It's Wicked Pissah!

I read in a magazine this weekend that the Boston accent is deemed as the worst there is, that it is looked to be lower class. I was a little surprised, seeing that I didn't think the accent was so hated. I knew accents were stereotyped (deep southern as "rednecks", etc.) but thought nothing of the one I grew up with.

Your Linguistic Profile:

45% Yankee

35% General American English

10% Dixie

10% Upper Midwestern

0% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

I lost my accent about 12 years ago when I was in college. I was volunteering for Project Vote Smart, a national hotline where voters from around the country called and questioned where their respective candidates stood on various issues. I too often heard, "You sound like you're from New England," and even though nothing offensive or mocking was said, I started to focus on my every word and eventually the "r" came back into my dialect and the accent went away (though words like "shower" and "water" are sometimes the exception...)

Flipping through channels last night I came across an interview with a guy from Survivor who has one of the thickest accents I have ever heard. It was horrible. I quickly changed the station and hoped I was never that awful.

And yeah, he did sound lower class.

Update to my update...

Ugh. I have no idea what I just did, or what the Board of Health is even planning to do.

(If you need backstory, Scroll down and read (in order) "Neighborly Advice," "Waiting is the hardest part," "Neighborhood Justice, Part 3," and "I'm Drained,")

I called the Board of Health this morning to follow-up on my fire retardant neighbors. I left a message, which I am so used to doing when I call the town, and waited for my usual callback. And it came.

The Building Inspector never called her, because she never knew of the situation before I called. I told her how I called the Fire Investigator, who provided me with information and referred me to the Building Inspector, who provided me with more information and who had indicated the need for the Board of Health's involvement. Hence my phone call to her. She pulled out a complaint form.

Board of Health: Is the trailer on your property?
Me: Not on my property, but close to my property line.
(I also mention the dogs, who like to poop on my property.)
BOH: We usually need 24 hours in advance before we do an on-site, so it can't be tomorrow. And since Monday is Memorial Day, we won't be able to go out there until Tuesday. Is that okay?
Me: Sure.
BOH: Okay, so we'll just talk to them about getting the dogs off your property.
Me: Um.. actually, the dogs aren't my concern. Well, they are, but I'm more concerned about the trailer.
BOH: We can't evict the family and leave them out on the street.
Me: I don't want to evict them. That's not the reason for my call.
BOH: I know the reason for your call. You want the dogs off your property.
Me: No, that's not the reason for my call. I'm just curious about the status of home repairs. The Building Inspector mentioned that it could be a violation of health code for them to be in the trailer as long as they have been. That's my concern. I just mentioned the dogs when you mentioned the property line.

She talks about how it isn't unusual for this to take a year, that it often takes a year to get the insurance reimbursement. I suddenly feel like an ass for calling if this is standard procedure, even though the Fire Inspector and Building Inspector seemed empathetic about the whole thing.

BOH: So I could still go over there to discuss the dog situation.

I really don't want her to just go over there for the dog situation. I imagine her walking up to the trailer door and telling them to get their dogs off my property, then tell them to have a nice day as she walks away. I tell her this.

BOH: Once a call is entered, we have to act on it.
Me: Could this be an anonymous complaint?
BOH: Sure, I could say that we received an anonymous complaint about the dogs defecating in their neighbor's yard.

I tell her that it wouldn't be so anonymous since we're the only neighbors whose yard is within leash distance.

BOH: Then I'll go over for a routine visit and see how they're making out. Is that okay?
Me: Will I get a callback?
BOH: Not unless you want to erase the anonyminity. Whoever we call becomes detailed into the record.
Me: Then, can I call you?
BOH: Yes. (She sounds defeated.)

So that's it. I left out more of the conversation where she reiterates again how no judge will allow her to evict a family and leave them on the street. I think she just likes saying that because I never, and would never, allude to that idea. All I wanted, I told her, was information.

And somehow I don't think I'll ever get it.

If Vanna White Goes AWOL, I'm Available

This weekend, I felt as if I was a part of about 3 different game shows.

It was the annual trade show for everything auto repair related. The company I work for publishes a magazine having to do with the trade, and so I was asked to work a booth in the show, Friday through Sunday. The Spin 'n' Win booth. I would have a wheel. I would have prizes to give away. How easy is that? My only responsibilities leading up to the event was to make signs, "Free Spin" tickets, and entry forms for those who spun the wheel and landed on a star (landing on a star entered them into the hourly $100 giveaway as well as a chance for the grand prize all expenses paid trip for two to the Brickyard 400.)

I was a bit nervous since I'd never worked a trade show. I was told that all I had to do was be the host. Be outgoing, and since this was a predominantly male crowd, be a little flirty. Atleast that's what I thought he meant. He's my boss, about 35 years my senior, and I'm not sure if he thought that I would file all sorts of complaints if he used the word "flirt" with me, so when he mentioned the gender of the expected crowd, he sort of smiled and said, "You know," then he winked a few times. That kind of creeped me out and I sort of wished I told him that it would have been better for him to just say "flirt."

The Trade Center where the show was held brought back some memories since it's where I saw a Bon Jovi/Skid Row concert about 15 years ago. Friday night, I headed down a little early to set up my booth and meet the vendors around me. And then the show opened.

It was very cool to create a booth of my own. I've been to a few trade shows as a consumer, walking around with my welcome bag of goodies and brochures and never thought much of how it all comes together. Setting up a booth advertising a magazine and hoping the readers of that magazine stop by and talk to you about it is a high in itself. I'm not sure if they did know the magazine, since the majority of visitors came by to play my little game (I wonder if any of the contestants on Wheel of Fortune or The Price is Right ask stupid questions, like 'Can I spin the wheel left handed?') but it was great to be there and represent the company and give away free stuff.

I had a blast. I met some great people, gave away some great prizes, and even sneaked some logo-emblazoned t-shirts, keychains, and hats into my own bag of goodies as I walked out the door.

Scratches and Dings

Confession: I cut coupons.

Every Sunday morning, I get up at 8:00. Not on purpose, it's just what time my "clock" goes off. I make coffee, go outside to get my Sunday Boston Globe, head to my living room couch, and read. The very last newspaper activity is the cutting of the coupons. Afterwards, I file the them in a coupon organizer.

I was raised to cut coupons. Every Sunday morning my mother and I would sit at the kitchen table and I would watch as my mother cut coupons while making a shopping list. Then my father would take me food shopping with him, which I loved to do, because I knew I would get to have my own box of animal crackers that I would eat while sitting in the shopping cart.

I wasn't home Sunday morning to read the paper and so I wasn't able to read and cut until Wednesday, but didn't have a chance to put them in my organizer. Yesterday I only worked a half a day and so I grabbed the stack of coupons and put them in the passenger seat with the plan to file them when I got to the supermarket. Which is what I did.

While sitting in the car going through coupons, I notice out of the corner of my eye that the owners of the car next to me have started to put their groceries from the cart to their minivan. A moment later I heard it. Thud.

I get out of my car and walk over to the other side. "I think you just hit my car." Big gruff man looks at me. "Are you sure?" "Yeah, I just heard it." I look down to see a scratch and I point it out to him. "How do you know it was from me?" I start to get annoyed because the tone that he has taken is that which an adult uses with a 4 year old who just asked why the grass is green.

I tell him that if he opens his door again, we'll be able to see that the corner of his door will meet the point of the scratch. Sure enough, he opens the door and it is a perfect match. He puts his face real close as if it's not that obvious. As if he's looking for just a centimeter of area where the door does not meet the scratch so that he could say, "Ha!" I really want to take my hand and push his head into the door, but realize that would cause more damage. It was a tempting thought, though.

"Whaddaya want me to do?" he says. I just look at him and think. Is it worth the frustration? Ken has a kit to buff a scratch out, so I'm not worried about that, but I don't want him to walk away so easy, so I just continue to look at him, hoping my eyes would pierce his soul and he would apologize profusely and hand over the ice cream cake I notice in one of the bags.

"Do you want me to buff it out?"

My eyebrows raise. Could my gaze really have that much effect to turn evil into good?

"Do you have anything with you to use?" I sound hopeful.

He turns and looks in his car.

"How bout an onion. Would an onion work?"

Jackass.

At this point I am too tired to deal with him anymore. I start to say something again and then I see him open his wallet and hand me some money.

"Here. Get a car wash and maybe it'll wash off." He gets into his car and drives away. I look at my hand and there are 3 crumpled one dollar bills.

In hindsight, I wish I argued more with him, just because of his attitude. Granted the scratch was minor and it isn't noticeable unless you're next to the car. but it's the principle. It's taught me to always get the license plate number, even if I won't act on it. If I had it now, I'd consider reporting him for being a Jackass.

If you're reading this blog...

... then you might be procrastinating in doing something far more important (which must say something about me, since I'm responsible for this Rambling.)

I constantly find websites that are pretty cool timewasters, aside from reading the news or checking email. Today, Col. Dr. T. led me to the Sloganizer. If you're looking to start a business, the Sloganizer will help you create a slogan. Let's try it. I'd like to come up with a slogan for my blog. Enter in the name and voila...

"Ramblings... it's what you want."
Ramblings is the only way to be happy."

Try it. The fun lasts for hours.

----

Ladies (I don't think many of the boys played), remember when you were younger and you played the MASH game? You know. The game that decided your fate. How many kids you would have, your career, what corner of the world you would reside, and most importantly, whether you would live in a Mansion, Apartment, Shack, or a House. Check out Playmash and fantasize about what your life could be like. And for the guys, you can see what you were missing by not playing this game all those years ago.

This is my destiny:
You will live in Apartment.
You will drive a Green Pilot.
You will marry Ken and have 2 kids.
You will be a Writing in Boston.

I don't think I'll be moving from a house to an apartment, so that's out.
I drive a blue Accord now, so maybe my next car will be a Pilot.
I married the right guy (phew!) and I guess it only makes sense to get an SUV for my two kids.
And I am already writing in Boston, so I guess I chose the right career in the right city.

----

And lastly, for those who like to fix themselves a drink and get frustrated when they don't have an ingredient they need, or who don't know of any drinks to make with the ingredients already in their bar. Webtender is great. Every drink imaginable, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic. Go to "In my bar" and check off the items you already have and you'll get a list of all the drinks you can make with those items. I learned that there is a drink called the Lewinsky, and since I have all the ingredients (Bailey's Irish Cream, Peppermint Schnapps, Southern Comfort), my curiousity is forcing me to make it to see if it looks like what I think it does. Yeah, that. Perv.

I'm Drained

So the big yard sale was this weekend. My parents emptied out their house (somewhat literally) and are thismuch closer to retirement and moving. People had bought a lot of their furniture and came back with a truck to take it away. We later walked in to an empty living room and kitchen. What a weird feeling.

At 7:30 Saturday morning, I arrived at their house with munchkins and coffee. My parents (nor I) had never hosted a yard sale and didn't quite know what to expect. I had gone onto a website earlier in the week to look at tips for having one. It was non-stop from 8 am to 1:30. Madness. I went home and slept for two hours, watched a Saturday Night Live re-run, and crashed. Sunday was the same routine (minus the munchkins) and by the end of the weekend, they made about $950 and sold their entire living room, kitchen and bedroom set. The whole event was pretty fun and was a nice incentive for Ken and I to look at our junk and plan our own sale.

Neighbor Crap
The Building Inspector called back. Come to think of it, No, he hasn't heard anything from the family. He told me that usually, they'll call the town when the house is ready to be gutted (which he expected it would be) and that maybe he'll make a stop over there at some point during the week to see what's going on. Nice, right?
Not so much.

Me: And then what?
Building Inspector: What do you mean?
Me: What happens after you go over there?
BI: I'll see if they have any plans to gut the house. I'll bring the Health Inspector, since this is their jurisdiction also.
Me: How long do they have to do something?
BI: What do you mean?
(Please stop saying that)
Me: Isn't there a statue of limitations on how long they have to fix a house?
BI: Oh, there isn't a time limit.
Me: So they could live there forever?
BI: Technically yes, but they can't.
Me: What do you mean?
(Right back 'atcha)
BI: There isn't a time limit, but they can't live in a trailer because it goes against health code. You can follow up with the Board of Health next week or I can give them your number.

I'll call the Health Board next week if I don't hear anything. Though I have a feeling I may have reached a dead end. In any case, it gives me motivation to try to change the law to require a statute of limitations on home repair after a fire.

Neighborhood Justice, Part 3

Greg the Fire Inspector called me this morning and apologized for not returning my call sooner. He said that the fire was deemed accidental due to an appliance malfunction. At the time of the fire, he was questioning the family when he got a call of ANOTHER fire a few blocks away (I never knew my town was so flammable!) The police told him that they would continue questioning. The appliance malfunction was what they found.

Okay. If I had an appliance malfunction causing my house to go up in flames, I'd be calling a lawyer and suing that crap out of that appliance company. If the iron was left on or a radio fell into the tub I could see how that would cause a fire. But that would be the malfunction of my idiot neighbors, not the appliance. Getting back...

He gave me the name of the town Building Inspector and advised me to call him about the status of the house. We talked about the insurance and I asked if it was odd to him that this is taking so long. He agreed wholeheartedly, saying especially since they've been in the mobile home since the fire. Insurance is covering the home, so you'd think that they'd want this resolved as soon as possible since it must be getting quite expensive. He also sympathized and told me that he wouldn't want a mobile home in his yard either. Then we joked about how I woke up and saw the mobile home drive into the backyard.

I asked him what the Building Inspector was allowed to tell me and he said that a lot of specifics are public information, especially since the house could be considered a vacant building since no one has been living there. I called the Building Inspector.

He wasn't in, but left a message with his secretary (?) that I was referred and gave her the address of the house. She said that their office closes at noon on Friday so he may not return my call until Monday. I told her that was okay, as long as I know he gets the message.

Stay tuned....

The Gift of Chocolate

I just bought my sister-in-law some chocolate at Hilliards for her birthday. When you need to buy any type of chocolate gift for anyone, you go to Hilliard's. When you first open the door, the sweet scent that welcomes you into the store tells you that you might be walking out with more than you intended to buy. Everything is homemade, and it is as tasty and comforting as it looks. As tasty and comforting as you want it to be.

On weekends they have samples of fudge on the shelf on top of the fudge case. I've never bought any though. If it's in my house, I will eat it in one sitting. I could do that. I'm not much into fudge anyway. My favorite are those half-dipped cashews. You could choose nuts half-dipped in white chocolate, milk chocolate, or dark chocolate. I get a mix of all three.

Because the scent of the store subliminally forces you to buy more, I bought my niece a "Congratulations" chocolate bar because she pooped on the potty for the first time.

And of course I gave into to temptation and bought some treats for myself.

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

... so sings Tom Petty. I think he was referring to waiting for someone to return his phone call.

I called the Town Clerks Office this morning.

(Read the blog before this one if you have no idea why I would ever want to do such a thing.)

"I'm not sure who I should be calling..." (I can almost see this woman roll her eyes when I tell her this. I used to hate getting these calls when I worked for the state.)

"I'm wondering if I can find out the cause of a domestic fire that happened in July. The family has been living in a mobile home in their back yard, which is adjacent to my yard, since then. I'm also wondering if I can find out the status of the house." I didn't mention the dogs.

She sympathizes with me, or else she was faking the sympathy, in which she did a really good job. She tells me that the first place to start would be the Fire Department, since they would have records on what started the fire. They would then be able to tell who to talk to in order to find out the progress of the house. She gives me the number.

I call the Fire Department. Voice recording giving me SO many options. I never knew Fire Departments had so many departments. Code Compliance, press 1; Training and Safety, press 2; Fire Prevention, press 3, Smoke Detector Training....... I press 6 for Fire Investigations. I get a voicemail. "...If you want to investigate a fire, leave a message...."

I leave a message mentioning the fire, the date it happened, the location, and whether it's public record to know the cause (even though I'm pretty sure it is.) I also request what other information I could find out about the status of the house repairs. That was 5 hours ago.

My mind wanders when I leave messages for people I don't know. I wonder if the Fire Investigator is friends with the family and has spent the past 5 hours on the phone with them laughing at me and devising a "story" to tell me to shut me up. Yeah, it's a scene out of Desperate Housewives, but that's the way my mind works.

I'm heading home now. I'll let you know if I see dog poo smeared across my front door.

Neighborly Advice Needed

Yes, I'm using my blog as a reverse advice column. I do the asking, and you, my dear readers, offer me the best advice you have. Deal? Okay.

My neighbors live in a house that faces the main road. I live in the first house on the side street off of that road. Meaning that our side yard is next to their back yard.

Last July, we came home one day to see that there was a fire at their house at some point that day. A few rooms were destroyed, along with various areas of the vinyl siding that they just had done. The house is still standing, in decent shape. It looks like only a few rooms were charred. I guess now is a good time to point out that we are not friendly (nor is anyone on our street) with these neighbors. When the fire happened, our other neighbor told us that he ran across the street to kick the front door open (Man, I wish we were home that day) and never even got a "thank you." They're really not a nice family, although the wife is pleasant. When she's outside, we'll wave to eachother when I drive by. That has been our only contact.

In August, we woke up to see a mobile home driving into their backyard (our bedroom window faces it.) And that is where they have been living since then. Ken was pissed when he first saw the mobile home moving in, but I had sympathy. They just lost their house. Cut them some slack, I told him. Almost a year later, nothing has been done to that house. Yes, their mess of a yard (which was also a mess before the fire) and mobile home is bringing down the value of the neighborhood, but the problem are the dogs. Because they live in the mobile home, these two dogs cannot get the exercise they need and therefore are left outside to run around (on leashes) for a long period of time. Actually, the only time we see any member of the family is when they open the door to the mobile home and call the dogs inside. They've woken us up at night from barking and they bark at us everytime we go outside. Whenever I come home from work, they're usually outside and bark at me as I get out of the car, in my driveway which is on the other side of the yard. I realize they're great guard dogs, but you have no idea how many times I have wanted to yell, "I don't want to rob your mobile home!"

I noticed yesterday that their leashes were slightly extended and the dogs were more into our yard. I didn't think much of it until.....

Ken came home and told me that he noticed dog crap in that area of our yard. Not a lot, but it's obviously not going to be cleaned up by them voluntarily.

I really want to call the town and question a) what happened, and b) what the status of the house is. And I want to call Animal Control and make an anonymous complaint over the dog situation. Not the poop, but the fact that these animals could have a better home someplace else given the current conditions. But this is all in my fantasy and I'll never be brave enough to do it.

So this is where you come in. I really don't want to write a letter to this family because the reaction could be worse then if we went over there personally. And I don't think the reaction will be that great if we did go over there personally, no matter how nicely we would handle it. Or retribution.

The End of an Era

The house that I grew up in will soon belong to someone else. The house that encompasses all my childhood memories has been sold. Where I learned to read. Where I helped mom bake desserts for company and was then allowed to lick the bowl. Where my brother Doug and I used to hide from my parents in the room underneath the stairs. Where I got a toilet seat stuck around my head (story for another time...) Where my friend Andrea and I used to sleep on the porch in sleeping bags underneath the stars and talk about the cute boys at school and gossiped about the girls who wore make-up. Where we used to play softball on the side of my house with all the kids who lived on the street.

My father used to coach Flatley, one of the teams in the town's Little League. No, wait. First it was Graziano, then it was Flatley. Anyway, when he "retired," he pitched for the neighborhood league. There were so many kids in our neighborhood, finding a team was easy. And the rule was, once you turn 13, you're too old to play. I forget how the game would start - not sure if we had a written schedule - but I do remember on occasional nights, some of the boys would come by after dinner and ask if my father wanted to get a game going. And so we went outside and started a game. The corner of the yard, where the two fences met, was home plate. The huge tree to the right was first base, another tree was second, and the fence post was third. And if you hit the ball into the Katler's yard across the street, automatic home run. It was a blast. I remember being horrible at first. I could hit the ball, but I never mastered the art of catching. If someone threw the ball to me, I was fine, but never a ball from a hit. So dad kept me out of the outfield and I was the catcher. The final season ended when someone hit the ball and it broke my parents bedroom window. Home plate became the graveyard for the few hamsters Doug and I had as pets.

I wonder if this is how they felt when my brother and I went off to college, got married, or when my brother had kids of his own. That was a huge change in their life, but we (or atleast I) never thought about what it meant to them as much as it meant to us.

In August my father will retire and they'll move to Cape Cod. My brother and I are extremely happy for them, especially that they have a house in a nice and quiet and closeknit neighborhood. But at the same time, it's a change that we were in denial that would ever happen. It's very bittersweet.

This weekend is their yard sale. Where I'll probably sell something of mine that I haven't seen in 20 years. Priceless to me, but no more than $5 to them...

Emily and Michael

Emily and Michael are my niece and nephew. My pride and joy. When I am mad at the world and just want to be left alone, their smiles are what can bring me out of my funk. I can just eat them up.

Emily will be 5 in August. She has a blanket she calls "mamie" and she takes it everywhere she goes. Right now, she wants to be a ballerina when she grows up. She's been addicted to Elmo and Dora the Explorer and her current fascination is Tinkerbell. She wants to fly like Tinkerbell and on rare occasions, she'll switch personalities on us and be Tinkerbell. She'll walk into the room as Emily and just like that if you call her name, she says, "I'm not Emily." That's when you know to apologize and call her Tinkerbell. And daddy is Peter Pan and I am Wendy. "Tink" is also her pen name. When she makes me books from colored construction paper, she'll draw pictures and will tell mommy what to write. And on the cover, she will write the title of the book (mommy helps her spell the words) and she writes, "by Tink".

She loves Noggin, which I have come to learn is a kids cartoon channel on TV. She watches Franklin (a turtle)and Oswald (an octopus) and Dora and she knows that Auntie Jodi loves Blues Clues. On Tuesdays, Nana babysits for Emily and takes her to the park and sometimes to Plaster Fun Time where she creates art for the wall in her room. Her favorite colors are pink and red and she will be the first to tell you that she does NOT like orange. When she does something funny or even gets hurt, she always wants you to tell the story of each episode. "Tell me the story about when I fell off the swing and I cried." And each story has to start with "Once upon a Time."

Michael loves his big sister. He just turned 2 in February and emulates her like crazy. If she is playing with a certain toy, he plays with it. If she is eating Dora Fruit Snacks, he wants one too. And he is such a little boy. He loves banging things and airplanes and trains and trucks. He went on his first plane a few weeks ago to visit Grammy and Papa in Florida and he couldn't have been more excited. He also watches Dora and Oswald but because he can't anunciate his words quite yet, Dora is "Da-da" and Oswald is "Ah-Wah". Auntie Jodi is "Jih-Jih". If he hears Emily crying, he runs over to her yelling, "Oh no oh no oh no oh no!" And when the microwave goes off, he runs over to it and says, "Ready!" It's really cute.

That is just a little piece of my family.

Writer's Blog

I have writer's block. I feel the need to blog, since I haven't updated in a while, but I don't have a particular subject to blab about.

I have an issue with people calling their son or daughter their "kid." It's fine if there are atleast two and you refer to them as "my kids," but the singular "my kid" bugs me. I don't know why I thought of that first.

I think I may have to "dump" a friend, though I don't want to because even though the reasons are valid, looking at it from the whole perspective makes me look shallow. Backstory: Friend since college. Bridesmaid in my wedding. Lived all over the world (Connecticut, California, Norway, now in Massachusetts) and we've kept in close touch all along. She started having problems with her husband in the fall and by December, she has been completely distant from me. I'd leave her messages or emails and after following up when I didn't hear from her, she apologizes and said her mind has been elsewhere. I let it go. Her husband was going to be in Norway over Christmas and I invited her for Christmas with my family. We don't celebrate the holiday, but we do go out for Chinese every year with relatives, who she's met, since she came with us a few years ago. She accepted the invitation even after I told her that if she made other arrangements with her family in Connecticut, I'd understand and to let me know. I called her Christmas Eve to set a time for us to pick her up and she never called back. I didn't hear from her again until a few days after Christmas when I called her to make sure she was okay (I had left a message the day after Christmas, too.) She told me she was fine and that she spent the holiday with her grandmother and she didn't say anything to me since she didn't think our plans were set in stone. I let it go. She let me know in January that she and her husband are separating and gave me her new number. My phone calls haven't been returned and I am sad that she has distanced herself from me. I did ask her to help me out with a work thing that she'd get paid for and she expressed interest, but now I think it's because she's getting paid for it. I have left her messages about the work thing and she hasn't gotten back to me. I did expect that given her recent history of being unreliable and have decided to email her that I'm going to find someone else to do it. So frustrating. This Sh! is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

(Note to Daniel: That last sentence is from a Gwen Stefani song. Not sure if it's made it to your corner of the world. The "Sh!" is a 4-letter word I choose not to include in my blogs. I'm a lady :-) )

I was reminded again today of another reason I want to work from home. Solicitors. I have no problem with people calling me on the phone asking me if I want to buy something. It's easier to either screen the call and don't pick up, or tell them "no" 3 times (when I worked for a consumer affairs agency, I learned that if you say no 3 times, they have to give up.) Hanging up on someone is rude and I refuse to do it. But when people either knock on my door or come into my office, it gets to me. Knocking on my door isn't too bad because I can pretend I;m not home. Walking into my office, I have no place to hide. My building is small. It has three floors, but only 2 or 3 offices to a floor. And there is no reception area so people walk in as they please. I was just disrupted by someone trying to sell meal vouchers. Like a restaurant gift certificate that can be used at a few specific restaurants throughout a specific time period. For $40. Not interested. Before him, a few months back, it was someone selling sports memorabilia. Then some framed animal pictures (think Anne Geddes, but with animals instead of babies) left over from a local store that went out of business. It's just too much, and it adds to the reason I'm getting more excited about the chance to work from home. It sounds like it's going to happen at some point over the next few months.

Oh, and I'm going to a Kentucky Derby party on Saturday and need an outfit. I must go shopping because I own baseball caps, not hats suitable for a Derby party. And if anyone has any recipes or ideas for a suitable Derby style appetizer (finger foods), I will be appreciative.