Hey, your posters violate the Philadelphia fire code, please remove them immediately”

And my personal favorite, "I write because I care, I give because I have to"

Best of all, he blind copies me. The barrage of emails might be the only reason I’m almost sad to see the United Way drive end. Almost……

It's that time of the year and we've started our annual United Way "voluntary" donation campaign. The world of corporate giving is sort of like a cult. This has been true of every office in which I've ever worked. They start with the best of intentions and it quickly degrades into something like this:

Day 1: "Hey, this is a really great cause and only a small donation can make a big difference!"

Day 3: "With every donation you are entered into a raffle and if you give more than $x you're automatically entered into the super special raffle. IPod's for everyone!"

Day 5: "Thank you to those who have given, we're looking to reach our corporate goal for participation - join the team"

Day 7: Distribute FAQs debunking the United Way myths around overhead costs. (i.e. I know there was that whole scandal thing a bunch of years ago but c'mon, cut us some slack. We really want that plaque in the lobby.)

Day 9: "Did you know that you can designate your donation to a charity in your local community? Every donation makes a difference no matter how small." (Read: Are you that cheap that you can't give your local Little League a few bucks and help us out?)

Day 11: "Every year we've been proud of our contribution, we need your help to reach our goal." (Unacceptable participation! We know who you are.....)

Day 15: Rumors abound of lists naming the evil non-contributors

Day 17: In an effort to rouse the competitive spirit the reluctant team coordinator is enlisted to send personal messages - "Bob's team is trying to reach our personal goal of 85% participation - we can't do it without you!"

Day 20: "This is your last chance to donate before we take your first born in place of your contribution. Click on the link or you'll never see your family again. We mean it."

3 days later...

"A few folks have asked if there's anyway to donate since they missed the deadline so we've extended the giving deadline." (Read: They miss their children and are starting to think that the brake failure in the station wagon wasn't an accident.)

I'll admit it, I gave in to the pressure a few years ago. It was a moment of weakness brought on by the corporate equivalent of "CIA enhanced interrogation techniques". Leave me alone! I just wanted the bad man to stop. Talk about a violation of the very core of charitable giving. They say hind site is 20/20; I think we have quite a few good historical examples of why jumping on the bandwagon is not always such a hot idea. Feel free to use these as inspiration when fighting off the corporate donation pushers.

The Salem Witch Trials

Poor judgement & mob mentality results in a giant New England BBQ

Good Cause: saving the Puritans from the Devil.

McCarthyism
You look a little shifty, must be a commie. Round 'em up.
Good Cause?: Protecting America from communist sympathisers & espionage by Soviet Agents

Jonestown

Proof that drinking the Kool Aid is not always a good idea

Good Cause?: Protection from nuclear fall out due to impending attack on the United States

The Moonies

Too bad they didn't have match.com - would have been better than the mass weddings to strangers

Good Cause?: The single most important idea is the parental relationship between God and man.

Heaven's Gate

Note to Self: When two people called Bo & Peep tell you that Jesus is in a spaceship on the Hale-Bop Comet, don't put the bag over your head.

Good Cause?: Survive by leaving earth immediately before the planet is recycled.

Ku Klux Klan

A whole lot of perfectly good bed sheets ruined for a really bad cause.

Good Cause?: Self preservation in the face of social change due to rapid urbanization.

The Nanny-Nanny-Poo-Poo Face

My mother is mad at me. She is mad because she says I harass her. If she would only listen to reason I wouldn't have to harass her. My father apparently learned years ago that no good can come from harassing her and as a result nothing ever happens. A few weeks ago my sister, her husband and I were sitting in a bar. He told us that he was talking to my father they're going to build a sun room off the dining room. My sister and I looked at each other and started laughing like a bunch of lunatics. He didn't get the joke. Unfortunately we did. For years, and I'm talking about more than 25 years, my parents have been discussing home renovations. Sure the plan has morphed a few times, but the result is always the same. The decision is made to do something to the house. They talk, they discuss, they buy plans, they take plans to the township and at the end of the day, nada. It's like being trapped in the movie Groundhog Day.

I love my mother, but there's one thing that drives me nuts - the face she makes when she chooses not to listen to you. I like to call it the "This conversation is over nanny-nanny-poo-poo, you can't win because I'm not listening to you ANYMORE" face. You say something, she squishes up her face (sometimes she sticks her tongue out) and then she changes the subject. Case in point - the kitchen. For the life of me I can't understand her desire to hang onto this horrific explosion of 70's mess. I understand saving memories, but I think a picture or a knick knack would be far more appropriate than wallpaper. The wallpaper is a terrifying patchwork of avocado green, brown and mustard yellow. Plaid, paisley and patterns I can't even describe that provide a visual assault unlike any other. I've spent years of my life begging her to rip it down. When you broach the subject her only response is, "This is perfectly good wallpaper, it's not even peeling. Did you know I put this up when I was pregnant with you?". (That was 1976) "But Mom, it's positively awful, please!" Oh, oh.....wait for it.....there it is....The Face. Discussion over.

Then there's the floor. It's a perfect compliment of orange, yellow, cream and brown. Many people walk in and tell me that they remember when their parent's ripped that floor up from their own kitchen. Perhaps she hasn't replaced the floor because they stopped making floors to match that wallpaper in 1979.

So when she mentioned the possibility of doing something to the kitchen I was excited for about ten seconds. "I'm thinking about painting the kitchen lime green.", she says. My sister and I begged her to let us overhaul the kitchen. Her response? You guessed it - The Face. "Mom, even some new hardware would help - look at those hinges! They scream 70's country." She said, "You can't find three hole hinges so we can't replace them." This is classic Mom. If she doesn't feel like doing it then it must not exist. Of course a simple a Google search yielded tons of ornamental hinges. I emailed her the link. "Stop harassing me", she says. We really only harass out of love. Sometimes it takes a little tough love. (Mom - remember when we made you buy new jeans that didn't taper at the bottom? You love your new jeans! You'll love the new kitchen, stop fighting us.)

I'm hoping that by exposing these pictures to the Internet at large I can perhaps guilt her into action. We're thinking nice modern stainless door pulls, green glass tile on the back splash, a nice new floor that doesn't give you motion sickness and antique white walls. We even offered to put a cool lime green accent stripe around the top. Please, I implore all those who know Mrs. J to support our cause. Write to your congressman. Perhaps you can help me create a law against 70's decorating torture of adult children. Don't do it for me, do it for the children.....

Philadelphia Supper is Icky

icky
adjective
1. very bad

For those of you who know me, I love food. I love to eat, I love to cook, I love food shopping. It doesn't have to be super fancy or high end, just good. Specifically I always like to see restaurants move into sketchy neighborhoods. I used to live in the South Street area (which is decidedly icky) and so I was interested when I heard that Supper was opening in the old Vespa Store location. Last night we decided to head over there and check it out. Not knowing much about the restaurant, we called and were able to get a last minute 9PM reservation. Perhaps that should have been our first clue.



Supper
926 South Street
Philadelphia, PA 19107
http://www.supperphilly.com/

As it turns out it was a small plate restaurant. This isn't necessarily a problem as long as each dish is really worth eating. Herein lies the problem with Supper. It started out pretty promising, the plates were creative to read. I find that unusual food combinations almost always lead to a good meal. Supper proved me wrong. Supper is icky. Not one of us had the "this is awesome" moment that always happens at least once in a small plate restaurant. They divided the menu into Hors D'oeuvres, Tartines and Plates. My tartine was the Wild Mushroom and Garrotxa. If I wanted something that tasted like heated mushrooms and shaved Parmesan on dry french bread, I could have made it at home. The Artichoke and Cauliflower Fritters hors d'oeuvre was a big 'ole fried mess - think Indian Vegetable Pakora only doughy and without the good spices. The Spicy Shrimp a la Plancha was the only slightly redeeming dish, but when they say small plate, they sure do mean small - two shrimp, two mission figs and a few pieces of arugula. My dining companions had little to say about their plates. The Autumn Squash Gnocchi was declared "not as good as Chloe". The Ocean Trout got a slightly better rating with - "it was good". The rest went without mention. Even our bottle of wine was slightly miserable.

Dessert was decent but not overwhelmingly so. The atmosphere was nice and I would even suggest returning to have a drink at the bar. The only problem there is the stunted wine by the glass list. Think less than 5-7 options.

The real icing on the cake, so to speak, was the piss poor service. The woman who served us may well have stumbled off the street and put on a server's apron. The other alternative was that she was on drugs. Who knows. Either way it wasn't just her, it was the entire staff. We sat forever waiting for a drink. They were cold, disinterested and unaware. Our friend ordered a bottle of wine for the table and when she came back she shoved it in my husband's face. The waitress and the runners had a really fun way jamming their arm directly in your face to fill your water glass. The plates were tossed on the table without identification.

At the end of the day I would say if you want small plates, save your money and take it down the street to Ansill. Adventurous, wonderful, lots of "that was awesome" moments and decidedly not icky.

Ansill Food + Wine
627 S. 3rd St
Philadelphia PA 19147
215-627-2485
http://www.ansillfoodandwine.com/


photo credit: www.opentable.com

Let there be Cheap Heat! (or at least heat that won't prevent my future children from attending college)

I think it goes without saying that I'm a tad sarcastic. Over the years my sarcasm has been the cause of some unpleasantness. As a kid it often resulted in groundings, in high school it resulted in more than one occasion where I was asked if I wanted my ass kicked, and as an adult it's resulted in festive feedback in performance reviews like "she doesn't suffer fools easily" and "could improve on empathy". Sounds like a bad news story huh? Not entirely.

Sarcasm usually means you're witty, wit requires more than two brain cells and more than two brain cells makes you smarter than most. These three things put together makes for one hell of a complaint letter. I can't remember what made me angry enough to write the first letter but over the years there have been a few gems.

Avis was one of my favorites. For six long months I stood in the blazing Atlanta sun frying in line at the Avis "Preferred" kiosk while the non-preferred customers stood in air conditioning. Invariably I received the crappiest, smelliest car. I decided I had driven my last nasty car so I started my letter. I described for them my last five rental experiences- the dirty feet smell, sweating my butt off to show them my credit card for the 3,629th time, the lack of cars, the ones that ran like tractors, I unloaded. I figured out who all their senior level officers were and cc them. Stamp, stamp, stamp and forget about it.

A few weeks later my cell phone rang. The guy on the other end of the line identified himself as the President of Avis Rent a Car. He told me that he has a staff of people who read and deal with complaint letters but his staff brought my letter to his attention. In the 20 years he had been with Avis he had never seen such an awful letter. He wanted to personally apologize and was wondering if I would mind spending some time with his Atlanta General Manager. As you can imagine, this ended very well for me. It also made me realize something. While my experience was irritating, it certainly couldn't have topped the list of truly awful things Avis had ever done to people. I hadn't exaggerated but I suppose it was the presentation of fact combined with "colorful" descriptions that had caught their attention.

I used to have a boss who said "fact and dater, sweetheart. They always win". Yes, dater. He was a New Yorker and data always came out sounding like dater. (Important note: he was the only one I ever let call me sweetheart at work. He was old and cute and he liked me, so I allowed it.) Barring other influences, he was right and especially right when it came to things like Customer Service.

This came in handy when we had the apartment fire. Sure, I had renter's insurance, but that's the sort of chip you cash in when some nutter burns up the place with a candle or a cigarette. I suspected our fire was caused by the management company. So I called the Philadelphia FD investigation unit and found out that with $25 and a form I could request a copy of the investigator's report. When the management company claimed that they couldn't possibly pay for our dry cleaning and that if we wanted to we could probably sue PECO. "Good luck suing the city" was her response. I said, "You're probably right. I called the PFD and I'm ordering a copy of the investigation report. I guess that will give me what I need to sue PECO huh?" Twenty minutes later she called me back to tell me that she had worked out something with her boss and they would take care of our furniture and dry cleaning. Gosh, how nice of them. The whole affair ended with a check for $2,500 and our signature on the dotted line that we wouldn't sue them.

So when we moved into our newly renovated apartment and found that our heating and cooling units were from 1982 I was a little perturbed. This quickly became anger when I received my first electric bill to the tune of $275. The entire month of August the units ran on high and we still couldn't get the temperature below 75 degrees. It would seem to me that the average person would draw several conclusions from this fact. They did not. Instead I got every excuse in the book: the place in concrete - it retains heat, it's the humidity - this is a really hot month and my personal favorite - have you ever paid Center City electricity charges before, you know cooling is expensive here. These people didn't know who they were dealing with. I pulled our kilowatt usage for the last year and a half, researched the average temperature from July & August '07 & '08 and started my work. Go figure, August last year and this year were the exact same mean temperature. Last year we used half the electricity we had this year. I then compiled a list of all the similarities of the two apartments including the square footage. I also used their own goofy marketing of this place as "luxury living" against them. Last week they finally replaced the stupid units and my last electric bill is under review.

So if you need help with a letter, I'm available. Let there be heat and stamps for all!

Confession is Good for the Soul

For all you voyeuristic folks out there, you’ll like the Post Secret Site.



Basically this started as a community art project where people would mail a decorated single sided post card confessing their secrets. I think the website chooses a variety of the secrets to share on each week. There’s also a few books – sort of a greatest hits of personal shame.

Some of these are seriously disturbing, some are funny, some are twisted.


You can add an RSS feed to your favorite tool and see them weekly.

Don't be a Delinquent Parent....

I really like reading people’s holiday party FAQs. It’s a little opportunity for them to be witty and funny while conveying important information. I am convinced that this is almost exclusively a polite way to say “we know you think your kids are so special, but they’re not. and I don’t like the way little Jimmy gives me the hairy eyeball when I stumble by hammered on cheap wine”. It’s important that people know that children don’t belong at an evening party with alcohol. Shocking revelation, I know. This is apparently one of those things that people today don’t think about. Or perhaps they were raised by raging alcoholics that dragged them to parties. (Don’t laugh, my old neighbors were lost in a bottle of rum most days and probably didn’t know their kids were still following them around).

In any event I recently received an invitation to a co-worker’s party. This co-worker and I met at the party of another former co-worker. We didn’t know each other then and we still don’t work together, but since we spent several hours in the suburbs together being less than social, we bonded. His wife seemed cool and he was wearing jeans that didn’t suck. I liked them. They’re sort of like city people that have been transplanted into the suburbs. They’re way too funny and cool to live in Schwenksville. Just the name is enough to tell you that it’s not the sort of place that appreciates the importance of good jeans. (No offense intended to Schwenksville; I haven’t the faintest idea where it is or what’s there.)

I’ve included his FAQs below because they made me laugh out loud. This may actually be reason enough to figure out where Schwenksville is…


Frequently Asked Questions!!!

Can I expect a big raise if I’ve done a great job at work this year? Uh – these FAQs are all supposed to be party-related. That written, yeah, sure, why not.

What should I do with all of that money? Hell-looo…party questions?? But, um, max out your 401k contribution if you haven't already.

You know you booked your party smack-dab in the middle of Hanukkah, right?
I know now. I hope you don't think that I'm culturally insensitive.

Can I bring anything to your party? I get asked that question frequently when I have a party. If you’d like, you can bring a beverage or snacks or some blow….pops. Charms Blow Pops.

When I get to your party, can I have something to eat? Sure!

What are you having? That’s kind of impolite. But we’ll repeat a lot of last year’s menu....the hot and cold dips...chili dogs..and, new this year, pulled pork with homemade 'slathering sauce'!

Pulled pork on a Saturday night in the middle of Hanukkah. Let me guess, you're.....Catholic?? Kinda sorta.

What about the Pometinis [pomegranate martinis]from last year? '06 guest feedback revealed fear over spilling red drinks on the light rug. We’re still deciding if we’ll switch the '07 signature party cocktail to something clear.

Like what?
Ethanol

Can I bring a guest? Yes.

Can I bring my kids? Adults only, please.

What do you have against kids? Their low tolerance for alcohol.

So hold it, you’ve served alcohol to kids? Not intentionally.

What is that supposed to mean? It means exactly what I said.

So? A while back I had a party where I let people bring kids. At this same party I invented a delicious new drink made with tequila & Hawaiian Punch, for which I coined the catchy name ‘agave juicebox’. Needless to say, people loved it, and all night long I mixed batch upon batch of these. And with each batch I would pour ‘em out and shout “Who’s ready for another round of juiceboxes!?’ Then I’d turn my back to make more, and each time I turned around the previous batch had disappeared. I just figured that it was adults grabbing them -- while the Wiggles rocked the house on the stereo.

Did you actually serve the drinks in wax paper boxes? No – to avoid confusion I poured them in to Disney-themed paper Dixie cups.

What the hell? I know, I know….by the time I caught on to what was happening my floor was covered with sleeping children and empty Dixie cups. It looked like a cross between nap-time at day care and Jonestown.

And where were the parents while all this was going on? That’s what I wanted to know!! Turns out, they thought the music sucked so they all went outside.

And then? As a condition of the settlement, I’ve told you everything that I’m permitted to say.

JC Penny's Catalog - Words Escape Me

This is a total riot, my friend Gwen sent it to me. I had to share.

http://15minutelunch.blogspot.com/2007/10/strap-in-shut-up-and-hold-on-were-going.html

Who needs Karaoke on the cruise ship when you can play with firearms?

It's official, we've kicked off the '07/'08 J Family shooting season. All six of us drove out to Coplay, PA to make good on a belated Father's Day gift. Before I get started, I would like to point out that two things seem to be true.

1. People think my family is generally a little weird and,
2. They also think shooting is reserved for rednecks.

#1 is true. #2 Not true - Sporting clays date back to the early 1900’s in England to keep hunters in practice and Skeet was created in Massachusetts in 1920 for a similar reason. I don’t believe either of those places had any rednecks – SO THERE. And yes, I realize that it’s a fairly unusual hobby for a family from the ‘burbs, but we are most certainly not hayseeds. I’m finished, I’m starting to sound defensive. The better question is "how did this happen?". I’m not entirely sure how my father started shooting, but I can account for the rest of the family.

The story starts like this…For my parent’s first Christmas my father bought my mother four snow tires and a shotgun. I would imagine she was a bit perplexed since he was a city kid and it’s a little weird (at least I would have been if it were me). According to her, she responded with “Well, I understand the snow tires but what am I going to do with that gun?” He told her he was going to teach her how to shoot. This may well have sent any normal female wondering if she married a lunatic, however this was my mother and she was not easily phased. Thus many years of happy shooting ensued for both my parents who ultimately became pretty good shots. Which brings me to my next story…

A few years after they were married my father decided he wanted to take a cruise. He told my mother that he was taking a cruise and that if she wanted to come she had better wean that kid. So she did and they went. My mother claims the kid was me, but to the best of my knowledge my parents have been on one cruise and I remember them going (so I couldn’t have been 9 months old – the age I know breastfeeding stopped*). I remember this cruise because my mother had some seriously 80’s one piece strapless pants outfit with a stretchy waist and billowy legs .. you know the one I’m talking about.. it could have only been pulled of in the 80’s. My mother will likely argue with me on this point (the age, not the pants suit) and insist that despite the fact that I am the child who remembers nothing I some how have a vivid memory of this from the age of 9 months old. Not likely. I bet it was my sister. It doesn’t matter either way since my mother will never admit to not remembering things. I digress. The real point of the story is that my mother came home with a trophy.

Apparently in the 80’s, and I’m not quite sure if this is still true, they allowed you to shoot trap off the back of the ship. This seems rather reckless and far too crazy to happen in today’s safety conscious cruise environment (they can’t even keep people from going missing let alone give them guns) but in the 80’s they apparently didn’t care. My father enlisted my mother to enter the shooting competition. She was the only woman in a long line of men. The guy running the event explained to her how to shoot the gun like she was a toddler. She didn’t bother to correct his assumption. After several rounds of elimination it was just my mother, some guy and a gun. She turned around to find women on each deck of the ship cheering her on. At the end of the day she kicked all their asses and got a trophy. Go Mom.

So given the history, it only stood to reason that I got my first shotgun at 12. I went shooting a few times and then disappointed everyone by moving onto boys and high school. For many years the J Family was quiet. Then my sister, who had never shot a gun in her life, decided she wanted to shoot. 3 months later everyone was shooting, we joined the gun club and Dad gave us all firearms under the tree that year. Mom says he always wanted to give a boy his first gun. Two son-in-laws, neither have even held a gun before, sorta like a twofer.

Anyway, after many months of shooting skeet, we figured it was time to branch out. We told Pop we would take him to shoot sporting clays. We made the haul up north past Allentown to Lehigh Valley Sporting Clays for 100 rounds of fun. It’s an old limestone quarry in the woods and was the best 35 bucks that I've spent in recent memory. It also didn't hurt that I was on fire that day. Or as my mother likes to say "the hormones were just right". She's convinced that certain times of the month throw off your game. There may be some truth to that since I can shoot like a rock star one day and a half blind idiot the next. Although I didn’t win (congrats to my sister who hit 70 out of 100) I did have 5 stations worth of straight report pairs. Yay me.

You can count on the next few months involving many weekends spent at the gun club. Yes, we are the loonies in the subzero base layers firing away like a bunch of happy idiots in the snow. It’s really fun except I need warmer socks. Last year I think I almost lost a toe or two. I can always find a reason to justify shopping and the coolest place to shop for shooting stuff is Cabellas. Its like a sporting goods store on steroids. I think everyone should take a trip up there, it’s fun to ‘git yer redneck on every once in a while. (To put it in perspective, they have a furniture section that is entire dedicated to camouflage La-Z-Boys.)

So if anyone needs any orange warning gear or perhaps a nice rifle scope, let me know. Here’s hoping for a good season – perhaps I’ll finally crack 21. Wishful thinking…




*Hey girlie, and you know who you are. Wouldn’t it be funny if this was a tragic slip up in my mother’s story telling and it turned out I was breastfed until I was like 5. Perhaps my trauma is deeper than yours and I’ve blocked it from my memory. MAYBE my bitchiness is really just a PTSD thing manifesting in some weird dysfunctional way… just a thought.

Whiskey Makes your Face Ugly and other Useful Observations

So I'll apologize for my lameness lately. We were in CA for a wedding last week and far too busy drinking wine. I'm sure most of you would agree that wine drinking is more important than sitting in front of a computer.

However, I was thinking about writing and as a result I have a few critical lessons learned or useful observations, if you will.

#1 Avoid the “direct, but not really direct” flight.
I have an unnatural love of Southwest Airlines. My co-workers do not understand this. They’re busy being mileage/airline status junkies (you know who you are!) and I'm busy loving Southwest. Those Southwest people crack me up and best of all, they're usually on time. It’s a novel concept when your local airport is a US Airways hub. I decided that since I had a free ticket I would use them to book our vacation. I knew I had a connection in Vegas on the way out, but I did not know we were ALSO stopping in Pittsburgh. This plane was nothing more than a giant bus in the sky. We simply landed, picked up some more people and then took off again. The same thing happened on the way back but twice instead of once. I was in six airports over as many days....that is bad.

Quotes of the Flight:
Husband watching people board in Pittsburgh: “Is it just me or are all these people missing necks?”
Taking off from Orange County: Flight attendant whispered in the PA, "Shhhhh, we're flying over rich people’s houses".

#2 Carpool lanes are cool! Minivans are not.
We got a sweet deal on Orbitz for a weekly rental. I had never rented from Dollar before and now I know why - we were riding in style in an electric blue minivan.

Since there were three of us we avoided lots of traffic in the carpool lanes and we went through the toll booth for FREE - it's like Christmas in October. As we pulled up to the toll with our $4 the guy shouted at us "CARPOOL!". Being from the wasteful state of Pennsylvania we had no idea why this guy wouldn't take our money and was yelling at us. Apparently that means you ride for free - I love these tree huggers.

We had a really excellent dinner our first night at Barndiva. (www.barndiva.com) Should you ever find yourself in Healdsburg, CA it’s a lovely little place with really killer food.

We then kicked off the official festivities Friday night with what my friend Kelly likes to call a backyard BBQ. This was nicer than most actual weddings. She's a bit obsessive with her event planning, but that's why we love her. Great food, a bluegrass band, a fire pit and lots and lots of wine.

#3 Drinking too much at wedding events can be highly entertaining for party guests, but may piss off your spouse.
I had been careful with alcohol consumption for the first two days in preparation for the wedding. I can’t say as much for the Bride’s brother-in-law. Our other friend commented that he must have incredible balance. His feet were firmly planted on the ground while his torso swayed at a dangerous angle. He later walked up to a group of people (including his mother-in-law) and asked “Anybody got any weed?”. Classic….. His wife looked like she was ready to kill him. He topped off the evening by attempting to lean against the wall of the outdoor tent….as you can imagine, that didn’t go so well. We’ve all been on both sides of that fence. The drunk side is far more fun. Cheers to the brother-in-law!

#4 Need a priest, no problem www.rentapriest.com
The wedding was beautiful. The ceremony was at sunset overlooking a gorgeous golf course. It was almost too perfect. There were wild turkey and deer running around. Bishop Carlos married them. As we all know Catholic priests don’t do weddings outside the church. This guy was a an Orthodox Catholic and apparently they don’t mind the country club and the wild turkey. Seriously…..they found him on the Internet.

Favorite line from the wedding service:
Bishop Carlos during the wedding vows: “If you’re Christian, pray with us. If you’re an atheist, why not just in case”

So it was time and I attacked the wedding bar with vigor. Champagne, wine, dancing, hiding from the scary photographer…all was well until I encountered the B&B. Bed and Breakfast you say? No. It was The B&B Lounge. Our after party. Sort of like the road house equivalent for wine country. If I were smart I would have stopped drinking at this point. However I am not and so I did not. Hence...

#5 Whiskey makes your face ugly.
I can't take credit for this observation. It was sage advice from my mother-in-law. She once told me that I should never drink whiskey because it makes your face ugly. This may in fact be true but I think the statement needs to be amended to read – “Whiskey makes your face ugly but sometimes it makes your face look nice to people from whom you should definitely stay away”. I decided at some point that I needed to tell the groom's 6'4" friend that I would like to do shots of whiskey. It really wasn't my fault. He was making fun of me for drinking coke. It's an unwritten rule that if you're really drunk and someone makes fun of you for stopping consumption you should immediately challenge them to drink the worst thing you can think of just to shut them up.

After a few shots of Beam I stumbled upon Beef Jerky man. Maybe he found me, who knows. I'm not so sure he was speaking English at that point but he told me I was delicious and proceeded to feed me beef jerky. It was probably not wise to eat it but I did anyway. It almost seemed rude to refuse since he just paid me compliment….I think. My husband decided it was time to take me home.

The next morning was bad. It involved the bathroom, a complete inability to pack or shower and a lot of self loathing. I made it as far as Kelly’s couch. I then ate half a bagel, prayed that it would stay down and pulled a blanket over my head. My friends took pictures. The groom later showed up and told me while he was happy I had such fun at his wedding he felt that my current state was payback for my own wedding and how hung over he was. I have such good friends.

So the moral of the story is, if you plan to drink whiskey with a guy eating beef jerky, leave the minivan and the rented priest elsewhere because it’s not a pretty sight. Oh yea, and remember to pray, just in case.