A week ago I wrote and asked you to please donate to a food bank in my area so I could win a Christmas lights tour arranged by a columnist at my local newspaper (pictured left).

I challenged you to raise enough funds so I could win the trip and we could all help hungry people in my area go a little less hungry.

I offered to do one of three crazy tasks if you hit my target.

You did not disappoint.

Oh, no you didn’t.

I’m almost in tears here as I write that not only did you raise enough to reach my goal of $750, but you dug deep enough to raise $865. With my family’s own contribution, that makes $1,115 in a single week!

What this means is that the Second Harvest Food Bank can distribute 10,035 pounds of food to the needy.

That’s five tons of food.

Tons. of. food. Do you hear me???

I am so overwhelmed by your generosity that I decided to do not just one of the three tasks I said I’d do, but all three.

So I’m going to eat my first ever peanut butter and jelly sandwich, dress as a clown for a whole day of work, and get my ass on a horse for the first time in my life.

I plan to do these things after the new year and post video of everything on the blog.

I cannot tell you how much it means to me that you wanted to help and that, even in this tough economy, you sent in a mountain of donations to help those you will never meet.

I kind of hate Christmas. The commercialization of it has soured me. It makes me dread the season. I don’t have a lick of Christmas in my house.

But I have it in my heart, where it means the most, because of you.

Thank you for showing the power of giving and fellowship. My family and I are truly grateful that you gave so willingly, so much and so quickly.

I am blessed to know you.

For the last couple weeks since my father passed away, I’ve been visiting my mom in the mornings before work.

This arrangement works great for both of us, as we’re the early risers in the family.

I leave the house at 6AM, stop off at McDonald’s to grab us both coffee and we share some good chat time before I head to the office.

But here’s the problem.

The shopping center where the McD’s is located doesn’t have any lights on in the parking lot at 6AM when it’s still pitch black out.

This means every time I pull into the lot, it’s like an amusement park ride for me. I barely find the entrance, I have to dodge those cement divider thingies with plants in them, and I have to loop back in the dark to get to the McD’s drive-thru.

It’s an exhilarating joy ride where I hope I don’t run someone over or take out my muffler.

So I decided to write the faceless management company who runs the shopping center to ask if they could leave the lights on longer.

Ha! Fat chance, right?

Here’s what I wrote to them, along with what I expected they’d be thinking as they read my impossibly gutsy request (in boldface):

Greetings. I’m writing to inquire about the possibility of having
parking lot lights illuminated in the pre-dawn hours at the Easton, PA
25 St. Shopping Center that your firm rents out. We just take rent checks. We don’t care about lights.

Because one of your tenants, McDonald’s, has a 24/7 drive-thru, there is a fair amount of traffic going in and out of the parking lot without benefit of lighting greater than what McD’s casts off from its building. It’s not enough light. So go ask McDonald’s to turn on more lights.

It’s nearly impossible to find the shopping center entrance on the
McDonald’s side of the parking lot. Are you blind?

As well, there are two cement dividers one needs to drive around in order to access the McDonald’s drive-thru. Can’t you remember where they are every day? It’s not like they move.

From a safety standpoint, more light would be most beneficial. I was nearly hit this morning by a driver who could not see me, even though I had my headlights on. There are bad drivers everywhere. Not. Our. Fault.

Thank you for anything you can do to address my concern. Go to hell.

A mere seven minutes after I emailed them, here’s the response I got:

Kathleen, I will have our maintenance person change the timer for the lights. Please forward any maintenance issues to me.

Um. Wha? I’m speechless. I don’t know what to do here. This never happens.

They listened. They solved. They ROCK!

I’ll toast my next cup ‘o coffee to you, not-so-faceless corporation with a heart!

I just experienced both the best and worst clothes shopping trip in the span of two hours.

The best experience was jeans shopping. You read that right. It is possible to shop for jeans and not cry the whole time.

I was delighted to find that because of my weight loss, I can now move down another size in my jeans. I know exactly the style to buy that fits my freak body. Lee “Relaxed Straight Leg – At the Waist” medium length jeans are made for me.

Ladies, if you carry more weight on your bottom than on the top, try those. And don’t let the “straight leg” worry you. In reality, they’re more a boot cut, which is a better style for women shaped like us. You won’t get the dreaded peg leg look.

So I’m sifting through the wall of Lee jeans looking for my size and I can’t find them. Why? Because every other woman where I live is my size, apparently.

I take the style I want in a different size to the counter and ask the saleswoman to order my size in that exact cut, length and wash.

She enters the information in the register and determines that she can’t order the wash I want, dark stone, because it’s not available.

Poo.

She tells me she’ll try several different search methods to find them, but I’m sensing I’ll be out of luck the longer this process continues.

But then. Then! She says “Wait right here. I have one last place to check.” She returns a couple minutes later with my exact size, cut, and wash that I want, telling me there was a single pair in the back room.

Thank you, JCPenney’s Clarissa! You made my day.

High from my successful jeans shopping excursion, I went on the hunt for some summer tops. And then my world crumbled around me.

I hate shopping for tops because I dislike my arms and need something to accentuate my smallish waist, so I tend to stick with one style that is structured enough to lay well on the hip, give me shape and form and cover most of my beastly arms.

I found one such top after looking through hundreds. Hundreds, I tell you.

I try it on and love it immediately. But I notice it’s had its price tag ripped off. Why? Why, God, must you let me find the one top I love that will give me trouble at the register?

And trouble I got.

The saleswoman sees it’s missing its price tag and she looks at the manufacturer’s label, thinking she can look it up at the register.

She cannot.

Why?

Because, she says, “This isn’t ours.”

“What?”

“This isn’t our merchandise. We don’t sell this brand.”

“But I found it on a rack in the store.”

“But it’s not ours. Where did you get it?”

“You mean out of the hundreds of tops I looked at? Uh. How ‘bout over there in Kansas. I have no idea where I got it.”

She checks with another saleswoman, who agrees they cannot sell it to me because it’s not theirs.

BUT I FOUND IT IN YOUR STORE!!!

I am flabbergasted. It takes me months to find clothing that I like and that flatters me and I’m standing there holding the perfect garment and yet I cannot buy it.

I consider for a moment asking if the three of us can make up a reasonable price and just call it a day.

But they are not budging. They will not sell me the top.

I was so tired and disgusted by then, all I could ask was “How do I get out of here?”

They pointed the way out of the store that sells clothes you can’t buy and left in a huff.

Without the pretty turquoise, structured top with the lovely neck line.

Tell me, Boscovs salesladies. What are you going to do with that? Throw it out? Because you probably could have charged me a made-up price of eighty bucks, pocketed it between yourselves and I wouldn’t have said a word.

For now, I’ll have to keep wearing the crappy clothes I hate and think about the top that could have been.

Honestly. Have you ever heard of something so stupid?

At least I won the jeans war. And I didn’t cry once.

I’m so awesome, I can’t stand it.

Today I saw a home improvement show where the home owner changed a white dishwasher into a black one (without paint) to match the rest of the appliances in her kitchen. I never knew that was possible.

I set out to do the same, since we have a black stove, microwave, refrigerator, coffee maker and toaster.

Here’s the before:

Here’s how I did it:

Note: You may want to disconnect power first. I did not, but I was also careful not to touch any wires (You won’t have to for the procedure.)

1. Remove any screws that secure the access panel below the dishwasher door.

2. Release the access panel and remove the retainer strip (if you have one) that holds the door panel on.

3. Slip out the flexible white panel and peek behind it to see if the reverse side is black.

4. Mine was (!!!), so I pulled out the panel (it’ll bow), flip it over and slide it up back in place. Smooth out any puckers.

5. Slide the retainer strip back on to secure the panel.

6. Put the screws back in the access panel. This was the only hiccup I had. One of the screw holes was located in a tight space above and behind the access panel.

We don’t have one of those magnetic screwdrivers that holds screws in place until you get it in the hole.

What did I use to hold the screw on the end of the screwdriver?

Chewed gum.

Again. Awesome. Me.

Now not only does our dishwasher match our appliances, but our cat Shadow thinks the “new” dishwasher goes so much better with her fur.

Wouldn’t you agree?

Hey, peeps! Been a while since I posted. Sorry, bit of writer’s block. Hate that.

Until I get my act together, I thought I’d give you an update on my weight loss progress.

In the seven weeks since I started working out at a gym and eating better, I’ve lost 10.5 lbs (4.8 kg).

It’s not as much as I’d hoped for by now, but I’ll take it. Besides, all the trainers at the gym tell me that losing 1.0 – 1.5 lbs. a week is perfect and helps ensure I can keep it off for the long term.

I won’t bore you with all the different exercises I’ve been doing, but it’s far more than I ever did in the few years prior.

What I will tell you is that on the day I joined the gym, I took an elevator to the third floor, where the gym is located.

An elevator.

Now I dart up the stairs at 5:30AM every day, excited and eager. I tackle the machines and leave sweaty and triumphant.

My mother always says “Eat to live. Don’t live to eat.” I look differently at food now. It’s fuel, not the “go to” when I’m stressed, tired or bored. Is it difficult sometimes? Hell, yeah.

But then I ask myself do I want to ruin the morning’s workout for junk food? Hell, no.

At the store today, I eyed up some of the things I used to overindulge in. I left with two one-ounce chocolate Easter bunnies. And you know what? That really is enough. Didn’t need the cookies or the ice cream or the potato chips or the Nutella. Self-control tastes better than all of that.

I’m down a size in my jeans.

I’m up a notch in my happiness.

I’m doing it. And anyone who thinks they’re too busy, too old or too out of shape to even care anymore, please, please think again.

I’m proof that a person who spent more time eating than moving can silence the excuses and bring change to her life.

Thanks go to the friends, family and co-workers who tolerate all my excitement when I have even the smallest successes. Your encouragement, tips and feedback mean the world to me.

The trainers at the gym chat with me daily to make sure I’m on track and challenging myself enough. I’m lucky to have such an amazing support system.

OK, enough Dr. Phil. Hope to be back to a more frequent posting schedule soon. Have a great weekend!

I have a new love in my life. Don’t worry. There will always be bacon.

My new love and I met while I worked on a colleague’s computer. She noticed I was admiring something on her desk, which I used while I worked.

The attraction was instant and I fell hard. Be still, my heart.

When I finished my work, she gifted me with one.

So what is my new love?

A pencil.

But not just any pencil.

It’s a Pentel OE519 automatic grippy pencil with a twist eraser and deliciously bold 0.9 lead thickness. Oh, yeah, baby.

Hello? Are you still with me?

You fainted, right? I know! I did too!

And I almost had a meltdown yesterday when I couldn’t find it in my desk. I thought someone stole it. I wouldn’t blame them. I mean, it writes like a dream, very sturdy and forgiving — you can press really hard and not break the tip.

It’s smooth like a pen. A pen. But it’s not!

Don’t hate me because I have a groovy new pencil.

Hate me because I won’t let you use it.

Seriously. Try it and I’ll cut you.

Have a nice day.

So remember when I was interviewed about Windy on NPR’s All Things Considered program? Yeah, good times baby!

Well, what you don’t know is the day the Windy interview aired, I was interviewed by the Wall Street Journal for an entirely different story. I was pinching myself all over because I couldn’t believe my good fortune.

That morning I received an email from a marketing reporter, asking if she could interview me about the YouTube video I made about the very loud Sun Chips bag, a bag that’s so loud husbands can’t eat out of it near a sleeping baby or their wives will kill them dead.

The reporter found my video online and was putting together a story about the bags and all the people who can’t stand them.

She took some vitals from me, my name, town and blog information and then asked me some questions.

When did you realize the bag was so loud?

As soon as I got it home and opened it. My husband and I irritated each other for a week. You can hear it on different floors of the house.

How do you feel about Frito-Lay’s efforts to improve the environment by making 100% compostable bags?

Great, except I’ll never buy them again. I thought of writing the Frito-Lay people and telling them that they’re losing sales because the bag’s so loud.

[This turned out to be untrue, because I recently purchased a bag, but only to give to a colleague so he could hear for himself how loud they were. When I drove to work with it and went over some bumps, the bag made a noise. Just sitting there, it made a noise. God.]

Do you write companies about products you dislike?

Oh, yes. In fact, I just wrote the Glad Wrap people to tell them they need to help consumers find the end of a new roll. The thin plastic is clear and sometimes you can’t see or feel where the end of it is. They can fix the problem by tinting the end of the roll in some color or attaching a little pull tab.

I went on to say that companies should hire me as a product tester to let them know what will work and what won’t. I would make an excellent focus group participant and they should want me full-time because I would never shut up.

Do you hate a lot of things?

Oh, no! I’m in love with my Dyson vacuum cleaner. In a really unhealthy way. I told her that vacuuming was a joy now, and despite the high cost, it’s worth every penny and she should go buy one. Like right now.

We touched on a couple other things and then the interview was over. She thanked me for my time and said the article would appear soon, but it’s been six weeks and still no story. I think I scared her.

What a loss. Just think of all the people who won’t get the chance to leave comments on the WSJ site, saying how certifiably mental I am.

So that leaves just you guys to tell me so on the blog. But I’m a lovable certifiable, right?

Listen to me now and listen to me good.

No one — I mean NO ONE — should be found singing and dancing while vacuuming. But that was me while using my eagerly-awaited Dyson D25 All Floors vacu-suck for the first time.

It arrived with great fanfare on Thursday.

Easy to assemble, easier to use.

It picked up everything that wasn’t nailed down.

Cat hair, my hair, kitty litter, hairballs from three cats, crumbs, fuzzies and apparently all the dirt my carpets have held prisoner since 1997.

I’ve finished vacuuming my house. Want me to come over and do yours?

Behold, my beloved Dyson in action:

Remember when your TV had twelve channels, 2-13, and that was enough on the dial?

Yeah.

And then we thought it was all cool and progressive to have channels that went up to a hundred or so?

Uh-hmmm.

My cable service just sent some hocus pocus through our receiver and suddenly my favorite channel is 1,129.

Discuss.

The effects of a grueling work week washed away in an instant following this exchange with my husband as I loaded the dishwasher tonight.

I called out to him in another room:

Are there any dishes out there?

No. Just you, Kathy.

He may need his eyes checked, but if he sees a dish then so be it. God bless that man.

What’s on Kathy’s mind today?

To my best good friend, Tracey, who threw her back out lifting an object she could have thrown over her head twenty years ago, I’m sorry for your injury, but you’re old now. Welcome to the club.

To the guy who called me today and left his phone number at lightning speed, I didn’t get it. I had to listen to your message three times because you sounded like you had a mouth full of marbles. If you’re leaving me your number, it’s because you know I don’t have it. Slow the hell down.

To my colleague, Heather. Thank you for making a pot of coffee every day before I come into the office. You don’t even drink coffee. You’re good people.

To my cat, Lucky, who insists on burrowing under a blanket on the couch for whatever reason. I do not know you are there. Learn how to make a warning noise or you shall require a visit to the vet to get unflattened. And I’m not so sure they have a procedure for that.

To my other cat, Stinky, who just walked across my laptop keyboard, you know that screws me up, right?

To daylight savings time, you suck. I feel like changing into my pajamas before I even leave work.

To whoever thought of putting bread in a thin bag and then thought to put it in another bag, that’s just stupid. Trust us. It goes stale as fast in two bags as it does in one. One is less annoying.

To that guy who darted unsafely in and out of my lane this morning, it gave me great pleasure to time my speed such that you never got back into the lane and then missed the exit you wanted so bad. Me, 1. Jerks, 0.

And there you have it. Anything on your mind today? The more random, the better.

WARNING: This post is disgusting. Come back later if you are repulsed by vomiting. I’m sure those in the medical profession (or the parents among you) have seen it all, so you’re probably safe.

Yesterday I did something I’ve never done before. I threw up from smelling garbage. Yeah, fun.

I took a full kitchen trash bag to the garage and when I lifted the lid to the big can, I gagged. I thought “Oh, it’s just a dry heave. No problem.”

Then the beast grabbed me by the throat and screamed “There’s steaming cat poo in this here can! Run! Run!”

I had to cover my mouth as I ran to the kitchen sink, where I let loose. Thrice. My husband thought maybe it was one of the cats coughing up a hair ball. No, dear, that was me.

I’m guessing we had a couple bags of garbage stewing in our hundred degree garage for a few days and it hadn’t escaped until just then.

All I can say is God bless the trash haulers of the world. Let us all thank them for the foul and disgusting job they do. Imagine if no one took our garbage away and it was left to rot in the baking sun. Seriously, think about it.

In recognition of the guys who pick up my trash, I have a little prayer for you.

Dear God,

Please bless and keep the trash haulers.

They do work no sane person would do.

They lug and throw and smell the funk

Whether it’s food or diapers with poo.

They ride on the truck in the wake of the smell.

They can’t get away for a minute.

If not for them taking the crap that I lay

We’d be up to our eye sockets in it.

Amen

You’re all aware of my love affair with bacon, so it stands to reason that I eat my fair share of BLT sandwiches.

There are two places I get my fix. Subway and Wawa. Today we shall have a smackdown between the two sandwich giants.

There is one clear winner and it all boils down to the ordering process because the faster and easier I can get my grubby little hands on my BLT, the happier Kathy is and the less punishment the general public has to suffer for me being hungry and annoyed.

How to order at Subway:

Enter establishment and queue up to the start of the assembly line. Tell the sandwich prepper what sandwich you want, on what bread and with what condiments.

The prepper grabs your selected bread and EVEN THOUGH YOU JUST SAID WHAT YOU WANTED, proceeds to ask you at each condiment container what you want on the sandwich.

What kills me is the part where, even though I just said I want a BLT, the prepper asks me if I want LETTUCE and TOMATO on my Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato sandwich. It makes me want to cry. They do this every single time, without fail.

Yes, I would like lettuce and tomato on my Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato sandwich and if you ask me if I want bacon on that, I’ll have to give up on you and leave without my sandwich and that’s not good for the general public, remember?

Pickles? No. Cheese? No. Onions? No. Peppers? No. Olives? What? No! GROSS.

After finally making it to the end of the condiment station, my sandwich is ready and I wish I had gone to Wawa. Although Subway has the best bread, Wawa has the ordering process down to a science.

How to order at Wawa:

Enter establishment and walk up to a gloriously easy-to-use kiosk that beckons me to buy any number of happy-looking hoagies, sandwiches, wraps and subs.

I touch the screen to begin.

Welcome!

Oh, why thank you!

What kind of sandwich would you like?

I shall have a BLT.

On what kind of roll?

Hoagie, please.

Would you like that toasted?

Oh, yes, toast me, baby.

What size do you want? Shorti? 6″? 10″? Giant?

Let’s say 6″. By the way, I love you, pleasant-sounding beeping machine.

What condiments would you like on that? My selections are never-ending. Among them is mayonnaise and not just one button for mayonnaise.

There is a special button called “Extra Mayo” that should have a halo around it because it is a button made in heaven and blessed by God.

Why, yes. Yes, I would like extra mayo.

Almost finished. More bacon ($1.09 extra)?

Oh, sweet Jesus. Could it be? A button you press to get more bacon? What happens if I press it twice? Three times? Do I get a whole pig? Bring on the more!

Beep-boop-beep-boop-beep. My order is finished and out pops a receipt. And by the time I’ve paid for my delicious, bacon-packed BLT swimming in mayonnaise, the server hands it to me and I’m on my way.

The only possible improvement that Wawa could make to this process is if they incorporate the sandwich-ordering technology into the gas pumps outside. Yes, Wawa is also a gas station. Don’t knock it til you try it.

Everyone knows I’m an awesome product tester and so it makes sense that I know what I’m talking about in the sandwich-ordering, gas-pumping, time-saving department. What do you say, Wawa? Care to make a great system even better?

Also, could you install a debit card swiper so I can pay for my sandwich right at the deli to avoid annoying children standing at the register, screaming at their mothers that they want Bazooka bubble gum for dinner? Yeah, that’d be swell.

I’d like a BLT with a side of humor blog.

Today’s post covers a series of topics that don’t qualify for posts of their own. Kind of a mish-mash of things that don’t have anywhere else to go. You know, like stuff you throw in a junk drawer. Fitting, eh?

HUMOR-BLOGS.COM ROCKS

I’ve been a member of Humor-Blogs.com since I started this blog and have been ranked in the Top 20 blogs (out of 940 blogs) for the last six months or so. If you’re a humor blogger, I highly recommend joining up. Not only will you see increased traffic, you’ll find other great humor blogs to get to know and love.

I’d like to publicly thank Diesel, who started the Humor-Blogs site, for giving me a place to showcase The Junk Drawer. I don’t know where I’d be without it.

And for a bit of shameless self-promotion, you may not know that clicking the green Humor-Blogs button in my sidebar earns me referral credits that keep me in the Top 20.

If you want to check out other humor sites, click through to Humor-Blogs that way, and you’ll be doing your part to help me achieve fame and fortune. Well, not the fortune part. I haven’t quite figured that out yet.

WHAT’S THIS ENTRECARD THING?

You might have noticed the “Today’s Featured Blog” widget in my sidebar. These sites come from Entrecard, a service that gives bloggers a way to promote themselves by “dropping” their cards on sites as they browse other blogs.

You earn credits for dropping your card and having cards dropped on yours, as well as through other bloggers advertising on your site. Then you use your own credits to buy spots on other blogs.

In the month since I joined, I’ve seen a twofold increase in my daily visitors. Some people pooh-pooh Entrecard because it takes time to drop cards while visiting other sites. But I’ve found it to be a worthwhile effort so far. My stats program tells me that about 10% of droppers stay longer than five minutes on my site, and some also subscribe to my feed.

If you use Entrecard, try not to “drop and run.” Spend time on the blogs you visit, and most importantly, comment on the blogs you really like. In my opinion, commenting on other people’s blogs is the best way to gain traffic in the long run. If you use Entrecard, drop a comment in the drawer and share your experience with it.

YES, THE BAG IS STILL IN THE TREE

Just a quick update: The plastic bag is still stuck in the tree outside my building at work. You may have noticed the Plastic Bag Tracker displayed in my sidebar, updated daily. There it will sit until the bag falls out of the tree, or Jeff comes to take it out his damn self (I know it’s driving him insane that it’s still there).

I’LL HATE MYSELF IN THE MORNING

It kills me to beg, but I’m doing it anyway. I’m currently running a Top Spots widget in my sidebar, where bloggers can buy a spot in the list for $3 to showcase a link to their sites. Consider it my tip jar.

Right now, the list is full, but I would appreciate if a few more bloggers would buy a spot — and here’s the begging part — so that I can reach the payment threshold. Because Top Spots won’t pay out until $25 is reached, and I’m stuck at the $23 mark, I haven’t seen one red cent from running the widget.

To encourage new Top Spotters, I’ll drop the cost down to $2. A link to your site will appear on the list for one month, after which I’ll remove the widget and collect my 25 bucks. Thanks to those who’ve bought a spot and to those who will consider buying one now. I’m not sure how much traffic the people currently in the list have seen, but I hope it’s been enough to consider your $3 investment worthwhile!

That’s it for today’s mish-mash post. Have a great weekend everybody!

There are two numbers I’m obsessed with: One, my weight, which never makes me happy. And, two, the amount of readers who’ve subscribed to my blog’s feed. Smiles all around. I’ve finally cracked the 100 mark!

Actually, I have three separate feed counts that total almost 150, but I don’t count the older feeds because I’m not sure there are active readers behind those numbers. I’m only eying the current feed, which sits nicely at 103.

I want to take a moment to thank everyone who subscribes to the Junk Drawer, or who comes in from a bookmark. Thanks also go to those who added me to their blogrolls. I appreciate the links that lead people here.

I’ve said on more than one occasion that it’s really my readers who make my blog what it is today. Yes, I write this thing, but something amazing happens when I click the Publish button. A party breaks out in the comments section.

People have asked me how I achieve such a high number of comments each post. Honestly, I don’t know the formula, but I know dumb luck is a big part of it. Somehow I’ve attracted the right mix of people who leave the funniest comments after every visit.

During a birthday party last weekend, my family was sitting around talking about things that go on in The Drawer. We remembered some funny stuff left in the comments and someone said “Huh? What are you talking about?” and another said “Oh my God! You’re not reading the comments? You have to read the comments! It’s a goldmine in there!”

Bottom line, if you’re reading The Junk Drawer, hugs and kisses. If you’re not reading the comments, you must change your ways because you’re missing out on a key element of the blog. You might chuckle at something I’ve written, but you’re going to snort something out your nose if you dig further and read what people dropped in the drawer.

Thanks again, everyone! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Blogging has been some of the most fun I’ve had in my life, and you’re responsible for that. Toast yourselves and have a great weekend!