Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Adventures at Costco

Last night we took a trip to Costco. Costco....land of
a. Expensive Cars

b. Old people

c. Jewish people

d. People who do not need 17 pounds of trail mix

e. People who, regardless, still insist on buying 17 pounds of trail mix because it a 'good deal'

f. expensive car accidents due to A. and B.

g. Delicious hot dogs.

We visited Costco because we were in search of a Dyson. This is a sign I am getting old. When I was younger I used to lust after designer handbags and shoes, save up for a video game system, ipod, cd player etc... Now, at the ripe old age of 25, I lust after a vacuum. Not just any vacuum. But THE vacuum. The Dyson. Every week we look in the paper for a sale, count up our gift cards from the wedding to see if they work anywhere that has one, we try to find 10% off coupons and justify the purchase of a $450 vacuum. So far, justification has not yet surfaced. However, yesterday, we thought it might be the day. After months of research we found that Costco had the best deal.

Thankfully, you do not need to buy 84 Dyson's at Costco, just one, and it comes with all of the attachments. Therefore, we made the trek to Costco to visit our dream in real life. There it stood. Purple glowing. HEPA filtration abounding, Unlimited suction power. The strength of an ox. We take a moment to pause in vacuum euphoria. Here it is, the object of my affection. The Dyson.

We view it. We decide to walk around the store and think some more about it. This is a huge decision. This is a $450 vacuum. We walk away from the magical Dyson. Jeremy leading with the cart, I turn my head to get one last glance at the gleaning, magical machine. We walk away. In our heightened state of euphoria brought on by vacuum appreciation, we enter the fruit aisle. We separate. Jeremy walks towards the apples, I walk towards the pineapple. We reunite. I find my husband with three lonely apple pears in the cart. I begin to laugh.

Kara: Jeremy- uh, this is not the grocery, you cannot just pick out three. You need to buy the entire flat of them.

Jeremy: Well it said, 'price per pound'

Kara: Let me see...

Kara: laughing, laughing, pause from the laughter to spit out...Jeremy, that is telling you the price per pound as a reference. At Costco you cannot break open the packages and just take the amount you would like.

Jeremy: No, I swear I can.

Kara: No, I really think you cannot. We can buy the whole container.

Jeremy: No, I don't want them all. (pouting walks away)

But wouldn't it be so nice. I don't want 17 pounds of trail mix, I just want a cup - I'll just rip open this bag here and take out a cup. Nope.

Vacuum euphoria lead to misdirected sense of reality.

To make a long story short, we left the store with neither a Dyson nor Apple Pears. We just couldn't bite the bullet. Hoover, you will have to keep chugging along until you can be ousted by your superior younger sibling Dyson. But for now, you will remain our vacuum. But watch your back. Any day now - you may be headed to vacuum heaven. The place where vacuums with broken cords, depleted suction and wheels that wont turn go.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Who needs therapy when you have tennis lessons?

Tennis Lesson #2:

We start warming up. Stephanie with her slow, methodical, predictable swing towards the ball. Julie (other tennis class mate) with her gentle practiced strokes. And then Kara, with her fast, erratic, wild thrashing at the ball.

Teacher to Kara: Patience, Kara, patience.

Kara: If I had a dollar for every time someone said those words to me.

Teacher to Kara: Calm, relax, take it easy.

Kara: Seriously, becoming a millionaire. The amount of times I have heard these phrases in my life.

And I start to have sudden flashbacks in the midst of tennis class....(picture this in a dream like state)
Setting: Kindergarten. All the kids in the class are sitting in their desks listening to the teacher read a book. Kara is wandering around in the back of the class room playing with whatever she can find. Running around, finding another toy, picking up crayons, then jumping up to the window because a stray cat is wandering by.
Kindergarten teacher to Kara: Calm, relax, take it easy Kara. (This later leads to my expulsion from the public school system. Okay, maybe not expulsion, but encouraged departure.)

Setting: Disney world. Line for the dumbo ride. There is always a line for the dumbo line. Kara does not do lines well. She is 3 years old. Screaming her brains out. Kara hates lines.
Dad to Kara: Patience, Kara, patience.

Now these are simply two examples of things which happen almost every day of my life. I have chosen my career based on my inability to sit still. I have chosen a spouse who also likes to run around (most of the time) like crazy. I still can't wait in a line without having a fit. I still can't sit in a desk without running around the room. I have decided to work with my abilities rather than focus on my challenges :-)

However, when taking tennis lessons, apparently this just won't work.

Tennis teacher seems to think he can cure me of my lack of patience and calm. If he can do this, there are many people in this world who would give him a medal of honor. Including but not limited to:
My mom
My Dad
My sister
My kindergarten teacher Mrs. Benson
Every teacher from then on
In particular Mr. Anderson
The staff at every restaurant I've ever visited and riped apart their napkins as I sat and waited for the food and the check (the two worst parts of every meal out)
The staff at Disney World
I will stop there...but the list could go on.

Nice try tennis teacher man, but I don't think you're going to win this battle. May you rally on in your efforts, and find me attempting to listen while wandering over to the court next to me to see what the people on the other courts are doing.

Long live impatience.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Hello - let me hand over my brain. Thank you very much.

Let me start out with a few occurrences:

I walk into my office this morning and several coworkers say, "Cute hair - I thought you said you hate it short and were just getting a bang trim?"
Kara: "Oh, yea...."

At my sister's house last night:
Kara: Okay everyone we are going to do this, this and that.
Lady at the dinner: Well, that girl can make a decision.

Which leads me to the topic of this blog post. Hair cutting induced brain mush.

I walk in the salon. Step. Step. Step. I prance up to the counter. I check in.
"Uh yes, my name is Kara - just checking in"
And with that, in checking in, I hand over my brain. I lose all sense of decision making power, all sense of fiscal responsibility, all sense of time and place. Brain has been handed over.

I sit and wait. The woman who cuts my hair eventually comes over and greets me. Any cells that were left in my brain are now immediately vacuum sucked out.
"Well Kara, what do you think you'd like to do this time?"
Kara: "Uh, uh...uh"
"Excuse me?"
Kara: "Not sure, whatever you want"
(keep in mind, never, at any other time in my life do I say whatever you want.)
This time, though I was sure I did not want my hair any shorter, chop, chop away. Now, this is not to say I don't like it. In fact, I love it. Nor is it to say that I have been influenced, much the opposite. I simply wonder why it is that I walk into salons and my brain is immediately removed from my body.

Proceed 45 minutes. Hair has been cut. Yes, yes, love it, great, thank you. On to the hair supply area. Yes, I need $30 hair spray and $40 shampoo. You are my leader, show me the way. Seriously, brain mush. If someone told me I should buy gold flecks because it would look great in my hair, I would hand over the money and buy them. I swear.

And so I leave. Walk outside. Look around. Get a bit of a lightheaded feeling and wonder why. Oh, I know, this is the feeling of my brain re-entering my body upon departure from the hair salon.

Am I the only one? Is it just me or does this happen to others too?

Friday, June 19, 2009

Wedding #2

My sister may kill me for posting this...but whatever...that's never stopped me in the past. :-)

We are now on to wedding #2 and they are looking for some unique ideas - share if you have some...

They're working on guest bags for the hotel. My sister loves tupperware, storage items, organizing thingeyma-bobs stuff like that. So I said....put them in a tupperware! Dumb idea? I don't think so. Here is why. Since you asked.
1. Reusable
2. SO easy to transport - they're all sealed up!
3. bug proof
4. clean
5. cute and appropriate

Tell me if I'm crazy - but I think it would be perfect.

Issue #2 of the day. Unrelated to weddings. Someone stole my car and drove away with it IN FRONT OF ME. See below:

How rude. (FYI: for those who haven't known me a long time. I have a slight obsession with cows. I love them. I have about 100 stuffed cows at my parents house. And this idiot stole my cow car)

Tuesday, June 16, 2009


In our household we discuss airlines a lot. Plane crashes. Airports. Airplane types. New Airplane technology. Wing flaps. In fact, this past weekend, while waiting at the airport for a friend who was due to arrive my husband decided to quiz me on airplane types as they landed. A delta plane comes in, it gets closer...what is it...what is it? A DC9? No, too new. An A320? Yes! And he looks at me. And he gets a smile on his face unlike anything I saw even on our wedding day. I had guessed the correct airplane type. I had earned my keep. And I did it several times, guessed the correct plane. Oh yea, I'm learning!

In other airline news, in case you have been living in a groundhog hole with your head buried in the quicksand and legs in the air: Delta and Northwest are merging.

Here is a photo of the outcome:

In case you can't tell. This gentleman had been waiting at the ticket counter so long that he actually took out a newspaper to read. And FINISHED IT!

I think this should be on the front of the NWA/Delta website. Just a thought :-)

Friday, June 12, 2009

Tennis Lessons

Please recall: Dance lessons pre wedding

Now please note: Jeremy and I have signed up for tennis lessons with Debra and Coop. Chaos will likely ensue.

Now lets meet the players of this game we call 'tennis lessons'

Random likely-Russian guy who told Jeremy and I our kids would be bad athletes. In so many words.

Meet Pavel...

Kara Leigh Frank. Considered the best athlete in her family. Second best would be Grandmother who is afraid of water. This is quite the acclaimed spot. Tennis class attendees....be afraid...you have the best Weinblatt/Goldman family athlete in the house.

Stephanie Cooper. Coop lived in California for a while, so that must win her some points on the tennis ability scale, right? Everyone in California plays tennis. And runs on the beach in their bikinis.

Jeremy Scott Frank. Considered the worst athlete in his family. Recall his brother's best man speech. Referencing the times when he would throw baseballs against the garage door because his younger brother would rather play inside, in "a controlled and safe environment" as he would say.

Debra Fiterman
Champion walker, technology aficionado, television extraordinaire. Might be more interested in making sure the teacher scores the games correctly than the actual game of tennis.

So there's the lineup. What we lack in ability we make up for in spunk! Lessons are Tuesdays from 6-8 at Brookview if you would like to stop by for some serious entertainment. Look forward to updates as our skills progress each and every Tuesday through June. It's just so hard to be so talented at so many things.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009


This past weekend the Weinblatt family packed our bags and flew to Atlanta for a weekend of family fun and togetherness. Until my dad tried to drive us into a wall. jk. kindof.

Jeremy has always thought that a good dating game would be as follows:

Put men and women in their closets. Ask them to pack for a weekend trip away. Give them some specifics regarding temperature and see what they produce. Compare the packed luggage results and TA DA - match them up!

See photo:

We don't believe in traveling light. Now, I see the value in it. I understand the philosophy, but I don't subscribe to it. My thought is that I don't want to get there and feel like I had just the right outfit...sitting at home...being unworn. And most importantly, I hate being dirty. Really hate being dirty. I change clothes an average of 4 times per day. No joke. And I am not ashamed of that. If I pack it, I have to carry it, and I'm okay it that.
See Also: Thailand posts

Jeremy and Kara - an over packing match made in heaven.

On this trip we decided we should rent a car. Similar to Minnesota, Atlanta is not the most commuter friendly city.
Enter...the beast:


This beast took us to and fro. At the restaurants, we got our own version of Rockstar parking. It was called Rockstar butt parking (due to all the running the valet guys had to do to go and get our car parked 8 miles away so as not to be confused for a restaurant guest's car...thus contributing to a smooth behind from all the running). Stretch, I know.

Hot Car. Jer might trade in the Audi for one.

We also visited Coke World where we had the rare privilege of tasting 67 varieties of coke until the insides of our stomachs turned out, our teeth rotted and noises were coming out of our bodies that should not be heard in polite company. And I, being the highly intelligent person that I am, tried all 67 varieties. Should you ever decide to visit coke world, do not try all 67 varieties. For the sake of those who may be riding in a vehicle with you. Please do not.

All in all, quite a successful weekend. Should you be looking for a quick weekend away, a Nouveau Poor vacation as it were - I recommend Atlanta. Not the be all and end all most exciting place in the world, but certainly some delicious biscuits.

SEE: http://www.flyingbiscuit.com/

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Shout out...

An old friend of mine has started a blog with her mom and sister - its fun and interesting - I recommend you check it out...


Some of you may know her, or have heard me talk about her. My friends are like gold to me, and I'll do anything for them. Even tout their blog on mine! But if you stop reading mine, you're all in trouble.

This weekend my family is traveling to Atlanta, or as some may call it HOTlanta for the weekend. My sister is turning the big 3-0 this year and we decided to make a big deal of it. In the spirit of NouveauPoor, we chose Atlanta because it was cheap, and none of us had been there. Not entirely true, I have been to the Atlanta airport more times than I can count. Look forward to some exciting updates on the trip next week!

I apologize, this has been a less than exciting week but I do have a quick story to recount:

About an hour ago our receptionist, knowing me quite well, comes into my office:
"Uh, Kara, someone is here to see you" she meekly states.
Now she is not a meek person, so I was already concerned.
"What is that look for?" I ask.
"He's from Plunkett's Kara". And chills race down my spine.

Mice you may wonder? Bugs? I don't like either of those things, but this was much worse. I could tell. And I was right.

Birds. He was there to inform me that I had a Pigeon problem which he wanted to take care of. A lump formed in my throat. Sweat beaded up on my forehead. My spine began to feel as though it was swelling to twice it's size.

"Pigeons you say sir?"
"Yes, pigeons..." and he goes on to say something about the droppings...and at this point I may have passed out, or blacked out, the next thing I remember is telling him to get them away.

Have I mentioned I hate birds?