May 04, 2008
I've been locked out of my computer more times that I can tell you. Or various websites that I swear I can remember the password for, but upon my three attempts suddenly find that I need to call customer service because I no longer have any type of access. I finally had to create a hidden secret "cheat sheet" that I use to get to the various portals around the internets.
I thought I'd really done it a couple of years ago when Frinklin and I locked our selves IN our house. Yes you read that correctly. IN the house.
The deadbolt to the front door broke due to shoddy workmanship of the previous owner (a reccurring theme) and since we don't own a key to the back door, and our back gates are padlocked shut (a detail that will become important later in this blog entry) we were trapped. A very kind locksmith came and removed the deadbolt, re-keyed the front door, and fixed the crappy job the last owner had done with the whole thing. I highly recommend Jack at Security Lock, Safe, and Alarm.
I really didn't think it would be possible to top locking myself IN my house. But yesterday I did it.
Yesterday I locked myself in my backyard.
Really, it was all the cats' fault. But lets back up.
Remember how I told you earlier that there is no key to the back door and the gates are padlocked shut? We've been having issues with the back door not shutting all the way unless the deadbolt is thrown. The wind will push it open and 4 of our 5 indoor only cats will sneak outside to frolic on the deck, eventually making their way under the house.
Yesterday I happened to be walking past the back door and noticed it was waving gently in the afternoon breeze. Immediately panicking I jumped into action and ran outside. All four adventurous cats were outside. Making a grab for the one closest (Clyde), I felt fur and threw him in the house, slamming the door behind me. One down and three to go! An orange streak flew past my feet. Percy! I snatched him up and grabbed the door handle, leaning in to open the--ow! Open the--
Oh for fucks sake. I hadn't latched the deadbolt, but the small doorknob lock was thrown and it was good and closed this time. As Percy squirmed in my arms I grabbed for another orange kitty and picked up a clawing mass of Barney. As his talons sank into my body I thought, "this is bad." Turning to the right, I watched as Moby slipped under the house.
As I lost more and more blood from Barney's slashes I realized I was going to have to let the cats go, even if they did go under the house. I was either going to need to try to climb through a window (all locked), climb the fence (six feet high), or find a friendly neighbor with a cell phone to help. Fortunately, a friendly neighbor happened to be standing just on the other side of the fence.
"Excuse me?" I called, trying not to look insane with orange cats dangling from my limbs. "I have locked myself in my backyard and am in need of a phone. May I borrow yours?" Hopefully proper grammar and being the picture of politeness would help my cause.
"Uh, IN your backyard?" replied the kind neighbor.
"Yes. You see, my door is locked from the inside and I lack a key (Ow! Barney stop it!). And my gates are padlocked (Dammit! Ow!)." (Big smile)
"Sure." Kind neighbor tosses cell phone to me over fence. I should explain at this point that Frinklin was out assisting friends with their 72 Hour Films Festival (tickets on sale now!) submission. I called him. And called him. And called him. Angels be praised - on the third try he picked up. I make no apologies for the messages left that sound something like, "Iamtrappedinthegoddamnbackyardandyouarenotpickingupyourcellphonewherethefuck
areyourightnowIreallyneedyoutocomehomeandhelpme!" To his credit as soon as he did pick up the phone Kevin, Joe, and Frinklin did rush home to rescue me. I sulkily entered the house, sans cats.
Ah yes. The cats.
The next three hours of my life were devoted to cajoling two stubborn kitties out from the tiny (non) crawl space of the house. Percy decided he'd had enough of the great outdoors and came quietly, but Barney and Moby found a playground of smells, sights, and a possible doorway to a wonderland of adventure through that little gap in the concrete. I'd like to say that Frinklin and I tempted the cats by calling their names and offering them treats, but that did absolutely nothing for 2 hours and 45 minutes. Also ineffectual; lying on a towel to avoid dirt and other backyard debris while peering under the house with an industrial strength flashlight (although I got a close up look at one of our air vents). The best technique was to stand absolutely silent and still for 10 or 15 minutes, pretending to be a part of the house, then pounce when the cat came out to explore. Good to know for future reference.
I really need to get the back door re-keyed so that we can unlock it normally. And probably need to have the entire thing worked on so that it actually stays closed when the wind is blowing. Hopefully I'm working a good average and I won't lock myself back there again for another three years, minimum.
Bonus trapped in moment! Trapped IN my pants!
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12:50 AM
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May 03, 2008
Frinklin got up early to help out friends with their 72 hour film festival submission only to find that one of our cars was broken into overnight. It was nothing terribly dramatic, and unfortunately (or fortunately, since it meant there was little damage to the car) it was a situation where one of the doors didn't close properly and was jimmied open. Everthing in the vehicle had been rifled through but the person who broke in only stole my expensive and very cool pea coat. Note to self: don't leave expensive and cool stuff in car.
In the grand scheme of things this isn't a huge deal. The car is relatively unscathed, nothing major was taken, and both Frinklin and I are mostly just annoyed. But it's unsettling to have someone violate your privacy and your space. This is the second time that Frinklin and I have been robbed. Both times it has been due to a door left ajar; last time it was in an old apartment we couldn't wait to move out of in 2001.
Before moving to Tacoma I received a lot of half-joking warning about the crime rate here. I, myself, have joked about livng in a city where crime is just considered part of daily life. A few months after moving here Violet came to visit from Chicago (where she was terrified of living in her own haunted house and somewhat crime-ridden neighborhood alone). Her first night in town we told her we lived in "the good part of Tacoma" with a lower crime rate, "less violent crimes."
Frinklin went on to say, "We do tend to have a lot of kidnappers and serial killers though," naming Ted Bundy and a couple of others. We laughed it off (I know I'm going to hell) and got ready for bed.
Just as we were readying the pull-out couch Violet looked outside and asked, "Are those police lights?" We all rushed to the window to see cops blocking off our street and officers with German Shepherds marching up and down our block. A helicopter began circling overhead and spotlights swept the ground. Frinklin called the non-emergency police number and was told in a stern voice to, "Stay inside. Lock the doors. Do not exit the house unless instructed to by a uniformed police officer." Oh. Great.
Violet told us the next morning she slept better that night than she had in months.
"The police were everywhere! I felt so safe!" she smiled.
The TPD is no longer hovering around my house and even when I call them to report a prowler they don't bother to stop by. I've had my car egged twice, my mail stolen, the guy trying to get into the backyard, and now the car, all in three year. But I feel relatively safe due to the 90 lb. German Shepherd/Pit Bull (who's my puppy?) that doesn't like strangers sleeping next to me at night.
It's just emotionally draining to have someone violate your space and have to put your stuff back together again. And there's the enevitable "what if" thoughts that haunt you. What if they come back? What if they took something I didn't notice? What if they try to break into my house next? What if they hurt my animals? What if they hurt my husband or me?
I'm tired of thinking these thoughts. What I'd really like to do is leave a big 'ol sign on my car that says, "Hi. This message is for the person who broke into my car and stole my coat. I've lived in Tacoma long enough to know that a video camera is the best way to keep your property safe. Bring back the coat - put it on the front porch. I've got you on tape breaking into the car. If you don't return the coat within 48 hours, I'm turning in the tape to the Tacoma Police Department. Thanks."
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February 29, 2008
I knew exactly what pocket of my fabulous new purse I had placed the parking garage ticket in and now it was gone. Completely vanished. I swept my hand around the interior of my entire bag with no luck. My purse was even clean, having just transferred a limited number of items from my old handbag to the new one. It had to be there.
But it wasn't. I turned all the lights on inside my car in order to better search the front passenger seat better. Still nothing. I didn't have any pockets, so it wasn't hidden anywhere on my body. I hadn't moved it or touched it during my meeting at a Seattle restaurant. I had hardly done anything with my purse the entire time.
You know the parking garage rule if you lose your ticket, right? You pay the maximum amount. And this garage's maximum was $40. Not a lot by most garage standards, but more than the $12 or $16 I was expecting. And hey, I live in a one-income household now. I have to save that money for extravagant purchasing of unnecessary goods. Oh, and bills. After a good 15 minutes of searching I gave up a faced the inevitable and drove the plank.
"Hi," I started as I rolled down my window and extended my credit card, my mouth babbling frantically, "I lost my parking ticket. I know...I'm so sorry. I know it means I have to pay the maximum. I just, I don't know what happened to it. I put it in my purse and it just disappeared. I just had it! I don't know where it went! Here's my card." At that point I realized I had been talking at the attendant while he just stared at me so I shut the hell up.
I received a big sigh in return and, "What time did you get here?"
"I had a meeting at 11 so I was here at 10:45."
"OK. Write down your name and phone number on this new ticket and I'll swipe it. It will act like your ticket." He handed me a blank parking stub.
"OK?" I wasn't going to argue. I would have given him my social security number and the promise of my first born as at this point as it appeared I was going to get away with the downtown parking equivalent of murder. Or if not murder, at least a felony hit and run (I know, I know crime isn't a joke, you don't need to remind me). I passed back my contact information and he gave me a receipt for $16.
As I started the dance of thanking him profusely, he leaned over and grasped a stack of receipts and pulled one free.
"See here? This is the last person today who lost their parking ticket." A very clearly $40 charge printed dead center stared back at me. My profuse thanks went up a notch. I wondered if I should get out and hug him. Thank God a car pulled up behind me, forcing me to pull forward, leaving the parking garage and the attendant behind.
I'm not exactly sure what it was that prompted the parking garage attendant to give me the cheaper parking rate. It's true, I was having an excellent hair day yesterday as well as wearing a fabulous new outfit. But he could only see so much from behind the car door. And maybe he thought he was hitting on me? Although I was clearly wearing my wedding ring. Are things going to be awkward now? Does this mean I have park someplace else now even though this is the best parking garage in Seattle?
Sigh - weep - sob! /drama
Posted by: Ensie at
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February 28, 2008
My current phone, the AT&T LG CG225, has been very easy to use for business purposes. The address book has been especially great, allowing me to enter people in and add up to three phone numbers per person, note if they are colleagues, VIPs, or family. I also have a number of pictures stored on my phone, my wallpaper was a picture of Pharaoh sleeping.
Bob's Hogs apparently does not send out earpieces for my beloved CG225. They informed me earlier this week that I would be sent something new and Bluetooth compatible. Once the fancy, new phone arrived I would need to purchase an "earbud" myself and become one of those obnoxious people who wander around grocery stores appearing to talk to themselves.
The new phone arrived today and it's a Razr of of all hideous awful things! Seriously - a Razr!? I fucking hate these things. They're ugly and uncomfortable to use and the internal address book sucks ass. I can't believe I've got to carry one. Ugh.
I did download a couple of new ringtones - "Popular" and "What Is This Feeling" from Wicked (SHUT UP)- to make my new phone a little more likeable.
Plus there's the pink Bluetooth earbud thing I found. Which is pretty cute.
The irony of all this is that I should really be carrying a Crackberry, as I'm in outside sales for Bob's Hogs. I spend a lot more time in the office than I should because I'm tied to my computer. Bob's Hogs won't give their Sales Team Blackberries, so we get Razrs instead. According to Beet the official reasons are things like, "You can't be trusted with expensive pieces of equipment like that."
"You mean, like our laptops?"
Doh! Hole in that logic!
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February 27, 2008
I grew up in a middle class family that didn't make a lot of money, but sacrificed to allow me to have a broken-down horse that was a gift from a family friend, eventually trading up to a nice horse that was moderately priced. As I grew up, my Father worked extremely hard and earned a much better income that allowed my younger teenaged sister to enjoy riding a horse that was imported from Europe. We hardly saw my workaholic Dad during the week but we reaped the monetary benefits. So I lived without money and with money.
I've held a job pretty consistently since I was 14 years old. My only unemployed periods were my first year of college and after a nervous breakdown my second year, second semester of college. In May I'll have worked for Bob's Hogs and Weiner Pigs for 11 years. I certainly haven't always made much money, but it's been enough. The really interesting thing is that whenever there has been a money crisis, money always shows up.
When The Jeffrey got terribly sick and we though his liver was having all sorts of issues but it turned out to be bladder stones that were ripping his insides apart my commission check was unexpectedly high.
When one of the cars unexpectedly needed the brakes done Frinklin had a random monetary bonus kick in. This has happened TWICE with two different employers who almost NEVER gave cash bonuses. Weird.
When I was 21 years old and had an ancient Ford Bronco II that insisted on breaking down every other day my Grandmother stepped up and gave me a cash infusion out of nowhere "because you need it." I was able to fix the car and take care of some other things that had been weighing heavily. She told me she had set aside the money for college or for a wedding, but at the time I wasn't in school and was a lesbian. Thanks Nana!
Anyway, back to the point.
Because I've had a fortuitous relationship with money, I've not been particularly careful with money. I've always been able to pay my bills on time, have good credit, and don't have any collection agencies stalking me. And I have a nasty habit of spending money I don't have. Even when my husband is out of a job.
Like yesterday. When I was at the new Nordstrom Rack in Southcenter after making a particularly successful sales call and meeting up with Frinklin after he had a particularly successful (cross fingers!) interview with what appears to be a great potential employer. I was looking for a Perlina purse that I had fallen in love with a few weeks earlier when we were a DINK household to celebrate our particularly successful (although potentially fictitious) fabulous day.
I found the Perlina bag, and it was cute. But then I turned a corner and There. It. Was. I heard a rushing in my ears. Frinklin spoke, but I heard nothing but the Angels singing. I walked forward, and touched It. The chorus intensified.
Finally, Frinklin's insistent voice broke through, "How much is it?"
"What?" I didn't look up. I was too busy opening pockets and noticing the cheetah print interior. So amazing!
"Ensie...how much? It's got an electronic tag on it. It's going to be a lot."
"Fuck," I said. Reality setting in, "I can't get this bag. It's going to be crazy expensive. It's Dolce and Gabbana." Searching out the tag I finally answer Frinklin, "Holy shit! It's four hundred dollars!" I got silence as an answer as I continued to fondle the bag. My heart raced.
"Honey. Buy it."
"What?"
"Buy it."
I thought my husband had lost his mind at this point. He's unemployed! We only have one income! I started to argue with him briefly, but then realized I was arguing my way out of a kick-ass Dolce and Gabbana bag that I didn't know how to quit. I quietly whispered, "OK!" as though we were getting away with some sort of crazy crime. An employee was flagged down, the bag was freed, and we were out the door with our loot a few minutes later.
The only down side was that I didn't know how much money I had saved on the bag. It didn't have an original price on it. I spent a good hour searching the interwebs for my bag (which is tan leather, oh so soft, with a cheetah print interior), only to find that it doesn't exist. There is only a mutant version currently available, priced at $2,195.00:
Perlina, I feel bad for cheating on you, but I love my new D&G bag. And if it makes me an uncontrollable shopaholic, so be it. I challenge anyone to step into the realm of really good handbags and/or shoes and then try to go back to crappy ones. If nothing else, I treat my quality items like gold so they last forever.
I'd like to give a huge thank you to my husband, who gave me the OK to buy something I love and really wanted. I told him that he doesn't have to buy me anything for my birthday or Christmas this year. I love you honey!
Posted by: Ensie at
05:30 PM
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May 11, 2007
SheÂ’s the one having the big wedding on Memorial Day weekend and causing me to lose my mind because of all the stress. Do you think she cares? No, she does not.*
I was nice and eloped for my wedding. I didnÂ’t even ask her to watch our dogs while we were in Vegas, because we didnÂ’t go to Vegas. We went to the JOP.
But now there is the dress** (and all the accoutrements), the plane tickets (which have not yet been purchased), the finding of a pet sitter to care for the cats (and one long-suffering Cockatiel), and the boarding of the four dogs at two different locations. Add to this one mortgage refinance to finance all this stuff that is taking for-fucking-ever to complete.
In the meantime, our water heater started making a weird, high-pitched noise that my dad thought was a potential pin-hole leak and FrinklinÂ’s dad thought might be caused by having the water temperature set too high. We wracked our brains for two days trying to find the source of the sound, all the while trying not to claw each otherÂ’s eyes out because a constant high-pitched beeping/whining/whistling noise is EXACTLY THE RIGHT SOUND TO DRIVE ONE INTO TOTAL INSANITY. Thank God I was out of the house yesterday for work and Frinklin was upstairs, otherwise the carnage could have been terrible.
We finally broke down and called a professional in (Stop freakin’ - call Beacon! – that’s a little something for the Washington crowd). The expert diagnosis rendered us sane within a matter of moments:
(click to enlarge)
Best. Homeowners. Ever. And it only cost $50! The nice plumber was kind enough to leave us custody of the house, even though we obviously donÂ’t possess the mental capacity to care for it properly.
Now I have to go buy some cat food, because that’s what I do every week – buy lots of expensive, organic, homeopathic pet food. And then I have to clean my house like a fiend to try to make it presentable for the appraiser. And call the pet sitters again. And try to find a descent kennel that still has opening for Memorial Day weekend. And take all the dogs to the vet to update their shots and get fecal exams at least 7 days in advance. And pick up my dress at Nordstroms. And fax new documents to the mortgage broker (because the original ones I sent are too old, because it’s taking a really, really, really f-ing long time for the refi to close. Have I mentioned that?).
Oh, and I should really get on those $400 plane tickets. And I was silly enough to think that my parents would be the only ones going broke paying for this!
*IÂ’m totally kidding and I love my sister with all my shrivled heart.
**Although she knows IÂ’m hating the whole Matron of Honor dress wearing thing.
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09:29 AM
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We're going with Green Acres in Spanaway for the dog boarding, which was recommended by my mother-in-law. But I will definitely check out Theresa's for any future kenneling needs.90 queries taking 0.1161 seconds, 186 records returned.
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