The Almost Trip to England

This really happened to my friend JM. All of it.

What a difference 2,007 miles makes...

On Sunday evening, after an event that will take too long to blog right now, I found myself driving to the grocery store to replace groceries. When I came out, got into my car and started to drive away, I noticed people flashing their high beams at me. Startled, I checked my headlight dial which was on and chalked it up to my missing headlight. You see, my car had a headlight out and had begun telling me this Monday of last week. But when I turned onto the residential side streets, I noticed that both my headlights must be out. I go to work at 6AM. It is dark then. I knew Monday was about to become a day off.

On Thursday evening (Christmas Eve) of last week, the check engine light came on. On Saturday morning (the day after Christmas), my windshield washer fluid light came on. Now I am all for Holiday lightshows, but this was ridiculous!

Knowing that we have a trip to Boston planned, I decided to try to get the two things fixed at once and managed to schedule an appointment for Monday afternoon when I called on Monday morning.

Why, you might ask, did I not change my light bulbs myself? The answer is part bc you basically have to remove part of the engine to replace them in a Passat. (google it- you get 91,000 results) So $80 for headlights that cost around $8 a pop coupled with the check engine light automatic $98 "finder's fee" for figuring out what was wrong started off the trip to the repair shop. But when they checked the engine light and came up with a PCV Valve problem and the bill went up to $440, I thought great! I have a warranty! ONLY....

My warranty ends at 50K- my car has 52,007. I am almost certain that Karma is out there laughing hysterically right now.

This is Maggie, not Dana... aka the Mix-up

If you have ever had surgery, you know that they repeatedly ask which body part they are to be cutting and mark it several times with indelible ink. I assume it is to make sure that there are no screw-ups in the surgery process. They also confirm and re-confirm your name and other items about you.
I have come to believe this is common practice among all health related trades.

See my most recent trip to the eye doctor..

Receptionist: "Maggie, Could you come to the window?"
Me: walks to window "Yes?"
Receptionist: "Ok, just making sure. The doctor will be with you shortly."
Me: sits back down
A few minutes elapse..
Doctor: "Maggie?"
Me: looking up hesistantly
Doctor: "Are you Maggie Reed? Ok, come on back."

So on to the topic at hand...

On Monday, I went to work like any other day only to remember at 7AM as I was unlocking the trailer door that I had a dentist appointment at 10AM in the city. So... I was supposed to be in the city today. And it was for a dentist appointment. When I go to the dentist, I make a good show of it. I blame my mom and her tablets..

that show plaque where you missed it when brushing. Having done a poor imitation of brushing that morning, I found myself searching for a drugstore open at 7 AM near my jobsite. I wound up driving to a supermarket I knew was open, purchasing a toothbrush and toothpaste and brushing my teeth in the ACME bathroom.

I then traveled into the city where there was no traffic (IMPOSSIBLE on any other day when I didnt have nearly 3 hours to kill!!) and found myself next to my old apartment listening to my audiobook and creeping out the families taking their kids to school by sitting in my warm car waiting for the next thirty-two minutes. In an effort to avoid raising uneccessary alarm in people, I wandered to a nearby coffeeshop in an effort to waste the remaining 1 hour and 53 minutes left until my appointment.

It took me 57 minutes to drink one cup of tea. I thoroughly creeped out the guy working beside me as I sat listening to Sookie Stackhouse on my ipod and watching the people as they walked on past. It took another 15 minutes to throw my cup away and leave the shop and another 10 to walk back to my car because I took the long way. I sat in my car again for another 20 odd minutes and then walked to the dentist who was a half a block away.

When I arrived, the xray machine was in pieces and standing in the receptionists area. The receptionist looked like people had been bothering her and when she asked if I was Dana upon being given a chance to talk to someone who wasn't the phone, the dentist or the technicians, I told her no. I was Maggie. She commented that I was really early (22 minutes... ) and to have a seat.

Given my ability to wait at this point, I put on my ipod and flipped thru a people magazine. I became aware about 12 minutes later that a technician was trying to get my attention. I stood up, took out my headphones, and followed her back. She would proceed to say nothing to me while I sat in the chair until after she had put the bib on at which point she asked me if I had any health changes. I responded that I was on new medication and that was the last word we would say to each other for the next couple of minutes.

She was a butcher.

Let me say: I like getting my teeth cleaned. I like the scraping and the smooth feeling you have for the next couple of days without really trying. But I do not like feeling like someone has jammed stuff in between your teeth and that someone has done needlepoint on my gums. Normally, also, when you cringe or tighten fists or go tense, people stop and ask if you are ok. Not the "Meat Chopper".... I had to talk with utensils in mouth to get her to notice that I was wildly uncomfortable to which she responded she would floss them and then it would feel better.

At about this point, I became aware of footsteps and the receptionist said to "Miss pokey sticks":

"Just so you know, you are working on Maggie. (audible pause during which I am guessing the butcher made some sort of gesture or face) Dana didn't show. So you are working on Maggie. It's been that kind of a morning."

I would like to know what kind of a morning makes it ok to confuse one patient with another and not figure it out until the cleaning was almost finished. Obviously one worthy of this blog.

Stealing is the new black- Updated!

GB corrections are noted in red. They really add a level of flair that the post alone was missing. Thanks for the additions..

So apparently there has been a rash of stolen cars recently. My friend GB lives a horrifying similiar cell phone life to my friend DB (no relation). While DB once lost three phones in three seperate but contigious trips to chicago all in taxi cabs, GB once lost three phones in puddles and also drove over a cell phone in what I swear was a weeks worth of time .

Most recently, however, GB lost his cellphone, along with all other worldly possessions in a car in a yacht club parking lot. Like most people, the words yacht and yacht club enspire visions of granduer and exclusivity, or at least of security cameras. However, there are apparently a myriad of empty yacht club parking lots around, since my google search turned up photos like this. But he was in Anapolis, home of the Naval Academy and fancy houses so you would think at least someone would be looking out for Yacht Crime. Keep in mind being so close to Baltimore, Annapolis does have a burgeoning crime scene.

But still the car was taken in the thirty minutes it took to walk back into the clubhouse get a drink and head back out. And so was a bookbag (actually an advanced trans alpine biking backpack allowing for air circulation during quick descents from extreme altitudes - epitome of German engineering. this pack does not compare to a bookbag which will dump your lunch while riding sending apples rolling down the street) and keys and mp3 players and wallets. Unfortunate you might say, but unlucky? It's just a little car theft.

Only his roommate had just left for a week in Florida. So no back-up keys were to be found. Only a locksmith and two week's worth of new card acquistions and mp3 mourning was to be had.

The car was found, top down, windows open after our most recent bout with six weeks straight of rain with nothing inside. I think you might need a carfax before you buy this one.

To prove all is not lost and to end on a positive note, good fortune did shine on GB during a recent and related lapse of his intelligence. A bundle of important stuff including all new credit cards, id cards, new mailbox keys, and passport (only form of id he had at the time), was placed on the roof rack of his vehicle to free up his hands to load in his bike which had a flat tire due to Obama's motorcade - but thats a different story. He was lucky because there was traffic and he was not driving very fast. He was lucky to have realized in a tunnel under Washington Circle that the important stuff was left on the roof. Shouting obscenities, he stopped, got out of the car in a sea of road-rage induced honking and exhaust fumes, and safely retrieved my important stuff... he could only imagine driving over the bridge, looking out the rear view mirror, seeing everything flying out into the river...

The Really Robbed Co-worker

So I have learned thru our unseen co-blogger MK that there is a co-worker of ours who deserves an unlucky and upsetting shout out...

Turns out, LF, might have worse break-in luck than I. In the last six months, LF has had:
1. Her apartment broken into and only her camera and laptop stolen. Nothing was taken that belonged to her roommate. Can anyone spell "Inside Job?"

2. Her boyfriend who lives in NYC was down for the weekend and managed to get his car stolen from right outside her apartment.

and if that's not enough,

3. Apparently, when her family was out at her own father's FUNERAL(!!), their house was broken into!!

That, my friends, is truly unlucky and upsetting.

LF, my heart and any good karma I have built up goes out to you.

Free Hampster Coupon

Two weeks ago, I bought a guinea pig. I have been a hampster owner since I was 3 so the switch to a slightly larger fuzzy creature isn't a huge leap. He was so cute and reminded me of Manny the Mammoth from Ice Age so I bought him.

( I know you see the resemblance)



However, in contemplating my new edition to our family, I was reminded of all the hampsters gone past.

Hampsters live short little lives, in comparison to other pets, so I have had opportunities to have more of them than, let's say, dogs.
It all started with Peaches, a pinkish orange and creme hampster who ate onions when I was 6 but managed to survive and lived at least 3 years despite having her(?) paws put in paint and being forced to run on my mom's casio keyboard to write music.

**I don't think there was anyone between Peaches and Cinnamon. Please note that I have always had cute little dwarf hampsters not those big long rat looking hampsters. Fat hampsters are always acceptable. Long hampsters are wierd looking.**

Cinnamon was the mousiest of the bunch and had less tolerance for being caged. Cinnamon escaped several times, along with two hermit crabs who were never recovered. Cinnamon also lived for a solid three years at a minimum. Cinnamon also ate plastic like nobody's business. He(?) chewed the crap out of his ball lid connection and it was often a source of his escapes.

I went hampsterless for a solid period of time, having school and dogs to take up my time, but in college, my mom decided to bring me a surprise.

It was a warm day, in late fall and she had come to watch me play rugby. I was still the proud owner of a 1973 SuperBeetle which was parked at the field and she had brought along a little gift for me. Leaving it in the car as she left after the first half, the little gift in a cage with some water, proceeded to die.
As SG, my aussie friend put it, "Oh, Mag! You have a hampster puddle!" (read that in an aussie accent and you will laugh for days!)

In tears over my new but dead pet, SG and I drove, in a dramatic fashion, back to the pet store where my mom had purchased said hampster.

When we walked in, the owner clearly had never encountered a sobbing American and a peeved Australian with a puddle of hampster before and in minutes found himself handing over, written on a cash receipt slip, a coupon for a free hampster as this one had been one of the last ones in the store and he was officially out.

Two weeks later, I received a call that hampsters had arrived and purchased Dirk Digger*, a legend in the architecture school and a true pocket hampster. The best hampster coupon story EVER!

*Dirk would one year later be killed by a few children responsible for keeping him while I was away in the summer. He was survived by a hampster whose name shall remain unsaid who bit, a lot, like I had canvas gloves for people to pick him up. I think my roommates fed him vodka before I moved to Rome.

** Author's note: Mom, if this is the first time you have ever heard of this story, don't worry. Dirk ended up being the best hampster a college architecture class could ever ask for.

I got stuck in an elevator- at Christmas time

So I found this started blog post that I apparently got distracted and never finished (surprised anyone?)... and thought, "Why not share this doozy with the world?" Merry Christmas in April, folks.




This is not a big deal. I kind of like the thought of wasting a day or two in an elevator. But the elevator at our downtown office has never broken on me before. I am not personally claustrophobic so when the woman approached myself and MC, my co-worker, our reaction to her seemingly crazy question of "Does this elevator get stuck often?" was one of almost incredulous, "No... never happened to either of us and we ride it all the time."


**Please note that this was our company's Operation Santa Claus day and that MC was dressed as Santa and I as a too-tall elf (If I can find the picture, I will attach it..)

No sooner did we pack Santa, myself and our new claustrophobic friend into our elevator, than four more ladies joined us. Now, this elevator is rather large and while I run the risk of sounding prejuidiced against the jolly, I have seen many large men pack into this elevator at closing time having apparently eaten their desks before entering. Note that I had not been stuck during these trips with the un-famished. So the 7 of us, ladies chattering away about the luncheon they were heading to, MC and I trying to not sweat to death and our claustrophobic friend headed upward. But between P1 (parking level one) and L (lobby for office), we skipped S (Store level). Dramatically panicking because it had skipped her level, our new friend pounded the buttons as the elevator came to a stop and the doors did not open.

MC has recently been in charge of an elevator contract and tried to begin to explain that it was not a big deal, that we deal with elevators all the time (althought I can see after our first incorrect statement that the elevator never gets stuck, why she might not believe us) and BAM! Claustrophia starts slamming buttons and pounding the door and shouting.

In true time elapse, we might have been stopped for three and a half whole minutes. The ladies all tried to calm her down while MC stood watch over the buttons so she couldn't do anymore damage and I spoke into the speaker. Thirty-five percieved minutes later, we were returning to the parking level where we explained to everyone to follow us and wandered out and around and up the stairs from P1 to S and then where they could find (insert place they were planning to go here).

Lesson learned: Don't allow the claustrophobic lady in the elevator with the bad-luck elf.

Trippy

(these are not actually my knees but they look close.)

This past weekend I suffered several injuries. Anyone who has been around me for any length of time knows that graceful or agile is not exactly the words which quickly come tot he tongue when asked to describe me. Instead, in a National Championship game broadcast, I was once described as "rumbling, bumbling, stumbling". Nice.

So why I was suprised that I would suffer injury trying to be lithe and athletic on Sunday is a little beyond my own understanding of myself but the whole event was rather hilarious, so I thought it should be shared...

It all started Saturday when in a fit of fake rage, I threw a punch thru a doorway with my elbow. I honestly wasn't sure I didn't break it until Sunday morning. I failed to recognize my surroundings and was much closer to edge of the closet than I realizes. When I threw said punch, I slammed my elbow into the reinforced edge of the closet causing my elbow to give since the reinforcing wouldn't and I collapsed in pain that didn't relent until I fell asleep that night. When I woke up, I still couldn't use it too well in terms of putting pressure on that arm but I was obviously not broken.*

It was a sunny Sunday so we decided to go running seperately (see above for descriptive terms of my athleticism and you'll understand why I often run with myself). I was enjoying the sunshine, listening to Sookie, and running amongst the throngs of people in town for the regatta on Boathouse row, when I found myself suddenly airborne. With reaction time close to a blind deaf slug, it was helpless to try to react and instead I allowed myself to come to a heavy stop on my hands and knees. A man doing step-ups on a bench stopped and stared. No one managed to snicker until after I stood up, an event that made me look like a lop-sided tripod due to my elbow injury from the previous night not allowing me to put weight on that arm. When the man recognized that I was able to walk, he went back to his step-ups on the bench. I wanted to throw a rock at him, but the pain streaming thru my hands was stopping me from doing anything besides blinking back tears of embarassment. I quickly started to run, toughing it out when I realized the blood streaming down my knee was probably pretty disgusting.

(I should take this moment to comment on my running attire for the day. I choose to wear bright red shorts and an almost hot yellow t-shirt. So assuming your friend missed my theatrics, you could quite easily remember and point out the girl you just totally saw bite it in the biggest way.)

I managed to tough it out another half mile or so when I saw a bench and stopped to check out the damage. A man walked past my obvious attempt to stop the bleeding and then doubled back, asking if I was ok, if I needed a ride anywhere or if not, that he had a bandaid in the car. Feeling a bit like a five-year old at the playground being asked if I would like some candy, I released my yellow shirt now stained with blood and told him I was fine and continued on my run. I made it home and washed the rocks out my knee and spent the rest of the day trying to not run into things or fall anywhere else.

*(My elbow is currently the size of two elbows and rather blue in color, in case you were wondering).

ET, Phone Home

Today I expect to receive my replacement phone. Replacement because two days ago my phone (bought 8/21/08) turned on and got stuck on the verizon logo. It flashed it actually, as if taunting my every attempt to reset and restart. I am not super abusive to my phones... ok this is sort of a lie. I once threw a phone off the roof I was standing on to the lower roof about 14 feet below in an arching dramatic toss of aggravation but this was after it malfunctioned in the middle of an irate call to a missing contractor. I am abusive but have good intentions and treat phones relatively nicely until they start to malfunction. This is when the throwing kicks in.
This makes the first LG chocolate 3 I have replaced but brought to mind my other cellular devices and the way in which they were replaced....

LG Chocolate Version 1.0:

I have owned three of these bad boys, one getting stuck in the open position...because there is nothing better than buying a phone for its small stylish design and then carrying a double sized bulge in your pocket. "Is that a banana in your....." You get the idea.


One got caught spinning randomly when the wheel was touched or not touched thru any number of screens, options, numbers, messages, pictures.. you name it, it scrolled... Made it awful hard to text or call or answer or well, in general use the phone at all.

And then there was the last straw. The one that pushed me to the Chocolate 3.
I had a demon phone that called people. It called people when it was shut. It called people upon opening it. When you tried to answer an incoming call, it became normal for people to wait up to 15 seconds to listen for answer because I would be maniacally hitting clear in order to stop the new call that was happening over the incoming call. I learned quickly that hitting end hung up both calls. It took over calling people about a month or so before I could update my phone for "free". About one week before the update, it also learned how to text. I owned "The Turk" of cellphones and gave it all away for functionality. Plus, I was worried about Sarah Connor coming after me to destroy it before it could become Skynet....

I don't remember much about the specific name of the phone before the Chocolate Escapades but I do remember it almost breaking in half, causing me to believe a slider phone was much more resilient. This was from overuse, claimed the insurance people. (This was a replacement I received only a month prior.) I dropped one of these in a parking lot. I left one on a train I was riding from Philadelphia to NYC that was headed on to Boston. I lost one in a bar one night. (i love the insurance program Verizon puts out. I always max out. Always.)

At the same time, I had a durable Nextel for work. At a fitness expo we were working to give Keystone Rugby a little greater Philadelphia exposure, I accidentally snapped my phone into its holster a little too strongly. It skittered across the parking lot and slide under a car, falling into the only storm water sewer basin in the entire parking lot. One hour later, a soaked KM, a non-wet RH (who had gone for help or supplies but had found kittens if I remember correctly and sort of forgot to come back for a while) and myself had rescued the phone mostly thru KM's genius, a coat hanger, some string, a pair of plyers and a couple of sticks. It never turned back on and I was told I should have just reported it stolen. The sim card was bad too.

Ah, the memories of phones gone past....

Aspiring to be a Proactiv Model

It appears that the tides may have turned. I promise as soon as most clusters disappear, I will stop posting daily photos of my disgusting face that will need to be burned upon my healing.

A tid bit nippley

Another good friend, JN aka B, shared this little gem yesterday about her recent email escapades:

"So I’ve been tanning for my friend’s wedding on Saturday. I went topless b/c I don’t want the lines. So I said to my friend that I didn’t want to burn my.... Nips... :) so she told me her fiancé said to put chapstick on them. Which to me- makes perfect sense. So I have been. Then last night, I forgot. OOPS! Well... They hurt a little. So I go to email my friend and her fiancé – who I’ve never emailed, but know he works for the state – as does she. So I take her email address: and put in his initials: .ONLY to get an email saying ‘Brian’s email is There are a lot of Bells that work for the State – you’ve now told some weirdo that you burnt your nips... B/c you forgot chapstick."

Your day could always start out like this, people...and bbell, if you are out there, we hope you at least got a smile at 7AM yesterday morning!

Allergic to relaxation

This weekend I joined 6 others in a spa weekend. It was more of a spa gluttony as the man in charge of the retreat called us "the group who came to OD on spa treatments". In fact, we had sooo many spa treatments that the scrapbooking retreat happening at the same location couldn't book treatments.

We enjoyed such luxuries as hot stone massages and ionizing foot baths.

And when it came time to choose facials, I was so relaxed that I allowed the lady to assist me in choosing. I had never had a facial and informed her that I did have sensitive skin. She gave a list and I chose deep cleansing ($75 when bought seperately as opposed to our package deal) as cleansing and purifying seemed to be theme.

This is my face Sunday morning.

This is my face now.

I have just returned from the dermitologist ($20 copay) who informed me that this may be

A) an allergic reaction ($25 medicine)

or

2) an acne flare ($30 medicine)

I have also bought a non-irritating soap to be sure my face is clean before my three applications of face creams a day ($10), so I have now paid $75 facial + $ 85 to fix the facial to end up with worse skin than I have ever had in my life. Plus, I am itchy.

I think this means I am allergic to relaxation

Day of Doom Kit

For those unsure of what to get me for Christmas... I found this.

Pants party

I was deleting old emails from my work email inbox when I came across this little gem...

From: Reed, Margaret
Sent: Thursday, April 12, 2007 3:18 PM
Subject: Another maggie day.. also known as why you can laugh in my face tonite at practice

I was moving drawings today, large gigantic rolls of heavy paper drawings. And lo and behold, I was wearing one of my favorite pairs of work pants, a pair of nice broken in faded green chinos. (can we see where this is going?) They are about 2 years old and get worn to work at least once a week if not more and not just to do office work but out in the field also.
So here we are moving drawings and I bend down to pick up the last set and RRIIIIPPPPP! From the belt loops to the crotch exactly along the seam, my pants split. I am now wearing my fleece black jacket around my waist.
Thank you for listening.
Enjoy your day.
I am going to figure out how to get out the door without half my coat on without anyone noticing.

Just in case you actually thought that this bad luck thing was a recent development or was just related to costly events.

2007 was the year of the pants. Maybe I'll post the most embarassing moment to happen ever... only I don't really get embarassed...

2 break-ins in less than two weeks

On Sunday, November 23rd at 10AM, I became the victim of a non-violent car entry. Someone in State College got into my car and tore it apart looking for items to thieve. Regretfully, having lived there allowed me to be lulled into a false feeling of security and I parked behind the placid street I called home for three years. Alas, said thieves found my Garmin, Bri's Sirius reciever, and my ipod player. I wasn't the only one. In fact, the policia who was so nice laughed at how similar his previous police report for the same street was to mine. Laughter when someone is in distress is a great and acquired skill. I feel bad for people. Maybe you get that skill when you get the badge.

On Thursday, December 4 at 6:15AM, I became the victim of a violent car entry. The picture above is indicative of the damage that I came upon as I wandered to my car carrying two bags of fruit, two pairs of shoes, a cup of cereal with a teaspoon measurer because we were out of spoons, my gym bag and keys in my mittened hands. I dropped it all in shock (except for the cereal which I never did eat) when I realized that for the second time in less than two weeks my car had been broken into. $200 later, I am now the proud owner of a newly glazed rear driver's side window. I would load an actual picture but of the damage and the great fix but I believe they may have my camera cord and battery charger. I can't remember if they were in the bag. But since these thieves apparently don't know the thieves from State College, they made off with only my trick or treat tote bag*, about seven purple pens, and my planner. My PLANNER, PEOPLE!! So if I don't come to see you when I said I would, please forgive me. I don't know where I am supposed to be.


*author's note: my bag was not cute christmas. it was dark khaki green with a jack o' lantern that said trick or treat. i cannot find one like it anywhere. even when i google it.