Over at Hit and Run I've been tagged for a meme in which I am supposed to list eight random things about myself...

• I have a favorite plate. Its pattern is more swirly than the rest in our set. When Rob sets the table, he knows to give me the swirly plate. If he forgets, I switch them.




• I love to scan barcodes. For this reason I am slightly addicted to self-checkout lanes. And those price-check kiosks at Target, which I might perhaps use every time I go to Target, just because I can.




• I get really grumpy when I get hungry. Like, beyond reasoning with. Rob claims there is a very small window of time (about 2.5 minutes) between when I am not at all hungry and when I am STARVING, and that the most important survival skill he has learned in this marriage is to "recognize the warning signs and act quickly."




• I only wear nude nail polish. You know, like the flesh-toned color they use for french manicures. I like how it makes nails look nicely finished but still natural. I don't think I've worn a real color on my fingernails since high school. I've always painted my toes with a maroon or deep rose, but just recently I've abandoned colors altogether. I have nothing against them on other people, but I don't like the look on myself.




• In the morning while driving to work, I can only listen to NPR. NPR is quiet and mellow; everything else is too loud and too damn perky. When Rob and I used to drive to work together, he liked to listen to some obnoxious morning show on the rock station, with lots of crude jokes and loud laughing and the people constantly shout-talking. It was all I could do on those mornings not to fling myself out the car door.




• I was a DJ for awhile at my college radio station. Doreen and I, and another friend, had a folk show.




• I grew up listening to country music, and so completely missed all 80s pop and rock music. The only time I ever heard any of those songs was when we went to the skating rink, and so as a result, I'll say, "Oh, this song reminds me of Skatetown!" about any 80s song I actually recognize. I don’t listen to country anymore, but I’ll never catch up on all I missed. Rob is still amazed when a classic rock/pop song comes on the radio and I swear I’ve never heard it before. But, name a Dolly Parton song and I can sing it.




• I go to great lengths to ignore people I know when I see them out and about. Unless you are in my very closest circle of friends or family, I will avoid you. I'll duck into an aisle or become very preoccupied with my cell phone to prevent us from having contact. It sounds snobby, but mostly it's just because I'm lazy - making inane chit-chat is such a pain in the ass.

I won't tag anyone, but feel free to play if the spirit moves you.

The Kept Woman tagged me as a blogger who makes her think in some way. (How John Stamos is not one of the things I make her think about, I have no idea. Clearly I'm not writing about him nearly enough.) Thank you for the honor, TKW.

In turn, I'm supposed to list five blogs that make me think:

Von Krankipantzen - I thought of Kranki immediately for this meme because her very way of thinking is one of the things I adore about her. She views the world with such wit. When I read about her life, I marvel at how I completely relate to her and yet, at the same time, how uniquely creative her perspective is. To get a glimpse inside her mind is a delight.

Crankopotamus - Dave makes me think about the moments. As you surely know by now, I love the little moments. And Dave writes about them in a way that really reaches me. He's a recent widower raising his 3 year-old son, and I've become quite smitten with both of them. You will, too.

mind the gap - Written in poetic prose, Anna's posts are always profound.

Superhero Journal - Sincere thoughts of a beautiful spirit. Andrea's musings actually make me consider how I can be a better person. Click through her archives for gorgeous photos and rich reflections.

big Alba - A different perspective.

(Those tagged may continue the meme, but are in no way obligated to do so.)

I've waited until now to post this because Rob and I are going on a trip and I thought I'd leave you with some folks to visit while we're gone. But don't wander off too far - I'm hoping to update some along the way.

Our new bathroom sink and faucet, modeled by the fabulous Bridget.

Yesterday I got an email from a manager who works at our headquarters. I don't know him well, although we have met several times and I've worked with him occasionally over the phone. He is prim, proper, professional, and polite. Always.

So yesterday I sent some data to him and I got the following email in response:

-----
You're the greatest Kelly.
I'm sure you hear that everynight.
Thanks.
-----

Um, I'm sorry, what?! I'm sure he didn't mean it like that, but still. What could he possibly have been thinking about to make such a slip? No wait...don't tell me.

Subtitle: wtf? tuesday: restaurants that lie

Yesterday RzDrms was on a business trip only a few hours away from me, and we had plans to meet in the middle for dinner. I'd found a restaurant online that seemed perfect and late last week I called and made a reservation for us.

Last evening Rob and I were running late, so I called the restaurant to let them know. Cause I'm polite like that. But no one answered - I only got a recorded message. I thought this was odd, but I figured they were just too busy to answer the phone. The recorded message confirmed that they were open for dinner nightly, and I figured on a Monday night we'd certainly be able to get a table even without a reservation, so no worries.

Yeah, so we met at this restaurant only to discover that it was closed. Like, lights off and door locked. Rz asked a passerby about it and he said, "Oh, they're closed on Mondays."

Okaaaay. But their website claims they serve dinner "Sun-Thurs. 5 - 9:30; Friday & Saturday 5 - 10:30." And just like the recorded phone message, the sign on their DOOR says they serve dinner "nightly starting at 5." And a feature on their menu is "Monday Night Create-Your-Own-Pasta"! And did I mention that I MADE RESERVATIONS?! Like, over the phone, speaking to a real person who works at this restaurant? Like, for MONDAY night? WTF?!

[related aside in the style of mrtl's tangents]
I called them today. Basically to ask WTF kind of restaurant makes freaking reservations for a night they're closed? Well, apparently they are open on Monday nights seasonally, and that season begins next week. Apparently the person who took my reservation was a week ahead of himself. (I confirmed that the reservation I'd made was for yesterday. Yep, it was right there in the reservation book. For yesterday. Monday night. The night they are, you know, closed.) And I guess they just don't bother to seasonally change their website or their recorded phone message or the sign on their door because that would be such a hassle. Which makes sense. You know, in Fucked Up Land.
[end related aside in the style of mrtl's tangents]

We were, of course, able to find another restaurant. Actually, I shouldn't say of course because the next few restaurants we checked out were also closed Monday (but upfront about it, at least) and there was a point at which I think we all believed it was inevitable that we'd end up eating dinner wedged tightly between truck drivers at the counter of Mel's Diner, the only place with an OPEN sign on the door.

But eventually we found a restaurant that looked good. And by looked good, I mean had lights on. And we had a great time! I feel like I know Rz well through our online contact and emails, and yet she still managed to exceed my expectations. I already knew her to be cool, but she is WAY cool, y'all. (And beautiful, by the way.) Whenever I meet someone from the blogworld, I'm reminded that there is no substitute for knowing people in 3-D. We can convey so much about ourselves with words, can capture the essence of ourselves on the page, and yet the details are lost. And really, it's all in the details.

I could try to paint a picture of Rz for you. I could tell you that she has nice hands, that her eyes are kind, that certain words she says reveal her accent. I could tell you that, as she freely admits, her purse is where receipts go to die. I could tell you that she gives great hugs. But I just can't do her justice in two-dimension.

(Rz, it was a pleasure! But next time let's avoid Monday night, mmkay?)

This sign puts a whole new meaning to "parking spot".

What the fuck is the deal with the mirrors you must look into when shopping for sunglasses? You know, the mirror strips that go down each side of the turny displays of sunglasses? The mirrors that are THE WIDTH OF ONE'S NOSE?

How the hell am I supposed to see myself in that? I happen to be particularly vain about my sunglasses. They need to be just right. In fact, I find sunglasses WAY harder to shop for than swimsuits. No, really. Especially considering I can't fucking SEE what I fucking LOOK LIKE in the fucking mirrors. Granted, if you step back about 10 feet, you are able to see your entire face in the mirror. But at that distance, it is impossible to examine the sunglasses at the detail that sunglasses need to be examined pre-purchase.

But if you stand in front of the mirror close enough to actually see the sunglasses, you can't see anything! Maybe one eye, at the most. Which is clearly not enough. I mean, hello! The whole point is to see how certain pairs of sunglasses look on my face but I CANNOT SEE MY FACE! Who the hell thought it would be a good idea to have people look at five-inch-wide sunglasses in an inch-wide mirror? And why the hell does the mirror run all the way to the floor? I don't need to see my fucking kneecap. What I need to see are the SUNGLASSES.

So I either end up leaning sideways and tilting my head in alignment with the mirror or I stand up straight and move my head really fast, side to side, with the hopes of getting a vague idea of what my face might perhaps look like with the glasses on. Both techniques are utterly uncool. And the whole reason I wear sunglasses is to look cool, and so I usually end up buying none because, given what I have to do to sorta see myself, I always look ridiculous in the inch-wide glimpse I get.

And then...then, some price tags are attached right smack dab in the middle of the sunglasses! And the tag won't budge, won't even move the slightest bit out of the way. And of course the tag is huge and takes up the ENTIRE viewing space, such that all I can see when I look in the mirror is what the bridge of my nose looks like when adorned by a price tag. How fucking stupid is that?

But what's really fucking stupid are those skinny-ass mirrors.