An Amazon Birthday

My wife’s birthday was coming up and, now days, I shop online.  One, because it is easy, and two, living in a little town on the coast, the drive time to a variety of stores (i.e. malls), is one and a half hours.

So, with my Amazon account in hand, I begin the search.  First on my list is a CD, yep CD.  I haven’t gone completely digital yet.  It is by MercyMe and it has a song called “Here for You” and it seems to be only recorded once.  Add to cart.

I went for a Robin Jones Gunn book called “Victims of Grace”.   My wife enjoys her books and has attended a conference where she was the main speaker.  Add to cart. 

Finally, a book that she used to have called “Why We Say It”.  It is about how common expression and phrases came to be in the English language.  She is an English major, so you know.  Add to cart.  And after purchasing, all that is left is the waiting.

Amazon is awesome.  I order from home; get it delivered at home (well, for us, at the Post Office) and all I have to do is point and click.  And then between five and seven business days, I have mail!  In this case, I have box! And I am just days away from wrapping her presents.

One great thing about having a post office box, regardless of the fact that we all have to have one, because there is no street delivery in our town, is when there is the bonus card.

Grabbing my keys, locating my box, turn the key and there it is!  Along with a couple of bills, there is an approximate  4 inch by 10 inch yellow card with numbers written and with each of those numbers scratched off  with ink.  Except for one.  My number.   It means that I have a package.  And now, I get to go to the front desk and retrieve my item.  Yep, I am special.

This is not a just “open box and grab some letters and head home kind of day.  No, my friend, this is much bigger than that.  This card tells me that I have something too big for my Post Office box.  No longer is it just getting the mail.  This has now become sort of like a super spy transaction, where I give the secret code, in this case a yellow card with a number on it, and then the other spy goes into the back room and returns with a box containing what I need for my next assignment.

Taking the cardboard box home, I stealthily head up the stairs before the wife finds out, and with anticipation I cut open the “Amazon tape” and peer into the box for its contents.  One Mercy Me CD, check.  One Robin Jones Gunn book, check.  And one “The Dean Koontz Companion” book, che. . .  What?  No, no, no!  It is supposed to by “What We Say It”.

I have not read any books by Dean Koontz and neither has my wife, so I am pretty sure that we will not be needing his “Companion Book”.   They have sent me the wrong thing.

One other time, I have experienced receiving the wrong item.  While Amazon and their individual distributor’s have a pretty good success rate, the first time I received the wrong order turned out to be quite entertaining. 

After attending a concert and the singer sang that great folk song, “If I had a Hammer”, I decided to order a CD from the performer who wrote that song, Tim Hardin.  So I order the Tim Hardin CD and five days later I receive my package.  I open the envelope and pull out, not Tim Hardin’s Reason to Believe CD.  Instead I am holding in my hands The Barrio Boyzz  “That’s How We Roll” CD.

Yes, Barrio Boyzz, with not just one Z, but two Z’s.  They look like a morphing of ‘NSYNC and gangsta street thugs.  They are considered the first Latin American R & B, pop boy band.  Well, there you go.

While I have nothing against the Barrio Boyzz, and they certainly may choose to roll however they want to roll, I would have preferred Tim Hardin.  So, I hesitantly write an E-mail to the distributor.

“Dear Sir or Madam,  I ordered Tim Hardin’s “Reason to Believe”  CD with the order number # ……. and I did not receive it.  Instead I received The Barrio Boyzz “That’s How We Roll”.  I do not want the Barrio Boyzz “That’s How We Roll”.  How may I receive the CD that I ordered?”

It wasn’t too long before I got an apologetic reply.  They would be sending, right away, the  CD that I had ordered and upon receipt, I could return the other CD, on their dime. Sigh of relief on my end.

And sure enough, only two days later, my replacement CD arrived.  Opening the envelope and inserting two fingers and my thumb, I pull out. . .yep. . . The Barrio Boyzz  “That’s How We Roll”.  You have got to be kidding me.   Back to square one.

I called this time and spoke to a human who figured out that the wrong code has been attached.  Which means, that no matter how many times I order Tim Hardin, I will receive The Barrio Boyzz.  They assure me that they will find the CD that I want and send it to me.  In the meantime, I may do whatever I wish with the wrong CD’s.

While I have no need for two Barrio Boyzz CD’s, I decided to send one back and keep one for, well, because you just never know.  And eventually I did receive the correct CD and I listened to Tim Hardin once or twice. It was okay, but it was not as great as I had hoped.  The Barrio Boyzz is still sealed in its original packaging, even to this day.

 And now back to the wife’s birthday.  She opened up her presents.  First, MercyMe.  “Thank you.”  Second, Robin Jones Gunn.  “Thank you again.”  And finally, The Dean Koontz Companion.    As the stunned look of “What the heck?”   came over her face, I simply replied, “This is your own personal version of The Barrio Boyzz.  Koontz, with a Z.  “Cuz, that’s how I roll.”  Word.

Guy's Only Weekend Part C

Off we are heading up the old highway for the adventure of a lifetime.  Or at least, as adventurous as me and my five-year old can be.  And with a few wrong turns here and there, I find myself back on to the interstate.  Oh well, at least it is a known route for me.

Once I get up to the proper speed of sixty-five miles per hour, yes, I am not a speeder, I settle in for the rest of the drive to our destination. My boy and I are engaged in a rousing game of “Who can fake burp the loudest and the longest.”  For the record, he stated it. 

Periodically looking back at him, in the rear view mirror and on occasion a quick turn of the head, to see how he is doing, I notice that he is attempting to drink from his milk container.  It still has the foil on it with just a small hole for the straw.

My remedy for the situation is to retrieve the container from him and place another straw in the hole.  But, alas, no straw is to be found anywhere.  So I tell him to hand me the milk and I will pull off the rest of the foil.

And at 65 MPH, I reach my right hand a backward trying to contort it in position to grab said container.  I do not know how my wife can do that.  She has no problem reaching back and touching him or grabbing her purse from the rear seat.

 It is as if she can dislocate her arm at the elbow and twist it to reach directly behind her and grab with two fingers any item she desires. I believe it is a mom thing and a trade secret kept from the guys.

I place my hand in baton receiving position and can feel with my fingertips only the outer plastic of the container.  To which my son seems that if I can touch it I should be able to grab it, similar to the pee-wee league football coach who barks, “If you can touch the ball, you had better catch the ball.” And he lets go.

The over half full container of 2% white milk from McDonald’s has now spilled all over the floor of the back seat.  And me on the freeway with no pull off in sight! 

I take the nearest exit, which happens to be a rest stop, turn off the motor and grab the two napkins provided to me by McDonald’s and head to the back seat.  The milk has conveniently already soaked into the floorboards and is not only mixing with the other dirt and gunk and spills since the car had been last detailed. Uh never.  Vacuumed, yes, but shampooed, nope.  And the milk is rapidly reaching room temperature.

We chalk it up to a casualty of war and back on the road to our destination.  We go shopping, we play in a park, we go to our friends, have dinner, spend the night, wake up the next day, and in the afternoon jump in the car for our next overnight stop. 

And what is that smell?  Oh yeah, spoiled milk. Ahhh!  Not good.  Not good at all.  I drive to the nearest store and purchase two “Fresh Linen Car Air Fresheners” at a higher price than I would normally pay, but this is an emergency. 

We arrive at my in law’s house for the evening and to spend the night.  Her mom went to the funeral as well, so for the night, three generations of men.  Grandfather, father, and son.

After visiting for a bit, I am ready to bring in our gear for the night and….   There is that smell.  And it is not getting better, just more spoiled.  Back in the house I am on a hunt for Febreze.  Not having any luck, I do happen to find a lavender or some sort of scented dryer sheet.  Grabbing that, I head back in, unprotected, to face the horror.

I find myself wiping the floorboard over and over again with the dryer sheet.  And as it disintegrates in front of me I am left with a putrid smell of rotten milk, linens and lavender.  I have only made matters worse by combining smells.  It is like Tuesday night at the buffet during the early bird special.

The next morning I locate some Lysol and spray away.  The Lysol has seemed to remove at least some of the smell, plus giving a nice Lysol aroma.  Just in time to pick up my wife from the airport.

Remain calm.  Stick to our story and maybe she won’t notice.  And as she opens the car door her nose crinkles.  And I can’t be sure because I was avoiding eye contact but I believe she “teared” up a little bit.  I am assuming that it was because she was glad to see me.

Guys Only Weekend part 2

So, where was I?  Oh, yeah, we dropped my wife off at the airport and my boy and I were off and running for our man weekend road trip.  And first destination, lunch.

 

Being the adventurous type, I decided to head an alternate route and bypass the freeway and drive up the old highway.  With maps in hand, his and mine, we head for the next town for a quick bite to eat.

One thing about our family is that our navigational skills during a visit or vacation involving other towns and cities are based on the landmarks of restaurants.  We may not know how to get to the University’s football stadium, but we can make a no detour beeline to the Mexican restaurant on Sixth Street. And it is right next to the infamous 7-11.  I’ll get to that story later.

We like to try places where we wouldn’t generally eat.  We like trying new places.  Although that trend has seemed to have had a slight adjustment since moving to a little village off of the Oregon coast.  In our vicinity of easy access, there aren’t very many chain restaurants available.  So, we find ourselves at times when we are in a bigger city, eating at the restaurants that are available only in larger towns and cities.

 

And on this day, as the scenic countryside subsides and we enter the first town on our tour, I begin to scout for a place to eat.  Hopefully, I can find a place we haven’t tried before and that is suitable for a five year old appetite.

And there on the right, is our destination all light up with the angelic aura around it.  McDonald’s!  I’m lovin’ it.  Well, at least we haven’t ever eaten at this one.  There is no play area at this one, so a bathroom stop and then, time to eat. 

 

My son is having the usual.  One Chicken Nugget Happy Meal (4 nuggets, small fries, apple slices, on round bottle of white milk).  Plus a Halloween bucket with a sheet of self assemble stickers.  My turn.  I settle for the number 1, a Big Mac meal, that I know will look nothing like the picture. 

 
Finding a window seat with the view of the parking lot, I say grace and begin to consume  my 1,130 calorie with a side of 1,320 mg of salt intake meal that will sit heavy in my stomach for days. I did satisfy 15% of my daily need of Vitamin C and will no doubt keep my girlish figure and waistline, if by figure, I am comparing myself to a woman nine months pregnant with twins.

Unable to finish his milk before it is time to roll, I grab the container and proceed to drop the straw that I had inserted into the foil covering of the milk for less spillage on the road.  But no worries, because I always have a spare straw.  So with a buckle of the belt over the boy and his car seat, it’s time to head out.  Get your motor running. . . .

Guys Only Weekend

So this past week my wife T. had to fly to Arizona for her grandmother’s funeral which left my 5 year old and me on our own.  She was leaving Thursday and coming back on Saturday. 

The closest airport is a couple of hours away, so I thought my boy and I would go on a mini-road trip.  The plan was to head up to the town we used to live and visit some friends and then on Saturday drive back to pick up T. 

When you are spending two nights away at two different houses, well, you have to make sure you have all the essentials needed.  We divvied up the packing list.

My list included, two sleeping bags (one for me and one for him), two pillows, on cot, two spare blankets, a bag full of shirts, pants, underwear, pajamas, socks (three days worth for the boy and for me), various toiletries, my camera bag, my computer, my Bible and paper for notes.  Not to mention a few snacks. Check. And check.

My boy’s list.  One kid sized backpack full of alphabet blocks, a Veggie Tales lunchbox full of small Thomas the Tank engine toys (also included were Gordon, Percy, James, Edward, Toby, and Bertie the Bus), one Paddington Bear book of colors, one stuffed bunny for the ride, stuffed Henry the dog and Nemo the fish for sleeping. Check and Checkmate.

Well, we each have our own set of priorities.  Nonetheless, we were ready for whatever the road had in store.  With the back of the SUV loaded and not to mention T. with her purse and backpack for her trip we were almost ready. 

Usually the boy sits behind the driver’s seat in his booster seat, but on this trip I had moved him behind the passenger seat so I could easily have access to him for important things like picking up stuff he dropped, handing out fruit snacks, and juice.

Gas tank is full, bags are packed, and we have just dropped T. off at the airport and we are ready to roll.  We do not have t be at our next destination until evening, so the world is our oyster.  What to do first.  I am checking out my analog GPS (paper map), and the boy is checking his laminated map and after serious calculations we settle on our first spot. 

Lunch! To be continued. . .