Costco Fail

Recently I was making a run to Costco. I typically love shopping at Costco, but the one Costco experience I could do without is having to show your membership card upon entrance. I'm not sure why they do that, since you can't actually purchase anything without a membership card anyway, so it seems to be somewhat of a redundant effort.

But I digress. The reason it is my least favorite Costco experience is because I can never seem to manage to have the card out and ready to show in an efficient manner prior to actually entering the store. My best efforts are almost always derailed by a cell phone that rings at an inopportune moment, or a cart that doesn't realize that I am supposed to control the direction in which it travels, leaving me fiddling for my membership card as the greeter, and inevitably a line of people behind me, wait.

But on one recent trip no unwanted distractions occurred during the walk from the parking lot to the store, and I was actually able to pull my membership card out of my wallet prior to entering. I was quite proud of my accomplishment, so you can imagine my disappointment when the greeter didn't even glance at my card as I was approaching the entrance.

So what did I do? Why I repositioned the card of course, putting it in a location where she could not help but see it (actually, she probably couldn't have avoided it if she tried).

You can imagine my surprise and confusion, then, when instead of smiling at me and welcoming me to Costco, a place in where my membership card clearly indicated I belonged, the greeter looked at me like I was an escapee from a local mental institution.

Then I realized the card I had taken such care to show to her wasn't my Costco membership card at all, but a rewards card for a local gas station chain.

Battle of the Bulge

Recently Hubby and I went out to eat. Somehow, we got on the topic of breakfast, and Hubby mentioned that during a recent morning commute to work, the dry cereal he had brought to munch on just didn't seem that appealing anymore.

What did Hubby want to eat instead? A doughnut.

Both Hubby and I have been experiencing weight gain in the last few years. Nothing extreme, but neither of us is in the shape we once were, or in the shape we'd like to be.

So Hubby tells himself that he does not need a doughnut. The cereal he brought is just fine. He continues on his way, and then remembers that he is low on gas, and needs to stop at a gas station before work.

This is somewhat problematic, because the station he has stopped at also sells doughnuts.

"I do not need a doughnut, I do not need a dough nut, I do not need a doughnut," Hubby tells himself.

This strategy almost works. Almost. Before leaving, Hubby notices that the station has a special on doughnuts: by one, get one free.

So what does Hubby do? I'll let him tell you in his own words:

"So I didn't buy a doughnut. I bought two."

Prairie Dogs Have Plague

My apologies to all my regular readers (all two of you) for the lack of posts this year. The job is consistently crazy, and even on those nights when I'm home at a reasonable hour, my brain is usually too fried to come up with a decent post.

That being said, I have wanted to share with you our recent trip to Mt. Rushmore. It was one of those things on my must see list, and we were able to take a road trip this summer for a long weekend vacation (of course, our recent acquisition of this no doubt helped motivate Hubby for said road trip).

Mt. Rushmore is about an 8-hour drive from the Twin City area...8 hours of corn fields and prairie grass until just before you reach the Black Hills National Forest, where you suddenly find yourself in some of the prettiest scenery I've ever seen anywhere in the U.S.

We stayed at the Best Western Golden Spike Inn in Hill City, which is right in the Black Hills National Forest. Because we were going at what was rapidly approaching peak summer vacation travel time, we bid for our hotel through Priceline in the hope that we would get some sort of discount. We got a room for $115/night that was advertised everywhere else for $150, so initially I was satisfied. However, when we arrived at 9 PM after our 8-hour plus road trip and checked into our room we discovered that it was dirty. I can tolerate a lot as far as hotel rooms go, but dirty isn't one of them. Our room had two queen beds, and when we pulled the sheets back on the first, we found brown stains on the white sheets. We told ourselves it was chocolate, and turned to the other bed. Same brown stains there, except this time they were on the duvet. I am horrified at this point. I went back to the check-in desk to ask for either clean sheets or a new room.

And at this point, I must say that the staff at the Best Western Golden Spike Inn went above and beyond anything I expected to accomodate us. They moved us to a different room, which was really a luxury accomodation. It was a two bedroom apartment, with a full bath, vanity sink outside the bath, full living room and full kitchen, complete with refrigerator, coffee maker, microwave and dishes. It was the biggest hotel room I've ever been in. They told us at the time that this particular room would not be available our whole stay and that we would have to move the next morning, but we were fine with that. We had paid for a standard room, and certainly were fine with staying in a (clean) standard room, which is what we assumed we'd have the next morning.

But once again we were shocked (in a good way) at the level of customer service at the Best Western Golden Spike Inn. The next day we were placed in a suite, complete with jacuzzi tub and fireplace. This suite had a separate sitting area, two TV's, and a kitchenette. It was really one of the nicest hotel rooms I've ever been in. Even though the first room had some issues, I would still recommend and stay at this hotel again based on the customer service. I would even pay full price for one of those suites. Which is saying a lot--we try to never pay more than $100/night for a hotel room.

We were able to pack a lot into our extended weekend. Besides seeing Mt. Rushmore (which is amazing--if you haven't seen it, you really should try--pictures do not do it justice), we took several scenic drives and saw a lot of wildlife, took a tour of Jewel Cave, one of the largest caves in the U.S., "hiked" to an underground waterfall (it was a .6 mile walk), hiked around one of the lakes in Black Hills National Forest, went to a wild horse sanctuary to see wild horses, saw the Black Hills, and stopped at two Laura Ingalls Wilder museums. I grew up reading the Laura Ingalls Wilder books, and being able to step into the house she lived in and see things that I read about and that she actually owned was a really cool experience for me. The wild horse sanctuary, in addition to having several herds of wild mustangs, also had one of the oldest post office boxes in the U.S. It was literally a small wooden shack built back in the days of the pony express. There were also ancient hieroglyphics that National Geographic has even featured in one of their shows.

It's definitely an area of the country I would recommend seeing. But I will stop talking now and show you the pictures, since they are more convincing than anything I could ever say. Enjoy!

Mt. Rushmore

Mt. Rushmore through a tunnel. On one of the scenic drives we took, there were several tunnels carved out of rock that were only big enough for one car to go through at a time. This was one of them.

Inside Jewel Cave

Wild Mustang herd

Baby wild mustang

Hieroglyphics

Old post office

Baby mountain goat--one of the many wildlife creatures we saw. We were really as close to them all as the pictures make it seem.

Antelope

Prairie dog--I loved these little guys, even if there was a sign outside of the entrance to the Badlands National Park that they had plague.

Deer

Buffalo and baby

Badlands--it was much prettier here than I thought it would be.

Sounds of Summertime in the Ghetto

Welcome to the 'hood.

Is it the sound of rap music blaring from a 1987 boombox coming from the upstairs window of the low income housing condominium abutting your backyard that lets you know you live in the ghetto?

Or is it the summer barbecue held on a Tuesday evening at which 30+ people are in attendance and partaking in basketball, loud conversation, dancing and smoking all out on their front lawn because, you know, who wants to party inside and not disturb the neighbors on a weeknight? until the wee hours of the morning that lets you know the neighborhood ain't what it used to be?

Perhaps it's the sound of preschool-aged children having the time of their lives running around the neighborhood unsupervised in their diapers after dark.

Or the sound of social workers slamming their car doors as they make their regular visits.

Or the preteen youth who come to your door and ask if they can have $30 so they can buy a birthday present for their cousin.

Maybe it's the sound of somebody's top-of-the-line car stereo system as they cruise back to the aforementioned low-income housing project they live in.

Or maybe it's the sound of a mother screaming at the top of her lungs from her doorstep instructing the children that she spent the last 3 hours not watching to get back in the house.

Whatever it is, it's time to move.

Sign of the Times

You know the economy isn't doing well when the local thrift store goes out of business.

Not Any More He Doesn't

Recently Hubby and I were watching The Amazing Race, and I mentioned how that would be the only reality show I would ever consider doing. You essentially have a trip around the world paid for, and, if you do it right, you could win one million dollars just for traveling. A guaranteed travel opportunity and a chance to win one million dollars? Where do I sign up?

But Hubby was all about Fear Factor. Do you remember that show? Contestants were given outrageous challenges, and the one left standing at the end won the monetary prize. Each episode of Fear Factor included at least one challenge where contestants had to eat something disgusting like live spiders or pig's blood or something.

I told Hubby I could never, ever, EVER do that show because of the eating challenges. And then I asked him if he seriously thought he could stomach some of those things. And do you know what my darling husband said to me then?

"Why not? I eat your cooking."

Hmph.

You Can't Take Us Anywhere

Recently Hubby and I attended an event at the college where I did my graduate work. It was the type of event one did not arrive at in jeans. Everyone was dressed in at least business casual attire, and all of the highest ranking facutly members of the department were present. The hall where they had the event was beautifully arranged. All the tables were covered with linen tableclothes and napkins and there was a bottle of red and white wine on each table beautifully highlighted by elegant tea-candle table decorations.

It was to be a 3-course dinner. It began with the salad course. The salads were placed at each place setting before hand, and had fruit and lettuce other than Iceberg. Our table had just finished passing the bread basket and Hubby found an open space on the table on which to put it. We began our meal to the sounds of fine china and silver clinking and academic conversation filling the air.

Our meal continued this way until someone at the next table looked at us and said "FIRE!!!!" It took a minute for us to realize what they were talking about, but as we followed the gaze of the woman yelling "FIRE!!!!" we realized what had happened.

The bread basket, which was elegantly lined with a linen napkin, had been set too close to one of those beautiful tea-candle table decorations, and was now in flames. While I tried to figure out a way to extinguish the flames that would be less of a scene than throwing the table's carafe of water on it, Hubby quietly used his Boy Scout skills to smother the flaming napkin, and then handed over it's charred remains to a member of the wait staff.

So at the fancy-schmancy elegant dinner, it was us that managed to accidentally set fire to something. I'm sure some of my former professors wondered how I ever managed to finish the program.