My Corn Maze

On Sunday, Joey made my dream come true and took me to a corn maze. (Seriously, I've been wanting to go to one of these forever.)

It was the perfect afternoon, sunny and warm with enough of a breeze to remind you that it's Fall. The corn maze closed that day, though, so we were just in the nick of time! I was thankful that it hadn't rained. :)

Unlike most mazes Joey has been to that have a definite entrance and exit, this maze had many entrances and exists, but 10 posts you had to find hidden somewhere in the maze. Once you

Joey made me abide by all the rules and not cheat.

Here are some pictures from our expedition.
found a post, you were supposed to punch the correct number on your maze card. There were also rules such as: no alcoholic beverages, no children under 15 without an adult (good thing I had Joey), no cutting new trails through the corn, no throwing corn, etc.Not the most glamorous shot of me, but these were my first steps into the corn maze. HOORAY!


The rules said "Don't remove the corn from the stalk", so Joey made me leave it on. It didn't taste very good.


Joey decided that we shouldn't look at the map, so we didn't. So here he is trying to decide which path to take. (We took the road less traveled by, of course.)


The rules never said "don't get in the corn", they just said "don't make your own trails". I wasn't making my own trail, I just wanted to be in the corn. It was pretty fun, I guess.


This is a particularly nasty picture of me, but here we are finishing the maze. Somewhere between #4 and #10, we got lost and started finding numbers out of order. We had to snitch and look at the map to finish, or we might still be in the maze.


Joey likes this picture because he thinks it makes me look grouchy. The reality is, the sun was bright and I was squinting. AND I didn't know he was taking a picture of me.

I recommend corn mazes, as hickish as they sound, they are quite fun. It's good I've gotten it out of my system, too, because there is no corn in Dallas. Maybe Longhorns, but no corn.

My Trick-or-Treat Attempt

All week last week I'd been trying to find a sheet so I could be a ghost to go trick-or-treating. I figured this was the only way to do it without someone catching on that I'm really 24. I had no luck.

My brother, Andrew, suggested that I be a clown. I have a clown suit that my mom made for me when I was 14 (yikes, that was 10 years ago?!) and heading down to Mexico for a mission trip. Since then, that clown suit has been on 3 continents and in at least 3 countries, maybe 4. But it has never gone trick-or-treating.

I have this really awesome Raggedy Ann wig that goes with it, and I was super excited to go home and try to find it.

I dragged Henry into the Scary Room (Alex, it's that place off the furnace room where we keep the sleeping bags, air conditioners, and Christmas decorations when we're not using them) and he pretty much freaked out. But I wasn't about to go up there without protection from the big spiders so I told him he'd have to stay with me.

I found my clown suit, shoes, makeup and hair nylon, but no wig or powder sock. The loss of the wig was very disappointing, but I figured that since it was subzero outside I would just wear a stocking cap.

Back before I went to Mexico, my dad knew some people who were professional clowns and they taught me how to apply clown makeup. It's actually really fun. (The powder sock is for applying baby powder to the white base makeup. It keeps it from smearing.)

Anyway, the white base makeup was getting a little bit, um, hard. I wound up putting a whole lot more on my face than usual, simply because it was coming out in huge globs. I'd forgotten how creepy I look with just a white face. (Oh, I do actually have hair, it's just all stashed in the hair nylon.)


Then I added the red lips. Again, this would have worked better if I'd been able to powder the white base, but that was not possible. So they kind of look smeary.
Oh, I'm wearing my clown suit, it's got bright colored fish all over it (two kinds of patterns) and orange pom poms down the front. It's pretty sweet. I wasn't able to get a picture because I couldn't figure out how.

Last but not least, I added the black accent marks. I was a creepy looking clown and ready to go!
Poor Henry didn't have much of a costume, so I threw on of his shirts on him, grabbed a Fareway bag (for lack of anything better to deposit my candy in) and headed out the door.

It was so, so cold. The wind was, like a zillion miles an hour and Henry was loving it. He was prancing around everywhere like he was the king of trick-or-treat.

Earlier that evening I had scoped out a block that I decided seemed good for trick-or-treating. It had big houses and tons of them had their porch lights on. So Henry and I drove over there and began our adventure.

We went to the first house where I got a Snickers bar and Henry almost got mauled by a big fluffy black dog. Henry has no sense of danger, though, and thought the big black dog wanted to play.

We went to the next house where I got a creepy eyeball gum ball and Henry got nothing.

At this point I was hungry (hadn't eaten dinner yet, I'd had to clean house and grocery shop), cold, and felt like an idiot. My face was itching, too, since I hadn't been able to powder it. I was also getting tired of making my voice sound all high-pitched and 12-year-old. (I'm not sure that worked anyway.)

There's nothing weirder than beinge 24 but feeling like the nerdy kid who had no friends to go trick-or-treat with. This was the look I kept getting from the houses the "Ohh, poor little girl has no friends" look, and it was giving me the jibblies.

I decided to take a vote whether to stay or go. I voted to go home, Henry voted to stay (he was having a great time). Since my vote was worth 5 and his was worth -1, I won and we went home.

As I thought about trying to get off my oil-based white base pancake makeup, I felt a great sense of dread as I realized something. White base makeup doesn't come off without baby oil, and we don't have any baby oil.

This now meant that I was going to have to go to Wal-Mart with my face all painted up and buy some baby oil.

I considered trying my luck at home with soap and water, but I figured it would be a lot worse if I went to the store with wet, soggy, goopy makeup rather than fresh, creepy clown makeup.

Henry got dropped off at home and I went to Wal-Mart. I changed into sweats, Uggs, and a zip-up cardigan (didn't want to ruin it with my oil-based face!) and went out the door and drove to Wal-Mart. (I couldn't bring myself to face Target.)

In Wal-Mart, people were laughing at me as I walked by. Serious.

To be fair, I suppose I'd laugh if I saw some idiot wearing clown makeup walk by me and rush out carrying baby oil. (Because obviously it was stuck on their face, as in my circumstance.)

I went home and attempted to remove the makeup with soap and water. This was the result; permanent pink.
Fortunately with the baby oil, and about 10 cotton balls, I got my face back to its normal color.

All this to say, I probably won't be going trick-or-treating again. At least not by myself...it's really boring. And I got ripped off on candy (but that's probably because they could tell I'm really 24).

After much, much deliberation (and several failed attempts to get a white sheet secondhand), I have decided not to dress up as a ghost to go trick-or-treating.

I have, however, decided to be something else.

I think I stashed the costume up in The Scary Room at home, but I can't be positive. (Ever since I saw the big spider, I avoid that place at all costs.) I am prepared to suck up my gumption, brace myself for the potential of seeing spiders, and go look for the costume. Maybe I'll take Henry up there with me to ward off any potential arachnid sightings. Ugh.

If I can figure out how to work the timer on the camera, I may take pictures and post them later. This is a pretty big if, though, because I am pretty illiterate on our camera. And Joey's at work. (Hence my childish behavior this evening.)

All I have to do is grocery shop, clean the house, and then I can go trick-or-treating. (Wow, those three things really don't go together, do they?)

Jibblies

Several months ago I found a Monarch caterpillar. I named him Stripidy and, for lack of a better spot, stuck him in Joey's water bottle while he spun his chrysalis.

Joey was not terribly keen on this idea, but he went along with it. Particularly when I reminded him how long it had been since he had drunk out of his water bottle. I also claimed that the water bottle would be good as new after we boiled it and washed it out with soap and water a couple of times.

That being said, ever since Stripidy hatched and flew away I have avoided that water bottle like the plague. I didn't even want to put it back in the cupboard for fear it might contaminate my pots and pans.

Since nobody ever drinks out of it anyway it sat in the cupboard, harming nothing for several months. And then I forgot Pink Bottle at Joey's parent's house this weekend.

On Monday, I could see there was no other choice but to wash out Joey's water bottle and take it to work.

All week I have drank out of the caterpillar water bottle, and every time I do so it gives me the creeps. Joey says this is my own fault for claiming that there would be no ill effects on the water bottle from it having the caterpillar in it.

I have washed it several times and it still creeps me out. I can't wait to have Pink Bottle back.

The Abominable Snowdog

My brothers think that if we combine the whiteness, fluffiness, and sassiness of Ernie with the general energy, hyperactivity, and tricksiness of Henry, we'd have something akin to the Abominable Snowman.






















Ernie actually looks like the Abominable Snowman, but he doesn't quite have the, um, energy required to abominate anything. However he is really sassy and that's a necessary trait for any Abominable Snowman.

Henry, on the other hand, has a permanent case of the jibblies, especially when his nemisis, Evil Purple Squeaky Ball, is anywhere near. He'd be happy to decimate that thing any day of the week. He also thinks he's a big tough guy and growls ferociously when I head-butt him.

We plan to fuse the two dogs together sometime next weekend. We'll probably come out with one really ferocious beast and one pile of Jell-o.

Frumpy

Today is one of those days where I wish I could claim I got dressed in the dark.

(I didn't. In fact, I laid my clothes out last night.)

Has this ever happened to you? You get up, go to work, and realize that you're wearing the most dreadful outfit, so you throw a wool cardigan over the top in hopes that it fixes all your fashion problems.

It happened to me.

It all started when I exchanged my trouser socks for a pair of white cotton ones (it's FREEZING outside!). It went downhill quickly when the shirt I wanted to wear under my sweater was wrinkled, so I just left it at home. This left me with several problems:
1. White socks with brown pants
2. A sweater with nothing underneath of it
3. The sweater's kind of short so it needs something underneath of it or I look like a buffoon

To top it off, the wool cardigan I've had to wear all day is making me really, really warm, and sleepy, and frumpy.

What problems I am having!

Keep 'em Up, Cowboy

I was strangely comforted today as I was watching the news online. A headline caught my eye, "Pull Your Pants Up, Dallas!" and I thought, "Hmm, that looks interesting." So I watched it.

Aparrently, people in Dallas have an, ahem, problem keeping their pants above their bums. It seems to be some kind of fashion trend.

This is particularly interesting to me because, when Joey and I were in Dallas looking for apartments, we saw a guy with his pants way, way below his bum. He seemed to give Joey the jibblies (granted, the guy was yelling obscenities at a little girl) because Joey grabbed my arm and wouldn't let go until we left that apartment complex. Needless to say, we're not renting there.

Some concerned Dallas citizen wants to pass a law making it illegal to show your "unders" in public.

And that would be just fine with me.

The USPS and Rubber Cement are a Bad Combination

In a valiant effort to save taxpayer dollars, I spent the last twenty minutes peeling unused stamps off old envelopes. I'm doing a mailing and I found about 6 envelopes in our stamp drawer with perfectly good stamps on them.

Some of those stamps were so old they had permanently adhered themselves to the envelope. This caused problems when I tried to remove the stamps, about 3 of them ripped in half. So, on the sly, I threw them away.

Once I removed the stamps, I had to figure out how to reapply them. We don't have double sided tape or glue. The only thing even remotely close is some rubber cement we have hidden high up in the cupboard (seriously, it's so far back I have to climb on the counter to get it), and the last time I tried to use that stuff the only thing it stuck together was my fingers.

There isn't a brush in the rubber cement so, after looking around quickly to make sure no one was watching, I shook up the bottle and stuck my finger as deep as it would go (which wasn't very deep). I wound up with a small amount of rubber cement, which I applied to the first stamp.

It didn't stick to the envelope.

I shook harder and applied more to the next stamp. It didn't stick either.

My fingers, however, did stick together.

Covertly, I closed up the rubber cement bottle and threw it back up into the cupboard. I went to the sink to try to wash my hands and only succeeded in making the rubber cement more cementy and more rubbery.

I could see this was not going well. After a few more scrubs, I resigned myself to have a cementy, gummy pointer man finger for the rest of the day.

--Update--
I have gotten most of the rubber cement off my finger now, but the stamps are still not adhered to the envelope. They're pretty much not sticking at all. I have given up and thrown them away.

Couplea days ago I looked at Joey and said, "I want to go trick-or-treating this year."

Joey looked at me kind of skeptically. "Um, probably not. We're adults."

"Oh come on, I'm shorter than tons of junior highers. If we dressed up as ghosts and wore big white sheets, I could totally pass for a kid. And you could be the responsible adult accompanying me, of course."

Joey looked even more skeptical. "I'm still not sold."

"And I could make Henry a little ghost costume too."

That certainly wasn't the best convincing argument to use to tug Joey my way, but he did kind of start to smirk. (Kind of.)

The real problem with the whole situation is that Beggar's Night is on Monday and Joey has to work so he can't go with me.

Wait a minute--Joey has to work...

VOTE NO AGAINST DRIVING 9 HOURS ON DECEMBER 25!

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VOTE NO!

Paid for by Woestmans for Christmas.

Caffeine Hangover?

I have scarcely felt so miserable except when I've been legitimiately sick. After I drank the evil SoBe NoFear I felt weird, paranoid, and shaky. I also did not (could not?) shut up.

By the time Joey and I got home and fed Henry (it was after 8:00 p.m.) I was feeling really weird, kind of nauseated and extremely lethargic. I poked at my chicken soup and managed to eat it all, but it didn't seem like a very good idea.

I dragged myself into bed at 9:00 and I was just positive that I would fall asleep instantly. But then, I began to shake.

For a half hour, I intermittently felt nauseated, and then would proceed to shake for a few minutes. It was strange. I bemoaned how I thought I was going to break my 8 year "no throwing up" streak. (It's been since high school, honest!)

Joey got increasingly jumpy every time I got up to get a drink or go to the bathroom. I think he was afraid I'd barf on him. Which really isn't fair since he's had the flu twice (TWICE!) since we've been married. Twice.

By 1:00, I was still wide awake. I tried relaxation techniques, I tried counting, and I tried boring myself to sleep. I'm not sure which one of them finally wound up working, but I woke up at 3:00 feeling like I'd crawled out of a pile of that pink insulation junk. (Not the yellow stuff, the pink stuff.)

As I lay there at 6:30 wishing that my alarm clock had malfunctioned in the night and was 6 hours fast, I rued the day I ever agreed to drink a SoBe NoFear "just to see what would happen". I also wondered if it was legitimate to call in sick for feeling nauseated after 157 mg of caffeine at 4:00 p.m. the night before.

Joey rolled over and said, "Wow, I slept awesome."
I said, "Can I call in sick? My stomach hurts."

Needless to say, I didn't call in sick. Self-inflicted nausea doesn't count. Darn it.

157 mg of Caffeine

Joey and I are at his parent's house this weekend. Mostly we've just loafed around and watched Over the Hedge, played Keen (I beat Keen 5), and I folded some towels.

About 4:00 I was falling asleep. Joey said, "I bet you want a Sprite. Let's go walk to Pete's and get you a Sprite. We can stop by the soccer fields and see Dad (aka Father-in-Law1)."

"blaaaaugh"

Eric, who was eavesdropping, said "Let's make her drink an entire SoBe NoFear. I'll buy."

Joey perked up. (I was kind of amazed, last time I drank just half of one of those he told me I wasn't allowed.) "Want to?"

"Sure!" I perked up real quick, too. So we put on our coats (I put on Puff, my new white vest) and headed out the door with Henry, Eric and his iPod Shuffle in tow.

It was super, super cold out there. Super.

Anyway, we got to Pete's (which really is called Monroe Foods, but for some reason everyone calls it Pete's. I guess some guy named Pete owns it) and the boys went in for drinks while I waited outside with Henry.

I suppose now is the time to confess: Joey and Eric got the money to buy these beverages by snitching from Father-in-Law1's change stash. BUT...Eric seemed to get permission from Mother-in-Law1 before we did it.

Anyway, after about 3 sips, I was feeling jittery and weird. After half of the SoBe NoFear I was feeling like a gyroscope. After the whole can, I couldn't shut up and my right foot was bouncing incessantly.

I figured the problem was that I was drinking the NoFear on a basically empty stomach, so I went back to The Snack Room and found some Ritz Bitz. I feel a little bit less like I could spontaneously combust now.

A can of Mt. Dew has 55 mg of caffeine in it.
SoBe NoFear has 157 mg of caffeine.

Henry and the Scary Balloons

My parents-in-law sent me some wonderful balloons as a get-well gift, but Henry didn't like them at all! We decided to break him of his fear, but he didn't like that, either. After running crazy from the balloons, he just gave up and went to Mommy.

Henry Plays Hide and Seek

We taught Henry the command "stay" by playing hide and seek with him. He gets real excited about it, especially when he "finds" us. He's getting real good at staying, too. What a smart puppy.

Henry Makes the Bed

Henry tries to help us make the bed....and winds up getting stuck under the fitted sheet. Poor kid.

Joey Loses All His Wisdom Tomorrow

Tomorrow Joey gets all 4 of his wisdom teeth out. I am really looking forward to this for two reasons:
1. I get to take the whole day off work and I play to sloth and loaf around until at least 8:30, if not 10:00.
2. Joey will probably say some hilarious things when he's still all doped up

I remember when I got my teeth out, I was laying there in the chair and the IV was pumping in the sleepy drugs and all I could talk about was the TV show ER.
"Wow...This purple thing on my arm is like what they use on ER...Sometimes they put these IV things in people on ER...I totally feel like I'm on ER right now...That's really awesome." And then I was out.

When I woke up I remember asking Mom where my wisdom teeth were and why I didn't get to keep them.

I'm glad she never pursued that request and got them back from the oral surgeon.

Tomorrow, I'm figuring Joey will say a lot of crazy things as he's coming off of his knock-out drugs. These could be, but are certainly not limited to, some of the following:

• Jenna, I want a panda. Can I please have a panda? And a bamboo garden? We could keep it in the other apartment that nobody's using....
• One time, I met Darth Vader in my dream and I killed him using my toothbrush. I thought it was a light saber at first, but then I realized it was my toothbrush
• When I grow up I want to write comics and then they'll be funny. Garfield isn't funny anymore.
• Why can't Henry have puppies?
• One time, in Greek class, I thought about this wolf and I wondered if it had to get his wisdom teeth pulled out. What do you think wolf's wisdom teeth look like? Hey, I can say wolf right even without my wisdom teeth and when I'm all sleepy, and you can't say it right when you're normal. Hah.
• I'm glad I get to eat pudding. I won't share with you.

Now I'm only hypothesizing about what he could say. My assumption is that whatever he comes up with will be much better than any of these options.

He's a pretty crazy guy, after all. (With or without his wisdom teeth!)

OK. Since I accidentally let it slip at work, I'll just make the announcement:

JOEY AND I ARE MOVING TO TEXAS. AT THE END OF THE YEAR. AND WE'RE GOING TO LIKE IT BECAUSE IT'LL BE "SUPER WARM".

There, it's been made.

My (Assumed) Failure To Communicate

It's 3:00 p.m. and I want marshmallows. Really, really bad. I don't know if it's a seasonal thing or what, but I have these marshmallow-fiend cycles where I could eat marshmallows all day long. (Not the jet-puffed kind, the mini ones)

Anyway, I called Joey.

"Um, hi. How are you?" I asked, attempting small talk when all I really wanted to do was ask him to bring me marshmallows.

"Fine..." and he told me some stuff about what he'd been doing.

"I'm starved for marshmallows. Do we have any in the house?" I asked, feeling subtle and like this effort was going to be successful.

"Let me check...no, no marshmallows."

"Oh. Darn. I really want some. Could you put them on the list?"

"Sure," said Joey. I began to wilt; obviously he was not picking up on my "Please bring me marshmallows" subtlety.

"Well, I guess I'll talk to you later," I mumbled, feeling less victorious by the minute.

"OK, I'm going to go do some homework now," Joey said.

I supposed that this was, in the words of Ernest P. Worrill, "a failure to communicate".

Twenty minutes later...

I looked up from my desk to see my husband and our furry son, Henry, come in the front door of my office!

Could it be?! He was here (and so was Henry), could he have possibly brought me...marshmallows?! I didn't see them anywhere unless...

Joey pulled a bag of mini marshmallows out of his coat and I positively wiggled with glee. YES!!! Joey, Henry AND mini-marshmallows! What a great end to a particulary uneventful Monday.

Amazingly Joey had picked up on my subtlety and thought, "Either she's asking me to bring her marshmallows, or it would be a good idea for me to surprise her with marshmallows." So he packed up the kid (not Alex The Kid, but our kid) and went to HyVee on the spot.

I married the best man.

My Cold Farewell

Saturday was my last day as a volunteer at Living History Farms. I expected it to be rather bittersweet, but I was mostly relieved by the time the morning was over.

It was so, so cold. The sun was hidden by clouds and there was a bit of a breeze. I think the thermometer in my car said it was 37 degrees.

Under my homely 1875's period costume, I had 2 skirts, a pair of pants, and an extra shirt. I didn't figure I could sew a hat with mittens on, and gloves didn't really exist yet. (In Iowa, anyway.)

I opened the Millinery and got out my hat. Laura, the site supervisor, came in and told me that she was going to start me a fire in the wood burning stove. I was elated. (You would have been too if you felt how cold it was in there.) Laura took me over to the print shop to get some kerosene rags.

The lady in the print shop was super, super grouchy. I was kind of afraid of her. I reminded myself I would not be coming back to get any kerosene rags from her, so I should probably be OK.

Laura and I, kerosene rags in hand, went back to the millinery, where she showed me how to start a fire in an old-timey wood burning stove. The idea was for me to start a fire in the stove in the front room after the back room got warm enough. I was skeptical, at best, that this would work.

Laura left, and her parting words were, "Check it every 15 minutes to make sure you don't need to add more wood."

Since I didn't have a watch, I think it was somewhere between 45 minutes to an hour before I checked the stove. By then, the fire had mostly gone out. I stuffed some wood in there and opened the bottom door and, somehow, the fire took again.

My fingers were white at this point. I mean they're normally white, but they were actually bedsheet white I was so cold.

I monitored the fire a little bit more closely, and then I decided I'd better start the fire in the front room.

I'll spare you the description and just shorten it down to three words: It didn't work.

Actually, in all the commotion I wound up killing the fire in the back room, too. And it was only 12:00! I sat there in shivery desolation (there were hardly any visitors to the Farms, but then it was pretty cold) for another hour and a half.

Then I couldn't take it anymore. I changed my clothes, put on REAL socks!!!, and turned my ugly dress in to Period Clothing. (Laura said it would be waiting for me next year but, as we'll be in Dallas, I never have to wear that dowdy thing again. Even if I did get to come back, I'd beg on my knees to have a different dress.)

But even though my dress was ugly and the last two weeks were cold, I'd do the whole thing again in a hearbeat. :)

I am in such a terrible, grouchy mood today. I have been "slamming" drawers, punching buttons on the copier so that they actually made noise, and in general just being sullen and quiet.

I hope I don't get fired.

Spelling...

I was sending our Reading Recovery information to the Department of Education this morning, when I realized I had a little problem.

On the envelope to the DE, I had spelled Department "Departmenent". There are two problems here:
1. Misspelling the Department of Education looks really, really bad.
2. Misspelling something I'm sending to the Reading Recovery office looks even worse.

Good thing I caught it before there was an inquest into my mental abilities.

Danger: Henry is a Sock Fiend

Yesterday Henry figured out how to get the socks out of the laundry basket. Now he has access to as many socks as he wants, whenever he wants them. (Or so he thinks; we're probably going to start shutting our bedroom door.)

Last night, he had a pile of 6 socks on the floor outside the office. The kid is crazy, he walks around the outside of the basket, picks out the sock he wants, then he dives in and digs it out and prances over to the hallway where he beats the sock up for a few minutes. Then he repeats his process.

Henry Is Shorn

Henry got his hair cut on Monday. And on Tuesday. (He had some shaggy spots I needed to clean up). I was so surprised by how good he was, he just laid there calmly most of the time. (The other part of the time he was trying to bat at the shaver.)

I'd say for my first attempt, he turned out pretty cute.

Buying a Coke to get the jibblies: $.50

Driving one way to work: $.35

Buying a school lunch: $1.60

The traumatized look on the principal's face after he jokingly asks me, "Bad hair day?" and I say, "Actually...yes!": Priceless

J x WM = Schmoe

Joey and I were really tired when we got home last night. We drove straight to Boss' house and picked up Henry (who was insanely excited to see us, he wouldn't sit still for several hours) and got home by 8:00 p.m.

We unpacked in record time, I got a load started and made my lunch, Joey entered the trip receipts, and I took Henry and flopped in our comfy bed to read a book. All by 8:30. It was amazing.

Joey came in about 8:45 and, after a few minutes of playing with our clingy puppy, we decided that we could no longer function as awake people. Sleep was imperative. Henry was put to bed without a peep.

I switched off the light and was half asleep when I heard Joey start to sing "Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Meyer Weiner; that is what I truly want to be-e-e, for if I were an Oscar Meyer Weiner, everyone would be in love with me!"

I sat up. Something was terribly, terribly wrong with Joey; singing annoying songs in bed is my job! (Maybe I'm starting to rub off on him? That is not a good thought.)

Joey stopped singing. All was quiet, and then, "You think you're cooler than me because you saw the Weinermobile more times than I did. But you're not."

(Editor's note: The Weinermobile was in town a month or two ago. And we haven't really talked about it since.)

"No, I'm still cooler than you. I saw it one more time than you did so that makes me cooler." I replied.

"No, you're not cooler. Because according to J x WM = Schmoe, you're not cooler."

"Excuse me?"

"Jenna x Weinermobile = Schmoe. Now, the value of Schmoe is consistent (so it has to be 0), so Jenna x Weinermobile must be inverse. The more times you see the Weinermobile, the less cool you are. The less times you see it, the more cool you are. That's why I'm cooler than you."

Stunned by his, um, logic, I was speechless; all I could do was laugh at him. So I did.

He continued on in this manner for a few more minutes before he started making equations about something else. I can't rememer what it was, though. Fortunately he fell asleep soon after, because I was really starting to worry about him.

Fortunately, we had a great, easy drive down to Dallas on Thursday.
Unfortunately, we got caught in traffic (rush hour) from 4:00-6:30 and so we didn't get there until later than we'd planned.

Fortunately, there was a Turkish restuaraunt(!) pretty close to the DTS campus and so we decided to go there for dinner.
Unfortunately, since we got in late and then got sort of "lost" finding the restaurant, I missed CSI.

Fortunately, we stayed in guest housing for free and there was a TV!!!
Unfortunately, the TV didn't work.

Fortunately, the room we stayed in had its own ironing board and (yay!) bathroom.
Unfortunately, I broke the handle off the toilet when I tried to flush it. (But Joey fixed it a few hours later.)

Fortunately, we met a friend of mine from my home church for fantastic breakfast at a fun little diner. (Joey's biscuits and gravy were $1.99, he was so excited.)
Unfortunately, when Joey and Heath went to pay for our breakfast, Joey got winked at by the cashier. Who was a guy.

Fortunately, Joey's aunt sent along some yummy chicken, sandwich fixins, apples, and peanut M&Ms for us to have for lunch yesterday on our way home.
Unfortunately, we forgot the bread and apples at their house and had to stop at a Wal-Mart south of Oklahoma City.

Fortunately, we were getting fantastic gas milage on this trip.
Unfortunately, we almost ran out of gas in Kansas.

Fortunately, I bought a king-size Three Musketeers bar to surprise Joey with and for us to share.
Unfortunately, he bought me one as a surprise too. At the same gas station.

Fortunately, we made it home safely last night an hour ahead of schedule!

My Live Blog

I wrote this on Thursday but haven't had wifi until now.

I have been up since 5:00 a.m. and we were on the road at 6:00 a.m. (Talk about efficient.)

As we near the Missouri border, I decided to actually live-blog the first 16 minutes of Missouri to see how close my sample was yesterday. Fortunately at this point I don’t have to go to the bathroom. Yet. But then we’re not quite to Missouri yet, either.

7:24 a.m. We just entered Missouri. They don’t even have a cool sign that says “Missouri”. Joey says the highways are “crappy” now. I have to concur.
7:25 a.m. They have a mile marker every tenth of a mile. (That seems like a waste of taxpayer dollars; nine more signs per mile than was absolutely necessary, if you ask me.)
7:26 a.m. Nothing cool is happening. We’re about to go under a bridge.
7:27 a.m. We just passed a field of goats. Tons of goats. There was a white one that was trying to climb a tree stump, and I really thought he was cute. It was like a goat rainbow there were so many different colored goats.
7:28 a.m. A school bus drove down a gravel road next to the interstate and kicked up a lot of dust.
7:29 a.m. So far this live-blogging is really boring. I think we’re coming up on some kind of metropolis or at least something with large neon signs.
7:30 a.m. The town is called Blythedale and/or Eagleville. If we had an RV we could park it here, they have an RV place. Joey says my grandparents would be proud. There is also a fireworks store.
7:31 a.m. I asked Joey if we could stop at the fireworks store and this is what he said: “No.” Just like that, too. Why is it that I am the bad one and he’s the good one always trying to spoil my evil fun?!
7:32 a.m. I see a bunch of trees. Some are green and some are yellow. Some don’t have any leaves.
7:33 a.m. We got passed by a Minnesota guy driving a Mercedes. Other than that nothing has happened lately. In the last minute, I mean.
7:34 a.m. The sun has finally come up enough for Joey to turn his headlights off. The lappy is starting to get warm sitting on my lap. I hope I don’t catch on fire.
7:35 a.m. Joey wants a Mountain Dew. He is starting to get tired. I have to go to the bathroom.
7:36 a.m. There’s a big orange balloon hanging in a tree and we just passed it. On closer study it was actually some kind of jack-o-lantern, but it looked like a balloon. And we just passed a sign that said “Quality Meats” and Joey thought it was cows on the sign but it was really deer.

I know that was (not) fascinating, but I just discovered that I have more important things to do. Joey said he was going to set up Keen for me to play, so I’m going to go save the babysitter in Keen6.

Cha-ching.

Boring

For a fleeting moment, I considered live-blogging our trip to Texas tomorrow. (Come on, everyone who is anyone live-blogs something.) But, wisely, I reconsidered. I realized just how boring that would be.

A sampling:

8:01 a.m. We're now crossing the border to Missouri. I just asked Joey "Are we there yet?" and he said if I asked one more time he was going to leave me here. In Missouri. Now that's misery.
8:02 a.m. It took so long to type that last line that I forgot to say that since I've entered Missouri I feel like my IQ has dropped a lot.
8:03 a.m. I am bored
8:04 a.m. A car died on the side of the road and we just passed it
8:05 a.m. We just went around a corner
8:06 a.m. The sign says "next exit 15 miles". I hope we don't run out of gas.
8:07 a.m. We passed a tree
8:08 a.m. There was a bump in the road
8:09 a.m. I saw a big black bird
8:10 a.m. I have to go to the bathroom
8:11 a.m. I still have to go to the bathroom
8:13 a.m. I really have to go the bathroom
8:13 a.m. Joey says we're not stopping again because we've only been on the road two hours and I've made him stop to go to the bathroom two times already. I guess I should have bought some Depends
8:14 a.m. I saw a field of sheep and am now distracted from having to go to the bathroom
8:15 a.m. My iPod battery is dead
8:16 a.m. Joey has to go to the bathroom now too

And so on and so forth. (That was actually really boring to try and make up; I can't imagine actually live-blogging it.) Not only would that be about as boring as reading a book on Differential Equations in German (sorry, Andrew), but I think I'd fall asleep while doing it.

Several hours later I have smelly, powdery hands, but I have counted out 200 of the big rubber bands.

I feel like I've really accomplished something important today.

Alarmingly, I have spent the better part of this morning sorting rubber bands.

That's right, sorting rubber bands.

On Friday we rediscovered a box in the back room; A business closed quite some time ago, and they left to my office (kindly enough) an entire box of rubber bands. This is a large box, too; it's about the size of a paper box, only slightly deeper. It's chock-full of rubber bands, most small and some are those huge ones that you can put around reams of paper.

Smelly, jiggly, powdery rubber bands.

And I'm trying to find 100 of the large ones. So far I have 30.