Little Red Mustang

I used to drive a 1982 Red Ford Mustang. She wasn't particularly fast for a Mustang and had worn-out seats, faded-red interior, a leaky transmission, and until I replaced it, a real shitty radio. But she was a Mustang, she was red, and she was mine.

I drove the hell out of that car in the 2 ½ years that I had her. When I owned her, I lived 30 miles from school and 30 miles from work... in opposite directions. I went to school everyday and to work three times a week. I put almost 500 miles on that car and about 3 tanks of gas (at $7.00 a pop) in her a week. The gas gage was broken, so I never knew if I was filling her up or not, but I was paranoid about getting stranded in the barren Iowa cornfields between school and home or work and home. (These were the days before every three year old had his own cell phone.)

But I was young and right out of college. I had two good jobs, excellent credit, and was saving money. I got tired of worrying about the amount of gas in my tank and having to dump a quart of transmission fluid in her every week to ten days. So, I came to a life-altering decision: Should I take the money I had saved and get the transmission fixed and drive her for another 2-5 years or should I take the money and use it to put a down-payment on a bright, shiny, new car?

You guessed it. I decided to go with the bright, shiny, new car. So, I took some pictures of my Mustang, removed the stereo, and folded the seat covers up and put them away. I kept telling myself, "She's only a car," as they gave me $500 credit towards my new car and took her away.

In my worst nightmares she never got another chance. She went straight to the scrap-heap and was crushed into a cube no bigger than my fist. In my far-flung hopes, they fixed her transmission and she served another kid until he or she got the new car itch.

A year later, my bright, shiny, new car had been in a wreck and was totaled. A year and a half later, my 2nd bright, shiny, new car had been repossessed and I was driving a four door 1980 Chevy Malibu with the stereo and memories of my Mustang in it. And now every time I see a Mustang, new or old, driving down the street I silently curse myself because I really wish I had fixed the damn transmission in my little red Mustang and kept on driving her.

photo by blondelibrarian

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Now Playing: "Cover of the Rolling Stone" by Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show

Zucchini Pancakes

One of the vegtables that I like is zucchini. I really like stuffed zucchini, fried zucchini, zucchini bread, zucchini cookies, and I have even been known to eat zucchini cassorole.

The summer between my sophomore and junior year of college, I lived in a house with 3 other girls. One of them was Korean and loved to cook. At the time not only did I not like to cook, but I wasn't all that interested in food or cooking techniques. Anyway, the girl in our house that cooked made these very delicious zucchini/squash pancake things that summer. And I loved them. All throughout August when the summer zucchini and squash were at their best she brought fresh zucchini and squash home from the farmer's market and made those pancake things for us. I never asked for the recipe or how to make them, and within weeks after that summer was over we lost contact and I never saw her again.

Since then I have bought many a zucchini and tried many a recipe that I thought were similar, but have never been able to figure out exactly how she made them and with what. It is such a bummer!

If anyone has any idea how to make Korean Zucchini/Squash Pancakes, would they please let me know? You would be doing me (and my stomach) a huge favor!

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Now Playing: "Son of a Preacher Man" - Dusty Springfield

The Great DVD Rip Off

I have always liked living on the edge of the law. I used to do things that could have landed me in jail if I would have gotten caught. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on how you look at it) somewhere along the way I settled down and became a mostly law-abiding citizen. But sometimes I still do naughty things... even though I haven't done anything underhanded for a long time. However, that changed yesterday when I ripped off a local music/video store that is going out of business. And I must say, I was pretty pleased with myself.

So, what underhanded deed did I do? Since this particular store, which shall remain nameless, is going out of business, they have all their stuff discounted from 10 - 50%. I found a DVD that I wanted really badly (The Three Amigos!), but it only had a 10% sticker on it. It had no barcode, just an old-fashioned price tag that indicated 22 Euros. This irritated me, because it is an old movie and there was no reason in the world that it should be that much. In addition, A. and I have a rule when it comes to DVDs: We do not spend more than 15 Euros on them. That meant that even with the 10% discount, the movie was still out of my price range.

At first I thought about switching stickers. (They had colored stickers, yellow for 10%... red for 50%) but I couldn't get a red sticker off anything else without mangling it and making it obvious that someone had messed with it. So, I thought about it and decided that since it didn't have a barcode maybe if I just ripped off the price tag I might get a better deal. So that is what I did. I ripped the price tag off and then went to the counter. I told the girl that the DVD had a dot (it did!), but no price tag. Could she tell me the price? After looking at the DVD, (she didn't even attempt to scan it or call the manager or anything) she announced that it must be a 12,99 movie. So, with the discount it would be 11,69, how did that suit me? I said it suited me just fine and bought the DVD.

Yep, I sure am pleased that I got my DVD cheaper and was sneaky and underhanded in the process. But on the same token since the store is going out of business, I'm sure they didn't really care at what price they sold the DVD, just as long as they got rid of it.

Iowa State Fair Memories

Yesterday, I read an article in USA Today about the Iowa State Fair.

Being a native Iowan, I couldn't help but remember all the times I visited the State Fair in the 23 years that I lived there. I don't think I went every year, but I estimate that I went for at least one day no less than fifteen of those years. In fact, it wasn't until I moved away from Iowa that I found out that not every state has an annual celebration like the Iowa State Fair. This year is special though because the Iowa State Fair is celebrating its sesquicentennial and after 150 years, it is "Still the One."

Whether or you were born there or not, if you live in Iowa, it is almost certain that you will spend a mimimum of one day during ten days in August at the State Fair... usually the hottest and most humid days of the year. Not only is it a rite of passage, it is one of the three biggest events in Iowa throughout the year. (The other two are the State Basketball Tournament and the State Wrestling Tournament.)

Like many rural Iowa kids, when I was old enough (i.e. 9 years old) I joined 4-H and spent all year dreaming up projects that would not only receive a blue ribbon, but would be good enough to attain the honor of a place at the State Fair. Since my family didn't raise livestock, my projects were of the home economics and visual art types. More than once during my six or seven year tenure in 4-H my projects went to the State Fair, and of course, I went along with them.

In those years I ate many bizarre foods on sticks, saw several butter sculptures, and attended numerous wood chopping contests. I remember the year the bungee jump was introduced to the Fair and betting amongst my friends who would be the first one crazy enough to try it. (Note: It was NOT me!) I saw Metallica at the State Fair and got both my tattoos there.

When I lived in Des Moines, I had friends who lived near the fairgrounds and every year they made a tidy profit charging people $5.00 to park in their yard. I remember the first year I was old enough to visit the beer tent, even though I don't remember how I got home that night. I spent plenty of time in the Midway and more than one ex-boyfriend spent plenty of dough trying to win me a stuffed animal there.

Eventually each State Fair blends into another and the excitement you had as a kid wears off, but that doesn't keep you from paying the admission fee each year and checking out the butter cow while eating fried cheese curds on a stick.

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Now Playing: "A Lap Dance is so Much Better when the Stripper is Cryin' " - The Bloodhound Gang

Super Size Me

A while back I saw a preview for that documentary called "Super Size Me." Honestly, I have no desire to see the movie, but from what I understand one of the rules of his little experiment was that when he was ordering his food, if someone asked him if he wanted to "Super Size" he had to say yes.

In a round-about way, that reminded me of something from my waitress days that we referred to as "up-selling." I worked at Chain Restaurant ABC for about 2½ years. When I began, I had to go through a training program and after you learned the basics of waiting tables, you had a session about "up-selling" as a way to maximize your tips (and the restaurant's profits).

As I am sure the majority of my readers know, in America, waitresses/waiters (the politically correct term is "server," but I always referred to myself as a waitress) essentially work for tips. I haven't waited tables for almost 8 years, but in 1996 (God! has it really been that long?!), the hourly wage of a waitress was between $2.25 and $3.75. As you can plainly see, in order to make the job worth while, obviously a waitress wants tips. A good waitress (meaning you are willing to work hard and give good service) usually makes pretty good tips and can turn waiting tables into a fairly profitable job.

Theoretically, a tip is 15% of the total amount of the diner's bill, therefore (so the thinking goes), the higher the bill, the higher the tip. This is where "up-selling" comes into play. The idea is to add to the diner's bill in a rather indistinguishable way. For example, the customer orders a Margarita that is (forgive the 1996 prices) $3.50. The margarita is made with "bar" tequila (aka the cheap, generic brand). The waitress who is practicing "up-selling," asks if you want a particular kind of tequila in the margarita. You say, "Cuervo Gold." KA-CHING! That is premium liquor and now your $3.50 margarita is $4.25! All throughout your meal you are asked these questions: Do you want fries with that? How about a side of ranch dressing? Maybe dessert? Ka-ching! KA-ching! KA-CHING! All those little extras add up and without thinking about it, the customer gives a 15% tip on a bill that ended up being $36 instead of the $30 it could have been.

Even though I was a successful waitress, I was never comfortable with the practice of "up-selling." I wasn't afraid of working hard and even when I had a long night I could serve a table with a smile on my face and take home generous tips. I thought, and still think, "up-selling" is a not only a sneaky practice, but extremely pushy. I don't like pushy people and didn't want to be a pushy waitress. When I was a trainer, I would tell my trainees about "up-selling" and leave it up to them whether or not they wanted to do it.

Essentially, "Super or King Sizing" a fast food meal is a form of "up-selling." Of course in such a "restaurant," there is no waitress putting herself through college to benefit, only the corporation. So next time you think about super-sizing your Big Mac meal, remember they don't care about your super-sized waist, only your incredibly shrinking pocket book.

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Now playing: "I'm Going Slightly Mad" - Queen

Flying Kitties

This has got to be the best news story I have read in a while. Of course the story details the concerns of the flight crew and the inconvenience to the passengers, but being the crazy cat lady that I am, I sympathized with the poor kitty and his owner.

Air travel with pets is a very stressful ordeal for all involved. I know this first-hand because when we moved to Germany from the US, we brought my three cats with us. The rule of thumb for animals in the cabin is one person, one animal and the number of animals on a flight is limited. Since A. and I were only two, we had a choice: We could each bring a cat in a soft carrier and the other could ride in the luggage compartment, or all three could ride in the luggage compartment. I wasn't too happy with either choice, but since I felt I should be fair to my cats, I chose to have all three ride in the luggage compartment.

We flew from Portland, Oregon to Detroit, had about a two hour layover and then flew from Detroit to Frankfurt. All together, about a 12 hour flight and a 36 hour day. I am usually pretty laid back, but I had never been so stressed out in my entire life!

In Portland, I stayed with them until the last possible second and strongly warned anyone that was part of the Northwest Airlines family that they would face my wrath if anything happened to my highly valuable cats. (They are priceless to me, and besides, with all the money I had to invest to get them ready to go, I felt that I had a right to tell everyone they were valuable!)

In Detroit, I stood in the lobby with my nose glued to the window as I watched the baggage handlers load my cats into the luggage compartment. I had marked their carriers with highly visible "Live Animal" signs and florescent tape specifically for that purpose.

Every 15 minutes from Detroit to Frankfurt, I whined and cried on A.'s shoulder that I hoped they wouldn't be too traumatized, while he reassured me they were OK. I wasn't so sure: I had read horror stories of how badly animals were treated in the luggage compartments and others of how animals disappeared in transit. I was a nervous wreck until I saw them in Frankfurt, where all three greeted me with highly pissed-off looks on their faces. But to me at that moment, they had never looked so sweet and adorable.

Yet, I must give Northwest Airlines credit. On each plane, before it took off, I was given a special "Pet Passport" that verified that the pilot knew that my cats were aboard and that they had made it safely into the luggage compartment. However, it is an ordeal that I am not anxious to repeat and my advice to anyone who is considering flying with their pets is: Don't do it unless it is absolutely necessary. It is much less stressful for all involved.

On a final note, I want to reassure everyone that my cats came through their first Trans-Atlantic flight without being too traumatized (even Harley, who was at the time only about 8 months old) ...Even though they do still mysteriously disappear every time they see the kitty carriers!

It's All Relative

Summer has finally arrived in Munich! For the past two weeks temperatures have hovered between 25 and 30 degrees Celsius. (That's between 77 and 86 Fahrenheit.) All through June and most of July it was cool and rainy. And we complained. Now it is warm and sunny and we are still complaining.

The funny thing is, it really isn't all that hot. For example, summertime in Iowa can be quite a scorcher. There are many summer days in Iowa that are above 90 F (32 C) and usually there are even a few days around the 100 mark (37 C). In addition, after living for 2½ years in Texas and another 2½ in Mississippi, I think I can say with certainty that I know what hot is. But the difference is, in all of those places I had air conditioning! Here air conditioning is the exception, rather than the rule. Therefore, when it is 30 C outside and 24 C inside, it seems hotter than it really is.

Because I know it isn't as hot as I would like to think it is and because all through June I anxiously waited for the sun to peek out from behind the clouds, I have tried to resist the urge to complain about the weather. However, I would just about give my left arm to come home to an apartment that has been cooled all day to a comfy 20 C (68 F), sip an ice-cold lemonade, and chuckle at all of the poor fools that don't have air conditioning!