Please be advised that you have exactly 14 months to prepare for the Vegas blogmeet. The god of Thunder will be heading this one up. And if you want the skinny, you must attend, cuz what happens in Vegas...Well, you know.
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Vegas, baby! Vegas!posted by zonker on February 27, 2006 09:48 PM
The only way to trek to Vegas is in true Jack Kerouac style: hitchhike, bathe in borrow pits, bum smokes, show up with some soiled lucre one plans to convert unto the good life.
By the way: I'll be needing a shower, a razor, and some soap. Toothepaste. Some comped booze. Other than that, I'm pretty much on my own, except for the bed, of course, and the showgirls.
Yeah, I can handle this one.posted by Velociman on February 27, 2006 11:03 PM
This is something I could get into.posted by Geoffrey on March 1, 2006 08:24 AM
Las Vegas is wicked, decadent, corrupt, and immoral.
I’m downtown with it.
I can fit that into my western road trip. I should have my M3 by then.posted by Denny on March 1, 2006 10:24 PM
Vegas.......Oh, yeah. Definitely.
Gotta get an Elvis costume.posted by Jim - PRS on March 4, 2006 04:38 AM
Hey, keep me in the loop on this! Vegas is just a short jaunt from where I live (in fact, I'm heading there on Monday.) I'd love to meet all you people. Keep us posted on the details, eh!posted by DogsDontPurr on March 10, 2006 11:54 PM
Hot-damn, maybe we'll hold on to our timeshare on the strip until after this blogfest!! Need details, Zonker!! *mentally putting post-it note to email god of thunder*posted by Michele on March 11, 2006 09:40 AM
14 months, huh? Reckon you have time to actually BLOG before you rush off to that meet?posted by Acidman on April 3, 2006 07:29 PM
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And first, thanks for the support on the last post. I needed to share, due to the weirdness factor.
The question is: Is it a strange thing to offer workmen coffee? I always have. Never had a prob. And NEVER thought of it as an overture, but rather an obligation to well-bred hospitality.
I recall that even some Manhattenites have similarly pondered:
JERRY: Uh, no. Should I have?
KRAMER: What kind of a person are you?
JERRY: I don't know.
Are Kramer and I alone here? What's the norm?
(I'm usually on top of shit like this, but there seems to be a few gray areas. And hey, as long as I'm asking, and I hate to use the valet. Control issue. My car. My keys. Go away. But on the occasion that I do, tip on the take and the return, or just the return? Because if it's both, I've missed my calling.)
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I'm a naturally wary person when workmen that I don't know have to come into my home. I offer coffee to those that I know well and those that I don't...well...they get the check and a polite thank you before being sent on their merry way.
The valet thing? Color me clueless. I'm totally out of my element with classy shit like that. If I had to pull an answer out of my ass, I'd say you should tip on the return because when the take the car, they technically haven't done anything worthy of tipping yet.posted by Chablis on February 27, 2006 08:27 PM
I offer coffee and on the rare occasion where I am FORCED to valet, I tip on return only.posted by Ronda on February 28, 2006 07:54 AM
If I happen to be home, I offer Budweiser, or a shot, regardless of the time of day. I want my vendors to be comfy with my condition. As for valet parking, tip only on return. Then accuse them of drag racing your SUV while you were dining. Works about half the time. Free parking.posted by Velociman on February 28, 2006 10:32 PM
Offer coffee?...stupid men think it's an invitation.posted by vk on March 3, 2006 07:54 PM
Back in the day, offering a workman something to drink was the RIGHT thing to do. We offered our carpet installers sodas or beer...we bought our movers lunch and sodas...I've offered my apartment maintenance man drinks. But that is with my husband or roommate home. Never alone, not these days. In fact, I won't have a workman come to my home, intentionally, without someone here with me. Some call it paranoid. I call it cautious.
As for the valet, you tip upon return.posted by Dana on March 6, 2006 06:54 PM
If you offer 'em coffee, be prepared to let 'em use the bathroom. 'less you wannem pissin inna bushes.posted by Barry on March 31, 2006 07:51 AM
Easy. I have no coffeemaker, due to my preference of caffiene in soda (Dr. Pepper please) or cocoa. The latter heated with hot water works! ;)posted by Nancy on May 31, 2006 01:15 PM
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Why is it so hard to find a good bug man?
I don't like appointments. They suck. Committing me to be somewhere at a specific time on a specific date, knowing that when that date actually arises, my good fortune will lavish upon me some inconsolable conflict... No thanks.
Of course I have my fair share of when and wheres, but...I avoid them when at all possible.
For example, for the last four years, I have insisted that my monthly pesticide service be an 8am deal. See, I will still forget the date of the appointment, but it won't matter, because at 8am I am usually only on my second cup of coffee, watching Fox News (even though I'm sick of it), and procrastinating the chore of bodily maintenance. Ergo...home to facilitate bug man entry.
Gomer Pile was my bug man for a long while. So long, in fact, that I actually began to remember that I had an 8am appt with him on every third Thursday. Of course that wasn't his name, but the boy was such an intriguing blend of Gomer and Forest, that during his reign, the sociologist in me actually forgot to be inconvenienced by the extra 30 minutes I had to wait before hopping in the shower.
I'd pour him a cup of coffee (on the mornings that he hadn't already had three cups before leaving the house), and he would tell me all the nightmares of being a 30-something and single "nice" guy with friends constantly subjecting him to crazed blind dates. He was friendly, yet strictly observed the unsaid five-foot berth policy as he performed the perfunctories, even calling out "Don't let me scare ya..." as he entered the room that he knew I was in.
It was comfortable. Which says a lot, because when home alone, a woman is always going to feel a moment of apprehension as she allows some strange guy to enter the sanctity of her personal space.
So... Imagine my disappointment when some other guy called to set up my service appt a few months ago. He set it up for 3pm...with my voice mail.
I showed at 3:15, annoyed, explained that three is the exact time my daughter is to be picked up from school, and requested that I be allowed to retain the 8am slot...any 8am slot.
He seemed offended that I didn't like the time he had especially picked out for me, but reluctantly obliged.
And this guy was no intriguing Gomer/Forest hybrid, no intriguing anything really, just a boring-looking, receding little man with a hick accent and a missing tooth on the bottom.
Less than thrilled, I have still upheld my end of the bargain, being that if I choose to reside within Dixie-limits, I am duty-bound to extend southern hospitality to any person whom I invite into my home.
So yesterday, as I sat with my first cup of coffee, attempting to bring Fox News into focus at 7:50am, I was only mildly annoyed when the doorbell rang. Ah yes, it's the third Friday now. I remember.
My house looked like hell, and clad in a sweatshirt, yoga pants, and untamed hair that had been put to bed damp, I was looking hellacious myself. But I allowed the bug man into my home, asked him to excuse the mess, and went back to the news. But not before letting him know that I had a fresh pot of coffee if he'd like a cup.
I was hoping for a "no thank you," simply because I was out of styrofoam cups, and I didn't feel like entertaining... But instead, I got a strange response: "Yeah, we've been meaning to have coffee for a few months now, haven't we?"
WTF? Whatever. I stumbled into the Kitchen to refill my own mug and asked him how he took his. "Let me go ahead and do the outside, then I'll come in and have a cup."
Again: WTF? Sigh. So much for getting rid of him early. No way I was changing clothes while he circled the house, but I used the time to brush the hair and pull it back into a ponytail, straighten up a bit, etc.
When he came back in, he asked to use my restroom. Took forever. Then wrote up my invoice. Took forever. Meanwhile, I had poured his coffee, which still sat full, even after I had written my check and handed it to him. Biz done, coffee poured, I felt I had met my end of the southern hospitality bargain and was ready for the guy to hit the road.
Instead, he chatted, while I drank more coffee and began to overheat, no doubt thanks to the coffee, the sweatshirt over thermals, and the growing annoyance of the situation. Given the bad vibes, the last thing I wanted to do was shed clothing, so I made a remark about it being hot and moved to adjust the thermostat. I thought I heard him mutter something like, "Maybe it's just you," and I considered responding to the overture by puking on the floor, but then, given that it's my house, I would've been the one to clean it up. So I ignored what I wasn't sure was said, and blamed the increasing temp on the over-zealous gas heat. Then I decided to lead by example, downing my last bit of coffee and placing the mug in the sink. And finally, we have a winner. He followed suit, finishing his and moving to place his mug in the sink as well. Of course, not wanting there to be any excuse for a brushing of sides, I quickly turned to get out of his way.
No such luck. Something stopped me, and it being so outside the standard deviation of expected behavioral patterns, it took a sec for it to sink in... But sure enough, that man had hold of my ponytail, and was using it to pull me back a step...toward him.
I can't imagine the look of shock and appall that I must have given the guy, but for such a nervous little redneck man, he was uncannily smooth in his explanation. "Your hair, " he said as he pulled out my ponytail holder, "is beautiful. You should wear it down."
Looking back on it, I believe there was a split-second of hesitation, as I wondered whether or not I could beat the little toad into the ground should he try anything else... But then, that is not what instinct was telling me. Instinct was telling me to RUN!
So without so much as a glance back, I immediately headed for my front door. I may not have been able to get him out the door, but I could sure as hell use it for my own escape.
On the way out, I peered into the hallway and called after my dog... The nice-sized shepherd/husky mix is actually a skittish excuse for a guard dog, but she never liked the new bug guy, so I knew she was a ready ally.
Before we made our exit, though, he called out from the Kitchen. He had observed my broken faucet and was telling me that he'd take a look at it for me, that he was handy around the house.
"No, thank you, " I said, "I'm going to buy a new one." And by the time the words were out, my canine companion and I were in the yard. Bug man was still talking to me from inside the house, beseeching an indoor convo, but I wouldn't have it. I stood out in my front yard until he finally came out as well.
Relief. A hurried "Bye!" A closed door. And back inside, I think I broke a record for speed as I dead-bolted every door in the house.
Don't get me wrong; my nerves are sturdy. But that was fucking creepy.
Public places among friends, the guy wouldn't have shaken me. But this was my house! And I was alone!
Bad vibes, I tell ya. And I'm usually one to handle shit myself. But I actually called Shrek for reinforcement on this one.
Of course, he wanted to get the guy fired that very moment. Me? Well, I had cooled enough to be somewhat rational, and so, the thought of the guy getting a call from his manager while he was still 5 minutes away from my house didn't sit well with me. After all, I would have to open the door to go to work within the next hour.
So Shrek called the company, got the manager's name, and said he'd be calling back later to explain why we were cancelling our service.
And still, I ask myself, WTF?
I suppose the moral to the story is, for every Gomer, there is a Creep. And ya know, it's a lot more fun getting creeps fired when they don't know where you live.
(Perhaps I should learn how to arm my $32.65/month security system.)
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He still knows where you live...be careful. I would tell the company why I won't do business with them any longer, for the sake of some oher unsuspecting woman. Too creepy. Made me mad just reading what happened to you.posted by vk on February 26, 2006 12:38 AM
Got yer back, Key. Say when and where. Not a morning person but I'll make an exception.posted by zonker on February 26, 2006 12:52 AM
.. he grabbed your ponytail?... you should have decked the guy...posted by Eric on February 26, 2006 07:25 AM
I woulda deck him the second he touched me! Be careful. At least call the police station and alert them of the situation so they can keep an eye on your house too.posted by livey on February 26, 2006 10:56 AM
Buy a gun and learn to use it.posted by Acidman on February 26, 2006 09:47 PM
Man, I'm so sorry you had to go through this. That is one creepy fellow.posted by Moogie on February 27, 2006 02:38 PM
Butcher knife. One solid thrust in the ribcage, then a follow-up to the nutsack.
What a piece of shit.posted by Elisson on February 27, 2006 03:33 PM
THIS is exactly why I refuse to be the only one at home when workmen have to come inside the house. Although our bug man is great, I still insist that my mom is home when he comes.posted by Beth on February 27, 2006 04:32 PM
I'm thinking that Mr Bugman should be missing more than just one tooth on the bottom after that stunt.posted by Chablis on February 27, 2006 08:37 PM
Idiots. Easy to say Beat His Ass! A woman doesn't engage a stranger who has already shown a propensity for physical assault by starting a fistfight in her most vulnerable place, i.e. inside her house, alone.
The fool has already telegraphed he is capable of assault and battery. What if he has a knife? A gun? Key did the exact right thing. Go outside. Take her dog. If she wants to kick his ass outside, where he belonged to have it kicked, fine.
But a smart woman seeks safe harbor. She can be all that after the fact.
Well done, Key. All you could do, under the circumstances. Although I'll be happy to ensure it won't happen again.posted by Velociman on February 27, 2006 11:12 PM
Getting out of the house, teaming up with the dog and canceling the service was the way to go.posted by Jim - PRS on March 4, 2006 04:33 AM
Agreed. Teaming with the pooch and out the front door was the best course of action.
Still, as I read over this whole episode, I couldn't help but to think, "Good ole Southern hospitatlity be damned--don't you know these people watch Desperate Housewives?!"posted by Adam on March 21, 2006 06:57 AM
I am with Acidman on this one. Be ready and able. You can always decide not to -- but if you're not prepared -- you never will be able to decide to.
That's scary.posted by Shawn Kielty on March 22, 2006 01:41 AM
that is so creepy, Key!
you did exactly the right thing.
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2. Just damn!
5. A loving grouch
7. Omnibus hobby
8. Red-headed step-brat
11. I hear this child moved. Again.
12. The nomad of blogworld
13. The suburban hostess with the mostest
15. My favorite martian, I mean moderate...!
16. Left an impression in Nola (on the sidewalk)
17. My pharmacist
18. My fave P.I.
19. I met him, but I don't really know who he is...
20. Evidence that there is a fountain of youth (backwards)
1. My nickname for da blogfadda
3. Blogworld's sweetheart, our nickname
4. Zonk makes these look good
6. Links us with lines through our names
9. PRS home
10. Self-proclaimed deity
14. I'm his "back door girl"
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Very cool, honey. Glad to see you are alive!!
However, you linked me as "but"...
Is there something we need to discuss?
; Pposted by Chrissy on February 16, 2006 08:04 PM
Hey, Sweet Sis - it's nice to hear from you. Glad all is well in your neck of the woods, and looking forward to seeing you in Austin.
- Broposted by Donnie on February 16, 2006 08:24 PM
It's alive! Alive!!!posted by Elisson on February 16, 2006 09:46 PM
I should've known it'd piss of a woman if I added "lines". What cha want? Daisey's instead?
Chrissy got linked with "but"... waaahhh waaahh waaahhh... I got linked with "it"... probably fittin' in my case.
Glad you stopped in to scribble Key. I'm still workin' on the etch o' sketch blog software to make it easier for you...
Excellent! When you come back, you come back strong. I'm sure of at least one of the answers. ;-)posted by Jim - PRS on February 17, 2006 03:24 AM
... finally, after all this time... I have been immortalized....posted by Eric on February 17, 2006 07:55 AM
Hey lady, know the feeling of being buried alive!! The new little ones are keeping Kevin and I hopping; gawd this was so much easier 20 years ago!posted by Michele on February 17, 2006 09:53 AM
It's flattering to be included among the glitterati of Jawja blown-eyed blodgedom.posted by Omnibus Driver on February 24, 2006 04:44 PM
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Somebody help me! I've been buried alive! This is no way to treat a blog! I can't breathe, it's cold and dark, and there's dirt in my nose. Where's my owner? Preening in the mirror? Help! Somebody dig me out! You kids up there, playing Red Rover. Dig me up! What's that crawling on my legs? Worms? Worms! Ack! I'm thirsty. My throat is parched. Somebody at least stick a pipe down here so I can breathe. Pour some water down it, too. Help! I have to use the bathroom. Don't make me use the bathroom in my pants! I'll update if you disinter me, I promise! On second thought, I'm feeling kind of warm now. Cozy. I'm getting sleepy, too. Maybe I'll just take a little nap. Yeah. A nap... I'm very sleepy... Think I'll just doze off...
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Hahahhaa. Poor thing.posted by sadie on February 12, 2006 06:44 PM
a pretty thing like you buried alive?
doubting it....posted by armywifetoddlermom on February 13, 2006 08:52 AM
As I sit here and sip on my Scotchy,
I'll say a "Requiescat in Pace"
For Miss Key Monroe,
Because I don't know
If she's dead, or just green and blotchy.
Um, Key hain't daid. Her blog is. The blog is buried. I see my Mongoloid readers have migrated here. Or, actually, they migrated to me from here. Should have been a traffic meter agent posted on the Bering Straits landbridge way back when. Checking zee papers. But, yes, Elisson, I suppose they are one and the same. For she do not interact except here.
Damn. Did I call Elisson a Mongoloid? Sweet!
Tap ... tap ... tap ... Yo, KEY!!! You awake? Tap ... tap...tap. HAYA DOIN'???posted by Jim - PRS on February 14, 2006 03:14 AM
I would think a wake or at least a memorial service would be in order. A small and dignified marker would be nice too. I guess the blog children will have to come up some sort of fitting speach.posted by james old guy on February 14, 2006 08:26 AM
If not for that "preening in the mirror" line, you totally could have escaped doghouse on this one... As everything else is true. But I only wash my hair for blogmeets. Ask my ballcap.
I'll be back. You know, when the site of my page no longer makes me cringe.posted by Key on February 14, 2006 09:12 AM
Uh oh. I screwed the pooch here. Let me aver here, as I have Been To the Woodshed, Peepahs. And the Fanny Get Hot. I Been Beat! That Miss Key do not preen in the mirror. She don't need to, or have to. Apparently she wears a Georgia Bulldogs ballcap to work. All the Hottage is natural. Never meant to imply self-indugence on her part. Just tried to figure out why she was ignoring her child, she being a big foster mom, and all.posted by Velociman on February 14, 2006 11:41 PM
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