We went to get milk at Tom Thumb because we'd forgotten it earlier when we were at Central Market. The reason we went back to Tom Thumb to get it (and not Central Market, which has better milk) was because Tom Thumb has 20 oz bottles of Mt. Dew for $1.
Woo-hoo.
Unfortunately, 50% of the time they're sold out, but Joey still tries just about every time. (Then, when they're sold out, his morale gets really low and he wilts and walks around talking like Eeyore. It's really sad.)
Joey had raided his change jar and, with his pockets weighed down with quarters, was ready to go get himself a Mt. Dew.
He ran into the entryway of Tom Thumb, stood in front of the vending machine and fidgeted.
"I can't do it. I can't push the button. What if it say sold out?" Joey asked me, hopping nervously back and forth.
"Just push the button." I said.
He pushed the first button. Sold out.
He pushed the second button.
He pushed the second button again.
"They're not sold out!" Joey yelled and instantly began digging through his pockets for change, and spilling it all over the floor.
"But, honey, you can't buy it before you go in the store or you'll have to buy it twice," I reasoned.
"Good point." Joey said, put the quarters back into his pocket and ran into the store. He was a man on a mission. We got the milk, checked out and were back at the vending machine in 5 minutes.
Joey pushed the first button. Sold out.
Joey pushed the second button. Sold out.
"What?!" He wailed, slamming the button over and over again, as though that would miraculously make more Mt. Dew appear.
"Somebody bought the last Mt. Dew while we were in there buying milk!" He wilted as he said this. "Come on. Let's go home. I don't need a Mt. Dew." (Please picture Eeyore saying those last phrases and you'll be just about spot-on to what Joey sounded like.)
"Give me the keys," I took them from his limp hand, "I'm driving."
"It's OK. I don't need any Mt. Dew." He was completely expressionless. This whole going from having a Mt. Dew to not having a Mt. Dew was really throwing him for a loop.
We got into the car and went to two more Tom Thumbs in an effort to find $1 Mt. Dew. There was none to be had, so I finally took him to a 7-Eleven and told him to buy one for $1.29. He was pretty gleeful and happy, so it was all worth it. :)
And the Mt. Dew is gone now, but he's currently swinging the power cord for the lappy at me and keeps hitting me with it. (I probably shouldn't have encouraged him to get that Mt. Dew after all, he seems caffinated.)
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Confirmed: The Downstairs Neighbor Has A Face
There has been some discussion regarding our Downstairs Neighbor. He's rather mysterious in that he's barely ever there, he often gets delinquent rent notices stuck to his door (I know this because I read them), has a very dirty balcony, and we've never actually seen him.
Until tonight.
We thought he was back because we'd suddenly been smelling this obnoxious, faint cigarette smoke coming up through our kitchen vents.
"Seems like Downstairs Neighbor might be around," Joey commented.
I concurred. We're not sure he smokes, but we know our other neighbors and they don't smoke, so if we smell it we always blame it on Downstairs Neighbor.
But back to the previous discussions regarding Downstairs Neighbor's face.
We've lived here for six months. (Yes, six months!) All we were able to ascertain about Downstairs Neighbor was that he has never fully shut the blinds in his bedroom (a table is leaned up against the window covering the portion that's not covered by blinds; he probably has no clue they're not all the way down) and he might have a cat.
I once saw him carrying what appeared to be a cat kennel as he walked away from his apartment. It was then that I first began to question his sanity.
Since the sighting with the cat, we have only seen the back of his head one other time leading us to wonder if he actually has a face.
Joey and I were headed out to buy milk tonight (yes, we forgot it when we went grocery shopping) and as we were walking to the car a youngish sort of man wearing a baseball cap, green t-shirt and geeky/trendy Coke-bottle style glasses was walking towards us. Oh, he was also carrying a Pepsi and a Mountain Dew. (They were 20 ounces and no, I'm not nosy...)
I instantly (and, regrettably, not so subtly) began smacking Joey's arm and hissing at him. "That's him! I bet that's him!"
He sort of shoved his elbow into me to indicate for me to Be Quiet.
We rounded the corner, but not before I had slowed down and looked back to make sure this guy really was Downstairs Neighbor.
"That was him!" I exulted. "I saw him!"
"Yeah," said Joey, "I couldn't understand what you were saying."
"That's OK." I said, hoping that if Joey hadn't understood me then neither had Downstairs Neighbor.
So, regardless of all former doubts and concerns about Downstairs Neighbor, we have confirmed that he exists and he actually has a face.
Whew.
"That's him! I bet that's him!"
Until tonight.
We thought he was back because we'd suddenly been smelling this obnoxious, faint cigarette smoke coming up through our kitchen vents.
"Seems like Downstairs Neighbor might be around," Joey commented.
I concurred. We're not sure he smokes, but we know our other neighbors and they don't smoke, so if we smell it we always blame it on Downstairs Neighbor.
But back to the previous discussions regarding Downstairs Neighbor's face.
We've lived here for six months. (Yes, six months!) All we were able to ascertain about Downstairs Neighbor was that he has never fully shut the blinds in his bedroom (a table is leaned up against the window covering the portion that's not covered by blinds; he probably has no clue they're not all the way down) and he might have a cat.
I once saw him carrying what appeared to be a cat kennel as he walked away from his apartment. It was then that I first began to question his sanity.
Since the sighting with the cat, we have only seen the back of his head one other time leading us to wonder if he actually has a face.
Joey and I were headed out to buy milk tonight (yes, we forgot it when we went grocery shopping) and as we were walking to the car a youngish sort of man wearing a baseball cap, green t-shirt and geeky/trendy Coke-bottle style glasses was walking towards us. Oh, he was also carrying a Pepsi and a Mountain Dew. (They were 20 ounces and no, I'm not nosy...)
I instantly (and, regrettably, not so subtly) began smacking Joey's arm and hissing at him. "That's him! I bet that's him!"
He sort of shoved his elbow into me to indicate for me to Be Quiet.
We rounded the corner, but not before I had slowed down and looked back to make sure this guy really was Downstairs Neighbor.
"That was him!" I exulted. "I saw him!"
"Yeah," said Joey, "I couldn't understand what you were saying."
"That's OK." I said, hoping that if Joey hadn't understood me then neither had Downstairs Neighbor.
So, regardless of all former doubts and concerns about Downstairs Neighbor, we have confirmed that he exists and he actually has a face.
Whew.
"That's him! I bet that's him!"
Friday, June 29, 2007
iPhone
So it's 11:00 p.m. on Friday and I'm at the Apple store. The iPhone was released today and Joey was so excited. So.
He called me at work at least twice with iPhone rumor updates (yay) and subtly hinted that he'd really like to be at NorthPark when they released the iPhone at 6:00p.m. tonight.
So we went.
I got home from work, changed my clothes, grabbed a sandwich and went to the mall to stand on the 2nd floor above the Apple store and watch the Police officers keep the 500 people in line from storming the doors of the store befeore 6:00. It was pretty crazy.
And now that it's 11:00 p.m. Joey thought he'd have a chance at getting his hands on an iPhone, so here we are at the Knox-Henderson store. I'm falling asleep as I type this.
He's not buying an iPhone, he just wishes he was. Poor Joey.
He called me at work at least twice with iPhone rumor updates (yay) and subtly hinted that he'd really like to be at NorthPark when they released the iPhone at 6:00p.m. tonight.
So we went.
I got home from work, changed my clothes, grabbed a sandwich and went to the mall to stand on the 2nd floor above the Apple store and watch the Police officers keep the 500 people in line from storming the doors of the store befeore 6:00. It was pretty crazy.
And now that it's 11:00 p.m. Joey thought he'd have a chance at getting his hands on an iPhone, so here we are at the Knox-Henderson store. I'm falling asleep as I type this.
He's not buying an iPhone, he just wishes he was. Poor Joey.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Decisions
So with the impending detachment of my Decroded Toenail (blood clot and all), I have a decision to make. What am I going to do with it once it falls off?
I have several options, none of which Joey really likes at all.
1.) Put it in a Ziploc and put it in my memory box to show to our children someday
2.) Put it in a Ziploc and mail it to The Kid
3.) Take pictures of it (this one's difficult because the camera is still stolen)
4.) Frame it
His idea is to just throw it away. (Which I think is boring.)
The thing's getting really loose and jiggly on the right side, but is still quite attached on the left side, so I figure I have a week or two before it falls off.
I'm taking votes. What do YOU think I should do with it?
I have several options, none of which Joey really likes at all.
1.) Put it in a Ziploc and put it in my memory box to show to our children someday
2.) Put it in a Ziploc and mail it to The Kid
3.) Take pictures of it (this one's difficult because the camera is still stolen)
4.) Frame it
His idea is to just throw it away. (Which I think is boring.)
The thing's getting really loose and jiggly on the right side, but is still quite attached on the left side, so I figure I have a week or two before it falls off.
I'm taking votes. What do YOU think I should do with it?
Guppy the Puppy
Every anniversary Joey buys me a Build-A-Bear. (Their stock is listed as one to watch, according to CNBC; just an FYI.) This tradition began on our honeymoon. We were on Navy Pier in Chicago and happened by a Build-A-Bear store. Joey steered me in and said, "Pick one."
I picked out a velvety, cuddly bear and named him Pierre le Bear. (There were two reasons for this. One, Pierre rhymed with Bear and two, Pierre and Pier sounded a lot a like and we got him at Navy Pier.)
Subsequent Build-A-Bear purchases have been Habit the Rabbit (for our 1st anniversary) and Guppy the Puppy (2nd anniversary). Habit the Rabbit kind of went over like a lead balloon because he had these long ears that had wires in them. He's currently stuffed in between the shelf and hanger rod in our closet, poking his head out to stare at Joey's shirts, along with my cow Daisy. (I look at them as Closet Ambience.)
Pierre and Guppy, however, are sitting on our bed.
Perhaps it is not prudent to admit this on the Internet, but I slept with my blanket up until the time that Joey and I got engaged. (I tried giving it up, I really did, but after 22 years it's a little bit of a challenge.) I forced myself to put it in my baby box the day I got my engagement ring. It was a sad time.
This is the main reason that Joey bought Pierre le Bear for me. He felt sorry for me and my separation from Blankie, and he felt mainly responsible. (He was, actually.)
And so I slept with Pierre le Bear for two years, until he bought me Guppy the Puppy this year. I changed over to Guppy the Puppy because he's softer, slightly cuter, and more of a novelty since he's newer.
Last night I was almost asleep when Joey said, "You have Guppy, right?"
"Yeah..." I mumbled.
"Good. Because I don't want to get beat up in the middle of the night if you discover you don't have him and you think I do."
That woke me up. "What?"
"Yeah," he said, "you've been waking up in the middle of the night, saying 'give me back the dog!' and then punching me. So then I find it and give it back to you."
"I do not either do that." I said; I was awake now.
"Yes, you do. Quite often." Joey replied.
"Oh. Well, you shouldn't let me do that!" I exclaimed, "It's really bad!"
"You're asleep." Joey said. "I don't know what to do except get you the dog. You keep hitting me..." He sort of trailed off.
So I'm not really sure what to do about this one. It looks like I may need to go to Stuffed Dog Detox or something like that, because I appear to be disturbingly addicted to my stuffed animal. (Pops always called those "dolls" when we were kids and that always bothered me. A stuffed animal is not a doll, it is a stuffed animal. Dolls look like smallish people and wear clothes.)
If anyone has any suggestions, I'm sure that Joey would appreciate them. Poor guy, getting punched out in his sleep because I think he's stolen my stuffed dog.
I definitely have issues.
I picked out a velvety, cuddly bear and named him Pierre le Bear. (There were two reasons for this. One, Pierre rhymed with Bear and two, Pierre and Pier sounded a lot a like and we got him at Navy Pier.)
Subsequent Build-A-Bear purchases have been Habit the Rabbit (for our 1st anniversary) and Guppy the Puppy (2nd anniversary). Habit the Rabbit kind of went over like a lead balloon because he had these long ears that had wires in them. He's currently stuffed in between the shelf and hanger rod in our closet, poking his head out to stare at Joey's shirts, along with my cow Daisy. (I look at them as Closet Ambience.)
Pierre and Guppy, however, are sitting on our bed.
Perhaps it is not prudent to admit this on the Internet, but I slept with my blanket up until the time that Joey and I got engaged. (I tried giving it up, I really did, but after 22 years it's a little bit of a challenge.) I forced myself to put it in my baby box the day I got my engagement ring. It was a sad time.
This is the main reason that Joey bought Pierre le Bear for me. He felt sorry for me and my separation from Blankie, and he felt mainly responsible. (He was, actually.)
And so I slept with Pierre le Bear for two years, until he bought me Guppy the Puppy this year. I changed over to Guppy the Puppy because he's softer, slightly cuter, and more of a novelty since he's newer.
Last night I was almost asleep when Joey said, "You have Guppy, right?"
"Yeah..." I mumbled.
"Good. Because I don't want to get beat up in the middle of the night if you discover you don't have him and you think I do."
That woke me up. "What?"
"Yeah," he said, "you've been waking up in the middle of the night, saying 'give me back the dog!' and then punching me. So then I find it and give it back to you."
"I do not either do that." I said; I was awake now.
"Yes, you do. Quite often." Joey replied.
"Oh. Well, you shouldn't let me do that!" I exclaimed, "It's really bad!"
"You're asleep." Joey said. "I don't know what to do except get you the dog. You keep hitting me..." He sort of trailed off.
So I'm not really sure what to do about this one. It looks like I may need to go to Stuffed Dog Detox or something like that, because I appear to be disturbingly addicted to my stuffed animal. (Pops always called those "dolls" when we were kids and that always bothered me. A stuffed animal is not a doll, it is a stuffed animal. Dolls look like smallish people and wear clothes.)
If anyone has any suggestions, I'm sure that Joey would appreciate them. Poor guy, getting punched out in his sleep because I think he's stolen my stuffed dog.
I definitely have issues.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Apparently more people read this thing than I previously thought. A very enthusiastic "Hi" to Greg L and whoever else from FBC happens reading this. (Perhaps those of you who are as yet unidentified should comment so I know who you are...)
I have been tagged again, only this time by the other Greg. As most of you have probably read the rules in the earlier post, I won't write them again. For those of you who have not, you can find them here.
I shall commence 8 more facts/random things, however this time I'm sticking to facts. Last time I did random things.
1.) I am short.
2.) Coffee and caffeine make me so hyper anymore that I shake, my heart races, and can't breathe well.
3.) I have never broken any bones.
4.) I cannot knit, crochet, or embroider.
5.) I'm 24 going on 12, just ask The Kid. (Or my poor husband...)
6.) I like to sing!
7.) I don't like math but, um, I do math all day. (Funny how that works.)
8.) I'm a homeschool drop-out (a fact that pleases my siblings immensely) but I'm definitely homeschooling my children someday.
Hmm...let's see...who to tag....
Katie, Mark, Matt, Jenny, Grandpa (?), Kyle, Ally, Michelle
I have been tagged again, only this time by the other Greg. As most of you have probably read the rules in the earlier post, I won't write them again. For those of you who have not, you can find them here.
I shall commence 8 more facts/random things, however this time I'm sticking to facts. Last time I did random things.
1.) I am short.
2.) Coffee and caffeine make me so hyper anymore that I shake, my heart races, and can't breathe well.
3.) I have never broken any bones.
4.) I cannot knit, crochet, or embroider.
5.) I'm 24 going on 12, just ask The Kid. (Or my poor husband...)
6.) I like to sing!
7.) I don't like math but, um, I do math all day. (Funny how that works.)
8.) I'm a homeschool drop-out (a fact that pleases my siblings immensely) but I'm definitely homeschooling my children someday.
Hmm...let's see...who to tag....
Katie, Mark, Matt, Jenny, Grandpa (?), Kyle, Ally, Michelle
Mom's Tuesday Poem
And, as it's not likely that one can write a poem about one parent and not the other, this one about Mom oozed out of my brain after writing the one about Pops. It's not likely that either one is likely to win a Pulitzer for poetry, but perhaps they will make you smile.
My parents, after all, make me smile. :)
Our Mom
We all know that Mom is cute
(And that she even plays the flute!)
But I'll let you in on a secret...
If you promise not to leak it...
My mom is top-notch!
See, it's hard for Mommy to get it
That her kids all think she's a hit,
But for a better mom no one could ask
And trying to find one would be a big task.
Our mommy read us Winnie The Pooh
On afternoons when we had nothing to do,
She took us for walks in the woods
And taught us to sew skirts and hoods.
She made us do chores
So we'd never be bored,
And sometimes we went to Bever Park
Where we saw animals like those on the Ark.
Mom was always teaching us
Important things and not silly stuff,
Like Bible verses, proverbs and what was right
And trusting God, who kept us safe at night.
All these things and many more
Our mom taught her brood of four.
Wild children we turned out to be
As most, I'm sure, would quickly agree,
But I know that I can safely say
That our mom loves us anyway!
My parents, after all, make me smile. :)
Our Mom
We all know that Mom is cute
(And that she even plays the flute!)
But I'll let you in on a secret...
If you promise not to leak it...
My mom is top-notch!
See, it's hard for Mommy to get it
That her kids all think she's a hit,
But for a better mom no one could ask
And trying to find one would be a big task.
Our mommy read us Winnie The Pooh
On afternoons when we had nothing to do,
She took us for walks in the woods
And taught us to sew skirts and hoods.
She made us do chores
So we'd never be bored,
And sometimes we went to Bever Park
Where we saw animals like those on the Ark.
Mom was always teaching us
Important things and not silly stuff,
Like Bible verses, proverbs and what was right
And trusting God, who kept us safe at night.
All these things and many more
Our mom taught her brood of four.
Wild children we turned out to be
As most, I'm sure, would quickly agree,
But I know that I can safely say
That our mom loves us anyway!
Dad's Motivational Poem
I was feeling poetic this morning (never a good sign) and so I wrote my Pops this poem. And, as almost everyone needs motivation on Tuesdays, I felt it appropriate.
Dad's Motivational Poem
Listen up, everybody, I've got some news!
My dad's the greatest;
I'll give you the latest:
Dad's got cows and trees with boughs,
Dad fixes planes and likes model trains,
Dad sells land and leases what's grand,
Dad is smart with mind like a dart,
Dad drives tractors and knows his factors!
And since this is Tuesday
I thought I would say....
I - AM - GLAD
YOU'RE - MY - DAD!
G-o-o-o-o-o-o DAD!
Dad's Motivational Poem
Listen up, everybody, I've got some news!
My dad's the greatest;
I'll give you the latest:
Dad's got cows and trees with boughs,
Dad fixes planes and likes model trains,
Dad sells land and leases what's grand,
Dad is smart with mind like a dart,
Dad drives tractors and knows his factors!
And since this is Tuesday
I thought I would say....
I - AM - GLAD
YOU'RE - MY - DAD!
G-o-o-o-o-o-o DAD!
Saturday, June 23, 2007
The Turtle Defends Himself
Jamie flew into town this morning and, shortly after she arrived, we decided that our best course of action was to take a walk. Henry was being obnoxious because he was so excited to see Jamie, and we hoped that by walking he'd blow off some steam.
We set out briskly. In order to avoid being hit by cars, we went the long way around the athletic fields and set out on the walking trail. Our object, aside from burning Henry out, was to feed the creepy catfish, ducks, squirrels, and whatever else we found along the way.
About five minutes into our walk, I noticed a turtle who was rather off course. So far off course, in fact, that he was quite far away from the lakes (probably a three hour turtle walk, about 10 minutes for a human) and sitting atop a little rise.
"Jamie! Look! A turtle!" I squeaked and pointed. Henry pulled at the leash in anticipation of smelling the turtle.
"Ohh, cool." We stood over the turtle for a few moments with Henry sniffing at all the appropriate times.
Jamie bent over to pick up the turtle. "You can make them pass out if you hold them upside down," she explained. "All amphibians are like that."
Just as she picked the turtle up off the ground, it began to um, Use The Bathroom all over my foot.
"HEY!" I shrieked, "The turtle's peeing!"
"Oh." Jamie set the turtle down. "It's a defense mechanism."
"I should say." I shook my foot off. Henry intently sniffed the ground, analyzing the new smells.
"Let's try again." She picked up the turtle (I stepped out of the line of fire this time) and flipped him over onto his back.
He didn't pass out. He sort of blinked at us in an upside-down sort of way and paddled his little swimmers every so often. Actually, he wasn't even looking drowsy.
"Um, Jamie?" I said.
"I know, I know, a few more minutes." We waited.
People walking by were starting to give us odd looks. This is most likely because we were standing there holding a dripping turtle upside down and starting at it.
Jamie sighed. "He's not passing out."
"No, I guess not." I said, as Jamie set the turtle down. Henry bounded over to sniff the turtle again.
For good measure, Jamie picked the turtle up one more time. Immediately he began to "defend himself" (read: go to the bathroom), so Jamie put him back down.
"You know, that first time he got my foot." I said, as we walked away.
"NO! Really? Sorry, I didn't see that," Jamie said.
"Yep." I answered.
So today I learned two things:
1. Turtles go to the bathroom when you pick them up, so stand clear
2. They're supposed to pass out if you hold them upside down
We set out briskly. In order to avoid being hit by cars, we went the long way around the athletic fields and set out on the walking trail. Our object, aside from burning Henry out, was to feed the creepy catfish, ducks, squirrels, and whatever else we found along the way.
About five minutes into our walk, I noticed a turtle who was rather off course. So far off course, in fact, that he was quite far away from the lakes (probably a three hour turtle walk, about 10 minutes for a human) and sitting atop a little rise.
"Jamie! Look! A turtle!" I squeaked and pointed. Henry pulled at the leash in anticipation of smelling the turtle.
"Ohh, cool." We stood over the turtle for a few moments with Henry sniffing at all the appropriate times.
Jamie bent over to pick up the turtle. "You can make them pass out if you hold them upside down," she explained. "All amphibians are like that."
Just as she picked the turtle up off the ground, it began to um, Use The Bathroom all over my foot.
"HEY!" I shrieked, "The turtle's peeing!"
"Oh." Jamie set the turtle down. "It's a defense mechanism."
"I should say." I shook my foot off. Henry intently sniffed the ground, analyzing the new smells.
"Let's try again." She picked up the turtle (I stepped out of the line of fire this time) and flipped him over onto his back.
He didn't pass out. He sort of blinked at us in an upside-down sort of way and paddled his little swimmers every so often. Actually, he wasn't even looking drowsy.
"Um, Jamie?" I said.
"I know, I know, a few more minutes." We waited.
People walking by were starting to give us odd looks. This is most likely because we were standing there holding a dripping turtle upside down and starting at it.
Jamie sighed. "He's not passing out."
"No, I guess not." I said, as Jamie set the turtle down. Henry bounded over to sniff the turtle again.
For good measure, Jamie picked the turtle up one more time. Immediately he began to "defend himself" (read: go to the bathroom), so Jamie put him back down.
"You know, that first time he got my foot." I said, as we walked away.
"NO! Really? Sorry, I didn't see that," Jamie said.
"Yep." I answered.
So today I learned two things:
1. Turtles go to the bathroom when you pick them up, so stand clear
2. They're supposed to pass out if you hold them upside down
Oy
Why is it that on Saturdays, the day I get to sleep in until 8:00 a.m., I always wake up at 6:00 a.m.!!!
This is beginning to drive me nuts. Here I sit at 6:45 a.m., more awake than I normally am on a weekday at this time, and all I want to do is go back to bed until 8:00 a.m.
So I guess I'll start on my housewarming loaf of apple bread I was going to make when I got up today. Since I'm up. Early.
This is beginning to drive me nuts. Here I sit at 6:45 a.m., more awake than I normally am on a weekday at this time, and all I want to do is go back to bed until 8:00 a.m.
So I guess I'll start on my housewarming loaf of apple bread I was going to make when I got up today. Since I'm up. Early.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Tag--I'm It! (and you may be too...)
Muchas gracias to Greg for tagging me.
Welcome to Blogger Tag. I hope this goes better for me than regular tag; I was always too short and slow to ever actually tag anyone when I was It, so I was usually It for about half the game.
These are the rules, which I have blatantly plagiarized from Greg's blog. (Many sincere thanks.)
1. Each player starts with 8 random facts/habits about themselves.
2. People who are tagged write a blog post about their own 8 random things and post these rules.
3. At the end of your post you need to tag 8 people and include their names.
4. You may need to leave them a comment and tell them they're tagged and to read your blog.
I shall now commence my 8 random facts. Hold on tight; there's a reason I'm called The Bad Luck Child.
1.) I once slammed a my best friend's cat paw in my car door (accidentally!!) when I was stopping by her house to surprise her. It wouldn't have been so bad had I not locked my keys in the car, no one been home at her house, and the cat was dangling from behind the side view mirror. For an hour. I was also late to work.
2.) My junior year of college I went to Slovakia with my parents. The second day there I went to church with a bunch of people I didn't know I was very nearly arrested on a bus for accidentally double-punching my bus ticket. (Almost got my passport stolen, too.) In any rate, some very nice man from England bailed me out before I was hauled off to the Slovakian Slammer. And I'm not lying about this either.
3.) I was a camp counselor at EIBC one summer and Kelsie and I decided we were going to be the first girls to hide in the Dumpster during Counselor Hunt. So we did. We wrapped ourselves in trash bags and nestled down in between yesterday's milk cartons and table scraps. Yum.
About half an hour into it we noticed mice running around behind our backsides and I started getting light-headed from having a trash bag over my head. It was then that I remembered my mother's words from childhood..."Jenna, don't put trash bags over your head. It's dangerous."
So I ripped myself a big hole to breathe out of and kept the bag on my head. Nobody found us, either. But we smelled HORRIBLE.
4.) My first vehicle was a 1985 Chevy S-10, purchased from Woody S. in 1999. It worked great for awhile...until it started dying on left turns. Not on right turns, just left turns. And not every single time, either, just about 50% of it. It became rather difficult to get places if I had to turn left to get there.
5.) Mom, Dad, a friend and I walked to Tesco one of the weeks we were in Slovakia. I bought chocolate (as usual) and my friend and I were behind Mom and Dad as we leisurely walked back to the church. Suddenly my friend and I were pushed to the wall by about eight gypsies, one of which was trying to slip his hand in my purse and steal my wallet. I happened to look down and see him, so I stomped on his foot, jabbed my elbow into his ribcage and started yelling like an American.
All the gypsies backed off. (He didn't get my wallet, either.)
My friend and I rushed to catch up with my oblivious parents who said, "Did you hear that bratty child back there whining?" They were chagrined when I told them what had happened.
6.) I went on a blind date in college. (I think the guy's name was Chris.) Anyway, he talked about how much money his dad made and how they were members at the Country Club the entire duration of dinner while I tried not to yawn. And apparently I bored him equally badly because he fell asleep during the movie we went to see (Charlie's Angels...). I never went on another blind date again.
7.) One summer in between semesters I was working for my parents doing odd jobs. I spilled an entire gallon of paint on brand-new carpet while painting the halls at one of my dad's apartment buildings. (I felt so terrible because it had taken us 7 years to convince Mom and Dad to replace the original carpet in those halls and then I go and spill a huge amount of paint on it...) So I called up my poor dad who, to his credit, did not yell at me. He showed up with a Pepsi and a Snickers and stood there, with a hand on my shoulder and said, "Yeah, you spilled a lot of paint..."
They put a rug down over it. And I haven't spilled paint since.
8.) At Christmas in Indianapolis this year, Joey and I managed to leave our suitcase in in the trunk of our car in Iowa City (we rode with Mom and Dad in their van) and, thus, were without clean underwear for 5 days. I also washed my cell phone while trying to clean the only clothes I had with me. We moved to Texas a week later and I lost my cell phone in a parking lot on a very rainy day. It was picked up by a lady from Plano who got my parents' phone number, called them, they called me, I called her and we got my phone back.
Only Send, 1 4,7 and * didn't work any longer. So I took it into the Verizon store, told them it was broken and they gave me a brand new phone.
If any of you made it through all of that, I must say that you have a very strong constitution.
And, thus, I tag...
Sister
Stephen
Joey
Karen H
Sarah M
The Kid
(I'm not doing 8 either, Greg)
Welcome to Blogger Tag. I hope this goes better for me than regular tag; I was always too short and slow to ever actually tag anyone when I was It, so I was usually It for about half the game.
These are the rules, which I have blatantly plagiarized from Greg's blog. (Many sincere thanks.)
1. Each player starts with 8 random facts/habits about themselves.
2. People who are tagged write a blog post about their own 8 random things and post these rules.
3. At the end of your post you need to tag 8 people and include their names.
4. You may need to leave them a comment and tell them they're tagged and to read your blog.
I shall now commence my 8 random facts. Hold on tight; there's a reason I'm called The Bad Luck Child.
1.) I once slammed a my best friend's cat paw in my car door (accidentally!!) when I was stopping by her house to surprise her. It wouldn't have been so bad had I not locked my keys in the car, no one been home at her house, and the cat was dangling from behind the side view mirror. For an hour. I was also late to work.
2.) My junior year of college I went to Slovakia with my parents. The second day there I went to church with a bunch of people I didn't know I was very nearly arrested on a bus for accidentally double-punching my bus ticket. (Almost got my passport stolen, too.) In any rate, some very nice man from England bailed me out before I was hauled off to the Slovakian Slammer. And I'm not lying about this either.
3.) I was a camp counselor at EIBC one summer and Kelsie and I decided we were going to be the first girls to hide in the Dumpster during Counselor Hunt. So we did. We wrapped ourselves in trash bags and nestled down in between yesterday's milk cartons and table scraps. Yum.
About half an hour into it we noticed mice running around behind our backsides and I started getting light-headed from having a trash bag over my head. It was then that I remembered my mother's words from childhood..."Jenna, don't put trash bags over your head. It's dangerous."
So I ripped myself a big hole to breathe out of and kept the bag on my head. Nobody found us, either. But we smelled HORRIBLE.
4.) My first vehicle was a 1985 Chevy S-10, purchased from Woody S. in 1999. It worked great for awhile...until it started dying on left turns. Not on right turns, just left turns. And not every single time, either, just about 50% of it. It became rather difficult to get places if I had to turn left to get there.
5.) Mom, Dad, a friend and I walked to Tesco one of the weeks we were in Slovakia. I bought chocolate (as usual) and my friend and I were behind Mom and Dad as we leisurely walked back to the church. Suddenly my friend and I were pushed to the wall by about eight gypsies, one of which was trying to slip his hand in my purse and steal my wallet. I happened to look down and see him, so I stomped on his foot, jabbed my elbow into his ribcage and started yelling like an American.
All the gypsies backed off. (He didn't get my wallet, either.)
My friend and I rushed to catch up with my oblivious parents who said, "Did you hear that bratty child back there whining?" They were chagrined when I told them what had happened.
6.) I went on a blind date in college. (I think the guy's name was Chris.) Anyway, he talked about how much money his dad made and how they were members at the Country Club the entire duration of dinner while I tried not to yawn. And apparently I bored him equally badly because he fell asleep during the movie we went to see (Charlie's Angels...). I never went on another blind date again.
7.) One summer in between semesters I was working for my parents doing odd jobs. I spilled an entire gallon of paint on brand-new carpet while painting the halls at one of my dad's apartment buildings. (I felt so terrible because it had taken us 7 years to convince Mom and Dad to replace the original carpet in those halls and then I go and spill a huge amount of paint on it...) So I called up my poor dad who, to his credit, did not yell at me. He showed up with a Pepsi and a Snickers and stood there, with a hand on my shoulder and said, "Yeah, you spilled a lot of paint..."
They put a rug down over it. And I haven't spilled paint since.
8.) At Christmas in Indianapolis this year, Joey and I managed to leave our suitcase in in the trunk of our car in Iowa City (we rode with Mom and Dad in their van) and, thus, were without clean underwear for 5 days. I also washed my cell phone while trying to clean the only clothes I had with me. We moved to Texas a week later and I lost my cell phone in a parking lot on a very rainy day. It was picked up by a lady from Plano who got my parents' phone number, called them, they called me, I called her and we got my phone back.
Only Send, 1 4,7 and * didn't work any longer. So I took it into the Verizon store, told them it was broken and they gave me a brand new phone.
If any of you made it through all of that, I must say that you have a very strong constitution.
And, thus, I tag...
Sister
Stephen
Joey
Karen H
Sarah M
The Kid
(I'm not doing 8 either, Greg)
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Near-Miss
A friend of mine and I were discussing how hungry we were.
"I'm starved," I said.
"Me too," she said.
A slight pause.
"I'm such a sugar baby," As soon as I said that my mind froze. I realized I had no idea what the expression "sugar baby" meant, or if it had Negative Connotations. I quickly added, "I love anything sweet."
"Yeah..." my friend mumbled.
I frantically began to wonder if I had made a serious faux-pas. For obvious reasons, I don't normally use expressions if I don't know what they mean first. (One never knows what one might say on accident and then have to apologize for later.)
I opened up The Google and typed in define: sugar baby. Nothin.
I opened up Dictionary.com and typed in sugar baby and sugarbaby. Neither one pulled up any definitions.
I reopened The Google and typed in sugar baby one last time just doing a general web search. I came up with a Bob Dylan song, a cosmetics line, and some kind of candy that's no longer on the market. Whew.
And so it seems that, this time, I am safe.
However I don't think I'd run around using the phrase "sugar baby" if I were you...seems like it might have some street meaning that I don't know. (Or probably want to know.)
The moral of the story is: only use words and phrases you are absolutely positive you know the meaning of. Otherwise you'll have people looking at you strangely and feeling obliged to apologize for saying something you didn't know you said.
"I'm starved," I said.
"Me too," she said.
A slight pause.
"I'm such a sugar baby," As soon as I said that my mind froze. I realized I had no idea what the expression "sugar baby" meant, or if it had Negative Connotations. I quickly added, "I love anything sweet."
"Yeah..." my friend mumbled.
I frantically began to wonder if I had made a serious faux-pas. For obvious reasons, I don't normally use expressions if I don't know what they mean first. (One never knows what one might say on accident and then have to apologize for later.)
I opened up The Google and typed in define: sugar baby. Nothin.
I opened up Dictionary.com and typed in sugar baby and sugarbaby. Neither one pulled up any definitions.
I reopened The Google and typed in sugar baby one last time just doing a general web search. I came up with a Bob Dylan song, a cosmetics line, and some kind of candy that's no longer on the market. Whew.
And so it seems that, this time, I am safe.
However I don't think I'd run around using the phrase "sugar baby" if I were you...seems like it might have some street meaning that I don't know. (Or probably want to know.)
The moral of the story is: only use words and phrases you are absolutely positive you know the meaning of. Otherwise you'll have people looking at you strangely and feeling obliged to apologize for saying something you didn't know you said.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Take Your Henry To Work Day
When I was a small, cute child I used to get to go to work with my daddy on Take Your Daughter To Work day. (I don't think the hospital had a Take Your Son To Work day, which always seemed discriminatory to me...)
It was so great. I'd get to sit in his office chair and play in his desk when he went to meetings, Marcia would let me have tons of Pepsis out of the fridge when Dad wasn't looking, and sometimes Daddy would take me down to the laundry room in the basement!
(And once he took even me to the smoking room to show me how gross it was.)
But the basement was always my favorite part because of the scary pipes, heavy doors, narrow hallways, and antiseptic cream color on tile floors and painted cinder block walls. Plus the laundry room was hot, noisy, and had big machines that washed and folded linens.
I'd kind of forgotten about Take Your Daughter To Work Day (it's been about 15 years since I've gotten to go to do it!)...until today.
The cockroach exterminators are scheduled to come today and spray our apartment. We were putting Henry in his kennel and getting to leave this morning when I asked, "Do you think Henry can be in here when the exterminators come?"
Sure wouldn't want our dog to be exterminated...
We decided we didn't know. I called later that morning and discovered that, no, Henry cannot be in the apartment with the exterminators.
So Joey went to go get him and bring him to work. He'd better behave because he has to be there all day long, too. I'm not sure when he can go back in the apartment, but we have a "babysitter" lined up for this evening if need by. (One of our neighbors likes to borrow Henry whenever possible.)
Henry's behaving pretty well, says Joey. Earlier he had the leash around his ankle and Henry was sitting on the floor looking longingly at Joey's coworker the next desk over. (And, of course, when the coworker left Henry began to cry.) Currently Henry is running around Joey's office playing with everyone. I guess he has been voted the new office mascot. (Until he chews on some power cord or eats a flash drive...)
Hopefully Joey still has a job at the end of the day and Henry has remembered his manners and takes care of all his business outside, like normal.
It was so great. I'd get to sit in his office chair and play in his desk when he went to meetings, Marcia would let me have tons of Pepsis out of the fridge when Dad wasn't looking, and sometimes Daddy would take me down to the laundry room in the basement!
(And once he took even me to the smoking room to show me how gross it was.)
But the basement was always my favorite part because of the scary pipes, heavy doors, narrow hallways, and antiseptic cream color on tile floors and painted cinder block walls. Plus the laundry room was hot, noisy, and had big machines that washed and folded linens.
I'd kind of forgotten about Take Your Daughter To Work Day (it's been about 15 years since I've gotten to go to do it!)...until today.
The cockroach exterminators are scheduled to come today and spray our apartment. We were putting Henry in his kennel and getting to leave this morning when I asked, "Do you think Henry can be in here when the exterminators come?"
Sure wouldn't want our dog to be exterminated...
We decided we didn't know. I called later that morning and discovered that, no, Henry cannot be in the apartment with the exterminators.
So Joey went to go get him and bring him to work. He'd better behave because he has to be there all day long, too. I'm not sure when he can go back in the apartment, but we have a "babysitter" lined up for this evening if need by. (One of our neighbors likes to borrow Henry whenever possible.)
Henry's behaving pretty well, says Joey. Earlier he had the leash around his ankle and Henry was sitting on the floor looking longingly at Joey's coworker the next desk over. (And, of course, when the coworker left Henry began to cry.) Currently Henry is running around Joey's office playing with everyone. I guess he has been voted the new office mascot. (Until he chews on some power cord or eats a flash drive...)
Hopefully Joey still has a job at the end of the day and Henry has remembered his manners and takes care of all his business outside, like normal.
Rotten Potatoes
Joey and I went to Target last night to get groceries and an organizer for our under-the-sink abyss. (As Mom, Amber, Sister and Laura can attest, it's pretty bad under there.) Jamie's coming on Saturday and I couldn't bear to have another friend see my cabinet in such a state of disorganization.
We got home from the store and I pulled everything out of the cabinet. I was relieved that I didn't find any old, rotten potatoes. (Used to keep them under there like Mom but they started rotting because they'd roll back behind the trash bag box and I couldn't see them and, well....) Right after Mom and Dad left in March we bought a basket so I can hang potatoes and onions in plain sight and keep much better track of them.
Didn't find any roaches, neither. (Whew!)
What I did find was lots of crumbs and dried up ooze from rotten potatoes.
I guess I'm not as organized as Mom since she can keep her potatoes under the sink without having any go missing and turn rogue.
Anyway, I sterilized the cupboard and commissioned Joey to set up my new sink shelf, which he did with pleasure. (Well, I'm actually not sure about that, I think he wanted to read his book. But in any case, he set it up without complaining and did a very nice job of it.)
If I had a camera, I'd totally take a before and after picture of my cabinet. What was previously disorganized and smelled funny is now organized, accessible, and smells cheerily of thyme.
While I was at it I organized my other suspicious cupboards and am quite pleased with the result. I don't have to be embarrassed of Jamie opening up my cupboards any longer!
Three days until she gets here! YAY!
We got home from the store and I pulled everything out of the cabinet. I was relieved that I didn't find any old, rotten potatoes. (Used to keep them under there like Mom but they started rotting because they'd roll back behind the trash bag box and I couldn't see them and, well....) Right after Mom and Dad left in March we bought a basket so I can hang potatoes and onions in plain sight and keep much better track of them.
Didn't find any roaches, neither. (Whew!)
What I did find was lots of crumbs and dried up ooze from rotten potatoes.
I guess I'm not as organized as Mom since she can keep her potatoes under the sink without having any go missing and turn rogue.
Anyway, I sterilized the cupboard and commissioned Joey to set up my new sink shelf, which he did with pleasure. (Well, I'm actually not sure about that, I think he wanted to read his book. But in any case, he set it up without complaining and did a very nice job of it.)
If I had a camera, I'd totally take a before and after picture of my cabinet. What was previously disorganized and smelled funny is now organized, accessible, and smells cheerily of thyme.
While I was at it I organized my other suspicious cupboards and am quite pleased with the result. I don't have to be embarrassed of Jamie opening up my cupboards any longer!
Three days until she gets here! YAY!
Monday, June 18, 2007
Breathe-Rightgate
And, thus, Pops has been indicted in yet another Breathe-Right scandal. (Unfortunately I have already blogged here and and here and here about Pops' propensity to forget/leave/save his Breathe-Rights all over the place, I will try to keep this one as short as possible.)
A month ago I was sitting on the futon in our living staring at our bookshelves in a sleepy sort of way. I noticed something strange hanging off one of the shelves, so I got up and went over to see what it was.
It was a Breathe-Right, of course.
"JOEY!" I hollered.
"What?" He asked, lifting his head up off the couch.
"I found a Breathe-Right. On the bookshelf."
He ran over to come inspect. Sure enough, there it was, stuck to our bookshelf for who knows how long.
"That thing has to have been there for a month," he said. "Since your parents were here."
"I know. How did we miss it all this time?!" I said, gingerly unsticking it from the cheap "wood" shelf.
I folded it up and threw it away, hoping to be rid of it.
And then this afternoon Joey called me.
"Hi, babe, I thought I should let you know what's going on here." Famous last words. My mind raced as I tried to figure out what could possibly have gone wrong.
"What?" I hesitantly asked.
"Well, I was letting Henry out of the kitchen and I picked up one of the chairs and I noticed something sticky was on it. So I reached down and pulled it off. Guess what it was?"
The only thing that was running through my head was cockroach and I didn't think those were sticky enough when squished to adhere to the bottom of chair legs, so I just said, "Um...."
"A Breathe-Right!" He crowed. "Another one!"
I was beginning to wonder if the kids had formed some sort of evil conspiracy when they were here. My cell phone goes missing, the camera is stolen, and we find a Breathe-Right when no one who uses Breathe-Rights has been anywhere near our house in three months.
"That is disturbing. I need to call my Pops on the way home from work tonight." I said.
Maybe he's teleporting them to us...or maybe flying his remote-controlled plane on bombing missions and dropping them in through our chimney.
It's probably the remote-controlled airplane one.
A month ago I was sitting on the futon in our living staring at our bookshelves in a sleepy sort of way. I noticed something strange hanging off one of the shelves, so I got up and went over to see what it was.
It was a Breathe-Right, of course.
"JOEY!" I hollered.
"What?" He asked, lifting his head up off the couch.
"I found a Breathe-Right. On the bookshelf."
He ran over to come inspect. Sure enough, there it was, stuck to our bookshelf for who knows how long.
"That thing has to have been there for a month," he said. "Since your parents were here."
"I know. How did we miss it all this time?!" I said, gingerly unsticking it from the cheap "wood" shelf.
I folded it up and threw it away, hoping to be rid of it.
And then this afternoon Joey called me.
"Hi, babe, I thought I should let you know what's going on here." Famous last words. My mind raced as I tried to figure out what could possibly have gone wrong.
"What?" I hesitantly asked.
"Well, I was letting Henry out of the kitchen and I picked up one of the chairs and I noticed something sticky was on it. So I reached down and pulled it off. Guess what it was?"
The only thing that was running through my head was cockroach and I didn't think those were sticky enough when squished to adhere to the bottom of chair legs, so I just said, "Um...."
"A Breathe-Right!" He crowed. "Another one!"
I was beginning to wonder if the kids had formed some sort of evil conspiracy when they were here. My cell phone goes missing, the camera is stolen, and we find a Breathe-Right when no one who uses Breathe-Rights has been anywhere near our house in three months.
"That is disturbing. I need to call my Pops on the way home from work tonight." I said.
Maybe he's teleporting them to us...or maybe flying his remote-controlled plane on bombing missions and dropping them in through our chimney.
It's probably the remote-controlled airplane one.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Not moments after I posted the last post Joey jumped out of bed and crashed to the floor.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Do you really want to know?" He said, hesitantly.
"Um...yes...." Joey slammed his hand into the carpet numerous times.
"It's dead." He said, stoutly.
I screamed. Loud.
"ONE WAS IN OUR ROOM?!"
"Yeah...Henry was pawing at it..."
And so now I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep tonight. I think those slimy creatures are nocturnal or something. Maybe if I sleep with a light on...
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Do you really want to know?" He said, hesitantly.
"Um...yes...." Joey slammed his hand into the carpet numerous times.
"It's dead." He said, stoutly.
I screamed. Loud.
"ONE WAS IN OUR ROOM?!"
"Yeah...Henry was pawing at it..."
And so now I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep tonight. I think those slimy creatures are nocturnal or something. Maybe if I sleep with a light on...
I Fight Back
Many thanks to those of you who have wished me well in this latest trauma of my life. I feel much better knowing that some of you have made things up to reassure me that I probably won't be carried off by cockroaches in my sleep.
I do have a rather active imagination.
Speaking of, though, before I discovered all my lovely well-wishes my imagination was working overtime. I awoke at 7:15 a.m. (on a Saturday!) with one thought in my mind:
CLEAN THE KITCHEN!!
I managed to stall myself until 8:30 and I laid in bed and tried not to think about cockroaches. Unsuccessfully. I woke Joey up on my way to scour and it was decided that we might as well just get up and go to the chiropractor and get on with our day.
At the chiropractor's office I decided to paint the kitchen.
(If one has cockroaches and is going to move the refrigerator to "clean" behind it, one might as well paint while at it.)
I made Joey move the refrigerator for me as well as check for roaches. He gave me the all clear and that's a good thing; I'm not sure what I'd have done if he'd been like, "Oh! A roach!" Probably passed out or something.
So I spent two hours painting our kitchen with some exceptionally cheap paint (but I could get a whole gallon of it for $12, which is cheaper than a pint of the good stuff...) and it's a really light shade of blue.
Similar to the one we painted Joey's parents living room but, alas, not the exact same. (I'd have had to buy the fancy paint for that color and I was feeling cheap.)
Anyway, if I were a cockroach I'd stay far away from my apartment for several reasons:
1. There are no food crumbs
2. The light blue walls of the kitchen do not provide good blending-in backgrounds for hiding
3. Screaming women would hurt my ears (do roaches have ears?)
4. There are signs posted informing of the Impending Doom when the exterminators come (well, not really...but it's an amusing idea)
I'd totally post pictures of my freshly blue kitchen...but our camera got stolen. So you'll have to use your imagination.
And tomorrow I'm taking everything out of my cupboards and washing them with chemicals. Once I tried to drown a roach in bleach and it still didn't die (I'd already tried water and 409)
....Wait, I probably shouldn't admit that.
I do have a rather active imagination.
Speaking of, though, before I discovered all my lovely well-wishes my imagination was working overtime. I awoke at 7:15 a.m. (on a Saturday!) with one thought in my mind:
CLEAN THE KITCHEN!!
I managed to stall myself until 8:30 and I laid in bed and tried not to think about cockroaches. Unsuccessfully. I woke Joey up on my way to scour and it was decided that we might as well just get up and go to the chiropractor and get on with our day.
At the chiropractor's office I decided to paint the kitchen.
(If one has cockroaches and is going to move the refrigerator to "clean" behind it, one might as well paint while at it.)
I made Joey move the refrigerator for me as well as check for roaches. He gave me the all clear and that's a good thing; I'm not sure what I'd have done if he'd been like, "Oh! A roach!" Probably passed out or something.
So I spent two hours painting our kitchen with some exceptionally cheap paint (but I could get a whole gallon of it for $12, which is cheaper than a pint of the good stuff...) and it's a really light shade of blue.
Similar to the one we painted Joey's parents living room but, alas, not the exact same. (I'd have had to buy the fancy paint for that color and I was feeling cheap.)
Anyway, if I were a cockroach I'd stay far away from my apartment for several reasons:
1. There are no food crumbs
2. The light blue walls of the kitchen do not provide good blending-in backgrounds for hiding
3. Screaming women would hurt my ears (do roaches have ears?)
4. There are signs posted informing of the Impending Doom when the exterminators come (well, not really...but it's an amusing idea)
I'd totally post pictures of my freshly blue kitchen...but our camera got stolen. So you'll have to use your imagination.
And tomorrow I'm taking everything out of my cupboards and washing them with chemicals. Once I tried to drown a roach in bleach and it still didn't die (I'd already tried water and 409)
....Wait, I probably shouldn't admit that.
Friday, June 15, 2007
It Gets Worse
We were just getting ready to go to bed tonight when Joey said, "I haven't read your blog yet today." So he sat down and did just that.
He finished it, looked up and asked asked, "So are you really going to call them?"
"Um, call them?" I got up off the couch and stretched.
"Yeah, the exterminators."
"Of course. I can't handle those nasty things."
Joey looked down at his lap in a Very Mysterious Way.
"What?" I asked.
"Well....I didn't want to tell you..." he started.
"Tell me what?" I demanded.
"They're coming on Tuesday. To exterminate," he mumbled.
"Wow, is that supposed to be like a surprise? Did you read my mind?" I asked.
"No."
"Well, what then?" I probed.
"I saw a cockroach in here last night--"
I screamed bloody murder, louder than I have screamed in a very long time.
"Where?! What!" I ran straight to the bathroom (don't ask me why) all the while looking around very nervously to see if any cockroaches were in my line of sight.
"It was in the office. It flew by my head and I thought it was a rubber band...then it climbed up my desk and I realized what it was."
"Did you get it? Is it dead?" I wailed.
"No...it got away."
I screamed again.
And so between now and Tuesday I will probably be living on pins and needles. Honestly; cockroaches in MY house!! (My very clean house!) What's worse is that it'll take something like three rounds of extermination to be sure all the little roachies are dead, too, said the man at the leasing office.
It doesn't make any sense to me. We have a very nice apartment in a very nice complex with very nice, new carpet. Now, how the stink do we have cockroaches? Joey said the guy told him they're in the walls. (That's reassuring...)
Oh my gosh, we might have to move.
And on that note, I'm going to go to bed before one flies past my head and I freak out and throw the laptop against the coffee table in a mad dash for someplace where the cockroach is not. (Granted, I'm not sure where that would be anymore, though.)
He finished it, looked up and asked asked, "So are you really going to call them?"
"Um, call them?" I got up off the couch and stretched.
"Yeah, the exterminators."
"Of course. I can't handle those nasty things."
Joey looked down at his lap in a Very Mysterious Way.
"What?" I asked.
"Well....I didn't want to tell you..." he started.
"Tell me what?" I demanded.
"They're coming on Tuesday. To exterminate," he mumbled.
"Wow, is that supposed to be like a surprise? Did you read my mind?" I asked.
"No."
"Well, what then?" I probed.
"I saw a cockroach in here last night--"
I screamed bloody murder, louder than I have screamed in a very long time.
"Where?! What!" I ran straight to the bathroom (don't ask me why) all the while looking around very nervously to see if any cockroaches were in my line of sight.
"It was in the office. It flew by my head and I thought it was a rubber band...then it climbed up my desk and I realized what it was."
"Did you get it? Is it dead?" I wailed.
"No...it got away."
I screamed again.
And so between now and Tuesday I will probably be living on pins and needles. Honestly; cockroaches in MY house!! (My very clean house!) What's worse is that it'll take something like three rounds of extermination to be sure all the little roachies are dead, too, said the man at the leasing office.
It doesn't make any sense to me. We have a very nice apartment in a very nice complex with very nice, new carpet. Now, how the stink do we have cockroaches? Joey said the guy told him they're in the walls. (That's reassuring...)
Oh my gosh, we might have to move.
And on that note, I'm going to go to bed before one flies past my head and I freak out and throw the laptop against the coffee table in a mad dash for someplace where the cockroach is not. (Granted, I'm not sure where that would be anymore, though.)
Cockroaches
Two nights ago Joey and I were going through the Dumpster in search of our old trash. This was, of course, in a last-ditch effort to find my cell phone.
The Dumpster had recently been emptied, so fortunately neither of us had to climb in. (Had that been the case, Joey was definitely the one that was going inside!) We shone our flashlights inside and threw trash bags around to ascertain whether or not our trash was still inside.
It was not.
I was getting bored and my arm was getting sore from holding the flashlight. Out of the corner of my eye I saw what I thought were leaves blowing around on the pavement. Since I was (am?) fairly distracted, I skipped over to see what the movement was.
It was not leaves.
It was....
"OHMIGOSH! OHMIGOSH! OHMIGOSH! OHMIGOSH!" I screamed, running around the parking lot. At 9:30 p.m.
"WHAT?! What's the matter?" Joey asked, trying to figure out what in the world was wrong with his suddenly hysterical wife.
"I.....they....there's...." I couldn't say it, I just pointed to the ground.
Cockroaches. Rather large ones. Circling the Dumpster and running around the parking lot.
"It's OK, it's just cockroaches," Joey said.
I did one of those full-body shudders and ran to the sidewalk.
"I hate cockroaches." I wimpered.
"You're OK now. They won't hurt you," Joey rationalized.
"I hate cockroaches," I repeated, "Can't handle them at all."
Seeing he wasn't going to get anywhere with that line of reasoning, he took my arm and guided me into the house.
In order to properly appreciate my irrational fear of cockroaches, one must understand just how irrational it is. Joey and I went to China a couple months after we were married and, fortunately, our apartment was on the top floor of our building or we'd have seen a lot more cockroaches than we did see.
However, one evening I was going downstairs to place a call back to the US (a phone interview for a job, no less) and there was a cockroach on the stairs. A huge one. I refused to go past it and went back upstairs to get Joey so he could do something (who knows what) about the situation.
I was actually late to make the phone call because of this cockroach.
I sheepishly admitted to the man I was interviewing with that a cockroach had made me late for the interview. Fortunately for me that guy has a great sense of humor and, last time I checked, he still tells the story about one of his employees who called in from China to do a phone interview...and was late because of a cockroach.
And when I got back the roach was still there.
Only this time he was defying gravity and hanging on the wall ledge in between the stairs. I said lots of rude things to the roach as I walked by (much to the amusement of the members of my team who were staying on the same floor that this cockroach was on) and forced myself to walk up the stairs anyway.
I didn't take my shoes off for days after that. Wouldn't want to accidentally step on a roach, now, would you?
I'm going to call maintenance to see if they can schedule an emergency roach-spray of our apartment. Just in case. Our apartment is nowhere near the Dumpster...but what if they followed me?!
The whole thing gives me jibblies just thinking about it.
The Dumpster had recently been emptied, so fortunately neither of us had to climb in. (Had that been the case, Joey was definitely the one that was going inside!) We shone our flashlights inside and threw trash bags around to ascertain whether or not our trash was still inside.
It was not.
I was getting bored and my arm was getting sore from holding the flashlight. Out of the corner of my eye I saw what I thought were leaves blowing around on the pavement. Since I was (am?) fairly distracted, I skipped over to see what the movement was.
It was not leaves.
It was....
"OHMIGOSH! OHMIGOSH! OHMIGOSH! OHMIGOSH!" I screamed, running around the parking lot. At 9:30 p.m.
"WHAT?! What's the matter?" Joey asked, trying to figure out what in the world was wrong with his suddenly hysterical wife.
"I.....they....there's...." I couldn't say it, I just pointed to the ground.
Cockroaches. Rather large ones. Circling the Dumpster and running around the parking lot.
"It's OK, it's just cockroaches," Joey said.
I did one of those full-body shudders and ran to the sidewalk.
"I hate cockroaches." I wimpered.
"You're OK now. They won't hurt you," Joey rationalized.
"I hate cockroaches," I repeated, "Can't handle them at all."
Seeing he wasn't going to get anywhere with that line of reasoning, he took my arm and guided me into the house.
In order to properly appreciate my irrational fear of cockroaches, one must understand just how irrational it is. Joey and I went to China a couple months after we were married and, fortunately, our apartment was on the top floor of our building or we'd have seen a lot more cockroaches than we did see.
However, one evening I was going downstairs to place a call back to the US (a phone interview for a job, no less) and there was a cockroach on the stairs. A huge one. I refused to go past it and went back upstairs to get Joey so he could do something (who knows what) about the situation.
I was actually late to make the phone call because of this cockroach.
I sheepishly admitted to the man I was interviewing with that a cockroach had made me late for the interview. Fortunately for me that guy has a great sense of humor and, last time I checked, he still tells the story about one of his employees who called in from China to do a phone interview...and was late because of a cockroach.
And when I got back the roach was still there.
Only this time he was defying gravity and hanging on the wall ledge in between the stairs. I said lots of rude things to the roach as I walked by (much to the amusement of the members of my team who were staying on the same floor that this cockroach was on) and forced myself to walk up the stairs anyway.
I didn't take my shoes off for days after that. Wouldn't want to accidentally step on a roach, now, would you?
I'm going to call maintenance to see if they can schedule an emergency roach-spray of our apartment. Just in case. Our apartment is nowhere near the Dumpster...but what if they followed me?!
The whole thing gives me jibblies just thinking about it.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Dear Family,
Had I not set my previous cell phone on fire, this would not be such a big deal. However, I did. And I am now reaping the consequences as I have no spare phone to fall back on.
Joey, you are vindicated.
By now you are all sick of me asking if you've found my lost cell phone. But bear with me one last time.
Joey was playing CSI last night and decided to click through the digital pictures Sister took on Monday evening in hopes that we'd gain some evidence. We have photographic proof that my cell phone was sitting on the kitchen counter both before and after dinner on a bulletin from church and some maps from the arboretum. We have satisfactorily determined that it did not get thrown away as we went through the trash and found those papers and maps in it. We almost had to go through the Dumpster, but it got emptied yesterday morning and our old trash is gone.
The phone didn't get turned in as lost on the trolley, nor has it been used since I Joey called me from the grocery store to ask about how much soda to buy. The battery is dead, but even still; had someone stolen it they'd have found a way to charge it and use it by now...
So anyway. Joey and I have ransacked our brains.
Our Very Last Hope for the return of my phone lies in mom and dad's van. It seems to us that it might be under a seat, squished in beside a seat, in a cupholder or some cubbyhole. Have you checked it really well, parents?
The Kid claims he doesn't have it.
Andrew and Laura didn't find it in their luggage.
Hose and Pumpkin got nothin'.
Joey and I have ripped our house and vehicles apart two times.
Alas, it seems to be GONE! I'm not sure how it disappeared; perhaps Henry carried it off to wherever he hid his previous collar? I suppose anything's possible.
If all else fails we're going to strong-arm a phone out of one of Joey's uncles until mine turns up. (Which it WILL...) However, if somebody finds mine in the next day or so I wouldn't complain.
Check your pockets real well before you do your laundry. That poor thing can't handle another ride in the washing machine.
Thanks for all your help and bearing with me as I try to find this stupid thing.
Love,
Jenna
Joey, you are vindicated.
By now you are all sick of me asking if you've found my lost cell phone. But bear with me one last time.
Joey was playing CSI last night and decided to click through the digital pictures Sister took on Monday evening in hopes that we'd gain some evidence. We have photographic proof that my cell phone was sitting on the kitchen counter both before and after dinner on a bulletin from church and some maps from the arboretum. We have satisfactorily determined that it did not get thrown away as we went through the trash and found those papers and maps in it. We almost had to go through the Dumpster, but it got emptied yesterday morning and our old trash is gone.
The phone didn't get turned in as lost on the trolley, nor has it been used since I Joey called me from the grocery store to ask about how much soda to buy. The battery is dead, but even still; had someone stolen it they'd have found a way to charge it and use it by now...
So anyway. Joey and I have ransacked our brains.
Our Very Last Hope for the return of my phone lies in mom and dad's van. It seems to us that it might be under a seat, squished in beside a seat, in a cupholder or some cubbyhole. Have you checked it really well, parents?
The Kid claims he doesn't have it.
Andrew and Laura didn't find it in their luggage.
Hose and Pumpkin got nothin'.
Joey and I have ripped our house and vehicles apart two times.
Alas, it seems to be GONE! I'm not sure how it disappeared; perhaps Henry carried it off to wherever he hid his previous collar? I suppose anything's possible.
If all else fails we're going to strong-arm a phone out of one of Joey's uncles until mine turns up. (Which it WILL...) However, if somebody finds mine in the next day or so I wouldn't complain.
Check your pockets real well before you do your laundry. That poor thing can't handle another ride in the washing machine.
Thanks for all your help and bearing with me as I try to find this stupid thing.
Love,
Jenna
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Retraction...unfortunately
So my toe's not broken. Disgustingly black and decroded, but not broken.
I know this because when I was at the chiropractor this evening my rehab therapist glanced down, saw the lovely tape job I had done and said, "What did you do to your toe?"
"Busted it or something," I said.
"We should take a shot of it," she said.
All I heard was "take a shot" and thought she meant a shot-shot...like with a needle.
"Um, that's OK....." I said.
"No, I'll go tell Doc and then we'll go in the other room. Just one film is all we'll need to tell if it's broken."
Oh, an X-ray. I can handle that.
So I took off the tape and showed her the black nastiness.
"Wow, that's...gross," she said.
And it is.
We "took the shot" and she ran into the darkroom to develop it. The chiropractor took a look at my toe while we waited for the film to be developed. I told him it didn't hurt much at all anymore, which it doesn't. (Unless I jam it into The Kid's duffle bag, which I did on Monday.)
The X-ray came back quite conclusive: it ain't broken.
I did jam it and have some kind of contusion something-or-other in the nail, but I don't know what that means. My chiro said I might want to poke a hole in the nail to relieve some of the pressure.
I wanted to tell him to poke a hole in his toe to relieve some of the pressure, but I wisely held my tongue.
I'm ain't poking no holes in my toenail, decroded or otherwise. That's insanity. And sounds really painful.
And, so, Joey was right all along. My toe was never broken (although it hurt like a banshee) and I still have never broken any bones. Life seems a bit bleak with this new revelation.
I know this because when I was at the chiropractor this evening my rehab therapist glanced down, saw the lovely tape job I had done and said, "What did you do to your toe?"
"Busted it or something," I said.
"We should take a shot of it," she said.
All I heard was "take a shot" and thought she meant a shot-shot...like with a needle.
"Um, that's OK....." I said.
"No, I'll go tell Doc and then we'll go in the other room. Just one film is all we'll need to tell if it's broken."
Oh, an X-ray. I can handle that.
So I took off the tape and showed her the black nastiness.
"Wow, that's...gross," she said.
And it is.
We "took the shot" and she ran into the darkroom to develop it. The chiropractor took a look at my toe while we waited for the film to be developed. I told him it didn't hurt much at all anymore, which it doesn't. (Unless I jam it into The Kid's duffle bag, which I did on Monday.)
The X-ray came back quite conclusive: it ain't broken.
I did jam it and have some kind of contusion something-or-other in the nail, but I don't know what that means. My chiro said I might want to poke a hole in the nail to relieve some of the pressure.
I wanted to tell him to poke a hole in his toe to relieve some of the pressure, but I wisely held my tongue.
I'm ain't poking no holes in my toenail, decroded or otherwise. That's insanity. And sounds really painful.
And, so, Joey was right all along. My toe was never broken (although it hurt like a banshee) and I still have never broken any bones. Life seems a bit bleak with this new revelation.
Wanted: Babysitter
This afternoon has been unusual.
I made a phone call to the east coast to discuss an issue, was unable to make my point clear (in spite of the fax with the pertinent items highlighted and clearly drawn up memo) and got hung up on. I called back and had to speak with an angry manager who discovered that I was actually correct (much to the chagrin of the lady who hung up on me earlier) and fixed the mistake.
I related this incident to a few friends who don't know me all that well. A few moments later I said, "You know, if our camera hadn't gotten stolen this weekend I'd take some pictures of Henry for you since he's all tiny from his haircut."
Silence.
"Your camera got stolen?" Friend 2 said.
"Yep." I said.
"And you broke your toe." Friend 1 said.
"You broke your toe? Let me see!" Friend 2 said.
I showed my decroded toe to Friend 2 who determined that it was, in fact, disgusting.
"I'd call my doctor if my toe looked like that," Friend 1 said.
Somehow in the midst of this conversation it was mentioned that I'd also lost my cell phone.
"Wow," Friend 2 said, "You really need help."
"A babysitter or something." Friend 1 said. "Somebody to follow you around and pick up the pieces."
So it seems that I'm hiring.
I made a phone call to the east coast to discuss an issue, was unable to make my point clear (in spite of the fax with the pertinent items highlighted and clearly drawn up memo) and got hung up on. I called back and had to speak with an angry manager who discovered that I was actually correct (much to the chagrin of the lady who hung up on me earlier) and fixed the mistake.
I related this incident to a few friends who don't know me all that well. A few moments later I said, "You know, if our camera hadn't gotten stolen this weekend I'd take some pictures of Henry for you since he's all tiny from his haircut."
Silence.
"Your camera got stolen?" Friend 2 said.
"Yep." I said.
"And you broke your toe." Friend 1 said.
"You broke your toe? Let me see!" Friend 2 said.
I showed my decroded toe to Friend 2 who determined that it was, in fact, disgusting.
"I'd call my doctor if my toe looked like that," Friend 1 said.
Somehow in the midst of this conversation it was mentioned that I'd also lost my cell phone.
"Wow," Friend 2 said, "You really need help."
"A babysitter or something." Friend 1 said. "Somebody to follow you around and pick up the pieces."
So it seems that I'm hiring.
My Decroded Toe
Joey and I were bemoaning the loss of our camera last night as we were examining my nasty toe that I "broke" when I was at my parents two weeks ago.
"That thing's disgusting." Joey moved my toe around to get the Full Affect.
"The toenail's getting super long and starting to poke me," I said, awkwardly holding my foot up by my face.
"Let me see!"
I showed him. "See? It was getting longish when I wounded myself, and that was over two weeks ago. It's almost long enough to be classified as a claw."
He wasn't convinced that it was yet at the claw-like stage, but it's on MY foot and I know when my toe's becoming a claw.
"Do you think I can clip it?" I asked, gingerly poking the nail to see if it caused excruciating pain.
"Yes!" Joey jumped off the bed and ran into the bathroom for the nail clippers. He had them poised and ready to go when he came dashing back into the room.
"Um, can I do it?" I asked, holding my hand out for the clippers.
"Sure..." He replied.
I attempted my first clip. It was pain free.
I attempted my second clip. Also pain free.
I attempted a third clip (the nail still seemed rather long) and realized that I was unable to do so.
The black area surrounding my toenail has apparently hardened. I cannot cut my nail any shorter.
"Joey! I think the end of my toe is malfunctioning!" I wailed, poking the hard, black area that took up a substantial portion of the end of my toe.
"You're OK, my fingernail did this too when I slammed it in the door." He comforted.
"But....but....my entire toenail and the area around it is black and hard!" I wailed. "I need to go to the doctor!"
"No you don't, you'll be OK. It just needs to grow out and fall off." He soothed.
"But when I slammed my finger in the car door when I was a kid I had to go to the doctor. They poked a hole in my fingernail and then the nail fell off..." I shuddered at the memory.
"Was the nail black?" Joey asked.
"I don't remember; I was five. I just know it hurt really bad."
"Oh."
We looked at my toe in its black, decroded grossness. I poked it a few more times for good measure, then sighed and flopped back on the bed.
"I'm calling the doctor tomorrow," I mumbled.
"That thing's disgusting." Joey moved my toe around to get the Full Affect.
"The toenail's getting super long and starting to poke me," I said, awkwardly holding my foot up by my face.
"Let me see!"
I showed him. "See? It was getting longish when I wounded myself, and that was over two weeks ago. It's almost long enough to be classified as a claw."
He wasn't convinced that it was yet at the claw-like stage, but it's on MY foot and I know when my toe's becoming a claw.
"Do you think I can clip it?" I asked, gingerly poking the nail to see if it caused excruciating pain.
"Yes!" Joey jumped off the bed and ran into the bathroom for the nail clippers. He had them poised and ready to go when he came dashing back into the room.
"Um, can I do it?" I asked, holding my hand out for the clippers.
"Sure..." He replied.
I attempted my first clip. It was pain free.
I attempted my second clip. Also pain free.
I attempted a third clip (the nail still seemed rather long) and realized that I was unable to do so.
The black area surrounding my toenail has apparently hardened. I cannot cut my nail any shorter.
"Joey! I think the end of my toe is malfunctioning!" I wailed, poking the hard, black area that took up a substantial portion of the end of my toe.
"You're OK, my fingernail did this too when I slammed it in the door." He comforted.
"But....but....my entire toenail and the area around it is black and hard!" I wailed. "I need to go to the doctor!"
"No you don't, you'll be OK. It just needs to grow out and fall off." He soothed.
"But when I slammed my finger in the car door when I was a kid I had to go to the doctor. They poked a hole in my fingernail and then the nail fell off..." I shuddered at the memory.
"Was the nail black?" Joey asked.
"I don't remember; I was five. I just know it hurt really bad."
"Oh."
We looked at my toe in its black, decroded grossness. I poked it a few more times for good measure, then sighed and flopped back on the bed.
"I'm calling the doctor tomorrow," I mumbled.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
We Can't Seem To Go To Crawford Without Having Incident With Law Enforcement
At least it wasn't the Secret Service this time.
At 9:30 a.m. we loaded up the van with seven Lairds (and in-laws) and drove to south Dallas to pick up Matt (a.k.a. Cuz, as he's our cousin). We had seven seat belts in mom and dad's van, and there were eight people. So I sat on the floor in between the captain's seats and shared a bag of Sister's tasty chex mix with Cuz.
Joey pointed the heavily-laden van in the direction of Crawford, and we were off.
It took roughly 2 1/2 hours to get there. It could have taken longer because we realized, as we neared Crawford, that the road we had taken last time wasn't on the map. (That tells you what a small town it is...) So Joey and kept our eyes peeled and hoped we'd recognize the landmarks.
We did, fortunately.
We parked in front of one of the two gift shops and went inside. (When I get pictures, I'll post them in the appropriate locations.) The lady running the counter was really excited to see customers, we were her second group that day. And it was noon. We made a lot (a lot) of noise, examined just about everything in the store, and purchased almost nothing.
(I did buy a Texas star to hang on my wall which Andrew very rudely nicknamed The Death Star because Laura got poked with it. Rawr.)
We mosied on over to The Yellow Rose (another junk, er, gift shop) and made so much ruckus there that we figured we'd better leave before we got kicked out. It probably didn't help that we were putting t-shirts on the cardboard cutouts of President Bush and then taking pictures of ourselves with it. Or taking pictures of ourselves in Extreme Combat with the stuffed grizzly bears. (They used to be alive.)
The lady at the first gift shop had given us directions out to the ranch (although Joey and I were already real familiar with where it was because of the last time...), so we took our party out there.
Everyone was getting hungry (it was 1:30 by this time) and a little grouchy, so we located the President's ranch, the Secret Service outpost, and then turned around to go to the swimmin' hole. (That, of course, being the primary reason for our trip.)
That being said, I should mention that we all had our bathing suits on this whole time. Mine has a little skirt and, since I was wearing jeans, I had pulled the skirt out over top of the jeans. It was looking Very Strange and Not A Bit Attractive. (Probably another reason the proprietor at The Yellow Rose wanted to kick us out.)
It was a warm day and I think the entire town of Crawford was at the swimmin' hole. We ate our lunch, put our water shoes on, and headed up the creek to play in the water.
We had a fabulous time.
The water was warm, the sun was hot, and all the annoying people were staying down by the waterfall. We constructed a very nice dam out of large rocks that we dragged from hither and yon (even Cuz helped us, but we were very careful of his leg). Our dam was so cool that, by a consensus vote, we decided we should take a picture of it.
Joey and I, pals that we are, went to the van to find a camera.
We found ours and went back to where everyone was laying around in the creek, sunning themselves. (Honestly, there is no better way to spend an afternoon!)
Joey snapped several Very Cool Pictures of our dam, then laid the camera down by the van keys. Sister, Laura and I went exploring and the boys continued slothing around in the creek.
I should mention that while Sister, Laura and I were exploring I decided to try to hide from them and wound up in a patch of stinging nettles. (The Texas kind looks different than the Iowa kind.) What's worse is that Sister had seen me run off and so not only was my hiding unsuccessful, but I had stinging, itching legs for the rest of the afternoon. Lame.
We were all tired and hungry, so we decided we should get our strawberry shakes and head home. Everyone picked up their shoes and water bottles, and we headed to the van.
"Where's the camera?" Joey asked me.
"I don't know, you set it on that rock by the van keys." I said.
The van keys were still on the rock. The camera was not.
"Maybe Cuz took it," Joey said, hopefully.
Cuz did not take it. Nobody had. Some little boys had been playing over where the camera and keys were, so we assumed they'd swiped it. I pointed out said little boys to Cuz who went over and interrogated them.
Either they're good liars or they didn't take the camera.
We headed to the restaurant where we happened upon the local law enforcement.
"Hey, we lost a camera down by the creek," Cuz said to the policeman.
His eyes lit up and he started questioning Joey. (Obviously it had been a slow day.) The rest of us went to be seated in the restaurant (wearing our bathing suits with damp t-shirts over the top of them), but not before we had Mr. Policeman say to Joey, "Can I have your ID? We're going to have to file a police report..."
I groaned inwardly.
Twenty minutes later, Joey was STILL filling out paperwork for the policeman. I went over and looked at it. He was using official sounding words like "perpetrator" and "southwest".
"It's not going to do any good, and our strawberry shake just came," I whispered, as soon as Mr. Policeman went outside to get the license plate, make and model off my parent's van (Why? Not sure...) "Just finish it up so that you can come over with us."
He scratched in a few more fancy words and handed the report back to Mr. Policeman. He then was asked to initial all scratched out words and go over the parts where the pen was running thin.
I rolled my eyes. This poor policeman really didn't have enough to do.
Finally, Joey was able to extricate himself from the policeman with a promise to fax in the serial number off our camera on Monday.
(Did you do that yet, honey?)
We went into the restaurant. Nobody else was talking in the entire place, they were mostly surreptitiously looking at us as they ate their food. (Probably because us girls were wearing t-shirts with our bathing suit skirts...we looked like Very Naughty Girls.)
And, thus, we decided we'd better pay and get out of town before the people in the restaurant decided to throw us out on our collective ear.
So Joey and I are in the market for a digital camera again, unfortunately...
At 9:30 a.m. we loaded up the van with seven Lairds (and in-laws) and drove to south Dallas to pick up Matt (a.k.a. Cuz, as he's our cousin). We had seven seat belts in mom and dad's van, and there were eight people. So I sat on the floor in between the captain's seats and shared a bag of Sister's tasty chex mix with Cuz.
Joey pointed the heavily-laden van in the direction of Crawford, and we were off.
It took roughly 2 1/2 hours to get there. It could have taken longer because we realized, as we neared Crawford, that the road we had taken last time wasn't on the map. (That tells you what a small town it is...) So Joey and kept our eyes peeled and hoped we'd recognize the landmarks.
We did, fortunately.
We parked in front of one of the two gift shops and went inside. (When I get pictures, I'll post them in the appropriate locations.) The lady running the counter was really excited to see customers, we were her second group that day. And it was noon. We made a lot (a lot) of noise, examined just about everything in the store, and purchased almost nothing.
(I did buy a Texas star to hang on my wall which Andrew very rudely nicknamed The Death Star because Laura got poked with it. Rawr.)
We mosied on over to The Yellow Rose (another junk, er, gift shop) and made so much ruckus there that we figured we'd better leave before we got kicked out. It probably didn't help that we were putting t-shirts on the cardboard cutouts of President Bush and then taking pictures of ourselves with it. Or taking pictures of ourselves in Extreme Combat with the stuffed grizzly bears. (They used to be alive.)
The lady at the first gift shop had given us directions out to the ranch (although Joey and I were already real familiar with where it was because of the last time...), so we took our party out there.
Everyone was getting hungry (it was 1:30 by this time) and a little grouchy, so we located the President's ranch, the Secret Service outpost, and then turned around to go to the swimmin' hole. (That, of course, being the primary reason for our trip.)
That being said, I should mention that we all had our bathing suits on this whole time. Mine has a little skirt and, since I was wearing jeans, I had pulled the skirt out over top of the jeans. It was looking Very Strange and Not A Bit Attractive. (Probably another reason the proprietor at The Yellow Rose wanted to kick us out.)
It was a warm day and I think the entire town of Crawford was at the swimmin' hole. We ate our lunch, put our water shoes on, and headed up the creek to play in the water.
We had a fabulous time.
The water was warm, the sun was hot, and all the annoying people were staying down by the waterfall. We constructed a very nice dam out of large rocks that we dragged from hither and yon (even Cuz helped us, but we were very careful of his leg). Our dam was so cool that, by a consensus vote, we decided we should take a picture of it.
Joey and I, pals that we are, went to the van to find a camera.
We found ours and went back to where everyone was laying around in the creek, sunning themselves. (Honestly, there is no better way to spend an afternoon!)
Joey snapped several Very Cool Pictures of our dam, then laid the camera down by the van keys. Sister, Laura and I went exploring and the boys continued slothing around in the creek.
I should mention that while Sister, Laura and I were exploring I decided to try to hide from them and wound up in a patch of stinging nettles. (The Texas kind looks different than the Iowa kind.) What's worse is that Sister had seen me run off and so not only was my hiding unsuccessful, but I had stinging, itching legs for the rest of the afternoon. Lame.
We were all tired and hungry, so we decided we should get our strawberry shakes and head home. Everyone picked up their shoes and water bottles, and we headed to the van.
"Where's the camera?" Joey asked me.
"I don't know, you set it on that rock by the van keys." I said.
The van keys were still on the rock. The camera was not.
"Maybe Cuz took it," Joey said, hopefully.
Cuz did not take it. Nobody had. Some little boys had been playing over where the camera and keys were, so we assumed they'd swiped it. I pointed out said little boys to Cuz who went over and interrogated them.
Either they're good liars or they didn't take the camera.
We headed to the restaurant where we happened upon the local law enforcement.
"Hey, we lost a camera down by the creek," Cuz said to the policeman.
His eyes lit up and he started questioning Joey. (Obviously it had been a slow day.) The rest of us went to be seated in the restaurant (wearing our bathing suits with damp t-shirts over the top of them), but not before we had Mr. Policeman say to Joey, "Can I have your ID? We're going to have to file a police report..."
I groaned inwardly.
Twenty minutes later, Joey was STILL filling out paperwork for the policeman. I went over and looked at it. He was using official sounding words like "perpetrator" and "southwest".
"It's not going to do any good, and our strawberry shake just came," I whispered, as soon as Mr. Policeman went outside to get the license plate, make and model off my parent's van (Why? Not sure...) "Just finish it up so that you can come over with us."
He scratched in a few more fancy words and handed the report back to Mr. Policeman. He then was asked to initial all scratched out words and go over the parts where the pen was running thin.
I rolled my eyes. This poor policeman really didn't have enough to do.
Finally, Joey was able to extricate himself from the policeman with a promise to fax in the serial number off our camera on Monday.
(Did you do that yet, honey?)
We went into the restaurant. Nobody else was talking in the entire place, they were mostly surreptitiously looking at us as they ate their food. (Probably because us girls were wearing t-shirts with our bathing suit skirts...we looked like Very Naughty Girls.)
And, thus, we decided we'd better pay and get out of town before the people in the restaurant decided to throw us out on our collective ear.
So Joey and I are in the market for a digital camera again, unfortunately...
Friday, June 08, 2007
The Longest Friday Ever
My cell phone rang at 6:34 a.m.
I was awake but had not yet gotten up; I was being lazy and "sleeping in" until 6:45. (Henry was up and at 'em, though. Seriously, that dog has more energy.)
The phone began to ring and, in my mostly-not-awake confusion I began slapping my alarm clock repeatedly, confused as to why it hadn't shut off yet. Joey, whose wits were about him, got out of bed and dug through my purse to retrieve my ringing cell phone.
He answered it just a moment after Sister hung up.
"It was pretty funny to see you attacking your alarm clock instead of answering your phone," He said, handing me my now-silent phone.
"Yeah, yeah...." I mumbled, trying to remember which speed dial belonged to Sister.
Henry stretched his paws towards me, yawned, and rolled around on the bed, obviously looking to be scratched and petted. I obliged him.
Joey went back to bed so Henry and I went out into the living room to fold towels and see where Sister and the rest of the kids were. They're coming to Texas today, don'tcha know.
Henry, however, did not want to fold towels with me. He wanted to lick Joey. So he sat at the gate that blocks off our bedroom door (yes, we have a one of those children's gates for our dog) and whined as though he had lost his best friend.
He's so high maintenance.
I made Henry come back over and sit in my lap while I folded towels and talked to Sister. They had just left Cedar Rapids a few moments before. Apparently Pops had been unsure if they would actually make it out of town at all. My assumption is that they had planned to leave at 6:00 a.m., so they were only half an hour behind schedule. Not bad considering the Parties Involved. (Sorry, guys.)
I hung up with Sister and Henry escaped from my lap, ran back over to the gate and continued whining for Joey.
"He can come in here..." Joey mumbled.
"Not right now, he's being naughty. I'm going to distract him with something else and then I'll let him come in." I replied. Can't reward a furry little dog for his naughty behavior and all. (Oy, if our dog is any indications...just think what our children will turn out like!)
And, thus, I am sitting here at 10:30 drinking super strong coffee (I know, I know...The Kid told me I could and I'll blame it on him when I'm sick later) and counting down the hours until they arrive.
I have a long way to go. Joey doesn't think they'll be here until 8:00 and I'm not even sure if I have enough fingers to count that far. (I just tested it and I do, but just barely.)
We're all going back to Crawford tomorrow. Since the President is at that G8 Summit he shouldn't be in town, which means we shouldn't have any run-ins with the Secret Service this time. At least I hope not.
I will, of course, keep you posted.
I was awake but had not yet gotten up; I was being lazy and "sleeping in" until 6:45. (Henry was up and at 'em, though. Seriously, that dog has more energy.)
The phone began to ring and, in my mostly-not-awake confusion I began slapping my alarm clock repeatedly, confused as to why it hadn't shut off yet. Joey, whose wits were about him, got out of bed and dug through my purse to retrieve my ringing cell phone.
He answered it just a moment after Sister hung up.
"It was pretty funny to see you attacking your alarm clock instead of answering your phone," He said, handing me my now-silent phone.
"Yeah, yeah...." I mumbled, trying to remember which speed dial belonged to Sister.
Henry stretched his paws towards me, yawned, and rolled around on the bed, obviously looking to be scratched and petted. I obliged him.
Joey went back to bed so Henry and I went out into the living room to fold towels and see where Sister and the rest of the kids were. They're coming to Texas today, don'tcha know.
Henry, however, did not want to fold towels with me. He wanted to lick Joey. So he sat at the gate that blocks off our bedroom door (yes, we have a one of those children's gates for our dog) and whined as though he had lost his best friend.
He's so high maintenance.
I made Henry come back over and sit in my lap while I folded towels and talked to Sister. They had just left Cedar Rapids a few moments before. Apparently Pops had been unsure if they would actually make it out of town at all. My assumption is that they had planned to leave at 6:00 a.m., so they were only half an hour behind schedule. Not bad considering the Parties Involved. (Sorry, guys.)
I hung up with Sister and Henry escaped from my lap, ran back over to the gate and continued whining for Joey.
"He can come in here..." Joey mumbled.
"Not right now, he's being naughty. I'm going to distract him with something else and then I'll let him come in." I replied. Can't reward a furry little dog for his naughty behavior and all. (Oy, if our dog is any indications...just think what our children will turn out like!)
And, thus, I am sitting here at 10:30 drinking super strong coffee (I know, I know...The Kid told me I could and I'll blame it on him when I'm sick later) and counting down the hours until they arrive.
I have a long way to go. Joey doesn't think they'll be here until 8:00 and I'm not even sure if I have enough fingers to count that far. (I just tested it and I do, but just barely.)
We're all going back to Crawford tomorrow. Since the President is at that G8 Summit he shouldn't be in town, which means we shouldn't have any run-ins with the Secret Service this time. At least I hope not.
I will, of course, keep you posted.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Wow
Last night Joey and I off to shop for a stereo for our anniversary. (Thanks Mom and Dad Woestman!) We decided our best two bets would be Target and Best Buy. We found a stereo that Joey Really Liked at Best Buy (and it fit our budget!), but we decided we'd better go over to Target just to be sure.
The most direct route was through our old neighborhood. I always get a kick out of driving through it, provided the doors are securely locked and it's broad daylight.
As we neared Target, I noticed a particularly run-down complex had gotten a paint job in the last couple weeks.
"WOW!" I said to Joey, "Look at that! It looks so much better, not so much like a wall is going to fall off here and there."
The curtains inside the windows were still as mis-hung, stained, and torn as before, but at least the exterior was a nice fresh green with clean white trim. Quite an improvement.
Not two seconds after the "it looks so much better" words were out of my mouth, Joey and I both gasped.
"Is that?" He started.
"Unfortunately, yes!" I finished.
There were three little girls out on one of the ground floor patios, and none of them had a stitch of clothing on. They appeared to be seven or eight and were climbing around on the railings.
Granted, it was hot last night. But not that hot.
We went into Target, decided we didn't like what they had to offer, and headed back out to our car to go back to Best Buy. We were driving out of the parking lot when we saw the cats.
Twelve of them, all full grown black and white ones with fluffy, luxurious coats, sitting under a tree.
"Joey! Look at all those cats!" I pointed.
"Holy cow..."
"Those aren't your average, run-of-the-mill stray tabby cats," I said. They weren't, they were all really nice looking.
We kept rubbernecking to see the cats until Joey could no longer drive without swerving, then headed back through our old neighborhood (those free little girls had gone back inside their apartment, I bet their mother had discovered what they were doing).
We bought our stereo without incident. It's nice when that happens sometimes.
The most direct route was through our old neighborhood. I always get a kick out of driving through it, provided the doors are securely locked and it's broad daylight.
As we neared Target, I noticed a particularly run-down complex had gotten a paint job in the last couple weeks.
"WOW!" I said to Joey, "Look at that! It looks so much better, not so much like a wall is going to fall off here and there."
The curtains inside the windows were still as mis-hung, stained, and torn as before, but at least the exterior was a nice fresh green with clean white trim. Quite an improvement.
Not two seconds after the "it looks so much better" words were out of my mouth, Joey and I both gasped.
"Is that?" He started.
"Unfortunately, yes!" I finished.
There were three little girls out on one of the ground floor patios, and none of them had a stitch of clothing on. They appeared to be seven or eight and were climbing around on the railings.
Granted, it was hot last night. But not that hot.
We went into Target, decided we didn't like what they had to offer, and headed back out to our car to go back to Best Buy. We were driving out of the parking lot when we saw the cats.
Twelve of them, all full grown black and white ones with fluffy, luxurious coats, sitting under a tree.
"Joey! Look at all those cats!" I pointed.
"Holy cow..."
"Those aren't your average, run-of-the-mill stray tabby cats," I said. They weren't, they were all really nice looking.
We kept rubbernecking to see the cats until Joey could no longer drive without swerving, then headed back through our old neighborhood (those free little girls had gone back inside their apartment, I bet their mother had discovered what they were doing).
We bought our stereo without incident. It's nice when that happens sometimes.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
My New Skirt
When back in Iowa recently, Mommy took me shopping.
After lunching at The Blue Strawberry with Pops(yeah, not really sure why the strawberry was blue, but it was a good restaurant), she, Joey and I went over to Higley's to see what we could see.
Mommy said, "I want to buy you at outfit for work."
To which I replied, "MOMMY! Really?"
She was quite serious and began pulling skirts off racks. I glanced at the price of one of the skirts and went bugg-eyed.
"Mom. This is too expensive."
"Oh, no it's not. It's 75% off." She said, holding up a tan silk skirt with cream embroidery on it.
"What do you think of this one?" She asked. I loved it. It was gorgeous. It was my size.
It was also Extremely Expensive.
"Maybe we should go somewhere that's cheaper?" I whispered as the salesladies hovered over us.
"No, it's 75% off," Mom repeated, holding the skirt up to my waist. "Go try it on. Just for fun."
I went into the dressing room and put on the skirt. It was so pretty I didn't want to go out of the dressing room for fear that Mom might buy it for me, considering how expensive it was.
"Let me see it!" called Mom, so I stepped out of the dressing room.
"Wow...that's really pretty," Mom, Joey and the salesladies said.
"I know." I said.
Joey and Mom started whispering conspiratorially as I went back into the dressing room to change back into my jeans. I came out and hung the skirt back on the clearance rack. Mom and Joey were still looking sneaky.
"Do you have anything you could wear with that skirt?" Mom asked, plucking it off the rack.
"Well...no. It's too pretty." I said.
"Your mom and I discussed it. She's buying you the skirt and I'm going to buy you a shirt to wear with it." Joey had a very pleased look on his face.
Mom smiled.
"Really?" I asked. "But...it's expensive!"
"Well, at 75% off it's really not that bad," Mom said, walking toward the cash register carrying a skirt for me and a skirt for her.
And so today I am wearing the prettiest skirt in the world, courtesy of my mother who not only picked it out, but also paid for it.
Thanks, Mommy!
After lunching at The Blue Strawberry with Pops(yeah, not really sure why the strawberry was blue, but it was a good restaurant), she, Joey and I went over to Higley's to see what we could see.
Mommy said, "I want to buy you at outfit for work."
To which I replied, "MOMMY! Really?"
She was quite serious and began pulling skirts off racks. I glanced at the price of one of the skirts and went bugg-eyed.
"Mom. This is too expensive."
"Oh, no it's not. It's 75% off." She said, holding up a tan silk skirt with cream embroidery on it.
"What do you think of this one?" She asked. I loved it. It was gorgeous. It was my size.
It was also Extremely Expensive.
"Maybe we should go somewhere that's cheaper?" I whispered as the salesladies hovered over us.
"No, it's 75% off," Mom repeated, holding the skirt up to my waist. "Go try it on. Just for fun."
I went into the dressing room and put on the skirt. It was so pretty I didn't want to go out of the dressing room for fear that Mom might buy it for me, considering how expensive it was.
"Let me see it!" called Mom, so I stepped out of the dressing room.
"Wow...that's really pretty," Mom, Joey and the salesladies said.
"I know." I said.
Joey and Mom started whispering conspiratorially as I went back into the dressing room to change back into my jeans. I came out and hung the skirt back on the clearance rack. Mom and Joey were still looking sneaky.
"Do you have anything you could wear with that skirt?" Mom asked, plucking it off the rack.
"Well...no. It's too pretty." I said.
"Your mom and I discussed it. She's buying you the skirt and I'm going to buy you a shirt to wear with it." Joey had a very pleased look on his face.
Mom smiled.
"Really?" I asked. "But...it's expensive!"
"Well, at 75% off it's really not that bad," Mom said, walking toward the cash register carrying a skirt for me and a skirt for her.
And so today I am wearing the prettiest skirt in the world, courtesy of my mother who not only picked it out, but also paid for it.
Thanks, Mommy!
Monday, June 04, 2007
Nuts
I was fixin' to send a birthday e-card to Kevin (Joey's brother) and I had it all set up when Joey came and looked over my shoulder.
I had typed the email address as emailaddress@iowatelecom.com
"Um, it's .net," Joey said.
"Nuts!" I said, backspaced the .com part and typed in .nuts
Joey lost it. I realized that I'd typed .nuts instead of .net and quickly rectified my error.
Joey was still laughing. "The best part is that you totally didn't realize you were doing that!"
And it's true. It was an accident. But I doubt there are any .nuts domains out there. Hmmmm...maybe I should start something like jennawoestman.nuts. That seems appropriate, I could record all my mischief since I'm always saying "nuts!" whenever I do something naughty.
And now it's time for us to get on the road and head back to Texas.
I had typed the email address as emailaddress@iowatelecom.com
"Um, it's .net," Joey said.
"Nuts!" I said, backspaced the .com part and typed in .nuts
Joey lost it. I realized that I'd typed .nuts instead of .net and quickly rectified my error.
Joey was still laughing. "The best part is that you totally didn't realize you were doing that!"
And it's true. It was an accident. But I doubt there are any .nuts domains out there. Hmmmm...maybe I should start something like jennawoestman.nuts. That seems appropriate, I could record all my mischief since I'm always saying "nuts!" whenever I do something naughty.
And now it's time for us to get on the road and head back to Texas.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
The Disgusting Picture of My Toe
So my toe is pretty disgusting looking. Under normal circumstances it's not really that beautiful (I'd never be a toe model) but currently it looks like the end is going to fall off.
Oh, and the white spots on my feet aren't, like, mold or anything like that; we painted a couple days ago and I can't get the paint off my feet because it tickles too bad. So I'm just waiting for it to wear off.
So here's my toe. Enjoy.
Oh, and the white spots on my feet aren't, like, mold or anything like that; we painted a couple days ago and I can't get the paint off my feet because it tickles too bad. So I'm just waiting for it to wear off.
So here's my toe. Enjoy.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Update on the toe...
So, unfortunately, my toe may not be broken after all. I mean, it hurts like a banshee but...it's hard to tell.
We went to a few stores today and I tried a tennis shoe for the first time since Tuesday. It was horrible. Absolutely horrible. I couldn't really walk at all, so I got to ride around in one of those motorized carts.
In three separate stores!
It was seriously cool. (Target has the best one because it stops the most smoothly.)
But...my toe is starting to feel better. I can walk without limping too badly (unless I have a closed shoe on) and the pain is starting to decrease. What concerns me is the fact that the entire area surrounding my toenail is turning black.
BLACK.
The toenail has been purple since Tuesday, but this blackness I just noticed today. I'm concerned that my toe is going to fall off or something. The Brothers In Law tell me it looks like gangrene and that I'm probably going to lose my entire foot.
I choose to ignore them.
But if my toenail does fall off and the end of my toe remains black and dead-looking, I may freak out the people I work with.
We went to a few stores today and I tried a tennis shoe for the first time since Tuesday. It was horrible. Absolutely horrible. I couldn't really walk at all, so I got to ride around in one of those motorized carts.
In three separate stores!
It was seriously cool. (Target has the best one because it stops the most smoothly.)
But...my toe is starting to feel better. I can walk without limping too badly (unless I have a closed shoe on) and the pain is starting to decrease. What concerns me is the fact that the entire area surrounding my toenail is turning black.
BLACK.
The toenail has been purple since Tuesday, but this blackness I just noticed today. I'm concerned that my toe is going to fall off or something. The Brothers In Law tell me it looks like gangrene and that I'm probably going to lose my entire foot.
I choose to ignore them.
But if my toenail does fall off and the end of my toe remains black and dead-looking, I may freak out the people I work with.
Friday, June 01, 2007
The Black Bean
Joey, Mother-in-Law1 (aka Nancymom) and I went to Altoona to purchase some paint for the living room. We had lofty intentions of painting it this afternoon and, fortunately, we did. I am currently wearing a huge t-shirt with cows and sunflowers on it (what could be more blissful?) and am covered in paint from head to toe. Predominantly due to the fact that I lost my balance and crashed into a freshly painted wall.
Occasionally I lack finesse.
But what I lack in finesse I make up in mischief, which is precisely where I was going with this before I got sidetracked by this painting tangent.
While at Applebees I ordered Cajun Lime Tilapia which came with this strange "salsa" that was more like pico made with black beans. In order to save calories for the ginormous cookie I was planning to get from HyVee (you know, the kind with about a pound of frosting on them that they have back in the bakery section?) I skipped the rice and the pico/salsa.
I was rather disappointed by this since I did like the "salsa", even if it did have an identity crisis.
But again I digress! (I think the paint fumes are making me more nuts than usual.)
The waiter came by and cleared our plates. We waited for our check to come and I noticed that there was one lonely black bean sitting on the table in front of me.
Poor little black bean.
I began to think of things I could do with it.
"HEY!" He hollered as a waitress walked by. "Don't put beans down my shorts!"
The waitress whipped around to look at us with an appalled look on her face.
"It was only one bean." I said.
"See what I have to live with?!" Joey asked his mom, with his head in his hands. He then proceeded to explain the Double Portion hypothesis.
But at least that poor lonely black bean was no longer sitting on the table looking sad and pathetic. It was now squished inside Joey's shorts.
Hmm, maybe I should have left it on the table...
Occasionally I lack finesse.
But what I lack in finesse I make up in mischief, which is precisely where I was going with this before I got sidetracked by this painting tangent.
While at Applebees I ordered Cajun Lime Tilapia which came with this strange "salsa" that was more like pico made with black beans. In order to save calories for the ginormous cookie I was planning to get from HyVee (you know, the kind with about a pound of frosting on them that they have back in the bakery section?) I skipped the rice and the pico/salsa.
I was rather disappointed by this since I did like the "salsa", even if it did have an identity crisis.
But again I digress! (I think the paint fumes are making me more nuts than usual.)
The waiter came by and cleared our plates. We waited for our check to come and I noticed that there was one lonely black bean sitting on the table in front of me.
Poor little black bean.
I began to think of things I could do with it.
- I could throw it on the floor (boring)
- I could flick it across the table at my mother in law (ill advised)
- I could eat it (nasty)
- I could stick it in Joey's pants
"HEY!" He hollered as a waitress walked by. "Don't put beans down my shorts!"
The waitress whipped around to look at us with an appalled look on her face.
"It was only one bean." I said.
"See what I have to live with?!" Joey asked his mom, with his head in his hands. He then proceeded to explain the Double Portion hypothesis.
But at least that poor lonely black bean was no longer sitting on the table looking sad and pathetic. It was now squished inside Joey's shorts.
Hmm, maybe I should have left it on the table...
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