You're Kidding, Right?

Uhhh.....yeah.

Remember that whole Phonies debacle?  Well, it's not over yet.  Today I logged onto my email to see that I received a bill from them.  What did that bill say?  Did it have the appropriate amount that they owed me on it?  No.  They apparently were under the impression that they only owed me $39, as opposed to the hundreds that they actually DO owe me.

Yes, I was livid.  Yes, I ran to bathroom to yell at my own reflection in preparation for my phone call.  No, I'm not able to actually look at the charges on my bill because they blocked my access to my account via their website.

I called and got someone from customer service.  Unfortunately for her, I was not in the mood to be my usual nice self.  No, I just let her know how frustrated I am, how much money they owe me, how they stole money from me, how the lied to me...you know, everything.  She was professional the whole way through.  She informed me that I was charged $65 for my monthly bill, and that set me off even more.  Why?  Because I was on a $15/month plan.  After quite a bit of hunting, she discovered that Omega (and I'm pretty sure she thought I made up that name) DID waive my early cancellation fee (since she DID do that after all).  Before she transferred me to finance, I wanted to find out about the $65 charge.  She said she was looking into it, but she transferred me to finance during her hunt.

Once on the phone with finance, I was connected with a new operator.  She was very sweet and was really enjoying the nice weather--so much so, that she couldn't type anything in correctly.  After quite a bit of quality time on hold while she had her supervisor fix my account, she returned.  The fee was waived, all was restored.  I mentioned the $65 charge, and she almost transferred me back to customer service.  Luckily I stopped her with my next batch of questions.  When will I get my money back?  Are you sending me a check?  When will I see it?  How much money should I expect?

The answers: We're working on that now. Yes. 7-10 days.  The correct amount I was quoted by Omega back on April 2.

She then offered to transfer me to customer service, but I told her not to because the check amount was correct (meaning they charged me even more money than they were supposed to...again!).  She then started whispering to me, but her phone kept cutting out.  I like to think she was telling me what a terrible company Phonies is.  After that, I engaged in a bit of small talk about the weather and wished her well.

It was a nice experience in the end.

It will be even better when I get that check in 7-10 days.

You know I'll be checking the mail, and if I don't see it, they are getting another irate phone call from a gorilla.

I Have One More Thing to Add...

This morning, when I returned from my 25 mile bike ride through very hilly terrain, everyone at the campground cheered.  They started asking me questions like, "Did you get any flat tires?"  You know, joshing me (even though, I didn't realize it at first because I was far too tired to understand anything beyond the words to "One Song, Glory" that I sang loudly as I went down all hills).  I attempted to start talking as I was dismounting the bike, when I learned another important lesson.  After a 25-mile bike ride, I am unable to multitask.  Rather than gracefully getting off the bike, I fell over.  People laughed.  I laughed.  A couple people came over to help me up, and the girl said, "That was all pride that got bruised there."  I just laughed, knowing that I didn't bother to pack my pride for this trip.

And PPS, I may not despise camping as much as I thought.  Sure, I'm not fond of sleeping in a tent because I don't sleep (especially when I set up the tent on an incline, so I wake up scrunched in the corner because I'm unable to control my body when it is in a slick sleeping bag), but the other parts of camping ARE fun.  And, I'd probably have fun camping with people that I actually know (as opposed to people I recently met).  And this campground had showers and toilets, so that really made EVERYTHING better.

Now it's meatloaf time.

Boy Have I Got Something to Blog About

Alright, so this post was originally going to be about terrible customer service.  I was going to talk about my experience at the sporting goods store on Friday, and I was going to be all up on my high horse.  I can still be up on my high horse, but, unfortunately for me, some events transpired this weekend giving the fellow with poor people skills one point over my 2.  In fact, he may have negated my first point, in which case, we're neck and neck.

It all started when I walked in the sporting goods store to purchase new tubes for my bike (because, as you may or may not know, I had a flat tire a couple weeks ago...and I finally fixed it on Friday night...right before I left town to go on a triathlon training weekend that included biking).  Being a regular at this particular store, I knew where to go--down.  I found my way to the bike and swim shop, started browsing the area for CO2 cartridges and bike tubes, when I decided that I should seriously consider buying a wetsuit. 

As you recall, I outgrew my old one and sold it to a tiny Asian girl who was smaller than I've been since I turned about 16.  I've been hesitant to purchase a new wetsuit because my heart hasn't really been in this open water swimming thing the way it used to be (probably because I don't own a wetsuit anymore).  I was in a real quandary about the weekend.  Do I buy a wetsuit?  Do I rent a wetsuit?  Do I wing it?  How cold will the lake really be?  I just didn't know what to do.

I wandered over to the wetsuit area, making a beeline for the sale rack (because these puppies are far from cheap).  There was a salesperson near me, who said, "If you have any questions about wetsuits, just ask."  I thanked him, and told him that I was trying to determine whether or not I actually wanted one.  I also mentioned that I've rented twice, so it might be time to buy, to which he replied, "Uhh...yeah.  Sounds like it."  I immediately disliked him.  At that point, I started looking for my size, but had a senior moment and couldn't remember if I was a WM or WMS.  Upon looking at the sizing chart, I determined that I am a WM.  The sales guy then said, in a rather irritated (and irritating) way, "Are you sure you don't have any questions about wetsuits?"

"No," I replied.  "I just didn't remember my size, so I'm checking to see what it is."  Upon determining my size, I searched the rack for it.

"You know, I could help you."  He said.

"Yeah, but it looks like you don't have my size."

"Uhh..not on the SALE rack."  He was very sarcastic and rude with his insinuation that I'm cheap (For the record, I'm thrifty and/or frugal...not cheap).  "We have your size in the regularly priced suits, so you should try looking there instead of just in the suits that are discounted."

Riiiiiiight.  Because, as someone who isn't thrilled with the prospect of buying a new wetsuit, I'd be more than happy to drop $600 on a fancy new one that is WAY more wetsuit than I need (since that's the one to which he attempted to direct me).  I wandered over to the cheaper new wetsuits, as he called after me telling me that I shouldn't bother looking at those because they weren't as good as the more expensive ones.  Duh!  I don't care.  And that's when I realized who he was.  He's the same guy that started bugging me about the tires on my bike when I brought it in after the terrible bike ride in the rain.  To refresh your memory, it went something like this, "Uhh..what's wrong with your tires?  Why are they so dirty?  Don't you take care of you bike?  You should get new tires.  They look like crap."  This was after he laughed and made fun of me when I mentioned that I fell off of the bike earlier (hence the dirty tires and need for a tune-up).  I hate that guy.

Needless to say, he didn't sell me a wetsuit.  Instead, I had someone else sell me a tire tube.  He was very nice.  I liked him.  Too bad trouble was in store for that tire tube.

And that's where the story would have ended had I found time to write it on Friday.  It only gets better.

Saturday morning, I drove three and a half hours to Lake San Antonio, which was lovely.  I got there an hour before we were to start our bike ride.  Everything was going well.  I changed the tire the night before, and I attached the computer to my bike to calculate my speed and mileage.  I did have a nagging feeling of doom, but I figured it had more to do with camping and my inability to get quality sleep in a tent (and the fact that I was pretty unprepared for the whole thing because I was in denial that I was actually camping and might need something more than peanut butter for my meals).

We set off on the bike ride, and the coach took a quick stop early on (within the first 500 feet), to show us where we were supposed to run immediately after the 30 mile ride.  As we all got back on our bikes, tragedy struck.  That tire, you know, the one I changed the night before.  It popped.  To say I was angry would be an understatement.  Not realizing how slow I am at everything to do with athletics, a girl said, "Just change it."  Easier said than done I'm afraid.  I explained that that would take an hour (since it took me 45 minutes to perform a "20 second" tire change the night before).  The coach changed it, and another rider looked for the hole.  We determined that there was a piece of glass in the tire.  Sadly, I did look for it the night before, but found nothing.  Apparently, I'm not that thorough.  Also, I pulled out the new tire tube I purchased just to find that I got the wrong size, so we had to use my other spare tube (which, if you're counting, left me with nothing should any mishaps happen on the ride). 

With the glass removed, and the tire changed, we set off.  Needless to say, I was rattled...and I was having trouble getting up the hill at the start of the ride mostly because I was in a very negative space (as someone who is more new age-y than me might say).  Once I conquered hill number 1, I started feeling a little better.  I saw the next hill (which wasn't as steep), and prepared myself.  Then, the same tire popped AGAIN!

I cursed, I cried, I got off the bike and wanted to kick it...but knew that I wasn't planning on getting a new one so that would just add to my problems.  Now I was by myself with NOTHING.  A girl on mountain bike road by on the trail above me and didn't even stop.  I would at least ask if the person needed help as I road by with no intention of stopping.  I mean, come on, it's the least someone can do.  When I see someone in trouble, I'm happy to acknowledge their dilemma and do nothing to help because: a) I'm not skilled at helping people with anything to do with their bicycle much less my own, and b) because I'm just not that helpful.

Luckily, the coach came back to see what happened to me.  This time he saw my tears, and I was embarrassed.  I ended up walking back into the camp area with my bike and was fortunate enough to run into someone from my campground with a car.  So, they gave me a lift back.  I then put on my running shoes and headed out for a 6.2 mile run.  It was hot, hot, hot, so I went swimming in the middle of my run.  When I returned to camp, people were trickling in from the bike ride, and they all knew about my troubles.  It was nice to get sympathy, but I still felt frustrated since it wasn't my lack of athletic prowess, but my equipment that failed me.

Later that evening, a tire change clinic was scheduled, where I was the star.  As I pulled my bike around, I noticed that the front wheel was flat too.  Someone loaned me a new tire, and another person gave me some spare tubes.  The bike was up and running for the ride this morning.  Of course, when morning came around, I wasn't interested in riding.  But I did.  And I'm glad I did because it gave me back my confidence.  Admittedly, after all of the trouble with the flat tires and the monster hill climbs, I started feeling like I wasn't cut out for this triathlon.  However, once I rode the course, I decided that I could handle it.  Hopefully I can handle it in 100 degree heat because that is apparently a possibility.

So, I learned a couple things from this experience.  My tires were shot, and I should have bought new ones, so that jerk at the store was right about something.  I am fully capable of competing in the Wildflower Triathlon.  And, I should never try to set up a tent by myself while others are watching because the tent won't go up, and I'll have to choke back tears.

What a weekend!  Time for meatloaf.

It Seems Like a Dream

I can't believe my vacation is over.  It went so fast!  First I was picking up my parents from the airport and rushing them through lunch, so I could get on a conference call that ended up starting 2 hours late....  And the next thing I know, mom and dad are safely tucked away in tornado land, and I'm here at my computer.  How did it happen?

In case anyone was worried, we all made up yesterday.  There was no bickering to be had.  We drove from Salinas up to Napa and back to the city.  Okay, we actually went back to the airport because my parents decided they didn't want to sleep in my closet.  They didn't come out and say it, but I know that was the reason.  There were claims of them not wanting to force me out of bed at 6 o'clock in the morning, but I know why the caged bird sings.  You don't have to tell me twice.  Instead of my closet, they slept in the noisiest room along Hwy 101.  Man, that place was loud!  They were on the 5th floor facing the highway, and between the sound of traffic and the high winds, you would have thought they were sleeping on the Bay Bridge.

Hopefully they slept.  They didn't call.  Hopefully they got home.  They didn't call.  Hopefully their home wasn't swept away by tornadoes.  I know nothing of it.

I'm sure I've got a good story in me somewhere.  Well, actually I do.  Here's a classic line from my mom.  Last Friday, we were looking for a place to eat.  My dad (surprisingly) suggested Chinese.  He wanted to go to Chinatown.  Mom didn't.  I decided to either take them to a place in my neighborhood or in another neighborhood.  (Just as an aside, I chose to go to the place in the other neighborhood and regretted it because, although the food is good, I forgot that it is way too bright, way too cold, and the waitstaff is way too pushy and rude.  My neighborhood joint is delicious WITH friendly service...and it's warm.)  As we were leaving the downtown area, Dad suggested that we go to the Empress of China (a favorite of his).  I was all for it.  I really had no problem turning the car around.  Mom, on the other hand, pulled one of her classic diversion tactics.  It goes like this.

"Oh, no.  You don't want to go there.  They've changed hands.  The quality has really gone downhill.  It's not like you remember it.  It's very different.  Really unfortunate."

Uhh...what newsletter does my mom get that tells her this information?  She pulls this ALL THE TIME when she doesn't want to go somewhere (usually because of convenience).  Apparently, this source is always telling her when any restaurant in the country changes hands and subsequently loses ground in the quality arena.  To be fair, sometimes she's right.  In this instance, I'm pretty sure she's not.  Surprisingly, though, it totally worked on my dad.  Unfortunately, the meal we had (albeit tasty) did not live up to his expectations.  We should have gone to the Empress of China.

No wonder I'm such a weirdo.

Oh well, the trip is over.  Hopefully I let them know how much I appreciated it and had fun (despite the blow-ups).  Maybe one day they'll come back.

I miss them already.

A Few Trip Highlights

Day 2:

Driving in Monterey. Taking an exit (which is two lanes) off of the main road to get to Cannery Row.

Mom: (screams) Pull over. You’re going to get hit!

Me: (screams) What? What? What? Where?

Dad: (yells) She’s not going to get hit. She’s exiting.

Me: I had my own lane.

Mom: I didn’t see that. But that car.

Dad: The car had its own lane too. Cardelia, you don’t have to scream.

Me: She terrified me with her screaming.

Mom: I looked up at the wrong time.

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Minutes earlier, dad was nothing short of surly, saying things like "I don’t know why we’re here. There’s nothing to do. What are we going to do here? There’s nothing at Cannery Row."

The problem? No coffee. My solution? Buy coffee. His reaction? Sullen stubbornness and outright refusal to get coffee. Me? Hungry, but knowing that crankypants would be too impatient to sit through me eating anything (especially after storming out of the coffee shop saying he didn’t want anything), I denied myself. Instead, I bought him coffee to go. He was much better after that.

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After driving for an hour through Big Sur, the stress of driving through Big Sur with my parents in the car became too much. I handed Dad the keys. Everything was much better after that.

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Once we checked into our hotel in Cambria, we started the process of finding a place to eat. Dad located a place that served Chicken Fried Steak. Needless to say, he was in. We went there, and much to our surprise, the Sow’s Ear was quite upscale. In fact, it may have been the ritziest place in town. My dad paid three times what he’s ever paid for a chicken fried steak. I split a delicious chicken dish with my mom. We even got dessert. That’s what he gets for insisting on Chili’s for my birthday dinner. Touche!

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Day 3:

After nap time, we headed down to San Luis Obispo. Dad wanted to go somewhere, and I thought that might be a good "somewhere". Knowing that he’s picky and puts up a stink about everything, I had him read about SLO and have the final say on whether or not it would be a worthwhile trip. He agreed. We went to SLO. As I pulled into my parking spot, the following conversation took place.

Dad: Why are we here anyway?

Me: Because you wanted to go somewhere, and I thought this might be a nice place.

Dad: Is there anything to do here? I don’t know why we’re here.

Me: I don’t know either. It might be fun to walk around.

Dad: If we don’t have anything to do here, why are we parking.

Me: (silent)

Dad: (silent)

Me: (turning to Dad) I’m sorry I can’t make this more fun to you. I’m doing the best I can here, but you’re not helping.

As we walked through the streets of downtown San Luis Obispo, I stopped talking to my parents. Halfway through our 1 hour stay, I chose to speak to him again. Once in the car, I apologized for being rude (though he and I both should be happy that I walked 2 blocks ahead of him because I really just wanted to say "F-- you". Those fighting words don’t leave much room for reconciliation. Alone time was needed). All was forgiven, and we had a very nice evening.

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Back at the ranch, er, hotel, we had dinner. With the hotel reservation, we got a free dinner for two. Since there were three of us, one of us would have to pay. That person was my mom because she got the cheaper dish. Our waiter was lacking in finesse. He stumbled over to our table with his arms crossed and slumped over the extra chair. For about two seconds, I thought he might be "special" or stoned. As it turned out, he was just an idiot. Here are some the more choice things he said:

Waiter: Okay, so I see there are three of you, and that means one of you will have to pay.

Dad: Yes.

Me: Yeah, we figured as much.

Waiter: So, here’s the deal. You get 2 entrees and a bottle of wine for free. Appetizers, salads, and dessert are extra.

Family: Okay.

Waiter: So, the wine is our house wine. We have Cabernet, Chardonnay, and Viognier. Or, if you want to order from the menu, we’ll take $7 off the cost.

Me: (looking at my beer-drinking father and non-drinking mother) I think we’ll be fine with the Cabernet.

Waiter: (looking disappointed) Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, it’s the house wine, so that’s never a good sign. But, it does come from Castoro, so it’s not terrible. But, you know.

Me: So, what would you recommend?

Waiter: I don’t drink wine, so I don’t recommend any of it.

Later, he seated a young-ish couple. He explained the whole included dinner to them and offered them $8 off a bottle of wine. Yoinks!

When he gave us our bill, he wrote, in hand, what he wanted as a tip. My dad took one look at it and said, "I was going to give him more than that, but knowing that his expectations are low, I’ll just give him what he requested."

There was a table of 6 sitting next to us. When the waiter brought their check, he said, "You know, you guys were a lot of trouble for me. It took me forever to figure out this check and split it up. The least you could do is throw me an extra couple of bucks for my effort."

And finally, a British family was sitting at another table near us. When he heard that she was British, he said, "Are you from England?"

"I am." She replied.

"Wow. I’m gonna go to England sometime, so you could teach me a thing or two." She looked at him curiously. "So, all I know how to do in England is go to the bathroom." The woman looked horrified. "Yeah, you call it ’the loo’, right?"

The woman laughed "Yes, we do. And you should know that in England, men don’t wear pants."

Now the waiter was horrified. "What?"

She smiled, "No. They wear trousers."

I think I learned some valuable lessons about earning tips.

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Day 4:

Not much to say about today. We went to Paso Robles and took a little winery tour. It was fun. Dad found a quasi-chain restaurant for lunch. Then, it was his day to plan. That can only mean one thing. Heavy driving. We drove endlessly. He found a lovely, windy road for us. An hour and a half in, I inquired about a restroom. Apparently, it was 50 miles away. I was busy being a carsick trooper when my mom decided we needed to find me a restroom. Dad instructed her to take another road back to the 101. Then he told us that he had to change his lodging plans because we were going off-track. We were halfway to King City when I looked at the map and noticed that a restroom could have been found at the Pinnacle National Monument that was only 15 miles from where we turned off the road. Nobody wanted to hear it. We got to a gas station, used the facilities, and bought some oreos. Once we made it to Salinas (the delightful town in which I’m about to lay my head), Dad revealed to us that he needed to go to the bathroom the whole time we were on his scenic road. In fact, he was feeling a little desperate for a bathroom, but he used me as his scapegoat. Nice.

I never realized how much blame transference goes on in my family. When driving, they both give me directions, I follow them, and then when we get lost, they say "Why did you do that? I told you to go the other way." Real cool.

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So, that’s the update on my odyssey. It’s actually been pretty fun, but I’m tired. Exhausted. I can’t wait to go home and sleep on my futon (because my parents are sleeping on my bed). I’m also a little panicked about all the things I have to do when I go home. You know...taxes, wine education, fun facts about the city of San Francisco, changing my rear tire on my bike, acquiring camping equipment before Friday, driving back down the coast for a triathlon camping trip. Stuff.

Hulk Hogan Almost Ruined My Lunch!

Ah, Day 3 of the great California Coastal Adventure! What can I say except...I’d like a little "me" time. So, I guess I’ve got it because right now we’re having an impromptu nap time. It’s 1:30, and we did have our lunch at 11:30. Yeah, my folks are getting old.

Before I regale you with tales of Day 2, let me just tell you all about the glorious lunch we shared. This morning we went to Hearst Castle, which is pretty incredible. As we approached the castle entrance, panic hit. I turned into the entrance labeled "Hearst Castle", and my mom immediately started panicking (out loud), "No. You missed the turn. We have to turn left, not right!"

"But this is the entrance." I responded.

"No, we have to see a movie first, and that’s off the main road."

"But this is the main road. I just passed the entrance."

"No. The directions said you had to go to the other side of the street." She was very distraught and feeling suddenly bullied.

Stopping the car, "Well, you didn’t tell me that." The whole time this is going on, my dad was getting irritated, and it started off as a good morning for him. He got up early, drank some coffee, and wandered around. It was a huge improvement over yesterday’s crankypants behavior.

"Well, fine. Just go where you want. I guess we’ll skip the movie." And now the martyr made an appearance.

"Doesn’t it seem strange that the visitor’s center would be outside of the grounds?"

"I’m just telling you what the directions said. We have to go to the visitor’s center."

Just at this moment, we see a sign that reads "Visitor’s Center". "I think the visitor’s center is over here. How about we try this before turning around?"

Totally exasperated, my mom replied, "Well, I’m just telling you, the visitor’s center is supposed to be off the main road."

Uh-huh, right... "This is the main road. The other road was the highway." I said, knowing that trouble was brewing.

"Just do what you want. What do I know?" Ah, the martyr!

Just then, we happened upon the visitor’s center, and all was forgotten. We went inside. Mom thought she might want some tea. She never got the tea, and then proceeded to whimper about how she wanted tea. But, even though she had plenty of time and ability to get said tea, didn’t. However, it became an issue that I had to hear about...in much the same way that I had to deal with my dad not getting coffee, then refusing to get coffee at the coffee shop, then walking out saying he didn’t want coffee...so I had to go back to the coffee shop and buy him coffee while he wasn’t looking...and he graciously accepted it...and then was much less of a bear. Yeah...a couple of big babies, they are. And, yes, I know...I’m not that much better. Should I ever become old and married, this is what my husband will have to suffer through. I look forward to it.

Anyway...the tour was nice. The guide was far from peppy and quite sarcastic (in a cynical sort of way). The castle is impressive, the view is grand. We finished the tour, and it was time to eat. Oh, eating. My favorite part of traveling with my parents. What to do? Where to go? I took us to downtown Cambria where we dined last night. Having taken fastidious notes in my head, I was able to point out all of the restaurants on the street. We decided upon Mexican, and we ended up at a place that served burgers (which seemed like a genius option for my dad since he’s willing to eat both of those things).

We walked in at the crack of 11:30, and there was a couple sitting in the window, and a man ordering at the kitchen. We stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Immediately, I felt impending doom. We weren’t going to stay because my dad got irritated within the first 15 seconds of walking in the door. Actually, he seemed irritated before we walked in because it wasn’t exactly what he wanted (and, to be honest, I don’t think he even knows what he wants when it comes to dining). 

"So, do we just sit anywhere?" he asked me.

"I don’t know. I’ve never been here. I suppose we could."

"Well, I don’t know either. The sign says seat yourself."

Annoyed, I replied, "Then I guess that’s what we do. Where do you want to sit? We’ve got the whole restaurant."

"I don’t know. Can we just sit?"

"Yeah, let’s sit here," I offered, pointing to a booth.

"I don’t want to sit in a booth. I wanna sit a table."

So we sat at a table. The man ordering at the kitchen was very chatty, and he sounded like Hulk Hogan. As we sat there, waiting for the menus, he continued to talk to the server/host/manager/only-non-cooking-worker-in-the-joint, which delayed him (the server) from coming over to us.

The server was being very polite to Hulk, but he wasn’t getting the message. At last, he sat down, announcing, "I’m just gonna sit over here in my regular seat." The server nodded over to him and gave us our menus and asked us for our drink orders. "Yeah, so you know [insert name here]? He just got out."

The server, smiling, said, "Yeah, I know."

"I haven’t seen him though. Have you?"

The server kept trying to avoid the conversation, but wasn’t able to. "No, not too much."

"Isn’t he your cousin?"

"Yeah," said the server. Looking down again to take our order.

"I haven’t seen him. I wonder where he is."

Laughing, the server responded, "He’s probably trying to stay good."

"Yeah, maybe. You know he used to live with me before he went in. He was my roommate."

"Oh," turning to us. "Do you know what you want?"

Hulk wouldn’t let the conversation end there. "So, do you still have two jobs?"

"No, just this one."

"That’s good. I’ve still got my job. Man, it’s tough, ya know?"

Why? Why? Why? I was so sure we were going to walk out because Hulk Hogan wouldn’t shut up about some guy that just got out of prison. This was not a good sign. Finally, he was quiet, and we placed our drink order. My dad then turned to me and said, "Not too many people in here," which was the beginning of his exit strategy.

"Uhh...it’s not even noon. We’re a little early."

"Oh."

We placed our order, and within minutes, the restaurant was full, and Hulk Hogan was eating quietly in the corner. I have no idea if my dad liked his meal, but he didn’t complain, so that’s a good sign.

And now, I’m told that nap time is over. We have to go somewhere--anywhere. And we better enjoy it!

Today I Turned 12!

So, it’s my birthday. Yeah, I’m pretty excited too. I woke up and didn’t go running because I had too much to do before picking up my parents to embark on our California road trip. I was running late because....I was. I was also certain that my dad was going to be all pissy because I was running late. Fortunately for me, he was in a good mood because my breakfast suggestion was a huge success. Thank you, Sears Fine Foods. I’ve never been there myself, but apparently I should go sometime!

So, everything was going pretty well. I managed to squelch their bad passenger habits yesterday when I immediately yelled at my mom for her incessant backseat driving: "That car is changing lanes! OH! OH! That car is rolling back at the stop sign! There’s a man 12 blocks away, crossing the street. You are in the middle lane and there are cars around you! This is a hill! You have to turn! Stop sign! Don’t drive in the dark! Never leave your house after dusk!" Okay, so the last one is actually something she used to tell me in college, apparently without realizing that the sun went down at 3:45 in the winter, so to not leave my dorm room after dusk meant to go without food since dinner didn’t start until 4:45.

As I was saying, everything was going fine. They were doing an excellent job of keeping their traps shut. The only issue was that of food. It’s too expensive, and regardless of what I choose, my dad will not be pleased. He’s a picky eater, but not in that foodie sort of way. He just likes three things, and two of them are fried, and none of them are green. Well, actually he does like a fried green thing (okra, in case you are wondering), but that’s not my point here. What I’m trying to get at is that I stress, STRESS, over picking meals for my parents (my mom has the added issue of only being able to eat steamed vegetables and nuts). To be honest, I hate picking restaurants for anyone. Nine times out of ten, I choose a stinker. I especially hate choosing restaurants for picky people that think they are willing to eat anything...until they get into the restaurant. But I digress... We had fish and chips for lunch. It was good. It was over-priced. It made all of us want to sleep.

Now, when I embarked on this birthday expedition, I was under the impression (which I’m starting to think was a false one) that I wouldn’t do the majority of the driving once we left the city. In case you hadn’t already figured it out, driving with my parents is nothing short of tense. The only thing that saved me with driving in San Francisco was the day five years ago when my dad drove (a very short distance) in the city and decided he never wanted to do that again. After that, he stopped complaining and directing me. Of course, today at lunch he started to make a crack about my driving, and I chose that moment to remind him that I am much more adept at city driving than he is. The conversation ended there.

Okay, so once again, I’m totally off the subject. After lunch, I learned that my dad doesn’t drive after noon. Apparently he gets tired after eating a boatload of fried food. Guess who got to continue? That’s right, birthday girl. Unfortunately, birthday girl was sleepy too because she only got 4 hours of sleep, and she ate her weight in fish and chips. I suffered through it.

Then we got to Santa Cruz, and that’s when the moratorium on backseat driving was lifted. Within minutes, cracks were being made about me being lost (in a town I’ve only been to one time before...and I wasn’t the one driving). In true form, I couldn’t do anything right. And then, just as I turned onto the street to park at the boardwalk, but got a little flustered as a group of kids ran into the crosswalk and another car blocked me in the intersection, my dad started complaining about my driving. I wasn’t having it, so I yelled back...and the games began.

It became clear that we needed some alone time, so I was allowed to walk 10 feet ahead on the boardwalk, the whole while mumbling about my birthday, and not liking to drive, and never getting to do what I want. You know, mostly the same kind of thing I would silently complain about when I was 12 (though the driving part wasn’t there at the time). We made up on the boardwalk by never mentioning the incident again and sharing a Dr. Pepper. Then, my brother called at just the right time, so I could vent my frustration to him.

With that little field trip done, we headed to the hotel (with the help of a GPS since I don’t have any maps of the area and have never been to this part of the world before). All was right with the world, until it was time to eat. Since we didn’t have any books or maps, we needed to buy some. It was the only way to get my dad to stop complaining about how I don’t know my way around cities I’ve never visited. After using my blackberry to locate a bookstore, I decided to hunt down some food choices too. Dad said Chili’s. I looked it up, knowing that it was a definite possibility, birthday or not. When I questioned him on his actual desire to go to Chili’s, he said he was kidding and didn’t care. You might think this was a good sign. Hell, I thought it was a good sign, but the events that unfolded once we got to the main shopping/dining area proved otherwise.

We bought our books and then took a stroll down the street to select a restaurant. We had plenty of options: Italian, Pizza, Mexican (sit-down or taqueria), Irish Pub, Indian, California, Asian. Knowing my dad, the only real options were Italian, Pizza, Mexican, or American--and really, American is the only option. He wanted none of it. I kept trying to come up with anything, and he was getting crankier and crankier because he didn’t want to eat at some California restaurant where they serve sprouts (since that’s what I’m always ordering when I go out). And I was getting irritated. It was my birthday, and I had to drive the whole way down there, and I had to spend all of my non-driving time trying to come up with a restaurant option that would satisfy my father despite the fact that *I* should be the one to choose the restaurant. However, choosing a restaurant that he dislikes makes the whole experience far too frustrating to enjoy, so...

We went to Chili’s. I have to admit that I was a little upset. Tears may have been choked back. Seriously? Chili’s? We all know that I frequent chain restaurants more than I’d like to admit, but we also know that I frequent them alone. It’s a weird not-so-secret secret hobby. But I really didn’t want to go to Chili’s on my birthday. Unfortunately, I didn’t really have a choice. Regardless of the fact that I’ve walked this earth for over 30 years, my dad still rules the roost.

Off we went to Capitola, to eat at Chili’s in the mall. Once we walked in, I decided to just let it go. My dad actually seemed happy, and a happy dad is much less stressful for me. As we waited for a table, I came to the most delightful realization. It was my birthday, AND I was at a chain restaurant. Anybody else know where I’m going here? That’s right, free dessert! I announced my plan to my parents. They laughed, though I could see my dad realize what his picky eating habits had done to my birthday dinner. Once we were seated, the server came by and asked, "Hi, how are all doing tonight?"

"Great," I said. "Today’s my birthday."

"Oh! Happy birthday!" He replied, "We’ll take care of you."

Sweet! I was so totally in. What would I get? I hoped for the molten chocolate cake. Surely they’d give me that! We ordered our food, and I chose a salad (which, to be completely honest was just what the doctor ordered. My diet has gone to s***). Our food came. I enjoyed mine with the minor exception of the mountain of seasoned salt they poured on top of my salad (Why?!). My only other complaint was the lack of refills on my iced tea. If I only had one reason to go to a chain restaurant (especially a Texas-based chain), it’s for the fast and furious refills. I like to get my money’s worth out of the deal, ya know?

Just as I finished up my salad, the cheers of the waitstaff came rumbling down the aisle. It was birthday time! They sang me a song. I was a little embarrassed, especially knowing that I intentionally brought this upon myself, and then, they presented me with my free dessert...

A chocolate milkshake.

My mom and I laughed.

I can’t drink milk.

Chili’s won.

I still had some of it. So far, I think my body is giving me a pass today.

Nicely played, chain restaurant. Bravo!

As we walked to the car, my dad apologized for making me go to Chili’s on my birthday. I felt bad. It was actually pretty fun...and funny, not to mention memorable.