OK, so here is what I discovered is a pet peeve of mine, and that irked me so much I had to go all bloggy about it:

Glue Tubes Suck!

I can’t be the only one who has encountered this problem. You buy a tube of expensive glue and use it for a special project. You put it away when you’re finished, to use at a later date. But when said later date arrives and you try to use the tube of expensive glue, you can’t, because it’s clogged. WTH?!

The offending glue tube in my case is E-6000.

This stuff is billed as “industrial strength adhesive;” it’s also something that many crafters use because it is supposed to work so darn well…which is why I bought it. At $4 for a tube. This is despite the fact that it states clearly on the package that it contains chemicals that are known to cause cancer in the state of California. Well, hey, lucky me, I don’t live in California! So I should be safe enough, no?

Ahem.

And yeah, it is a good, strong glue. Looks all pretty in the package, too does it not? The marketing team has done an excellent job on its packaging too. We know that it’s Flexible, Waterproof, Non-flammable, and Photo Safe, and all of these things are very important to wanton craft addicts like myself. But what it should also say on the tube is this:

Will clog after first use, rendering the tube unusable,
and the consumer pissed off and $4 poorer!

And then it should also have a picture of how the tube will look after you’ve spent half an hour trying to unclog it, causing it to become all wrinkly and misshapen, and so cracked at the sides that the glue begins to ooze out of it all over your hands and your craft project, so that you have to wrap it with masking tape to get it to stop.

And don’tcha find it funny how the top of the tube says, Amazing?! Yeah, it’s amazing, all right. Amazing that I spent $4 on it. Amazing that it clogged after the first use. Amazing that I actually devoted a half an hour of my life trying to get it unclogged. Amazing that wrapping it with lightweight masking tape actually stopped this industrial strength, cancer-causing-to-Californians adhesive from oozing completely out of the tube and creating a sticky puddle on my work space. And equally amazing that I just spent another half an hour of my life creating this blog post about it.

Yep. That’s pretty amazing.

As someone who grew up when the Rubik’s Cube craze was at its peak, I can appreciate the humor in this week’s Wordless Wednesday photo. Admit it, you giggled, just a little. But if you didn’t, then perhaps this classic web wonder might do the trick…

Are you laughing now?

Enjoy your Hump Day!

So it’s Friday, and you know what that means for the Hubs and me: Date Night (aka dinner and the grocery store). It’s a nearly 26 year ritual.

{We’re nothing if not predictable consistent.}

The restaurant choices around town are not that exciting, which is proven by the fact that most of our residents consider the local Applebee’s to be fine dining. Ahem. So when we want something different, we usually hit the Asian Buffet. How can you lose with all you can eat Fried Rice, Tacos, and Crab Legs, all in one place?! Now that is exciting! But hey, it doesn’t stop there. Nosiree. We had all sorts of excitement this evening at the Asian Buffet.

First up, and never a surprise at any restaurant in this town, it was COLD in there.  Why are restaurants always so damn cold? In the winter, I literally have to eat with my coat on for the entire meal. And this time of year, I simply want to eat with my coat on for the entire meal. What gives anyway? Doesn’t this defeat the purpose of serving supposedly hot food to customers? It ain’t gonna stay hot for long when it feels like it’s 60 degrees in there, people! And if their plan is that making me cold will somehow make me want to spend more money, well, their plan fails miserably on every single dining excursion. Being cold makes me want to leave, and nothing more. So, note to restaurant owners: turn the A/C down, folks, and with the money you save, maybe you can finally afford some real Sweet-n-Low, instead of that pathetic pink impostor you think people don’t notice is a crappy cheap substitute for the real deal.

Next, we were unfortunate enough to be seated right behind a family with one of “those” children. You know the ones I mean, right? The ones who are constantly standing up in the booth, turned around to look at you, and making all sorts of noise. But we can’t really blame the munchkin-sized terrorists children for their behavior, now can we? When they’re bouncing up and down in the booth, dropping food over the edge, or repeatedly asking, “what is her name, what is her name, what is her name?” it’s not really their fault, is it?

I’m thinking, I’m thinking…

OK, no, it’s the parents’ fault. Because they are the ones in charge of their child’s behavior, no? So what does this far-cry-from-mother-of-the-year-parent do?  She tells the kid in some sickly, sugary sweet tone, “Kyle, sit down…time to turn around and sit down.” She must have said that 4 times in under 5 minutes, with the same conviction I’d use if I was trying to get my grandson to eat some broccoli (no really, honey, it’s good, try it, you’ll love it!). And I guarantee you what the child actually heard is, “Kyle, you can sit down if you want, but I’m not gonna do anything if you don’t, because I really don’t care, so please continue to harass the couple behind you while I finish my egg roll.”

WTH?

I’m just gonna say it, and you can lambaste me if you want to: Some people should NOT procreate. Send in the flaming arrows. Go ahead. I’m ready.

OK, and I also need to talk about the wait staff at the Asian Buffet. I seriously think they have Ninja training or something, because they move in so swiftly, from seemingly out of nowhere, and then they are gone just as quickly. No sooner have you eaten the last crumb of food from your plate than they are sweeping in to take said dirty plate away. Tonight, the Hubs had just put his last bite of food in his mouth and his fork was still in hand and in a downward motion, when our waitress swooped in and grabbed the plate just as the fork touched down. And then she was out of sight. Ninja skills. Seriously.

Finally, after enduring the cold, and the noisy display of bad parenting seated behind us, we finished our meal and awaited our parting gifts: the fortune cookies. I mean really, who doesn’t love fortune cookies? OK well, we don’t, but we do love opening our fortunes. When the ninja waitress returned with our cookies, there was just one slight problem though. We each got a fortune cookie package, but one looked like this:

For real…it was totally empty! I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking that is some sort of karmic message or something. Hmmm, so either our future is empty…or maybe it’s just our bank account. We don’t exactly need Confucius to tell us that, now do we?

The Hubs did get a replacement fortune cookie, and his fortune was (as is often the case, in my experience) not a fortune at all. I mean, isn’t it supposed to tell you something about the future?  But they never really seem to do that. His fortune was just a blatant rip off of the Golden Rule…do unto others, etc etc. That is not a fortune, if you ask me. That’s just common sense. And a lesson learned…from good parenting.

But anyhoots…I got a fortune too. And at least mine was funny.

(Click to Enlarge)

You are the crispy noodle in the vegetarian salad of life.

And guess what? I totally agree. I don’t wanna toot my own horn or anything, but I  AM the crispy noodle in the vegetarian salad of life.

(And I’m Tinalicious too.) *wink*

Take care all, and Happy Mother’s Day to all the other crispy noodles in the world.

I was watching my grandson, Dylan the other day. He’s 6-1/2, BTW and one of the lights of my life. He’s in Kindergarten, and he’s learning to read. Now first of all, go back and read that last sentence: He’s in Kindergarten, and he’s learning how to read. The fact that this little guy, whose diapers I was changing just yesterday (or so it seems…and wasn’t I just changing his mother’s diapers just yesterday too? How the hell old AM I?!), is learning to read just boggles the mind.

When I was in Kindergarten, I was learning how to tie my shoes,  say “please” and “thank you,” and play nicely with others,  all skills I still use today, mind you. But seriously, my report card did not say anything about reading. Reading??? WTH?! Moving on…

I was helping Dylan with his homework, something I do each week, since Grandma apparently has more patience than Mommy does. No biggie though, because I love to spend time with my not-so-little-anymore grandson.  Anyhoots…Dylan has started to read a short “book” each week (you know, the photocopied-and-folded-in-half-and-then-stapled variety of book), and then he has to write a sentence about it. OK, for real. Hold the phone. He has to read a book AND write a sentence? This is hardcore for Kindergarten, don’t you think?  Sheesh.

Part of Dylan’s process of reading is sounding out letters (you gotta love Phonics, don’tcha?!). So he does this a lot whenever he sees words he does not know. He was doing it while reading his little book and doing a great job.  Quite impressive what a Kindergarten kiddo can do these days. ..compared to, you know, the Old Days.

So, once we were finished with his book and sentence, we took a TV break , natch. And there are always words on TV, especially on commercials. Dylan can’t always read them because they often disappear before he finishes sounding them out. But on this day, he managed to see the word,  GLASSES And naturally, he begins to sound it out.

Ggg–Lll

He paused because the word disappeared when the commercial went away. Then he asked me, “how do you spell glasses, Grandma?”

I told him, G-L-A-S-S-E-S.  So he started sounding it out again. I’d tell him the letter, and he would sound it out.

Ggg–Lll–Aaaah

He was doing great…

Ggg–Lll–ASSES….GLASSES!

“Is that right, grandma? Ggg and Llll and ASSES?”

“Yes, honey,” I replied. “Ggg and Lll and ASSES sure does spell GLASSES.”

Help grandson read a book? Check.

Help grandson write  a sentence? Check.

Help grandson say ASSES, (in GLASSES, of course). Uh, Check.

I think my work here is done.

Now before you go and get your undies in a bunch, let me assure you that you should not take my post title literally. I’m only out to entertain, not to offend. ;o) So let us begin…

I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business (literally, I do have online businesses that I must mind on a daily basis), when whom should appear in my doorway? OK, yes, there’s only one other person that lives in this house, so logic alone would dictate that it was most likely the Hubs. He was smiling, and leaning up against the door frame in his usual I’m-just-here-to-make-my-presence-known sort of way.

We chit-chatted for a moment, in our typical old married couple  brand of shorthand.  No need for small talk, right?

He said: Hey

I said: What?

(Let’s face it: after 25 years of marriage, we can cut through most of the B.S. that couples of a younger generation so aptly call “conversation.”  As if.)

So then he says:  Guess what I did today?

Again, my succinct and ever so appropriate reply: What?

And then he holds up his hand, which clearly is adorned with a freshly adhered band-aid, and wiggles his fingers. So I’m thinking, he must have gotten a splinter, or perhaps cut himself on something, or any other number of infinite possibilities when you’re talking about a man who does plumbing and construction for a living.

But he says: I drilled a screw….into…my….finger.

Now as I’m picking my lower lip up off the floor, the Hubs proceeds to tell me that he not only drilled a screw…into his finger…but he drove it almost all the way in. And at this point, thinking that this story could certainly get no worse  and in no way more disgusting (that was, as always, a lapse in my own judgment—it can always get worse!), well…

He says: It was really hard to get out too; I had to…unscrew it…all the way out!

Now he is standing there, smiling, through this entire narrative, people…calm as a cucumber and seemingly pleased as punch. While I, on the other hand, have covered my mouth with my hand, developed a severe case of the heebie jeebies, and seriously considered emptying the contents of my quivering stomach into the nearest trash receptacle!

It’s the visual that kills me…the one I get in my head as he tells me the story, the one where I see him unscrewing a screw from the depth of his bleeding finger. It’s G-R-O-S-S!

And that’s the point. That’s why he’s smiling. For the effect that the story has on me.  Just picture him: he has the screw in his hand. He’s holding it up, and smiling at me. It just gives a whole new meaning to the phrase…

Wanna Screw?

And just as a final aside, after I typed that phrase, I decided to click on my Ask Edward widget while that question was still in my head (seemed appropriate at the time). Know what his reply was?

Keep dreaming. Not if I live a hundred thousand years.

Seriously, Edward. You know how to hurt a gal. Maybe it’s time I switched to Team Jacob.

It is my pleasure to inform you that your information was reviewed and accepted for inclusion in the 2009 edition. Strathmore’s Who’s Who each year recognizes and selects key executives, professionals, and organizations in all disciplines and industries for outstanding business and professional achievements. Those who have reached a distinguished level of success in their chosen profession share this recognition.

OK, so, not only am I “distinguished,” but I also have “outstanding business and professional achievements.” That’s so interesting! I didn’t know that having a net income of $0 from my business was considered an outstanding business achievement! Holy heck, I’m doing better than I thought!

What’s next? Will Forbes be calling me for the next Fortune 500?!  And surely Oprah will want an interview to extol the merits of my highly tuned business acumen.  Perhaps even The Donald will be calling, wanting some insight from a clearly accomplished business professional.  Like, for real.

That letter from Strathmore made my day. Perhaps I should frame it and hang it on the wall alongside my other nonexistent awards and accolades, so that I can give my name the spotlight it deserves. But wait…what’s this? My name is nowhere on this letter. It’s not addressed to me at all. It says…Dear…Company Owner. Apparently, I’m so distinguished and accomplished that they can’t even address me by name?!

WTH?

What a racket.  I wish I had a dollar for every time I got one of these letters. (Seriously, that would add up to a LOT of money by now!) Yeah, they’re gonna put my name in a book alright. But the only way I’ll see it myself is to buy the damned book, which is, of course, the whole point of the letter.

Do people really fall for this? If so, I am definitely in the wrong business. And let’s not overlook the fact that this letter came…by fax, just as all news of professional accomplishment and achievement should come.

Not.

Gotta give props to the folks at Strathmore though. If they’re making money in this economy with this gimmick, more power to ‘em.  It’s the American way.

The Hubs and I recently switched cell phone carriers. We had one phone left under contract with our old carrier, so we decided to just let the contract run out, rather than pay the $250 cancellation fee–since we’d save a lot of money that way.

Our contract expired on the 7th, so I called the carrier and told them I want to cancel and close the account. No problem, right? Should be easy enough. Well, you know, idiots thrive in this world, and cell phone carriers are no exception. They tell me that they will close my account…at the end of my billing cycle date, which is the 22nd. So basically, I have to keep my account, for a phone I haven’t used in about three months, for another 2 weeks. OK. Fine, I tell them. And I figured we were done. But,  no.

First they want to share with me all the great offers I should take advantage of, now that my phone is paid off. I should get the pay-as-you-go plan, so that I can use the phone as a back up, if I need to. Or I should get a new monthly calling package and just start fresh with them. Well, um, “I already have a phone with another carrier,” I say. I don’t want to pay to have a “back up” phone,  nor do I wish to start over with them, thank you very much.  (Do they even live in the same economy that I do?!) So fine, they say that I’ll get my final bill soon after my regular billing cycle ends.

So yesterday I get the bill via email. And how much is it for? .01. That’s right, ONE CENT! And this is where I’m thinking, are you freaking kidding me? They are sending me a bill for a penny? WTH? Well, after much consideration, I’ve decided I have 3 options.

1. Print out the payment page, tape a penny to it, and mail them the bill with a carefully worded letter about the inanity of sending someone a bill for one cent. But you know, that would cost me .44 cents, not to mention I’d have to print out the bill and waste an envelope. This economy has taught me to be quite cheap frugal, if nothing else, so this is a less than ideal choice.

2. Ignore the bill all together, and wait to see how long it takes them to turn me over to collections FOR ONE CENT! You know they’d do it, right? They sooo would! This is America, after all, land of the free-for-alls and home of the seedy bill collectors. This is actually a plausible option though, if you think about it. When you send someone to collections, the collections agency gets at least half the money you are due, so basically the cell phone carrier would end up with about half of a cent. I’d love that! But not at the expense of my credit report, I don’t think.  So probably not worth it.

3. Use my online banking to send them a payment of  .02 cents. And why  .02 cents? Because if I send them .02 cents, they will have to refund me the overpayment, which would be .01 cent.  And since the cost of postage is .44 cents, they will actually lose money by sending me a refund check.  I’ll get my .01 cent overpayment back, but they will have just spent .44 cents to send it to me.

So yeah, I’m gonna go with option 3. They’ll get their one cent, but it’s gonna cost them to get it.  Just a little vindication for all the dropped calls, out-of-service times, and lack of carryover minutes we endured over the course of the last 4 years!

Sometimes, revenge is truly sweet.

]]> http://www.tinalicious.com/2009/10/to-pay-or-not-to-pay/feed/ 1 http://www.tinalicious.com/2009/07/barnes-and-noble-blackout/ http://www.tinalicious.com/2009/07/barnes-and-noble-blackout/#comments Sun, 12 Jul 2009 17:00:39 +0000 Tinalicious http://www.tinalicious.com/?p=269 So the Hubs and I went to Fort Wayne yesterday. I wanted to go through Hobby Lobby for some craft supplies and figured we’d eat in town while we were there. FW is an hour away, so we tend to make the most of it while we’re there.

After Hobby Lobby and a nice meal at Olive Garden, we were heading past the mall to head home when I spied Barnes and Noble. Now I’ve only ever been to B&N online; I honestly didn’t know they even had “real” stores. This one had to be fairly new because I know it wasn’t always there at the mall. I’m not into mall hopping anyway…just not my thing. But since we were right there and in no hurry to get home, I asked the Hubs to pull in so we could browse.

Now I don’t know about you, but I love book stores, and I avoid them most of the time for that very reason. I could easily spend hundreds of dollars in there in very short order. It’s kind of like how guys are in hardware stores or anyplace that carries tools. If I see some I want, I have to buy them. I just love books! But since I seldom actually have the hundreds of dollars to spend in there (and on this day it was certainly no different), I just don’t go in book stores too often. But since I’d never been into an actual B&N, I figured this would at least be worth the effort.

After scouring the parking lot for a parking space–which is never an easy task at that mall so it’s something I do not attempt too often–and then squeezing our car into one of the undersized mall parking spaces, we headed to the doors of B&N. We got to the entryway, which had several people kind of milling about in it, and noticed it looked kind of dark in the store. As we tried to make our way past the people, a store employee stopped to inform us:

“I’m sorry, but we’ve had a power outage and we are not letting customers inside the store. We do, however, have staff members on hand who will gladly browse for books for you and…”

OK, I stopped her right there. While in my mind I’m thinking nothing more than WTH?!, I just shrugged her off, said “no thanks” and headed back out the door from whence I entered.

I mean, are they kidding me? They are going to browse for books for me? How does that work exactly? Were they gonna send an employee into the dark belly of the store, have her randomly grab books, hold them up and holler back at me with, “How about this one?” And then I would, in turn, yell back, “Maybe, could you read me a couple of pages to see if I like it?” Um, yeah, I don’t think so.

Book shopping, except for the occasions when you’re only in a book store to buy one specific book, is a very personal experience. It’s not something someone else can do for you, and I’d think B&N staff would kind of know this. Why else do book stores have chairs and coffee shops in them? Perhaps because people are going to spend a bit of time in there…reading?

Apparently, the store had been without power since a thunderstorm passed through FW earlier that morning. And from what I could gather from other folks who had been talking to the B&N employees before our arrival, the employees had been standing at the doors all day telling every customer who showed up the same things they told us. We heard another customer say, “that’s a long time to be standing in the doorway.” Uh, ya think?

So my question is this, Barnes & Noble: why on earth didn’t you just put a sign on the front door that explained about the power outage, thereby preventing people from going through the hassle of trying to find an undersized parking space in a crowded mall parking lot and making the trek from their car to your front door, only to find out that they could not even go inside?!

Hmm. Maybe they were just afraid that people wouldn’t want to read their sign…because, um, you know, people that go to book stores…don’t like to read.

“Would you like some silverware?”

My husband and I stared blankly at each other and then glanced down at the table, sans silverware, and simply replied, “Uh, yeah.”

WTH?!

Naturally, the evil voice in my head was saying, “No, no silverware, I think I’ll just stick my face in the bowl and suck up as much lettuce and tomatoes as I possibly can, and just hope that I don’t inhale a crouton in the process. Yes, I want some bleeping silverware…twit!”

Hmph.

The Hubs and I went out to eat this evening, and we had our grandson Dylan along. It started off just like any other Family Friday at Friendly’s (a local eatery). You know, exchanging unwitty banter about our day, deliberating over the menu that we should have memorized after eating there at least 75 times, and listening to our grandson sing the lyrics of his favorite new song, “I’m squishing up my baby bumble bee,” the perfect song to accompany any meal. Food arrives, and we begin to eat. Dylan is having his usual, popcorn chicken. I’m having grilled chicken. And the Hubs, the oddball, is having Fish N Chips (at least it wasn’t Smelt this time). Nothing too out of the ordinary at this point. Chew and chat, chew and chat…ask Dylan a third time to stop singing that song until we’re done eating.

Then, a little more than half way through the meal, the Hubs somehow manages to drop an entire piece of his heavily fried fish onto the floor. And, being the considerate guy that he is, naturally he picks up the fish. After all, he doesn’t want someone to step on it, so he does the right thing and picks it up. And then, with little or no thought at all, he put the tainted fish off to the side of his plate…far away from the remaining fish and fries, so that he’ll remember why it’s there…and not…eat it. Great, smart move, my man. I would have put it on the table myself, but hey, whatever works for him. So we continue on to finish diner, chew and chat, chew and chat, and I listen to Dylan talk about how great ranch dressing is on french fries.

And then it happened. I turned back to the Hubs and glanced down at his plate. The tainted fish…has disappeared. WTH? It was just there a second ago–I saw it with my own eyes! But after a cursory look around the table, that freaking fish is nowhere to be found. Where the heck is it?

Yes folks, he…ate…it. {insert gagging noise here}

“OMG,” I half screamed. “You did NOT just eat that fish, did you?” And he pauses, glances at the plate, and kind of shrugs, as I wait for the look of horror on my own face to be mirrored on his. But it never happens. He’s slightly baffled by his obvious, um, mistake, but there’s no evidence of disgust at all, after having eaten something to which the 5-second rule can in no way apply, considering we’re in a public place–with a carpeted floor no less! All he can manage is, “I guess I did.” Allrighty then.

Dinner for 3 at Friendly’s: $34.95

Tip for the waitress: $5.00

Opportunity to tell the Hubs not to kiss me for a week, until I’m relatively sure that the Fish N Chips Incident isn’t going to come up to haunt us: priceless.