Woman in the Middle

The near constant salivating in the press over the upcoming premier of season 7 of Game of Thrones is getting on my nerves. I am here to admit I have never watched a single episode of that show. I know, I appear to be one of the few in America who can say that, but it is true.

I have had a life time of not watching must -see TV events, stretching all the way back to “Roots.” Everyone was watching Roots except our household. It was all over everywhere but was before DVRs or event video tapes. We either watched it or we didn’t, and we didn’t. There was no nefarious reason behind it except that some episodes went until 11 pm and I had to go to school and my mom and dad had to go to work the next day. We didn’t watch TV past 10 p.m. It didn’t matter what it was. I guess I get my strong desire for sleep from my parents. I have always said don’t get between me and food or sleep or there is going to be a problem.

By the way, I also didn’t watch Seinfeld or Friends. I do admit I did watch the final episode of Seinfeld. It was only half an hour. When it was done, I was reminded why I didn’t watch Seinfeld. As for Friends, well I was married and having babies. I couldn’t relate to their silly escapades. A friend who was not married and didn’t have kids enjoyed Friends quite a bit. But, she could relate to it.

Courtesy the Graphics Fairy

As for Game of Thrones, I have several reasons for not being interested in it.

1. It is on HBO. I don’t have HBO. I watch enough TV, I don’t need to pay more money for more of it.

2. Blood, lots of blood. Not my thing

3. The older I get, the less I am interested in a show that has a complicated “story arch” that lasts for a whole season. Just give me a good story, finish it up by the end of the program, and be done with it!

4. Fantasy…hum…not really my thing.

So, you GoT watchers out there, you enjoy. Meanwhile, I am going to try and ignore all the hype and go watch the Great British Baking Show. Other than the occasional knife cut, it is right up my alley.

Our garage was constructed completely with out roof or eave vents, which means it gets very warm in there on hot days. In the evening we try to remember to open up the doors to let the heat out. We feel it does not help keep our house cool to have  a big box of hot air attached ti it.

Yesterday was a particularly hot day, and when Hubby and I got home from a wedding about 9:30 pm we opened up the big and the side doors to let the heat out. We  then took our sweaty selves (it was an outdoor wedding) and collapsed under blessed air conditioning in front of the TV. The fact that the AC was running probably explains why we didn’t hear what was going on in our garage. Unbeknownst to us, we had a visitor.

When  the girls got home from the same wedding about 11:30 pm, they let us know that Youngest Daughter had just chased a raccoon out of the garage. So Hubby and I ran out to close the garage door before it could get back in. I was the first into the garage, and saw what the raccoon had been up to. It had knocked the cat food container off onto the floor, got the lid off, and had a nice little late evening snack. Even more annoying, it had washed its little dirty feet off in the kitty cat’s water fountain (because Lumos loved running water) leaving it a mucky mess and leaving muddy footprints all over the counter.

Wet footprints and an open cat food container.

Muddy footprints and dirty water in the cat fountain. 

We have been considering getting a security/screen door for the side door of the garage, just because it would allow us to air out the garage without worrying about Lumos or Nox rushing out to the garage and getting out when we are doing the airing out. But, having had such a rude visitor last night, Hubby has now put that to the top of the priority list. And, if any one can tell me, why are raccoon’s feet so dirty? Wherever a raccoon  and water come together, they leave muddy footprints, at least around our house!

I have never been a person who loves to drive. Driving is something I have to do in order to do other things I want to do, like shopping, going out to eat, or visiting friends. I don’t hate it, except when I have to go into Los Angeles. Then I really don’t like it, not at all.

Yesterday we went into LA to take Hubby to a museum exhibit we thought he would enjoy for Father’s Day. (More on that later.) Since it was Father’s Day, I drove. That is part of the deal around here for Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. You get taken someplace, you don’t have to drive, and you don’t have to touch a cat box for the day. So, yesterday, I drove into the abyss that is Los Angeles and back out again, and lived to tell the tale.

Our day out did not start well. About a mile from our house a big band new white minivan decided it needed to turn left by crossing a solid white line into the left turn lane. Unfortunately, our car was right where they wanted to be. My gut was already a bit unhappy, so the stomach muscle clenching that happened during and after that little episode of almost side swiping didn’t help at all. Then we stopped in the area of City of Industry for lunch at a favorite restaurant of Hubby’s. FYI, people in that neck of the woods are not the greatest drivers. Polite as all get out, constantly yielding right of way to others, when they really should go themselves, which makes for a fun time all its own. Good times, and I hadn’t even gotten to Los Angeles yet!

Alexander Woollcott  supposedly said “Los Angeles is seven suburds in search of a city.” Well, he isn’t too far off about that. While the rest of Southern California has a much more suburban lay out with an uncrowded feel,  even in downtown areas of our older cities (like the big city next door which was founded in 1870), Los Angeles is our one truly urban city, with all that goes with that.

Yesterday, we headed right into the belly of the beast, downtown Los Angeles. When I got off the 101 freeway on First Street, I was tossed right into urban street hell. There wasn’t much traffic (thank goodness)  but there was a streetscape right out of an urban scene reminiscent of a New York or Chicago or Detroit. First Street had buildings on either side that crowded right up to the street. The middle of the road was crowded with overhead wires that fed electricity to a streetcar system. Every once in a while a street car would come rumbling passed, just to add a little apocalyptic color to the scene. I was on a two lane stretch of road, but the right lane or the left lane regularly became a turn only lane, which forced me to jog back and forth to be able to keep going straight ahead.

Due to the street cars, some intersections had “no left turn” signs, even though those intersections looked about the same as the ones where you could turn left. But the signs added another level of color and clutter to the road. As a final layer of confusion, white bicycles were painted on the asphalt, in the middle of the drive lanes. Around my neck of the woods, that painted bicycle means a bike lane for bikes only, and if one were to appear in the lane I was driving, it would mean I had made a big boo boo and needed to get out of that lane fast, before I hit a person on a bike or a police officer pulled me over to give me a ticket. But not in LA, apparently. I drove over and with those painted bicycles for quite a distance yesterday. In downtown LA they must mean “Feel free to ride your bike here and take your life in your hands peddling with the cars!”

Leaving LA yesterday, I was never so happy as when I got on the big, beautiful, wide, 10 freeway, free of claustrophobic overhead wires, constant turn lanes, and bicycle stencils.  As I gripped the steering wheel with both hands, the trusty Camry was like a tired horse that gets a second wind when its rider finally turns it back in the direction of the barn. I had to pull back on the reins to keep it from going 90 miles an hour all  the way home. Later that night, Hubby said “Thank you for driving today.” That man knows how much I love him, to have driven into LA yesterday.

I really don’t want to become one of those women who, after a certain age, refuses to drive on a freeway or very far from home. But I am really looking forward to self driving cars. Really…looking…forward…

I thought the mockingbird situation was over, but a new couple seem to have moved in to the yard and are driving me nuts!

Mockingbirds are really amazing birds. The way they aggressively protect their nests is remarkable. To see a hawk flying into a tree to desperately get away from a little mockingbird dive bombing it from behind is a site to behold.   But, as much as a mockingbird is named for its ability to mimic other sounds, they are not the most pleasant sounding birds. Their normal call is more of a sharp rasp than a “tweet.”

Believe me, I know this because, as I type this, Nox is sitting on the window seat a few feet from me, looking out the window and the mockingbird couple who took up recent residence are not happy abut this. They are flirting and flying just feet from the window, not understanding that Nox is behind glass and not any threat to them. Nox is having a great time watching this extra special version of Kitty TV.

Later: It is now an hour later. Lumos finally discovered the great program on Kitty TV and jumped up to watch. It is cute as can be, except for the constant “rasp rasp” of the mockingbird trying to lure out the cats to be driven away.

Here they are, mesmerized by the show. One of the mockingbirds is barely visible, above Lumos, to the left of the middle window frame, standing right on top of the bush. 

I felt sorry for the birds at that point, so I closed the shutters so they can’t see the cats anymore. Lumos jumped down, having had his fill of the highly entertaining mockingbird show, but Nox was not willing to turn off the TV. He kept dating back and forth from shutter to shutter to see the show, and now has manged to pull back one shutter to see the birds again. Mean while, the “rasp rasp” continues….

As I have mentioned before, my fine city has four grocery stores from the same chain and one other one, a Walmart neighborhood market. I know, you keep thinking since I live in So Cal, home to millions and millions of people, that I must have a Whole Foods, Trader Joe’s, and all manner of Ralph’s, Von’s and Alberson’s within spitting distance, Uh…no. Instead we have Stater Bros. I love Stater Bros. I have been going there since I was in the womb.   I buy so many of their store brand products that when a friend of Youngest Daughter spent the weekend, she was finally moved to say, “You must really like this Stater Bros, store.” Yep, I do.

Among the many store brands I have purchased for years and years was their brand of toilet paper. The Premium, not the Ultra, cause my family needs to make do, up to a point. Vacations don’t pay for themselves!

But, then, two weeks ago, I went to do my shopping and found the toilet paper I knew and loved had been replaced by a new store brand called “Simply Done.” There was only one kind, not varying levels of Simply Done. So I bought some. It just so happened that the girls bathroom ran out of toilet paper first and the new toilet paper was opened up and put out. A few days later I was up a little later than Hubby and used that bathroom instead of the one in my bedroom. Oh boy, I got to experience my first use of the new toilet paper. It was not good.

The new paper was some kind of unnatural cross between newspaper and cheap toilet paper. It was what I would guess folks in communist countries had to put up with in the 1970s.   It was embossed in a way that was an obvious bid to make you think you were buying something soft. Instead, the embossing just made the toilet paper even more scratchy. Seriously, you could injure delicate areas of your body with this stuff. It was so bad Youngest Daughter insisted we get a different brand of toilet paper to have in the house for our guests at Thanksgiving. FYI, never before has my family declared the TP I purchased not acceptable for guests.

I didn’t know you could get toilet paper this bad in a first world country. But, hey, life is full of surprises!

Needless to say, I will not be buying any more of that item at my local store. I also plan on on writing the president of Stater Bros to challenge him to take home a package and see how his bum and the bums of his wife and family feel about it.  Really, it simply needs to be better.

Sunday we had a little rain and some truly cool weather, the first of the season. Our weather has been weird and unpredictable. Since we don’t get snow or ice in our neck of the woods, people dress based on their own comfort level and also based on how much they were ignoring, or just not believing, the weather reports. On Saturday night we were out in shorts and t-shirts and were perfectly comfortable. When it turned cool on Sunday, a lot of us, including me, hadn’t quite caught up with the change in weather.

When I went to the grocery store Sunday Afternoon, I saw every category of dress  people wear in inland So Cal in cool weather.

1. “I actually noticed the temperature and dressed appropriately, because I am cold all the time anyway.” Those are usually women of a certain age and elderly men, who had on long pants, jackets, closed toed shoes, socks, and a long sleeve shirt.

2. “I don’t care, it isn’t that cold.” Those are usually men from teens to 40s who wear shorts, t-shirts and flipflops to everything up to and including funerals.

3. “I am a little chilly.” This category is everyone else and it can include any combination of clothing, but usually falls within one of the following:

flip flops, short sleeve shirt and long pants

flip flops, shorts, and a thin jacket

Shorts, short sleeve shirt, and closed toed shoes (that was me on Sunday, until evening hit, and I threw on a sweater)

Long pants, closed toed shoes, and a short sleeved shirt.

Babies are not included in any of these categories because their parents usually dress them appropriately for the weather. Mom and Dad may be wearing flip flops, but the baby will be dressed for a snow storm.

I have never been much of a QVC shopper. On the extremely rare occasion I happen to watch a few moments of  QVC, I am usually thinking, “I could do that!” about the women hawking whatever they are hawking, not thinking, “I could buy that.”

Then came today. I was watching a few minutes of TV, poking around trying to find something I wanted to watch, when QVC caught my eye. I started watching and discovered something about myself. I can resist most everything they are selling, except food.

I fully admit, QVC saw me coming and started selling something I just could not resist. You see, I have relatives in Memphis, Tennessee. I love barbecue, and they have good barbecue there. I particularly remember my Aunt Pat going to a place called Corky’s to pick up pulled pork for us to put on a bun with sauce and coleslaw. I tell you, that is good eating right there!

So what was QVC selling? Corky’s Barbecue!. I could get pulled pork, pulled chicken, or half and half, plus a big bottle of Corky’s BBQ sauce, all for one low low price! I opted out of the automatic delivery every 90 days and out of the payment plan. I paid for the whole thing up front and am just getting it once. I still have some self-control left.

I called Hubby to tell him about my QVC Achilles heel. His only questions was “When is it going to get here?

I am on the board of our local historical society. We had a board meeting today. I was telling them all my new found knowledge about Facebook ads. I said Facebook uses the information on our pages to target the ads. “So, for example, if the local parks district is advertising toddler dance classes the ads will pop up for people who have toddlers.” I looked around the room, and commented, “I guess they would focus ads from us on middle aged white people.” Almost to a person, the whole room thanked me for calling them middle aged.

So glad I could make their day!

No one in the group looked like this:

After walking away empty handed from “Fartax,” after they sold the car we thought we were going to buy to someone else, we were forced to wait, in the hopes that their promises were true and another red Dodge Dart was on its way from Denver, Colorado. On Monday Youngest Daughter got a call. The car had arrived. It just had to be looked over before it could be released for sale, which should only take a day or two, the salesman said. It took two days, but I will give them a pass. Just as the car arrived the unthinkable happened. A salesman hopped in a Corvette to allow someone a test drive and the driver sped off, lost control of the car, ran into the tree, and killed the salesman. This happened at the dealership we were dealing with. That may have slowed things down for a day or so. Understandable.

We got the call on Wednesday that the car was ready. However, we couldn’t get there until Friday afternoon. We arrived and walked to the red Dart, full of anticipation. On the way there we noticed they had a Dart in Navy blue, How nice. Didn’t know they were made in Navy blue, we said.

Then we saw the car we had come for. As I like to say, it looked like it was rode hard and put away wet. It only had 11,000 miles on it but they were 11,000 difficult miles. Let me count the damage. A stained front seat. A melted spot on one of the inside back door handles. Glass in the trunk from a broken window (presumable the back window of that car, although it had been replaced). Last but definitely not least, major scratches and gouges in the paint on back bumper that could only be fixed by repainting.

Youngest and I were underwhelmed. Youngest was definitely disappointed and I was getting bad vibes from all over that poor car.

Not sure what to do, we decided to take the car for a test drive anyway. The salesman drove us and the car to the office and left us for a few moments while he went in to run her license. While he was gone I mentioned the navy blue Dodge Dart we had seen. While not as thrilled with the navy blue as she was with the red, Youngest agreed that we should take a look at it. When the salesman returned, we told him we wanted to see that one before we test drove the car from Colorado.

We walked back to the blue car, but it didn’t have a price on it. The salesman looked it up on his phone, but couldn’t find it. He left us to go determine if it had already been sold. A long fifteen minutes later he returned. The car was available, but had just come in, which was why it wasn’t in the system yet. It had 3,000 less miles than the car we had originally wanted to buy and had the back up camera, which the original one didn’t have. But it was the same price. Cheered by those facts and that the only flaw we saw was a small scratch on the trunk lid which could be easily buffed out, we decided to test drive it.  It was fine and as we returned to the car lot I asked Youngest if the blue car suited her. She said yes it did. I turned to the salesman and told him, “Your long nightmare is over!”

We drove to the office and I remembered we hadn’t looked in the trunk. Remembering the glass in the trunk of that other Dart, I said to the salesman, “For kicks and giggles, could you pop the trunk?” Youngest and I held our breath as the lid popped open. I turned to her and said, “We better make sure  there aren’t any bodies or pools of blood.” She giggled nervously. I lifted the lid and saw…nothing! just a clean car trunk!!! Praise the Lord!

We bought the car. I had to drive our car home so Youngest drove her new car home by herself. As she pulled out of the parking lot there was just enough light to see her face. I thought she might look a little grim, driving a strange car and all for the first time, one she paid for herself. I was totally wrong. I will never forget the beaming look of  joy and happiness on her face! She drove out of that “Fartax” with a smile on her face a mile wide. She had a new car!

Meanwhile, I was pretty darn proud of myself. What started as a few visits to dealerships by Youngest and I before we brought Hubby into the picture, ended up being just me guiding Youngest through her first car purchase when Hubby became overwhelmed with work. I guided her through the whole process, dispensing car buying advice along the way. I figured out if cars were a good price. I checked safety ratings. I dealt with salesmen. I read car reviews. I helped her try to get car loans.  I dealt with a pretty torturous process after the car we wanted was sold out from under us. Yep. I did it. I am woman. Here me roar after showing my daughter women can by cars, all by themselves.

BTW, Hubby said he was proud of me, as well.

Image courtesy of Dodge

The wind started up again yesterday, turning into gale force winds last night. We obviously have some leaks because the wind was somehow getting into my house and making my bedroom door rattle. I finally got up and went to sleep on the couch, where there weren’t any rattling doors.  Of course, with the kind of winds we are having, it would be impossible to keep all the wind out of the house.

I looked at the weather in our local newspaper this morning. It said today would be “breezy.” Really? If this is breezy, what would wind be, a category five hurricane? A tornado?

I posted something on Facebook about the wind. So far I have 96 likes and many comments like “if this is breezy, I would hate to see the wind.” One woman mentioned that she just moved here and the wind is driving her nuts. I feel for her. We get a lot of wind in my fair city, much more than the surrounding nearby areas.  All we can tell her is drink lots of water and keep the lotion bottle near by. Our winds are very dry and everything gets parched.

Hubby was out in the back yard at 4:30 this morning. I will have to ask him later what he was trying to rescue.  Most likely a seat cushion or the cover off a piece of lawn furniture.

Needless to say, I am not worrying about my hair today. Nothing I can do, short of gluing it all down with superglue, will keep my hair looking decent when I go out of the house. Nice thing is, everyone else’s hair will look just as bad.

When the girls were little, I had a special hairstyle for days like this. I put the top part of their hair in a pony tail and then the bottom part in one as well. Then I put another rubber band in the middle to hold the two pony tails together tightly at the back of their head. Otherwise their long hair would be blowing in their face all day.  Youngest put her hair in a bun today. I saw that and said “Opted for the bun, huh?” “Yes, I don’t want to deal with it today.” Oh baby, I totally understand!