The Weekend Off -- Day One

Usually, I put on my Theatre Critic hat on weekends.  The past few weekends, I've been seeing at least two shows.  Well, I took this weekend off.  I've got too much to do.

I made a list.  I had to go to the vet by 1:00 to pick up the Special Urinary Tract Health Cat Food.  I also had to go to the post office by 2:00 to pick up whatever package was supposed to be delivered yesterday (but I got one of those damn little notices instead).  I also had to put gas in the car (down to the little red bar -- around 50 miles left).  And there was an open house I wanted to look at (open 2:00 - 5:00).  And I needed to buy some trash compactor bags and some vacuum cleaner bags (both available at Sears).  And shop for new carpet ('cause I'm gonna have to recarpet before I sell this place -- apparently 24-year old carpet with cat barf stains is not a selling point.)  And then I thought I'd go to the mall and buy a sundress.  And maybe some shoes. 

(OK, yeah, I already have a lot of shoes.  But, with this heat wave, I've been noticing that all my shoes are closed.  I've generally avoided mules on principle, but now the idea of an open-backed shoe seems really pleasant.)

Now, the post office is near my place, but everything else (except gas stations, which are, y'know, plentiful) is over in another area of town.  I didn't get started till around noon, so I figured I'd go to the post office, zoom on out to the vet, go to carpet store, go to Sears, go to the open house, then hit the mall.  OK?  OK.

First stop:  the post office.  The parcel waiting for me is fruit (from Harry & David).  I'm not really sure what it is doing at the post office because it says quite clearly on the box:  CARRIER LEAVE IF NO RESPONSE.  Because it's FRUIT.  It was supposed to spend last night in my refrigerator, not sitting on a shelf in the post office.  I figured I should get this stuff home and refrigerated immediately.  Of course, it's 12:20 and the vet closes at 1:00, but I can't see where letting six pounds of fruit go bad in the back of my car is a really good plan.  I rush home.  I grab a knife and open the box and start madly shoving fruit in the fridge.  The cherries and the pears don't look the worse for wear, but the peaches are already pretty ripe.  Very nearly falling-apart-in-my-hand ripe.  I grab one for breakfast (and a handful of paper towels) and head out to the vet.

I drive to the vet, slurping down peach all the way.  It's delicious.  There's six in the box.  If I eat two a day, I might get them devoured before they go bad.  (I've saved the label off the box in case I need to call Harry & David's and complain about the post office.)

Second stop:  the vet.  I'm there all of 7 minutes before they close.  She sells me three cans of the stuff.  I read the can; it's "Urinary SO in gel."  Sounds appetizing.  Not.

Third stop:  Carpet store.  Carpet guy asks the measurements of the rooms I have to carpet.  This is a reasonable question, but I have no answer.  I then realize that I know the total square footage of my place, so if I subtract a little for the bathrooms and the bedroom I've already recarpeted, I get a reasonable approximation.  Carpet guy takes that number, finds me some $1.99/square foot carpet, and multiplies it out.  I ask if he's got a cheaper carpet.  He has a $1.77 one, but I take one look at it and think it wouldn't survive my cat's claws for a week.  I go back to the $1.99.  Then he asks me if the condo is empty or has stuff in it.  I say it has stuff in it.  "Oh," says the dude, "I quoted you the price for empty; furnished is $2.25."  He's right -- that is what the sign says.  But, he says, since he already quoted me the $1.99 price, he'll stick to it.  'Cause he's that kind of honest businessman.  And I interpret this to mean, "He's (a) a wheeler/dealer and (b) trying to get me to commit to buying this carpet from him before I walk out the door."

I walk out the door.

Fourth stop:  Sears.  I miss the road for Sears but eventually get there.  I spy the vacuum cleaner bags and notice that they have every other model bag but the model I need.  A helpful Sears employee asks if he can help.  I ask for "AA" bags.  He's out.  They'll get more Wednesday.  Great.  (Not.)  I go over to the trash compactor department.  I see no bags.  I ask the next helpful Sears employee for compactor bags.  He notices theshelf is empty, but offers to check in back.  Thanks, says I.  He comes back, not carrying bags.  He says there's another store room; he'll check there.  Okey doke, says I.  He again returns bagless.  I leave Sears, having accomplished zilch.

Fifth stop:  The gas station.  You wouldn't think this would be troublesome -- pay for gas; get gas; right?  After all, my car was now beeping at me to alert me of the low fuel situation.  So, I pull into an Arco station, even though I'm usually a Mobil girl.  I wait in line behind some other cars, but Arco's price per gallon was 24 cents less than the place right across the street (76) so I figured it was worh the wait.  I finally pull up and go the pay at the pump thing.  I stick my credit card in.  The pay at the pump thing tells me it will charge ne an extra 45 cents plus whatever my bank charges for the ATM transaction.  This isn't an ATM transaction; I'm trying to charge gas, not get a cash advance on my VISA card.  There does not appear to be a way to convince the machine of this -- it is for Cash and ATM transactions only.  I go back into my wallet, feed a twenty to the machine, and pump about half a tank of gas.

Sixth stop:  The open house.  A most interesting house.  Apparently, it was vacated six months ago and sold to some investors who made some improvements -- remodelled the kitchen and bathroom, recarpeted, and hooked it all up with top-of-the-line appliances.  It was quite nice.

Except the master bathroom.  The other bathroom had beautiful travertine tiles and a new bathtub with spa jets in it.  The master bathroom had a tiny shower and was done in cheapo white tile with yellow spots on it (like someone blew their nose all over it).  Ug. Ly.  I had a chat with the real estate agents showing the house and they confessed that it wasn't their listing -- they were just babysitting it while the listing agent was away.  Since it wasn't their listing, I confided in them that the place probaby would've shown better had they not painted the closet doors shut (honest -- two sets of sliding closet doors, repainted, stuck to their tracks) and maybe removed the spiders from the tub (two cute little daddy-long-legs).  Agents seemed nice enough.  They'll come over tomorrow to give me a new "market analysis" of my place, seeing as I'm not happy with the "market analysis" the last guy did.  Although, foolishly, I told these people the number that the last agent came up with.  Only a total moron who didn't want my business wouldn't find some way to come up with a higher number.  So this real issue is, how much higher, and will they be able to back it up with enough information that I think we can actually get that price?  (I do have a figure in mind -- let's see if they hit it.)

Seventh stop:  The mall.  This entry is getting long and I'm getting a headache, so I'll just sum up the entire mall trip by saying:  (1) none of the department stores in the mall have trash compactor bags or vacuum cleaner bags; (2) none of the clothing stores have sundresses; the fall lines are out now; and (3) Vans has some really cute mules, but not in my size.

Eighth stop:  By now, I've called my mom to ask advice on where to find compactor and vacuum bags.  We conclude Best Buy or Circuit City would be the best bet.  I go to Best Buy.  Find the last bag of AA vacuum bags!  (Perhaps in all of Pasadena.)  No trash compactor bags, though.

Ninth stop:  I walk into Ross (next door to Best Buy).  They haven't got sundresses either.

Tenth stop:  I drive to Circuit City.  I walk in Circuit City.  I notice they don't have appliances at all.  I walk out of Circuit City.

Eleventh stop:  Pass a Target on the way home.  It was an longshot, but still.  No compactor bags.  I check for vacuum bags, and they're out of AAs too.

Home.  Oh, and Vans.com doesn't have the mules either.  :(