Dolls to Dollars

I decided it was time. I held on as long as I could, but it was finally time to sell my dolls.

My Britney Spears dolls...my Wizard of Oz Barbies...my Christina Aguilera...my Charlie's Angels which looked like Drew Barrymore, Cameron Diaz and Lucy Liu...

I'll give you a second to laugh.

Ok, time's up.

So, I drug them out of hibernation, dusted them off, and scanned them for sale on E-Bay. Are you still laughing? Well laugh at this, I made $350 sucka!! All those years of Becky telling me to get rid of them, or "open them up and let the nieces play with them..." Well, who's laughing now?

When the bidding ended, I noticed something that made me wince. Several of the auction bidders where from foreign countries. A few from Australia, a few Canadas, Netherlands, California...

Well, in order to ship abroad, you have to delicately break it to these people that shipping is gonna cost them an arm...and insurance is gonna cost at least a few toes. Most take it well, because they know how the game is played. They buy from half way across the globe, they pay the price. Others, are not so friendly.

One of the Britney dolls was going to the Netherlands. I check the postage, $15.50. With insurance, $19 something...so I tell the fella shipping = $20. He e-mails this response:

I don't want shipping by air, because there's a cheaper way. Why don't you use that one? I can't understand that. Besides I have a box here, only 11 dollars for shipping, so I don't believe your answer.

I don't believe your answer? Yo, buddy, I am looking at the flippin' scale, and it says $20. So, before I had a chance to calm down, I wrote him back and told him he had 3 options:

1. Send me $20, and he'll get the package in one piece, insured.
2. Send me less than $20, and get the doll in a paper envelope, quite possibly in more than one piece, and tough titties on the insurance.
3. Send me nothing, and get a negative feedback telling the world that you are a jack ass for not asking me BEFORE the auction was over how much shipping was.

He e-mailed me back and said $20 was fine. The moral of this story, kids, is stick to your guns, and don't take no crap from an old man in the Netherlands who is buying a Britney Spears doll!!

Rat-a-"tat"-"tat"

My Tat: Location - Right Calf
(Shamrock with the colors of the Irish flag)

Before you ask...YES, IT HURT!!!



Becky's Tat: Location - Right Wrist
(It's says "peace" ... so the book said!!)

Crashing Wedding Crasher's

I like Vince Vaughn. Not so keen on Owen Wilson, but Vince Vaughn's my boy. The dude's hilarious. So, naturally, I wanted to view his new movie, "Wedding Crashers".

I'm not going to give you a scene by scene re-enactment of the movie, but I do warn you: If you haven't seen the movie, and plan on it, (which I really think you should, it's really quite funny) I would stop reading now.

Ah, who are we kidding? I know you people reading this can't get enough of my posts, so you're going to read it regardless of my idle threats. Bless your hearts!!

The premise of this movie is, duh, Wilson and Vaughn crash weddings to pick up unsuspecting females who, naturally, succumb to their willy charm. Ok, we all get this. After the "season" begins for the two (the wedding crashing season, that is) they decide to pull off the "Big One"...

...The Senator's daughter's wedding. (Or maybe he's a congressman...doesn't matter, it's the big time.) Lots of important people, lots of hot women. Here's my problem:

In the "wedding" scene, the guests are sitting in the church, awaiting the bride or some-such thing. A couple of guests turn to Wilson and Vaughn and ask them how they are related to the bride.

"We're Uncle Ned's kids." (Or Uncle Ted, or...quit busting my chops here, so I can't remember the exact names, I'm not Rain Man!!) The guests shrug and the movie continues. Later, the duo introduce themselves to the bride's sisters (the objects of Wilson and Vaughn's affection), also as "Uncle Ned's kids."

The sister combo eventually hook up with Ned's kids for some "under the cover fun." But wait...if these two are Uncle Ned's kids, doesn't that make the two sisters...

THEIR COUSINS?!?

Why would:

1. These experienced "Professional" wedding crashers use the alias of a long removed Uncle's kids when trying to pick up the bride's sisters?

2. Why would the sisters go for their cousins?

3. Why would the Senator allow such a thing? I can't imagine it's good for his re-election!!

4. Why the hell is Vince Vaughn so funny?

(Sorry about that last one...)

Maybe in "high society," hob-knobbing with your cousins is acceptable. If you are among the ranks of Kings, you can probably even boff your sister. It's all in the societal hierarchy. Sometimes it's better, morally, to be one of the working class stiffs!!

(Stiffs...no pun intended)

Oh, Baby!!

My good friend from the east (Ohio, that is) just had a baby boy yesterday.

Congrats, Jean, Larry, and baby Noah!!

Born: August 18, 2005
Time: 10:12 am
Weight: 8 lbs 10 oz.
Lenght: 20 1/2 inches
Hair: Full (I'm so jealous!!)
Eyes: Baby Blue

(everybody leave a comment for the proud parents below!!)

In Search Of George

I happened upon the fact today that TV Guide has released a 4 issue Collector's Series set featuring the Beatles. Since it has been 40 years since their historic Shea Stadium concert (August 15, 1965), TV Guide decided to run 4 issues, one cover featuring John Lennon, one with Paul McCartney, one with Ringo Starr, and one with George Harrison.

Of course, me being a Beatles freak, I had to have them.

So, I sacrificed my lunch hour to go to Target to pick up the issues. One John, one Paul, one Ringo and ... "where's George?" I searched through the stack of Guides at every register, but there was no George to be found. Hesitantly, I threw the 3 mags on the register, paid for them, and left.

I crossed the street to Wal-Greens to find the missing mag, to no avail. So, I went over to Osco drug...nope.

Marsh...no.
Kroger...no.
CVS...no.

I was running out of options. I could go to the mall, and hit K-Mart, and if they didn't have it, my only choice was the dreaded Wal-Mart. I haven't been into the Columbus Wal Mart for a long time...once since the new Target opened it's doors a few years back. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

In desperation, I entered K-Mart. I made a quick flip through the Guides, and came up empty handed. I was devastated. Ugh...Wal Mart...NNNNNOOOOOO!! As I was making my way back through the mall, I crossed paths with Walden Books. "They have magazines," I thought to myself, so I gave it a try.

After looking at all they had to offer on their racks, I turned to leave, defeated. But as I crossed the counter, a display caught my eye. Various magazines...and one of them was TV Guide. I lunged for the stack, flipping through the copies of John and Paul with the fury of a madman.

And there it was.

GEORGE!!

I slapped the Harrison issue on the counter, and with my head high and my wallet out, the cashier swiped the bar code. Nothing.

She made a second swipe...

and a third...

and a fourth...

George didn't want to be sold!! I swooped up the copy with John's face on it and handed it to her. "Maybe this one will ring up," I said. The cashier smiled, and swiped John. SUCCESS!! I handed her the money, and she handed me change. Then she picked up the John Lennon Guide and put it in a sack and slid it to me.

"Ma'am...I really want THAT issue," I said as I pointed towards George.

"They're all the same, right?" she questioned.

I grabbed a copy of the Guiness Book of World Records and began beating her. "No, they aren't the same!!" I cried.

Ok, I didn't do that. I told her I needed the George Harrison cover, and she gave me a look like I was crazy, but she understood. She slid John out and put George in it's place. I would have hated to see what would have happened if a cashier at Wal Mart would have tried to pull that on me!!

Casting Call

Did any of you catch the Teen Choice Awards last night on Fox? Ok, I didn't actually watch the show, but I did happen to be on Fox when it came on. The show started with Gwen Stefani singing "Hollaback Girl."


Maybe it's just me, but I was a bit uncomfortable watching a half naked Gwen and her "Gichy-Gichy-Ya-Ya-Da-Da" girls (you know what I'm talking about) sing a song to TEENS which contain the following lyrics:

Uh huh, this my shit
All the girls stomp your feet like this

A few times I've been around that track
So it's not just gonna happen like that
Cause I ain't no hollaback girl
I ain't no hollaback girl

Oooh, this my Shit , this my Shit

I heard that you were talking shit
And you didn't think that I would hear it
People hear you talking like that, getting everybody fired up

So I'm ready to attack, gonna lead the pack
Gonna get a touchdown, gonna take you out
That's right, put your pom-poms down, getting everybody fired up

A few times I've been around that track
So it's not just gonna happen like that
Cause I ain't no hollaback girl
I ain't no hollaback girl

Oooh, this my Shit , this my Shit

So that's right dude, meet me at the bleachers
No principals, no student-teachers
Both of us want to be the winner, but there can only be one
So I'm gonna fight, gonna give it my all
Gonna make you fall, gonna sock it to you
That's right, I'm the last one standing, another one bites the dust
A few times I've been around that track

So it's not just gonna happen like that
Cause I ain't no hollaback girl
I ain't no hollaback girl

Oooh, this my Shit , this my Shit

Let me hear you say, this shit is bananas
B-A-N-A-N-A-S
this shit is bananas
B-A-N-A-N-A-S
Again, this shit is bananas
B-A-N-A-N-A-S
This shit is bananas
B-A-N-A-N-A-S

Of course the "shit" was replaced by "shhh" and "uhh", but I think we get the idea. After she was done singing, (uh, yeah, I was still watching...I said it was uncomfortable for the TEENS, not for me!!) the presenters came out.

Hillary Duff...ok, good choice. And...

ROB SCHNEIDER?!?

What are we trying to teach our kids here? We love slutty dressing women and old, pervert Giggalo's!!

I thought it was bad casting...but what do I know?

Prove it All Night

I'm not a big "gamer." I don't spend hours trying to conquer Halo, nor am I ever first in line for the newest X-Box creation. But I do like the occasional marathon of play. Like my NBA Ballers marathon while I was on vacation...

A couple times a year, I hook up with my friends Hank and Sue (frequent blog contributors, I may add) and we burn the X-Box up...stopping only for pizza, restroom breaks, and daylight. Even though I was physically exhausted from my records excursion, I decided I couldn't pass up the opportunity to get my game on.

Becky and I arrived at around 4:30, and we all fired up the Box. Hank and I started with some Driv3r, but I sucked at that, so I suggested we switch games. Being more of a Nintendo kinda guy (I can tear up Marios Brothers, recognize!!), I wanted to play something that required less moving around, less 3D graphics.

We decided on Big Mother Truckers.

We had a grand time with that for a few hours, stopping for some pizza, and I must admit, I had to turn the game off for an hour while Big Brother came on (Sorry Hank and Sue!!) We played awhile longer on BMT, and decided to break out the steering wheels and compete in a few Nascar races.

Let me take this opportunity to say I suck at using the steering wheel. Ok, I would have sucked with the controller, too...maybe I just suck. Anyway, Hank usually did well, and Becky was the surprising underdog...but Sue...well, she liked to crash...usually into me!!

I didn't mind, because I decided we would crash into each other, and then I would have an excuse for losing as bad as I did. I actually think Sue was decent at the game...until she crashed into me the first time, and then I had to retaliate!! Over and over and over...

I finally pulled the plug at about 1:30, I was just too spent to continue. It was a far cry from the 6, 7, 8 am finishes Hank and I pulled off in the past, but it was still a nice relaxed ... well, as relaxed as Hank could be ... evening!!

(No shirts were torn off during the evening, no sunglasses were broken, and no animals...except whatever animal pepperoni is made from... where harmed).

A Mountain of Records: My Day in the Sweat Box

If you know me at all, you know that I am a bit loose in the wallet sometimes. A great deal will come along, and instinctively (NOT IMPULSIVELY) I have to buy it or else pass on what could be the deal of the century.

Wednesday, I made one such instinctive purchase.

Lounging around work Wednesday, I decided to pop over to Ebay and look at some records...my favorite past-time. I did a search for records within 50 miles of my zip code, and saw there was a lot of records being sold in North Vernon.

It advertised "Approximately 1,000" LP's (that's the 12 inch, 33 1/3 rpm records, for those of you not in the know) all for $300. In looking at the picture with the posting, I counted roughly 25 boxes. 50 records per box...yeah, that's around 1,000. I emailed right away and asked where in North Vernon he lived, and if he would allow me to come have a "sneak peek" at the lot. He agreed.

I went straight from work with the work van, in case he decided he wanted to part with the records right away. When I arrived, I was lead outside, where the owner opened the right half of a two-car garage. Inside I saw a stack of boxes, just like the picture on the ebay listing. In front of the boxes was a rack that contained a bunch of loose records. I started thumbing through, and after about 5 minutes, I had seen enough good stuff to know I wanted to take the plunge.

"What'd ya think? Name me a price, and I'll close the auction right now." the owner said as I removed my hat and scratched my head. I knew at this point, I was going to be able to get these for whatever I wanted...why would he end the auction early, if he wasn't hoping for a quick sale?

"Well, Jim, I'll tell you what..." I opened my wallet, and counted out some $20's...making sure to count and re-count, to build the tension.

"I have $160 in my wallet and I'll give that to you right now for the whole lot." Jim hoped onto the tailgate of his truck and countered.

"How about $200?"

I had him. I would have paid the $300, but now I got a deal. I agreed I would Paypal the rest of the money to him when I got home, if he would go ahead and let me load the records up now.

He looked puzzled...not because I asked to load up without paying in full, but rather because he was adamant that I wouldn't be able to load them in one trip. 25 boxes in an empty van? Yeah, that'll fit, i'm sure of it.

Then, he hopped from the tailgate and opened the left half of the garage. There, behind door number 2 was the mother load. A seven foot high mountain of boxes spanned five rows wide, and three rows deep.

What have I gotten myself into? Where will I put all these records? What the hell am I thinking?

I loaded up the first 25 boxes, and had barely made a dent. Did I mention that Jim had a water cast on BOTH feet, making it impossible for him to help me load? Well, he did. So, I called for some back-up, as I knew this would take several trips.

My back-up wasn't home, so I sucked it up and called Becky, whom I knew would KILL me for buying these. Surprisingly, she was very cool with it. I promised to put them in the shed, and get them out ASAP. She helped me unload the first pile into the shed, and followed me out for round 2 in the Cruiser.

The look on her face when Jim opened up the garage was priceless. And it made me feel about 2 foot tall. I knew it was a look of "what the hell?." We loaded the van and the Cruiser down and headed home for the night. It was about 9 pm when we got home, and Shannon came over to help unload. I settled in for a few hours of searching.

The Plan

The plan was simple. Search for records I wanted to keep for a few hours, and the next day, I would take the morning off work, return for the rest of the records, and take Friday off to look through the rest. I had to get the records I wanted out of the hot shed, to prevent warping or total wrecking of the albums with the humidity and such.

Wednesday night went as planned. I looked through about 25 boxes, and pulled the records I wanted. Thursday morning, I returned to the scene...twice...to pick up the remaining stash. On the way back from the final load, I counted the records in a box that sat next to me.

90 records. I then counted 80 per milk carton, and roughly 75 in a smaller set of boxes. Then, I started to count the actual boxes. I roughly estimate there weren't 1,000 records in this lot...but rather between 7,500 and 10,000!!

Once I got all the records in the shed, I made a startling discovery. I had NO ROOM to move in there. I was going to have to figure out a new way to tackle the project. Friday morning, I set to work, having decided to work a three box system.

Box 1: Records I wanted to keep.
Box 2: Records I didn't want to keep that were in good shape.
Box 3: Records that were trash.

Box 1 records, once full, would go to the house. Box 2 would go into the van. Box 3 would go to the trash.

It was so hot in the shed. 90's outside, probably close to 100 inside. Sweat dripped from the bill of my hat. A sweat soaked towel layed close. Beside me, the remains of a 12 pack of Coke...I swear I drank 10 sodas and several glasses of water Friday...but I couldn't get enough. In the end, I sweat 8 pounds off. But don't worry, most of them found there way back!!

At 9:30 am, I knew I had to make a very difficult decision. The van was nearly full and I had to decide between option A...take them to a storage unit, pay the big monthly fee, and hope to sell them. Or option B...Goodwill. It was the only options, as I couldn't put them all in the house, and the shed would only serve as temporary housing.

I couldn't decide, so I opened a few more boxes. The van was getting full. Then, my answer came for me. I opened a box that showered me with a gold rush of big artists...Beatles, The Who, Zepplin, Stones...in all, if I were to buy all these records on ebay, it would cost me over $700. I found a stash of Beatles 45's with there picture sleeves, one of which was on ebay that very moment for $150!!

I felt so blessed, that I decided, on the spot, that Goodwill deserved my overflow. I hopped in the van, and drove a load over. Poor Goodwill guy...we unloaded that van for 20 minutes, filling a skid, a cart, and leaving the rest on the ground. Another donator pulled up and went straight to work helping unload, what a nice guy!! I returned the favor and helped him with his load when mine was finished. He only had clothes, though, so it wasn't a very fair trade.

The receipt said 60 boxes, but I bet there were only about 35-40. When we pushed the cart inside, the lady in the donation center said: "Good, we needed some records." The kid looked at her and said, "We haven't even scratched the surface yet!"

I returned home and loaded the van up a second time with non-keep albums, and I finished my last box around 5:30 pm. Near the end, I pulled a red vinyl Beatles White Album (Japanese pressing) which is a BIG dollar piece in it's own right. In total, I think I kept 2-3,000 records for myself, of which I will try to pare down (due to doubles, condition, and the fact that I grabbed some stuff I probably don't really want.)

I took van load #2 to Goodwill...another 40+ boxes. Two skids worth this time. I bet they didn't want THAT many records!! But they unloaded with no complaints, thanked me, and I was on my way. The basement is full of boxes, but it's fairly organized still. I worked on getting everything together yesterday, and I hope to make up a lot for ebay, to recoup my investment.

Anyone want to build me a storage unit for these records?

Crying, Waiting, Hoping

It should be here today. Today or tomorrow. Today, tomorrow, or Friday.

It better be here by Friday.

What is it that I so anxiously await? Finally, after months of unanswered e-mails, and impatiently waiting, my jukebox is coming home from the repair shop. Well, I didn't send the entire jukebox off for repair, just the amp, but by golly it should be in my hands this week.

I sent it to a guy in Chicago to rebuild, hoping this would finally put an end to my jukebox troubles. The problem is, I sent it to him in FEBRUARY!! Yes, I have been sitting, waiting, hoping for six dog-gone months for this guy to rebuild my sloppy amp. Each month I would e-mail him...

"Any news?"..."How's the repair going?"..."Hello?"

Every other month he would respond.

"Waiting for a part,"..."Testing it,"..."What'd you want done again?"

It was a viscious cycle.

Hopefully, all will be well. He said if it didn't fix the problem, he would fix my pre-amp for free. Maybe I'll have that back before Christmas.

I won't hold my breath.

Pain Don't Hurt

It took me almost a month to complete the cycle, but I did it.

It started as a far-fetched idea that my brother and Becky dreamed up. I never would have dreamed I would actually agree to it, let alone follow through. But I am a man of my word (most of the time), and I knew I couldn't let them down in our moment of BONDING.

I got the ink.

I know all you non-believers out there didn't believe me for a second when I said I was going to get a tattoo, but I was determined to finish what I had started. I said I was going to do it, and by golly I did it.

I woke up Saturday morning with the urge to go and get the "tat." We drove to Mystic Ink in Seymour (which I highly recommend...very clean, and comfortable) and after about a 10 minute wait, I was up.

I described a "4 inch by 4 inch" shamrock design that I wanted on my right calf. But the tattoo artist had other plans.

"No, man, you want that much bigger...you have a big calf, and you want it to fit the whole thing."

"Um...ok," I said.

He proceeded to blow up my design to about a 6 inch by 6 inch monster tattoo. Hey, he's the artist, I guess he knows what he's talking about. After a few minutes of prep, I entered the tattoo room.

"How many tattoos do you have?" he asked as I tried to figure out how I was going to lay across the tattoo chair.

"This is my first," I said. The tattoo man looked over to his protege, a young kid who was looking from behind a half door, and said, "Ever seen a grown man cry?"

I finally was able to wrangle myself onto the chair, after having almost knocking it over once, and having kicked the tattoo guy two or three times. I layed face first in the chair and closed my eyes as the needle began to purr.

The outline of the shamrock wasn't very painful. It was the color that hurt like the dickens.

I decided to put the colors of Ireland's flag in the shamrock, green on the left (a symbol of the Catholic people), Orange on the right (A symbol of the Protestant people), and white in the middle (a symbol of peace between the two.)

When the color began, it felt as if the needle were plunged into my calf, and a circular "joystick" motion was being used to drive that sucker deep into my leg. Waves of pain radiated throughout my body, but after about 90 seconds or so, my calf went numb, and the pain wasn't intense at all.

After what seemed like an hour, but which was only about 5-7 minutes, he stopped. I thought the whole thing was over. Then Becky looked down and reported:

"Ok, he's about finished with the green..." My mouth dropped almost as much as my spirit. Only one color finished?

Damn...

Double Damn...

He started in on the orange with the same joystick motion. Argh...the pain!! Then, the 90 second window of pain closed, and he was able to complete the orange with relatively no pain. The white was the easiest, because the numbness of the other two colors pretty well numbed the middle. I was home free.

In total, it took about 40 minutes to complete. He applied some stuff, and wrapped my leg in saran wrap. Blood trickled from the wrap, and collected on my sock. I felt like Curt Schilling in the World Series.

It's Monday now, and the tat's still a little tender, but I know in a week or so, it will be good to go. I'm glad we were able to bond...maybe next time, we can bond through something that requires a little less pain...bowling maybe.

It's Hard...Not Real Hard, But Hard

Neil Sedaka once said, "Breaking up is hard to do."

Boyz II Men quipped, "It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday."

And that talking Barbie was heard to mutter, "Math is hard!!"

But the fact remains, there is nothing harder, than trying to cancel a Credit Card.

My problem was a double-headed Discover card...one Platinum, and one Classic (and, no you don't have to be rich to get a Platinum card...even schlubs like me can get approved.) Finally, I got wise to the ways of the interest gobbling giants, and decided it was time to cancel them.

I dialed the 800 #, entered the 16 digit account, and the last 4 digits of my Social Security number. After listening to the menu 3 times, I finally hit 0, to talk to a real person. I was greeted by John, who gave me the balances for both cards, but who also was going to charge me $15 PER account to pay the cards off over the phone. He said you can pay via the internet for free.

I went to the internet, but couldn't pay the FULL balances, because it was higher than they had listed. Not wanting to have the problem of getting billed later for the interest, I once again called the 800#.

When I called back, I talked to Amanda, who said she would be happy to wave half of the $15 fee per card, making the total $15. Ok. Of course, after she took the payment on the first card, she tells me that the $7.50 fee would be applied to my Discover card!!

"You mean I can't close it today because I now have a 7.50 balance?" I say,

"Yes, you can close it, but you will have to pay that balance...in 8 business days" she says, because you can only make one payment every 8 days. That would have been nice to know...

So, I pay off the other account. BEFORE she takes the payment I asked if the 7.50 can be added in, thus making the account ZERO. Yes, done. She transfers me to Christine.

"Christine, I need to close this account."

"Sir, you have a $20 cash back bonus award, would you like me to credit your account?"

"No, I want to CLOSE the account...please mail me a check."

"I'll transfer you to Jennifer, so she can get that check to you."

Did I mention that each time they transferred me, I had to state my name, mother's maiden name, and birthdate? Yeah.

Jennifer agrees to mail me the check, and asks if there is anything else. Well, I say, there is still the matter of closing this card.

"Ok," she says, "I'll transfer you to Travis."

ARGH!!

"Hi, Travis, this is Anthony Gillespie...mother's maiden name is...birthdate is..."

"Sir, I need your home phone number."

Are you shitting me?

He tries for 10 minutes to persuade me (in vain) to keep the account active. NO, close it mo'fo before I get mad. Ok, it's done...

John, (remember him, the first guy?) told me that I cannot close the Platinum card because I am just a user, and that Becky is the only one who can close it (ok, a schlub like me CAN'T get a Platinum card, Becky had to...are you happy?). I tried to persuade Travis into letting me do it, but no can do.

After an hour on the phone, being shuffled from person to person, I had finally cancelled one of two cards. Wow, what an accomplishment, huh. I shot an e-mail telling Becky to call and cancel the other card.

Five minutes later she e-mailed me back. Done.

FIVE MINUTES!!

"They asked me if I was sure I didn't want to leave it open. I said yes, I'm sure, and they said ok."

Next time, I think I'll have Becky call in the first place.