I staggered up to the security checkpoint at JFK airport on swollen ankles, freighted under the weight of carry-on luggage and the massive cheese strudel I had eaten at Zabar's Deli that morning.
There was no one ahead of me in line. The airport was so empty that it looked as if it were closed for renovations.
I handed my ID and boarding pass over to the security guard.
"Is it always this slow on...um...er...Tuesdays?" I said uncertainly.
"Mondays," he replied. "Today is Monday. That must have been some weekend."
"Yes it was. Yes, yes, it was."
10 August 2010
01 August 2010
I have heard of cats having nine lives, but this is ridiculous
In the complex ecosystem of Casa de Suebob, we have developed a problem.
A mouse problem.
I have a theory of how it came about.
Somewhere between the tasty treats left in the compost pile and the month where I neglected to mow the grass (ok, six weeks, whatever) and the fact that Goldie has begun hunting relentlessly out in the yard, the mice decided to take refuge IN the house.
Goldie hunting in the compost, where something lives.
Or under the house with frequent forays into the house. The house has become the playground of the mice.
And the dog, who hunts so assiduously outside, does not seem to bring her hunting game inside. While the mice dance the macarena in the cabinets, she slumbers peacefully on the couch, snoring and dreaming of the mice in the lavender bush outside.
Meanwhile, I am awake, thinking I should do confront them, knowing they will only run away and mock me by returning 20 minutes later.
Thus, I bought mousetraps. People who are aware that I have been a vegetarian since the time of Prince's first album (no connection) are sometimes surprised that I would kill little living beasts.
Au contraire, mon frere. When living beasts are on my turf - especially VERMIN - they play by my rules. My rule about mice is: The only good mouse is a dead mouse. Same with spiders. Dead.
The mousetraps have been a significant success. I don't want to say how many mice we have caught, but it is more than one and fewer than a mini-vanfull. Still, a frightening amount.
Last night I came home to find a mouse in the trap. These are new-fangled plastic clippy traps, so you simply squeeze them open to dispose of the mouse properly. I picked up the limp little mouse and opened the trap over the kitchen trash and let its body fall into the bag.
Where it promptly recovered from its formerly limp state and sprang to life. I could hear it scurrying around among the potato peels and coffee filters.
"Think, think, think," I thought, because this is the kind of thing I have to tell myself when I am too freaked out to just actually think. Meanwhile the mouse was hopping around in there.
I had a stroke of brilliance. My dog loves to kill mice. I had a mouse! I could simply take the plastic bag out into the driveway, open it, and my dog would dispatch the horrid little thing.
Except the dog would not cooperate. When we went outside, she ran all over the yard EXCEPT near me. She went and looked in the lavender bush for mice and would not come out.
She spends about 3 hours a day this way.
Her deafness makes getting her attention all the more difficult.
I finally gave up and double tied the bag and slammed it on the ground a few times, hoping to do some damage. Yes, there's a reason my neighbors think I am insane. I mean, what would you think if your neighbor were out in the driveway at 9 pm in yoga pants, slamming the kitchen trash bag onto the ground repeatedly? I rest my case.
I put the bag out in the big green lidded trash bin.
Cut to today. Is this story over yet? Why, no, it isn't. I came home from church and went to toss stuff from my car into the bin. Where I heard scurrying. Scurrying, people. The mouse was alive and well. Can you hear me heaving a sigh?
So. In another act that will seal the neighbor's opinions forever, I took the trash bags out of the trash bin in the driveway and looked at the mouse jumping around in there. I called the dog and tipped the bin over for her to see the mouse, where she promptly lost her little doggy mind.
She leapt into the bin. So the mouse leapt out. She didn't see the mouse run between her feet and under my car, through the garden bed and yes....back under the house.
That pesky mouse got snapped in a trap that has killed several other mice, bagged, slammed, offered up as a dog toy, tied in a plastic bag, binned, offered as a dog toy again and STILL managed to make it back to the place I wanted it least.
So the score is Mouse 1, Suebob 0. But this game is not over yet.
I'm thinking of borrowing my neighbor Rusty's cat. I mean, the cat must be tough - it lives with Molly the pitbull - and it can't hurt to go over and ask to borrow his cat, can it? He already thinks I am insane.
A mouse problem.
I have a theory of how it came about.
Somewhere between the tasty treats left in the compost pile and the month where I neglected to mow the grass (ok, six weeks, whatever) and the fact that Goldie has begun hunting relentlessly out in the yard, the mice decided to take refuge IN the house.
Goldie hunting in the compost, where something lives.
Or under the house with frequent forays into the house. The house has become the playground of the mice.
And the dog, who hunts so assiduously outside, does not seem to bring her hunting game inside. While the mice dance the macarena in the cabinets, she slumbers peacefully on the couch, snoring and dreaming of the mice in the lavender bush outside.
Meanwhile, I am awake, thinking I should do confront them, knowing they will only run away and mock me by returning 20 minutes later.
Thus, I bought mousetraps. People who are aware that I have been a vegetarian since the time of Prince's first album (no connection) are sometimes surprised that I would kill little living beasts.
Au contraire, mon frere. When living beasts are on my turf - especially VERMIN - they play by my rules. My rule about mice is: The only good mouse is a dead mouse. Same with spiders. Dead.
The mousetraps have been a significant success. I don't want to say how many mice we have caught, but it is more than one and fewer than a mini-vanfull. Still, a frightening amount.
Last night I came home to find a mouse in the trap. These are new-fangled plastic clippy traps, so you simply squeeze them open to dispose of the mouse properly. I picked up the limp little mouse and opened the trap over the kitchen trash and let its body fall into the bag.
Where it promptly recovered from its formerly limp state and sprang to life. I could hear it scurrying around among the potato peels and coffee filters.
"Think, think, think," I thought, because this is the kind of thing I have to tell myself when I am too freaked out to just actually think. Meanwhile the mouse was hopping around in there.
I had a stroke of brilliance. My dog loves to kill mice. I had a mouse! I could simply take the plastic bag out into the driveway, open it, and my dog would dispatch the horrid little thing.
Except the dog would not cooperate. When we went outside, she ran all over the yard EXCEPT near me. She went and looked in the lavender bush for mice and would not come out.
She spends about 3 hours a day this way.
Her deafness makes getting her attention all the more difficult.
I finally gave up and double tied the bag and slammed it on the ground a few times, hoping to do some damage. Yes, there's a reason my neighbors think I am insane. I mean, what would you think if your neighbor were out in the driveway at 9 pm in yoga pants, slamming the kitchen trash bag onto the ground repeatedly? I rest my case.
I put the bag out in the big green lidded trash bin.
Cut to today. Is this story over yet? Why, no, it isn't. I came home from church and went to toss stuff from my car into the bin. Where I heard scurrying. Scurrying, people. The mouse was alive and well. Can you hear me heaving a sigh?
So. In another act that will seal the neighbor's opinions forever, I took the trash bags out of the trash bin in the driveway and looked at the mouse jumping around in there. I called the dog and tipped the bin over for her to see the mouse, where she promptly lost her little doggy mind.
She leapt into the bin. So the mouse leapt out. She didn't see the mouse run between her feet and under my car, through the garden bed and yes....back under the house.
That pesky mouse got snapped in a trap that has killed several other mice, bagged, slammed, offered up as a dog toy, tied in a plastic bag, binned, offered as a dog toy again and STILL managed to make it back to the place I wanted it least.
So the score is Mouse 1, Suebob 0. But this game is not over yet.
I'm thinking of borrowing my neighbor Rusty's cat. I mean, the cat must be tough - it lives with Molly the pitbull - and it can't hurt to go over and ask to borrow his cat, can it? He already thinks I am insane.
28 July 2010
Dear Suebob
A new feature in which Suebob dialogues about your pressing etiquette questions:
Questioner: Is it ok if I squat to pee instead of sitting in a public restroom?
Suebob: Butt-related toilet seat disease transmission is actually quite rare, but whatever floats your boat.
Questioner: Is it ok if I put my feet on the seat and squat there?
Suebob: Hell no. What is wrong with you? Were your thigh muscles removed? This is WHY you do squats at the gym. Get your disgusting feet off the seat.
Questioner: That's the way we do it where I am from.
Suebob: Are you from Dumbassville?
Questioner: What if I pee on the seat?
Suebob: Clean it up.
Questioner: Clean it up? Me, clean up pee? That is gross.
Suebob: Not compared to coming in and finding a toilet seat all covered in pee.
Questioner: How am I supposed to clean it up?
Suebob: I don't care. Take a piece of toilet paper, a butt gasket, a wet wipe or what have you and clean it up. It's not calculus, people.
Questioner: Why do I have to clean it up? (emphasis on I)
Suebob: You made the mess.
Questioner: But I am not the kind of person who cleans up pee. I'm special.
Suebob: I know. You are the kind of person whose parents, who were obviously of a non-human species, told you that you didn't have to take any responsibility for anything you did. When you go home to the place under the rock where you crawled out from, tell them they did a great job, OK?
Questioner: Is it ok if I squat to pee instead of sitting in a public restroom?
Suebob: Butt-related toilet seat disease transmission is actually quite rare, but whatever floats your boat.
Questioner: Is it ok if I put my feet on the seat and squat there?
Suebob: Hell no. What is wrong with you? Were your thigh muscles removed? This is WHY you do squats at the gym. Get your disgusting feet off the seat.
Questioner: That's the way we do it where I am from.
Suebob: Are you from Dumbassville?
Questioner: What if I pee on the seat?
Suebob: Clean it up.
Questioner: Clean it up? Me, clean up pee? That is gross.
Suebob: Not compared to coming in and finding a toilet seat all covered in pee.
Questioner: How am I supposed to clean it up?
Suebob: I don't care. Take a piece of toilet paper, a butt gasket, a wet wipe or what have you and clean it up. It's not calculus, people.
Questioner: Why do I have to clean it up? (emphasis on I)
Suebob: You made the mess.
Questioner: But I am not the kind of person who cleans up pee. I'm special.
Suebob: I know. You are the kind of person whose parents, who were obviously of a non-human species, told you that you didn't have to take any responsibility for anything you did. When you go home to the place under the rock where you crawled out from, tell them they did a great job, OK?
Not so wordless Wednesday
I was ruing the fact that I hadn't written a post in forever, then realized that it was Wordless Wednesday and I could just post a photo. So now is your chance to see a large, sweaty woman with a sore butt and a mule!
This is Ringo, the mule CC talked me into riding at Yosemite. Did you know mules have surprisingly bony backs? Or maybe I am just...ahem...sensitive.
I'm just saying that there were some times during the ride that I had to do a little Lamaze breathing, and I have never been through a Lamaze class. Thank God for "A Baby Story."
This is Ringo, the mule CC talked me into riding at Yosemite. Did you know mules have surprisingly bony backs? Or maybe I am just...ahem...sensitive.
I'm just saying that there were some times during the ride that I had to do a little Lamaze breathing, and I have never been through a Lamaze class. Thank God for "A Baby Story."
25 July 2010
Company Policy
At my favorite burrito stand, there are 3 choices for vegetarian burritos on the menu:
Vegetarian $3.25
Vegetarian with avocado or sour cream $3.50
Vegetarian with avocado and sour cream $4.00
I always get a vegetarian with avocado, no sour cream, minus lettuce. Who wants hot lettuce mixed with beans and rice? Gack. Not me.
You'd think that would be somewhere around $3.75, California being a 7.something percent tax state.
Wrong. My burrito comes out to $4.62.
"Um, why it is $4.62 when a vegetarian burrito with avocado is $3.50 on the menu?"
"Avocado is 75 cents extra."
"But it says on the menu, vegetarian with avocado..."
"Look," she points out. "Under sides, it says, 'Avocado, 75 cents."
"Yes, but the menu SAYS vegetarian with avocado is $3.50."
"But avocado is 75 cents extra."
I stood back. I could see that my line of reasoning was going nowhere. It was time to try a different tack.
"Ok, so if I order a vegetarian burrito with avocado WITHOUT avocado, what do I get?"
"A vegetarian burrito with guacamole."
She said this as if it were the most obvious freaking thing in the whole world. Like, duh, you dumbass customer lady.
"So a vegetarian burrito with avocado WITHOUT avocado is what I want, for $3.50."
"Okay!" she agreed.
Next week I am going to try ordering a vegetarian burrito with sour cream WITHOUT sour cream. Any bets on what I will get?
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