Iced tea maker – I was all eager about my new tea gadget, however, was informed a week later there was a recall due to a fire hazard. It stated that consumers should discontinue using and unplug the recalled iced tea makers immediately and will receive a free replacement product or refund. That was many years ago and I am still waiting for another one. I mislaid the receipt, so that was the main problem.

Slow cooker – I used many times – whatever happened to it? Possibly gone missing after many house moves. I was constantly nervous though; leaving chili cooking in the morning to be served in the evening. A potential fire hazard over a pot of chili? Was it worth it?

Bread maker – I dislike making bread even with this “handy” bread maker – why make it, when you can purchase it for a few ¢¢ a loaf. I will confess, freshly baked bread tastes so much better, however, my interest in baking is forever lacking and that outweighs the use of this contraption.

Salad spinner – I have to admit a fairly good invention, but for some reason I hardly ever used it.

Ginsu knives – Rip-off; and who needs this many knives at such a cost?

Spoon rest – I always thought this ridicules – why not just use a plate? How many spoons does one rest?

Garlic press – Why press garlic – cheat and use the powdered stuff? – I know, probably doesn’t taste the same.

Microwave grilled sandwich maker – not a bad gadget, used a few times, however, I am not a giant grilled cheese admirer especially made from the microwave.  Velveeta and me were never friends.

Banana hanger – I don’t know why I bought this – thought it looked snazzy, see in t.v. kitchens sometime, hung a banana once, but then again – who hangs their fruit?

Popcorn maker – I really liked this, used this at first, but then it just sat there.

Mini omelette pan (I still to this day cannot figure out how those worked).

Rice cooker – Rarely used, and I mean rarely.

Woks – I loved my wok; it was my husband who sneaked it into a garage sale we were having and sold it under my nose. A minor brawl (just kidding) took place over that one.

Electric egg boiler – why not just use a pot and boil the eggs? A silly purchase on my part.

Deep fryer – this was ok at first, but I was scared stiff of grease and fire.

Fondue pot – I bought this to have fondue parties – never had one! And as memory serves me correct – I don’t have a memory – what the hell is fondue anyways; melted cheese?

We had been clear of neighbors on one side of us for a few months, and frankly, that was fine with me. Everyone has had their share of ‘bad’ neighbor tales; me included. I usually live beside the ones who have dogs that continually bark. People love to leave their dogs outside while they are out on THEIR errands. And, it’s everyone else who has to contend with the non-stop barking. Selfish isn’t it? Suppose they don’t want the dog to tear apart their furniture or mess on the floors.

My girlfriend and I were exited by our first apartment, but experienced what sounded like a tap dancing class practicing above us a few times per week. The noise was incredible and thought the ceiling would collapse during these ‘practices’. I have no idea what exactly these people were doing up there to make such a noise, but it continued for hours. Complaining to the upstairs neighbor was useless – our raps on the door would have been unheard. The super was also useless. He seemed a fair fellow when we rented the apartment; however, knocking on his door we were met with a man smelling of whiskey and slurring his words “I’ll look into it”. We put up with it for a few months, but since it luckily was a month-to-month packed up our gear and left. Not fair that we had to leave, however, it was the tap dancing troupe or us.

We purchased a house in a small town. The neighbor who’s backyard backed onto ours (fence separated), had a German Sheppard dog. This bastard left this poor dog outside 24/7. The dog barked non-stop; no wonder – it was in the dead of winter. The SPCA was called numerous times, as well as, the police for the noise. I’m sure doggie probably peeked through the fence when the SPCA arrived hoping for a rescue from his hell, but that never happened. Makes me ill just thinking about that dog. Why even have dogs? The barking ended and I became worried about the dog; however, another neighbor informed me the dog went to live with the man’s relative. Hope the dog had a better home at his new surroundings.

Another apartment we lived in was high priced, yet not very well built due to paper thin walls. Our next door neighbor’s master bedroom was attached to ours. Too many nights attempting to fall asleep and trying not to listen to moaning and groaning. Lots of words like “man”, “wow” and “whoa” became the regular script. This couple must have been on sexual marathons, possibly practicing for competitions. They sure put my life to shame! At times, I envisioned there was the possibility of a Tarzan rope; thus nicknaming this couple “Tarzan and Jane”.

At times I felt like rapping on their door, yet almost feeling guilty interrupting a session and felt it also useless. Then one day it all ended. Either Jane or Tarzan or both of them moved out. Wow, peace.

As far as the new neighbors go – haven’t really spotted anyone coming or going yet. Will have to wait and see and I’m definitely crossing my fingers to these new people.

Hubby and I have been on the move all morning and both getting very cranky with one another – solution: Eat.  Driving along the main street; flashing fast foodie restaurant names all seem to appear alike (subs, chicken, tacos).  Hmmm…we decide on our old favorite hamburger joint.  We would regret this later.

Standing in line for only a couple of minutes, we are greeted by a young girl (who looks no more than 12), who points out the neon sign menu behind her.  Wow, things have changed since we last visited.  Too many choices cause anxiety and stress to decide.  I know I am holding up the line.  Sweat on the brow, I make my choice of the single burger with cheese/fries/diet Coke combo (the diet drink is my ploy to offset the gazillion calories in the combo; my theory is that I could at least save one button from popping). 

The food arrives speedily, and we sit in one of the durable plastic booths.  Good – no one around us.  I treasure quiet. 

Not even two minutes pass after first dipping my fries into the ketchup, a male teen sits in the adjacent booth grasping only a drink.  He is in midst of a conversation on his cell phone, which spells disaster from the get-go, as he is laughing very loudly, and I can hear every word. 

Great, just what I needed.  At this point I am annoyed and toy with the idea of packing all of my stuff and hauling it to another booth.  Too late, people have poured in and almost every booth is full.

Next, a family equipped with 2 young children plus a baby in a car seat arrive.  One child and the baby are both crying loudly.  The family sits at the table next to us (figures), and the male leaves to order, while the female remains with the children.  Both children begin to run around the tables, screaming and laughing; the mother totally oblivious.  Patience by this point is lacking and I pop a couple of Tylenol to ease a tension headache.  I wish to get the hell out of there at this point, but I’m only done my fries and half the burger sits.

Finally the two noisy kids have settled down for chow, and the cell phone teen has departed.  Maybe the ending of this meal won’t be bad.  Spoke too soon – not in the cards.

An elderly man seated in the corner booth decides it’s a good time to do some housecleaning of his nostrils.  Terrible phlegm sound.  Geez, thanks buddy – just as I was eating my lunch.

So much for peace….and we were only there 45 minutes!

The 1-10 Items or Less Scam. 

Evidently people can’t count.  The 1-10 items cashier was designed to allow customers with fewer items not to be penalized and standing in a line where other customer had 20-30 items.  But you forever have someone who doesn’t play by the 1-10 rules.  It’s not a crisis if they sneak 1 or 2 extra items, but it’s the moron who starts unloading his basket of 15+.  The cashier reminds this person, who goes into the whole “confused’ routine, but still agrees to process his order.  I suspect a scam and I deduce other customers can be found all over town committing “THE 1-10 ITEMS SCAM”!

Self-bagging at the “lesser expensive” grocery stores for me is nerve racking to say the least, and requires great talent, at which I do not possess.  I am slow bagging my groceries and will acknowledge it.  I typically get that smile-hurry-up look from the cashier that I am holding up the line, as she processed the customer behind me, and waiting for the next customer’s groceries after that.  Meanwhile, I’m sweating profusely.  All of this over groceries?  My wish is to return back to the olden days when they bagged your groceries in nice paper bags; sometimes even carrying them out to your car.

Waiting is the agonizing part.  Magazine reading grows thin, furthermore, they are typically dog-eared and dated; some dating as far back as 2004.  (Britney Spears wasn’t in as much trouble back then).  Then you fall into almost a snooze/light snoring mode and suddenly a name is called.  You perk up “Was that me she called?” you say to yourself?  Nah, some old guy gets up with a smile on his face and gets ushered into ANOTHER WAITING ROOM. 

This office waiting room came equipped with an annoying TV and large screen.  The only programs viewing were that of health shows, people jogging, playing tennis, swimming, eating yogurt, bananas, brushing their teeth all day long.  I came away that day with the knowledge of how overweight I really am, my percentage of fat, safety car seats for babies, how to cook with asparagus 23 different ways, and at the rate I’m going…..I should have  already been dead by now!

The clock was ticking…..it was 1:00 p.m. and suddenly MY name is called.  Yippee!  Actually the metal/fabric chair was feeling not too badly on the ass end, but my turn has come and like the gentleman before me, I am ushered into the next WAITING ROOM for another WAIT. No mags in this room though!

I always longed for streaks in my hair, admiring other women who had them.  Not the big adventurous type, I kept putting it off.  Then one day, I glanced in the mirror, saw far too much gray and made a decision right then and there to take the plunge.  Previously, I had been dying my hair box-style from the pharmacy shelves; a true pain-in-the-neck practice.

An older woman downtown owned this small hair salon.  Cutting my hair on a regular basis for some time, I was impressed with her knowledge, and booked an appointment for streaks and color. I discovered that in today’s society they are not called ‘streaks’, but now ‘highlights’.  Hey, I was a teen in the ‘70’s.  I phoned prior and quoted $48.00 for color and highlights.  I thought this a little low in price as phoning around everyone else’s price was higher.  But, I was used to this woman’s talent and went with her.

Arriving, I repeated, “$48.00 for BOTH”, she replied, “NO, that’s just for permanent color”.  Then she said, “I’m feeling generous today, I will do both for $48.00”.  Hmmm, bells should have gone off…was this too good to be true?

She applied the color, which turned out very nice, dried my hair, fluffed it up a bit and now was the time for the highlights.  Here goes…  She began parting my hair on top…just on top, first mixing this white goop.  Then applied these foils, but only on top, and only down the middle.  I really didn’t question as I thought, maybe this is the way you do highlights.  The foils were in place, she applied the goop, and I did ask, “what about the sides”, she replied – “this is the way I do it”.  And so, I waited and waited for the goop to do its thing – read a couple of ho-hum magazines chiefly ignoring the models with trim figures, placed under the dryer and waited some more.  The time had come…drum roll…  She removed the foils and TA DA! I didn’t observe at first, but did deem it too blonde.  Subsequently, more blow-drying.  I kept staring, my eyes as big as saucers, and was almost in tears.  Fluffing my hair up and all excited stating, “aren’t you excited with your new look?”   UUUUGH – no.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing – I LOOKED LIKE A SKUNK!  I HAD A MOHAWK!

I don’t know why, but I paid my $48.00 bargain and ridicule quickly leaving the salon.  Wondering if it was perchance just the mirrors in the salon, I sought to assure myself that perhaps I really didn’t look this way, and took every opportunity to gaze at my reflection in store windows.  EEEK, yes, this was genuine and gruesome looking.

My husband, arriving home to find a wife with a whole new look, found a woman with brown and blonde hair resembling a skunk with a Mohawk, and in tears.

So my next move: to refurbish this baby.  Should I do the pharmacy box color, or play safe and visit a different salon?  I knew better than to approach the ‘bargain lady’, and instead phoned a few salons crying on their shoulders recounting my disaster.  Two salons both advised that using box color to patch up the blond would result in green hair!!! Oh gasp!  Also, my $48.00 bargain would have resulted in $175 to repair a possible green hair touch-up.

To conclude, the new salon did an excellent job and although the procedure took hours, the blonde chaos was repaired, re-colored and lastly my hair highlighted properly.  I was thrilled.

My first rip-off was $1.60 for bottled water at a machine outside of a department store.  I put in the coins and then the coins came back.  That should have been my first clue to a dud machine, however I persisted and inserted them again, and you guessed it – nothing came out.  Rip-off #2 was a few days later at machine inside of a mall.  Thirsty for a Coke Zero, I inserted my $1.20 and it ate my coins ‘cos nothing came out.  I was ready to kick the machine, but didn’t want to cause a scene and have security called over a can of pop.

Rip-off #3 was for the chip craving, and my own fault really; three times and your out.  But the machine looked new and inserted my $1.10.  (I actually inserted $1.25 and didn’t get the change or the product).  On the machine I noted the phone number on a sticker: “If you aren’t completely satisfied with this product or service please call XXX-555-1234”.  So, I called and the number was an answering service, left a message.  No response and called many times after that stating the “manager was in a meeting”.  Convenient, I’d say OR there is no manager.

I think this vending machine service is a scam.  How many times does this happen?  Are these purposely faulty machines or just a fluke at random purchases?  I especially detest when purchasing a chocolate bar or chips it comes right to the end and hangs there.   You are unable to reach it to retrieve and you’ve lost your money.

Maybe this is a sign that I shouldn’t be eating junk food!

I’ve surrendered nearly all of my polyester pants and I’m currently into the world of blue denim jeans.  Kind of a new found fad for me.  I’m on the heavy-set side so forever shied away from the likes of zippered up anything – elastic being the only means to hold my pants up.  Elastic and poly had been my basic wardrobe for years, and becoming ho-hum to say the least.  A few of my co-workers, and what seemed the general public, adopted denim as a sort of staple in their clothes diets.  And so the pursuit was on for a brand new look.

Of course I had to go the plus-size route, and to my amazement I discovered many choices out there for stylish denim jeans in my size.   The problem was though:  1) price, one store had a pair for $95.00!  2) The fit, fine around the waist, but I’m petite with slender legs. 

The first pair I tried on had me practically turning blue, attempting to secure the gut in and having the fat distributed painstakingly on both sides of the zipper in order to zip up.  This was a size 1X, and I was evidently pushing it.  Carol, the sales clerk, botched her assessment of the 1X; I could barely breathe in those pants, almost resembling the bottom half of a scuba suit.  So tight, my spare….and I mean spare tire was very much peaking over the top.  Suddenly, I was taken aback when Carol yelled out towards the front “Could we have a 2X here in Dressing Room 4”.  Geez.  Announce my size to everyone.  But it was either laying flat on the floor every day and stuffing the lower half like a sausage into a pair of pants, or resign myself into the world of 2X.  The 2X fit like a glove around the waist area but I could sweep the floor due to the length, and take off in a parachute because the sides were so baggy.  I thought the $95 price tag for denim, zipper, pockets and some belt loops and now needed alterations was a bit steep.

The best-fitting jeans were at a department store which carried the label (Gloria Vanderbilt).  I nevertheless had problems with the length/poufy sides, but alterations will constantly be the norm.  The best windfall came at a couple of thrift stores; the jeans in marvelous shape with well-known labels – think I paid $12.99 (also requiring alterations).  Oh well, you don’t mind paying for alterations for a $13.00 pair of jeans. 

So now, with all of my alterations complete, I arrive for work in my new duds and I am one of THEM.  I don’t precisely know who THEY are, but I’m “with it” now in my new zippered and denim look.

Only thing now, I am sporting sneakers with the jeans (looks better than dress shoes), and will have to start hauling a gym bag to go with the sneakers to appear like I work out.

Ever try clothes on in some of those department store fitting rooms?  Geez, elbows are hitting the walls, no spot to hang your coat or purse, some locations not even to hang the potential new clothes.  And then there’s the pant-dance if you’re purchasing pants.  The room is so tiny; you have your leg in one pant leg while attempting to balance with your hand on the wall to get the other leg in.  Quite the system you have to develop. Winters are murder, with boots to get off and on.  The mirror to inspect the new garment is sometimes only on the outside of the fitting room; a shear embarrassment to say the least, especially when you only want you to admire the new garb.  Forever seems to be other people around waiting for whatever and seemingly giving you the “I hope she’s not going to buy that one” look.

The “only 3 garments at a time rule” can be infuriating.  I understand that stores must have this to ensure security, but you must undress, try on your 3 garments, redress to fetch the fourth garment. At times the clerk leaves, thereby allowing a greedy shopper to haul her 18 items in, thus taking up a fitting room rental for 45 min.

When I was trying my jeans on at the independent big-box stores, they had spacious change rooms with chairs and sometimes 2 hooks, which really was more accommodating; with the clerks very attentive also.  Wearing jeans was new to me – zippers zipped – no more pull-ups.  Took me awhile in there to get those babies on.  The sales clerk had already been following me around the store, and leapt at the chance to assist when I chose some pants to try on.  “If you need any assistance just be sure and ask for Carol”.

In some department stores, and their fitting rooms, you could be dead with one pant leg on, coat on floor due to no hooks, and they wouldn’t know until the cleaning lady showed up until the next day.