Broke in Vegas? How cliché!

I mentioned that we went to Vegas. On Sunday, our debit cards started arguing with us. It all started when we were at the half-price ticket place to get tickets for Blue Man Group, which I will write about later. After a weekend of reckless spending, my debit card was declined. Twice. So, I went off to call the bank to leave Mike to try his. Turns out I can't get through to my bank on Sundays. I could have if I'd had a lost or stolen card, but a declined card? Sucks to be me.

All hope was not lost. We had plenty of cash on us to get us through the next day when I could talk to the bank and say "um???". And we have another bank account we could get some out of, but like I said, we had plenty.

We tried it again after lunch, and no problem. No problem for the rest of the day. Then at dinner, the card went through as a gift card and left us with an $18 balance. VERY bizarre.

Well, in Vegas, "plenty" is a relative term. On our way to breakfast, I tried the atm. No joy. I called the toll-free number on the back of my card and was put on perma-hold. I called MY branch of Homestreet Bank and Gina jumped RIGHT in. So, even though I can't talk to anyone on the weekend, the branch makes up for it. She said that we have a $2500/day limit and sometimes Friday, Saturday and Sunday hit all at once and bam! No, we did NOT spend $2500 in Vegas...we did pay for the trip and the hold at the hotel and a couple of things for the house. So, bam!

She said it should clear by 10 a.m., so to try the ATM again after that. We went and had breakfast. (The mini-buffet at the Venetian is AWESOME by the way. There aren't a lot of things, but the things that are there are phenomenal.) We made our way back to the ATM. No joy. Although this time it didn't tell me I had exceeded my daily limit, it just said no.

So, we went to the room and packed up...then we headed down to the packaging center to send a few things home. The card was declined AGAIN. Well, there went the rest of our cash, eh? So, I tried my other debit card for the other bank. The ATM gave me the same message about having exceeded my daily limit, which was amusing given that we hadn't used it in 3 weeks. At this point, I decided that the Venetian ATMs were just friggin' grumpy.

At this point, we'd checked out and I was desperate for my morning fix of Starbucks black iced tea, no water, no sweetener. I have a Starbucks card which is refilled automatically just so I always have the means to feed my addiction. So we're off to Treasure Island across the street. The Venetian/Palazzo complex has no Starbucks. The ONLY thing that gives them less than 5 stars in my book.

But I forgot. Not only does that Starbucks charge $5 for 20 ounces of iced tea (I kid you not), they don't honor Starbucks cards. Luckily, we'd stocked up on quarters for our penny press activities, so we were able to scrape enough together for my fix. I'd also gotten a call back from Gina and she said had called the corporate office and it was just running slow today. She asked me to try it again. So we find an ATM at Treasure Island. SUCCESS!

So, we were sans cash for a few minutes and our ride to the airport was already paid for. Annoying at worst, but so cliché.

Thank you, Veterans

I don't wax sentimental around here too often, but this is important to me and I want to share.

I'm an Air Force brat several times over. My grandfather was a retired Major. My Uncle was a Green Beret in Vietnam and served in the reserves for MANY years after he left active duty. My mother, father, step-mother and two step-fathers were military. My husband served and more friends from high school than I could possibly count (though I'll try later).

I am especially grateful to women veterans. My mother and step-mother joined the Air Force in the early 70s. A lot of folks didn't think they had any business being there and it would have been easy not to be. And they stayed. I chose not to join the armed forces. I am grateful that I had both that luxury and that I had women before me that paved the way for those in my generation and after. When we buried my step-mother, it was in a national cemetery with military honors. It made me proud to be her step-daughter.

Those of you unconnected with the service may not realize, but being military family is its own form of service. I had it easier because it wasn't wartime, but my mom was stationed in Korea for a year and my dad spent 2 years in Turkey when I was young. My parents lived through the threat of Vietnam. My friends were in the first Gulf War. I never got calls saying my son had been seriously injured on a mission in Veitnam. I never had the men visit from the DOD to tell me that my husband was dead. I never had someone return to me different than when they left, or never return at all. I don't have to live with that fear. Many do, and they deserve as much thanks as any veteran.

I may be a bleeding heart liberal. I may think that we're in ill-advised conflicts of our own making. I may think a lot of things. But I am grateful beyond words that I was fortunate enough to grow up surrounded by men and women ready to lay down their lives for their country and those who live in it. I'm grateful that I've had the luxury, and yes, it IS a luxury, not to serve. No one I grew up with was ignorant of the military and military life. So many people I surround myself now don't have any connection, and I think that's a very bad thing.

So, thanks Mom, Dad, Kathie, Uncle Frank, Mike, Ty, TJ, Jon, Ken, Jim, KC, Donald, Adam, Cindy and the two idiots my mom married (who weren't worthy of marriage, but they deserve some degree of gratitude for serving). Thanks to those who love them, support them, and pray daily for their safe return. Thanks to anyone I forgot to name. And thanks to the millions I don't know.

What happens in Vegas comes to debineezer.net

We took advantage of obscenely low priced packages to Vegas this weekend. We could not have had a better time, and frankly, I would rank it as the second coolest trip I've ever taken. It doesn't beat 20 days in London on a student loan...not even a close second, but definitely second. Mike could not stop laughing at his dorky wife who floated on air for an hour after getting pictures with the Coca-Cola polar bear, jumped for joy after winning $11 at video roulette, and generally had the best possible time.

Anyway, tomorrow is my tribute to veterans, but Thursday, I will be here to regale you with FABULOUS stories of our trip. Stay tuned.

You say you're not a bed rubber, either??

Blame it all on Miss BittyCrazy. She needs to back away from the Birkenstocks. I had NO idea you could use Google to alert you to the emergence of random phraseology on the web. Egad! But a commenter on my post regarding fluvial geomorphology indicates that it's EXACTLY how he came across my blog. After offering to allow said surfer to geomorph her fluvial, she suggested I do a series of really dumb job names. I couldn't find any at first, so she sent me a list. And sadly, I can identify pretty much all of them, including the one from the Neutral Buoyancy Lab. You'd think with all this arcane knowledge, I'd have gotten laid more in college.

However, I did run across a few I'll share of the next couple of days that made me sit up and say "Um?". Bed rubber. Yep, actual job. The job itself sounds like a pretty typical foundry job, so I'm not sure why they make it sound like a queen-sized prophylactic. More over, I don't know why the two references I found on the web call it a DOT job description. OOOhhhh...it means Dictionary of Occupational Titles. And according to this page, there are a disturbing number of jobs which use the word "rubber".

In other news, I've posted some pictures of the future Rottenfield Manor.

You are a fluvial geomorphologist, aren't you?

Discussion with Miss BittyCrazy sparked by this posting

As anyone who reads Miss BittyCrazy's blog knows, she was laid off from the Evil Empire in the not-too-distant past. As a project manager myself, I'm currently working for a PM Certificate so I can get a PM Certification. I don't think they're very meaningful, these certifications, but people who hire PMs do. Anyway, I wandered over to the Project Management Institute and clicked through to their job listings. None of the Washington listings are for PMs.

But I think PM is too narrow. I think all our hard work QUALIFIES us for fluvial geomorphology. And since she can't even TRANSLATE fluvial geomorphology, I think Miss BittyCrazy is certainly as qualified as 99.99% of the population.

Of course, this lead DIRECTLY to a conversation about her thought that it sounds like someone who would be boring at parties. And as a Marine Chemistry major, I pointed out that the interdisciplinary folks tend to be more interesting than the pure scientists. Based on nothing in particular. Except maybe the facts that (a) I was one and (b)I hung out with Georgia Tech engineers. So there you go, conjecture, innuendo, and completely unsupported supposition. Happy Monday Morning.

Get off your cross...they're gonna need it at the church come Easter!

I am skilled and educated in many, many things. There may be NOTHING I am more educated in than the concept of martyrdom. Specifically, as it plays out in interpersonal relationships.

In my family, we learn martyrdom before other less important things like walking and bladder control. I'm fairly sure the secret proudest moment in a Vans Evers' parental life is the moment the little devil first puts the back of its wrist to its forehead in a gesture that would make Scarlett O'Hara proud. I have only recently come to recognize some of the magnificent moments of martyrdom exhibited by my beloved grandparents throughout their lives. In other words? We're pretty damned impressive when you consider the family is neither Catholic nor Jewish (my current religious affiliation aside).

I have had martyrs try to impress me...or rather try to manipulate me. They have NO idea what they're up against, really. You'd think I'd have more appreciation and, perhaps, sympathy for these impresarios. But those of you who know me best realize that I mock and judge them harshly. By the same token, I'm unforgiving with my own martyrdom. Unfortunately, I'm so good at it that often even I can't detect it. Ok, so THOSE moments give me a little pride.

I wonder what our kids will learn of martyrdom. With my mother and I both in the house, the potential teaching moments will be endless. Hopefully, she and I can keep each other in check. Hell, with any luck, the kids will call us on it.

I can't listen to politicians no more, I get a seizure

Terry on True Blood

I can't say that this is a good show. They know how to keep you interested from one episode to the next. It's entertaining, and we've only got two seasons left of Season 1, but it's not one of those one we'll be standing in line for to get Season 2.

The sex is a bit excessive. I'm all for sex, and I'm not against depictions of sex on TV. But it seems to be one of the pointless selling points of this show. It's HBO, so the sex is pretty damned graphic, too.

But, you know I'm a sucker for one-liners. And I like to share them with you, my 4.2 readers.

This president believes in global warming, as well as evolution

Obama's Nobel Peace Prize Announcement (for Diplomatically Impaired) on YouTube

Those of you at "work" will have to watch this one from home (or through a Proxy), but it's totally worth it. A friend of mine on Facebook posted this link which has the announcement of Obama being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize with hilarious subtitles. I was planning to drag my weary ass off to bed without an entry tonight, but the above phrase aborted THAT plan.

Now I am one of those seemingly rare, educated, critically-thinking, bleeding-heart-liberal religious types. I swear, I eat non-kosher meat, and I don't claim to believe in G-d on a daily basis, but I believe in religion and am in awe of those more religious than myself. (There are actually a lot of us, but it doesn't seem like it here in the crunchy-granola Pacific Northwest). I also believe in global warming and evolution and the big bang and that the earth is more than 5770 years old (6000? It's OUR friggin' calendar, and the world is only 5770 years old damn it!) I don't exactly disrespect those who don't believe it...I just REALLY don't understand them. I have a great deal of trouble respecting them when they try to make policy that negatively affects the rest of the world based on those beliefs.

Among other useful translations:

Only very rarely has a person to the same extent as Obama captured the world's hope while selling so many t-shirts.

Those who are to lead the world do not have to be dicks about it to the majority of the world's population

The gentleman ends appropriately by saying:

You can now shit yourselves.

I actually think that one is mis-translated. I think it translates as "You MAY now shit yourselves", but no one would accuse me of being a diplomat.

A lot freaks there…and people from Arkansas

Arlene on True Blood

Later, when her son remarks on how white the vampire is she says "Honey, he's not white, we're white. He's dead."

Now I can appreciate this joke on many levels. I grew up in Lower Alabama (yes, it's true), so I can appreciate jokes about any Southern flavor. And I'm allowed to laugh at them, because I ACTUALLY know Southerners. Second, my dearly adored husband is from Arkansas. I've been there twice. I didn't leave ANYTHING there. Arkansas is a good place to be FROM.

I'm still not sure I like this show. I want to like it. It feels like it has potential. I just don't know if I can imagine what fulfilling the potential would look like.

It DOES come with one-liners, though. And we all know how Debi loves one-liners.

Turbriskefil

The Big Bang Theory

I've been mocked before for relying too heavily on Big Bang, but oh well. You've heard of turducken, right? There's a Wiki article on it, so if you haven't? Go. Now for the record, there are kosher turduckens, so we Jews don't have to deprive ourselves of real, honest-to-goodness, organic, free-range turducken.

But, Howard's mom is obviously special. She spawned Howard after all. No, she makes Turbriskefil. Turkey stuffed with brisket stuffed with gefilte fish. Nope, not as good as it sounds.

I like gefilte fish, actually. I can't imagine it being stuffed in anything but maybe some matzoh. Although some friends told me the first gefilte fish they'd ever eaten was deep fried in bacon grease...apparently, Robert's been trying to recreate that down-home goodness in kosher form ever since he converted. Yeah, no dice.

I got nothing witty to wrap this one with...

I wonder what the non-pathetic people are doing tonight?

Rajesh Koothrappali on The Big Bang Theory

I suspect they're not at home watching True Blood. I think maybe it's the show that's making me feel pathetic. We're supposed to love it. But it's pretty dumb so far.

Say it! NOO-CLEE-AR

You thought people started going ballistic about NEW-CU-LAR in response to the fact that our 43rd President couldn't pronounce it, didn't you? I've got news for you. My Uncle Sandy was going ballistic about that in the Reagan era. I'm not sure my cousins said it wrong more than once or twice, but I lived in Lower Alabama and my edumacation would lapse in between visits.

My gram taught everything. There was literally not a subject in K-12 that she could not or did not teach. When I lived with her and she corrected me on something, I'd always shoot back "You're not an English teacher!" because she wasn't teaching English that year. I'll be damned if I can remember one of the things she corrected me on.

Nuclear? Well, I'm sure Uncle Sandy never ACTUALLY whapped me upside the head when I pronounced it like an ignorant piece of trash, but that might have been kinder. There was something about his "You. Know. Better." way of correcting you that both made you feel really bright and really stupid at the same time. And to this day, I prounounce it correctly. He would be VERY sad to know that NEW-CU-LAR is officially an alternate pronunciation in this world.

Barking Bullfrogs!

My Uncle Sandy was a funny guy. Seriously funny. He got ALL my gram's brains, which is scary considering the rest of us aren't slouches in the Brainiac department. He was one of those guys who could mortally insult you in 10 different ways, and you'd STILL walk away thinking he was one of the nicest damned guys you ever met. He left me with several great memories, which I think I'll share this week, but this is the one that has wormed it's way into my daily life and vocabulary.

I'm sure Uncle Sandy stole "Barking Bullfrogs!" from someone else, but in my mind it will forever be Uncle Sandy's way of describing THE FART. Not your typical passing gas. Not the ever-so-embarrassing bare legs on a vinyl chair squeal that you try to pass off as chair noise. Not the silent-but-deadly which were also a problem in my family. Nope, this is how he described that time in your day when your ass talks to you and everyone around you.

In later years, I've updated it, slightly. I'd like to think my Uncle would approve. But "Batman" always seems tacked on to the end. "Batman" ends up tacked to the end to number of my strange phrases like "Shit on a stick, Batman" and...well...that's the only one that jumps to mind.

I googled for "Barking Bullfrog" and came up with this. I don't know exactly what Marky barks at, but it's not gas. Apparently, no one is willing to take on the seminal favorite The Gas We Pass. Hopefully, our kids will have both in their library.

P.S.When I hit "Publish Post" to well, publish this post, the following ad came up on Blogspot.
Flatulence Treatment
Natural Flatulence treatment with proven herbal product.
Flacentical.com

There is something underwhelming about scholarly hate mail

An Arsonist's Guide to Writers' Homes in New England by Brock Clark

I don't think I've ever gotten hate mail. I've gotten one or two letters that felt kinda harsh at the time. Ok, maybe a few more that I've forgotten. I got one from my ex-psychopath that in retrospect was complete and utter manipulation. I've sent some letters filled with anger, but I don't really have anyone I hate, so it seems like it's hard to send hate mail. Those people I once hated are now dead, and sending them letters was always somewhat pointless.

But I've been thinking lately that mail just doesn't come the way it used to. I know people bemoan the death of the written letter right and left, but I have a reason for thinking this now. I've pretty much saved every letter I've ever received. Except those few from my first crush that I was talked into burning. (Ah, the exQUISite drama of your first "breakup"). And the ex-psychopath's letters don't seem to be around any more either. But we're talking letters from the 7th grade. It's not like email. We all delete emails. They're all short. Can you imagine sending a one paragraph letter?

I've hung on to all of them as some sort of proof that people have cared about me. I don't even wonder about that now, but it took a long time to consider myself worthy enough of love to take this step. I'm about to start sending them back to some of the people that wrote them. Not because they aren't precious. If they weren't precious, I wouldn't have them 25 years later. These letters don't tell the story of my life so much as they tell the story of the people who wrote them. The romantic ones won't go back. I'll keep rereading those for years to come. But the childhood ones...I suspect it will be like reading a diary you don't remember writing.

I hope it's as wonderful and meaningful a gift as it feels from my end. Now if I could just get Rae on the phone to get her bloody address!

I have met the other woman...her name is Tivo

My husband has had two girlfriends during our marriage.

One was the new vacuum cleaner we bought to replace my 12-year-old Hoover. The day she came home with us, he vacuumed the living room 3 or 4 times. Each time, he would take her out the side door to clean out her dirt trap and filters. Each time he would come in and exclaim "Look at all this dirt!" This repeated almost daily for a week or so, then subsided. I still tease him about leaving me for the vacuum, but I don't believe to to be true. Anymore.

There is a new woman in his life. She's been here for a while, and I fear she's here to stay. We've had Tivo for a while, but she was relegated to the basement with our TV. I don't like the basement, so we didn't watch much down there. We'd watch movies on the computer monitor in the living room. One day, I got the bright idea to get a wireless transmitter for the Tivo. Now? EVERYTHING is available upstairs. I've written about the ramifications on more than one occasion. Mike records a LOT of things to watch on his Zune.

Not a day goes by that Mike doesn't wander down with his lists of episodes to see what's recorded today, clear off old stuff, look through to see what's coming up. You see, Season Pass isn't foolproof. If only I could get him to be this efficient and thorough about washing the dishes...or hell, even vacuuming. I'd be surprised if he doesn't spend an hour a day managing the thing.

I got him LiquidTV for our anniversary. This was supposed to make our computer into a Tivo AND allow him to control the downstairs Tivo box. Well, not so much. He hates it for various reasons. Yesterday, he physically brought the box up to plug it into the tuner card in a LAST ditch effort to make LiquidTV recognize the Tivo box. It didn't work. Not only didn't it work, he killed his beloved Tivo. Dead. As a doorknob. The thing is a second-generation box, so it's OLD. Well, it was old. Now, as I've mentioned, it's dead.

He WAS smart enough to write down everything he has on Season Pass before it died. No kidding? Fifty entries. Fifty. Granted, some aren't showing right now. ONE is mine (Cake Boss). But still. I mocked him. He declared it finally and irretrievably dead last night around 8 pm. He lasted less than 24-hours before he left the house for a 40-mile round trip to the nearest known replacement down in Southcenter. I told him I could order it from Amazon and have it here on Wednesday. He whined that he wouldn't be able to record NCIS tomorrow. When I pointed out he COULD record it from the computer? He whined.

Update:My husband informs me that TWO of the Season Passes are mine. In addition to Cake Boss, he's recording Charmed. Charmed is entirely the dogs' fault, but that's another blog post.

Why do zealots never understand irony?

Defying Gravity

Seriously? This show had a Very. Slow. Start. But Sunday night? It started looking up. Really up. We were going to get some answers. Things were going to start moving FORWARD instead of the show always teasing us about "What happened back then? Wouldn't YOU like to know???" There were still going to be mysteries, but we could start to figure them out instead of wish 90% of the show would just catch onto the fact that all is not as it seems.

It was the "season finale". Which is to say, ABC started it late, and is now postponing it indefinitely so that other shows can return. That was episode 8. There were 13. ABC is currently mulling it's "scheduling options". The reality is that it got pretty poor ratings. Go figure. They could have condensed all the effing back story into about two and a half shows and we could be half-way to Jupiter by now.

So, we may or may not ever know what happens after the scene that looked an awful lot like Samuel L. Jackson opening the briefcase in Pulp Fiction. We STILL don't know what was in that freakin' briefcase, and we may not ever know what's in the storage bay.

"We" watched the first episode of The Vampire Diaries last night, too. Mike wanted to see it, and I was playing Mah Jong. Yeah, it's definitely on the air because of the Twilight craze, even though the books were written in the early 90s. Vampire meets girl. Much tension ensues. Big Bad Vampire brother comes back to screw up everything. The music definitely didn't suck. The HOT VAMPIRE that girl OBVIOUSLY falls in love with? Not hot. Weird looking. They WANT him to be hot. But they got a brooding Matt Dillon whose face got stretched a bit by one of those programs we play with on the internet. Matt Dillon was always cool, but he wasn't really HOT. Evil vampire brother who is there to screw things up? Ok, he's hot. But not hot enough to make me tune in. Of course it could be like Defying Gravity where we threaten to stop watching for the first 6 episodes and then they end it at 8. That would be cool.

Nobody puts Baby in a corner

Patrick Swayze, 1952 - 2009

Like most girls of my generation, I was introduced to Patrick Swayze through The Outsiders and Red Dawn. But those have never come to mind when I think of him. Yes, it's always about Dirty Dancing. I must admit, I didn't see it until the middle of 1988, but after that, it became a favorite.

When I told Mike last night, he said "We must go rent Road House in honor". I'm sure it won't be at the store for several days.

He was an incredibly talented man. And SEX-EE. Woof. I could watch the "Love is Strange" scene over and over and over.

May his memory always be for a blessing to his loved ones and his fans.

Next time your coccyx hurts, consider therapy

As you may be aware, my coccyx hurts. It's been hurting for quite a while now. I've tried the hemorrhoid doughnut, the tush-cush (Ten Days to a Tighter, Younger Sphincter), a new chair...the only things that work are my leather couch and my exercise ball.

When we discussing my pain-in-the-ass, I asked if my chiropractor knew that apparently you can have the coccyx removed. He said yes, but that it was very difficult to find an orthopedic surgeon to do it. He then gave me a 45-second disclaimer about not wanting me to think his next statement had anything to do with me. He said that most orthopedic surgeons wouldn't touch the tailbone because coccyx pain has a high correlation with mental disturbances and mental illness. Yeah, let THAT one sink in.

Thinking in retrospect that he might be meshugenah, I just found this on the web. Huh. So all I need for my PITA to disappear is up my medication? Who knew?

So, next time your coccyx hurts, look into some Prozac.

Disclaimer: I am not a doctor, therapist, or chiropractor, nor do I now or have I ever played on on TV, stage or radio. Never base medical decisions on Debi's ramblings. If you consider doing this, seek therapy.

The topic of discussion is "Operation I Told You So"

Eureka Pilot

I'm NOT adding Eureka to my list of shows. Period. But, as with many things, I will watch it in the background if I'm in the living room. In the pilot episode of this show on SyFy (I'll rant on that below), something goes terribly awry in the town where all the geniuses live and the government develops stuff. The Colonel (of an unnamed agency which seems to supersede the Department of Defense) gets a call in the middle of the night and tells his staff to get all the big wigs together in the Sit Room for the topic of discussion which titles this post. I would give a WHOLE hell of a lot to be able to send a meeting invite with THAT on the title.

But this brings me to SciFi. They've now renamed themselves SyFy. To which I can only say, "WTF"?? SciFi means something. SyFy apparently stands for "We're so hard up in spite of our wildly popular original series, we'd like to show WRESTLING now". Yeah, you weren't ACTUALLY on Spike last time you flipped by it.

Anyway, I'm guessing marketing folks are not only out of work, but ridiculously cheap. Which would imply you could get GOOD work for cheap. Hrm. I guess THAT theory doesn't hold.

I'm nesting vicariously

Chris is having a baby. By which I mean, his lovely and talented wife is having a baby and he gets to stand around, be (most RIGHTEOUSLY) blamed, and generally wring his hands. Any day now. Could have already happened. Apparently, he refuses to tweet about it. He's a writer dork, not a cool kid.

I have not crocheted baby blankets for a while. After crocheting 60 wee funny bonnets (also known as yarmulkes or kippot) for our Jewish wedding, it may be another few years before I get around to it. So, I'm providing tasty food. You know, what I'm REALLY good at. I did all the shopping last weekend for at least a solid week of food, probably quite a bit more. There currently rests three and a half gallons of soup in my freezer. I started muffins this morning (though I think I'm just going to make those fresh as requested. They don't have much in the way of freezer space, so I'm making stuff that can go from my freezer to them in a heated fashion relatively quickly.

Chris says I am not allowed to bring over food UNTIL the baby comes, no matter how industrious I am in advance. He's no fun. How on earth will I coo and cluck over his lovely wife and generally make myself a pain in the ass? Honestly, he has NO regard for my needs WHAT SO EVER.

We also got a dehydrator this weekend I've put two batches of apples in so far and well, one batch is already gone. Next we try "fruit leather" which is your basic no sugar added fruit roll-up. Who KNEW they weren't a General Mills invention?