A couple of years ago when I was working for a German company, I was given a bag of Kruegerol Halsbonbons for my cough. (Halsbonbons are throat drops). I was skeptical. I don't like taking cough drops because they're pretty much just candy and they give your mouth that strange, I've-been-sucking-on-hard-candy-all-day dry feeling. But, I decided to try them, anyway.
Wow.
That's what a cough drop should be. It's like what Halls menthol drops spend their lives dreaming of being.
The menthol was actually clearing.
It didn't taste mediciney at all.
It didn't smell like medicine at all.
It actually soothed my throat for a LONG time after I had finished it, rather than only being good for as long as it was in my mouth.
My husband and I sparingly used the little gold charms to spread them out as much as we could, but eventually, they ran out.
Ever since then, I've been looking for their equal and have been disappointed. Then it dawned on me (wait, I know) it's the 21st century and I just might be able to find them online.
And I did.
In Germany. Most of the apothecaries carry them and you can get them without a prescription...and they were cheap! It was only 59 cents Euro for the bag. In my excitement, I added 20 bags to my cart and went to checkout.
Now, I'm glad that I speak German (somewhat) and read it and that I've purchased a fair number of things online, so I'm familiar with the online purchasing forms. As I slowly filled out each of the fields, I got more excited about the surprise for my husband.
Then I got to the Address fields, I was glad that "Country" was one of them. As I pulled down the menu, I was utterly crushed.
Their idea of "Country" was any country in a list of Germany and Austria. :(
So, I sadly closed the window and started my search again...this time, making sure that I didn't fill out the entire form before checking the Country field options. To my great disappointment, I could not find any of the online stores that shipped to the US. The best I could find was a store that would ship to continental Europe and Ireland (hmm, not England, though).
I thought, "That's that".
Then, last week, I decided to look again- you never know, you might find a different store or they might have changed their minds and decided to recognize the US as a valid shipping destination. As I sadly clicked through the online forms, it dawned on me that I might be able to just email one of these companies and get them to send it to me!
Excited, I scanned through the website I was at for a customer service email. Finding one, I proudly wrote a nice little email asking if I could please purchase some Kruegerol and have it shipped to the US.
Then, the email bounced back to me.
Well, it had been worth a shot.
You can imagine my glee, then, when I got a reply from the shop! And not only could I understand the email, I was overjoyed to see that they WOULD ship to the US.
Excitedly, I replied with my answer of which flavor I would like and my address and can you please tell me how much the total price will be. After waiting all day for an answer because of the difference in time zones, I woke up to an email telling me that it would be 11,80 Euro for the product (sounds good)...and 42,95 Euro for shipping.
Sob.
With the exchange rate, that makes those magical little cough drops nearly $100.
So, I ask you all to help me find a place that sells Kruegerol in the US.
(And, yes, I tried contacting Kruegerol via Facebook, but haven't heard back. Perhaps they use Facebook as much as I do.)
Monday, January 7, 2013
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Big Brother Is Watching
I recently have been working on a website for the company as a content writer. It's fallen to me because the people who should be writing it have no item, or are just simply not interested in writing the content. Either way, it's been this prompt for me to do it.
So, after months of working on the content, I get a message from the Social Media Manager that now, the boss wants to approve all of it before it goes live on the website.
Now, this owner doesn't have enough time to write the content in the first place, so I honestly wonder how s/he's going to have time to read and approve all the content going forward, including blog content (yes, the company has a blog...it's about company things...I guess- the blog isn't live yet so it's still up in the air).
But it does just kind of figure that whatever you do - either productive or not- it always gets overridden by someone higher up the food chain. It is for this very reason that I don't understand why my presence in ever required in an office. Decisions are NEVER made at my level- ever. No matter who is in the room. No matter what is ever said. It's always made by someone in their shower or over their own cup of coffee with their spouse- never in the office. Ever.
From my point of view, it seems what my real job is just to occupy a chair and basically be "on-call" for the entertainment of those who pay me.
It seems a bit cynical.
It seems a bit depressing.
But since it doesn't matter what I do on a daily basis at work and I find it difficult to be positive.
My father-in-law was actually telling me that IT is the most thankless job in the world because you don't get to see what you build. I guess it was a study done by someone, somewhere. Those of us that work in IT have the highest reported levels of stress, heart attacks, and other stress-related problems.
What is the best job according to this study?
Construction.
I kid you not. It's because the project has a definite start and end; it has an obvious structure that's built- something that actually will matter in a couple of years to someone.
I don't know if that's completely true. I couldn't find any study listed online that reflected those facts. The study that I found said that the most stress job in 2012 was being a working parent- THAT I believe.
Besides, I don't think I can advocate for going into construction- I just don't have the plumber's butt for the job. But I would love to be in a job that I could actually have a sense of accomplishment at some point, instead of the on-going drone of project-to-project noise where nothing ever really happens and no decisions are made.
...except the decision to continue to have meetings about making decisions.
Besides, I don't think I can advocate for going into construction- I just don't have the plumber's butt for the job. But I would love to be in a job that I could actually have a sense of accomplishment at some point, instead of the on-going drone of project-to-project noise where nothing ever really happens and no decisions are made.
...except the decision to continue to have meetings about making decisions.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
One Sock or Two?
So, I went on a wild ride to the local mall today with my daughter for a combination of a gift returns and to get milk. (As a side note here, I find it very, very strange that Target sells milk for less than any of the three grocery stores in the city.)
My daughter is currently at an age where she doesn't like riding in the stroller anymore. She used to love it! Now, she just cries big crocodile tears every time we put her in it. So, I decided to sacrifice my back for the little trip today and use the bjorn for carrying her around the mall.
Now, she's in the middle percentiles for her age- about 20lbs- but her strapped to your front, plus the diaper bag, plus the large jacket you're carrying, plus the gift returns...it's a lot of weight. And then there's the wait (ha ha). You walk all over the malls, just to get into some sort of crummy queue where get to watch two people standing behind the service desk chatting away. Don't they see that there's a line?
Anyway, after a couple of stops and struggling to continue to balance it all, I make it in and out of Target with relative ease....only to be walking back to the car when a group of women stopped me to telling me that she had lost a sock- and that she was about to lose the other one.
Now, I'd been huffing and puffing by this point. I was carrying roughly 35 extra pounds of weight for over an hour, tromping around the mall.
I was hot.
I was tired.
My back really hurt.
But I turned around and tried to retrace my steps at Target. I thought I had made in there there with two socks, but I could have been wrong. But after what seemed like an hour of searching (and it was probably 5 minutes), I decided that I just couldn't last anymore and dragged the whole caravan out to the car- trying desperately to keep my daughters feet covered up in the 20*F weather until I could get her to the car and a blanket.
And despite it being a commonly lost article of clothing- right up there with gloves that I like to shed like bird molts- I have been aggravated all day by the loss of that sock. I even called the store, hoping that someone had found it. It just figures that it was brand, brand new and not one of the cheapy socks.
I guess that teaches me to only buy the cheapy ones, because unlike the solution to my glove distribution habit, I can't have my daughter go without socks.
But the bigger thing that really bugged me is that it was only one sock. What was it about losing one sock and not both of them like I almost did that bothered me so much? Would I have actually felt better if she had lost the both of them?
I think, in a very strange way, I would have. There's something about having that single sock go through the wash and have no one to ball up with when it comes time to fold it. And then surprise you every day when you open the sock drawer you see that lone sock staring up at you as if to blame you for orphaning it. If you lost them both, you wouldn't have that solo sock or its guilt trip.
So, now, I'm off to do the laundry. Perhaps the sock-eating monster in the laundry will make this easy on me and finish the pair off.
My daughter is currently at an age where she doesn't like riding in the stroller anymore. She used to love it! Now, she just cries big crocodile tears every time we put her in it. So, I decided to sacrifice my back for the little trip today and use the bjorn for carrying her around the mall.
Now, she's in the middle percentiles for her age- about 20lbs- but her strapped to your front, plus the diaper bag, plus the large jacket you're carrying, plus the gift returns...it's a lot of weight. And then there's the wait (ha ha). You walk all over the malls, just to get into some sort of crummy queue where get to watch two people standing behind the service desk chatting away. Don't they see that there's a line?
Anyway, after a couple of stops and struggling to continue to balance it all, I make it in and out of Target with relative ease....only to be walking back to the car when a group of women stopped me to telling me that she had lost a sock- and that she was about to lose the other one.
Now, I'd been huffing and puffing by this point. I was carrying roughly 35 extra pounds of weight for over an hour, tromping around the mall.
I was hot.
I was tired.
My back really hurt.
But I turned around and tried to retrace my steps at Target. I thought I had made in there there with two socks, but I could have been wrong. But after what seemed like an hour of searching (and it was probably 5 minutes), I decided that I just couldn't last anymore and dragged the whole caravan out to the car- trying desperately to keep my daughters feet covered up in the 20*F weather until I could get her to the car and a blanket.
And despite it being a commonly lost article of clothing- right up there with gloves that I like to shed like bird molts- I have been aggravated all day by the loss of that sock. I even called the store, hoping that someone had found it. It just figures that it was brand, brand new and not one of the cheapy socks.
I guess that teaches me to only buy the cheapy ones, because unlike the solution to my glove distribution habit, I can't have my daughter go without socks.
But the bigger thing that really bugged me is that it was only one sock. What was it about losing one sock and not both of them like I almost did that bothered me so much? Would I have actually felt better if she had lost the both of them?
I think, in a very strange way, I would have. There's something about having that single sock go through the wash and have no one to ball up with when it comes time to fold it. And then surprise you every day when you open the sock drawer you see that lone sock staring up at you as if to blame you for orphaning it. If you lost them both, you wouldn't have that solo sock or its guilt trip.
So, now, I'm off to do the laundry. Perhaps the sock-eating monster in the laundry will make this easy on me and finish the pair off.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Nature
A few years ago, I started developing allergies. I never really had them growing up except to a few antibiotics. I suppose this is from a lack of dirt eating as a child; my great grandmother used to say that you're supposed to eat a quart of dirt a day...to which her daughter promptly got a spoon and a mason jar and went to work. I would hate to have cleaned up that diaper- erwh!
But I think what she really meant was that you need to get dirty and get out into nature more. This I completely agree with: I HATED nature as a child. My mother used to be constantly telling me, "Go outside and enjoy the day!"
ugh
I remember I used to not have a problem with dirt and bugs- I used to make walnut paste by smashing the ubiquitous walnuts against the granite boulder at the Y where I grew up and eat all of the paste between meals. That definitely counted toward some serious dirt eating. But that all stopped when, one day I was sneaking a few walnuts from the tree at our house between meals. I cracked it open and there was a disgusting worm inside, wriggling around at being disturbed.
...and that was the last time I ever ate a raw walnut from the ground.
Of course, there happened to be a moth infestation in my play kitchenette at the same time that might have impacted my desire to play in the dirt. And a slug infestation in the garden patio next to my parent's room (I remember looking at the carpet with all the silvery slime trails running across it).
Regardless, I find it ironic that I'm a big of a clay sculptor. All that mud.
And I don't mind it at all.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Duck, Duck
It's a very strange winter this year in Minnesota- temperatures all over the place are confusing everyone. I actually heard a flock of geese overhead during the past week. Generally, they fly south in the fall and don't return until March.
Until I moved to Minnesota, I had only seen a Canadian Goose mounted on the wall of my GATE class; all the wild geese in California are white. Sure, there are the white kinds with the little noses and there are the geese with the big noses on their bills. But either way, they were white.
When we first arrived in Minnesota, my mother, sister, and I went to a park for a picnic while my dad was at work. We saw some real life Canadian Geese. Now, like most Californians, we thought of geese as quite exotic creatures and had the rather strong motivation to feed the geese. Of course, it's traditional to honk at the geese as you attempt to give them the stale bread in your hands. We were shocked that they weren't mobbing us for the bread and we had to chase after them, so we needed to honk a little louder. Then I realized the problem:
they were CANADIAN Geese!
to which my mother then looked at me and then said, "Honk, A", "Honk, A".
I'm ashamed to say that it actually got their attention.
But I guess they do have some white geese here, too, though they're not as common. I guess this is the reason why the teachers in Minnesota decided to be "special" and change "Duck, Duck, Goose" to "Duck, Duck, Gray Duck". (yes, it's "gray"- that's the color; "grey" is a familial name)
My husband and I are having this conversation on an on-going basis because my daughter WILL learn Duck, Duck, Goose, though he's in denial. She will also learn about the mushpot, which I guess they didn't have here. There seems to be no penalty at all for getting caught during Duck, Duck, Gray Duck.
Until I moved to Minnesota, I had only seen a Canadian Goose mounted on the wall of my GATE class; all the wild geese in California are white. Sure, there are the white kinds with the little noses and there are the geese with the big noses on their bills. But either way, they were white.
When we first arrived in Minnesota, my mother, sister, and I went to a park for a picnic while my dad was at work. We saw some real life Canadian Geese. Now, like most Californians, we thought of geese as quite exotic creatures and had the rather strong motivation to feed the geese. Of course, it's traditional to honk at the geese as you attempt to give them the stale bread in your hands. We were shocked that they weren't mobbing us for the bread and we had to chase after them, so we needed to honk a little louder. Then I realized the problem:
they were CANADIAN Geese!
to which my mother then looked at me and then said, "Honk, A", "Honk, A".
I'm ashamed to say that it actually got their attention.
But I guess they do have some white geese here, too, though they're not as common. I guess this is the reason why the teachers in Minnesota decided to be "special" and change "Duck, Duck, Goose" to "Duck, Duck, Gray Duck". (yes, it's "gray"- that's the color; "grey" is a familial name)
My husband and I are having this conversation on an on-going basis because my daughter WILL learn Duck, Duck, Goose, though he's in denial. She will also learn about the mushpot, which I guess they didn't have here. There seems to be no penalty at all for getting caught during Duck, Duck, Gray Duck.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Getting the Car Serviced
Recently, I had to take my car into be serviced. It was a wonderful early Christmas present: turn on the engine and the check engine light comes on; there's a strong smell of rich, burning gasoline, and a rough idle. It reminded me a lot of what happens every spring with the motorcycle when the carburetor jets are clogged with last year's street sediment. So, I knew that it was truly something wrong.
I also knew that there wasn't a dealership anywhere close by that I would trust to fix my subcompact Korean car. Yup, I'm one of those. It's a great car for me running around town, but I'm reminded how small it is every time my husband sits in the passenger seat and ends up chewing on his knees. And I'm reminded how light weight it is every time it snows (wee... toboggan ride!)
Anyway, the two closest dealerships had proven unreliable: the closest in Bloomington has a history of putting nails in people's cars and other sabotage to up-sell you on fixes you don't need. That happened to my friends twice there, as well. Then there's the dealership up on 394, but they were too dumb to be able to change a fuse in the 12V port that was blown...and during their investigations got grease all over the fabric on the interior.
So, where to go?
I decided to take a chance with a Ford dealership nearby. I called and asked if they serviced my Korean car brand- they did. They got me in quickly and their service area is fairly new. All good things.
The shock was me walking into the Service Wait area. It was like walking into a Ford commercial. You know the one about being one of those rough and tumble kind of guys with big wheels and dirty cars? They were all middle-aged men, over weight, chewing gum like it was cow cud, and wearing beer caps. They all had some sort of jacket vest on. All had blue jeans. I saw two soccer moms in the corner- incredibly frumpy and most probably the owners of the two mini-vans I saw in the shop. All looked at the blonde with her knitting and her tiny Asian subcompact among the mountains of gas-guzzling Ford hemis.
I think my IQ dropped about 20 points just walking in the door.
Let's say I was _slightly_ intimidated. SLIGHTLY. But, being the brave soul that I am, I sat down and took my knitting out and began my wait.
The sideways glances I got were...memorable.
I got up to get myself a cup of tea; being a breastfeeding mom, caffeine is still on the no-no list, so I'm used to drinking tea.
There wasn't any tea.
The choices were coffee and Pepsi products. I found this to be such a striking indication of where I was that I almost laughed. The Korean dealerships all have tea. It's not fancy tea- it's usually gag-you-in-the-throat Lipton, but there's tea. Ford people don't drink tea, I guess. I could just imagine these big guys sipping out of a delicate tea cup with their pinkies out.
Yeah right
Luckly, I was saved by my mother picking me up.
Now, just to be fair to Ford owners- this is just my experience at THIS dealership in semi-rural Minnesota. You might own a Mustang and like your hair on fire. I don't know. I do know that the same clientele was present all three times I went to the dealership that day.
Regardless of my time warping experience into the stereotypes of Ford owners, I do have to say that there weren't greasy finger prints all over the car and that there weren't extra charges rung up, or other problems "found" with my car that day.
But I know I'll never own a Ford.
I also knew that there wasn't a dealership anywhere close by that I would trust to fix my subcompact Korean car. Yup, I'm one of those. It's a great car for me running around town, but I'm reminded how small it is every time my husband sits in the passenger seat and ends up chewing on his knees. And I'm reminded how light weight it is every time it snows (wee... toboggan ride!)
Anyway, the two closest dealerships had proven unreliable: the closest in Bloomington has a history of putting nails in people's cars and other sabotage to up-sell you on fixes you don't need. That happened to my friends twice there, as well. Then there's the dealership up on 394, but they were too dumb to be able to change a fuse in the 12V port that was blown...and during their investigations got grease all over the fabric on the interior.
So, where to go?
I decided to take a chance with a Ford dealership nearby. I called and asked if they serviced my Korean car brand- they did. They got me in quickly and their service area is fairly new. All good things.
The shock was me walking into the Service Wait area. It was like walking into a Ford commercial. You know the one about being one of those rough and tumble kind of guys with big wheels and dirty cars? They were all middle-aged men, over weight, chewing gum like it was cow cud, and wearing beer caps. They all had some sort of jacket vest on. All had blue jeans. I saw two soccer moms in the corner- incredibly frumpy and most probably the owners of the two mini-vans I saw in the shop. All looked at the blonde with her knitting and her tiny Asian subcompact among the mountains of gas-guzzling Ford hemis.
I think my IQ dropped about 20 points just walking in the door.
Let's say I was _slightly_ intimidated. SLIGHTLY. But, being the brave soul that I am, I sat down and took my knitting out and began my wait.
The sideways glances I got were...memorable.
I got up to get myself a cup of tea; being a breastfeeding mom, caffeine is still on the no-no list, so I'm used to drinking tea.
There wasn't any tea.
The choices were coffee and Pepsi products. I found this to be such a striking indication of where I was that I almost laughed. The Korean dealerships all have tea. It's not fancy tea- it's usually gag-you-in-the-throat Lipton, but there's tea. Ford people don't drink tea, I guess. I could just imagine these big guys sipping out of a delicate tea cup with their pinkies out.
Yeah right
Luckly, I was saved by my mother picking me up.
Now, just to be fair to Ford owners- this is just my experience at THIS dealership in semi-rural Minnesota. You might own a Mustang and like your hair on fire. I don't know. I do know that the same clientele was present all three times I went to the dealership that day.
Regardless of my time warping experience into the stereotypes of Ford owners, I do have to say that there weren't greasy finger prints all over the car and that there weren't extra charges rung up, or other problems "found" with my car that day.
But I know I'll never own a Ford.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Children's Songs
Barney really didn't help preserve the songs of our childhood. My daughter got this Barney piano book from our friends and I was shocked at what I found. Not only does the book require 3 hearing aid batteries ($5 a pop), but that purple marshmallow gave a rather PC wash to most of the songs that I knew from my childhood. One of them: Ring a Round the Rosie.
The real version:
Ring a round the rosie
Pocket full of posies
Ashes, ashes
We all fall down.
Yeah, it's grim. It's supposed to have been a comfort song for children during the years of the Black Plague in Europe. It's supposed to be grim.
Barney's version:
Ring a round the rosie
Pocket full of posies
Atishoo, atishoo
We all fall down!
So...now it's a song about allergies, I guess.
And then there's To Market (I'm sure you all remember the song from the original Miracle on 34th Street):
To market, to market
To buy a fat pig
Home again, home again
Jigga ji jig
Barney:
To market, to market
To buy a plum cake
Home again, home again
Market is late
What???
It's completely different!
And then there's the reversal of the Ants Go Marching. It's supposed to be a count down starting with 10 by 10; with every verse, "The Little One Stops" to do something...that would be, wait- subtracting one from the total number...wow, so starting with 10x10, it would be 9x9!
Math is so amazing!
I honestly never watched Barney, so I don't know how many other songs he "altered". I wasn't exactly in the age bracket during his broadcasts, but, like everyone else, I was VERY AWARE of how much that purple marshmallow and friends loved us.
I'm wondering what he would have done with "London Bridge"...it's supposed to fall down, afterall....
The real version:
Ring a round the rosie
Pocket full of posies
Ashes, ashes
We all fall down.
Yeah, it's grim. It's supposed to have been a comfort song for children during the years of the Black Plague in Europe. It's supposed to be grim.
Barney's version:
Ring a round the rosie
Pocket full of posies
Atishoo, atishoo
We all fall down!
So...now it's a song about allergies, I guess.
And then there's To Market (I'm sure you all remember the song from the original Miracle on 34th Street):
To market, to market
To buy a fat pig
Home again, home again
Jigga ji jig
Barney:
To market, to market
To buy a plum cake
Home again, home again
Market is late
What???
It's completely different!
And then there's the reversal of the Ants Go Marching. It's supposed to be a count down starting with 10 by 10; with every verse, "The Little One Stops" to do something...that would be, wait- subtracting one from the total number...wow, so starting with 10x10, it would be 9x9!
Math is so amazing!
I honestly never watched Barney, so I don't know how many other songs he "altered". I wasn't exactly in the age bracket during his broadcasts, but, like everyone else, I was VERY AWARE of how much that purple marshmallow and friends loved us.
I'm wondering what he would have done with "London Bridge"...it's supposed to fall down, afterall....
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