The “alarm” button and “emergency call box” ARE USELESS

My job requires me to get the mail.
No big.
Take the elevator (or stairs on a non-heel day) down.
Get mail.
Take elevator up (the “security team” locked the door the other way.)

Today:
Take the elevator down.
Get mail.
Step into elevator.
Notice “2″ is lit.
Figure someone wanted to walk.
Press appropriate floor.
Go up to 2.
Doors buzz like they’re opening.
Doors don’t open.
Feel shift in gravity.
Status light says 5.
Alarm buzzes, door doesn’t open.
Button 7 becomes lit.
Buzzing stops.
Feel shift in gravity.
Feel shift in gravity.
Buzzing starts.
Buzzing continues.
Buzzing continues.
Feel shift in gravity.
(This continues for what I figure was five minutes)
I press the “Emergency Call” button in the emergency phone box.
The box screams, “There is an elevator emergency in the building.  There is an elevator emergency.”
The buzzing continues, doesn’t stop.
The gravity shifts.
I start yelling.
Gravity shift.
“HELLLOOOOO!!!!”
Whenever the gravity stops, I lay on that “Alarm” button (for the curious, it’s a bell.  like, “ring ring ring”)
“HELLO!”
“ANYONE?!”
“I’D LIKE TO GET OUT NOW.  PLEASE.”
shift.
ring.
ring.
Shift.
The doors are resistant to my pulling.
The doors are impervious to my pounding.
(ten minutes pass)
ring.
“HELLLO!!!”
A voice answers back.  “What floor are you on?”
“I don’t know!  Numbers five and two are lit and I think I’m going up.  Little help please.”
shift.
Shift.
(the buzzing is still going on)
(I’m still ringing the bell)

Finally, the car stops.
The doors open.
Second floor.

I stomp down to the first floor where the security desk is and exclaim, “I HAVE BEEN TRAPPED IN CAR 4 FOR THE PAST 15-20 MINUTES and no one CAME TO HELP ME!”
The maintenance guy is like, “Did you use the call box.”
“YES, I USED THE CALL BOX AND THE BELL AND SHOUTING AND POUNDING!”
“We didn’t know where you were.”
“YOU RUN THE ELEVATORS AND YOU DIDN’T KNOW WHERE I WAS?!?!  UNLOCK THE DOOR.  I’M TAKING THE STAIRS.”

(worth noting: extended, disorientating elevator rides produce nausea, ear aches and a SEVERELY pissed off Stephanie.)

Restraint

M&D forwarded a Kohl’s gift card with my Christmas Booty.
This card is still in my wallet. At full value.

Typically, the second after I get a gift card, I am camped out at the respective store, salivating, waiting for the doors to open so I can daftly spend my penance.

Is it the post-holiday bargain-hunter left in me?
Why have I not spent the card along with another pile of money?

Do Tell Reader(s), What gift have you not opened/spent yet?

And the World Makes a Complete Circle

Last night, we’re enjoying a dinner together, laughing, having a dandy time, when he gets up to use the restroom.
While he’s gone, a song comes on the restaurant’s stereo.
A song that takes me back.
Back to a place I do not want to be.
A place I have not been in a long time.
A place I was pretty sure I had conquered.

In an instant, I am transformed.
I am angry.
Upset.
Embarrassed.

This funk stayed with me for a few hours last night, dissipated by some lovin’.

Today, while in a meeting, we discussed what to do about the surplus of out-dated cell phones.

AH-HA!!!

And that’s how I started a Cell Phone Recycling drive for “Call to Protect”.

(Please note: The abuse was YEARS ago and not by Steve and I do not blame anyone, so it’s not your bad.  You know who “you” are.)

Stephanie and the D.O.H.

Following the break is the conversation I had with the D.O.H. (Department of Health) regarding ‘lissa & my Worst Resturant Experience Ever.

Mind you, there’s a bit of TMI in here and unless you harvest on a commune, this could happen to you.
We were playing the “if we pretend not to see it, it didn’t happen” game.

Jump Jump

survivalism

The good news is that I’ve already been awake longer today than I was yesterday.
While trying to maintain consciousness at work, this means all the Christmas Joy is at home on the camera.

Quick Version:
- Did not end up with “The Crappy Gift” at the white elephant exchange*
- Only slight badgering about childless relationship status.
Bonus: Many witnesses to MIL/SMS admitting that she would pay for our trip to Europe.**
- Delightful Christmas morning with The Mister and The Beans.
Booty to me included: FANTASTIC new earrings, Ninjatown, Cooking Coach, antiquing book, Happy Bunny Calendar, gym stuff
Booty to The Mister included: Authentic Vintage 91-92 Sabres Jersey, iPod Docking station, candy
Booty to us from M&D: Reindeer dressed in “Takey Outey” t-shirt, shirts, the most confusing bar game ever***
- 21 +/- Pair of socks****. “How many years have I asked for socks?”, “Every year.”, “And how many years have I gotten socks?”, “none.”
- Decent Christmas at SMS’.
Booty Included: Shiatsu massaging chairbackthing, Viva La Juicy perfume (surprised the hell out of me), work clothes, gym stuff
- Friday night I drank a bit and thought it was a hangover making me feel like crap, but no, it’s a sinus infection.  You can find me by the trail of yellow/green tissues.
- ‘lissa and I went to the Sabres game on Saturday and had The Most Horrible Restaurant Experience Ever*****.
Bonus: Sabres won in a shoot-out meaning we’re allowed to return to the arena (as the boys are wicked superstisious)
- Spent all of Sunday sleeping, sneezing, snoting and snoring.  This unfortunate turn of events prevented me from spending an anniversary proper with The Mister.  Yesterday marked our SEVENTH YEAR together.

Do tell, how was your Holiday Experience?

* White Elephant Exchange: Procure a somewhat useless gift (like, a wet/dry vac), wrap and place in a pile. All gifters get a number denoting what order you pick a gift. Higher numbers have the choice to “steal” a gift from a lower number, ensuring chaos and lament.
** Stephanie’s Motto: Marriage-dog-Europe-Children.
*** Message left on M&D’s machine: “WHAT THE FU*K is this thing?!?!”
**** 6 from M&D, 5 from Steve, 4 from J&J, 6 from SMS’
***** Let’s say it invovled seeing a rodent AFTER placing food order and drinking from glasses.  N.Y.S.D.O.H anyone?

Commute from Hell x2

Exhibit A)
map of “the southtowns” and Buffalo.

Without getting specific, I live around that 179 marker.  ish.  Give or take.

Exhibit B)
Map marked up with my normal commute path.

Exhibit C)
Alternate route when “5″ is closed.  Some bozo decided that a super elevated bridge in a windy city near a lake was a good idea.  So, when the wind and/or snow kick up, traffic is diverted as per this example.

Exhibit C)
Yesterday, being the day after a storm (Chez Mak got about two feet), “5″ was closed and “The 90″* (the major highway from NYC to PA, cross-state) was closed due to blowing snow and lack of plowing.
And I knew that from listening to the traffic reports.
EXCEPT the end of the traffic report must have got lost ON EVERY STATION.
See, usually, when 5 closes, it’s from “The entrance ramp to the skyway”.
Yesterday, it was closed at Ridge; the main route up to the the highway.
Oh, and Ridge was closed because it wasn’t plowed.
So I have to have to go BACK up 5, to Lake, to South Park LIKE EVERYONE ELSE WHO COULD NOT TAKE THE THRUWAY or 5.
The arrows, it took me over an hour to travel that span.
My normal commute was SIX TIMES as long as normal.

Exhibit D)
Today, there was a watermain break on 5 (represented by blue squiggles), thus closing it between the aforementioned Lake and Ridge.
So, like everyone else who couldn’t take 5, I took the 90.

I am so glad to have the next 5 days off.

*Please note, WNYers add “the” in front of major routes as a regional dialect thing.  I.E. I-290 is “da two-ninney”, Rt-33 is “da thirddy-three”

Trying to Invoke the Christmas Spirit: “No *click* no *click* no…”

Okay, you know, yesterday’s story about Santa kinda did help.
And then it all went to hell with this mornings commute.

Anyway, hoping to rekindle Kris Kringle…

(waving waves of time machine)

The house I grew up in had a generic tall tree in the front yard (as did all the houses on the street) and it was quite  common to run a string of lights from your porch to the tree.
Dad (hmmm, why do almost all of my stories seem to revolve around him?) decided to hang “dancing”* lights on the tree.  While an excellent idea IN THEORY this lead to him standing in our front hallway, flicking the switch on/off a dozen times until the strands coordinated.  This involved all of the decorative lights going on and off as we had a bunch of outlet extenders and extension cords running from the porch light [power source].
Sometimes, I’d reflip the switch just to un-sync the lights.
Sorry Dad.

blink!

And then there was the time Dad helped the neighbor hang her lights.
That spring, Dad had surgery to repair a constantly dislocating shoulder.  By Fall/Winter he was pretty much good as new and decided to help the Nice Old Lady next door hang the lights in her generic tall tree.
He’s up on the ladder, finagling and then he’s down on the ground, having dislocated his OTHER shoulder.
True Story.

The first year Steve and I were together, I came over to his parents house one afternoon.
Coming in through the front door with my backpack, I pulled the door behind me.
Thinking a tag from my bag had become stuck in the door, I pulled with all my might and heard a POP.
I had crushed a C-9 bulb in the door and effectively, caused the entire string to go out.

* “Dancing” lights: Lights that would do a variety show… blink, chase, fade etc.

Trying to Invoke the Spirit of Christmas: Santa

Well, we’re three days away from “the most wonderful time of the year”, buried under feet of snow and I’ve felt cheery for about ten minutes (and that was when we dressed ‘lissa’s boyfriend as Santa).
So, in a last-ditch-effort to get into the swing of things, let’s step into the time machine.

(waving waves signifying time travel)

I was at the age where my belief in Santa was wavering.  Not to have any older siblings to tarnish my mind, I heard from the other kids in school that Santa MAY NOT BE REAL.  Heaven forbid if I wasn’t cool!  (ends up, much to my dismay that being cool has NOTHING to do with thinking that your parents don’t leave money under your pillow and the like)
We had been to Niagara Falls Festival of Lights and I had obliged my parents by sitting on Santa’s lap, insisting I was good and asking for a mix between the outlandish and the obscure.
Having been “good”, Santa presented me with some “reindeer attractant”* which was to be sprinkled on our porch Christmas Eve.  The reindeer attractant was to be an advance notice system (of sorts) letting Santa & Crew know that I was on the good list and to make an effort to stop at our house.
Christmas Eve came and after dinner,we were ready for our yearly outing to check out the neighborhood lighting effort.
Before we could leave, I was told to sprinkle the attractant on the porch,  so you know, Santa would totally know how good I was.  (in retrospect, I wonder if this was the year I took some of that pre-sugared kool-aid and some water, made it into a paste, which I then microwaved for 15 minutes…)
Glitter on the porch, we took off.
When we came back, there were footprints on the porch and my natural paranoia kicked in and I was pretty sure there was a robber in the house.
Instead of a robber, it was the opposite.
Santa had made an early stop at our house and left  me a 3″ black and white TV/radio (which was CRAZY for the time).
Well, that blew my mind and I believed in Santa for a few more years, but told everyone I didn’t.

*”reindeer attractant” was not reindeer urine or the ashes of old reindeer.  It was glitter.  But it came in a little paper packet.

MASS HYSTERIA

blast!

My building is JUST out of view in this photo (I’m up, to the right and in the office)

Twilight Puppets

(not done by me)