adventures at the home despot

When we got of the car in the parking lot of the home depot, Scott was carrying the mysterious red bucket, and Polly and I were each carrying an overhead fan. It was time for my sister and brother-in-law's annual Return Crap We Didn't Use in the Project Day.

I figured they'd be getting back at least a hundred bucks, what with the fans and whatever was in the bucket. Not bad, considering how many people just throw out the 79 cent items they don't use in a project. But Polly and Scott are consummate savers (and mortgage holders in a risky economy). Money is money, whether it's in your pocket or in a red bucket in the basement.

We got in the return line inside the orange-aproned mecca and within five minutes, Scott was plunking the bucket down on the counter. Plumbing joint after plumbing joint appeared, like clowns out of a car. Except considerably more slowly. And less excitingly. Each item had to be scanned and placed in the appropriate departmental tub before we could progress. The line grew and grew behind us.

At first, it was funny how much stuff was coming out of the bucket. Eventually Scott started pulling out pairs, trios and sextets, and the clerk would ring it in once, three times, six times. And Scott would run to the plumbing bin and toss them in. The system was smooth and as efficient as things in a home depot are ever going to be.

But the returns line was six people long, and we hadn't even gotten to the screws or linoleum tiles yet.

"Gee," I said to Polly, really loudly, "I'm sure glad we got in line before that jerk with all the stuff." She fell down laughing, but the rest of the line didn't even crack a smile. I gave them a break, though, because it was Home Depot, and, honestly, I hate that place.

Too much orange.

Anyway, at the end of the deal, all because of one piece of stair nosing (found in the flooring department, I believe) that was older than the 90 days you're allowed to return things without a receipt, the computer wouldn't return the balance to Scott's credit card. He had to take it as a store credit.

Oh, did I mention how much? $535.

We walked out to the parking lot with an empty bucket, a REALLY long paper receipt, and a bounce in Scott's step. After closer examination, however, he discovered that they had only received $50 apiece for the fans, not the $90 they paid for them originally. (I blame the stair nosing.)

Scott headed back into the store, and because the manager was twelve years old (and desperate to go to the sale at Old Navy next door -- which she really shouldn't have been so excited about because I saw it the day before and it was just full of crap), she just reissued the credit for the fans onto Scott's credit card. In full. All over again.

Scott walked out with another $180.

The despot, all of a sudden, seemed considerably less tyrannical. No less orange, no more helpful, but it may have just moved up one (teensy tiny) notch in my opinion. Now it hangs out in the same place as root canal and Sarah Palin.

Barack Steve Obama

I love this guy. And to find out that he has an amazing ability to not only poke fun at himself, but to do it with exceptional timing warms my heart.

I wanted to find a transcript of the dinner speech last night, but so far have only managed to find this clip, so I'll share the clip and keep scouring the intar-webs for more coverage.

Part One


Part Two

more than nothing but less than a lot

as if you need more reasons to read this blog:

1. My Pantene shampoo promises to deliver 12 hours of anti-frizz control, but only 12 hours. So watch out! Around 8pm every night, my hair goes nuts! I turn into a pumpkin with very, very, frizzy hair.

2. Did I mention the part where, the other day, I missed a couple of phone calls? Because I was SITTING ON MY PHONE AND COULDN'T HEAR IT RING.

Shoot me.

3. Many people will call their sisters and say, "Hey, can you come up to Boston and help me organize my house?" Fewer people will answer, "Sure! That sounds like fun!" Even fewer will actually follow through and do it, and of those slim pickins, only one will manage to fling paint stripper into her eyeball while stripping the paint off of a radiator with a toothbrush.

Do I need to name names here, people?

4. I've decided to take a job where all I have to do is fly the Delta shuttle back and forth between Boston and New York. Three reasons: 1. Complimentary snacks and wine, 2. Free NY Times in the Marine Air Terminal, and 3. I was the ONLY WOMAN on the flight (who wasn't paid to be there). Hello! Lots of men in suits and only one me. What's a girl to do?

5. Speaking of suits, my self-imposed moratorium on dating draws to an end on Friday. Seeing as I've had so many men pounding down my door in the last six weeks, I'll probably just keep it up. My dad, however, is making a valiant effort in this direction, setting me up with the son of his college girlfriend. It is, at the time of press, unclear as to whether or not this particular guy already has a girlfriend or not. According to facebook, he does. According to his mother, he doesn't... Is it too late to back out now?

6. Did I mention the overwhelming success of my clothing swap last weekend? If so, did I mention the fact that I have six enormous bags of clothing in my office? It's getting so bad that I'm foisting it off on people, including the cleaning lady. I even took some to Boston this weekend! Is it a crime to transport ill-fitting clothing over state lines? (In the case of some of these items, it should be.)

stimulating stultiloquence

(Stul*til"o*quence\, n. [L. stultiloquentia; stultus foolish + loquentia a talking, fr. loquens, p. pr. of loqui to talk.] Silly talk; babbling.)

1. If I had a mariachi band, I would call them the Magic Juans.

2. The other day, Fernando answered the help desk phone to discuss one of our programs, "Hot Dicks." After I picked my jaw up off the floor, and snorted audibly, he made a point of emphatically re-pronouncing "Hot Docs" four or five times in the remaining two minutes of the call.

3. My pantyhose were so tight today, I felt like a sausage about to bust out of its casings. I'll admit to having to cut the waistband just so I could breathe.

4. There is no ghost in the Chrylser Building bathroom, as I had previously thought. Turns out, we have some magical, automatic, aromatic air freshener that just squirts perfume into the air at random, ghost-whispering-like intervals.

5. If there is beforehand and afterwards, why is there no afterhand or beforewards?

6. A quote from the beginning of the book I'm reading, Working Identity:
Then indecision brings its own delays,
And days are lost lamenting o'er lost days.
Are you in earnest? Seize this very minute;
What you can do, or dream you can, begin it;
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.
--Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

the scientific method

I tried to embed this video, but blogger won't let me. (Bastards!)

Instead, you'll have to travel here to see our popcorn rebuttal video. Fernando and I are nothing if not scientific, methodical, and freaked out by that whole popcorn/cellphone thing.

(Click here to view the previous post.)

who's to blame for the economy?

I've figured out who's to blame for the economy: Me!

You'll notice things started to take a downturn when I stopped dating. Coincidence? I don't think so.

My dating was a major source of revenue for the city of New York. And it all went down the toilet. No more drinks, no more coffees, ice creams, dinners, movies... none of it! And with the amount I was dating, I'm pretty sure I was keeping this city afloat, not silly old Wall Street...

Which is to say, of course, that I'm sorry, but I'm still not ready to date yet.

while I'm on hold with Time Warner...

here are some sticky little thoughts that have been clinging to my brain recently:

1. If there are antelopes, are there prolopes? Postlopes?

2. I used to think that the street signs that say "Do Not Pass" meant that you couldn't go past them, and that each and every time we did, we were breaking the law.

3. If you had an affair with your foot doctor, you could have a podiatryst!

4. It's really sexy when a hot, young thing is rolling her laundry around in her granny cart and then the cart hits a rut and the cart, laundry, girl and the cake (for Rosh Hashannah dinner) go sprawling across the sidewalk, right?

RIGHT??

And, surprisingly, I'm not on hold anymore. But the hold music's stuck in my head. Rude.