Responsibility Occasionally Eludes Me

The CRV has been through a lot in the last few months. First, there was the garbage can incident. My very difficult to back out of driveway is even worse when there is 5 feet of snow piled on either side of it. Throw the garbage cans at the end of the driveway and you pretty much have about 3 feet of space to move your car through. Or, like me, you can use the whole driveway and just back right through the garbage cans, cracking the passenger side view mirror.

Then there was the headlight debacle. OK, not so much a debacle, just both my headlights died at the exact same time. If you can tell me what the odds of that are, I would be very interested to know.

Then there was the getting rear ended thing. That happened on the way to work one day. Actually, this wasn't really a big deal either. Just, you know, got rear ended. Luckily the CRV has that giant spare tire on the back which other cars simply bounce off of and they get jacked up. Not me. (Insert smiley face here.) (Maybe even the one with sunglasses?)

After that my tire got slashed. In Williamsville. I think this is ironic? Maybe just oxymoronic? I digress. Parked my car at a friend's, friend drove me out that night, got back into my car to go home, realize my car is making the strangest noise. I'm thinking, 'Wow, the engine in my car is totally going to explode and I'm going to suffer a tragic, fiery death.' Then as I got home I realized the only other that would make that noise (oh, because I know what an exploding car engine sounds like?) would be a flat tire. Sure enough, four holes right in the front of it. This actually ended up being a blessing in disguise as I apparently needed four new tires anyway.

So the point here is, CRV has been through alot lately. (Another point, I might be a terrible car owner?) But the greater point here: No matter what my car has been through lately it is definitely nothing, nothing, compared to whatever happened to the poor vehicle that took down the old Golden Gate sign. Yikes.

An Open Letter

Dear BJ's Wholesale Club,

I fully understand your purpose of having club cards so only members can experience your incredible discounts. Not just anybody should be allowed to buy 100 Solo cups for only $7.99. Perks like these should certainly be maintained for only those who take the time to apply for a membership, awkwardly get their picture taken, and then carry around that little plastic card in the case of a wholesale emergency. The point is, I totally understand your 'members only' policy.

That being said, ARE YOU KIDDING ME that I need a death certificate in order close someones membership?! You are neither a bank nor a government agency nor one of the many, many institutions that I would expect to have provide a death certificate to. You sell Nerd Ropes at like 5 cents a pop but you want me to bring you a death certificate to prove that I'm not willy nilly cancelling my family member's account?

Puh-lease.

All the best,
K. Fahn

P.S. In other (completely related) news, you provide perhaps the best tailgate shopping ever so thank you in advance for what is sure to be a delicious, well supplied weekend.

P.P.S. This household may never have to buy toilet paper or paper towels again so thank you for taking that off my shopping list for, well like, forever.

For the Birds

I have a bird thing. I hate, hate, hate them. It all started at Sea World when I was 5 which is a story I may or may not have shared so if I haven't here's the really watered down version: dolphin feeding, fish, seagulls, terror. After that, there were the birds that nested in the vent above the stove in our house in Pittsburgh. Little pieces of their nest would sometimes fall through onto the stove. Ewww.

After that there was college, better known as The 724. At The 724 some birds nested in the vent of our 2nd floor bathroom. My bedroom was right above that 2nd floor bathroom. Which meant every morning, like 6am morning, momma bird would come back to throw up food into her babies mouths. And if you've ever heard what baby birds sound like while they're waiting for food, you know what I'm talking about: It. Is. Painstaking. For hours you would be kept awake listening to those stupid little birds chirp. Eventually we had to get the landlord involved. The not watered down version of this story would probably make people really uncomfortable (and possibly get other people in trouble) so let's just say, it got taken care of.

Next, there has been the ongoing issue of the robins and the windows. (When I say ongoing I mean like 2 years ongoing.) For the last 2 years, every spring, robins start crashing into our windows. I mean, full force, flying as hard as they can into our windows. They bounce off, since, you know, you can't fly through glass, and just kind looked confused for a minute. They then proceed to do this over and over and over and over, without ever getting smart enough to realize what they're doing is really freaking stupid. Some Internet research led us to figure out the birds seem to think it is another bird facing off with them so they fly into the window to start battle. They are too dumb to realize that it's just their reflection so: They just. Don't. Stop.

Want to know what the solution to that little problem is? Printing out giant pictures of owls and other big scary birds and taping them to your windows. Because while robins are not smart enough to not run into windows over and over again they are smart enough to avoid printouts of paper owls.

There was a blue jay in the tree outside my window yesterday. It caught my eye because it was a blue jay. I'm used to stupid robins running into my windows. I walked over to the window in time to see a robin chasing it out of the tree. You get three guesses why this robin was so concerned. The beginnings of a nest are in this tree.

What's going to happen to that nest? I don't know yet. But I'm fairly certain the answer starts with the word: DESTROY.

This Is A Post About Literally Nothing. Literally. Nothing.

I've been itching for something to write about for the last few days. Just really, really have had the urge. (That's the point of a blog right? That and the self-indulgence of it all; I know.) Turns out there is no way to turn the following things into witty, hilarious stories:

1. Bowling a 53. Yeah, it happened.
2. Training on a treadmill in your basement for your half-marathon. Really, it's just watching DVD's in motion. (Just traded 2 seasons of The Office for my friend JK's first 2 seasons of Dawson's Creek. It's amaaaaaaaazing.) (Like I've said, I expected better stories about this. I thought I was going to be one of those people on The Biggest Loser who just bites it on the treadmill. Seriously, I think my Mom cleans the basement while I run because she fears I might spontaneously combust or something.)
3. Applying to jobs such as electrian, automotive technician, and graphic designer.
4. Menu planning and cooking dinner for you and your Mom like the Pres and Michelle are coming over to break bread.

Seriously, that's my life ever since the running epiphany.

So, I guess I kind of turned that into a story. But, not really.

It's Like I'm Watching Animal Planet 24 Hours a Day

I have bad luck with animals. Household pets are not so bad but anything that comes from the outdoors I don't get along with very well. I pulled a blanket out from under my bed yesterday that has holes in it from being eaten through by a mouse. (The blanket has been super washed since this happened and it was like over a year ago so I figure it's safe now.) There have been deer tracks through our lawn (through the lawn, in the landscaping, they may as well pull up a chair on the deck and have a margarita) lately and I'm terrified of coming home some night, parking my car, getting out to get in the house and being face to face with effing rabid Bambi ready to eat my face off. This has yet to happen but I know it will based on today's little visitor.

I was driving down Heim Rd. in Getzville this evening when I saw a cat scampering across the road. Slowing down so I would not hit said cat I made a shocking discovery. What I thought was a poor little lost cat was actually a fox. A fox. A little red fox with a little black tail and pointy little teeth. Now Heim Rd. isn't exactly a freeway but it's also not surrounded by a national park. There are literally houses up and down every square inch of the street. There's a freaking middle school on it for God's sake. What is a fox doing just running around, across the street, from house to house like this is Animal Kingdom?

If anyone has an answer to this other than, "You're encroaching on their land and they have no place left to go so they just scamper around willy-nilly," I'd love to hear it.

Fun fact: If you Google Image search just the word 'fox' you'll mostly just end up with pictures of Megan Fox. In her underwear. Which would be great. If I were a 14 year old boy.