When Joey and I were looking for a bakery for our wedding cake, frosting quality was the #1 priority for me. We found a place (Jules Bakery in Marion) that had killer cake and amazing frosting. It was a match made in heaven, just like the two of us.
The day before my birthday as Joey was dropping me off at work I reminded him, "Now don't forget to make me a birthday cake. With lots of frosting."
"I won't, I won't," he assured me.
"I like Funfetti." I offered. Joey likes it when I don't hint, I just tell him. I am learning. Slowly.
One year (the first year we were married) I had to make my own birthday cake. That was kind of a traumatizing event; Joey now knows that it's Very Important that I not have to make my own birthday cake.
So on Tuesday, poor Joey went to class and then immediately ran home where, unbeknownst to me, he loaded up my new pinkPod with all my favorite songs. That being done, there was no time for cake building.
When I arrived home from work we hopped straight in the car and went to the movies (50 cent night...) and then to dinner. Halfway though our very romantic birthday date, he admitted to me that the cake was not yet built.
"But I'm going to build it when we get home. Even if we have to eat it at 11:00 tonight," he assured me.
We arrived home and Joey began building my cake with speed and agility. (Women make cakes, men build them. Joey is adamant.) As it turns out, we were short 1 egg. So we had to run to the grocery in the middle of Joey's cake-building eggstravaganza. The cake was finally in the oven about 8:45.
At 9:15 Joey pulled out 2 gorgeously browned, perfectly moist layers of my yellow butter cake.
"Sit down. I am going to cool this and then I will frost it."
I sat.
Joey stood in the kitchen looking at the cakes on the cooling rack. (A watched cake never cools...) After 15 minutes he gave up and began whipping the frosting he'd bought (two tubs! for one cake!) in a bowl.
"I'm making it light and fluffy for you," he explained.
After 20 minutes he lost patience all together and began frosting the cake. I was told not to come and watch, so I remained on the couch, happily reading my book.
I heard strange shaking noises coming from the kitchen but, being so commanded, stayed on the couch. A few minutes later, a sheepish Joey came running out of the kitchen.
"Do we have any candles?"
"Yes, they're behind..." I explained where they were. You really don't care where I keep my birthday candles, do you?
He dashed back into the kitchen where I heard quite a bit of rummaging. (I keep my candles in a very inconvenient location since I only use them twice a year.) A few minutes later...
"Happy birthday to you!" He sang to me, holding a very frosting-laden cake covered in Funfetti sprinkles and ablaze with candles.
"WOW!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands in delight, "It's amazing!"
He finished "Happy Birthday" and I blew out my candles. (All five of them.)
"I put tons of frosting on it for you," he said as he cut me a piece cake that was so top-heavy with frosting that it broke in half on my plate.
"I know, I can tell. It's the most beautiful birthday cake anyone has ever built me!" I assured him.
And it was.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Fair Warning: It's Not Safe To Eat at Potbelly's
I was sitting at my desk, happily eating my chicken salad sandwich from Potbelly's when I bit down on something. Hard.
It felt too large to be a chicken bone. A bit too hard as well. I rolled it around in my mouth to try to figure out what it was. I determined that whatever it was I shouldn't eat it, so I politely spit it out into a napkin.
I unfolded the napkin and, to my great surprise, there sat a screw. (A regular one, not a Phillips one.)
Since the screw had just come out of my mouth with a bunch of chicken salad, it looked Very Disgusting. I dusted it off as much as possible and tapped it on the desk. It made a very metallic and disconcerting sound.
I carried it over to our catering manager and said, "I hate to be a whiner...but I found a screw in my sandwich."
I was met with a lock of shocked horror.
"A what?" She asked.
"A screw." I held it up for her to see.
"Oh...that makes me mad! I am calling them right now." She proceeded to call the store manager and tell them that it was not acceptable service to have screws in people's sandwiches.
I cleaned off the screw a little bit more. People were wanting to see it and there was still a piece of chicken stuck to it.
The general consensus was that it was horrifying to have a screw in one's sandwich, and did I break my tooth?
No, I did not break my tooth. But it still kind of hurts.
I don't think Potbelly's is going to refund us the cost of the entire order, either. (Which I definitely think they should do.)
Unfortunately, I see way more humor in the situation than anyone else does. So I was sitting here giggling about it when I was informed by those wiser than I that I could have had Very Serious Intenstinal Damage had I swallowed that screw.
Oh. When you put it like that...
Well, it was still kind of funny. In a "that would only happen to Jenna" sort of way...
It felt too large to be a chicken bone. A bit too hard as well. I rolled it around in my mouth to try to figure out what it was. I determined that whatever it was I shouldn't eat it, so I politely spit it out into a napkin.
I unfolded the napkin and, to my great surprise, there sat a screw. (A regular one, not a Phillips one.)
Since the screw had just come out of my mouth with a bunch of chicken salad, it looked Very Disgusting. I dusted it off as much as possible and tapped it on the desk. It made a very metallic and disconcerting sound.
I carried it over to our catering manager and said, "I hate to be a whiner...but I found a screw in my sandwich."
I was met with a lock of shocked horror.
"A what?" She asked.
"A screw." I held it up for her to see.
"Oh...that makes me mad! I am calling them right now." She proceeded to call the store manager and tell them that it was not acceptable service to have screws in people's sandwiches.
I cleaned off the screw a little bit more. People were wanting to see it and there was still a piece of chicken stuck to it.
The general consensus was that it was horrifying to have a screw in one's sandwich, and did I break my tooth?
No, I did not break my tooth. But it still kind of hurts.
I don't think Potbelly's is going to refund us the cost of the entire order, either. (Which I definitely think they should do.)
Unfortunately, I see way more humor in the situation than anyone else does. So I was sitting here giggling about it when I was informed by those wiser than I that I could have had Very Serious Intenstinal Damage had I swallowed that screw.
Oh. When you put it like that...
Well, it was still kind of funny. In a "that would only happen to Jenna" sort of way...
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
My Super Great Birthday
I like birthdays.
Even though I get older and subsequently acquire more gray hair (my pops reassures me), I still think they're fun. (I always feel really selfish admitting that, though.) In any case, I like getting excited about things and a birthday is a great thing to get excited about, in my estimation at least.
Here are some of the things I have to be thankful for on this particular birthday!
I'm going to go play with pinkPod now and snitch some frosting when Joey's not looking.
But...all in all...it has been a very fantastic birthday.
Even though I get older and subsequently acquire more gray hair (my pops reassures me), I still think they're fun. (I always feel really selfish admitting that, though.) In any case, I like getting excited about things and a birthday is a great thing to get excited about, in my estimation at least.
Here are some of the things I have to be thankful for on this particular birthday!
- All of my wonderful 12 Days of Birthday gifts from Joey, my two new books in particular
- It's a beautiful day outside!
- My new digital oven thermometer from Mom and Dad, and I promise I won't set this one on or near any burners
- The return of my Sense and Sensibility movie from Sister, hooray!
- My very handy Double Lock Security Bracelet from Gramps and Gram Laird, complete with a lightweight pink cell phone and lovely ring (which I have been actually wearing around.) Henry, unfortunately, discovered the lightweight pink cell phone and chewed a large hole in it while trying to make it ring. He was very upset when I confiscated it from him.
- A whole slew of Ann Taylor Loft clothes that Joey and I got on megasale with my birthday money from Gramps and Gram
- The ginormous blueberry Frappuccino and card that my co-workers gave me. The Frappuccino even had whipped cream on it. Yummm...
- The very same CO Bigelow lip balm that I have been eying in the store...from Sister! She's real smart. Plus she also gave me this fancy waterless hand sanitizer foam in my favorite scent. Yay, Sister!
- The lunar eclipse tonight
- MY NEW PINK iPOD!!! I have christened my new iPod the pinkPod. It is a joyous occasion.
I'm going to go play with pinkPod now and snitch some frosting when Joey's not looking.
But...all in all...it has been a very fantastic birthday.
Fright Night
I put my book down at 10:24 p.m. last evening and decided it was time for me to go to sleep. Joey had already turned out his bedside lamp, so I clicked mine off and snuggled down into my non-lumpy pillow.
Then, "Did you lock the front door?" I asked.
Joey rolled around sleepily and said, "You were the last one outside...."
"OK," I said, getting out of bed. It was insanely dark so I was walking very carefully so as not to step on Henry, who could be laying on the floor just about anywhere in the house. (He likes to either guard our door or sleep under one of the vents so he can have cold air blow on him all night. He's such a spoiled little thing.)
"Wow, it's dark!" I muttered. It was a full moon last night and I was really surprised by how dark the entire house was. Usually it's a little bit brighter. Perhaps the moon was behind a very large cloud?
I was shuffling along very slowly because I was unnerved by the complete inky blackness of our house. I finally reached the entryway and, just as I was about to turn on the light to look at the door locks--
"BOO!"
Someone grabbed me from behind and shouted. In my sheer panic, I alternated between screaming and yelling repeatedly "I'm afraid, I'm afraid". (I'm surprisingly articulate when I'm terrified. It's a new skill.) I soon discovered that I was also smacking my assailant in the hiney, only I was flailing so badly that I was hardly hitting him at all.
"Hey, hey, it's OK! It's just me!" Joey soothed. I realized it was he and then I got mad but did stop hitting him in the backside.
"I was super scared. That was mean." I glared at him in the dark. I stomped over to the light, turned it on (yes, the door was locked), and stormed back to bed.
"I'm sorry...I really thought you saw me! I snuck out of bed ahead of you..." Joey tried to apologize. (No wonder it was so dark in the house, he was blocking all the light!)
Unfortunately by this time, the initial terror had worn off and I was starting to see the humor in the situation. I was even starting to laugh. In order to make Joey feel bad about this for as long as possible, I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow.
Joey took this as a sign that I was in Severe Emotional Distress. He continued apologizing. I continued trying not to laugh. (It really was kind of funny...)
After a few minutes I rolled over, told him I forgave him and we both fell asleep. I did not inform him of the fact that I found his little caper to be amusing. (In fact, he will be finding that out as he reads this post. I couldn't bring myself to admit it to him last night.)
At 4:30 a.m. I awoke suddenly. Since I was awake I decided to go see what was going on in the bathroom. (It was decidedly less dark this time around.) As I came to the bedroom door, I noticed Joey walking straight into the living room.
So as not to scare him, I whispered, "Hi!"
He completely flipped out. "AAAUGH!" He did this sort of amazing sideways jumping/hop/flail before he turned around, out of breath, and looked at me.
"You scared me!"
"Oh. Sorry, I was just letting you know I was here so I wouldn't, um, scare you."
"I guess we're even then."
We went back to bed and slept, albeit rather fitfully, until 6:15 a.m. It was quite a night.
Then, "Did you lock the front door?" I asked.
Joey rolled around sleepily and said, "You were the last one outside...."
"OK," I said, getting out of bed. It was insanely dark so I was walking very carefully so as not to step on Henry, who could be laying on the floor just about anywhere in the house. (He likes to either guard our door or sleep under one of the vents so he can have cold air blow on him all night. He's such a spoiled little thing.)
"Wow, it's dark!" I muttered. It was a full moon last night and I was really surprised by how dark the entire house was. Usually it's a little bit brighter. Perhaps the moon was behind a very large cloud?
I was shuffling along very slowly because I was unnerved by the complete inky blackness of our house. I finally reached the entryway and, just as I was about to turn on the light to look at the door locks--
"BOO!"
Someone grabbed me from behind and shouted. In my sheer panic, I alternated between screaming and yelling repeatedly "I'm afraid, I'm afraid". (I'm surprisingly articulate when I'm terrified. It's a new skill.) I soon discovered that I was also smacking my assailant in the hiney, only I was flailing so badly that I was hardly hitting him at all.
"Hey, hey, it's OK! It's just me!" Joey soothed. I realized it was he and then I got mad but did stop hitting him in the backside.
"I was super scared. That was mean." I glared at him in the dark. I stomped over to the light, turned it on (yes, the door was locked), and stormed back to bed.
"I'm sorry...I really thought you saw me! I snuck out of bed ahead of you..." Joey tried to apologize. (No wonder it was so dark in the house, he was blocking all the light!)
Unfortunately by this time, the initial terror had worn off and I was starting to see the humor in the situation. I was even starting to laugh. In order to make Joey feel bad about this for as long as possible, I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow.
Joey took this as a sign that I was in Severe Emotional Distress. He continued apologizing. I continued trying not to laugh. (It really was kind of funny...)
After a few minutes I rolled over, told him I forgave him and we both fell asleep. I did not inform him of the fact that I found his little caper to be amusing. (In fact, he will be finding that out as he reads this post. I couldn't bring myself to admit it to him last night.)
At 4:30 a.m. I awoke suddenly. Since I was awake I decided to go see what was going on in the bathroom. (It was decidedly less dark this time around.) As I came to the bedroom door, I noticed Joey walking straight into the living room.
So as not to scare him, I whispered, "Hi!"
He completely flipped out. "AAAUGH!" He did this sort of amazing sideways jumping/hop/flail before he turned around, out of breath, and looked at me.
"You scared me!"
"Oh. Sorry, I was just letting you know I was here so I wouldn't, um, scare you."
"I guess we're even then."
We went back to bed and slept, albeit rather fitfully, until 6:15 a.m. It was quite a night.
Monday, August 27, 2007
The Dead Bug Skin
Last week Joey and I were coming in from walking The Fiend (aka Henry) when Joey noticed something large and disgusting stuck to the side of the building.
"Hey, Jenna, come here and look at this!"
I came over to see what he was pointing at. About two feet off the ground was a white, scaly bug with large eyes and wings. (It was not a cockroach.)
"What is that thing?" I asked, horrified and awed at the same time.
"It's a bug." Joey said, knowledgeably. "I knew you'd want to see it."
He was right, as always.
I got real close to the bug and blew on it. It didn't move, which was OK with me because it was seriously enormous. (Kind of like a bumblebee only about 4 times the size and all white and scaly and with longer, more disgusting legs.)
On Friday night I noticed that The Bug was still there, stuck to the side of the building. I got closer and looked at it again and, after a through examination, determined it to be the skin of a Cicada. Very gross, indeed.
On Saturday while laying out at the pool I was treated to a Cicada flying and buzzing all around me for an hour. (Perhaps it is the same Cicada who forgot his clothes by my front door?)
At any rate, I was pleased. I had never seen a Cicada flying around before and was glad to have something to watch as I floated aimlessly around in the pool on my raft.
Saturday evening as I was reading in bed I suddenly had a Very Bad Idea.
"Will you go get that Cicada off the side of the building for me?" I asked Joey, sweetly.
"Um, no." He said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because. There's no reason for you to need a dead bug off the side of the building, especially if--"
"Yes, I am going to send it to The Kid. In the next care package."
"Oh man. I am definitely not involved. If you are going to mail that thing you have to get it off the building yourself." He was trying not to laugh at me and not really succeeding.
I put on my best "I'm better than you think at picking dead bugs off the side of buildings" look and marched out the door.
I almost chickened out. Apparently Mr. Cicada had dug his nails into the building really, really hard before shedding his skin, and that made it a lot harder to pry him off the building. But, I am happy to say that I succeeded without actually having to touch it.
I took the dead bug straight inside where I put it under Joey's nose so he could be sure to see it very well.
"That thing is disgusting," Joey said. He was somewhere between entirely grossed out that I'd brought a dead Cicada skin into the house and impressed that I'd actually gotten it myself.
"I know, that's why I'm mailing it to The Kid of course." I said. I shook the Cicada skin around in the container a few times. "I'm going to make a bed of cotton balls for it so it doesn't get all crunched by the mailman."
"That's disgusting." Joey repeated and went back to reading A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court.
I dumped the Cicada out on the counter and added three cotton balls. I then scooped the Cicada back into the container. He looked much more disgusting and close now that he wasn't rolling around on the bottom of the container anymore. His nails were digging into the cotton balls and keeping him in place.
"See?" I showed Joey. "It's perfect."
"Yes...yes, that works very nicely." He said, noncommittally.
And so that's why I've had a dead Cicada skin in one of my plastic containers sitting on my dresser for the last two nights. Not that anyone has really been asking, I just wanted to share.
And Grams, I think you're right about poor Joey getting a Double Portion. Not only does he have to tolerate the Cicada, he's also hidden all my birthday gifts in an undisclosed location until my birthday. I tried to open one on Friday and he confiscated it, so now I have no idea where any of them are.
I'm more trouble than a 5 year old...and yet I'm turning 25.
"Hey, Jenna, come here and look at this!"
I came over to see what he was pointing at. About two feet off the ground was a white, scaly bug with large eyes and wings. (It was not a cockroach.)
"What is that thing?" I asked, horrified and awed at the same time.
"It's a bug." Joey said, knowledgeably. "I knew you'd want to see it."
He was right, as always.
I got real close to the bug and blew on it. It didn't move, which was OK with me because it was seriously enormous. (Kind of like a bumblebee only about 4 times the size and all white and scaly and with longer, more disgusting legs.)
On Friday night I noticed that The Bug was still there, stuck to the side of the building. I got closer and looked at it again and, after a through examination, determined it to be the skin of a Cicada. Very gross, indeed.
On Saturday while laying out at the pool I was treated to a Cicada flying and buzzing all around me for an hour. (Perhaps it is the same Cicada who forgot his clothes by my front door?)
At any rate, I was pleased. I had never seen a Cicada flying around before and was glad to have something to watch as I floated aimlessly around in the pool on my raft.
Saturday evening as I was reading in bed I suddenly had a Very Bad Idea.
"Will you go get that Cicada off the side of the building for me?" I asked Joey, sweetly.
"Um, no." He said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because. There's no reason for you to need a dead bug off the side of the building, especially if--"
"Yes, I am going to send it to The Kid. In the next care package."
"Oh man. I am definitely not involved. If you are going to mail that thing you have to get it off the building yourself." He was trying not to laugh at me and not really succeeding.
I put on my best "I'm better than you think at picking dead bugs off the side of buildings" look and marched out the door.
I almost chickened out. Apparently Mr. Cicada had dug his nails into the building really, really hard before shedding his skin, and that made it a lot harder to pry him off the building. But, I am happy to say that I succeeded without actually having to touch it.
I took the dead bug straight inside where I put it under Joey's nose so he could be sure to see it very well.
"That thing is disgusting," Joey said. He was somewhere between entirely grossed out that I'd brought a dead Cicada skin into the house and impressed that I'd actually gotten it myself.
"I know, that's why I'm mailing it to The Kid of course." I said. I shook the Cicada skin around in the container a few times. "I'm going to make a bed of cotton balls for it so it doesn't get all crunched by the mailman."
"That's disgusting." Joey repeated and went back to reading A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court.
I dumped the Cicada out on the counter and added three cotton balls. I then scooped the Cicada back into the container. He looked much more disgusting and close now that he wasn't rolling around on the bottom of the container anymore. His nails were digging into the cotton balls and keeping him in place.
"See?" I showed Joey. "It's perfect."
"Yes...yes, that works very nicely." He said, noncommittally.
And so that's why I've had a dead Cicada skin in one of my plastic containers sitting on my dresser for the last two nights. Not that anyone has really been asking, I just wanted to share.
And Grams, I think you're right about poor Joey getting a Double Portion. Not only does he have to tolerate the Cicada, he's also hidden all my birthday gifts in an undisclosed location until my birthday. I tried to open one on Friday and he confiscated it, so now I have no idea where any of them are.
I'm more trouble than a 5 year old...and yet I'm turning 25.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Henry's Haircut
Henry, being a Shih-Tzu, requires lots of haircuts. He was in the middle of one last night when Joey and I decided we'd better take him to PetSmart to get his nails trimmed and all the hair pulled out of the inside of his ears. (It's rough being a dog.)
Henry really likes PetSmart, but he hates going to the grooming salon. I'd do it myself bu I get so nervous trimming his nails that he gets nervous and wiggles a lot. Then, of course, I wind up quicking him and he bleeds and cries; it's bad.
So there we were walking into PetSmart with a half shaved dog. Poor Henry looked ridiculous, his front half was all shorn close to his body and his legs and back half (predominantly the left side of bum) were still long and fluffy so waddled when he walked.
As we neared the grooming salon, Henry stopped walking. He planted his little paws on the tile floor and tried, to no avail, to stop himself from the inevitable.
Since the floor was tile and he had no traction, I pulled him into the salon where he sat in the corner, trying to hide.
When it was Henry's turn, he walked woefully over to the groomer and sat gargoyle-still on the grooming table. He looked at me with large, pathetic eyes.
"Oh, you're fine." I reassured him. He didn't even blink.
Henry was such a good boy. He didn't cry, he didn't wiggle...he didn't even move while the groomer clipped his front two paws. Then, as the groomer moved to his back leg Joey suddenly cried out, "HEY! Henry, that's gross!"
"What?" I asked, and the groomer looked around to see what he'd missed.
On the floor by his foot was a fairly substantial piece of Henry poo.
"Henry!" I gasped, "Don't poo on the groomer!"
Henry looked guilty, scared, sheepish all at the same time. The poor groomer picked up Henry's little present and threw it away.
Joey and I decided we'd vacate the premises just in case Henry went to the bathroom on the groomer again. We didn't want to be around to see it.
We found ourselves in the dog toy section and Joey stopped us in front of a large display of American Kennel Club toys. Henry formerly had the chipmunk and absolutely loved it but, alas, I hid it somewhere and now I can't find it.
"Let's get Henry a new toy to replace Chippy. You know, for all of his pain and suffering." Joey suggested. "This owl's kind of cute looking..."
"Good idea!" I agreed, pulling down a cute, fluffy stuffed porcupine. "I like this one."
"No....how about this deer. It looks like Bambi, then we could say Henry killed Bambi."
I didn't like the deer. It wasn't very cute. But Joey was so excited about it that I was having a hard time saying no.
"OK...fine...we can get the deer," I acquiesced, putting the porcupine back on the shelf.
We were nearly back to the grooming salon when Joey brilliantly suggested, "We can name him Beer the Deer! You know, to go along with our naming scheme." (Names of stuffed animals have to rhyme with what they are. For instance: Habit the Rabbit, Guppy the Puppy, etc.)
"I suppose." I paused, thinking. "Then we can tell Henry to go get his Beer. Or to bring us a Beer."
Joey laughed quite loudly. "That's awesome!" And it was settled.
Come on, what else rhymes with Deer? I ask you.
Henry loved Beer the Deer from the moment he saw it and he instantly forgot about how much he hates getting his toenails clipped. He chewed on it the entire way home and when I found him this morning, he was sleeping with his head on it and one of his paws wrapped around it.
Unfortunately he carried it downstairs this morning when he went outside and I think he went to the bathroom on it. (Marking his territory and whatnot, I suppose.) It looked like more of a mistake on his part than anything else.
Hopefully Beer the Deer has been hidden/destroyed/stolen/otherwise removed from our house by the time Joey is actually a pastor. It would never do to have someone from church over and to have Henry carrying his Beer all over the house.
Henry really likes PetSmart, but he hates going to the grooming salon. I'd do it myself bu I get so nervous trimming his nails that he gets nervous and wiggles a lot. Then, of course, I wind up quicking him and he bleeds and cries; it's bad.
So there we were walking into PetSmart with a half shaved dog. Poor Henry looked ridiculous, his front half was all shorn close to his body and his legs and back half (predominantly the left side of bum) were still long and fluffy so waddled when he walked.
As we neared the grooming salon, Henry stopped walking. He planted his little paws on the tile floor and tried, to no avail, to stop himself from the inevitable.
Since the floor was tile and he had no traction, I pulled him into the salon where he sat in the corner, trying to hide.
When it was Henry's turn, he walked woefully over to the groomer and sat gargoyle-still on the grooming table. He looked at me with large, pathetic eyes.
"Oh, you're fine." I reassured him. He didn't even blink.
Henry was such a good boy. He didn't cry, he didn't wiggle...he didn't even move while the groomer clipped his front two paws. Then, as the groomer moved to his back leg Joey suddenly cried out, "HEY! Henry, that's gross!"
"What?" I asked, and the groomer looked around to see what he'd missed.
On the floor by his foot was a fairly substantial piece of Henry poo.
"Henry!" I gasped, "Don't poo on the groomer!"
Henry looked guilty, scared, sheepish all at the same time. The poor groomer picked up Henry's little present and threw it away.
Joey and I decided we'd vacate the premises just in case Henry went to the bathroom on the groomer again. We didn't want to be around to see it.
We found ourselves in the dog toy section and Joey stopped us in front of a large display of American Kennel Club toys. Henry formerly had the chipmunk and absolutely loved it but, alas, I hid it somewhere and now I can't find it.
"Let's get Henry a new toy to replace Chippy. You know, for all of his pain and suffering." Joey suggested. "This owl's kind of cute looking..."
"Good idea!" I agreed, pulling down a cute, fluffy stuffed porcupine. "I like this one."
"No....how about this deer. It looks like Bambi, then we could say Henry killed Bambi."
I didn't like the deer. It wasn't very cute. But Joey was so excited about it that I was having a hard time saying no.
"OK...fine...we can get the deer," I acquiesced, putting the porcupine back on the shelf.
We were nearly back to the grooming salon when Joey brilliantly suggested, "We can name him Beer the Deer! You know, to go along with our naming scheme." (Names of stuffed animals have to rhyme with what they are. For instance: Habit the Rabbit, Guppy the Puppy, etc.)
"I suppose." I paused, thinking. "Then we can tell Henry to go get his Beer. Or to bring us a Beer."
Joey laughed quite loudly. "That's awesome!" And it was settled.
Come on, what else rhymes with Deer? I ask you.
Henry loved Beer the Deer from the moment he saw it and he instantly forgot about how much he hates getting his toenails clipped. He chewed on it the entire way home and when I found him this morning, he was sleeping with his head on it and one of his paws wrapped around it.
Unfortunately he carried it downstairs this morning when he went outside and I think he went to the bathroom on it. (Marking his territory and whatnot, I suppose.) It looked like more of a mistake on his part than anything else.
Hopefully Beer the Deer has been hidden/destroyed/stolen/otherwise removed from our house by the time Joey is actually a pastor. It would never do to have someone from church over and to have Henry carrying his Beer all over the house.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
My Push-Up
"I'm eating a Push-Up," I gloated to Joey over the phone.
"What? You're doing a push-up?" He asked, genuinely confused. (I'm wearing a dress today.)
"No, no, I'm eating a Push-Up," I corrected.
"WHAT?!" He yelled, "I LOVE PUSH-UPS!"
"I know, that's why I called to tell you."
"Humph." There was a slight pause. (A pouty pause.) "Where'd you get one."
"It's tenant appreciation day down here, so they gave us ice cream." I replied.
"Was it orange? Can you go get me one?" Poor Joey begged.
"Yes it was. And I can try..." I said.
We ended our conversation and I began my trek down to see if I could find him an orange Push-Up. To my dismay, they had run out at 1:30 which was about an hour before I made it downstairs.
I walked through the kitchen on my way back up and happened to overhear someone mentioning that "there's a bunch of leftover ice cream in the freezer".
Sure enough, three orange Push-Ups. I hid one in the other freezer and am hoping it's still there when I get off work.
The things you'll do for love...
"What? You're doing a push-up?" He asked, genuinely confused. (I'm wearing a dress today.)
"No, no, I'm eating a Push-Up," I corrected.
"WHAT?!" He yelled, "I LOVE PUSH-UPS!"
"I know, that's why I called to tell you."
"Humph." There was a slight pause. (A pouty pause.) "Where'd you get one."
"It's tenant appreciation day down here, so they gave us ice cream." I replied.
"Was it orange? Can you go get me one?" Poor Joey begged.
"Yes it was. And I can try..." I said.
We ended our conversation and I began my trek down to see if I could find him an orange Push-Up. To my dismay, they had run out at 1:30 which was about an hour before I made it downstairs.
I walked through the kitchen on my way back up and happened to overhear someone mentioning that "there's a bunch of leftover ice cream in the freezer".
Sure enough, three orange Push-Ups. I hid one in the other freezer and am hoping it's still there when I get off work.
The things you'll do for love...
My Feet Are Bleeding
Last night I got some cute new shoes. The right shoe felt a teeny bit bigger than the left so, after a bit of finagling and a $5 off coupon I paid $18 for some shoes that had originally been marked down to $30. I left the store feeling quite proud of myself and altogether economical.
Today I wore them with my favorite black Jackie Kennedy-esque dress and beige cardigan. I happily walked around all day because a.) I wasn't wearing heels, and b.) I wasn't making that flap, flap, flap noise as these shoes have backs.
My heels and toes have been killing me since about noon. I figured I was just forming new blisters but turns out my feet are actually bleeding from the aforementioned "cute new shoes".
I still like them, don't get me wrong. But it's just a lot harder for me to walk around happily when I think about the fact that with every step the insides of my shoes are getting just a little bit more, um, bloody.
I think I need to go get a band-aid...but that requires walking to the kitchen. And it's far away.
Today I wore them with my favorite black Jackie Kennedy-esque dress and beige cardigan. I happily walked around all day because a.) I wasn't wearing heels, and b.) I wasn't making that flap, flap, flap noise as these shoes have backs.
My heels and toes have been killing me since about noon. I figured I was just forming new blisters but turns out my feet are actually bleeding from the aforementioned "cute new shoes".
I still like them, don't get me wrong. But it's just a lot harder for me to walk around happily when I think about the fact that with every step the insides of my shoes are getting just a little bit more, um, bloody.
I think I need to go get a band-aid...but that requires walking to the kitchen. And it's far away.
Two More Things
1.) My morale is really low after the bad report from Mr. Dentist man. So...since I already have cavities....I'm eating a cookie and a soda. Right now. And it's tasty. (I have very good intentions of flossing when I get home.)
2.) I slept great last night! Thanks to all my suggestion-givers and otherwise well-wishers. Let's hope this is not a trend that repeats itself.
2.) I slept great last night! Thanks to all my suggestion-givers and otherwise well-wishers. Let's hope this is not a trend that repeats itself.
I Failed The Dentist
If it's possible to go to the dentist and flunk, I did it today.
But first I must emphasize just how much I despise going to the dentist. I think it is cruel and unusual punishment reserved only for people who drink too much Mt. Dew (ahem, JOEY) and don't brush their teeth regularly.
But I don't floss (ever) and so I am on the naughty list now, too.
After much travail, I settled on a dentist up in Addison. Joey and I arrived slightly late at 8:10 this morning, and it was an omen of things to come. However the waiting room was real fancy and opulent looking with chocolate brown and gold plaster faux-finished walls. The furniture was equally rich looking but, alas, even with my bum not touching the back of the couch my feet dangled 2 inches from the floor.
Joey tried to push on my knees to make my legs touch the ground, but it didn't work. It was also abnormally cold in that office, I'd say 65 degrees. So I was shivering the whole time.
The only positive thing about the experience was that there was a TV in my exam room and, while the hygienist took 19 x-rays (19!!) I was able to watch some morning show on ABC. I don't know what it was called, Good Morning America maybe?
Anyway, Mr. Dentist man finally came in and, after shining bright lights in my eyes and poking all my teeth, whipped out a fancy camera and started taking pictures of The Bad Ones. He was taking lots of pictures.
Here's the damage:
I have three cavities and a sealant over a former cavity that has come off. So that means I essentially have four cavities. (I think I've had two cavities on permanent teeth in my entire life. My record is not looking so good right now...)
He also told me that, due to crowding on my lower teethies, I may want to see an orthodontist. I've never seen an orthodontist or had braces. I rebel.
Oh, and Joey only has one or two tiny cavities. Not fair.
I hate getting cavities drilled, so I scheduled all my fixits on the same day, which was to be September 10. Oh joy.
We went to see the payment lady afterwards and, surprise!, turns out our dental insurance isn't nearly as good down here as it was in Iowa. The damage for fixing my teeth will be around $350 (that's our portion) and Joey's will run about $150.
We looked at each other and then I said to the billing lady, "Cancel my appointment. That doesn't fit into the budget at this point, I'll have to get back to you later."
I'll think of a way to put off the scheduling lady because we're going to wait until after January 14 of next year. Our medical reimbursement account will have more money in it then (we bought glasses with this year's) and $500 on cavities (yikes!) isn't really my idea of necessary right now. I've had them for this long...another four months won't hurt, right?
I miss our dental insurance back in Iowa!!!
So, Mom, your kid who always had teeth the dentist raved about...well...she failed the dentist. I hate to admit it, but it's true.
But first I must emphasize just how much I despise going to the dentist. I think it is cruel and unusual punishment reserved only for people who drink too much Mt. Dew (ahem, JOEY) and don't brush their teeth regularly.
But I don't floss (ever) and so I am on the naughty list now, too.
After much travail, I settled on a dentist up in Addison. Joey and I arrived slightly late at 8:10 this morning, and it was an omen of things to come. However the waiting room was real fancy and opulent looking with chocolate brown and gold plaster faux-finished walls. The furniture was equally rich looking but, alas, even with my bum not touching the back of the couch my feet dangled 2 inches from the floor.
Joey tried to push on my knees to make my legs touch the ground, but it didn't work. It was also abnormally cold in that office, I'd say 65 degrees. So I was shivering the whole time.
The only positive thing about the experience was that there was a TV in my exam room and, while the hygienist took 19 x-rays (19!!) I was able to watch some morning show on ABC. I don't know what it was called, Good Morning America maybe?
Anyway, Mr. Dentist man finally came in and, after shining bright lights in my eyes and poking all my teeth, whipped out a fancy camera and started taking pictures of The Bad Ones. He was taking lots of pictures.
Here's the damage:
I have three cavities and a sealant over a former cavity that has come off. So that means I essentially have four cavities. (I think I've had two cavities on permanent teeth in my entire life. My record is not looking so good right now...)
He also told me that, due to crowding on my lower teethies, I may want to see an orthodontist. I've never seen an orthodontist or had braces. I rebel.
Oh, and Joey only has one or two tiny cavities. Not fair.
I hate getting cavities drilled, so I scheduled all my fixits on the same day, which was to be September 10. Oh joy.
We went to see the payment lady afterwards and, surprise!, turns out our dental insurance isn't nearly as good down here as it was in Iowa. The damage for fixing my teeth will be around $350 (that's our portion) and Joey's will run about $150.
We looked at each other and then I said to the billing lady, "Cancel my appointment. That doesn't fit into the budget at this point, I'll have to get back to you later."
I'll think of a way to put off the scheduling lady because we're going to wait until after January 14 of next year. Our medical reimbursement account will have more money in it then (we bought glasses with this year's) and $500 on cavities (yikes!) isn't really my idea of necessary right now. I've had them for this long...another four months won't hurt, right?
I miss our dental insurance back in Iowa!!!
So, Mom, your kid who always had teeth the dentist raved about...well...she failed the dentist. I hate to admit it, but it's true.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Congratulations To My Brilliant Husband!
He's probably going to kill me for this, but he doesn't like it when I tickle him and I still do it.
We just looked at Joey's grades last night and, lo and behold, they were all there! (Previously one or so had been missing.)
LOOK HOW SMART HE IS! And at Dallas Theological Seminary, no less.
I'd say he's positively brilliant , especially when you consider that he transferred from a much easier school mid-year.
I'm very proud of Joey. He works hard, studies hard and even has time to play with me! I'd say he balances everything really well. And he gets good grades on top of it.
You can have an extra cookie, Joey!
We just looked at Joey's grades last night and, lo and behold, they were all there! (Previously one or so had been missing.)
LOOK HOW SMART HE IS! And at Dallas Theological Seminary, no less.
Bible Study Methods and Hermeneutics -- B+
Education Process of the Church -- A+
Elements of Greek - B+
Spiritual Life -- A+
Orientation and Research Methods -- A-
Intro to World Missions -- B+
Education Process of the Church -- A+
Elements of Greek - B+
Spiritual Life -- A+
Orientation and Research Methods -- A-
Intro to World Missions -- B+
I'd say he's positively brilliant , especially when you consider that he transferred from a much easier school mid-year.
I'm very proud of Joey. He works hard, studies hard and even has time to play with me! I'd say he balances everything really well. And he gets good grades on top of it.
You can have an extra cookie, Joey!
Things I Tried To Make Me Fall Asleep Last Night
(Most were ineffective.)
Also, Cingular (my asthma medicine) is known to give jibblies. So I'm not going to take it tonight (nuts, I forgot to take it this morning!) and we'll see what happens.
And I'm not eating (or drinking) anything after 8:00 p.m. Let us see how this one works. As it stands now, I am extremely tired and grouchy. Beware.
- Counting sheep. (I prefer to count cows, but they don't jump over fences as easily as sheep do.)
- Thinking about the most boring thing in the entire world. (I got into conflict with myself over which thing actually was the most boring, then I realized I was arguing with myself about it and gave up entirely.)
- Going to the bathroom. About 8 times.
- Opening my eyes really wide in an effort to make them sleepy.
- Moving to the couch in the living room. (After 10 minutes I got mad that I was on the couch and decided that if I couldn't sleep I might as well not sleep in my own bed.)
- Looking at pictures of Hurricane Dean on Weather.com in the dark. It made my eyes tired, but I still couldn't sleep afterwards.
- Thinking about cockroaches. (This only served to make me even more wakeful.)
- Trying to clench up every muscle in my entire body, including my baby toe. Try it, it's hard; it might even make you sleepy. (It didn't me.)
- Praying. (I think I fell asleep doing this, because I don't remember finishing Sarah Engle. Sorry!)
Also, Cingular (my asthma medicine) is known to give jibblies. So I'm not going to take it tonight (nuts, I forgot to take it this morning!) and we'll see what happens.
And I'm not eating (or drinking) anything after 8:00 p.m. Let us see how this one works. As it stands now, I am extremely tired and grouchy. Beware.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Jibblies
I successfully made myself sick on coffee this morning.
Anyone who knows much of anything about me is aware of how caffeine makes me wig out. I get shaky, disoriented, jittery and generally feel like I need something to make me sober up. If I had gotten more than 3 hours of sleep last night, perhaps I would not have felt required to drink 3 cups of coffee in less than 2 hours but, alas, I did not and so I did.
Am I making sense? I'm still shaking and I finished my last cup of coffee 2 1/2 hours ago. Oy.
See, what happened is that I was absolutely exhausted when I went to bed last night. Then, once I realized it was Sunday night and I had to go Somewhere Bad on Monday morning, my "I Can't Sleep" function turned on and I lay there awake until around 2:00 a.m. (As if that will delay the inevitable...)
I finally fell asleep shortly thereafter, but I kept having these bad dreams about Nazis with sticks chasing Henry and suchlike. I'd wake up after about 15 minutes then lay there for another 45 staring at the ceiling.
So, at 6:15 when my alarm went off, I refused to get up. I had just fallen back to sleep after waking up at 5:45 from another bad dream involving Henry. I reset my alarm and wound up getting out of bed at 7:05. We leave for Somewhere Bad at 7:30, so it was kind of a fast and furious getting ready situation this morning.
Which is why I felt obligated to drink so much coffee this morning. I was forgetting things, dropping things and otherwise acting like a stupid person, so I caffinated myself and realized that only intensified the problem.
I am now shaking, forgetting things, dropping things and acting like a stupid person.
There is no hope for me, nor is there any rest for the VERY weary. It's all Henry's fault.
Anyone who knows much of anything about me is aware of how caffeine makes me wig out. I get shaky, disoriented, jittery and generally feel like I need something to make me sober up. If I had gotten more than 3 hours of sleep last night, perhaps I would not have felt required to drink 3 cups of coffee in less than 2 hours but, alas, I did not and so I did.
Am I making sense? I'm still shaking and I finished my last cup of coffee 2 1/2 hours ago. Oy.
See, what happened is that I was absolutely exhausted when I went to bed last night. Then, once I realized it was Sunday night and I had to go Somewhere Bad on Monday morning, my "I Can't Sleep" function turned on and I lay there awake until around 2:00 a.m. (As if that will delay the inevitable...)
I finally fell asleep shortly thereafter, but I kept having these bad dreams about Nazis with sticks chasing Henry and suchlike. I'd wake up after about 15 minutes then lay there for another 45 staring at the ceiling.
So, at 6:15 when my alarm went off, I refused to get up. I had just fallen back to sleep after waking up at 5:45 from another bad dream involving Henry. I reset my alarm and wound up getting out of bed at 7:05. We leave for Somewhere Bad at 7:30, so it was kind of a fast and furious getting ready situation this morning.
Which is why I felt obligated to drink so much coffee this morning. I was forgetting things, dropping things and otherwise acting like a stupid person, so I caffinated myself and realized that only intensified the problem.
I am now shaking, forgetting things, dropping things and acting like a stupid person.
There is no hope for me, nor is there any rest for the VERY weary. It's all Henry's fault.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Twelve Days of Birthday
When Joey showed up at my office with flowers on Friday, the card read, "And thus begin the twelve days of birthday!" He's been planning this for a month, apparently. (I probably have the best husband in the entire world.)
On Saturday I was to expect 11 somethings.
"Is it going to be 11 hours of sleep?" I mumbled to Joey as I drifted off last night.
"No..." he mumbled back. I don't think he remembers this conversation either.
All morning long I was trying to think of what 11 somethings it could be.
"Am I getting 11 strawberries?" I asked, as we passed the strawberries in the grocery.
"You're going to ruin it for yourself if you keep this up," was Joey's reply.
I'd forgotten about my 11 somethings by 4:00. Just before we left to go to dinner, I noticed a pink jelly bean sitting on the counter in the bathroom. (I had to put my hair in a ponytail, the curls didn't work out at all.) I LOVE jelly beans. Especially Jelly Belly Sours; I could eat them all day for a week and love every second of it.
I looked at the jelly bean and glanced around. No one was in the bathroom but me, and Joey doesn't like jelly beans. I was really confused as to how the jelly bean got on the counter, because I remembered eating all the jelly beans I'd bought at the grocery earlier that morning. (Sometimes I buy a few to munch on during the drive home for sustenance. Makes Joey crazy.)
It might have germs, I thought. It was, after all, in the bathroom. But I guess I've eaten stranger, worser things. And I popped it in my mouth.
It was taaaaaaasty. I spent a long time trying to determine if it was cotton candy or bubblegum but, alas, it was to no avail.
I went in the bedroom to get a bobby pin and, to my astonishment, I found another pink jelly bean. I ate it, too, and with a lot less hesitation than the previous one.
Suddenly, I noticed there were jelly beans all over the bedroom! Well, four at least. I ate them all and then realized that I was getting 11 pink and tasty jelly beans for my 11th day until my birthday.
"Did you notice the jelly beans?" asked Joey from his position on the couch.
"Yes, I'm eating them." I said around my mouthful of jelly bean #5.
"How many did you found?"
"Five." I said. "No, I mean six." I spotted another one on the bookshelf and ate it too.
Before we left for the restaurant I managed to find 10 of the jelly beans. The one that was on the bookshelves in the study was AWOL and Joey thinks it rolled off and Henry ate it. (At least he heard him crunching on something in the study, and Henry really likes eat candy he's not supposed to have.)
So...10 more days until my birthday! I wonder what I'll get tomorrow.
On Saturday I was to expect 11 somethings.
"Is it going to be 11 hours of sleep?" I mumbled to Joey as I drifted off last night.
"No..." he mumbled back. I don't think he remembers this conversation either.
All morning long I was trying to think of what 11 somethings it could be.
"Am I getting 11 strawberries?" I asked, as we passed the strawberries in the grocery.
"You're going to ruin it for yourself if you keep this up," was Joey's reply.
I'd forgotten about my 11 somethings by 4:00. Just before we left to go to dinner, I noticed a pink jelly bean sitting on the counter in the bathroom. (I had to put my hair in a ponytail, the curls didn't work out at all.) I LOVE jelly beans. Especially Jelly Belly Sours; I could eat them all day for a week and love every second of it.
I looked at the jelly bean and glanced around. No one was in the bathroom but me, and Joey doesn't like jelly beans. I was really confused as to how the jelly bean got on the counter, because I remembered eating all the jelly beans I'd bought at the grocery earlier that morning. (Sometimes I buy a few to munch on during the drive home for sustenance. Makes Joey crazy.)
It might have germs, I thought. It was, after all, in the bathroom. But I guess I've eaten stranger, worser things. And I popped it in my mouth.
It was taaaaaaasty. I spent a long time trying to determine if it was cotton candy or bubblegum but, alas, it was to no avail.
I went in the bedroom to get a bobby pin and, to my astonishment, I found another pink jelly bean. I ate it, too, and with a lot less hesitation than the previous one.
Suddenly, I noticed there were jelly beans all over the bedroom! Well, four at least. I ate them all and then realized that I was getting 11 pink and tasty jelly beans for my 11th day until my birthday.
"Did you notice the jelly beans?" asked Joey from his position on the couch.
"Yes, I'm eating them." I said around my mouthful of jelly bean #5.
"How many did you found?"
"Five." I said. "No, I mean six." I spotted another one on the bookshelf and ate it too.
Before we left for the restaurant I managed to find 10 of the jelly beans. The one that was on the bookshelves in the study was AWOL and Joey thinks it rolled off and Henry ate it. (At least he heard him crunching on something in the study, and Henry really likes eat candy he's not supposed to have.)
So...10 more days until my birthday! I wonder what I'll get tomorrow.
Pin Curls
We're going to dinner with Joey's aunt and uncle tonight and so I decided I'd better get around to taking a shower. (I usually refuse on Saturdays.)
By 4:15 I was all clean and fresh smelling. Because I had nothing better to do with my time, I decided I'd put my hair in pin curls and see how it turned out. (My hair is getting pretty long, which is very exciting. It almost touches my shoulders!!)
My hair is naturally annoying in that it's neither curly nor straight. It has an identity crisis. However, I can straighten or curl it in a jiffy because, since it doesn't know what it wants to be, I can change its mind rather easily. Don't you all wish you had my luck.
I did my entire head up in pin curls, put on makeup and started a load of laundry. Joey, who had been outside changing the oil in the Toyota, came bursting in at 4:30.
"Woah, you look hot!" He said when he saw me.
"Thanks..." I said. "Um, my hair's not staying this way. I'm taking it down when it dries."
"Bummer." He said and marched off to go take a shower that he desperately needed.
I haven't taken my hair down yet, I'm planning to do it as soon as we get The Call saying that we should head to the restaurant. Fortunately if it winds up looking dreadful I can always put my hair in a ponytail.
Because it's long enough now!
By 4:15 I was all clean and fresh smelling. Because I had nothing better to do with my time, I decided I'd put my hair in pin curls and see how it turned out. (My hair is getting pretty long, which is very exciting. It almost touches my shoulders!!)
My hair is naturally annoying in that it's neither curly nor straight. It has an identity crisis. However, I can straighten or curl it in a jiffy because, since it doesn't know what it wants to be, I can change its mind rather easily. Don't you all wish you had my luck.
I did my entire head up in pin curls, put on makeup and started a load of laundry. Joey, who had been outside changing the oil in the Toyota, came bursting in at 4:30.
"Woah, you look hot!" He said when he saw me.
"Thanks..." I said. "Um, my hair's not staying this way. I'm taking it down when it dries."
"Bummer." He said and marched off to go take a shower that he desperately needed.
I haven't taken my hair down yet, I'm planning to do it as soon as we get The Call saying that we should head to the restaurant. Fortunately if it winds up looking dreadful I can always put my hair in a ponytail.
Because it's long enough now!
Friday, August 17, 2007
She Has A Point
I was eating lunch with someone today and happened to tell her about my rather pathetic lifelong dream that has recently been achieved.
"You know, you probably shouldn't have put your names on that," she said, sagely.
"Why?" I asked.
"Well, they might go through the rent rosters and figure out which apartment houses a Jenna and a Joey and then they'll make you pay for new concrete."
Oops. I guess I should have thought of that first. I don't want to pay for new concrete, or get in trouble. I hate getting in trouble.
Next time I'm using fake names. Or initials. Something less easily traceable.
"You know, you probably shouldn't have put your names on that," she said, sagely.
"Why?" I asked.
"Well, they might go through the rent rosters and figure out which apartment houses a Jenna and a Joey and then they'll make you pay for new concrete."
Oops. I guess I should have thought of that first. I don't want to pay for new concrete, or get in trouble. I hate getting in trouble.
Next time I'm using fake names. Or initials. Something less easily traceable.
Ahhhh
Sometimes it's nice to be told that you're awesome, super organized and never have a bad attitude. Unfortunately I know that all of these statements are false because:
a.) Often I am not awesome
b.) You should see my coat closet
c.) Occasionally I have a bad attitude
However, it's still nice to hear. I just need to remind myself that reality is quite different than my complimenter's perception of it.
I tend to be a people-pleaser, so of course such a glowing review fluffs up my ego, particularly when that was what I was going for all along. But this is one of the many reasons I got married. Because...
When I'm in a bad mood because my kitchen is disorganized and I'm being grumpy to Joey it reminds me that, alas, I'm not perfect after all. In fact, I'm quite the opposite.
It makes me very thankful for grace.
And for my husband, who is like a font of grace-giving amazing love. I was just thinking about this last night, actually, how Joey is such a good picture of what Jesus is to me. He forgives me when I hurt him and he doesn't hold a grudge. He reminds me that I have growing to do, but he does it gently. He thinks about me and what I want more than he thinks about himself. He sacrifices things he wants to do (or have) for me.
(Speaking of how fantastic Joey is...he just stopped by and brought me flowers! Twelve flowers because it's twelve days until my birthday. How sweet..)
But I digress.
Actually, come to think of it, I can't remember where I was going with that. The flowers completely distracted me. Maybe it'll come back to me and I'll finish this post later.
a.) Often I am not awesome
b.) You should see my coat closet
c.) Occasionally I have a bad attitude
However, it's still nice to hear. I just need to remind myself that reality is quite different than my complimenter's perception of it.
I tend to be a people-pleaser, so of course such a glowing review fluffs up my ego, particularly when that was what I was going for all along. But this is one of the many reasons I got married. Because...
When I'm in a bad mood because my kitchen is disorganized and I'm being grumpy to Joey it reminds me that, alas, I'm not perfect after all. In fact, I'm quite the opposite.
It makes me very thankful for grace.
And for my husband, who is like a font of grace-giving amazing love. I was just thinking about this last night, actually, how Joey is such a good picture of what Jesus is to me. He forgives me when I hurt him and he doesn't hold a grudge. He reminds me that I have growing to do, but he does it gently. He thinks about me and what I want more than he thinks about himself. He sacrifices things he wants to do (or have) for me.
(Speaking of how fantastic Joey is...he just stopped by and brought me flowers! Twelve flowers because it's twelve days until my birthday. How sweet..)
But I digress.
Actually, come to think of it, I can't remember where I was going with that. The flowers completely distracted me. Maybe it'll come back to me and I'll finish this post later.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
I Married Chief Big Toot
Joey, being a Woestman, has what I consider to be a gas problem. All Woestman men have this problem. It is very unfortunate.
This problem is particularly acute (and loud) in the mornings, for some reason. (And it's not a fun way to be woken up, either.) This morning was no exception. I was doing my makeup and Joey was in the shower when suddenly...
I won't bother to type out what kind of noise it was. I think you can probably figure it out. Suffice it to say that this particular noise was louder than normal. It probably didn't help that Joey was in the shower which is basically an echo chamber.
"I am Chief Big Toot!" He bellowed from behind the shower curtain. He paused. "Was that funny?"
"No, it was gross." I said, mascara wand in hand.
"Come on....Chief Big Toot? What's funnier than that?" He sounded all wounded and pathetic.
I couldn't help it. I laughed. "OK, the Chief Big Toot thing is kind of funny," I admitted.
"It is, it is!" Joey said. He was out of the shower by now.
"It is." I said.
A few quiet moments later Joey, who had obviously been thinking very hard, said to me, "You are Indian Pathetic Toot."
"Oh come on," I said, "At least I want to be a Brave."
"Hmm. OK, you're Brave Small Puff then."
"Thank you," I said, smugly, and left the bathroom.
"You can blog about this," he called after me.
"I probably will." I hollered back. I made the bed, played with Henry and checked on the laundry on the line before going back into the bathroom to monitor Joey's progress. (Sometimes he's a little slow in the mornings and he just needs a good pinch in the bum. And now that we carpool...)
There he was, running his electric shaver.
"How's it coming?" I asked.
"When we have kids, we can call them the Little Toots. And they can call me Chief Big Toot, too! Oh wait. Except your mom wouldn't like it....so we'd have to do it secretly."
(Joey is always getting in trouble at my parents' house because Mom isn't used to Joey's wild and crazy ways. Well, she probably is by now, but we all still pretend she's not.)
So Chief Big Toot and I were ten minutes late getting out the door this morning.
This problem is particularly acute (and loud) in the mornings, for some reason. (And it's not a fun way to be woken up, either.) This morning was no exception. I was doing my makeup and Joey was in the shower when suddenly...
I won't bother to type out what kind of noise it was. I think you can probably figure it out. Suffice it to say that this particular noise was louder than normal. It probably didn't help that Joey was in the shower which is basically an echo chamber.
"I am Chief Big Toot!" He bellowed from behind the shower curtain. He paused. "Was that funny?"
"No, it was gross." I said, mascara wand in hand.
"Come on....Chief Big Toot? What's funnier than that?" He sounded all wounded and pathetic.
I couldn't help it. I laughed. "OK, the Chief Big Toot thing is kind of funny," I admitted.
"It is, it is!" Joey said. He was out of the shower by now.
"It is." I said.
A few quiet moments later Joey, who had obviously been thinking very hard, said to me, "You are Indian Pathetic Toot."
"Oh come on," I said, "At least I want to be a Brave."
"Hmm. OK, you're Brave Small Puff then."
"Thank you," I said, smugly, and left the bathroom.
"You can blog about this," he called after me.
"I probably will." I hollered back. I made the bed, played with Henry and checked on the laundry on the line before going back into the bathroom to monitor Joey's progress. (Sometimes he's a little slow in the mornings and he just needs a good pinch in the bum. And now that we carpool...)
There he was, running his electric shaver.
"How's it coming?" I asked.
"When we have kids, we can call them the Little Toots. And they can call me Chief Big Toot, too! Oh wait. Except your mom wouldn't like it....so we'd have to do it secretly."
(Joey is always getting in trouble at my parents' house because Mom isn't used to Joey's wild and crazy ways. Well, she probably is by now, but we all still pretend she's not.)
So Chief Big Toot and I were ten minutes late getting out the door this morning.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Lifelong Dream: Achieved
Pulling into the parking lot tonight there was a beauteous sight to behold: some worker men were just putting the finishing touches on a large patch of wet, gleaming cement.
"Ohhhhhhh...." I whispered, as Joey pulled into the parking spot.
"No." He said.
"Yes." I said. Then, "When do you think they'll be done?"
"When you're in bed. Asleep." Sometimes Joey has no sense of adventure.
An hour later, after we had finished dinner I suddenly remembered the wet cement. I ran over to the window and peeked out.
"They're gone!" I crowed. "Come on!"
"No." Joey said. "I am not party to this." He was trying not to smile.
"Fine. Loser." I said, and ran out the door. I made it to the bottom of the steps before I realized I needed a screwdriver to write with, so I ran back up the stairs.
"I need a screwdriver!" I panted, fully expecting Joey to say Absolutely Not With My Tools, but instead he said, "Phillips or regular?"
"Whichever one is not flat," I replied. I can never remember which is which.
He handed me whichever one is not flat and I walked (slowly, since I had a screwdriver) down the stairs and headed out toward the parking lot. As I rounded the corner I heard some not discreet flip-flop flapping behind me.
I knew it, he was following me.
I stood in place, hands on hips, glaring at the bush Joey was hiding behind. A few minutes later he popped his head up and saw me standing there. He wilted. "You knew I was there?"
"Of course. You were super loud." I said, smugly.
With this fresh victory notch on my belt (I only have about 5 to date), I pranced off toward the parking lot. Joey followed at a safe distance, hoping that no one would assume he was connected with me in any way.
I crouched down at the nearest corner of fresh cement and began my lifelong dream: writing in fresh concrete in a public place. (Young children, do not try this at home. Or anywhere really. Your mom will kill me.)
Since my Iowa State days I have always wanted to make foot prints in wet cement. (Actually back then I just wanted to sit down in the wet cement really hard and leave a bum impression. Obviously I have matured a lot in the past seven years.)
Happily I etched "Jenna loves Joey" into the cement. I felt as though I had truly done a beautiful job. Joey had snuck up behind me and was covertly taking pictures on his cell phone. (See, he pretends he's horrified but he's really just jealous that it wasn't his idea first.)
"Should I put the date?" I asked, looking up at him.
He was still pretending like he didn't know who I was. "Yeahsurewhatever," he mumbled.
I scratched "8-14-07" by the heart. Today happens to be our 27 month anniversary, in case anyone was curious.
"I dare you to take your shoes off and go run across the entire wet cement." I said to Joey.
"No." He's such a wet blanket sometimes.
"Why not!"
"Because I'm not like you." Yes he is, he just doesn't want to admit it.
"Ok, fine. That's lame. Dare me!"
"No. You don't need anyone to dare you to do it." He said. I think "no" is his favorite word sometimes. Gosh.
"ARRRRRRG." I growled at him. I kicked off my flip flops and went under the "caution" tape.
I looked around to see if too many people were looking. The coast appeared clear. I rolled my pants up and took my first step onto the wet cement. It was disappointingly firm. I ran around really fast on it, from one side to the other.
I was leaving no footprints.
I began jumping up and down as hard as I possibly could. Still no footprints.
I ran over by where I'd written and, finally, I could see that the cement was wet enough that I was leaving toe marks. So I hopped around my words and left as many toe marks as I possibly could.
Pleased with my success, we headed into the house. We passed a man about my Pops' age who was grinning at us.
"Write something in that cement?" He asked.
"Sure did!" I crowed. I was immensely pleased with myself and Joey was too, I think. Even though he'd never admit it.
Now I'm going to have to get a new lifelong dream since I've achieved this one. I'm open to suggestions.
"Ohhhhhhh...." I whispered, as Joey pulled into the parking spot.
"No." He said.
"Yes." I said. Then, "When do you think they'll be done?"
"When you're in bed. Asleep." Sometimes Joey has no sense of adventure.
An hour later, after we had finished dinner I suddenly remembered the wet cement. I ran over to the window and peeked out.
"They're gone!" I crowed. "Come on!"
"No." Joey said. "I am not party to this." He was trying not to smile.
"Fine. Loser." I said, and ran out the door. I made it to the bottom of the steps before I realized I needed a screwdriver to write with, so I ran back up the stairs.
"I need a screwdriver!" I panted, fully expecting Joey to say Absolutely Not With My Tools, but instead he said, "Phillips or regular?"
"Whichever one is not flat," I replied. I can never remember which is which.
He handed me whichever one is not flat and I walked (slowly, since I had a screwdriver) down the stairs and headed out toward the parking lot. As I rounded the corner I heard some not discreet flip-flop flapping behind me.
I knew it, he was following me.
I stood in place, hands on hips, glaring at the bush Joey was hiding behind. A few minutes later he popped his head up and saw me standing there. He wilted. "You knew I was there?"
"Of course. You were super loud." I said, smugly.
With this fresh victory notch on my belt (I only have about 5 to date), I pranced off toward the parking lot. Joey followed at a safe distance, hoping that no one would assume he was connected with me in any way.
I crouched down at the nearest corner of fresh cement and began my lifelong dream: writing in fresh concrete in a public place. (Young children, do not try this at home. Or anywhere really. Your mom will kill me.)
Since my Iowa State days I have always wanted to make foot prints in wet cement. (Actually back then I just wanted to sit down in the wet cement really hard and leave a bum impression. Obviously I have matured a lot in the past seven years.)
Happily I etched "Jenna loves Joey" into the cement. I felt as though I had truly done a beautiful job. Joey had snuck up behind me and was covertly taking pictures on his cell phone. (See, he pretends he's horrified but he's really just jealous that it wasn't his idea first.)
"Should I put the date?" I asked, looking up at him.
He was still pretending like he didn't know who I was. "Yeahsurewhatever," he mumbled.
I scratched "8-14-07" by the heart. Today happens to be our 27 month anniversary, in case anyone was curious.
"I dare you to take your shoes off and go run across the entire wet cement." I said to Joey.
"No." He's such a wet blanket sometimes.
"Why not!"
"Because I'm not like you." Yes he is, he just doesn't want to admit it.
"Ok, fine. That's lame. Dare me!"
"No. You don't need anyone to dare you to do it." He said. I think "no" is his favorite word sometimes. Gosh.
"ARRRRRRG." I growled at him. I kicked off my flip flops and went under the "caution" tape.
I looked around to see if too many people were looking. The coast appeared clear. I rolled my pants up and took my first step onto the wet cement. It was disappointingly firm. I ran around really fast on it, from one side to the other.
I was leaving no footprints.
I began jumping up and down as hard as I possibly could. Still no footprints.
I ran over by where I'd written and, finally, I could see that the cement was wet enough that I was leaving toe marks. So I hopped around my words and left as many toe marks as I possibly could.
Pleased with my success, we headed into the house. We passed a man about my Pops' age who was grinning at us.
"Write something in that cement?" He asked.
"Sure did!" I crowed. I was immensely pleased with myself and Joey was too, I think. Even though he'd never admit it.
Now I'm going to have to get a new lifelong dream since I've achieved this one. I'm open to suggestions.
My Clothesline!
Joey strung my clothesline on Saturday. (Thanks, honey!)
Since it's too hot to use the balcony for anything like sitting, it's perfect to use to hang towels and the like. I took up my lawn chairs to give me a little bit more room.
Joey is so ingenious, he also made the lines so I can take them down. I'm sure I'll enjoy that when, in three or four months, it's not a zillion degrees out and I can sit on my balcony and read without sweating a gallon.
I'm really excited about my clothesline. We can save money on our electric bill; I was hearing on NPR that dryers cost around $1/kwh and we probably do 25-30 loads a month. Our dryer takes about an hour, so the clothesline should pay for itself in about two weeks. (It cost $8 to put up.)
Also...I'm saving energy! That's definitely something to smile about.
But it sounds like my washing machine is done; time to go put out a load! (I feel like a real housewife now. One that doesn't live in the middle of a ginormous metropolis, too.)
I Never Learned My Lesson
Sometimes I do stuff just because I know it'll bug the stink out of The Kid when I tell him what I did. I'm sure that poor Mom taught me better than that when I was younger but, in consolation Mom, I only do this to The Kid.
I did two such things last night. One of them The Kid knows about and the other he doesn't because he didn't call me back.
This may be due mostly to the fact that the voicemail I left said something very similar to, "Gosh The Kid, call me back. I did something real bad that you won't like and I have to tell you what it was. You're cool. Bye."
He really won't like this one, either.
Oh. Um. I just realized something. Seems The Kid and I have the same character deficiency, because we both do bad stuff that Mom doesn't like sometimes (like drinking Pepsi or Root Beer and sneaking off to Krispy Kreme at all hours of the day and night) only we definitely make sure she knows we're up to no good before we go off and do it.
For example. Mom will be in the kitchen scrubbing a pan (she's in there a lot when all us kids are home making messes, causing trouble and generally acting like we're 5) and The Kid and I (and usually Joey, too, he's naughty as well) poke our heads around the corner and say,
"Mom, we have to Go Somewhere. We'll be back in awhile."
Mom will roll her eyes at us and say, "Have fun at Krispy Kreme."
Then we'll all get real shocked "caught!" looks on our faces and run down the stairs and out the door whispering "Oh no! She's onto us!"
So if I'm a bad example of good character, so is The Kid. He's probably worse, too.
I did two such things last night. One of them The Kid knows about and the other he doesn't because he didn't call me back.
This may be due mostly to the fact that the voicemail I left said something very similar to, "Gosh The Kid, call me back. I did something real bad that you won't like and I have to tell you what it was. You're cool. Bye."
He really won't like this one, either.
Oh. Um. I just realized something. Seems The Kid and I have the same character deficiency, because we both do bad stuff that Mom doesn't like sometimes (like drinking Pepsi or Root Beer and sneaking off to Krispy Kreme at all hours of the day and night) only we definitely make sure she knows we're up to no good before we go off and do it.
For example. Mom will be in the kitchen scrubbing a pan (she's in there a lot when all us kids are home making messes, causing trouble and generally acting like we're 5) and The Kid and I (and usually Joey, too, he's naughty as well) poke our heads around the corner and say,
"Mom, we have to Go Somewhere. We'll be back in awhile."
Mom will roll her eyes at us and say, "Have fun at Krispy Kreme."
Then we'll all get real shocked "caught!" looks on our faces and run down the stairs and out the door whispering "Oh no! She's onto us!"
So if I'm a bad example of good character, so is The Kid. He's probably worse, too.
Uneventful And Boring
Nothing has been happening. Nothing at all.
The most excitement I've had recently is that Joey and I snuck Henry into the pool last night and let him run around while we read on the lounge chairs. Then later I put him on my raft and floated him around the pool. He liked that a lot until Joey capsized him.
Rundown of Recent (albeit boring) Events
And now I think I'll go get me some Swedish Meatballs for lunch.
The most excitement I've had recently is that Joey and I snuck Henry into the pool last night and let him run around while we read on the lounge chairs. Then later I put him on my raft and floated him around the pool. He liked that a lot until Joey capsized him.
Rundown of Recent (albeit boring) Events
- Two roaches were spotted last week: one dead, one alive. Both were large. The exterminators are coming today and Henry is at the babysitter.
- I made giant, chewy chocolate chip cookies.
- It has been over 100 degrees for at least the last week. This does not affect me since I am inside all day and wear winter clothes because the AC is up so high.
- Joey made dinner last night and accidentally put in twice as much cream cheese as the recipe called for. It tasted very yummy.
- We skipped Sunday School. On purpose. (I think it was the first time we've done that before, too.)
- Joey is taking me on a Very Romantic Date to see Nancy Drew this evening! It's 50¢ night at the cheap theater.
- We both had headaches last night. (Henry did not, except he was kind of mad that he got water in his ear when Joey capsized him.)
- Lunch today is Swedish Meatballs. I don't like Swedish Meatballs.
And now I think I'll go get me some Swedish Meatballs for lunch.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Going Green
Joey and I listen to NPR. This is turning us into Green conservatives, if there are such things. We totally think that climate change is a major problem facing society, and are doing our part to reduce our carbon footprint(s) and to take care of the beautiful Earth that God created for us.
Here are some of the minor changes (and relatively easy!) we've made to our lives that will, eventually, make a major impact!
It's easy and painless. We promise - if we can do it, you can too!
Here are some of the minor changes (and relatively easy!) we've made to our lives that will, eventually, make a major impact!
- We recycle everything possible.
- We take our own shopping bags when we go to the grocery. They are made out of recycled material and are biodegradable.
- We try to buy products that are made from recycled fibers instead of plastic (ew!)
- We try not to use paper plates, plastic forks, or plastic cups. It's not so hard to do dishes!
- We do not use Styrofoam, that stuff never breaks down.
- We're selling the Honda, and then we'll only have one car!
- We're seriously considering trading our Corolla in for a Prius hybrid.
- We go easy on the lights and A/C, and are really trying to remember to turn the A/C down during the day. Henry doesn't need it to be that cool...
It's easy and painless. We promise - if we can do it, you can too!
I'm Hungry
Because there seems to be something wrong with my brain, I woke up at 6:50 this morning. It is Saturday. I was unable to fall back asleep, mainly because my brain instantly started thinking about cleaning the house. (See? Something is wrong with it.)
I have issues cleaning my bathtub. I mean, I clean it every week and spray shower cleaner on it nearly every morning, but it never looks as shiny and pretty as my mommy's. I bought this new cleaner (a Melaleuca one - Tub 'n Tile) and was disturbingly excited to try it.
So, after lying there for half an hour, I gave up. I crept out of bed, so as not to wake up my Sleeping Handsome (if I called him Sleeping Beauty I think he'd put all my underwear in the freezer) and got to work.
To my surprise and great glee, that Tub 'n Tile stuff worked! My tub is now gleaming white and I didn't keel over from the toxic fumes. (Melaleuca makes all non-toxic cleaners, and that suits me just fine.)
Nearly two hours later I have cleaned my house from top to bottom (except for vacuuming, can't wake up Joey!), scrubbed my patio (do not laugh; it had moss growing on it...) and spot-cleaned the carpet. I have also made my grocery list and menus for next week.
It's only 9:30. Why does my brain do this to me on Saturday morning?! On the upside, I suppose, my chores are done.
I have issues cleaning my bathtub. I mean, I clean it every week and spray shower cleaner on it nearly every morning, but it never looks as shiny and pretty as my mommy's. I bought this new cleaner (a Melaleuca one - Tub 'n Tile) and was disturbingly excited to try it.
So, after lying there for half an hour, I gave up. I crept out of bed, so as not to wake up my Sleeping Handsome (if I called him Sleeping Beauty I think he'd put all my underwear in the freezer) and got to work.
To my surprise and great glee, that Tub 'n Tile stuff worked! My tub is now gleaming white and I didn't keel over from the toxic fumes. (Melaleuca makes all non-toxic cleaners, and that suits me just fine.)
Nearly two hours later I have cleaned my house from top to bottom (except for vacuuming, can't wake up Joey!), scrubbed my patio (do not laugh; it had moss growing on it...) and spot-cleaned the carpet. I have also made my grocery list and menus for next week.
It's only 9:30. Why does my brain do this to me on Saturday morning?! On the upside, I suppose, my chores are done.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Henry Escapes
Poor Henry. He loves everyone (whether they love him or not) and all he wants out of life is to spread his furry little love around. All the time.
This is just fine when Joey and I are the only ones home. He's real giddy for about the first twenty minutes in the morning, then the first twenty minutes when we first get home, but after that he's all worn out and just wants to chew on his cow.
Now when we have visitors...it's a completely new ballgame. It's like he knows that they're only going to stay for a few hours, so he goes completely insane trying to say "Hi! So excited you're here! I'm misbehaving! My mom is embarrassed!" all at the same time. He runs in circles, brings them all of his toys to see if they'll play fetch with him, gets in between their legs when they're walking so they almost kick him or trip over him and above all makes a general nuisance of himself. (Probably something like a 6ish year old? It's hard for me to guess for a normal child; I know I was annoying the entirety of my childhood.)
So, as Joey and I shake our heads and try to think of what we can do to calm this fiend aside from picking him up and holding him, we think we get a good picture of what parenting may be like. However, at least our real children will be able to speak English.
Last evening we had such a visitor. A friend of ours from college is moving to Dallas and going to DTS (yay, another convert!) and needed a place to stay until his apartment was available.
Joey was a fantastic host and, in my absence, fed our visitor and made up the futon. (Many kudos to you, sweetie!) Henry just ran around and tried to get our guest to play with him. His efforts were met with muted enthusiasm.
At one point, Henry jumped up on the freshly made up futon and our guest said, "No! Not on the futon!" so I dove over and grabbed Henry.
"Sorry," I said, "He sits on the futon most of the time because he has a good vantage point of the entire house. So he thinks it's his. I'll try to keep an eye on him, though, so he stays off."
It didn't work very well.
We stuffed him in our room last and tried to keep him quiet. He's a fireball of energy, though, so it was a challenge. (Especially when he started doing laps at 3:00 a.m . Trying to get him back to sleep was no easy task!) Joey and I alternated time in the bathroom so one of us was in the bedroom with Henry so he wouldn't escape and go jump on our sleeping guest. That's such a terrible way to wake up.
I left at 7:30 and Joey left shortly thereafter. He put Henry in the kitchen, where he usually stays, shut the French doors and jammed a chair underneath the knobs. (He can open the doors if there's nothing in front of them. He's Houdini.) We weren't sure if he would be quiet or not. Knowing that someone was still in the house (sleeping or not) that was not Joey or I might be enough to make him bark. (Fortunately he barely ever barks.)
I'm not sure if he barked, but according to our guest, Henry rammed himself against those French doors until he was able to move the chair I'd put under the handles just enough that he could squeeze out.
What a stupid dog.
And I feel really horrible for our poor guest who, no doubt, was rudely awoken by a 12 pound furball bounding into his bed and licking his face. We're such terrible hosts.
This is just fine when Joey and I are the only ones home. He's real giddy for about the first twenty minutes in the morning, then the first twenty minutes when we first get home, but after that he's all worn out and just wants to chew on his cow.
Now when we have visitors...it's a completely new ballgame. It's like he knows that they're only going to stay for a few hours, so he goes completely insane trying to say "Hi! So excited you're here! I'm misbehaving! My mom is embarrassed!" all at the same time. He runs in circles, brings them all of his toys to see if they'll play fetch with him, gets in between their legs when they're walking so they almost kick him or trip over him and above all makes a general nuisance of himself. (Probably something like a 6ish year old? It's hard for me to guess for a normal child; I know I was annoying the entirety of my childhood.)
So, as Joey and I shake our heads and try to think of what we can do to calm this fiend aside from picking him up and holding him, we think we get a good picture of what parenting may be like. However, at least our real children will be able to speak English.
Last evening we had such a visitor. A friend of ours from college is moving to Dallas and going to DTS (yay, another convert!) and needed a place to stay until his apartment was available.
Joey was a fantastic host and, in my absence, fed our visitor and made up the futon. (Many kudos to you, sweetie!) Henry just ran around and tried to get our guest to play with him. His efforts were met with muted enthusiasm.
At one point, Henry jumped up on the freshly made up futon and our guest said, "No! Not on the futon!" so I dove over and grabbed Henry.
"Sorry," I said, "He sits on the futon most of the time because he has a good vantage point of the entire house. So he thinks it's his. I'll try to keep an eye on him, though, so he stays off."
It didn't work very well.
We stuffed him in our room last and tried to keep him quiet. He's a fireball of energy, though, so it was a challenge. (Especially when he started doing laps at 3:00 a.m . Trying to get him back to sleep was no easy task!) Joey and I alternated time in the bathroom so one of us was in the bedroom with Henry so he wouldn't escape and go jump on our sleeping guest. That's such a terrible way to wake up.
I left at 7:30 and Joey left shortly thereafter. He put Henry in the kitchen, where he usually stays, shut the French doors and jammed a chair underneath the knobs. (He can open the doors if there's nothing in front of them. He's Houdini.) We weren't sure if he would be quiet or not. Knowing that someone was still in the house (sleeping or not) that was not Joey or I might be enough to make him bark. (Fortunately he barely ever barks.)
I'm not sure if he barked, but according to our guest, Henry rammed himself against those French doors until he was able to move the chair I'd put under the handles just enough that he could squeeze out.
What a stupid dog.
And I feel really horrible for our poor guest who, no doubt, was rudely awoken by a 12 pound furball bounding into his bed and licking his face. We're such terrible hosts.
POW!
Yesterday, what with my pants literally falling apart at the seams, I was having a bad day. I don't usually have those, either. I was, in fact, having such a bad day that I was in a very foul mood.
I felt like punching everyone in the world, all at the same time, so to accomplish this in the easiest (and most pain-free for me) way possible I set my Gmail status to POW! and, whenever I looked at it, felt a very smug sense of accomplishment.
And I bet you didn't know what hit ya.
I felt like punching everyone in the world, all at the same time, so to accomplish this in the easiest (and most pain-free for me) way possible I set my Gmail status to POW! and, whenever I looked at it, felt a very smug sense of accomplishment.
And I bet you didn't know what hit ya.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
My Fall-Apart Morning
I picked out a pair of pants last night that I haven't worn in 6 months. (Forgot I had them...) I was concerned that they wouldn't fit, so I tried them on last night. They fit.
This morning I got dressed in my usual hurry and glanced at myself several times in the mirror. Something wasn't quite right but I couldn't put my finger on it. I gave up trying and Joey and I were out the door by 7:30.
As soon as we sat down in the car, I crossed my left leg over my right. It was then that I noticed it.
"Joey, there's no hem on the left pant leg!" I wailed.
"Do you have a needle and thread at work?" He asked as he backed out of the parking spot.
"No..." I said, wilting.
So there I was. One pant leg was an inch longer than the other and I was feeling very self conscious all morning. I asked about three people for a sewing kit before I gave up, despondent.
People were offering me all sorts of condolences and helpful ideas. I tried taping the hem but that didn't work at all. Someone also suggested stapling, but considering I am wearing black pants I vetoed that. (I think I would have vetoed it on principle, though, as I can't imagine stapling any of my clothing together, ever.)
To make matters worse, at about 10:30 the clasp that mostly keeps my pants from falling down broke off, and the button is about to go as well. (There was a reason I haven't worn these pants in 6 months, although why they weren't in the mending pile I have no idea.)
Fortunately I had the foresight to grab a safety pin this morning, and that's what's keeping me decent at the moment.
I want to go home.
This morning I got dressed in my usual hurry and glanced at myself several times in the mirror. Something wasn't quite right but I couldn't put my finger on it. I gave up trying and Joey and I were out the door by 7:30.
As soon as we sat down in the car, I crossed my left leg over my right. It was then that I noticed it.
"Joey, there's no hem on the left pant leg!" I wailed.
"Do you have a needle and thread at work?" He asked as he backed out of the parking spot.
"No..." I said, wilting.
So there I was. One pant leg was an inch longer than the other and I was feeling very self conscious all morning. I asked about three people for a sewing kit before I gave up, despondent.
People were offering me all sorts of condolences and helpful ideas. I tried taping the hem but that didn't work at all. Someone also suggested stapling, but considering I am wearing black pants I vetoed that. (I think I would have vetoed it on principle, though, as I can't imagine stapling any of my clothing together, ever.)
To make matters worse, at about 10:30 the clasp that mostly keeps my pants from falling down broke off, and the button is about to go as well. (There was a reason I haven't worn these pants in 6 months, although why they weren't in the mending pile I have no idea.)
Fortunately I had the foresight to grab a safety pin this morning, and that's what's keeping me decent at the moment.
I want to go home.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Odd...
I ran downstairs to post a letter and wound up being gone for 20 minutes. When I returned, there was a fortune cookie sitting in my inbox.
"Um, does anyone know where this came from?" I asked.
Unanimously the answer was no. Whoever left it must have been Very Sneaky Indeed.
After poking the fortune cookie several times in a rather investigative manner, I determined that it was safe to eat. I don't think I'm on anyone's hit list right now and it was wrapped, after all.
The cookie was tasty. (I think it came from Pei Wei, actually.) I ate it in three bites and then opened up the fortune to see what it said. I giggled. It said:
Your co-workers take pleasure in your great sense of creativity.
How's that for ironic.
"Um, does anyone know where this came from?" I asked.
Unanimously the answer was no. Whoever left it must have been Very Sneaky Indeed.
After poking the fortune cookie several times in a rather investigative manner, I determined that it was safe to eat. I don't think I'm on anyone's hit list right now and it was wrapped, after all.
The cookie was tasty. (I think it came from Pei Wei, actually.) I ate it in three bites and then opened up the fortune to see what it said. I giggled. It said:
Your co-workers take pleasure in your great sense of creativity.
How's that for ironic.
I Could Float A Battleship
Beverages I have consumed today:
3 bottles of Ozarka water (16 oz each)
1 can of Pepsi
1 cup of decaf coffee
1 cups of tea
Beverages I have started to consume but only took one drink from because they were Very Disgusting:
1 bottle of grapefruit juice (it was rancid)
1 can of sparkling lime water (it tasted like baking soda)
And it's only 2:00. I am such a camel.
3 bottles of Ozarka water (16 oz each)
1 can of Pepsi
1 cup of decaf coffee
1 cups of tea
Beverages I have started to consume but only took one drink from because they were Very Disgusting:
1 bottle of grapefruit juice (it was rancid)
1 can of sparkling lime water (it tasted like baking soda)
And it's only 2:00. I am such a camel.
Monday, August 06, 2007
The Pillow Is Always Softer On the Other Side Of the Bed
Joey has the uncanny knack for ruining pillows. It's kind of amazing, actually, in an expensive sort of way, but every 6 months or so we have to go buy new pillows. Somehow, when he sleeps he wads the pillow up, folds it in half, and squeezes it really hard, at least as near as I can tell.
Because of this, his pillows are never as comfortable as mine because they have this big, denty, lumpy spot in the middle. He likes mine better, too, so he's always trying new ways to steal it.
Shortly after we were married I realized that Joey would snitch my pillow on the sly and then I'd get it back several days later slightly lumpier than it as before. I began writing our names on our pillows and checking mine every night before I went to sleep. This solved the pillow-snatching problem...for awhile.
I normally get up 15-30 minutes before Joey so I can do Important Morning Things (like read my Bible, do some laundry, empty the dishwasher, etc.). I shut the bedroom door so that he doesn't get woken up by the light or Henry jumping on him and licking his face. I'm such a nice wife.
However. It appears that Joey not only thinks that my pillow is more comfortable now, but that he thinks my entire side of the bed is better.
I'll need to go in the bedroom to get something, and there I'll find Joey, happily sleeping away with my pillow, my blankets and my side of the bed. (Usually when I notice this I go and get Henry so he'll jump on Joey and lick his face.)
"You're going to ruin my pillow, you know." I said to Joey last evening.
He didn't answer. I don't think he cares.
Because of this, his pillows are never as comfortable as mine because they have this big, denty, lumpy spot in the middle. He likes mine better, too, so he's always trying new ways to steal it.
Shortly after we were married I realized that Joey would snitch my pillow on the sly and then I'd get it back several days later slightly lumpier than it as before. I began writing our names on our pillows and checking mine every night before I went to sleep. This solved the pillow-snatching problem...for awhile.
I normally get up 15-30 minutes before Joey so I can do Important Morning Things (like read my Bible, do some laundry, empty the dishwasher, etc.). I shut the bedroom door so that he doesn't get woken up by the light or Henry jumping on him and licking his face. I'm such a nice wife.
However. It appears that Joey not only thinks that my pillow is more comfortable now, but that he thinks my entire side of the bed is better.
I'll need to go in the bedroom to get something, and there I'll find Joey, happily sleeping away with my pillow, my blankets and my side of the bed. (Usually when I notice this I go and get Henry so he'll jump on Joey and lick his face.)
"You're going to ruin my pillow, you know." I said to Joey last evening.
He didn't answer. I don't think he cares.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
What to do to Joey...
If you didn't read the previous post, read this first.
OH MY WORD, Joey is in trouble.
I went outside to dig through the trash to find the deodorant. It took an inordinately long time to get the trash bag untied, but once I did I was met by a stench of colossal proportions. (It was a combination of kitchen and bathroom trash...use your imagination, it'll be close.)
At first I gingerly picked through it, but there was this huge half a pineapple that went rotten before we could eat it, and it was sliming everything up. So I gave up and started pulling trash out and covering the ground with it.
Halfway through the bag, I felt as though I had correctly ascertained that Joey's deodorant was not in there.
"Hey!" I yelled, loud enough that Joey would be able to hear me inside (much to the delight of the neighbors, I'm sure), "Are you sure your deodorant was in the trash?"
The door opened just enough for me to see Joey's face. It said, "Well, I'll go check again."
I heard sufficient rummagings inside the house and a moment later he returned. Looking sheepish.
"Um...It was on the counter. Behind the plant." He said, still hiding behind the door.
"Oh. My. Word." I said, sitting on the doorstep completely surrounded in rotten pineapple juice covered trash. "You are in trouble."
Joey stifled a laugh. "I'm really trying to feel sorry about this...but it's just so funny..." He quickly shut the door, locked it, and started to laugh in earnest.
So there I was. Surrounded by disgusting trash (that I didn't need to dig through in the first place) and locked out of my own house.
"You should be putting this trash back in the bag!" I hollered through the door. It was met with the sound of the door unlocking, but no charming husband coming out to save the day and put the trash away.
"You're going to pay for this..." I muttered, gingerly picking up the garbage.
I tied off the bag and marched back into the house. Joey was hiding behind the Oriental screen but, since he's wearing a red shirt and was standing right in front of one of the cracks, I could totally see him. "You owe me one." I said, looking right at him.
"Hey, how'd you find me!" He wailed.
I didn't answer but went straight to the bathroom where I washed my hands. With very hot water.
"Ice cream?" Joey said, coming into the bathroom. He was still trying not to laugh.
So here I sit, typing and trying to eat this humongous bowl of ice cream that Joey gave me, thinking it would atone for his sins. I'm really not sure it did, but it tastes good.
OH MY WORD, Joey is in trouble.
I went outside to dig through the trash to find the deodorant. It took an inordinately long time to get the trash bag untied, but once I did I was met by a stench of colossal proportions. (It was a combination of kitchen and bathroom trash...use your imagination, it'll be close.)
At first I gingerly picked through it, but there was this huge half a pineapple that went rotten before we could eat it, and it was sliming everything up. So I gave up and started pulling trash out and covering the ground with it.
Halfway through the bag, I felt as though I had correctly ascertained that Joey's deodorant was not in there.
"Hey!" I yelled, loud enough that Joey would be able to hear me inside (much to the delight of the neighbors, I'm sure), "Are you sure your deodorant was in the trash?"
The door opened just enough for me to see Joey's face. It said, "Well, I'll go check again."
I heard sufficient rummagings inside the house and a moment later he returned. Looking sheepish.
"Um...It was on the counter. Behind the plant." He said, still hiding behind the door.
"Oh. My. Word." I said, sitting on the doorstep completely surrounded in rotten pineapple juice covered trash. "You are in trouble."
Joey stifled a laugh. "I'm really trying to feel sorry about this...but it's just so funny..." He quickly shut the door, locked it, and started to laugh in earnest.
So there I was. Surrounded by disgusting trash (that I didn't need to dig through in the first place) and locked out of my own house.
"You should be putting this trash back in the bag!" I hollered through the door. It was met with the sound of the door unlocking, but no charming husband coming out to save the day and put the trash away.
"You're going to pay for this..." I muttered, gingerly picking up the garbage.
I tied off the bag and marched back into the house. Joey was hiding behind the Oriental screen but, since he's wearing a red shirt and was standing right in front of one of the cracks, I could totally see him. "You owe me one." I said, looking right at him.
"Hey, how'd you find me!" He wailed.
I didn't answer but went straight to the bathroom where I washed my hands. With very hot water.
"Ice cream?" Joey said, coming into the bathroom. He was still trying not to laugh.
So here I sit, typing and trying to eat this humongous bowl of ice cream that Joey gave me, thinking it would atone for his sins. I'm really not sure it did, but it tastes good.
I'm Too Much Like My Mom
Poor mom. She's so cute, but we all know she's a compulsive putter-awayer. For instance:
Sister and I will be making chocolate chip cookie goodness, and Mom will come into the kitchen to talk to us. Without thinking about what she's doing, she'll start putting away the ingredients we're using, bowls we need, etc. It's very cute and frustrating.
Once we realize what she's been up to, we make her sit down and stay put while we get everything back out.
When we were kids we weren't allowed to make any cookies (or anything, really) if we didn't leave the kitchen cleaner than when we found it. Mom definitely never used to put our stuff away while we were baking, so I'm not sure why she does now.
She also tends to pick up things like shoes, coats and mittens when we visit and put them in strange, foreign places. Poor Mom.
This brings me to this evening. I was straightening up the bathroom when I saw Joey's deodorant sitting on the counter. It appeared to be empty, so I shook it around (it felt empty) and threw it away. I then took out the trash.
Just now, I asked Joey, "Are you out of deodorant?"
"No, why?" He replied.
"Oops."
"What did you do?" He bellowed, trying to look intimidating. I closed my eyes so that his tactics would be foiled.
"Um....Ithrewitaway."
"Ack!" He screamed, and marched off to the bathroom to investivage. After several moments of manly banging around, he emerged grim-faced.
"You did throw my deodorant away. It's not there. And it's not in the trash, either, so this means you're going to have to dig through the garbage to find it."
I put on my best disinterested face (to rile him up worse) and said, "Oh, that's too bad."
"Hey! You have to go out there right now and find it!"
"I will in a minute. It's already thrown away." I said, not moving from my place on the couch. Sometimes I'm not very submissive.
He started messing up my ponytail, systematically taking it out in large pieces and then topping it off with a good noogie.
"I'm still not going out there until I'm done with this," I said. I don't really relish the idea of picking through trash.
"AARRRRRG, fine." He said, and marched off into the study where he is supposed to be doing homework, but I think he's actually playing with Henry. I keep hearing them growl at each other.
And, whether I like it or not, it's now time for me to go dig through the trash. Well, either that or go to the store, because he definitely needs to have some deodorant. I just hope I can find it easily and that it's not covered in disgusting trash juice by now...gross.
Sister and I will be making chocolate chip cookie goodness, and Mom will come into the kitchen to talk to us. Without thinking about what she's doing, she'll start putting away the ingredients we're using, bowls we need, etc. It's very cute and frustrating.
Once we realize what she's been up to, we make her sit down and stay put while we get everything back out.
When we were kids we weren't allowed to make any cookies (or anything, really) if we didn't leave the kitchen cleaner than when we found it. Mom definitely never used to put our stuff away while we were baking, so I'm not sure why she does now.
She also tends to pick up things like shoes, coats and mittens when we visit and put them in strange, foreign places. Poor Mom.
This brings me to this evening. I was straightening up the bathroom when I saw Joey's deodorant sitting on the counter. It appeared to be empty, so I shook it around (it felt empty) and threw it away. I then took out the trash.
Just now, I asked Joey, "Are you out of deodorant?"
"No, why?" He replied.
"Oops."
"What did you do?" He bellowed, trying to look intimidating. I closed my eyes so that his tactics would be foiled.
"Um....Ithrewitaway."
"Ack!" He screamed, and marched off to the bathroom to investivage. After several moments of manly banging around, he emerged grim-faced.
"You did throw my deodorant away. It's not there. And it's not in the trash, either, so this means you're going to have to dig through the garbage to find it."
I put on my best disinterested face (to rile him up worse) and said, "Oh, that's too bad."
"Hey! You have to go out there right now and find it!"
"I will in a minute. It's already thrown away." I said, not moving from my place on the couch. Sometimes I'm not very submissive.
He started messing up my ponytail, systematically taking it out in large pieces and then topping it off with a good noogie.
"I'm still not going out there until I'm done with this," I said. I don't really relish the idea of picking through trash.
"AARRRRRG, fine." He said, and marched off into the study where he is supposed to be doing homework, but I think he's actually playing with Henry. I keep hearing them growl at each other.
And, whether I like it or not, it's now time for me to go dig through the trash. Well, either that or go to the store, because he definitely needs to have some deodorant. I just hope I can find it easily and that it's not covered in disgusting trash juice by now...gross.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Rude?
Joey and I went to a brewery for dinner. (They have a really good restaurant!) We'd gotten this coupon for 50% off an appetizer with the order of an entree, so we went and ordered an appetizer and an entree and split them both.
Unfortunately, they put us in the bar. It was very loud and hard to talk.
Not to be dissuaded, we leaned as far as we could over the table and yelled over the din. There was a table of six guys next to us, and they all seemed a little bit, um, intoxicated. We'd been there about 15 minutes when I heard a very distinct belch.
"Oh my word, Joey did you hear that?" I asked, wide-eyed.
"No, what?"
"Somebody over there just belched! LOUD!"
He shook his head and we resumed our conversation, which was a small feat in and of itself.
A few minutes later, I heard another belch. "Joey! I just heard it again; that is so rude, I don't care if we're in a bar!"
He hadn't heard this one either, but he did concur with me that it was rude to burp in public, bar or no.
Just as we were finishing our tasty, tasty meal....
Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp
"I heard it this time," Joey said, inclining his head in the direction of the offensive man.
"So rude." I said.
That's what you get for eating dinner in the bar half of a brewery, though, I guess. Shows how much I know. (Although on the outside it appears to be a very nice establishment.) Can't judge a book by its cover...
Unfortunately, they put us in the bar. It was very loud and hard to talk.
Not to be dissuaded, we leaned as far as we could over the table and yelled over the din. There was a table of six guys next to us, and they all seemed a little bit, um, intoxicated. We'd been there about 15 minutes when I heard a very distinct belch.
"Oh my word, Joey did you hear that?" I asked, wide-eyed.
"No, what?"
"Somebody over there just belched! LOUD!"
He shook his head and we resumed our conversation, which was a small feat in and of itself.
A few minutes later, I heard another belch. "Joey! I just heard it again; that is so rude, I don't care if we're in a bar!"
He hadn't heard this one either, but he did concur with me that it was rude to burp in public, bar or no.
Just as we were finishing our tasty, tasty meal....
Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp
"I heard it this time," Joey said, inclining his head in the direction of the offensive man.
"So rude." I said.
That's what you get for eating dinner in the bar half of a brewery, though, I guess. Shows how much I know. (Although on the outside it appears to be a very nice establishment.) Can't judge a book by its cover...
Going Overboard
So my morale is low. It's 3:00 and I am antsy pants to go home. If I hadn't been out for two hours over the noon hour (super long doctors appointment, she's really chatty) I might have had a little more gumption to come back.
In order to raise morale, I went to the kitchen and made myself one of my favorite Sprite cocktails. Only this time, I used the entire lime.
So wasteful.
But enough of that. My Sprite is pretty tasty, albeit a whole lot more limey than usual. I think I like it.
In order to raise morale, I went to the kitchen and made myself one of my favorite Sprite cocktails. Only this time, I used the entire lime.
So wasteful.
But enough of that. My Sprite is pretty tasty, albeit a whole lot more limey than usual. I think I like it.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
The Kid Is Mean
This why The Kid is my arch-nemesis. See if you don't agree with me after you read the following conversation, which occurred just moments ago via Google Talk:
Alex: Rawr
me: Kid, what me: Ow.
And, like, what's a boof, does it hurt real bad?
Alex: Rawr
me: Kid, what
Alex: Oh, nothing, just wanted to scare you
And...
pow! kick! boof!
Beat you up
And, like, what's a boof, does it hurt real bad?
Alex: It's like ... a sock in the stomach . Or, wait.
It was me with a blow torch, burning your hair
It's amazing I'm still nice to that guy after all the stuff he does to me. And you should see my hair...
me: Maaaaaaaaaan! But I'm growing it out and long and beautiful...
Alex: Too late, man
It's amazing I'm still nice to that guy after all the stuff he does to me. And you should see my hair...
A Mounumentous Event
I think I'm getting older or something. I used to hate salmon and now I don't think I do anymore.
I couldn't eat until I got my blood drawn at 11:30 (which turned out to be 12:15, but who's counting), so I was really ravenous when I got back around 1:00. Lunch today turned out to be salmon with cranberries, steamed vegetables, rolls, and crustini with jalapeno spread (yum). There was an herb crusted chicken that was an alternate main dish, but I thought I'd go with the salmon. Just to be different.
And it was tasty.
I couldn't eat until I got my blood drawn at 11:30 (which turned out to be 12:15, but who's counting), so I was really ravenous when I got back around 1:00. Lunch today turned out to be salmon with cranberries, steamed vegetables, rolls, and crustini with jalapeno spread (yum). There was an herb crusted chicken that was an alternate main dish, but I thought I'd go with the salmon. Just to be different.
And it was tasty.
Holy Cow
For a person whose greatest fear is a bridge over a river collapsing underneath of her (it's the double doozy: heights and water), this was not a good news morning for Jenna Woestman.
We were driving down the freeway to work when a bunch of gloomy sounding announcers were talking about a bridge in Minneapolis that "was" and "before" and "in the water". I looked at Joey with large eyes.
He shook his head. "No....no...."
Steve Inskeep (of NPR fame) said, "The bridge collapsed into the Mississippi River during rush hour yesterday evening..." and I immediately began smacking Joey's leg.
"SEE?! SEE!! I told you. Bridges do collapse. I do have a right to be scared."
"No, see--"
I cut him off. "They do too. One just did, last night! And it was a big one and I've been on it lots of times before, too."
He shook his head and sighed a resigned sort of sigh. "But they barely ever do collapse. They're still safe."
This logic seems very, very faulty to me. Just because they barely ever do collapse doesn't mean the next one I'm on won't. I'm going to have even worse issues now, I can see that already.
Which is very unfortunate, because I'd just gotten to the point where I didn't tense up, get dizzy and freak out going over long bridges, too.
How many bridges are there on the way up to Iowa?
We were driving down the freeway to work when a bunch of gloomy sounding announcers were talking about a bridge in Minneapolis that "was" and "before" and "in the water". I looked at Joey with large eyes.
He shook his head. "No....no...."
Steve Inskeep (of NPR fame) said, "The bridge collapsed into the Mississippi River during rush hour yesterday evening..." and I immediately began smacking Joey's leg.
"SEE?! SEE!! I told you. Bridges do collapse. I do have a right to be scared."
"No, see--"
I cut him off. "They do too. One just did, last night! And it was a big one and I've been on it lots of times before, too."
He shook his head and sighed a resigned sort of sigh. "But they barely ever do collapse. They're still safe."
This logic seems very, very faulty to me. Just because they barely ever do collapse doesn't mean the next one I'm on won't. I'm going to have even worse issues now, I can see that already.
Which is very unfortunate, because I'd just gotten to the point where I didn't tense up, get dizzy and freak out going over long bridges, too.
How many bridges are there on the way up to Iowa?
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
So long, farewell?
We think it's lame for us to have two cars since we leave at the same time in the morning, follow each other down the freeway (we work 2 miles away from each other), and then follow each other home in the evening.
And when we're not at work, we're pretty much always together, since we're Siamese Spouses. We start dying if we're separated, it's almost pathetic.
Plus we'd rather carpool to eliminate pollution and save on gas. And it's much more pleasant to have an extra 30 minutes together every day - it's like Christmas!
So we're seriously considering the "selling the Honda" option. Here's our Honda's vital statistics:
So if you want to buy it from us, you know where to find me. We'll probably sell it to you.
And when we're not at work, we're pretty much always together, since we're Siamese Spouses. We start dying if we're separated, it's almost pathetic.
Plus we'd rather carpool to eliminate pollution and save on gas. And it's much more pleasant to have an extra 30 minutes together every day - it's like Christmas!
So we're seriously considering the "selling the Honda" option. Here's our Honda's vital statistics:
- 2001 Honda Accord sedan (And it's gold, which I think is ugly but Joey always liked)
- It has 136,000 miles on it
- It has never been sick or had to go to the doctor
- We bought it in 2004 from a dealer in Dallas, so it has only suffered through 2 1/2 Iowa winters
- It has no rust or body damage (Joey made me put that in)
- It gets 28 mpg in town and 31 on the freeway
- We want about $6,400 for it
So if you want to buy it from us, you know where to find me. We'll probably sell it to you.
Dumpster Diving
Unfortunately, I do not have a green thumb. I have inherited this trait (or lack thereof) from my mom. (Sorry mom, don't be sad.) My mom is better than me, though, because she can at least keep houseplants alive most of the time.
Sadly, I cannot.
When Joey and I first moved to Dallas, we bought a very, very large houseplant. One could almost consider it a tree. Anyway, Home Despot had mis priced it and it was only $19.99 or something like that. We had been looking for a silk plant anyway so we bought the live one instead, since it was so cheap.
Six months later, the plant was dead and moldy. (And I watered it, too! Not like the last one...) There were large clusters of white spores growing on the leaves that weren't black and, after a month of looking at it that way and determining that no, it wasn't getting any healthier, Joey and I decided to throw it away.
The thing weighed about 40 pounds and was cumbersome to carry. I shoved it out onto the front porch and Joey carried it to the Dumpster.
Henry and I followed at a safe distance, hoping to steer clear of the creepy white spores that Joey was now completely covered in.
"What are we going to put in its place?" Joey asked when we were back inside, staring at the vacant section of wall that used to contain our dead, moldy plant.
"I'd like to find a chair to put there, you know so people can sit down to take their shoes off." Nobody wears shoes in my house; no way, no how. "I saw some at TJ Maxx a couple months ago, they were about $20."
What I was looking for was a kind of unusual dining room style chair that had character. We headed over to TJ Maxx a few days later to see what they had. It wasn't pretty. They had fantastic chairs, but they were all $90.
So then we went to a thrift shop that I'd been to once before. I am not a good thrift store shopper. I usually wind up looking everything over and settling on something that I don't really even like and that is probably junk anyway.
Such was almost the case this time. However, Joey determined that the chair I was looking at was Very Wobbly, so he said, "Let's go home."
We did.
Last night, we went on a walk to the store and, lo and behold, by the Dumpster sat The Chair.
"Look, Jenna, there's a chair!" Joey pointed.
I saw it and squealed. "It's exactly what I wanted!" The chair was black painted wood, high-backed and had a very ugly seat cushion. The frame and construction were great, though. It was probably 15 years old, but it was a very nice chair.
"You really like it?" Joey said, sitting in the chair and wiggling around test for sturdiness.
"Oh yes," I said. "I'm going to take sandpaper to it and rough up the finish a little bit, then I'm going to take off the ugly seat cushion and replace it with something, probably in a shade of green."
"OK," he said, and hoisted the chair. We turned around and carried it back to our house where we set it outside the front door.
And, thus, we got our chair for FREE. It's great, hopefully someday I can post pictures of it. Some days I really wish we had a camera...
Sadly, I cannot.
When Joey and I first moved to Dallas, we bought a very, very large houseplant. One could almost consider it a tree. Anyway, Home Despot had mis priced it and it was only $19.99 or something like that. We had been looking for a silk plant anyway so we bought the live one instead, since it was so cheap.
Six months later, the plant was dead and moldy. (And I watered it, too! Not like the last one...) There were large clusters of white spores growing on the leaves that weren't black and, after a month of looking at it that way and determining that no, it wasn't getting any healthier, Joey and I decided to throw it away.
The thing weighed about 40 pounds and was cumbersome to carry. I shoved it out onto the front porch and Joey carried it to the Dumpster.
Henry and I followed at a safe distance, hoping to steer clear of the creepy white spores that Joey was now completely covered in.
"What are we going to put in its place?" Joey asked when we were back inside, staring at the vacant section of wall that used to contain our dead, moldy plant.
"I'd like to find a chair to put there, you know so people can sit down to take their shoes off." Nobody wears shoes in my house; no way, no how. "I saw some at TJ Maxx a couple months ago, they were about $20."
What I was looking for was a kind of unusual dining room style chair that had character. We headed over to TJ Maxx a few days later to see what they had. It wasn't pretty. They had fantastic chairs, but they were all $90.
So then we went to a thrift shop that I'd been to once before. I am not a good thrift store shopper. I usually wind up looking everything over and settling on something that I don't really even like and that is probably junk anyway.
Such was almost the case this time. However, Joey determined that the chair I was looking at was Very Wobbly, so he said, "Let's go home."
We did.
Last night, we went on a walk to the store and, lo and behold, by the Dumpster sat The Chair.
"Look, Jenna, there's a chair!" Joey pointed.
I saw it and squealed. "It's exactly what I wanted!" The chair was black painted wood, high-backed and had a very ugly seat cushion. The frame and construction were great, though. It was probably 15 years old, but it was a very nice chair.
"You really like it?" Joey said, sitting in the chair and wiggling around test for sturdiness.
"Oh yes," I said. "I'm going to take sandpaper to it and rough up the finish a little bit, then I'm going to take off the ugly seat cushion and replace it with something, probably in a shade of green."
"OK," he said, and hoisted the chair. We turned around and carried it back to our house where we set it outside the front door.
And, thus, we got our chair for FREE. It's great, hopefully someday I can post pictures of it. Some days I really wish we had a camera...
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