Search Term Saturdays

It’s been eons since I did a “Search Term Saturday” post. And, while it isn’t technically Saturday, I sure as hell wish it were.

Maybe I’ve become jaded, the humorous and often disgusting terms that land people here at the Vinyl Village just don’t shock me anymore. Until this week, when no less than a half dozen searches for:

“potato stuck in ass”

landed some poor soul here.

Now, there actually is a post here that pertains to a tuber stuck in the pooper, some poor ole preacher man was, ahem, “putting up drapes in the nude” when he, ahem, “fell on his kitchen table”. Yeah, ok.

But that little bit of weird news was so long ago I highly doubt my searchers were looking for that. Was there some poor soul sitting at the computer, potato stuck up their rear, hoping desperately that there was some information online that would help their predicament and save them an embarassing trip to the ER? For their sake, I hope it was a little red potato and not a big baking spud. Here’s a tip…toys made for just about any purpose can be bought discretely on the interwebs…there is no need to raid the vegetable crisper to get your rocks off. So to the half dozen folks who wound up here, I can only say I hope you are recovering nicely.

Some other notables from the search engines:

“nuns fart”

Yes. Yes they do. Everyone farts. I thought most people knew that by preschool.

and, perhaps related:

“nuns in McDonalds“

They probably eat there. I don’t think there are any Biblical admonishments to fast food.

“i do whatever my rice krispies tell me”

Well, it’s bound to be as sound advice as you might expect from a psychic. Or a stockbroker. Or a politician. Whatever works for you, friend.

“doublewide into a house”

Ya know, it just can’t be done. You can add on, remodel, and it might look like a site-built house, but underneath it all, it’s a doublewide. That’s right…no matter how hard you work, you can’t turn spam into filet mignon, and you can’t turn a double wide into something it isn’t. Deal with it.

On Cars, Prestige, and Perceptions

The post I made last week  brings up something that has sort of  bothered me since I bought the car I drive now. I wonder, had I parked a Chevy in the handicapped spot that day, would that  nosy woman even have taken note? Now, I have always LOVED cars. My parents tell me that I could name anything on the road from the time I could speak. I’ve traded cars like kids trade baseball cards, (do they still do that?) and I have resigned myself to the fact that, contrary to every piece of financial advice I’ve ever gotten, I will always have a car payment and I will never drive a car til it’s wheels fall off. I just like cars, and I like getting new and different ones. Everyone has their vices.

The car I have now is, to most anyone you asked, the nicest I’ve ever had. It’s a BMW–fully loaded, shiny, and beautiful. I love how it drives. I love how smooth it is, how fast it is, and how quietly it purrs toward 100 mph (which it will do very easily if the driver isn’t careful.)  I even thought I’d like it’s “snob appeal”–after all, I once felt my life would be a complete failure if I didn’t have a Mercedes by the time I turned 30. Maybe I’ve grown up, reprioritized, or simply realized that a person is a lot more than the size of their house, the cost of their car, or the balance on their bank accounts. But having this car makes me uncomfortable.

I’ve mentioned to several people recently that I’d just as soon have myself another Honda. I’m met with blank stares. Darling is aghast that I would even consider “trading down” and my friends laugh at me. But it’s about perceptions. In my mind, if I cut someone off in traffic in this car I’m not just a jerk, I’m a jerk in a BMW (there is a difference, isn’t there?) If I pulled into a tight space in a Honda, those parked next to me might (in my mind) remark that the damned spaces just aren’t wide enough, but in the Bimmer they are saying “Hmmph…guess they think they can just park that thing anywhere they want!”

I feel the need to make excuses for this car. Now, I always get good deals on cars. But for some reason I feel the need to underscore that fact with this one. I’m quick to point out that A. I bought it pre-owned, B. I got a helluva deal on it, and C. my monthly obligation is actually less than I was paying on my previous Honda. I’m fully aware that no one cares if I won it in a raffle or paid 50 grand for it.

The first time I took this car in for service, the dealership gave me a ride back to the office in their shuttle. My conversation with the driver turned to a recent headline I’d read that BMW sales were up last year. He went off into a speech about “our customers aren’t as affected by the downturn.” I was thinking, “Buddy, I’m one of your customers, and I guaran-damn-tee I have been!”   Then he went off on a tangent about the renaissance American car makers are having and how he thought it was wonderful because “blue collar workers need something to drive.” At which point I was thinking “Is a damned shuttle driver an executive position now??”

A new acquantaince remarked that “I’ve got a totally different opinion of you now” when he saw my car. Why? Am I not the same person whether I’m on a moped or being chauffered around in a limo? But, he was probably right, all of us form opinions of people based on what they drive, where they live, and what they are wearing. I guess we just can’t help it. I guess I’m just more comfortable in something a little more down to earth.

The Folks Spend an Evening at a Drag Show

On Saturday night, after I had returned home from a fundraiser for the school district, I had a text from one of my brothers. It was the sort of text that only gets sent in the later hours of a weekend night–spelling and grammar were not quite there, but the jist of the message was that he was at the newest gay bar in town with our parents. The most shocking part of that text was that anyone would open such a place in our little suburb. Two larger cities are a half hours drive away, and either would seem to be a better choice for such an establishment.

When I told dad that I didn’t see such a place doing well, he pointed out that they were packed.

“Of course, they had what they called a show. Which was basically a bunch of guys dancing and lip-synching. In women’s clothes. And big hair.”

“They weren’t bad, although most of them looked like they were about my age. There was one though who couldn’t have been more than 19 or 20, he weighed about 300 pounds, but he was a good dancer.”

“Yeah, the big ones in my experience pull out all the stops. I’ve seen them do splits and stuff I couldn’t even attempt without ending up in the ER.”

“Yeah, he was down on the ground doing the snake at the end of one of the songs.”

So there ya have it, a drag show in suburban West Virginia. Who’d have thunk it?

I am now Bi-blogual

Well folks, I’ve done it. Starting today, I have launched a second blog dedicated to architecture and design.

Don’t worry, I’ll still serve up crazy here, just wanted an outlet for ideas related to my work.

Please check me out at:

http://southgateresidential.blogspot.com/

Thanks!

Take That, Nosy Woman

I was recently reminded of a funny story from my college days. The exact details that led up to the event are lost to me, but basically I was out with my dear friend and college roommate and needed to run into the grocery store.  We had a handicapped parking plackard (she had a particularly nasty pinched nerve in her back one semester), and I pulled the car into a handicapped space. Now, maybe she was finishing a call, a smoke, or just decided at the last minute not to come in, or perhaps I was slightly abusing the handicapped sticker…but at any rate, a perfectly healthy looking me popped out of the car, alone, and headed into the store.

As I walked away, according to my friend who remained in the car, a family walked alongside the spot.

“Well, look at him!” said the mother, “Thinks he can park wherever he damned well pleases just cause he’s driving a Lexus.” One of her daughters tugged at mom’s sleave and pointed out that there was someone in the car who could clearly hear her.

“I don’t care! Let ‘em hear me.”

When I returned to the car a few minutes later, I’m not sure why the story incensed me so much…but as my friend retold it, the family walked out of the store. I went into action, putting the car in drive and pulling up right alongside them

“Ma’am.” I said. And she swiveled back to look at me. Her husband muttered, “Oh shit.” and kept on walking.

I showed her the plackard. “I just wanted you to know that we DID have a handicapped sticker.” Her little girls’ jaws dropped.

“Well you don’t look handicapped to me!” What did we have here? A doctor, no doubt able to make diagnosis from across a parking lot!

“I can assure you I am. And not that it’s any of your business,  but I’m handicapped from the same accident that killed my family, and it was the insurance money I got from that accident that allowed me to buy this Lexus.”

The little girls were horrified.

I continued. “Just wanted you to know so you’d sleep well tonight.”

“Oh I’ll sleep just fine!” she started, her voice raised. She tried to continue.

“No, no.” I said, raising my hand to her. “That’s all!” And I drove off.

So what if she might have been sort of right? I hope the little parking lot incident taught her horrified little girls not to be nosy and presumptious.

Mama Needs a Smoke

So my crazy mama was in the hospital for a few days last week. Apparently her blood pressure was “in the neighborhood of Stroke City.” (All seems fine now). I called to check on her and she was NOT happy with the treatment she was receiving.

“They wake ya up to give ya a damned sleeping pill!”

*chuckles*

“I’d far (that’s “fire” for those who don’t speak Appalachian) every one of ‘em! I don’t know what drugs they had your granny on, because she thought the world of the nurses she had up here, and I wouldn’t give a plug nickle for any of ‘em!”

“Well, I’m sorry. Hopefully they’ll get you better so you can go home soon.”

“I sure hope! I can’t poop here, I don’t know how they expect ya to. It’s not a very relaxing place.”

“Um, yeah.”

“I wish I could smoke a damned cigarette. You know they don’t even have a smoking area anywhere in the hospital anymore?”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t even smoke outside at a hospital anymore. Ask them if they can slap a nicotine patch on you or something.”

“They gotta little gazebo out there you can smoke in. But I gotta go out there in this hospital gown and be disconnected from all these wires.”

“Doesn’t hardly seem worth it to me.”

“It’s just ridiculous! I cain’t believe they treat people this way.”

“Well, it’s a hospital…”

“They could have smoking rooms or a smoking lounge or something. This is crazy!”

“It’s not a hotel, it’s a hospital.”

“Used to be you could smoke in the hospital!”

“Well, used to be that black people had their own water fountains, but we’ve gotten smarter about things. Besides,  I should think they don’t want you to smoke since you’re there for high blood pressure.”

“Well, I’m gonna complain. They shouldn’t be able to treat people like this. Sending you outside in this heat to smoke! They’ll put in a smoker’s lounge if somebody gets out there and has a heat stroke!”

“Maybe so. I gotta run, you call me when you get discharged, ok.”

Incidentally, mama must have put herself through the indignity of a smoke in the gazebo, because later that night one of my former stepfathers called to ask if she was in the hospital because he “could swear she was standing outside smoking in a hospital gown when I went down that side street today.”

Monday, You Always Arrive Too Early

I had a busy and fun weekend. I went on a last minute trip up to West Virginia that was packed full of activity. My grandmother was in the hospital starting mid-week, and that prompted my decision to take a day off and make a long weekend of it. Granny is home and doing fine now, for those who wonder.

My youngest brother needed my expertise and experience to trade in his Mustang. The beast of a car has proven to be the poor choice I predicted it would be–too little room, too hungry for gas, and unwilling to stick to winter roads. But it was a fun first car, no doubt. He was seeking something more practical, so we test drove a few compacts before he decided he wanted a new Honda. I worked my car dealing magic and he will be driving the car he wanted, in Storm Silver, once it is delivered today. (And for a payment LESS than was being made on the Mustang, thanks to my shrewd powers of persuasion.)

A friend has been room-by-room redecorating the house she and her family live in. It had been her grandmother’s home, and when she passed, my friend added on to make it better suit a family with a child, and has since been updating the house little by little. We had a marathon shopping spree, finding sofa, chairs, and tables, and wracked up at Homegoods with new lamps, a painting, various accents, and a small table.

You’ve not lived til you take three kids to a fun park. We stopped off just to ride go carts, and ended up spending about three hours playing video games before we ever got on the track. When it was all said and done, the kiddos spent an excrutiating amount of time trying to decide which piece of junk to spend their tickets on. The poor girl behind the counter, who, from her appearance and demeanor, would have rather been getting a pap smear from Freddie Kreuger, wore out the buttons on her calculator trying to let them know how many pieces of sidewalk chalk, silly bands, and bubble gum could be had for the number of tickets they won.

I got just a minor dose of crazy from Mama while I was up in the mountain state. She and I spent several hours together Thursday evening–visiting with Grandma at the hospital. We had discussed doing some shopping on Friday, but of course mom called me long before I got out of bed. My return call went unanswered, and I missed her call on Saturday (again, my return call went unanswered.) She called Sunday night to make sure I’d gotten home safely and said “You didn’t spend any time at all with me.” When I pointed out that I’d called her back twice, and asked why she didn’t answer or ring me again she said “I musta been in the bathtub.” 

“Well then you must be shriveled up like a damn prune, because you were in the bathtub for 36 hours.”

“I’s hopin’ to come back with you.”

“You’re welcome to come visit anytime, but I’m not bringing you down and then driving you back.”

“I don’t know that car would make it. The air conditioning isn’t running too cold.”

“Then you better wait til the fall or something.”

“But I need to get outta here!”

“Well, it’s not my job to get you outta there.”

Am I wrong?

Monday Morning Mish Mash

1. The past month has been full of new and exciting things…none particularly blogworthy on their own…but combined they’ve kept me from making my usual blog rounds.

2. There’s been a lot of home improvement going on at Darling’s house. I’ve made it my personal goal to learn how to do crown molding. In theory, it should not be that hard. But a good starter project was adding wainscoting to the dining room. I managed to operate power tools for the weekend and NOT lose a finger. Here’s the finished product, topped off with a beautiful pearl gray paint:

3. I’ve got to get my butt in shape for a 5k race labor day weekend. My dad is a big time runner, and his favorite race of the year is a 15 miler back home. He has ran it for 30 years, and several years ago they added a 5k walk/run to the mix. I ran it two years ago because dad was the race director. My youngest brother has gotten onto a fitness kick and he and stepmama are doing the 5k this year. I will be joining them, and my goal is to finish in less than 30 minutes. I’ve been slack at the gym all year, for the first part of the year I simply didn’t feel well enough to go, and it’s been tough getting myself into gear. But I made it twice this weekend…and feel better already.

4. I’m officially starting my own company. For several years I’ve done a lot of consulting and side work on small renovations and spec  houses (the sort of things we don’t do at my 9-to-5 job). I also get ideas for houses a few times a year that I just have to draw up. So, I’m putting those houses and myself out there and will see what happens. Website and more info coming soon!