Skipping past Writober and Nanoblomo . . ? Shit, I dunno. I'm as bored as you are.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
In Stock
So I was all gonna do the “stats” thing and, y’know, I don’t think this weekend can be adequately summarized statistically. We need the next level. And the next level is BULLETS:
- Before we get to that, I’m gonna just come out and address the whole mix CD thing. Back in the day, when I gave a shit about blog-networking and how many comments and “unique” hits I got a day, I made mix CDs to “exchange” other bloggers (i.e., give away indiscriminately). This doesn’t really have anything to do with where I’m going with this, except to say that I hardly ever send out mix CDs any more. I’m really convinced that people hate my CDs. To drive that point home, I’m currently making a two-CD winter mix. Nine Inch Nails The Downward Spiral (which I recently borrowed from My. Glory Hole) is heavily featured (seriously, it transitions from a nice Death in Vegas song right into “March of the Pigs” . . . not smoothly). Disc One will end with a 10+ minute live version of The Cure’s “Faith.” I’m previewing the mix right now. And smiling.
- Saturday morning (ooops, smiling over), we went on a quest for a big-girl bed. We’d been pumping Mia up about getting a bunk bed so she can have her cousin sleep over. After doing some preliminary shopping in the preceding days and weeks, we visited four stores that morning. The fourth didn’t immediately seem promising, but we found a bed set we liked and the total DOUCHEBAG salesguy (looked to be working on his third career as a hack furniture salesman) helped us read price tags and make our visit that much less enjoyable. But he made it much easier for me to practice being assertive, which any salesman anywhere will tell you I’m incapable of. I tried to get a mattress thrown in (no dice) and then a break on the price (“This is a special group price, sir.”). Then I got him to confirm that the “loft” bed actually included the lower bed (it did) and that it was “in stock” (it was). After paying for everything up front, we were directed to drive around the back, where the salesdouche met us to report that, in fact, our bed was not there for pick up. I then did something I’ve never done to any salesguy ever. I started yelling. “We’ve been telling our daughter ALL MORNING that she is getting her bed. We were going to pick up the bed and put it together so she could sleep in it TONIGHT. This is a BIG DEAL!” Almost as shocking is that I cannot recollect actually swearing . . . which is amazing. “Well, sir, you never said that you needed the bed today.” Uh-oh. “WHAT? I ASKED YOU TO MAKE SURE THAT IT WAS IN STOCK! WHAT DOES ‘IN STOCK’ MEAN TO YOU?” Apparently, Capt. Douche reported, “in stock” means that it’s in their warehouse in North Carolina. Long story somewhat truncated, our bed is coming in Wednesday. We’ve already retained an attorney (Mr. Glory Hole) and if I confirm that we’re only getting ONE bed Wednesday, we’re either getting our money back then and there, or we’re taking it to the NEXT level (not necessarily “BULLETS” as stated above).
- Dinner with friends Saturday evening was somewhat less fun than planned. Mia can get kind-of wound up when we’re in a group setting, and she’s not listening well to her parents. Which can get very irritating. I guess I could’ve taken a picture of her smiling while hording everyone’s chopsticks and posted it to Erin’s What’s the Worst That Could Happen? Flickr group. Michelle dragged her out of the restaurant and out to the car before we got the checks. On the way home, I turned around to ask Mia if she was okay, and she shook her head. “What’s wrong, sweetie.” “I’m in trouble,” she replied in a really defeated, low voice. I will say that she was MUCH better behaved and controllable today.
- My bet with Patricia ended with me having to buy a Cowboys t-shirt (which I did today). Saturday night, I knew they were playing their Wild Card game against Seattle, so I checked in to see what was going on, and it was a 2-point game late in the third quarter. I texted Patricia, which started an exchange that continued to the bitter end of the game. I’m sorry for her, although I’m sure they’d never have made it past Chicago (or New Orleans [again]). But I’ll be anally raped if that wasn’t the best fourth quarter of any NFL game I’ve seen in years.
- Going to “adult” stores on Sundays is a lot of fun. Especially with the funny signs, like “DO NOT OPEN THE MAGAZINES” and “ALL SALES ARE FINAL.”
That’s enough for now. I’m tired of bulleting and I’ve just realized that I’m regurgitating my life onto the Internets. Which I kind-of promised myself I wouldn’t do this year . . . so blatantly, anyway. That said, I have this Cowboys shirt that I’m going to photograph and wear several times in the next week . . . and then send to Patricia to fulfill our bet. Better luck next season, hooker. (Yeah, you won the bet, but you lost the war. Poor, poor Romo.)