Supermarket Stupidity

This post was prompted from my reading of this article this morning over coffee.

There’s a local grocery chain here called Basha’s. I think it’s the last remaining locally owned one. Hmmm… envisions the neighborhood… Fry’s, Fry’s, Albertsons, Fry’s… and Fry’s, which used to be local, got bought out years ago and in its current form, is a Kroger affiliate… Alpha Beta/ABCO’s been long gone for decades, so has Smitty’s (which was Canadian anyway), and Safeway’s the same ol’ California company. Yep, Basha’s is the only local one left.

I also can’t recall the last time I set foot in one. I got tired of their inflated prices. I got tired of their shelves never being restocked in a timely manner, and then from there, their selection on said shelves went downhill. I got tired of the stores having that heavy reek of the fryer that has been theirs since I was a kid; it slaps you in the face as soon as you walk in the door. I got tired of their meat section, just awful (and it used to be pretty decent). I got tired of their crummy bakery with tasteless cakes and foul little doughnuts, and a nasty produce section with poor quality fruits and vegetables. What I got REALLY tired of were their cranky, indifferent employees. For those reasons and others, I stopped going to their stores a long time ago. I think it’s been about three years. The last time I was there, I returned some Mother’s cookies that had – wait for it – some sort of spider webs or whatever inside the package. Ew.

I prefer having my wallet raped at Safeway over walking into a nasty Basha’s store.

Procrastination/is silly/you go around/willy nilly…

I’m pretty much doing everything except the Motion in Limine I’m supposed to do for my legal writing class, and then after that I have to start piecing my legal memo together. I did the depo summary earlier this afternoon–really an abstract, but my instructor is weird that way: she doesn’t know the difference between an abstract and a summary. Whatever; the abstract is a hell of a lot faster and easier, and I did a fine job, thank you very much.

Three weeks to go. It can’t go fast enough.

~~

I came home yesterday when DH poked his head into the garage as I opened the trunk. “Baby? I have a surprise in the living room.” He was even solicitous in helping me bring in the bags, which he rarely does. He was supposed to be out scouting for things, not buying. He looked awfully guilty, like a lil kid who has done something in contravention to what his mother told him not to do.

I was not surprised, therefore, to find a 42″ flatscreen in our living room. He got a screaming deal with an appropriate side story to go along with it (rude people who wanted TWO flatscreens at the center of it… who needs TWO flatscreens??)

He is not allowed to bitch about finances for the next year.

~~

Princess Entitlement came home for Thanksgiving (hub’s niece) from her snooty university. Long story short: if I were the parent paying $50,000 a year to attend said snooty school (not even Ivy League, mind you), I certainly would want to see my child being academically challenged. Princess said she’s bored and the classes are easy. Holy God. No wonder the kids are so useless when they get out of college.

Add to it she’s probably going to go Poli Sci as a major… and I have forgotten what foofy thing she’s doing for a minor. It’s not French, not even International Relations. I have a feeling she’s going to fizzle out.

~~

Plans for Vail are skimming along. The only bump in the road that made me fly out of the Radio Flyer wagon is that DH’s mom pulled a guilt trip on him, resulting in his arbitrary decision that we show up for Christmas Dinner. Um, no: two hours from Vail to Denver; sit in the airport for God knows how long; another hour (at least) in flight back home; another hour from there to get our crap and get to the house to let the cat out. And from there we’re supposed to drive another hour and a half up (and back) to listen to the b.s. of the aforementioned Princess and the weirdness of MIL’s niece? …God, no.

I didn’t take it well. I dread the day when concrete plans are in the works to move to NC. What is she going to pull then? I don’t dare think about it for fear of driving myself mad.

~~

I refuse to punish my nephew for the stupidity and weakness of his mother, so we sent him a combined birthday/Christmas present. She called to say thank you, but Hellboy has made no mention of gifts. Then, over the weekend, after four months of not really talking to me, Sis has decided to play nice. I’m not really interested. Until she straightens out her priorities and knocks off being  nothing more than a pawn, then yeah. Until then I have nothing to say.

~~

A couple of weekends ago, we went to lunch with some friends and their small children. The children were well behaved and enjoyable. “S” is a friend of DH’s and mine from hockey days. “J” is the wife he courted long distance. She does not like us (although she had an embarrassingly huge crush on DH to the point that we both felt sorry for S), and even DH is saying that enough is enough. There have been several incidents over the last few years, most especially the dinner where she had the shittiest attitude: she would not let me go and talk to the guys–I had to stay with her in the kitchen. When she went into the restroom, I slipped into the other room and had a moment to say hi to dear friend S. She came back and pretty much herded me back to the kitchen. That was not a good night, and similar incidents all night left a sour taste in both my and DH’s mouths.

But at lunch that day, she sat there, staring into space moodily, rebuffing any effort to break the ice, and she most obviously wanted to be somewhere else. She refused to join in the conversation with DH, S and I. This is not the first exposure to her rudeness, but it will likely be the last. Poor S gets to eat it; sorry, babe. It’s just not worth it anymore. It’s sad.

I do not believe in putting a choke chain on my husband; to me, it is the hallmark of distrust and disrespect. I know who I married and I trust him implicitly. As an example, if he wants to go to a titty bar (who has money and time these days?), I’m secure enough in myself to be good with that. I don’t really care. I encourage him to go and play with the boys–movies, pool, squash, mountain biking, whatever. DH has so many friends who wistfully sigh and opine that they wish their wives would allow them to do such things.

To watch our dear friend S go through this emasculation is sad. She’s the breadwinner; he runs his company out of the house around the children’s schedule. He cannot have any outlets without a) her express approval and b) some method of caring for the kids while he plays. She won’t just stay home with the kids now and again for his sanity; instead, he’s tethered to the children (while she’ll go out and play). It’s a shame, really, and the change in S is pretty obvious.

When I brought up hockey at lunch that day, his eyes lit up and the discussion following was animated. J was miffed and when S asked me to send the link to where I’m considering playing, there was a glint in J’s eye I didn’t like. I hope I didn’t cause any difficulty for him, but it just came up in conversation. I’m willing to bet that the thought of playing roller hockey again has him excited (his nickname when we all used to play was “Yzerman” lol… and yes he was that good)… but I think if J has anything to do with it and he tries to insist on returning to hockey, she’s going to cut his nards off and put them in a jar.

I feel so bad for the guy. Poor baby.

~~

This past Wednesday, I went to Dad’s and did Phase One of cleaning the store room. I was naive enough to think this would be a day project-oh hell no. Mom had stashed stuff in there from the forties and fifties, including my uncles grade school report cards. There’s a large pile of letters to and from my grandparents… and I had absolutely no time to read them. I will sort, categorize and go through them one day.

I found some letters and diaries of my mom’s that I discreetly stashed in my pile, and read when I got home. All the way back in 1965, she was gutted by the division and bullshit games in her family, and their apparent indifference to her and her huge responsibilities. “I might as well be dead to them,” she had written.

Sad to think that forty-three years later, her daughter knows exactly how she felt then. Some things never change, and patterns in families really do repeat.

~~

All right, back to work. I’m slacking and I know it. One assignment down, two to go.

More later.

Weekend Roundup

Ahhh… *sits down for the first time all day*

I think summer’s back is broken… not that the temps are out of the hundreds yet, but because the early mornings are now back in the mid-80s. It was 80 this morning at a 6:40a, and it was WONDERFUL. I would have gone for a hike, except that I had weeds and overgrown vines screaming for attention in the front yard. So I went for coffee at the aforementioned hour, went to Wally World before all of Guadalupe woke up, and not only sprayed the weeds and clipped some of the stuff in the front, but I also washed and waxed my car.

I am all kinds of awesome today.

~~

Progress is as progress does: I started out so well in the gym, and then Boss went into a week’s worth of conniptions that shot all plans, before and after work, to hell. Then school started, throwing me off even more. I have been skating at CSC on Wednesdays, and catch the occasional Pima Canyon hike now that the weather’s nicer. I haven’t been to the gym in about three weeks, and if I get through other stuff today, I’ll head up the street.

~~

I do not understand why a set of inline bearings are upwards of $40. I say “40″ because generally I’ve seen them between $35 and $43. So let’s take my rough average: 40/16=2.5. So $2.50 per bearing? Seriously? When it costs maybe $.50 to make them? What a fucking racket.

I’m looking for bearings so that I have dedicated indoor bearings vs. outdoor. I have the stock bearings in my new wheels to mess around on the Sport Court, and the dirt from the outdoor skating have trashed them. I have to get new ones for indoor.

And Dave wonders why I won’t commit to a league right now… I bought my hockey ‘girdle’ for $60 a couple of weeks ago. I got a stick and a puck last week to play around with. I have to parcel out the spending, and then league fees, too? Not yet. January, I promise.

~~

After five years in our house, we’re finally getting rid of the fuschia carpeting. I told the lady from the flooring place about it, and she didn’t believe me until I told her. When she came to measure, she walked in the door and stopped. She blinked and said, “Wow.” So we’re getting a mix of tile and carpet, and running the same carpet up the stairs and through the upstairs hallway. We’ll do the bedrooms at our leisure.

Better Half was thinking that we could do ~1200sf for under three grand. He’s on crack, especially since we have chosen some better materials than one might actually choose for a house that will be sold in the next couple of years.

Oh, I can’t wait–I have hated this carpet since the moment we first saw this house, but events conspired against us to change it. I’ll post before and after pics, perhaps make its own page. You will understand my joyous backflips when you see.

~~

All right, off to homework land. See ya later.

Fuzzy Math

For all my freaking out, I got As in both classes for summer school. I’m completely mystified. I was expecting to do only fair to middling in both classes, because about midway through, I didn’t give a rat’s ass. I just wanted to be done. I’m bored with school, bored with the classes, bored with the dumbasses that go through this program with no fucking clue in their pea brains. I just wanted out, and as long as I passed both, I was content.

Prof had no choice in ethics but to curve grades on the final–I think everyone was heartily tired of the class, tho’ not of him, and tired of the disconnect between the material in the class when compared to the questions on the tests–and I think he tinkered with some of my grades, because I distinctly remember not doing terribly well in certain assignments. How? By brain farting and forgetting about them. That tends to do it.

To be more specific: in Torts, I completely missed two assignments, each worth a hundred points. I flubbed an online discussion by not posting my response to another student on a different day than my original response to the question. I have a C average in the quizzes, if I don’t drop the one I didn’t do; if I drop that quiz, it bumps to an 85 average. Same idea with the homework assignments. Good thing is, I nailed the discussions, the midterm, and the final. But with all the flubs, I still got an A.

In Ethics, I got a 89.5 according to his count, and Prof stated in the individual grade sheet that he was rounding up, and so he did, posting an A. But as I scanned the grades below that from the entire term, my eyes slitted a little in suspicion. A memo worth 100 points, 75/100 for a discussion, a quiz worth a hundred points, another quiz 25/40… these anomalies amongst high nineties and hundreds would still bring the score down.  He dropped the memo I’d forgotten to complete. My saving grace was that I nailed the term paper and the presentation that I had agonized over–ah ha, that’s how it got there… I think.

It’s still fuzzy math. Very fuzzy.

I guess I shouldn’t complain. And, as the high poobah of the program, Prof has the right to do as he wishes. It preserves my straight As. Certainly I’m not going to send an email that says, “Where in the hell did you get the A?” Oh, no, I’m not that dumb.

So, I go into the last semester of the program with a light heart. It’s almost over, and if I can ace the two more difficult courses during the accelerated summer courses, I can survive three classes this fall.

One Word: BITCHIN!!!!

Came across this one one of my news sites, which came via Neatorama. Turn down your speakers or headsets, the sounds can be headache inducing… but holy cow, it’s so worth it.

Salt Sound Waves – video powered by Metacafe

That is fucking AWESOME!!

If sound can do that to particles, I wonder what effect is has in all sorts of venues? You know, like space and stuff?

(Yes, I’m procrastinating. I really hate my midterm).

Dragging Ass and Going Crazy

I am so tired of my friends in the South complaining it’s hot. They complain that it’s 84 degrees. I’d give my eyeteeth for 84 degrees right now. Hot? You want hot? I’ll give you hot: it’s 112 here in Phoenix yesterday and today with no end in sight, far above normal (104) for this time of year. Add to that, monsoon season should be here soon–it’s already a little sticky this morning–so it’s getting nasty here.

Now shut up already and count your blessings. You friends are welcome to come here and experience it for yourself–you’ll never complain about your so called “heat” again.

There, I feel better.

~~

I know I’ve been MIA, but there’s so much going on it’s not even funny. Let’s take last week, for example: fly to Vegas on Tuesday morning because Better Half has a seminar in the northwest part of town, and wanted to take me along to see Cirque du Soleil on Tuesday night. Cool and awesome. Mystère is a great show, and afterward we walked through Treasure Island and the Mirage, then went back to Suncoast to sleep. We wandered around when we had time—after his seminar was done on Wednesday around noon, we checked out from Suncoast, went to lunch at the old Peppermill (which was great) across from the nasty Circus Circus, and then wandered through what the late and great Dean Martin referred to as the “Meggum” (MGM Grand)—I hadn’t been there in fifteen years, and have forgotten how huge it is.  We each had a beer at the Centrifuge Bar, watched the bartenders dance on the bar top, and then reluctantly headed out back to the airport and back to The Furnace (Vegas’s weather was warm and balmy, but not unpleasant).

Both flights—in and out of Vegas—ran late. Why is that? It’s no further than L.A., so why? Ridiculous.

I’m Baaaaaack

I took a little break. That, and I wanted the Wildland Firefighters post to be up on top as much as possible.

What’s up?

Obama is roaring, Hillabeast refuses to die, and McCain’s campaign is slowly crumbling.

The fire season started early. It’s rompin and stompin.

We hit 110 for a record the other day. Ugh. Going to be a long summer.

~~~

Allow me to qualify anything I say about Ted Kennedy after this point by stating that I wouldn’t wish his diagnosis and prognosis on anyone. The picture in the paper this morning is probably misleading–he looks the same as always–because everyone knows his suggested treatment and probable death sentence has to be eating him and his family alive.

However, Ted Kennedy is becoming The Most Holy Martyr Saint Edward of Hyannisport even before his death.  But the sanctification of a man–politically, mind you–who has done nothing but fill a seat Daddy Joe bought for him in the 60s is rather nauseating.

I guess because I was born after what I call the Kennedy years inthe 60s, I don’t have any stars in my eyes in regards to that family. I know people in my elder siblings’ age group and in my parents’ generation who have tears in their eyes during discussions of Jack and Bobby and the mythology that surrounded them. Maybe it’s because as I was growing up, Camelot had started to lose its luster and innocence, and it was becoming widely accepted that had Jack lived, his presidency would have been disastrous. And who knows about Bobby, had he not been cut down?

Strangely, these same people who hold the elder brothers in high esteem never held the same feeling for Ted, who never was in the same league as any of his three elder brothers. It is commonly said that Ted was never as bright intellectually, as savvy in the political sense, or as crafty or charismatic as Joe, Jack or Bobby.

Perhaps, too, it is Ted’s permanent black cloud of Chappaquiddick, a shocking incident that showed a lack of personal responsibility and morals, and became a showcase of Ted’s overriding sense of self-preservation and ego (and never mind the Kennedy talent for making problems disappear).  What normal friend–and possible boyfriend–would go to such lengths to cover tracks and, at the same time, showing an absolute disregard of someone else’s life? What kind of person would skip away with a mere slap on the wrist? In the annals of failure, this ranks way the hell up there–it’s an incident that would have destroyed the career of lesser mortals.

That said, I wish the senator well, and hope for a recovery despite a dire situation.

~~~

Around Phoenix, in the bus stops, Food City has posters in the ad windows. One version has a background of a multitude of votive candles, and the logo says, “Estamos Con Ustedes” (We’re With You). The other looks similar, with the statement, “Estamos En Su Lado” (We’re On Your Side). The Food City stores are owned by the Basha family, and caters to the Hispanic market in the Valley. Way to go, Eddie Basha! Way to encourage illegal immigration!

Of course, that’s where he gets his cheap labor… so what else is new? *sigh*

Failure on a spectacular scale.

~~~

I’m off and running. Have a great holiday weekend.

Reflections

For the few who actually returned and thought you saw posts that are now not there, you were not hallucinating. After I finished the First Confession Session , and its sequel, First Confession Session – Part II, I realized that although it was cathartic to write about that whole mess, putting it out there and potentially reopening that whole can of worms should “Joe” trip across it was not cool. So they’re still here, just not public. Perhaps at a later time I’ll make them public again, but for now, the sleeping dogs need to remain so.

But yes, I feel better about it since I wrote it out. It was an incredibly stupid slip, but it did make me treasure what I do have even more. I learned very valuable lessons. It will never happen again.

~~

The Monday drive was full of idiots like usual, but today it was Moronic Semi Drivers Day. A big ol’ UDA milk semi with a nice long aluminum milk tank decided to wander across three choked up lanes of traffic at his convenience and not anyone else’s.

Then, a few minutes later, a tractor (sans trailer) decided to wedge itself in front of me, forcing me to stop short (no signal at all); he then forced himself in the far right lane and nearly ran a little Toyota truck off the freeway. Nice job, asshole… if a) my cell phone wasn’t deader than a doornail and b) there was a 800-hows my driving sticker on the tractor, I would have complained up a storm. As it was, I suspect he was a new driver, because he had to lean over to see his mirror as he nearly ran that little truck over. Hey, asshole, you might want to go back to your rig driving school–you obviously failed your mirrors class.

~~

Boss comes back in the office today from his jaunt to the East Coast. He went to see the Pope (I’m jealous–Viva il Papa!), and did various other politicky things. I’m still pissed at him from last Monday, and can hardly wait to see what his minor malfunction is today.

~~

Which reminds me of the thoughts I had this morning as I hurriedly read the paper. The American media, for all its gloom and doom in previous weeks prior to the Papal Visit because Benedict is no John Paul, are now bleating happy murmurings because the Pope has been exemplary on this visit. It’s so funny to see the normally anti-Catholic media sing his praises.

As a Catholic, I’m proud of Benedict: he didn’t even blink. He pounded on the child abuse scandal, something that the prematurely sainted JPII shied away from. But now, Papa has to put his money where his mouth is, and be the scourge to clean the filth out of the church.

One of these days, I’ll pontificate on the status of the Church. Not today–God knows when Boss is going to wander through the door.

~~

Thought for the Day:

Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men, even when they exercise influence and not authority: still more when you superadd the tendency or the certainty of corruption by authority. – Lord Acton

Monday Bitchiness

I hate rude, pushy people who absolve themselves of any wrongdoing. This morning, we fielded a call from a high maintenance client who was insisting that Boss fax over her entire file to her parents; Boss said ‘hell no’ politely, but did send the essentials of the matter. The parting shot was, “My father is calling you tomorrow.” Oooo! Are we supposed to be scared? Boss just raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Eh, I’ll talk to him and then he’ll say in the end, ‘oh, I understand.’ No problem.”

The assistant to our co-counsel out of state emailed this morning, “Men are sooo moody!” referring to her boss, who is one of those people who go-go-go all the time. I replied that mine wasn’t PMSing this morning, but that he had yanked me from the door as I was going to lunch. He’ll probably freak fifteen minutes before my scheduled departure, which I hate. That’s normal.

At this moment, Boss is spelling out the big trouble a person’s son is sliding into. It’s rather sad. “he can get bounced out when they do a background check.” “Oh, no! That’s not possible! It’s not his fault!” Boss just rolled his eyes after the call was over and said, “Some people just don’t want to hear the truth.”

A friend of mine from out of state didn’t read a thing I wrote earlier today, so I replied, “God! You are such an asshole! Typical male!”

I had a great weekend–busy as hell, but a great weekend. Saturday was breakfast with Husband at paradise, then a long walk in Papago Park; lunch with the family at Mucho Gusto in Tempe, then I did some yardwork until it was time to take  my sister and Tude Dude Hellboy nephew to the airport on Saturday evening. Ten year old Tude Dude wouldn’t even say goodbye to his grandfather–he better be glad he’s not my kid, because his ugly disrespect would garner a smack to the back of his head from me. Mark my words, there will be trouble with this kid, and soon.

I get a call at 9:15 that evening and my sister’s freaking out–”I lost my cell phone!!”–you need to understand she’s a bigwig in her emergency services government job. She’s spazzing on the phone as I wandered downstairs and into the garage with my ear to the phone… and lo and behold, it was lying on the front passenger side floor of my car.

Sunday was wonderfully lazy, with the exception of mowing my lawn weeds–soon the bermuda will crowd them out and all will be well for the summer. The back yard does look good, I must say–my roses are a week away from exploding into bloom.

This morning, FedEx charged me over thirty dollars to send Sister’s cell phone to her overnight, but I know with them it will get there. The chick behind the counter had an attitude from hell, but when I got her to smile, I wish I hadn’t: I think she has meth mouth. Ugh. No wonder she’s cranky.

Gotta go back to work… later.

Don’t Trust That Day

Ah, yes, it’s Monday again.

I fell asleep reading a book after the family left; I have a dim memory of my better half switching the lights off and murmuring something about “Poor baby.” I had my ass kicked, but it all went off well.

Since the sun comes up earlier, my body clock goes off earlier as well. I woke up at six, and I was pissed that I was solar powered. I wanted to sleep in, especially after three days of prep work and cooking. I went to work, but Better Half took it off. Go figure.

After I got some work stuff done, I wandered over to my college’s website to see if any of the classes had reopened. Many of them were, including the one I wanted to switch to. So I called, schmoozed the registrar, and got it changed. 

Better Half, on his chosen day off, came and took me to lunch at Steamers at the Biltmore. Why not? A burger there is $10, and better than most out there. It’s worth paying for the better quality than the horsemeat at the fast food restaurants.

So, it’s been a pretty damn good Monday. I only wish I didn’t have class tonight.

~~

On Saturday night, as I was prepping vegetables and other stuff for Easter dinner, BH was cruising the channels and I said “STOP!”

I’ve been in a Bobby Darin mood lately. I read the book written by his son, “Dream Lovers,” and the biography by David Evanier, “Roman Candle.” I have Bobby’s music loaded on my iPod. So when BH hesitated on the Kevin Spacey movie about him, I wanted to see if it was worth a damn.

It was, and it wasn’t.

Kevin bears a passing resemblance to Bobby, and did a decent job of the covers of the songs. A problem many critics pointed out when it came out in 2004 was that Kevin at 45 was much older than Bobby when he died at 37 in 1973. But if Kevin is such the huge fan as he claims to be, why did he butcher the events of Bobby’s life? Bobby never made peace with his real mother. Bobby treated Charlie, his real mother’s husband, like crap, as he did his entire family. And BD essentially died alone, miserable, painfully, fearfully, and didn’t die peacefully in his hospital bed with Sandra Dee by his side. The only person he wanted at the end was his sister, Vee, and nobody else…not even his beloved only child, Dodd, who was 12 at the time of his death.

It was disjointed towards the end, and the song and dance crap was pure ego for Kevin.

And Kevin, as a so-called fan, should remember that Bobby was a brutally honest person, and he probably wouldn’t have been pleased with how Kevin played it out. If Bobby had a grave, he’d be flipping in it.

Grade: Meh.

~~

Gotta go for my walk.

Toodle-oo.