Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Low rider aka my muffler

This weekend as we were leaving the house, B noticed that my muffler looked a little off. The muffler, though a few inches off the ground, was much lower than usual. B knelt down to investigate and saw that piece that was supposed to hold it up was missing (or broken, or something). We planned to drop my off with my mechanic on Monday evening (since Monday was a holiday) to have him look at it on Tuesday. Best not to attempt a 75-mile round-trip commute with a muffler that isn't fully committed to your car.

Except we forgot to drop her off. After an event-filled Saturday and Sunday, we didn't leave the house once on Monday, so we didn't have the helpful visual reminder of the low-riding muffler. It wasn't until Tuesday morning when I started my car that I remembered the issue.

And of course by the time I remembered, there wasn't time to drop off my car at the mechanic and get B to the train station on time, so we resorted to Plan B. I drove the Subie, and B took the Island Corolla to the train station. The station isn't too far away, so we figured the car would be fine. We made plans to meet up at my mechanic that night after B arrived back on the train.

That evening, I arrived at my mechanic's first and waited, and along came the IC, though it was making a little more noise than usual. Between the time that B left the station and arrived at the mechanic, the muffler went from being a low rider to being a ground rider. Seeing the muffler drag on the ground under the car brought back entertaining memories of the "If it falls off, you can keep going; but if it starts dragging on the ground, you have to turn around and come back home" advice. Sage wisdom, that was.

Luckily, the muffler didn't drag for too long, but we had no idea if this turn of events had worsened the situation and if a more expensive repair would now be necessary. We left the car with my mechanic and hoped for the best.

And amazingly enough, the best actually happened! I heard from my mechanic mid-day today, and the repair came to a grand total of $20. I think that's the cheapest repair I've ever had. I'll probably never see such an attractive bill ever again, so I am enjoying it as best I can.

B raised the question of what I'd do if I were on the highway when my muffler became partially detached and started dragging on the ground, and I can't say that I have a good answer. I certainly wouldn't have noticed that my muffler was ready to fall off, and if B hadn't, I'd probably have found myself in that situation. I don't know how a dragging muffler sounds from inside a car, but the noise probably would have scared me enough to pull over. Either that, or I would have continued driving while calling B in a panic, leaving a trail of sparks behind me and praying that my car wouldn't blow up on the highway.

In conclusion, I am very lucky to have such an observant husband.

Monday, February 16, 2009

A furniture upheaval

The patio furniture that came with our condo, while not necessarily the style that we would have chosen, is acceptable, especially since it was free. Beggars can't be choosers, after all.

The set isn't ideal, however. The cushions make the chairs comfy, but the cushions are slow-drying, and rain is all too common during a New England summer. The table seats only four, not ideal for outdoor entertaining. We've been wanting to replace the set for a while, but we haven't yet found the right items at the right price.

Last spring, we found a reasonably priced table from Ikea but waited too long, and it was out of stock by the time we made it to the store. Lesson learned. And the dreamy teak table (which might not have even fit in the car) from Home Goods had no hole in the middle, and an umbrella is necessary for those of us with fair skin or little protection on their heads.

But yesterday we bought a great umbrella from Bed, Bath, and Beyond, and it doesn't require a table with a hole in the middle. It is cantilevered, which means that the umbrella hangs over the table from a base that sits to the side of the table. The best part was that this reasonably priced umbrella was marked 50% off, so we got it for a song.

We still don't have patio furniture to go with the umbrella, but that's another mission for another day. I'm stalking the Ikea website and will head down there as soon as they start advertising outdoor furniture.

The real reason we went to BB&B was to buy a folding chair. I acquire a new one every time I receive a 20% off coupon from the store. We've been buying folding chairs to replace the chairs that are part of my table/chairs from my apartment. We use the set when we have guests and need seating or table space for more than 6. The problem of course is that a glass-topped table is not exactly portable. It is heavy and doesn't fit anywhere conveniently. Same with the chairs--they don't fold and they take up a lot of space, and storage is at a wicked premium to begin with.

We posted the table and chairs on craigslist a few weeks ago but got nary an email, so we reduced the price and offered free delivery and received an inquiry almost immediately. Yesterday we dropped off the set with its new owner and--get this--received more money than I spent on the table when I bought it off craigslist over 4 years ago. A true craigslist success story!

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Too much excitement for a Tuesday night

Last night, as we were getting ready to go to bed, we noticed an unusual and distant beeping noise.

We opened windows to try to find the source, but we couldn't tell from inside the house, so B went outside to investigate. I stayed indoors because I wasn't sure if my onesy footie pajamas were dressy enough for outdoor nighttime wear.

B deducted that the noise, which sounded suspiciously like a fire alarm, was coming from our next-door neighbors' house. Unfortunately, neither of them was home, and our attempts to find out their phone number from neighbors were wildly unsuccessful.

Did I mention that we share a wall with these people? Such is the nature of townhouses--if your neighbor's house burns down, he takes out the whole neighborhood. I suppose the incentive to watch over the property of your neighbors takes on new importance.

Since we couldn't reach the owners, calling 911 seemed like the only option. I used to think that 911 was supposed to be used only in the cases of gunshot wounds, severe car accidents, and confirmed fires. However, I have since learned that it's simply the convenient way to contact police, fire, and ambulance, and imminent death is not a requirement.

The 911 operator was calm but seemed hung up on the fact that we couldn't get into the house. If we had been able to get in, there wouldn't have been a need to contact them. But I let it go and told her that we were still trying to get in touch with him, and she said she'd send the truck out.

I changed out of my footie pajamas into real clothes, since I was going to have to go outside and socialize. Luckily the temps have been mild (for February, anyway) lately, so it wasn't too cold out there.

The fire chief arrived first along with an ambulance, and the fire truck (with flashing lights and everything!) showed up next. The fire chief had not been informed that we weren't able to get into the house, but he and the firemen walked around the perimeter of the unit to look for signs of a fire inside.

They couldn't find any evidence to justify chopping down the front door, and after waiting for 15 minutes or so with still no luck reaching the owners, they told us that they were going to clear out. We could call if we noticed any evidence of fire. And good luck to us, falling asleep with a fire alarm going off next door. As if that was going to happen.

We went back inside and prepared ourselves for a sleepless night, but luckily, one of the owners arrived back home 30 minutes later and fixed the problem (I believe it was a dead battery, but that conclusion is based on a conversation overheard through a window--after I put my footie pajamas back on, I was not interested in going back outside unless I could see flames).

What an unsatisfying evening. I'm not saying that the fire department should have chopped through their door, but at least then the actions that we took would have resulted in an end to the situation.

And as it turns out, using an axe is not the only way that the fire department can get into your home. You can buy lock boxes from the fire department, put your house keys into them, and hang them outside your house so that they (or any emergency service) can always get in, even if you're not home. And they're safe because only the fire department has the key.

They recommended that we purchase one box for each building in the condo association, and it seemed like a great idea to me. The fire chief wasn't sure how much a box cost, but he thought it was somewhere in the neighborhood of $250. It's a little pricey, but he made the excellent point that it pays for itself after one chopped-down door. Plus it provides peace of mind--you can go away for a weekend or vacation and know that your house is accessible without your having to leave keys with a stranger.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Today's Like and Dislike

Today I'm offering one Like and one Dislike. Here they are, in no particular order.

Like.
I liked that President Obama scheduled his first prime-time press conference for a Monday that featured a repeat Gossip Girl.

The CW doesn't pre-empt their shows for presidential events, no doubt because they don't have any news shows, so who would offer the commentary. Plus there is the issue of whether their target audience of tweeners is also the target audience for such events.

Anyway, had Gossip Girl been new, I would have been placed in a very difficult position. I know that GG is all frivolity, fashion, and flirtiness, and the president is all serious, important, and timely, but I'm about chock-full of seriousness right now, and I can't say with certainty that I would have chosen wisely.

In short, thank you, Mr. President, for not making me make that decision.

Dislike.
It feels wrong to criticize Prius drivers. After all, they pay a premium to reduce their carbon footprint. They're polluting just like the rest of us, but they're trying to minimize their pollution, and I respect and appreciate that.

However, I can't hold back any longer. I dislike Prius drivers who decide to maximize their fuel efficiency when they're driving in front of me on the highway. If you want to drive 42, hit the back road. Otherwise, if you're on the highway at rush hour, at least try to keep up with the flow of traffic.

(And it doesn't count as keeping up with the flow if a long line of cars that are approaching their exits are stuck behind you.)

Monday, February 9, 2009

To Facebook: It's not you, it's me...

Dear Facebook,

I resisted joining you for many years--practically an eternity in internet years! My main concern was privacy, or the lack thereof, combined with ease of use. Anybody, even the baddies, could find me and find out who knows what about me.

Now that I know about some of the security features, most of my fears are assuaged. However, new concerns have cropped up.

You see, Facebook, I only have a certain amount of time for online activities, and previously, maintaining my blog used most of my discretionary internet time that wasn't already occupied by travel research. Now that my other online identity has entered into the equation, my blogging has suffered. I've even come face to face with the reality that I don't know where I want to go on vacation after Spain--and that terrifies me.

So Facebook, I'm not calling it quits between us, but I want you to know that I can't commit as much time to you as I thought I could. There are travel deals to be pored over and analyzed and many more blog posts to be dreamed up.

We can still be friends. And know that it's not you, it's me.

M.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Faux-fur throws: Pottery Barn vs. the generics

B and I made one purchase on the weekend after Thanksgiving, and it was a faux-fur throw from Pottery Barn.

Normally I don't shop at Pottery Barn, unless I want to convince myself that a comparable item from another store is a good deal, or they're offering an item that I couldn't get elsewhere and that is on sale. For instance, our bedroom lamps come from Pottery Barn, and they were so fabulous (and on sale!) that I couldn't resist.

But I had received a 20% off coupon for that weekend, and the coupon could be used on a single item, so we decided to peruse their inventory to see if we could nab a bargain. We came across a decadent faux-fur throw that was so soft and warm and heavy that neither of us wanted to leave the store without it. It was already on sale, and with the coupon, it was close to 50% off the original price. We decided to buy it.

The woman who rang up our order told us that she loved the throw, too, and owned two in her house. B questioned why anyone would need 2 throws, but after bringing it home and using it for the past few months, we began to understand--it's just a fabulous blanket (albeit a tad on the short side if you happen to be in the neighborhood of 6' tall).

So when we saw its knock-off version in a neighborhood Home Goods a couple of weekends ago, we were tempted to acquire a second one. The HG version was half the price that we paid for the PB throw and felt just as soft.

We bought it and brought it home to do a comparison. B removed the tags from the HG throw and asked if I could tell the difference. The furry side of the throws was indistinguishable, but the weight and finishing of the PB throw was clearly superior--it had more nicely finished edges and was significantly heavier and likely warmer.

But still--half price is half price, and now we have two warm and furry throws to keep us warm. We put the HG throw at the end of our bed, and on those nights when the house temp drops below 60 degrees, it makes for a noticeably warmer bed.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

So that's what they mean by "Irregular"

Have you ever shopped at Marshall's or TJ Maxx and found an item marked as "Irregular"? If you've been in the store, you've probably at least seen some irregular items. I've bought more than a few irregular items in my day but have never noticed anything unusual about them and have frequently wondered what they did to earn such a negative label.

A recent purchase helped to educate me about the meaning of irregular clothing--I now understand why it's sold at a discount.

On a recent jeans expedition at Marshall's, I picked up a pair of irregular Lucky brand jeans that seemed fine in the store. The first few times I wore them, I didn't notice anything wrong, but then I wore them shoe shopping, and their irregularity became all too obvious while I was wearing a pair of heels.

One of the legs was longer than the other one, and not in an unnoticeable way--one leg is about an inch longer than the other one, maybe more. The longer leg is the perfect length; the shorter leg is a tad on the short side.

But I've already bought, worn, and washed the jeans; I can't take them back. I'm stuck with them, and I'm wearing them--be a pal and don't notice when it appears that one of my legs has grown overnight.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Art and football

Today is Super Bowl Day, which has been more exciting in recent years because our own team has played.

This year, it's less exciting. We're still watching the game, but it's unlikely that I'll stay up past my usual bedtime, no matter how close the game is. I just don't care who wins.

I'd committed to watching the game with B, but I didn't want the day to be entirely focussed on football. The game didn't start till 6, so there were plenty of hours of daylight beforehand for other fun.

I dug hard to find the anti-football activity, and going to an art museum came up on the top of my list, so that's what we did. We visited a museum that I'd been meaning to check out for ages, and then we went shopping (didn't find any winners for myself, but B picked up a snazzy pair of jeans).

Then we came home and have been eating ever since, or maybe that's just how it feels. The first course was guacamole and chips, followed by pizza, and I think I hear my Chubby Hubby B&J ice cream calling my name.

Perhaps we ought to rename it to Chubby Wifey.