Keys: The Lost Episodes

Sometimes I feel like I've blown my literary wad, given this blog my all. I've got nothing left.

And then I lock myself out of my condo.

I never walk out of the house without having the solid feel of the keys in my hand. And last Thursday, I stared at the outside of my front door, feeling my keys very solidly in my hand. The wrong keys. My Sacramento keys. The keys that went to my Sacramento front door. And my Sacramento car. The keys that were useless to me as I stood outside my Los Angeles front door.

And I had to meet a guy in thirty minutes. A guy whose phone number was inside my house. A writer guy I met a couple of weeks ago and arranged to interview for my blog. I had to get to this meeting.

Panic-ridden adrenaline rushed through me, overwhelming me. I haven't had that feeling since I screwed up some production data at my ersatz Tech job. But there was a little silver-lined voice in the cloud of my head saying, Hey, when this is all over, you're so totally blogging about it.

At that moment, however, I was a bit immobilized, and kind of freaking out, because I always worry that when I agree to meet someone somewhere, and then I die before I get there, who is going to tell that person I'm just not going to make it that day? After wrapping my car around a squirrel, will some wayward stranger be conscientious enough to search my dead body for my schedule and follow-up on my appointments? No. If anything, they would steal my cellphone. And my laptop. And my limited edition Spongebob Squarepants car seat covers. Jerks.

So now this guy was going to think I'm a total flake and refuse to take my calls.

Crap!

And you were going to be so impressed, wondering how did I nab this guy for an interview, and I just blew it.

I looked at my keys and realized with some relief that they included the car I drove down to L.A. in. I could still get to the interview, and worry about the rest afterward. But then I realized I couldn't get into the garage under our condo building without my OTHER L.A. keys.

Crap!

You're probably saying, well, don't you have spare keys somewhere? Yes. Yes, I do. My husband in Sacramento has an extra set. My roommate, who moved out last month and left them in the kitchen drawer for me, had an extra set. My next-door neighbor had an extra set until four days before this fiasco when I asked her to return them because I'm in the middle of preparing to rent out the place, so why would I need extra keys at this point, right?

I knocked on my five neighbors' doors to see if anyone was home at 1:30 pm on a Thursday, thinking they could let me into the garage. No such luck. I called a neighbor down the street and fortunately she was home and drove me to Starbucks up the hill on Beverly Glen Drive near Mulholland Drive.

"You wanna check and make sure he's here?" she asked as I got out of her car.

"He might not be here yet, so go ahead. I'll be OK."

Whew! At least I made it to the meeting on time. Only now I was a nervous wreck and could only think of my problem - how was I supposed to have a decent conversation with this person?

While I waited, I made a million phone calls including:

1.  Any and all of my five condo neighbors (because I also needed to get back into the locked entry gate to reach my front door).

2.  My husband who was 400 miles away and having some personal crisis of his own which meant that neither one of us was any help to the other.

3.  Tracking down a locksmith (and let me just thank God right now for the iPhone and Google Maps, because Starbucks does not have Free Wifi if you happen to be traveling around with your laptop).

The rest of the story is boring, except for the part where my interviewee doesn't show up, so now I'm wondering if I have the wrong day, or if I was supposed to call to confirm, or a hundred other reasons of how I screwed up. Essentially, I was in no condition to conduct any kind of interview. It would probably have gone something like this:

Me: So, do you know any good locksmiths?

Him: Uhhhh.....

Me: Can you give me a ride home? I mean, I know it's out of your way, but I'm sort of stuck here.

Him: Can we talk about my book?

Me: How could I be so stupid - GAH! Stupid, Stupid, Stupid!

Him: I'm not sure you should be drinking that triple shot thingy -

Me: I'm a good person, you know? I'm a responsible person! Oh, there's another guy leaving now - (calls out to other guy) EXCUSE ME SIR? CAN YOU TAKE ME HOME?



My obsession with getting back through my front door was just too all-consuming, and this large double cappuchino I was guzzling wasn't helping matters any. I began to hope that this guy wouldn't show up. I rocked back and forth, mumbling "Serenity now!" to no effect. And what is the proper gutteral response to people who can't stop staring at you with dropped jaws anyway?

After half an hour of waiting and asking two people who slightly resembled him if they were indeed him, you know, just for good measure, and in my state of mind could very well have been him, I only met him once before after all, I called my neighbor to bring me back home. The locksmith showed up right after I arrived, and one of my condo neighbors happened to get home from work early to let me in the entry gate. Ninety-five seconds and ninty-five bucks later, I was back in my house again.

I haven't locked myself out of the house since college, when one morning around dawn, I lethargically crawled out of bed, thinking I heard my cat, Rufus, screaming to come inside. I walked out the front door of my apartment, which locked behind me and did I mention that I only slept in a T-Shirt? As in ONLY a T-Shirt? As in, Nanny Goats in no panties whatsoever? And of course that day, my roommate wasn't home.

Why can't I ever lock myself out of the house so that all I have to do is knock on the door for someone to let me in?

Call me a wimp, but I don't think I should live in two cities anymore.

Hey man, could you all do me a solid and click on this button to boost me up in the Sacramento Top 25 rankings? Just one click. Nothing else. Thanks, man.

Goat Thing of The Day

Pamela from My Thoughts Exactly pointed out this ad shown on Womples.com.

Free Wink: Hostage Crisis Update

Wink's return is allegedly imminent. It has been more than six weeks. Terms were discussed. Papers were signed. My friend is just waiting for the green light that is the phone call announcing Wink's return. There is more to the story, but right now, that is all I can say.

(Wink's Hostage Story)

Next Thing You Know, They'll Ban Babies From Driving

Yesterday, as I was hanging Grandpa's incontinence diapers on the clothesline (because I'm eco-friendly like that), I was contemplating the government's reactionary policy.

For example, we know that cell phone usage in our cars has been outlawed only because many people have died as a result of distracted people taking to the road. I can only assume that the California's recent ban on text messaging was also due to a large number of deaths (I didn't actually look it up, so can you Google it or something and get back to me on that?)

Unlike the government, I can see a trend here and predict that the next phone-related legislation will involve mobile photography.

That's right - sooner or later, drive-by shooting will be illegal.

Once that happens, pictures like this one I took for last July's post, Motorcycle Diary of a Madman will be a fine-able, if not arrestable, offense:

In other words, it will be okay to drive without your feet, but not your hands.

I take pride, and often risk my life bringing my life in pictures to you, and soon the government will be taking that away from me. No longer, will I be able to reach under the car seat to find my cell phone to capture photos such as that pink mustang last December in my post entitled, It's My Blog and I'll Cry if I Want To.

And I can't begin to tell you the near death experience I experienced one very hot day while snagging this picture of my dashboard for last summer's post entitled Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorched:

The thing is, if someone like me can foresee this trend of continuous banning of our American freedoms, and someone like you can see it, surely the government knows that driving under the influence (of photographic inspiration) is inevitable, so why not just do it already?

I mean, how many senseless deaths must occur before our elected officials finally decide to crack down on this dangerous behavior that could potentially kill countless people? Have they no decency? Have they no sense of shame?

Should I organize a Camera Bag Party in protest of the heel-dragging that is the apathy of our lawmakers? Of course, we'll have to come up with a euphemistic definition for "camera bagging". Can you get back to me on that one too?

Goat Thing of The Day

For the latest in goat shoes and fun fur hot goats pants, you must hit the Vera Wang of goat fashion online stores. Of the millions of websites offering high-end fashion for Nannies and Billies, no one beats Goats Online. Seriously, can you name a better store? Don't miss out on their annual 4 for 1 sale!

Thank You Letter(s)

I was featured on Five Star Friday last week - woo hoo! Thank you to Schmutzie, who runs Five Star Friday, and whoever else may have been responsible for submitting one of my blog posts. Five Star Friday mentioned my post entitled The Hawaii They Don't Want You to Know About.

Free Wink: Hostage Crisis Update

The lawyers are in currently in negotiations, although it looks like Wink will be able to go home. Eventually.

Decorum dictates that I hold off on providing any more details than that at the moment.

(Wink's Hostage Story)

Arrested Development. And the Bulk Candy Aisle.

For some strange reason, I always think that the B-Holes of society grow out of life's phases right along with me. I'm repeatedly surprised to hear that children still bully each other, as if I thought the notion were reserved for the 1970s. Shouldn't bullying be considered cliche by now?

I mean, where are juvenile delinquents' sense of fashion and pop culture when it comes to bad behavior, I ask you. And it's not just bullying. Why just last week, I was having this one-sided conversation with my husband, Grimfeld (he won't let me print what he said):

Me: You mean people are still killing each other? But that's soooo ten years ago.

Me: Gangs? They still have gangs? Are you kidding me? I thought we took care of all that with No Child Left Behind, and every kid gets a trophy for every little thing, and T-Ball and haven't people grown up?

Me: Well, those are just people on the news. I don't associate myself with those kinds of people. My circle of people are past that kid's stuff.

Me: What? Aunt Wilma and Uncle Piebald are still fighting? What on earth after all these years could they be possibly fighting about? Aren't they in their fifties? And Uncle Chester is still living with his mother? Isn't he sixty-something? And divorced four times?

Me: Well I don't live with those people, so that doesn't really count. It's not like I had anything to do with raising them or anything.

Me: What? Francine smokes pot? Our Francine? Our little Francine? Do they still even make pot? I thought that was something people did a long time ago. I thought humanity in general was over that by now.

Me: Well, at least it's not me. At least I've grown-up. I have responsibilities. You don't see me living with my parents. Or acting like an idiot, shoplifting or what-have-you.

Me: What? That's not shoplifting. The grocery store writes that stuff off anyway. If they don't want anybody eating it, they should just package it instead of selling it as bulk. It's not like they have signs around saying, "Please do not eat the malted milk balls", do they?

Me: What? It is not illegal if I open it. If they are going to put it in my mailbox, it's mine to open. I can say I wasn't paying attention, I thought it was for me. So what if it's their bank statements, I can tell them I never actually LOOKED at them.

Me: I am NOT a liar! You're the liar.

Me: I know you are but what am I?


See what I mean? Even Grimfeld got all childish on me! When will people just grow up already? Sheesh!



(P.S. Yes, people this is fiction. Who has a husband named Grimfeld?)

Free Wink: Hostage Crisis Update

At press time, Wink's lawyers are negotiating with the hostage takers shelter's lawyers for Wink's release. Wink's owner appreciates all of your support during this difficult time. Let's hope Wink comes home soon.

(Wink's Hostage Story)

Dog Gone It: A Bark For Help

You know the evil stepsisters in Cinderella? The ones with control issues, who are mean, and quite possibly ugly? Did you ever wonder what horrible childhood they must have had in order to be so evil, because their behavior just doesn't make any sense?

Some of you may remember my talking about Wink last July:

I went on and on about how well taken care of she is.

Five weeks ago, Wink escaped into the neighbor's yard through a slightly hidden portion of rain-damaged fence. The neighbor's yard has no fences, so she started shuffling off to Buffalo. She got picked up (probably for hitchhiking) and is currently being held without bail at a Save-A-Mutt shelter by Cinderella's proverbial ugly step sisters. They refuse to return Wink to her rightful owner. Why? They are claiming that Wink is not being properly taken care of. They say they are going to find a "better" home for her and give her to someone else.

The ugly step sisters' original story was that my friend was showing improper care because this incident happened before. And it did. Once. Over a year ago.

The Save-A-Mutt shelter had one of those lo-jack chips installed upon adoption and listed themselves as the primary owner and refused to list my friend as primary owner. It's been FOUR YEARS and they still refuse to make her the primary owner. (WTF?)

The police say they cannot do anything about this kidnapping because it is a civil matter, not a criminal matter as there was a contract for this adoption.

After my friend got an attorney, the evil stepsisters at Save-A-Mutt changed their story to claim Wink showed up dirty with matted fur and while they were at it, made other false accusations.

Does this look like an unkempt dog to you?


New Years Eve 2005-6


New Years Eve 2008-9


I've only allowed two dogs into my home and Wink is one of them. Wink is the least neglected dog I know. Wink accompanied us to lunches and dinners at restaurants that allowed dogs. Wink has been to my New Year's Eve parties. (Quiet, calm, New Years Eve parties with six to ten people, lest the "rescue" operation try to turn my parties into some debaucherous affairs.)

Her groomer has written a letter to testify to Wink's care. Her groomer! You know, the person who cleans her and trims her fur on a regular basis. Fur that is too short to be matted, by the way.

It has been five weeks since Wink was "rescued" by Save-A-Mutt. Needless to say, my friend is distraught. I want to alert the media. I want to call Ellen. I want Prince Charming who has the other glass slipper to get over there already and save the princess. I want to help, but I don't know what to do. I am writing a letter to Whom It May Concern to tell anyone who can read that this dog is the least neglected dog I know.

What power and control issues do the people at Save-A-Mutt have that have convinced themselves they are somehow "saving" this dog? We are not talking about a pit bull who has mauled someone. We are talking about a poor defenseless one-eyed ball of fur who needs her mommy!

We have to get Wink back. I've been trying to fix her up with a one-eyed cat for months, and this will ruin all that hard work.There is no way a guy would want a girl who is labeled "homeless".

And what if the evil step sisters find another home for her? Can you imagine?

Do you know where my friend first discovered Wink and fell in love with her and made the donation and signed the papers and took her home and fed her and groomed her? That's right, Save-A-Mutt.

What is wrong with people?

Boy, I sure hope this horrible story has a happy ending.

Why I Will Never Own a Pink Cadillac

The richest people in the world are good salesmen: Donald Trump. Leo Iacocca. The Sham-Wow guy.

Which is why I'll never be rich. The thought of selling anything makes my fingernails itch and my sphincters cringe (and for you scatalogical readers, there is more than one).

Complaining to you about telemarketers is like a stand-up comedian who says, "Take my wife, please." Who hasn't heard enough about that already, right?

So anyway, I hate telemarketers. And it's not like I'm without compassion. I had a job in college where I had to beg university alumni for donations over the phone. Which might be worse because I was asking them for money for NOTHING. They wouldn't even get a subscription to Popular Mechanics. I didn't want to sell and they didn't want to buy, so why were we even both on the phone, wasting precious lifeblood and energy that should be spent loving our brothers or something? No, instead we're both just making each other uncomfortable. And for what?

Even when I fervently believe in the product, which is what is supposed to be the key to selling, I don't want to sell it.

I am, however, happy to convince you to buy a product that I believe in, as long as I'm not getting paid for it. Maybe it's because I wouldn't fear rejection.

Or maybe I truly believe I'm doing you a service. I'm giving you something. Maybe I've had some epic consumer product experience and I must share it with EVERYONE I KNOW: What would it take for me to get you into a chartreuse fur-lined filing cabinet cover TODAY?

I sold Cutco knives. For four long one-hour demonstrations. And I'll bet some of you sold them, too. Even celebrities have sold them. I recently heard Michael C. Hall (Six Feet Under, Dexter) tell some talk show host that he sold them before he was famous (GASP! Does this mean I'll be famous someday?)

I sliced the leather demonstration strips ("If it cuts through this leather, think how it will cut through steak, even if it's leather - ha ha!!") and sold my parents a set of steak knives. I cut a penny into a corkscrew with the Cutco Scissors for my grandmother who escorted me into her kitchen to show me the forty-year old knife set she already had (which turned out to be Cutco, actually).

But I hated trying to sell a product that required you to make your potential customer fork over the names and phone numbers of ten of their closest friends. And I hated the fact that these poor knives were being sold under the MLM model, which reeked of Amway, Herbalife, etc.

But now, I've been "selling" their product ever since I quit more than twenty years ago. My parents swiped my demo set. I kept asking for the full kitchen set for Christmas every year until I got it. And I still tell people about how the handles are so ergonomic for your hand compared to other knives, and how they are made of the same material as bowling balls, and how the tines go all the way down through the handle with three rivets. And that Double-D patented edge that never needs sharpening.

See what I mean? Totally selling it right now.

Beggin' Strips

OK, so Suzy nominated me for two Blogger's Choice awards and I will take all the votes I can get for either the Best Humor or the The Blogitzer (Best Writing). Or both. Your choice. You can even vote for me if you've already voted for someone else (like Suzy, for example). And let me just apologize right now for your having to register your fake name and least used email address to register to vote.




      

Thank You Letters

Today's Thank You letter goes out to Lisa at I Didn't Get The Message who mentioned Nanny Goats in Panties in her post Life in the Audi Lane.

I would also like to thank the lovely people over at HowToMe for mentioning my post, Ten Alternative Uses for Shelf Liner in their article: How To Repurpose Shelf Liner.

Employment is For the Birds

Unemployment is high enough already that we don't need people out there exacerbating the issue by hiring animals to do the work. And I don't want to hear anybody trying to correct me by saying, "Oh, we use the term 'human-challenged'".

Have you heard about the new reality show called Aviarian Idol?

They only hire birds for the show. The contestants are birds. The judges are birds. The show's crew are birds. I walked onto their set last Tuesday to apply for a job and witnessed this feathered buffoonery:




It's discrimination and I intend to start a cause called "WTF: Whack The Fowls".

This whole bird thing has been an ongoing problem for decades, people. DECADES! Or do I need to refresh your memory by mentioning, Donald Duck, Daffy Duck and Foghorn Leghorn - All corporate lackeys stealing jobs from hard-working humans like you and me.

And it doesn't stop with the current worming into Reality Shows. There are plans for a new spinoff of a popular franchise: Law and Order: Quackdown.

By the way, I'll also be protesting Twitter, for obvious reasons. Except for when I grab my virtual private parts and type "Tweet this, pal!"

Goat Thing of the Day

Pamela at My Thoughts Exactly is traveling in Texas Hill Country this week, where she came upon these curious cuties:

Thank You Letters...

Today's Thank You letter goes out to La Belette Rouge for mentioning Nanny Goats in Panties in her post entitled K-Line Q and A the other day.

The Hawaii They Don't Want You to Know About

If Hawaii's tourism was not in crisis mode (as reported in Business Week today), they wouldn't have taken such drastic measures in drawing visitors, and I wouldn't have noticed all their everyday evil doings.

But this trip to the pineapple-laden paradise has revealed their sinister desperation for our dollars and uncovered the farce behind the so-called "Hawaiian Culture". It is a conspiracy to end all conspiracies and I'm here to expose their lies and chicanery.

Here are just a few samples of what we thought we knew about Hawaii:

Aloha and Mahalo

Hawaiian proponents would have you believe that "Aloha" means "Hello", "Goodbye" and "Love", while Mahalo allegedly means "Thank You". This is just a ruse to make tourists, and paticularly mainlanders, think they are visiting a foreign culture.

Have you ever noticed how they speak this alleged language when tourists are around to witness it? But have you ever heard them use Aloha and Mahalo when you are not there to hear it, or when they are in their own home?

Do you honestly believe that they answer their phone at home, "Aloha"? No, they say, "Hello" like the rest of us normal people. Have you ever heard locals say "Aloha" to each other? No, they say it to you. And they deliver it with an evil, money-grubbing smile. Just look at them the next time you walk in to Don Ho's Whale of a Deal Canoes and Other Fine Things store.

An example:  A Hawaiian walks into a bar, specifically, the Wiki-Wiki King Kamehameha Bar and Grill

Bartender: Aloha, Brah!

Hawaiian: I'm Hawaiian, man.

Bartender: Oh. Hey, man, what's up?

This is precisely why locals avoid such touristy places and have their own bars that we "haoles", have no idea exist.

The Mai Tai

Do Hawaiians really drink Mai Tais, or was this inebriation-inducing concoction merely created to make us naive visitors hand over money in fifteen dollar increments to maintain Hawaii's tourism trade they so heavily depend on?

Same Hawaiian walks into a bar, specifically the Banana Monkey Aloha Dive.

Bartender: Aloha! We have specials on Mai Tais. Only two for $19.99!

Hawaiian: I'm Hawaiian, man. (Stifles a belch. Or not, since there are no tourists around.)

Bartender: Oh. Grog, then? (Also may or may no be stifling a belch.)

Hawaiian: Yeah.

Bartender: That'll be fifty cents.

Getting Lei'd

Those plumeria necklaces that they attack you with are merely aromatic manipulators that act as a fishing line, hooking you and reeling you in to expensive stores and forcing you to buy $199 glass turtles and "Just Mauied" bumper stickers.


I see what you're doing, Hawaii, if that is your real name, and you don't fool me for a second. Your crashing waves aren't going to lull me. Your multicolored sunsets will not hypnotize me.


I've come to realize that Hawaii is just another word for sucker. I'm not trying to be a killjoy, I'm just trying to save you from your gullible selves and see Hawaii for what it truly is.

And now if you'll excuse me, I have to go to a luau. There's a Kalua pig and a couple of Lava Flows with my name on it.

Goat Thing of The Day

Because I love the Surfing Goat Dairy on Maui (some of the staff are now Nanny Goats in Panties fans), I had to go back and see my little furry buddies again. This time, I caught them hanging ten:

Well, sort of.

I asked this cutie to smile for me, but he just stuck out his tongue...