My car has been in the shop since the Saturday before last. Like a lot of people, I name all of my cars. My current car’s name is Carly. Get it? She’s a CARly. She’s also a Cadillac, so her complete name is Carly Cadillac. Go ahead, say it out loud. Cute, right?
There are actually some serious issues and she ends up staying at the repair garage for days. The Cadillac people are nice enough to give you a loaner. As I mentioned here before – I’m not a good driver. Which is why Amy is the driver of the Sisters. It’s for the best, trust me. Anyway, bad drivers do not like being given unfamiliar autos to drive around. It makes us nervous. It’s bad to be nervous when you’re driving. They also gave me an 85K loaner. Who does that? Who loans a perfect stranger, one who can’t drive, an 85K loaner?
I tell you this because I called the loaner “Super Carly” to the service tech. My car is a 2005 and let me tell you, there is a HUGE difference between a 2005 and a 2014! Hence, Super Carly. I had to explain that I name my cars to the tech – we went through the Carly explanation and then the Super Carly explanation. He acted like I was the only person he’d ever met in his life since the day he was born who names her cars. How is that possible? He’s an auto mechanic for goodness sakes. He must meet lots of folks who name their cars.
From that conversation forward, he treated me like I’m a nut. Which I might be, but not for naming my car. I went to pick Carly up
this morning and some random person said “Are you here for Carly?” Turns out, the tech told everyone – so pretty much EVERYONE came out to the service area to look at me. Because I’m me, when they brought her out, I threw myself on her hood and shouted “By god, I’ve missed you, Carly! Tell me they didn’t hurt you.” EVERYONE turned around and went back into the garage.
Maybe I am a nut.
****Amylynn here**** Obviously, Ava is a nut. That’s not even really up for debate. It is not, however, because she named her car Carly. I named my car Dave. Dave Durango. If you’re not nice to me, I won’t drive you around in Dave. It’s a fabulous experience.
I spent the last weekend out-of-town with my children’s robotics team. Two other moms and myself were in charge of making sure the kids ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner. After lunch on the first day, we always go check into the hotel so that we don’t have to do it with a bunch of tired kids misbehaving in the lobby while we wait for seven rooms to be assigned. I don’t believe there is a more destructive force than nerdy robotics children who understand calculus and physics waiting for a hotel room – you only make that mistake once . . . and that’s another blog.
We had some trouble with making the reservations. The school decided we were spending too much money on rooms and made us move to a cheap motel. I try to behave myself with folks I don’t know well and the other two moms come under this category. As we were driving to the motel, I noticed the area got shabbier and shabbier. There were seedy bars and some “women” who may or may not have been hookers. I didn’t say anything, I was determined to “not be me”. While one of the other moms was dealing with the front desk, I walked the few feet over to the “included” breakfast section. I was handsomely greeted by a cockroach and a plastic tower of stale cereal. And still, I said NOTHING. I mean, I said “Look, there’s a cockroach.” But I did not say “Nothing on earth could cause me to stay here.” Which is what I wanted to say but I swore to Ed I’d behave and “not be me”.
When we were done, we decided we’d better have a gander at the rooms. We drove around to the back and found this. Yes, you’re seeing it correctly. That’s a mattress in the parking lot. I’m not sure if a guest asked for an al fresco sleeping arrangement or if they were trying something new.
***PS*** Amylynn here – When I received the first picture of the mattress via text, I started packing up my computer and gathering my things from my desk assuming the very next text would be her request to come fetch her 100 miles away. Seriously. Ava has standards, regardless of the fact that she grew up in New Jersey. Back to Ava.
I swear, at this point, I’m still “not being me” as in I wasn’t shrieking yet. The rooms were pretty much what you’d expect after meeting Mr. Cockroach and finding a mattress outside. Each had the required mold and grey – used to be white – towels set off rather nicely by dilapidated furnishings. I can’t even describe the fruity disinfectant cleaner smell.
Here’s where I became “me”. “We are not staying here. Get back in the car, ladies.” One of them suggested that we’d already paid and couldn’t get a refund. I think she meant it. I assured her I’d make sure we got all of our money back. Which we did. By the time I was done, we’d also received an apology.
The funny thing is, I didn’t take the pictures for this blog or in case I needed them to dispute any charges with the credit card company – I took them to defend myself when Judge Ed gave me the “You just had to be you.” look.
***PPS*** Amylynn again. I want it noted here that I learned something very interesting about my Sister during this crisis. She knows what an hourly hotel smells like and likened this hotel to one. My eyebrows went up but I did not inquire as to her intimate knowledge. I figured it was best not to poke the bear.
Today, just before lunch, I’ll bet you heard a loud shrieking noise – sort of like the Concord used to sound before it was permanently grounded. That was no plane, it was Amy yelling at me over my Chipotle addiction. Addiction is her word not mine. I don’t think I have a problem. Even if I go in there alone on the weekends when my family is out building robots.
I will admit that every time she asks what we’re having for lunch I say “Chipotle”. I like Chipotle. I also like to say it to watch her face turn red before she starts shrieking. Now she says “What are we getting for lunch? And don’t say Chipotle.” So, of course, I say “Chipotle”. Guess what we had for lunch today? Chipotle. I can be very persuasive when I want my way. But maybe not too much because she only let us in there three times last week. My personal best with her is four. I’m trying for five.
Chipotle is constantly ranked in the top 5 for fast food restaurants in America because it sells REAL food. I have tried to explain to her, more than once, that I ate the same “turkey with mayo on white bread sandwich” every day for 4 years while I was in middle school. Eating Chipotle almost daily is not an issue for me. It also works well on our current diet of not eating processed food.
It’s not an addiction. It’s not. However, if the 12 step meetings take place at one of the Chipotle locations, I’m in.
Happy Valentine’s Day to all the lovers out there. The best thing about this Hallmark holiday is the chocolate. And cupids, cause flying babies are cute and we do like references to cute pudgy butts. That is to say so long as the pudgy butts in question aren’t ours. No one in their right mind would get confused by that anyway. We blame the chocolate. You see how this whole holiday is subversive? Wow, this took a strange turn. We started out with genuine wishes for a nice holiday and somehow the crazy train got ahold of it and now we’re preparing our pitchforks. Our conversations often work like this in real life as well. It’s all rather confusing if you’re new to it.
Never mind. Here’s some funny stuff for you.
1. Speaking of cute butts. We have a new word of the month. Callipygian. Meaning “having shapely buttocks.” If ever a word needed to be revived it’s that one. We’re going to try to work it into as many conversations in the next couple of
weeks as possible. We’d appreciate it if you’d do the same. Maybe it’ll trend or go viral or something. How proud we could all be if we make this happen?
2. That’s Circumcision spelled just like you think. In Sonora, Mexico the authorities have come up with a list of 61 names it is now illegal for Mexican citizens to name their babies. Circumcision is actually one of them. Can you imagine? They actually have to tell people no. Also on the list is Panties, Martian, and Facebook. If you are a young Mexican girl and you’ve been writing down Lady Di Sanchez on all your notebooks, dreaming of the day you could name your child that, you’re shit out of luck. Lady Di is also on the list right along side Rambo. We don’t know what goes on in the world. Honest to Zeus (we don’t know if that’s on the list.)
3. Cleary this woman’s not Mexican. Sheila Crabtree of Licking County, Ohio has just changed her name to Sex because she said Sheila was the ugliest name out there. Seriously. Sex is much, much better. She stated she wanted a name that more correctly reflected her personality. The Sisters have decided that they never need to meet Ms. Sex Crabtree. If we were to change our names to more properly reflect our personalities, we would be Curmudgeon and Complainer Bright. Our office mates suggested
Sarcasm and Bitchy so we’re taking our toys and going home.
4. The Puppy Savior. Everyone on the planet has heard of Gus Kenworthy and his plan to save the puppies of Sochi. If you haven’t go here. We have a theory that it’s all an elaborate plan to get laid. Don’t misunderstand. We adore Gus for doing what he’s doing and we’d have done the same thing. Maybe all the estrogen boiling over across the world is a lovely karmic side effect. What ever. Gus deserves what ever he gets. By the way he won a silver medal for his event. Don’t ask us what it was called. Some insane crap on skis that we’re never giving our children permission to do. We also think that the puppy he’s holding here should be named Bernard.
5. Big Foot might be a hoax. That’s according to the people at the respectable UFO Congress in Phoenix, AZ. If you’re so hokey that the UFO people think you’re hinky, then we don’t know what to tell you. You, sir, are bad news. If you don’t know what we’re talking about, then jump here. Rick Dyer claims to have caught Big Foot using bait of ribs he purchased at Walmart and nailed to a tree. The Sisters really want to believe in Big Foot. We really really do, but if the brave people at the UFO Congress can’t, then we don’t hold out a lot of hope.
Like a lot of parents, every year since my children could hold a pen, I’ve asked them to write a letter with their wants and needs to “Santa” or now to me, and this year was no different. It took them well over a week but I finally got a response.
The boy who lives at my house sent me an email. It contained the usual electronics that he “must” have in order to survive another day. He always tries to convince me that I don’t need to wrap anything to put under the tree. I can just save my time and efforts and give him the stuff the second I have it. How sweet is he to help me with my time management?
The girl who lives at my house word processed her list, printed it out, and handed it to me. Each item is listed out along with a website and/or store. Apparently, she’s not taking any chances with me getting the wrong thing.
I text her father because if anyone is to blame for #3, it’s him. I’m smart enough to never mention my lock picking days to any child I gave birth to – Ed, not so much. His response to my informing him of the requested B&E tools was, “I’ll take care of it. I have a locksmith friend.”
The proper response is, “I’ll take care of it and let her know this isn’t the 80s and you can’t pick locks anymore.”
I guess I know how I’ll be spending my Sundays in the future . . .
Today is National “Have a Bad Day” day.
At first, the Sisters thought that was funny. But it’s not, not really. Clearly, it’s a direct hit on all of those people who tell you to, “Have a nice day”. The Sisters never follow that directive. We just aren’t the kind to do what we’re told. The last time a sales clerk told us to, “Have a nice day” – we didn’t. On purpose. Don’t tell us what to do.
Amylynn told the fool flat-out, “Young man, we work at Bank of No Forks, a nice day has been off the table for years.”
Sometimes Ava takes things too literally. When Amy told her it was National “Have a Bad Day” day, she wanted to knowwhat it meant. Have a terrible day or a BAD day from the 70s? Was Michael Jackson involved? Who’s bad?
Amy insisted BAD meant terrible. She refused to entertain the 70s, unless Peaches and Herb or maybe Captain and Tennille are involved. “Surely Muskrat Love will ensure a bad day”, she said. Amylynn also wasn’t interested in hearing about the Michael Jackson theory. That made the day bad for Ava who really wanted to wear one sparkly glove and a black and red leather jacket. Moon walking could have been on the agenda.
But no. Amy said, “NO! I’m not going out with you dressed like that.” Besides, Ava’s not coordinated enough to moon walk. A trip to the emergency is NOT the kind of bad day we’re really interested in.
We hope a Bad Day was had by all? How was yours?
On Sunday 11/17 from 10AM to 4PM We’ll be at the All-Zona Book Fest at the Tucson Sheraton Hotel & Suites. It’s a really cool idea for a book festival – the authors are all from Arizona – Tucson, Phoenix, Bisbee, etc. Lots of genres will be represented – mystery, romance, fantasy and adventure – for a total of 30+ authors (click here for the full list).
Ava and I plan to be in our ball gowns so you can’t possibly miss us.
Admission is free and there’ll be books there for us to sign.
I REALLY hope we get to see you. And you can find out if we’re really as insane as you think we are.
The answer is probably.
Hey – if you have any moisture in your part of the world, would you send a little down here to the desert. Holy COW, but it’s dry here. “How dry is it?” you ask ala Johnny Carson. It’s so dry that we think we might be slowly morphing into lizards. This is not an attractive proposition. It’s also very itchy. All this scratching is troublesome. People look at you weird and we have enough trouble with that as it is.We’ve started telling people it’s fleas. It may make them lose respect for us, but it also frees up a lot of personal space. Here’s some funny stuff from this week.
1. Missing sheep. If you remember last week we brought up random meadows being mowed in Austria. Now there’s sheep rustling in Wool, England. Yes. The place where sheep are being stolen is named Wool. There aren’t that many times in this world were everything comes together with such symmetry, you know? This makes us very happy and comfortable, knowing that wool comes from Wool. We also suspect that the inhabitants of Wool are itchy, too. Look – we got off topic. Someone carted off 160 sheep from Wool. The people of Wool and it’s surroundings are asked to notify authorities if anyone offers them wool “for very low prices.” We think they should extend the APB to include a truck full of Austrian Grass following around a big truck that smells of sheep.
2. More politicians behaving badly. The mayor of Toronto was caught on video smoking crack. He refuses to resign stating, “I love my job.” He finally admitted the incident occurred “probably a year ago” when he was in a “drunken stupor.” Can you believe he thinks that excuse is the Get Out of Jail Free card? We’re keeping a very close eye on this story because if that excuse works we’re going to start using it all the time. Think of the possibilities. “I may have forgotten my children at the grocery store, but I was in a drunken stupor at the time.” or “I didn’t pay the electric bill, but I was in a drunken stupor.” This is going to really work out.
3. Dona Esperanza. All of us at Bank of No Forks have become addicted to the tortillas at Dona Esperanza’s. They are possibly the best thing we’ve had in our mouths in a really long time. Buttery and thin and glorious. One of us will head over to the factory and come back with dozens of them. At least two packages will be gone by the end of the day. They are the best $2.25 we’ve ever spent. The smell is heavenly and we’ll gorge ourselves on them until we’re holding our stomachs, feeling sorry for ourselves. We’ve started rationing them out – we’ve eaten six of them just writing this blog. We’re not sure if there is a real Dona Esperanza. We feel sure that if we did meet her, we’d squeeze her very hard and never let her go.
4. More members of our tribe. We’re involved in a book festival coming soon. (More news to follow). We received an email from the committee with instructions for set up and take down that convinced us these ladies were more of our people. Like this line for example: “Please do not attempt to shove anything larger than a toy teacup Chihuahua underneath your table…” We like the specific mention of “TOY” dog. It’s like they knew we’d try to smuggle a real teacup Chihuahua into the event. Now, if there’s a couple of things you should have learned about the Sisters by now they are that we dislike being told no almost as much as we love fuzzy creatures. Now, we’re bound and determined to find ourselves a teacup Chihuahua before the 17th – which we’ll try to shove under the table, just to see what happens.
5. More weird stuff missing. We don’t know what’s going on out there, but now there seems to be 140,000 pounds of walnuts missing from Escalon, California. Last month someone took 12,000 pounds of nuts. The same people? What’s up with that? Who the hell needs 162,000 pounds of walnuts? Who? Maybe someone should check with the fudge makers in the area. The Sisters like walnuts but not that much. You hear that FBI/NSA? We like ’em but not that much. The Sisters didn’t take ’em. And the sheep want you to know that they didn’t either.
When I was a child people always asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I’m certain you were all asked this question as well. I find myself bitter because no one, no one I tell you, ever mentioned that the following are actual jobs – jobs you can get paid for, really.
Big Foot Hunter – Granted, the Sisters do not like to go outside and we certainly don’t like to sleep outside but do you realize that there are no less than four shows on cable in which idiots run around in the woods looking for Big Foot? These people are paid for this, PAID. By all that’s holy, who better to look for a large furry animal than the Quill Sisters??? Amy and I pitched show #5 to the cable networks. Sadly, we received a rejection. It basically said – You can’t have a show since you actually think you could find Big Foot in less than a week (perhaps we shouldn’t have pointed out our extreme skill of finding pets anywhere . . . ). We’re not paying those idiots to find Big Foot, we’re paying them to injure themselves and chew tobacco while they’re looking for Big Foot – the Big Foot they’re never going to find because they make too much god-damn noise tromping around in the woods pretending to be hunters.
Million Dollar Shopper – this is the one that upsets me the most. WHY THE HELL DIDN’T SOMEONE TELL US THIS IS A JOB?????? How is shopping while spending other people’s money a job??? Who doesn’t want to go shopping if they have money to spend. Do it yourself, you lazy slobs. I’m glad I got that out of my system . . . Now about that job interview. The Sisters can shop with the best of them. Especially Ava. She will search the world over to find exactly what she wants and this is all made possible by the companionship of Amylynn. You can find anything if half of the team is saying something like “Great Zeus! I’m glad you insisted on visiting 160 stores to locate a dark grey purse with silver hardware and an outside pocket because here it is! In store 160. That lazy millionaire that we’re shopping for will be so happy we’ll probably get a bonus!”
Housewives of Anywhere – How is this even a show? #1, no one wants to watch a show about housewives. Which explains #2 – they aren’t housewives! Not one woman on any of these shows cooks or cleans or housewives. Not one. Which is why we’re totally up for being paid to be on TV to “pretend” to be a housewife. We feel certain we were born to be paid to pretend to be housewives – on TV or not. In fact, we’ve been practicing our pretend housewife skills for years.
What job do you wish you’d known was a thing?
As mentioned about a week ago – the Sisters put together a raffle basket for our local RWA chapter fund-raiser. It was to contain a bunch of our favorite things. At first, Ava was all in. It sounded like a great idea. After all, what could be easier than gathering up items that make us happy? Then she started to wonder – what the hell will people think of us when they see a basket loaded up with a bunch of stuff only crazy people would love???
Because we trust you to still love us, here’s the list of some of the rejected items:
.22 Handgun – don’t judge, we live in a state with no gun laws and we have a pink Hello Kitty model, honestly, we thought everyone would want one, too, but our spouses said “No.” See annoying spouses below.
A living animal – this idea was immediately abandoned, no way we wouldn’t keep a wiggly puppy for ourselves and then we’d keep buying them saying – “This next one really goes in the basket, really, the very next one . . .”
4 children – that had the FBI showing up written all over it, we’re pretty sure they’re already following us around anyway after the whole TSA Desert Airport fiasco.
2 annoying spouses – we realized everyone’s got one of those and they wouldn’t fit in the basket anyway.
Vegetables we grew ourselves – this one’s just a joke, we were looking for someplace to put last night’s dinner other than in a napkin under the table.
Then we realized this was a very inaptly named basket – we couldn’t really raffle off a basket called – The Quill Sister’s Favorite Things and Some Crap We Want To Get Rid Of.
We did let people know that we have a Chapstick obsession and we admitted to our great love for Hellboy which we think made us appear slightly eccentric but still approachable – rather than flat-out crazy.
We don’t know. Maybe we just need to face the fact that perhaps we’re crazy.