Letter (of thanks and explanation) to the car insurance rep

Edited to change James' location. This morning while blow drying my hair I realized that I made a mistake. James is from Arizona and I should have remembered that considering we briefly talked about Lake Havasu and Phoenix and his proximity to both. Why it came to me at that moment I have no clue. At least I didn't recall my error while I was on the toilet because how embarrassing would that have been? Although I have gotten some good ideas while seated there. Anyway, the supervisor on call who I spoke with to praise James and his great service (And who's name I sadly don't remember) was from the Midwest. 



Dear James, Otherwise Known As, The Poor, Unfortunate Insurance Sales Rep Who Took My Call When I Was Purchasing A New Vehicle,


Let me start by saying that I am not a raving lunatic. I know I mentioned that during the course of our conversation but I just wanted to reaffirm that and get it out of the way.

Thank you for all of your help, your patience and courteousness. And for putting up with my unusual level of chattiness. When I'm nervous or stressed out I tend to talk a lot and let's face it buying a new car can be a bit stressful. But you handled my endless ranting so well and even humored me as I asked you several many questions.

In addition to my Chatty Cathy persona under duress, I also sometimes slip back into reporter mode and ask a lot of questions. I might say it's an old occupational hazard, but really I'm just deflecting my nervousness. That and I'm just plain nosy.

I hope you made some progress working on your car. It was certainly a nice weekend for it, even though you were in the Midwest somewhere especially with you being next door in Arizona. Your work hours are brutal but after doing them for the past 7 months you must be used to it. I'm a self-confessed night owl and even I think working the 5pm-midnight shift is icky.

Anyway, I appreciate how quickly you were able to get my paperwork together and faxed over to the dealership, despite how distracting our phone conversation was. Also, I'm glad to have brightened your night and made you laugh and probably given you something to gossip around the  water-cooler about. I had this one lady call to switch her policy to a new car and boy! did she talk my ear off. She was funny and just this side of crazy.

Now that I think about it, I could have had a couple of drinks to take the edge off but even here in permissive Las Vegas, it's considered inappropriate to buy a new car while intoxicated. Go figure. Still, the phone conversation would have been far more amusing.The ride home, not so much.

Thanks again!

Sincerely,

Sandy, the Jabber Jaw

Writer's blah

You know how some writers sit at their computer or notebook and the words don't come? They read everything and anything and surf the Internet for inspiration while quietly glomming down pizza slices in an effort to break through their writer's block but to no avail. Yeah, that's not me.

I've been suffering from Writer's Blah. I have half written posts and pages in a notepad filled with blog topics but every time I attempted to post something I felt so meh and gave up. It's like when you're wearing your shabbiest undies and least favorite t-shirt and those jeans you spilled nail polish on because you haven't done laundry in a long-ass time so instead you plop down on the couch and play Candy Crush. Because doing laundry is so ugh.

Since I've been absent a lot has happened. My car has been given a bleak prognosis. Sleepy Hollow ended its season, which now leaves Monday nights open and boring. And Spock died. Christ, no wonder I've been laying low around here. No one wants to read depressive schlock.

On that note let's switch gears and talk about some happy, superficial, funny stuff.  Last week while driving around I came upon some cars with really cool bumper/window stickers. I followed one such car and snapped a quick pic with my phone. It's okay, we were both stopped at a traffic light.

We need 1.21 gigawatts and the flux capacitor!

I also saw a sticker on the back of another car that said: Fight the dead, Fear the living. Ya know, there's some truth to that one. Unfortunately I couldn't get a pic because the traffic lights and other drivers wouldn't cooperate.

Here's hoping that March is a better month filled with more snarky posts and less snow for those back East. And Shamrock Shakes for everyone!

How about those resolutions?

So how much fun was that blog hop? It was like a great big blog playdate (a blogdate?). I'm still making my way down the list of blogs to pop in and say 'ello! The Fearless Scribe got some new followers and many people visited. Thank you all, it means so much. *sniff*  I'll refrain from launching into my Academy Award winning speech where I'm cut off by the music as I tearfully thank my favorite high school teacher for her encouragement and for believing in me and my writing. 

In other news, it's February and typically at this point most people have abandoned their New Year's Resolutions. I made no such resolutions so I'm doing better than most. For example, I haven't made an effort to get in better shape but since I didn't make a resolution proclaiming better fitness in the New Year I'm not disappointing myself. See? Why put such pressure on myself?

Instead I've been doing little beneficial things for my health. Like, I recently gave up soda, specifically Pepsi, and oddly enough I don't miss it. Pretty shocking considering I was a die-hard cola drinker. These days I drink ice tea. Of course I'm probably negating the health benefits because the tea is unsweetened and I add my own sugar, but I'd like to think I'm doing something good for myself. If I'm not, don't tell me, let me live in my sugary tea pretend world.

Also, I've been going to bed earlier than I used to. I actually started doing this at the end of last year and I've been pretty good at continuing it. This doesn't mean I'm in bed and asleep at some responsible time like 10 pm but I'd like to think that being in bed before midnight counts for something.

How's your resolutions coming along?

Things to do when you're stalled for writing ideas

Please bear in mind that these work (or don't) for me and your writer's block may vary. Also, this has absolutely nothing to do with NaBloPoMo, except that I am still (trying) to write each day for a month.


1. Focus your mind on intelligent website activities. And by intelligent I mean time-sucks like Pinterest or Candy Crush. Nothing engages my creativity like linking candy in a game or aimlessly pinning tips on how to better organize my life. Currently my pin boards are super organized. I'm half-way there!

2. Go for a walk. I like to wander from one room to another often getting distracted by the television, the refrigerator or what the neighbors across the street are up to. Then I wonder where the last 3 hours went and why my computer screen is still a big ol' blank. 

3. Sit and bemoan my cursed fate at being a writer with nothing to say except when I have to verbally comment on everything that either makes me weep for mankind or laugh like a demented loon and in both cases is not fit to blog about in the first place.

4. Listen to music. However, this can be counter-productive to writing because I usually end up organizing (thanks Pinterest!) my iTunes playlist or I go looking for new music to download and I then I wonder why I don't exercise more because I have some pretty awesome workout music and then I feel like a lazy schlep with no oomph for writing at that moment.

5. Ask the husband for ideas. This can also be counter-productive because if I tell him I have nothing to say in a blog post he looks at me incredulously and says something smart-alecky like, You? You have something to say about everything. Or, I always said your head was empty. Thanks, Bill. Some help you are.

And that's how you beat blog posting writer's block.

Back on track, I hope

Already I'm doing better than last month since this is the third post for February and January had a dismal two entries. Hopefully I don't ninja vanish again mid-month. I make no promises so don't hold me to anything because I hate disappointing people. I'm sorry in advance, okay?

Sometimes when I can't immediately fall asleep, a whole blog post comes to me. It's annoying, really, because it's a smart, witty post that I should type up post-haste but I'm just comfortable enough to not want to move and yet still not quite in that ready-to-fall asleep phase. Then I try to go over key points in hopeful determination that I'll remember it the next day and before I'm done I fall asleep.

I should buy one of those mini recorders so I can record my post and transcribe it the next day, but that would require me to have to grab my idiot cell phone in the middle of the night to use as a night light so I can find the recorder and of course there's always the risk of waking up Bill. Even though he's not nearly as homicidal as I am when woken up suddenly from a deep sleep, I would still feel guilty.

There's also the fact that I would have to talk out loud or at least in an unsoft (that's my word and I say it's real) voice and not wanting to wake everyone I'd have to get up and go into another room and at that point I may just as well grab my laptop and type the damn thing up then and there.

The whole thing just isn't worth the aggravation. So instead I'll just continue sporadically posting about everything and anything cool, funny or nonsensical. At the very least it'll be a post and whoever wanders in here will have something to read. Win win for all!

Changing my name

I'm changing my name. And yes it has everything to do with the recent hurricane which has seriously impacted the Northeast. I'm taking a page from Prince. Thus I shall be referred to as "The Woman Formerly Known As Sandy". I haven't come up with a proper symbol yet, but I'm working on it.


And I don't remember anyone asking me for permission to use my name. There are at least 60 other names beginning with "S" that could have been used. I know because I counted. I considered suing but I figured they might tell me to "blow it out my rear" and considering how much damage the wind has already done with its blowing, it might be best to let this go.

I told my mom it was her fault for naming me. Then she reminded me that my given name is actually Sandra so my argument was invalid. She says Po-tay-to, I say Po-tah-to.

At one point last night, Bill told me "I" had been downgraded. This made me happy as I immediately thought of lessening winds and rain and this whole thing quickly going away. Then he explained that I was no longer a hurricane and instead just a pain-in-the-ass. Thanks a lot, funny man. 

Juliet famously asked, "What's in a name...?" Oh Juliet, you were at odds because of your family name. My name was tagged onto a hurricane. And not just any hurricane either, oh no, this one goes down in the books. Hurricane Sandy couldn't just turn into a little tropical storm that blew out to sea leaving everyone in its possible path to rejoice. Of course not.

If anyone needs me, I'll be in the corner cursing my namesake with the Katrinas and Irenes.


*Note: In all seriousness, I'm from NJ and watching so many places that I am personally familiar with be devastated was and is disheartening. My thoughts and prayers to all those affected.

My take on vampires

I'm very picky about my bloodsuckers. Thanks to romantic old-school notions and Anne Rice, there are only 2 vamps I really dig - Dracula and Lestat. Okay, 3 if you count Caleb from the now defunct soap "Port Charles".

I've only ever seen a handful of "True Blood" episodes and I've never read a Charlaine Harris book. And I will probably never read any of the "Twilight" books either. I once caught about 5 minutes of the first movie in the series and I wanted to gouge my eyes out. With a rusty spoon. Vampires are not supposed to sparkle! They're dark and fangy and badass.

When I think of a bloodsucker, I think of black capes and pale skin, like Bela Lugosi in the stereotypical role. "Look into my eyes..." and all that.

Bela Lugosi as Dracula

And then there's the Vampire Chronicles, which basically ruined me for all other vamps. What can I say? I'm a vampire snob. Sure I can enjoy a good vampire movie now and then. But I reserve my neck for just my faves.

However, I'm sure if I ever came face-to-face with a vampire I'd be scared to death and it would be a horrible, bloody, messy, unromantic death on my part. Or, as my luck would have it, I'd get bitten by an unattractive, monstrous beast of a vampire and not a sexy, dressed in black, looking-to-seduce-with-a-bite hottie. Either way would suck...haha.

Sexy vampire...please bite me

 

What would probably end up biting me

Late night eating

It happened again.

I was about 30-45 minutes from going to sleep. Well, that was my goal because I was still on my laptop doing computer-ey things.

And then, the snack craving hit. I tried to ignore it really I did. I drank some water, which I keep on my nightstand. I played a game or 2, or 3 of Mahjong. But then Bill got up and went to the bedroom door. And I asked, "Where are you going?" And he answered, "Why? What do you need?" Which on the surface sounds so "aww how sweet of him" but really he means "what do you need so suddenly that you had to wait till I got up to ask?" So I replied, "Nothing." And then he told me he was going downstairs which made me happy because now I had some company to go with me for my late-night snack. So, in all actuality, this is all His fault because if he didn't have to go downstairs I would never have tagged along and eaten that poptart, handful of pretzel combos (because ya know...sweet and salty go hand-in-hand) and washed it all down with some Pepsi.

As I sat there in the kitchen snacking I felt a little guilty because I know the rules about not eating late at night especially since that bit of weight I'm trying to lose ain't leaving any time soon. And, because I know you shouldn't eat salted foods during that time of the month since it adds to water bloat and cramps and blah blah but dammit it all tasted so good and I don't really give in to late night eats very often so I'll just down some more Advil and do extra stomach crunches (don't laugh. I do them, when I remember).

Anyway, I sat there binging and feeling like a meth addict getting high in a dirty bathroom. The only thing missing was the meth. And the drug paraphernalia. And a dirty bathroom. Okay, maybe not the bathroom, but in my defense I was in my clean kitchen and the bathroom is clean enough so I'm not embarrassed but I wouldn't eat off the floor.

The thought also crossed my mind that my plan to go to sleep at a decent hour has been hi-jacked. But maybe once this mini sugar-high wears off, the inevitable crash that follows will be enough to get me right to sleep. Problem solved.

I still blame Bill. Thanks a lot husband dude! I could be sleeping now, but nooooo you had to go downstairs. 

That darn sweet tooth!

Tonight I talked myself out of eating an ice cream sandwich. I am both proud of and disappointed in myself. Proud that I was able to not give in to a food craving and disappointed that I didn't allow myself to indulge in a yummy food treat.

This lasted all of 10 minutes.

Then I went downstairs and promptly had a s'mores pop tart. Again I was both proud and disappointed but for reverse reasons.

I am a foodie conundrum. And I blame it all on my sweet tooth. Damn sugar-crazy molar!!

At least this time I didn't follow up my pop tarted goodness with some chips. Usually I need something salty after eating something sweet. For this, I blame my salt-loving taste bud. I think she just gets jealous of the attention my sweet tooth gets and wants in. They're like petty children.

Stupid mouth! Always causing a problem. Too small, overcrowded with teeth, bickering tastes. Jeez!

RSVP: It's more than just fancy French acronyms

According to acronymfinder.com, RSVP means Répondez S'il Vous Plaît (French: Reply, If You Please; commonly seen on invitations).

It doesn't matter if you knew that or not. Everyone who has ever gotten an invitation knows that RSVP means to reply, "Yes, I'll be there with bells on" or "No, sorry I have better plans" or some such excuse.

Whether or not you can come to a party/event/social misfit gathering the polite thing is to let the party host know. How hard is that?  

So how come the mom of two kids my son plays with at the park could not do this?

For Little Man's upcoming birthday we planned a movie party for today with a few of his closest friends. We chose a day when Bill would be off from work which coincided with that Mom's day off as well. Granted the kids seem a bit sheltered, we crossed our fingers and hoped for the best.

Nothing.

Oh it gets weirder. For the past week leading up to today they have not come to the park. Avoiding us? Not too obvious. If they didn't want to come, or couldn't afford a gift, we (Christopher in agreeance*) told them a gift was unnecessary as he just wanted his friends to be there and we would foot the bill for admission tickets. How much easier could it be?

Well, at least Little Man's best friend and other good, close pal were there and everyone had a good time.

Still, that type of rudeness gets me. It's up there with people who don't say 'Thank You' when you hold the door open for them. When did basic manners start to go the way of the dinosaur?




*I sent the Oxford Dictionary people an invitation to include this in their book and they never RSVP'd.

The running commentary in my head

Everyone has that little voice in their head. You know, the one that makes snarky comments, warns you about something or has a full on conversation with you? Yes, that one.


My little voice is more like a constant inner dialogue and it's sometimes very fresh. Funny, but fresh. I mean, I don't just people-watch, I people-comment. Not out loud, though. No, that would be very bad. I'd probably get cussed out. And beat up. And possibly arrested. So I keep my comments to myself. Sometimes I mutter them under my breath or I lean over and whisper to Bill.

I can't help myself.  The world is just so colorful. And some of the people are just so comment-worthy.

Hey, I know I am far from perfect.  Like, another planet kinda far. And I'm sure people comment about me. That's fine. I'm happy to get a walk-on part in someone else's running commentary. (Thank you for that.) I just hope that their voice eventually shuts up.  Because mine, never does!

Anyone else make snide, sarcastic comments to themselves about people and things?  I know I can't be the only one. Fess up people!!

Not all teas are made equal

This past Friday we took Little Man to see the Avengers movie at one of the hotel/casinos nearby. While Bill and Chris were waiting on line to buy tickets I wandered over to Starbucks to buy a hot tea and something sweet to nosh on.

When the young barista guy asked to take my order I started out fine and then we somehow took a sharp left and ended up in Confusion Land. Here's what happened:

Barista guy: Can I take your order?
Me: Yes, I'd like a Tall ( their version of a small) tea.

So far, so good.

Barista guy: What kind of tea would you like?

And this is where the road gets bumpy. You see, I couldn't remember the name of the tea I prefer.

Me: What is your version of a plain black tea?

Barista guy: Well, we have Earl Grey, Chai,  Chamomile.
Me: No, none of those. What do you have that's like plain old Lipton?
Barista guy: Um, Earl Grey, Chai, Cham-.
Me: No, no.
Barista guy: I have no idea.
(Then he looks at Barista girl standing there)
Barista guy: Do you know which one?
Barista girl: I have no clue.
Me: Straining to look over the counter and read the box labels.

Then my eyes spot it. Awake!

Me: The Tazo Awake, that's the one.
Barista guy: Tazo Awake? Okay.
Me: And a piece of Cinnamon swirl pound cake.

Thankfully there was no one waiting behind me.

Now, I realize my lack of knowledge of Starbucks tea brands was part of the problem. But, shouldn't these purveyors of expensive coffees served in cookie-cutter boutique cafes with fancy-schmancy titles know their own products? 

Then again, maybe I expect too much.

In the future if I decide to buy a hot beverage I'll stick to a simple establishment like Dunkin Donuts, where coffee is just coffee and tea is just tea. With a little milk. And two sugars.                  

Juggling

I'm not a juggler. I don't play one on TV and no, I didn't sleep at a Holiday Inn last night.

But I often feel like I'm trying to keep all my balls up in the air and not doing a very good job of it. One or two always seem to fall on the floor. It's like that Michelle Pfeiffer/George Clooney movie, "One Fine Day" where her character is trying to explain how she tries to juggle all the things in her life. See clip here. The part I'm referring to starts at the 8:15 mark.

It's hard to do it all. And I envy the women who do. And I hate the ones who do it all while smiling and looking fabulous. How?!?! If my writing is going well and I'm super-mommy and JDRF volunteer/advocate then my house is a mess. If my house is in order, Little Man is happy, his homework done and I've done my volunteering, then my writing suffers. Grrr!

You can see from my sporadic blog posts when I'm busy in other areas of life. Maybe I need better time-management. Maybe I should stop trying to be such a control freak about it all. Maybe I need a vacation to a Caribbean island with blue water, white sand, a massage, fresh fruit and drinks. Maybe I should stop day-dreaming and finish this blog post so I can be ready for when Little Man comes home from school. Then we can do homework and I can start supper, clear the table, do the dishes, go to the park, pack his lunch, watch a video, sort some laundry for tomorrow, etc. etc.

Perfect Attendance

Little Man hasn't missed a day of school since he started Kindergarten 4 years ago. We're talking present and accounted for Every. Day.

Even on days when he has a doctor's appointment with his Endocrinologist (I refer to as the diabetes doctor) he still shows up and then goes to his appointment. The last time, he went to school, left to see the doc and then came back.

He goes willingly. Even with a little cold. Nope, can't stay home. Must maintain perfect record. He's proud of this achievement and has almost a dozen certificates and ribbons for that distinction. His school has awards assemblies each trimester where they acknowledge A/B Honor Roll, Good Citizenship and Perfect Attendance.

Sadly he came down with a cold and fever and was forced to miss 2 days last week. He was bummed out about it. I know, it's unnatural. What kid wouldn't want to miss school? Most kids would even hold the thermometer near a hot bulb or under hot water to con their mothers into thinking they had a fever. No judging. I'm sure many have done something in order to play hooky.

In our case, the Little Man actually likes his school. I do, too. Heck I wouldn't want to give in to a cold and stay home either if my school had been like his. The teachers are young and hip. There's more patience and less yelling. And no one gets a pencil thrown at them for talking out of turn. (true story).

After his 2 day sick leave he returned to school feeling bad about breaking his attendance streak. But then the teacher told him she missed him and his friends were all glad to see him and soon enough he was happy, smiling and running around again. It was business as usual on the playground.

Verizon almost got me killed

I tried to pay my Verizon Wireless bill last night but when I went to log in I somehow had the incorrect password and eventually it locked me out of the account. There was much cursing.

In order to access the account I now had to enter the last 4 SSN digits of the primary account holder (husband). I did this and then it prompted me for a Verifiable Bill Security Password. What in the heyall? I guessed. I was wrong. I tried again. Still wrong. I cursed again.

It then said if I had any problems to contact customer service. More cursing on my end. So, I reluctantly dialed their 800 number. After choosing the directory I needed it asked me for the account password. Huh? If I knew that I wouldn't be calling now, would I? I pressed 0 hoping to get to an operator. "Option invalid." I said "representative." It continued to cycle through my options, none of which pertained to me.

I started shouting into my phone "Representative! A human! Someone who can help me!" As if sensing my frustration and how close I was to flushing my phone down the toilet the automated system told me to press 0 if I wanted to speak to a Customer Care Associate. Finally!!

Paul came on the line and after his introductory spiel asked me how he could help. I explained the problem. He said since I was only an Account Manager and not the Primary Account Holder he couldn't tell me the password on file. Christ on a bike! I'm the effing wife! I pay this damn bill! I told Paul I knew my husband's mother's maiden name, the name of his first dog, his height, weight and blood type. Help me out for the love of all that's holy! He laughed and said if I knew the last 4 digits of his SSN, that would work. Oy! Didn't I already do this? Okay, fine, so I give him the numbers.

Paul unlocked the account and texted a temporary password to Bill's phone which I entered. Then Paul had to do a few more things in order for me to go online and change the password again to something I would remember.

While Paul did his thing I joked around with him. "Ya know my husband is going to kill me for changing the password. The headlines will scream "Verizon blamed in death of wife". There'll be a media firestorm. People will be outraged, customers will switch service providers and stocks will plummet. All because of Verizon's security protocol."

Paul was hysterical. "See, you should be glad I called. It was a break in the monotony of your shift." I said. He agreed.

When we finally concluded our business he asked the usual .."anything else I can help you with?"

"No, but thank you for your help, patience and courtesy. In spite of the fact that I am late in paying my bill."

Then I paid my bill online and wrote a nice complimentary email to Verizon's Customer Service Department in which I mentioned Paul being so helpful.

I also made a note of the new password for future bill payment. Hopefully I don't lose it.

Hey I'm totally linking up with Yeah Write. Check it out:

 

Stop pretending to write

The other night Billy and I were watching TV. A commercial for the new movie, "Hunger Games" came on. (I had never read the books but knew enough that the movie is based on them.) So I was all wow, another author writes a book (series) and not only gets published but has a movie made about them. I just want to get published and settle for mediocre fame.

So Billy looks at me and says, "Maybe when you stop pretending to write you'll actually get published."

I'm taken aback, not in anger but more in a hmmm, go on way. "Explain," I reply and now he has my undivided attention.

And he says: "You write all these things, these articles and other stories that are good, but when you write like you do on your blog, that's great."

Okay. Wait a sec, he thinks my blog posts are great? Cool. Very cool.

"But the articles I write, some need just facts and they don't want the author's PoV," I said.

"All I know is that those posts are interesting. They come from inside your head, they're real," he further explained.

Then he left the room to do whatever man-business he needed to do and I sat there. Thinking.

Who was it that said, "When you write, be real." I think it was Stephen King. It could have been Mark Twain. Shakespeare?
Anyway, Bill doesn't sugar-coat things. He's a great 'first-reader' like that. If it's good, he says so and if it isn't he'll say that, too. And 9 times out of 10 his advice is sound. And who would've thought he'd give the same sage advice as some of the great authors? Especially considering he doesn't like to read? Except when he's pretending to.

Cough cough, sniffle

I was all set to go volunteer at my local JDRF chapter this past Wednesday but then I got sick with a cold. I thought it best not to infect others so I stayed home.

Now I'm feeling much better except I still have the sniffles and an occasional cough. And I might be losing my voice because sometimes when I talk I sound like Froggy from The Little Rascals.

Thankfully the girl who was doing my nails today wore a surgical mask for most of my appointment. She heard me sniffle and croak when I spoke and asked me if I was sick. And so I told her it was only allergies, which prompted a 10-minute conversation about that. Yes, I lied to the poor girl. Don't judge! At least she had that protective mask covering her face while I was breathing in all those nail grinding and acrylic fumes. It kind of evens things out.

I hate when colds linger on and you end up sounding way worse than you really are and people avoid you like you have the plague. Actually that might be a good thing because now no one will bother me. Cough, cough.

Bad blogger, bad!

I've been a bad blogger lately. I apologize for that, especially those who come here faithfully and find nothing new to read. What can I say? I suck!!!!!

Seriously, I've been battling mild depression and my anxiety has flared up resulting in insomnia and fits of itchiness. Yeah, real pleasant. So with all that, I haven't felt much like writing or talking (weird, I know!) and my blog and articles have suffered.

But I think the fog is finally starting to lift. I'll spare everyone and refrain from singing "I Can See Clearly Now". However, if you really want to hear my rendition, just lock two cats in a shower stall with some catnip and a piece of string. Ahhh, the sweet, melodic sounds of kitties fighting.

From here on out I shall try to be more vigilant in my blogging, even if I just post jokes, or funny pictures or pictures of funny jokes or funny jokes with pictures.

Thanks for understanding.

An open letter to Smith's Grocery Store

Dear Smith's,

I <3 you. Seriously. I want to marry you and have mini marts with you. Okay maybe that last part was a bit too much but it's a testament to how much I like shopping at your store.

Unlike those 'big box' impersonal chains, you are smaller and easier to move around. And even though you don't always carry certain products or some of your items are a bit pricier, I remain faithful to you.

Shopping in your store also makes my whole trip more pleasant. I don't have to fight my way through the aisles among wandering people in mis-matched clothing who stand smack dab in the middle trying to decide between two different brands of denture cream. Pushy shoppers don't hit me in the back of the leg with their shopping carts either.

Most importantly, I don't leave all frazzled and wanting to stuff someone inside the ice cream freezer. So in a way you also provide an important health and safety service for mankind.

I love that I don't have to wait on an endless line while some woman at the register argues about price or fishes loose change from the bottom of her pocketbook. Your store isn't afraid to open a new register to accommodate me.

For all of these reasons, I don't mind grocery shopping, which I usually hate more than de-linting my socks.

Sincerely,
A happy shopper

They have Phil, we have Max

 It's Groundhog Day and while the nation looks to Pennsylvania and Punxatawny Phil to see whether there will be 6 more weeks of winter or an early Spring, we in Las Vegas check in with Mojave Max, the tortoise. Not that it matters either way to us. Our winters are usually mild and end quickly.

That's where Max comes in. Students in Vegas try to guess when Max will come out of hibernation so Spring can begin. So far, Max is still asleep. Lucky tortoise. He gets to sleep and no one rudely wakes him up.

Anyway, my guess is he'll wake up and stumble out of bed sometime in mid-March. Night night Max. See you in a few weeks.