House of Swank

I've Never Been a Breakfast Person

Can someone please explain the allure of the bed and breakfast to me?

I'm not talking about the small, like 4-10 rooms, inn that has a front parlor where they serve you breakfast.  The decor in places like that tends to be a little cute for my tastes, but I've stayed in places like that before and have no complaints.

No, I'm talking about when the rich retired couple buys a really big house and rents out their guest bedroom(s) to wandering travelers.

Hotels I get.  You go, you pay, you mess up the room and the staff who have an hourly wage or a salary do your bidding for you.

Staying at a friend/relatives house I get.  You go, you don't pay in money but you bring a bottle of wine or it's family and you just descend upon them, you hang out and visit and at the end of the day you retire to your separate corners.  You ask if you can help with the breakfast, you strip the bed before you leave, you try to clean up behind yourself and you don't stay too long or you'll start to stink like the fish.

B&Bs are like these weird hybrid where money changes hands and you can never really feel at ease.  The owners want to be all chatty with you and tell you their life story and offer you recommendations on where to go and what to do and form this CONNECTION.  While you're just sitting around being your slovenly self.  Because if I'm paying for it I'm not making my bed.  And maybe I don't need your recommendations.  And maybe I like it when things are quiet once in a while and don't need you to just keep on talking.

Luckily our room was in "the bunkhouse" this weekend. E.g. not part of the main house.  There were two rooms in the bunk house.  The couple staying in the other room had completely taken over the common area of the bunk house before we got there.

So we wandered Newport catching the sights we wanted to see, sharing some yummy dinner, then hid in our room and read our books for the night.

Really, do people enjoy this sort of traveling?  I just don't get it.

For The Birds

Dear Local Birds:

I thought we had a nice little thing going.  I'd mow the lawn and futz around in the garden, and then you'd come along and look all cute while feasting on all the worms and bugs that had been disturbed in the process.

I enjoyed watching you out the windows, and was strongly considering developing a garden that you would enjoy even more, so that I would have the best yard on the block for you and your friends.

And how do you thank a girl?  NOT by taking a giant crap on her windshield.  Nearly every damn day.  Even if none of you are the culprits, you've got more pull with the outsiders than I do.  They should be crapping on the car that is permanently parked in the neighbors yard, not on my car.

I'm willing to work with you on other issues, but only if you address this one issue for me.

Love,
Swankette

A Note To Women's Health Professionals

My lifetime of frequent moves in both location and employment has led to my making service of a fair number of different health care providers to take care of my womanly bits over the years.

After my extensive, non-scientific, research, I have come to the conclusion that my comfort during the exam is directly related to the comfort of the stirrups. 

If the stirrups are of a style and placement such that my I don't notice them you can do whatever you want with my female parts and I'm not going to care one bit.

If the stirrups dig into my feet, or force my legs into some weird sort of position, it doesn't matter what you do, it will annoy me and I will be counting the seconds until I can sit up like a normal human being again.

I do not know what the differences in the stirrups are to cause this change.  I do know putting a terry cloth towel over the stirrups does will eliminate the "holy shit, cold" factor, but does nothing to the bar digging into the heel of your foot.

And if women were comfortable when it was time for them to have their annual exam, perhaps they'd all be very diligent about getting them, and maybe that would be the first step to fixing our broken health care system (preventative care and all) so I think you should all go make the change now.

Or at least before the next time I'm due into your office.

Why I Don't Shop At Safeway

I really, really dislike shopping at Safeway, and try to avoid it as much as possible.  And anytime I go in there it just reinforces why I can't stand it and will shop at just about any other store rather than a Safeway.  Dear Safeway folks, here is where you get it wrong:

• If I happen to cross paths with a store employee, and we happen to make eye contact, "Hi, how are you today?"  is totally appropriate.  But, if you are at the other end of the store doing something, spot me, and go OUT OF YOUR WAY to come up to me, and then talk to me when I am actively avoiding eye contact with you (which I always do in Safeway, because I know it's coming), then your attempts at greeting are just creepy and weird.
• Just because I am not actively putting something into my cart does not mean I need assistance.  Sometimes I like to stand in front of the shelves of product and compare prices/sizes/ingredients because that is how I shop.  I am capable of doing this without any assistance from anyone.  Sometimes I'm just going through the shopping list I keep in my head, or deciding exactly what I want to prepare for dinner.  I do not need to be disrupted to ask if I am having difficulties with anything.  What I am having difficulties with is that now you have disturbed my thoughts and I  will have to start over again.  Having store employees available for me to ask is adequate.  If I need to know where the kitty litter is, I will ask someone with a nametag on, and then it is appropriate to assist me.
• It REALLY annoys me that Safeway employees are required to look at the receipt as they hand it to you (if you paid by card) and say "Thank You Mrs. SwankPoet" as you are leaving the store.  It's supposed to make them feel friendly or something, but it's another part of the creepy factor.  First of all, it's not genuine, you can tell it's totally forced.  Second of all, you don't pronounce my name right, so that's just annoying.  Third of all, no one calls me Mrs SwankPoet.  I don't even think of myself as Mrs. SwankPoet.  I'm assisting Sweetie's debate team this year and he tried to introduce me as Mrs. SwankPoet, but I can't handle it and am asking this kids to call me Swankette.  So I don't like it when grocery store employees call me Mrs. Swank Poet.  You know what's friendly and nice?  The clerk at Whole Foods who comments on the canvas bag I bring with me, "Oh, you're the one with the bag I love!"  Or the checkers who joke with you when it's totally obvious what you're making for dinner that evening based on what's in the cart.  Just your standard bullshit conversations.  Not forced niceties because the employee manual said you have to do it.

The scary thing is that the closest grocery store to the new place (by a longshot) is Safeway.... I'll either have to hope they're a renegade store that doesn't follow the same rules EVERY OTHER Safeway on the planet follows, figure out a way to break them all of their annoying habits, or drive a long way to buy our groceries.

I Thought *I* Had It Bad

In any relationship, it is important to know what roles each person is expected to fulfill.  In the SwankPoet household I am responsible for the cooking and the home improvement and babying my Sweetie when he's eaten something he shouldn't have.  Sweetie is responsible for talking to Customer Service.

It seems that I am, apparently, sometimes a bit quick tempered.  So when the cable company or the phone company or the rental car company isn't performing to my expectations I go a bit of the handle.  I swear, I threaten, I erupt.  Which doesn't always get the desired results.  Sweetie is much better at talking to customer service agents in a calm, reasonable voice, and usually succeeds in getting what he wants out of the deal.  While I'm in the background yelling and screaming and belittling the operators family and generally just turning red in the face.

I, who will vow to personally demolish Verizon wireless because of difficulties with service on one or two occasions, have no problem continuing to work with my real estate agent.  Yet, a couple of readers have suggested he be kicked to the curb.  A wee bit of overkill if you ask me.

As I said in my original post, I am not paying my real estate agent (well, theoretically paying him, he won't get any cash until we buy a house) because of his ability to find us houses.  I primarily paying him for his ability to open up the lockbox on the houses.  I am also paying him so that he wastes all the gas driving me and Sweetie around to our houses.  I am paying him to say, "you'll want to have an inspector check out that roof, it looks like it may need to be replaced," or, "the listing claims the house is hooked to the city sewer, but in this part of town that may or may not be true, so you'll want to double-check."

His ability to provide us with potential houses is just a little something extra he does for us.  Because that's under the standard job description of "real estate agent," and he wants to do a good job.

He also has the habit of suggesting we knock out the wall between the kitchen and the dining room in almost every home we see, despite the fact that I've told him I actually like rooms.  I'm not going to fire my agent because he is a fan of the modern house with a completely open floor plan.  Someone has to be.

This real estate agent came highly recommended by a colleague of my husband's.  Her husband is in real estate development, and uses our agent to list all of the homes he puts on the market.  I KNOW our agent isn't going to screw us over, because if he does and word gets around to the real estate developer he is potentially screwing himself out of a LOT of potential income.

The other real estate agents I had referred to me couldn't be bothered to return my e-mails that I sent two months ago.  And I'm not just picking a name out of the phone book, because there are all KINDS of crooked people in the real estate business out there, and without some sort of referral I've got no way to pick out the good from the bad.

Really, people, it's all about priorities.  Pick your battles and all that.

I Cannot Be The Only One

Sweetie and I head off to Vegas on Friday for our fantasy football draft extravaganza.  We do the draft in Vegas every other year, and thus far whatever team I am rooting for in Vegas wins the season that year, so I'm feeling optimistic.

Because it's a weekend jaunt, and I'll be taking public transit to the airport, I plan on traveling strictly carry-on, which means that I need to be thoughtful when packing toiletries to make sure I don't go over the limits.

I thought it would be so easy, I'd go to Sephora, buy a travel-sized cleanser, and perhaps moisturizer, and be done with it.  No such luck.

Philosophy does not see to carry containers of 3 oz or smaller in any of their skincare products.  Which, given the number of women who travel, and those who don't want to check bags, is absolutely ludicrous in my opinion.  I wasn't even expecting to get away cheap, I just didn't want to have to do a lot of futzing to prepare for the trip.

So now I've either got to go buy small containers and transfer some product over, find some new product in a an appropriately sized container, or just skip washing my face for the weekend.

Thankfully Bumble and Bumble have been doing travel sizes for years.

Unveiling the Dark Lord

I think everyone who has lived somewhere outside of their parents' home knows that the first rule of real estate is "location, location, location."

For Sweetie and I the first requirement of location be that the neighborhood have a soul.  Some life and energy about it.  Which, basically, translates to "older, established neighborhood."  For the longest time I figured the things I hated so much about the modern "neighborhood" is the fact that there are no trees (because the construction company razed them, rather than building around them), and the fact that all of the houses are identical and RIGHTONTOPOFEACHOTHER.

Today I learned the deeper problem, that prevents the trees and the diversity and the life in the neighborhood.

It's the darn homeowner's association.

My parents live in a neighborhood with an HOA.  Which is perfect and fine for them (Hi Mom and Dad!), but I would slit my wrists if I had to settle here permanently, and not just because of the despicable commute for my Sweetie.  But good gosh, just thinking about the rules they have causes me major distress.

For example:

• You are not allowed to park a camper or trailer outside of your home for more than three days, because they are an eyesore.  You must pay to store it somewhere else.  God forbid we have people who like travel a lot living in our midst!
• A neighbor chose to paint their house a SLIGHTLY different shade of beige than what it was (because beige is the only color allowed in these areas).  The HOA found out, and tried to slap them with a fine.  All of the neighbors had to lobby to have the fine lifted.
• A different neighbor used to have a white picket fence in front of his house.  The American dream in action.  But it wasn't allowed in the rules, and they were taking him to court, so he opted to remove it.
• My parents have a small storage shed in their back yard.  While constructing it they had to hope and pray that the HOA didn't catch wind, because the small shed that matches their house exactly is technically illegal.  Can't have people wanting to park their cars in the garage AND do yardwork!

Although I don't agree with any of these silly rules, I can accept that there are people who choose to live in such a neighborhood, so as to keep things looking nice and all.  But the one I learned about today, that really pushed me over the edge:

• If you have persistent brown spots on your lawn they can fine you for not keeping up your yard.  I shudder to think what would happen if you didn't water your lawn during the summer.

So, basically, they are REQUIRING everyone in the neighborhood to be environmentally irresponsible by forcing them to keep green lawns throughout the summer.  Which is pretty and all, but awfully wasteful of water.  And I've seen plenty of people who let their lawns die off in the heat of summer, where it looks just fine.  Not as lush and green as a golf course, but well kept and appropriate for the hot days outside.

Seriously, I don't understand people sometimes.

Time Traveling

Last night Sweetie came home from a short trip he was on.  His flight was running late, and I left the house at what I felt would be an appropriate time to still get to the airport on time.

But then construction slowed me down, so I decided to call and see if the ETA had changed at all. 

I called into Delta's system, which is one of those computers that wants you to think it's a real person, so instead of making you press "1" for arrivals and departures it wants you to say "I'm calling to check on arrivals and departures."  I'm always tempted to get really snotty and passive aggressive with those systems.

I made it through without too much issue, and without paying total attention to what she was saying to me, stated that I wanted to check on the status for "today."  Because I was in my car, on the way to the airport, and the plane was scheduled to get in before midnight, so all of those signs pointed to the plane arriving "today."

Apparently the folks at Delta have a different definition of "today" than I do, and I suspect it revolves completely around their hub in Atlanta.  Because "today" gave me the status of the flight for "tomorrow," which was still running on time, thanks to not being due for another 22 hours or so.  I finally figured out that I needed the status for "yesterday." 

My thought on the matter is I'd prefer they spend their money on a user-friendly interface to gathering necessary information, rather than spending it on a friendly-sounding computer to answer the phone.  Who sounded a bit like some sort of phone-sex operator with the tone of her voice.

I mean, I guess I can understand that the computer sex-workers want to make improvements in their lives, just like the strippers who are paying their way through college, but I'm sure they'd like it to be easy to know when their planes are arriving as well.

Weather Wuss

I know, from personal experience, that Seattle has a milder climate than Portland.  A bit counterintuitive at first, what with the being 200 miles north and all, but being on Puget Sound, Seattle's climate is much more similar to coastal Oregon weather.

This means that in general the summers get hotter in Portland and the winters get colder.

In Seattle, once you hit 80 you are in officially hot weather where everyone will start to melt and complain about how damn hot it is.  You may get a day or two of temps topping 90 in your standard summer, and those are the days everyone officially turns into a pile of goo on the floor.

In Portland you need to up those temps by 10 degrees.

It got to 92 yesterday.  Today is supposed to be similar.  I really do think I may melt.

Have Uterus, Will Travel

Once upon a time, when my parents got that longing look in their eyes, pleading with me to fulfill their true life's mission to become grandparents, I used to be able to say, "But I don't have a husband."  And all was well with the world.  (I'm quite confident if things had somehow ended up that a grandchild came before a son-in-law all would be well in the world, but their preference was for the son-in-law to come first).

Then Sweetie came along, and we were married, and the questions started coming up again.  I used to be able to say, "There is no room for a baby in the condo, unless we could store it on a bookshelf.  We need a house first."  And all was well with the world.

Well, the husband is in place, and the house is forthcoming, and now I'm at a loss on how to politely tell people, "What Sweetie and I do in the bedroom, and what results of that, is none of your damn business."  And if you tell it to them that directly they usually get really uncomfortable and upset, or just keep on with the questions.

There may or may not be a Baby of Swank in the future.  If such baby does come along I promise I will not keep it a secret.  If you are a reader of the blog you will know, at the appropriate time, so that you can buy the baby lots of cute gifts and spoil it rotten.

But until such an announcement is made, it's none of your damn business.

Embarking on baby-making is a very daunting proposition.  Because once you've got a kid you've signed up for at least 18 years of fully supporting another human being.  You've got to pay for all the diapers, and the braces, and the violin lessons.  You've got to do what you can to make sure the kid gets a good education and is safe and secure and progressing through all the developmental stages and be prepared for the talks about sex, drugs and rock and roll.  Someday, the kid is going to want to drive, whether or not that is appropriate.  My soon-to-be-fifteen year autistic nephew wants to learn to drive right now.  I'm going to have to be prepared to either teach a kid to drive, or tell the kid that they don't get to learn to drive.  You've got to be prepared for that kind of pressure on many levels... physically, financially, emotionally.

And even if you've decided you're ready for all the responsibility that comes with parenthood, it's not as simple as snapping your fingers or calling up the stork.  Your efforts to actually create the kid may or may not be successful.  I've known far too many people who have gone down the infertility path.  Some have been able to conceive a child before venturing far down the path.  Others have adopted.  Some are in the process of adopting right now.  Still others are deciding whether or nor adoption is the right thing for them, and if so what flavor of adoption they want to pursue.

Many people go through all of this very publicly.  Me, I am not one of these people.  What is going on in my uterus at any given moment is on a need to know basis.  Because, really, if you aren't involved in what's going on, why does it matter to you?

If and when the time comes for you to buy the stuff to spoil the baby rotten, you'll have plenty of notice to save up for something really good.  From what I understand, newborns don't really need much, and won't remember anything, so you don't even need to have the gifts available at the birth, whenever you choose to send stuff it will be appreciated.

If it's not being able to afford gifts you're worried about, but more concerned about being called upon for babysitting duty and not being available, we'll figure out a way to work around that.

And really, beyond those two issues, how does this affect your life?

That's right, it doesn't.  So even though I've got the husband, and will soon have the house, that does not necessarily mean a baby is next on the to-do list.  Just be patient and really, we'll let you know if and when it happens.

If you still can't stand the suspense go and have your own damn kid.