A Day in the Life. Sigh.

So the other day I met a friend for lunch in a quaint little German Village restaurant just down the street from where I work.  The only negative about quaint little German Village is that the streets are paved with bricks. Sounds all old-timey and makes you want to come visit, doesn’t it?  Well, hold your horses there, Skippy, because it’s not all that and a bag o’ chips. 

In reality, it’s a pain in the you-know-what.  Because the bricks are old and uneven.  Really uneven.  They are so uneven that cars that routinely drive up and down the bricked streets require front end alignments every 23 days.  I’m not even kidding.  My last car had a permanent list to the left because one time I waited a whole month before scheduling the alignment. 

And even though I’m a veteran German Village driver after having worked here for the last ten years, I did something really stupid on my way to the restaurant.  I tried to apply lipstick.

Go ahead – shake your head and roll your eyes. I deserve it.

Instead of looking less scary and ghost-like with my natural, non-existent lip color, I looked like Ronald McDonald with the exaggerated line drawn all around his mouth. 

But at least I wasn’t wearing the baggy yellow jumpsuit, goofy shoes or the fright wig.

 

Didn’t matter.  The big red mouth thing alone was scary enough. 

Nevertheless, I arrived at the restaurant within moments.  Knowing I wanted to make a pit stop to remove my Ronald-like lips, I happily snagged a spot on the street right by the restaurant.  I even parallel parked like I knew what I was doing and managed to align my car relatively, well, parallel to the curb.

Score – right?

Fortunately, I was first at the restaurant so I had time to fix the scary lipstick situation and by the time I emerged from the ladies room, the hostess was looking at me a little less aghast than she had upon first seeing me enter the joint. 

My friend arrived and we proceeded to have a lovely lunch together.  By the time the meal was over, of course, my lipstick was non-existent again so, yes, it did occur to me that applying lipstick prior to eating is a wasted effort.

But the real trouble started when I returned to my carefully parallel parked car on the street.  No, it was not a victim of a hit-and-run driver.  No, I was not blocked in with the cars in front and back of me so close to my bumpers that I couldn’t maneuver out of the spot without a can opener. 

The real problem?   Two words: The. Birds.

I swear to you, every bird in the tri-state area must have flown over my car to leave a deposit.  Every single one.  I am serious. If all those droppings had been hail hitting my car, it would have been totaled. 

It looked so bad, I was embarrassed to get in it and drive it away.  On the other hand, since I was clearly standing under a flight pattern of birds that had just eaten lunch, I decided being out in the open was not a great idea. 

Getting hit by bird do-do anywhere on my person would have been grounds for a true hissy fit the likes no one has ever seen.  All I would’ve needed was the crazy Ronald-like lips and someone would’ve called 911 and the men in the white coats would’ve come to take me away.

That might’ve been bad, but at least I wouldn’t have been the one who had to clean off my car.

It was disgusting!  And crunchy. I practically had to take a sand blaster to the vehicle to get the stuff off.  So no amount of drive-thru car washing would’ve helped.

Because I was at home when I did the cleaning, I didn’t run back out to take the car through a car wash to get it uniformly clean.  So my car was half clean and half dirty.  The birds apparently missed the lower panels. 

So for the past several days I’d been thinking I really needed to run through a car wash. Only there isn’t one close by and my schedule has been a little hectic. 

Well, as it turns out, it’s a good thing I didn’t spend my hard-earned dollars at the car wash.  Why?  Because as I was leaving the office yesterday, I noticed that my car was once again covered with bird...”stuff.”  And I had been nowhere near the restaurant I visited the other day! Instead, I was innocently parked in my own parking space at the office.  This, my friends, led me to draw the following conclusion: The birds had found me!

I shook my fist at the empty sky screaming, “WHY ME?” 

But the birds did not answer.

So what is this? Is it retribution for something I did in a past life?  Are they especially attracted to white cars? Did I not annihilate enough pigs in the Angry Birds game?  

Nah.  Probably it’s payback because I hated their movie.  You know the one?  The Birds.  Scared the snot out of me when I was a kid and I can’t stand it when more than two or three birds gather at one time.  I think they probably know this.

Interestingly, the black truck and the red car on either side of my car were guano-free.  Not one drop.  So maybe – just maybe – my paranoia is justified.

I had to do the sand-blasting thing again last night when I got home.  And I counted.  There were precisely 39 “hits” on my car.  Thirty-nine!  That’s a lot.  My car now has more clean areas than dirty, but it still needs some attention with a little soap and water.

So my plan this evening is to find a car wash – fork over the extra bucks for the deluxe wash – and then race home and hide my car in the garage all weekend.  And I will hope that the birds have decided they’ve paid me back enough and they’ll move on to another victim. Either that or the last of 'em have flown south for the winter.

But let me just tell you.  If a bird even accidentally flies into our garage in the next few days, I will be the one calling 911 and asking for the men in the white coats to come get me. 

Ronald McDonald lips won’t be necessary.

One Last Tale About The Great Road Trip of 2011…

Probably my stories about one single little road trip are getting old. As Vince says, “You’ve milked this trip for – what? – three blogs already?”

Hey. Sometimes there isn’t a whole lot of usable material for a writer to work with and she needs to use the storyline she’s been given. Am I right?

I mean, does anyone really want to hear about how I accidentally punted Twinklebelle off the bed the other night? (And it WAS TOO an accident!)

Hmmm… Perhaps the Twinklebelle story has merit and would be worthy of a future blog…

No, but I promise – this will be the last story about our road trip and then I’ll shut up about it.Really, I swear. So sit back, relax, and read on…

When we last left our fearless travelers (aka The Motley Crew), our chauffeur was resting up in a frigid hotel room in anticipation of a three hour drive the next day from Connecticut to New York.

And, okay, so according to Mapquest, the drive was only 85.58 miles long and it should only have taken one hour and forty-three minutes to reach their destination. But our chauffeur, let’s call her “Wrong Way,” is not just any run-of-the-mill dumb blonde. If she’d learned anything from the trip thus far, it was that Mapquest is a big fat liar.

Before getting some shut eye, the phone in Wrong Way’s room rang. It was the General (her father). He ordered Wrong Way to meet up in the lobby of the hotel at 0800 hours for some chow before pulling out. Being a confirmed night owl, our Wrong Way knew enough to immediately set the alarm on her iPhone for 0700 to make sure she had ample time to prepare for the day and be ready and standing at attention in the lobby at the appointed time.

What Wrong Way neglected to consider was that it had been a very long time since the General had been in the military. And, by-the-by, he’d never technically been a general either.But Wrong Way remembered from decades of deep sea fishing excursions with the General (aw, heck, let’s let him keep the title, all right?), was that when the General meant 0800, he meant 0800 and not one minute later. Except on those deep sea fishing excursions it was more like 0600.

Anyway, Wrong Way was ready. Her bags were in a neat pile by the door and she was sitting in the chair by the telephone awaiting the General’s call. The only reason she didn’t have the bags stowed in the trunk of the car and wasn’t standing at attention in the lobby was that it was pouring rain outside.

Wrong Way had inadvertently relinquished the car keys the night before, and she didn’t want to haul her bags downstairs with nowhere to put them until the rain abated. And, most importantly, she didn’t want to get rained on and have frizzy hair for the drive. Because, God knows, frizzy hair can affect driver performance.(There’s probably even a clinical study proving that very theory. Maybe you could check the Pantene website or something.)

When the General called at 0810 to say that he and Mrs. General had overslept, Wrong Way was dumbfounded. That had never happened before! And Wrong Way was also a little miffed because she could have used a few extra winks herself. Nevertheless, she gamely awaited the next call. She texted a loving “Good Morning!” message to her husband, we’ll call him “Right Way” (because he never gets lost). She played Angry Birds on her cell phone. And when she couldn’t annihilate all those stinkin’ pigs in Level 12, she started playing a mean game of Euchre on her iPhone. Thank goodness for cell phones that do way more than simply make phone calls, eh?

Finally, around 0830, the call came and Wrong Way marched downstairs to eat some grub.And it was rather grub-like. But we won’t go into detail for any readers with sensitive tummies.

Once the Crew was on the road, Wrong Way was surprised to learn they were going to New York via a narrow scenic two-lane road instead of the freeway to the Taconic Parkway in New York, which Mapquest had indicated was the quickest route. Her brother, “No Name Domain” (“Do not talk about me in your blog!”), told her the best way was the Taconic. And Gladys Garmin, if she hadn’t been permanently silenced by Mrs. General, probably would have recommended the Taconic as well.

But our Crew was nothing if not adventurous. So off they went traveling at a supersonic 45 MPH. Sigh. It was a good thing Wrong Way had allotted those three hours for the drive, wasn’t it?

Despite the overcast day and sporadic rain showers, it was a picturesque and scenic drive.Which was rather the point, don’t you suppose? Life isn’t always about getting there as fast as possible; sometimes it’s about the experience along the way. So Wrong Way settled into her seat, grateful that it wasn’t a blistering hot day and the A/C wasn’t even required, and took in the sights. While paying attention to the road in front of her, of course.

Eventually, they came to a fork in the road. We’re not sure which was “less traveled,” but it didn’t matter anyway, because the road on the right, the very one they needed to take, was blocked off with sawhorses. A handwritten sign was stapled to the barricade that said “Road Closed.” That’s all. No explanation. No apology. No suggestions for an alternate route. Nothin’.

This completely flummoxed Wrong Way. The General (who had actually been a scout in the army), was a little taken aback, himself. They sat in the unmoving car in the middle of the road for approximately 45 minutes hoping that someone would materialize in front of them and remove the sawhorses so they could take the road they needed to take.

Nobody arrived. And it wasn’t really 45 minutes either. You know how some people exaggerate by now, don’t you?

So our Crew took the road to the left. There was no road or route sign to indicate where this road might lead. For all Wrong Way knew, it could have led them straight into Wisconsin or someplace they totally didn’t want to go. Had Wrong Way been on her own, she probably would have driven the hour back to their hotel and started over following her Mapquest directions, which is what she wanted to do in the first place.

But she gamely soldiered on. Eventually they arrived in a tiny town somewhere inConnecticut. Or maybe it was in Massachusetts or New York or some other New England state since they’re all bunched up there on the East Coast and they all pretty much look the same. The General marched out of the car and asked a local Good Samaritan for directions.

Thank goodness Wrong Way wasn’t given this assignment. She can never remember the Good Samaritan’s directions after he’s given them to her and usually has to ask 4 or 5 other Good Samaritans the same question until she finally remembers to write down the instructions. And she still gets lost. Sometimes Good Samaritans have even been known to chase after her car yelling, “NO! I SAID TAKE A RIGHT!”

Surprisingly, the road the Crew was on eventually met up with the other road that had been blocked off by the sawhorses. This never happens in Wrong Way’s world. So the General must have good luck or something. Either that, or he was a really good scout back in the day.

After following a truck filled with freshly cut hunks of trees for twenty-three agonizingly slow miles, they realized that two days after a torrential storm where large trees had been uprooted was probably not the best time to take a scenic two-lane route in an area virtually filled with trees.

Eventually, they found their way out of Connecticut and into New York and arrived at No Name Domain’s house where his dog, we’ll call him “Sparky” (“Do not talk about me in your blog!”) barked a ferocious greeting that either meant, “Hi! Welcome to our house – we’re ever so glad you’re here!!” or, “Hi! Welcome to our house – it’s feeding time and I’m ever so hungry!” It was kind of hard to understand Sparky and Wrong Way was a little fatigued from her journey. But for sure she heard him add, “Perhaps I’ll save that little Mrs. General for a snack later.”

Sparky doesn’t get many visitors.

And, okay, so maybe I’m just kidding about Sparky. He’s really a very nice dog. But he should have given me permission to write about him in my blog.

So, anyway, there you have it. Our crew arrived safely and had a very enjoyable visit with the No Name Domains. Beer and wine may even have been involved.

And a Zombie movie was promised for their later evening entertainment, but instead they watched re-runs of “Modern Family.” Probably the Zombie movie would’ve been just a little too much excitement for our Crew. Or, maybe No Name Domain figured that just as the zombies started chowing down on human flesh (which would be within the first 30 seconds of the flick), Mrs. General would probably say, “Oh, we’re not going to have to listen to this the entire time, are we?”

That, my friends, is Mrs. General-Code for “Turn it off!”

So “Modern Family” was a far better choice for their evening entertainment.

So I thank you for following along with our Motley Crew on their travels. Wrong Way especially wants to thank you for allowing her to write about her experiences. This will save virtually thousands of dollars in therapy – psychiatric or retail. (Doesn’t matter.)

The End.

Angry Birds

A couple months ago we were at a football-watching party with some friends. I’d just gotten my new iPhone 4 and was happily showing it off when one of my friends asked me if I’d downloaded the “Angry Birds” app.

Have you heard of this game? I hadn’t.

She said it was so much fun and I just had to download it. So I did. And there the game sat on my iPhone 4 for over three months while I was busy with things like holidays and family and friends and kittens. Oh, and bowling and euchre and snow and ice. Lots of snow and ice.

About a week ago, I wasn’t feeling so hot, so I was lounging on the couch in my PJs. Sadly, I had finished my last library book and had absolutely nothing to read, so I started scrolling through my iPhone to see what might capture my interest. I stumbled across the Angry Birds App, so I opened it to see what it was all about.

And now? I’m hooked on the damn thing. (Thanks, Kara.) And it’s so silly!

See, there are a bunch of birds. Well, bird heads, actually. None of the birds have bodies, which is a little strange. But it’s a game, so you just go with it.

What you do is shoot the bird heads from a slingshot at a bunch of green pigs that are hiding in various structures made out of wood or ice or stone. Or, actually, you shoot the bird heads at the pig heads. (Maybe it was cost-prohibitive to build little bodies onto the heads? Who knows?)

Anyway, I’m not really sure if birds and pigs are natural enemies in real life, but all I know is that in this game the pigs sure did something bad to piss off those little birds!

In the free game (I’m way too cheap to actually pay for any apps that I download onto my phone!), there are 12 levels. And each level is more difficult than the last.

I’m currently working on the 12th level and cannot – for the life of me – annihilate all those stinkin’ pigs. Some of them cheat, though, and are wearing helmets, so they’re twice as hard to kill.

I get all happy when I bust up the structure with my first shot and the pig heads are left balancing precariously on what’s left of their fort. Each pig death brings 5,000 points to your total. And if you manage to kill all the pigs and you still have birds left, you get 1,000 extra points.

Sigh. When did I become so bloodthirsty and violent?

I think it started after the first level when I missed that last little green pig. See, when you run out of birds and there is still a pig left, he very smugly grins at you as if to say {in a really mocking pig-like tone of voice}, “Ha ha, loser. You missed me!”

As soon as that happened the first time, I immediately turned into a snarling, Rambo-like pig-killing machine and I wanted to wipe that silly grin off that silly pig face in the worst way!

Yeah. Sure. Whoever said that revenge is a dish best served cold had it right. I’d immediately try again and I’d invariably fumble that first bird shot so that the little bird head would plop out of the sling shot, bounce once and then roll a little bit never even coming close to the target.

Some killing machine I am, huh? Not so much.

Nevertheless, I did make it through the first 5 or 6 levels pretty quickly. Some of the later levels were pretty tricky and I had a hard time getting all the pigs. And sometimes one bird will split into three little birds – but never have I been able to use that phenomenon to my advantage. Nor do I know what I’ve done to magically multiply the birds. Usually it happens when I fumble, so all three birds bounce onto the grass well short of the target. And, yes, then I feel three times as foolish.

Maybe I should read the instructions? Yeah, sure. Like there were any instructions with this game.

I’m guessing that the developers figured that anyone younger than 80 knows how to play since gaming has been around for a few decades now.

Except for me. Other than playing foosball in college, I was never a “gamer.” (But you should know that I was GOOD at foosball!) Arcades with all their flashing lights and pinging noises and packs of kids hopped up on excessive amounts of sugar from Twizzlers and neon-colored Slurpies, made me a little nervous.

Thus, pinball, Pac-Man, and anything involving a joy-stick are beyond my capabilities. Or, maybe they’re just beyond my interest. I was never into Atari or X-Box or Wii or any of those gaming systems that require any sort of manual dexterity and the ability to shoot at targets, blow up little spaceships or gobble up little dots while evading some not-so-scary-looking ghosts with big eyes.

So it’s amazing to me that I’ve spent a lot of spare time shooting bird heads from sling shots at pig heads. And I like it.

Maybe there’s hope for me yet in the world of gaming.

Or maybe I should just get myself back over to the library to pick up some more books. And then maybe the little birds can make peace with the little pigs without my Rambo-like interference. Ah, see? I guess I AM a peace lover at heart!

Yeah, yeah, sure, peace. Whatever. First I need to get through Level 12…