Tags: Car, cars, Kia, New Car, RWFOTB, Toyota, Women know nothing about cars
I recently said goodbye to the cursed car (that actually turned out to be a great ride once finally fixed), and bought myself a big girl car. And yes, I say that with every bit of irony I can muster because, as we all know, a woman shopping for a new car alone is ill-advised, so my dad came to help remove the target from my wallet (while the hubs stayed home with the baby). Annnyway…
At one of the local car dealerships, as RWFOTB and I waited through the “let-me-talk-to-my-manager” negotiation process, we overheard a curious conversation: A middle-aged woman (with her mother in-tow) was standing firm against a sales guy. He was trying to convince her of the benefits of the Camry, but she wasn’t having it.
“I wanna Kia!” she insisted. “I don’t want no Camry, I wanna Kia.”
We couldn’t help it – dad and I tried to keep our laughter quiet. But the woman was adamant. She would accept no substitute. And even though the sales guy was trying to be polite, we couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room… we were at a Toyota dealership!
So we may have remarked, loudly enough to be overheard, “Perhaps she’d have better luck at a Kia dealership.”
The woman just glared and continued her fight. The salesman looked sheepishly grateful, before saying: “Well, I don’t have any Kia’s here right now, but perhaps we could consider the Corolla?”
“Yeah, but,” and here dad and I mouthed the phrase we knew was coming next,” I wanna Kia!”
Good luck, lady.
Tags: Crickets, HVAC, weird noises
Have you ever asked a question, gotten NO response, and said you’re hearing “crickets”? Well, my colleagues’ and my self-esteem has hit an all-time low because we hear crickets ALL DAY LONG. It doesn’t matter what we’re talking about, who we ask, or what we need. We get crickets.
Take a listen…
They claim it’s the HVAC system, but I think it’s a not-so-subtle hint.
Tags: Destination Maternity, Father, Maternity, Motherhood, Parenthood, Parents, pregnancy, Pregnant Man, Second baby
The other day, my hubs got this in the mail:
And he was totally baffled…. Why would he, a MAN, have received a coupon for a maternity clothing store? I, of course, have NO idea.
(wink, wink, nudge, nudge)
Now that our dear daughter is eight months old (when did that happen?!?), my husband has started his campaign for a second child. Well, I say “started,” but he actually brought this up for the first time when she was just six days old, and again when she was three months and six months old. And I feel lucky to have a partner who loves our little one so much he wants another one.
(you knew there was going to be a but!)
I’m not ready! I want more time for just us three (and our sweet pup, too, of course), my first pregnancy was so hard I’m not sure I’m ready to face doing that again, and geez louise man! No!
Like in any disagreement, we’re going to have to find a compromise. Anyone know how close they are to having men carry children? Because I’m sure he’d look great in that cardigan.
Tags: car accident, frog, mother-in-law, Spider
Alternate title: Please tell me spiders (and frogs) are good luck!
A few weeks ago I ran into my mother-in-law’s car. Yup, she was here selflessly taking care of my little one so I could save money on daycare this summer, and I backed right into her car. And even though I continue to be mortified to this day, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be teased about it for the rest of my marriage, I hold firmly to the fact that it wasn’t my fault!
You see, I’d had a very weird week. On Sunday there was a spider literally THE SIZE OF MY PALM on my car door. It was horrible. Ho. Rih. Bull. In fact, it was so big and scary that we for reals had to shoo it into an empty spaghetti sauce jar, then dump it on the ground and hit it with a BRICK to kill it. True story! A BRICK!
Well, it seems that really angered Her Royal Arachnid, because for the rest of that week I was plagued (that’s not an exaggeration – it was totally biblical, people!) by eight-legged jerks out for blood. On Tuesday I awoke with a “mysterious” bug bite on my arm and saw a creepy crawler meandering up my bedpost. “How do you like me now, you with your cement bricks? WE KNOW WHERE YOU SLEEP!” I swear it was saying that as it slowly, menacingly crept on (until I made Andrew murder it, too).
On Wednesday we had a consultant come in to the office for a meeting. As he placed his briefcase on the table, I noticed a spider clinging to it. He noticed it, too, as did my boss, but instead of just squashing it like a NORMAL PERSON, he gingerly picked the little psychopath up and gently placed it on the floor. Well, wouldn’t you know it: not ten minutes later, that little rhymes-with-mass-toll was crawling up my leg. TRUE STORY. I somehow stifled my scream until I could flick it off my pants (thank heavens I wasn’t wearing a skirt!), but needless to say I spent the rest of the meeting on high alert for a revenge-fueled interloper. This consultant was clearly in cahoots with the arachnids. Is that a valid enough reason not to want to work with someone?
And now we come to the day of the accident (which I still contend wasn’t my fault). On Thursday, as I was backing out of the garage, a spider literally sprang down from the ceiling of my car and practically landed ON MY NOSE, which, as you can imagine, is why I backed into my MIL’s car (hangs head in shame). I was under attack! War had been declared! The spiders were using guerrilla warfare tactics! I had no refuge! Not my house, not my office, definitely not my car… I was doomed! And also late for work.
The only upside to the incident was that I thought the Great Arachnid War of 2013 was finally over. The pests got their revenge (because really, is there ANYTHING more awkward than hitting your MIL’s car and blaming it on a spider?). I waved the white flag. I gave up. And Friday passed without incident. I regained my confidence, stopped looking over my shoulder, and tried to scrub all this from my mind to prevent future creepy-crawly nightmares.
That night before bed, I opened the front door to take the dog out, and realized the conflict wasn’t over… it was escalating. Hanging onto my screen door, Mission Impossible-style, was a FROG. Seriously! A frog!
So I did what any gal would do – screeched (without waking the baby), pulled the dog back inside and begged my husband to walk her. And he’s been walking the dog at night ever since. Because once multiple species get involved, you KNOW you’re in trouble…
And yeah, I called Terminix for an extra visit the next day.
Tags: Car repair, cars, Jiffy Lube, Jiffy Lube Sucks, Mechanic, oil change, Rip off, Scam, transmission fluid, Women Drivers, Women know nothing about cars
Have you ever taken your car in for an oil change, had the mechanic recommend extra services, and felt like you were being taken for a ride, so to speak? Well, I recently had just such an experience at the Jiffy Lube at 99 Worcester Street (Route 9) in Natick, MA. I don’t know if it was because of my gender (women know nothing about cars, right? Two X chromosomes means a genetic disposition for automobile idiocy), or my perceived age (I look younger than I am – I’m told this will serve me well come middle age, but for now it’s just awkward), or if they do this to all their customers (which would ALSO be shameful, just a different kind of shameful), but the fact is, these folks were trying to scam me, and I’m calling them out!
Shame on you, Jiffy Lube!
Most folks have experienced this – I know it’s not specific to me: you go in for an oil change and hear the pitch about how you need to change your filter, too… “You don’t have to do it now, but I sure wouldn’t want to breathe in that dirty air.” Happens all the time. But what I believe was specific to me is the fact that the technician told me I needed BOTH filters in my car changed. Both.
The issue? My car only has ONE filter. Yeah… Dude tried to sell me a filter replacement for a filter that DOESN’T EXIST!
So once we got over that little snafu, I asked him to remove the (single) filter and show me how dirty it was, and when he pulled it out, VOILA! It wasn’t dirty after all; in fact, I’d dare say it was clean! His response? “You could probably wait until your next oil change, but I wouldn’t go much longer than that.”
The next debacle: he told me that I needed to have my transmission fluid flushed and refilled because I was at 39,000 miles and that was “way overdue.” In fact, he said, it is “dangerous” not to do it. And even though I literally saw on his computer monitor that it said the service was recommended at 60,000 miles, and showed him my owner’s manual that also said 60,000 miles, he reiterated that I was late and could be doing “serious and irreversible damage to my car.” We’re talking serious and irreversible here, people!
If he were in my shoes, he said, he would have the $250 service done and “not take any chances.”
Wow. Talk about FUD! This guy was, without a doubt, trying to rip me off. Again.
I was appalled by this experience; so angered, in fact, that I decided to report it to Jiffy Lube corporate. I sent a message to them via their website just a few days later and was assured (by an automatically generated message, of course) that my feedback was very important to them and that I would receive a response shortly.
You guessed it: no response. Jiffy Lube corporate ignored my message and this situation, so now I’m sending my story out on the interwebs. Drivers of the world: if you take your car to Jiffy Lube, be prepared! Do your research! Don’t let them pressure you into services you don’t need! Don’t let them rip you off!
Or, just don’t take your car to Jiffy Lube…
Tags: Baseball, Chores, Home Ownership, Husband, Insults, Perfect Housewife, Rich, Stress, Trophy Wife
The other day the hubs and I were bickering about household chores – he feels like he does the lion’s share and that I spend more time reading baseball blogs than helping. I feel like he needs to relax every once in a while and understand that our house will never be as clean or tidy as he imagines it should be.
Okay, okay, it was the opposite, but sometimes it’s refreshing to pretend it’s the gal who puts sports over washing bottles. Annnywho, in one of my dramatic retorts, I said something like:
“Fine, I’ll just get the maid to do it! But you never help plan menus with the chef, the gardener is still waiting to hear exactly how many millimeters you’d like him to hand trim off the lawn, and the chauffeur has really been slacking on polishing the dipstick handle. Can you get off your lazy butt and order people around for a change? Or do I have to manage the staff alone as usual?”
It was enough to break the tension between us, but that got me thinking: is that how fights between the uber rich actually sound? What do the gajillionaire couples of the world squabble about? Because I’ll bet it’s not dishes, laundry, or which bill to pay first and which to postpone.
I think an experiment is in order. Here’s what I propose: give me a few gajillion dollars (one of you can give me a lump sum or take up a collection or something; how you make this happen isn’t the important part – don’t be penny wise and gajillion foolish). I’ll move into a mansion, hire a full-fledged staff (first hire: a personal assistant and then a household manager who will actually hire the rest of the staff for me – that’s not something a gajillionaire like me should have to concern herself with), and report back. I promise to answer this, and any other questions you have about how the upper crust lives. We’ll all be the wiser!
You can’t put a price on knowledge like that. But do try.
Tags: Mothering, pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms
In just a two short days Andrew and I will be parents (g-d willing). It’s exciting, amazing, staggering, nerve-wracking and takes my breath away (in a good way) every time I think about it. And although my pregnancy has had its ups and downs, I’ve been trying to focus on the good stuff and be open and appreciative of all the amazing people and blessings in my life.
I know I’m getting sappy, but bear with me on this one! I’m gonna be a mom – I have to set a good example here. My regular snark will be back soon, I’m sure. Anyway…
Preparing to bring a child into the world can be intense. At one point in my pregnancy, I literally had to stop watching the news (which is tough for me – I’m such a news junkie) because it was too much, too sad, too depressing, too awful. I wondered how I could, in good conscience, expose a child to all that. As my colleagues will tell you, that week was weird – I didn’t even know Neil Armstrong had passed away until a month later (and it was an awkward discovery when, during the middle of a lunch break, I exclaimed: “Oh my gosh, Neil Armstrong is dead?!” and they all looked at me like I was delusional and then burst into laughter).
But I realized that I needed to change my perspective. Yes, bad things happen and there are some bad seeds out there, but the good things and the good people are what matter, and I will do everything in my power to ensure my child appreciates both.
This past weekend my parents worked their butts off at my house because I needed the help. They did our grocery shopping, they cleaned our house, they fed us, they set up the nursery, they assembled the Pack ‘N Play, they gave me a new-to-me cell phone (mine was unreliable, at best, not good for a mom-to-be). In short, they showed me what it means to be a good parent, as they have been demonstrating my entire life. But it was a particularly poignant reminder the weekend before I take on that role myself.
My friends, my family and my colleagues (and my husband, of course!) have made the past 39 weeks joyful, no matter how I was feeling physically. Care packages and visits, baby showers and treats, encouragement and laughter, and support and love. They have all cared for me and helped me arrive at this point, and I am forever grateful for that, and for being able to bring my baby into a world like this one, with so much to be thankful for.
From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.