Leap Day

Yeah, so it's Leap Day.  I didn't realize this until about 9:00 this a.m. when someone wished me a happy Leap Day and I couldn't figure out what they were talking about.

I feel rather out of my normal groove today (I very nearly perished in spin class this morning...), and I think it's because my body thinks it's March but it's really February.  Still.  And we didn't even get the day off, which is completely lame.

So I asked Joey what we would do to celebrate Leap Day since it's so rare.  His response?  Leap around.

I think that is lame; it's something I would come up with, not him!  He's the go-to guy for cooler ideas than mine, in general, because his brain is slightly more advanced than mine, I figure.

So my current ideas are:

• Sprinkles cupcakes (I'm always looking for an excuse...)
• Go to bed early since I have to get up at 6:30 tomorrow to take Joey to DTS so he can meet his dudes who are going to have a paint ball WW2 reenactment all weekend somewhere over by Haltom City (I'm staying home fortunately)
• Make brownies, put candles in the tops of them and sing "Happy Leap Day".  Then consume the brownies.
  
• Leap around

It seems to me like Joey and I will be doing some leaping around after work.  Now I have to get on Wikipedia to see if I can figure out what the proper form is for leaping.  Is it much different from jumping?

Happy Leap Day, everyone.  Go take a leap or two.

The Romantic Walk

Joey and I decided to go on a walk last evening since it was so nice. We packed up the laptop so I could post pictures of George and headed off to the club to get our free internets. After quickly doing so, we started to walk across the athletic fields toward the trail. It wasn't well lit, but we had Henry for protection.

"OH!" I said, as we walked along, I forgot to call Laura! Hmm, it's getting late, I should call her before one of them falls asleep." (It was 7:15, but we're all getting old.)

So, romantic walk notwithstanding, I rang up Laura. Just as she answered the phone and I said, "Hi, how are you?" I felt the ground give out underneath me.

I yelled, "NOOOO!!! Aw NUTS, NUTS, NUTS!" into the phone and poor Laura's ear.

"What happened?!" Joey asked.

"I...I just stepped in this huge sinkhole of mud..." I could feel it oozing around in my Crocs and most of the way way up my right calf. I pulled myself out and kept walking.

I apologized to Laura for yelling in her ear (I think; If I forgot then I'm sorry) and finished up the phone call. Joey and I attempted to finish our romantic walk. However, the mud that I had stepped in was really cold, not to mention that the mud on my feet was making them even colder. We walked about five minutes before I confessed that I could go no further and we had better turn around home.

My feet were numb by the time we got home.

I took off my Crocs and was quite amazed by the amount of mud on my feet. "Cool, can you take a picture?!" I asked Joey. He, as always, acquiesced. And so that is why you, my blog-reading friend, now have to see pictures of my muddy feet.

George The Cat (with pictures and everything)

Lately I have taken to asking Joey if he'd get me a cat. (Particularly a fluffy gray cat with white paws.) He continues to say no for such logical reasons as:

• We might move someday and it's not logical to get a cat yet
• I don't really like cats unless they're fluffy and pristine
• If on the odd chance I were to become with child, we'd have to get rid of the cat

He's right, of course. But this doesn't really stop me from asking. And so that is why, last Sunday on the way home from church, I said, "When are you going to get me a kitty?"

"Not until all children we are planning to have are had." Came the standard answer.

As we walked up the steps to our apartment, though...

"JOEY!!!" I hissed, pointing frantically at the steps, "There is a cat! Running up towards our apartment!"

The cat was huge, blackish/brown, and ridiculously sleek. (All traits that are highly prized among cats if you are a Laird.) The cat sat down in front of our door and looked plaintively at us.

"It is a sign from God," I crowed. "Can I keep him?"

"No, you cannot keep him. God doesn't give things to you that already belong to others. Get out your phone, we're going to call his owners. Oh, look his name is George."

"Boo," I whined. "George is such a cool name."

The first number on the tag did not answer. "Maybe we can keep him?" I asked, hopefully.

Joey called the second number and George's owner answered. She was a kind, British sounding woman who lived in the apartment in the same position as ours in the next group of apartments down the row. She said she'd come right over to pick up George.

When she arrived she told us that George commonly mistakes our apartment for his and that since he's really overweight they've been trying to let him out now and then so he can get some exercise. (I don't think it's working if he's just coming over and sitting in front of our apartment, but whatever.)

She picked George up and took him home and I was sorely displeased to see them go.

Last night as I was doing laundry Joey said, "Do you hear that cat?"

I stopped the washer and ran over to the door. "No, I don't..."

Maybe George is back! I thought. I opened the door just a bit to peek outside and, sure enough, there was George trying to force his way in to our apartment.

"YES! It's George!" I hissed. I picked up Henry and dumped him in the bathroom and shut the door. He did not appreciate this and began scratching at the door and barking. Then I ran back to the front door and told Joey to grab the camera so I could get some pictures of George.

I opened the door just far enough to try to sneak out to pet George when, just like that, he streaked into our apartment and started running around looking for who knows what.

"Oh great," Joey muttered.

"Cool!" I squealed, and started chasing George around the living room. I'd nearly catch him but, sleek as he was, he'd slip right out of my hands. (It reminded me of that time I let a chipmunk loose in the red room in the green house. Remember that, Mom? Hehehe...) Joey was able to snap a picture once when George was sitting still. You can't quite tell how huge he is, but just know that he's gargantuan.



He got another one when I managed to flip him over to try to get a good look at how large the cat's girth was.
George didn't want to be photographed or flipped over on his back, so all we got was him wriggling away as Joey took the picture. (You can see my hands trying to hold him in place.)

"Take more!" I begged, but Joey insisted we try to get George out of our house before we traumatized him. I was disappointed, but I scooted George toward the door and, when Joey opened it, he ran right out. Then we opened the bathroom door and let Henry out. He ran around the house like a mad dog trying to find the cat, but he was unsuccessful. (George is about twice the size of Henry, and I'm not even kidding. He probably weighs 20 pounds and Henry's about 12.)

And later, when Henry and I went to go get gas in the car, we found George sitting under our car looking sleek and pristine. "I think he likes us," I whispered to Henry before chasing George off so I wouldn't run him over.

I'll post the pictures of George tomorrow because I know you're all dying to see him.

Henry is the cutest

For those of you in any sort of doubt as to whether or not Henry was/is the cutest dog alive, please doubt no more. Observe these ridiculously cute pictures that prove I am right.

Joey's Words of Wisdom

According to ancient Laird tradition, when it is your birthday you are required, following the consumption of cake and opening of presents, to impart some Words of Wisdom upon those who may be around the table celebrating with you.  This ancient tradition goes back at least 17 years or so and was probably originated by one Douglas D. Laird.

With that background and knowing that Joey is not a biological but a naturalized Laird (wait, is it possible for Lairds to be any sort of natural?!) I should tell you that three times this weekend I told him to prepare his Words of Wisdom before I actually got anything out of him.  I think he thought he was exempt since Pops isn't around to give him a suspicious look and say "up against the wall!" or some such phrase.

So on our Birthday walk last night (it was 85 yesterday, kids) I said, "OK, what are your Words of Wisdom?  I gotta know."

He replied, "I've been thinking about this all day because I wanted to come up with something good."

"I'm ready,"  I told him.

"Well, I have learned over this past year that every single person I have judged has turned out, in one way or another, to have stronger character than I.  So my Words of Wisdom for this year are don't judge others!"

"Wow, honey, that's some good Wisdom."  I said, squeezing his hand.  Usually Words of Wisdom wind up being something like "Don't let Jenna sneak Mexicali Cheese into the Boundary Waters again" or "Keep track of your shoes at all times".

So there you have it, Pops, Joey's Words of Wisdom posted online for you and all the other people who may or may not read this post.  We figured you might want to know, though.  :)  And it's good Wisdom this year, too.  I think he's getting (gasp!) mature or something.

Joey and I are in the Apple store window shopping because he likes it and it's his birthday and he gets to do whatever he wants on his birthday. I'm playing with a MacBook Air while he uses fancy programs I don't understand on some high dollar compys. He just leaned over and said to me, "Too bad you don't generate any revenue blogging, or I'd totally buy you one of those MacBook Airs."

People. Start paying me to read my blog so I can get one of these sweet machines!!

The Birthday Boy

Happy Birthday, Joey!!!

Joey is my favorite person in the entire world, so I always like to make a big deal about his birthday. this year, however, is even cooler than all his previous birthdays combined because he turned 25 on the 25th. All month long we have been celebrating. I was giving him 25 somethings every day of the month, some of my personal favorites have been:

• 25 dimes for buying treats
• 25 minute long backrub
• 25 chances to say no to a Sprinkles cupcake
• 25 pieces of Henry's food (Joey did not like this one)
• 25 birthday messages from friends and family back home
• 25 Mountain Dews
• 25 miles on our bikes (but we have only gone 13 as yet)

And so on and so forth. It has been a fun month!

For Joey's actual birthday, we went on a hike (on unpaved trails!) in the afternoon, and grilled out with a very delicious meal of steak and grilled veggies. I baked Joey a little bitty cake (and the frosting turned out miserably, but enough of all that) and stuffed 25 candles on the top so I could sing him Happy Birthday. All by myself.


The frosting was so hard that I had to press it on with my fingers...what a disappointment!


Here's my favorite Birthday Boy and his candles!



And he huffed and he puffed....


And then we ate the cake.


Joey's gift from me is a weekend paintball scenario game on Saturday/Sunday of next week where they'll reenact battles from WW2 and get welted up from being shot with paintballs. Sounds like a barrel of fun, huh? Anyway, he was excited and that's all that matters.

Tonight we're going to Wild About Harry's to have brisket hot dogs (manly food!) and probably go look around at the Apple Store. He gets away with so much on his birthday...I even watched a Harry Potter movie with him!

Anyways, happy birthday Joey!!!

Awkward Moment

Had an awkward moment today, and this one wasn't even my fault!  I found it really funny, actually. (Which is better than taking it completely personally and getting my feelings hurt, right?)  Hopefully you'll agree because, unfortunately, you will be without the benefit of a lot of back story as the aforementioned awkward moment occurred during The Day.  And, as we all know, Jenna does not talk about what she does during The Day for very specific reasons which Gramps is sure to remind me of often.

Suffice it to say, it has been a rather long year adjusting to The Day and its, um, challenges.  The first 6 months of our time in Dallas I was dreadfully lonely during The Day because no one really talked to me and I was basically ignored.  But all that's mostly better now, so you can stop feeling sorry for me and I will move on past my sob story.

So.  There I was eating lunch in a large room with several of those I spend The Day with.  This was an unusual occurrence for 2 reasons:
1.  Eating lunch together is weird because it barely ever happens
2.  When it actually does happen, they don't usually invite me

Anyway, I was trying to participate in the conversation and slowly it rolled around to the upcoming Oscars.

"Do you remember that great Oscar party you had last year?"  Someone said.

"OH, yeah, that was fantastic," Someone else replied.

Oscar party? I thought.  This will be interesting as soon as they all realize they're talking about something I was clearly the only one not invited to.

They carried on discussing the Oscar dinner party for a few minutes until someone, trying to cover for them all, said "How long have you been here, Jenna?"

"Since January," I replied kind of smugly.

Dead silence.  (The Oscars are at the end of February for those of you like Mom who don't know that.)

"Well we didn't really know you very well back then..." They all started talking at once, each trying to come up with a very valid reason as to why they had left me out.

"Plus you're from Iowa," one said, trying to crack a joke, "You never know with those Iowa people."

"It's true," I said, growing kind of uncomfortable with all the attention by this point, "It's hard to tell with us Iowans."

You know, I don't know if I even would have gone if they'd invited me.  In any case, it was kind of fun to watch them all squirm...serves them right a little bit.  Ahh, but vengeance really isn't mine now, is it?  Plus it's totally not worth it.  But if they ever do invite me to something I will bake the most delicious, tasty treat I can think of to bring so they decide they always need to invite me in the future.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDPA!!!

Gramps,

Happy birthday.  Eat a piece of cake with lots of frosting for me and enjoy the Arizona sunshine.  Do not go shopping because you don't like it and birthdays should be filled only with things you like.

Love,
Jenna-Pooh
(No one else can call me that.)

Pesto.

Last night Joey had to write a paper for his Greek class so I did my best to keep myself busy and out of the way, thereby minimizing distractions so he could finish as soon as possible.  Henry and I went for a short walk (but it was dark and I got scared because these two guys with seriously bushy beards rode by me on their bikes and said things like "did you get it" and "almost there" - but they were harmless) and then I decided to go Somewhere to purchase Something for Joey's upcoming birthday.  (It's Monday and he'll be 25, in case you didn't remember.)

I got home about 8:15 and, fortunately, I'd remembered to bring along a paper sack in which to stuff the purchases I had just made to keep Joey's prying eyes away from them.  He's exceptionally good at figuring out his presents because he's a sneak, so I have to take precautionary measures.  Anyway, he still wasn't done with his paper.

Lame, I thought, and stapled shut the paper sack containing his presents and stuffed it in a closet where he is likely to find it but will hopefully behave and not peek.

This left me with two hours to fill. 

I wandered into the kitchen to see if I could do any prep work for dinner on Wednesday.  I'm making calzones and this particular recipe calls for pesto.  I have never made pesto but I do enjoy the odd Pesto Crusted Halibut or Chicken dish when the caterers bring it in to work.  And so, like any adventurous cook, I decided I'd go ahead and leave the Pesto in the calzones and cross my fingers that Joey thought it was delish (since he's been begging me to make calzones for...almost three years.)  And Pesto, it turns out, can be made ahead.

The ingredient list was kind of daunting.  Sometimes it's better to not know what is in something, and I think Pesto (at least regular old Pesto) might have been that way for me.  But I sucked it up and began toasting my almonds until they emitted a nice, soft, nutty smell.  Then I chopped them up fine in my coffee bean grinder and set them aside.

Next I toasted garlic - no problem there.  I like toasted garlic.

Then parmesan, olive oil and - lastly - 1 cup of fresh basil leaves, packed.  I dumped them all into my blender and pushed the button.  Everything sort of oozed together into this green, pasty compound that smelled like freshly cut grass.

I felt sick.

Do not make any comments or Joey will never eat the calzones, I told myself firmly.

I took the lid off my blender again to smell the pesto and hopefully catch some of the garlic and change my mind about its awesomeness.  Again - it smelled like chlorophyll and turned my stomach.  I quickly dumped it into a container and set it in the fridge. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

"What's that?"  Joey asked, wandering over to the kitchen.  "Smells good."

"It's Pesto," I told him.  "It's going in the calzones for tomorrow."

"CALZONES?!"  Joey gasped.

"Yes, I'm trying a new recipe."  I added, hesitantly, "They probably won't be like your mom's..."

I hope this Pesto turns out to taste good or I will ruin his worldview.

In Which I Give Myself More Power Than I Am Due

Because the Stock Market was closed yesterday I had the day off.  So I baked a carrot cake and took it to the boys at Joey's office.  It was my best carrot cake to date - perfectly moist and squidgy with oodles of cream cheese frosting.  We cut the cake into, like, 16 pieces and there are none left anymore which saddens me, because I want to eat some more of it.  Delish.

Anyway, we all sat the big messy table in the disorganized part of Joey's office (well, wait, the whole thing is disorganized...I'd stress out so bad if I worked there) where they eat their lunch and watch Nacho Libre in their spare time.  I glanced at my watch.  1:30.

"What time are you getting off?"  I asked Joey.

"Oh, I don't know.  Later," he replied.

Everyone seemed to be on a sugar-buzz letdown.  The ten of us were just sitting around staring at nothing and occasionally conversing about NPR or how I now had a sugar stomachache from eating so much of the frosting I made before actually frosting the cake.

"I figure I'm giving you the afternoon off," I announced.

Joey glanced around.  His bosses were sitting right there and none of them seemed to be paying any sort of attention to him, so he said, "OK, sure.  We'll leave at 2:00."

Still no word from the bosses.

I wandered around campus and visited some of my friends who work in other departments before going back down to fetch Joey at 2:15.  He had all his bags packed and he was ready to go.  No one really commented as we left, either.  (I think they were all still in sugar-land.)

It was a gorgeous afternoon.  So we got home, grabbed 2 blankets, some books and Henry's stake and chain and headed out to the fields where we lay in the sun and read.  Joey fell asleep after about 2 pages of reading, which was boring, and Henry konked out immediately with his white fluffy fur blowing in the breeze.

The idyllic scene abruptly came to an end when a large, black dog came walking by with his people and Henry took off running after it wanting to befriend him.  Poor, poor Henry, though, didn't realize he was still on a lead and he got severely clotheslined when he reached the end of his rope.  (Good thing we had him on his harness!)  He was kind of demoralized after that, poor thing.

After an hour of sunning ourselves, Joey and I went home and made pancakes, watched a movie and went for a walk in the dark. 

"I'm very glad you gave me the afternoon off," Joey said.

I was too.  Because it was the perfect afternoon.

Currency Exchange

A month after Joey and I got married, we hoofed it off to China to teach English for a month. It was a great month filled with getting minorly lost, eating some unusual food, Joey getting exceptionally sick, making great friends with our students (and the most physical game of Monopoly I can recall ever playing), and spending oodles of Chinese Yuan since the exchange rate was so bad. (We got like 8 Yuan per dollar, so we had bills coming out our ears.)

That being said, I'm very familiar with a 100 Yuan bill. It looks like this.Considering that picture has "copyright" watermarked all over it I'll probably get taken out by the Chinese government now. But I am unafraid. Anyway, it's clearly a Chinese bill as you can tell from both the characters, the pinyin and the big picture of Mao.

Quite to my advantage, I studied Mandarin Chinese for nearly two semesters when I went to Iowa State. I say nearly two semesters because I dropped it halfway through the 2nd semester because I was one of two people who wasn't natively Asian and had a rudimentary grasp of the language already. (What this means to me today is that I can recognize very basic Chinese characters but really nothing else.)

All this to say that I know what Chinese money looks like. And, with my very rudimentary grasp of Mandarin Chinese, I can even read that it says "Chinese Yuan" on the currency. Not what I'd figure to be handy life skills, but today they came in handy.

I had to go to the bank to exchange some foreign currency today. I glanced at it and saw that it was, in fact, Chinese Yuan. I stood in line with the teller and waited for 10 minutes as a very expressive short man (he was shorter than me, so that is very short) while he asked the teller what she did for Valentines Day and scoffed that she hadn't chosen a more expensive restaurant for dinner.

When it was finally my turn I slid the envelope with the foreign currency across the cool marble counter. The teller opened the envelope, turned the money around and flicked it a few times. I thought she was checking for authenticity but after a few moments of this she asked, "What country is this?"

"It's Chinese Yuan," I told her. I handed her the receipt that had the currency code on it.

"No, it's not. It doesn't look right." She went to go get her book of foreign currencies and I began to second guess my Chinese-reading abilities and recollection of what Chinese currency looked like.

After 10 minutes of watching her page through the currency book and ask questions like "What other countries might this be from" I leaned over the counter and took back one of the bills. There, written right on it in both pin-yin (anglicized Chinese) and Chinese characters it very clearly said "Chinese Yuan". I had not been wrong.

"This says 'Chinese Yuan' right on it, see?" I pointed to the writing and the teller looked at me with an annoyed expression on her face. I was getting tired of standing there waiting for her to recognize the picture in the 150 page currency guide. "Can you please just look at the page with the Chinese currency?"

She hadn't done that yet.

Reluctantly she flipped back to the Chinese section of the book and - shocker! - there was the picture she had been searching for. She huffed and closed the book quickly so as to ensure I hadn't spotted the picture. But I had.

Shortly the transaction was complete and she handed me my money and refused to look me in the eye. "I think it was Chinese Yuan," she mumbled.

It was.

Sometimes it feels good to be vindicated because most of the other times in my life I'm wrong.

Congratulations goes to my dear friend Jamie Saylor for being the 13,000 visitor to the blog.  You don't win any awards, sorry.

But this should make The Kid happy.  He's been on my case since 12,000 with "Lady, you really need to post who puts you at the thousand marks from now on" and suchlike.

Joey's Nasty Desk

This is not my story but it is so good that I have to post it.  It's Joey's story.  And, while I wasn't there, I got a pretty good re-telling of it in the car on the way home and I'm infinitely gifted at using my writer's license to fill in any minor gaps, so you should get a fairly accurate picture of what went down.

Joey was sitting in his Greek (NT 104 for those of you who really are interested) class and was particularly pleased with himself for finishing his 3 page single-spaced word study that he really hadn't wanted to do in the first place.  The entire word study was made more complicated by the fact that he'd forgotten to photocopy some of the really important keys from the beginning of the lexicon he was using in the library (because we don't have money to buy every single Greek book out there...Joey is very good about utilizing the library), so he had to finish it over lunch at school instead of at home the night before.

So there he sat in the back row with Eric. They are a bad sort of pair, they make little comments about this and that while the professor is explaining things and, on the not uncommon occasion that one of them has a linguistic breakthrough, they whisper heatedly about the difference in their phrase diagrams, and do you think this word could actually be a subjunctive aorist?  If so, what ramifications does that have for....

They are truly Greek nerds.

Anyway, for once Joey was sitting quietly in one of those collegiate-style desks, his right arm resting on the table part when suddenly he felt the table give way beneath his elbow.  Because everything happened so fast, he began to fall forward - right into the wide part of his desk table that was rising quickly.

SMACK!

Joey got hit in the face with one of the desks in his Greek classroom at DTS that, quite frankly, Chuck Swindoll might have once sat in.

His lip began to bleed.  He sat there, shook his head, and tried to figure out what happened.  He saw his desk lying on the floor, three sheared-off screws scattered around beside it.  Still unsure of what had happened, he noticed the bleeding lip and otherwise sore face.  He tried discreetly to stem the tide without actually having to get up and go to the bathroom to deal with it.

"You OK, Joey?"  Asked Greek Prof.

"Um....yes.  I think."

Then poor Joey leaned his head back against what he thought was the wall but shortly discovered that it was not, in fact, the wall, it was a door.  One of his classmates came in and rammed the back of his head with the door causing the pain in Joey's head to now be equally disbursed.

He proudly displayed his cut lip to me when we got in the car to go home.

"It hurts," he admitted.  "But I took that desk top with me.  It is mine after all I went through, and it's in my office downstairs."

I told him he can mount it on the wall in his youth pastor office someday and it'll make the kids think he's extra cool.

Does this remind anyone else of college like it does me?

I had flashbacks for two reasons:
1. It's uncomfortably true of my alma mater's take on the whole experience, except that they didn't get the part where rebellion decreases with decreased supervision.
2. It's on a 3x5 card. Horrors.
3. BTW, this comes from Indexed.

This is a picture of my lovely Valentines Day flowers (which look a little wilty because I forgot to water them, but have done so since this picture was taken) and fantastic Le Creuset pitcher.





Joey likes this one better because it's more interesting.

Valentines Day

We decided to go ahead and do it early this year since Valentines Day falls on a Thursday and seriously, what Seminary student can just take off for an evening of exceptional romance in the middle of the week? 

Anyway. 

On Sunday immediately after church as I made dinner, Joey excused himself to "go run an errand".  I happily made my delicious Beef Tortilla Casserole experiment (it turned out great!) and listened to NPR while Joey was gone.  He returned shortly with his hand behind his back. 

"Close your eyes," He instructed me.  And then, "OK, now you can open them."  I did as I was told.

"REALLY!?!?"  I shrieked, as I looked at his outstretched hand.

I got flowers for Valentines Day.  (My first ever.)  And they were in the cobalt blue Le Creuset pitcher I'd been eying for weeks!

"It was cheaper to buy the daisies and put them in the pitcher than it was to get an arrangement," Joey told me, putting to rest my fears of overspending.

He then presented me with a piece of chocolate from one of the sample stations at Central Market, which I ate, and then a smallish bar of delicious fudge that he admitted he had bought on impulse.

So now I can't say I've never gotten flowers and/or chocolates on Valentines Day before, because now I have. 

"There's one more thing..." Joey said, dragging it out.

"WHAT?"  I said, aghast and seeing dollar signs in front of my eyes.

"Yes, it involves horses."

The dollar signs multiplied.

"Really?"  I asked.

"Yes.  You and I have two tickets for the 6:00 show of the World Famous Lippizanner Stallion show."

I screamed. 

I will not try to replicate my scream here for the sake of your poor eyes, because I'm sure it hurt Joey's ears.  I have been wanting to see the Lippizanners since I was....oh, probably 10.  I used to check out books from the library on them and I had a make believe stable full of them that, since it was make believe, I was awesome at riding.

Unfortunately we forgot our camera or we might have some pictures to post here of our amazing experiences at the horse show.  I'm pretty sure it was the coolest thing I've ever seen.  I even cried for about the first 10 minutes of the show but managed to pull it together shortly thereafter.  (It's very hard to notice the fine movements a dressage horse is doing when ones eyes are misty with tears.)

I think my favorite parts were when the horses did the jump-kick war moves and stood on their hind legs and shook their forelegs to ward off potential attackers.  Joey liked those too.

I said, "Those horses are ripped" more than once.  I think I traumatized Joey the first time I said it, too.

After the Lippizanner show we headed to...Burger King!  (So romantic, I know.)  We realized that we had run out of money in our date category because the cost of a hamburger was much, much higher than we'd been expecting from our Studio Movie Grill experience (complete with That Woman) on Friday.  Anyway, we scaled back from La Duni to Burger King and we'll hit La Duni for our anniversary or something.

Burger King was as delicious as Burger King can be at 8:15 on a Sunday night.  We even splurged on a piece of pie.  All in all, though, I'd say this was a very successful Valentines Day.  What's even better is that after my flowers die, I'll still have my blue Le Creuset pitcher to remember Joey's surprising gift. 

I have the best husband ever.  And I'd still have the best husband even if he just gave me a sweet card, although he did that too.

That Woman

On Friday night we caught a movie with Austin and Audra at the new Studio Movie Grill that was giving out free tickets to DTS students.  It's one of those places where you order a burger or something to eat while you watch a movie in these sort of leather office chairs and eat on little tables.  Quite fun.  (They did not, however, mention that the cost of the food once inside was rather exorbitant for what it was.)

Anyway, we got there ridiculously early.  (I have never in my life been to a movie an hour before it starts, but there's a first time for everything.)  Joey was in rare form, so there was plenty to laugh about/at and we had a nice time waiting first to get in line to be seated, then standing in line to be seated, then sitting in our kooshy leather chairs eating burgers before the movie started.

We sat smack dab in the middle of the sixth row and happily adjusted our bouncing leather seats.  Audra and I are both short (although I think she's maybe an inch shorter?) so the adjustability factor of the seats was nice.

"If no one sits in front of us this will be perfect!" I chirped to Joey as I tried to get my seat to lean back.  I was unsuccessful.

For fifteen minutes, no one was entering the theatre.  It looked like we might have the place to ourselves - which was fine with us - and have a perfect shot of the screen.  A family of three came in and wandered down our row, first picking seats directly in front of us (and I growled and protested fiercely under my breath) then reconsidered and went to our left to pick from some of the six empty tables available.

The wife was a blonde, black cashmere dress coat-wearing, perfectly made-up, woman whose mannerisms screamed "I live in Highland Park and I'm super rich; don't mess with me".  She looked at me and my Little Miss Trouble t-shirt and tennis shoes condescendingly before she placed her hand on the table directly next to me (which had our menus on it and my coat and handbag sitting in the chair), arched her precisely plucked eyebrow and asked with a Dixie-belle accent, "Are you using this table?"

Quite obviously my menus were on it but I said, "No" and moved them off.  She smiled ingratiatingly and sat down at the table beyond the one she'd just made me move my menus off, but not before glancing back my way once more.

"Joey!" I hissed, "That Woman just made me move my menus because she could!"  I shot several glowering looks her way before returning to my hamburger.

Shortly, That Woman glanced quickly back over at me and began scooting the extra table closer to me, ramming the chair with my handbag and coat into me repeatedly.  She did not apologize.

"Joey!!"  I protested.  "That Woman just slammed the table into the chair which slammed into me!"

"Do I need to separate you two?" Joey asked.  I think he found the entire situation amusing.

"No..." I mumbled.

"What is going on over there?"  Audra asked, leaning over their table our direction.  And so I told her how annoying That Woman was going to be during the movie, and how I wished she'd go away.

Then I noticed a lot of movement coming from my left side, and I looked over to see That Woman moving out of her chair into the extra chair that was quite obviously holding my bright green coat and camel colored handbag and sitting on them.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME," I said, not quite loudly enough for That Woman to hear, but just loud enough for me to feel slightly better.  But this time I was really starting to get mad - I mean, who sits on someone else's coat and handbag for absolutely no reason?

"Excuse me," I said with an irritated twinge to my voice, grabbed my things and ripped them out from under That Woman.

"Oh...I'm so sorry." said That Woman.  "I didn't see your things."

I wanted to reply, "But surely you must have felt them on your behind as you sat on them." However, I held my tongue.

Dear readers, before you think I'm some kind of easily irritated jerkface, I must remind you that there were three empty tables on the other side of them, and no one was in the row in front of us.  It's not like the theatre was even close to packed.

"JOEY!!!"  I was getting really mad now, "That Woman just sat on my stuff to get me to move it.  And now...oh my goodness, look, she has moved the chair and angled it towards her and she's now using it as a place where she's storing her stuff."  The cashmere coat was draped elegantly across the arm.

Joey and Austin, who were sitting in the middle of the four of us, exchanged glances and switched places with Audra and I, putting us in the middle and separating me from That Woman, who I surely would have given the What's Up if she'd pulled one more fast one on me.

"What just happened?"  Audra asked, and I filled her in.

The, fortunately, the movie started and I was able to forget about That Woman.  And, because they left before us, I was spared from having to make the right decision not to shoot her dirty looks as we walked out of the theatre at the same time.

Bike Shorts

I know, I know, the title's enough to scare anybody off.  But keep reading, I promise that I'm not posting any pictures of myself actually wearing bike shorts.

On Wednesday Joey said, "Performance Bike is having a sale on their bike shorts."

"REALLY?"  I piped up.  The Spin Class had really been, um, getting to me and it was hard to sit.  Joey had tried to convey to me earlier the necessity of bike shorts (did you know they have padding on the bum?  I sure didn't) but I just thought he was stringin' me along to try to get me to spend unnecessary money.

I know there's muchas Bible verses about wives submitting to your husbands and all, so I will admit to everyone that I did not submit in this instance - I wouldn't let Joey buy bike shorts.  I told him, actually to "toughen up." Plus I didn't believe that they were necessary because bike seats were kooshy and comfy, right? 

Wrong. 

Turns out that only Thunder has a kooshy and comfy bike seat.  Bike seats for normal people and in spin classes are hard like cinder blocks and they cause painful---well, you really don't care about all that.  So enough talk of bums.

We bought some bike shorts after I admitted to Joey that, "Yes, you were right and I was a gomer.  Please forgive and it's unlikely that I will ever doubt your wisdom again."

We got the fancy kind with the gel padding and took them home to test them out on our bikes.  We, like the losers we are, rode around the parking lot to test them out.  "Mine feel comfy and great!"  I crowed.

"I don't like mine," Joey harrumphed.  But he seems to have gotten over it because he kept them and took the tags off, so they are clearly not going back to the store.

This morning me, my bike shorts and my hot husband Joey went to spin class.  I wore a very, very baggy t-shirt with my disturbingly tight (and at the same time padded, it's a strange look really) shorts and Joey wore baggy shorts over top of his.

Guys, I'm telling you.  It was a whole new world.  I spun and spun with the best of them with nary a thought to any pain in the posterior, and I'm attributing it all to the purchase of my new kooshy-bum bike shorts.  (It's also possible that I felt so great because I wimped out and barely had any resistance on my bike, but I don't like to think about that as an option.) 

So...buy bike shorts and your lives will change for the better.

Tomorrow we're cycling to DTS for a seminar in the morning since it's only 5 1/2 miles.  I just hope it's warm enough!

For those of you unsure what the nasty Swedish Fish are or look like, here is a picture. Ew.I think the red one looks a little bit like Henry.

I knew it would happen

What with this getting up early to go work out and all I knew that one morning I would forget a Very Important Component of my work wardrobe. This morning was one such morning.

Fortunately, no, it wasn't my right shoe or dress pants, it was the links for the French cuffs on my dress shirt.  I know exactly where they are, too, they're in the rice bowl on my dresser next to the Burt's Bees (Greg and Kelly, ya'll got me hooked on that stuff years ago, your legacy lives on!) that I also forgot to pack.

So what's a girl to do, anyway?  I stood there in the dressing room at Baylor kind of unsure what my next step should be, the sleeves of my shirt hanging down far past my fingertips.  Fortunately, Laura took action.  "Do you have an earring?  Hmm, no that won't hold it.  Wait, what about this" -- she began rolling up my sleeves -- "here, that sort of works.  No, roll them up one more."

I'd have probably thought of that eventually, but not before wilting and sitting down on the bench to ponder my next move...and pondered for a very long time.  My innovative skills are pretty weak at 7:15 a.m.

Anyway, here I sit with rolled up sleeves, which means I'll have to iron the shirt all over again just to get the wrinkles out in order to wear it properly with the cuff links next time.  I really hate to iron.

Right now I'm sitting in Dallas streaming Moody Bible Institute's radio station and listening to my sister in Chicago sing with Moody's Chorale at Founder's week. I love technology. The chorale sounds great, too! (WAY better than any other chorale I've ever heard Sister - ya'll kick bum!) The more I listen the more impressed I am, actually. I just wish Joey was here so he could hear her too.

Technology is great, but sometimes it just maketh me more homesick.

Anyway, Sister, nice pipes. I'm impressed by all the acapella stuff ya'll did, no wonder you were freaking out!!! Do you guys have a CD? :)

Early Morning at the Woestman's

Joey's birthday is the 25th of February and he's turning 25 this year.  It's his golden birthday, so I wanted to do it up special!  Each day since February 1, I have been giving him 25 of something (and most of them are free, if not very nearly free - yeah cheap DTS wife!) and this morning was the morning I sort of dreaded.

The Swedish Fish morning.

I hate Swedish Fish.  Joey loves them.  The thing is, though, that since Joey and I agree on just about everything, I have decided to vehemently despise Swedish Fish (even though they aren't quite as disgusting as I make them out to be) simply because he likes them.  And I think he likes them mostly because I don't, come to think of it. Anyway, sometimes we do weird stuff like that.

So I gave him the Swedish Fish and he was a very, very happy man.

"That's disgusting," I told him.  He sort of hugged the bag of Swedish Fish and then set it down on the bed and went to go shave or something.

While he was gone I dumped his Swedish Fish out on the bed so I could count them and make sure that there really were 25.  To my surprise, there were actually 27, so I ate one and then decided I'd use the second extra one to get him all upset.

I went into the bathroom to finish getting ready and found Joey doing the same.  I looked him straight in the eye and took a huge bite out of the extra Swedish Fish I had saved.  "HEY!!!"  Joey yelled, "That is MY Swedish Fish, give it back!"

I chewed and swallowed.

"That's....that's so mean!"  Joey protested.

I ate the rest of the Swedish Fish.

"Ugh, that was gross," I said to egg him on.

Joey was looking very dejected by this time, so I patted him on the shoulder and said, "Don't worry, honey, you still have 25.  That was an extra one."

"Really?"  He perked right up and ran out of the bathroom to go check on his Swedish Fish.

And that's a fairly typical morning at the Woestman house. If it's not one thing it's another, but usually I wind up attempting to trounce Joey, and believing that I have...for about five minutes, until he proves that he knows some random fact that I've never heard of and then I lose.

I always lose, even when I think I win.

On Hold

I have been on hold for very nearly a half hour.  Being on hold makes me go crazy, and I'm beginning to feel like if I hear "Your call IS important to us.  Please continue to hold for the next available representative" one more time, I will throw myself out the window.

To make matters worse, I drank a ton of water about 45 minutes ago.  This means that, by this time, I'm really ready to take a break, if you catch my drift, but I CAN'T because if I give up now then my last half an hour of wasted time will be in vain. 

And it gets even worse still.  I have been saving my Snickers bar all day; I had planned to eat it at 2:00.  It's now 2:15, so it doesn't take much to figure out what time I got on the phone initially...but for the last 15 minutes I have been getting irritated that I am missing out on my Snickers consumption, have to go to the bathroom, and am still on hold.

So my plan currently is to wait until 2:30.  If I am still on hold at 2:30 I'm going to hang up and eat my candy.  Then I'll feel better enough to call back and be on hold for another 45 minutes....right?

That instructor woman is insane

Laura is currently my fitness inspiration because she gets up voluntarily to go to Tom Landry at 5:30 a.m. for a spin class.  I really only go because she's there, otherwise there is no chance I'd drag my sorry self out of bed that early to torture myself.

This morning I was not late. 

So we went into the cycling room...nicely lit with about 25 cycles positioned around the room.  Laura adjusted the saddle on hers, hopped on and began pedaling.

But the instructor isn't even here yet!  I whined to myself, then adjusted my saddle and did exactly what she was doing.  (Being the fitness inspiration and all.)  The bike still felt too big, but I couldn't figure out what else to adjust.  (Turns out you can actually move the seat forward as well as up and down.  Next time...)  Well, the instructor didn't show up for about five or ten minutes and by the time she did I was already tired.

This isn't a good sign, I thought.

When I ride Thunder, I usually just dilly dally around and average about 10 miles an hour.  (If I go much faster I miss the opportunity to notice small, cute animals or furry caterpillars along the way.  I'm probably really annoying to go on a bike ride with, come to think of it.)  The spinning instructor had lots of energy.  I could tell she was going to make me go faster than 10 miles an hour.

During the warm-up phase I noticed that everyone in the class except me was wearing shorts, and most of the shorts were bike shorts.  One guy was even wearing a cycling team uniform and a stupid little skintight hat with a little bill on it.  Why he felt the need to wear his cap indoors, I don't know.  He probably wanted the instructor to think he was the man or something, but I just thought he was lame.  Probably other people did too.

Anyway, the class was an hour long.  After 20 minutes I was considering bailing and running for the showers, but for some reason I stayed on the cycle.  Probably peer pressure.  About the time I decided to not leave, the psychotic cycle instructor said "stand up!"  and proceeded to make us stand up and cycle for about 25 minutes.

It was then that I decided that the woman was insane.

She finally let us sit back down on the saddle, blessed angel, and told us to ride it out for a little while.  I got bored of that pretty quickly, so I decided to close my eyes and visualize the route from my parents' house to church, which is a 2 mile ride.  As I mentally went house by house I realized that I knew 75% of the families between our house and church, most of the houses I could tell you by name who lived there.  Suddenly I decided to become all homesick and I began to cry.  IN THE CYCLE CLASS.

Just then the instructor yelled "stand up!" and, fortunately, that was the end of that.

I am now unsure if I will be able to walk tomorrow.  However, in the best interest of my own personal fitness I will go again.  And, after I'm in super awesome shape, I won't even think that woman is insane any longer.  I might even think she's kind of a wimp...but that's unlikely.

Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed

Last night at DTS we got to sneak preview the director's cut of the Ben Stein documentary Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed.

WOW.

I'm not usually one for documentaries (except for ones on animals, the environment or in my younger and less pacifistic days, ones on World War 2...I can't really watch them anymore without feeling severely anguished) but this was entirely well done, provocative (not that kind of provocative), and funny! Well, then, Ben Stein is the main character.

Unfortunately because of legal and non-disclosure stuff (the film's not due to be released until April, I think) I can't really say a whole lot about the film's awesomeness. The main theme is the issue of academic freedom, particularly on the issue of teaching Intelligent Design in higher (and lower) education. Actually not even teaching - merely mentioning! Several scholars, some tenured!, who were interviewed for the film were fired for referencing the possibility of Intelligent Design, not necessarily teaching it as fact. And so on.

Joey and I, as we left DTS to head home, could not stop talking about how well done the film was! We want you ALL to see it! If it comes to a theatre in your are please, please go see it on opening weekend! If Ben Stein and his dudes can cause a big enough stir in Hollywood with this, scientific type people who blackball anyone who sounds even slightly positive toward Intelligent Design just have to listen. Eventually.

There's quite a bit of Richard Dawkins in this film, probably more than the Intelligent Design scholars interviewed combined. Unfortunately I can't even tell you what he says, but you want to hear his comments regarding the potential of an Intelligent Designer in the last 10 minutes of the film. Absolutely shocking. And he's caught on film saying it, too.

Please go support this fantastic film about academic freedom, especially on the issue of Intelligent Design. You won't regret it, and I'll be super proud of you. So will Joey.

And...if you're wondering where you can find some information about Intelligent Design? Grab your Bible (or if you don't have one, your nearest library does). Flip it open to Genesis 1 and start reading. That Designer is as Intelligent as you can get -- and that's no fairy tale story, it's TRUE.

I'm so thankful I didn't evolve from primordial slime. Talk about a depressing outlook on life.