TMP, Part Duex; Plus....ET, Why Must You Tweak Me?

Hello Lambs. I'm happy to report that one day after entering my comments on The Melting Pot's website, I received a call from the owner of the restaurant we attended. She was very apologetic about the hard sell regarding St. Jude's and went as far to ask me who our server was so she could tell them to "tone it down." Kathy (the owner) said that she and her staff had a meeting that afternoon regarding the corporation's support of St. Jude's and that the meeting (and video) was very emotional and uplifting. Kathy's feelings were that some of the servers may have gotten "caught up in" the idea of helping the children which resulted in Heather's inappropriate hard sell.

I was very pleased with Kathy's attitude regarding my comments and she did hope that I would change my mind about returning to her place of business. She added that she did make a percentage donation from each customer's check to St. Jude's and she again assured me that we (and other customers) would never again be made to feel uncomfortable. Kudos to Kathy for a quick response. If I go to The Melting Pot again, it will be with my gal pals. No way in hell is John stepping foot back in that place.

On to my next soap box (with thanks to ET)....WTF is up with the Donation Nazi's outside of ACME? For chrissakes....all I want to do is shop for my groceries in peace. Every fricking week it's something. The whiny-ass girl scouts, the boy scouts, the soccer team, the lacrosse team, the make a wish foundation, adopt-a-highway, support an illegal immigrant...the list goes on and on. Getting back to the Girls Scouts for a moment. Do you not harass me enough with those goddamn cookies at home, at work and over the internet? Now you set up shop outside the exit doors at my local grocery store and bombard me with Thin Mints as I'm walking out. Have you looked at my ass lately you little bitches? The last fucking thing I need is a Samoa. That is some serious bullshit. What happened to the once a year door to door selling of cookies? And don't give me that pedophile crap. Don't you get self-defense classes in the girl scouts? Isn't there a badge for that? "The Child Molester Smackdown" badge? Give me a break. I'm tired of running out of the store screaming, "No hablo engles!" Of course, for those who are sporting the Bi-lingual Badge, I'm totally screwed.

Great, now my bowels are in an uproar and the vein is sticking out on my forehead. Thanks Erin. Really appreciate that.

The Melting Pot

No, not the good ole US of A, but rather the restaraunt. John and I went there Saturday night with our friends Brian and Ann. Ann and I had been talking about trying something new for awhile and finally got our schedules to coordinate. Now, as we're both married to men who like their brontusourus steaks delivered with a huge side of mashed potatoes, we kept the cook your own food in a boiling pot of broth thing a secret until we sat down at our table. At which time things began to fall apart.

Clearly John and Bri were none too happy with the thought of having to cook their food in a fondue pot. They became downright testy while trying to decipher the menu. Which, I have to say, is a pain in the ass. We're not slow people, but it did take two servers to expain it to us to a point where we were somewhat sure of what we were ordering.

Basically, you order an appetizer which is some form of cheese fondue and it is served with bread pieces, apples and veggies. Then you have a salad (which you eat with a normal fork and not the long skewer thingy you stick in the fondue pot), then comes your main course of numerous types of cut up meats, fishes, and pastas. This is served with many different dipping sauces. Finally, dessert is a fondue of chocolate with fruit, brownie and cheesecake dippers.

We started our entree and soon discovered that we'd be at The Melting Pot all night if we didn't make some adjustments to our cooking process. Sticking one piece of filet mignon on a skewer into the fondue was not going to feed us anytime soon. Brian and John were getting a bit ansy, so we soon were dumping in large portions of beef, poek, chicken and shrimp to cook together while we ate a couple of raviolis. Once we got the hang of it, it was fun and very interactive with lots of passing of sauces and sticking fondue forks into each other's pots.

Dessert was a big hit with Brian, as he quite enjoyed the chocolate fondue. However, things spiraled downhill rather quickly when our server, Heather, popped over to check on us. Heather sat down at our table and launched into a 3 minute hard sell about donating to St. Jude's Children's Hospital. While we were eating. Now, we are all in agreement that St. Jude's is an outstanding organization that does truly wonderful work. But to have a server ask for a $50 donation during our night out was entirely inappropriate. I understand that she was instructed by her supervisors to do this, who in turn were instructed by the owners of the restaurant (which is a large chain, BTW), but we were appalled by the request. I wouldn't have any problem with a card attached to our bill which mentioned they collect for St. Judes, but this was ridiculous. Especially considering that our dinner bill was 300 dollars! How about taking a percentage of our bill and donating it yourself, Melting Pot? I mean, WTF?

Lucky for me, a comment card was left on our table. I was able to enter my comments on line. I gave our server high marks as she was very attentive and the food recieved high marks as well. But I made it absolutely clear that the request for donations was uncouth, inappropriate and in very poor taste. I also said that we would not be returning to their establishment and that they should seriously reconsider the way they request donations. All we wanted was a fun night out so we could forget about all the ills in this world and to be accosted in such a way left a bad taste in out mouths.

And just for the record, John and I have certain charities that we hold very dear and we give to quite generously. The same for Brian and Ann. Had The Melting Pot put a box, jar, container of some sort in their reception area, all of us would have been happy to slip a few bucks in. Instead, they get nothing.

My Account Manager Sucks

Ever heard of managing inventory, Steve?

Mother Nature You're a Bitch!

You can't be serious. It's not even Halloween and you've decided to dump snow on us? Go fuck off.

Ah, 2 Things About Me?

So, I'm having an identity crisis. We'll just call it my Crisis du Jour. In an effort to waste time today, I hopped on over to Jennsylvania and began reading some of the blogs on her "links" list. One of them I recognized as the author of Moose: A Memoir of Fat Camp, which I read a few months ago. I clicked through Stephanie's site and came across her 100 Things About Me List. Which, after I began reading, turned into the HUNDREDS of Things About Me list.

After about 110, I stopped. And I realized that I could never come up with HUNDREDS of things about me, let alone just 100. I mentally started my list and came up with 2. Shit.

I need to seriously re-evaluate myself.

Haunted House

For as much as I despise autumn (sweaters and boots? Fuck that), I really love Halloween. Nothing makes me happier than trying to scare the living shit out of little kids. It seems to come naturally to me. Even when it's not Halloween.

I've been having some form of creative craving lately, so I decided to knock off a wreath that I saw at Fairfield Garden Center. It was done with black flowers, black feathers and had an ugly looking witch on it. I didn't care for the witch, so I thought I'd make one without it. I went to Michael's and purchased the items I thought would make a nice replica of my "inspiration" wreath. Natch, I spent more money making my own wreath than if I had just purchased the one I liked and ripped the witch off of it. Anyway, this is the final result:
The sun was shining when I took the picture, so the right side of the wreath looks a little gray. It's black, though. For my first attempt with a glue gun, I thought it came out fairly well.

The wreath making got me more into the spirit, so I did some more decorating. I put a skull with flickering red eyes in the picture window and hung some nasty looking bats over his head. It looks pretty spooky at night. I also got a few of those plastic window covers that have scary images on them. The light from inside illuminates them and makes it look like something ghoulish is looking out the windows. You can't see it in the daytime, so I'll try to take a picture at night.

A couple more pics of my Halloween House:

It's a Straight Deposit, People

Why do People assume I have nothing better to do but waste my time talking to them about trivial shit? I mean, seriously, I thought I had perfected the "I don't care about you or your issues so leave me the fuck alone" attitude. Apparently it was lost on the chipper little wench at Chase Bank this morning.

As it is Yom Kipper (Happy Day of Atonement to all my Jewish friends), traffic was very light and I had a little extra time to stop off to grab a bagel and then head over to the bank near my office to make a deposit. Most of you are aware of my distaste for The General Public. Thus, you may be wondering why I even had cause for any form of interaction with a bank employee. I'm aware that I can make a deposit at the ATM. That is my normal procedure. However, this morning I found myself short of the requisite deposit slip, forcing me into the bank lobby to gain requisite slip and make my deposit at the window.

Even knowing I had to deal with The General Public, I was certain the procedure would go smoothly as it was a simple straight deposit. No cash back, no questions, no problems. Once I filled out the deposit slip I could go right up to the window, slide my slip and the check under the 6 inch bullet proof glass, wonder what the hell was going on with all the intense tapping on teller's keyboard, then take my completed transaction and be on my way.

Yeah. Not so much.

I walk into to the lobby of the bank and am immediately greeted by two of The Bank Desk People, smiling widely and welcoming me to Chase. I should have known to run away screaming right then and there. Seems my BS radar needs a little fine tuning.

I smiled back and said "good morning," and headed over to the table to grab a deposit slip and fill it out. As I'm doing so, Bank Desk Person #1 walks over and says, "Oh, it looks like the sun is peeking through those clouds. It's going to be warm today, not like the cold day yesterday." Why I did not level her with the Back Off Bitch Death Glare is beyond me. By my acknowledging that it was indeed becoming sunny, I was now engaged in a conversation with this woman.

Seriously. All I wanted to do was make a deposit and be on my way to my office. I did not want to hear about her turning on her heat for the first time and the banging it made in the pipes as her house is an old colonial and when her mother-in-law comes over the air bubbles in the pipes make such a racket it frightens her as she lives in an apartment and she thinks someone is in the basement stalking her and when her husband is out walking the dog at night she gets a little freaked out by all the noise in the house.

At this point I lowered my head and scribbled furiously to fill out the god damn deposit slip that had turned into the bane of my existence. Bank Desk Person #1 had positioned herself at the table and waited until I was finished to say, "Oh I'll take that" and snatched the slip and check from my hands.

At this point, I'm thinking the Bank Window People are busy with drive ups and she's just providing good customer service to make my deposit at her desk and get me on my way. Because at 8:30 in the morning, the suit, pantyhose and pumps are a dead give away that I have somewhere I need to be and don't have all fucking morning to sit around and chat.

One would think.

I knew I was in trouble when she pulled out the chair in front of her desk and motioned for me to sit down. It's a straight deposit. There should be no sitting. It shouldn't take so long that there is sitting involved.

Bank Desk Person #1 starts waving over to the Bank Window Person and asking them to come and take the slip and check. At this point I realize I'd been had. There was no Exceptional Customer Service coming into play here, she just wanted to sell me something. After not getting Bank Window Person's attention, Bank Desk Person #2 comes over and takes my paperwork and sets off for the window. At which point Bank Desk Person #1 asks me if I'm aware of their "Refer A Friend" program. And I'm thinking, "Have you watched the news lately, Bitch? Do you really think I would advise anyone about what to do with their money in this, the most epic financial crisis our country has ever seen? Are you crazy or are you simply stoo-pit?"

I grit my teeth, plaster a smile on my face and explain that I know of no one who is interested in joining a new bank. Bank Desk Person #1 is clearly crushed, and I start looking to bolt. Sensing that the gig is up, Bank Desk Person #1 somberly nods in the direction of the 6 inch bullet proof glass and over comes Bank Window Person with my receipt.

It took 3 people to make my straight deposit. And conversation.

On my way out, I grabbed two handfuls of deposit slips. Won't fool me twice.

Day At The Beach

Gretchen, The Girls and I spent a lovely day at the beach a couple of weeks ago. Gretch and I packed up a cooler of libations (strictly to keep ourselves safely hydrated on a hot day) and drove to Manasquan with Barrett and Campbell. B&C haven't taken to the water in the past (mostly just wading in and cooling off, but not actually swimming). This time, Mommy (that would be me) hopped into the water and walked far enough out (rather far, considering it was low tide) and goaded The Girls into swimming out towards me. Barrett had done some swimming in the past, but Cami's experience with the water has been mostly with a life vest on while doing therapy for her blown out knees.

Not surprisingly, once Cami saw Mama in the water, she swam right out next to me. I was so proud! Barrett came out for a visit as well.
It was a lot of fun for them and I was relieved to see that my babies didn't sink like rocks.

After numerous swims in the ocean, we rested on the beach, then headed for home. Two happy chicks in the front of the truck and two tired puppies in the back.

Combs Hollow Fight Club

So, this morning was spent saving a deer from the Jaws of Death. "The Jaws of Death?" you may ask. That would be my precious baby, Campbell.

I'm sleeping like a rock this morning when I hear John screaming, "Deb! Get dressed and get down here!" Now, a million things can go through one's mind when hearing their husband yelling in such a state of uproar. I, however, knew instantly (even pre-Diet Dew) that the yelling must have something to do with Campbell.

I run down the stairs to find John in the kitchen with two heavily panting dogs. Clearly something had taken place. John proceeds to tell me that he had let the dogs out for their morning tinkle and he went about getting dressed. When he opened the door to call them to come in, he heard ferocious barking and some kind of weird growling coming from the front field. He immediately thought that the dogs were embroiled in a fight with a bear.

John ran to the front of the property, brick in hand (I'm not exactly sure where he found a brick while running to the front yard, but he claims he was wielding a brick) up towards the nursery. What unfolded in front of him was a scene straight out of Ultimate Fight Championship Mixed Martial Arts Cage Match. Campbell had run through the electric fence and chased a deer into the nursery. She had the big ass doe in a figure four headlock. Legs are kicking, paws and hooves are flying, and Barrett is standing off to the side barking at the spectacle.

John can't get near the action to try to pull the two apart, so he does the next best thing and throws the brick at the dog and deer. The deer is on it's back making horrendous screeching noises and is clearly trying to tap out. Campbell refuses to let up on the smack down and doesn't listen as John tries to call her off. Naturally, the more she ignores him, the more he thinks screaming obscenities at her is going to work. At 5:30 am, my husband is standing up near Combs Hollow Rd., screaming, "GET! THE FUCK! OVER HERE!"

Finally, the deer wriggles out of Cami's clutches and jumps the fence to safety. John returns to the house with Campbell and Barrett (still barking) in tow. After a thorough exam, it seems that all ears, extremities and tail are still attached. No blood, and only a little bit of limping. Campbell pranced around the house, clearly proud of her conquest. Barrett had to take a Valium and lay down.

This was our morning.

I don't want to know what the deer looked like.

So I lied....

In a previous entry, All I Wanted Were Window Boxes, I expressed my dismay in the balcony-like structures that had been affixed on the front of my house. I badly wanted them removed, as they were much larger than I expected. I lamented the fact that it wasn't possible: "these babies aren't moving as they are bolted into the stone."

So one would think. One would think that 9 inch iron bolts driven into stone would be enough to hold up a few pieces of wood and some pansies/geraniums/impatiens with maybe a little green foliage added in for depth. One would think. However, one was wrong. I now have a large balcony (a.k.a. "window box") hanging by a thread off the front of my house. In an effort to save the balcony from falling (and tearing down half of the house), John stuck some 2x4's into the ground and under the bottom of the box, kind of "propping it up." You know, it's the kind of thing you might see on an episode of "Cops" when one toothless, drunken idiot calls the police on another toothless drunken idiot and the kindly police officers roll into their trailer park to settle the fracas.

Yes, it's true. I'm living like white trash. *sigh*