Karate Has Been Chopped

Since this writing, the owner of Steel Dragons has indeed called back and we are working together to see if we can't re-ignite Zane's interest in karate.

"Zane, I called Steel Dragons and told them you are taking a break from karate."

Without missing a beat, he answers,

"Oh, I'm not taking a break.  I quit."

Sigh.

Prior to beginning our first karate class, I had a fantastic phone conversation with one of the owners of the studio I chose for Zane.  I spoke openly with her about the social anxiety that both my children have experienced when placed in new situations with children they do not know. 

People, it's real.  This is not a made-up struggle that I have concocted in my head.  Sure, I can be dramatic, but social anxiety truly exists, and both my kids have been working hard over the years to whoop its a^%.

I had high hopes that Zane would take to karate and that it would assist in building his confidence.

I have already recounted his first class and his rocky second class.  From that second class, Zane's interest began to wane.  He liked the punching and kicking, and did indeed want that uniform, which he earned after passing a skills test at his 5th class, but he was never quite able to conquer his fear of there being children in the class that he didn't know.  And ultimately, that was what fueled his quitting.

We are fine with his decision, for he is doing wonderfully in Kindergarten and couldn't be happier.

What saddens me is that I have not heard from the studio.

At all.

I have left two messages - one after missing a class and also realizing that his uniform was too big and we'd need  to swap it out.  See, glitches like a wrong size only add to Zane's anxiety, and thus, I called to ask if they could have a new one ready for him. The first one was also missing its white belt - glitch #2.  In my message I shared that he was acting "iffy" about returning.  Sure enough, at that next class, they couldn't coax him onto the floor, although they did a beautiful job trying.  Zane and George left the studio before class had even ended, leaving the uniform there.

To their credit, throughout the 5 classes that Zane took, the instructors made several attempts to help him through his fear.

And yet, after leaving that last class before it had even finished, and leaving a second message informing the studio that we wouldn't be back, I've yet to get a response.

This is where it gets hard for those of us with kids who are reticent to jump aboard the participation boat as easily as other kids do.  We need that instructor to partner with us, which is why I interviewed a few different studios before picking Steel Dragons.  My conversation with the instructor prior to Day One couldn't have gone better, and my decision was affirmed as I watched her execute the classes.

There are many people who truly shouldn't work with children.

These guys, however, are fantastic and they did everything they could to try and get Zane acclimated.

Which is why I'm a bit shocked they haven't returned my messages or called to check in.

Listen, I realize the world doesn't revolve around my kid.  And had I not shared our background, or witnessed how much effort they put in to helping Zane this summer, I wouldn't give it another thought.

It's the inner-teacher and customer-service lunatic within me that drives this post.

And the fact that I'm a Mommy who desperately loves her kids.

Moving on.

MGSoft-net, You Had Me At Hello

So I'm not one of those bloggers who reviews products as a norm. It's not the focus of this little cyber coffee house.

I am, however, all about sharing my opinion over a cuppa, and thus I can not wait any longer to give some major props to a business here in good 'ole Mayberry.

I committed a major "no no" when I first aquired this laptop from a friend back in Evanston who had upgraded. The computer did not have a virus protector installed and even though I knew that it was so very important to have one, I procrastinated and procrastinated until the inevitable happened.

18 viruses later, I packed up a bloggers best friend and went over to MGSoft-Net to drop off my sick buddy.

It was touch and go for about 2 weeks while the good docs tried to do everything they could to save my data. I'll spare you the gory details. Some days were promising. Others? Not so much.

After almost 14 days of sheer worry, I am happy to report that, in the end, I lost absolutely NOTHING. NOTHING. NOTHING.

All data present and accounted for.

Virus protector installed.

Applause for yet another Beaver small business.

And although my new friends at MGSoft-Net had my machine for almost two weeks (due to a deluge of virus attacks on the computers of other customers, plus the need to extract everything from my harddrive, as well as uninstall and reinstall the entire system), I was charged for only two hours of labor.

Two.

"We can't charge you for having your computer for days. Many times we would start a process on it and walk away to work on another project. Actual labor time was only two hours."

Can you say HONEST?

I know, you are thinking, "If it only took two hours, why did they have it so long?" Apparently, my case caused some head scratchin' in order to save my data (specifically my MK database and customer files) and so they made several attempts to do so without having to wipe the entire memory.

They also called me several times over those two weeks to give me updates, ask about certain programs, discuss my options, etc. Discussions went from, "We have some bad news" to "I think we've saved everything."

It was like having a really good primary care physician.

I highly recommed them.

I could have lost all my data and needed an entirely new PC. Instead, I spent hardly anything and have a "brand new" machine. I will totally be calling these guys to overall our 9 year old desktop.

Thanks MGSoft-Net. This blog is for you.

Cannoli? Again?

Just an update on our most freakishly weird non-dining experience of two weeks ago and my discussion with the owner about that experience.

We decided to take up the owner on his offer of free desserts, so last night after dinner, we walked to the joint to take in our "if it's free, it's for me" moment of indulgence.

Let me add that since our non-dining experience, we have ordered take-out from this place and really enjoyed the food.

Let me also add, that based on our dessert experience of last night, we'll be sticking with take-out.

So, we get there, right, and I tell the waitress that the owner had offered us dessert to "make amends" for the wacky night. Once again, the dining room seemed odd. Dark. Quiet. Just. Off. We meet the manager of the dining room (the one who had to leave suddenly on that wacko night) who apologizes for the inconvenience and asks if I'd like to meet the owner.

Of course!

I introduce myself and he remembers our conversation and then, the same person who last week told me that they have "the most amazing dessert menu" says, "All the desserts are in the oven. But I can give you cannoli tonight."

It was 7:00 pm. Peak dining out hours and no desserts, other than cannoli, were available.

Once again, the items on the menu were not available.

We weren't about to try for a third visit, so we accepted the cannoli, which was delicious. I have had plenty of cannoli where the shell is either too doughy, or too crumbly, falling apart when you take a bite. This cannoli was neither. The kids tried some and it didn't jive with them, so they had orange sherbet. The waitress also mentioned while we were ordering that she'd bring us some coffee to go with the cannoli.

It never arrived.

George and I looked at each other when the kids attempted to order root beer, which we did successfully order and received on carry-out night (so we know they stock it), only to hear those all too familiar words, "We're out of root beer."

We came to the conclusion that awkward night was not a fluke.

We do like the food, so we'll stick with carry out.

I'll Take a Dozen

So remember our horrid non-dining experience from last Saturday night?

No?

Well, then, you mustn't be reading and I am terribly offended.

Go back and catch up, will ya?

So, it's a small town, right? I decide to make nice with the owner and give him a call to chat.

He was fabulous. Explained about a power outage on the block that took out his cooler (and thus a few items on the menu) and his credit card machine. Plus, his main guy on the floor had to leave unexpectedly as his brother was in a car accident. He admitted it was a bad night for the place. "After you left I sent the waitress out to find you and tell you that since the credit card machine wasn't working you could just come back and pay on Monday."

Just come back and pay on another day?

That's several times now that I've been offered the "honor system" here in town when it comes to purchasing merchandise, and now food.

He was incredibly apologetic and offered desserts on the house next time we come in.

I'll take it. On a day I do a long run . . .

"Thanks, I'll just have The Door, with a side of . . . Nothing."

Saturday night.

Downtown Beaver.

7 of us needing dinner (my father and brother in law came in today), and me not really ready to cook for the masses.

The goal. Find a place in walking distance, as they had just been in a car for 5 hours.

Mario's? Packed. As expected.

The local diner? Closed. Unexpected.

We head to another restaurant I think my Dad will love - the "one which shall not be named" (as, once again, if you are a consistent reader here, you know all about my mechanic/trans guys blog post incident of last summer).

It took a while for the waitress to come over. I'm being gracious. We give her our drink orders.

"I'm sorry. We're out of root beer" she shares, after the kids order their drinks. Not a good start. She goes to the kitchen to make sure that this is the case.

Upon her return, which took a bit too long, she confirms that they are indeed out of root beer, and we continue the process of ordering drinks.

"I'm sorry, we don't have Sprite or 7-UP. Just Coke, Diet Coke, Gingerale, Pink Lemonade and Raspberry Iced Tea."

Um, ok. The kids order Gingerale, a few of us get some water, and there's a Diet Coke in there somewhere.

She returns with the Diet Coke and one water.

George's jaw begins to square.

She leaves and returns with the remainder of the drink order. As we order dinner, it is abundantly clear that something is just not right. She seems as flustered as we are.

"I'm sorry, we're out of meatballs."

Ok, is this a joke? How can an Italian joint run out of meatballs?

The dinner menu has antipasto salad listed. I order it.

"I'm sorry, but our deli is closed so we may not have antipasto. I'll have to check." I'm afraid for her to check, as it seems the kitchen is like a mile away. Each time she goes to check on something she doesn't return for close to 10 minutes.

Breathing. Breathing. Breathing. George's jaw locking. Locking. Locking.

The waitress shares that she is filling in for someone who had to leave early due to a family member who had an accident. We realize full well that the restaurant being out of items has NOTHING to do with her and she's just trying to keep it together. Throughout our entire time in the place she must have apologized close to 10 times. Ask my brother in law for the final figures. I think he kept count.

She reports that they DO have enough meat for the antipasto. Yeah! So, we order. The pizza take up to 25 minutes, ("I'm sorry"), so we nix that idea for the kids, as we've already been sitting there close to 20. All this time we've been struggling to find something for them on the menu. She then mentions "kid's pasta."

"Wait", I interrupt, "is there a kid's menu"? I flip the menu over and back in an attempt to find the dishes that she is verbally mentioning to me. They aren't listed anywhere as far as I can see.

"Yes. I'm sorry. He he didn't print them up."

At that point, George decides to take Zane, and himself, out for a little walk outside.

We finally get the order set. She repeats back everything. Check. All is correct. Ready to get that order into the kitchen.

As we are waiting. She returns. Again.

"I'm sorry. Our credit card machine is broken. I'm so sorry."

And.

Exit.

I'm sure the order was already in and beginning to be cooked, but there were 7 of us. My Dad was footing the bill. I was quite certain he didn't have that much cash on him. I was right. I felt badly for leaving (she had disappeared in the back again), but it was about the straw. And the camel. And the camel's aching back.

On our way out, my Dad left money for the drinks, and I flagged down another waitress and asked her to please convey to ours that we were leaving, as we needed to pay by credit card.

"You could write a check" was her response. Very friendly, but not really getting the point.

As we were leaving, our waitress came out from the back.

"He's going to try and fix the machine for you."

It was too late. My hungry family had already vacated the building.

We will call this "he", whoever the "he" is, on Monday to share our non-dining experience. We will be direct, and polite, as we convey our frustration.

China House won our business tonight. Their General Tso's chicken ROCKS THIRD STREET. (Ok, in all honesty we did have one teeny tiny issue with an egg roll, but that was quickly rectified.)

I'm sure we'll give "the one which shall not be named" another try at some point. And honestly, it's fine that there aren't a ton of choices of places at which to eat out in downtown Beaver specifically, as there are some awesome places all around us that to which we can drive (Lockhouse 6, Back Door Tavern). Plus, we are planning on curbing eating out in our budget once I get my pantry stocked.

Just wondering if tonight's experience was a fluke - a restaurant having a bad night - or does it have a bit of "small town" drizzled on top?

Anyone else have an interesting dining experience to share?

Just a Small Town Girl?

Perhaps.

Although I most certainly don't find my world lonely. Nor will I be taking that midnight train anywhere (and yes, we are near the train - just one part of the "Sounds of Beaver" collection).

Where to start. Where to start. Do I backtrack and recount the difficulties that just mounted and grew over these last few months? Do I seriously want to go backwards and emotionally unravel the difficulty that was our journey to Beaver?

No.

Sure I'll make comment here and there about the events that added to what George and I seriously consider the most difficult time we've ever experienced in our 18 years of marriage, but to give that pain the spotlight of an entire post? No way. Move over, crap. Good riddance. My father described it best, "Your experience was due to a horrible recession and really weird people."

He's right.

As usual. Sigh.

For my debut post from my third floor office in Beaver (MINE! ALL MINE!), I decided just to take the easy road and give you some initial impressions from my first 5 days here:

• Yes. It does feel a bit like Mayberry. And I mean that in the most heartfelt way. I'm not poking fun. Beaver does have that Mayberry feel. Apparently I'm not the only one who thinks so.


• On day one, with moving van out front, we had two girls come over and introduce themselves, met the Sr. Pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Beaver who lives two doors down, (not to be confused for Four Mile Presbyterian where George is on staff), received a plate of cookies from our neighbors across the street, a hanging flower basket, and were greeted by pretty much every person who either walked or drove up the street. Friendly? Um, yeah.


• I learned that I probably need to take "unplugged retreats" now and then, as having 4 days of no internet proved to be a fantastic form of relaxation.


• There is a thrift store and consignment shop on the main street, which, by the way, is called Third Street - for future reference. A portion of it is pictured above. You know me and secondhand stores. I've already visited.


• Everyone at my new bank is super helpful and friendly. I can't leave Chase fast enough. The hassles they put me through in order to notarize my power of attorney document prior to closing and their inability to help me with some funds that needed to be wired (long story - not worthy of a post), had me itching to find a new bank. Immediately. No Chase in this town.


• 12:44 AM. There goes the train.


• The siren for the Volunteer Firemen had George thinking there was a tornado. So funny. He made us all run to the basement. According to our neighbors, it will go off whenever there is a fire in the area. And as they shared, "If it continues to run, this signals that the nuclear plant has had a problem. At that point you might has well just sit on your porch and have a beer." Yikes.


• Harper. Tennis Camp. New town. Knowing nobody. Not a problem. Won a tournament at the end of the week. She is absolutely comfortable here.


• Zane. Not as comfortable. Asks when we are going home. He is, as he puts it, "infused" (confused). My hunch was correct that we completely underestimated how he would react to the move. So today, we took some empty boxes and created a little town on the porch. Then we played with clay and bubbles, and anything that would bring out giggles.


• My plumber? A gem of a guy. After installing our hot water heater, he offered to go and pick up our water softener (yup, we need one of those) that I purchased if I wouldn't fit it in my car. Service, people. The service is incredible.


• Mario's. Brick oven pizza's, antipasto, gelato. A block and a half from the house. Need I say more?


• Cafe Kolache. Locally owned coffeehouse. Free wireless. Next door to Mario's.


• The gem of my week? AK Nahaus. Hands down, by far, the BEST appliance store I have ever visited. I was told to purchase my washer and dryer (and anything else I needed) from this family owned business. Prices? Great. Service? Unlike I have ever experienced. Anywhere. My words won't do this place justice. But I'll try.

So, I walk in with the kids. I share that we just moved to Beaver. The kids are invited over to the flat screens for some Spongebob. I am walked around the store by the owner. The owner, who after helping me choose my appliances calls his other location so I can pick up a split box spring (ours wouldn't make it up the staircase). We get my order squared away before I drive to the next location where the sales associate who the owner called is waiting for me. The prices are so amazing that I decide to retire our 18 year old mattress and purchase a new one as a surprise for George for Father's Day.

The owner then stops by the house after work to measure for a new stove (ours doesn't work) and to insure that the washer and dryer can make it down our side stairs. We sit and chat for awhile. I actually offer him a slice a pie that someone brought us. I mention that our TV was broken in transit. He offers us to loan us one off the floor until we can afford a new one.

WHAT????????????

House calls? Loaner TV's? Plumbers offering to pick up items at Sears?

Where am I?

Beaver.

1:00 AM train just went by.

Time to crawl into my new bed.

Tomorrow's post: my own Brady Bunch episode . . .

In This Patience Contest, Our Kids Took Gold

What does a family do with hundreds of other people the day before Easter?

Visit the Jelly Belly factory.

It's free.

We had two showings today and really wanted to do something fun with the kids other than just walking the streets of Evanston. Last night we had a fantastic time at the Mitchell Museum (thanks for the idea Angie), where Harper served as tour guide, and Zane received inspiration for his new bedroom in Beaver. He's going all out American Indian style. The kid wants a tee pee, mural, fake fire, and a pretend bow and arrow. George is all over it.

So, today, we did another Zane fav. Jelly beans.

We arrived in Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin at 11:00. The line for the factory tour (via train) wasn't too long at this point, but rather than risking further crowds, we jumped in line rather than visiting the store first.

2 hours later . . .

Repeat.

2 hours later . . . I call the 1-800 number from inside the waiting area to ask about the tour, number of trains, the wait time, etc. (as it was too cramped to reach the front desk to ask in person why it was taking so jelly freakin' belly long), only to find out that today they only had 1 train available. 1 TRAIN. The day before Easter. 1 TRAIN. What was this place thinking? The day before Easter when they publicize the Easter bunny, sales, raffles, and the tour, they pull out all the stops with 1 TRAIN?

After about and hour and a half of waiting and slowly moving forward, we see a sign advertising a factory walking tour. The entrance being around the corner, with no line.

Now, I realize that this would not have been nearly as fun for the kids, and we would have had a mutiny had we even suggested blowing of the train for foot, however, where was the staff to tell us about this tour? Where was the staff to share that due to being down a few trains, the wait would be seriously crazy, and that perhaps some folks would prefer to take the walking tour?

We passed the time by talking with others, praying for our showings, and taking pictures with a Jelly Belly costumed figure, a car, and, of course the Easter Bunny.

And wouldn't you know that just as we're getting close to the entrance and they are beginning to take what we thought would be our group, they CLOSE THE GATE AT OUR FAMILY.

And then, Jesus had had enough.

One of the staff comes over to us and says, "We have 4 more seats for this train."

I knew that tubal ligation was a brilliant idea.

However, despite the fact that we stood, and stood, and stood in line for 2 hours, with no food, and a few bathroom breaks, what was the response of Harper and Zane once we sat on that train?

"THIS IS SOOO AWESOME!"

The two hour wait was forgotten the very moment we were handed our paper Jelly Belly hats (which we had to wear since we were in a factory).

Forgotten. Never even spoken of again. Not brought up. Not mentioned. Not alluded to. Nada. They were handsomely rewarded with A&W Root Beer Jelly Belly's. I was rewarded with buy two, get one free, Belly Flops.

I have to give huge props to our kids. They whined maybe three times in a span of 2 hours. We were surrounded by Super Nanny candidates - all yelling, "So and so, don't do that or there won't be any tour for you. I mean it. One more time and we're going home!" Ah, the sweet sounds of the empty threat. So pointless.

Kids, Mom and Dad, but mainly Mom, can learn a great deal from you. YOU made today fun, and even though I didn't get a chance to try the "vomit", "ear wax", "boogers", or "moldy cheese" Jelly Belly's at the sample counter, which would have been great entertainment, we did indeed have fun. Your egg hunt will be well stocked tomorrow. The Belly Flops may look all elephant manish, but they taste awesome - and now, having been on the factory tour, we know why!

On the drive home we went through our old stomping grounds in Highwood and showed Harper where we lived prior to Evanston (Zane was out cold in a sugar coma). She was genuinely interested in both our homes on High Street and later Sard Place. I'm still trying to come to grips with the fact that I've lived here for almost 18 years.

Drive: 88 miles (roundtrip)

Wait time for 20 minute tour: 2 hours

Belly Flops, Root Beer Jelly Belly's, and a surprise key chain for my key chain collecting daughter: $28

Time with family: Priceless

And oh yeah, you just know that I left a comment card . . .

The Atkins Fight Back

We are fighting the dark side.

The car.

Humana.

But it's not the actual situations that fatigue me. Things break down all the time. There are always bills to pay. I'm not one to expect smooth sailing. And while I'm not altogether stressed about the actual situations themselves, as I believe that ultimately they will be repaired, I must be honest and say that I awoke feeling low this morning over the prospect of the time it takes to remedy situations such as these.

I'm straight-up done putting any more energy into the car and Humana.

See, what is wearing me down is the time I've already given and will have to continue to give to these issues.

Waiting an hour for a tow. Getting the car home. Getting the car towed back to our mechanic on Monday morning. Reworking Harper's ride for school on Monday. Figuring out how I am to get to work, and Zane to school, on Monday since George needs to be on a train at 7:00 AM to head downtown for his ordination class. Finding a replacement vehicle (although, props to Angie, who has offered me a car). It's the mental gymnastics that I have come to abhor. The mental gymnastics that I must endure due to someone else's mistake . . . yeah, I know, that sounds really self-centered. But, it's true.

The car was not repaired correctly back in July. That was 6 months ago. Humana has been jacking me around since February. February. You do the math.

It's the phone calls to Humana (that average 45 minutes a call) in the middle of the day - at least once a week, each time receiving different and contradictory reasons as to why my claims are denied every time I call. No wonder we mothers also give birth to the ability to multitask when we deliver children into the world. Do you really think we wear those telephone headsets around the house to look cool or because we secretly harbor the desire to look like Madonna in concert? No, we wear them so that we can actually prep dinner, put laundry away, and straighten a bathroom, all while staying on hold with Humana.

It's hard when you feel that your time is being taken from you . . . sure, I understand that we all waste time. I am a huge time-waster. But, with these situations I feel as if my time is being taken from me and I have no choice but to continue fighting back. And I'm tired of fighting back. I just want to move on.

We're home bound today and the kids are doing marvelously. Thankfully. They spent the morning playing Star Wars - not on Wii - no, they actually played Star Wars. Harper was Darth Vader. Zane, Bobafett. A snip-it of the dialogue went something like this:

"Bring me Obi One and the young Luke Skywalker. I want them brought back here alive!"

"What about-"

"Don't interrupt me! Find the droids and kill them, but bring me the jet pack (?). Also, Jabba. I want him brought here alive."

Zane did as he was told and I found him in the family room attempting to lift an imaginary Jabba to bring back to Lord Vader. He was grunting. Jabba is quite large. And slimy.

They also played Peter Pan.

They are being rewarded with The Empire Strikes Back.

I did a Peapod Order. If I'm able to get a car today then I can always cancel it and run to the store. However, it is nice to think about someone delivering my groceries to me before 8:00 am tomorrow morning, even with the added expense. An expense we don't have. No, it's not the cheapest choice. But it is a time saver to be sure.

And right now, I want my time.

No Extra Credit for Aldi

"Wait!"

I can hear you warning me.

"Be careful about what you blog! As the most current company with whom you have taken issue may find the post and call you out on it, and ask you to remove it, and then you'll have to grapple with your convictions about forgiveness and reconciliation and relationships, and, well, you know, all that stuff that you struggled with the last time this happened."

But, reader, this time, my gripe is not with a local business concerned about retaining their reputation so that they can actually remain in business in this awful economy, but rather a large international company, that doesn't offer one the ability to even call a customer service number to share comments and complaints. Seriously, I've combed their website. I can write in, as in U.S. Postal Service write in, but email, phone call, fax? Nada. Nope.

Aldi's prices are cheap because they sell "off" brands of many goods, (although one can also pick up Tyson chicken as well - antibiotic free even), do not offer free bags (I bring my own), or free carts (one needs a quarter to borrow a cart), nor do they take credit cards or personal checks. Cash? Yes. Debit cards? Yes . . . er, well . . .

Debit?

Debit?

Debit?

Yes, unless their machine can not read the customer's card.

And so there I stood, after shopping for 45 minutes with two kids, staring down a really long line of customers, (isn't that always the case when there is trouble at the register), and a full cart of groceries waiting to be bagged, only to find that the machine wouldn't read my debit card. My debit card which I had just used in another store. My debit card. The only way I could pay for my groceries at Aldi.

To his credit the cashier did attempt the old "wrap the card in a plastic bag and swipe" method.

Nothing.

"Can you just enter it manually?"

"No. It's illegal for me to enter it manually."

Illegal?

As in, against the law?

Ok, I'm no law enforcement officer, or lawyer, and perhaps in this day and age of identity theft, there could be a small sliver of truth to this statement, but isn't that why a cashier would then call a manager? To get "Manager Approval" or "Override" or whatever the term is that allows at least one employee to enter a number into the system so that a purchase can be made?

Apparently not. He turned and started ringing up the next customer.

So we turned to leave.

But not before Harper got her quarter back from the shopping cart rental. She wasn't leaving without it.

I guess Aldi did stand up their promise of saving me money, as the $90 allotted for groceries is still sitting in my checkbook.

But I'm pretty hungry.

The Beans Spillith Over

I began blogging when Harper was 3 months old, which also happened to be during the time in my life when I was still auditioning quite regularly for commercials.

A few times a week I would traipse downtown to David O'Connor Casting, circle the area to find a parking place, sit in the waiting room with the other hopefuls, perform a glorious audition lasting, oh, say, 5 minutes, get back in my car, and trek the hour (with traffic) home again. As I was being called in with some regularity, I began a blog to share with my family the details about my auditions: how I felt, what I wore, whether I would change my delivery, the result, etc. Never once did I hesitate about what I wrote, or censor my words.

One day, however, as I was exiting the casting office after an audition, I was I stopped cold in my tracks by David O'Connor himself as he announced with a grin, "Joline, I really enjoy The Audition Chronicles."

It took a moment to register what he had just said, but once I realized that he was referring to my blog (which was indeed called The Audition Chronicles) my insides turned to jello. WHAT???!!! David O'Connor had read my blog. David O'Connor, one of the biggest casting director's in Chicago had read my blog. Any flattery I may have felt disappeared quickly as my mind raced to weigh the situation. At the very center of my racing thoughts one stood out: had I written anything negative about David himself?

It was on this day that I was hit square in the face with the reality that blogs are public. Very public.

I mumbled some incomprehensible response about my parents living out of town and my wanting to give them the details of all my auditions, blah, blah, blah, panic, panic, panic. I stumbled. I muttered. I think I may have spit or drooled during this exchange. Regardless, I came out looking like a buffoon.

I called George immediately and told him to read through posts to see if I had ever said anything derogatory about David himself. You know how temperamental actors can be: blaming a bad audition on the casting director. (Not that I'd ever had a bad audition . . .) He assured me that all was OK. But, I was quite flustered and sure that I would never be called into his office for an audition again. I also wondered how he had found my blog. And concluded that it must have been due to googling either the name of the casting office, David O'Connor Casting, or, (as if the next option was even a remote possibility), me.

My next post detailed what had transpired and included a "hello" to David himself.

I never heard another word. And it wasn't the end of my career. Catastrophe averted.

Since that experience, I have continued blogging and have often struggled with the question of when and when not to "spill the beans", so to speak, or, rather, so to "write" when blogging about specific situations that I encounter as I stroll through life.

I am pretty vulnerable. To be sure. And yet, there are several experiences which I choose to keep off the public airway that is the Internet. I don't bare it all. I'm not a blogging pole dancer.
And yet there are those experiences which I share with complete freedom and candor of opinion.

The debate over spilling the beans in a blog certainly arises when one, like David O'Connor, actually locates a blog in which he is mentioned.

Take today.

In this case let's say that the someone who has located my blog is, oh, I don't know, let's go with, MY MECHANIC. And the mechanic's "trans guys".

Google is a really good search engine.

George talked with the owner. He requested that we remove any reference to his shop or the "trans guys". George talked with me. We came the conclusion that since we are working really hard at actually reconciling our relationship with our mechanic, I would agree to remove all references to the actual companies involved. Not the posts, mind you.

Did I struggle with this decision?

Um, yeah.

For the readers that have been following our auto drama, I hope that you can see the shift I have begun to take from my earlier posts which communicate sheer anger and wrath, to my most recent attempt, however feeble, at forgiveness and reconciliation. This is where I struggled over the request that I edit my posts. As, what I have tried to convey with my most recent post was how we are working very hard at repairing and reconciling with this business. After all, they did reimburse us for the taxi and the tow, loaned us a courtesy car, honored their warranty, and credited us back the entire amount for the transmission until which time the work is done and we deem it sufficient. So, yes, they have worked with us. I see this. I am thankful for this. I can not, however, continue to mention them in my blog.

Putting aside all the frustration I've felt towards them, I must say that I doubt other businesses would give us the personal attention they have. In terms of trying to do the right thing by us (based upon their actions that I've mentioned above) they are striving to be above board.

And yet, the situation has been completely inexcusable and unacceptable. Thus, I still struggle with having to edit what I have written - even though I understand that the goal is reconciliation. Yeah, some of you would say, "The goal is getting your car back! What about that!" That is the earthly goal. The bigger goal is to "Treat others as you would want to be treated", which is a much harder goal to reach due to all the pride and personal effort I have wrapped up in my little blogging world.

For this reason, I have agreed to remove all references to the parties involved. Don't think for a moment that I am totally sold out on this or that I am just trying to be all high and mighty and righteous with my decision. For honestly, it sucks a little.

I'm just trying to do my part in cleaning up the mess of spilled beans.

One by one by one . . .

Alpha One Taxi: When You Absolutely, Positively, Have To Be There In 25 Minutes

Thanks to our mechanic!

Thanks for holding on to our car for 9 whopping weeks in order to overhaul the transmission and replace our engine. Thanks for then realizing that you hadn't ordered the correct engine for our car. And thanks for making us sweat while removing our engine to repair the head gaskets as we waited anxiously to find out if the engine was even damaged. Thanks for the news that the engine was fine and for keeping the car for yet another weekend so that you could "drive it Saturday to make sure all was well". Thanks.

Thanks for being the main reason that we came so close to missing Justin's first and only Illinois concert date on Corbin Bleu's tour due to OUR CAR BREAKING DOWN IN LOMBARD.

It was God who made sure that we didn't lose ALL THE TRANSMISSION FLUID while on busy 294 and whatever exit we took that was full of construction, toll booths, and traffic. Our true and non-sarcastic thanks and praise go only to the Lord, who must have pushed our car past all that heavy traffic to the entrance of a Popeye's Chicken before I smelled the problem, felt the problem, and then experienced fuming anger as I realized that the car wasn't moving another inch.

George pushed the car into a parking space. Hood up. Transmission fluid everywhere. Transmission fluid seeping out of the car.

My heart broke. Broke. I heard myself whimper, "Is it over?"

George replied with a confident, "No!"

I exited the car and immediately called Justin, who I couldn't reach, (duh), as he was prepping to go on stage in 45 minutes.

We tried to hold it together for the kids. We called people to pray. We tried to keep the goal in mind: getting to the concert. I spotted a Midas Muffler and told George to run there as I thought they would have a listing for Taxi's.

Alpha One Taxi and Livery Inc. (630-549-3009), whose advertisement states, "We are there when you need us", came our rescue as I shared with Andreas, the owner and our driver, why getting to the Dupage County Fair by 7:00 was of the utmost importance. He hauled like any good taxi driver, even going through store parking lots when the traffic was backed up due to a freight train that decided to push my boiling point. He charged my cell phone for me during the ride, which I promptly forgot in his van. He drove BACK to our parked car after the concert to give us the cell phone AND called a towing company which he knew took AAA and credit cards.

Only AAA had already scheduled a towing company which took credit cards. Or so we thought. Surprise! While AAA insured us the company took credit, this was not the case, and thus, the tow truck driver had to take George to the ATM before dropping off the car. Elvis of Esco's Towing was really great. Guatemalan and a Christian. So George and he had a great discussion about coffee, Jesus, and Justin on the ride home. Elvis now wants me to coach his kids. Oh, Elvis. How about some Mary Kay instead?

So, thanks to our mechanic for a great night!

Yes, I got to see Justin. He was fantastic. Sure, we had to lug our car seats into the venue, barely had a moment to take it all in, missed talking to Justin at the "meet and greet" afterwards because we were figuring out the next leg of our trip, (with Justin's Dad, Avi, leading the way in rounding up New Trier kids to get us wherever we needed to go) and, thus, I didn't even see Justin standing 10 feet away from me signing t-shirts and cd's, but we were there.

We were there with his family, all his friends, and new fan's. Thank God that all of Glencoe, and almost every kid I'd ever coached was is attendance, as we needed them at that moment, just as they've needed me over the years. Marcie, Justin's mom, loaded us up with a t-shirt and 4 CD's. Another Mom bought the kids glow necklaces. The McDonough's drove us back to the car and then took me and the kids home. I even met the Artistic Director of Writer's Theater in Glencoe who gave me his card and told me to call him for tickets to A Lion in Winter, which just happens to be one of George's favorite plays.

But the best part was when I opened Justin's CD to read the liner notes:

Joline, 13 years! I can't begin to express what you mean to me, and I wouldn't be who I am on stage or off without your years of direction.

And then, the floodgates opened. Every emotion I'd been holding in throughout the evening burst open. It was then that I realized that while I had physically attended the concert, a piece of me had missed it.

We spoke around midnight. I could hear excitement and fun in the background. The gist went something like this.

"Joline! Where were you! I didn't see you!"

"You didn't get my message, did you? You were brilliant!"

I told him what had happened.

"Are you ok? Did Harper and Zane like it? Oh no, my cell phone is dying. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Ok. Have fun!"

That's ok if he doesn't. He sounded like he was having an incredible time. It was just good to talk to him and insure him that I was indeed there. I wouldn't have missed it. I couldn't have missed it. I will relish in the fact that while my brain was tied up in the events of the evening, I was still in attendance, row H, watching 13 years of coaching sing and dance across a stage in front of adoring fans.

$22 cab fare and a well deserved $10 tip. $3.00 pretzel. $3.00 corndog. $4.00 for root beers. $6.00 for ice cream. $10.00 Corbin Blue "dogtag" necklace for Harper. $3.00 tip (and a Justin Stein CD) to Andreas for returning with my phone. $70 tow.

Seeing Justin in his ultimate element.

Priceless.

Oh Where, Oh Where, Has Customer Service Gone?

So very reminiscent of my experience at Barnes & Noble a few weeks back, I had yet another head boggling return conundrum at TJ Maxx today. Add that to the customer service debacle with Noodles & Company and our mechanic, which I'll explain further in just a minute, and one has to wonder, "Oh where, oh where, has Customer Service gone."

Perhaps my fuming frustration with Barnes & Noble and TJ Maxx, specifically, has surfaced due to the fact that I run a Mary Kay small business backed by a 100% full satisfaction guarantee issued by Corporate, and thus agree take back any product for which the customer isn't pleased, whether used or not. The item ends up getting pitched, as I certainly can not resell it. However, Mary Kay supports this return policy by sending me a replacement of the product. Free of charge. My response to a customer who is not pleased with her product, is to get her the product that she desires or return her money. No questions asked. It's "How can I help you" all the way. Nine times out of ten, the customer is so pleased not to be questioned and glared at, as I've experience from behind a counter, that they decide to do an exchange, rather than a return.

Imagine my surprise when I couldn't return my book at Barnes & Noble . . . which, thankfully, led me to the wonderful world of Borders . . . thus ending that chapter in my retail literary world with "happily ever after". Not so when I brazenly attempted to return a nightgown at TJ Maxx. With a receipt. And tags. Unattached. Unattached tags. The source of conflict.

"I'm not taking this back. You removed the tags."

"But, I have the tags right here."

"Sorry. It's the law. We can't take back lingerie with the tags removed. Health Code issue. We can't resell the item."

"Oh. I didn't know that was a law."

"Well, I know there's a law."

Ok, call me old fashioned, or whatever, but the garment was completely clean, obviously unworn, and was literally just missing an attached tag.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know there was a law. Is this posted in your lingerie section or on your return policy?"

Staring contest. I won!

"I'll return it for you this time, but I'm just going to have to throw it away." Flings item behind her on the shelf.

"Thank you."

Silence.

"You may know this law because you work in retail, but it would help if a sign were posted, or if those purchasing lingerie were told this at the time of purchase."

Silence.

"I really appreciate this."

Silence.

Clearly, she was done with me.

Well, you know me. I called TJ Maxx Corporate. There is no LAW. Ok, yes, I can meet them on the health concerns of refusing to take back undergarments with tags removed as clearly they can not be resold. I'm not disputing the policy. I'm not ignorant. I realize that there are those out there in our great nation who purchase items, wear them once or twice with tags hidden, and then return them. I'm even guilty of purchasing items for auditions, keeping the tag's on them, and then returning them after the audition . . . although I've never done this with, say, a thong. Let's just be clear here. I do understand.

But why not post the policy in the store? Or on the receipt?

Just like in Barnes & Noble, this woman was a snoot. Her tone was harsh, accusatory, and downright condescending. She couldn't be bothered with me, so she just stopped talking to me. So, while I understand that TJ Maxx has a policy about lingerie returns, albeit, a loose, non-posted policy, her approach with me did not reflect any desire to service the customer. She was just pissed at me.

By the way, I looked up the return policy for the store, and here is what I found. No mention of untagged items. Anywhere.

Noodles & Company
Our family loves Noodles & Company, but we will never again visit their location at Old Orchard Mall. Food all over non-carpet swept floors. Tables gone un-bussed for at least 30 minutes (including tables outside). Blank stares from the staff when I asked for the manager as we were surrounded by filthy tables . . . and we were one of only two families in the joint at the time. It was gross. The outer appearance made me wonder what was going on in the kitchen. We stayed, as Harper's teacher was already on her way to meet us, but we'll forgo this location in the future. The manager wouldn't even come out to speak to us.

Corporate is sending me coupons. They heard me.

Our Mechanic
The saga of our automobile repairs continues. Wrap your brain around this. When a mechanic offers to replace your engine, and orders the engine, only to realize that he ordered the WRONG engine, and then says he can get you the right engine, although with 20,000 more miles on it than the first engine, for, and get this, $500 more, although he'll meet you half way since the wrong engine was ordered in the first place, do you really think we should have to pay more? For an older engine? For the fact that the mechanic ordered the WRONG one? Where is the sense in this?

And don't even get me started on Humana.