You know how some days just start out kind of wrong? This one seems to be like that.
Last night I painted my nine toenails a deep, dark red (to match the reddish/bloody stump that won't wash off on my bald baby toe) and somehow in the night I smudged the polish. Not a really bad smudge, just the side of my right big toe, but it's still demoralizing. (When you only have nine toenails, it seems to be a bigger deal when one of the nails gets smudged. At least I feel like it is.)
And then I stepped on the inside hem of my pants with my heel. I ripped out the hem and have been stepping/tripping on it all day long.
Oh, and yesterday the neighbors moved out. (Who moves on a Monday?!) I don't think much of anything in that apartment was packed, either, because I got a good look inside about 5:30 and it was looking pretty disorganized.
They were still going strong at 11:30. I know this because I had almost fallen asleep, you know, teetering on that fragile precipice, when somebody dropped something outside and they started yelling back and forth (very loudly) about who was going to go back and pick it up.
We haven't heard the neighbors (any of them) in the 7 months we've lived in this apartment. And I was in very ill humor at that moment and very nearly went outside and yelled at them. (Of course, I'd have taken Henry with me for protection.)
We're praying that whoever moves in is:
a.) quiet
b.) not a smoker
c.) not creepy
So that's my gripe list for the day; I think I need an attitude adjustment. Anyone volunteering?
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
In Which I Wonder If I Have A Shellfish Allergy
Things seem to be calming down. Joey's family was here for the weekend and, while we didn't do most of the exciting things that we had planned to do, a good time was had by all. (Even the brothers-in-law, I'd wager.)
On Friday night we grilled out at Joey's uncle Ken's house. We (mostly they) were re-shingling his roof and so everyone went over to hang out and assess the job before we started on Saturday morning. (Actually only FIL#1 and Ken did that, but whatever.)
Tom grilled these tasty shrimp wrapped in bacons. Oh man, they were great. I ate about six of them, I think, because I was really starved.
About twenty minutes later, my chest started tightening up. I was feeling really dizzy and out of breath, so I sat on the couch and played with the kids instead of scampering around with the boys.
By 9:00, I was still having trouble breathing. I took a large, labored breath and said, "Gosh, I wonder if I have a shellfish allergy. This is really weird, I've never felt like this before."
Nobody said anything, so I figured I was just fine.
When I tried to fall asleep at 11:30 I still felt really uncomfortable. Thinking maybe it was just a high pollen day and it was asthma, I went out and got my inhaler. I felt decidedly un-better after doing that. So I prayed a lot and tried to fall asleep.
I felt much better in the morning, so I completely forgot about the incident.
Yesterday before Joey's parents left we had lunch at Pei Wei which is this great Asian diner down the street from my office. Joey ordered lettuce wraps and Kevin ordered crab won-tons to have as our appetizer; I'm not sure that FIL#1 was very happy with either of them for doing that. (Costs lots of $$, you know.)
I ate one lettuce wrap and one crab won-ton and both were exceptionally tasty.
Everyone left at noon and I went back up to my office to do what I do best: work. However, I was having a really difficult time breathing and I was severely dizzy. It felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest and I couldn't get enough oxygen to save my life. (Well, you know what I mean.)
By 2:00 I was seriously annoyed. I called my doctor because I thought something must be wrong with me. The nurse concurred and told me to come in for a blood test on Thursday and then an appointment on Friday.
Every time I go to the doctor they draw my blood. I hate that; it's MY blood. So on Friday I guess I'll find out if I have to quit eating shrimp, crab, and clam chowder.
I love clam chowder.
On Friday night we grilled out at Joey's uncle Ken's house. We (mostly they) were re-shingling his roof and so everyone went over to hang out and assess the job before we started on Saturday morning. (Actually only FIL#1 and Ken did that, but whatever.)
Tom grilled these tasty shrimp wrapped in bacons. Oh man, they were great. I ate about six of them, I think, because I was really starved.
About twenty minutes later, my chest started tightening up. I was feeling really dizzy and out of breath, so I sat on the couch and played with the kids instead of scampering around with the boys.
By 9:00, I was still having trouble breathing. I took a large, labored breath and said, "Gosh, I wonder if I have a shellfish allergy. This is really weird, I've never felt like this before."
Nobody said anything, so I figured I was just fine.
When I tried to fall asleep at 11:30 I still felt really uncomfortable. Thinking maybe it was just a high pollen day and it was asthma, I went out and got my inhaler. I felt decidedly un-better after doing that. So I prayed a lot and tried to fall asleep.
I felt much better in the morning, so I completely forgot about the incident.
Yesterday before Joey's parents left we had lunch at Pei Wei which is this great Asian diner down the street from my office. Joey ordered lettuce wraps and Kevin ordered crab won-tons to have as our appetizer; I'm not sure that FIL#1 was very happy with either of them for doing that. (Costs lots of $$, you know.)
I ate one lettuce wrap and one crab won-ton and both were exceptionally tasty.
Everyone left at noon and I went back up to my office to do what I do best: work. However, I was having a really difficult time breathing and I was severely dizzy. It felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest and I couldn't get enough oxygen to save my life. (Well, you know what I mean.)
By 2:00 I was seriously annoyed. I called my doctor because I thought something must be wrong with me. The nurse concurred and told me to come in for a blood test on Thursday and then an appointment on Friday.
Every time I go to the doctor they draw my blood. I hate that; it's MY blood. So on Friday I guess I'll find out if I have to quit eating shrimp, crab, and clam chowder.
I love clam chowder.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
The Decroded Toe Saga Ends
Guess what, guess what!!!!!
My decroded toenail has FINALLY FALLEN OFF! (Well, it didn't really fall off, but it's off now, whatever way you look at it.)
If you have missed previous posts about said toenail, you can read about it here, here, here, here, and here. (Or you could just do a label search for "decroded toe; that might be easier.) It's fascinating.
Anyway, yesterday we were doing Ken's roof. It was hot, horrible and altogether unpleasant, but Joey wanted me to help him because his "morale was low". (His mom said it was just because he wanted me to get up there with my short shorts on, which was probably more accurate.)
I threw shingles at the boys for three hours before Deanine and Nancy (my mother in law) took me to Cosco with them. I was really wilty because of how hot and sweaty I had been previously, so I mostly just wandered around the aisles and looked for samples while they shopped.
The weirdest sample I got was a hunk of Parmesan cheese...all by itself. Parmesan is not a flavor I'm going to choose to eat all by itself again. It's good on salad, but not when it's the only thing in my mouth. Ugh.
So after we went to Cosco we headed back to swim and loaf around for the evening. I swammed around for probably half an hour, until I started getting raisin fingers. (Swimming is great, but as soon as the fingers get wrinkly, it's time to get out.)
I'm not sure if it was the water, the tennis shoes I wore up on the roof all day, or what it was, but something Very Strange had happened to my decroded toenail. It's so disgusting I'm really not going to try to explain it to you, either. Just know that my toenail was looking longer than normal because some things had come apart on it.
But it was still attached.
I made my mother in law take a picture of it (probably against her will, it was really disgusting) and I'll attempt to post it later, when I get it. I then decided that I was going to pull off the toenail.
"I'm going to watch!" Joey said, and zoomed over to sit next to me.
"Eww." He said, when he saw what it was doing.
"I know, it's disgusting," I said, slooooowly pulling the nail away. There was no feeling at all, but it was still creeping me out. "AAAAUGH, I can't do it. It's so gross!"
Fortunately for me, there were three nurses present. One of them went to get some tweezers. She sat down in front of me and poked around the toenail for awhile. Then she said, "It's only slightly attached by a little bit of skin. I'm going to pull on three -- ready?"
I nodded.
"One, two--" She pulled on two, not three.
I jumped.
There was no pain, which was great. She held the toenail in the tweezers and got up to go throw it away.
"WAIT!" I stopped her. "I, um, need that still."
"You need this?" She gestured to the nasty, oozy toenail she was holding.
"Yes...Ineedtomailittothekid," I mumbled. "Can I have a baggie?"
She looked at me Very Oddly (and, frankly, I don't blame her) and fetched a baggie from the kitchen. I deposited the disgusting blackness into it and happily put it in my purse. Then I decided to look at my toe again.
"It's bald!" I crowed, happily. It was so nice to have that hulky black thing off my foot.
Later that evening I was sitting, looking at my toe when I had a very pleasant revelation.
"Joey! My toe looks sort of like Grandpa Richardson's fingers!"
"What?" He was not following me.
"The ones that got caught in the saw? I always thought they were super cool because they were shorter than the others. A couple of them grew back partial nails and they looked exactly like my toenail. So I may never have a normal toenail again, but that's fine because it's my Grandpa Richardson toe."
So I happily fell asleep thinking about my grandpa tuning pianos and playing The Piano Tuning Song (which, he always told me, was the only song he knew so it was the only one he could play for me) with his special hands.
My decroded toenail has FINALLY FALLEN OFF! (Well, it didn't really fall off, but it's off now, whatever way you look at it.)
If you have missed previous posts about said toenail, you can read about it here, here, here, here, and here. (Or you could just do a label search for "decroded toe; that might be easier.) It's fascinating.
Anyway, yesterday we were doing Ken's roof. It was hot, horrible and altogether unpleasant, but Joey wanted me to help him because his "morale was low". (His mom said it was just because he wanted me to get up there with my short shorts on, which was probably more accurate.)
I threw shingles at the boys for three hours before Deanine and Nancy (my mother in law) took me to Cosco with them. I was really wilty because of how hot and sweaty I had been previously, so I mostly just wandered around the aisles and looked for samples while they shopped.
The weirdest sample I got was a hunk of Parmesan cheese...all by itself. Parmesan is not a flavor I'm going to choose to eat all by itself again. It's good on salad, but not when it's the only thing in my mouth. Ugh.
So after we went to Cosco we headed back to swim and loaf around for the evening. I swammed around for probably half an hour, until I started getting raisin fingers. (Swimming is great, but as soon as the fingers get wrinkly, it's time to get out.)
I'm not sure if it was the water, the tennis shoes I wore up on the roof all day, or what it was, but something Very Strange had happened to my decroded toenail. It's so disgusting I'm really not going to try to explain it to you, either. Just know that my toenail was looking longer than normal because some things had come apart on it.
But it was still attached.
I made my mother in law take a picture of it (probably against her will, it was really disgusting) and I'll attempt to post it later, when I get it. I then decided that I was going to pull off the toenail.
"I'm going to watch!" Joey said, and zoomed over to sit next to me.
"Eww." He said, when he saw what it was doing.
"I know, it's disgusting," I said, slooooowly pulling the nail away. There was no feeling at all, but it was still creeping me out. "AAAAUGH, I can't do it. It's so gross!"
Fortunately for me, there were three nurses present. One of them went to get some tweezers. She sat down in front of me and poked around the toenail for awhile. Then she said, "It's only slightly attached by a little bit of skin. I'm going to pull on three -- ready?"
I nodded."One, two--" She pulled on two, not three.
I jumped.
There was no pain, which was great. She held the toenail in the tweezers and got up to go throw it away.
"WAIT!" I stopped her. "I, um, need that still."
"You need this?" She gestured to the nasty, oozy toenail she was holding.
"Yes...Ineedtomailittothekid," I mumbled. "Can I have a baggie?"
She looked at me Very Oddly (and, frankly, I don't blame her) and fetched a baggie from the kitchen. I deposited the disgusting blackness into it and happily put it in my purse. Then I decided to look at my toe again.
"It's bald!" I crowed, happily. It was so nice to have that hulky black thing off my foot.
Later that evening I was sitting, looking at my toe when I had a very pleasant revelation.
"Joey! My toe looks sort of like Grandpa Richardson's fingers!"
"What?" He was not following me.
"The ones that got caught in the saw? I always thought they were super cool because they were shorter than the others. A couple of them grew back partial nails and they looked exactly like my toenail. So I may never have a normal toenail again, but that's fine because it's my Grandpa Richardson toe."
So I happily fell asleep thinking about my grandpa tuning pianos and playing The Piano Tuning Song (which, he always told me, was the only song he knew so it was the only one he could play for me) with his special hands.
Friday, July 27, 2007
The "Pastor's Wife" Problem
Sometimes I wonder if they ever flunk guys in seminary because their wives will make lousy pastors wives. This is a Major Concern for me because in just three short years I too will be a pastors wife. Yie. They do not seem to have a class at DTS for spiffying up your wife, but I have a sneaking suspicion that's what Spiritual Formation really is. (You know, like if your wife skips a lot then they'll give you an F- and kick you out o' seminary.)
My several items on my laundry list of concerns are:
My several items on my laundry list of concerns are:
- I am really short and usually wind up looking like one of the junior highers.
- I make Joey late for church. A lot.
- I have this automatic shutdown that occurs pretty much at 9:45 p.m. (thanks a lot, Pops, I inherited it from you), so Joey has to watch me really carefully so he can get me home the minute I start looking comatose.
- I get grouchy. In public even!
- I cannot play the piano. (This one may actually be the deal breaker for some churches, too.)
- I have Advance Notice Disorder, a common Laird condition, which makes it very difficult, may I even say hazardous, for me to change plans at the last minute. It also makes me neurotic about having things nailed down two months prior to an event.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Refried Beans
Joey and I went out to lunch with Alan and Missy (one of our pastors and his wife) to Chuy's. It's at McKinney and Knox, in case you're wondering, and it was really tasty.
I was ginormously hungry, but Joey and I determined it would be best to split something. Decision making isn't my strong point, so I just had him pick something. (It was the #1 combo, actually, but I have no idea what it was. Still don't.)
Alan and Joey were discussing technological-type things involving videos and a bunch of stuff that Missy and I don't understand, so we ate chips with ranch and talked about things that were interesting.
Then came the food.
It was a huge, steaming plate covered with all sorts of tasty things. The refried beans were steaming and the enchiladas looked enticing. (Everything else on the plate looked good too, we just didn't know what it was.)
We commenced eating our food. I angled myself in such a way that I could get eat the refried beans and Joey wouldn't be tempted to complain about how disgusting they were.
That was an hour ago.
I am now feeling very, very full.
The Uncomfortability Factor was Very High, so I went to the kitchen to mix myself up one of my Sprite cocktails (non-alcoholic, of course), heavy on the lime this time. Alas, it only served to make my stomach feel more pressurized and more plumper.
I'm not really sure what I'm going to do now, but I'll probably make it. We did have a nice time at lunch, though, discussing Important Church Business.
Thanks, NHBC! :)
I was ginormously hungry, but Joey and I determined it would be best to split something. Decision making isn't my strong point, so I just had him pick something. (It was the #1 combo, actually, but I have no idea what it was. Still don't.)
Alan and Joey were discussing technological-type things involving videos and a bunch of stuff that Missy and I don't understand, so we ate chips with ranch and talked about things that were interesting.
Then came the food.
It was a huge, steaming plate covered with all sorts of tasty things. The refried beans were steaming and the enchiladas looked enticing. (Everything else on the plate looked good too, we just didn't know what it was.)
We commenced eating our food. I angled myself in such a way that I could get eat the refried beans and Joey wouldn't be tempted to complain about how disgusting they were.
That was an hour ago.
I am now feeling very, very full.
The Uncomfortability Factor was Very High, so I went to the kitchen to mix myself up one of my Sprite cocktails (non-alcoholic, of course), heavy on the lime this time. Alas, it only served to make my stomach feel more pressurized and more plumper.
I'm not really sure what I'm going to do now, but I'll probably make it. We did have a nice time at lunch, though, discussing Important Church Business.
Thanks, NHBC! :)
The Mysterious Blue Earmuffs
Last night I was organizing my closet. (Because I wanted to.) I was looking for a place to put one of my silk plants when I noticed a blue fuzzy object sitting way up high on my Willow Tree Nativity boxes.
It was an old, nappy pair of cobalt blue furry earmuffs. You know, the kind you had in third grade when they used to make you stand outside at recess because it was too cold to play but not cold enough that they'd let you back inside? Yeah, that kind.
(Except mine were probably pink.)
At any rate, I haven't had, or seen, any earmuffs like that in ages. Certainly not since we've lived in Texas. They were kind of creeping me out.
"Joey, did you put some furry blue earmuffs in the closet?"
"Eh?" He asked from the living room.
"Come here for a second," I asked, standing with one hand on my hip and the silk plant in the other, staring up at the earmuffs. (Which were up too high for me to reach, I might add.)
"Up there." I pointed.
"Oh, no, I don't know what those are," he said, and went back to the living room.
The annoying, creepy earmuffs were still up in the closet. I set the plant down and jumped as high as I could, barely catching the edge of the earmuff on the end of my finger and swiping them off the box they were perched on.
"Eww." I said, examining them. They were truly well worn, and disgusting.
I took them out to Joey and dangled them in front of his face. "How do you think these got on top of the box in our closet?
"I have no idea." He said.
"Who has been here recently that would have put them there. Jamie? Charpie?" I began listing names. He was reading a book and therefore not really paying much attention to me.
I took the earmuffs over to the trash and threw them away.
So, the question is, HOW DID THEY GET IN MY CLOSET?! Did someone put them there to creep me out? If so, please step forward and identify yourself.
Or do I just have earmuff amnesia? Perhaps I've had those my entire life and moved them to Texas because they were sentimental...
If that's the case, they're in the trash now.
It was an old, nappy pair of cobalt blue furry earmuffs. You know, the kind you had in third grade when they used to make you stand outside at recess because it was too cold to play but not cold enough that they'd let you back inside? Yeah, that kind.
(Except mine were probably pink.)
At any rate, I haven't had, or seen, any earmuffs like that in ages. Certainly not since we've lived in Texas. They were kind of creeping me out.
"Joey, did you put some furry blue earmuffs in the closet?"
"Eh?" He asked from the living room.
"Come here for a second," I asked, standing with one hand on my hip and the silk plant in the other, staring up at the earmuffs. (Which were up too high for me to reach, I might add.)
"Up there." I pointed.
"Oh, no, I don't know what those are," he said, and went back to the living room.
The annoying, creepy earmuffs were still up in the closet. I set the plant down and jumped as high as I could, barely catching the edge of the earmuff on the end of my finger and swiping them off the box they were perched on.
"Eww." I said, examining them. They were truly well worn, and disgusting.
I took them out to Joey and dangled them in front of his face. "How do you think these got on top of the box in our closet?
"I have no idea." He said.
"Who has been here recently that would have put them there. Jamie? Charpie?" I began listing names. He was reading a book and therefore not really paying much attention to me.
I took the earmuffs over to the trash and threw them away.
So, the question is, HOW DID THEY GET IN MY CLOSET?! Did someone put them there to creep me out? If so, please step forward and identify yourself.
Or do I just have earmuff amnesia? Perhaps I've had those my entire life and moved them to Texas because they were sentimental...
If that's the case, they're in the trash now.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
So if you're wondering what's going on in Dallas today, a gas station downtown exploded into flame about 9:45 a.m.
I heard a large bang then subsequent smaller bangs, but didn't think much of it until someone looked out the window.
"Oh....my word!" She said. We slowly trickled over to the window to see what she was talking about.
About a mile away, fireballs from a gas station over by the Trinity Mills Floodplain (the one with the Longhorns; my favorite gas station!) were shooting halfway up Reunion Tower. (For those of you who don't know how high that is, it's several hundred feet.)
Every time a fireball shot into the air we heard a loud bang!; the building shook and our windows rattled in a rather alarming way.
We stood, transfixed, as we watched the fire erupt into the sky and inky black smoke form a tall column. There was no wind, which was good, because I'm sure the explosions would have been much more dangerous if the flames had been blown around.
"I hope no one was hurt," I said.
There hasn't been a casualty report yet that I've seen, but I did see a number of burned out cars in the live video that was up on dallasmorningnews.com. And I'm sure some of the Longhorns next to it were hurt, poor things. That fire had to be extremely hot.
Somebody said something about acetylene gas, but I don't know what that is.
We just got a report that they're evacuating buildings within a half mile of the blast, but my building is about a mile away. So for right now, at least, I'm staying put. Traffic would be a disaster anyway, two of the major freeways are closed because of the heat, smoke and debris.
Certainly an interesting thing to see, but really a sad one when you think about the people who probably died in the explosion.
I heard a large bang then subsequent smaller bangs, but didn't think much of it until someone looked out the window.
"Oh....my word!" She said. We slowly trickled over to the window to see what she was talking about.
About a mile away, fireballs from a gas station over by the Trinity Mills Floodplain (the one with the Longhorns; my favorite gas station!) were shooting halfway up Reunion Tower. (For those of you who don't know how high that is, it's several hundred feet.)
Every time a fireball shot into the air we heard a loud bang!; the building shook and our windows rattled in a rather alarming way.
We stood, transfixed, as we watched the fire erupt into the sky and inky black smoke form a tall column. There was no wind, which was good, because I'm sure the explosions would have been much more dangerous if the flames had been blown around.
"I hope no one was hurt," I said.
There hasn't been a casualty report yet that I've seen, but I did see a number of burned out cars in the live video that was up on dallasmorningnews.com. And I'm sure some of the Longhorns next to it were hurt, poor things. That fire had to be extremely hot.
Somebody said something about acetylene gas, but I don't know what that is.
We just got a report that they're evacuating buildings within a half mile of the blast, but my building is about a mile away. So for right now, at least, I'm staying put. Traffic would be a disaster anyway, two of the major freeways are closed because of the heat, smoke and debris.
Certainly an interesting thing to see, but really a sad one when you think about the people who probably died in the explosion.
Joey's Bad Idea
Joey was really tired last night. We were just about asleep when he asked, "When Henry dies and we have to get a new dog, what color should we get?"
Such a morbid question.
"I think black. I like the black ones," I said.
"No...because then when it gets old it'll turn gray," Joey mumbled, and tossed around trying to get comfortable. "Let's get a mostly brown and white one. Because then the brown will turn to light brown, and the white will stay white!"
Genius, pure genius. He was definitely on to something. (And definitely tired.)
"But I still like the black ones, they're cute," I maintained.
There was a pause. Then a manly giggle. Then:
"I have an even better idea!" Joey exclaimed, sleepily, sitting up a little bit. "We'll name it after one of your ex boyfriends and every time I see it I'll kick it!"
I couldn't help it. I had to laugh. He was obviously at that point of sleepiness where he is beyond all logical thought.
"No!" I half laughed, half demanded, "Because then I'd feel sorry for the poor dog, you kicking it all the time."
"Maybe..." Joey mumbled.
So here's what's not going to happen. Henry's hopefully going to be around for awhile, so we shouldn't have to worry about picking out a new dog (which apparently has to be male), coloring and all, and naming it after Someone We Don't Speak Of any time soon.
We can all breathe a great sigh of relief.
Or, at least, Henry can. Poor Henry.
Such a morbid question.
"I think black. I like the black ones," I said.
"No...because then when it gets old it'll turn gray," Joey mumbled, and tossed around trying to get comfortable. "Let's get a mostly brown and white one. Because then the brown will turn to light brown, and the white will stay white!"
Genius, pure genius. He was definitely on to something. (And definitely tired.)
"But I still like the black ones, they're cute," I maintained.
There was a pause. Then a manly giggle. Then:
"I have an even better idea!" Joey exclaimed, sleepily, sitting up a little bit. "We'll name it after one of your ex boyfriends and every time I see it I'll kick it!"
I couldn't help it. I had to laugh. He was obviously at that point of sleepiness where he is beyond all logical thought.
"No!" I half laughed, half demanded, "Because then I'd feel sorry for the poor dog, you kicking it all the time."
"Maybe..." Joey mumbled.
So here's what's not going to happen. Henry's hopefully going to be around for awhile, so we shouldn't have to worry about picking out a new dog (which apparently has to be male), coloring and all, and naming it after Someone We Don't Speak Of any time soon.
We can all breathe a great sigh of relief.
Or, at least, Henry can. Poor Henry.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Mom, Don't Read This Lest You Become Sad
Disclaimer: I do not condone or watch The Simpsons, henceforth referred to as "Bad TV Show", and will not see the movie.
However.
Eleven 7-11s in this country have been converted into Kwik E Marts (some convenience store from the Bad TV Show, I guess) as advertising for the upcoming Bad TV Show Movie. They painted them orange, changed the signs, and turned the Slurpee machines into a Squishee machines.
Fairly amazing.
Turns out, one of the 11 converted stores is 1.6 miles from our apartment. We happened to drive by it on Friday and I commented on how ugly the sign was and "Who would name their store Kwik E Mart anyway?"
A few minutes later Joey said, "Hey, that's one of those converted 7-11s for the Bad TV Show Movie! We have to stop there on the way back."
We forgot to stop.
Last night after dinner Joey said, "Let's go to the Kwik E Mart for Squishees."
And so we did.
While I have never watched the Bad TV Show, the novelty of having one the eleven converted stores in the entire US so close to my house was enough to count me in.
The parking lot was jammed full of people. There were cars parked at strange angles blocking the fire lane and, pretty much, the entire driveway. Joey let me out so I could take a picture, which about three other people were doing. I took one on my cell phone (since the camera's still stolen) and wasn't watching where I was going. I tripped when I was walking across the graded dirt in the vacant lot next door and wound up getting a lot of it in my sandal; this was very annoying.
There was a Bank of Springfield sign on the side of the building.
Joey giggled and pointed. "Look it says Bank of Springfield."
"What's Springfield?" I asked, thinking it was a real place. Turns out it's not, it seems to be the locale of the Bad TV Show.
Joey finally found a place to park and we got out and waded through the mass of people inside the Kwik E Mart. We finally reached the Squishee machine and were faced with the dilemma of what flavor of Squishee to get.
We settled on Jolly Rancher Watermelon, which was very tasty.
While I was dealing with a perpetually overflowing Squishee, Joey decided he'd better get in line. My Squishee finally quit overflowing and I joined him, quite sticky in the fingers. There was a case of pink frosted doughnuts with green and yellow sparkles. Joey was eying them with a greedy look in his eye.
Suddenly; "Let's get some doughnuts too," Joey said, reaching into the case and grabbing two.
He didn't really need to twist my arm, I'm a Big Fan of doughnuts. We bought our items and happily walked out of the store, slurping our Squishees.
"This is tasty," I commented. Joey handed me my pink doughnut which I also began to munch.
"Why did they have pink doughnuts?" I asked.
"They're the doughnuts from the show," Joey replied.
He knows entirely too much about that Bad TV Show, if you ask me. Don't worry, Mom, I won't watch it.
However.
Eleven 7-11s in this country have been converted into Kwik E Marts (some convenience store from the Bad TV Show, I guess) as advertising for the upcoming Bad TV Show Movie. They painted them orange, changed the signs, and turned the Slurpee machines into a Squishee machines.
Fairly amazing.
Turns out, one of the 11 converted stores is 1.6 miles from our apartment. We happened to drive by it on Friday and I commented on how ugly the sign was and "Who would name their store Kwik E Mart anyway?"
A few minutes later Joey said, "Hey, that's one of those converted 7-11s for the Bad TV Show Movie! We have to stop there on the way back."
We forgot to stop.
Last night after dinner Joey said, "Let's go to the Kwik E Mart for Squishees."
And so we did.
While I have never watched the Bad TV Show, the novelty of having one the eleven converted stores in the entire US so close to my house was enough to count me in.
The parking lot was jammed full of people. There were cars parked at strange angles blocking the fire lane and, pretty much, the entire driveway. Joey let me out so I could take a picture, which about three other people were doing. I took one on my cell phone (since the camera's still stolen) and wasn't watching where I was going. I tripped when I was walking across the graded dirt in the vacant lot next door and wound up getting a lot of it in my sandal; this was very annoying.
There was a Bank of Springfield sign on the side of the building.
Joey giggled and pointed. "Look it says Bank of Springfield."
"What's Springfield?" I asked, thinking it was a real place. Turns out it's not, it seems to be the locale of the Bad TV Show.
Joey finally found a place to park and we got out and waded through the mass of people inside the Kwik E Mart. We finally reached the Squishee machine and were faced with the dilemma of what flavor of Squishee to get.
We settled on Jolly Rancher Watermelon, which was very tasty.
While I was dealing with a perpetually overflowing Squishee, Joey decided he'd better get in line. My Squishee finally quit overflowing and I joined him, quite sticky in the fingers. There was a case of pink frosted doughnuts with green and yellow sparkles. Joey was eying them with a greedy look in his eye.
Suddenly; "Let's get some doughnuts too," Joey said, reaching into the case and grabbing two.
He didn't really need to twist my arm, I'm a Big Fan of doughnuts. We bought our items and happily walked out of the store, slurping our Squishees.
"This is tasty," I commented. Joey handed me my pink doughnut which I also began to munch.
"Why did they have pink doughnuts?" I asked.
"They're the doughnuts from the show," Joey replied.
He knows entirely too much about that Bad TV Show, if you ask me. Don't worry, Mom, I won't watch it.
Monday, July 23, 2007
These are not my pants, whose pants are these anyway?
There was a pair of black polyester pants hanging, on a hangar, from a tree very near the spot where I found Joey's brown t-shirt on the ground. They were ugly and had white cat fur on them, so I just left them where I found them.
I think someone may be baiting me. You know, hang out the pants and set up a camera to determine who the perp that swiped the brown t-shirt was.
(Again, I maintain that it was litter.)
But seriously, one cannot help but wonder when one sees a black pair of pants hanging from a tree branch, swaying softly in the breeze.
I think someone may be baiting me. You know, hang out the pants and set up a camera to determine who the perp that swiped the brown t-shirt was.
(Again, I maintain that it was litter.)
But seriously, one cannot help but wonder when one sees a black pair of pants hanging from a tree branch, swaying softly in the breeze.
The Canadian Reality Check
On Friday, Joey, Cuz and I headed downtown to the parking lot of Dallas Metrocare to help hand out food to homeless people. We've been feeling convicted lately about our bad attitudes towards the ones who stand on the corners begging, so we decided one tangible way to change our hearts was to serve them.
I got home from work and changed into a grungy pair of jeans and what I thought was a nondescript t-shirt. (It was my red one with the white maple leaf and it says "eh?" on it...hilarious;) We left Henry at home in his kennel (although maybe someday we'll take him...) and headed downtown.
When we arrived at the parking lot, the line was already long, there probably 300 people were waiting. Everyone was standing in the direct sunlight leaning against the walls of the building; it was a warm evening. We set up our tables and began filling cups with lemonade and iced tea, then as quickly as possible, we took the cups to the people standing in line.
It's a really strange feeling to have twenty grown men and women begging for you to give them one of three cups of iced tea in your hand. Humbling, really. (We're all just about two paychecks or a major disaster away from that happening to us, if you think about it.)
About halfway through the line, it wound around behind a very large, white 15 passenger van. I wasn't comfortable going back there because I was out of the direct line of sight of everyone we had come with, but I sucked it up and went behind the van to give lemonade to the men in line.
"Woah!" One of them yelled as I walked by. He sort of lurched in my direction but, fortunately, didn't actually touch me. He began yelling things like, "A Canadian! A beeee-yooou-tiiii-fullll one. Can I have a kiss?"
A Canadian? I thought to myself, Where is he getting that?
And then I remembered the t-shirt and began mentally kicking myself for wearing it. I handed the glasses of lemonade to some of the men and then started to make my way out from behind the van.
The man was still yelling. I was starting to get really embarrassed.
"Is the sun in your eyes? Can you see me" He asked, as I put my left hand up to shield my eyes from the sun which, in fact, was very bright.
"Oh!" He gasped as I raised my hand to my eyes. "A married Canadian!" Then he yelled, "Look at that big, sparkly diamond!"
I was horrified that I had forgotten to remove my jewelery; it seemed really insensitive to me. I brought my hand down from my eyes, turned my ring around and marched over to Joey. I pulled off my wedding ring, purity ring and watch and handed them to Joey.
"Put these in your pocket," I mumbled, feeling foolish for not having left them at home.
"Why?" He asked.
"That guy over there is hollering about how I have a big, sparkly diamond on my finger and it's making me feel bad." That, and I didn't want to get jumped for my ring the next time I went behind the van to distribute lemonade or iced tea.
Comparatively, my ring really isn't all that big. (It is sparkly, though, I'll give him that one.) But I suppose when you're homeless any diamond is considered big.
Fortunately that man seemed to forget about my ring, but he definitely did not forget about my t-shirt. I kept hearing "Canadian!" for the next 15-20 minutes. Until he found something else to holler about, that is.
I'm definitely not Canadian.
When we finally walked over to our car at 9:30, I was a little nervous because there were about 15 homeless people sitting around it. Instead of being intimidating, though, they chorused "thank you!" and "see you next Friday!" as we got into our car and pulled away.
Talk about being humbled.
I was very thankful for my soft bed, clean sheets and fresh water to drink as I was getting ready for bed later. I couldn't get the woman I had talked to out of my mind...she wasn't sure where they were going to sleep that night because they had just found out that they'd get arrested if they went to their usual spot.
And I worry about how high the thread count in my sheets is.
I got home from work and changed into a grungy pair of jeans and what I thought was a nondescript t-shirt. (It was my red one with the white maple leaf and it says "eh?" on it...hilarious;) We left Henry at home in his kennel (although maybe someday we'll take him...) and headed downtown.
When we arrived at the parking lot, the line was already long, there probably 300 people were waiting. Everyone was standing in the direct sunlight leaning against the walls of the building; it was a warm evening. We set up our tables and began filling cups with lemonade and iced tea, then as quickly as possible, we took the cups to the people standing in line.
It's a really strange feeling to have twenty grown men and women begging for you to give them one of three cups of iced tea in your hand. Humbling, really. (We're all just about two paychecks or a major disaster away from that happening to us, if you think about it.)
About halfway through the line, it wound around behind a very large, white 15 passenger van. I wasn't comfortable going back there because I was out of the direct line of sight of everyone we had come with, but I sucked it up and went behind the van to give lemonade to the men in line.
"Woah!" One of them yelled as I walked by. He sort of lurched in my direction but, fortunately, didn't actually touch me. He began yelling things like, "A Canadian! A beeee-yooou-tiiii-fullll one. Can I have a kiss?"
A Canadian? I thought to myself, Where is he getting that?
And then I remembered the t-shirt and began mentally kicking myself for wearing it. I handed the glasses of lemonade to some of the men and then started to make my way out from behind the van.
The man was still yelling. I was starting to get really embarrassed.
"Is the sun in your eyes? Can you see me" He asked, as I put my left hand up to shield my eyes from the sun which, in fact, was very bright.
"Oh!" He gasped as I raised my hand to my eyes. "A married Canadian!" Then he yelled, "Look at that big, sparkly diamond!"
I was horrified that I had forgotten to remove my jewelery; it seemed really insensitive to me. I brought my hand down from my eyes, turned my ring around and marched over to Joey. I pulled off my wedding ring, purity ring and watch and handed them to Joey.
"Put these in your pocket," I mumbled, feeling foolish for not having left them at home.
"Why?" He asked.
"That guy over there is hollering about how I have a big, sparkly diamond on my finger and it's making me feel bad." That, and I didn't want to get jumped for my ring the next time I went behind the van to distribute lemonade or iced tea.
Comparatively, my ring really isn't all that big. (It is sparkly, though, I'll give him that one.) But I suppose when you're homeless any diamond is considered big.
Fortunately that man seemed to forget about my ring, but he definitely did not forget about my t-shirt. I kept hearing "Canadian!" for the next 15-20 minutes. Until he found something else to holler about, that is.
I'm definitely not Canadian.
When we finally walked over to our car at 9:30, I was a little nervous because there were about 15 homeless people sitting around it. Instead of being intimidating, though, they chorused "thank you!" and "see you next Friday!" as we got into our car and pulled away.
Talk about being humbled.
I was very thankful for my soft bed, clean sheets and fresh water to drink as I was getting ready for bed later. I couldn't get the woman I had talked to out of my mind...she wasn't sure where they were going to sleep that night because they had just found out that they'd get arrested if they went to their usual spot.
And I worry about how high the thread count in my sheets is.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Homesick
Ever since we had dinner with all our Iowa friends last week, I've been feeling a little bit poignant and even, dare I admit, homesick. Not just for any old part of Iowa, either, but Cedar Rapids/Robins and Faith Bible Church.
There's really something about walking down the hall in church and knowing that you picked blueberries in the Boundary Waters with this person, intentionally set off a car alarm in Chicago "just to see what would happen" with that person, dyed my hair gray for that one, and played a trick on Pops with that one over there. I guess it's just the whole being known for twenty years feeling. (In some cases that probably isn't a good thing.)
Here are some things I miss, I no particular order:
I could go on and on...but suffice it to say that YES, I'm slightly homesick. Let's hope we get to go home for Christmas so I can get that Steven Curtis Chapman song out of my head...it's been on repeat for the last two days.
There's really something about walking down the hall in church and knowing that you picked blueberries in the Boundary Waters with this person, intentionally set off a car alarm in Chicago "just to see what would happen" with that person, dyed my hair gray for that one, and played a trick on Pops with that one over there. I guess it's just the whole being known for twenty years feeling. (In some cases that probably isn't a good thing.)
Here are some things I miss, I no particular order:
- Singing with Sister in church (and everybody else, too...)
- Being able to get to a Wal-Mart in under 20 minutes, although I don't even like Wal-Mart...but if I did the nearest one here is in Richardson. (Sorry, Pops, I definitely side with Homer on this issue, Wal-Mart is evil)
- Dave Baugh & Wayne Larson -- fantastic, sacrificial youth workers, both of you.
- Noelridge Park, for some reason
- Working in the barn with Pops
- Going on walks in the evening and not seeing a single car
- During the worship time at Faith Bible, everyone really sings. Loud. I totally miss that.
- Missions Committee potlucks...yum
- Helping Mommy with things. Anything, really.
- The Kid
- The 4th of July downtown. There's absolutely nothing like it.
- Shooting off rockets with Jooge and Pops
- Mom and Dad's back porch...talk about relaxing
- Baby calves and helping Pops "fix the sprayer"
- Watching Pride and Prejudice (the 6 hr one) with Sister
I could go on and on...but suffice it to say that YES, I'm slightly homesick. Let's hope we get to go home for Christmas so I can get that Steven Curtis Chapman song out of my head...it's been on repeat for the last two days.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
My Sideview Mirror & The Lady's Elbow
Went to Chase to pick up a friend after work. The parking lot was packed and, once she got in the car, we had to go quickly to follow her co-worker to her car to make she got there safely. There were cars behind me and on both sides, so I put mine in reverse and tapped the gas ever so slightly so that the other cars would realize that I wanted to back up. (You know, those white lights mean that you're backing up...)
There was a lady standing next to the car to my left and, unfortunately, just as I tapped my gas to signal that, yes, I wanted to back up, she put her elbow out. My sideview mirror made contact with aforementioned elbow, and the lady angrily went to the sidewalk.
"Wow, that lady is really glaring at you," my friend said.
"Yeah...." I muttered, trying to maneuver out of the parking spot so I could follow my friend's coworker.
"Holy cow, she is giving you the meanest look. I wonder what her problem is?"
"Um..." I stalled, not looking at the grouchy lady or my friend. I successfully backed up and gunned it out of the parking lot.
We never found my friend's coworker, so we're really hoping she made it to her car OK.
Once we were out of the glaring lady's view I said to my friend, "So you wanna know why that lady was glaring at me?"
I suppose I'd glare at somebody if they bonked my elbow with their sideview mirror. I, however, wouldn't be stupid enough to poke my elbow out if the car next to me was backing out.
I hope.
There was a lady standing next to the car to my left and, unfortunately, just as I tapped my gas to signal that, yes, I wanted to back up, she put her elbow out. My sideview mirror made contact with aforementioned elbow, and the lady angrily went to the sidewalk.
"Wow, that lady is really glaring at you," my friend said.
"Yeah...." I muttered, trying to maneuver out of the parking spot so I could follow my friend's coworker.
"Holy cow, she is giving you the meanest look. I wonder what her problem is?"
"Um..." I stalled, not looking at the grouchy lady or my friend. I successfully backed up and gunned it out of the parking lot.
We never found my friend's coworker, so we're really hoping she made it to her car OK.
Once we were out of the glaring lady's view I said to my friend, "So you wanna know why that lady was glaring at me?"
I suppose I'd glare at somebody if they bonked my elbow with their sideview mirror. I, however, wouldn't be stupid enough to poke my elbow out if the car next to me was backing out.
I hope.
It's Doubtful That Joey And I Have A Life
I'm sure you will concur once you're finished reading this.
We have some friends who got us hooked on The Office. They lent us their DVDs of Seasons 1 and 2 and, on Thursday, we finished Season 2. I was certifiably hooked and, as soon as the credits rolled on the season finale I wailed to Joey, "I must see Season 3!"
Unfortunately it's not out until, like, September 3. Lame.
Joey, my ever resourceful husband, had a solution.
"My coworker bought all the episodes on iTunes last year as they were coming out. Maybe he'd let me put them on our iPod so we could watch them this weekend." He proceeded to ask said coworker the next day if he'd let us borrow them. Said coworker agreed.
Joey was rather glum about the fact that our iPod screen is so tiny, so he decided to risk it all and ask/bribe his boss if he could borrow a projector for the weekend. (Hi, Jim.)
Jim said yes!! (Thanks, Jim. Cookies forthcoming)
Joey then called me and left me a very strange, gloating-type message on my voicemail informing me that he was probably the best husband in the world. (I'd have to agree with that, too.)
When I arrived home from Wherever I Go During The Day (see, Grandpa, I'm covering all my bases...) Joey had the iPod, projector and surround sound system set up.
We watched four episodes and stayed up way past our bedtime. I woke him up at 8:30 so we could watch more this morning. We've cleaned the house and are just getting ready to go to the store. Once we return, we're watching more. It'll be sweet.
Our friends who got us hooked are coming over tonight to watch a bunch with us. (I think the main attraction may actually be the projector.) So our weekend plans look something like this: watch The Office, do some stuff, watch The Office, do some stuff, watch The Office, sleep, go to church, watch The Office, etc.
Not sure what we'll be doing about Season 4 yet...we don't have a TV.
We have some friends who got us hooked on The Office. They lent us their DVDs of Seasons 1 and 2 and, on Thursday, we finished Season 2. I was certifiably hooked and, as soon as the credits rolled on the season finale I wailed to Joey, "I must see Season 3!"
Unfortunately it's not out until, like, September 3. Lame.
Joey, my ever resourceful husband, had a solution.
"My coworker bought all the episodes on iTunes last year as they were coming out. Maybe he'd let me put them on our iPod so we could watch them this weekend." He proceeded to ask said coworker the next day if he'd let us borrow them. Said coworker agreed.
Joey was rather glum about the fact that our iPod screen is so tiny, so he decided to risk it all and ask/bribe his boss if he could borrow a projector for the weekend. (Hi, Jim.)
Jim said yes!! (Thanks, Jim. Cookies forthcoming)
Joey then called me and left me a very strange, gloating-type message on my voicemail informing me that he was probably the best husband in the world. (I'd have to agree with that, too.)
When I arrived home from Wherever I Go During The Day (see, Grandpa, I'm covering all my bases...) Joey had the iPod, projector and surround sound system set up.
We watched four episodes and stayed up way past our bedtime. I woke him up at 8:30 so we could watch more this morning. We've cleaned the house and are just getting ready to go to the store. Once we return, we're watching more. It'll be sweet.
Our friends who got us hooked are coming over tonight to watch a bunch with us. (I think the main attraction may actually be the projector.) So our weekend plans look something like this: watch The Office, do some stuff, watch The Office, do some stuff, watch The Office, sleep, go to church, watch The Office, etc.
Not sure what we'll be doing about Season 4 yet...we don't have a TV.
Friday, July 20, 2007
The Brown Shirt, cont.
So we got The Brown Shirt washed and it now smells really nice. It's also not quite as soft as it was before, which really grosses me out when I think about how sweaty it must have been. But, since it's clean and fresh, I decided to take a closer look to see just what it said.
It says, "God Save The Queen" in an old-timey calligraphy and has a British flag with some fuzzy brown swirlies around the outside of it.
Top-notch, I say.
Joey put it on and said, "I really hope I don't run into whoever used to own this shirt. That could be kind of awkward."
"Yeah," I said, "You can just tell him you got it from your wife." Because everyone knows it's possible for two people to have the same t-shirt.
Joey shrugged his shoulders around, adjusting the shirt. "I think it's too big."
"Honey, it's a medium. There's no way a medium is too big for you." (He's quite strong.)
"OK, but I just feel like it's supposed to fit tighter." He shrugged and wiggled some more.
"You look very nice," I assured him.
And so he wore The Brown Shirt to work today and probably had an even better Friday because of it. I bet all his co-workers are jealous. Sorry there's no pictures but our camera is still stolen.
It says, "God Save The Queen" in an old-timey calligraphy and has a British flag with some fuzzy brown swirlies around the outside of it.
Top-notch, I say.
Joey put it on and said, "I really hope I don't run into whoever used to own this shirt. That could be kind of awkward."
"Yeah," I said, "You can just tell him you got it from your wife." Because everyone knows it's possible for two people to have the same t-shirt.
Joey shrugged his shoulders around, adjusting the shirt. "I think it's too big."
"Honey, it's a medium. There's no way a medium is too big for you." (He's quite strong.)
"OK, but I just feel like it's supposed to fit tighter." He shrugged and wiggled some more.
"You look very nice," I assured him.
And so he wore The Brown Shirt to work today and probably had an even better Friday because of it. I bet all his co-workers are jealous. Sorry there's no pictures but our camera is still stolen.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
I Am Vindicated
Someone in Minnesota searched for "Breathe Rights" and they were led to MY BLOG.
This is total vindication for all of those times I've been forced to post about the Breathe Rights found in my apartment.
This is total vindication for all of those times I've been forced to post about the Breathe Rights found in my apartment.
Turkey Jerky
It's been awhile since I have done something really disgusting to The Kid. So I determined that it was about time; today was the day.
I wrote him up a little note, made a collage out of all my ink stamps (things like "paid and scanned", "copy", and "confidential") and headed to the kitchen. My goal: find something foodish to stick in the envelope and mail to Iowa. The parameters were that it could not be perishable or crunchable.
This excluded the all the cool stuff like the organic string cheese and organic "Oreos" that I just know he would have loved to receive. I was left with only two options, Sun Maid raisins or spicy turkey jerky. The raisins looked heavier and a lot less disgusting, so I opted for the turkey jerky.
(And what, pray tell, is grosser than receiving a stick of turkey jerky in the mail?!)
The stick was too long for my envelope, so I had to cut off two inches and eat them. It's Very Spicy turkey jerky. My mouth is still burning. In order to keep all the rats away from the envelope, I wrapped the stick of jerky very tightly in a plastic bag and put it in the envelope. I was pleased that the envelope still sealed nicely, even with said stick jerky stick taking up more than its fair share of real estate. I weighed it, stamped it ($0.58 for that thing!) and took it down to the mail room where I deposited it in its slot.
And so, The Kid, you should be getting a stick of turkey jerky from Dallas, TX in the mail next week. And you had better eat it, too.
I ate part of it so that should make it way more special.
I wrote him up a little note, made a collage out of all my ink stamps (things like "paid and scanned", "copy", and "confidential") and headed to the kitchen. My goal: find something foodish to stick in the envelope and mail to Iowa. The parameters were that it could not be perishable or crunchable.
This excluded the all the cool stuff like the organic string cheese and organic "Oreos" that I just know he would have loved to receive. I was left with only two options, Sun Maid raisins or spicy turkey jerky. The raisins looked heavier and a lot less disgusting, so I opted for the turkey jerky.
(And what, pray tell, is grosser than receiving a stick of turkey jerky in the mail?!)
The stick was too long for my envelope, so I had to cut off two inches and eat them. It's Very Spicy turkey jerky. My mouth is still burning. In order to keep all the rats away from the envelope, I wrapped the stick of jerky very tightly in a plastic bag and put it in the envelope. I was pleased that the envelope still sealed nicely, even with said stick jerky stick taking up more than its fair share of real estate. I weighed it, stamped it ($0.58 for that thing!) and took it down to the mail room where I deposited it in its slot.
And so, The Kid, you should be getting a stick of turkey jerky from Dallas, TX in the mail next week. And you had better eat it, too.
I ate part of it so that should make it way more special.
The Celebration
We went out to dinner last night with Pastor Steve and Barb, Heath and Kristen, and Chris and Rachel (the candidate for the pastor at FBC). We had a fantastic time.
About halfway through dinner, Steve asked, "So is this going to make the blog?"
"Well, I don't know," I said, "Nothing disastrous has happened yet." (Because everyone knows that I only blog about disasters.)
Honestly, nothing disastrous did happen. It was one of the most fortunate outings of my recent existence; I didn't spill anything, trip, run into anyone, get lost...nothing. It was kind of strange.
(Well, unless you count the fact that I forgot to take my asthma meds before we left and by 9:30 I was coughing and wheezing and had to break out the inhaler. Classy.)
A few highlights of the event:
Thanks Pastor Steve and Barb (and Faith Bible Church) for such a fantastic evening!
About halfway through dinner, Steve asked, "So is this going to make the blog?"
"Well, I don't know," I said, "Nothing disastrous has happened yet." (Because everyone knows that I only blog about disasters.)
Honestly, nothing disastrous did happen. It was one of the most fortunate outings of my recent existence; I didn't spill anything, trip, run into anyone, get lost...nothing. It was kind of strange.
(Well, unless you count the fact that I forgot to take my asthma meds before we left and by 9:30 I was coughing and wheezing and had to break out the inhaler. Classy.)
A few highlights of the event:
- Telling stories on Pops (particularly the one with Ben and balloon of gas that they wrapped Ben's shirt around and threw in the air and then shot a tracer bullet into, causing a large explosion...)
- Steve trying to make everyone eat a lot; Celebration lets you have seconds. Joey ate seconds and dessert. He was a happy camper.
- Joey leaning over every 10 minutes after 9:00 and whispering, "Are you OK? Do we need to go home?" I am my father's daughter and I usually shut down without warning about 9:45, so we usually don't stay out anywhere past 9ish. (We didn't even leave Celebration until 10:30.) It was kind of amazing fortitude on my part; but I have to admit, I didn't get up until 7:10 this morning and was quite late for work.
- I will never look at Icy Hot the same way again.
- There was no door on the private room we were in and I'm sure we lowered the property value of the restaurant considerably while we were there. We were so stinkin' loud. Way, way too much raucous laughing. It was great.
- Oddly enough, all of us seminary couples had vaguely seen each other around before. Heath and Kristen were "the cute couple with the bike" (Rachel saw them every morning getting Heath's bike out of the car and was always amazed that they got it in there) and Chris turned out to be in one of the videos Joey is editing for the Advancement Department. About two hours into dinner Joey blurted out to Chris, "Do you wear glasses?" (He does.) Small world...
- Our poor waiter, we stayed another hour and a half after he brought our check. He started drinking wine about 9:30 and every time he'd come back to check on us, he was considerably happier. Louder, too.
Thanks Pastor Steve and Barb (and Faith Bible Church) for such a fantastic evening!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
The Big Announcement
No, I'm not pregnant.
Well, I finally did it. After two months of going back and forth between "I should" and "I shouldn't", I just walked down to the post room and mailed off manuscripts to three magazines. (And now I'm ridiculously nervous; I have this terrible feeling that I left out something really important from my cover letter, or that I put lame posts in my portfolio.)
Anyway, thanks to my many friends who, all at the same time (oddly enough), suggested I try this.
I figure the worst they can say is "no" and not publish me, which really doesn't leave me any worse off than where I am now. (Which is that I'm not being published.)
Should something actually come of this bold venture on my part, I shall inform you all. But, as that's not likely to happen, content yourself with the knowledge that I tried.
I am.
Well, I finally did it. After two months of going back and forth between "I should" and "I shouldn't", I just walked down to the post room and mailed off manuscripts to three magazines. (And now I'm ridiculously nervous; I have this terrible feeling that I left out something really important from my cover letter, or that I put lame posts in my portfolio.)
Anyway, thanks to my many friends who, all at the same time (oddly enough), suggested I try this.
I figure the worst they can say is "no" and not publish me, which really doesn't leave me any worse off than where I am now. (Which is that I'm not being published.)
Should something actually come of this bold venture on my part, I shall inform you all. But, as that's not likely to happen, content yourself with the knowledge that I tried.
I am.
The Free T-Shirt
Joey likes funky t-shirts. A lot.
I was coming in from my car last night, walking quick enough so as to get home as soon as possible, but not so fast as to get one of my heels caught in a crack and fall to my death, when I noticed something brown laying on the ground cover a few doors down from our apartment.
Brown, cotton and t-shirt shaped.
I gingerly picked it up. It was most definitely a t-shirt. It had a very soft feel to it and I could not determine if that was because it was designed to be soft cotton, or if it was dirty.
I took a whiff; it was super dirty. Smelled like sweat.
While attempting to have as little contact as possible with smelly, sweaty, soft brown shirt, I shook it out to have a look at the picture on the front. (And also to determine what size the shirt was.)
The picture was a darker brown and light blue, and it's definitely supposed to be something, but I don't know what. There were some old-timey words written on it, but honestly I didn't look too closely. I tried to glance in the collar to see what size it was, but this proved to be too much actual skin contact with the shirt.
I wadded the shirt up and carried it into the house with me.
"What do you think of this shirt?" I asked Joey, laying it against the couch.
"It's COOL!" Joey said enthusiastically, noting that it was his size.
"Well, don't touch it. I found it on the ground outside and it's really smelly and dirty. But I'll wash it for you and then it'll be as good as new." I threw it in the hamper where it belonged.
"You found it outside?"
I explained to him where and how I'd found the shirt. He seemed kind of proud of me.
And that's how you know when you're in Seminary. When you take dirty t-shirts off the ground outside your apartment building (come on, it's totally litter...) and give them to your husband as a sort of gift.
I was coming in from my car last night, walking quick enough so as to get home as soon as possible, but not so fast as to get one of my heels caught in a crack and fall to my death, when I noticed something brown laying on the ground cover a few doors down from our apartment.
Brown, cotton and t-shirt shaped.
I gingerly picked it up. It was most definitely a t-shirt. It had a very soft feel to it and I could not determine if that was because it was designed to be soft cotton, or if it was dirty.
I took a whiff; it was super dirty. Smelled like sweat.
While attempting to have as little contact as possible with smelly, sweaty, soft brown shirt, I shook it out to have a look at the picture on the front. (And also to determine what size the shirt was.)
The picture was a darker brown and light blue, and it's definitely supposed to be something, but I don't know what. There were some old-timey words written on it, but honestly I didn't look too closely. I tried to glance in the collar to see what size it was, but this proved to be too much actual skin contact with the shirt.
I wadded the shirt up and carried it into the house with me.
"What do you think of this shirt?" I asked Joey, laying it against the couch.
"It's COOL!" Joey said enthusiastically, noting that it was his size.
"Well, don't touch it. I found it on the ground outside and it's really smelly and dirty. But I'll wash it for you and then it'll be as good as new." I threw it in the hamper where it belonged.
"You found it outside?"
I explained to him where and how I'd found the shirt. He seemed kind of proud of me.
And that's how you know when you're in Seminary. When you take dirty t-shirts off the ground outside your apartment building (come on, it's totally litter...) and give them to your husband as a sort of gift.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
In Which Jenna Learns a Valuable Lesson
Sometimes I'm not very proud of myself. This morning during church (during church!) was one such time.
Joey was running our A/V stuff because the church's Mac got struck by lightning several weeks ago and has since been reduced to a heap of quivering 0's and 1's. (Poor thing.) So Joey brought our Mac somehow hooked it up to the stricken computer and mades things happen.
I don't understand it.
At any rate, he sat up in the sound booth this morning so he could run the slides during the service. I, not wanting to look like a loser and sit by myself, sat up there with him. (It's really hot up there.)
Right before the service began, someone came over to the A/V area and said to Joey, "Ya know, we used to have 600 people and run two services on a Sunday morning." And then, after an awkward silence, he sort of walked away.
As the pastor began to preach (sorry Alan), I decided I had the bird's-eye view that was necessary to count the people in the sanctuary. So I did. (I came up with 180.)
I pointed the number I had drawn on my bulletin to Joey. He sort of nodded and looked back at his laptop screen to click the next slide. So I leaned over to Joey and whispered to him, to the best of my knowledge, just why exactly all those people had left.
He nodded in all the right places. Then he whispered back at me, "You know, we're recording this sermon and I think all that stuff you just said got recorded right over the sermon."
I paled. "What?"
Joey tapped his laptop and watched the little sound jibbly line jump. Yep, everything I had just said was recorded right over the top of Alan's message.
Good one, Jenna.
"I'll delete it after the service," Joey said.
And that's why there is no recording of the message at church today. Because Jenna's an idiot and didn't think before she spoke. So think before you spread gossip. You never know who might be standing around the corner....or what microphone will pick you up.
We're really hoping Joey's recording of the message was a backup, otherwise I'm going to have to go apologize. Definitely learned my lesson!
Joey was running our A/V stuff because the church's Mac got struck by lightning several weeks ago and has since been reduced to a heap of quivering 0's and 1's. (Poor thing.) So Joey brought our Mac somehow hooked it up to the stricken computer and mades things happen.
I don't understand it.
At any rate, he sat up in the sound booth this morning so he could run the slides during the service. I, not wanting to look like a loser and sit by myself, sat up there with him. (It's really hot up there.)
Right before the service began, someone came over to the A/V area and said to Joey, "Ya know, we used to have 600 people and run two services on a Sunday morning." And then, after an awkward silence, he sort of walked away.
As the pastor began to preach (sorry Alan), I decided I had the bird's-eye view that was necessary to count the people in the sanctuary. So I did. (I came up with 180.)
I pointed the number I had drawn on my bulletin to Joey. He sort of nodded and looked back at his laptop screen to click the next slide. So I leaned over to Joey and whispered to him, to the best of my knowledge, just why exactly all those people had left.
He nodded in all the right places. Then he whispered back at me, "You know, we're recording this sermon and I think all that stuff you just said got recorded right over the sermon."
I paled. "What?"
Joey tapped his laptop and watched the little sound jibbly line jump. Yep, everything I had just said was recorded right over the top of Alan's message.
Good one, Jenna.
"I'll delete it after the service," Joey said.
And that's why there is no recording of the message at church today. Because Jenna's an idiot and didn't think before she spoke. So think before you spread gossip. You never know who might be standing around the corner....or what microphone will pick you up.
We're really hoping Joey's recording of the message was a backup, otherwise I'm going to have to go apologize. Definitely learned my lesson!
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Tub Scum
My mom has this skill. It's the "Anything I Clean Becomes Spotless Instantly" skill.
I totally envy her.
I'm a neat freak who cannot keep her tub clean. It's a very unfortunate combination, one which I choose to think is OK since the tub is generally covered by a shower curtain and the only people who see it are Joey and I. When Joey and I moved from Iowa to Texas, Mom (poor mom!) assigned herself the task of cleaning our bathtub.
I try to clean the bathtub, I honestly do. But...it's hard. And, honestly, I get all lightheaded from the cleaner fumes. But my mom? Give her 20 minutes and she'll have that bathtub looking brand, spankin' new. It's amazing and I'm totally jealous.
This morning, I set out to clean my tub. I used way more Soft Scrub (with bleach, even!) than my mom ever would (she's real conservative on her Soft Scrub usage, not sure how she does it) and covered the entire tub with a film of cleaner. I then left it for 20 minutes, hoping it would do something while I was gone.
That, and I was getting light headed from the fumes.
When the 20 minutes were up, I put my gloves on and headed back to the bathroom. I scrubbed, scrubbed and scrubbed. I saw some improvement, which was very encouraging, but it wasn't perfectly sparkling white.
"How does Mom do it?" I thought, as I brought my head up out of the tub for air. The bleach was really getting to me. I rinsed, put the slippy mat back in and surveyed my work.
Not much improvement, I'm afraid, and I even scrubbed super hard! For a long time!
Mommy, I need you to come clean my tub for me.
I totally envy her.
I'm a neat freak who cannot keep her tub clean. It's a very unfortunate combination, one which I choose to think is OK since the tub is generally covered by a shower curtain and the only people who see it are Joey and I. When Joey and I moved from Iowa to Texas, Mom (poor mom!) assigned herself the task of cleaning our bathtub.
I try to clean the bathtub, I honestly do. But...it's hard. And, honestly, I get all lightheaded from the cleaner fumes. But my mom? Give her 20 minutes and she'll have that bathtub looking brand, spankin' new. It's amazing and I'm totally jealous.
This morning, I set out to clean my tub. I used way more Soft Scrub (with bleach, even!) than my mom ever would (she's real conservative on her Soft Scrub usage, not sure how she does it) and covered the entire tub with a film of cleaner. I then left it for 20 minutes, hoping it would do something while I was gone.
That, and I was getting light headed from the fumes.
When the 20 minutes were up, I put my gloves on and headed back to the bathroom. I scrubbed, scrubbed and scrubbed. I saw some improvement, which was very encouraging, but it wasn't perfectly sparkling white.
"How does Mom do it?" I thought, as I brought my head up out of the tub for air. The bleach was really getting to me. I rinsed, put the slippy mat back in and surveyed my work.
Not much improvement, I'm afraid, and I even scrubbed super hard! For a long time!
Mommy, I need you to come clean my tub for me.
Last night I had a terrible dream. I dreamt that we had to sell Henry and use the money to buy food and when I woke up, I was just bawling. (I was crying so hard that, in my sleep induced haze, I couldn't figure out why I couldn't get my eyes to dry.)
I related this nightmare to Joey this morning.
"We'd never sell Henry for food," Joey said, reassuringly.
He paused.
"We'd just eat him." He finished.
"HEY!" I wailed.
"Kidding!!" He said, dodging the hand I swiped at him.
I related this nightmare to Joey this morning.
"We'd never sell Henry for food," Joey said, reassuringly.
He paused.
"We'd just eat him." He finished.
"HEY!" I wailed.
"Kidding!!" He said, dodging the hand I swiped at him.
Friday, July 13, 2007
"Deplorable Conditions"
As I was getting on the elevator this morning, a gentleman walked up carrying a very large live animal trap. I was so curious that I could not keep my eyes off it, particularly because the only thing I've ever seen Pops try to trap on those are raccoons. I couldn't imagine that we had a rampant raccoon overpopulation in downtown Dallas, much less my high rise.
The man noticed me looking, rather quizzically, at his live animal trap. There was a can of moist cat food in the back that had separated and was oozing with oil. There was also a piece of paper taped to the top of it, but I wasn't close enough to see the words.
The elevator opened and we all got on. I angled myself close to the live animal trap so I could read what it said.
"This here's to try to catch a cat." He said, with fervor.
"Wow, a cat?" I said, skimming the notice. It read something like this:
Please do not touch this trap! It is a humane method of catching a cat living in deplorable conditions.
Once the cat is caught in the trap, it will be rehabilitated and introduced a more comfortable and stable life.
Thank you.
Oh my gosh.
"Yeah, know where that smoking area is downstairs?" The man asked, assuming I was having heart palpitations of sorrow for this poor cat.
"Um, no." I said.
"Oh, well, it's down by..." he explained it to me, "And there was this cat living in a wall down there."
How does one even respond to that?! The pooooooor cat. I was tempted to tell him about the "deplorable conditions" in my parents' barn. Sometimes the cats there even tear the ceiling out and go up in there. We should probably set live animal traps for them and rehabilitate them, too. (Oh, and sometimes The Kid forgets to feed them, but they eat mice then.)
I had been silent for too long and knew and some kind of response was required. I went the most neutral option. "Oh, wow." (Not very creative, I know.)
"Didn't catch the cat, though," Mr. Cat Rescuer said.
The cage was obviously empty and that nasty cat food hadn't even been touched, so I had already gathered that.
"That's, um, too bad." I said, with the appropriate amount remorse.
Obviously the cat liked its "deplorable conditions" and didn't want to leave them. And he must not have been as hungry as whoever set that trap thought he was. Additionally, movie stars get rehabilitated. Not cats. Cats are never rehabilitated, they are eliminated if they get to be a problem, nuisance, or otherwise inconvenience.
One never rehabilitates a cat. Oh my word.
The man noticed me looking, rather quizzically, at his live animal trap. There was a can of moist cat food in the back that had separated and was oozing with oil. There was also a piece of paper taped to the top of it, but I wasn't close enough to see the words.
The elevator opened and we all got on. I angled myself close to the live animal trap so I could read what it said.
"This here's to try to catch a cat." He said, with fervor.
"Wow, a cat?" I said, skimming the notice. It read something like this:
Please do not touch this trap! It is a humane method of catching a cat living in deplorable conditions.
Once the cat is caught in the trap, it will be rehabilitated and introduced a more comfortable and stable life.
Thank you.
Oh my gosh.
"Yeah, know where that smoking area is downstairs?" The man asked, assuming I was having heart palpitations of sorrow for this poor cat.
"Um, no." I said.
"Oh, well, it's down by..." he explained it to me, "And there was this cat living in a wall down there."
How does one even respond to that?! The pooooooor cat. I was tempted to tell him about the "deplorable conditions" in my parents' barn. Sometimes the cats there even tear the ceiling out and go up in there. We should probably set live animal traps for them and rehabilitate them, too. (Oh, and sometimes The Kid forgets to feed them, but they eat mice then.)
I had been silent for too long and knew and some kind of response was required. I went the most neutral option. "Oh, wow." (Not very creative, I know.)
"Didn't catch the cat, though," Mr. Cat Rescuer said.
The cage was obviously empty and that nasty cat food hadn't even been touched, so I had already gathered that.
"That's, um, too bad." I said, with the appropriate amount remorse.
Obviously the cat liked its "deplorable conditions" and didn't want to leave them. And he must not have been as hungry as whoever set that trap thought he was. Additionally, movie stars get rehabilitated. Not cats. Cats are never rehabilitated, they are eliminated if they get to be a problem, nuisance, or otherwise inconvenience.
One never rehabilitates a cat. Oh my word.
Renegade
Got home from the art museum last night about 9:10 and was all by myself. (Joey was at that Nerd Cut Pro meeting in Addison.) Henry needed to go outside, so we went and he did his thing quickly, then he raced up the stairs and waited by the door for me to open it, wagging his fluffy little tail rapidly.
I opened the door and we went inside. I sat down on the couch and noticed, quite a few minutes later, that the house was unusually quiet. Far too quiet. Something was going on.
Either Henry had died somewhere, or he was getting into some Serious Trouble.
There was a gentle knock on the door. I jumped a mile; I was home alone and couldn't decide what to do. Open it? Leave it? I always ask who it is before opening the door, but I wasn't sure I even wanted to ask and run the risk of the person outside realizing I was actually home.
I got my phone and walked up to the door. While I was at it, I looked in the study to see where Henry was, and he wasn't there.
Odd, I thought to myself.
Then I heard jingling. My puppy's jingling. I whipped my head around to see where it was coming from and quickly realized that it was coming from outside the door. (Oops.)
Quite without thinking, I whipped open the door (didn't even ask who it was first, not my greatest moment!) and saw our next door neighbor (the bird feeder girl) and Henry.
"Did you know he was outside?" She asked as Henry bounded and leapt with excitement at seeing me.
"NO!" I was so embarrassed. "Did he sneak in your house again?"
"No, no, he was just sitting out here like a good boy, waiting for you to open the door." She said, smiling.
I picked the fiend (aka Henry) up and cuddled him. "He ran in the house ahead of me, but he must have snuck out when I turned to close the door! I was wondering where he was; I thought he was hiding from me. The house was way too quiet!"
I thanked our neighbor and shut and locked the door, holding Henry the entire time. Once I verified that yes, he was in the house with me, I set him down to go play.
Which he did, very happily.
I opened the door and we went inside. I sat down on the couch and noticed, quite a few minutes later, that the house was unusually quiet. Far too quiet. Something was going on.
Either Henry had died somewhere, or he was getting into some Serious Trouble.
There was a gentle knock on the door. I jumped a mile; I was home alone and couldn't decide what to do. Open it? Leave it? I always ask who it is before opening the door, but I wasn't sure I even wanted to ask and run the risk of the person outside realizing I was actually home.
I got my phone and walked up to the door. While I was at it, I looked in the study to see where Henry was, and he wasn't there.
Odd, I thought to myself.
Then I heard jingling. My puppy's jingling. I whipped my head around to see where it was coming from and quickly realized that it was coming from outside the door. (Oops.)
Quite without thinking, I whipped open the door (didn't even ask who it was first, not my greatest moment!) and saw our next door neighbor (the bird feeder girl) and Henry.
"Did you know he was outside?" She asked as Henry bounded and leapt with excitement at seeing me.
"NO!" I was so embarrassed. "Did he sneak in your house again?"
"No, no, he was just sitting out here like a good boy, waiting for you to open the door." She said, smiling.
I picked the fiend (aka Henry) up and cuddled him. "He ran in the house ahead of me, but he must have snuck out when I turned to close the door! I was wondering where he was; I thought he was hiding from me. The house was way too quiet!"
I thanked our neighbor and shut and locked the door, holding Henry the entire time. Once I verified that yes, he was in the house with me, I set him down to go play.
Which he did, very happily.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Burnt Popcorn
Joey's at his Nerd Cut Pro User's Group Meeting tonight, which means Jenna's all alone and bored.
And, unfortunately, hungry.
We have almost no food in the house, either, the refrigerator is bare. Which makes my predicament more dire. I could think of only one thing to do: call Joey.
"Joey, I'm hungry." I whined.
"Um....eat something?" He suggested vaguely.
"There's nothing to eat; we don't have any food." I wimpered, sure that he'd leave his Nerd Cut Pro meeting and come to my rescue.
"Don't we have some peanuts?" Joey asked.
Oh, the can of peanuts; forgot about those.
"Um, I don't really like peanuts by themselves." I countered. "Popcorn, maybe?" I offered.
"There's only one bag of popcorn left in the house!" Joey yelped.
"Yeah, and I'm going to eat it," I said with determination. We hung up rather quickly and I set about making my bag of popcorn. (All the while trying not to think of the people who work in the microwave popcorn factories who are struggling with Teflon poisoning from whatever they use to coat those bags with...)
I simply adore burnt popcorn. It is, like, right up there with burnt marshmallows. SO TASTY. Joey, on the other hand, despises it. So I make it when he's gone. (I think our first marital "discussion" came from me deliberately setting the microwave timer 1 second longer than he asked me to and, unfortunately, I burnt the popcorn. But come on, 1 second?! It had to be a fluke.)
But Joey ain't here. So I set that timer for 4 minutes (the popcorn setting is for 2:45) and left the room.
I opened the sliding glass door so I could open the bag outside and release most of the smoke, that way Joey won't be wise to my mischief until tomorrow morning when he reads this blog post. (Hi, babe!)
So my love, yes, I did burn the last bag of popcorn.
And it's so good.
And, unfortunately, hungry.
We have almost no food in the house, either, the refrigerator is bare. Which makes my predicament more dire. I could think of only one thing to do: call Joey.
"Joey, I'm hungry." I whined.
"Um....eat something?" He suggested vaguely.
"There's nothing to eat; we don't have any food." I wimpered, sure that he'd leave his Nerd Cut Pro meeting and come to my rescue.
"Don't we have some peanuts?" Joey asked.
Oh, the can of peanuts; forgot about those.
"Um, I don't really like peanuts by themselves." I countered. "Popcorn, maybe?" I offered.
"There's only one bag of popcorn left in the house!" Joey yelped.
"Yeah, and I'm going to eat it," I said with determination. We hung up rather quickly and I set about making my bag of popcorn. (All the while trying not to think of the people who work in the microwave popcorn factories who are struggling with Teflon poisoning from whatever they use to coat those bags with...)
I simply adore burnt popcorn. It is, like, right up there with burnt marshmallows. SO TASTY. Joey, on the other hand, despises it. So I make it when he's gone. (I think our first marital "discussion" came from me deliberately setting the microwave timer 1 second longer than he asked me to and, unfortunately, I burnt the popcorn. But come on, 1 second?! It had to be a fluke.)
But Joey ain't here. So I set that timer for 4 minutes (the popcorn setting is for 2:45) and left the room.
I opened the sliding glass door so I could open the bag outside and release most of the smoke, that way Joey won't be wise to my mischief until tomorrow morning when he reads this blog post. (Hi, babe!)
So my love, yes, I did burn the last bag of popcorn.
And it's so good.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
My Romantic Date
When I came in from shopping this evening, Joey grabbed my hand and said, "Come on, we're going on a date."
"Where, it's 8:15?" I asked, getting ready to put Henry in the kitchen. (We leave him there when we're gone.)
"You'll find out, and we're taking Henry." Joey said.
We walked, walked, walked, and walked. Finally Joey said, "You know what today is, right?"
"Um....July 11?" I ventured.
"Correct. Seven-eleven." He pointed across the street to the 7-11. "Today 7-11 is giving away free 7.11 oz Slurpees in honor of their 80th anniversary, and we're getting some!"
"REALLY!?" I shrieked, but not too loudly because there were some cops who were searching these ginormous, tough-looking guys car for drugs (parked in the street, mind you), and the ginormous guys were sitting dejectedly on the grass right next to where we were. I didn't want to set them off.
"Yep." Joey said, proudly.
"I've never had a Slurpee before!" I crowed, knowing that Joey had remembered this from the last time we were at 7-11 getting his Mt. Dew that he just had to have.
Joey went inside the store and I stayed out with Henry, following carefully his instructions to "make sure I can see you out the window at all times". Nobody tried to kidnap me.
Joey came out, mini Slurpee in hand, and then...it was MY turn. I gleefully skipped inside with my 7.11 oz Slurpee cup and stood before the Slurpee machine and tried to make my decision.
It was hard.
I finally decided I would just sample a teeeeeeeeeeny bit from the two I thought sounded the best. So I did. I wound up settling on cherry, which turned out to be pretty good.
We walked back to our apartment, happily slurping our Slurpees and having a very nice time talking as the sun went down. All in all, a very great surprise date. (Even though the mosquitoes were out in full force this evening.)
Thanks, baby, I love you!
"Where, it's 8:15?" I asked, getting ready to put Henry in the kitchen. (We leave him there when we're gone.)
"You'll find out, and we're taking Henry." Joey said.
We walked, walked, walked, and walked. Finally Joey said, "You know what today is, right?"
"Um....July 11?" I ventured.
"Correct. Seven-eleven." He pointed across the street to the 7-11. "Today 7-11 is giving away free 7.11 oz Slurpees in honor of their 80th anniversary, and we're getting some!"
"REALLY!?" I shrieked, but not too loudly because there were some cops who were searching these ginormous, tough-looking guys car for drugs (parked in the street, mind you), and the ginormous guys were sitting dejectedly on the grass right next to where we were. I didn't want to set them off.
"Yep." Joey said, proudly.
"I've never had a Slurpee before!" I crowed, knowing that Joey had remembered this from the last time we were at 7-11 getting his Mt. Dew that he just had to have.
Joey went inside the store and I stayed out with Henry, following carefully his instructions to "make sure I can see you out the window at all times". Nobody tried to kidnap me.
Joey came out, mini Slurpee in hand, and then...it was MY turn. I gleefully skipped inside with my 7.11 oz Slurpee cup and stood before the Slurpee machine and tried to make my decision.
It was hard.
I finally decided I would just sample a teeeeeeeeeeny bit from the two I thought sounded the best. So I did. I wound up settling on cherry, which turned out to be pretty good.
We walked back to our apartment, happily slurping our Slurpees and having a very nice time talking as the sun went down. All in all, a very great surprise date. (Even though the mosquitoes were out in full force this evening.)
Thanks, baby, I love you!
I was in a rather large meeting today when someone across the table suddenly asked me, "Jenna, are you engaged?"
"No," I replied, "I'm married. Two years now!"
This answer was met by a Very Shocked Look.
Silence...then, "How old are you?"
I debated how to reply, but finally settled on the truth. "Twenty-four."
I cannot tell you how awkward it is to divulge one's age in a meeting that is being teleconferenced to three locations across the country. Particularly when you're divulging said age because no one believes you're old enough to be married, much less for two years already.
"No," I replied, "I'm married. Two years now!"
This answer was met by a Very Shocked Look.
Silence...then, "How old are you?"
I debated how to reply, but finally settled on the truth. "Twenty-four."
I cannot tell you how awkward it is to divulge one's age in a meeting that is being teleconferenced to three locations across the country. Particularly when you're divulging said age because no one believes you're old enough to be married, much less for two years already.
The Coffee
I have really disturbing breath today and it's making me crazy. So I figured that today was as good a day as any to get some coffee (decaf, of course, no hyperventilating Jenna today...).
I washed out my pretty pink mug with the tulip on it (Joey got it for me!) and headed to the Flavia machine.
(Now, Greg, I realize that Flavia coffee is probably not even coffee in your opinion, but it's the best I can do under the circumstances.)
Joey despises the scent of coffee in all of its forms, and it was only recently that I could talk him into Starbucks to get hot chocolate (for him) and some sort of coffee for me. (However the "ewww, your breath is super gross" for the next hour is not worth the enjoyment of the coffee, so I stopped drinking coffee pretty much altogether and now I just get tea whenever we go to any soft of coffee shop.)
So, since I won't see Joey for another seven hours (woe is me!), I made myself a weakling Breakfast Blend with some hot chocolate mixed in for good measure. So now my problem is twofold:
1.) I have bad coffee breath on top of whatever was wrong with it before
2.) I'm really hungry
I washed out my pretty pink mug with the tulip on it (Joey got it for me!) and headed to the Flavia machine.
(Now, Greg, I realize that Flavia coffee is probably not even coffee in your opinion, but it's the best I can do under the circumstances.)
Joey despises the scent of coffee in all of its forms, and it was only recently that I could talk him into Starbucks to get hot chocolate (for him) and some sort of coffee for me. (However the "ewww, your breath is super gross" for the next hour is not worth the enjoyment of the coffee, so I stopped drinking coffee pretty much altogether and now I just get tea whenever we go to any soft of coffee shop.)
So, since I won't see Joey for another seven hours (woe is me!), I made myself a weakling Breakfast Blend with some hot chocolate mixed in for good measure. So now my problem is twofold:
1.) I have bad coffee breath on top of whatever was wrong with it before
2.) I'm really hungry
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
In Which Henry Guest Lectures at DTS...Inadvertantly
(If you work in either the AV or Video Editing departments at DTS, stop reading this post right now and close the window. And probably Pastor Steve, too. If you didn't like the symphony one, you probably won't like this one, either.)
This is Henry. He is our dog/firstborn.
Joey needed to stay late tonight and run the sound and video for a class being taught at the Houston extension that was live broadcast at the Dallas campus. (A bunch of technical stuff that I don't understand.) He requested that I come visit him and bring Burger King with me.
As the class ran from 6-10 p.m., I decided I'd better do it if I wanted to see my husband this evening. So I went home, got a book, grabbed Henry (can't leave the kid at home unattended, right?) and we were off to Burger King.
I should mention here that getting Burger King with a dog in the car can prove to be an insurmountable task, if said dog likes the smell of french fries. Oh my word.
We arrived at DTS with Chippy (Henry's toy), my book, the Burger King and 3 waters in hand. We were prepared to stay for awhile, and Henry was freaking out. (I think he remembered the last time he was at DTS and took over Joey's entire department.)
Henry and I sneakily made our way to Campbell (although he was drawing an atrocious amount of attention from female students lounging in the grass; it's hard to be covert that way) and walked in as though we were supposed to be there.
I was, actually. It's just we never asked if Henry could go. (However, I'm not sure what I was so afraid of.)
Joey met us in the hall and scuttled us into the audio room that's just off the side of the classroom. He shut the door behind us. We ate our dinner and talked for awhile, until Henry made a little whining sound.
"He's got to go outside," I said.
"Um...can he wait?" The class had just gone on break. "There's a lot of people in the hall right now."
I waited a few minutes, but Henry whined again. "No, it doesn't appear that he can. I'll go out the back door." I said.
So Henry and I slinked out.
We'd have gotten in without detection, too, but there were two stragglers coming back from break who saw Henry and I coming back inside. They gave us a strange look which, actually, I don't blame them for.
Now that Henry was all relieved, he was really energetic. Every time Joey would leave to go adjust the sound (both classrooms, Dallas and Houston, had mics and video cameras on them, that way everybody could see and hear everyone else) Henry would sit at the door and whine.
Rather loudly.
Joey would come in again and Henry would be fine, but every time Joey left Henry got more and more excited. Fortunately he hadn't tried running out the door with Joey and into the classroom across the way (mortification!), but the classroom door was open so I was always afraid he would try it.
Henry sat at the door on High Alert waiting for Joey to come back in. He was so intense he wasn't even wagging his tail. Finally Joey opened the door, shut it, and walked over to his chair.
Henry groveled on the ground, wagging his tail so fast I thought he was going to wag it right off. Then....
BARK! BARK!! BARK!!!
I have never heard Henry bark so loudly before. Joey and I scrambled to pick him up and make him be quiet.
"Do you think they heard that?" I asked. Although, how could they not? Their door was open and we were probably 25 feet away, although the door was closed. They were Very Loud Barks.
At any rate, I soon packed Henry up and headed for home. No sense Henry barking again and the prof (in Houston) asking "Is there a dog in here?" to his students in Dallas.
Aside from the excessively loud barking, Henry was a positive angel while he was there. He didn't get into anything or cause any other trouble...aside from the barking. Which was pretty naughty.
As we were leaving, the janitor walked by. He was a large, tough-looking man.
"Oh my word, what a cute puppy!" He exclaimed, looking at Henry.
"Yeah, he's pretty great." I said.
"Was he going to class?" The janitor asked with a smile.
"Nope, just visiting Daddy; he's running the sound and video for the class down the hall so we brought him dinner." I replied, wondering what I'd been so afraid of in the first place. He obviously didn't care if Henry was in the building. (Henry IS 75% human, after all.)
"That's great, that's great..." The janitor said, and walked off, still smiling and chuckling to himself.
And, thus, Henry has had yet another successful foray onto the DTS campus. Hopefully next time he keeps his furry little mouth shut!
This is Henry. He is our dog/firstborn.
Joey needed to stay late tonight and run the sound and video for a class being taught at the Houston extension that was live broadcast at the Dallas campus. (A bunch of technical stuff that I don't understand.) He requested that I come visit him and bring Burger King with me.As the class ran from 6-10 p.m., I decided I'd better do it if I wanted to see my husband this evening. So I went home, got a book, grabbed Henry (can't leave the kid at home unattended, right?) and we were off to Burger King.
I should mention here that getting Burger King with a dog in the car can prove to be an insurmountable task, if said dog likes the smell of french fries. Oh my word.
We arrived at DTS with Chippy (Henry's toy), my book, the Burger King and 3 waters in hand. We were prepared to stay for awhile, and Henry was freaking out. (I think he remembered the last time he was at DTS and took over Joey's entire department.)
Henry and I sneakily made our way to Campbell (although he was drawing an atrocious amount of attention from female students lounging in the grass; it's hard to be covert that way) and walked in as though we were supposed to be there.
I was, actually. It's just we never asked if Henry could go. (However, I'm not sure what I was so afraid of.)
Joey met us in the hall and scuttled us into the audio room that's just off the side of the classroom. He shut the door behind us. We ate our dinner and talked for awhile, until Henry made a little whining sound.
"He's got to go outside," I said.
"Um...can he wait?" The class had just gone on break. "There's a lot of people in the hall right now."
I waited a few minutes, but Henry whined again. "No, it doesn't appear that he can. I'll go out the back door." I said.
So Henry and I slinked out.
We'd have gotten in without detection, too, but there were two stragglers coming back from break who saw Henry and I coming back inside. They gave us a strange look which, actually, I don't blame them for.
Now that Henry was all relieved, he was really energetic. Every time Joey would leave to go adjust the sound (both classrooms, Dallas and Houston, had mics and video cameras on them, that way everybody could see and hear everyone else) Henry would sit at the door and whine.
Rather loudly.
Joey would come in again and Henry would be fine, but every time Joey left Henry got more and more excited. Fortunately he hadn't tried running out the door with Joey and into the classroom across the way (mortification!), but the classroom door was open so I was always afraid he would try it.
Henry sat at the door on High Alert waiting for Joey to come back in. He was so intense he wasn't even wagging his tail. Finally Joey opened the door, shut it, and walked over to his chair.
Henry groveled on the ground, wagging his tail so fast I thought he was going to wag it right off. Then....
BARK! BARK!! BARK!!!
I have never heard Henry bark so loudly before. Joey and I scrambled to pick him up and make him be quiet.
"Do you think they heard that?" I asked. Although, how could they not? Their door was open and we were probably 25 feet away, although the door was closed. They were Very Loud Barks.
At any rate, I soon packed Henry up and headed for home. No sense Henry barking again and the prof (in Houston) asking "Is there a dog in here?" to his students in Dallas.
Aside from the excessively loud barking, Henry was a positive angel while he was there. He didn't get into anything or cause any other trouble...aside from the barking. Which was pretty naughty.
As we were leaving, the janitor walked by. He was a large, tough-looking man.
"Oh my word, what a cute puppy!" He exclaimed, looking at Henry.
"Yeah, he's pretty great." I said.
"Was he going to class?" The janitor asked with a smile.
"Nope, just visiting Daddy; he's running the sound and video for the class down the hall so we brought him dinner." I replied, wondering what I'd been so afraid of in the first place. He obviously didn't care if Henry was in the building. (Henry IS 75% human, after all.)
"That's great, that's great..." The janitor said, and walked off, still smiling and chuckling to himself.
And, thus, Henry has had yet another successful foray onto the DTS campus. Hopefully next time he keeps his furry little mouth shut!
My Fancy Beverage
During the day, I have a pretty much unlimited supply of sodas, fruit juices, waters, seltzers, different flavors of V8, and iced teas. Unfortunately, about 70% of it is the diet stuff, so it's made with those nasty cancer-causing chemicals that really don't wind up saving you any calories.
If soda is going to be bad for me in the first place, I'd rather not have it taste bad and give me more cancer while I'm at it. Plus, I barely ever drink it.
Two weeks ago, I felt like having a Sprite. So I headed on down to the kitchen and grabbed me a Sprite from the fridge. I noticed a sliced up lemon and lime on the counter, so I grabbed a slice of each and added them to my Sprite. To my astonishment, my Sprite was even more tasty than normal! (Sprite is about the only soda I like, except for Pepsi when I'm eating pizza or a hamburger or something.)
Today I added two slices of lime to my Sprite. It's fantastic.
If soda is going to be bad for me in the first place, I'd rather not have it taste bad and give me more cancer while I'm at it. Plus, I barely ever drink it.
Two weeks ago, I felt like having a Sprite. So I headed on down to the kitchen and grabbed me a Sprite from the fridge. I noticed a sliced up lemon and lime on the counter, so I grabbed a slice of each and added them to my Sprite. To my astonishment, my Sprite was even more tasty than normal! (Sprite is about the only soda I like, except for Pepsi when I'm eating pizza or a hamburger or something.)
Today I added two slices of lime to my Sprite. It's fantastic.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
The Baby Lizard
I was in Houston this morning with Joey and a co-worker of his. We were down there to help film his coworker leading worship for his online resume and so we got to the church at 8:00 a.m.
(Church doesn't start until 10:30.)
The church was huge. Ginormous. But, unfortunately, has been in decline since its height in the mid-fifties to the sixties. So they sold their building to Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary and it's now an extension campus. All this to say, when I got bored after watching Joey set up the cameras for ten minutes, there was a LOT for me to go explore.
I set out to find the church library, only to discover that there wasn't one and the seminary's was locked.
I then discovered a choir room, a music room, two robing rooms (whatever those are), and all sorts of other things I wasn't aware that churches had. (Fancy changing rooms up above the baptistry?!)
There was also a very nice courtyard which I went out into and called Sister. (She's on her way to the UP.)
After talking with Sister for 45 minutes, I decided I'd better go find Joey. I headed back into the building but, skittering across the sidewalk rather slowly, was a baby lizard. He was sort of waddling.
"Oh, little guy!" I cooed at him; my siblings and I are a big fan of smallish lizards.
I noticed a bulky black thing by his tail that I thought must be a piece of dirt he'd picked up as he ran across the sidewalk but I quickly learned otherwise.
He shook his little tail, deposited the black thing, and sped off across the sidewalk and into the bush to hide from me.
"My word," I said to myself. "I think that lizard was relieving himself and I actually saw it!"
I called Sister back immediately.
"Sister! I just saw a lizard go to the bathroom!" It was the most excitement I'd had all morning.
"That's great!" She said, enthusiastically.
I hung up with her so she could go back to taking her nap, then I ran inside to go get Joey so I could bring him out and show him the little lizard business on the sidewalk. When I told him what I wanted to show him outside, he was only slightly impressed, but he followed very obligingly.
"See? There." I pointed, as I led him to the spot.
"Wow...you're really proud of yourself, aren't you?" Joey said, trying not to laugh.
"Yes. Do you know how boring these last 2 hours have been?" I said, staring at the black speck on the sidewalk.
"You poor thing," Joey said, unsympathetically. "Come on, let's go back inside and you can show me around."
And so I did.
(Church doesn't start until 10:30.)
The church was huge. Ginormous. But, unfortunately, has been in decline since its height in the mid-fifties to the sixties. So they sold their building to Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary and it's now an extension campus. All this to say, when I got bored after watching Joey set up the cameras for ten minutes, there was a LOT for me to go explore.
I set out to find the church library, only to discover that there wasn't one and the seminary's was locked.
I then discovered a choir room, a music room, two robing rooms (whatever those are), and all sorts of other things I wasn't aware that churches had. (Fancy changing rooms up above the baptistry?!)
There was also a very nice courtyard which I went out into and called Sister. (She's on her way to the UP.)
After talking with Sister for 45 minutes, I decided I'd better go find Joey. I headed back into the building but, skittering across the sidewalk rather slowly, was a baby lizard. He was sort of waddling.
"Oh, little guy!" I cooed at him; my siblings and I are a big fan of smallish lizards.
I noticed a bulky black thing by his tail that I thought must be a piece of dirt he'd picked up as he ran across the sidewalk but I quickly learned otherwise.
He shook his little tail, deposited the black thing, and sped off across the sidewalk and into the bush to hide from me.
"My word," I said to myself. "I think that lizard was relieving himself and I actually saw it!"
I called Sister back immediately.
"Sister! I just saw a lizard go to the bathroom!" It was the most excitement I'd had all morning.
"That's great!" She said, enthusiastically.
I hung up with her so she could go back to taking her nap, then I ran inside to go get Joey so I could bring him out and show him the little lizard business on the sidewalk. When I told him what I wanted to show him outside, he was only slightly impressed, but he followed very obligingly.
"See? There." I pointed, as I led him to the spot.
"Wow...you're really proud of yourself, aren't you?" Joey said, trying not to laugh.
"Yes. Do you know how boring these last 2 hours have been?" I said, staring at the black speck on the sidewalk.
"You poor thing," Joey said, unsympathetically. "Come on, let's go back inside and you can show me around."
And so I did.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Unfortunately
I feel really unusual. Sickly without actually feeling sick, you know? (Well, you probably don't, which is why I'm terming it "unusual".)
All day yesterday I felt like I was swirling around and the world was standing still, plus I just felt disgusting. No stomach ache, no sore throat, no sniffles...just felt disgusting. So I went to bed at 9:30 last night and, um, overslept this morning and got up at 7:10.
I felt great until lunch.
It was Wild About Harry's today, and they have brisket hot dogs (only down here could you get hot dogs made out of brisket...) and custard.
I thought I was feeling Suspicious again (only this time with a tummy ache) so I got myself a Sprite with a twist of lemon. The dizzies set in shortly thereafter, and I determined that I might as well eat a hot dog because I felt sick anyway. So I made myself my first chili dog ever and am currently eating a smallish scoop of custard with fluorescent green, hot pink and yellow sprinkles.
It's super tasty and I've eaten less than half.
I'm thinking of throwing it away, though, because the longer I sit here the more Suspicious I feel. And, unfortunately , we're going to Houston tomorrow. We're staying at some people's house that neither Joey nor I has ever seen before in the course of our lives.
So I can hardly say to our poor hostess, "I'm sorry, I'm not eating that. I feel Suspicious."
All day yesterday I felt like I was swirling around and the world was standing still, plus I just felt disgusting. No stomach ache, no sore throat, no sniffles...just felt disgusting. So I went to bed at 9:30 last night and, um, overslept this morning and got up at 7:10.
I felt great until lunch.
It was Wild About Harry's today, and they have brisket hot dogs (only down here could you get hot dogs made out of brisket...) and custard.
I thought I was feeling Suspicious again (only this time with a tummy ache) so I got myself a Sprite with a twist of lemon. The dizzies set in shortly thereafter, and I determined that I might as well eat a hot dog because I felt sick anyway. So I made myself my first chili dog ever and am currently eating a smallish scoop of custard with fluorescent green, hot pink and yellow sprinkles.
It's super tasty and I've eaten less than half.
I'm thinking of throwing it away, though, because the longer I sit here the more Suspicious I feel. And, unfortunately , we're going to Houston tomorrow. We're staying at some people's house that neither Joey nor I has ever seen before in the course of our lives.
So I can hardly say to our poor hostess, "I'm sorry, I'm not eating that. I feel Suspicious."
Thursday, July 05, 2007
My Wish List
My birthday's coming up (in like a month and a half), but it's never too early to publish the wish list, right?
- Sunshine!!
- Either this rug or this rug for my kitchen (Henry has taken to shredding the one I currently have. He thinks the side fringies are fun. I do not.)
- A silicon whisk and pastry brush
- A meat thermometer because I, well, inadvertently destroyed my old one
- A sturdy utensil caddy that won't fall over
- Ann Taylor Loft gift card
- A hot pink iPod nano
- Coach purse and matching wallet (yeah, right!)
Spelling
At 10:30 last night I was almost asleep when Joey suddenly blurted out, "I wonder why 'impunity' is spelled with a g. It doesn't need a g."
"It's not." I mumbled.
"It is." Joey said, firmly.
Now, I hate to prove Joey wrong (sure...) but this time I simply could not resist. There is absolutely no g in impunity, and there never has been. Ever.
"Where's the dictionary..." I asked, sleepily.
"On the shelf. Don't go get it." I think he was beginning to wonder if there really was a g in impunity, and didn't want me to show him that there wasn't.
"No, no, I will. I have to show you you're wrong." So I got out of bed, walked over to the bookshelf, couldn't find the dictionary and so settled for the laptop, which has a dictionary in it.
I brought it back into our room and handed it to Joey who opened it up and furtively typed i-m-p-u-g-n-i-t-y. To no one's surprise (except maybe Joey's, but Henry and I were not surprised), nothing came up.
"WHAT?" Joey wailed in a manly sort of way.
"Told you." I said, smugly. Henry sniffed my chin in agreement.
Joey typed in i-m-p-u-n-i-t-y and, sure enough, pulled up an entry. "I know I saw it spelled with a g somewhere..." Joey muttered as he closed the laptop in defeat.
I, however, am not sure where he could have ever seen it spelled that way. I just searched a dictionary for words spelled similarly to "impugnity" and, can you believe it?, I didn't come up with a thing.
An even more burning question is why on earth Joey was thinking about the word impunity at 10:30 at night.
im·pu·ni·ty
-noun
1. exemption from punishment.
2. immunity from detrimental effects, as of an action.
"It's not." I mumbled.
"It is." Joey said, firmly.
Now, I hate to prove Joey wrong (sure...) but this time I simply could not resist. There is absolutely no g in impunity, and there never has been. Ever.
"Where's the dictionary..." I asked, sleepily.
"On the shelf. Don't go get it." I think he was beginning to wonder if there really was a g in impunity, and didn't want me to show him that there wasn't.
"No, no, I will. I have to show you you're wrong." So I got out of bed, walked over to the bookshelf, couldn't find the dictionary and so settled for the laptop, which has a dictionary in it.
I brought it back into our room and handed it to Joey who opened it up and furtively typed i-m-p-u-g-n-i-t-y. To no one's surprise (except maybe Joey's, but Henry and I were not surprised), nothing came up.
"WHAT?" Joey wailed in a manly sort of way.
"Told you." I said, smugly. Henry sniffed my chin in agreement.
Joey typed in i-m-p-u-n-i-t-y and, sure enough, pulled up an entry. "I know I saw it spelled with a g somewhere..." Joey muttered as he closed the laptop in defeat.
I, however, am not sure where he could have ever seen it spelled that way. I just searched a dictionary for words spelled similarly to "impugnity" and, can you believe it?, I didn't come up with a thing.
An even more burning question is why on earth Joey was thinking about the word impunity at 10:30 at night.
im·pu·ni·ty
-noun
1. exemption from punishment.
2. immunity from detrimental effects, as of an action.
Blast From The Past
A little bird (ahem...) sent this to my inbox this morning. And, seeing as it's Pops and Mom's anniversary on Monday, it seemed appropriate to post it here.
This is my parents' wedding announcement. Weren't they cute?!
This is my parents' wedding announcement. Weren't they cute?!
Happy 30th, Mom and Dad!
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
All His Worldly Goods
My dearest love and I just finished watching Shadowlands. (It's that movie about CS Lewis and his wife.) I really enjoyed it, but now I'm super tired.
As a bit of back story, when Joey and I got married part of his vows were, "and with all my worldly goods I thee endow", and it's really rankled him ever since that I didn't have to endow upon him all of my earthly goods.
(When I'm feeling particularly fiesty I run around the house and point at things like his laptop, the iPods, his car and say "and that's mine, and that's mine, and that's mine...")
I'd never have noticed that I got the better end of the materialistic deal, so to speak, if he had never pointed it out, but it sure is comedically convenient that he did.
So here we are, watching Shadowlands. CS Lewis is marrying Joy in the hospital and in a very romantic, heart-rendering scene he utters, "and with all my wordly goods I thee endow..."
Joey screamed, "OH!! That makes it all OK, right there. CS Lewis had to endow all his wordly goods to his wife, too, so I feel much better now. I was just quoting CS Lewis."
"Right, right." I said. I almost added, "We're watching this movie on my laptop", but I held my tongue.
I probably missed the entire point of the vow, but Joey still loves me.
As a bit of back story, when Joey and I got married part of his vows were, "and with all my worldly goods I thee endow", and it's really rankled him ever since that I didn't have to endow upon him all of my earthly goods.
(When I'm feeling particularly fiesty I run around the house and point at things like his laptop, the iPods, his car and say "and that's mine, and that's mine, and that's mine...")
I'd never have noticed that I got the better end of the materialistic deal, so to speak, if he had never pointed it out, but it sure is comedically convenient that he did.
So here we are, watching Shadowlands. CS Lewis is marrying Joy in the hospital and in a very romantic, heart-rendering scene he utters, "and with all my wordly goods I thee endow..."
Joey screamed, "OH!! That makes it all OK, right there. CS Lewis had to endow all his wordly goods to his wife, too, so I feel much better now. I was just quoting CS Lewis."
"Right, right." I said. I almost added, "We're watching this movie on my laptop", but I held my tongue.
I probably missed the entire point of the vow, but Joey still loves me.
Kaboom Town
First of all, a bit of a holler at my Sister for calling us at 7:30 and scaring us to death. Gosh.
Second of all, Henry totally went to Kaboom Town.
It was raining as I made our sandwiches for our picnic dinner. It was raining as Joey went to pick up Matt. It was raining as we looked for a bag large enough to hide Henry in if necessary. It was raining as we drove to Kaboom Town. And then it stopped.
"Oh look!" I said, "It's clearing to the West!"
And as soon as I said that it began to rain again. Very hard. (Obviously I didn't learn anything in the Boundary Waters.)
We continued driving in the very steady rain, parked in a nearly empty parking garage (got a great spot, too, right by the exit) and sat down on the cement to eat our sandwiches and cookies. Henry was jealous because I'd forgotten to bring him food, so he just sat on the ground and tried not to beg. He wasn't very successful.
The rain finally mostly stopped, so Joey, Henry, Matt and I decided we'd walk over to the circle and see what was going on. As we neared the circle I realized that there really was no controlled entrance/exit, just policemen standing at strategic places along the sidewalks people were using to enter.
Joey had been walking a very soggy Henry, but when he saw the policeman he quickly handed the leash to me. "He's your dog," Joey said. "I'm not getting in trouble for this."
So Henry and I walked right by the policeman. Twice.
Neither time did they stop us or say, "No dogs." (Probably because Henry is so cute.)
The rain finally stopped and the sky got clearer. We decided to stay so we set up our chairs and camped out. A family came and sat in front of us about twenty minutes later. The little boy said, "Mom, look! They brought their dog! We should have brought ours."
The mom looked back at me with great disdain and said, rather loudly, "I don't like to break rules." She kept shooting me dirty looks for the next hour, during which time I leaned over to Matt and said, "You can play with Henry, just don't make him bark. That woman looks real angry and whatnot." Matt noticed the lady's grouchy demeanor and pretty much stopped playing with Henry on the spot. We weren't feeling like risk takers.
Then suddenly Grouchface (that lady) disappeared. She returned around 8:00. With her dog.
This Kaboom Town thing was pretty cool. There was a military jazz band, a mini airshow with mostly WW2 era planes but a few tricksy ones that did flips and hammerheads and scared me a lot, an annoying band, and then, fireworks.
Matt and I agreed that these were the best fireworks we'd ever seen. I'm not sure if Joey agrees or not, he and Jordan were talking. Loudly. The whole time. (This is still a sensitive issue, if you can't tell.)
My favorite part was that the finale was color-coordinated.
Henry did not care for the fireworks at all. He shook like a leaf for the first half, then by the second half gave up caring entirely but refused to be put on the ground. He sort of clung to me for dear life in an apathetic sort of way.
We stayed until 12:00 a.m. watching October Sky (Henry didn't mind that so much) and drove home in zero traffic.
All in all, a very nice 3rd/4th of July. I hope yours is as good.
And Henry hopes your fireworks aren't as scary.
Second of all, Henry totally went to Kaboom Town.
It was raining as I made our sandwiches for our picnic dinner. It was raining as Joey went to pick up Matt. It was raining as we looked for a bag large enough to hide Henry in if necessary. It was raining as we drove to Kaboom Town. And then it stopped.
"Oh look!" I said, "It's clearing to the West!"
And as soon as I said that it began to rain again. Very hard. (Obviously I didn't learn anything in the Boundary Waters.)
We continued driving in the very steady rain, parked in a nearly empty parking garage (got a great spot, too, right by the exit) and sat down on the cement to eat our sandwiches and cookies. Henry was jealous because I'd forgotten to bring him food, so he just sat on the ground and tried not to beg. He wasn't very successful.
The rain finally mostly stopped, so Joey, Henry, Matt and I decided we'd walk over to the circle and see what was going on. As we neared the circle I realized that there really was no controlled entrance/exit, just policemen standing at strategic places along the sidewalks people were using to enter.
Joey had been walking a very soggy Henry, but when he saw the policeman he quickly handed the leash to me. "He's your dog," Joey said. "I'm not getting in trouble for this."
So Henry and I walked right by the policeman. Twice.
Neither time did they stop us or say, "No dogs." (Probably because Henry is so cute.)
The rain finally stopped and the sky got clearer. We decided to stay so we set up our chairs and camped out. A family came and sat in front of us about twenty minutes later. The little boy said, "Mom, look! They brought their dog! We should have brought ours."
The mom looked back at me with great disdain and said, rather loudly, "I don't like to break rules." She kept shooting me dirty looks for the next hour, during which time I leaned over to Matt and said, "You can play with Henry, just don't make him bark. That woman looks real angry and whatnot." Matt noticed the lady's grouchy demeanor and pretty much stopped playing with Henry on the spot. We weren't feeling like risk takers.
Then suddenly Grouchface (that lady) disappeared. She returned around 8:00. With her dog.
This Kaboom Town thing was pretty cool. There was a military jazz band, a mini airshow with mostly WW2 era planes but a few tricksy ones that did flips and hammerheads and scared me a lot, an annoying band, and then, fireworks.
Matt and I agreed that these were the best fireworks we'd ever seen. I'm not sure if Joey agrees or not, he and Jordan were talking. Loudly. The whole time. (This is still a sensitive issue, if you can't tell.)
My favorite part was that the finale was color-coordinated.
Henry did not care for the fireworks at all. He shook like a leaf for the first half, then by the second half gave up caring entirely but refused to be put on the ground. He sort of clung to me for dear life in an apathetic sort of way.
We stayed until 12:00 a.m. watching October Sky (Henry didn't mind that so much) and drove home in zero traffic.
All in all, a very nice 3rd/4th of July. I hope yours is as good.
And Henry hopes your fireworks aren't as scary.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Did You Buy Your Tickets?
To the air show, of course.
(Hmm, doesn't have quite the same ring as "gun show" would. And besides, the air show is free.)
Torrential downpours aside, we're planning to go to Kaboom Town in Addison tonight. It should be pretty amazing (military air show, band, fireworks, etc). We've got a passel o' friends we're taking along with us, so it had better be amazing or we'll look like a couple of gomers.
The problem is Henry.
I was on the Kaboom Town website trying to figure out how the stink to get there, where to park, if we'd have to pay to park, etc, when I came across something that was rather disturbing in the FAQ section.
Q: Can I bring my pet?
A: No. Leave Fido at home; only service animals are permitted on the grounds.
Here's my problem. Henry's not really a dog, he's our stand-in child until Joey's done with seminary. (It is, as yet, unknown whether or not he'll be demoted from Firstborn Status when we finally do have a kid. But yes, we do refer to him as our firstborn. Stop laughing at us.)
He's really small and cute (small enough, in fact, to probably smuggle him on the grounds in a large bag. Hmm, where's Gail's Mexican shopping bag when I need it...) and very serviceable indeed. He helps us do all sorts of things (like eat what I drop when I'm baking), so I'd definitely term him a service animal.
Oh, Henry also has a couple of shirts (which he absolutely hates to wear), but we could use one for disguise if need be. Henry incognito and all that. It would also serve as a good diversion if we get bored; Henry tends to try to abuse himself in order to try to get the shirt he's wearing off his person. (He's never been successful, but he sure gets dizzy running in circles trying to chase that shirt off. It's, um, hilarious.)
So I have another three hours to decide whether or not I'm sneaking Henry into Kaboom Town.
He's probably coming.
(Hmm, doesn't have quite the same ring as "gun show" would. And besides, the air show is free.)
Torrential downpours aside, we're planning to go to Kaboom Town in Addison tonight. It should be pretty amazing (military air show, band, fireworks, etc). We've got a passel o' friends we're taking along with us, so it had better be amazing or we'll look like a couple of gomers.
The problem is Henry.
I was on the Kaboom Town website trying to figure out how the stink to get there, where to park, if we'd have to pay to park, etc, when I came across something that was rather disturbing in the FAQ section.
Q: Can I bring my pet?
A: No. Leave Fido at home; only service animals are permitted on the grounds.
Here's my problem. Henry's not really a dog, he's our stand-in child until Joey's done with seminary. (It is, as yet, unknown whether or not he'll be demoted from Firstborn Status when we finally do have a kid. But yes, we do refer to him as our firstborn. Stop laughing at us.)
He's really small and cute (small enough, in fact, to probably smuggle him on the grounds in a large bag. Hmm, where's Gail's Mexican shopping bag when I need it...) and very serviceable indeed. He helps us do all sorts of things (like eat what I drop when I'm baking), so I'd definitely term him a service animal.
Oh, Henry also has a couple of shirts (which he absolutely hates to wear), but we could use one for disguise if need be. Henry incognito and all that. It would also serve as a good diversion if we get bored; Henry tends to try to abuse himself in order to try to get the shirt he's wearing off his person. (He's never been successful, but he sure gets dizzy running in circles trying to chase that shirt off. It's, um, hilarious.)
So I have another three hours to decide whether or not I'm sneaking Henry into Kaboom Town.
He's probably coming.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Build An Ark
Before we moved to Dallas I woefully lamented to Joey that "It probably never rains in Dallas, I'll really miss the sound of rain beating down on the roof."
Famous last words.
It has not yet stopped raining. Thus far we are having one of the wettest springs on record. (My associates say it's all my fault for wishing it would rain more.)
I just glanced at the RADAR and, surprise!, a new storm just popped up about four hours west of Forth Worth and will be here just in time for rush hour. Joy. Everyone drives like idiots when it rains and gets into tons of accidents because for some reason they just can't seem to keep it between the lines. (All that water on the windshield or something.)
And, thus, I am considering going to Lowe's to pick up some wood to start constructing an ark. (Although I'm not sure if Joey, Henry and I will count as two of every living creature, but we're a start anyway.)
I plan to paddle up North where it's dry.
Famous last words.
It has not yet stopped raining. Thus far we are having one of the wettest springs on record. (My associates say it's all my fault for wishing it would rain more.)
I just glanced at the RADAR and, surprise!, a new storm just popped up about four hours west of Forth Worth and will be here just in time for rush hour. Joy. Everyone drives like idiots when it rains and gets into tons of accidents because for some reason they just can't seem to keep it between the lines. (All that water on the windshield or something.)
And, thus, I am considering going to Lowe's to pick up some wood to start constructing an ark. (Although I'm not sure if Joey, Henry and I will count as two of every living creature, but we're a start anyway.)
I plan to paddle up North where it's dry.
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