Category Archives: Life in LA

Stars Fell On: How We Ended Up in Alabama

Written on September 13, 2007 by in Life in LA, Stars Fell On

Alabama is too damn far from home

I remember the day Tate told me he’d been offered a position in the Backwoods, AL plant. We were sitting at Subway on Eldorado in Decatur, IL. He had emailed me at work to see if I wanted to meet for lunch. Since he didn’t ask me to lunch often, I was thrilled, thinking what a romantic gesture this was.

This day also marked my 12th week of pregnancy. I’d been keeping my secret from all of our friends and coworkers, and had planned to share our big news with everyone that week.

Looking back now, life seemed perfect, idealistic. Everything was truly right with the world. We were living only two hours from family and friends. Our house was our dream home in a dream neighborhood with dream neighbors. Everyone was friendly with one another, stopping to chat on evening walks, discussing the Cardinals or the Cubs, our green (or brown) yards, the weather. We knew everyone’s kids names. I also had a job that I truly loved, finally working in a school where I’d made friends and felt respected.

And best of all, we were expecting a baby.

So that day, when Tate told me that my perfect world was going to change has stuck with me. I remember the details of my surroundings as I heard him say the words, “they’ve offered me an opportunity in Backwoods.” As I sat eating my sandwich in the booth by the door in back by the soda machine and bathroom, I cried. Even as I type this, I can feel that lump in my throat, the burning of tears. Choking back the shock, I didn’t want to immediately start crying, but my words were forced. “Alabama?,” I managed to say, as tears began to fall. I remember barely being able to swallow the mouthful of food. At some point in our conversation, I said, “but we’re having a baby. What about our baby? What about me?”

We told our families that night. They were as devastated as I was. I tried to be enthusiastic, tried to see this as yet another adventure, tried to see the positives. It’s hard to be excited when your perfect world is crumbling around you.

If I had it to do all over again, I wouldn’t have been as supportive of the move. Had I realized just how difficult it would be to raise children so far from any family, I wouldn’t have agreed to move hundreds of miles away. It all still feels incredibly unfair.

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Stay tuned for the next installment where I’ll discuss our first impressions of Alabama and share our horrific moving story. I know, you’re at the edge of your seat.

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Just one more day to ask me a question. I’ve only received 3 questions so far and my ego is irreparably bruised. So if you’d like to play along, pu-uhleeeeeeze email me at playgroupie at gmail dot com.

Technorati Tags: Alabama, relocation, Decatur, IL

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I’m So Mad I Could Spit is the Best Title I Can Come Up With Right Now

Written on August 22, 2007 by in Go Fly a Kite, Life in LA, my stream of consciousness, Quirky Me

Since I’m a big, giant weenie and hate confrontation, when a business makes me angry, I do the only thing I know to do. I write a letter. Yes, I know that when they receive this letter, the manager and employees sit around laughing at me and calling me every name in the book. Truly, I wish I could confront these offenders in person, but when I’m mad I lose the ability to speak in complete, coherent sentences. And I cry, well, blubber really. It’s embarrassing. So, the letter has always been my only recourse.

I’ve written my fair share of letters to businesses in the past who’ve pissed me off. Target, Olive Garden, and Sears Portrait Studio have all been on the receiving end of a scathing letter, damning the injustice bestowed upon me.

So in lieu of a traditional face to face smackdown, here’s the letter I’d like to send to Walgreens after yet another irritating experience with their pharmacy drive-thru.

Dear Manager of Shitty-Ass Walgreens Pharmacy,
F*ck you and all your bitch-ass employees. You’ve f*cked with me one time too many. Next time you piss me off and refuse my discount prescription card with your lame-ass excuses and then f*ck up my receipt, I’m going to come straight through that plate glass window and whoop your ass. You hear me? I’m not f*cking around.

F*ck you very much,
Jennifer Playgroupie
Your Worst Nightmare

Too much?

Yes, I suspect it is. It doesn’t make me seem intelligent, but rather like a Jerry Springer wanna be. Here’s what I think I’ll send instead. Feel free to offer suggestions to make it sound just “go f*ck yourself” enough without making me sound like I’m T-RASH.

Dear Walgreens Pharmacy Manager,
RE: transaction on Tuesday Morning, August 21, 2007

I am writing this letter to convey my displeasure over this morning’s transaction. Every time I come to the drive-through, I’m inconvenienced and treated rudely by your staff. This morning was no different, as your clerk informed me that the Prevacid Discount Card required a new prescription before it could be used. I read the fine print on the card and the paperwork I received from Prevacid and I’m sure that your need for a new prescription is false. However, since I’m not one to argue, I didn’t question with the clerk.

I also didn’t complain when your clerk then made an error and was not able to print a regular receipt. Instead I got a receipt printed on typing paper that looked like something I could have typed myself at home. Since I pay for prescriptions with my Flexible Spending Account card, I am often asked to provide proof with a receipt that the purchases made were indeed allowable. The receipt you provided will not be sufficient for proof and I’ll be forced to reimburse my own FSA, as I’m sure they will deny the charge.

These are just two examples from one experience with your pharmacy. I could list all the times you’ve inconvenienced me or were rude like when I waited for 45 minutes at the drive-thru window with a screaming newborn or the time your pharmacy failed to fill my mastitis medication eventhough you’d had the prescription for eight hours, but I think these examples are sufficient in conveying my utter and complete dismay. In all of these experiences, not once has anyone ever said “I’m sorry for your inconvenience” or “Thank you so much for your patience.”

Since you are the only drive-thru pharmacy in {Shitty Town}, AL, I feel that I’m forced to keep my prescriptions with you. However, I’m through being friendly and not complaining. The next time I’m inconvenienced (and of course there will be a next time, you’ve already exhibited a pattern), I’m going to complain loudly. I will keep complaining until you’ve have met my needs.

Please consider training your employees in basic manners that include using words such as “thank you” and “I’m sorry.” These simple changes could do a lot for disgruntled customers such as myself.

Thank you,

Jennifer Playgroupie

*******
The letter is….lacking. It needs more “oomph.” Help!!

Please? See, I know how to use MY manners.

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Par-TAY at the House of Stank

Written on August 20, 2007 by in Happy Homemaking, Life in LA, Quirky Me

Remember awhile back when Tate was all gung-ho for us to host a party? Well, he finally wore me down enough and we had a lil’ shindig here Saturday. It was actually a lot of fun. Usually I get so stressed from planning and cleaning and organizing and worrying about details that I end up not enjoying myself.

Parties for me are dangerous, though. There’s something about party food that makes my brain go into some sort of “starvation mode.” I prepared and ate entirely too much food. Part of the problem is that I don’t know how much food to prepare. I’m the type of person that would rather make too much food rather than not enough. There’s something to be said for making enough food to feed a third world country, it would be seriously embarrassing to run out of food. But there is also something to be said for having too many leftovers. I made dozens of deviled eggs, a vat of coleslaw, a gazillion bar-ba-cued pork chops, and a full-to-the-brim crock pot full of baked beans. In fact, we may be eating baked beans for every meal until Labor Day. Combined with the amount of beer we have left over, I hereby deem my home the House of Stank. Not a fun place to be right now, especially if you have a nose.

I’m still recovering from the unbelievable amount of food that I ate. I have no self control when it comes to tortilla chips, salsa, and 7-layer dip (the food of Gods, I say). I cannot control my love of chips and yummy accompanying condiment choices. It’s deliciousness sits in the chip and dip platter, beckoning me to eat as much as humanely possible because what if I never had the chance to eat it again?! My even more giant gut and muffin top are the visual reminders of Saturday’s foundering.

It appears that when I’ve been drinking, I become extremely passionate about many subjects. Somehow we got on the topic of the value of teachers. When one of the guests made a snide comment about how she could do a better job than most teachers, I passionately voiced my disagreement, all sassified, with an “oh, no she dint”, and some z-snapping thrown in for good measure. I don’t allow teacher bashing in my house, yo.

Sadly, this party affirmed the fact that I’m old. Too old to stay up late and drink more than two beers. I paid for my partying all day Sunday with a pounding headache and screaming toddler who went to bed late, also. I know better than to let this kid stay up late! Big mistake. Huge. (Can anyone name the movie reference in italics here???!!!)

I wish I could pawn off some of this food on all of you guys so that you, too can have your very own House of Stank. Beer and baked beans with an Advil chaser, anyone?

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I Swear I’m Not Even Exaggerating

Written on July 21, 2007 by in Life in LA

I’ve had Wild Kingdom-esque weekend. From water moccasins to alligators, I’m lucky to be alive. For reals.

Apparently, we have a water moccasin living in the pond in our backyard. It’s about TWENTY! FEET! LONG!** with GIANT fangs**. The f*cker even hisses** at you when you come near it. Pete (that’s his name)**, tried to attack** me yesterday, but somehow I managed to escape. Tate attempted to exterminate Pete with a rake, but was unable to get him. I fear for my family’s life when we venture outside,you know, with a twenty foot** water moccasin on the loose.

Last night at dinner, there was an alligator off the dock right where we were sitting. He was ten feet long** if he was foot. It reared it’s dinosaur-like head, sneering at us onlookers**. Suddenly it lunged, gnashing it’s fangs**. I was convinced that I was about to become an item on the news, “Local Woman Eaten Alive During Vicious Alligator Attack at Popular Restaurant.”

This morning, while out on the boat in the swamps, we encountered crickets the size of basketballs**. They were black with yellow stripes and FANGS**. I’m sure I saw FANGS**. These crickets are notorious for being poisonous, so when I saw them in a tree just centimeters** from my head, you can be sure I completely freaked out. Death by poisonous cricket is not the way I wanted to leave this world.

My idea of a good wildlife experience involves the Mutual of Omaha and a television set. I don’t care much for personal encounters with wildlife. The rest of the weekend is going to be spent inside, where it’s safe.

**A few of the details in this post may or may not have been exaggerated. I’m just sayin’.

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Doing Paula Deen Proud

Written on April 19, 2007 by in Life in LA

Since moving to the DEEP SOUTH, I’ve learned a whole new world of acceptable cuisine. Those of you who watch Paula Deen on Food Network get a small glimpse of the Southern palate, however, there’s so much she doesn’t divulge.

Sure butter, sour cream, and bacon are staples. So is SWEET tea. Or in my opinion, syrup with a little tea juice mixed in. When I first moved South, I was confused when the server at a restaurant would ask “sweetened or unsweetened”? This is one Southern staple that I haven’t been able to adopt.

Did you know that it’s acceptable and encouraged to put mayonnaise on fruit? Apparently, banana and mayo sandwiches are scrumptious delicacies. Okay. And mayo on pears with a sprinkling of cheddar cheese is considered edible. In all fairness, I haven’t tried either, so I’m not saying these fruit and mayo combinations are a bad thing.

Another thing that I haven’t tried, but is truly Southern, is tomato gravy. If I knew more about it, I’d describe it for you. All I know is that it is some sort of “tomato” and “gravy” concoction. I guess you put it on grits or biscuits. Everyone says it’s delicious and that I MUST try it before saying it’s gross. Anyone want to invite me over for breakfast?!

Even before moving South, I loved chicken salad. However, Southern cooks are very particular about how one goes about preparing chicken salad. It MUST be made with ONLY white meat. Many people are mayo snobs and will only use Hellman’s or they’ll only use Duke’s. Each person’s recipe is sacred and seldom shared.

I have fallen in love with several true Southern dishes. Collards, or any greens for that matter, are so delicious! I have no clue as to how to prepare these, so I usually just order this as my side item when we go out to eat.

Grits. Oh how I love me some grits. They’re delicious at breakfast with butter. They’re even better with lunch or dinner, smothered in cheese.

Po-Boys. The greatest sandwich ever invented. I like both shrimp and soft-shell crab po-boys with lots of cocktail sauce and a little bit of tarter sauce.

Crawfish/Mudbugs/Crayfish. Suck the heads!!! If you’d have told me that I’d ever eat these odd, red, hard, smelly crustaceans, I’d have told you that you were NUTS. Then I tried one. And another, and another, and another. Sure I was left with a terrible stomach ache due to all the spice, but it was well worth it!

I love eating. And not just because I’m pregnant, although I do especially love eating right now. So what are the regional specialties where you live? Please share. You can even send me recipes if you want. And to my Southern friends, what did I forget?

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I Hope This Isn’t Anti-Climatic….

Written on April 7, 2007 by in Life in LA, Pictures

You asked for it…Children Riding the Alligator. Courtesy of the my neighbor with a raging case of the CRAZIES. I was able to capture the picture this afternoon on a stealth mission. Thank goodness I survived. Enjoy. Happy Easter/Passover/Spring…

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I Came to Revel and All I Got Was Cold

Written on February 17, 2007 by in Life in LA

Today’s parading was not as fun as last week, durn it. Here’s a quick run-down that is likely to be as dull as the parades themselves.

I saw Jackie O. She was warm. She was on the other side of the street at the Rich People Club.

The three parading groups were small and stingy. They threw like armless baboons.

I saw Elvis. He IS alive and was picking up the junk left on the edge of road from the parades.

It was cold. And windy. Double yuck.

Heather got a rad boa. Her husband bought it for her…awwww!

Peanut gave his Daddy kisses. I’m jealous.

I drank an O’Doul’s, I am cool.

The very first float was filled with the Juvenile Court members. One of the pubescent girls threw an entire bag of loot to her pal in the crowd. It must have been picked up by someone else because she was waving her finger and screaming like an idiot that the bag was for her friend. Classy. Very Classy. Her Mom would have been proud.

Dontcha wish you came, too??? Hmmm, I guess you can’t win ‘em all.

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