Rx for thought...

I just gave our very old cat his antibiotic liquid and was intrigued by the fact that it is BANANA flavored... and not just banana... really BAD banana.*

For a cat.

Is it just me or does it seem for more logical that medicine intended for a feline should be flavored like, oh I don't know, field mouse or maybe even tuna fish?

Banana.

Who's idea was that?


*The reason I know what it tastes like is because I had to mix it up from powder and in breathing in a little of the powder, I got a hit of the very strong and disgusting flavor.

When Shopping Isn't Fun

I'm not a big fan of shopping for clothes.

I would *much* rather peruse aisles full of luscious cheeses or vast expanses of crunchy, cool and green than slog through racks and racks of smothering fabric.

When it comes to draping my frame, two things plague me:

1) A complete lack of imagination

2) A body that was not made to wear inexpensive clothing

I don't mean that I am a fashion snob at all. In fact, I have no fashion sense. That is why I stick mostly with retro or very classic styles... because who's to say they're not IN style. I'm a total Couture Chicken.

*Affordable*, lightweight fabrics enhance all the wrong features on my body. I need material that can hold its own against my dangerous curves. No fear gear.

One does not find such bold, brave and structurally sound clothing at Target.

What was I thinking?

OH, YES! I was remembering that I have only a bit of birthday money to spend on clothes to wear for a five day trip to LA next week which includes my dear friend's outdoor wedding. Hmmmmm.

*Note to self: Reconsider selling blood plasma then hop on over to The Limited. Or maybe Macy's.

School clothes shopping for the girls...? also futile. Well, mostly. If you want to dress your wee ones in anything but denim, you're pretty much out of luck these days. What's wrong with stretch pants? They make so much more sense on a small but growing body.

We did have some stellar luck in the girls' shoe department though, so the trip wasn't a total loss. Black, "Vans"-style slip ons with rainbows and skulls... pink suede "UGGS" boasting fat pink tassels that dance around as you hop gleefully down the shoe aisle... Happy day!!

Hey, Angelina! While you're designing your clothing line for *real* women, do you think you could kindly throw in some duds for *real* little girls, too?

Thanks a bunch.

God Bless the Rainy Weekend

With the glut of Mid-Summer zucchini well under way, I would likely have made bread of the over-abundant squash anyway, but fresh, clean air and abiding temperatures makes this ritual infinitely more enjoyable for me, despiser of indoor ambiance exceeding 80° Fahrenheit.



I adore the crispy-outside-cakey-sweet-inside thing... especially studded with crunchy, pecan-y goodness. I'm all about texture... and flavor, too, naturally.

My people are not the nut-ophiles I am, however, so I inevitably end up making two batches of nearly everything. (Mine is the taller one on the left owing the additional volume to the nuts, of course.) I will NOT be denied my tree-borne gems that I love so. One more thing I inherited from my Grannee. She put nuts in everything.

My other project this weekend is Creme Brulée... or variations on custard. Whatever.

I learned over an awe-inspiring dinner at Cuvée in unassuming, nearby Carlton, that my beloved really likes custard. I had no idea. I mean, I knew he would eat it, as he eats every morsel I put in front of him, but he's not so much a "dessert guy."

I was about to order the Creme Brulée (Beth!) when the waiter, STRONGLY suggested, I opt instead for the "fresh berry tart that just came out of the oven... well, it's not really a tart because it doesn't have a crust, but it's really good. You want that." Okaaaay.

It was still-warm, perfect custard bejewelled with blue-, marion-, and raspberries and my husband ate HALF of it! "Oh, I LOVE custard!" he announced in apparent reaction to my stunned expression.

So. Having been denied my Creme Brulée AND this new slice of information on the man with whom I have shared exactly half my life, perfect custard has become this weekend's quest.

Like I said, I'm LOVING this most unusual late July drizzle... though, with the workout I'll be giving my oven, I'll have to actually duck outside to benefit from it.

My apologies to all the sobbing brides frantically scouring the phone books for the last white tent available to save their shower-sodden wedding reception, but I'm happy.

Cloudy days are better for photography anyway and you're a silly, silly girl if you think the Farmer's Almanac is filled with information any more accurate than questionable guesses and amusing trivia.

This is Oregon. It rains here.

Following your tear-choked exclamation of, "YES, Brandon, of COURSE I'll be your wife!" the very next words to leap from your lips into your shiny, pink Razor phone should have been, "Hello? Tent rental guy?"

This is garden GROWING weather and will stave off the inevitable lettuce bolt a little while longer! It's cool and delicious, but still shorts weather. This is MY kind of Summer.

The Truth Hurts

This photo has nothing whatsoever to do with today's post except to provide visual pleasantry...

... A sharp contrast to the account which you are about to read.

I'll post more about this pic, and all the loveliness that accompanied it, when time allows and I have sufficiently exhausted my rant. Thanks.

•••

So there I am enjoying a nice lunch of buffalo burger and fried zucchini with onions when my phone rings.

I don't recognize the name on my caller ID right off but, when one runs a business from home, that happens from time to time, so I answer.

"Hi, Angeleen, this is Gary from (insert corny online retailer name here) calling about the recent feedback you left on Amazon."

"WOW!" thought I, "I just left that feedback not an hour ago!"*

I recover from my shock and greet him politely with a cheerful, "Hi, Gary!" thinking maybe, just MAYBE, the hinged barbecue grate I had ordered, to replace our used-to-death one for James as a Father's Day gift, had suddenly become available and he was calling to let me know! He had been so kind to call me the very next day after I ordered it to let me know he really DIDN'T have one, like it said he did on the web and, in fact, he didn't even know when he WOULD have one so he was returning my hard-earned $40-plus-shipping to my VISA post haste. Nice guy. I was very impressed with his customer service.

"Hi, yea, I was wondering if you could remove the neutral rating from your feedback?"

Silence.

"What?" I finally forced out.

"Well, you see we have a customer rating of nearly 100% and a neutral rating is really damaging to us, so while your feedback was fair and probably accurate, I was hoping you could remove it?"

"Um, isn't the whole reason for having a rating system that people get a fair and accurate view of the seller? I said your customer service was great, just your inventory tracking needed help. It's a balanced statement. I didn't say I had a bad experience..." I explained in complete disbelief.

"I know. Could you just delete it?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm really confused. Why is there even a feedback process if you can just call me and ask me to take it all back? It undermines the whole POINT of HAVING a rating system!" I exclaimed, still dumbfounded that I was actually having this conversation.

"The problem is the rating system could be a lot more explanatory than it is" he whined. "You know, like, there could be a 'customer service: excellent, inventory: poor...'"

"THAT'S WHY I WROTE THE STINKING EXPLANATION IN THE 400-CHARACTERS-OR-LESS FREAKIN' "EXPLANATION" SECTION!! I exploded...

Silence.

"Look, Gary, I'll go in right now and delete my feedback if it's really that detrimental to your rating and you feel good about getting a high rating by eliminating anything but high ratings. I'll tell you this, though, I'll sure think twice before I believe those little numbers next to any other vendor I consider buying from..." I spouted, wanting to just get this jackass off my phone and back to my rapidly-cooling food.

"Thank you very much." *click*


I did go in and delete my feedback, as he had begged, then immediately fired off a very cynical email asking what he would have done had I actually left a NEGATIVE comment?? I know. I caved. But I'm sure he's a small business owner just like me and he seemed really, truly, if perhaps irrationally, unnerved. I can relate to an unreasonable sensitivity to criticism of my work... though I have never asked anyone to pretend they didn't have anything negative to say about it.

(Instead, I just mentally crawl into a deep, dark hole above which I plant a bright yellow flag with the word "FRAUD" emblazoned upon it in big, red letters for all the world to see. Sort of an open invitation to point at me and laugh while I beat myself up far more severely than my worst critic could ever aspire to bludgeon my self esteem. Otherwise, I'm totally cool.)

My question is, why the hell is he so frightened of a NEUTRAL rating on Amazon that he felt compelled to call me... on the phone... not email me? What was so urgent? Is Amazon some kind of retail Gestapo that whacks you if you don't perform above the 98% mark? Or is this guy truly just a complete paranoid perfectionist that can't stand to hear anything negative about his precious little web store that he's probably running out of his spare room, much like I run an ad agency out of mine? Was that phone call his "deep, dark hole?"

Here's the deal: when I tried to buy a grill grate through Amazon, I really had no idea I would end up having to defend myself for telling the truth... to Gary. Shopping on the internet is supposed to have that comforting element of anonymity... right? That's what's supposed to be WRONG with shopping online is the lack of human interaction... right?

Well, today the internet just got a whole lot less anonymous... and a little more creepy.

I hope Gary gets some counseling... or at least some good meds to handle his paranoia. If he calls me again, I just might send him some of mine.

Caveat emptor...



*Funny thing. Until Amazon pinged me to hurry up and leave feedback from my now-aged transaction, I hadn't even thought about doing it.