PomJob

I was cruising across the Ben Franklin Bridge toward the Garden State when I heard a thump and then an obnoxious, annoying rattling sound started to drown out the Prime Country streaming from my new Sirius radio. Technical automotive speak that I don’t understand aside, something that attaches the top of my car’s strut to the car broke or something. In any event, it’s going to cost a few Benjamins, especially when I discovered that I need to also have a wheel bering (or something) replaced.

When my shiny Economic Stimulus Check arrived, I had grand plans of bucking the trend and deposited it into my savings account. Now the money will be used to make my car less noisy so I can hear the radio on which I just dropped $200-plus.

If you’re in need of $1,000, check out this contest that rewards you for creating the best smoothie ever.

You can enter at www.whymilk.com. I can’t win, but you can!

“Excuse me, what is the soup du jour?”

“That means soup of the day, ma’am,” the waiter replied.

Huh. How ’bout that.

A Jeep rushed down the farm lane kicking up clouds of dust in its wake. I spot it and rush across the verdant grass to direct the driver to a parking spot out of the way of forklifts and tractors. I smile at the reporter walking toward me and suddenly the Earth is rushing at me.

We were gathered to commence the final stage of a major project at work. On a dairy farm. During the early June heatwave. My task of the moment was to keep the cars out of the way of the farm’s daily operations.

As I pranced across the front yard of the mustard-colored farmhouse, my right foot found a round hole bored into the slight hillside bordering the lane. I went flying into the lane, sliding on my elbow, hip and knee, successfully covering my right side in beige dirt that becomes speckled with red blood. In front of two reporters, three coworkers and various and sundry onlookers.

Luckily the guy in the Jeep was the photographer and he was too busy parking next to the other cars to capture my fall with(out) grace on film (or digital, in this day and age).

What did you do to embarrass yourself today?

PS-My middle name isn’t Grace, but it would fit. I’m currently sporting a bruise on my left hip from when I ran into the kitchen doorway yesterday as I tried to squeeze past the cleaning man, swollen toes on my left foot from when I jammed them into the ottoman in my living room, a scratch from the mini-blind that attacked me, unexplained bruises on my left knee and right thigh and the bruises and gravel pockmarks from today’s incident.

I’m caught between a rock and a hard place tonight: The Bachelorette or Nashville Star?

It used to be what set me apart from the rest of my family, my very vocal dislike of country music. That, combined with a bad attitude, was my form of rebellion during the rough teen years. (I know, other kids do drugs and get knocked up. I hate country music.)

While my mom was schlepping my sisters to the JCC for Friday night country line dancing, I was sitting at home, doing I can’t really remember what. But I certainly was NOT listening to country music, much less dancing along.

But then I had to take country line dancing during gym class and… I kind of really liked it. So I started listening to more George Strait and less Green Day. Today I’m 100 percent country.

I haven’t been dedicated to Nashville Star in the past, partly because of no cable, but I recall it was on at a weird time. Now that it’s on NBC I can watch it! BUT! I’m invested in The Bachelorette. Who will receive the final rose? Will there be a proposal? Why does Deanna break down tonight? However, the king of the country line dance, Mr. Billy Ray Cyrus, is hosting Nashville Star. The two shows overlap by an hour.

That’s right. While other people are struggling to put food on the table or maintain the roof that protects that table from the elements, my biggest concern is which reality TV show I should watch. I’ll shut up now.

I hear stories all the time about people who go on blind dates arranged by their friends and/or family, but no one has ever really offered that service to me. (Maybe I should be grateful. Most stories end with less happily ever after and more trainwreck.) From time to time, a family member or friend will suggest a guy that I should date but I’m relieved to say that these pipe dreams have never materialized.

My mom thought a guy working for them was the perfect guy for me. He was (is?) Mennonite but I have an aversion to wearing long denim skirts. My mom pooh-poohed that concern and insisted that we were perfect for each other. My dad disagreed. “He’s kind of overweight,” he said. With an endorsement like that, I was never gung-ho. The real deal breaker came a few weeks after I first heard of Wes. He had a mental break down and that was the last we heard from him.

Then there was the guy offered up by my roommate’s “friend.” Rich’s nephew was a few years younger than Rich and had a daughter. The daughter was conceived with a woman who had been involved with a guy who killed his parents and brother and kept their bodies in a house for more than a year. Sorry, I don’t think I’ll get involved with anyone with those connections.

This weekend, my brother-in-law tried to convince me to date his coworker. The coworker is in his mid-40s and lives with his mother.

“But he’s rich!” Jake said. “The guys at work told me he makes like $12,000 a month in interest on all his savings accounts. You really should give him a chance.”

I was talking with my much older and wiser friend Bean today and, as our conversations are wont to do, the topic turned to matters of the heart. Bean’s second husband passed away two years ago and she mentioned that she’s looking for a rich man to set her up for a life of luxury when she retires in six months. I mentioned the machinist recommended by Jake, honing in on the $12,000 monthly interest payments.

“No, you don’t want to date him,” Bean said. “He has dirty nails.”

Molly wrote a post today praising her Momma and listing 100 things she’s learned from her.

9. Sometimes ice cream before dinner is OK.

June is National Dairy Month, today I helped create a 90-gallon ice cream sundae to commemorate one of the best holidays ever. (I don’t agree with Molly’s #40.) I think I’ve successfully ruined a pair of khaki capris and I kind of smell like warm milk.

The best part of the day was observing the inane things people do when you hand out free stuff. First, a bottled tea company decided to crash our event and hand out cans of their newest tea to our audience. During Dairy Month! For which another company that has a successful and popular line of teas donated ice cream and toppings!

Our servings were VERY generous (too generous in my opinion) but people kept asking for smaller dishes. And they asked if we could possibly give them another flavor, they don’t like vanilla. Or could you please find me some caramel? It’s my favorite topping, I’m not much for chocolate or strawberry. And could you ditch the pecans next year? I’m allergic. I’m betting next year someone asks us to include a disclaimer: Allergy Alert! This ice cream sundae contains milk.

People, people. It’s free. Eat it and like it. And please repeat, it pays my bills.

As the special people made opening comments, a man wearing a priest’s collar tapped me on the shoulder to ask if he could possibly get a sundae before everyone else because he had a meeting in a few minutes. We hadn’t even finished constructing the sundae and there was a group of 50 elementary students standing right beside him that probably would have rioted had I given him ice cream but not them. I denied a man of the cloth ice cream. I’m probably going to hell.

But my, that ice cream before lunch was delicious!

There’s a pretty little gash on the upper part of my left arm, left by a wayward blind that was on a suicide mission to perpetuate my bodily injuries. (I don’t think I’ve had an entire day in my 26 years without a bruise or cut or something, somewhere on my body.)

My roommate has been in pursuit of new windows for our home for the past couple of months and her cousin/window man finally left word over the weekend that he would be here today to install our new windows!

I was thrilled when I heard the news. Finally! Windows that open! Screens to act like a holy Berlin wall that separates me from bitey, itchy, icky bugs! Cross breezes! The list is endless. We scrambled around this morning, taking down blinds and curtains, moving furniture and hiding unmentionables. My bed broke in the process, so now the left side of my bed is perched on a stack of books.

I judged public relations entries after work (Holla PR pros in Hawai’i! Nice job! Especially the dairy, how ironic that it was the first entry I judged.) and around 9:15 I approached the front steps of our row house with the giddy anticipation of a 18 year old virgin on prom night. Windows that open! Screens! Cross breezes! But there, shining around the panes of glass or whatever they used in windows in those days was the glint of the old metal window casings.

Cousin showed up, deposited the new windows wrapped in cardboard around the house, removed the old screens and called it a day. So now not only do we not have protection from the inquisitive eyes of 300 of our closest neighbors, we don’t have access to cross breezes or screens. I tried to temporarily rehang the blind in the bathroom, but as I pulled the cord to adjust the length, it sprung free from its restraints and landed on me with a clatter.

Cross breezes! Screens! Open Windows! Tomorrow you better be mine! (Or I’m coming after you, Cousin.)

In the year and a half that I’ve lived in Philadelphia, I’ve been subsisting on entertainment caught from the skies by a set of rabbit ears that lives above the moving picture box. I’ve saved roughly $900 and I don’t think I’ve missed too much by not having cable. (Although there was that funny moment at work why my coworkers were talking about a commercial they saw on some cable station and I chimed in, “That’s so funny! Wish I could have seen it but I DON’T HAVE CABLE!” Maybe you had to be there.) Internet makes watching cable programming easier, as does Netflix - and with Netflix there’s no waiting for next week or next season to wrap up those pesky cliffhangers.

I’m not usually one to be all down with big government, but this transition to digital TV seems to be very poorly executed. In case you’re living in blissful oblivion, you have until Feb. 17, 2009, to beg, borrow or steal a way to receive a digital signal if you don’t have cable. There’s a coupon for which you can apply to make a converter box affordable, you can buy a new digital-equipped TV or you can get cable.

My roommate hooked up a converter box on our living room TV this afternoon and while the picture is clearer and we get a few new digital channels, we no longer get ABC or MYPHL. NBC and CBS phase in and out of service. We can’t figure out how to get the channels to work. The Web site doesn’t really provide many answers, contrary to its name.

As it stands now, DTV sucks. Hopefully we’ll be able to figure this out by Feb. 17. Or maybe we just need to break down and get cable. I hear it has funny commercials.

1 TXT MSG the screen on my phone proclamed.

Gah. Hate text messages. Get in trouble for getting them on company-paid cell phone. Besides, who is still up at 1 a.m.? I? Am old.

I flip the phone open and hit OK to open the message

From Jamie

It’s a boy

May 18, 12:54 am

Congratulations Jamie and Henry! I can’t wait to meet Hunter!!

I wrote this last night but saved the draft when I remembered it was my sister’s birthday so the timing won’t make sense but I’m too lazy to change it.

*********************************************

My fingers are shaking with excitement to finally have access to Internet for the first time since Saturday morning! I went to see my mama for Mother’s Day and then headed to Gettysburg for a conference. The following is a collection of random thoughts because I’m too fried for more.

Do do do do… do do do do… chu chu.

Just saw a commercial for the new 90210!

************************************************

What’s awesome? Robotic dairy farms.

What’s not so awesome? Touring the Gettysburg battlefield in the rain. Thanks, company-mandated fun time.

***********************************************

Anyone watching Farmer Wants a Wife?

I’ve been eagerly anticipating the show since I was contacted by the casting agent just after I started my job, a little more than a year ago. In a way, I helped cast it! (She wanted help locating the farmer.) I’ve been meaning to catch it but tonight’s the first opportunity I’ve had.

***********************************************

“We thought you were a Girl Scout leader,” said the hillbilly in the hotel’s bar. “We thought you were asking about the next troop meeting.”

I had just paid for four Dirty Girl Scout shots. It’s probably the best shot ever. Do people where they came from frequently hold Girl Scout meetings in hotel bars?

***********************************************

Do you have any random thoughts to share?