Since so many scammers are calling again, I'm reposting this gem that I originally posted on Monday, January 14, 2013. You can also check out For Anyone Needing a Smile - and a Lesson Dealing with Scammers. Enjoy!
I just love people who try to scam others.
Please reread that last line with the touch of sarcasm that I wrote it with. Heck, forget the touch of sarcasm; try a smack upside the head of it.
The Idiot squad is at it again. They called me this morning.
Note: Be forewarned, and don't be taken in by these, ah-hem, jerks, idiots, etc. If Microsoft, Apple, or any other computer-related group needs to touch base with you, I can assure you, it won't be because they detect a virus on your computer from a remote location. True, there is a way for a legitimate technician (such as someone really, really, really with Microsoft or Apple) to trouble-shoot from a remote location. But that comes only after you have called them with a problem, not the other way around.
These particular scammers are the phone equivalent to seeing two or three people walking down the street, looking like they've just crawled out of the sewer system. As one person walks up your driveway to knock on your door, the other one or two are knocking on your neighbors' doors. You open the door to hear, "Hello, Ma'am (or Sir), I'm the head of Ford Motor Company and I'm here to tell you that your Crown Vic has a major problem. The driveshaft is about to fall out, as is the engine." Meanwhile, his cohorts are telling your neighbors that they're with Toyota and Chevy; when they get down the street, they'll be with VW, Cadillac, and...Well, you get the idea. You wouldn't fall for the scam that way, and you shouldn't fall for it if someone calls saying that they've detected a virus on your PC. (Memorize this and the previous paragraph; if you fall for it, don't say I didn't warn you!) End of Note
Anyway, my phone rang and when I picked up, I had to say "hi" twice (the second time in my I'm-really-not-in-the-mood-for-B.S. voice).
"Yes," said a heavily accented voice, "this is the Windows computer company. Is this the owner/operator for the computer system?"
Hmmm...my scam detection alert system started buzzing, along my resident inner super-hero; I've dubbed her Her Royal Snarkiness.
"Yes," I answer in my most insincere sweet voice. "What do you want?"
"I am here calling you to..."
"Wait, wait, where, exactly, is here?"
"Excuse me?"
"Yes, you said you are here calling me. Where, exactly, is here?"
"Oh, yes. I am on the phone calling you from Microsoft computer company to tell you that our operating systems have detected a virus on your computer."
"Okay, so if your system is that intelligent that it can tell you that, it can also tell you where I am and who I am, right?"
A pause, before he goes on with, "You are there, and you are the owner/operator of that computer system." Oooh, what a quick learner! But not quick enough. He goes on, "So, your computer has a virus on it..."
"Which computer would that be?" I ask, in all my sweet snarkiness.
"Your computer!" comes the gleeful reply.
"My computer? Why, sir, I have five computers! Which one is the virus on?" This was a blatant exaggeration, since I have a laptop and a couple of desk tops.
I hear a gasp before he recovers. "Why, it looks like all of them have viruses!"
"Really? I wasn't aware that you would be so concerned with a virus on my five Macs!"
Now there's a longer pause before he asks, "Macs?"
"Yes, you know. Macs. They're made by Apple."
Dang, I hate when the line goes dead. Must've been a virus...
Friday, August 27, 2021
Wednesday, August 18, 2021
Comfort Food
I was looking over some of my older posts, and decided to revive Comfort Food, a post from Tuesday, September 13, 2016. It reminded me of all the comfort food from over the years, as well as family members, many of whom have passed away over the years. A few times have been updated for today. Example: the original post noted my Dad had died nine years ago; it's now fourteen years, which coesn't seem possible. I've also added a few photos. Enjoy.
I just finished off a bowl of butterscotch pudding. Actually, it was a double-serving of the stuff, but since two helpings were in one bowl, it only counts as one - at least, in my mind.
It was the kind of pudding that you cook, poured out in powder form into the milk, then stirred while it heats. I hate the instant stuff. My younger two love the instant chocolate pudding, and while I love chocolate, I can't handle the instant stuff. It never seems to set up exactly right. Plus, there's no film on top like the cooked pudding gets.
The butterscotch pudding was still warm, even though I'd let it cool for maybe ten minutes in the 'fridge, but it had gotten that film across the top. I know some people don't like the film (namely, the aforementioned younger two), but I do. It's part of what I liked about the stuff when I was growing up.
Why a post about butterscotch pudding? Why not? Especially when one is writing about comfort food.
Dad
Dad passed away nine years ago, in July, 2007. He'd known he was dying, and so did we. It was his fourth bout of cancer - first breast cancer (yes, men can and do get breast cancer), then prostate, then colon cancer, and finally, another round of prostate cancer. It was the second bout that took Dad. He'd beat it the first time - as well as the other two battles with cancer.
He and my step-mom Phyllis came to visit in April 2005. They'd planned to come in March, but ended up spending the month cleaning up a cellar after the water pipes had burst.
Dad and Phyllis
When they arrived, they spent close to a week, taking us out for dinner. We knew it would probably be the last time we saw Dad: the first night here, he told us that he'd gotten the prognosis that he had two years, at most. He lasted two years and change.
One afternoon while Dad and Phyl were here, they brought me to the nearby Publix for some shopping. Dad's never liked shopping; he'll decide what he wants or needs, hit the store, sprint around grabbing what stuff he'd planned to get, then head out. Left to my own devices, I'm the same way. In, sprint, get what I need, occasionally slow down to say hi to a friend or chat with one of the people fixing free food samples for shoppers ("Would you like some...today? The makings are on sale this week..."), dance around those taking their darn....sweet....time in front of whatever I'm trying to buy ("Excuse me...Excuse me...Excuse me..." Oh, heck, use the boarding house reach), then head on out.
But this time, Dad and Phyllis found their way to the pudding and gelatin aisle. I passed by as they were looking through the different flavors. I had a hunch Dad was looking for either butterscotch pudding (both of our favorite) or pistachio, his second favorite. I'll occasionally (read: once a year or so) eat pistachio pudding, mainly because it reminds me of Dad. I like it, too, but nowhere near as much as butterscotch. And yes, the pistachio has to be the cooked stuff, not instant.
I went past the other end of the pudding aisle a few minutes later, and saw that Dad and Phyl were still there. I found that a little odd (sprint, grab stuff, head for check-out), but let it slide. They were in a new store for them. Maybe they discovered some new flavor? Who knows, I thought.
But ten minutes later, when I was ready to leave and had been hunting for Dad and Phyllis, I found them still in the pudding aisle, checking out all the boxes.
"What's up?" I asked, coming up to them.
"Your dad's looking for butterscotch pudding," Phyllis informed me. "It has to be the cooked stuff."
"All they have is the instant kind," Dad added. "They have instant and cooked pudding in every other flavor, but none of the cooked butterscotch!"
A glance through the packages of both brands that Publix carried confirmed this. There was chocolate (instant and cooked), pistachio (instant and cooked), vanilla, tapioca, lemon - all instant and cooked. And butterscotch - which only came in instant.
"We haven't been able to find the cooked variety up in New York, either," Dad informed me.
Phyllis nodded. "It's true. We've tried getting it everywhere. No one seems to sell it anymore."
Butterscotch pudding - the cooked kind - was our favorite! It held memories for us. Like the time Mom flew to Florida for a week and Dad picked up enough butterscotch pudding to sink a battleship. There might have been a package or two left when Mom got back, but not much more.
I went in search of someone who worked at the store, and asked him about it. "Let me get the manager," he said.
A minute later, a manager arrived, only to inform us that they hadn't been able to get the stuff, but that he would personally try to find some somewhere for us. "But it might take a few weeks," he said.
This became a challenge for me. Dad was dying, darn it, and if he wanted the cooked version of butterscotch pudding, by God, I was going to find some!
Maybe two months after Dad and Phyl got back to New York, I found six lonely boxes of the cooked version on the shelves and bought all six, then shipped them up to Dad. A week later, I was in another store (not Publix, but another chain) and discovered that they had boxes and boxes of butterscotch pudding - the kinds you cook! I loaded up, then shipped these out the next day.
After that, once a month or so, I'd pick up a few more boxes at the store I'd located them at...until one day, more than a year after Dad and Phyllis had been here, less than a year before he died, Publix started carrying the stuff.
There are other foods that I've considered comfort food for years most of which have stories that go with them. (These stories I'll try to keep short.)
My grandmother - Mom's Mom - made a fantastic Oven Pot Roast, which I have posted in my original cooking blog, Confessions of a Foodie; the post was from January 19, 2013. Everyone in our family loved it.
One Sunday when my older three kids were young, I used Grandma's recipe to bake up her Oven Pot Roast. It smelled fantastic; by dinner time, everyone was definitely ready to eat.
I had figured, since I'd used a 4-pound chuck roast, that we'd have half of it that night, and the rest the next day for sandwiches and, finally, hash for dinner. Great idea - except that my oldest, who had two hollow legs, finished it off during the night.
Years later, when my ex- and I had split up, I was helping him find an apartment. At one complex (one that had an efficiency for rent), we stopped by the office manager's apartment so we could go to the nearby efficiency. Darned if his wife wasn't cooking a pot roast, the scent of which reminded my ex- and me of Grandma's pot roast. That clinched the deal on the efficiency! (Yes, he rented it.)
Grandma also specialized in her homemade oatmeal and peanut butter cookies, which she always seemed to have on hand, and which, when I was growing up, she'd always bring to our house when she visited, regaling my brother, sister and me of her childhood.
My other grandma had a recipe for her quick Mac and Cheese that she used to fix for my dad and his brother Don when they were kids. It is incredibly simple (macaroni and Cheese Whiz), and kid-friendly.
Then there's the Chocolate Cream Pie.
Greg, at 10
I had a boyfriend, Tom, who loved Chocolate Cream Pie; it was his all time favorite. Shortly after my family moved from Connecticut back to New York, Tom came for a weekend visit. He was planning to fly back Sunday night. But before he left, Mom insisted on fixing a large Sunday dinner in the early afternoon. Of course, I had to fix the chocolate cream pie, right? I mean, it was my boyfriend's favorite! And how difficult could it be? Pie crust (I'd use my great grandmother's recipe), chocolate pudding, and whipped cream. Easy enough, right?
Wrong! Somehow, I managed to get the pie crust to taste like undercooked pizza crust (while burning the outer edges of it!), I burned the chocolate pudding, and the whipped cream got whipped half-way to butter!!! Yeah, it was memorable!
When it came time to serve dessert, the pie was cut into six slices, and everyone got one. But one bite...I couldn't finish my piece. Neither could Tom, nor my sister, Mom, Dad...the only one who could eat it was my kid brother. At 10, he would eat anything that didn't eat him first.
"If anyone doesn't want their pie, I'll eat it!" he announced. Immediately, five plates got pushed toward him.
About this time, the phone rang; it was one of my sister's friends. Dad - who'd answered the phone - was laughing so hard about the pie - yes, it was that bad! - that he couldn't talk, and handed the phone to me. I was laughing hard, and handed the phone to my sister. The phone made the rounds, until it was finally handed to my brother.
"Yeah, I'll tell her to call you," he told our sister's friend. "But I don't know what they're all laughing about. Robin made a pie for her boyfriend - and it's great! And you know the best part? I get to eat the whole thing!"
For years afterward, whenever Dad would come to visit, he'd inform me, "I don't care what you cook, just don't make that Chocolate Cream Pie!"
I guess we all have comfort foods, and stories about food. Yes, I've got more food stories, but they can wait for another time.
In the meantime, anyone up for a good Chocolate Cream Pie?
Note: Check out my e-cookbook, Off the Wall Cooking.
I just finished off a bowl of butterscotch pudding. Actually, it was a double-serving of the stuff, but since two helpings were in one bowl, it only counts as one - at least, in my mind.
It was the kind of pudding that you cook, poured out in powder form into the milk, then stirred while it heats. I hate the instant stuff. My younger two love the instant chocolate pudding, and while I love chocolate, I can't handle the instant stuff. It never seems to set up exactly right. Plus, there's no film on top like the cooked pudding gets.
The butterscotch pudding was still warm, even though I'd let it cool for maybe ten minutes in the 'fridge, but it had gotten that film across the top. I know some people don't like the film (namely, the aforementioned younger two), but I do. It's part of what I liked about the stuff when I was growing up.
Why a post about butterscotch pudding? Why not? Especially when one is writing about comfort food.
Dad
Dad passed away nine years ago, in July, 2007. He'd known he was dying, and so did we. It was his fourth bout of cancer - first breast cancer (yes, men can and do get breast cancer), then prostate, then colon cancer, and finally, another round of prostate cancer. It was the second bout that took Dad. He'd beat it the first time - as well as the other two battles with cancer.
He and my step-mom Phyllis came to visit in April 2005. They'd planned to come in March, but ended up spending the month cleaning up a cellar after the water pipes had burst.
Dad and Phyllis
When they arrived, they spent close to a week, taking us out for dinner. We knew it would probably be the last time we saw Dad: the first night here, he told us that he'd gotten the prognosis that he had two years, at most. He lasted two years and change.
One afternoon while Dad and Phyl were here, they brought me to the nearby Publix for some shopping. Dad's never liked shopping; he'll decide what he wants or needs, hit the store, sprint around grabbing what stuff he'd planned to get, then head out. Left to my own devices, I'm the same way. In, sprint, get what I need, occasionally slow down to say hi to a friend or chat with one of the people fixing free food samples for shoppers ("Would you like some...today? The makings are on sale this week..."), dance around those taking their darn....sweet....time in front of whatever I'm trying to buy ("Excuse me...Excuse me...Excuse me..." Oh, heck, use the boarding house reach), then head on out.
But this time, Dad and Phyllis found their way to the pudding and gelatin aisle. I passed by as they were looking through the different flavors. I had a hunch Dad was looking for either butterscotch pudding (both of our favorite) or pistachio, his second favorite. I'll occasionally (read: once a year or so) eat pistachio pudding, mainly because it reminds me of Dad. I like it, too, but nowhere near as much as butterscotch. And yes, the pistachio has to be the cooked stuff, not instant.
I went past the other end of the pudding aisle a few minutes later, and saw that Dad and Phyl were still there. I found that a little odd (sprint, grab stuff, head for check-out), but let it slide. They were in a new store for them. Maybe they discovered some new flavor? Who knows, I thought.
But ten minutes later, when I was ready to leave and had been hunting for Dad and Phyllis, I found them still in the pudding aisle, checking out all the boxes.
"What's up?" I asked, coming up to them.
"Your dad's looking for butterscotch pudding," Phyllis informed me. "It has to be the cooked stuff."
"All they have is the instant kind," Dad added. "They have instant and cooked pudding in every other flavor, but none of the cooked butterscotch!"
A glance through the packages of both brands that Publix carried confirmed this. There was chocolate (instant and cooked), pistachio (instant and cooked), vanilla, tapioca, lemon - all instant and cooked. And butterscotch - which only came in instant.
"We haven't been able to find the cooked variety up in New York, either," Dad informed me.
Phyllis nodded. "It's true. We've tried getting it everywhere. No one seems to sell it anymore."
Butterscotch pudding - the cooked kind - was our favorite! It held memories for us. Like the time Mom flew to Florida for a week and Dad picked up enough butterscotch pudding to sink a battleship. There might have been a package or two left when Mom got back, but not much more.
I went in search of someone who worked at the store, and asked him about it. "Let me get the manager," he said.
A minute later, a manager arrived, only to inform us that they hadn't been able to get the stuff, but that he would personally try to find some somewhere for us. "But it might take a few weeks," he said.
This became a challenge for me. Dad was dying, darn it, and if he wanted the cooked version of butterscotch pudding, by God, I was going to find some!
Maybe two months after Dad and Phyl got back to New York, I found six lonely boxes of the cooked version on the shelves and bought all six, then shipped them up to Dad. A week later, I was in another store (not Publix, but another chain) and discovered that they had boxes and boxes of butterscotch pudding - the kinds you cook! I loaded up, then shipped these out the next day.
After that, once a month or so, I'd pick up a few more boxes at the store I'd located them at...until one day, more than a year after Dad and Phyllis had been here, less than a year before he died, Publix started carrying the stuff.
There are other foods that I've considered comfort food for years most of which have stories that go with them. (These stories I'll try to keep short.)
My grandmother - Mom's Mom - made a fantastic Oven Pot Roast, which I have posted in my original cooking blog, Confessions of a Foodie; the post was from January 19, 2013. Everyone in our family loved it.
One Sunday when my older three kids were young, I used Grandma's recipe to bake up her Oven Pot Roast. It smelled fantastic; by dinner time, everyone was definitely ready to eat.
I had figured, since I'd used a 4-pound chuck roast, that we'd have half of it that night, and the rest the next day for sandwiches and, finally, hash for dinner. Great idea - except that my oldest, who had two hollow legs, finished it off during the night.
Years later, when my ex- and I had split up, I was helping him find an apartment. At one complex (one that had an efficiency for rent), we stopped by the office manager's apartment so we could go to the nearby efficiency. Darned if his wife wasn't cooking a pot roast, the scent of which reminded my ex- and me of Grandma's pot roast. That clinched the deal on the efficiency! (Yes, he rented it.)
Grandma also specialized in her homemade oatmeal and peanut butter cookies, which she always seemed to have on hand, and which, when I was growing up, she'd always bring to our house when she visited, regaling my brother, sister and me of her childhood.
My other grandma had a recipe for her quick Mac and Cheese that she used to fix for my dad and his brother Don when they were kids. It is incredibly simple (macaroni and Cheese Whiz), and kid-friendly.
Then there's the Chocolate Cream Pie.
Greg, at 10
I had a boyfriend, Tom, who loved Chocolate Cream Pie; it was his all time favorite. Shortly after my family moved from Connecticut back to New York, Tom came for a weekend visit. He was planning to fly back Sunday night. But before he left, Mom insisted on fixing a large Sunday dinner in the early afternoon. Of course, I had to fix the chocolate cream pie, right? I mean, it was my boyfriend's favorite! And how difficult could it be? Pie crust (I'd use my great grandmother's recipe), chocolate pudding, and whipped cream. Easy enough, right?
Wrong! Somehow, I managed to get the pie crust to taste like undercooked pizza crust (while burning the outer edges of it!), I burned the chocolate pudding, and the whipped cream got whipped half-way to butter!!! Yeah, it was memorable!
When it came time to serve dessert, the pie was cut into six slices, and everyone got one. But one bite...I couldn't finish my piece. Neither could Tom, nor my sister, Mom, Dad...the only one who could eat it was my kid brother. At 10, he would eat anything that didn't eat him first.
"If anyone doesn't want their pie, I'll eat it!" he announced. Immediately, five plates got pushed toward him.
About this time, the phone rang; it was one of my sister's friends. Dad - who'd answered the phone - was laughing so hard about the pie - yes, it was that bad! - that he couldn't talk, and handed the phone to me. I was laughing hard, and handed the phone to my sister. The phone made the rounds, until it was finally handed to my brother.
"Yeah, I'll tell her to call you," he told our sister's friend. "But I don't know what they're all laughing about. Robin made a pie for her boyfriend - and it's great! And you know the best part? I get to eat the whole thing!"
For years afterward, whenever Dad would come to visit, he'd inform me, "I don't care what you cook, just don't make that Chocolate Cream Pie!"
I guess we all have comfort foods, and stories about food. Yes, I've got more food stories, but they can wait for another time.
In the meantime, anyone up for a good Chocolate Cream Pie?
Note: Check out my e-cookbook, Off the Wall Cooking.
Thursday, July 29, 2021
Have a Nice Day!
There was a time, from maybe 1989 through the early '90s, when I did stand-up comedy. While I never made it big, I did enjoy doing it during those four years and change.
I'd worked at a local hospital, doing a temporary, part-time job, working weekend nights, where a couple of my coworkers mentioned I should do stand-up comedy. When a local coffee house opened up, after I'd left the job, I decided to give it a try. Every Saturday night, for 15 minutes, sometimes a little longer (if the next act wasn't quite ready), I honed my craft. The first few times, I only got an occasional polite laugh; it took a while before I was comfortable enough to actually be able to be elicit real laughs.
While it might've been tempting to simply come up with a string of jokes ("What did one traffic light say to the other traffic light?" "Stop looking! I'm changing!"), I opted to go with real life stuff. And why not? I was going through a divorce (okay, it was early in the divorce) and raising four kids. Anyone who's ever been married and/or had kids knows that there are times when things can be downright funny, in a weird way.
After I'd been doing stand-up at CAMS (the name of the coffee house in Pinellas Park, Fla.) for a while, I branched out to a couple of other places, though not too often. But no matter the venue, it felt good getting laughs while telling about the craziness of life.
So, for old times' sake, here's one of the segments I did, both at CAMS and a couple of other places. I'm updating it a little, but not much, and deleting a little.
So, I'm thinking about getting a dog to replace our old dog who died...15 years ago. Osha wasn't quite the dog I'd planned to get. I'd had my heart set on getting a DOG, one that was big enough that if anyone was stupid enough to break into our house, would use a massive paw to push that person onto a chair, use another massive paw to push the phone over to that person, then demand that he or she call 9-1-1 to get the police to pick up his sorry butt. And if that call wasn't made fast enough, that dog would then stand up and insist, "I mean now."
Instead, we ended up with Osha, a silly Cocker Spaniel pup, the runt of the litter.
I should've known we were getting her when a friend whose dog had had pups called up. "How about bringing the kids over? We can hang out for a couple of hours." It was only after we got there that I discovered there was one pup who hadn't been claimed.
That evening, when my other-half came home from work, I told him I was planning to get a dog for the kids. His immediate response was, "You bring that dog home, I'll pack up and move out within 24 hours!"
The dog was in the house the next day. Took the man two years to get the hint.
But that's beside the point. I discovered things about dogs, one of which is that they hate when you blow in their face. But take 'em for a car ride, and immediately, their head is out the window, getting wind in their face.
Kind-of reminds me of my friend, Sue. When we'd go out, I had to drive, as she'd always have her head out the window, especially at the beach. "Look at that guy! Looklooklook! Ooooh...wooow!" But blow in her face, she'd go nuts!
Of course, we all have things that work our last nerves. One of my pet peeves is the phrase Have a nice day!
Picture this: You're at work, near the end of your shift. You're going out that evening with your better-half for your 20th anniversary...until he calls to inform you he's leaving your for his very young, very rich, very good-looking, very male secretary (and you think you know someone!).
So you head home, and there, in your front yard, are several news crews from the major networks, and different news shows - 20/20, 48 hours, 60 minutes, Dateline - and you're sure Geraldo Rivera is skulking around somewhere. Something about your son being the U.S. connection for some major drug cartel.
You manage to get inside to find the phone ringing, only to find equally interesting news from your daughter.
So you sneak out the back door to avoid the news crews, head to the store, and pick up some basic comfort food: a container of hot mac and cheese from the deli, a double batch of brownies from the bakery, two gallons-worth of Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia, and a friendly bottle of alcohol...only to have the cashier tell you to have a nice day. Yeah, you have a nice day, see how you like it!
Another thing that bugs me is asking to borrow my car. There's a reason behind this.
Now, keep in mind that I don't have any medical problem that'll cause my demise in any two-hour period of time.
So, my oldest son borrowed my car so he and his girlfriend (we'll call her Denise) could go to a friend's birthday party.
Two hours later, son called up. The conversation went as follows:
SON: Hi, Mom, how are you?
ME: Fine. How are you?
SON: I'm fine.
ME: How's Denise?
SON: She's fine.
ME: How's my car?
SON: Denise and I are fine.
ME: How bad's the car?
SON: The cop says it's totaled...(At this point, there's a metal-on-metal noise from hell in the background). And the wrecker is hooking up to the car...(and then there was a slight pause, before he added) But, Mom, I want you to know that the palm tree is doing just fine...
Turns out, a car full of tourists was in the center lane. The driver did one of those infamous "Oooh, look at that house, Ethel," where he points at said house...and the car drifts the way his arm is pointing, running my son, his girlfriend, and our full-size station wagon into said tree. That driver later told me (after the cop brought him back to the scene and I'd caught a ride there), "I'm sorry, I just didn't see the car."
I had no idea Ford was building Stealth cars...
Well, the man's insurance did pay for me to get another car. Sure, it was a used car, but it's nice enough. Four doors, six cylinders, comfortable-enough ride.
So, I headed over to show Sue, who, to my chagrin, just got a brand new Corvette. Bright blue. V8 engine.
But my car's all paid for.
She has a Corvette.
But mine has decent gas mileage...
Did I mention the 'Vette?
Suddenly, it hit me...I could've had a V8!
About a block from Sue's place my car sputtered to a stop. Sure, the gas gauge was on 'E', but in my defense, my previous two cars had none-functioning gas gauges that always read E. We just had to make sure to top 'em off periodically.
I walked the last block to her house, and her husband offered to take me to get gas for my car.
As he looked for his keys, Sue informed me, "That's just like you to run out of gas! By the way, wanna see...?" (Yeah, you guessed it...the 'Vette.)
By now, her husband was ready to bring me on the gas run, so I turned to Sue, blew in her face, and told her to have a nice day.
I'd worked at a local hospital, doing a temporary, part-time job, working weekend nights, where a couple of my coworkers mentioned I should do stand-up comedy. When a local coffee house opened up, after I'd left the job, I decided to give it a try. Every Saturday night, for 15 minutes, sometimes a little longer (if the next act wasn't quite ready), I honed my craft. The first few times, I only got an occasional polite laugh; it took a while before I was comfortable enough to actually be able to be elicit real laughs.
While it might've been tempting to simply come up with a string of jokes ("What did one traffic light say to the other traffic light?" "Stop looking! I'm changing!"), I opted to go with real life stuff. And why not? I was going through a divorce (okay, it was early in the divorce) and raising four kids. Anyone who's ever been married and/or had kids knows that there are times when things can be downright funny, in a weird way.
After I'd been doing stand-up at CAMS (the name of the coffee house in Pinellas Park, Fla.) for a while, I branched out to a couple of other places, though not too often. But no matter the venue, it felt good getting laughs while telling about the craziness of life.
So, for old times' sake, here's one of the segments I did, both at CAMS and a couple of other places. I'm updating it a little, but not much, and deleting a little.
So, I'm thinking about getting a dog to replace our old dog who died...15 years ago. Osha wasn't quite the dog I'd planned to get. I'd had my heart set on getting a DOG, one that was big enough that if anyone was stupid enough to break into our house, would use a massive paw to push that person onto a chair, use another massive paw to push the phone over to that person, then demand that he or she call 9-1-1 to get the police to pick up his sorry butt. And if that call wasn't made fast enough, that dog would then stand up and insist, "I mean now."
Instead, we ended up with Osha, a silly Cocker Spaniel pup, the runt of the litter.
I should've known we were getting her when a friend whose dog had had pups called up. "How about bringing the kids over? We can hang out for a couple of hours." It was only after we got there that I discovered there was one pup who hadn't been claimed.
That evening, when my other-half came home from work, I told him I was planning to get a dog for the kids. His immediate response was, "You bring that dog home, I'll pack up and move out within 24 hours!"
The dog was in the house the next day. Took the man two years to get the hint.
But that's beside the point. I discovered things about dogs, one of which is that they hate when you blow in their face. But take 'em for a car ride, and immediately, their head is out the window, getting wind in their face.
Kind-of reminds me of my friend, Sue. When we'd go out, I had to drive, as she'd always have her head out the window, especially at the beach. "Look at that guy! Looklooklook! Ooooh...wooow!" But blow in her face, she'd go nuts!
Of course, we all have things that work our last nerves. One of my pet peeves is the phrase Have a nice day!
Picture this: You're at work, near the end of your shift. You're going out that evening with your better-half for your 20th anniversary...until he calls to inform you he's leaving your for his very young, very rich, very good-looking, very male secretary (and you think you know someone!).
So you head home, and there, in your front yard, are several news crews from the major networks, and different news shows - 20/20, 48 hours, 60 minutes, Dateline - and you're sure Geraldo Rivera is skulking around somewhere. Something about your son being the U.S. connection for some major drug cartel.
You manage to get inside to find the phone ringing, only to find equally interesting news from your daughter.
So you sneak out the back door to avoid the news crews, head to the store, and pick up some basic comfort food: a container of hot mac and cheese from the deli, a double batch of brownies from the bakery, two gallons-worth of Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia, and a friendly bottle of alcohol...only to have the cashier tell you to have a nice day. Yeah, you have a nice day, see how you like it!
Another thing that bugs me is asking to borrow my car. There's a reason behind this.
Now, keep in mind that I don't have any medical problem that'll cause my demise in any two-hour period of time.
So, my oldest son borrowed my car so he and his girlfriend (we'll call her Denise) could go to a friend's birthday party.
Two hours later, son called up. The conversation went as follows:
SON: Hi, Mom, how are you?
ME: Fine. How are you?
SON: I'm fine.
ME: How's Denise?
SON: She's fine.
ME: How's my car?
SON: Denise and I are fine.
ME: How bad's the car?
SON: The cop says it's totaled...(At this point, there's a metal-on-metal noise from hell in the background). And the wrecker is hooking up to the car...(and then there was a slight pause, before he added) But, Mom, I want you to know that the palm tree is doing just fine...
Turns out, a car full of tourists was in the center lane. The driver did one of those infamous "Oooh, look at that house, Ethel," where he points at said house...and the car drifts the way his arm is pointing, running my son, his girlfriend, and our full-size station wagon into said tree. That driver later told me (after the cop brought him back to the scene and I'd caught a ride there), "I'm sorry, I just didn't see the car."
I had no idea Ford was building Stealth cars...
Well, the man's insurance did pay for me to get another car. Sure, it was a used car, but it's nice enough. Four doors, six cylinders, comfortable-enough ride.
So, I headed over to show Sue, who, to my chagrin, just got a brand new Corvette. Bright blue. V8 engine.
But my car's all paid for.
She has a Corvette.
But mine has decent gas mileage...
Did I mention the 'Vette?
Suddenly, it hit me...I could've had a V8!
About a block from Sue's place my car sputtered to a stop. Sure, the gas gauge was on 'E', but in my defense, my previous two cars had none-functioning gas gauges that always read E. We just had to make sure to top 'em off periodically.
I walked the last block to her house, and her husband offered to take me to get gas for my car.
As he looked for his keys, Sue informed me, "That's just like you to run out of gas! By the way, wanna see...?" (Yeah, you guessed it...the 'Vette.)
By now, her husband was ready to bring me on the gas run, so I turned to Sue, blew in her face, and told her to have a nice day.
Thursday, June 10, 2021
Things Were Starting to Get Better, And Then...
I realize that it's been a while since I've posted. It's not that I meant to disappear for eight months (!), but as John Lennon once said, "Life is what happens to you while you are making other plans." I'd meant to write about the Christmas parade where I live being canceled last December because of the pandemic, and then having a very shortened version of it the following week, the advent of the COVID-19 vaccines that were pushed through, the slow openening up of life in general.
Of course, none of those posts happened. I'll have to post about those in the near future, along with photos (where applicable).
Things were starting to get better, for the most part. Maybe not great yet, but better than the past year, with all the mask-wearing,-social-distancing,-job-losses and stuff. There had been some hiccups along the way, but then, that's life, right?
Maybe an hour ago, I got a call from my cousin Charles. While we'd occasionally touch base of Facebook ("Happy Birthday!", "Merry Christmas!", that sort-of stuff), it had been a while since we'd spoken. In fact, I think that the last time I'd heard his voice was during my mom's memorial service.
Photos from Mom's memorial.
Charles, David, Tyson (behind Charles), Amy
Charles (waving), Chris, Tyson, David (waving), Amy
After a brief hello, Charlie informed me that his dad, my Uncle Dave, had passed away over the weekend...something about a fall, a trip to the hospital, but that there hadn't been much that could be done. He'd turned 93 in April, had been Mom's only sibling, three years Mom's senior.
Most of us are aware that our parents (if they're still alive) will die someday, as will we. But it's still a shock when it happens. Our parents were around since we were born, and, therefore, are going to be around forever, right?
We spoke for several minutes, reminiscing a little, talking about the shock of losing a parent, talking about how my aunt is holding up. (As well as can be expected, considering.) My aunt and uncle had been married 67 years, no small feat.
We talked a little longer...he caught me up on how his brother and sister were handling this, as well as some other cousins who live nearby.
With Dave's passing, his and Mom's generation (with the exception of my aunt) have gone on.
Mom, make sure you say "hi" to Dave.
Here are a few more photos from Mom's memorial.
Of course, none of those posts happened. I'll have to post about those in the near future, along with photos (where applicable).
Things were starting to get better, for the most part. Maybe not great yet, but better than the past year, with all the mask-wearing,-social-distancing,-job-losses and stuff. There had been some hiccups along the way, but then, that's life, right?
Maybe an hour ago, I got a call from my cousin Charles. While we'd occasionally touch base of Facebook ("Happy Birthday!", "Merry Christmas!", that sort-of stuff), it had been a while since we'd spoken. In fact, I think that the last time I'd heard his voice was during my mom's memorial service.
Photos from Mom's memorial.
Charles, David, Tyson (behind Charles), Amy
Charles (waving), Chris, Tyson, David (waving), Amy
After a brief hello, Charlie informed me that his dad, my Uncle Dave, had passed away over the weekend...something about a fall, a trip to the hospital, but that there hadn't been much that could be done. He'd turned 93 in April, had been Mom's only sibling, three years Mom's senior.
Most of us are aware that our parents (if they're still alive) will die someday, as will we. But it's still a shock when it happens. Our parents were around since we were born, and, therefore, are going to be around forever, right?
We spoke for several minutes, reminiscing a little, talking about the shock of losing a parent, talking about how my aunt is holding up. (As well as can be expected, considering.) My aunt and uncle had been married 67 years, no small feat.
We talked a little longer...he caught me up on how his brother and sister were handling this, as well as some other cousins who live nearby.
With Dave's passing, his and Mom's generation (with the exception of my aunt) have gone on.
Mom, make sure you say "hi" to Dave.
Here are a few more photos from Mom's memorial.
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