An addition...
Nicholas forgot to add my explanation to said truckers and receptionist of what I do at Planned Parenthood.
I was able to explain the difference between emergency contraception and the abortion pill to both. While as previously mentioned, the receptionist will not be needing EC anytime soon perhaps she will pass on this valuable information to everyone she knows.
Another positive result of the day was that I discovered the BEST new show on TLC called Clean Sweep. All I can say is it involves organizing, decorating AND a yard sale. Can you sincerely ask for anything more?
Monday, December 29, 2003
As Promised, A West Virginia Christmas
Due to the unfortunate passing of Sarah's great-grandmother, we (Sarah, Maggie, and I) started our trek to Paducah on Saturday instead of the next Tuesday so that we could attend the funeral. We had planned to leave Durham at 7:30, reaching Louisville by 4 pm, and then travel the the last 3 hours to Paducah on Sunday so that we could be at the visitation that evening. Unfortunately, someone had other plans for us.
At 11 am, about 20 miles outside of Beckley, West Virginia (for you regular Sarah and Nicholas followers, you know that Beckley holds a special place in our hearts), the engine in the previously trusty and problem-free Corolla began to rev really high. Since there is no tachometer in the car, my first thought was that it was just the mountain incline, the thin air, and the fact that we were in a storm that was dumping 5 inches of snow on the snowy peaks of Central West Virginia. I was wrong.
As we continued, the engine revving got louder and when I slowed and put the car into fourth, the transmission didn't respond properly. We pulled over and (after I freaked out for a few seconds) decided that we needed to see if we could make it to the next exit. To its credit, the Corolla made it the 2 miles to the next exit, where we pulled into the nearest gas station and started demanding answers (Well, actually we just asked where the nearest service station was.) This being Saturday, we were pretty unhopeful of finding someone to fix our car, and had resigned ourselves to live in West Virginia for the rest of our lives.
After determining where the nearest service station was, we got back in the car and made it about a block before the car decided that it had taken enough abuse that day and that it was not going to move any longer, no matter how much we begged it. At this point, the first kindness of strangers moment occurred as the man behind us jumped out of his car and began to help me push the car to the next closest gas station, about 75 feet. He then disappeared without a trace (that is, he got back in his car and went home). At this service station, things really started to look bad as the manager told us that the service station we were going to was closed. Fortunately, another stranger overheard us and informed us that he knew a place that might be able to fix our car, and might be able to do it "today." Needless to say, I was a little bit incredulous at this possibility. I knew that we'd need a new part and that this was at least a 4 hour job, if not more. The mysterious stranger (we'll call him Jim, since that was his name) called the station and ordered us a tow truck and told the manager to "treat us right." He also informed us that we were in Ghent, WV (pronounced "jent" as in gentleman, despite the famous treaty of the same name which is pronounced with a hard G).
After about 20 minutes of waiting in the car, the tow came and (after we pushed the car into three different places to position it for the tow), took us down the back roads of Ghent, Beaver, and Beckley until finally we came to a turn off. Almost immediately I got an eerie feeling, as there was no service station actually within the sightline of the road. Thoughts of Jim telling them to "treat us right" raced through my head, as I bemoaned our decision not to train Maggie to sic. Fortunately, after a few turns, we were at a large service station/junkyard and they unloaded our car. Though we were uncertain about our fate for the day, we thought that the worst of it was over. We were only partly right.
After unloading Maggie and a few of our belongings from the car, we were told that we should go sit in the lounge and wait while they worked on some of the other vehicles that they had in the shop. In the lounge on top of the painted concrete were two faux-leather couches, a TV (with cable), and two 30-40 something truckers. They were watching Fox News and talking when we walked in, dog in tow (because she wouldn't willingly walk across the concrete--primadonna) and plopped down on the couch. Being the second-comers, we didn't get a say in what we watched, so we got to see a fair and balanced look at the war on terror for about an hour and a half, with the two truckers (who were exceedingly nice), discussing their takes on the issues of the day and talking about what it was that was wrong with their trucks. Eventually, one of them got to move on and the other had to go discuss his vehicle with the mechanic, so Sarah used this window to change the station to TLC. When the trucker returned, she decided that instead of changing the station back, she would try to convince him that "What Not to Wear" was entertainment the whole family could enjoy. She explained to him the premise of the show and as they watched, they both commented on the progress of the young high-school teacher that was being made over. At one point, this exchange occurred:
Trucker (talking about the male fashion consultant on the show): That one's queer ain't he?
Sarah: Yes, I think he's a homosexual.
Me: (Stifled laughter)
And a few minutes later:
Trucker: I need to get my daughter on this show.
Sarah: Really, why is that?
Trucker: All she ever wears is black...I mean, she ain't one of those Goths, but she wears a lot of black.
Sarah: Ohh...
By the time of the reveal on "What Not to Wear," the second driver had left, but not before giving us a case of bite size Quaker Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies, which were (and continue to be) delicious. On a side note, apparently it's not uncommon for drivers to take or give away some of their inventory. The dispatcher at the mechanic's told us that he had a year's supply of detergent from the last time they fixed a Big Lots truck.
By this time it was about 1:00 and out car had just been moved into the mechanic's bay. Much to noone's surprise, at about 1:10, the mechanic came to the conclusion that our clutch was burnt out and would have to be replaced. I was not hopeful that he would be able to fix it by close of business, but he then informed me that they have mechanics on staff 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year (including Christmas). Unfortunately, he also told me that he wouldn't be able to work on the car straight through the day because he would have to go out occasionally to do roadside repairs. He told me that if he could get the part, he could have probably have us on our way by 7 or 8. This was a lie, but at least it was a little lie. He also told me that it would take about 5 hours to fix and gave me an estimate of about 550 dollars. Meanwhile, Sarah sat in the lounge and began to go slowly crazy.
After several hours and a number of circuits around the junkyard (with and without the dog), it didn't look like we were going to get close to leaving by 8, and Sarah began to cross-stitch "All wait and no drive make Sarah go crazy" over and over again. She also began to ask for a time estimate about ever hour from 6 on, each time being told that it would be a "couple more hours." It was a little bit like "Groundhog Day." We also started to talk to the night dispatcher and the night-shift tow drivers. The two drivers were pretty strange. One of them suggested that the other might sodomize our dog, making West Virginians everywhere proud that their reputations as strange and toothless people was not to be thwarted by the kindness of the rest of the people we met that day.
The night dispatcher, after hearing about Sarah's job, also informed us that she "couldn't have no more babies" because, as she put it,"I's spayed." Sarah then left the room and reentered with an axe, screaming "Heeeeeeeere's Johnny!!!" (Okay, so The Shining references are getting a little ridiculous, but we really felt at some point like we might never leave the driver's lounge, and the snow storm made the effect all the more creepy).
We also found out about the newest craze in potpourri. The night dispatcher had a plush teddy bear dipped in scented wax which is used as an air freshener. Apparently they are hot sellers and "if the smell ever goes away, you just hea tit with a hair dryer and the smell will come back." We resisted the temptation to ask where we could purchase one, mostly because, as Sarah put it, "the bear smelled like rancid cough syrup."
Finally, at about 10:30, the mechanic took our car for a test drive to make sure it shifted correctly and (after another thirty minutes of tinkering because it was "making a sound.") we paid for the repair and tow (580 dollars altogether, of which the 80 for the tow is going to be reimbursed by AAA), and headed to Louisville at 11 pm, arriving at 3 am to a surprisingly still awake Elizabeth, Shelly, and Aimee.
For all of the strange events we are truly thankful for all of the people in Ghent and Beckley who actually cared about our predicament and helped us to (miraculously) get a relatively major car repair done for a fair price, on the Saturday before Christmas. Sarah has made a full recovery from her stir-craziness, and Maggie survived, too. I, however, never want to travel again.
Due to the unfortunate passing of Sarah's great-grandmother, we (Sarah, Maggie, and I) started our trek to Paducah on Saturday instead of the next Tuesday so that we could attend the funeral. We had planned to leave Durham at 7:30, reaching Louisville by 4 pm, and then travel the the last 3 hours to Paducah on Sunday so that we could be at the visitation that evening. Unfortunately, someone had other plans for us.
At 11 am, about 20 miles outside of Beckley, West Virginia (for you regular Sarah and Nicholas followers, you know that Beckley holds a special place in our hearts), the engine in the previously trusty and problem-free Corolla began to rev really high. Since there is no tachometer in the car, my first thought was that it was just the mountain incline, the thin air, and the fact that we were in a storm that was dumping 5 inches of snow on the snowy peaks of Central West Virginia. I was wrong.
As we continued, the engine revving got louder and when I slowed and put the car into fourth, the transmission didn't respond properly. We pulled over and (after I freaked out for a few seconds) decided that we needed to see if we could make it to the next exit. To its credit, the Corolla made it the 2 miles to the next exit, where we pulled into the nearest gas station and started demanding answers (Well, actually we just asked where the nearest service station was.) This being Saturday, we were pretty unhopeful of finding someone to fix our car, and had resigned ourselves to live in West Virginia for the rest of our lives.
After determining where the nearest service station was, we got back in the car and made it about a block before the car decided that it had taken enough abuse that day and that it was not going to move any longer, no matter how much we begged it. At this point, the first kindness of strangers moment occurred as the man behind us jumped out of his car and began to help me push the car to the next closest gas station, about 75 feet. He then disappeared without a trace (that is, he got back in his car and went home). At this service station, things really started to look bad as the manager told us that the service station we were going to was closed. Fortunately, another stranger overheard us and informed us that he knew a place that might be able to fix our car, and might be able to do it "today." Needless to say, I was a little bit incredulous at this possibility. I knew that we'd need a new part and that this was at least a 4 hour job, if not more. The mysterious stranger (we'll call him Jim, since that was his name) called the station and ordered us a tow truck and told the manager to "treat us right." He also informed us that we were in Ghent, WV (pronounced "jent" as in gentleman, despite the famous treaty of the same name which is pronounced with a hard G).
After about 20 minutes of waiting in the car, the tow came and (after we pushed the car into three different places to position it for the tow), took us down the back roads of Ghent, Beaver, and Beckley until finally we came to a turn off. Almost immediately I got an eerie feeling, as there was no service station actually within the sightline of the road. Thoughts of Jim telling them to "treat us right" raced through my head, as I bemoaned our decision not to train Maggie to sic. Fortunately, after a few turns, we were at a large service station/junkyard and they unloaded our car. Though we were uncertain about our fate for the day, we thought that the worst of it was over. We were only partly right.
After unloading Maggie and a few of our belongings from the car, we were told that we should go sit in the lounge and wait while they worked on some of the other vehicles that they had in the shop. In the lounge on top of the painted concrete were two faux-leather couches, a TV (with cable), and two 30-40 something truckers. They were watching Fox News and talking when we walked in, dog in tow (because she wouldn't willingly walk across the concrete--primadonna) and plopped down on the couch. Being the second-comers, we didn't get a say in what we watched, so we got to see a fair and balanced look at the war on terror for about an hour and a half, with the two truckers (who were exceedingly nice), discussing their takes on the issues of the day and talking about what it was that was wrong with their trucks. Eventually, one of them got to move on and the other had to go discuss his vehicle with the mechanic, so Sarah used this window to change the station to TLC. When the trucker returned, she decided that instead of changing the station back, she would try to convince him that "What Not to Wear" was entertainment the whole family could enjoy. She explained to him the premise of the show and as they watched, they both commented on the progress of the young high-school teacher that was being made over. At one point, this exchange occurred:
Trucker (talking about the male fashion consultant on the show): That one's queer ain't he?
Sarah: Yes, I think he's a homosexual.
Me: (Stifled laughter)
And a few minutes later:
Trucker: I need to get my daughter on this show.
Sarah: Really, why is that?
Trucker: All she ever wears is black...I mean, she ain't one of those Goths, but she wears a lot of black.
Sarah: Ohh...
By the time of the reveal on "What Not to Wear," the second driver had left, but not before giving us a case of bite size Quaker Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies, which were (and continue to be) delicious. On a side note, apparently it's not uncommon for drivers to take or give away some of their inventory. The dispatcher at the mechanic's told us that he had a year's supply of detergent from the last time they fixed a Big Lots truck.
By this time it was about 1:00 and out car had just been moved into the mechanic's bay. Much to noone's surprise, at about 1:10, the mechanic came to the conclusion that our clutch was burnt out and would have to be replaced. I was not hopeful that he would be able to fix it by close of business, but he then informed me that they have mechanics on staff 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year (including Christmas). Unfortunately, he also told me that he wouldn't be able to work on the car straight through the day because he would have to go out occasionally to do roadside repairs. He told me that if he could get the part, he could have probably have us on our way by 7 or 8. This was a lie, but at least it was a little lie. He also told me that it would take about 5 hours to fix and gave me an estimate of about 550 dollars. Meanwhile, Sarah sat in the lounge and began to go slowly crazy.
After several hours and a number of circuits around the junkyard (with and without the dog), it didn't look like we were going to get close to leaving by 8, and Sarah began to cross-stitch "All wait and no drive make Sarah go crazy" over and over again. She also began to ask for a time estimate about ever hour from 6 on, each time being told that it would be a "couple more hours." It was a little bit like "Groundhog Day." We also started to talk to the night dispatcher and the night-shift tow drivers. The two drivers were pretty strange. One of them suggested that the other might sodomize our dog, making West Virginians everywhere proud that their reputations as strange and toothless people was not to be thwarted by the kindness of the rest of the people we met that day.
The night dispatcher, after hearing about Sarah's job, also informed us that she "couldn't have no more babies" because, as she put it,"I's spayed." Sarah then left the room and reentered with an axe, screaming "Heeeeeeeere's Johnny!!!" (Okay, so The Shining references are getting a little ridiculous, but we really felt at some point like we might never leave the driver's lounge, and the snow storm made the effect all the more creepy).
We also found out about the newest craze in potpourri. The night dispatcher had a plush teddy bear dipped in scented wax which is used as an air freshener. Apparently they are hot sellers and "if the smell ever goes away, you just hea tit with a hair dryer and the smell will come back." We resisted the temptation to ask where we could purchase one, mostly because, as Sarah put it, "the bear smelled like rancid cough syrup."
Finally, at about 10:30, the mechanic took our car for a test drive to make sure it shifted correctly and (after another thirty minutes of tinkering because it was "making a sound.") we paid for the repair and tow (580 dollars altogether, of which the 80 for the tow is going to be reimbursed by AAA), and headed to Louisville at 11 pm, arriving at 3 am to a surprisingly still awake Elizabeth, Shelly, and Aimee.
For all of the strange events we are truly thankful for all of the people in Ghent and Beckley who actually cared about our predicament and helped us to (miraculously) get a relatively major car repair done for a fair price, on the Saturday before Christmas. Sarah has made a full recovery from her stir-craziness, and Maggie survived, too. I, however, never want to travel again.
Tuesday, December 23, 2003
Wednesday, December 17, 2003
Funny, in that The Onion-sort-of-not-that-funny-anymore way
So-Called Obese Pets Held To Unrealistic Body Standards
So-Called Obese Pets Held To Unrealistic Body Standards
Saturday, December 13, 2003
Ah, well, there's always next year
Decatur lost to Buford in the state semi-final. I think the final score was 42-13. That's a shame, but at least the Bulldogs can be proud of a great season, and build on this next year.
Decatur lost to Buford in the state semi-final. I think the final score was 42-13. That's a shame, but at least the Bulldogs can be proud of a great season, and build on this next year.
Friday, December 12, 2003
Can this man make Duke football great again?
No sportsfans, I speak not of Ted Roof, newly installed head coach of Duke University Football, but rather of Duke's Next President, Richard H. Brodhead, current dean at Yale and and the A. Bartlett Giamatti Professor of English at Yale University. He was chosen recently to replace Nannerl Keohane, and once knew the man that his professorship is named after, the same Bart Giamatti who was Commissioner of Major League Baseball and kicked Pete Rose out. Most importantly, though, he says that he is an "avid college sports fan, which I clearly will have an opportunity to experience at Duke." He's probably talking about basketball (you can't have a discussion about Duke anywhere without someone talking about the basketball Blue Devils), but I hope he doesn't forget the best sport in the land.
Either way, his name is WAY easier to say than President Keohane's.
No sportsfans, I speak not of Ted Roof, newly installed head coach of Duke University Football, but rather of Duke's Next President, Richard H. Brodhead, current dean at Yale and and the A. Bartlett Giamatti Professor of English at Yale University. He was chosen recently to replace Nannerl Keohane, and once knew the man that his professorship is named after, the same Bart Giamatti who was Commissioner of Major League Baseball and kicked Pete Rose out. Most importantly, though, he says that he is an "avid college sports fan, which I clearly will have an opportunity to experience at Duke." He's probably talking about basketball (you can't have a discussion about Duke anywhere without someone talking about the basketball Blue Devils), but I hope he doesn't forget the best sport in the land.
Either way, his name is WAY easier to say than President Keohane's.
Aaaaaaacccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk....(Or, How I Came to Love One of the Largest Financial Institutions in the Country)
So, since Sarah and I have started a budget, I have stopped obsessing about checking our account balances online every fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, today this bit me in the ass to the tune of 120 bucks in overdraft fees. I was none too pleased, and I still haven't figured out what happened accounting wise (though I have taken the precaution of now assuming that we have about 125 bucks less than we do according to the latest B of A statement). Because of the amount and the fact that we don't really have 120 bucks to give the bank, I decided that I should overcome my fear of talking to people and call to see if anything could be done to salvage a generally crappy afternoon. Turns out there was.
I calmly explained myself to the uber-polite Bank of America representative that I thought that I had "overdraft protection" on my account (and, honest to God, I thought I did, I can probably even find the literature about it), and that this should protect me from exactly this eventuality (buying a 3 dollar coffee and getting a 30 dollar fee), by transferring 100 dollars into my account automatically for a five dollar fee. She looked at my accounts, and found that for some odd reason I did not have said protection, but that she would link my accounts from here on out, and would credit me for the 3, 30 dollar fees that were visible on her screen (the last one is still pending, and she said it may not actually show up, but if it did to call.) Thus, as of now I stand only 30 dollars in the hole for my stupid mistake. Though I had thought about changing banks in the near future, I have decided that Bank of America has earned my business for as long as I can find a close-by ATM. I guess it never hurts to ask.
Update: I called today and got the last charge refunded. Woo-hoo!
So, since Sarah and I have started a budget, I have stopped obsessing about checking our account balances online every fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, today this bit me in the ass to the tune of 120 bucks in overdraft fees. I was none too pleased, and I still haven't figured out what happened accounting wise (though I have taken the precaution of now assuming that we have about 125 bucks less than we do according to the latest B of A statement). Because of the amount and the fact that we don't really have 120 bucks to give the bank, I decided that I should overcome my fear of talking to people and call to see if anything could be done to salvage a generally crappy afternoon. Turns out there was.
I calmly explained myself to the uber-polite Bank of America representative that I thought that I had "overdraft protection" on my account (and, honest to God, I thought I did, I can probably even find the literature about it), and that this should protect me from exactly this eventuality (buying a 3 dollar coffee and getting a 30 dollar fee), by transferring 100 dollars into my account automatically for a five dollar fee. She looked at my accounts, and found that for some odd reason I did not have said protection, but that she would link my accounts from here on out, and would credit me for the 3, 30 dollar fees that were visible on her screen (the last one is still pending, and she said it may not actually show up, but if it did to call.) Thus, as of now I stand only 30 dollars in the hole for my stupid mistake. Though I had thought about changing banks in the near future, I have decided that Bank of America has earned my business for as long as I can find a close-by ATM. I guess it never hurts to ask.
Update: I called today and got the last charge refunded. Woo-hoo!
Tuesday, December 09, 2003
New Comments
Although Squawkbox always told me that it was a "free" commenting service, apparently that's only good for a year. I was informed that I would pretty soon be required to pay for their service. Therefore, being the extreme cheapskate that I am, I have switched to Haloscan, which is not only free, but also has more features than Squawkbox.
Unfortunately, all of the old comments have gone away, never to return. I know this is a blow to all of you who frequent this blog to reminisce about the old days when you commented on our spelling and grammar, but, alas, those days are no more. (At least until you make new comments about our spelling and grammar. (Hey, you leave my grammar out of this!))
Although Squawkbox always told me that it was a "free" commenting service, apparently that's only good for a year. I was informed that I would pretty soon be required to pay for their service. Therefore, being the extreme cheapskate that I am, I have switched to Haloscan, which is not only free, but also has more features than Squawkbox.
Unfortunately, all of the old comments have gone away, never to return. I know this is a blow to all of you who frequent this blog to reminisce about the old days when you commented on our spelling and grammar, but, alas, those days are no more. (At least until you make new comments about our spelling and grammar. (Hey, you leave my grammar out of this!))
That sucks
Though it doesn't damper my excitement much, it's a little disheartening to know that the team that Decatur plays next has won 43 in a row, and that their running back is attempting to break the single-season touchdown record shared by Herschel Walker and Charles Grant. Ah well, maybe he'll go to UGA, where I can one day cheer him on. Kind of like Tim Wansley (also from Buford).
Exams are sucky. I have Federal Income Tax on Friday. I often wonder why I decided to take this class, and I still don't know.
Though it doesn't damper my excitement much, it's a little disheartening to know that the team that Decatur plays next has won 43 in a row, and that their running back is attempting to break the single-season touchdown record shared by Herschel Walker and Charles Grant. Ah well, maybe he'll go to UGA, where I can one day cheer him on. Kind of like Tim Wansley (also from Buford).
Exams are sucky. I have Federal Income Tax on Friday. I often wonder why I decided to take this class, and I still don't know.
Saturday, December 06, 2003
Wow
Could it really be true that Decatur High School is in the semi-finals of the state championship for AA? They play Buford next and they get to play in the Georgia Dome. Tonihgt in the Georgia Dome, UGA plays LSU for the SEC Championship.
I really don't like the fact that one of the most exciting weeks in college football falls in the middle of exams. I was going to make a cheesy law school joke, but I've decided against it....
Could it really be true that Decatur High School is in the semi-finals of the state championship for AA? They play Buford next and they get to play in the Georgia Dome. Tonihgt in the Georgia Dome, UGA plays LSU for the SEC Championship.
I really don't like the fact that one of the most exciting weeks in college football falls in the middle of exams. I was going to make a cheesy law school joke, but I've decided against it....
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