Factinis & Factomelettes

Movin' On Up!

2010-02-05T13:59:00.002-05:00

Dear Reader(s),

We write this post with joy in our hearts and gummy bears in our bellies (you’ll see why soon enough). While we both enjoy long-term relationships and fidelity, when something isn’t working, we know when it is time to move on… and that time is now!

You see, Factinis & Factomelettes is movin’ on up in the world of blogs! We’ve made the transition to WordPress.com and will be blogging at http://factinisfactomelettes.wordpress.com from now on!

Let’s take a moment of silence to appreciate all the fun we had on Blogger.com… and then scoot on over to our fun new blog at WordPress!

Kisses,
Sarah & April

Yet Another Birthday Shout-Out...

2010-02-04T12:32:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I think Factinis & Factomelettes should be renamed “Guess Who Was Born on This Day?” because so many people in our lives have birthdays around this time. This is also probably a good time to issue a mea culpa to my darling Fred, whose day of birth was yesterday. I neglected to blog about it. But I do have a super-amazing birthday gift for her (to be more accurate, I will have a super-amazing birthday gift whenever I can find a store that has said item in stock), so I think she’ll let it slide this time. I hope.

Hoodles, today is my father-in-law Rhymes-With-Rave’s birthday. I don’t know how old he is. But I can tell you he used to be a racecar driver, so I blame him for the lead feet of his son. I’ll also blame him for mine (by osmosis). Also, he would probably marry one (or more) of his vintage sleds if it were even barely legal. And if he weren’t married to Schmatti.

So happy birthday, Rhymes-With-Rave! Have fun up on the Hill this weekend! We’ll be praying to the Snow Gods for you. And slow the F down.

~April

Funny Donkey or Hip Hop Guy?

2010-02-03T09:01:00.004-05:00

Mike and I purchased new cell phones this weekend. And being the geek I am, I immediately donned my Snuggie and planted my arse on the couch to thoroughly customize and familiarize myself with my latest tech toy. And it was the customization bit that got me. Because the ring-tones are a sham. I call shenanigans.

Why? Because the ring-tones that come standard (read: free) with a new phone suck. There’s no other way around it. So unless you can stomach the obnoxious sounds that are standard issue, you have to fork over a couple Washingtons for a snippet of a tune you actually enjoy.

Here are the options that came with my phone:

Because I’m cheap (at least I’m honest), I chose “slowly.” But I might soon be shamed into actually buying a ring-tone like Mike immediately did.

~April

Logic Need Not Commute

2010-02-02T11:21:00.004-05:00

Unless you've been living under a rock since we became fabulous "citizen journalists" six months ago, you know that we have a horrendous commute. (If you have been living sub-stone, I will just take a moment to fill you in: our commute is horrendous).

In order to stay updated on the status of said horrendous commute, I subscribe to the MBCR's email update program. When a train on my line is late, they send an email notifying me, which could be very convenient and helpful... "could" being the key term, especially on those extra-special commuting days (such as the free cheese/fire day).

What makes this service illogical enough to warrant a blog post is the timing. Take the email I've pasted below, for example:
Everything seems fine at first. This communiqué is simply informing me that the 5:50pm train is delayed by 10-15 minutes. Here's the problem: they sent the email at 6:24pm. That's 34 minutes after the train should have left if on schedule, and more than double the amount of time past the estimated delay. It is kind of like telling me what last week's Powerball numbers were, or that I had to fill my car with gas when it was empty this morning. I know. I was there. I pumped and paid for it myself. And it isn't actually going to do me any good at this moment in time.

So kudos to you for trying, MBCR... But I'm not passing out any "A for effort" here.

~ Sarah

Adventures in Wedding Planning: Registry Fun!

2010-02-01T12:43:00.001-05:00

So far Andrew and I have done our best to only tackle the fun things related to wedding planning, and avoid the more stressful tasks (enormous white gown and non-cheesy interfaith ceremony ideas I'm talking to you!). This weekend we continued our streak and began registering for gifts.

At one of the stores that may or may not rhyme with Red Wrath & The Pond, we worked with a lovely and kind bridal consultant, albeit a gal who thought proper pronunciation was overrated. For example: she inquired as to whether we were planning to register for "sudoku knives." Umm, YES please! Apparently cutlery companies now make knives that also play mind-exercising numbers games. Alas, we looked all over the store but could not find them. The closest we could find were santoku knives.

That afternoon Andrew and I also faced the difficult decision of whether to register for both a grill pan and a Panini maker, or a grill pan alone. I know, I know, tough decisions. I thought I found the solution in one of those griddle presses (which could make the grill pan function like a Panini press), until I realized what it was called. When I added it to our list, it was listed as a "Cast Iron Bacon Grill Press." Well, you have read about my culinary restrictions long enough to realize that, as a moderately good Heb, the name would give me pause. What would my family say? I mean, it is bad enough that Andrew is registering for a deep fryer (I can already picture my carb-hating fam purse their lips and slowly shake their heads when they get to that section of the list...), but if I add something that has the trayfest of trayf food in the name, I'd really be asking for trouble. But the idea of grilling steak indoors and making perfect Paninis (sorry carb haters, they are delish!) was too tempting. There had to be a solution...

Luckily I kept that dream alive and at our next destination, the delightful Rhymes-With-Trait-&-Carol, I found the solution in the more forgivingly named: "Cast Iron Grill Press."

Phew! Crisis averted ;) Next stop: Rhymes-With-FrillyYams-&-Bologna (Italian city, not lunchmeat)...

~Sarah

Breaking News!!!

2010-01-29T16:33:00.003-05:00

There is so much to say, but this almost speaks for itself: http://specials.msn.com/A-List/Second-pregnant-man.aspx?cp-searchtext=second%20pregnant%20man&gt1=36010

Happy Friday!

2010-01-29T09:35:00.003-05:00

Please turn the volume waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay up when viewing this video.

And we promise it is totally office appropriate!

Phrases to Ditch in 2010

2010-01-28T16:37:00.001-05:00

My dear reader(s), I hate jargon and buzz-words. I’m sure you’re not surprised. Most of the vile phrases come from the business world, but not all. I’ve compiled a list for you, with the help of my delightful co-blogger. Full disclosure: some have back stories that I won’t explain, for fear of perpetuating filth. Following are words and phrases I can happily live without. You’ve been warned. WINK!

• Low-hanging fruit
• Hit the ground running
• Action items
• Net-net
• Special sauce
• You’ll appreciate this
• Top-line
• Drink the Kool-Aid
• Carte blanche
• Talk turkey
• Pay the piper
• Ballpark
• Value proposition
• Talk off-line
• Gain traction
• Mission critical
• Johnny on the spot
• In the weeds
• Herding cats
• Bandwidth
• Sacred cow
• Run it up the flagpole
• Fact time

Tell me, reader(s), what phrases do you never want to hear again?
~April

Chuck Norris vs Jack Bauer

2010-01-27T11:44:00.002-05:00

Your fearless bloggers had a bit of a rough day yesterday. Below is the conversation that either pulled us out of our funk or solidified our descent into madness. You decide.

April: We need to find our inner peace. Did you know Chuck Norris once pulled out a single hair from his beard and skewered three men through the heart with it? That’s a fact.

Sarah: I have no beard… that I will admit to. But I wonder if one of the eyebrow hairs I plucked could do that?

April: I don’t know… are you as tough as Chuck Norris?

Sarah: Definitely not. But I haven’t tested my eyebrows. Chuck Norris v. Jack Bauer… who wins?

April: One for the ages. In fact, I believe there is an entire web site dedicated to just that enigma. I guess it depends on what kind of villain you are. Run-of-the-mill bad guys would probably fare worse against Chuck Norris, but a terrorist’s worst enemy is Jack Bauer.

Sarah: Good point. So I guess all bad guys should beware! But the real question is: who wins in a cage match between Norris, Bauer and Flu Buddy?

April: I hate to say it, but I think Chuck Norris wins that round. He works alone. Well, not completely alone. He does have his fists. And his beard.

Sarah: So your order would be:
Flu Buddy falls first. Easily. (Sorry, Boo). Then there’s a bitter brawl between Bauer and Norris, but Norris goes all fisticuffy (and bearded) and takes Bauer out?

April: Flu Buddy goes down at the mere sight of Jack Bauer and Chuck Norris. I don’t blame him. Then Jack Bauer and Chuck Norris get down to business in a serious meeting of roundhouse kicks, but Chloe can’t triangulate the location of Chuck Norris’ third fist due to bad intel on the part of a rogue agent within CTU, so Chuck Norris lands the deathblow with his beard-fist.

Sarah: Game, set, match.

The lights may be on, but no one is home!

2010-01-26T10:51:00.003-05:00

Last week April, RWC and I decided to brave the post office again, risking life and limb-- or at least really bloody tape-cutter-induced injuries-- to mail some bills, wedding To-Dos and gift exchanges, when we happened upon this notice on their window:

That's right, the cameras might be working, but no one cares. And no one checks them. So go ahead and do whatever you want. Sounds like a great deterrent, folks!

WINK!

~Sarah

Who is YOUR Flu Buddy?

2010-01-25T09:59:00.005-05:00

Last week April and I returned to "Boo" and, while we were on campus, we happened upon the school's campaign to prevent the spread of flu (both seasonal and swine). Although we applaud their efforts, we couldn't help but notice the silliness of the, ummm, campaign mascot.

So, without further ado, I'm honored(?) to present: Flu Buddy!!!

And here's a close-up of the brave contagion fighter:

Keep in mind, the campaign was designed to address college and graduate students, not elementary school kids, and Boo already has a well-established canine mascot... But apparently even twenty-somethings can't resist faux super heroes that fight contagious infections!

Three cheers for Flu Buddy (not to mention April's awesome interpretive posing!)

~Sarah

P.S. Yes, I did notice that Boo, flu and ado rhyme! I'm poetic like that...

The Great Train Mystery (aka Dan Brown Should Take Notes)

2010-01-22T09:42:00.004-05:00

We know what you're thinking, dear reader(s): Gosh, I wish I could have another delightful glimpse into the joy that is the Wilderrol commute!

Ask and ye shall receive! The following is a transcript from our commuter rail instant messaging earlier this week:
Sarah: The lady next to me is highlighting the metro.

April: Highlighting? Is she cracking a code?

Sarah: She might be! Or writing one... Wait, now she is circling things!

April: Hmmmm... What article is she reading?

Sarah: She's reading them all one by one.

April: Well it IS a legit source of news. Could she be cracking the Metro Code? Where's Dan Brown? Where's Dan Brown???

Sarah: That's it! Tom Hanks, prepare for your next role: The Metro Code... Or Angels and Commuters! Either way, prepare for suspense, action, and some brainiac puzzlers.

April: I just chuckled. Out loud. Chuckled is a really funny word. It makes me giggle every time I see it.

Sarah: Agreed! Guffaw ain't too shabby, either.

April: Love it.

Sarah: Then we are agreed-- Tom Hanks should prepare to chuckle and guffaw in his next feature film, Angels and Commuters, adapted from a Dan Brown novel that he will write as soon as he reads our insightful train-conversation.

Only My Spiders Would Die of Starvation

2010-01-21T10:06:00.002-05:00

Mike and I are unafraid of hard work. We both even have backup careers if these don't pan out. He will work at Home Depot. I will work in a bookstore and a liquor store. See? I'd take two jobs! So it boggles my mind how the inhabitants of our household can be so darn lazy.

We have a cat and a dog. Cats and dogs are supposed to keep the home free of bugs because it is in their nature to hunt small creatures. But not our pets. They allow the spiders and silverfish free range of our domicile. Which is disgusting.

And I allow most of the spiders to live as long as they stay in their ceiling corners and leave me the heck alone. Because I do not enjoy getting close enough to kill them. But I do expect them to eat other insects. Is that not their duty in life? But not my lazy-arse spiders. I suppose they're waiting for me to deliver a fly on a tiny silver platter. Because the spiders in my house keep starving to death. Honest.

These animals and spiders of ours allowed one particular silverfish to grow to the length of my Blackberry. I kid you not. I finally vacuumed it up one Saturday morning (screaming the entire time, I assure you) after it threatened me with a shiv it fashioned out of a piece of dried spaghetti. I do not appreciate being threatened in my home, especially by a creature with a bazillion legs.

So the dog and cat refuse to eat the spiders, which refuse to eat the moths and silverfish. And I have to interject at this point that my house is not as creepy-crawly as it sounds. Hoodles, now we are under attack from ants. And the spiders are still starving. And my cat and dog cannot be bothered with frivolous ants.

So I query you, dear reader(s): What is a gal to do when all of the inhabitants of her domicile refuse to earn their keep? I'm considering moving.

~April

Famous or Infamous? Either Way, They’re After Us!

2010-01-20T09:54:00.004-05:00

As Factinis & Factomelettes fan and commenter Danny (and blogger on his family's cute site: The Squibix Family Blog) declared on yesterday’s blog, it seems we have offended some powerful, sinister figures. And thanks to my co-blogger’s open declaration against the search-engine-that-shall-not-be-named-but-rhymes-with-frugal, the media is taking notice! Witness the scene as we were leaving MoCo Village after work yesterday:

They claim the camera crews were there to cover the results of MA’s historic election, but we know better - we've been to the Longhorn, we know the drill. Good thing we snuck around the side streets and avoided all those prying journalists.

This morning we hoped that news of the election would deflect attention away from yours truly, but to no avail. Once again, we were greeted by camera crews as we neared our office, and once again we rerouted ourselves to avoid their prying lenses:

It isn’t easy to out-smart paparazzi and story-hungry news crews, but we had the smarts to yell: “Is that Scott Brown entering the Park Plaza Hotel?” and make our getaway!

Fingers crossed for our commute home! And this time, maybe we'll get our hands on those lasers. WINK!

~Sarah

It's On, Google!

2010-01-19T12:11:00.000-05:00

You may have noticed there are no ads on this site anymore. You see, Sarah and I got paid a miniscule sum each time a reader clicked on an ad. We're not supposed to talk about it, but we got kicked out anyway, so the secret is out. Apparently we were making too much money, so Google kicked us out of the program. And it won't even give us the money we earned because we hadn't made our first $100 yet.

So Sarah is appealing. But as the saying goes, I don't get mad, I get even. And I'm fighting back. Google, you are dead to me. Until you allow me to earn money by pimping out my blog to your advertisers, I will no longer use your search engine. Bing, you better not disappoint me. You're on notice, Yahoo! And don't even get me started on Google News. Because I can't talk about something that doesn't exist.

To give you a window into our struggle, this is how our afternoon went:

4:00 p.m.: Official Google strike called when April realizes not only is Google witholding their money, but it stole their award. It's on Google. It's on like Donkey Kong.

4:04 p.m.: Just realized we spent the first four minutes of our Google strike discussing Google. This does not bode well.

4:08 p.m.: Still talking about Google.

4:12 p.m.: Sarah envisions Lifetime movie chronicling our struggle. Meryl Streep will star as Sarah. April will have to play herself. Kiefer Sutherland will play Mike.

Do stay tuned...
~April

We Were Lasered!

2010-01-18T09:03:00.002-05:00

I'm lucky to be alive. But I can't say the same thing for my brother's camera. You see, last Friday Andrew, my brother XX* and I were touring the monuments in DC. Along the way, XX was taking artsy photos of the granite behemoths, silly photos of Andrew and me, foul photos (topic, not judgment of quality) of sea gulls and ducks, photos of airplanes, the mega-rich's helicopters- he was pretty much snapping pictures of everything. And then it happened...

Marine One flew directly over our heads! XX aimed his camera skyward, quickly focused it, clicked the button-that-makes-the-camera-take-a-picture (I can't for the life of me remember what that's called but shutter comes to mind) and... got an error message that completely messed with the camera. Kaput. Gonezo. Done for. That actually happened!

We can only assume the president's peeps now have super-accurate, super-specialized lasers that, when aimed at a camera, immediately destroy it. Apparently taking photos of Marine One isn't cool without permission, because we got lasered. Or, more accurately, XX's camera got lasered. Tricksy technologists.

~Sarah

*I am keeping his identity confidential so "the man" can't figure out who he is and "take him downtown."

The Other Sister Gets Smart

2010-01-15T10:47:00.003-05:00

Remember when we modeled our smart-people accessories? That was a studious day. And apparently quite inspirational. Because regular commenter The Other Sister decided to forego her contacts in favor of her own smart-people accessories. And she sent proof. Witness:

Lookin’ good, The Other Sister!
~April

How Sarah Starts Her Day

2010-01-15T09:44:00.002-05:00

Running on Dunkin' indeed! Some days the mere thought of a new beginning is all it takes to get a gal out of bed. Some days require an extra boost...
~April

Caution: Brainiacs Blogging

2010-01-14T08:48:00.002-05:00

In the past when people thought about us Wilderrol gals, things like "silly, in a witty sort of way," or "special," or even "cute as pie" and "lovely" (thanks Andrew and Mike... and our parents...) might pop into their heads. Well, April and I are putting you all on notice: there's a new adjective in town and we're not afraid to prove it!

You see, recently April and I made a trip to our local optometrist and obtained what we like to call "smart person accessories." We have decided to embrace, rather than hide, our immense intellect with these:
And no, these aren't a result of getting-on in years. These are for smarties only. Let's face it: April and I are pretty darn bright. In fact, we both have M.S. degrees. Yes, we mastered science. That actually happened. Science is now our b*tch. So from now on when we own up to our smarts more often, don't be surprised! We read leather bound books, we ponder, consider and delineate, and we do it with style... and humor, of course!
~Sarah

Where my Paparazzi at?

2010-01-13T08:44:00.003-05:00

Last weekend Andrew and I went to Longhorn Steakhouse (a step up from Chili’s, in his estimation) and the place was packed! I'm talking 80-90 minute wait times for a table (longer for a booth). Happily we called ahead so our wait was only about ten minutes, but in that span of time our evening took a turn for the weird, and kept on going down bizarre street.

Let's face it, waiting for a table is a dangerous game... Just one mis-paged electronic coaster and pandemonium could ensue! Hungry diners get possessive of their place in line, they approach the hostess every five minutes to assess their wait-time, and they aren't afraid to make a scene if it will increase their chances of being seated earlier.

When we first arrived in the waiting area, the family across from us gave us the look. You know, the one that says: "Your evening is about to get a whole lot worse, so prepare for hunger-induced arguments, jealous rages when it seems like everyone around you - even people you swear arrived after you did - are seated first, and, while we feel badly for you, there's nothing we can do because we are going to be seated long before you will! Too bad, so sad."

Imagine their surprise and outrage when our buzzer went off just a few moments after their patronizing, prideful glance. Then imagine their frustration as they tried to figure out who we are, who we might possibly be related to or "relating with" to get service like that. Needless to say, the glare got a little more menacing as we high-tailed it over to our table.

What's so weird about that? Nothing, really. But that's just the background, I'm setting the scene. The really weird part of our evening came after we had finished eating and our waitress packaged up our leftovers. Like most servers, when we asked her to wrap up the rest of our meals, she took our plates behind those mysterious swinging doors and emerged with a plastic bag containing the two boxes of our leftovers. Still nothing weird about that, I agree. Here's where it gets, umm, different...

After she put the doggy bag on our table, the guy at the table across from us stood up and cornered the waitress in the middle of the restaurant.

"Who are they?!?" He demanded, pointing in our direction. Our waitress, as confused as we were, replied that we were customers (obviously).

"Are they better customers than I am? Are they special customers?"

Still confused, our waitress assured him that all her customers are equally special.

"Then why did you treat them better than me? Why do they get better service? When I asked to take home my leftovers you brought me a box and I did it myself at the table. When they asked, you took their plates to the back and did it for them! And," he added, as his voice carried over the other diners in our area and they all stopped eating and stared at us, "you gave them a bag! A bag!! I didn't get a bag! So who are they that you treat them so much better than me?"

Realizing her "grave" error, our trusty server apologized, offered to bring him a plastic bag, and explained that usually for one box of leftovers (his), a bag isn't necessary, but for multiple boxes (ours), most customers liked getting a bag. Then the *ahem* gentleman informed her that it was too late for that, that the slight had already occurred, that he was very upset with her and the whole dining experience. And with that, he stormed out (after giving Andrew and I an evil stare for good measure).

To top off this ridiculous display and further brighten the spotlight that mercilessly shined on us, the over-confident family from the waiting room were seated next to us as this fiasco went down. They heard and saw the whole debacle. Shaking their heads at us for causing more trouble at the Longhorn, Andrew and I knew they finally understood the price of our fame. Or learned some other lesson, like: avoid busy steakhouses on Saturday nights, or never make eye contact with lunatics, or if you're gonna be accused of using your (real or imagined) fame, you'd best bring your own paparazzi!

~Sarah

We Heart Free Cheese

2010-01-12T11:51:00.003-05:00

So I was alerted to a cheese giveaway via twitter the other day. For all of you who say twitter is useless, you didn't get free cheese. I did. The giveaway was being sponsored by Cabot Cheese and the Vermont tourism association. Sarah was all for trekking over to South Station, so we grabbed Rhymes-With-Cannon and started walking.

We didn't exactly know how to get over there on foot. I said we should go through Downtown Crossing, but Sarah is kind of afraid of that area (she is anti-street meat) and we both were pretty sure there was a quicker way, so Sarah looked up directions on the goggle.

Now I'm not placing blame on anyone (Tom Cruise, I'm looking at you...), but we got lost. Not horribly, but we couldn't quite figure out where we were in relation to where we wanted to go. So we walked in the general direction of where we might be if we were South Station. And lo and behold, eventually we arrived at our destination. And inside said destination we found.... cheese.

Have I mentioned I love cheese? Because I do. A lot. I even have a cheese-making kit that I plan to try out very soon. There's a fancy dinner riding on it.

Hoodles, the cheese was delish, although they would let us each try only one sample, which we all agreed was pretty much bull honky, especially since I spent about ten minutes trying to help one of the reps figure out how to use the camera on her blackberry. And then the other cheese rep made me talk to a bum, his "best customer." Well of course he's your best customer -- he'll eat anything! And the bum had summer teeth (summer here, summer there).
So we headed back to the office with our free cow-print pencils and recipe cards, nibbling on our samples. And we got lost again. In Chinatown. And we definitely walked past a semi emitting a cloud of pot smoke. And I wanted to tell the next cop I saw, but I don't like talking to uniformed police officers because I'm always afraid I'll go for their guns. So I didn't.

And finally we miraculously made it back to work. We had been back not ten minutes and I was just sitting down at my desk with my lunch when this happened. And then there was our commute. Just another day in the life, livin' the dream.
~April

Muchas Gracias, Shmargaret!

2010-01-11T14:07:00.004-05:00

It’s Monday… again… but lately Mondays haven’t felt so hopeless at MoCo Village thanks to Shmargaret! You see, in an effort to force her little booty to the grocery store and help put smiles on our faces each week, Shmarge has decided to take on a project we like to call “Shmargaret’s Shmondays!”

She takes requests each Friday afternoon and then makes a delicious gourmet, healthy lunch for Monday. Last week we had turkey chili and today we had fajitas – take a gander at the feast she prepared for us:

Drooling yet? Thoughts so. And yes, MoCo Villagers love Tex-Mex.

Shmargaret, if anyone ever deserved a blog shout-out, it’s you! Muchas gracias!!

~Sarah

Reader’s Mailbag: Soda Nails

2010-01-09T18:19:00.005-05:00

Dear Wilderrols,
A designer friend recently sent me this photograph… Your thoughts?
- Shmaroline

Dear Shmaroline,

Thanks for passing that photo our way! It’s… definitely… interesting. First, a few questions for you: when you say your "designer friend," do you mean she's some sort of brand name, fancy label friend? In other words, do you introduce this friend like you would a Gucci bag or Hermes scarf? And do you group other friends in categories like Hanes socks (which are reliable, but certainly made for the common man)? Never mind. Moving on...

And now, a few questions for your "designer friend":

What do the manicured thumb nails look like? Or this is some sort of eight-fingered mutant hand? Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Both regular Dr. Pepper and Diet Dr. Pepper get nails? Has Schweppes lodged a formal complaint? I mean, really – Mello Yello made it on there but not ginger ale? And no Coke??? Really? RC Cola but not Coca-Cola? Hmmmm… suspect.

Did this delightful décor have anything to do with a costume party, losing a bet, a drunken visit to a nail salon? My guess is that there’s a good story behind this photo…

Can we assume this person did not make a resolution to quit drinking soda in 2010, since every time I look at that photo I get a little hankerin’ for some tasty bubbles?

What’s up with the super Mountain Dew shout-out? I’ve heard it’s the nectar of the gods, but resting your claws, errr, fingers on the can is a little much.

Keep ‘em coming, dear reader(s)! We heart emails!
~Sarah

It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Gets Shot

2010-01-08T10:27:00.001-05:00

If you've ever had a long commute (say, more than 30 minutes), then you understand the tornado of emotions that rips through you when you are delayed, especially when there is absolutely nothing you could have done to prevent said delay. Now imagine an entire train station filled with commuters whose trains are inexplicably delayed. Suffice it to say a fair amount of "accidental" elbowing occurs.

But sometimes it's worse. Much worse.

Take, for example, the other evening. Sarah and I high-tailed it out of work promptly at 5 p.m. in the hopes of at least one of us catching an earlier train. No dice. What we did catch was a train station full of people. Because the Great Train Delay had once again begun.

You see, every so often (and so as not to be misleading, I will tell you upfront that this is a much more common occurence than is acceptable for the exhorbitant fee we pay for the privelege of commuting on stinky, broke-down trains. But I digress.) a single delayed train causes a chain-reaction of delays that sends a ripple of anger and resentment throughout the north-of-Boston commuting community. And this was one of those nights.

As Sarah and I tried to make the best of a few more stolen moments together (but not in a dirty way), my dear co-blogger spied a jostling in her periphery that she feared would lead to fisticuffs. Concerned for our safety -- and, honestly, just plain nosy -- we both turned to observe the shenanigans. Two males appeared to be antagonizing a third male of the species. And that third male was NOT, repeat NOT, taking it well. In fact, he was shaking all over. I told Sarah he was probably some sort of robot bomb person and we should vacate the premises. She was of the opinion that he would shoot someone. With a handgun. And by handgun, I mean a gun made out of his hand and fingers. You don't mess with THOSE bullets.

And the fact that we very nearly perished inside the train station isn't even the worst part of the commute. And I'll leave it up to you, dear reader(s) to decide which of us drew the shorter end of the stick:

Sarah was stranded at the station for 26 minutes. That's four minutes too few to be eligible for a refund. And she still had to swing through Target and Chipotle (mmm... burritos...) on her way home. I can only hope it was mouth-watering visions of burritos that kept my dear co-blogger sane as the man behind and to the left of her sank ever deeper into the pit of madness, obsessively rubbing his hands together a la Lady MacBeth or Mr. Burns while his unruly facial hair took on a life of its own. Our intrepid commuter rightly feared for her safety last night!

Meanwhile, I was crammed in one of the between-cars sections of the train. With about 10 other people. Standing for a 40-minute commute is not joyous. Additionally, that is sort of a joint between cars, so you tend to get swung around in there. There was a lot of stumbling and crashing into one another. I inadvertantly got a little friendly with the guy standing across from me. We may be married. Or about to be executed. I'm not sure.
~April

Just Another Day Outside the Office…

2010-01-07T12:26:00.008-05:00

I love teambuilding! Give me trust games, outings, free lunches, embarrassing share-your-feelings activities, and I'm a happy girl! While most companies (ours included) schedule these motivational appointments several times throughout the year, it is often the impromptu ones that have the biggest impact. Yesterday, for example, we risked life and limb together, unscheduled and ill-prepared, and we admire each other all the more as a result.

Sometime between noon and our usual afternoon food coma time, we MoCo Villagers (including blog favorites Shmargaret and Rhymes With Cannon) were startled by a piercing clamor: the fire alarm. As well-trained worker bees, we grabbed our jackets and booked it outside. We did not pause to bring purses, mittens, socks or billable work, we simply high-tailed it out of the building… except for April, who was in the middle of lunch and brought her Tupperware of Sheppard’s Pie along for the adventure... but I digress. As you can guess, dear reader(s), that meant we left our Blackberries, cell phones and all other modes of communication in the building.

Just as we realized our lack of important accessories, the fire trucks pulled up. They arrived quickly and professionally, despite the lack of smoke, scent or heat from any flames. April and I understood the importance of documenting this adventure and being able to contact colleagues and family in an emergency, but with firemen on the scene we were trapped outside. What's a girl to do?

Act brazenly, of course! We assessed the situation and determined that there was no immediate danger from quickly running back inside the first floor entrance and grabbing a Blackberry (other than hearing loss thanks to the blaring alarm), so amidst the commotion occurring on the floors above ours, I gallantly sprinted back inside, grabbed my BB and bolted back outside quick as a wink! My colleagues may have laughed at this “ridiculous” (matter of opinion, I say) act, but I’m proud to say that, as a result of my bravery, we are able to share this photographic evidence of our afternoon adventure with you…
And yes, I am expecting a medal of honor any day now!

~Sarah

What I did on my Winter Vacation

2010-01-06T11:21:00.003-05:00

I'm sure you're all wondering what I did for the past two weeks while I wasn't blogging. So am I. Because I sure didn't do the exciting things I had planned, like straightening up my closet or giving the apartment a thorough cleaning. And I have it on good authority that at least one of our readers was disappointed by our (and by our I mean Sarah's because I didn't post a darn thing) sparse posting. Mr. G, I apologize for letting you down. So here's what I did, in no particular order, while I shirked my blogging duties:

I got overly excited about the fantasic deal I got on a fancy new car seat for the baby.
I got a Snuggie from my brother.
I learned the true meaning of Kwanzaa and decided to celebrate it henceforth.
I took a couple naps, even though I hate doing it.
I made brioche pizza, and was not impressed.
I fell in love with the Wendy "How You Doin'" Williams Show.
I gained back the last five lbs of baby weight I was so excited to lose, thanks to the excellent baking skills of those in my inner circle.
I spent way more than necessary on groceries.
I celebrated my husband's birthday with amazing fajitas and a tall Harpoon.
I introduced my son to the joyous world of cheese.
I contemplated making a wedding registry. But didn't.
I ate kishka. And loved it!
I lost, found, lost and found (again!) my laundry card. And then I did some laundry. The night before I went back to work.
I ate way more chicken wings than one woman should in a single evening. I paid for it the next day. But it was worth it.
I refused to answer non-urgent emails and reminded myself that I'm really not THAT important.
I engaged in a little online retail therapy. And am still eagerly awaiting the goods.

As you see, I was pretty productive these past two weeks. And now I'm back to life, back to reality. And I'm back to blogging. You're welcome.

~April

Ask Us About Space...

2010-01-05T10:20:00.001-05:00

Some days I can't believe that so many theories about extraterrestrials abound: Area 51, crop circles, abductions, UFO sightings, pod people who don't exactly fit in with humans (I'm talking to you, Tom Cruise), etc.

Do I doubt there is intelligent life on other planets? Absolutely not. But I don't think we need all these conspiracy theories. If we want to make contact with aliens, we need to open our eyes and read the signs clearly... It isn't that complicated, earthlings!

For example, one day my dear friend and neighbor Rhymes With Tinny and I were running errands and we happened upon this sign:
While most of the other customers entering the Starbucks in the building simply walked past it assuming this was a punny real estate advertisement, Rhymes With Tinny and I knew better. As Freud said: Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar - and sometimes a hotline about space really will put you in touch with aliens!

So, dear reader(s), I implore you to live long and prosper, nanu nanu and phone home (your parents miss hearing from you!).

~Sarah

A Double Birthday Shout-Out

2010-01-04T09:59:00.002-05:00

With the Northeast's penchant for March blizzards, it is small wonder I know so many people with birthdays around this time. Today I'd like to give a loud Factinis & Factomelettes shout-out to two such cold-weather babies: Sarah's soon-to-be-husband Andrew and my mother-in-law Schmatti.

First, hat's off to you, Andrew! You make the lonely trek up to New Hampshire every morning for work, yet you have refrained from growing any manner of facial hair. While I think a Fu Manchu would be the perfect addition to your indescribable face, I realize your clean-shaven chin and upper lip is a testament to the respect you hold for your lady love's wishes, so I applaud you for that. Furthermore, you have worked tirelessly to keep The Last Unicorn in the hearts and minds of countless female New Yorkers. It takes a special kind of person to demonstrate such dedication to that cause. I'll allow my reader(s) to draw their own conclusions on what that means.

Second, on this day 40 years ago (WINK!), my mother-in-law Schmatti was born. Schmatti is a regular reader of this blog. I enjoy and appreciate that. She also strongly supports my love of As Seen on TV paraphenalia. In fact, she gave me Pro Caulk for Christmas (among other things). I don't own a home, so my husband and father-in-law don't grasp the necessity of said tool. However, I know plenty of people who do own homes, and I'd be willing to try out my caulking skills on their bathtubs (Schmatti, I'm looking at you). After all, whose grout couldn't benefit from a touch-up?

So happy birthday, Andrew and Schmatti! We salute you, two of our regular readers. Although you both have yet to comment...

And if I missed anyone's birthday, well, you're just not that important. I kid! I kid! Tell me if you want birthday recognition. My brain is full of Jeopardy trivia and little-known facts -- there's no room for birthdays and anniversaries.
~April

Happy Happy!

2010-01-02T18:36:00.005-05:00

Happy New Year! Our apologies for beginning 2010 on a somewhat negligent note, but rest assured, dear reader(s), we will continue bringing you all the factinis and factomelettes you’ve come to expect from us throughout the year.

I’d also like to take this opportunity to send my co-blogger’s husband, Mike (or, Lamar, as he’s referred to in certain circles) a happy birthday shout-out! Wishing you a wonderful year full of the joys of fatherhood, matrimony, friendship, and blog-lurking! I’m mentally sending you a Carvel Ice Cream Cake with a handmade tooth decoration…

~Sarah

A Belated Holiday Gift…?

2009-12-29T16:00:00.003-05:00

As you know, we Factinis & Factomelettes gals appreciate gifts, bribes and tokens of love in *almost* all forms (including, but not limited to: gift cards, shiny objects, baked goods, love letters, As Seen on TV products we can’t live without, etc.) Thus far we’ve been very fortunate, but this week I received an offer that changed my mind about unsolicited gifts…

Thanks to my prowess as a blogger, a Mr. Vlad Bad has offered me the opportunity to order Russian Brides online. That’s right, not just one bride, but multiple brides are available for my perusal and selection on the interweb. You may ask, dear reader(s), how I know this is a serious offer, and not just spam.

Well, spam hardly seems likely. How many Russian Brides are out there on the internets? Not enough to give to every Tom, Dick and Sarah, that’s for sure! Wonder if they can be shipped already gift wrapped?

While I appreciate your kind offer, Mr. Bad, I will have to pass. In the future, please note that a better way to my heart is through Dunkin Donuts gift cards. Anonymous Russian brides just don’t warm my soul in the same way as a hot latte!

~Sarah

Reporting Live from Xmas Morning!

2009-12-25T11:00:00.004-05:00

This is Sarah Wilderrol reporting live from my first Christmas morning with the future in-laws...

Frankly, I love it! I made out like a bandit (see photo below!), and have yet to completely embarrass myself (visions of my future sister-in-law's Confirmation are dancing in my head).

This time, TV didn't lie*. Thanks to the storm last weekend, the ground is covered in a lovely layer of nearly-white snow. And this morning we got to:

Wear my favorite attire (pj's!) all morning - and thanks to my thoughtful co-blogger I even had festive slipper socks (monkeys on sleds - it doesn't get much cuter than that)
Feast on non-shellfish delicacies (apple cinnamon pancakes!! And I hear this afternoon's meal will include twice-baked potatoes AND roast beef - huzzah from the Heb!)
Climb over mountains of wrapping paper ripped with gusto off the thoughtful gifts we received from each other
And enjoy lots of quiet family time.

I could get used to this!

~Sarah

*I'm still mad at TV for misrepresenting Christmas Eve. Seriously, talk about false promises! TV can be such a jerk...

Holiday Shenanigans!

2009-12-24T13:05:00.003-05:00

Merry Christmas Eve, dear reader(s)! To kick off the holiday and my first full Xmas with my future in-laws, I thought I'd bring you a great example of interfaith understanding and bargains! Apparently a grocery store in Texas was advertising the following deal:
Come get a great deal on your Hanukkah ham!

And a special thanks to Rhymes-With-Rad for passing that picture my way :)

Happy Holidays,
Sarah

Oops! I Flarped.

2009-12-23T10:32:00.003-05:00

The hubs and I are travelling back home for Christmas with the dog and the little nug in tow. This means a six-hour car trip. Or longer, depending and the fuel efficiency of my body in relation to the fuel efficiency of the car.

I took advantage of a refueling stop to change our unfortunately wide-awake baby's diaper. While drying my hands with a nine-month-old on my hip and a diaper bag and my coat awkwardly under one arm, a woman using the hand dryer next to me started gushing over my son. I forgot that Mike's Christmas gift from my lovely co-blogger (a Flarp Machine that makes real fart sounds in eight different styles) was in my pocket. As I graciously thanked her for the compliments I shifted all of my parcels and accidentally hit one of the buttons on the Flarp Machine. And not one of the quick oops-I-just-let-out-a-little-toot-I-hope-no-one-notices sounds, but a long, loud rippler.

And, having the maturity of a 12-year-old boy, I giggled and blamed it on the baby.

~April

PBS Comes to Town

2009-12-21T10:05:00.002-05:00

RWC's beau "PBS" graced us with his height... err, presence Friday. Seriously, the man is some kind of giant. Witness:

I am not a midget.

In all honesty, PBS is an absolute delight. My favorite part? That when, upon first meeting him, I announced that it was time for his photo shoot, he didn’t question it. He just went along with it and never acted like it was weird. And I enjoy that.

~April

If It Fits, It Ships!

2009-12-18T10:17:00.005-05:00

You know that slogan for the USPS, "If it fits, it ships?" Yesterday they proved they're dead serious. I had to return some coats and a dress, but I knew it was going to be tough to fit it all in one box. So I brought Sarah and the Lady Gaga-loving colleague Rhymes-With-Spiesah from our office. We crammed all that clothing in a large flat-rate box. And when I say crammed, I mean Sarah had to sit on it to get the box closed. Sarah and I both had to hold the box together while Rhymes-With-Spiesah wrapped it in packing tape. And that's where things went horribly wrong.

Somehow, Rhymes-With-Spiesah cut herself. And I don't mean a tiny paper-cut. We're talking stitches, or at least a butterfly bandage. Sarah and I didn't realize the extent of the injury until we handed the package to the clerk. And then I noticed that the package was covered in blood. I fully admit that I am prone to exaggeration and dramatization. This is not one of those times. It looked like I murdered a small animal and wiped my entrails-covered hands on the box. Too much? It's true. But I have no photographic evidence because Sarah and I both forgot our Blackberries at the office and Rhymes-With-Spiesah was too busy tending to her wound.

There are two great parts of this story. The first is that the clerk had no reaction to the overstuffed, bloody package I was shipping. None. He didn't even ask if there was anything fragile, perishable or hazardous in it. Probably because he didn't want to know. The second is that while Rhymes-With-Spiesah held her bleeding hand above her heart to slow the flow of blood and I calmly completed my transaction as if this were all completely normal (and let's face it, in my life, it is), Sarah matter-of-factly announced, "Don't mind me, I'm just removing the blood from my hands with a little packing tape." And our clerk still did not bat an eye.

So apparently even hazardous material like someone else's blood will ship as long as you can fit it in a flat-rate box. Which is pretty convenient and economical. It's probably the one thing brown can't do for you.

~April

What's that Smell?

2009-12-17T15:46:00.001-05:00

Dear reader(s), it is with great pride that I share this photo with you:

The luscious cookies pictured above were lovingly baked by my dear co-blogger, April. And let me tell you something, they were delicious and didn't last long!

Why am I taking up a precious day of posting to show you a photo of cookies? Well, I'm glad you asked. We know that April is a super mom - she works full time, is raising a brilliant and adorable little boy, running a household, blogging, and graciously putting up with commuters (who probably belong in a sci-fi novel instead of on our daily routine). If you asked April last week if there was anything she couldn't do, she would probably tell you that she isn't from the bakers.

These cookies prove otherwise.

April, you are officially one skill closer to perfection. And please feel free to continue demonstrating your new found ability... WINK!

~Sarah

How to Celebrate Christmas

2009-12-16T08:48:00.000-05:00

My dear co-blogger is about to celebrate her first full Christmas with her soon-to-be in-laws. I promised to give her a rundown on what to expect so there isn't a repeat of the confirmation situation in which she thought the presentation of the gifts meant wrapped packages from Macy's and she responded to the offering of peace with "Right back at you!" So far, I've explained Christmas stockings. Clearly, I haven't had any sense of urgency in this matter. And now Christmas is less than a week away. Oh, and I helped her write her first Christmas list. And by helped, I mean I read a fascinating article on Katie Holmes' secret sorrow and feelings of being trapped in a loveless marriage by an ubercontrolling religious freak (Tom Cruise, I'm looking at you) while periodically tossing out helpful suggestions like, "Just write down the things you want for Christmas."

Sarah already knows what to expect on Christmas Eve, as she has gone to dinner with Andrew for the past few years. And I've told her the truth about EOTS. Help me out here, reader(s)! What are the essentials a good Heb needs to know to survive Christmas with a boisterous Italian family?
~April

Please Pass the Hearing Aids...

2009-12-15T11:33:00.005-05:00

Last night I met up with some good friends that I hadn't seen in ages. As former (and some still current) employees of a company in Cambridge, we became friends as we took our first steps into adulthood... in other words, we met at our first jobs!

During that time, we learned to behave like worker bees. Sure, there were the occasional inter-departmental pranks ("securing" office supplies directly onto desks, taking over computers remotely, and two words: Princess Razzles), the crazy bets (mustard sandwiches, Bubble Tape overload, and yes, I did win $100 for potching some guy at a bar – but don’t worry, I got permission first) and the always entertaining vocabulary lessons (verb: to g-roll someone, relationship status as real estate terms, and the origins of "hadji" in Greek familial nomenclature), but for the most part, we were letting go of our carefree college days and figuring out how to become responsible, gainfully employed adults.

It has been more years than some of us care to admit since those early days and a lot has changed in our lives, so last night we gathered to celebrate all the "adult" steps we have recently taken: engagements, marriage, step-parenthood, discussion of the best time in our relationships and careers to have children, etc.

Apparently we have all managed to grow up! In fact, after years of happy hours and late nights together, we found ourselves enjoying a new after-dinner drink: the very mature, tasty and relaxing brew, hot tea! After all, we had to drive back to the suburbs to make it home to bed at a reasonable hour...

So here's to friends growing older and wiser together! Cheers!

~Sarah

Do YOU Have a Minute for Human Rights?

2009-12-14T14:05:00.001-05:00

So last Friday, as Sarah and I were making our final trek to the train for the week, we were accosted by a somewhat scraggly young woman who wanted to know if we had a minute for human rights. At the time, Sarah and I merely strolled past, but of course I came up with a witty response about 45 seconds later. Part of me wanted to turn around and inform the woman that I did, in fact, have a minute for human rights, but only if those rights were limited to my right to hunt the most dangerous game (man). But then I remembered that I really did have a train to catch and this chick probably wouldn’t appreciate my sense of humor, anyway. And it’s only really funny if you say that right when they ask you. If you go back, you’re just weird and kind of creepy.

But this incident made me realize just how often do-gooders try to coerce me onto their save-the-world bandwagon. Multiple times a week someone asks me to sign a petition to stop logging, rescue polar bears or protect the Rain Forest. And you know what? I’ve got two words for you: Ye. Ti. Because that’s what I wear on my feet. Genuine Yeti leather shoes. And do you know why no one can find proof of Big Foot? He’s locked in my basement. I use his fur for extensions. And my lingerie is genuine puppy skin. And there are a bunch of homeless tortoises because I use their shells for my headbands and sunglasses frames. Also, I shoot guns and eat bloody steak.

So stop asking me to sign your petitions. Unless it’s to mandate complimentary snacks on the commuter rail. Because I’m down with that.

~April

You Wouldn’t Like Me When I’m Bridezilla…

2009-12-12T16:40:00.007-05:00

Before we were engaged, Andrew and I made a habit of watching ridiculous reality shows, including one of our personal favorites, Bridezillas. We even made our friends – single, dating, married, life-partnered, undefined – watch all the ludicrous brides with us, and the crazier the antics, the more entertained we were (WE TV, your plan is working!). Seriously, we loved the smashed cakes, the people who were speaking English but still required subtitles during their rants so the audience could understand their harpy shrieks, the brides who shoved deep-fried everything down their bridesmaids’ throats so no one would look prettier or thinner than the bride on the big day – the nuttier, the better as far as we were concerned.

You see, watching the ‘zillas was all fun and games when we were just dating and there was no jewelry involved. But now, well… let’s just say this could get a little more real for us both, so today on Factinis & Factomelettes, I will make my intentions to my betrothed, my family and friends known:

I, Sarah Wilderrol, do solemnly swear not to engage in ‘zilla behavior. I will not physically or verbally abuse any vendors including, but not limited to: caterers, aestheticians, musicians, planners/coordinators, photographers and florists. I promise to treat my bridal party with respect, for better or for worse, in sickness and health. I will not imply that slightly different hued linens than I pictured are the end of the world, or that if I don’t get a $15,000 wedding dress, I may as well not get married at all. I vow to always remember that this isn’t about throwing the most spectacular party (though it will be a lot of fun!); rather, it is about celebrating the life Andrew and I will share as husband and wife.

And by that I mean I will do my best… but dear reader(s), when times get tough please cut a girl some slack! You know I loves me some organization, planning and scheming!

Kisses,

Sarah

Gargoyles Heart Winter Fun Time

2009-12-10T09:12:00.006-05:00

Please recall, dear reader(s), the delightful welcome décor we bestowed on Rhymes-With-Cannon upon her return to our fair city… Remember that super scary desk-sized gargoyle we bought to keep her company? Well, RWC has decided to name the little guy “Sam the Gargoyle.”

This week happens to be Secret Snowflake week in MoCo Village. Yesterday as part of her gift, RWC’s flake gave her a mini sled, which Sam the Gargoyle proceeded to jump on immediately and ride over our mountains of paperwork, hills of holiday goodies and all the recyclables a little ‘goyle could dream of.

He looked so festive that we thought he might bring you some much-needed holiday cheer. So here he is in all his winter fun-time glory…

Happy Holidays,
Sarah

The Eviction of Gary

2009-12-09T09:39:00.000-05:00

Today I'd like to give a big shout-out to The Other Sister, who recently had to evict a rowdy tenant she calls "Gary." Gary was a real pain in the gut -- easily agitated, he caused her more pain than she could bear. Put simply, Gary sucked. After a trip to the emergency room and a surgical consult, Gary was served notice to vacate the premises. And last Friday, Gary was forcibly removed, courtesy of the good Dr. Hickey.

Did I mention Gary was The Other Sister's gallbladder? No? Oops. Gary was The Other Sister's gallbladder.

I am happy to report The Other Sister is resting somewhat comfortably with a freezer full of italian ice and a cupboard stocked with honey grahams. And she's got a big ol' prescription of lortab, so she's doing alright.

Rest up and get better soon, The Other Sister!!!
~April

Happy Garbage Day!

2009-12-07T10:31:00.005-05:00

Monday is quite possibly the "funnest" day of the week! No other day jars us quite the same way; no other day has been linked to medical concerns (e.g. a “Case of the Mondays,” and the anxiety-based condition, “Spastic Colon Sunday,” caused by concern over impending Mondays) with the same causal relationship. And now, thanks to my awesome commute, Monday also presents a kind of obstacle course to ensure I'm starting the week on my toes.

While I waited for a train that is considered on time provided it is less than 30 minutes late (I'm sure this will fly in your office, too: Sorry our meeting started 29 minutes ago, but I'm actually NOT late according to the MBCR. Please begin again for my benefit.), I had the distinct pleasure of dodging frozen garbage.

If there are garbage elves, our train platform got a visit from their entire family! Here's a photo to help you visualize my morning:

I'm the kind of gal who is always searching for the silver lining, so here's what I have come up with so far (with a little assistance from April and RWC):

Because it was only 22 degrees this morning, the garbage didn't actually stink. Had this been a summertime Monday, we might have needed gas masks...

Since the garbage was hard as a rock (frozen), I had extra incentive to dodge the trash flying in the cold, cold wind... A good start to my pre-wedding workout regimen.

If the train never showed up, we would survive because…

There would be plenty of raw materials to build a fort.
Garbage – specifically the paper variety – makes great insulation. But it’s flammable, so please don’t smoke while packin’ paper.
There is probably a fair amount of food in the garbage so starvation isn’t an immediate threat.

At least this garbage isn’t in a heaping pile in the Pacific… Plastique, you shall not claim more mass.

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure… ‘nuff said!

Happy Monday,
Sarah

More Big News

2009-12-04T09:40:00.007-05:00

My lovely co-blogger has decided to join the world of old-marrieds. So she went and got herself affianced. Congratulations Sarah!!! And to you, too, Andrew, even though I know you only lurk on our blog.

And check out the gorgeous flowers our office gave Sarah. And yes, this is really just an excuse for me to make everyone look at the sparkler on her finger. Nice job, Andrew!

And now, let the wedding planning hysteria begin!

~April

Intern Interviews

2009-12-03T09:10:00.001-05:00

Someone thought it would be a good idea for Sarah and me to choose our office's intern each semester. As difficult to believe as it may be, we can actually be quite professional when necessary. Our interviews consist of the typical questions: Why do you want to work here? What are your goals for this experience? What were the best and worst parts of your previous internships? That sort of thing. But here's what we'd really like to ask:

Besides searching for an internship, what games of chance do you enjoy? Craps? Russian roulette? Because we're looking for a third. After the "unpleasantness" this morning...

If you were going to hide a body, where would you do it? And how much dead weight can you carry on, say, a five-mile sprint through the woods and across streams? Hypothetically, of course.

When push comes to shove, would you really miss your parents?

Are you allowed to leave the country? Do you have a passport? How many?

How do you feel about committing felonies?

Which of the following makes you squeamish? Please select all that apply.
A. Blood
B. Bodily fluids
C. Needles
D. Puppies

How do you feel about growing a tail?

Do you have fingerprints? Can I borrow them?

Can we hold hands?

Do you consider personal space a necessity?

Known aliases? Unknown aliases?

If you were a breakfast cereal, would you prefer to end it all and plunge to a soggy, liquid grave in regular, Lactaid or soy milk, and why?

What would you consider an appropriate bribe?

Jazz hands or spirit fingers?

Are you opposed to sleeping your way to the top? Have you already slept your way to the bottom?

Do you have access to large quantities of lyme and fertilizer? Can you get some?

Would you be willing to perform surgery?
~April & Sarah

Reader's Mailbag: Holiday Decor

2009-12-02T08:59:00.002-05:00

Dear Wilderrols,

That Elf on the Shelf was so creepy! Have you seen any other holiday decorations that are Factinis & Factomelettes worthy?

- T. Grinch

Dear T.G.,

Thanks for writing! We appreciate all feedback, even from literary misers and curmudgeons. We will keep our creepiness-radar on and report back. In the meantime, this sign isn't exactly what we would call decor, but it's in the holiday spirit, so it counts.

Yes, that is a creepy half-donut-smiling snowman. Why Rhymes-With-Clunkin-GoNuts* wouldn't have added munchkins for eyes to take the bizarre-o-meter down a level is beyond us. But there you have it. Nothing says happy holidays like optically challenged snowmen!

~Sarah

*Note: Rhymes-With-Clunkin-GoNuts gift cards make excellent bribes... errr... holiday gifts for your favorite service people like mail carriers, bloggers, office cleaning crews, bloggers, teachers, bloggers, babysitters, bloggers... You get the drill! It’s a circle of life kinda thing.

Notice of Intent

2009-12-01T09:22:00.002-05:00

This sign was posted at a local place of business:
So in case you were wondering, the business will be moving. Someday. But until then, it will be staying put. Just an FYI.
~April

Gobble Gobble Missed You!

2009-11-30T09:23:00.005-05:00

Dear reader(s),

We hope you had a great Thanksgiving! As you probably noticed (since we know you're constantly checking Factinis & Factomelettes for updates), my co-blogger and I took a little break last week. Even super bloggers need a respite from Blackberrys, keyboards and computer screens every now and then!

Rest assured, we thoroughly enjoyed all things Thanksgiving:

Obligatory Thursday food comas (mmmm!)
Awkward encounters with certain family members (ahem - you know who you are, and don't blame the turkey!)
Feats of frightening bargain-hunting (we are talking to you, Black Friday!)
And even the obligatory leftovers feast (which, admittedly, is delicious, and lasts for days!).

But that's not all!* In addition to cooking a Thanksgiving dinner fit for a king, my bloggier half also got hitched this weekend! Congratulations, April and Mike! We are so happy for you! Not to mention impressed - the day after Turkey Day, when most of us are relegated to elastic-waist or draw-string pants and our baggiest lounge wear, you guys actually dressed up and looked fantastic!

Now get to back to business, reader(s). These Cyber Monday deals are supposed to be awesome! Oh, and get your work done, too...

~Sarah

*Infomercial language used purposely and for my As Seen on TV-obsessed bloggier half.

Paula Deen's Swine (actually) Flew!

2009-11-24T11:03:00.007-05:00

Hey y'all! We adore Paula Deen! Her recipes are filled with love (in the form of just a little butter - like momma made it) and she is always able to laugh at life, even when she is volunteering to help feed the hungry and gets smacked in the face with a hunk of pork! That's right, our favorite southern belle was on the receiving end of a spiral (ham, not well-thrown football!) that made solid contact with her face!

Gives new meaning to the old adage: when pigs fly... Hope you're healed and happy for Thanksgiving, sugar! We heart you! (And not-so-secretly wish we three were besties!)

And on a related note... Coolio has a cookbook!?! Yup, for all those fans of "ghetto gourmet," Cookin' with Coolio actually exists There's a great review/summary in the Village Voice Blog sharing delightful quotes including:

1. "I'm the ghetto Martha Stewart, the black Rachel Ray."
2. "This dish ain't just called Karate Meat because it's got an Asian kick to it. It's called Karate Meat because it will beat you up like a pigeon in prison."
3. "Hell, when I was growing up, I could make a meal out of a package of Top Ramen and a bottle of Windex."
4. "[My mom's] fried chicken would literally put on tennis shoes and run the f*** into your mouth."

Just in time for Thanksgiving!
~Sarah

Gargoyle Says Welcome!

2009-11-23T09:04:00.005-05:00

You may recall that our dear friend and colleague Rhymes-With-Cannon (RWC) could not resist the lure of your faithful bloggers and returned to Boston after a brief hiatus in Texas. To welcome her back, we decided to secretly “decorate” RWC’s desk. Each week since she made her triumphant return, April and I have placed something silly on her desk and waited for her to notice. Last week, RWC finally detected our shenanigans!

Was this what tipped her off?

Nope, it didn’t faze her. And yes, that is a desk-sized scary gargoyle – thank you, Family Dollar!

It was these:
The crazy pencils gave us away! Pencils!

To reward her for her “super” sleuthing, RWC is now the proud owner of…

So glad you’re back, Rhymes-With-Cannon!

~Sarah

This Is Why No One Gives Us Perks

2009-11-20T11:47:00.001-05:00

The other day our HR person informed us of a change in company dress code. From this day forth, Casual Friday is in effect. That's right. We can wear jeans to work one day a week. Huzzah!!!

Instead of acting like gracious, professional workerbees, Sarah and I immediately fired off a round of emails inquiring about Daisy Dukes, clown pants and sequined bra tops. In my defense, the sequins make it dressy.

Side note: we were in the bank waiting for Rhymes-With-Cannon when this occurred. We laughed so hard customers stared and we almost were forcibly ejected. Our saving grace was that we are both debit-card-carrying customers. True Story*.

Hoodles, our HR person is used to our antics and good-naturedly responded we could wear whatever we pleased as long as it is under our muumuus, which she is certain are also very dressy.

In case you're wondering, this is where we get our inspiration for Casual Friday outfits.
~April

Table or X-Ray?

2009-11-19T11:05:00.001-05:00

I had to swing by the hospital the other for x-rays (I guarantee the story is boring) and was given one of these upon arrival:

In case you can't tell, that's a pager just like what you get at The Cheesecake Factory, Applebee's, and all those other chain restaurants. Please note: I was at the hospital. But I'll admit it. I was kind of hopeful that a waitress would bring me chips and salsa or at least a menu while I waited. Sadly, all I got was Judge Judy on the tv.
~April

Travel Tips: You'd Best Know How to Groove!

2009-11-18T09:39:00.002-05:00

Apparently San Diegans (and all visitors to their sunshiny city) love to party! In addition to strobe lights and whooping-noises celebrating emergency situations, I also learned that sometimes they ask weary travelers like myself to break into dance in the San Diego airport. Check out this sign:
Uneven floor? Tap dance. Long line? Moonwalk. Overbooked flight? Tango. Upset about a checked bag fee? Jazz hands!

Be sure you stretch before hittin' up SD International!

~Sarah

Travel Tips: Emergency Parties!

2009-11-17T09:06:00.003-05:00

Last week I had the pleasure of attending the 2009 PRSA Conference in sunny San Diego. I learned some great new strategies and tactics, but I'm not here to give you a lesson in advanced public relations. You see, in addition to vocational updates, I was also on the look-out for things to share with my fab co-blogger and you, dear reader(s).

Last week April discussed the shelf-loving elf in my hotel gift shop. Today I would like to give you some practical advice from the same hotel...

While we stuffy New Englanders alert each other to dire situations with blasé sirens and colored lights, San Diegans do it their own special way. As the sign below indicates, if you see a party going on in SD, it may be some sort of emergency situation, and you could have to alert the authorities.

Strobe lights and whoops are not to be taken lightly!

~Sarah

100 Calorie Disappointment

2009-11-16T10:16:00.005-05:00

I'm that girl in the office with the never-ending candy dish. It all started with an empty vase on my desk. I had some candy left over from some sugar splurge and decided to be nice and share (ie tempt my officemates with the lure of a free sugar-high in the hopes of quickly off-loading that which I cannot resist). I did my best to resist said evil temptress myself, although there were indeed days when her siren song was more than I could bear. Until Halloween.

Halloween, one of my favorite holidays! I love it all: the pumpkins, the excuse to take on a new identity (if only for a few hours), Thriller and Monster Mash played ad nauseam, little ghouls and goblins running door to door in search of treats, the candy. Oh, the candy! Love, thy name is sugar.

So when revellers desire to get the candy out of their houses, where do they go? To the established office candy jar, of course. In other words: my desk. And as if a tall vase filled with Snickers, Baby Ruths, Hersheys Kisses, Three Musketeers and the like weren't enough, a certain someone added a large bowl to the mix, which was promptly overflowing with Mike & Ikes, Whoppers, Crunch Bars and more. Overflowing. I kid you not. And day all long people are in and out of my office seeking a quick fix. "Just one more," they say with a wink. And how can I resist not joining in? Sure, there are days when my hand never wanders into that bowl of sin. But other days.... Let's just say my pants have been a little snug of late.

So in an effort to thwart the sugarry little minx, I purchased a large bag of 100 calorie trail mix packets. The packaging was misleading, to say the least. Imagine my surprise and disappointment when I opened the package and saw munchkin-sized packets of trail mix smaller than my blackberry. Witness:

So, sure, I'm dutifully eating my teeny trail mixes 100 calories at a time. And my pants are no longer depriving my lower extremities of blood. But I still feel a little cheated. I mean, come on!
~April

Even the Undead are Lovin It

2009-11-13T11:18:00.000-05:00

I had a frightening experience at the Golden Arches. While chatting with a couple of my girlfriends, I looked up and locked eyes with a terrifying stranger with bright red eyes. I kid you not. It was like looking at a photograph that had not been scrubbed for red-eye exposure. Except he was eating a #10 value meal (10pc chicken nuggets and fries, as if you didn't know).

Sarah tried to convince me he was just wearing colored contacts, but I know better. I've Lost Boys and Interview with a Vampire. And I've read the entire Twilight Series (Edward Cullen! Dreamy!). I know what we are up against, dear reader(s).

And vampires love Mickey D's french fries. And who can blame them? If I were undead, I'd be dipping those salty, crispy shoestring fries in blood all night long.

~April

Putting the Super in Superstition

2009-11-12T15:44:00.000-05:00

We have all heard of sports-related superstitions: not changing unmentionables during a winning streak, refusing to shave until the end of the season, eating the exact same meal before every game, and other "delightful" habits. Athletes do these things because they are dedicated to winning, and we just can't say for sure whether it is a grilled cheese sandwich or a butterfly in Asia (or the 'roids...) that powered that homerun.

As adoring fans, we love learning about the quirks of all star athletes - that's how we know they are as nuts as we are, and sometimes even more so! But what about the regular fans upon whose unshorn heads and smelly socks victory may rest?

In my never-ending quest to give credit where credit is due, I would like to dedicate today's blog to the everyday fans whose daily routine often sways the course of history (if only in their heads). And this group isn't as rare as we may think...

In fact, even my dear mate, let's call him Shandrew, who I adore beyond words despite his sports team affiliations, and who gave me permission to discuss his habits in this post, often feels the weight of the entire Yankees and/or Giants-loving world on his shoulders. To help carry this burden, he has engaged in the following superstitious behaviors: refusing to use nail clippers during the baseball postseason for his fingernails (note: biting nails is acceptable - afterall, just because your team is in the playoffs doesn't mean you can grow lady nails! No couples mani/pedis for us), refusing to close a tab in Internet Explorer that refreshes his favorite sports blog (totally messes with blog tracking and analytics - but the blogger would probably agree that it is worth it for the team's win), even avoiding changing his razor blade during this crucial time. And last week, his faith in bizarre rituals paid off and the Yankees became World Series champs again*.

So here's to you, average Joe-shmoe fan! Your dirty laundry, unkempt hair and other strange hygeine habits are really making a difference.

~ Sarah

*Yes, that was tremendously difficult to write, but again, I must give credit where credit is due, and they played some good baseball this year. Sigh.

Elf on the Shelf

2009-11-11T12:11:00.003-05:00

I normally wouldn't post about Christmas this early. It's time to prepare for Turkey Day. Christmas is a distant event. And yet, the stores have been playing Christmas carols and hawking pink trees and Santa cookie plates for weeks. It's way too early. I'm still eating Halloween candy. But regardless of when you think the Christmas season has begun, I think you all will agree that it will never be time for this:

This is what our fearless blogger Sarah spied in the hotel gift shop in San Diego, where she is attending a conference. She sent me that pic in the hopes that I could enlighten her on the Elf on the Shelf (EOTS) tradition and explain why it had been kept secret from her. Is it a sacred Christian ritual kept hidden from the heathens practicing other "religions?" Should she be offended that no one saw fit to let her in on the mysteries of EOTS? Or should she be proud of her super-sleuthing abilities and alert her people?

Never fear, I explained that not only have I never heard of EOTS, it is not something I would welcome into my home. Furthermore, whoever assured her EOTS is a time-honored tradition is either a sneaky-sneaky prankster or a filthy liar. Or an EOTS-worshipping cult member.

Santa is diligently making his list and checking it twice. Why send some creepy elf (who apparently travels with his own shelf) to spy on me? And why does that elf bring his own shelf anyway? Are my shelves not good enough for him? Is his precious elf-butt accustomed to only the finest shelving materials? Frankly, I'm not down with uppity elves. They make toys, for Xenu's sake. And I'm not trying to start any rumors here, but I have it on good authority that elves also make shoes. And some live in trees and make cookies. Just saying.

If you want to invite some shady elf into your home, that's your business. I don't judge. But personally, I think this whole EOTS "tradition" is a ruse.

Dear reader(s), I'm looking to you. Have you heard of this? Or - gasp! - do you particpate in EOTS?

~April

Boston Commuting Games: Strangers with Comments

2009-11-10T00:18:00.004-05:00

"Conflict is bad."

Where, you may ask, did we hear such a gem? From a total stranger on our commute, of course!

April and I were hoofin' it to our trains one dark and blustery evening, avoiding slow-moving tourists, dog poop (sorry, mom - but I speak the truth) and renegade traffic aiming for pedestrians, and found ourselves in the midst of a serious discussion regarding some appropriate, witty topic. En route we passed a stocky young man apparently lacking an inner monologue, who turned toward us and shared that truth.

Well, to be honest, he practically yelled at us, so it was more like: "CONFLICT IS BAD!!"

And while we certainly respect this sentiment and wish for world peace like all the successful pageant princesses around this great nation (and yes, that was a “Ms. Congeniality” reference - you wanna take this outside?), we remain perplexed by this interaction... If this (ahem) gentleman truly believes that conflict is bad, why would said stranger yell at two perfectly calm young ladies and risk creating a new conflict?

As you can imagine, your favorite co-bloggers may have joined hands and invoked a stricter buddy system that night. And so, dear reader(s), we hope you make good use of this factini from our long, adventure-filled commute: conflict can be bad, but so can unstable strangers!!

~Sarah

Schmen's Ruff Day

2009-11-09T13:28:00.005-05:00

Today we are giving a doggie shout-out (bark-out?) to Schmargaret's dog Schmen. Schmen had a ruff couple of days last week, but she is a trooper. Here's Schmargaret's "delicate little flower" getting an all-clear at the vet.

And here is a close-up of the little beer keg as she sleeps off her meds.

Here's to a speedy recovery, Schmen!

~April

Fame Beyond Your Wildest Dreams!

2009-11-07T08:10:00.002-05:00

Dear reader(s),

Thank you for being our biggest fan(s)! We are so touched that you value our Wilderrol shenanigans and observations (or, at least that you actually visit Factinis & Factomelettes to see what sort of nonsense we keep serving up!). For those of you who have already figured out the tricksy process involved in commenting on our blog, we send our most sincere thanks and hope you are enjoying the mega-stardom that comes from associating yourself with the Wilderrols.

For those of you who have yet to comment, we’re sure it’s because sometimes the comment process on this site can be a little squirrely, and it’s not because you don't love us or care about us... or appreciate how much of our hearts and souls we put into this... (cue tiny violins...)

Whoodles, for those of you who have mentioned your frustration concerning “dialoguing” with us online, here are some tips to help demystify the comment process. We look forward to hearing from you. All of you. Seriously. ALL of you.

Commenting Instructions:
Underneath each blog entry you will see a link with the number of comments for that particular entry. Usually it reads something like: “Posted by April and Sarah Wilderrol at Friday, October 23, 2009 0 comments.”

Click on the word comments.

This will bring you to a page with only that particular entry. Scroll to the bottom of the entry and you’ll see a text box titled Post a Comment.

Click inside that box and type your comments/love letters/words of wisdom/praise, etc.

Underneath this box you’ll see a drop down menu where you must select your profile. Usually people select Name/URL.

Select Name/URL (or an alternate profile you wish to use) and fill in the info. If you don’t have a URL, don’t worry about it – not needed!

Click Continue.

Click Post Comment.

If you receive an error message, click Post Comment again. This should bring up preview of your comment and a word verification area.

Retype the word you see in the Word Verification area.

Click Post Comment.

Enjoy your newfound fame and our continued adoration!

~Sarge

Artsy Photos: Clearly it's Friday...

2009-11-06T09:06:00.004-05:00

Think stars like Lady Gaga and Rihanna are the only ones who can get away with ridiculous head accessories?

Try burnt-out office workers on a chilly Friday morning!

That's our very own blogger, April, and our dear colleague rhymes-with-Spiesah!

Rock it, ladies!

Is idiocy a Fineable Offense?

2009-11-05T09:10:00.000-05:00

Were the other morning not the epitome of fall in New England, which I happen to adore, I would have said that day was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Can you tell I have a kid? But because it was a brisk, sunny morning and the leaves were gorgeous shades of gold, orange and red, I instead said life was giving me a reason to laugh. And I appreciated it.

Everything was ducky on my commute. Until we came to a stop and the train engineer came on the pa system and said that passengers in the first car should look out the window to see an example of a dumb maneuver by a truck driver. Even though I was riding in one of the last cars, we all craned our necks in the hopes of seeing said idiocy. Nothing. After about 10 minutes we were back on our way, but not without an explanation:

Apparently a truck attempted to outrun the train. That's right, a truck was drag-racing our commuter train. And to make matters worse - and prove that I don't live in an action/adventure film - the truck got stuck on the tracks between the crossing gates. Our engineer actually had to get off the train and manually lift up a gate so the truck could drive off the tracks and out of our way!

And this episode got me thinking. The company that runs Boston's public transportation system has an on-time guarantee, so you get a refund if your train is very late, which is fair to passengers. But what if it isn't the company's fault? More often than not, a train is late because of a signal problem or an equipment malfunction, but what about when some idiot gets his car stuck on a railroad crossing? Had we been significantly delayed, passengers would have been owed refunds. That's a lot of money. And it's not fair to the people who were doing everything right. So I think the person or entity responsible for the delay should be fiscally responsible. For example, the other morning's truck driver should have had to pay everyone on the train who was inconvenienced by his idiocy.

I implore you, dear reader(s), to contemplate the Idiocy Fine. It could even be applied to people who do stupid stuff outside of the realm of public transportation. Like if you try to check your email on your laptop while driving on the highway and rear-end someone (true story -- I made the Good Samaritan 911 call), you have to make restitution to all the people who were stuck in traffic because of your dumb-ass move.

What do you think, dear reader(s)? Are you with me? Because this train of retribution is leaving the station... All aboard!

~April

Artsy Photos: Even Super Workers Need Caffeine!

2009-11-04T15:11:00.004-05:00

Slow and Steady Wins the Race...?

2009-11-03T10:30:00.004-05:00

As you, our dear reader(s), may have heard, a certain national bank has recently changed its name. Again. We won't mention any stock symbols or call anyone out, but we will give you a few hints:

1) The bank may also have the naming rights to the arena that our commuter trains depart from. And you already know how we feel about that little factini.

2) The execs (or at least the team they pay to do their branding and ads) believe their bank is charmingly convenient.

3) Regis and Kelly are now their spokespeople.

Which brings me to my question - in the ad below (which is all over this city), Regis has a box full of green lollipops and Kelly is depositing money.

Let me rephrase, successful, famous, cute-in-a-too-thin-kinda-way and super rich TV personality Kelly Ripa is depositing a NICKLE! That's it. Five cents.

Query:
Does this bank truly want our money one nickle at a time? If I tried to deposit a nickle, would they get really, really excited? Or would one of their tellers - who we are sure is a lovely person - look at me like I was a nut case and push the little red panic button to call for backup with a looney toon like me brandishing a nickle at their window?

And so, dear reader(s), I am assigning homework: find out what happens when you go to this bank (at an always convenient branch of your choice) and try to open an account with one nickle. Don't do anything stupid or illegal. Just try to deposit one nickle. Then report back. In detail.

~Sarah

Baby Army?

2009-11-02T09:08:00.003-05:00

If I were going to take over the world, this is probably what my army would look like. You can't help but stare open-mouthed while trying to determine what's up with these naked babies. They're adorable in a very creepy way. Like talking food. You are compelled to stare, even though you want to run away screaming. And while everyone's in a naked-baby trance, I'll make my move. Except now I can't because I just spilled the beans and it won't work because everyone will be expecting it. The Pentagon is probably working on some kind of baby missile right now. So I'll have to come up with another plan. If I'm even really planning world-domination, that is.

~April

Happy Birthday, Boo!

2009-10-31T09:08:00.003-04:00

Today I'd like to give a big Factinis & Factomelettes birthday shout-out to my dad. And yes, he was born on Halloween. My grandma used to call him "Boo." Cute, right? I call him "Daddums" or sometimes just "Dad."

When your birthday is Halloween, you have two choices: you can be totally anti-Halloween and refuse to give out candy (and scrape dried egg off your house on Nov. 1) or you can go a little crazy. As anyone who knows me or my family would guess, Daddums chose the latter. He's a pretty fun guy.

So we have a coffin in our attic that we bring down for Halloween. It's not a regulation coffin -- my dad made it in the basement and it's plain wood -- but you could bury someone in it if you had to. Probably. Hoodles, eleven months out of the year, the coffin is in the attic and we store our Halloween costumes and decorations in it. But come October, Daddums brings that puppy out and stands it up in the hallway. He also made a dummy to go in it. The dummy is his size and wears my dad's old jeans and flannel shirt. Daddums also has a nasty hooded mask and claw for the dummy.

We like to put the coffin and dummy on the front porch on Halloween. Although the dummy usually hangs out in the house until the little kids are done trick-or-treating. And funny side-note: last year the kids were too afraid to come up to our door even though the coffin was empty. So we had to take turns sitting outside next to the coffin and assuring the kids no one was going to grab them.

So pretty much all of October, my parents have a plain wooden coffin with a dummy inside standing up in their front hallway. It's a nice way to greet visitors. Sometimes my dad switches out the dummy and he gets inside wearing the dummy's clothes, mask and claw. He'll stay there for an hour letting everyone walk past like it's no big deal, because it's just the dummy, right? And then he grabs you, and you almost pee yourself because that is not the dummy that touched you and it just might be a murderer, and you run outside screaming while Daddums laughs. And then when you get outside you realize you just made a fool of yourself and laugh. And the best part of this whole thing is he never does it on Halloween. Because that would be expected. He does it on days when you're not even thinking about ghouls and goblins -- like on a quiet Sunday.

Happy Birthday, Boo!

~April

Welcome to the Jungle

2009-10-30T10:38:00.002-04:00

Has anyone ever brought to your attention that a part of your life that you thought was completely normal is, in fact, horribly abnormal? No? Just me? Ok, then.

Last weekend a friend of mine came to a party at my neighbor's house. Because everyone, with the exception of my friend, was from the neighborhood, the conversation naturally drifted to some of the latest antics of our other neighbors. You know how we gals love to gossip! I have never seen this friend laugh so hard. According to her, we live in Crazy Town. Which is comical, because, while I realize my neighborhood is full of, um, characters, it never occurred to me that to an outsider looking in, we should all be in padded rooms with tight white coats forcing us to hug ourselves 24/7. This friend actually expressed a need to spend more time at my home so she could experience the hilarity that is "The Townhomes." Furthermore, she requested a regular blog posting of the goings-on in said neighborhood and suggested the title of this post. Actually, she said I should start a new blog that only talks about my neighborhood, but let's be honest, I can barely post a couple of times a week on this one, so I'll just occassionally let you know here what's new in my 'hood.

Why, you are probably wondering, is The Townhomes so nutty? Excellent question. Today's example is the crazy cat lady a couple doors down from me. Let me preface this by saying that I hear she is a very kind woman and I bear her no ill-will. In fact, now that a certain owner of an "alpha dog" was unceremoniously booted, I don't think I bear ill-will to any of my neighbors.

So the crazy cat lady (CCL) looks like a bag lady. She favors peasant skirts, Birkenstocks with knee-socks, and a long, oversized coat with many pockets. She takes her tail-less cat on a daily constitutional. On a leash. And sometimes she likes to crouch in the bushes with her camera to get action shots of said tail-less cat.

Have you ever tried to take a cat for a walk on a leash? Have you ever tried to force a cat to do anything? No? If you have no experiece with cats, allow me to explain how cats operate. Humans only exist to serve the feline world. I love my cat. She loves me. I am only allowed to pet her when she wants attention. She mrowws in my face and actually pushes me toward her food dish when she's hungry. She will poop on the floor if her litterbox is not maintained to her liking. She will let me sit on her before giving up her spot on the couch. If you think for one moment that a cat enjoys being told where to go -- on a leash, no less -- you have another thing coming. With your new knowledge of the feline mind, ponder the scene of a woman trying to walk a cat.

CCL also has a dog. The dog has a tail. I think. The dog is a decrepit dachshund. It was born around the time Columbus "discovered" America. And when CCL drags it around the neighborhood, I am always shocked that it manages to keep all its body parts intact and attached. Seriously. A leg could fall off at any time.

Oh, and CCL wears a surgical mask when she goes outside. Because she has allergies. Allegedly.

~April

The Yellow Rose of Texas Loves That Dirty Water

2009-10-29T09:05:00.003-04:00

Earlier this week my dear co-blogger and I celebrated a happy ocassion: one of our friends, let's call her Rhymes-With-Cannon (RWC), returned to Boston! We wouldn't say it is because she missed us tremendously and found life just wasn't the same without us, or that no amount of Texas bbq or time with her actual family could patch the hole in her heart that could only be filled by us... We will simply say that there are opportunities here that she couldn't pass up. Like an awesome job with the best colleagues in the world. And a boyfriend with the coolest last name ever. And her alma mater and... Not the point - focus, dear reader(s).

Needless to say, we are thrilled she is back! RWC brings just the right shenanigans to every encounter, is a wiz at finding appropriately bizarre photos on the interwebs, has the most delightful catch-phrases (think the awesomest TV sidekicks ever, all rolled up into one lovable and hilarious character), and understands and appreciates our love of food and celebrity gossip.

So welcome back, RWC! Beantown wasn't the same without you - and may never be the same again!

~Sarah

Tom Cruise in a Pumpkin Patch

2009-10-28T12:49:00.004-04:00

A friend of a friend snapped this photo over the weekend of Tom Cruise in a pumpkin patch. SHE was searching for the perfect pumpkin to carve. But it looks like Tom Cruise was house hunting. Either that or he was attempting to recruit young Scientologists. Either way, he sure does look smashing in his "don't-look-at-me-I'm-not-a-celebrity" dark shades and flannel shirt. Suri, by the way, was wearing Prada shoes. At a farm.

And I'm just going to throw this out there. Do with it what you will. Tom went to a farm the weekend after Sarah and I each went apple-picking. Just saying.

~April

Congratulations, Commuter!

2009-10-27T10:44:00.005-04:00

As my colleagues, friends, family and anyone I've ever met will tell you, I'm all about positive feedback and recognition for a job well done. Today I would like to suggest a new idea to make our commutes more pleasant: Commuter Commendations.

Every so often one of our fellow travelers does something wonderful that deserves recognition. For example, when rowdy hooligans invade our business-casual trains and decide it is a good idea to become DJs playing techno for the whole ride... loudly... so everyone can hear it... every now and then, some brave worker bee asks said hooligans to turn their noise down. Other commuters send thankful glances and thumbs up their way. But wouldn't it be infinitely more meaningful (read: cheesy and fun) if we presented that person with a certificate of achievement or a pin or trophy or something?

And we could do this for smaller things, too! Yes, the person who informs smokers that they cannot puff on their cancer sticks on MBCR or MBTA property definitely deserves recognition (trophy-worthy), but so does the tired executive who gives up his seat for the three year old traveling home with mommy after daycare (give the man a certificate), and the kind woman who always sits in the window seat with her bag on her lap just in case someone wants to take the seat next to her (tell me she does not deserve a thank you lapel pin!).

As I see it, recognition of good deeds begets more good deeds and it turns into a delightfully altruistic cycle that will make us all more pleasant when we arrive at our final destination. Some may mock my naivite, but I don't know anyone who wouldn't share my happiness in this vision of Commuter Utopia...

Did someone say Traingrila?

~Sarah

The Devil Rears in Denver

2009-10-26T09:41:00.005-04:00

Last week I traveled to Denver, Colorado for a sad occasion. Leaving the airport, I was flooded with memories of my childhood and happier times until I saw this:

That’s a picture I took with my BlackBerry as we were leaving the airport… Actually, I cannot tell a lie, that’s my fourth attempt to snap a decent picture of this monstrosity. Our dear friend/volunteer chauffeur may have had to make a couple loops around the airport so I could capture that for you, dear reader(s), but you’re worth it.

And here is a shot of the same artsy statue I found online so you can get a better view of its… ummm… majesty just in time for Halloween:

That’s right, every weary traveler leaving Denver International Airport is confronted by this “sight.” It jars us out of our Dramamine-induced stupors, internal monologues, memories and jet-lagged exhaustion, and makes us all face the fact that we are living in a world where anatomically correct, cobalt blue, glowing red eye mustangs now claim the prairies where buffalo once roamed.

And not only does it look scary, its nicknames give me goose-bumps (the Demon of Denver, Bluecifer, Satan’s Steed, etc.) and some even claim this statue is cursed! In fact, the artist, Luis Jiménez, was killed in 2006 when a section of the 9,000-pound fiberglass statue fell on him during construction. I’m not making this up! We’re talking Statues Gone Wild, people…

Shudder.

~Sarah

What Happens on October 24th?

2009-10-24T11:32:00.002-04:00

I woke up this morning thinking there was something significant about October 24. But what could it be? It’s not yet Halloween (and my dad’s birthday). My grandma’s birthday was earlier in the week. Our clocks aren’t turned back until the end of the month. It’s Saturday, so I don’t have any meetings or appointments. Hmmm…

Oh, I know! Happy United Nations Day, everyone! How are you celebrating? Attending the UN Day Concert? Writing a letter to your Congressional representatives urging renewal of the UN? Educating yourself with the Cyber School Bus? No? Not so much? Me neither.

Because I just remembered why UN Day is so important to me: it’s Sarah’s birthday! I’m celebrating that by doing some of Sarah’s favorite things: staying in my pjs as long as possible, eating something with peanut butter, and maybe watching a movie. Happy birthday, Sarah!

~April

Readers Mailbag: Chocolate-Covered Bacon is a Chocolate-Covered No-No!

2009-10-23T09:04:00.006-04:00

Dear Reader “T,” Anonymous Commenter and my bloggier half,

While I have an undeniable and often uncontrollable love of chocolate, the idea of chocolate-covered bacon does not entice me enough to shame my Rabbi (and he doesn’t even read this blog, so you know I am not saying that just to suck up).

As you can probably guess, I think covering something you don’t like in chocolate doesn’t usually make anything tempting enough to eat. For example, my mom, who despises poop jokes, wonders if you might be enticed by chocolate covered p… never mind.

Happily, I have probably already discovered my greatest love (chocolate + peanut butter!) so I feel no urge to stray from that formula, or at least to stray farther than established combinations including: mint + chocolate, coffee + chocolate, strawberries + chocolate, milk + chocolate, cake + chocolate, ice cream + chocolate, etc.

But I do appreciate the email and inquiry - please keep them coming! We love participation, topic suggestions, comments, questions, Fbook messages, tweets, stalkers (not you, Tom Cruise), and you, our dear reader(s)!

~Sarah

Reader's Mailbag: Chocolate-Covered Bacon

2009-10-20T12:49:00.004-04:00

A reader recently emailed us:
While the story of how I became aware of the existence of chocolate covered bacon is mildly amusing, I will save that for another time. I need to know what the Wilderoll's think about this culinary um, dish. Is pork covered with chocolate enough to sway a devout Hebrew to cross over to the dark side? Or, is it so far over the edge that a bacon devotee becomes immune to its powers? I will wait to see the outcome of these burning questions...
Love,
T

Hmmm... Chocolate and bacon. Two of my favorite things. Together. For-ev-er! I like it. But only if the bacon is soft. I hate crunchy (or "crisp" as the foodies say) bacon.

I'm trying to figure out why any non-Heeb would object. And I can say "Heeb" because I say it with love. And because Sarah tells me I'm basically Jewish -- except for the loving Jesus part, but he was Jewish, so I don't see the problem. And the whole pork thing, but I know some Chosen People who dig pig, so I'm good there, too. Actually, Sarah says I must secretly be a Jewish Minnesotan because I love the idea of eating everything on a stick. But that's another story altogether.

Hoodles, on the matter of chocolate-covered bacon, I say yay.

But wait. Let's think about this. I always thought chocolate-covered potato chips would be awesome and I was really excited to find them in a candy store in Old Forge. Until I asked the girl for a sample and that little witch forced me to purchase 1/4 lb. because there are no samples. But I was still ok because what's not to love about chocolate-covered potato chips? And I found out there is a lot not to love about chocolate-covered potato chips. At least the ones I ate, anyway.

So my answer, T, is that I am not opposed to chocolate-covered bacon. In fact, if you bring me some, I will eat it and give you a definitive answer. Like how I just demanded a gift?
~April

Editor's Note: Got a question? Email, text, twitter, facebook, call, stalk -- do what you have to do to ask us. We might have an answer. And we won't always demand gifts. But we will accept them. WINK!

Shenanigans!

2009-10-20T08:59:00.000-04:00

Sadly, my bloggier half is unable to post this week. But because I'm a glass-half-full kind of gal, let's focus on the positive side: I'm in charge! That's right, folks. I'm doing all the blogging this week. What does that mean for you, our loyal reader(s)? Stream of consciousness writing (enjoy THAT trip!), posts that are inappropriate and probably involve potty humor (sorry Mrs G), and, let's be honest, less frequent posting (because Sarah is way more anal than I am).

So let the shenanigans begin!
~April

P.S. This is your cue to picture me tossing the contents of my shredder in the air as I gleefully yell "Shenanigans" in my best Excited Oprah voice: Shuh-NAH-nigans!

For my hero...

2009-10-19T09:28:00.005-04:00

Dear reader(s),

It is with a heavy heart that I share today’s blog. This weekend my grandmother passed away. She was an amazing woman, I miss her tremendously and I’m very proud of her. She had a tough life, but made the most of it. And so, with your kindness and patience, I’ve decided to post the obituary I wrote for her as today's blog. Because as my dear co-blogger says, it’s our blog and we can write what we want!

So here’s to my grandmother, my hero…

Ethel Rose, beloved wife of the late Joshua Rose, passed away Saturday, October 17, 2009 at Hebrew Healthcare. Ethel was born around 1914 in Russia. One of only a handful of Jewish women trained as pharmacists, she escaped German occupation and spent much of the war in southwestern Russia. She lost her family, including her husband and child, during the war. After the Holocaust, Ethel married Joshua Rose in a displaced persons camp in Germany where they had two children: Ruven Rose and Lisa Gerrol. The Rose family immigrated to Wichita, Kansas where they owned several clothing stores and had a third child, Unyce Miller. In 1980, Ethel and Joshua moved to Denver, Colorado, where Joshua passed away in 1985. A very active member of the community, Ethel was known for her hospitality and culinary skills. In 1997, Ethel moved to West Hartford, CT to be closer to family. In recent years she was a happy resident of the Hebrew Healthcare, where she enjoyed bingo, celebrating Shabbat and holidays with her friends and family, and welcoming visitors with a beaming smile and big kiss.

Ethel was generous, kind, quick to praise and always made sure everyone knew how much she loved them. Her story has inspired and empowered her family and everyone who has heard it. She is survived by her three children, six grandchildren and two great grandchildren.

~Sarah

Reader(s) Mailbag: Birthday Shout-Outs!

2009-10-17T10:19:00.004-04:00

Dear April and Sarah,
Your blog is great! I'm so glad you two decided to put your creative energy to good use. I've noticed that you occasionally give friends and family a birthday shout-out on your blog, and I was wondering what makes them so darn special? How can I get a shout-out, too?
Kisses,
Anonymous

Dear Anonymous,

Thanks for writing - we love getting mail and comments! While it does take a very special person to get a shout-out on Factinis & Factomelettes, there are a few things you can do to encourage your favorite bloggers to give you a nod.

Frankly, we aren't mind readers (not for lack of trying!). If you think a shout-out on Factinis & Factomelettes would give your day that extra special something, please email us, send us a message on Twitter, call us, use Facebook to contact us, stalk us at our homes and place of business - find a way to let us know that you'd like F&F to make you famous beyond your wildest dreams and we'll do our best! There is no shame in hyping your own special day.

And while pretty, shiny things, hard currency and sweets will certainly help your chances, bribes are not necessary.

Here's to happy occasions and shameless self-promotion!
~Sarah and April

Runs in the Family!

2009-10-16T09:21:00.003-04:00

Last week my darling mom gave me a call as I was leaving my office. Usually we talk later at night, so I answered the phone expecting something out of the ordinary... And I was not disappointed!

Picture this: She's at the grocery store preparing for a dinner party, trying to find the juciest limes and perfectly ripened avocados, when she hears a voice.

"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen..."

She turns around, slightly embarassed, hoping this stranger's comment isn't directed at her and sees a... wait for it... she sees a 96 year old man eyeing her!

My gorgeous, happily-married-to-the-age-appropriate-father-of-her-two-children mother thanks him for the compliment and tries to continue her hunt for produce in peace, but the elderly "gentleman" is on a hunt of his own...

He asks her what languages she speaks, if she would like him to be her private tutor for language lessons on nights and weekends (I wonder if he means the language of loooove!), if she'd like to go to a movie with him or to the casino - afterall, beautiful ladies need a little fun in their lives, too.

Being the lady that we all know she is, my mother graciously declines his offer.

Another customer (and family friend) heard the entire conversation and asks if my mom is flattered or offended.

Mom's response: "It was a compliment, but not much of one since I suspect that at 96 years old, his vision isn't very good!"

So apparently April and my experience last week with skeezy obstacle commuting wasn't unique... It just runs in the family!

~Sarah

Peter Shankman Gave me a Good Poken!

2009-10-15T12:17:00.002-04:00

If you don't know who Peter Shankman is, you're missing out. I won't give you his resume because, although it's impressive, it is also long and I'm writing this on my Blackberry. I will, however, say that if you are at all involved in PR, you need to subscribe to HARO. Peter, you just got another subscriber. You're welcome. And if you are a journalist, you should be posting queries on HARO. Seriously, Peter, thank me later. It's a little embarrassing. For you.

Hoodles, I got to hear Peter speak at a PRSA luncheon yesterday. It was very interesting, and Peter is hilarious. Also, he gave me a Poken, which is every bit as fun as it sounds, but sadly G-rated. I'm not going to recap his speech. He gets paid probably a lot of money to deliver that speech. And I don't. And that isn't really the topic of this post anyway. Because the funny part of hearing him speak is how I finally got there.

Last week the powers-that-be (i.e. my colleagues, who felt it wouldn’t be right if I were denied the chance to see my one of my fave industry people) decreed that I should attend the breakfast. Tuesday morning I tweeted (twitted? twatted?) that I was excited to hear Shankman speak. Fortunately, my Blackberry was dying (whoever thought I’d say that?), so I had to hang at my desk for a few minutes before I left so my crackberry could charge up. I decided to pass the time in the most productive way possible – checking TweetDeck. And thank God I did! Peter Shankman himself responded to my tweet by asking where I was going to see him – because he wasn’t speaking anywhere that day. D’oh! Apparently I can’t read a calendar because the luncheon was Wednesday, not Tuesday.

So you’d think after all this excitement, and the fact that I am a huge fan, I’d jump at the chance to meet Shankman in person, right? False. Even though US Weekly assures me that celebrities are just like us (Courtney Thorne Smith drinks coffee! Gwen Stefani takes her son to the park!), I am still terrified of famous people. Why? Why do I love eating all my Thanksgiving leftovers smooshed together in one bowl? Why do I hate animatronics? Eternal enigmas.

So how do you think I behaved when I had the opportunity to say hello after the luncheon? If you said, “Waltzed right up and shook his hand like you’re the mayor of Boston,” you are incorrect. If you said, “Pushed to the front of the line for a cheesy photo,” you are also incorrect. I awkwardly exchanged business cards with some of the gals from my table and hightailed it out of there before anyone noticed my sweaty palms and trembling hands. Because the only things that scare me are tornados, spiders, clowns and famous people.

I am pathetic.

~April

Kevin James Used My Toilet

2009-10-14T19:54:00.003-04:00

Author's note: We have a policy of not blogging about work, but in light of recent events, we feel an exception should be made. No clients were hurt in the writing of this post.

Kevin James used my toilet. And by "my" I mean my office's, but sometimes I use it, too, so really, we've shared the same potty. And this isn't like in The Goonies when Chunk says Michael Jackson used his bathroom (remember The Goonies? Do ya? You do. I know it. Everyone loves The Goonies.). This really happened. Tuesday night our humble hive was turned into a TGI Fridays as part of the set of The Zookeeper, starring Kevin James.

Schmargaret had to stay at work overnight (sacre bleu!) Because the film people needed access to our lighting and there is no way we were going to trust "those Hollywood types" with our keys. They might have made unauthorized copies or used the google to look up how paper is made. And we can't have that. So Schmargaret took one for the team (and a vacay day on Wednesday!).

As the three of us left the office more or less at quittin' time Tuesday evening, she yelled to some random set guy, "Call me!" To which he shrugged and said, "okay." Then she realized he wasn't Joe, the guy who was to call her when he needed her back at the office. And that is how Schmargaret tried to pick up a movie guy.

But back to the important part, Schmargaret kept Sarah and I up-to-date on the goings on of our visitors. Apparently they use the loo a lot. And a man in a tree asked Schmargaret how her chicken was (she was broiling some defrosted breasts at 2am). Also, craft services ("crafty" to those in the know, according to a friend in the biz) was temporarily located in our kitchen. But then it moved to the far end of the parking lot across the street. So no leftovers for us.

And at 8:30 am, this is what the outside of our office looked like.

The Morning After...

2009-10-14T12:06:00.001-04:00

After the movie folks leave, it's not that glamorous...

Update: TGI Friday's Invades Our Building...

2009-10-13T14:14:00.011-04:00

I'll take one press release and one hamburger, please!

Our office went from this:

To this:

This is Not a Drill!

2009-10-13T11:14:00.005-04:00

Factini: Kevin James, Rosario Dawson and Adam Sandler are coming to OUR OFFICE! That’s right, apparently MoCo Village is the new Hollywood East. They will be filming the movie, “Zookeeper,” and, apparently, something about our office reminds these showbiz types of a TGI Fridays, because that’s what they’re pretending this building is.

Must be all the flair April and I put up…

I hope they touch my stuff!!!

~Sarah

P.S. Stay tuned for more photos!

Sarah has a Vision...

2009-10-12T09:41:00.003-04:00

DISCLAIMER-- To our dear Christian reader(s), please read the following with the understanding that I truly mean no offense or ill-will. I'm sorry to have taken your lord's name in vain. And I will add this to my atonement list for next Yom Kippur (sigh - yes, there is a list already).

This weekend I was lucky enough to hang out with my dear co-blogger, her momma, son, brother and baby daddy. It was wonderful; in fact, one might even call it spiritual or miraculous...

You see, as a fairly rational human being, I'm not often given to having visions or revelations or seeing faces in strange places like on potato chips or grilled cheese sandwiches. But that's precisely what happened.

As you can see from the picture below, I spotted a face on the wall of their hotel suite.

And, as I'm wont to do, I couldn't resist the pressure from Tom Cruise and blurted out: "Is that Jesus' face on your wall? Someone call a priest!"

Worried that I had offended April's momma and brother, I messaged her later in the day to check in: "April," I wrote, "was the Jesus thing too much? Didn't mean to insult anyone... But I did see a face in the wall grease."

And this, dear reader(s), is how I know we are truly meant to be Wilderrols. April responded: "My mom said she's surprised you saw Jesus -- Moses would have been more appropriate."

Hahahahaha!

~Sarah

Happy Commuting?

2009-10-09T11:40:00.003-04:00

This blog entry is a little unorthodox for us, but frankly, we love giving praise where praise is due, and aren't always the admittedly bitter, though often witty, commuters we appear to be. Yesterday was an example of commuting generosity at its finest... And don't look so surprised, dear reader(s) - you know we only speak the truth!

There has been a lot of germ sharing lately at our office, and Sarah and April are the latest casualties. Yesterday morning Sarah was a little medicine-head-ish and forgot her wallet at home. Needless to say, when she was asked to present her train pass, panic ensued. Instead of scolding her, making her beg other commuters for enough money to buy a ticket, booting her off at the next stop or even asking her to clean the train car as a barter, the wonderful conductor simply said: Don't worry about it, I know you. And furthermore, he said if she could make the 5:50 train that night, he would be sure to take care of her then, too, so she wouldn't have to bum money off her colleagues during the day to make it home. So here's to you, Conductor 1010 (who is too modest to let us use your real name), for your act of commuting kindness.

Sarah was not the only gal to benefit from the kindness of strangers on her commute. Not only did a fellow passenger politely (and with appropriate eye contact, we might add) ask if April minded if he sat next to her (and not in a way that implied she better get her bags off the seat STAT -- the seat was clear), but he also inquired as to whether she had enough room after he was settled. But it didn't stop there. Poor April had a slight cough, which prompted her fellow seatmate to offer a ginger ale-flavored cough drop. Now that is proof positive of karma. Last year April offered cherry lozenges to a fellow commuter after a particularly nasty coughing fit. April was still savoring the refreshing taste of ginger and a pleasant lack of cough when the train arrived in Boston. Her seatmate commented that he was glad he had been able to help her and wished her a good day.

Our daily commutes may be full of hassles and headaches, skeezy old men and haggard bums, ladies clipping their nails in the seat next to you (True Story*) and men who put their shoeless feet on the seat (another true story), but there are also those rare souls who, by the very nature of their being, bring a little sunshine into our day. It is often a simple act of thoughtless, selfless kindness -- something as simple as a smile or sliding over another inch -- that makes a lousy day bearable.

And for this we thank everyone out there who understands that small kindnesses have large rewards.

What’s IN there?

2009-10-08T09:00:00.003-04:00

You know we at Factinis & Factomelettes love us some junk mail! Lately I’ve noticed an interesting trend: I’ve been getting junk mail from several delightful spammers (I’m talking to you, Risa Weedert, Wilfredo Burnette, Kimberlie Augustus and Tom Cruise…), all with the same subject line. Normally, this would have something to do with “CH3AP Meds,” discount software, luxury watches or “Permanent En1argement.” What makes these spammers different is their focus. You see, I keep receiving emails asking:

“What’s in Obama’s butt?”

That’s right – not “what’s UP Obama’s butt,” they want to know what’s IN it. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it's probably poo. Then I’m going to recommend that Risa, Wilfredo, Kimberlie and Tom revisit the popular children’s book, “Everyone Poops.” And I’m not looking into this matter any further. Even presidents need bio-breaks!

~Sarah

Boston Commuting Games: Skeezy Hurdles

2009-10-07T08:33:00.005-04:00

As those of you familiar with Boston know, we only take the walking part of our commute through the swankiest of 'hoods: Beacon Hill, Bay Village, etc. Yesterday our walk stopped being family friendly. Actually, let us rephrase that: Yesterday our commute got a little too friendly! And now we feel a little dirty...

On our way to the office, we were stopped by an elderly flamboyant Italian gentleman who we will refer to as "Shwalter Shlopez." Mr. Shlopez has been an admirer - or as he tells people, our "uncle" (ick) - for quite some time. Usually we can continue on our way with just a wave and an in-passing good morning, and forget about the incident with this doddering fella by the time we turn on our computers. Today he stopped. And since we were raised right, and our moms would be horrified if we were rude to a senior citizen (to his face), we stopped, too. And then he informed us that we are his "favorite cupcakes."

That's right, our uncle informed us that we are his favorite cupcakes. Not the best start to our day...

So on our way home there was yet another older man standing outside the Beacon Hill Pub on Charles Street. He had a handlebar mustache. And a striped shirt. And there was a guy in a wheelchair behind him, but not the guy we thought was dead and made a Good Samaritan call on that ended with the cops looking for April. This guy seemed to still be with the living. Hoodles, the guy with the handlebar mustache had his arms outstretched and yelled to your fearless bloggers, "Ladies, jump on!"

Naturally, we attempted not to make eye contact (too late for April and her staring problem) and sidestepped the skeeve. So he yells, "You missed!" Which is entirely untrue because we never intended to jump on him. In fact, we're a little insulted. He doesn't know where we were aiming and it's none of his business.

Who doesn't love a Tuesday commute?

Did someone say "breakfarts?"

2009-10-06T10:48:00.002-04:00

April: So, I had a funny thought during [insert non-incriminating time of day]: what if farts smelled like breakfast foods? Like, maybe I would be bacon; you might be a cheese pastry.

Sarah: Hahahah! I would want to breakfast-smell-fart the aroma of pancakes. But I think in reality it might be egg beaters.

April: Egg beaters would not be good. Pancakes would be great!

Sarah: Agreed! Even oatmeal would be better than egg beater smell.

April: But do you think people would be all: “Ewww, who farted?” Or would it be more like “Mmmm, I smell pancakes. Oh, Sarah, you did it again!”

Sarah: Well, I don’t know. I guess if everyone farted breakfast smells it would be “Oh, Sarah. Not again.” But if we were the only ones to fart-smell that way, it would probably be more like: “Mmmm, anyone in the mood for pancakes? I have a sudden craving for them!” And I would make the world a happier, though probably fatter, place.

April: True story*

Sarah: And if you fart-smelled bacon, we heebs would be able to sense an imposter in our midst. Could be very useful…

April: But what if yours smelled like bacon?

Sarah: How would mine smell like bacon? I've never eaten it. That’s like saying yours would smell like matzo ball soup!

April: I don’t know – I mean, how would anyone’s smell like a particular food? It’s a scientific mystery.

Sarah: That’s a good point. I had a friend whose farts used to smell like cooking brussel sprouts, but he never ate veggies.

April: And you don’t know that I don’t fart matzo ball soup smell. Maybe the only time I ever fart around you is when someone is eating that soup.

Sarah: Factomelette- you are a tricksy gal.

April: I don’t blame it on the dog, I blame the soup.

Sarah: I blame your dog.

April: My son has a bib that says “It was the beagle, I swear!”

Sarah: True story!*

April: Missy farts like Chinese food and sometimes bologna. She’s never eaten those.

Sarah: Are you sure? I bet your dog and cat have wild parties when you’re at work. And what’s a party without Chinese food and bologna?

April: A boring one, that’s for sure.

Sarah: Agreed. Why even bother.

Reader(s): what breakfast food would your farts smell like?

*Patent pending.

Where have all the strong, silent men gone?

2009-10-05T09:32:00.005-04:00

My dear female friend Schmalex called me the other day and posed and interesting question: Where have all the strong, silent men gone?

She asked because all the recent men she's dated have acted like little girls. Crying. Wanting post-coital discussions of his feelings. Insisting they had a deep spiritual connection (and dude, she just wasn't that into you). Taking her to see Maid of Honor instead of Saw IV (she'd much prefer the latter).

Schmalex is not a touchy-feely, schmoop-poopy kind of gal. That's just not her. She wants a strong man who is stingy when it comes to tears.

It seems men finally listened to what women claim they want. But caveat emptor. After years of females wishing for sensitive, caring men, we are now faced with a crop of namby-pamby sissies. Guys who wear desinger duds and have more product in their hair than I have in my whole bathroom. Guys whose entire knowledge of cars consists of the number of the nearest auto repair shop. Guys who wear mandals, manpris and manbags.

And it makes me sick.

I like a real man's man. A man who loves hockey and football and things that go fast or boom (or both!). A man who loves a bloody New York strip. A man who loves Westerns and war movies that don't have schmaltzy love plots. A man who isn't afraid of stinky feet, sweaty pits and dirty nails (his, not mine).

So on behalf of Schmalex, my darling co-blogger and all the American women who love American men I say: Man up, Buttercup!

~April

How do YOU buy apples?

2009-10-04T17:38:00.004-04:00

There’s a grocery store chain around my house that frightens me... It is dirty, you buy things out of bins, and you can't even feel like a “chosen” shopper by using a store loyalty/discount card. Let's call this establishment the Shmarket Shmasket.

I realize that my critiques of said emporium may sound snobby and elitist, and normally I would concede defeat in light of said criticisms. Today, however, I assert that perhaps I’m not exclusive enough to shop there! You see, I like to buy my fresh apples whole. I don’t need to select certain sections of the apple and have them custom sliced and packaged just for my liking. I’m cool with the apple in the form nature intended (well, washed, too, but Mother Nature would probably insist on that anyway).

The Shmarket Shmasket, however, insists on fancy-ing up their apples. See?

Apparently, for only $1.99/lb you can select the bottom round center cut (perfect for roasting...?) of fresh apples like the ones pictured in the bowl at the top of this ad. Delish.

~Sarah

Follow the Rules… Or Else!

2009-10-02T08:53:00.006-04:00

To round out our week of Boston Public Garden exposé blogging, we decided to share some of the posted rules and regulations so your next visit can be law-abiding and hassle free. Factini - shaken, not stirred: as shown on the sign below, the rules are clear, concise and chock full of logic…
In case my Blackberry photo’s resolution isn’t to your liking, here are the rules – and our addendums – for your viewing pleasure.

Plantings should not be touched – That’s right, even passively. And definitely don’t touch the plants when using the active voice.

Sitting on grass permitted except where posted – as you'll notice throughout the Garden, sitting on the lawn is also permitted except where posted, which is everywhere!

Use trash barrels – for…? Acoustics? Soup bowls? Phone booths? Specifics never hurt anyone.

Alcoholic beverages prohibited –especially for the drug dealers who do business in the Garden after dark. (Tom Cruise, please don't use inflamatory statements on our blog! Not okay!)

Gambling prohibited – we’re talking to you, evil squirrels. Knock it off.

Walk your bicycle – it gets lonely and needs both the company and the exercise. But remember to keep it on a leash at all times!

Dogs on leashes only/clean up after your dog – I believe this is part of a poem, and the slash delineates a line break. So, apparently only dogs on leashes must clean up the poo of their dogs. The rest of us can encourage our pets to poo with abandon all around the Garden (except on the lawn/grass, where it is prohibited to tread).

Ball playing and other games prohibited – but that was cleverly crossed out, so apparently it’s okay now. Play ball!

Skateboarding and rollerskating prohibited – rollerblading and similar crazes ARE permitted.

Vending prohibited – move along now, machines. No one wants your junk food here. Go find an office or a strip mall, we want none of your kind in our Garden.

Walk-thru traffic only after 11:30 PM – and we don't sell cheeseburgers at that hour, so order something else. Seriously.

Any questions? Ask the man on the horse...
~Sarah

In the Land of the Puritans

2009-10-01T09:15:00.004-04:00

For those of you unfamiliar with the history of Boston, consider this post a history lesson. Boston was founded by Puritans wishing to escape the persecution of Anglicans in England. Puritans were total sticks in the mud. You could wear any clothes you wanted, as long they were in shades of black and brown and completely unflatterring (unless you go for a man in a goofy Pilgrim hat). No dancing. Marathon church sessions with fire-and-brimstone sermons. Pretty much the life of the party.

Massachusetts has come a long way since the days of the scarlet letter, but it is still a pretty square commonwealth (no statehood here -- we're a commonwealth!). I mean, people panicked over a ballot question to allow grocery stores to sell beer. And don't even think about buying anything other than gas and a newspaper on one of our mystical "blue holidays."

So imagine my surprise and confusion when I saw this statue in the Public Garden.

Your eyes do not deceive. That is the portrayal of two boys frolicking. Naked. One apparently riding the other.

Are you speechless? So I was I, and believe me, that is a rarity. So I went on "The Goggle" to see what the internets has to say about naked boy fountains. Apparently it is called Triton Babies. Why? I haven't the foggiest. And the "catcher" is missing part of his thumb. So there you go.

Leave those trees alone!

2009-09-29T08:43:00.003-04:00

In a similar prohibitory theme, the Public Garden is also very protective of its trees.

I totally understand this rule - some of the trees in the Garden, particularly the elms, are centuries old. And still others were selected within the last 50 years as a nod to the ornamental varieties of the Garden's first seasons. Every tree is meticulously catalogued, monitored and cared for.

But here's where I get lost...

Query: do the evil Garden squirrels know about this rule, and if so, do they even care? No! Perhaps it is time for a little citizens arrest maneuver (again, I find myself wishing I had a badge or cape or at least an official looking pad of tickets to write!). The squirrels abuse the trees and the people in the Garden! How many times have innocent Bostonians been pelted with nuts from the branches of these beauties by renegade rodents? Too many for me to count. How many holes have these selfish and violent squirrels burrowed into tree trunks? And how often have confused tourists been tricked into feeding these bushy-tailed rats even though that's against the rules of the Garden, too? Shameful. And after spending yesterday atoning (Yom Kippur - all my heebs say yeah!), I can safely and smugly say they should be ashamed.

Actually, the trees are violent, too. "Falling" acorns? A likely story. People keep trying to convince me that it isn't me they're after, that this is "the season" for stuff like that. A likely story! Frankly, sometimes I wonder if those warnings about giving trees their personal space are more for our protection than theirs! (For the Potter-nerds out there, picture the Whomping Willow.) Maybe I should carry around a sign to protect myself from them!

Come to think of it, perhaps what's really going on here is some sort of nature gang warfare: trees v. squirrels, or flora v. fauna. Maybe the trees aren't attacking me; maybe they are trying to knock out the evil gang-bangin' rodents, and our human (read: Sputnik-sized) craniums are just innocent civilian casualties caught up in a terrible turf war. Maybe the trees wish only to wreck the rodents, but we keep wandering into their combat zone - their turf, if you will.

I would still assert that the squirrels are actually aiming for innocent bystanders, but I suppose that's a theory for another blog...

And so, dear reader(s), I wish you caution and safe travels should you brave the Public Garden. And remember, don't give the squirrels or the trees any funny looks, avoid affiliated hand signals and symbolic colors, etc. This is the big show...

~Sarah

Olmstead Would be Proud!

2009-09-28T12:44:00.004-04:00

Have I mentioned that Sarah and I have a ridiculous commute that includes a two-mile walk each way? Once or twice?

On our walking portion of the day, we like to stroll (briskly) through the Public Gardens. It's always a delight, what with the swans and homeless people and all. I like to gaze at the flora and fauna, so imagine my surprise when I saw this. In a public park.

Can you read that? It says "Please keep off the lawn." In a park. A park for the public's enjoyment.

I don't know about you, but I always thought one of the joys of a public park is playing on the grass. I have fond childhood memories of picnic dinners at parks. Sitting on the grass. Rolling down hills. Playing a little 'bee. Frolicking barefoot to feel the heavenly sensation of cool, green grass between my toes. Spinning until I collapse to be one with the Earth's rotation. Wheeeeee!!!

But the Parks Department here has other plans. It wants our children to stay on the narrow asphalt paths and -- gasp! -- obey the stern signage. Some sections of grass are even sequestered by tiny, foot-high chains. Only toddlers would have a problem getting around those.

Whenever I see a closed door or a fence or a sing saying "No," I am compelled to investigate. I'm like a cat in that regard. Have you ever noticed that cats are desperate to be on the other side of a closed door? And then of course when it sees there is nothing of feline interest, it gives you a dirty look for tricking it and saunters out. Hoodles, I digress. If I see a locked door with a sign saying "Keep out," you better believe I'm going in. And you can probably guess how I feel about signs telling me to stay off the grass -- especially when teeny fences are involved!

So kids, it's time for a little civil disobedience. Consider it your history lesson for the day. Step over the fence. Walk on the grass (how do you think I got the photo of the sign?). Hell, roll on it for all I care. Go on, break this silly rule! Parks are for enjoying. Olmstead would have wanted it that way.

~April

Referring Sites Shmeferring Shites…?

2009-09-26T08:40:00.005-04:00

Okay, that title definitely came out wrong, so let’s just move on…

As a follow-up to my co-blogger’s mad analytical skills, I feel it’s important to give a shout-out to another blogger who directs traffic our way: Star Jones.

What?!?

Factini, shaken not stirred: Star Jones’ blog has referred readers to the always-delightful Factinis & Factomelettes we've all grown to love. Tom Cruise is NOT, I repeat, NOT making this up. It’s true.

While we can’t figure out how or why, we’d like to thank Ms. Jones for the traffic… and if any of you have been referred to us by her blog, we’d appreciate any insight you can offer!

Intrigued,

Sarah

Keywords Shmeewords

2009-09-25T09:28:00.005-04:00

Just for shiggles, I decided to investigate what drives people to check out Factinis & Factomelettes. Most of the usual suspects were there: facebook, twitter, direct links (you love us enough to bookmark us!), etc. And of course some of you stumbled upon us quite by accident. I hope you weren't disappointed. And if you were, I can safely tell you to take a hike -- because you aren't reading anyway.

Keywords are a curious thing. There's this whole crazy scheme called "search engine optimization" (or SEO if you want to sound techy) that uses mysterious equations (again, say "algorithms" to up your apparent IQ) to decide how famous a webpage will be. It all revolves around keywords. And since Sarah and I cover some ground-breaking topics in this blog (see "Faux Elegance" and "Interior Decorating Fail"), I feel it is my duty as an American to increase F&O's visibility. That, and the success of Julie & Julia has me convinced that I can make it as a professional blogger.

Hoodles, I took a look at the keywords people searched for to find us. "Factinis." Perfect. "Law & Order." Sure. "Personally I wish the whole world were Jewish." Mmm-kaayyyy. "Bunions." Hu-uh???

What, exactly, do bunions have to do with this blog? Yes, I once commented that my feet hurt. But I don't regularly talk about the possible causes of said foot pain (arthritis, not bunions, for you Nosey Nancies). And I only mentioned the pain in passing.

Now let's discuss the "Personally I wish the whole world were Jewish" search. Fact: that is not a keyword. It is a phrase. Fact: Jews are lovely people. They love Chinese food. So we have that in common. Fact: if all the world were Jewish, bacon wouldn't exist.

So what sort of keywords would be appropriate? I'm glad you asked. It's nice to be asked once in a while. Although I was going to tell you anyway.

Pirates -- they've been mentioned a couple times, so I think it's clear where we stand on the issue.

Tom Cruise -- duh.

"Personally I wish the whole world were Jewish" -- ok, fine. They are the chosen people, after all.

And apparently "anal itch calamine" and "bites in anal area" are also hot. Because as of the latest analytics report (don't I sound knowledgeable?), that's how people find us. So there you go.

Reader(s), you're up. What are your suggestions for suitable keywords?

~April

Pre-Caffeinated Commuting

2009-09-24T09:32:00.004-04:00

We may have mentioned in passing that we have ridiculously long commutes. It’s possible we alluded to that fact once or twice in the past, though I don’t think I’ve gone into details like telling you that every day I take the highway to the next town, pay $4 to park my car at the commuter rail lot, take the train to North Station ($5 each way), meet April and then walk two miles to our office for a grand total of 90 minutes of commuting bliss each way. For less optimistic gals, spending three hours commuting to and from work every day could be a drag. Happily, April and I keep each other amused for practically the entire time, thanks, in part to modern technology.

Take this morning, for example. April and I im’ed each other during our train ride and you, dear reader(s), are lucky enough to get a window into our pre-caffeine electronic conversation…

Sarah: Hope you are feeling better today and had a good rest! Fall colds can be tough!

April: Thanks, but no. I’m worse because now I also have [insert socially acceptable malady]!

Sarah: Ugh!!!

April: I need to stop at CVS on our way in. Cool?

Sarah: No problem.

April: The hits just keep coming. Tomorrow my ear will probably fall off.

Sarah: And then you will be lopsided! How fugly!

April: I know! Imagine…

Sarah: I would still be your friend, but we probably wouldn’t be as close. No offense.

April: LOL

Sarah: And I would probably talk smack about you behind your back on the side you were missing the year because you couldn’t hear me that way.

Sarah: Sorry – EAR not year.

April: Would it be worse if I was missing a year? I’m not sure. Probably yes if a surgeon had attached a new ear to my head.

Sarah: Then you’d have three ears but waaaaaaaaay too much un-billable time to account for.

April: True story.

Sarah: The truest. PS Maybe we should turn this convo into a blog entry!

April: I thought about it, but I don’t want to alert our reader(s) that I have [insert malady]. We should substitute something else.

Sarah: Can do!

~Sarah

Warning: TC’s in Town

2009-09-23T10:24:00.005-04:00

We have it on good authority that the Tom Cruise (actor, not motorized scooter inventor) is trying to get close to us. Either he has discovered our adorable little habit of blaming him for snarky remarks, or he has heard tell of our talent and wants to indoctrinate us so we use our skills for good (aka Xenu) instead of evil (aka Jewish G-d and Jesus, silly blogging and shenanigans, as applicable).

Although I will admit to some hesitance in posting this blog due to the sensitive nature of these accusations, my dear co-blogger made an excellent point: by posting this you will all know who to blame should some unfortunate "accident" befall us.

So, how do we know that TC is coming for us? Let's examine the evidence...

1) He is filming a movie in MA. Not California, not someplace beautiful or tropical. He is in MA - and not even parts like the Vineyard or ACK (that's Nantucket to you - Schmargaret taught me that). He is filming in Worcester (pronounced by locals as “WUH-stah”). My dad was born there. Then he left - and left the accent behind, too. With all due respect to the City of Seven Hills, it's no bastion of trendiness.

2) “Maverick” is leaving a trail connecting to us. Case in point: he has been spotted on numerous occasions in my old 'hood. And no one goes to Davis Square for anything other than to check out my former digs! You aren't so tricksy after all, eh Tom-Tom?

3) He keeps getting closer and closer to us, both location-wise and Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon-wise! For example: one of our let's-call-her acquaintances (to protect her identity, of course) works part-time at a certain eatery not far from both our office and our commuting center. Mr. Cruise and posse descended upon said restaurant (we won't tell you which restaurant, but it rhymes with meow-stella) to "eat" (though by all accounts, it was really to get closer to us). Reports indicated that while Katie Holmes appeared robotic - and significantly taller than her date (not that height gives a hoot about love) – Tommy-boy was "intense." Apparently Suri was cute. Not the point. Focus, dear reader(s).

Ergo, according to the Rule of Three which we may or may not have invented, TC is definitely coming for us! And now everyone knows it! Keep that in mind, Tom Cruise...

~Sarah

Argh! My bad, Matey!

2009-09-22T10:39:00.005-04:00

So I was happily checking out what I missed over the weekend on The Bloggess when I found out the worst news ever: I missed Talk Like a Pirate Day. Again.

I'm not sure how I miss it every year. I know 600 people who share that birthday (ok, only two). And it is probably the coolest non-gifting holiday ever. Although maybe TLAPD really is a gift holiday, because is there a greater gift than being legally allowed to call someone a scurvy wench? Doubtful.

Anyway, I'm not supposed to forget TLAPD because it just so happens to be my girl Alex's birthday. And this year was extra-special because she turned the big 3-0. That's right, Alex turned the Dirty Thirty.

So happy birthday, you scurvy wench!

~April