Joey's Transformation

Joey and I are involved in a People Search activity with the junior high youth group at church. Our objective is to disguise ourselves in some way (but not in such a way that we'd stick out), and wander around the mall tonight.

The kids will have to find us.

There are eight of us who are hiders, so this should be pretty fun. Joey and I are pretty average looking, though, and our costume resources are fairly limited since we moved to Dallas. We've been having a bit of trouble coming up with ideas.

On Wednesday when we were driving home from church, Joey asked me, "Could I dress up in a suit? Would that be good enough?"

"Hmm," I replied, "You might be on to something there."

"What if I dyed my hair?" I whipped my head around and looked at him.

"Dye your hair?!" I asked.

"Yeah!"

"Well...we could go really dark brown...and if you didn't wear your glasses I'm not sure that even I would recognize you!" I told him. He angled the car towards Target.

After much deliberation in the hair dye aisle (an aisle that Joey used to be afraid of back before we were dating), we bought the cheapest box of dark brown dye we could fine. It cost us a whopping $2.99.

Unfortunately, it's permanent.

Our consolation is that Joey's almost ready for a haircut. Maybe it'll fade a lot in the next 2 weeks and then it won't look so funny when it's growing out?

At any rate, we saved $6. (It might not have been worth it, but we feel better about it this way. So there.)

Last night, we started the hair dying process. I gave Joey highlights as couple times back when we lived in Iowa, but he's never experienced the, um, joy of a full hair dye.

Here's a picture of my light-brown haired cutie before I started. He looks very excited and anticipatory of all the enrichment that dying his hair is sure to provide him.
And here he is once I applied all the hair dye.

His hair resembles that of a college roommate of mine. (This is not a compliment. Her hair stuck out like this sometimes, only she used Elmer's Glitter Glue and would go a week or two between hair washings. I actually washed her sheets once while she was at class because they smelled like something died.)

And the final product, I'm quite pleased to say, looks very nice. (Nothing like my college roommate at all!)

You can't really tell just how dark his hair is from this picture, but it's definitely darker than mine.

I'll post picture of us in our costumes later tonight before we leave.

I'm wearing all of Joey's clothes and trying to look like a boy. I don't think the full effect is there because I have girly eyebrows and Joey's jeans are 6 inches too long for me.

Count 'em, six inches.

I Have Problems Parking

I'm wearing my bronze shoes again, just for kicks.

 

This morning, however, I was running only slightly behind schedule(3 minutes).  I like to be where I'm supposed to be by 7:45 a.m., especially with traffic.  It's much easier the earlier you go.

 

Perhaps some of you may remember the difficulties I have with the parking garage down here.

 

I don't know if it's the bronze shoes/heavy metal poisoning or if it's just me, but I whipped into a skinny little parking spot (making me thankful for my shiny little Corolla) and turned the car off.

 

I evaluated whether or not I could get out, there was a large post right in front of the driver's door.  There was also about a foot of space.  I figured I could probably open the door enough to squeeze though.

 

Successfully, I extricated myself from the vehicle.

 

Unsuccessfully, I tried to shut the car door.  (Joey, stop reading this right now.)

 

Aparrently I'd wedged it against the concrete support a little harder than I thought. 

 

I stood there, tried to shut the door again and decided I had three options:

1.)  Get back in the car, inch it forward and hope the door unstuck itself from the support

2.)  Leave the door open all day

3.)  Keep trying to pull it off the support

 

In the interest of time, I opted for Option 3.

 

After several good tugs, I felt the door start to give way.  I quickly closed it, without checking for damage, and went inside.

 

I think these shoes are bad luck.

 

 

 

Heavy Metal Poisoning

Because I do what I do during the day, my wardrobe requires a lot of high heels.

 

Last night I got a steal of a deal; a pair of $60 comfortable stilettos for only $10!!  And they're bronze.  Trés, tr és, chic.

 

They were pretty much the kind of shoes I swore I'd never wear before I moved to Texas.  Kind of 80's...very trendy...not so much "me".  But the price was right, and now I really like them. 

 

The only problem is that I keep slipping on the marble floors.  I've just about turned my ankle three times today, usually when I'm carrying large objects or awkward stacks of paper.

 

The ungraceful slip and subsequent "whoops!" kind of take the chic factor away.

 

I am concerned that I'm getting some kind of heavy metal poisoning from wearing bronze shoes on my feet.  I've been acting lethargic and clumsy all day long.

 

I'll just blame it on my shoes to be safe.

The Test To See If You Are Allowed To Like Alex

Answer these questions honestly. If you don’t, I’ll come haunt your dreams and throw all your socks in the freezer. As The Keeper Of Alex, I have the right to do this. So there.

1. I often find myself staring at Alex from across the room.
a. Eww, no way!
b. Every single time I can…
c. On the sly, yes. (But don’t tell him.)
d. Maybe. Maybe not.

2. I have met and am familiar with Jenna Woestman.
a. Who’s she?
b. Yes, and she scares me a lot.
c. I don’t like any other girls who are associated with Alex
d. I might have heard the name once or twice.

3. I stare deeply into Alex’s eyes when he is talking to me.
a. Define “stare deeply”…
b. Gross. I hope not.
c. Sometimes, but that’s only because he has a crusty in his eye.
d. Maybe. Maybe not.

4. I am:
a. A guy
b. A girl between the ages of 10-17
c. A girl between the ages of 17-25
d. Your mom’s age (not saying 25 is old…)

5. If cute boys were like animals, Alex would be a(n)…
a. Rhinoceros
b. Triceratops
c. Iguana
d. Lemur

6. I have a new boyfriend every:
a. Day
b. Week
c. Month
d. Year

7. My dad says Alex is…
a. A very fine young man
b. Shady. Very shady.
c. Not someone he is familiar with
d. Too old for me

8. Jenna thinks that I…
a. Wear too much makeup.
b. Am cute and funny.
c. Don’t exist.
d. Need to leave Alex alone.

Scoring…
1. a) 1 pt; b) 4 pts; c) 3 pts; d) 2 pts
2. a) 3 pts; b) 1 pt; c) 4 pts; d) 2 pts
3. a) 4 pts; b) 2 pts; c) 1 pt; d) 3 pts
4. a) 666 pts; b) 3 pts; c) 1 pt; d) 2 pts
5. a) 1 pt; b) 4 pts; c) 2 pts; d) 3 pts
6. a) 4 pts; b) 3 pts; c) 3 pts; d) 1 pt
7. a) 2 pts; b) 3 pts; c) 1 pt; d) 4 pts
8. a.) 3 pts; b)1 pt ; c) 2 pts; d) 4 pts

If you scored 7-9 points, you have a chance, but it’s not a good one

If you scored 10-17 points, you might as well take a hike

If you scored 18-28 points, I have three words for you: “No way, sister.”

If you scored over 666 points, you’re a guy and you shouldn’t even be taking this quiz. Seriously, that’s gross.

The Drug Pusher

I'll put up some pictures from our weekend later, not tonight; Joey's barely letting me have Lappy long enough to blog because of all his homework.

SUCH a good conference, though! Friday night was great, it started about 7:00. There were 3,800 people at the Gaylord Texan, a really gorgeous retreat center in Grapevine. (Most of the pictures we took are from inside the enormous atrium.)

There were 6 screens hanging from the ceiling that project an image of the speaker, so it was easy to see wherever you sat, which was nice. (I always have trouble seeing over the lady with big hair the inevitably sits in front of me.)

The chairs were, at best, uncomfortable. At worst, they were making our bums fall asleep. So,we decided to sit on the floor when we came back on Saturday. We picked a nice spot along the wall and spread out our stuff.

A couple about my parents' age came in 10 minutes late, made us scoot over and took some of our real estate. This did not make me too upset because I don't mind sitting close to Joey.

The lady was kind of strange. She had a teal capri pant sweat suit with gold studs creating designs all over the knees. (Obviously not something she'd want to garden in.) She also had a very large, metallic gold purse.

Thirty minutes into the session, she began digging around in the large gold purse. Because I have a nosy, inquisitive nature, my attention was drawn to the contents of her bag.

I noticed a large box of Marlboro, which I will not comment on at this time, and a large, plump item that looked a lot like a pen. A very fat pen, but a pen nonetheless. (It even had that clippy thing so you could put it in your shirt pocked like my Pops does.)

It was Mother-of-Pearl and gold, so pretty swanky. (When I'm nosy, I'm really nosy.)

She took the cap off and I noticed that the pen was starting to look less and less like a pen. The nub of the pen looked rather....needleish. She held the "needle" part up in the air and flicked the side of the pen a few times.

Hmmmmmm....

She pushed the clicker part on the back of the pen (which I was rapidly discovering was NOT a pen) and pushed out some air bubbles.

The contents of the "pen" were purple.

PURPLE.

Who has purple drugs? (But seriously, who has a Mother-of-Pearl and gold "pen" syringe, either?)

My eyes got real big as she turned away from me, lifted up the bottom of her shirt, and stabbed herself in the side with the syringe.

In the middle of the FamilyLife Weekend To Remember session. While sitting on the floor.

Somehow, Joey did not notice any of this. I was relating the story to him while we were walking around the atrium later, and he just missed the entire episode.

Our hypotheses:
1. She has chronic pain (although why she'd sit on the floor I have no idea) and required intravenous pain medication
2. She's diabetic and doesn't want people to notice her syringe
3. She's a druggie

I vote for hypothesis 2.

Why I Shouldn't Watch Action Movies

Joey and I were gone all weekend at one of those FamilyLife Weekend To Remember marriage enrichment conferences. We had a really great time (thanks Mom and Dad!) but were entirely zapped of all ability to think by the time we got home on Sunday night.

We determined the best course of action, after our extremely communicative weekend, was to sit and watch a movie. (Maybe not what FamilyLife would get too excited about, but since we don't normally veg in front of the TV, we decided to do it anyway.)

Back at the hotel, we had caught about 30 minutes of The Peacemaker, an old George Clooney and Nicole Kidman action movie. It seemed interesting, so on the way back we stopped at a Blockbuster and picked up a copy.

Henry was insanely excited to see us when we got home. He ran around the house for about 5 minutes and licked everything in sight. He's got issues.

About 9:00 we settled in to watch the movie. Joey had the lappy on a TV tray at the end of the bed, so all three of us were watching the movie in style. (Henry kept laying in front of the screen, so he eventually got demoted to the floor.)

There's this one scene about an hour into the film where the good guys get roadblocked by the bad guys. The driver of the car (George Clooney's friend) gets out to go talk with them, and they shoot him.

I am very sensitive. Didn't used to be, but definitely am now. I totally screamed, dove for cover, and put my hands up to my face all at the same time.

In the process, I hauled off and punched myself in the nose.

"OW!" I wailed.

"Whadjado?" Joey mumbled, half curious, half watching the movie.

"Nothing..." I said stoically as I rocked back and forth wondering if I'd broken my nose.

I determined that I hadn't and went back to watching the car chase unfold in the movie.

Then I noticed something unusual. My face was all wet. I must have caused my nose to run when I punched myself. I wiped it with the back of my hand (not advisable in polite company) just to be sure.

It was dark in the room, but I could tell that my hand was covered in blood. Unable to express myself the way a normal human being would, I began The Laird Distress Call.

"Hemma" "aaaugh" "hah...hah...hah" and other such nonsense noises, repeated in rapid succession, comprise The Laird Distress Call. We generally do this when such tragedies occur as Pops' sunglasses falling down the waterfall in the Boundary Waters (props to Andrew on that one), a vehicle nearly backing into our car and we can see it and the driver can't, or a large object about to fall and break.

Rarely does anyone actually understand what we're trying to communicate. Such was the case last night.

"What's wrong, Jenna?" Joey asked, suddenly QUITE unnerved.

"Hemma....aaaaaaugh......jaaaaah," I intoned.

He squinted to look me over in the dark. Nothing appeared to be too out of the ordinary until I finally got out the word "nose" and jumped off the bed.

Joey followed me into the bathroom as though his tail were on fire. When we got to the bathroom, he saw what all the commotion had been about. The right side of my face was smeared with blood. I had definitely given myself a bloody nose.

"Paper towels," I articulated, and Joey took off running. He was back in a flash with 5 paper towels. (About 4 too many, but you can't blame the guy for being thorough.)

I washed my face, attempted to stop the bleeding, and cleaned up the dirty dishes. (Probably shouldn't have cleaned up the dishes at that particular moment, but I'm a little neurotic about that.)

Five minutes later, all was well. I was no longer bleeding profusely and we were settled back down and started the movie again.

I was very careful of my nose during all the rest of the jump scenes.

Serious Bird-Feederage

The neighbors are kind of eco and animal friendly. While this is not entirely bad, I am slightly concerned about the THREE bird feeders we now have on our stairways. (This does not count the bird feeders that are located on their personal balcony.)

The bird feeders began appearing this weekend.

First it was just the pathetic "tree" with no sign of leaves or buds that appeared in the corner by their door. I thought this was sadly amusing and decided to watch it carefully to see if it ever budded.

My hopes aren't real high.

Then, the next day, St. Birdfeeder appeared next to the dead tree.

"Hey, Joey, there's an old-timey guy statue outside, and he's holding birdseed. That's kind of cute." I said.

"Oh, that's St. Somebodyorother," Joey replied. "Patron saint of animals." (Joey now reminds me that it's St. Francis of Assisi but, then, I was never Catholic so I know nothing about these things. Including how to properly spell their names.)

Now you have seen Pathetic Tree and St. Birdfeeder.

This was all well and good until another bird feeder arrived the next day. (They were seriously multiplying! I am rather concerned.)

This one's right next to their door.
"We're going to get mobbed by crows," I muttered as I took Henry outside the day after it appeared. It was then that I noticed the THIRD bird feeder hanging from the railing.

"HOLY BIRD FEEDERS!" I thought. I was growing concerned that I needed an umbrella in case all the birds decided to relieve themselves on me. (That happened when I went to Iowa State, the crows would poo as you walked on the paths under the trees. Sounded like really disgusting rain and it always made me really nervous.)

Thus far, the bird feeder count outside our door is holding steady at 3. We are going away this weekend and if there are any more bird feeders when I come back, I'm probably going to buy a scarecrow.

Long Day

As you can see, it's been a long day. We're ready for the weekend!!

(Well Henry looks sort of crazed, as usual, but Joey definitely looks knackered.)

Lucky, Lucky Charms

I am a Lucky Charms fan.

When The Kid came last week, he "requested" a box of Lucky Charms for his consumption. I bought the big box because it was cheaper so, as The Kid only ate three bowls, we definitely had extra Lucky Charms after he left. (Mom and Dad did not eat any Lucky Charms as far as I know.)

Joey and I like Lucky Charms too. Actually, back when we were first dating (actually, we may not have technically been dating at that point, the whole beginning part of our relationship is rather ambiguous) and Joey was in Minnesota on his internship, I bought a box of Lucky Charms and picked out every single marshmallow for him.

(I didn't snitch any. It was so hard.)

I packed up the container of marshies and mailed it to him while he was a spending a week as a camp counselor.

Isn't that SO romantic? Awwww.....

But I digress. Here we had this huge, half-eaten box of of Lucky Charms on our counter. I was making dinner tonight and I got bored waiting for it to finish cooking.

"Joey, I'm gonna pick all the marshies out of this box of Lucky Charms, OK?"

"Ooh, OK!"

In five minutes, I had a sorry little pile of marshies (I'd already picked a whole bunch out of the box) that I distributed between two bowls.

"Want some of the cereal in with your marshies?" I asked.

He did, so I put a bit of milk in each bowl and we sat on the couch and ate our sophisticated hors d'oeuvres. They were super tasty.

So this morning I very nearly sideswiped a Jaguar on the freeway.

 

To my defense, said Jaguar did not signal in preparation to change lanes.  I, on the other hand, did.

I was running 7 minutes late because Henry would NOT go to the bathroom.  So I finally gave up and told him he'd have to hold it all day since he was stalling.  (I think he didn't want me to leave.)  I shut him in the kitchen so at least he could play, and ran to my car.  (As fast as my high heels would carry me, that is.)

 

Anyway, the freeway was packed.  It wasn't moving very quickly, either, so I wanted to change lanes to a quicker one.

 

Not so much, aparrently, because that sneaky lady in the Jag completely prohibited me from doing so.

 

Had we actually collided, I don't know whose fault it would have been.  (I don't want to ever find out, either.)  Hitting someone in a Jag is not exactly on my list of priorities.

 

Not to mention someone driving a classic Jag, which this lady was.

 

Anyway, I made it without incident.  Let's hope I make it home the same way, too.

Frantic and Having Problems

I just spilled a salt packet all over the place. 

 

(I wouldn't be surprised if I spilled my soda, too, the way this morning has been going!)

 

Most definitely it's one of those days where you think you have (had) everything figured out but then you find out that, oh! just kidding!, you don't.  SO......

 

I've been scrambling since 8:00 to sort myself out.  (Mostly sort out other people's mistakes, but who's counting?)

 

Have you seen Over the Hedge?  I don't really recommend it, I thought it was super lame, but there's a part where this squirrel drinks caffeine and then runs around like crazy.  (It's the only part that's any good in the entire movie.  Trust me.)

 

I feel like that squirrel.  (Only I haven't had any caffeine.)

 

So no amusing blog post today.  Just this super lame one about how I'm frantic.  Actually if I weren't blogging I could probably be getting something accomplished.

 

Hmm, that sounds like a good idea.

Ziggy Prepares To Take It To The Moon

First of all, Sister says I'm annoying.  While this is actually true, I'm still really mad at her. RAR SISTER!

 

(I'm actually not mad at her.)

 

On to the real post.

 

My brother Andrew is pretty much a rocket scientist.  He designs rockets out of objects that aren't meant to be rockets.  (His most recent being a Pepsi bottle.)  He, and Pops, have started a branch of VASA that we like to call RASA.  (The Robins Aeronautic Space Administration, for those of you who can't figure it out.)

 

He was trying to decide what he needed to make into a rocket next. (My suggestion was a Cheetos bag and he said that wouldn't work.  I think he lacks "can-do" attitude.) 

 

Ziggy the Piggy's picture, however, sparked ideas.

 

"Ooh, let's launch Ziggy!"  Andrew suggested.

 

"That's a pretty good idea," I replied.

 

"I'll design a payload for him..." and he was off.

 

Hopefully it's something that won't melt the little chap, but if it does I think it'll be OK.  It's not everyone who has a pig on their keychain who is an astronaut.

 

We're going to attempt said launching when we're back home in May.  Ziggy's getting pretty excited, he told me so just a few moments ago. 

 

Take it to the mooooooooooooon, Ziggy!

 

Current Status: Rockin' It Out

"Joey, can I borrow your shuffle while I'm cooking?" I asked about 20 minutes ago.

"Sure," he started digging it out of his desk.

"Can you get it to the new John Mayer CD for me? I can't figure it out." (Granted, I've never tried either, but I like to have him save the day for me as often as possible.)

Quick as a wink Joey had it all set up for me. "It's currently on the last song on the other CD. But I really like that one so I thought I'd leave it there for you."

(It was "Comfortable" and I must admit, I like that song too.)

I gave him a kiss and left him to study his Greek in peace. I went to the kitchen and cranked up my tunes.

Within five minutes, I was most definitely rockin' it out. I'm really glad the neighbors can't see in the windows because they'd have thought I was some kind of iPod fool. (I can't dance around as cool as they do in the commercials.)

Every so often I break out in song before realizing I should probably shut up; Joey's listening to brain-enhancing classical music in the other room. (As opposed to this brain-destroying rock 'n roll I got going on in my headphones.)

Now, if you'll excuse me I need to go start the fixins for my Texas chili and cornbread we're having for dinner tomorrow night. (And a really awesome song is coming up and I need to belt it out soulfully which I definitely cannot do while sitting and blogging.)

I am a pretty major John Mayer fan. Thanks for the CD, The Kid. You are my hero right now.

Ziggy the Piggy

When purchasing George the Second, I saw this little pig at the checkout stand.

"OH JOEY! Look at this pig." I stuffed the pig in Joey's face.

"That's a pretty cool pig," Joey said, examining him.

"Can I have him?" I asked, pushing the little silver button on his back. He oinked and the blue LED light inside his snout came on.

"WOAH! COOL!" I freaked out. I continued making him oink and shining his light at Joey's face and on George the Second's box.

Joey, feeling rather benevolent said, "How much is he?"

I looked around for the price tag and couldn't find one. "I don't know," I said.

I handed him to the sales lady and asked her to ring him up for me to see how much he cost.

She looked at me with a bored look, zapped his tag and said, "$2.50"

Aside: Not entirely sure if she was bored with her job, us, or just positively disdainful that I was freaking out so much over an oinking LED pig key chain. It's really a toss up.

"OK, you can get him," Joey said.

"Yessssss!" I crowed, and oinked the pig. "I'm carrying my pig out to the car." I said, grabbing both my new pig and the bag containing George.

As we walked to the car I oinked the pig again and turned to Joey. "What do you think his name is?"

Joey guessed something, can't remember what, that rhymed with "pig".

"Close, but not quite." I said. "His name is Ziggy the Piggy."

Joey laughed. "Nice," He said.

And we walked hand-in-hand to the car. I oinked Ziggy most of the way home. (Which, fortunately, wasn't very far.)

"I'm probably going to steal that guy and take him to work," Joey said as we walked up the steps to our apartment.

"NO!" I gasped.

"The guys would think he was real cool," Joey said.

(I agreed; he IS really cool.) "I suppose you can take him for a day or two," I said, nicely.

I doubt he'll really take him, though. He'd just bought a key chain LED flashlight on Tuesday so I think Ziggy the Piggy is safe with me.

Honestly, though, it's a good thing Joey and I are kindred spirits...otherwise I think I might border on annoying somethings. :)

George Has Reincarnated

While not myself a Hindu, George Foreman might possibly be.

(The one on my gadget shelf in my kitchen, that is. The real one named all his kids "George", so I don't know what that makes him except rather self-absorbed.)

But I digress.

Several weeks ago George died in the middle of dinner. This was a sad state of affairs as my dinner menu for the next week relied heavily on George. I was forced to change my Plan and, as those of you who know me well know, that didn't go over very well.

Joey and I have suffered without George. We have noticed his absence most notably when wanting to make burgers and it is raining outside, or something along those lines.

After pricing George, we determined that he was Not In The Budget right now. And probably wasn't going to be for awhile, which caused us great grief and pain. How we missed our good friend George.

But then, surprise!, we came into some surprise money this weekend. (Thanks Grandpa and Grandma...) We determined that the best course of action was to go to the store and buy ourselves a new George.

My last George was a hand-me-down (thanks, Michele!) that I got for Christmas about five years ago. He served me/us well. However, we determined that we needed one with removable plates, our first George was pretty hard to clean.

After waiting for 30 minutes in Kohl's for the manager to confirm that no, they did not have the George we wanted, we went to Bed Bath and Beyond.

We found the perfect George, took him home, gave him a bath, and put him to work for dinner.

Isn't he shiny, silvery and high-tech looking? We're quite proud of our new and improved George, hopefully George the Second serves us as long as George the First.
(Henry likes George, especially now that we've used him to make burgers. I haven't caught Henry licking it yet, but if I do he'll be in Big Trouble.)

Joey Is Lucky

We just found the camera. And my pants.

It was made into the bed.

Poor Joey made the bed this morning and somehow in his half asleep state he either stuck my pants and the camera inside the covers, or just didn't notice that they were there.

I'm not sure the latter is a former option because my pants were at the foot of the bed and weren't actually IN the bed until after he made it.

I spent about 5 minutes looking for my pants earlier this evening, so I'm quite happy to be reunited with them.

Also with the camera.

(Joey's falling asleep right in protest of the entire Internet knowing that he somehow made both my pants and the camera into the bed. Poor fellow.)

Concern: Joey Becomes More Like My Pops

I was determined to wear my I Love Panda bracelet today. I wore my outfit that sort of matched it, got ready in record time, and had Joey tie my bracelet on my wrist.

He did a very nice job of it, I might add.

"Go get the camera so we can take a picture of the bracelet and then put it on my blog. I want everyone to see the sweet bracelet that The Kid got me!" I said.

"OK." Joey started looking for the camera.

We were uploading pictures of Henry's pathetic haircut last night, so the camera was on Joey's dresser in our room. He'd taken it to put it away when we got up in the morning.

Joey came and found me finishing up my makeup. "I can't find it."

Mind you, he'd been up for about a half hour.

"How'd you lose it already?!" I wailed, thinking this did not bode well for us. (My Pops loses cameras like it's his second job. But we still love him a lot and don't really blame him for any of the losses, it's goblins that steal them.)

"I don't know but I can't find it." He was sort of wilty.

"How can I put pictures of the bracelet on my blog if we can't find the camera?" I whined, naughtily.

"Well, you'll just have to get over it," Joey said bravely, "Because we can't find the camera."

YOU can't find the camera, I thought about adding, but wisely held my tongue.

And so it's 10:34 p.m. and we still can't find the camera. Honestly, our apartment's not that big. I don't know where the stupid thing could have gone to. I suppose you'll never get to see the I Love Panda bracelet if we can't find our camera.

Oh--good news; Pops has a new camera! Sister found it for him and thus far it has not been lost. So things are looking up on his end. It made it all the way to Texas and back without Incident which causes all of the children to breathe great sides of relief.

My Snack

About 3:00 every afternoon I pretend I'm in kindergarten and get a snack.  Today I am having:

1/2 an organic apple

1 piece of organic string cheese

several organic pretzels, broken in half to delay gratification

 

With a snack this organic, I am feeling like I need to take my shoes off, dance in daisy fields, and buy some canvas shopping bags.

Why This Is A Good Friday

First of all, it's awesome that I thought yesterday was Monday and didn't realize until the end of the day that it was really Thursday.  (That's just like Christmas!)  So tomorrow I get to sleep in and loaf around with Grandpappy and Grandma. 

 

(I've never actually called him "Grandpappy" before and now that I've done it I probably never will again.  It creeped me out a lot to say that...reminded me of Huckleberry Finn and, while Gramps does own a pair of overalls, I am pretty sure that he always wears shoes and rarely chews on straw.)

 

Additionally, I am wearing my "I Love Panda" bracelet.  I had Joey tie it on my wrist this morning and I don't think I could get it off if I tried.  No one has noticed it.  I'm considering wearing it until someone says "what's that on your wrist?"  which, around here, could be awhile.

 

Oh, and I'm eating a peanut butter and sugar sandwich.  Nothing is as good as a peanut butter and sugar sandwich.  (Sorry, mom.)   Well, wait, maybe Lucky Charms...but only if the bowl has tons of marshmallows in it.

 

I'm sure that you can now see why this is probably the best Friday I've had in a long time.

 

Henry Gets Shorn

Henry was cute and fluffy up until yesterday evening.

Pops said, "Wow, he looks really fat," when he first saw Henry. As a mother, I was naturally quite peeved.

"He is not either fat, it's just his fur." I retorted.

"Right," said Pops. (And then he got down on his hands and knees and chased Henry around while growling at him. It was a sight to be seen, I'm tellin' you.)

This is a picture of my little puppy BEFORE he was shorn. I suppose one could argue that he does indeed look a bit pudgy.
This is the poor chap now. He looks small, naked and gangly. He also has bad posture.
In another week or so he'll be cute again, but he always looks like someone took a hacksaw to his fur after I'm done giving him his haircut. But it does save a pretty penny and so I'm OK with having an ugly dog for a few days.

Poor little guy.

I Love Panda

The Kid got me the sweetest stuff when he was in Mexico over New Year's.

I got this pink and green knit beanie that strongly resembles a strawberry (The Kid thought, "What kind of person would wear that?!" when he saw it. And then my name popped into his head and so he bought it. I'm not sure if that's bad or good?) and two little tie on bracelets that say "I Love Panda" on them.

Panda is a pop group in Mexico.

I love pandas, too. (I'm still waiting for my panda and bamboo garden from Joey.)

I intend to wear one of my I Love Panda bracelets tomorrow. They're not very, um, how do I put this...professional, but I think I can pull it off.

The outfit I'm wearing tomorrow has been coordinated to match the I Love Panda bracelet so it'll even blend in nicely. This will be an interesting experiment.

Let's hope I don't get voted off the island for doing it.

Four Eyes

We finally got our new glasses. We went in planning to get similar frames to what we had previously but didn't walk out that way.

Joey's are a la Greg Holmes and mine are just copycats of Joey's. (We're hoping not to hear lots of "Ohhhhh, cute! You have matching glasses!" comments...)

(This picture of me was taken at 6:45 a.m. That explains part of why I look so abnormal. The other part, well...)

And Henry's in the middle of a haircut and just looks like he's having a bad day. Poor guy. He's only half shorn.

I Am Not Hot

I was laying around under a blanket when I said to Joey, "Get this off me. I'm hot."

He then touched my arm, felt the skin's temperature and said, "You are not hot."

I burst out laughing. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Joey immediately realized that he'd made an oaf of himself and began backpedaling. "Um, you are actually hot, you're just not hot....Wait, no, that still came out wrong..." He continued his groveling.

I was still laughing. Guffawing, actually, by this point. I totally wish you could have heard him say it.

"You are not hot."

SO funny.

VASA

Pops went to Michael's this morning and bought a rocket.

We have these athletic fields in the middle of the complex, and since he's got that sixth sense when it comes to rocketry, he just knew they'd be perfect for rocket launching.

I helped Dad glue said rocket together in between making hamburgers. (This required a lot of hand washing with all the burger gooblies and whatnot, and we all know how I feel about washing my hands.)

We had a slight problem with the recovery streamer--the recipe (wait, do rockets have a recipe) called for masking tape and we don't have any. So Pops decided to use the model cement to glue the streamer to the cord and to itself. It got real exciting for a few minutes; Pops couldn't get the streamer to lay flat, then it started getting hot (I guess the glue was melting it?), then it started sticking to everything but itself.

We finally got the streamer attached to the cord, but only after we'd walked away from it from about 5 minutes and let it dry by itself.

The rocket was finally constructed, we'd eaten dinner and were getting ready to go to launch, when Pops realized something.

"We forgot a wire. Do you guys have a wire?" He asked.

"Pops, we only have five washclothes. Do you think we'd have a spare wire lying around somewhere? Bare essentials here, Pops, bare essentials."

We determined we'd have to go to the Home Despot to purchase a wire and a 9V battery. The 9V battery, of course, was to be the "thrust"to launch the rocket. (We finally just finished Chicken Run.)

Wire and battery purchased (and after having sampled the wire cutters in the store to expose the wire) the boys came back out to the car where Mom and I were waiting. We had the battery ("Lick it, Jenna, and see if it works," said Joey. I declined.) the rocket, the coat hanger/rocket launcher and, most importantly, our VASA sign.

During dinner we had decided that we were probably the Village Aeronautic Space Administration since we were launching a rocket. Joey and quickly made us up a logo (for the purpose, mainly, of amusing Andrew) and we felt very official.

This also served as something that made us look official so if the cops tried to stop us from rocket launching we could tell them we were doing some kind of top secret government testing.

Here is Dad and Joey pre-launch. See how proud they look?

It was getting very dark (I think it was about 7:30 p.m. when we first got to the field), so the VASA team (um, Pops and Joey) set to work immediately setting our launch rod (dad's former coathanger) so the rocket wouldn't land on the clubhouse or any passersby, launch wire (the lamp cord they bought at Home Despot), Rocket (an Estes Gnome) and 9V battery set up.

We didn't have something to keep the rocket off the wet ground (it had poured rain all after noon), so they set the rocket on the plastic container the batteries had come in.

Mom and I were told to stand back and begin the countdown.

We did.

At the command from Pops, who was standing with the 9V battery in one hand and the lamp cord (attached to the rocket) in the other, Mom and I began to count.

Joey stood at the ready to catch the rocket that I was just sure was either going to go straight through the top of a passing car, or land on the roof of a nearby apartment.

But, as Pops says, we were at least guaranteed one launch.

"3-2-1-BLASTOFF!!" Mom and I yelled, femininely.

The lamp cord and 9V battery made connection and.....WOOSH--the Gnome took off into the sky. (i was kind of amazed, actually.)

As it WAS getting dark, we had a hard time tracking the rocket. Pops began saying the traditional, "There it is--ohhhh, ohhhh, I lost it!" and Mom and I pretty much had to admit that we never really saw it in the first place. (Well, aside from the original trail of smoke when it was blasting off....)

Joey began hopping from one foot to the other crowing, "I see it, I see it!" He took off running, dodging puddles as he went.

Mom, Pops and I discussed how none of us could still see the rocket.

Amazingly, the rocket didn't go very far at all. And the haphazardly glued on streamer stayed attached, too.

"Yessssss!" Pops said. "More launches tomorrow!"

His idea for the morning is to try to launch the little guy off two AA batteries. Last night he was fairly convinced that this would work. This morning he's not so sure. He keeps saying stuff like, "I don't think those two AA batteries are going to work" and pacing around in front of the sliding glass doors. (Maybe he had a dream about it not working or something?)

I'll be sure and keep you posted if the VASA team punctures the top of any moving or stationary cars, maroons the spacecraft on the top of an apartment building, or otherwise causes a public disturbance.

I have a feeling we will.

Henry Is Super Cute

I am a proud parent. So naturally I think my dog is cuter than anybody else in the world's dog (OK, The Kid, Ernie's pretty cute too...).

Henry also happens to have the world's longest tongue.

Observe.(OK, in this first one he's just really cute.)
(The tongue begins to show...)
(Oh, there he's sassing you.)
(AAAUGH! Attack of the long tongue!)

The ER Saga

Last night at 7:30 I set mom up with her feet in a bucket of warm water. (She needed a pedicure and I was the person for the job.) The boys got Chicken Run all set up and the five of us settled in to watch it.

At 7:50, my phone rang. It was Aunt Debbie telling us that Matt was in the ER because of infection, and could we go down and make sure everything was OK.

We were in the car by 8:00 and to the hospital by somewhere around 8:30. We walked in to find Matt in a chair, some girl, anda guy I didn't recognize leaning on crutches. My first thought was, "Gosh, broken legs seem to be catching among Matt's friends if this guy's got one too..."

Then I realized the guy was just holding the crutches for Matt and I felt like a gomer.

The chair Matt was sitting in was under an air conditioning vent, so at 9:00 we began the first step of re-arranging the ER waiting room (which wasn't overly large OR aesthetic). We moved Matt over to an available chair that Joey and Alex had cordoned off. They then stood guard of the broken leg until we were able to find a second chair to prop his leg up on.

At 9:30, the "broken leg" friend and his wife left, leaving us with Matt. We were filled with naive ideas of quick, decent service, and a doctor for Matt.

At about 10:15 we grabbed some more chairs and moved them over by Matt, forming the beginnings of our little commune. Unfortunately, we were right by the entrance so whenever a new patient would walk in, we'd be the first ones to receive the germs.

At 11:00, The Kid and I got thirsty, bored and tired. So we went to Walmart.

The Walmart was an experience. (We have since dubbed it "Shadymart"; we know it real well as we were there about three times over the course of the next 5 hours.) After going around the store three times, The Kid and I got a location on everything on our list and tried to check out.

The Kid wanted bubblemint gum (GROSS), so I bought him some. He's so spoiled.

We headed back to el hospitalo with our games, coloring books, water bottles, and bookends (those we left in the car, we didn't think they'd be very entertaining) and went back inside. Somewhere in the last moments we'd managed to commandeer a couple more chairs and a little table, so we set out to learn how to play Skip-Bo, our newly purchased game from Shadymart.

After several rousing (read: confusing) attempts at Skip-bo, Mom, The Kid and I scrapped the first game and reshuffled the deck to include the Joey. Over the next hour we had one of the ER patients come join our commune (which had now become an oval that was causing traffic flow problems) and everybody within earshot (oh wait, the whole ER) was watching us play Skip-Bo.

That and we were super loud.

Pops got in on the Skip-bo game and started winning which made him real pleased and the rest of us sore losers. (This could be due primarily to the fact that it was now 1:30 a.m. and poor Matt was STILL sitting in a chair in the ER waiting room. He'd arrived at 8:00 that evening and we were told that the average wait in the Dallas area was 6 hours. Our hopes were dwindling.)

I wheeled our new friend Clare (the Skip-bo player) out to her car several times to visit her Pomeranian puppy she kept in there (he ate like a pound of grapes over the course of the evening). Each time I'd come back in I'd hope Matt would be gone.
He wasn't.

Somewhere in between 2:00 and 3:00 a.m. Mom and Clare got into a discussion which culminated in Clare accepting Jesus and Joey, The Kid and I running BACK to Shadymart to buy Clare a Bible.

(We saw a whole bunch of children in Shadymart which really ticked us off--those parents should have had them at home and in bed!)

To our great joy and delight, Pops and Matt were gone when we walked into the waiting room!

And then they came out of the bathroom just a few moments later. Our disappointment was extreme.

The Kid and I colored elaborate pictures of puppies and pirates for the next hour. AT 4:00 A.M. THEY FINALLY CALLED MATT BACK TO SEE THE DOCTOR!!! Sportsfans, that's 8 hours that he's been sitting there with a severely broken leg that isn't yet in a cast and is infected.

The nurse called "Richardson" and we all stopped what we were doing. I was afraid she wouldn't see us (Matt was moving kind of slow) so I hollered "RIGHT HERE" and pointed at Matt. The nurse gave me a Look. I returned it in my mind but was too tired (and thought better of it) to give her a real Look.

I Am An Ambulance Chaser

Mom and I woke up at about 10:45 this morning. (Yes, it's a Sunday morning but we spent ALL NIGHT in Duncanville in the ER with my cousin Matt. Mom, The Kid and I got back at 5 a.m. and Pops and Joey got back at 8 a.m. But more about that later.)

Since all the boys were still sleeping, we were bored. And Henry was so confused that we were all still sleeping and was running around whining. Mom and I decided we ought to go for a walk since it was sunshiney bright and 71 degrees!

We harnessed up Henry and headed out the door.

Not a few paces out the door, Mom checked her messages and realized that she had one from Matt's dad, so she wanted to call him back Right Away.

We stopped to do so in the shade by the Dumpster.

Not being entirely "with it", I sort of stood around and kept Henry from climbing into said Dumpster. (Not an easy task, that kid has tons of energy.)

I noticed an ambulance with its lights flashing drive slo-o-o-wly by and said, "Oh look, Mom, more emergency vehicles." As we'd just spent our entire night in an ER, we were still feeling rather chummy with those in need.

The ambulance passed us and drove out of the parking lot.

I noticed a guy about my age who was barefoot and in is underwear (rather awkward) trying to wave the ambulance down. I debated for a few moments if I should speak to Capitan Underpants guy to find out if he really WAS flagging the ambulance, or if I should just turn around and pretend he didn't exist.

I decided I'd better talk to him.

"Do you need me to chase that ambulance down for you?" I asked Capitan Underpants.

"YES!" He said, shifting around awkwardly. I handed Henry to Mom, dumped my water and keys, and took off running in my flip-flops.

I am not in good shape.

I got out to the road and didn't see the ambulance anywhere. I could then go right or left. I prayed real quick and chose left.

Bingo, there was the ambulance.

I started waving like a madwoman while running toward them. They looked at me like I was insane, then they quit looking at me and turned the corner. I yelled "HEY!!"

I decided that ambulance guys probably don't carry weapons, so they couldn't shoot me. I got up in the driver's side window and continued my wild gesticulations. "He's over there!" I yelled.

The driver finally looked at me. "I know where the apartment is. Follow me!" I yelled, and took off running again.

Again, I am not in good shape.

I ran back to the complex, turned around, and noticed that the ambulance wasn't there. Seriously frustrated with those guys, I got ready to run back and get them again when they came around the corner.

Capitan Underpants wasn't standing outside anymore, which concerned me, but as soon as the ambulance came back he reappeared, still wearing his underwear. (Personally I'd have put some pants on before the ambulance showed up, but that's just me. I guess Texans are a little, um, different?)

We got the ambulance and Capitan Underpants connected, Capitan Underpants waved to say "thanks" and mom and I headed off on our walk.

It has been the strangest morning of my life.

I Have A Stomachache

At 3:30 a.m. I awoke feeling strangely.

As I lay there in my semi awake state I decided that this could be from two things:
a.) I was sleeping on a small futon with Joey and I was about to fall off the side
b.) My stomach hurt

I determined that it was both. My left arm was starting to fall asleep because I couldn't keep it on the futon. We'd picked Mom, Dad and The Kid up from the airport at 8:30 (DAD AND THE KID CAME IN 2 1/2 HOURS EARLY!!! HOORAY!) and then went to Arby's for dinner.

I split a BLT with Pops and then we went to the A&W next door to get floats.

This wasn't my best idea of the night. The float was super great, but I was lactose intolerant as a kid and every so often (like when I have dairy real late at night) it still bothers my stomach.

Seemed to me that this was probly the case.

I lay there and slept off and on until 6:45 when I couldn't take it anymore. I got up and made The Kid wake up too. We went to Tom Thumb and got cherries (for the building of the pie), milk (because the stuff I'd given him with his cereal was, um, spoiled), and a Mt. Dew for Joey.

ALL DAY LONG my stomach has hurt. I ate Tums with lunch, drank loads of water, and felt altogether melancholy all day long.

Pops decided that I needed to take some Glaviscon. I didn't know what this was but he explained it to me as "something sort of like what I give my calves when their tummies hurt". I wasn't sure I wanted to take cow medicine, but I told him as long as he bought it at a pharmacy and not at a feed store, I was game.

He branged it home and told me to take some.

I did. It tasted like vanilla frosting, which I found to be quite acceptable.

That was about 30 minutes ago. This Glaviscon bit is working quite well. My stomach ache is lessening and I'm beginning to feel more annoying and pert.

I have to go bother some people now.

My Grand Solution To The Fact That The Kid Is Spoiled

In relation to The Kid's pie at least, I believe I have a solution.  I started the crust last night (there are several steps involved and it takes awhile with resting in the fridge and whatnot) so that I'd be able to build the pie either today or tomorrow.

 

And then it hit me.

 

THE KID will build the pie!  (Cherry pies are so difficult...)  You know that bible verse, he who doesn't work doesn't eat?  Yeah, I'm taking it totally out of context and applying it to The Kid and his pie.

 

If he don't help me build it, he don't eat it neithers.

 

(He won't be rolling out the crust, though, I draw the line there.  I'm totally still doing that part.)

 

I'm just doing my part to make the world a better place and make The Kid be less spoiled.  And I bet it's not working real well either.

Phase 4: Cheap As $5

We were picking up the paint for the living room when I happened up on the "We Screwed Up On This Paint" cart.

There was a gallon of a very lovely shade of green.

"Please?" I asked Joey, giving him my best "big brown eyes" look.

"Meh, why not. Saves us lots of money later." He said, and picked up the paint.

It's certainly lighter than what I had originally picked out, but it's also $25 cheaper. And so, for that reason, I like it better.

The Kid Is Spoiled, Part 2

On the way home from work (which was a long drive--bad traffic) I had a panic moment.

THE KID ASKED FOR A CHERRY PIE AND I FORGOT TO BUY CHERRIES! And I'd forgotten about it until just then.

Priority One When I Get Home: Make The Kid's pie.


(Aside: Joey and I are currently listening to Vanilla Ice's "Ice, Ice Baby" on the iPod and I'm totally into it. I love old school rap.

Joey, on the other hand, looked at me doing my jive-thing and said, "This song is so boring."

"No way," I returned, "These are great tunes."

A few moments later the song was still playing when I heard Joey mutter, "He just said 'take heed'...that was pretty awesome..." but I'm not sure he wanted me to hear him say that.)

I Once Was Lost

I was mostly lost from 7:15 a.m. to 8:05 a.m today.

 

I was "found" for brief moments in the middle (like when I found my first destination by chance), but I'm not sure that's worth much.

 

Last night, Joey printed me off a map to Dallas Love Field.  (I was dropping off some friends "on my way to work".  On paper it doesn't seem too far at all.)  We decided that Google Maps gave us bad directions, so he said, "Take this road to Midway and go from Midway to..." and that's where I lost him. 

 

I should have paid more attention.

 

This morning we got loaded up fine and were on our way.  I turned on Midway like I was supposed to, and that's where it all started going wrong.  I turned the wrong direction on Lemmon, forcing a U-turn (and subsequent sliding of passengers).  I then was in the wrong lane to get on to Mockingbird but switched right before the lane bumps and, thus, saved my tires.

 

I found the airport (almost by sheer luck), dropped off my passengers, and was set to head south on Cedar Springs.  That road should have taken me right to my destination.

 

Alas, construction closed it about halfway down.

 

So I re-routed to Maple.

 

Again; closed by construction.  And it was 7:45 a.m.

 

I looked up from my wheel and noticed that I was in a very shady neighborhood, indeed.  And I'd forgotten to lock my doors after dropping my friends off at the airport.

 

I recognized a street name as I drove by, so I hopped on to it and drove toward the skyscrapers, looking for mine.  I was not seeing it.  Anywhere.  I began to wonder if it had disappeared during the night.

 

I drove along for another five minutes (by this time it was coming up on 8:00) when suddenly I saw a familar landmark. My heart sunk.  I was the American Airlines Center which I thought was on the opposite side of downtown from where I needed to be.

 

Not to be put off, I started scanning for familar streets again. Suddenly a sign for the street I was looking for popped over the hill.  I did some seriously dangeresque maneuvering and got from the far right lane to the far left lane in the space of a block.  During rush hour.

 

I thought I had a 10 minute drive yet, but was pleased to be wrong when I saw my destination looming in front of me the moment I drove up the hill.

 

I parked rather recklessly (didn't run the car into the wall this time, though, Joey!), and hurried in.

 

The worst part of being a new resident is being LOST ALL THE TIME!!!

Something For The Kid To Read

The Kid is bored and he told me to write him a blog post so he'd have something to read. At present I am trying to come up with something interesting enough to blog about.

I am having little success.

I could write about the time The Kid was driving and Tara (hi, Tara! you're famous now!) threw a melting ice cream cone out the window and hit an oncoming SUV. The SUV then followed them, made them pull over, tried to kill my brother, and then called the cops. But since I wasn't there, I won't.

I could write about the time The Kid and I snuck out of the house, got IBCs at Walmart and then took them into Krispy Kreme where we consumed too many doughnuts way too late at night. But we do that all the time, so I won't.

I could write about the time that I tried to give The Kid blue highlights last year; the Kool-Aid had a real negative reaction with the blonde and it turned them greenish-purple. But I won't.

I could write about the time The Kid and I snuck the first pieces of cake at, um, Sister's wedding and ran around the church eating them before all the guests had any. (I think we each ate about 3 pieces of cake at that wedding.) But, since I don't really want Sister knowing about that, I won't.

I could write about the time The Kid and I set fire to the frosting on some of Andrew and Laura's leftover wedding cake. (It was 11:00 at night while we were supposed to be cleaning up after the wedding.) But I can't remember if The Kid was there or not, so I won't.

I could write about the time that we were in the Boundary Waters several years ago and The Kid got all dehydrated and started barfing everywhere. But that's disgusting, so I won't.

Since I'm having such a difficult time coming up with decent writing material, I'll just give up and say to The Kid,

"You're cool. Come to my house on Friday. Oh wait, you are."

Phase 3: Relief

We finished the living and dining rooms last night, much to my great relief. I am still adjusting to the red wall, but I think I like it. (Joey says that I DO like it because we're not repainting.)

Phase 2: Fear And Trembling

The accent wall is supposed to be this really deep shade of red. Joey started painting and now I'm really nervous about what it's going to turn out looking like. I'm not sure if it's the color of red or the fact that my husband has painted his name on to the wall.

The Kid Is Spoiled

Due to The Kid's Impending Arrival (oh, and my parents are coming too), I went grocery shopping. I also needed to go grocery shopping because we were out of things like butter, mozzarella cheese and spaghetti sauce.

I called The Kid and said, "What kind of food do you want to eat when you're at my house?"

He gave me a list of pretty much junk food. It included hot dogs, Lucky Charms, and Pop Tarts.

I called my mom and asked, "Do you want me to get anything special from the grocery store?"

She asked for yogurt.

Joey and I headed to the grocery store after finishing our painting project for the evening. The list was full of strange and foreign things, but we determined to succeed.

(But first I did get distracted by the Starbucks clearance display--they had their Valentine's Day tumbler for $5 and it was SO cute and romantic that Joey said I could get it.)

When I grocery shop I try to stay out of the Middle. The Middle is where bad things happen. (Read: the food that makes my jeans too tight.) Joey and I had almost completed our list on the outer sections of Tom Thumb (yes, that's what our grocery store is called here; totally lame, I know) when he asked, "Are we done?"

"No," I replied, "We have to go in the Middle."

Joey feigned horror and we set out to find the Lucky Charms. Once located, we tried to find the Pop Tarts. We had more trouble with this than the average grocery shopper, but we finally prevailed. Joey finagled an extra large box of Brown Sugar Cinnamon just for himself out of me (I know, I'm such a softie) and we set out for the checkout lanes.

After unloading a cart full of foreign items (yogurt?! hot dogs?! Pop Tarts?!? Lucky Charms?!) we sat back to watch the dollar signs grow. Feeling rather conspicuous that we were actually spending more than $50, I felt compelled to say to the woman, "My little brother's coming. We have to buy him lots of snacks."

She looked at me rather indulgently. "Ohhhh....how old is he?"

I looked sideways and said quickly, "Um, like, eighteen."

She gave me a strange look and continued ringing up our groceries. Once we got the Tom Thumb discount, we walked out the store spending just a hair over $50 (including my Starbucks mug, so we didn't do too bad).

I think that lady thinks I'm nuts. (And that The Kid is probably real spoiled. Which he probably is.)

Proof Positive

My recent hypothesis is that washing one's car is an exercise in futility. I now have proof that I have been correct.

On Friday I dropped off my car to be hand-washed, vacuumed, and armor-alled for the pretty sum of $15. (I refuse to take my vehicle to a car wash or vacuum it out at a self-serve place down here--I don't want to get shot, kidnapped, or robbed.)

We haven't washed the Toyota (or the Honda) since we moved down here, and it was looking rather dusty. That, and it smelled like Henry somehow.

I was so pleased when I picked up my car. It shone, the tires were glossy black, the windows were sparkling clean (no Henry nose smudges), and the interior was freshly vacuumed and gone was that hint of puppy odor.

Joey was equally pleased. We walked around Yoda the Toyota and exclaimed about how nicely he had been washed and how silvery-shiny he was again.

I parked next to our building where there are no trees, just to be safe.

Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny. I was up early and headed to Home Despot to buy paint (more on THAT story later...). I went to my car but stopped short in horror as I reached it.

Totally covered in bird poo.

NONE of the cars surrounding it were touched, but the hood of my car was pretty well pelted.

I couldn't wake Joey up to bemoan my misfortune, so I glared at the bird poo, went to Home Despot anyway.

I'll probably never wash my car again.

(P.S. Yes, I know that it's really called "Home Depot" and not "Home Despot", but I don't care.)

(P.S.S. Who invented putting grapes in chicken salad? Grody.)

Yes, I Was Paying Attention

My parents and The Kid are coming on Friday. I am irrationally excited about this. So, during church, I sort of drew a fancy drawing in celebration of their impending arrival.

The best part, in my opinion, is where my dad is duct-taped to the side of the plane. He used to fly planes, I figure he'd probably think that was a pretty good view.

Phase 1: Completed

We successfully (finally) got the stripes painted in the bathroom. It took much longer than normal and we wound up having a little trouble with the chalk line, but I think we'll get it taken care of.And here is the fireplace that we wound up painting for kicks and giggles. I think it turned out superbly, the brown looks so much better than the plain white! It will really coordinate well with the rest of the room when we finish it. (Perhaps tomorrow?)

Update

I was successful in sneaking off to Home Despot. I managed to get home, dig out the tape, measuring tape, pencil and Henry (who was very good and didn't cry the whole time I was gone!) and sequester the bathroom.

I was sitting Indian-style holding a pencil and the measuring tape when Joey opened the door.

He looked from me to his toolbox (that I had sort of spread out all over the hallway...oops?) and back at me again. He wilted.

"What are we doing?" He asked, half awake.

"Painting stripes on the bathroom walls!" I crowed. Some would say that I have impulsive aspects of my personality.

It took about twenty minutes, but he finally woke up enough to think that yes, painting stripes on the walls was a good idea. (Last time I painted the bathroom he was at work and came home to signs declaring "Don't touch the walls".)

Long story short, a couple hours later we wound up at Home Despot together buying a quart of brown paint for the hearth. By this point he was quite excited about the prospect of painting.

I made lunch, he painted the hearth a deep chocolate brown, and now we're going to go finish striping the bathroom.

Pictures forthcoming.

The Plan

OK, kids, listen up.

It's 8:50 a.m. on Saturday morning and I've got a Plan. Joey's still asleep so I think I can pull this off, too.

I want to paint the bathroom. Really bad. Ever since we moved from Iowa it has been the room that's driven nuts the most--I HATE WHITE WALLS! Back in Ankeny our bathroom was light and dark brown striped.

I hatched a Plan last night right before I fell asleep.

If I get up early enough I can snitch something from the bathroom, run to Home Despot and pick out a quart of medium brown paint, and some painter's tape and be back and measuring stripes before Joey gets up.

(Assuming Henry doesn't wake him first. I'll probably have to take him with me for safekeeping.)

But why am I wasting time sitting around here telling YOU my plan? I gotta get out of here!

Dear Joey,

It has recently come to my attention that my parents have acquired a possum.

As you recall, from the very earliest moments of our marriage I have been requesting animals some of which are, but in no way limited to:
~pandas (bamboo garden included)
~squirrel
~possum
~cow
~meerkat
~racoon
~Shih-tzu
~sheep
~koala
~Texas Longhorn (thanks to your parents for that one, though!)
~llama

Thus far you have only succeeded in getting me a Shih-tzu.

I do realize that it is highly illegal to procure some of these animals, and so I have a bit of grace in those instances.

HOWEVER.

There's nothing illegal about a possum and if my parents can have one, I totally want one too. I'm sure that Pops or The Kid could answer all your questions regarding trapping one (particularly when it's in a garage), and they may even consider bringing it down with them next week when they come.

I can think of fewer things in life that would "set me up forever" (to quote Mrs. Bennet) than having a possum. Particularly since I could poke it with a stick whenever I wanted.

Please look into this matter and resolve it as soon as possible.

Very truly yours,

Your wife

Nice Teeth

I get the urge to brush my teeth every day around 2:00.

This used to cause problems back in Iowa when I forgot to pack a toothbrush when I went, um, to work. I have since remedied this problem by placing an extra toothbrush and spare toothpaste Where I Need Them Most. (ahem.)

Two days ago, I was faithfully brushing my teeth in the bathroom. I always get paranoid that someone will come in while I'm spitting or something, so I try to be really sneaky when I'm doing it.

Brush, brush, brush. Spit.

Aaaaannnnnd, someone walks in the door. Timing is everything.

"Brushing your teeth?"

I bit my tongue and didn't say "OBVIOUSLY", I just smiled around my toothbrush and nodded.

"It's probably why you have such nice teeth," she said.

"Thank you?" I replied.

As soon as she was gone, I began inspecting my teeth. I suppose, for teeth, they're not bad. Fairly white, straight, not missing...you know, the usual.

I wanted to leave the bathroom and yell, "Hey, everybody, listen up! I may dress funny like a Midwesterner, but at least I HAVE GOOD TEETH!"

However, I didn't.

Burnt Toast

I'm always hungry. It seems to be a fact of life with me. This morning I purposed in my heart to make two pieces of whole-wheat toast with crunchy peanut butter on them. And eat them.

All we had in the kitchen was all-natural organic crunchy peanut butter, but I was not to be dissuaded.

I put the toast in the toaster (we have a conveyer-belt style one), and stood by to watch it. It was not toasting at all, so I turned the speed down a bit and put the bread back in.

Instead of paying attention to what I was doing, I started poking the peanut butter and trying to make my knife stand up straight in the jar.

Then I smelled it.

Smoke was pouring out of the toaster. I bent down to check the damage but couldn't see since my eyes watered so quickly. The toast hadn't fallen into the tray yet, so I sped up the belt.

The toast was charred black.

I threw it away before anybody knew it was me that did it. I then set about making two more pieces of toast.

Those turned out great, but the kitchen smelled awful. Somebody came in and commented on "that person who left the toast in way too long". I played along like I had no clue what they were talking about.

I tried smearing the all natural organic crunchy peanut butter on my toast and realized that I had a problem.

It wouldn't stick to the toast! (I suppose this is a good sign that it won't stick to my ribs, either?) I scooped more peanut butter out and, after several attempts, got some to stick. I took a bite.

VERY plain. (No sugar added and whatnot.)

Not to be put off, I grabbed some sugar and shook it all over the peanut butter.

So much for the all-natural, sugar-free organic...