WTF Wednesday Meets Murphys Law

I never really thought I'd be cross-categorizing my posts, but hey, that's just the kind of gal I am. And while this blog post didn't really occur to me when I was crying--yes, CRYING--over a broken cutting board today, it will at least serve as a reminder that Murphy's Law can never be escaped. 

Even on WTF Wednesday.

So I was in the kitchen, putting the final touches on dinner: rice, green beans, and pork roast. It smelled yummy. And I was really hungry. So I can only assume that it was my always-overactive appetite and food-fueled excitement that led to the catastrophe at hand.

I lifted the lid off of my cast iron pot that contained said pork roast. 

I moved my hand to the right of the stove, toward the cutting board that always sits on the counter there, with the lid in hand--so that I could put the lid on the cutting board. It was hot, after all, and I needed to protect the counter.

Well apparently that was the precise moment that Mr. Murphy decided rear his ugly head just long enough to make me to drop the cast iron lid...breaking my cutting board.

So what's the big deal, you ask? It's only a cutting board, right?

Um, No. A thousand emphatic and pathetically tear-covered NO's!

This was my only cutting board--and it was a cutting board I've had for over 27 years. It was made by Corning--an all white rectangle of kitchen counter-protecting perfection. It used to look like this:

Until I dropped that stupid cast iron lid onto it and silently screamed in what seemed like slow motion...WTF?!

I can't even show you the AFTER photo--it's too horrific to share. It was just lying there, shattered into shards of white Corning shrapnel...as Mr. Murphy sat in the corner and laughed his evil and deeply disturbed ass off. 

Oh yes, I cried. And I'm not ashamed. That cutting board has a history. They don't even make those anymore! Which of course is why I'm bidding on another one on Ebay as I type this! I loved that cutting board. It was perfect, and never scratched or anything. Even my mom loved it--she commented on it often when she would visit me. And on more than one occasion she mentioned wishing she had one.

Which reminds me: last year the Hubs and I went to a garage sale. We've been to a lot of garage sales over the years, and in all these years I never, ever, not even once, saw another of these Corning cutting boards at one. I always figured that if I did, I'd get it and send it to my mom. But I never saw one. Until. Last. Year. I actually cried at that garage sale too--simply because my mom passed away in the year prior, so I had no need to find one anymore. And I just couldn't understand why I would finally, after all of these years, find another Corning cutting board AFTER my my mom passed away. Something tells me that not-so-dear old Murphy had something to do with that too. Sick bastard.

Anyway, my aged-to-perfection, pristine white Corning cutting board is now dead and awaiting a proper burial [also known as trash pick-up day]. But if I'm lucky, I'll have a brand new, old Corning cutting board in my position again soon, with a little help from Ebay and company. The new one probably won't be white though. I couldn't find an all white one, but I did find one that has a little bird motif on it. It looks like this:

And why that one, you might ask? Because that little motif is the exact motif that my mom's very first set of Corning Ware had. So whenever I use it, it will make me think of her...instead of this awful WTF Wednesday, brought to my kitchen courtesy of Murphy's Law.

Take that, Mr. Murphy.

Murphy's Law Goes to the Movies

Well guess who decided to go to the movies with the Hubs and me over the weekend? As if it's difficult to figure out, considering the aptly named title of this post. Yep, it was my psychotic friend, Mr. Murphy, who clearly had nothing better to do.

Now I should have known what the weekend might have in store for me, after waking up on Friday morning completely nauseated, and yet heroically trying to convince myself that I was not going to throw up because I had to baby-sit and I had to get groceries that night and a million other mom-like-things to do. [And yes, I realize that is one seriously pathetic run-on sentence but I'm too
lazyhyper-focused on this blog post to fix it.] But within 5 minutes of standing upright I knew that whatever was down was going to be coming back up in relatively short order. So, I dashed to the closest vomit receptacle, cleverly disguised as a toilet, and took care of business.  And being that I'm never one to do things half way, I took care of business a second time.

Needless to say, all my plans for Friday were flushed down the vomit receptacle as well, and I spent all day in bed. And I do mean, ALL DAY. I slept for a total of 10 hours between 6am and 4pm, and then fell back to sleep at 7:30pm.  I don't appreciate the stomach flu, Mr. Murphy. Just sayin.

After enduring Murphy's melee on Friday, I was surprised to feel relatively good on Saturday when I got up. So I decided I was going to see Red Riding Hood, which the Hubs had already promised to take me to see. After surviving that stomach bug, I was sure that Mr. Murphy would leave me alone.  Reasonable expectation, one would think.

But it didn't take too long to realize I wasn't getting off that easy. The Hubs and I decided we'd go potty before the movie started, because who wants to do the ass shimmy and shake to get out of a row of movie theater seats in the middle of a movie to go to the bathroom? Let's face it, whether you are on the giving or receiving end of the ass shimmy and shake, it ain't fun. So the Hubs went his way and I went mine and I took care of business.

But as I reached up to the dispenser so that I could finish my business, the horror of realization hit me.

There's no toilet paper.

And there was no one on either side of me in the bathroom to come to my rescue with a few random squares of toilet paper either. So I had to do a different kind of ass shimmy and shake in a pathetic attempt to finish my business, sans tissue. Clearly, Mr. Murphy likes to follow people to movie theater bathrooms too. All I can say is it's a damn good thing it was only a number one situation, if you know what I mean.

I made my way back to the Hubs, who'd gotten our snacks, and we grabbed our seats in the theater. I shared my toilet paper terror with the Hubs and he just kind of rolled his eyes. He clearly has no idea how lucky he is that he can pee standing up. I mean, seriously, if they can't appreciate that gift, they don't even deserve to have it.

But anyhoots, the previews got rolling so I settled in to enjoy the flick and to start eating my salty soft pretzel, my favorite movie theater snack. And there it was again. Murphy's Law. Right inside my "soft" pretzel, which wasn't soft at all. It was actually almost hard. Who the hell wants a hard soft pretzel, I ask you?! Really, Murphy. Really? The stomach bug and the missing T.P. weren't enough? You had to sabotage my salty soft pretzel too? Is there no end to your sadistic madness? Sigh.

So in case you've lost count, that's Murphy--3, Tina--0.

On the plus side, Red Riding Hood was pretty darn good. If that movie had sucked, Mr. Murphy would now be on my hit list. Or at least, as my Nana used to say, my shit list.

Sticky Note Saturday July 31

It's been an interesting week, summed up nicely in a Sticky Note Saturday ode to Murphy's Law, losers who enjoy cutting people off in traffic, and waiters who are just a bit lacking in the service department.

Enjoy your Saturday, y'all.

Random Rantics and Murphy's Law

Just some things I feel like ranting about...things you can probably attribute to Murphy's Law, or something equally as sinister.

Why is it that as soon as you finish spending over an hour shoveling your sidewalks, driveway and patio areas, it starts snowing again...and even harder than it did before? And you know darn well that if you had waited to do the shoveling, it wouldn't have snowed again at all. What is that about?

I hate washing my car because doing it myself is a giant pain (so I don't) and going through the car wash is so, you know, strenuous...or at least expensive. So I don't do it often. But when I do, you can bet your bottom dollar--or mine, more like--that it will rain within a half an hour. There are 365 days in a year, and I probably get my car washed on 3 of those days. You'd think that the odds would be a little bit more in my favor. Come on, Mother Nature, show some pity!

Why can I go the whole day sometimes without the phone ringing, but then as soon as I sit down to eat dinner, that damn phone will ring. And who is it? A telemarketer, of course. You know what, Mr. Too-Lame-To-Get-A-Real-Job-So-You-Harass-Folks-On-The-Phone-Instead? Interrupting my dinner, which I have so carefully and almost lovingly prepared for the Hubs and myself, and pissing me off in the process, is not really the best way to get a potential commission.  Here's an idea: how's about you give me your phone number, and I'll call you back when you're at home eating? Better yet, how about I wait until you are nestled in your comfy bed, sleeping off the remnants of the crappy karma that your job generates on a daily basis, and then I call you, eh? A-hole.

How come people have to put music players on their websites? Do they really think I enjoy surfing, landing on their site, and then having the c-r-a-p scared out of me by their music as it comes blaring out of my speakers? Just because they like the music, does not mean that everyone else will.  And I personally do not like the sticky goo that now covers my monitor, caused by the too-numerous-to-count times that I have been jerked out of my seat at loud website music, resulting in the uncontrollable projectile spitting out of my  favorite beverage. {OK, there's not really goo on my monitor, but there could be. And my point is still valid regardless. } Here's a tip to all the annoying website music lovers out there. You can listen to music without making us listen to music. You don't have to hijack our speakers and bombard us with your favorite ditties (did I just say, ditties?!).  Just turn on your stereo or ipod, or flop a CD into your computer.  Turn it up. Go crazy. But leave the rest of us to listen to our own music, if and when we choose to. Our PC monitors  will thank you.

And one more for the road...not only does this one baffle me, it seriously makes me question the future of humanity. (All right, I might be exaggerating, just a little.) One of my husband's business bills came the other day; it's for a credit card on which he purchases materials for customer jobs. Nothing amiss, just a typical bill, or so I thought...until a few days later, another something arrived in the mail from that company. Inside were the coupons that were mistakenly left out of the invoice mailing, along with a letter explaining that they'd apparently neglected to include their regular coupons with their monthly invoice.  So let me see if I have got this straight. They generated and printed a letter, stuck it in an envelope, along with the missing coupons, and affixed postage and sent it on to us with their sincerest apologizes for this incredible oversight on their behalf.  Apparently the crappy economy isn't affecting those idiots at all. How much did it cost, I wonder, for them to send out this missing coupon mailing to who knows how many people? Guess I see now where our credit card interest is going. Sheesh.

Here's to you, Murphy, or your evil twin, as the case may be.

When Murphy's Law Goes on Vacation with You

So the Hubs and I celebrated our 25th anniversary this past weekend, with a weekend getaway to Lake Michigan. Sounds kind of romantic, eh? Well, lemme tell ya, when Murphy's Law goes on vacation with you, all chances of romance are completely shot to hell! And it went a little something like this...

Got a later start than the Hubs would have liked. I was up late the night before (because I can NEVER sleep, and he knows this!), so I didn't get up until 10:30. I had told him I'd planned to leave sometime between 10am-Noon. Ahem, it was 11:54 when we hit the road, so was I wrong?! Anyhoots, he was miffed that we were not on the road at the crack of dawn. (Murphy is about to rear its ugly head.)

Headed over to the gas station to gas up the rig, something I thought had already been done. But nope, we were on a quarter of a tank with a 227 mile Mapquest journey ahead of us. That, to me, says fillerup! So, before we could hit the highway, we did just that.

Then we started up to town toward the highway, and I asked the Hubs if he had checked my tire pressure. I had two tires that were getting low, and I had asked him a minimum of 3 times over the previous two weeks to please check my tire pressure before the trip. He had taken my car the night before we left to vacuum out the inside and get it looking as glorious as a Pontiac Grand Prix can possibly look; so one would think he would have A) checked the tire pressure, and B) filled up the car with gas! But since that didn't happen, and since I was not going to travel that far with low tire pressure, I made him stop at another gas station to check the pressure. He was beyond unhappy about that, and we had a little spat about it...yes, about tire pressure! Apparently, the lack of tire pressure in the tires was my fault, because I didn't get out of bed until 10:30am! Yes, I can see the logic there, for sure.

We traveled for the first 45 minutes in absolute silence. That's always fun. Heaven forbid you are the first one to speak after a tiff, because that would make you look guilty or something. But since I was playing my usual role as navigator, I had to speak to direct our way. At any rate, we were fine at that point, up until we got close to our destination of Muskegon, Michigan (romance capital of the world, to be sure). That's when we got lost, courtesy of Mr. Murphy, and Mapquest instructions that were not exactly accurate!

We arrived at our lovely, old Victorian bed and breakfast, after driving through some questionable neighborhoods in our search for the right road, which was situated right next to an old folks home, and some other facility that catered to "very special people." (I can only guess as to what kind of "special" they were talking about, and I figured we were better off not knowing.)

The B&B was beautiful and perfectly matched the description and photos on its website. We were greeted by the owner, Barb, and her adorably chubby Yorkie named Oscar. We were taken to our room, which was just as the website pictures had depicted it. And it was the largest room in the B&B. It was my 25th anniversary, after all, and I wanted the best room. Everything in the room was just as described, and perfect in every way, except for one thing: the air conditioning was not working. (Hello, Mr. Murphy!) We were on the second floor, people, and it was a very warm day--and the Hubs gets hot very easily when indoors (though he can work outside all day in 90+ heat and not complain), especially while sleeping. So the A/C wasn't exactly a minor issue. We were not pleased. The owner was very apologetic, though not quite sorry enough to offer us a discount on the room that I had fully paid for upon arrival!

We tried to put the A/C issue aside and headed out to explore Muskegon. I had researched the tourist attractions in the area so we'd be sure to have plenty to do, but my first stop when we are on a trip like that is always the same: The Lake! I grew up on the west coast, so I love the water. And whenever we go on vacation, I always want to be near water. So we headed to the beach that was only a mile or two away. We headed out onto the sand, in bare feet, of course, toward the jetty in the distance. Got half way out on the jetty and, Murphy's Law strikes again, it started to rain. Not just sprinkles, mind you, but the kind of rain that sent everyone that was on the beach racing toward their vehicles! So much for a leisurely walk on the beach.

While in the car, I checked a couple of tourist spots that we might want to check out, but we discovered that most tourist attractions in Muskegon were only open between Noon and 4pm. WTH? It was after 6pm, so we were S.O.L. at that point, so we headed back to the B&B. We were both getting hungry, so we wanted to figure out where we'd go for dinner.

After careful research between pamphlets and a quick websearch (I'm nothing if not practical: I did bring my laptop, after making sure that our B&B had wireless before I even booked the room!), we settled on our fine dining experience for the evening. 25 years of marriage certainly merits an expensive dinner, don'tcha know. So we changed clothes and made our way out the door, right into the pouring rain. Luckily for me, I always travel with an umbrella in the car, and had taken it to the room with me after the rain started on the beach. I just knew we'd need it again. Take that, Murphy!

The map of tourist spots provided to me by the B&B owner, which she claimed was "the best map," got us lost on the way to the restaurant. Between one way roads (I curse the man who thought up that gem), faded and illegible street signs, and streets that were not existent on "the best map," we ended up in a part of town that can only be described as SCARY! We were fortunate to spot two police cars (I'm sure they're no stranger to the neighborhood we were in), and they were kind enough to point us in the right direction. The street we were looking for turned out to be directly across from the parking lot we were in while speaking to the policemen, but since the letters on the street sign were almost completely faded, there was no way to read them in the dark. I'm sure the policemen thought it was kind of funny, but I was beyond stressed by this time, and was rather hoping for a police escort to the restaurant!

We finally arrived at the restaurant, and the events of the entire day just kind of hit me all at once in the car. The stress poured out of me, in the form of tears and sobs, which was beyond my control for at least 5 minutes. I was at my limit of the perfect 25th anniversary getaway by this time, so I just had to let it out. All the Hubs could do was wait it out. Poor guy. Things were bugging him too, but he handles stress far better and less girly than I do, to be sure.

The restaurant was a 5-star eatery, if I recall correctly, and it had the prices to match. Everything inside was very nice, and the food selection was so complex that you could tell this was not the neighborhood diner by any stretch of the imagination. Good thing I watch Top Chef, so I could figure out what some of the food choices were. I settled on ordering a steak and crab cake dinner, with potatoes gratin and asparagus. The Hubs ordered some sort of fish (we were by the water, after all). We enjoyed a wonderful salad and some tasty parmesan garlic rolls, and waited for our entrees to arrive. But naturally, Murphy had other plans, which became painfully obvious when the waitress came to tell me that they were out of not only my crab cakes, but also my potatoes gratin! I looked at my husband, whom I am sure knew what was coming before I did: TEARS! I struggled to hold back the flood gates, pretty much in vain, while the waitress stood and watched, dumbfounded. She must have thought I was crazy, crying over crabcakes?! OK, I was not crying about the freaking crab cakes, people. It was just one more crappy thing added to an already crappy Murphy kind of day! Sigh. I had to choose a substitution for my two missing meal items, which I did. And I ate less than half of my meal; sorry, but by this time I had completely lost my appetite. At least the waitress was nice enough to deduct 10% off our over $50 bill. And the chef even gave us a card good for a free dessert on our next visit, which we left in the lobby for someone else who has better than a snowball's chance in hell of ever returning to Muskegon, let alone the restaurant. But it was a nice gesture, nonetheless.

We went back to the B&B, relieved that the rain had managed to keep the room from getting super hot. But it was still muggy, which is never comfortable. We turned on the ceiling fan, and opened the French door (which led to the private balcony) and the room's two windows. Barb had said we'd get a nice breeze that way, and we did. That is, until the rain started puddling up on the sills, and looking to head with Murphy to the new wood floors. So we had to close the windows. We showered, and watched a bit of TV, and then discovered that Murphy had jumped into bed with us, in the form of a very squeaky mattress. This, of course, precluded doing anything but sleeping in that 25th anniversary bed, since there were guests across the hall and one one side of us, and I sure didn't want to be their late night entertainment. So we went to sleep.

The next day, knowing that I'd had my fill of Muskegon, we hit the only few important tourist sites I had wanted to see, along with a wonderful coffee shop that managed to restore my faith in humanity. Yes, coffee can actually do that for me these days. And we made the decision to leave the non-refundable two-night stay at the B&B, and head south to Michigan City, Indiana and its Blue Chip Casino. It was reasonable to think that perhaps we could elude Murphy, who would be left at Michigan's border, no? He certainly couldn't follow us all the way to Indiana, right?

Surprisingly, Murphy did stay behind in Michigan. We spent the day and night just gambling and eating good food. I won nothing on the slots, which of course is all I'm brave enough to play. But the Hubs loves the Roulette wheel, so he got comfy there alongside Lady Luck, and managed to win back all but $200 of what we'd spent out of pocket on the trip. I'll just point out that the hotel and the B&B went on the credit card, and he didn't win enough to cover all of that--lordy, that would have been too sweet! But between meals and gas and coffee and souvenirs...and gambling, we had spent quite a lot of cash. And it was nice that he could win back most of that.

25th anniversaries are supposed to be special, and I can't say that ours really was. But it was memorable, to be sure. And if nothing else, I can at least say that I've been lucky enough in love to make up for the crap that is Murphy's law that went with us on our vacation! I have the best husband in the world, and he actually loves me after 25 years, one unruly adult child, debt, jobs given up, broken dreams, gray hairs, tantrums, a "little" extra weight in my midsection, and everything else that makes me slightly challenging to love on occasion.

Here's to the next 25, baby!