Hot Pockets: Angry Post!

Dan and I recently cancelled our contracts with Sprint because their coverage sucked.

Harder than a Dyson

I could only make a phone call from the kitchen and forget about using the internet anywhere you didn't have wifi. So we called it quits and went back to T-Mobile, and now we're happy pandas!

With new phones!

But we're trying to sell our phones on Craigslist. I keep getting nibbles, but no bites, until this morning. Someone texted me that they were interested in buying my iPhone. We spoke on the phone. He wanted to meet at the Sprint store, I agreed. It's a reasonable precaution.

Well, me and my bike went the three miles to the store and at the minute we were supposed to meet, after turning down two other offers, I get a messages saying his wife already bought a phone. So, to that guy, Eric. Here's a song for you:

I hope you and your wife and your damn dirty lies have fun with your probably stolen phone. You know why my phone is listed at that price? Because it does have a clean ESN, and I didn't rip off a poor person needing cash fast to get it so I could resell it at a profit. Your wife's new phone is coated in the tears of someone desperate. Fuck you.

Obligatory Post About How Much Daylight Savings Time Sucks

Daylight Savings Time sucks. And I live in a state that doesn't even use it. Use it? Practice it? Throw themselves on a large spike rather than deal with it again, but then do because otherwise their kids would be late (early?) for school? I don't even know, because I've lived my formative years and most of my adulthood in Arizona, and we just don't go there.

I don't know why we don't go there.  That's just not how we roll.

This is how AZ rolls.

So we don't practice DST, but we still have to deal with it, because everybody else in the USA does.

Correction from Hawaii: Continental USA

Do other countries use it? I don't know, and I'm not going to bother looking it up. The less I know about DST, the better.

So here's everything I think I know about DST:
It was invented by Ben Franklin

Maybe?

At some point it was helpful for farmers or school kids or somebody, but it really isn't anymore because we have electricity

Which Hugh Jackman used for evil

Leap Forward and Fall Back

At least the hoes are excited.

It changed what time all my TV shows are on

This last is really the part that affects me most. I am an insomniac. Hopelessly, chronically sleepless. When I was in Abu Dhabi, I didn't have any sleep aids. Ambien is unheard of, melatonin is banned, and valerian root doesn't really work for me. I was recommended the tea version of valerian root, but fuck that noise (see previous blog post).

So in order to combat my chronic insomnia, I did all those things that health articles tell you to do. I exercised in the mid-late afternoon.

Praise Allah for in-building gym rooms!

…and I abided by a very strict nighttime regimen, which I still try and keep to, so I am not tempted to go hardcore with my sleeping meds again.

9:00pm: Floss and brush teeth
9:10pm: In bed, reading. Internet off
10:15-10:30pm: Lights out, no backsies

Not even Mary would argue with that.

Now that I'm back at home, I have at TV in my bedroom. This is not approved by the health articles, but I'm a rebel. I turn on the TV, read until I start getting drowsy, then watch American Dad until I drift off. Dan turns off the TV when he comes to bed.

Here's where DST has messed with my head: ADULT SWIM STARTS AN HOUR LATER!

<Cue Dramatic Music>

So, everyone bitching about DST and how the change is so hard, I'm with you. And I'll even try and one-up you by saying I have to change my whole schedule for six months (Five? Four? I don't know). I'm staying up later, but still getting up at the same time. Less sleep at night= Longer nap in the late morning= Less done during the day=

Sad Panda

That's right, insomnia and depression go hand-in-hand, like catsup* and mustard.

Or if you're in Utah, fry sauce.

So what am I to do? Honestly, I don't know. I'm going to one of those crazy states that uses DST in about a week, and then on a Caribbean cruise, and my strict nighttime regimen will go to the dog (and we know how well she handles things). For the time being, this long-form essay of complaining will have to suffice.

*Editor's Note: The boss says quote: "Fuck cats-up, Heinz is the only kind of ketchup there is."

Too Darn Hot

I hate hot beverages.

I know that's a pretty broad statement to make, and so of course there are exceptions, but pretty universally, I despise putting warm liquid in my mouth.

Cocoa gets a pass because of the whipped cream

And I hate coffee. Really, I just can't stand it. Even a hint of coffee flavor and my taste buds bug out quicker than a MASH unit.

Definitely quicker than the 4077

I say this even though I've had approximately 4 bajillion cups of hot green tea today in an effort to stop the horrible pain in my throat, I didn't enjoy a single one.

I did enjoy using my unicorn tapestry mug though.

At first it's too hot. Too, too hot, and it's a danger to my tongue. Then there is a brief window where it's cool enough not to burn my tongue, but still hot enough to scald the surface of my tonsils, which is what soothes it.

Maybe it's time to let someone try some backyard surgery on me. I've been looking for a reason to buy a plasma torch.

Science just hasn't made enough progress on the lightsaber

.

Perhaps as a denizen of the desert, hot beverages are just something I don't understand, like heated seats or floors.

And what's up with tire chains?

I mean, it's November, and my air conditioner is still coming on to keep the house below 80 degrees in the afternoons. So what do I drink? Cold, unsweetened tea. Most people would use the term iced tea, but since I don't use ice it seems inaccurate. This penchant for unsweetened iced tea might be genetic: apparently dinner with my great-grandfather was punctuated by him tossing ice cubes into your glass of Lipton tea. Sweet tea is an abomination. Don't make me think about it anymore, I'm not feeling well as it is.

I used to be a Coke fiend. Truth be told, I still am, but I was terribly spoiled by Arabian Coke and it's cane sugar. Plus, I like being healthier.

Nope, that's a lie. I like being skinnier.

So I drink Coke sparingly. There's no better cure for migraine nausea than an ice-cold Coke with a straw.  I'm also partial to pineapple juice.

Some of your might ask: But Sabrina, what do you use as a mixer when you're drinking?

Good question!

I don't. I've grown up enough to realize that liquor gives me migraines while beer and wine do not.  I have not grown up enough to put my foot down when liquor is to the only option. (See Halloween Exploits for details). Maybe next decade.

Anyway, I've mostly made the switch to hard apple cider or white wine.

Gluten Free! Just look for the box that reminds you of The Wizard of Oz.

And what do I usually use mugs for?

Winter is no longer coming: it's here!

A Halloween Fairy Tale or How Cookie Spent Saturday Night

Once upon a time, in a far away land, a beautiful princess named Cookie lived in a tidy little cottage with a huge backyard in a suburban neighborhood.

Kinda like the neighborhood from the TV show Weeds, but older

Cookie was a happy, friendly little dog. Didn't bite, hardly barked, and loved nothing more than to lean her head against a human's legs while being scratched behind the ears.

One day, after thinking long and hard about it, Cookie's parents decided to try leaving her alone overnight so they could go to a Halloween party in another kingdom. They fed her a nice dinner, left her a large bully stick, and merrily went on their way, hopeful that if she got into any trouble, the worst they'd have to do is reupholster the couch.

And I love my couch. Probably to an unreasonable degree.

The next morning, Cookie's parents arrived home, much more bedraggled and tired than expected, to find a note on the door from a kind neighbor lady.

Cookie had gotten so lonely in that tidy cottage that she tried to escape! She tried digging under the fence, but to no avail, as the wise Wolf had put down chicken wire.

Then she tried to squeeze through the bars of the fence…

Visual Approximation: Cookie is not a horse

….and got stuck. Firmly, fastly, undeniably stuck. Right behind her forelegs.

After a couple hours, the sun came up, and the kindly neighbor saw Cookie's plight.
"Oh no! What to do?" she thought. She tried the side gate, but she was too short to reach the latch. So she called for help from the local fire department, and cooed calmingly to Cookie while they waited. 

When the firemen arrived, Cookie was excited! She wagged her tail and would have jump for joy (but she couldn't, being stuck in a fence). The strongest of the firefighter's pulled apart the bars and Cookie was free! She happily greeted her saviors, then promptly ran inside to get a much needed drink and stayed there.

When Cookie's mom and dad got home and saw the note, they were very worried! Cookie could have been taken away! But when they opened the door, there she was, wagging her tail, albeit a bit slowly, and with a noticeable crease in her body!

Cookie's mom was so worried that she called the vet immediately, and asked if she could bring her right in. Cookie loved riding in the car and got very excited when her leash was put on. She even loved going to the vet!

And getting her teeth brushed.  My dog is weird.

At the vet, she got an exam and some x-rays, and it showed she had no internal damage or broken bones, only muscular trauma.  So she was given some medicine to help with the pain and sent on her way.

Now she is peacefully sleeping wherever she happens to be when her pain meeds kick in, and should fully recover, perhaps with a small crease on her side to remind her of her botched escape.

The once and future position. Background may vary.

Cookie's parents were left with a problem, though: Who would care for her for the two nights they would be gone at Thanksgiving?

After all, any more creases and she'd be doggy origami.

The answer is simple, and a little silly: Cookie will be going to Pete and Mac's Pet Spaw. She'll have a private room, oops, I mean cabana, a daily peanut butter treat, ice cream, six hours of playtime, and a pre-check-out bath.

So I guess unlike most fairy tales, this has a happier moral: if you get stuck in a fence you'll get to go to the spa.

And the firefighters will come and visit you. Some puppy is getting a calendar for Xmas.

Are you in my head?

I've recently discovered the wonders of Pandora.

Pandora Radio.  It's an app for playing music, and they have basically EVERYTHING.  I run it mostly through Dan's SmartTV so I get the benefit of the surround sound (probably not to the benefit of the neighbors) and the remote control.  I usually put it on when I'm writing or cooking or any of the various activities I do that require some concentration.  Not crochet, that I do while watching old movies I've recorded.

Probably why I mess up so much

I would have a lot of stations, because I'm pretty impatient and just like to plug in the song I've got in my head at the moment, but then I start up Pandora and it's on my Dean Martin station playing something I want to listen to.  Also, sometimes you start a station from a particular song, and then they don't play that song!

Seriously, this app is almost like magic.  I do have a couple of bones to pick with it though.

First: Stop spying on me or whatever you do.  You were playing some Les Mis nonsense AGAIN and wouldn't let me fast-forward through it.  So I was singing "I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face" from My Fair Lady. 

Then, next song, BOOM, I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face.  Not cool.  Get out of my head, Pandora.  It freaks me out.

Second:  Your ads are terrible. I don't really mind ads in free stuff. They're here, they're lame, and they're all the same. Except the ones that are both louder and feature a song completely out of the range of music my channel plays.

Third:  This relates to a detail in the first bone, I do not want to hear any more Les Mis nonsense. I know it's popular, I know most people like it, but when I want a show tune I do not want something from a stupid operetta that's at least an hour longer than it needs to be with completely forgettable music. It goes completely against the old adage about musicals: "When you can no longer speak, sing. When you can no longer sing, dance." Les Mis just goes off the rails, says screw it, and sings the whole damn time, erradicating any emotional highs or lows usually punctuated in musicals by (surprise!) music.

Here is a very short list of popular musicals that I have not heard from on Pandora:
Show Boat

Kiss Me Kate

Calamity Jane

(Side note: Not enough Doris Day no matter how much I thumbs up the few songs you do play)
(Second Side note: This song won a freaking Oscar!)

Gentleman Prefer Blondes

 (c'mon, this had Marilyn Monroe in it!)

The King and I

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

 Or as Dan likes to call it: Seven Brides with Seven Cases of Stockholm Syndrome.

Those are my bones, hopefully adequately picked.  Otherwise, Pandora: Please carry on.  I might even contemplate paying for the ad-free version, if the app on my TV is upgraded to allow me to add variety to a station.  Seriously, I shouldn't have to  log-on to Pandora on my phone just to tell Pandora I would like to hear Babs singing the standards along with Frankie, Sammy, and Dean-o.

A few notes on this particular post. One: I didn't watch all the videos all the way through, so I apologize for any quality or viewing problems. Two: I'm trying and only partially succeeding in changing from a double-space after a period to a single space. Blogger sometimes corrects this for me, so please forgive any strange spacing.

Hot Pockets: Beauty should be for yourself

So tonight I waxed my lip. It's the only part of my body I do wax, because it's the only convenient place I can do myself that actually works. I pretty much suck at all things beauty-related, and I'm kinda falling off the body-hair-removal bandwagon (that's a thing right? I m sure it's a thing. Moving on). Now that it's winter, or at least getting there, I'll probably stop shaving my legs until I can feel the wind blowing through it, with the exception of our cruise to the Caribbean. It's gonna be cold, you'll need that hair! Anyway, tonight I waxed my lip, and I only do it for myself, which is good, because here how a typical post-wax conversation goes with my husband:

Dan: You have something on your lip.

Me: No way, I just waxed it. I was starting to look like an Italian fishwife.

Dan: It's all red and shiny.

Me: That's the stuff you put on afterwards to get rid of the wax and soothe the skin.

Dan: I didn't even notice the hair.

So ladies, if you're subjecting yourself to an uncomfortable beauty regimen for any reason that it makes you feel better: stop. It's football season, hunting season, and there's a new Grand Theft Auto. You should also be working on your Halloween costume. Don't be a sexy hamburger. 

My tongue is sure enjoying this smooth upper-lip though. 

Hot Pockets: Shannanigans!

People who know me in real life know one of my great friends Rob.  He watched my house and my puppies while I globe-trotted, and that forges a deep bond, mostly because you're trusting someone with your whole entire life's worth of stuff and two dogs as close as your children. He did a fantastic job, and I can never thank him enough. However, I think I might have just been shanghaied. 

Text messaging is the communication of the future, and some days Rob and I engage in witty banter to keep ourselves amused. Yesterday, I sent him a photo of a stuffed animal I didn't recognize asking if it was his.  After his no reply, I went about my business (unpacking boxes and continuing to banter). Then, there was an incriminating message: Rob knew this stuffed animal I had never seen screeched, and that giving it to someone else was a curse!  It was his sling-monkey all the time! 

Thus, I officially declare shenanigans on Rob. Also, I need to ask him what the punishment is for knowingly passing on a cursed sling-monkey. 

What Happened to Shark Week?

When I was a kid, Shark Week was many things, but people didn't look forward to it and it was't called "The Official End of Summer" (that dubious honor belongs to Labor Day weekend according to some).  Shark Week wasn't popular and not everyone watched it.

Certainly, no one made fruit salad art.

I watched it, in fact, I got to stay up late to watch Shark Week.  Or maybe I didn't have a bedtime.  I don't remember.

It was a freer time.

What I do remember is that Shark Week was hella scary.  Sure, they were misunderstood, etc., etc., and so forth, but it was still scary.  I'm talking about raw news footage of a guy who's leg had just been bitten off, the credits rolling over a repeating shark face breaking the water in slow motion, a scene that I can vividly recall even today.

Sharks always win staring contests.

There was even a special on a guy who had a refrigerated truck full of great white shark carcasses frozen with their mouths' open. 

Rated PG for Probably Give you Nightmares

Today? EVERYONE is talking about Shark Week.  And it's not anything to get jazzed up about.  The shark shows are on 24/7 and there's even a late-night talk show style program called "Sharks After Dark LIVE!" or some such nonsense.

"And what's the deal with airplane food?"

And apparently, most people believe that the prehistoric giant dinosaur shark still exists, because the Discovery Channel told them so via Megalodon: The Blair Shark Project.

Makes James van der Beek weep for humanity.

I know now that most kids go through a phase where they want to be an oceanographer.  And for those kids Shark Week circa 1995 was amazing!  Now, it's just a ratings gambit by a station that hasn't taught me anything since they premiered Ice Road Truckers, and that makes me sad.  Good thing Neil DeGrasse Tyson's Cosmos is coming soon.

I Miss My Purse

My purse was stolen at a Circle K the week before Memorial Day.  That purse was perfect: a black Liz Claiborne number, with an adjustable cross-body strap and exactly enough room for my Nook.

I do own an actual Nook bag, but look how it clashes with my black Marilyn shirt!

Since you asked (you did, didn't you?) here's how it happened:
I was pumping gas, set my purse down on the trunk lid, and then knelt down to check the air pressure in my tires.  When I stood up, it was gone. People have asked me who was around and could have taken it.  Well, there were people at all the pumps around me and there was an employee emptying the trash can. 

When it happened, I was a wreck.  I absolutely didn't know what to do. I called my phone from the gas station, but it was already turned off.  The manager said that the security cameras weren't operating that day. Since he hadn't actually checked before he said that, it leads me to believe that either they never work or the employees are known to steal things.  I did not call the police.  It's not as if they would have found it, plus, I sort of hate being around cops. Nothing good ever comes of it for me.  I did try and call my husband, but he was at work and didn't answer.  So I did the next logical thing: I drove in a panic to his office and stood in the lobby until his meeting was over.

OK, that wasn't logical, but I did it anyway.

Honestly, there wasn't really anything to be done.  The phone that was in the purse was turned off immediately, so my "Where's my iPhone?" app on my iPad was no use.  I used the info from Dan's credit cards to cancel all of mine (we share everything except for one card I keep just so I'm still a USAA member).  Sprint put a security block on my phone, hopefully making it harder for the thief to resell it. 

One day I'll catch it on Craigslist

There were only a few irreplaceable things in there.

One: The iPhone cover my friend Amber had just given me a few days prior. Nothing fancy, but I wouldn't have had a cover for it all had it not been for her generosity.

She didn't want my phone to end up the Apple version of her boyfriend's

Two:  $60 in cash.  Probably more than many people carry nowadays, but still not very much.

Three:  A purple leather wallet with an elephant painted on it.  The elephant was added on our vacation to Thailand.

Cost me a whole dollar!

Four:  My Abu Dhabi driver's license.  This is the thing that I miss the most and will never ever be getting back.  I cannot foresee a time in my life when I will be living in Abu Dhabi again.  Honestly, it's hard for me to foresee a time when I won't be living in Arizona any more. 

Maybe when we retire to Disney's Celebration Village

So I will never ever ever be getting back together with my overseas driver's license.  Not unless some good Samaritan comes across my wallet in a gutter somewhere and mails it back to me.  This isn't outside the realm of possibility: I left my I.D. at a bar in New Orleans and more than six months later an envelope came from someone working at the bar I left it in. It was actually a surprise to me when it came, not that someone had been kind enough to send it, but because I hadn't even realized it was missing.

Thank you, Random Citizen!

See, here's something you might not know about me: I'm a loser.  Not in the "I'm a loser, baby, so why don't you kill me way," but in that I lose things all the time.  I'm so accustomed to misplacing things that I keep a complete spare set of keys and an extra copy of my driver's license at all times.  My tendency to misplace or forget things is probably why when I do remember something (there's laundry in the dryer or the trash needs to be taken out) I have to take care of it right away or the thought will run around my brain, literally raising my blood pressure and causing me anxiety.

Better quote myself here: They make pills for that.

So, my purse was stolen.  Immediately afterwards I was a wreck and freaked out.  Then I cancelled all my cards, bought a new phone, and felt better.  Now, I feel only a sense of melancholy about it.  I loved that purse that my mother-in-law bought me at JC Penny.  I loved my wallet, and I loved my UAE driver's license.  All things I won't get back. My consolation is that the yellow leather purse my sister gave me gets lots of compliments,

And my iPad fits perfectly!

my passport has a visa sticker in it, similar to my driver's license, and that I hadn't just gone to the bank and had more cash on me.

So farewell Liz Claiborne purse.

We'll always have the Arabian Village.