Tuesday on Friday

Thursday, 12 August 2010

Here’s a conundrum we’ve thrown around for a few days here: what are the chances that a set of parents, who have two children, have one boy and one girl? Is it a third (~33.3%) or is it half (50%)?

It’s a third. There. Problem settled.

Now on to more pressing issues:

So…I have 31 days from the time of my child’s birth to get them onto my insurance plan. If I don’t get them on my insurance plan by then, then any medical costs they’ve incurred up to that point will not be covered and, further, I won’t be able to get coverage for them until the next calendar year begins.

So, it should be easy enough, right? I mean, I just have to log onto my company’s HR site and add her. The only problem is that, after asking for her name and date of birth, I have to enter in her Social Security Number.

Ah…there’s the kicker. How to get a Social Security Number…hm…

I called the Minnesota Department of Health on Monday. Specifically, I called the woman who passes out birth certificates for home-brewed babies. She wasn’t there. She was out of the office. I was going to leave a message, but her mailbox was full.

So I called Tuesday. Same story.

So I called Wednesday. Same story. But then I pressed 1 for more options, which let me talk to someone else. That woman told me that I could just go ahead and call any county office to get a copy of my daughter’s birth certificate. I told her that my daughter had no birth certificate yet – that’s why I’m calling: I need to create one. She said I’d need to talk to Roxanne. I said I’d called Roxanne three days in a row, but that I just get her voicemail telling me she’s out of the office. This woman didn’t even know Roxanne was out of the office and, after putting me on hold, said there was no one else in the entire Department of Health that could assist me.

So I called back today. No out-of-the-office message. But I still got her voicemail. I left a message asking her to call me back. She hasn’t.

Friday, 13 August 2010

Today, seeking a little venture outside the house, Jennifer and I went and dined at Ruby Tuesday’s. Like the bland Rolling Stones song with which the restaurant shares its name, I’m gonna go ahead and declare Ruby Tuesday’s to be the most mediocre restaurant I’ve been to in a long time.

Let’s see…

The salad bar – probably larger than any other salad bar I’ve seen at other restaurants – had nothing beyond the ordinary: basic lettuce, one choice of cheese, those mouse-turd looking bacon bits, plain, dry-bread croutons, week-old onion bits, and all the blandest dressings you could ever want. There was Ranch, French, lo-cal Ranch, Italian, Thousand Island, and a couple of other super cheap dressings. No poppy seed, or anything else that could possibly take the food outside the ho-hum world of salads.

I ordered the Southwestern Quesadillas. Then the waitress said: “It comes with beef, but if you’d prefer chicken I’ve had it both ways and I think it’s just as good.”

I said: “Oh…um, I didn’t think it came with any meat. I was hoping for no meat.”

She said: “Well we can make it without meat, that’s no problem.”

I said yes, and then she tried to sell me guacamole for an additional $1.99.

Here’s my problem with that: the most expensive ingredient in the meal is the meat. Since I’ve asked to have that removed, shouldn’t I be given the guacamole at no charge? In fact, why slight vegetarians at all? Why not just list the meal as coming with your choice of beef, chicken, or guacamole? Or better yet, why don’t you hold the meat, give me the guacamole AND the $1.99.

Anyway.

Jennifer got fries with her meal, and so I grabbed one off her plate, because I’m greedy that way. Yuck. I’ve had better fries at McDonald’s. And they were less expensive, too. These were just the most absolutely plain fries you could possibly ask for. They had no seasonings on them, they were soggy, they were limp, they looked like they were snagged out of a frozen meal.

And did I mention they sat us at a booth that was in the bar area? Do you know why I hate the bar area? Because of the TVs. It just occurred to me that I should make a list of things I really hate, and TVs at restaurants will have to rate pretty high. See, if I’m going to bother putting pants on, driving in a car, showing up at a restaurant with other people, then I want to talk to those people. If I wanted to stare at a TV and not talk to anyone, I could do that at home. In my underwear. With better, less expensive food, and waaaay better beer. If the TV is airing a show I care about, don’t worry: I’ll catch it at home when I can give it the attention it deserves. If it’s playing something I couldn’t give a Ruby Tuesday’s french fry about, then I don’t want it thrown in my face when I’m trying to talk to my friends.