A Heart for a Tree

Today I took down my Christmas tree.

To be fair, I've been planning on it for a while now, but a few key events altered it from the ever-existing petrified sculpture in the corner to a 5 foot tall blazing inferno in all but deed. A) My mother came for a visit and actually entered the apartment and B) Whichever friend coming over to play cards got the chair with their back shoved into that stale piny mess would probably never have come back.

So of course, I was planning on using the entire week to clean the place gradually, nude the tree of its red finery, and etc. Funny how times gets away from a person. In this statement, read: Friday night, home from work at 12:30am knowing the place had to be clean by 8am. It's awfully handy that, while my motto is "you only get one chance to make a first impression", following that, it becomes "after that it doesn't matter, they got their shot to see it looking good."

I realized I had neglected to alert my flatmate of the impending arrival. Anyone who has flatmates knows this is a no-no. So I told her. Only to learn that she also had a surprise guest. Who would be arriving in 3 hours. As I looked at my sad little Christmas tree I had fondly named "Dougie", I remembered my mother's words. "That thing is a fire trap" Me: "But it's still green! And we've BONDed!"

Looking at it now, I can see that it isn't green...it is more of a "dead turtle" color, and the only reason I was attached to it was because the needles were everywhere--sticking in my socks, getting in my shoes.

I had to use a candy cane to coax the ornaments out of the tree, as the needles actually pierced flesh. Then I did something I hadn't known that I wanted to do until then. I took the red hair spray my little sis gave me for Christmas and spray painted a giant red happy face on Dougie. I filled in the other area's with a glow-in-the-dark black light paint that was the other half of her gift. All this was of course done to the strains of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" that I blasted to delight the apartment complex. (hey, from the sounds of the parties I was hearing an hour previous...nobody was going to hear anything anyways)


But then how to dispose of it? I considered sneaking it out to the street side, which is a kind of foliage waste area that gets swept regularly...then I looked at the plastic bucket on the bottom. And at all the "potentially fatal if swallowed" chemicals I had just sprayed all over him, and realized that he was a tree cyborg. Half tree...half...something else. So I propped Dougie up in the dumpster with his happy face ready to greet the next lucky disposer.

Looking at his happy face made me almost as happy as vacuuming our entire apartment at 3:15 that morning. And it looks good. :)

Garden of Discoveries

Why does no one make art like they used to? Aside from the fact that the nature of art is that it changes over time with our beliefs and the way we express them. That's nice. I however am a fan of the quirky and highly detailed works of our friend...Hieronymous Bosch!

The center panel (Utopia) of his most ambitious work "Garden of Delights" has got to be my favorite. Every time it is examined, it expands the mind in new ways, causes new questions to be asked. For instance:

The red tepee, with oxygen-rich blood vessels emerging...not bad. Behind is a lovely bird feeding a random guy. But that's not the fun bit. Look at the tepee. It must be like the Tardis...a whole lot bigger on the inside than the outside. I'm counting 3 pairs of feet, and if the proportions are right in this, one guy might be able to duck a tad. Just two people and you are already straying into the dangerous lip-action zone.

But what is this? I declare...a man-eating mussel. My first thought involved the mussel forming men instead of pearls around a central kernel of junk, but there are pearls inside already. Maybe the man (lets call him Steve) climbed in to get some. And then Bob (the guy carrying him) is trying to help in some way. Or he's hungry for a little stir-fried mussel and just took advantage of the situation. Either way you look at it, something awfully strange is going on here.

(or the unthinkable...the rest of the panel is filled with folk copulating...perhaps we shouldn't be so specie-ist)

This one is just odd.

At first, the woman's? man's? arm looks almost like the man's leg behind them. The poor fruit is spewing out little black orbs like a flayed pinata on the bottom. And why aren't they joining the reverie of the entire rest of the Garden's population? I mean, she just looks tired. The man behind them has a thing for strawberries--he's clutching that thing as though the strawberry has just realized what's coming and is trying to make a dash for it. But our couple just looks tired. What *have* they been up to? Never mind. Given the context, I think I can guess.

'till next thought!

Love, Friendship, and Consumerism

So I looked it up, and V-day is basically every other holiday; in that it was one of those ancient Romans-slaughter-animals-y

oung-virgins-things. The church comes along and “saint-ifies” it, picking (probably) good ‘ole Valentine, who illegally married young couples and got beheaded for it.

Then along came Hallmark.

Not Hallmark specifically, but cards/chocolates/flowers/etc. I just saw a commercial; “…everything you NEED to show your love” We all know V-day has been commercialized, but what is pathetic is when you see the how companies are trying to tap into the friendship market…telling us it’s ok to NOT have that “special someone”. Face it. St. Valentine (the most probable one) MARRIED young LOVERS. But since on any given Valentine’s day, a large percent on the population remains unattached, that leaves a very large group of people potentially with no drive for consumerism. (besides, I must admit, those of us who say “oh look, CANDY!! CHOCALATE!! Time to load up…” or those of us who feel depressed and sorry for ourselves and buy it to feed our loveless depression)

So now friendship has become candy-worthy. I am not knocking this. I have friends that I love, just not in the “St. Valentine-I-will-help-you-get-married-if-you-don’t-tell-the-emperor” kind. If I did, they would be my sig. other, not just my friend. (true, I could feel that way about someone, but as long as I don’t tell them, the point is moot)

Now you can potentially spend money on red foil and chocolate love for everyone. Yum!!

I suppose that this “friend inclusion clause” in the Valentine bylaws is so amusing to me because of all our other holidays:

• St. Patrick’s Day…wear green/pinching—fun for all!


• Easter…(us) Christians=Jesus, the rest of you can hunt eggs/poke the Easter Bunny


• 4th of July…ditto, wear red/white/blue


• Labor Day…don’t go to work


• Halloween…dress up or do the “All Saints Day” thing, your pick


• Thanksgiving…kill a turkey and say thank you (vegetarians…um…just say thanks)


• Christmas…(us) Christians celebrate Jesus’ birth, and anyone can kill a tree and give other people stuff, and say thank you when YOU get stuff

What does one notice? Well, there are options for all! V-day however is primarily for “lovers”. It would be like having Mother’s Day roll around, and your mother had died. Or maybe, you never had a mother. Quite the quandary really.

So, I will give my roomies chocolates and conversation hearts while I munch on the “leftovers” while I try to remember which of the two reasons I had for buying the candy in the first place.

....is that a...Fuzzy Onion?

From where I sit, I can see the fuzzy backside of an onion. At first, I took it for a heavily waxed apple, but the rest of the bag appears to have yellow onions, so...

Things go bad in the kitchen, but the onion says more. It says "whoever bought me intended to actually fix something that required more cooking than the use of a microwave" or "they forgot about me on top of said microwave".

The fuzzy apple is more forgivable, and therefore not as interesting. After all, the styles for eating a Jonagold and a Vidalia wildly differ. One buys a bag of apples to keep up on the middle right hand side of the food pyramid. Very noble. (tho not as noble as buying a head of cauliflower in a singular stab of optimism). Wilted scummy lettuce is you wishing you had bought the pre-cleaned and bagged stuff. Moldy cheese is....a redundant phrase. Rotting meat is laziness. Face it, your freezer is at eye level. Anyone having trouble with this concept should look by the door. Check for Velcro fastening shoes. Check.

There are two excuses for a fuzzy onion:

1. It is in a cupboard not in plain sight, and another, newer onion is currently half gone in your fridge. This proves that you could and were going to use it, but honestly and completely forgot about the little devil. A silver star for you, oh gourmet chef!
2. It was the shriveled runt in a bag of 5 or more others that have already or are getting ready to make their way through someone's digestive system. Congratulations on your thriftiness, plus the fact that you were able to get through the other five onions before THEY molded...a GOLD star for YOU! :D

I have 1/3 of a beautiful red onion in my crisper. Time to get my backup....

Forgein People...Inn p7

When people come from out of town and out of the country, there are two things that I notice: the accent and the manners. Accents are truly lovely things--but as with any lovely thing, they come with a danger attached as well. Who can concentrate on the fact that Mr. 213 needs a wake-up call at 5:30 when all *I* hear is
Mr. 213: "Can aye 'ave (Australian accent.............)"
Me: (oops, I should be listening) I'm sorry sir, what was that?
Mr. 213: "Aye need ah (Australian accent.............)"
Me: (oops, new problem, I didn't understand half of what he said) "What was the time again sir?"

So, all in all, I end up looking (and sounding) like a deaf zoner

The word "cheers" is also a word seemingly much neglected in usages here in the U$ of A.
I enjoy a good all-purpose word as much as anybody, but I think "cheers" is becoming a rising star. (and yes, I am referring to *polite* society)
Cheers can mean "thank you" like on the occasion following.
*ahem*

Australian man walks up to the desk...it is the Wednesday before the 4th of July weekend
Man: I need you to book me a cabin in Lake Tahoe for the weekend"
Me: Any particular cabin?
Man: Anyone of the nice ones...I can't remember which ones. One on the south side. Cheers!
(walks off, leaving me, mouth agape. Tho in this particular mans opinion, the word cheers seems to be interchangeable with the phrase "thanks love" but we shan't go there)

Or as "Goodbye"

Me: Goodbye!
Man from Holland: Cheers!

Or as in "Goodnight"

Me: Your room is down the hall and to the right. Goodnight!
Man from Ireland: Cheers!

Or "Good luck"

Man from Germany: Cheers!

My conclusion? People from Europe are fun.
Perhaps not blinding, but true all the same.

Mr. RedFace...Inn p6

Mr. Redface made his debut appearance my third night alone on the job. Ideal, from his perspective, b/c that meant I was confident enough in what I was doing to think I knew something, but still obviously shiny-new.

Gliding over a bit of unpleasantness involving alcohol, women, and a fair amount of intimidation, the point is that he managed to wrangle out a much lower rate than he should have gotten.

This happened about once a month (to me, anyway) and each episode was so unpleasant that I frankly just tried to forget about him.

One day, my co-worker, "Ann" was working with me. We got to talking about our *favorites*...those odd people that frequent the place, and she mentioned Redface. Tall, solid, whitewhite hair, small black eyes, and red skin. That's right. RED. I will post a photo of his skin color. If he is angry and hostile all the time, that could do it...or possibly the liquor always consumed before he comes to our door.

I know *I'M* not going to ask him.

Once we both realized that he was playing the same game, she said she'd speak to our boss about it. That next day (Mon), another coworker mentioned to me in passing our new policy with him, and how low we can put his rates. Period.
And that very same evening, he came in, with all his usual bluster. But I was not the same girl that was surprised into compliance before. I stood firm, and his face grew red (er).

And then he left.

Bam! Success! At this point, all of us had the happy thought that if we never laid eyes on him again, the hotel could still go on.

Fast forward to......Picnic Day!
In the midst of inebriated college students and alumni, doting grandparents and shrieking toddlers popped up a red face. THE Redface. I allowed the other girl to handle him; I figured with what all I had gone through, it was *her* turn.

Now's where we enter a bit of a sticky situation. It's not that we DIDN'T have rooms left...even when were *full*, we keep some aside for emergencies, like if something broke or the owner called in a reservation for his son. But we were borderline. We *could* have had rooms left if we'd wanted to, but few enough that we didn't HAVE to. So she decided she just didn't want to deal with it and said we had none available. And that there was no waiting list (which is true, but he seemed to have a hard time comprehending)

Now it gets good. And I really should have seen it coming, and I did. But I was too late. I got a call from our restaurant next door, and the manager asked me if we had any rooms available. I said yes. She said someone would be over shortly, and then I had that chilling thought...who had asked her to call us? I asked who it was...big surprise!! redface.

I had one chance left.
Me: Make sure to let him know our rate for tonight is $175
Her: I don't think he'll care
Through the phone I can hear:
"The rate is $175"
"WHAT!!"

He was very angry-sounding.

So when he came over and tried to haggle, it didn't work. I already knew he wanted the room and had nowhere else to go, and I would almost had rathered he *didn't* stay. But, as always, one must try to salvage the situation:
"I'm so glad a room opened up for you, it can be hard to find a place on Picnic Day" (me in good form: crank up the cheerful smalltalk. There is an odd sort of pleasure in being sickeningly nice to rude people) I ended up helping him with his door, which he couldn't get open, and left feeling rather amused by the whole chain of events.

It alll worked out well tho...he has come in a time or two since and is awfully nice and cordial. I can live with that. ;-)

Shame on Tom!

There are some situations and conversations that no matter how hard you may look for them, you will never find them. You can scout every back alley, high-brow reception, or your local garden club meeting, and you won't find those little gems that just pop up out of nowhere.

That is why, when you come across them (or *they* come across *you*) one must take full advantage of them.

While waiting for my brand-i new bike to have its final go-over by the bike shop, Jenna and I went over to Ben and Jerry's for a cool treat to reward the trials and tribulations of purchasing decisions. What location could be more harmless?

We took our reasonable-sized cones out to the patio and seated our self a good distance from the nearest patrons. They appeared to be a man conducting some sort of interview with a slouching khaki-wearing college boy.

All appeared harmless.

We were lost in our cones, and at some point, I realized that our man, Lets call him Jack, was on the phone. And he was raising his voice rather alarmingly. I shall attempt to re-create some of the delectable conversation:

"Tom, I'm asking you as a friend to do something, call the FBI."
"I'm a Citizen of Davis. They have taken me hostage, harassing me--DON'T interrupt me Tom! I didn't interrupt you, you should have the decency to not--Stop interrupting me Tom!"
"I have official court documents proving...Listen to me Tom, I have official documents!"
"I am a good citizen, I know my rights. They wanted to make me citizen of the year. I've walk to Woodland, Sacramento, put the bike paths in Davis. How many citizens do you know that a judge granted a restraining order against the police for?"
"Well the sheriff is in on it too! Its all a conspiracy against me!" (and yes, he actually said that)
"Shame Tom, shame on you. I'm asking you as a friend. As a friend who is a lawyer."
"I'm not harassing you! I called you at home and and work and on your cell because you're my friend. I want to to call the FBI and tell them to stop--no, listen to me Tom! Call the FBI, do whatever it takes!"
"Shame on you Tom, shame on you. Well of course I won't call you again, you should be ashamed. I called you as a friend..."

Now repeat this entire conversation about 5 times.

Matters weren't helped by Jenna murmuring "Shame on you Tom" under her breath every time Jack got himself worked up again. My back was to him, so I could actually laugh (silently) while poor Jenna had to keep a reasonably straight face, especially as I was murmuring such phrases as "official court documents" and "I am asking you as a friend"

We *did* have a debate over whether he was having a fake phone conversation just to astound people, b/c the conspiracy theory was coming over rather strong.

Just when we thought it couldn't get any better...he hung up and made another phone call.

"Hi. Who am I speaking to? Well Bobby, are either of your parents home? Ok, well my name is Jack Sherman from the Sherman Company. If you could tell them I called about their water softener. Salt based water softeners are a thing of the past. Magnetic softeners are the way to go. I'd love the chance to tell them more."

...and then he made another one.

The man was a bloody telemarketer!!

Guest Anecdotes...Inn p5

Aaah, graduation weekend. Like picnic day, but different. Instead of young adults looking to imbibe in relative comfort, you have the uptight parents of graduates where "everything must be..puuurfect"

Picnic Day people come up to the desk in the morning when they check out and make sure to let you know when something didn't meet their standards:

"Just so you know, the people next door were being really loud. I couldn't sleep at all, and the toilet ran all night. Is there a way you can adjust my rate? I want to file a complaint."
>>> inside my head "Well....if you had TOLD us, we could have fixed the problems...."

FoGs (Families of Grads) let you know RIGHT AWAY if anything is not perfect. Yes. We know you only booked a room with one bed in it, and Auntie Clovey came as a surprise and needs a place to stay. I do realize you'd like to switch to a room with two beds. Unfortunately, we don't have any. No, really, we don't have any. (Well, actually we do, but more on *that* later :P )

Mr. CC almost, henceforth to be known as "Redface" almost deserves a page of his own, so we'll see about HIS contribution later.

But now: "Perturbed Woman"
Location? Front Desk (as always)
Description? an Unskinny woman wearing a bright green top/bottom set with bright pink lipstick
& "Housekeeping didn't clean my room"
% "Did you have the 'Do not Disturb' sign on the door?"
& "Well yes, at first, but then we took it off."
% "Housekeeping cannot legally enter your room with that sign on the--"
& "Well, we took it OFF" (unspoken..."duh, you dolt") "And there was a lady right there! And she didn't clean our room!"
>>>Hmm, well, it's not worth it to explain that that parTICular woman may not have been assigned to her room, or all the other circumstances involved
% "Well, the housekeeping staff has left for the day (it was @ 6), but if you'll let me know what you need, I can---"
& "For the rate I'm paying, this in unacceptable"
% "M'am I *am* sorry. If you'll let me know what you need, I can have it sent up"
& "I'm not angry at you, I'm just....(blah blah etc)"
>>It's rather amusing...the hotel is not a machine, where as soon as the DND sign is removed from the door, cleaning people rush to clean. If it is up at the time the room is scheduled for cleaning, then BAM...you have to ask specifically. tsk, oh well

I've decided Redface deserves his own note. He is very notable. So more on him later (and that's a juicy one :P )

...She's a Talker...

Today's scenario....I was riding the bus because.... (well, long story, but ANYway) and there we all were, scrunched up next to people we didn't know. You know how they dip out little individual seats, and you are only *supposed* to take up your particular dip? I think everybody there was straining not to touch anyone else's thighs with their own.

It was on the way home from one of the afternoon classes, so everyone is just staring...not at each other. When someone notices you slipped and looked at them, you have to slide your eyes like you are just scanning the opposite side of the bus. We are just a silent red tomb of zombies on wheels whizzing along...and then it began.

I don't know if she knew the girl she was talking to, or she just felt an urge to fill the empty air. The girl she was talking to didn't really look at her, and made no real response, but on she talked. Mr. Bearded Student fell asleep next to me, just snuggled into the pipe frame of the unused wheelchair restraint system.

There would be a gap in the flow, and I watched her through my sepia sunglasses (hopefully one way). She would kind of look around and for a second, her face would fall into that sort of blah expression you get when you aren't concentrating, then it would get unhappy, and then with a jolt she would turn to her unresponsive companion yet again like they were finishing up a scintillating conversation. "....so I took the picture..."

It was very surreal...like she couldn't NOT have someone to talk to, a compulsive talker; she needed to be seen talking to other people...nervous talker...I don't really know....