I See Dumb People

For those of you that don’t know, my wonderful hubby (The Bean) is a finance manager at a car dealership. The car industry being what it is in today’s recession, he still sells a few cars on the side, mostly from repeat business. People like to buy their cars through him because he’s straightforward, no-nonsense, and because he has biiiig soft brown eyes that inspire a lot of trust. In fact, this is pretty much what he looks like:

In addition to his deceptively-innocent eyes (love you, babe!), he’s also a popular choice because he goes the extra mile for his customers.

Anyhow, onto the story: The other day, early in the morning, The Bean received a phone call from a very angry, very irate woman he had sold a car to the previous week. Apparently, she was stuck on the side of the freeway because the new (used) car she had just purchased from him was a LEMON.

Angry, irate woman: (rant,rant,rant,rant) and the car is now STUCK on the side of the road, because it has run out of COOLANT.

The Bean: What do you mean it has run out of coolant?

Irate Woman: There’s no coolant, and I’m stuck on the side of the road in rush-hour traffic! This is ridiculous! You sold me a car with some sort of a leak!

The Bean: How do you know it has run out of coolant? Are you sure that’s the problem?

Irate Woman: Because it says it right there on the gage! The coolant gage is on empty, THAT’S HOW!!!

The Bean (knowing full well there’s no such thing as a coolant gage): Coolant gage? Are you sure it couldn’t be the gas gage?

SILENCE

Irate Woman: I have to go. (CLICK)

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Tampons and Condoms: An Expose on the Dangers at Your Local Grocery Store

I would like to meet the person who designed grocery store layouts.

I’d like to meet him, and then immediately smack him on the back of his head.

I mean, REALLY. Whose decision was it to stash the condoms right next to the feminine hygiene products? Is that really necessary? Buying a box of tampons is embarrassing enough as it is.

I don’t like doing it. I know it’s stupid to be embarrassed, but I can’t help it.

Every time I go to the store to pick up a box of feminine hygiene products, whether it’s tampons or kotex, I feel like I might as well have a huge neon sign blinking over my head, flashing, “BLEEDING. THIS WOMAN IS MENSTRUATING, AND BLEEDING, AND HER HOO-HOO IS ALL GROSS.” I feel like I ought to hire a band of ancient Levitical priests to walk ahead of me and clear the aisle ways by hollering out, “UNCLEAN! UNCLEAN WOMAN!” in disapproving tones while I ponder store-brand vs. name-brand. Having to make this decision while standing next to some 19 year old wanna-be stud just compounds an already fragile situation.

This is the exactly what happened to me a few nights ago. After walking past the aisle several times, waiting for the “stud” to finish agonizing over his own personal decision, I finally bit the bullet and stood beside him. I think we were both trying to out-wait each other before making our decision, so I finally gave up and reached for my purchase.

That’s when it turned dangerous.

While putting my chosen box into the cart, I distinctly saw him glance with slightly raised eyebrows at the economy-size vat of tampons I bought. Yes, Mr. Nosy, I did buy a box that contains roughly 3,378,926 tampons. I did it because I am economical, not because I have a gynecological disorder. I did it because I am trying to postpone repeating this loathsome chore for as long as possible. So keep your slightly-raised eyebrows to yourself next time, okay?

If I hadn’t have had the good sense to walk away, this situation could have turned really ugly, really fast. I called up my sister on my way home to discuss the stupidity of the tampons/condoms placement, and she agreed. Who came up with such a stupid layout? After a bit of arguing, and a lot of laughter, we finally came to a unified conclusion.

My sister and I would like to open our own grocery/convenience store. It will have all of the benefits of a normal grocery store, but instead of mixing angry, hormonally-charged women with horny, eyebrow-raising teenagers, the last three aisles of the store will be as follows:

Aisle 16: Feminine hygiene products/Chocolate/Cookies
Aisle 17: Diapers/Formula/Baby Supplies
Aisle 18: Frozen Pizza/Beer/Condoms

See? Doesn’t it make perfect sense? Aisles 16 and 18 will have their own private self-checkout, so that everybody can buy their own items in embarrassment-free comraderie. And in between the two aisles is a tiny little reminder about why both aisles are oh-so-important.

Anyways, I think it’s genius.

I Hate Cats

How to trap a cat:

Step 1: Spend hours doing all your laundry, including all the necessary steps. Note: The more time-consuming and frustrating it was to do your laundry, the greater the chances of you catching a cat.

Step 2: Leave out some of the clean, freshly-folded laundry. It doesn’t matter where, just so that it’s not locked away in a clean, totally inaccessible spot. Go to bed.

Step 3: Visit your “trap line”.

That’s it! You’ve trapped a cat. It really is that simple.

Apparently, cats are unable to resist the lure of sleeping on clean clothing. I’ve actually tested my hypothesis by placing one tiny little item of clean clothing (a sock) in various, vaguely uncomfortable places (on the mantel, on a corner of the desk, beside the chair, in the middle of a hardwood floor)… and guess what? Yup. Every single morning I wake up, regardless of where I placed the item, there’s a cat on it.

Of course, this minor inconvenience is NOTHING compared to the all-out peeing war I had with the cat pictured (His name is Comet, and he belongs to my husband).*** That was not a fun time in our relationship. I think it’s a testament to my shiny-wonderful, happy-good-nature that Comet is even allowed in our home, let alone allowed to roam freely and sleep on all our clean laundry.

Anyhow, I’m off to bed. In a freshly-washed hairy set of pajamas. To sleep beneath my recently-laundered, hair-infested sheets.

I hate cats.


***It’s important to note that it was COMET that was peeing everywhere, not me.

Sunday Stills



Yeah. Miss my horse. (And I’m totally cheating on this Sunday Still’s assignment… which was “Motion” in case you didn’t know. I didn’t take these photos at all. Photo credits go to baitisj of baitisj.blogspot.com. I know it destroys the whole idea of the Sunday Stills being photos you’ve actually taken, but I just wanted to share these again.)