Domestically Challenged

This is the story of me attempting a new quiche recipe tonight:

At the grocery store.  What is WITH my cart?!  It's making sounds like it is grinding rocks into sand!!  HOW AWKWARD!!  Stupid cart-grinder haunted me the entire 20 minutes I was in the store.

 That's just the beginning.

Didn't know the difference between the creams.  Recipe called for "light cream"; I picked up whipping cream?  (My logic: Well, it doesn't say "light," but it doesn't say "heavy" like the one next to it!)  Wasn't sure how much was required so I bought the pint just to be safe.

Bought fully-cooked bacon to save myself some trouble.

At home.  Didn't double-check the amount of ingredients to add.

Heat up the oven to 425 degrees.

Minced an entire onion to DEATH, bound and determined to prove to myself that I can MINCE an onion!  I still didn't do it to my satisfaction, nonetheless...

Started sprinkling it into the pie pan.

Realized that is WAY THE HECK too much onion!!  Shook my head at the insanity of the onion-loving people who write these recipes.

Decided to use the second pie crust (WHY do they sell them only in twos??!?!!) and just make two quiches.  I sure hope we like this recipe, because we're going to have a TON of it!

Tried to chop up already-cooked bacon, which was not nearly crisp enough to be chopped.  Decided to just tear every piece by hand.  Sprinkled half in one pie pan, half in the other.  Knew it wasn't enough bacon per quiche, but decided it would just have to do.

Went back to the recipe.

Realized it only called for ONE THIRD OF AN ONION!!!!  Not an entire onion!!!

Scooped out as much onion as I could without scooping out all the bacon.  Realize the dough is getting way too soft because it's sitting on top of our oven, which is preheated by now.

Decided to start the filling part.  Vaguely worry if we have enough eggs for two quiches.  Find that we have exactly 8, which is exactly what is needed.  Hallelujah!  Cracked the eggs in a big bowl.

Went back to the recipe.

Realized it called for TWO CUPS of cream!  That's all I had!

Frantic, stressed-out trying to figure out how to substitute because I'm already late and SO do not want to make another trip to Freddy's. Plus, now I had eight eggs not being refrigerated and two crusts threatening to melt on me!

And I wasn't even sure if I had the right cream!

Quick computer research to see if anything substitutes for light cream (thank You, God, for the Internet!).  Decided that trying to melt butter was too much work.  Quick computer research to see what light cream actually is.  Half and half?  Whoops!  Oh well.  I'm sure a little extra creaminess will do no harm to this quiche.

So I have to go back to the store.  What to do about the partially-filled melting crusts and the perishing eggs?

Shove things aside in the fridge and put in the bowl of eggs.

Carefully balance two crusts in our over-full freezer.  :S

Turn off oven.  No fires for my apartment, thank you very much!

Back at the grocery store.  Run in, grab a pint of half-and-half, use the self-check, run out.

Back at home.  Turn oven back on.  Pull out crusts (thank You, God, that they didn't fall out of the freezer onto the floor) and eggs.  Pour cream and half and half into bowl of eggs.  Add salt, sugar, cayenne pepper.  Attempt to whisk.  My arm!!

Take a knife to both cheeses, guesstimating how much of a chunk I'm going to need to make 1 c. of each kind.  Grate, grate, grate, grate!!  Dumped a chunk of swiss cheese on the floor.  Used up the rest of the small pack of swiss--just barely enough for a cup!

Sprinkled in cheese.

Used a measuring cup to dole in cream mixture.  Didn't use it all because they would've overflowed!!

Carefully. Carefully.  Carefully.  Place both quiches in oven.

PHEW!!!

Epic conclusion to the story:
I dropped one of the quiches SPLAT on the oven door as I was trying to pull it out.

Sigh.

It had to be coming, right?

Perfect Quiche

Unlucky Quiche

The Price of a Microwave

How many Wal-Mart employees does it take to find the price of one microwave oven?

Let me tell you a story.

Back story: Our microwave went kaput last week. I did tons of research to see where the best place was to get microwaves at the lowest prices, and what were the best brands to get. Walmart had tons of reviews on many of its microwaves, and a lot of them had 5 stars. The best reviewed microwaves that were in our price range were Osters, Panasonics, and GEs. The worst reviews were on Emersons.

So with this knowledge in hand, Stephen and I drove to the nearest, safest Walmart, 17 miles away.

We found our way to the microwave aisle and all we saw on the price tags of the display items and the boxes below the display shelf were Emersons. However... On the display shelf, without a price tag, a UPC tag, a box, or any indication that the store even carried the brand anymore, was one Oster microwave.

I wanted that one, of course. But we wanted to know the price first. For that, we'd have to find a customer service representative.

...Right. Because Walmart has such a stellar track record for customer service.

Thankfully, we heard walkie-talkies bleeping nearby. So Stephen followed his ears and chased down 3 employees (employees #1, 2 and 3) pushing 2 carts that had two very large, heavy-looking objects in them. "Excuse me," said my ever-considerate husband. "We need some help finding a price on a microwave."

The three of them looked at us for a blank moment, and then one finally said, "We'll call someone for you."

Uh-huh.

30 seconds later we heard the announcement over the intercom: "Customer Service Representative in or near the housewares department to the microwave aisle for customer assistance please." Not bad response time... At least to call somebody...

Minutes went by.

Nobody came.

So I went off to find somebody, anybody. After traversing several aisles, I snagged an employee (person #4) as soon as he stopped talking to a customer, and asked him if he could help us in the microwave aisle, or call somebody who could. "I'll call someone," he said. So again we hear over the intercom: "Customer Service Representative in or near the housewares department to the microwave aisle for customer assistance please." Surely two calls would do it.

Minutes went by.

No one came.

So Stephen and I decided that if they can't come to the microwave aisle, we'll bring the microwave to them. We took the microwave we wanted off the display shelf and plopped it into our cart and rolled it over to Electronics. We explained the situation to a lady (employee #5) behind the Electronics desk. When it became known that we had taken a demo off the shelves, she said very sternly, "We do not sell our demos." Stephen and I were slightly chagrinned, until she added, "Unless we no longer carry the product anymore."

Stephen asked matter-of-factly, "Well! Can you tell us, then, if you still carry the product or not?" (I am so thankful for my straightforward, quick-thinking husband! :D )

"Well, I'll have to scan it to find out," she said. Stephen explained to her that there was nothing to scan. There was no tag on the product, as we had just shown her. There was no way of identifying the product.

Not so easily persuaded, she came out of her little stand, walked all 15 feet to the microwave aisle, and took a look at where our microwave had been.

Immediately, she picked up the price tag that was under where our microwave had been sitting and began to scan it. Even though it clearly said Emerson, and we had already clearly told her that our microwave was an Oster. I took the liberty of re-explaining to her: "That price tag is for an Emerson microwave. Ours is an Oster. There is not a single Oster to be found anywhere else in the entire aisle."

Surprised, she stepped back and surveyed the products. "Oh--oh!" she said. "I see your frustration!" She then proceeded to search again all over the microwave for a UPC tag of any kind. "Oh wow," she said when she finally decided for herself that there was, in fact, no tag at all. "I'm afraid I can't help you with that, if there's no tag. I'll have to call a manager."

So off she went to find a manager. Well, at least she was going to get somebody to help.

More minutes waiting.

Aaaaand more minutes.

It was a good thing Stephen and I were in unusually patient and good-humored moods today. :) (Honestly, I think it had something to do with me deciding not to work Mondays anymore, so we could have our Mondays back together.)

Finally, a girl wandered into our aisle (employee #5), presumably the employee finally responding to the two original calls for help in the microwave aisle. She also checked all over the microwave for a UPC tag, and then repeated what the lady had said: "I can't help you if there's no tag. I'll have to find a manager." We explained to her that the other lady was already off finding us a manager. So she went off, but soon she was back with the electronics lady. They stood looking at the microwave, perplexed, talking amongst themselves while we watched.

Then a young man came over (employee #6). He was about 30, with 3 days' growth of facial hair and no teeth. Or very few teeth. He never opened his mouth far enough for me to find out, but he spoke with his lips curled in a bit as if he had no teeth.

The other employees recapped him on the incident, and his intelligent response was: "Wow, I have no idea how to handle that." So the five of us stood looking at the microwave, until the lady and the girl left again. The guy hung around, and started talking about how factories sell the same product under different labels. "I think this one also sells under Sunbeam label," he told us. And he left momentarily to check his knowledge, but when he came back, his conclusion was, "Nope, totally different product."

The women still weren't back. Apparently he thought his job was to entertain customers until real help was finally brought. He entertained us with a riveting speech on how he learned from somebody that at the Del Monte factory, they stop in the middle of processing, switch the labels to Western Family labels, and then restart processing. Same product, different labels. "You really do pay for the name," he said. Wise man.

He dilly-dallied around some more until the women reentered, with yet another employee in tow (employee #7). Apparently he took that as his cue to go "entertain" some other customer. The new employee was dressed in a nice shirt and black pinstripe pants. Ahhh, here is the real manager! "Sorry, I just came in from lunch...," she apologized. Then she and the other women stood looking at the microwave, contemplating how they were going to find out which microwave it was, when Stephen finally opened up the microwave, pulled out the user manual, and said, "Perhaps you could try looking it up by model number?"

Lightbulbs. "Ohh! Yeah, we could do that..." The manager explained that the employees would have to go to a computer in the back room to look up the model and find the UPC code. The manager left to go put her stuff away, while the girl and the lady wandered around to the other side of the shelf. We heard the lady saying distractedly, "We'll have to find another product of the same brand, another Emerson."

Um, it was Oster?

Stephen and I continued listening as the two of them rounded the aisle, talking. I must've heard Emerson three times before the lady finally caught herself: "I mean--what was it? Not Emerson. Oyster. Oyster. We've got to find another Oyster product..."

She kept saying "Oyster" until her voice faded away.

More minutes.

The manager and the girl returned, separately. The girl told her manager she had found the microwave, and that it cost $85, and the manager asked, "Did you write down the number?"

"No," said the girl.

Sigh.

Off she went to go find the UPC number again.

The manager stayed only long enough to tell us that we would get a discount on the microwave, and then left us alone again in the microwave aisle.

Stephen and I were still, amazingly, in good humor about this, just snickering at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. But our legs were tired by now. Since Walmart was being ridiculous anyway, we decided to add to the ridiculousness. And sat down on the floor to wait.

At last, the girl returned, with the UPC code in hand. "Sorry about the wait," she apologized. "Will you guys take it for $49?" she asked us.

Even with all the drama and absurdity, I thought $49 was a pretty awesome price to pay for a $85 microwave! I agreed, but probably a little too quickly....Whoops. Stephen was more hesitant. "Will we be able to return it if it breaks?" he asked wisely.

"No," said the girl. "Since we don't carry it anymore, we can't take it back."

"What if it's dead on arrival?" Stephen asked.

"No," said the girl firmly. "We can't accept returns on discontinued items."

"Can we at least check and see if it works?" Stephen asked.

I would never have thought to ask that question. I'm glad he did, though. The girl seemed surprised, but the answer was not "no."

"Um, yeah, if you can just find an outlet--I think there's one over here," she said. She led us around a corner to a display shelf with outlets cleverly tucked behind it, out of sight. I had NO idea that stores would let you do that kind of thing. But she waited while we cleared off the shelf, put up the microwave, and plugged it in. Stephen put his lukewarm coffee into the microwave for one minute. We three calmly waited for all of 35 seconds, and then he pulled out the coffee to test it. It was warm enough that when he took the lid off it steamed up his glasses.

"Okay, we'll take it," we said. We unplugged it, redid the shelf, and plopped the microwave back into our cart.

The drama didn't quite end there. LOL. When we got up to the register, with our handwritten UPC code, we announced to the cashier, "You get us! We're fun!"

I loved her response, a very good-natured, "Good! I like fun." Haha!

And sure enough, it was indeed "fun"! She punched in the code. "Item not found" read the digital sign above the cash register. "Is that a zero or a 6?" she asked us.

"Well--I guess you can just try both until one works," I helpfully suggested.

She tried it again. "Item not found." Again. "Item not found." She tried about 3 more times until one finally worked. "Digital Oven - $49.00" the sign read. "Yaaayy!" we all cheered. (Okay, just I cheered. :) ) We paid for it and as we started to walk away, the cashier said, still in good spirits, "You're right! That was fun!"

So our crazy experience ended on a good note. :D And we now have a microwave that turns on AND heats up our food. Woohoo!

And if it breaks, well, we'll just have to call Oster.

Thank you, Walmart, for your stellar customer service. We now know that the price of a microwave is 7 employees (8, including the cashier!), an hour of our time, a no-return policy, and a discount because you are absolutely ridiculous.

The Miscommunication Files

Just a collection of random funny communication stuff from us. :)

Stephanie: "I wonder if the refugees are still in Ramadan?"
Stephen: "The refugees are stealing our mutton?!"

Stephanie: "We should make up our own language."
Stephen: "We should make a brown fish-man?!"

Stephen: "I'm beckoning you from the kitchen so you will stop eating the gingerbread muffins."
Stephanie: "Mm mmhmm mmmm mmm hmmm mmm!"
Stephen: "Okay, you can have one more."
Stephanie: "That's not what I said, actually. I said, 'I'm almost done with this one!' I'm impressed though--you were pretty close!"

Stephanie: "I'm hungry."
Stephen: "I love you too."

Stephen: "Where do you want to eat tonight?"
Stephanie (sheepishly): "McDonald's. Or Wendy's. I want a hamburger."
Stephen: "We can do Wendy's; I'm up for Wendy's."
Stephanie (muttering): "Of course you're up for Wendy's; you're always up for Wendy's [over McDonald's]."
Stephen: "What's wrong with Wendy's?! Their hamburgers are better for us."
Stephanie (mimicking): "'Their hamburgers are better for us.' Health nut!"
Stephen: "They are!"
Stephanie: "Health nut!"
Stephen (staring at me): "You're right. I'm a health nut for eating at Wendy's."
Stephanie (dies laughing).

Stephen (in the shower): "Baaaa.... Baaaa..... Baaaa...."

Stephen is dyslexic and has trouble saying the word "album." I've tried to change this many times. Today I thought I would give him a creative way to remember the pronunciation.
Stephen: "Which ablum are you looking at?"
Stephanie: "Well, it's the Walk in the Woods aaaallll-bum. Like Al's bum.
Stephen: "Well, you can post your pictures to Al's bum all you want, but I'm going to post mine to an ablum."

In the line for the movie theater.
Stephen: "If they let me bring my coffee in, we shall delebrate and cance."
(No comment from me.)
Stephen (laughing at himself): "I said 'delebrate and cance;' I meant 'celebrate and dance.'"
Me (matter-of-factly): "Oh. I thought you said 'celebrate silently.'"

Hair Story

Upon deciding I'd rather not battle rush hour traffic for a 20-minute trip to my mom's, I drove the two or three blocks down to Supercuts from our apartment and went in to get my hair relayered.

I should mention that I don't like getting my hair cut.  I like the results, but I don't like the cutting part.  I have a really sensitive head and all the tugging and combing makes every outing a rather stressful 30 minutes.

The other part I don't like about getting my haircut is deciding what I want them to do.  I'm averse to big changes, but at the same time I don't like the same ol' same ol' all the time.  Today I got a picture off the Internet of long layers, the way I thought I'd like them done.  It happened to be a picture of Ashley Olsen--I hoped the person cutting my hair didn't recongize her and think I worshipped her like some 12-year-olds worship Miley Cyrus.  

Ashley's style was choppier-looking than my current very blah layers, and I liked the freedom with which the layers stood away from her face.  I figured that it was styled, but I thought I could achieve a good replica of the look without a styling.

No such luck there.  I have thick hair and lots of it, and the sheer weight of my hair made my layers look heavy, not lighthearted and fancy-free like Ashley's.  :P  One of these days I'll get around to styling my hair...Maybe.

I still liked the choppiness and was overall satisfied with the job the girl had done, and went up to the counter even contemplating tipping her.  She was such good company.  As Miae asked me if I had a frequent card, I opened my purse to bring out my wallet and....it wasn't there.

I knew instantly what had happened, but seriously hoped I had just left it in my car.  I hurriedly explained that that must've been where it was and darted out to the car to check.

Nope.  No wallet.  I was driving without a license and I had no way to pay her for the haircut I had just received.

I did have my checkbook!  I presented it to her hopefully, but she told me, "Oh, no checks."  She was starting to look worried.

So I explained, with lots of apologetic looks, that I lived just two minutes away and could run home and get it, bring it back and pay her.  Naturally, that made her nervous, but there was really no other choice.  I wondered how she would make sure I came back.  Was there anything I could give her, any possession, that she would consider valuable enough to bring me back for it?  Maybe my purse?  That made me nervous, but at least all my money and ID were in my wallet at home.

"What is your phone number?" she asked me, and I had to laugh to myself--such a simple request!  My phone number.  Of course she could have it.  "And my name is Stephanie," I told her.

That out of the way, I ran to my car and drove the three blocks to the apartment.  Every speed bump I had to go over on the long drive through our apartment complex seemed so superfluous.  I found my wallet right on the couch where I'd left it, after pulling it out to check if I had that frequenter card and forgetting to put it back.

Upon re-entrance to the salon, I was greeted with a joyful, "Stephanie!" from Miae, and now that the drama part was over, I laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation and immediately decided I liked Miae a lot.  Turnover at beauty salons has got to be at least as bad as Domino's, but I sure hope I get to see her again. :)

In all the flurry I forgot to tip her...Maybe next time.