Book Sales Are My Kryptonite

I drove to Waco after work today, and realized HalfPrice Books Outlet was just a couple blocks away from one of my Credit Unions. Before going inside I limited myself to $20.

By limited, I mean I only took that much inside the store. (I seem to always spend at least twice as much as I "limit" myself to.)

The Clerk said I was good this time--I only spent $36. (I may have left all but $20 of my cash in the SUV...but then I remembered I paid off my credit card balances this morning, and they  were BEGGING me to use them!)

Because I was "good," I could have kept the two books I ultimately put back on the shelf--and still would not have doubled todays self-impossed "limit."

When I unpacked my book haul tonight, I found the 20% off advertisement for later this month...I may have to brave the I-35 traffic again so I can adopt a few more babies that day. (Actually, the drive was not bad even though it was Friday after work--but I didn't "love" it like the billboards have been promising.)

In addition to the two books I put back, I found a couple more cozy series I haven't read yet.

Yeppers, another after work book run may be in store for this girl. I can hear the books calling my name.

My kryptonite is a book sale.

Reality vs Perception

I saw a meme today that was profound in its simplicity. Two time lines stating it's too late for a dream.

The first time line is labled "Perception" and the "too late" is about 75% of the way past birth and 25% before death.

The second time line is labeled "Reality" and the too late comment comes after death.

I LOVE this!

I'm reminded of Sarah and Elizabeth becoming moms in their old age (shudder! But to each his/her own.). Or GradMa Moses becoming an Artist (much nicer thought to my way of thinking). Or Seventy year olds  with hopes of completing degrees as Nurses or Lawyers.  Or Parents graduating High School with their Kids. The list goes on and on.

Just think of all the wonderful things the world would have missed out on if these people had allowed their perceptions (or the worlds perceptions for that matter) to stop them from seeking their dream.

When I turned 50,  I gave myself "permission" to do and say, whatever I wanted and travel by myself to a greater extent than ever before. Now, I actually prefer to go to the Theater, shopping, on vacation, etc. by myself. It gives me time to do and see what I want.

I think this year my 60th B-day gift to myself will be to ignore other peoples (and my own) negative or faulty perceptions of what I "should" or "should not" do as a "mature southern woman."  Within reason. 

Think of the speech Shirley McClain's character in "Steel Magnolias" gives when she talks about gardening hats and growing tomatoes because "that's what old southern women DO."  And she didn't even like tomatoes.

I'm talking about giving myself permission to go against the nay-sayers--even if one of them lives inside my own head.

If I suddenly get an itch to go to Law School,  I'll give myself permission to do it even if "they" say I'm too old. (I'm NOT going to go to Law School--I can argue quite well for free). But you know what I'm saying--I'm not going to allow other people (or myself) to stop me from at least trying whatever it is I decide I want to try.

Is every dream possible just because I no longer listen to ney-sayers? Absolutely not! But, that doesn't mean that I (or anyone else) shouldn't at least try to find a way to accomplish a goal if they really want to do something.

I think my parachuting days are past me because of my knees--even after I have them replaced, or Scuba diving for someone after experiencing heart problems--but if we don't even research the possibilities of alternative dreams--we might miss out on some really interesting possibilities.

I'm thinking my retirement job should involve pet-friendly travel--maybe I'll open a pet-friendly travel agency or tour group. Or maybe help transport adoptable pets cross country. One of my dream jobs as a kid was cross country car racing....

The Sale

I'm not sure who was having a rougher time processing my sale:  The middle-aged Clerk, or me.

I wanted a specific carpet cleaner, in a specific formula. I had purchased it a while ago at her local store. The last two times I went back to purchase more, the store was out of it. I still had a partial bottle of this magical liquid so I wasn't worried.

Until I upended the bottle the other day and spilled it.

Every. Last. Drop.

I went online to see if any other stores had it. Yep. Just not the same formula. It's kind of pricey and I didn't want to try another formula, that may or may not work, so I looked on Amazon.com--they have everything.

Sure enough it was listed. I could have it delivered to my door in a matter of hours. And since it was Prime, shipping would be free. What's not to love about door delivery with free shipping?

I'll tell you--the same size bottle, in the same formula, on Amazon.com, was over twice as much as I paid for it at the local store. So far, everything I've purchased through my second Prime membership has been the same price, or cheaper, than what I pay in the local stores. My first Prime membership was not as good an experience and I cancelled that puppy. But even as dissatisfied as I was the first PrimeTime, I have never seen such a vast price difference on the very same product in the exact same size.

Then I saw the local store where I originally found it, would allow me to order it online with store pick-up. All I would have to do is remember to pick it up.  They indicated they had one bottle on the shelf right now, so I could pick ot up today.  Then I saw the outrageous shipping fee they wanted to charge.  I'm not paying shipping fees to a store--especially for an item that is already stocked.  Besides, most stores that offer this service forgo the shipping--this store was not going to, so cheap-o that I am, I decided I would walk across the parking lot in this 100+ degree Texas Sauna to avoid the shipping cost. I usually score a parking space close to the store anyway, since it's in a stripmall, I rationalized, so it will be fine.

Besides, the last time I ordered online with a store pick-up (thankfully a different store), I forgot the item. Even with their reminder email.  When I finally remembered it, a week later, I went to the store (in this very same stripmall) and they had the audacity to tell me I had been so slow to come and get it,  they thought I didn't want it. So it was restocked, and my credit card was credited with the purchase price. I checked my statement amd found my ctedit card had in fact been credited the cost of the item.  I walked over to the shelf, and luckily it was still there, so I was able to purchase it before anyone else found it, and decided they needed it. 

But...embarrassing.

In order to remember my purchase this time,  I left the confirmation email open on my phone, set a reminder alarm on said phone,  taped a paper note to my wallet, and verbally reminded myself to drop by the store after meeting a friend for dinner.  I had even chosen the restaurant because it was near the stripmall where the store is located. 

Surely I had covered all bases and would remember my order this time.

One, or more of my reminders actually worked.

I huffed and puffed as I walked the 20 yards from my parking place to the store. I was hot. My rubber soled shoes felt sticky--like they were melting into the goo that is a parkinglot blacktop under the scorching Texas sun.  I could empathize with the  dinosaurs sinking in those tar pits in LA.  But I was saving the shipping cost, remembering my order, and more importantly, replacing my now depleated bottle of cleaner.

I was happy.

Inside the cool store (stuff-wise as well as temperature-wise), the lady in the line in front of me saw an endcap register display of the very same product I was picking up, and she commented on it.  Both the Clerk and I sang it's praises. I even mentioned it was so wonderful, I braved the heat  just to pick up my order. I also noticed it was advertised as being on sale, and it was 99-cents off.  It wasn't a huge discount, but sales of any proportion always make me happy. Actually, sales make me downright giddy.

Only...

The price listed as the "sale" price was the exact same price I always paid for it--in this very same store. And when I ordered it today it was the still the same price. I didn't say anything, but that store and I have a very different understanding of the meaning of the word "sale," and math word-problems like "99-cents off."   

I raved about the performance of the cleaner so much the customer ahead of me bought a bottle. I think I should get a commission. Maybe it should be the 99-cents they were supposedly saving me with their "sale."

Unless the price has gone up (or will be going up), I didn't get a sale price.  I also didn't get a commission for helping sell a bottle. And a few minutes after I stepped up to the counter I wondered if I was even going to receive my order...

When it was my turn, I said, "I'm here to pick up my order of this very same product." I motioned to the display ala Vanna White of Wheel of Fortune  fame.

"How many would you like? One? Or two?" Asked the Sales Clerk reaching for a bottle with each hand.

"Just one. I'm here to pick up my order." And I supplied my name.

Blank stare.

"I ordered it online with an in store pick-up." I explained.

"Oh....Let me check that out," she said as she read a few screens on her phone. "Yes, I see it right here. Now where would it be?" I swear she scratched her head as she looked under the cabinet and around the display.

Ever helpful, I pointed to a large  (about 4-foot tall) bright blue cabinet, and said, "Um, maybe it's over there." If I were the snarky smart-ass some people accuse me of being, I might have added, "With the large computer generated sign reading 'Pick-ups'."  But I'm not. So I didn't. Even though I rather doubted they were advertizing trucks. It's a cool store, but not that cool.

She made her way over to the big bright blue cabinet and attempted to unlock the combination lock--before she decided she needed her glasses to read the tiny numbers. I tried not to laugh or become impatient.  My eyes require asaistance too.

But I did smirk a little when she came aaalllllllll the way back to the register to get her glasses--which I pointed out were on her head! Okay, that was snarky.  Especially since I too have lost my glasses while they were perched on my head.

She seemed a little ditzy, so I decided I might need to pull up my receipt to ensure I wouldn't get charged twice.

That's when I saw the small print on my confirmation email that indicated that my credit card number had merely reserved the item. I still needed to actually pay for it.

So I placed my phone on the counter and handed over my credit card. After the purchase was completed she handed back my credit card and promptly dismissed me to assist the next customer.

Very efficient.

However, I wasn't through yet. "I still need it." I said after I placed my credt card inside my wallet.  My hand was outstretched. 

She looked at my hand as if it were a green Martian hand.

"I still need it." I repeated. I was so flabbergasted that my words failed me, and that phrase was all I could say.

She pointedly looked at my phone still on the counter, and I could see the wheels churning. She thought I was expecting her to pick up the phone--just inches away--and place it in my open hand! And she clearly was not going to do this. Which was a good thing, because that's not what I needed.

Finally, I was able to find some words and say, "I still need my purchase."

That startled her and reminded her I needed the merchandise I had ordered online and purchased in her store. After what seemed like an eternity, she handed it over.  I picked up my phone, and left the store. I didn't even wait for a bag. I came up with the right words to ask for a bag--but I was afraid that request might send her over the edge.

Then she wouldn't be able to assist anyone else with this non-sale "sale" item.  It really is good stuff--even at full price.

 

Critter Jitters

I realize it's hot outside, but the critters have got to stop coming inside my house! I'm not running a Critter Sitter Service.

The green grass snake  this weekend is welcome in the yard--NOT my hallway where I first spied him. I think he was displaced and confused after the grass was cut. But he sure didn't want to follow my instruction to return outside--he raised up as if to strike me several times as I very gently guided him back outside with my broom.

Now, I have the back door slightly ajar while I sit at the table reading a book waiting for Moggy to return home after his catting around (he's been fixed since he was just a tiny baby, but it never put a damper on his fighting or his roaming). He usually makes it back to the back door between 10pm and 2am. Every once in a while he will meow for me to let him in at the front door.  

It's 11pm and I'm just about ready to give up on Moggy, and go lock the door.  He can be an outside cat tonight. Out of the corner of my eye I see movement. Thinking Moggy has come in quitely, I look up and see a small opossum in my house just feet away from me!

I wasn't excepting to see a wild critter (even a cute and harmless one). Startled, I gave a little yelp.  Of course BabyO ran.

The sad thing is he was so fast disappearing around the corner I'm not sure he went back outside.

Bandit cautiously sniffed around the vanity and one of the closets in my bedroom, so I checked them out, and under the bed. I didn't see him, so I hoped he made it back outside.

Nope.  As I sat here typing this, he showed up again! The nerve! 

This time I saw him dash into the guest bath room. I quickly shut him inside. I got the baby gate and set it up. I closed all the doors except the one leading outside. Then I turned off all the lights except the outside light. I opened the bathroom door and told BabyO to "go toward the light."

He did not.

I reached for my trusty critter broom  (aka the soft dust mop) and gave him a soft nudge. He went behind the covered cat litter box. The bathroom was too dark for me, so I turned the bathroom light back on and I manuvered myself kinda-sorta behind him as best I could in the tight space, and once again encouraged him to, "go toward the light," and gently nudged him in the way he should go.

He raced out the bathroom door, turned right at the babygate just before he would have hit it and, rather than heading down the hallway to the open door, took another right--toward my bedroom.
I'm glad I closed all the doors. When he realize he could not return to my bedroom, he scampered out the back door.

Of course, Moggy still has not returned for the night, and now I'm on edge. Hearing every bump and creak at the back door, I jump up and look to see if it's Moggy or BabyO. So far it's been neither.

Its now 1:30am. The house is cool. Moggy has come home. The baby gate and broom have been moved to the back door in case I need them when I open the door again on the morning.  He was somewhat stymied by the baby gate--he just hasn't realized  both he and Bandit can clear it from a standing position.

Everyone has had their dinner and meds. I've picked grass burs out of Moggys coat. Bandit has been out for his bedtime potty break.  Fresh water has been put out for the second time tonight since one of the FurBoys knocked it over earlier.

Moggy, Bandit, and I are past ready for bed...and the back door bumped--since Moggy is inside now, I know it's just the airflow from the air  conditioner but the critter visit still has me a little on edge.

And then I heard a noise in the kitchen...maybe it wasn't one of the FurBoys that knocked over the water dish earlier...

Uninvited Houseguests

Over my lifetime I have had some pretty undesirable jobs. But they were honest jobs and the low wages I earned allowed me to pay my bills, put food on the table, gas in my car, clothes on my body, receive a college education, and travel.  I may not travel first class, wear designer clothes,  dine in fancy restaurants,  or live in a mansion, but as long as I don't splurge and live outside my means, I do okay.

Some of my less than glamerous jobs included:
Baby sitter, lawn work, toilet cleaner, waitress, stable hand, office cleaning lady, identification checker, and gas station attendent. 

I know the importance of everyone to ensure a business, organization, or even household run smoothly. It takes everyone doing their part. Sure, the head honcho sets the tone, makes hard decisions, makes some friends, and sometimes makes even more enemies. But everyone is important.

I've lived my whole life believing that. It's why I acknowledge people performing services society may deem as less desirable than my own. I say "thank you" when the housekeeper empties my trashcan, or a waitress fills my drink. I remember those paychecks that barely covered the bills. I think remembering how hard I worked is one of the reasons I'm a fairly generous tipper.

But I draw the line at moochers. 

In the last few months I've had to shew several uninvited houseguests out. I don't like being mean. Really, I don't.   But unless I've invited you in, don't step across my threshold. 

It started innocently enough: the wasp built his home on the side of my mailbox. I knocked it down. He rebuilt. In the same spot. I knocked it down again and told him he had a choice to make: move away and live free, or rebuild there and I would purchase wasp killing spray. He moved away.

Next came the spider. He decided my back doorway was the perfect spot for his web. I knocked it down. He respun. I knocked it down again and told him he had a choice: move away and live free, or respin his web across my door, and I would purchase spider killing spray. He moved away.

And on it went. The loopy toed lizard, the chamelian couple, and a toad, all found their way into my house. Each time I captured the creature, and gently released them outside. Where they belong. I even ensured Moggy was not around to antagonize them. Or worse.

As I released them I said,  "No amount of pleading will make me change my mind. I'm allowing you to live--outside--where you belong.  Where your job is. You have a choice: leave and live, or stay and die. Please leave. I do not want houseguests."

I do not know if the wasps who built the nest near the backdoor are related to the one that moved away. It doesn't matter. They have attempted to come inside several times. Soon, they will be moving away. Or dying. I don't want uninvited houseguests.

I don't think the spider I found in my bathtub is the one that spun the web over my back doorway--he looks much larger. The cool of the air conditioner has not slowed him down. He moves far too fast for me. It pains me to think it; however, he may not receive the same offer of a chance at life outside. I've seen the necrotic skin and tissue devastation spider bites can cause and I'm not picking him up.

The chameleon couple and the loopy-toed lizzard made their way back inside my house. I'm not sure if Moggy brought them back in, or if they came back in of their own accord, but they were all slow. Much too slow. Perhaps the coolness was too much for them. Perhaps Moggy toyed with them.

One chameleon made it back outside. The other appeared to be dead--he lay rigid in the spot Moggy had lain earlier. Could Moggy have smothered him? I would have thought he would bat him around.

Whatever happened, when I placed him outside, he remained in the same position the rest of the day and was gone the next morning. I hoped he revived and skittered away.
Or his mate was a Marine who left no one behind. But in my heart I'm pretty sure a predator found an easy meal. Part of the circle of life. I felt bad, but you take your chances when you become my uninvited houseguest.

The second time the loopy-toed lizzard made it's way inside he was as slow as he was the first time. This time I noticed dark markings on his torso. I didn't remember him having a dark marking on his torso before.  Do lizzards bruise? He could be injuried. But when I released him outside, he skittered away very quickly. Much more quickly than the first time. Last time I put him outside near a saucer of water. This time I did not have time fill a saucer--as soon as his claws hit the concrete he skittered away. Perhaps he was a different loopy-toed lizzard. I told the absent space where he had been he needed to remain outside if he wanted to live. I don't want him as a houseguest.

My latest uninvited houseguest was a first, and hopefully last, visit inside by a green grass snake. Nonvenomous. Bug eatting. Great garden or lawn companion. Very mich meeded on the hreat putdoors.  But not wanted as my houseguest.

He too slithered rather slowly. Again, I am unsure if his lethargy was due to the cold air or an over exuberant cat.

I gently swept him out the back door.  But not without his attempts to circle back--at first they were comical--almost like an I Love Lucy eppisode. That soon gave way to annoyance as my back and knees started speaking to me. "This has gone on long enough,"  I told him. "You are going to live the rest of your days outside like any good self-respecting snake."

I became angry the first time he rose up as if to strike me. I trapped his body under the broom. "You can die inside. Or you can live outside." I told him sternly. I lifted the broom slightly and gave him a light tap forward. He continued to rise up.

Finally he started to slither toward the great outdoors. I had won. 

My self-congratulatory smile came just a bit too soon.

After several more uprisings and attempts to circle back inside, I finally relocated him to the patio.

For the rest of the evening each time I opened the door to check on him, the insolent snake raised up and glared at me! I decided Moggy and Bandit would use the front door to go potty. I didn't want to send them in the path of an angry snake--harmless or not. 

Before he left I started to consider naming him Sydney (after Sydney Poitier because he stared as another unwanted guest in "Guess Who's Comming to Dinner.") But thought the better name would be Sheridan Whiteside (the annoying character in "The Man Who Came to Dinner."). But if I named him, I would want to keep him. And I don't want reptillian houseguests. 

He, loopy-toe, toady, and the widow chameleon can share my backyard, where they will find all the heat their little reptillian bodies need. They can chow down on all the flys, mosquitoes,  ants, and no-see-ums they can catch. I will make  safe havens for them that Moggy can't get into. I will leave saucers of cool water for their drinking and bathing pleasure. They can be yard guests.   Doing what they do best--in the enviornment.

If they continue to insist on being uninvited houseguests I fear they will go the way of the chameleon I could not save. 

 

Mary Lou Kitten

Today as I introduced myself to one of my Veterans, the face of his Wife broke into a huge grin. I assumed she was about to inform me her name, or her BFF, or someone else importatnt to her was also named Mary Lou.

At that point I usually ask, "Is it 'Mary Lou' or 'Mary Louise?' " If they say, 'Mary Louise' I usually say, "I'm  just plain ol' 'Mary Lou'." But if they say, " 'Mary Lou'." I smile brightly and say, "It's a good ol' country name!"

Today I didn't share my name with the Wife. Or her BFF. Or anyone else important to her. I shared my name with a cat.

"When my boys were younger," she said, "We watched the olympics.  The year the gymnast, Mary Lou Retton, was so popular, the boys fell in love with her.  In fact,  they were so smitten, when they found  and rescued a tiny kitten, they named her Mary Lou Kitten!"

We laughed for several minutes and I told her that story made my day, and it was by far the best Mary Lou name story yet.

And that's true.

I always get sung to since so many great singers have had hits with Hello Mary Lou over the years.

My Sunday School Teacher used to sing it to me, and during a class function at his house he brought out his vinyl--a vintage 78 with all the pops, cracks, and skips--just so I could hear Ricky Nelson crooning my name.

Growing up in the south, I also heard the Oak Ridge Boys version--which is probably my all-time favorite.  I've even downloaded it as my ring tone on my cell phone.

CCR wasn't quite as popular among the older folks who controlled the radio dial in my house, but then, they weren't too fond of anything that wasn't uber twangy.

When I was introduced to the schmaltzy music of arranger David Wright as an adult,  I loved hearing good BarberShop Quartets and Choruses sing my name in his lush four-part harmonies. Ringing chords and overtones will put goosepimples on a girls arms lickety-split, and when the BarberShop is exceptional, it's downright  swoon-worthy.

But I am blessed with the double-name-song whammy.

Not to be outdone, by a bunch of nice guys, every once in a while I get a dirty old man leering as he's singing Mrs. Robinson from The Graduate--and not nearly as well as Simon & Garfunkle sang it.

It's happened frequently enough I usually only introduce myself to men as Mary Lou.

I smiled about Mary Lou Kitten for the rest of the day. I've never shared my name with a cat before. Being a PetParent I kind of like it.

Leaving the ward after work I saw the Wife and a few family members coming back for an evening visit. Even as I smiled at him, I wondered if the gentleman in the group might be one of her Sons. Sure enough he was.

Thinking about Mary Lou Kitten, she and I were both beaming from ear to ear as she introduced me to her Son.

"This," she paused dramatically,  "is Mary Lou!"  

Our Cheshire-cat grins must have scared the bejebees out of him, because he had a stricken look on his face that clearly indicated he thought his Mother had latent  shadchan tendencies. [Shadchan is the true Yiddish term for matchmaker--not Yenta (which actually means noblewoman or gentlewoman). And you thought this was going to be just another  non-educational fluff piece! LOL. I occassionally throw in a little education--even in the midst of the fluff.]

I, clever-witted person that I am, wanting to lighten the introduction and assure the Son I had ansolutely no ulterior motives or designs on him proudly announced, "And I am not a cat!"

His stunned silence was broken by raucous laughter as his Mother and I rolled on the floor. Luckily, her Son is a bright boy and he quickly recovered from  his shock at my unusual pronouncement.   He laughingly said, "We had a cat named Mary Lou Kitten once."

"I know!" I chorted through my tears. "Your Mom and I talked about her earlier!" We laughed harder as passersby skirted farther and farther around the outside of our little huddle.

Through my tears I noticed the color was returning to his face as the realization his Mom was not trying to set him up with a Crazy Cat Lady dawned on him.

Wicked girl that I am, I couldn't let him off that easy, so I asked about his children, knowing he would politely ask me about mine. When he did, I flashed him a few cell phone photos of the FurBoys. Bandit in his tux. Moggy and Bandit going for a ride in their purple double pet stroller. Bandit and me in matching costumes and stage make-up. You know.  Your normal family photos.

I have a feeling had the Mary Lous  been hanging around they would have approved:  Retton always sported an impish grin and mischeviously twinkling eyes, and I'm pretty sure, as a rescue herself, Kitty would have loved my humor--or at least she would have been enamored with my handsome rescue, Moggy. 

And everyone who meets my NekedBoy has their hearts stolen by Bandit.

Even star-struck Boys with gymnasticly named kittens.

Real Life Trumps Escapism.

So I finished the cozy I started the other day (it came from Amazon the day I finished the first in the series-perfect timing). The third book in the series did not arrive today (I got it from Amazon as well, but it was from a partner), so I had to start another series. I chose the current read because the protagonist is a glass blower filling in for an injured artist who demos on a cruise ship. What a cool job is that?!

Because I'm a dweeb, I read the authors acknowledgments and thank yous. Tucked away in this non-story part of the book was a website for a glassblowing studio that assisted the author with research. Since I've created a couple small pieces at the  Salado Glassworks studio and some fused glass at That Art Place here in Belton, I checked out the link. They offer some very nice projects and classes. I checked out the classes and their calendar, then it was time to dig into the novel.

A couple chapters into my newest read I received a text from That Art Place telling me my fused glass flamingo is ready for pickup.  The dilemma: continue reading or pick up my creation?

The murder hasn't occured yet...so duh!