Dry-clean This

hqdefault-2In preparation for one of the 40 weddings I am invited to this year (always the bridesmaid never the bride…er…right?) I entered a dry-cleaner with some garments I hoped still fit. They’ve been shrinking a lot of things, lately, even stuff I never brought in. I realized, as I handed over two shirts that apparently take five days to clean, that this place hasn’t changed in thirty years. Dry-cleaners evolve like granite. I have more computing power in my pocket than they have in their whole store and yet we still pay them $4 a shirt? For what? Continue reading

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Sorry for the Ads

I hate the ads at the top of this website. Huh? Are you bashing the advertisements on yourconfused_old_lady very own site? Yes, with a passion. I agreed to some sort of baloney that I wouldn’t discredit the ads and blah blah blah, but I can’t take it anymore. If they decide I am no longer worthy of the $.0029 per view they pay me, then I guess I’ll have to move to Vietnam and get a job sewing buttons onto underwear for $.15 an hour (a huge raise). I don’t mind the one at the bottom of the page, right now it’s an ad for chips, but the click-bait junk at the top is smelly garbage. Continue reading

Reggae No Sober

Steel PulseDrunkenly, I love to try and relate to cab drivers. Not in some prick way like trying to make the “plebe” driver feel loved. No, it’s my own anxiety that makes me do it. I can’t stand being in the car with someone else in silence. If the dude can’t speak English, then I can justify the silence to myself, but other than that I have to talk. Continue reading

Someone Stole My Change

brokeI’ve been robbed. Recently, I have had some work done on my house while I was out of town. They stole $130 worth of nickels, dimes and quarters off of my desk. That number is an estimate because, while most of the change was meticulously rolled by hand, they also picked all the quarters and dimes out of my change dish. Now, I know you are asking yourself what kind of a dumb ass leaves cash out in the open when they are out of town knowing strangers will be in their house? This one. In my defense they were under a lot of papers so I didn’t think of hiding them before I left. What makes it worse is that I rolled them myself to avoid the fee at the Coinstar kiosk. So now I’m cheap and screwed. Continue reading

“Covered” Complaint Letter

I’d like to crawl out of the “gutter” a minute and publish a lovely email I received today from an unhappy customer of Covered in Beer. I put my “knitting” piece on Ravelry.com, which is a forum for people who knit, just to see what they thought about it and to hopefully give them a laugh. Satire never hurt anyone too badly, but apparently it did this woman. I obviously added the graphics and links to enhance it a bit. I edited it by breaking up a few long paragraphs, but I didn’t add or remove any words. I can’t wait to hear if you agree with my new friend Beth and her annoying email address.

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Killing Blue Cheese

Yuck-Face-Little-Boy-ImageBlue cheese is slopped on everything. It’s in your salad, it’s on your wings, it’s smoldering in some rich lady’s fridge waiting to be inhaled at the next art council fundraiser. People would rather hear that you hate puppies before blue cheese. I tell people I’m allergic to it, that way they won’t be tempted to try and slip it past me for fear of me swelling up like a blowfish. I guess I’m not cultured enough to like it, but I’d rather suck on loose change than a hunk of Roquefort. Blue cheese has more reach than the FBI and it’s time for it to die. Continue reading

Devils and Details: America’s Knitting Underbelly

A growing obsession overlooked by the mainstream is plaguing suburbia at an cat-wearing-sweater--large-msg-130592658314alarming rate: knitting. I guess it begins harmlessly enough, darning a sock when nobody’s there like Eleanor Rigby. But then it grows into a debilitating illness. Take for instance Deloris Clark. She’s 52 and her cats have a bigger wardrobe than most American children. Or take Norris Berkowitz who is allergic to wool but can’t stop knitting. His hands and face swell up every day beyond the point of recognition. These are just a few of the stories I uncovered as I delved deeper into the corrosive world that is knitting. It’s not just for your Granny anymore.

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