I was fixin' to send a birthday e-card to Kevin (Joey's brother) and I had it all set up when Joey came and looked over my shoulder.
I had typed the email address as emailaddress@iowatelecom.com
"Um, it's .net," Joey said.
"Nuts!" I said, backspaced the .com part and typed in .nuts
Joey lost it. I realized that I'd typed .nuts instead of .net and quickly rectified my error.
Joey was still laughing. "The best part is that you totally didn't realize you were doing that!"
And it's true. It was an accident. But I doubt there are any .nuts domains out there. Hmmmm...maybe I should start something like jennawoestman.nuts. That seems appropriate, I could record all my mischief since I'm always saying "nuts!" whenever I do something naughty.
And now it's time for us to get on the road and head back to Texas.
Showing posts with label Joey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joey. Show all posts
Monday, June 04, 2007
Friday, June 01, 2007
The Black Bean
Joey, Mother-in-Law1 (aka Nancymom) and I went to Altoona to purchase some paint for the living room. We had lofty intentions of painting it this afternoon and, fortunately, we did. I am currently wearing a huge t-shirt with cows and sunflowers on it (what could be more blissful?) and am covered in paint from head to toe. Predominantly due to the fact that I lost my balance and crashed into a freshly painted wall.
Occasionally I lack finesse.
But what I lack in finesse I make up in mischief, which is precisely where I was going with this before I got sidetracked by this painting tangent.
While at Applebees I ordered Cajun Lime Tilapia which came with this strange "salsa" that was more like pico made with black beans. In order to save calories for the ginormous cookie I was planning to get from HyVee (you know, the kind with about a pound of frosting on them that they have back in the bakery section?) I skipped the rice and the pico/salsa.
I was rather disappointed by this since I did like the "salsa", even if it did have an identity crisis.
But again I digress! (I think the paint fumes are making me more nuts than usual.)
The waiter came by and cleared our plates. We waited for our check to come and I noticed that there was one lonely black bean sitting on the table in front of me.
Poor little black bean.
I began to think of things I could do with it.
"HEY!" He hollered as a waitress walked by. "Don't put beans down my shorts!"
The waitress whipped around to look at us with an appalled look on her face.
"It was only one bean." I said.
"See what I have to live with?!" Joey asked his mom, with his head in his hands. He then proceeded to explain the Double Portion hypothesis.
But at least that poor lonely black bean was no longer sitting on the table looking sad and pathetic. It was now squished inside Joey's shorts.
Hmm, maybe I should have left it on the table...
Occasionally I lack finesse.
But what I lack in finesse I make up in mischief, which is precisely where I was going with this before I got sidetracked by this painting tangent.
While at Applebees I ordered Cajun Lime Tilapia which came with this strange "salsa" that was more like pico made with black beans. In order to save calories for the ginormous cookie I was planning to get from HyVee (you know, the kind with about a pound of frosting on them that they have back in the bakery section?) I skipped the rice and the pico/salsa.
I was rather disappointed by this since I did like the "salsa", even if it did have an identity crisis.
But again I digress! (I think the paint fumes are making me more nuts than usual.)
The waiter came by and cleared our plates. We waited for our check to come and I noticed that there was one lonely black bean sitting on the table in front of me.
Poor little black bean.
I began to think of things I could do with it.
- I could throw it on the floor (boring)
- I could flick it across the table at my mother in law (ill advised)
- I could eat it (nasty)
- I could stick it in Joey's pants
"HEY!" He hollered as a waitress walked by. "Don't put beans down my shorts!"
The waitress whipped around to look at us with an appalled look on her face.
"It was only one bean." I said.
"See what I have to live with?!" Joey asked his mom, with his head in his hands. He then proceeded to explain the Double Portion hypothesis.
But at least that poor lonely black bean was no longer sitting on the table looking sad and pathetic. It was now squished inside Joey's shorts.
Hmm, maybe I should have left it on the table...
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
I Broke My Toe
We were having Mothers/Fathers Day this evening since all us kids were on holiday from our Diaspora. We had just given Pops his new rockets (yay!) and Mom was getting ready to open her present when Andrew started making strange shouting noises directed at the living room.
Henry was sitting on the couch proudly (I guess dogs aren't allowed on furniture at Mom and Dad's) and Ernie (The Kid's dog) was sitting pitifully on the ground, looking up at Henry.
Andrew's shouting was directed at Henry. Because everyone knows that bellowing sounds make dogs get off furniture.
Since Henry wasn't getting off the couch, I went over to get him off. I picked up his furry little body and bounced back over to the dining room.
The living room is one of those sunken ones, so it's got one stone step in between it and the dining room. As I bounced along, I underestimated the appropriate height of my bounce up into the dining room and caught my pinkie toe on the stone step.
Crunch.
"AAAAAUGH!" I screamed, and dropped the dog.
We had just spent the last half hour discussing gory and disgusting stories, half for our dinner edification and half to gross dad out. So me crunching my toe on the step was real fashionable. Everyone at the table was silent for a second and then erupted into discussion a moment later.
"I think I ripped off my toenail!" I wailed.
Andrew shot off his chair and ran upstairs. Sister crouched down beside me and said, "Let me see, let me see". Joey hovered around above me. Pops said, "Oh man, I hope it's not broken", and "If you're bleeding, get off the carpet" and other motivational things.
I scooched myself over to the wood floor where we surveyed the damage.
For those of you who have been unfortunate enough to see my pinkie toe, perhaps you will recall that I have the sorriest excuse for a pinkie toenail. It's really small and Joey makes fun of it whenever he can. (Meanie.)
The nail isn't ripped off, but it's longer than it used to be and a strange greenish/purpleish color at the base. And there was no blood, which was a disappointment.
Andrew reappeared carrying two boxes of bandaids, hydrogen peroxide, and rubbing alcohol.
"I didn't know which to grab," he explained, and set all his loot down on the kitchen table. "And I couldn't find any cotton balls."
I was still wailing (as any self respecting woman would do) and Joey sat down and made me show him my toe. "Can you move it?" I wiggled it up and down.
"It's not broken," he said.
"Is too!" I wailed. "I've never had a broken bone. It's the very end that's broken."
"It's not broken," Pops weighed in from the dining room. He's the expert on broken toes because he just broke his a couple weeks ago.
"Is too!" I reiterated. "It's all swollen and purpley-like."
And, thus, I maintain that I broke my toe. It hurts like a banshee, it's all plump and swollen and, while I can move it, it's the end of it that really hurts. So I probably broke the end off or something logical like that.
Gross.
Henry was sitting on the couch proudly (I guess dogs aren't allowed on furniture at Mom and Dad's) and Ernie (The Kid's dog) was sitting pitifully on the ground, looking up at Henry.
Andrew's shouting was directed at Henry. Because everyone knows that bellowing sounds make dogs get off furniture.
Since Henry wasn't getting off the couch, I went over to get him off. I picked up his furry little body and bounced back over to the dining room.
The living room is one of those sunken ones, so it's got one stone step in between it and the dining room. As I bounced along, I underestimated the appropriate height of my bounce up into the dining room and caught my pinkie toe on the stone step.
Crunch.
"AAAAAUGH!" I screamed, and dropped the dog.
We had just spent the last half hour discussing gory and disgusting stories, half for our dinner edification and half to gross dad out. So me crunching my toe on the step was real fashionable. Everyone at the table was silent for a second and then erupted into discussion a moment later.
"I think I ripped off my toenail!" I wailed.
Andrew shot off his chair and ran upstairs. Sister crouched down beside me and said, "Let me see, let me see". Joey hovered around above me. Pops said, "Oh man, I hope it's not broken", and "If you're bleeding, get off the carpet" and other motivational things.
I scooched myself over to the wood floor where we surveyed the damage.
For those of you who have been unfortunate enough to see my pinkie toe, perhaps you will recall that I have the sorriest excuse for a pinkie toenail. It's really small and Joey makes fun of it whenever he can. (Meanie.)
The nail isn't ripped off, but it's longer than it used to be and a strange greenish/purpleish color at the base. And there was no blood, which was a disappointment.
Andrew reappeared carrying two boxes of bandaids, hydrogen peroxide, and rubbing alcohol.
"I didn't know which to grab," he explained, and set all his loot down on the kitchen table. "And I couldn't find any cotton balls."
I was still wailing (as any self respecting woman would do) and Joey sat down and made me show him my toe. "Can you move it?" I wiggled it up and down.
"It's not broken," he said.
"Is too!" I wailed. "I've never had a broken bone. It's the very end that's broken."
"It's not broken," Pops weighed in from the dining room. He's the expert on broken toes because he just broke his a couple weeks ago.
"Is too!" I reiterated. "It's all swollen and purpley-like."
And, thus, I maintain that I broke my toe. It hurts like a banshee, it's all plump and swollen and, while I can move it, it's the end of it that really hurts. So I probably broke the end off or something logical like that.
Gross.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
"Why isn't Joey watching you?!"
On Thursday night my friend from Iowa (Amber) and I went to Central Market to buy some exotic fruits that grocery stores in Iowa are unlikely to carry. (Starfruit, passion fruit, miniature pinapples, etc.)
The power in Central Market was out because of a huge thunderstorm we'd had, so the few lights that were on were running off a generator, giving the entire store a kind of "can't touch this" feel. Like we weren't really supposed to be there, you know.
At least I kept waiting to get kicked out.
Anyway, since it was so dark we had trouble locating the particular fruit we'd come to find. We wound up having to ask some employee, who took us right to them. (In our defense, the passionfruit was buried under the pomegranates. Seriously, how were we supposed to know we had to pick all the pomegranates up in order to find the passion fruit.)
Amber ran off to another part of the store and I told her I'd wait for her in the fruit area. But I got really bored of looking at fruit in semi-darkness and wandered over to the seafood section. Where the lobsters are. And crabs.
I leaned over their tank and blew on the water to try to rile them up. There were about 50 of them in the tank and some were fighting but most were sleeping. I wanted them to all be fighting.
I happened to glance up and notice a "Do Not Put Hands In Lobster Tank" sign. This was disappointing to me, so I whipped out my cell phone and called The Kid.
"The Kid, I'm here at the grocery store. The sign says not to touch the lobsters but I want to anyway. Should I stick my hand in the tank?"
He sighed heavily. "WHY isn't Joey watching you?"
"He's not here. So can I touch the lobster?"
Pause. "GOSH, fine."
I stuck my hand in the lobster tank and poked the nearest lobster. I squealed (as quietly as possible) and said, "He had a hard shell."
"Where's Joey." The Kid demanded.
"He's somewhere else. Can I touch the crabs too?"
"Not my fault if you get your finger pinched off." He said.
"I superglued three of my fingers together tonight." I said, shaking my wet hand off all over the floor before an employee came and escorted me out of the store.
The Kid sighed again. "Seriously, why doesn't Joey keep a closer eye on you?"
"He was sitting right by me; he helped me peel my fingers apart. I was making a tinfoil sculpture of Trogdor in your honor when we were at Freebirds. Turns out superglue and tinfoil don't mix real well."
I could tell that he was shaking his head all the way up there in Iowa. "Sugarplum, I'm hanging up now. You need that husband to keep a better eye on you."
"Do not. I do just fine."
"OKFINEBYE," he said, in traditional Laird style. I said the same and we hung up our respective cell phones, although I did so with semi-sticky fingers from the leftover superglue.
I watched the lobsters fight for a few more minutes (barely restraining myself from poking any more of them) before deciding I'd better find Amber lest I got kicked out.
And since I really like Central Market, I don't want to get on their naughty list.
The power in Central Market was out because of a huge thunderstorm we'd had, so the few lights that were on were running off a generator, giving the entire store a kind of "can't touch this" feel. Like we weren't really supposed to be there, you know.
At least I kept waiting to get kicked out.
Anyway, since it was so dark we had trouble locating the particular fruit we'd come to find. We wound up having to ask some employee, who took us right to them. (In our defense, the passionfruit was buried under the pomegranates. Seriously, how were we supposed to know we had to pick all the pomegranates up in order to find the passion fruit.)
Amber ran off to another part of the store and I told her I'd wait for her in the fruit area. But I got really bored of looking at fruit in semi-darkness and wandered over to the seafood section. Where the lobsters are. And crabs.
I leaned over their tank and blew on the water to try to rile them up. There were about 50 of them in the tank and some were fighting but most were sleeping. I wanted them to all be fighting.
I happened to glance up and notice a "Do Not Put Hands In Lobster Tank" sign. This was disappointing to me, so I whipped out my cell phone and called The Kid.
"The Kid, I'm here at the grocery store. The sign says not to touch the lobsters but I want to anyway. Should I stick my hand in the tank?"
He sighed heavily. "WHY isn't Joey watching you?"
"He's not here. So can I touch the lobster?"
Pause. "GOSH, fine."
I stuck my hand in the lobster tank and poked the nearest lobster. I squealed (as quietly as possible) and said, "He had a hard shell."
"Where's Joey." The Kid demanded.
"He's somewhere else. Can I touch the crabs too?"
"Not my fault if you get your finger pinched off." He said.
"I superglued three of my fingers together tonight." I said, shaking my wet hand off all over the floor before an employee came and escorted me out of the store.
The Kid sighed again. "Seriously, why doesn't Joey keep a closer eye on you?"
"He was sitting right by me; he helped me peel my fingers apart. I was making a tinfoil sculpture of Trogdor in your honor when we were at Freebirds. Turns out superglue and tinfoil don't mix real well."
I could tell that he was shaking his head all the way up there in Iowa. "Sugarplum, I'm hanging up now. You need that husband to keep a better eye on you."
"Do not. I do just fine."
"OKFINEBYE," he said, in traditional Laird style. I said the same and we hung up our respective cell phones, although I did so with semi-sticky fingers from the leftover superglue.
I watched the lobsters fight for a few more minutes (barely restraining myself from poking any more of them) before deciding I'd better find Amber lest I got kicked out.
And since I really like Central Market, I don't want to get on their naughty list.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
In Which Henry Barfs All Over The Floor And Then The Sink
I generally try to keep my posts tactful. By tactful, of course, I mean that I try not to talk about bodily functions, etc. However, I must make an exception.
Henry.
We have visitors from Iowa this week. Henry ADORES them because they will play fetch with him. All night long. (Which we put the kibosh on last night, he was getting really annoying so Amber hid all of his toys in the closet. Smart girl.)
He was too excited about "his" visitors, so he didn't eat all his dinner. In fact, he ate only half of it. He hadn't been, um, regular since Joel and Amber arrived, either. Mostly because we'd take him outside and he'd pretend to do his business (we were totally on to him) and then he'd run up the stairs to go back inside and harass them again.
So we knew something was up.
Well, I was in the middle of making sandwiches for everyone's lunch when I saw Henry sitting by the kitchen door looking pathetic and cute all at the same time. Then he began to sniff the floor and make strange coughing sounds.
"Is Henry barfing?" I asked.
Joey shot off the couch, grabbed the dog and dashed over to the kitchen sink.
Yes, he was barfing.
In my kitchen sink. Where I wash my vegetables.
"Why are you holding him over the sink? He already barfed?" I asked.
"No, he's doing more," Joey said, wiping Henry off with a paper towel.
He was right; Henry did more. I emptied his half-eaten food bowl and mixed up some Pedialyte for him to drink.
Joey set Henry down and said, "I'll clean up the stuff on the floor."
I was grateful...it was really grossing me out.
Henry wandered back over to his now-empty food bowl and tried to eat what wasn't there. I sat him down on the floor and squirted Pedialyte down his throat, which made him quite miserable.
And then he lay around calmly for the rest of the evening. So we may try to have him barf more often if he'll be calm and civilized afterwards.
Henry.
We have visitors from Iowa this week. Henry ADORES them because they will play fetch with him. All night long. (Which we put the kibosh on last night, he was getting really annoying so Amber hid all of his toys in the closet. Smart girl.)
He was too excited about "his" visitors, so he didn't eat all his dinner. In fact, he ate only half of it. He hadn't been, um, regular since Joel and Amber arrived, either. Mostly because we'd take him outside and he'd pretend to do his business (we were totally on to him) and then he'd run up the stairs to go back inside and harass them again.
So we knew something was up.
Well, I was in the middle of making sandwiches for everyone's lunch when I saw Henry sitting by the kitchen door looking pathetic and cute all at the same time. Then he began to sniff the floor and make strange coughing sounds.
"Is Henry barfing?" I asked.
Joey shot off the couch, grabbed the dog and dashed over to the kitchen sink.
Yes, he was barfing.
In my kitchen sink. Where I wash my vegetables.
"Why are you holding him over the sink? He already barfed?" I asked.
"No, he's doing more," Joey said, wiping Henry off with a paper towel.
He was right; Henry did more. I emptied his half-eaten food bowl and mixed up some Pedialyte for him to drink.
Joey set Henry down and said, "I'll clean up the stuff on the floor."
I was grateful...it was really grossing me out.
Henry wandered back over to his now-empty food bowl and tried to eat what wasn't there. I sat him down on the floor and squirted Pedialyte down his throat, which made him quite miserable.
And then he lay around calmly for the rest of the evening. So we may try to have him barf more often if he'll be calm and civilized afterwards.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
A Three Hour Tour
Joey just stuck a barcode on my face and now wants to know if he can scan me. I have not yet responded. Ow. He just pulled the barcode off and now my face hurts.
More to the point, Joey and I headed up to Wylie to get my hair cut from a friend of mine who works up there. I got the directions from Google Maps and we were on our way.
(Now, when I say I "got the directions", I mean that I glanced at the map, noticed that it seemed to be the first exit after the Bush Turnpike and then east a ways and we'd run right into it.)
I figured it would be easy as pie. Joey felt like bum, so I was doing the driving.
I pulled off 75 at the first exit after the Bush Turnpike and realized instantly that the "directions" I had thought would be really easy were not, in fact, really easy.
We wound up on FM544 and just started following it east. I figured it would take us somewhere that would lead us to Wylie. After fifteen minutes of this, I realized I'd better stop and ask directions.
And so I did.
The little Indian man in the convenience store very politely assured me that Wylie was "two or three more miles and you will come right to it".
He was kind of right. In two or three miles we came to the turn that took us to Wylie, which was better than nothing. Once we got to Wylie we had to find the road that the hair salon was on. I knew it was on Highway 78, but as we weren't really sure where that was...
We found it entirely by accident and then I nearly drove past because I missed the sigh for the hair salon. 35-40 minutes later, we were in the salon and I was getting my hairs cut.
We left the salon at 12:30. Joey was real hungry so we got subs real quick. My friend said "Oh, it's real easy to get back. Just stay on 78 and it'll take you right there."
And so we did.
I turned left because it seemed like the right thing to do.
Twenty minutes later, the towns were getting smaller, the road was down to two lanes (not something we've seen for awhile), and our hopes of ever seeing Dallas again were getting kinda slim.
"Um, I think I turned the wrong direction." I admitted to Joey.
"I think you did too." He concurred.
And so I turned the car around. The first sign we saw read: Dallas 34
We were thirty-four miles off course. Oy. That's halfway to the state border.
By this time it was very nearly 1:00. The drive back to Wylie was pretty quick, all things considered. But the drive just kept going. We found ourselves quite unsure of where we were, and quite unable to actually find Dallas.
Stinkin' Highway 78 was not taking us to anywhere that we knew.
I had dropped the ball on the getting of the directions yet again.
By 1:30, Joey and I realized that we were utterly lost. We knew where we wanted to go, but we couldn't figure out how to ask someone how to get there. It was the kind of lost where you don't even know what kind of landmark you should ask for directions to...because you're not sure where you are in relation to that landmark.
We finally made it to a freeway system that we recognized.
We got on it and, to our dismay, after five miles it was jammed because of an accident. We pulled off and were about to get onto the road that would take us home when all traffic stopped again.
A funeral procession.
I was about to stick my head out of the car and scream. It had been almost an hour and a half since we left Wylie. (It's only 20 miles of four-lane road from our apartment in Dallas.)
And, thus, I have learned my lesson. It is twofold:
1. Always print off directions from Google Maps. Never assume that I actually know how to get somewhere.
2. Have Joey drive.
More to the point, Joey and I headed up to Wylie to get my hair cut from a friend of mine who works up there. I got the directions from Google Maps and we were on our way.
(Now, when I say I "got the directions", I mean that I glanced at the map, noticed that it seemed to be the first exit after the Bush Turnpike and then east a ways and we'd run right into it.)
I figured it would be easy as pie. Joey felt like bum, so I was doing the driving.
I pulled off 75 at the first exit after the Bush Turnpike and realized instantly that the "directions" I had thought would be really easy were not, in fact, really easy.
We wound up on FM544 and just started following it east. I figured it would take us somewhere that would lead us to Wylie. After fifteen minutes of this, I realized I'd better stop and ask directions.
And so I did.
The little Indian man in the convenience store very politely assured me that Wylie was "two or three more miles and you will come right to it".
He was kind of right. In two or three miles we came to the turn that took us to Wylie, which was better than nothing. Once we got to Wylie we had to find the road that the hair salon was on. I knew it was on Highway 78, but as we weren't really sure where that was...
We found it entirely by accident and then I nearly drove past because I missed the sigh for the hair salon. 35-40 minutes later, we were in the salon and I was getting my hairs cut.
We left the salon at 12:30. Joey was real hungry so we got subs real quick. My friend said "Oh, it's real easy to get back. Just stay on 78 and it'll take you right there."
And so we did.
I turned left because it seemed like the right thing to do.
Twenty minutes later, the towns were getting smaller, the road was down to two lanes (not something we've seen for awhile), and our hopes of ever seeing Dallas again were getting kinda slim.
"Um, I think I turned the wrong direction." I admitted to Joey.
"I think you did too." He concurred.
And so I turned the car around. The first sign we saw read: Dallas 34
We were thirty-four miles off course. Oy. That's halfway to the state border.
By this time it was very nearly 1:00. The drive back to Wylie was pretty quick, all things considered. But the drive just kept going. We found ourselves quite unsure of where we were, and quite unable to actually find Dallas.
Stinkin' Highway 78 was not taking us to anywhere that we knew.
I had dropped the ball on the getting of the directions yet again.
By 1:30, Joey and I realized that we were utterly lost. We knew where we wanted to go, but we couldn't figure out how to ask someone how to get there. It was the kind of lost where you don't even know what kind of landmark you should ask for directions to...because you're not sure where you are in relation to that landmark.
We finally made it to a freeway system that we recognized.
We got on it and, to our dismay, after five miles it was jammed because of an accident. We pulled off and were about to get onto the road that would take us home when all traffic stopped again.
A funeral procession.
I was about to stick my head out of the car and scream. It had been almost an hour and a half since we left Wylie. (It's only 20 miles of four-lane road from our apartment in Dallas.)
And, thus, I have learned my lesson. It is twofold:
1. Always print off directions from Google Maps. Never assume that I actually know how to get somewhere.
2. Have Joey drive.
Friday, May 18, 2007
The Case Of The Mysterious Poo Bag High Up In The Tree
Joey and I walked to Target to pick up some IBC to drink while we watched our movie. We were on our way back when Joey suddenly said, "OH! I forgot to tell you something funny that I saw!"
"Really?" I asked.
"Yeah, I was coming home tonight and I was by the Dumpster in the corner of the parking lot and I saw a blue bag up in the tree above the Dumpster, just like the kind we use for Henry's poo! Isn't that weird?"
"Um...well, see I was going to tell you about that..." I sort of trailed off.
"HEY!"
"Did you already know I did that and were just baiting me to see if I'd tell you?" I asked.
"No, I had no idea, I just thought it was weird. Now what happened?"
And so I began to tell him the story I'm about to tell you.........
Henry and I were out walking on Wednesday afternoon. He did his little doggy business, so I picked it up in the little blue bags that we carry on his leash for just that purpose.
When we came to the Dumpster, I thought it would be really fun to make a full circle with my arm and then release the bag of poo at just the right moment, whereby it would fly into the Dumpster and I would be impressed with myself.
I tried once. It smacked against the side of the Dumpster rather unimpressively.
I tried again. I released the bag of poo much higher this time.
Quite a bit higher, actually...
I never saw it land. Never heard it land, either.
This struck me as odd, but since I couldn't see if and didn't know where it was, there wasn't anything I could do about it. Henry and I went back home and I forgot about it.
Until Thursday when I was on my way in from work. I was walking past the Dumpster when I noticed a bright blue object (a bird maybe?) rather high up in the tree.
Upon closer examination I realized it was the bag of Henry's poo that I had inadvertently flung into the tree. It's pretty far up there, too.
As I do whenever I do anything dumb/amazing, I called The Kid to relay my predicament. He said that it was a pretty awesome story but he had no suggestions for how to actually get the poo out of the tree. (He's not real handy in a pinch, I tell you what.)
And then I forgot about the little blue bag of Henry poo.
Until this evening.
And now you know as much as Joey does, and The Case Of The Mysterious Poo Bag High Up In The Tree has been solved. Whew, I feel better now.
"Really?" I asked.
"Yeah, I was coming home tonight and I was by the Dumpster in the corner of the parking lot and I saw a blue bag up in the tree above the Dumpster, just like the kind we use for Henry's poo! Isn't that weird?"
"Um...well, see I was going to tell you about that..." I sort of trailed off.
"HEY!"
"Did you already know I did that and were just baiting me to see if I'd tell you?" I asked.
"No, I had no idea, I just thought it was weird. Now what happened?"
And so I began to tell him the story I'm about to tell you.........
Henry and I were out walking on Wednesday afternoon. He did his little doggy business, so I picked it up in the little blue bags that we carry on his leash for just that purpose.
When we came to the Dumpster, I thought it would be really fun to make a full circle with my arm and then release the bag of poo at just the right moment, whereby it would fly into the Dumpster and I would be impressed with myself.
I tried once. It smacked against the side of the Dumpster rather unimpressively.
I tried again. I released the bag of poo much higher this time.
Quite a bit higher, actually...
I never saw it land. Never heard it land, either.
This struck me as odd, but since I couldn't see if and didn't know where it was, there wasn't anything I could do about it. Henry and I went back home and I forgot about it.
Until Thursday when I was on my way in from work. I was walking past the Dumpster when I noticed a bright blue object (a bird maybe?) rather high up in the tree.
Upon closer examination I realized it was the bag of Henry's poo that I had inadvertently flung into the tree. It's pretty far up there, too.
As I do whenever I do anything dumb/amazing, I called The Kid to relay my predicament. He said that it was a pretty awesome story but he had no suggestions for how to actually get the poo out of the tree. (He's not real handy in a pinch, I tell you what.)
And then I forgot about the little blue bag of Henry poo.
Until this evening.
And now you know as much as Joey does, and The Case Of The Mysterious Poo Bag High Up In The Tree has been solved. Whew, I feel better now.
Monday, May 14, 2007
The New Bed
It's my anniversary today; happy anniversary to me! (Oh, and Joey too.)
Anyways...
On Saturday we got the last piece from IKEA that was necessary to construct our new bed. (It had previously been leaning against the wall in our apartment for a week as the sidebars were out of stock last weekend. But that's a story for another day.)
All in all, the bed looks exceptionally nice. (It has a real headboard and a real footboard! Not one that has been poorly constructed out of cardboard and three layers of batting, covered over with ivory material that got stained when I spilled on it!)
Henry, poor guy, is not at all happy with our new bed. He gets all concerned and confused when he hops up there, only to realize he can't just jump off the end of the bed anymore. There's Something There now. He just sat there and stared at the footboard the first night we had it. It was pretty funny.
Joey, on the other hand...
After he put the whole thing together on Saturday morning he climbed into bed to test it out.
"This isn't going to work." He said.
"What?!" I asked, horrified. (I really like the bed. It's super cute.)
"It's not going to work. I always hang my arms and legs off the ends of the bed. Now I have something stopping me on both ends."
A serious problem, indeed.
"You're just going to have to learn to adjust," I said, sensitively.
Joey made some growling noises and attempted to stick his arms and legs off the bed at the same time. He had limited success.
(Aside: My husband isn't actually that tall. I'm still not sure how he manages to stick both his arms and legs off the bed at the same time and still sleep comfortably.)
Fast forward to last night.
Joey and I decided to be lazy and watch The King and I. We started it at 9:00 so we only watched the first half. It was just enough, however; I was quite inspired and walked around the house singing such songs as "I Have Dreamed" and "Shall We Dance" while I got ready for bed.
Fortunately Joey likes it when I sing.
By 10:30 we were finally ready to fall asleep. I was just about there when I heard a faint clang, clang, clang and scratching sound. Henry was in his kennel, so I figured he was clawing at the sides.
After about 10 minutes, I was getting annoyed.
"What IS that noise?" I asked, sleepily.
"What noise." Joey was sort of bouncing from the Mt. Dew he drank while we watched The King and I.
"That clanging noise. Is Henry freaking out in his kennel?"
"No way, he's out. He got worn out when Kat borrowed him earlier." (Our neighbor likes to borrow our dog.)
"Well it's bothering me," I said. "Is there something in the house that shouldn't be?"
"Oh...." Joey said, sheepishly. "This clanging noise?"
I heard it again.
"Yes, that."
"That's me. I'll stop." He'd been drumming his fingernails (or lack thereof) on the black metal bed frame.
"Yeah...it's really annoying..." I said, and fell mostly asleep.
At 11:30 I awoke with a start. A very LOUD noise had just reverberated by my head.
"Jooooeeeeeey!!!" I hissed.
Nothing. He was very asleep.
"Stop banging your wedding ring on the bed!"
Still nothing. I poked him with my foot for good measure.
"Whaa?!" He woke up, surprised.
"You scared me. You banged your wedding ring on the frame really loud and it scared me."
"Oh........sorry......" And he was asleep again.
With his arms all woven through the headboard so they could sufficiently hang off. What a guy.
Anyways...
On Saturday we got the last piece from IKEA that was necessary to construct our new bed. (It had previously been leaning against the wall in our apartment for a week as the sidebars were out of stock last weekend. But that's a story for another day.)
All in all, the bed looks exceptionally nice. (It has a real headboard and a real footboard! Not one that has been poorly constructed out of cardboard and three layers of batting, covered over with ivory material that got stained when I spilled on it!)
Henry, poor guy, is not at all happy with our new bed. He gets all concerned and confused when he hops up there, only to realize he can't just jump off the end of the bed anymore. There's Something There now. He just sat there and stared at the footboard the first night we had it. It was pretty funny.
Joey, on the other hand...
After he put the whole thing together on Saturday morning he climbed into bed to test it out.
"This isn't going to work." He said.
"What?!" I asked, horrified. (I really like the bed. It's super cute.)
"It's not going to work. I always hang my arms and legs off the ends of the bed. Now I have something stopping me on both ends."
A serious problem, indeed.
"You're just going to have to learn to adjust," I said, sensitively.
Joey made some growling noises and attempted to stick his arms and legs off the bed at the same time. He had limited success.
(Aside: My husband isn't actually that tall. I'm still not sure how he manages to stick both his arms and legs off the bed at the same time and still sleep comfortably.)
Fast forward to last night.
Joey and I decided to be lazy and watch The King and I. We started it at 9:00 so we only watched the first half. It was just enough, however; I was quite inspired and walked around the house singing such songs as "I Have Dreamed" and "Shall We Dance" while I got ready for bed.
Fortunately Joey likes it when I sing.
By 10:30 we were finally ready to fall asleep. I was just about there when I heard a faint clang, clang, clang and scratching sound. Henry was in his kennel, so I figured he was clawing at the sides.
After about 10 minutes, I was getting annoyed.
"What IS that noise?" I asked, sleepily.
"What noise." Joey was sort of bouncing from the Mt. Dew he drank while we watched The King and I.
"That clanging noise. Is Henry freaking out in his kennel?"
"No way, he's out. He got worn out when Kat borrowed him earlier." (Our neighbor likes to borrow our dog.)
"Well it's bothering me," I said. "Is there something in the house that shouldn't be?"
"Oh...." Joey said, sheepishly. "This clanging noise?"
I heard it again.
"Yes, that."
"That's me. I'll stop." He'd been drumming his fingernails (or lack thereof) on the black metal bed frame.
"Yeah...it's really annoying..." I said, and fell mostly asleep.
At 11:30 I awoke with a start. A very LOUD noise had just reverberated by my head.
"Jooooeeeeeey!!!" I hissed.
Nothing. He was very asleep.
"Stop banging your wedding ring on the bed!"
Still nothing. I poked him with my foot for good measure.
"Whaa?!" He woke up, surprised.
"You scared me. You banged your wedding ring on the frame really loud and it scared me."
"Oh........sorry......" And he was asleep again.
With his arms all woven through the headboard so they could sufficiently hang off. What a guy.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
In Which I Roast The Thermometer And Bake The Beans
Last night was not a good culinary night for Jenna M. Woestman.
When I got home I quickly prepared the pork loin (sniffing it to make sure it didn't smell spoiled from its 9 hour counter-sitting spell; it didn't), stuck it in the oven, set the table and got to work on my housework for the evening.
I am, by nature and, perhaps, to a fault, an overproductive multi-tasker.
At one point I was concurrently heating the iron, setting the table, fixing my snap beans, and listening to NPR news. I got the snap beans snapped, put in the steamer and set them on the stove to prepare later. I set out the toaster, put two slices of bread in it, finished setting the table, and went to begin ironing.
Joey came home just then and decided that HE was going to do the ironing for me because he loves me so much. So I let him.
I sat on the bed and listened to him tell me about his day while intermittently running back to the oven to baste the pork loin which I was, unfortunately, cooking within and inch of its life to make Absolutely Certain we wouldn't get food poisoning.
Joey finished ironing and I got the shears out and began to trim Henry. (Yes, I know, before dinner. I'm insane.) I'd started to give him a haircut the night before, but it had begun to rain so we had to quit. (I shear him on the balcony.)
Halfway through the haircut I popped up to put the meat thermometer in the pork loin (to test for doneness) and turn on the burner for the steamed green beans.
That completed I went back to shearing Henry.
I finished up Henry's back leg (he looks really, really odd now) and decided that was enough for one night. So I went to check the beans. Oddly enough, nothing was really happening. So I turned the burner down just a touch (something was smelling like it was burning, something on the burner maybe?) and sat down to read a few pages of my book.
Ten minutes later, the burnt smell was growing worse and worse. I went in the kitchen to analyze the situation and, to my great dismay, everything was going wrong at once.
"JOEY! I melted the thermometer!" I wailed.
It was most definitely melted; the screen was completely black and some strange green board and a bunch of wires were sticking out the side. It didn't look like I'd be able to use it again.
"No, not your favorite one?"
"YES! Maaaaaan, what am I going to do?" I had set it right next to the burner for the green beans and had forgot to move it when I turned the burner on. Such foolishness.
Then I noticed something was odd about the beans.
"I think I forgot to put water in the steamer for the beans." With that statement, Joey was off the couch and over at my side in a minute to survey the damage. And he was trying not to laugh.
"Yes, yes you did." The beans were really burned.
"What are we going to eat for dinner now? All we have is suspicious pork loin!" I dumped the beans into the trash, rather upset with myself.
"I guess we'll eat a lot of it." Joey said. He obviously thought this was funnier than it really was.
And, thus, I roasted my thermometer and baked my beans. Quite by accident.
I am now starting a Buy Jenna A New Thermometer fund, so if you want to contribute don't hesitate to let me know. Otherwise Joey says I'm grounded from thermometers for awhile until I learn my lesson. He's no fun at all.
When I got home I quickly prepared the pork loin (sniffing it to make sure it didn't smell spoiled from its 9 hour counter-sitting spell; it didn't), stuck it in the oven, set the table and got to work on my housework for the evening.
I am, by nature and, perhaps, to a fault, an overproductive multi-tasker.
At one point I was concurrently heating the iron, setting the table, fixing my snap beans, and listening to NPR news. I got the snap beans snapped, put in the steamer and set them on the stove to prepare later. I set out the toaster, put two slices of bread in it, finished setting the table, and went to begin ironing.
Joey came home just then and decided that HE was going to do the ironing for me because he loves me so much. So I let him.
I sat on the bed and listened to him tell me about his day while intermittently running back to the oven to baste the pork loin which I was, unfortunately, cooking within and inch of its life to make Absolutely Certain we wouldn't get food poisoning.
Joey finished ironing and I got the shears out and began to trim Henry. (Yes, I know, before dinner. I'm insane.) I'd started to give him a haircut the night before, but it had begun to rain so we had to quit. (I shear him on the balcony.)
Halfway through the haircut I popped up to put the meat thermometer in the pork loin (to test for doneness) and turn on the burner for the steamed green beans.
That completed I went back to shearing Henry.
I finished up Henry's back leg (he looks really, really odd now) and decided that was enough for one night. So I went to check the beans. Oddly enough, nothing was really happening. So I turned the burner down just a touch (something was smelling like it was burning, something on the burner maybe?) and sat down to read a few pages of my book.
Ten minutes later, the burnt smell was growing worse and worse. I went in the kitchen to analyze the situation and, to my great dismay, everything was going wrong at once.
"JOEY! I melted the thermometer!" I wailed.
It was most definitely melted; the screen was completely black and some strange green board and a bunch of wires were sticking out the side. It didn't look like I'd be able to use it again.
"No, not your favorite one?""YES! Maaaaaan, what am I going to do?" I had set it right next to the burner for the green beans and had forgot to move it when I turned the burner on. Such foolishness.
Then I noticed something was odd about the beans.
"I think I forgot to put water in the steamer for the beans." With that statement, Joey was off the couch and over at my side in a minute to survey the damage. And he was trying not to laugh.
"Yes, yes you did." The beans were really burned.
"What are we going to eat for dinner now? All we have is suspicious pork loin!" I dumped the beans into the trash, rather upset with myself.
"I guess we'll eat a lot of it." Joey said. He obviously thought this was funnier than it really was.
And, thus, I roasted my thermometer and baked my beans. Quite by accident.
I am now starting a Buy Jenna A New Thermometer fund, so if you want to contribute don't hesitate to let me know. Otherwise Joey says I'm grounded from thermometers for awhile until I learn my lesson. He's no fun at all.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
The Frosting Majesty
Anyone who knows much of anything at all about me knows that I really, really like frosting. A lot. (It is mainly for this reason that The Kid and I snitched cake early at Sister's wedding. We wanted to make sure we consumed the highest quantity of frosting possible.)
Joey and I went to the grocery on Saturday and, lo and behold, I spotted a cupcake with the most frosting I'd ever seen.
"JOEY!" I squealed, "COME OVER HERE!" I pointed wordlessly to the cupcake. The lady behind the counter looked at me like there was something wrong with me.
"Wow, that's a lot of frosting." Joey said. He wound up buying me the cupcake. I discussed its frosting merits for the rest of the grocery store. (He was probably regretting his decision by the time we got to the dairy case.)
We got home and took the cupcake out of its box. It sat on the counter in all its majesty and frostinged greatness.
"We HAVE to take some pictures. What can we use to use for scale? We don't have a ruler." I asked.
Joey pondered this. "A $100 bill?"
We determined that this was rather impractical.
"How about a $1 bill," I suggested.
Joey dug around in his wallet, actually found a $1 bill (cash is kind of a rare phenomenon in our house) and slapped George on the counter by the cupcake.
"OK, now hold it up next to it so it shows how high the frosting goes!" I giggled. (It was like I had a sugar high and I hadn't even eaten any frosting yet.)
Joey cut the cupcake in half. We were so amazed by the cross-section of frosting that we took another picture.
I happily munched the frosting off the top of my half of the cupcake slowly while Joey tried to figure out how to fit his entire half in his mouth at once. It wasn't working.
He finally cut half the frosting off the top (OY! A CRIME!) and managed to squeeze enough in his mouth to get a bite. Fortunately he did put the rest of the frosting on the sides of his cupcake (can't waste good frosting) and nothing was wasted.
And I had the sugar jibblies for the rest of the evening. Don't be sad, Mom.
Joey and I went to the grocery on Saturday and, lo and behold, I spotted a cupcake with the most frosting I'd ever seen.
"JOEY!" I squealed, "COME OVER HERE!" I pointed wordlessly to the cupcake. The lady behind the counter looked at me like there was something wrong with me.
"Wow, that's a lot of frosting." Joey said. He wound up buying me the cupcake. I discussed its frosting merits for the rest of the grocery store. (He was probably regretting his decision by the time we got to the dairy case.)
We got home and took the cupcake out of its box. It sat on the counter in all its majesty and frostinged greatness.
"We HAVE to take some pictures. What can we use to use for scale? We don't have a ruler." I asked.
Joey pondered this. "A $100 bill?"
We determined that this was rather impractical.
"How about a $1 bill," I suggested.
Joey dug around in his wallet, actually found a $1 bill (cash is kind of a rare phenomenon in our house) and slapped George on the counter by the cupcake.
"OK, now hold it up next to it so it shows how high the frosting goes!" I giggled. (It was like I had a sugar high and I hadn't even eaten any frosting yet.)
Joey cut the cupcake in half. We were so amazed by the cross-section of frosting that we took another picture.
I happily munched the frosting off the top of my half of the cupcake slowly while Joey tried to figure out how to fit his entire half in his mouth at once. It wasn't working.
He finally cut half the frosting off the top (OY! A CRIME!) and managed to squeeze enough in his mouth to get a bite. Fortunately he did put the rest of the frosting on the sides of his cupcake (can't waste good frosting) and nothing was wasted.And I had the sugar jibblies for the rest of the evening. Don't be sad, Mom.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Henry Chills Out
We had this styrofoam cooler from Joey's uncle that we'd brought some milk and scraps for Henry back in. It was sitting on the floor and Henry was sitting by it in a cute "I'm cute, Mom!" sort of way.
My little brain began to think. "Hmm, I wonder if Henry would fit in the styrofoam cooler?"
So I picked him up, took the lid off, and dropped him in. He didn't so much like being in it, but he wasn't struggling either. He just sat there and looked at me, pathetically.
I set the lid on, just to see if he'd try to get out. He didn't, so I took it off again.
"Something's wrong with Henry. He's not struggling in the cooler!" I yelled to Joey who was doing homework.
"What did you do to him? He's where?" Joey asked, and came bounding around the corner with the camera.
"Ohh! Poor guy!" Henry looked at Joey with big, sleepy eyes. "He must be super tired."
He took several pictures of Henry before calling, "Come!"
Henry just sat there, looking at him.
"Is he stuck?" I asked.
"I don't think so..." Joey responded, snapping pictures at strange angles.
"I think he needs help." So I picked him up and scratched him behind the ears for awhile before he climbed off me to go flop on the wood floor in the entryway.
He's so lazy.
My little brain began to think. "Hmm, I wonder if Henry would fit in the styrofoam cooler?"
So I picked him up, took the lid off, and dropped him in. He didn't so much like being in it, but he wasn't struggling either. He just sat there and looked at me, pathetically.
I set the lid on, just to see if he'd try to get out. He didn't, so I took it off again.
"Something's wrong with Henry. He's not struggling in the cooler!" I yelled to Joey who was doing homework.
"What did you do to him? He's where?" Joey asked, and came bounding around the corner with the camera.
"Ohh! Poor guy!" Henry looked at Joey with big, sleepy eyes. "He must be super tired."
He took several pictures of Henry before calling, "Come!"
Henry just sat there, looking at him.
"Is he stuck?" I asked."I don't think so..." Joey responded, snapping pictures at strange angles.
"I think he needs help." So I picked him up and scratched him behind the ears for awhile before he climbed off me to go flop on the wood floor in the entryway.
He's so lazy.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
In Which I Spill Water All Over My Pants
I had a cluster headache today so wound up going home at 1:00 to take a nap. While the headache is not yet gone, it at least feels better and I guess I need to pick my battles. Henry was super cute, too.
At about 6:20 I was on my way to take dinner to Joey at DTS. (He's monitoring a distance learning class, the prof's in Houston and they're beaming him back to Dallas.) I'd picked up Subway after I went to the chiro, being sure to ask for extra mayo for Joey, and was nearly to the school when my phone rang.
"Can you go to BK and pick up something for the other guy I'm working with?" Joey asked.
"Sure," I said, mentally planning my new route.
Joey explained the sandwich I was to attempt to get (I told him no guarantees because of the headache) and asked me to pick up an extra water. I agreed.
Drive Thrus and I very rarely get along.
However, since nobody was in the Drive-Thru I decided to take my chances. I made my order, remembering the specifications, and didn't hear anything from the squawk box but static. The BK I had chosen was a kind of shady one so I figured somebody had shot the speaker and so it wasn't working anymore.
I decided to pull forward.
The moment I drove away, the voice came through clearly on the speaker asking me to confirm my order. So I put the car in reverse, got close enough to the speaker to be heard and yelled, "YES, THAT'S FINE!"
I heard, "Welcome to Burger King, may I take your order?"
I gave up and drove to the window, not entirely sure what I was going to get when I got there.
The kid inside handed me the sandwich and the water in a small, very flimsy plastic cup. I almost asked him for a paper one, but in the interest of time I opted not to. I paid him, thanked him, and left.
Once I got to DTS I loaded myself up with my purse, Whole Foods bag containing all my toys to keep me busy during Joey's class, the soda for Joey and the water for the other dude. I did not have enough hands.
I stepped out of the car and at that precise moment, the water fell off the soda against my stomach. The lid popped off and I was in an instant soaked from belly button to knee.
(But only on my right side, so again, counting the blessings.)
I wilted.
Fortunately it's kind of warm tonight, so I jumped around and kicked my right leg to dry it off. I then realized that I probably looked possessed to anyone passing by, so I quit doing that.
Besides, the whole jumping-kicking combination hadn't dried off my leg at all.
I juggled my purse and Whole Foods bag while trying to call Joey to find out where he was. I knew the classroom number but, as I had seriously wet pants, wasn't too keen on Plan A, which was walking into the classroom and asking for Joey. I figured I'd lay low.
Joey didn't answer his phone so I stood outside the classroom, facing the wall, trying to decide my next plan of action. I got several odd looks from students. Not sure if it was that I was staring at the wall or that my pants were soaked.
Probably a little of both.
To my great relief, Joey came bursting around the corner just then and nearly knocked me over. He felt very sorry for me and my wet pants, as he should.
Two things to be thankful for:
1.) The glass of water was very small
2.) It was not soda
And my pants have sufficiently dried off now, so I can even cross my legs now. YAY!!!
At about 6:20 I was on my way to take dinner to Joey at DTS. (He's monitoring a distance learning class, the prof's in Houston and they're beaming him back to Dallas.) I'd picked up Subway after I went to the chiro, being sure to ask for extra mayo for Joey, and was nearly to the school when my phone rang.
"Can you go to BK and pick up something for the other guy I'm working with?" Joey asked.
"Sure," I said, mentally planning my new route.
Joey explained the sandwich I was to attempt to get (I told him no guarantees because of the headache) and asked me to pick up an extra water. I agreed.
Drive Thrus and I very rarely get along.
However, since nobody was in the Drive-Thru I decided to take my chances. I made my order, remembering the specifications, and didn't hear anything from the squawk box but static. The BK I had chosen was a kind of shady one so I figured somebody had shot the speaker and so it wasn't working anymore.
I decided to pull forward.
The moment I drove away, the voice came through clearly on the speaker asking me to confirm my order. So I put the car in reverse, got close enough to the speaker to be heard and yelled, "YES, THAT'S FINE!"
I heard, "Welcome to Burger King, may I take your order?"
I gave up and drove to the window, not entirely sure what I was going to get when I got there.
The kid inside handed me the sandwich and the water in a small, very flimsy plastic cup. I almost asked him for a paper one, but in the interest of time I opted not to. I paid him, thanked him, and left.
Once I got to DTS I loaded myself up with my purse, Whole Foods bag containing all my toys to keep me busy during Joey's class, the soda for Joey and the water for the other dude. I did not have enough hands.
I stepped out of the car and at that precise moment, the water fell off the soda against my stomach. The lid popped off and I was in an instant soaked from belly button to knee.
(But only on my right side, so again, counting the blessings.)
I wilted.
Fortunately it's kind of warm tonight, so I jumped around and kicked my right leg to dry it off. I then realized that I probably looked possessed to anyone passing by, so I quit doing that.
Besides, the whole jumping-kicking combination hadn't dried off my leg at all.
I juggled my purse and Whole Foods bag while trying to call Joey to find out where he was. I knew the classroom number but, as I had seriously wet pants, wasn't too keen on Plan A, which was walking into the classroom and asking for Joey. I figured I'd lay low.
Joey didn't answer his phone so I stood outside the classroom, facing the wall, trying to decide my next plan of action. I got several odd looks from students. Not sure if it was that I was staring at the wall or that my pants were soaked.
Probably a little of both.
To my great relief, Joey came bursting around the corner just then and nearly knocked me over. He felt very sorry for me and my wet pants, as he should.
Two things to be thankful for:
1.) The glass of water was very small
2.) It was not soda
And my pants have sufficiently dried off now, so I can even cross my legs now. YAY!!!
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Mr. Forgetful
The t-shirt that Joey got me spawned a lot of family flurry. We all have been assigned characters from either the Mr. Men or Little Miss series of books and most of us have updated our Gmail statuses and pictures accordingly.
Even Pops! (With some serious help from Laura.)
It was decided yesterday that Joey's character is Mr. Forgetful. POOR JOEY! He gets in these "autopilot" states and just starts driving the car places. Back in Iowa we'd be headed to church and he'd be starting to go south to work.
(I'm really hoping he doesn't get on the "Iowa Work" autopilot someday and wind up in Kansas before he's realized what's happening.)
He often forgets minor, trivial things. Some days, though, he can forget a lot of them at once, which makes me wonder if he needs to eat more protein.
As I made dinner last night, I informed Joey of his new moniker.
"HEY! That's not nice!" He said.
I then reminded him that nearly all of the family name assignments were derogatory. (Except Mom's, of course.) He resigned himself to his fate. "Who's everybody else?"
"Well, Ashley is Little Miss Stubborn and Stephen's Mr. Noisy."
"Oh, totally. Stephen's really noisy." Joey broke in.
"Andrew is Mr. Clever which doesn't sound all that derogatory, but he looks like Mr. Clever and that's sort of derogatory. The Kid is Mr. Mischief (obviously) and poor Pops is Mr. Bump because he broke his toe. Mom is either Little Miss Shy or Little Miss Splendid. Probably Little Miss Shy."
Joey nodded in agreement.
Laura's Little Miss nickname was up in the air at that point---Andrew had assigned her one that was just way too nice (Little Miss Splendid), so we told him it had to be something a little more derogatory than that. The best he could do was Little Miss Tidy. <sigh>
Oh, and I'm obviously Little Miss Trouble.
After all this explanation we sat down to dinner. It was very tasty. We cleaned up quickly and went our separate ways for a half hour or so.
I was in the kitchen working on Henry's dinner when Joey came up and leaned against the bar.
"What's my nickname again? I don't remember."
I looked at him. "You don't remember?" I assumed he was kidding.
"No, I don't remember."
I could tell he was serious. I sighed and tried not to laugh.
"SWEETIE....your nickname is Mr. Forgetful!"
Joey totally blanched. "What?! And I forgot that it was Mr. Forgetful! This is not good at all." He wilted and went over to the couch to pout about his brain cells.
I was getting ready for bed when Joey came in all excited about something.
"I think I figured out how not to forget stuff as much!" He then elaborated this program for his Mac that will help him with to-do lists and suchlike.
I say, more power to ya, babe. I mean Mr. Forgetful.
Even Pops! (With some serious help from Laura.)
It was decided yesterday that Joey's character is Mr. Forgetful. POOR JOEY! He gets in these "autopilot" states and just starts driving the car places. Back in Iowa we'd be headed to church and he'd be starting to go south to work.
(I'm really hoping he doesn't get on the "Iowa Work" autopilot someday and wind up in Kansas before he's realized what's happening.)
He often forgets minor, trivial things. Some days, though, he can forget a lot of them at once, which makes me wonder if he needs to eat more protein.
As I made dinner last night, I informed Joey of his new moniker.
"HEY! That's not nice!" He said.
I then reminded him that nearly all of the family name assignments were derogatory. (Except Mom's, of course.) He resigned himself to his fate. "Who's everybody else?"
"Well, Ashley is Little Miss Stubborn and Stephen's Mr. Noisy."
"Oh, totally. Stephen's really noisy." Joey broke in.
"Andrew is Mr. Clever which doesn't sound all that derogatory, but he looks like Mr. Clever and that's sort of derogatory. The Kid is Mr. Mischief (obviously) and poor Pops is Mr. Bump because he broke his toe. Mom is either Little Miss Shy or Little Miss Splendid. Probably Little Miss Shy."
Joey nodded in agreement.
Laura's Little Miss nickname was up in the air at that point---Andrew had assigned her one that was just way too nice (Little Miss Splendid), so we told him it had to be something a little more derogatory than that. The best he could do was Little Miss Tidy. <sigh>
Oh, and I'm obviously Little Miss Trouble.
After all this explanation we sat down to dinner. It was very tasty. We cleaned up quickly and went our separate ways for a half hour or so.
I was in the kitchen working on Henry's dinner when Joey came up and leaned against the bar.
"What's my nickname again? I don't remember."
I looked at him. "You don't remember?" I assumed he was kidding.
"No, I don't remember."
I could tell he was serious. I sighed and tried not to laugh.
"SWEETIE....your nickname is Mr. Forgetful!"
Joey totally blanched. "What?! And I forgot that it was Mr. Forgetful! This is not good at all." He wilted and went over to the couch to pout about his brain cells.
I was getting ready for bed when Joey came in all excited about something.
"I think I figured out how not to forget stuff as much!" He then elaborated this program for his Mac that will help him with to-do lists and suchlike.
I say, more power to ya, babe. I mean Mr. Forgetful.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Little Miss Trouble
We were in Dillards yesterday when Joey got a really odd look on his face.
"Jenna, come here." He said. He dragged me over to a rack of T-shirts and pointed to one that read "Little Miss Chatterbox". (You know, from those kids books we used to read when we were little?)
"WOAH! AWESOME!" I shrieked. "I loved those books!"
"They don't have it in your size, they only have a Large," Joey said, ruefully.
"Hey, they have tons! Look, Little Miss Trouble!" I pointed to the rest of the rack. They also had Little Miss Sunshine and a few others, I forget exactly which ones.
"Hmm. Little Miss Trouble. I'm getting it for you, you're tons of Trouble." Joey began digging through the stack. "Do you want Small or Medium?"
He marched up to the register with me trailing behind saying things like, "NO! It's $24, that's too expensive! We can't spend so much money on something I can't wear to work..."
Ultimately, I was outvoted. Joey said, "Let me buy you things like this once in awhile!" And the matter was settled.
I wore my Little Miss Trouble shirt to church this morning and was quite pleased with it. It did turn out to be a bad idea as we were introduced as new members and there I was wearing a shirt that proclaimed I was Trouble.
Oh well, what's done is done, eh?
I'm Trouble and I have a t-shirt to prove it!
"Jenna, come here." He said. He dragged me over to a rack of T-shirts and pointed to one that read "Little Miss Chatterbox". (You know, from those kids books we used to read when we were little?)
"WOAH! AWESOME!" I shrieked. "I loved those books!"
"They don't have it in your size, they only have a Large," Joey said, ruefully.
"Hey, they have tons! Look, Little Miss Trouble!" I pointed to the rest of the rack. They also had Little Miss Sunshine and a few others, I forget exactly which ones.
"Hmm. Little Miss Trouble. I'm getting it for you, you're tons of Trouble." Joey began digging through the stack. "Do you want Small or Medium?"
He marched up to the register with me trailing behind saying things like, "NO! It's $24, that's too expensive! We can't spend so much money on something I can't wear to work..."
Ultimately, I was outvoted. Joey said, "Let me buy you things like this once in awhile!" And the matter was settled.
I wore my Little Miss Trouble shirt to church this morning and was quite pleased with it. It did turn out to be a bad idea as we were introduced as new members and there I was wearing a shirt that proclaimed I was Trouble.
Oh well, what's done is done, eh?
I'm Trouble and I have a t-shirt to prove it!
Thursday, April 12, 2007
In Which Joey Makes Enough Tuna Salad To Feed A Small Army and Stabs Me In The Hand
A rather unusual title, I know. But bear with me.
Last night I got home at 5:30 to find my favorite Joey in the kitchen. The entire house smelled like tuna. I expected the house to smell like tuna last night because I'd planned to make tuna salad sandwiches for dinner.
I just hadn't expected Joey to make them. But there he was, happily dumping cans of tuna into my large white bowl and talking on the phone to his Pops (aka FIL#1).
WAIT--cans of tuna?
Sure enough, he'd opened two cans of tuna. And he was poking all the tuna with a fork. I wanted to ask why he was doing that, but he was on the phone with FIL#1 and I couldn't. I decided to leave him to his business to see how the tuna came out. He was, after all, following a recipe.
No wonder the tuna smell had been so strong when I walked in the door.
I sat down in the den to play with Henry. Joey got off the phone and hollered from the kitchen, "Why's the carrot slicer so big? Did we get a new one?"
"Yes," I replied, "But you're probably using the OXO one, it's larger than you're used to."
A few minutes later,
"But it's taking huge gashes out of the carrot..." He sort of trailed off.
"You just have to learn the way to hold this one," I replied. "They're all different."
"Come look at this and tell me if you think it needs another carrot," Joey said, and I moseyed my way in.
He was holding a cheese slicer in one hand and a carrot in the other. "See how many gashes it takes out of the carrot?"
I started to laugh. "Honey, that's a cheese slicer. You'll never get it to work properly on a carrot." I dug around in the kitchen tools drawer and held out the carrot slicer. "Here, try this one."
Joey wilted but gamely began peeling the carrot. "Wow, this works really well..."
He began chopping the vegetables up into minuscule pieces with my garlic chopper. I could tell that he was having a prodigious amount of fun, so I left him to his recipe again, now that the carrot crisis was over.
I decided to go to the bathroom to pluck my eyebrows. A few minutes later, Joey came in looking rather wilty (again) and said, "Um, I made a ton of tuna, didn't I?"
"Yeah, I usually only make one can." I said with a smile.
"Well, I put one can in and it didn't look like enough so I added another one, but now that I added the vegetables, um, it's huge."
"And it'll get bigger when we add the mayo!" I added. "We'll have tuna all week!"
We decided this was most definitely the worst problem we'd ever encountered, so we laughed, went back to the kitchen and finished making the tuna.
Joey made three sandwiches for dinner and we still have a whole bunch of tuna left over.
We probably will have tuna all week.
It was some of the best tuna salad I've ever had, though, regardless of quantity and I was so thankful that he was making dinner when I came home. A very lovely surprise.
When we were cleaning up from dinner (in a bit of a hurry as we have to rush off to youth group), I leaned across the dishwasher to support myself as I snuck by just as Joey put a knife into the silverware basket.
The knife stabbed my right hand by the pinkie knuckle and Joey, realizing what had happened, froze.
"DID I KILL YOU? ARE YOU OK? ARE YOU BLEEDING?" He panicked.
I sort of jumped and danced around the kitchen (not an easy task, we've got a smallish kitchen) then stopped and looked at my hand. I was very disappointed that there wasn't more carnage, it was barely bleeding and the cut wasn't deep at all.
A flesh wound, you might say.
Joey was still nervously watching me so I showed him the extent of the damage. "I'm SO sorry!" He repeated several times.
I willed the cut to be more gory. Nothing happened, so I gave up.
We finished cleaning up dinner in short order. Nothing else disastrous ensued, which was kind of nice.
Last night I got home at 5:30 to find my favorite Joey in the kitchen. The entire house smelled like tuna. I expected the house to smell like tuna last night because I'd planned to make tuna salad sandwiches for dinner.
I just hadn't expected Joey to make them. But there he was, happily dumping cans of tuna into my large white bowl and talking on the phone to his Pops (aka FIL#1).
WAIT--cans of tuna?
Sure enough, he'd opened two cans of tuna. And he was poking all the tuna with a fork. I wanted to ask why he was doing that, but he was on the phone with FIL#1 and I couldn't. I decided to leave him to his business to see how the tuna came out. He was, after all, following a recipe.
No wonder the tuna smell had been so strong when I walked in the door.
I sat down in the den to play with Henry. Joey got off the phone and hollered from the kitchen, "Why's the carrot slicer so big? Did we get a new one?"
"Yes," I replied, "But you're probably using the OXO one, it's larger than you're used to."
A few minutes later,
"But it's taking huge gashes out of the carrot..." He sort of trailed off.
"You just have to learn the way to hold this one," I replied. "They're all different."
"Come look at this and tell me if you think it needs another carrot," Joey said, and I moseyed my way in.
He was holding a cheese slicer in one hand and a carrot in the other. "See how many gashes it takes out of the carrot?"
I started to laugh. "Honey, that's a cheese slicer. You'll never get it to work properly on a carrot." I dug around in the kitchen tools drawer and held out the carrot slicer. "Here, try this one."
Joey wilted but gamely began peeling the carrot. "Wow, this works really well..."
He began chopping the vegetables up into minuscule pieces with my garlic chopper. I could tell that he was having a prodigious amount of fun, so I left him to his recipe again, now that the carrot crisis was over.
I decided to go to the bathroom to pluck my eyebrows. A few minutes later, Joey came in looking rather wilty (again) and said, "Um, I made a ton of tuna, didn't I?"
"Yeah, I usually only make one can." I said with a smile.
"Well, I put one can in and it didn't look like enough so I added another one, but now that I added the vegetables, um, it's huge."
"And it'll get bigger when we add the mayo!" I added. "We'll have tuna all week!"
We decided this was most definitely the worst problem we'd ever encountered, so we laughed, went back to the kitchen and finished making the tuna.
Joey made three sandwiches for dinner and we still have a whole bunch of tuna left over.
We probably will have tuna all week.
It was some of the best tuna salad I've ever had, though, regardless of quantity and I was so thankful that he was making dinner when I came home. A very lovely surprise.
When we were cleaning up from dinner (in a bit of a hurry as we have to rush off to youth group), I leaned across the dishwasher to support myself as I snuck by just as Joey put a knife into the silverware basket.
The knife stabbed my right hand by the pinkie knuckle and Joey, realizing what had happened, froze.
"DID I KILL YOU? ARE YOU OK? ARE YOU BLEEDING?" He panicked.
I sort of jumped and danced around the kitchen (not an easy task, we've got a smallish kitchen) then stopped and looked at my hand. I was very disappointed that there wasn't more carnage, it was barely bleeding and the cut wasn't deep at all.
A flesh wound, you might say.
Joey was still nervously watching me so I showed him the extent of the damage. "I'm SO sorry!" He repeated several times.
I willed the cut to be more gory. Nothing happened, so I gave up.
We finished cleaning up dinner in short order. Nothing else disastrous ensued, which was kind of nice.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Henry is a Brat
I frosted cookies with Stephanie on Monday night because Joey was studying and I was trying not to disturb him.
I am not sure if it was actually more distracting for me to leave because I was gone longer than he wanted me to be gone. I got a very whiny phone call after I'd been gone for 45 minutes. I answered the phone and heard, "Where aaaaaaaaaare you, I miss you!" To which I replied, of course, "I'm staying out of the house so you can study."
I get the feeling he'd been sitting at home watching the clock wondering when I was going to get home, what in the world I was doing, and how I could possibly be having any fun at all without him.
(Trust me, sweetie, it is definitely more challenging to have fun without you. But it is possible.)
POOR SOUL.
I have digressed.
I finally got home at 9:10 (2 hours after I left) and Joey was excessively pleased to see me. (In his defense, he had accomplished quite a bit of studying and had even begun on his test. He's a model student.)
Stephanie had sent three cookies home with me, so I gave Joey two of them (for motivation) and sat on the futon to eat mine.
Henry looked up at me, pathetically, with his big, brown eyes as if to say "Mom, can I have some?"
I broke off a little piece of my butterfly cookie and set it on the end of my knee, taunting him. Henry sniffed the air and inched closer to me.
Joey and I were discussing his test and I wasn't paying any attention to the dog. Suddenly, he took a flying leap and dove onto the futon, sliding as he hit the microfiber. He kind of did this sprawl/slide/wipe out, righted himself, shook himself off, and promptly climbed on top of me to try to get my cookie.
"HEY!" I cried. He'd never tried this one before. I held the cookie out of his reach and took his little piece (he hadn't noticed it yet) and scooted it further away from him.
He continued to try to climb me for the cookie.
Knowing full well that I had two "parenting" options (and was probably going to choose the wrong one) I said to Joey, "Grab the camera and take a picture of this. He's totally climbing me to get at my cookie.
(FYI, climbing humans for their food is not allowed in our house. I'm totally going to have to redo all my training after letting Henry regress like that.)
"OHHH! He's so cute!" Joey said. He snapped a picture just as Henry sat down and began looking civilized again.
"Lure him. Wave it in front of his face and see if he climbs you again." So I did...nothing. He did, however, make some really cute faces but he never tried to climb up my arm.
After a few moments I got tired of this, ate my cookie and set Henry on the floor. I then took the small piece I'd saved for him, set it on the floor in front of him, and made him sit there and stare at it.
And stare at it.
And stare at it.
I could tell he really wanted his piece of cookie because he was starting to shake. "GO!" I said, and Henry dove forward and pounced on his cookie.
At least I didn't let him eat the cookie while he was misbehaving, right?
I am not sure if it was actually more distracting for me to leave because I was gone longer than he wanted me to be gone. I got a very whiny phone call after I'd been gone for 45 minutes. I answered the phone and heard, "Where aaaaaaaaaare you, I miss you!" To which I replied, of course, "I'm staying out of the house so you can study."
I get the feeling he'd been sitting at home watching the clock wondering when I was going to get home, what in the world I was doing, and how I could possibly be having any fun at all without him.
(Trust me, sweetie, it is definitely more challenging to have fun without you. But it is possible.)
POOR SOUL.
I have digressed.
I finally got home at 9:10 (2 hours after I left) and Joey was excessively pleased to see me. (In his defense, he had accomplished quite a bit of studying and had even begun on his test. He's a model student.)
Stephanie had sent three cookies home with me, so I gave Joey two of them (for motivation) and sat on the futon to eat mine.
Henry looked up at me, pathetically, with his big, brown eyes as if to say "Mom, can I have some?"
I broke off a little piece of my butterfly cookie and set it on the end of my knee, taunting him. Henry sniffed the air and inched closer to me.
Joey and I were discussing his test and I wasn't paying any attention to the dog. Suddenly, he took a flying leap and dove onto the futon, sliding as he hit the microfiber. He kind of did this sprawl/slide/wipe out, righted himself, shook himself off, and promptly climbed on top of me to try to get my cookie.
"HEY!" I cried. He'd never tried this one before. I held the cookie out of his reach and took his little piece (he hadn't noticed it yet) and scooted it further away from him.
He continued to try to climb me for the cookie.
Knowing full well that I had two "parenting" options (and was probably going to choose the wrong one) I said to Joey, "Grab the camera and take a picture of this. He's totally climbing me to get at my cookie.
(FYI, climbing humans for their food is not allowed in our house. I'm totally going to have to redo all my training after letting Henry regress like that.)
"OHHH! He's so cute!" Joey said. He snapped a picture just as Henry sat down and began looking civilized again.
"Lure him. Wave it in front of his face and see if he climbs you again." So I did...nothing. He did, however, make some really cute faces but he never tried to climb up my arm.
After a few moments I got tired of this, ate my cookie and set Henry on the floor. I then took the small piece I'd saved for him, set it on the floor in front of him, and made him sit there and stare at it.
And stare at it.
And stare at it.
I could tell he really wanted his piece of cookie because he was starting to shake. "GO!" I said, and Henry dove forward and pounced on his cookie.
At least I didn't let him eat the cookie while he was misbehaving, right?
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Gray Hairs?!?
I'm only 24. Now, granted, Joey will caveat that with, "But you're almost 25! And you're going to be 30 before I am, and 40 and 50..." (And so on until I punch him in the arm.)
We were getting ready for People Search last week and I was brushing my hair for some reason (I rarely brush it, it's too short and doesn't tangle) when suddenly I stopped short.
"JOEY! I THINK I SEE A GRAY HAIR!!!" I wailed.
"What? No way; let me see." He leaned down close to inspect my hairline. "I don't see anything."
He snapped a picture for posterity. "You definitely don't have any gray hair, it all looks brown to me." He said, holding the picture where I could see it.
I shifted around the hair a bit and pointed them out again. There they were. One, no, TWO gray hairs.
"Oh," He said. "I see them."
"What am I going to do!!" I moaned. I really like my natural hair color (thanks Mom and Dad) and the thought of dying it and frying the ends just kills me.
"You could pull them out," suggested Joey.
"Brilliant!" I replied and began digging for the tweezers. Once located, I climbed up on the counter for better access to the mirror. (All the while praying that the counter wouldn't fall off the wall.)
I successfully extricated the gray hairs from my scalp. Observe:
While they strongly resemble Henry's fur, there is no doubt that these hairs are gray, or that they came from my scalp.
However.
They came from the exact same follicle, were curly, and not the same texture as my normal hair. This leads me to believe that the entire incident is a freak of nature (quiet, you who are thinking that I'm a freak of nature...) and that I'm probably not going prematurely gray after all.
I probably just have a strange hair follicle with no pigment in it.
RIGHT?!
We were getting ready for People Search last week and I was brushing my hair for some reason (I rarely brush it, it's too short and doesn't tangle) when suddenly I stopped short.
"JOEY! I THINK I SEE A GRAY HAIR!!!" I wailed.
"What? No way; let me see." He leaned down close to inspect my hairline. "I don't see anything."
He snapped a picture for posterity. "You definitely don't have any gray hair, it all looks brown to me." He said, holding the picture where I could see it.I shifted around the hair a bit and pointed them out again. There they were. One, no, TWO gray hairs.
"Oh," He said. "I see them."
"What am I going to do!!" I moaned. I really like my natural hair color (thanks Mom and Dad) and the thought of dying it and frying the ends just kills me.
"You could pull them out," suggested Joey.
"Brilliant!" I replied and began digging for the tweezers. Once located, I climbed up on the counter for better access to the mirror. (All the while praying that the counter wouldn't fall off the wall.)
I successfully extricated the gray hairs from my scalp. Observe:
While they strongly resemble Henry's fur, there is no doubt that these hairs are gray, or that they came from my scalp. However.
They came from the exact same follicle, were curly, and not the same texture as my normal hair. This leads me to believe that the entire incident is a freak of nature (quiet, you who are thinking that I'm a freak of nature...) and that I'm probably not going prematurely gray after all.
I probably just have a strange hair follicle with no pigment in it.
RIGHT?!
Monday, April 02, 2007
Ode to Jo(e)y
I have the best husband ever.
Due to a slightly neurotic personality have a tendancy to freak out about Very Important Things such as: laundry, dirty floors, menus, and grocery shopping. I was supposed to go to a Seminary Wives retreat this weekend and, I must admit, I left a list for Joey to do.
POOR JOEY!
Well, on Saturday night I decided I'd had enough retreating, so I left early. Joey was out having "guy night". (I didn't tell him I was coming home early because I wanted to surprise him, and I didn't want to wreck guy night.)
When I walked in the door, I was reminded how thankful I am for my husband! He had vacuumed the floor (I hate hate hate hate to vacuum. Always have.) and was doing laundry for me!
That's one thing that reminded me how wonderful Joey is.
Last week he bought me a flower. (A lily, actually, the kind we had in our wedding.) It hadn't opened yet. But when I came home it was open and I could smell it all over the house.
A very lovely thing to come home to.
YESTERDAY Joey did something very nice for me indeed. We were at Target buying sheets (how domestic, I know) when Joey suddenly disappeared.
He returned holding two John Mayer CDs.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"These are for you." He said, smiling.
"FOR ME?!" I shrieked, forgetting I was in Target. "But we shouldn't spend that money!"
"I'm going to use my discretionary money for the month." Joey replied.
And so you see, my husband gave up all of his discretionary money for the entire month (on the first day of the month no less) just to buy me two CDs that I wanted so I could listen to them in the car.
Oh, and he's taking me on a date this Friday night.
I LOVE YOU, JOEY!!
Due to a slightly neurotic personality have a tendancy to freak out about Very Important Things such as: laundry, dirty floors, menus, and grocery shopping. I was supposed to go to a Seminary Wives retreat this weekend and, I must admit, I left a list for Joey to do.
POOR JOEY!
Well, on Saturday night I decided I'd had enough retreating, so I left early. Joey was out having "guy night". (I didn't tell him I was coming home early because I wanted to surprise him, and I didn't want to wreck guy night.)
When I walked in the door, I was reminded how thankful I am for my husband! He had vacuumed the floor (I hate hate hate hate to vacuum. Always have.) and was doing laundry for me!
That's one thing that reminded me how wonderful Joey is.
Last week he bought me a flower. (A lily, actually, the kind we had in our wedding.) It hadn't opened yet. But when I came home it was open and I could smell it all over the house.
A very lovely thing to come home to.
YESTERDAY Joey did something very nice for me indeed. We were at Target buying sheets (how domestic, I know) when Joey suddenly disappeared.
He returned holding two John Mayer CDs.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"These are for you." He said, smiling.
"FOR ME?!" I shrieked, forgetting I was in Target. "But we shouldn't spend that money!"
"I'm going to use my discretionary money for the month." Joey replied.
And so you see, my husband gave up all of his discretionary money for the entire month (on the first day of the month no less) just to buy me two CDs that I wanted so I could listen to them in the car.
Oh, and he's taking me on a date this Friday night.
I LOVE YOU, JOEY!!
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Lady Looks Like A Dude
I dressed as a dude for the People Search activity.
I dug up an old pair of Joey's jeans, a blue baseball cap and a button down. Unfortunately, the jeans were too long and I knew I'd have to cut them if I was going to be convincing.
He wouldn't let me cut the pair I wanted to wear, but the pair he gave me was actually shorter than the pair I preferred. I cut of 4 1/2 inches so they'd only slightly drag on the floor.
We got ready in a leisurely manner and decided we'd better take pictures of ourselves. Not only for posterity, but we figured that Mom might like to see me lookin' like a dude.
After taking and subsequently uploading the pictures, Joey and I came to the conclusion that I bear a strong resemblance to The Kid. (Not saying that The Kid looks like a lady, just that I looked like a dude.)
I was going for the bored, disinterested, iPod wearing teenager look (sorry The Kid) and I think I got it. I tried to remember to walk like a dude and I figured I was set.
Joey, on the other hand, looks like a funeral director. (Either that or some young punk exec who parts his hair like an old-timey guy.)
I thought his disguise was very ingenious. The dark brown hair and no glasses look really does a lot for him.
Half of the groups wound up locating me, while only one or two found Joey. Most of the kids walked right past him and didn't recognize him, which was pretty awesome. (To be fair, he didn't recognize them either. But then he didn't have glasses on.)
When we all met up at the end to compare disguises, someone said to me, "WOAH! You look like a DUDE!"
Everyone else just couldn't believe that Joey had permanently dyed his hair.
I knew the entire event had been a success. And now I'm going to take a nap.
I dug up an old pair of Joey's jeans, a blue baseball cap and a button down. Unfortunately, the jeans were too long and I knew I'd have to cut them if I was going to be convincing.
He wouldn't let me cut the pair I wanted to wear, but the pair he gave me was actually shorter than the pair I preferred. I cut of 4 1/2 inches so they'd only slightly drag on the floor.
We got ready in a leisurely manner and decided we'd better take pictures of ourselves. Not only for posterity, but we figured that Mom might like to see me lookin' like a dude.
After taking and subsequently uploading the pictures, Joey and I came to the conclusion that I bear a strong resemblance to The Kid. (Not saying that The Kid looks like a lady, just that I looked like a dude.)
I was going for the bored, disinterested, iPod wearing teenager look (sorry The Kid) and I think I got it. I tried to remember to walk like a dude and I figured I was set.Joey, on the other hand, looks like a funeral director. (Either that or some young punk exec who parts his hair like an old-timey guy.)
I thought his disguise was very ingenious. The dark brown hair and no glasses look really does a lot for him.
Half of the groups wound up locating me, while only one or two found Joey. Most of the kids walked right past him and didn't recognize him, which was pretty awesome. (To be fair, he didn't recognize them either. But then he didn't have glasses on.)When we all met up at the end to compare disguises, someone said to me, "WOAH! You look like a DUDE!"
Everyone else just couldn't believe that Joey had permanently dyed his hair.
I knew the entire event had been a success. And now I'm going to take a nap.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Joey's Transformation
Joey and I are involved in a People Search activity with the junior high youth group at church. Our objective is to disguise ourselves in some way (but not in such a way that we'd stick out), and wander around the mall tonight.
The kids will have to find us.
There are eight of us who are hiders, so this should be pretty fun. Joey and I are pretty average looking, though, and our costume resources are fairly limited since we moved to Dallas. We've been having a bit of trouble coming up with ideas.
On Wednesday when we were driving home from church, Joey asked me, "Could I dress up in a suit? Would that be good enough?"
"Hmm," I replied, "You might be on to something there."
"What if I dyed my hair?" I whipped my head around and looked at him.
"Dye your hair?!" I asked.
"Yeah!"
"Well...we could go really dark brown...and if you didn't wear your glasses I'm not sure that even I would recognize you!" I told him. He angled the car towards Target.
After much deliberation in the hair dye aisle (an aisle that Joey used to be afraid of back before we were dating), we bought the cheapest box of dark brown dye we could fine. It cost us a whopping $2.99.
Unfortunately, it's permanent.
Our consolation is that Joey's almost ready for a haircut. Maybe it'll fade a lot in the next 2 weeks and then it won't look so funny when it's growing out?
At any rate, we saved $6. (It might not have been worth it, but we feel better about it this way. So there.)
Last night, we started the hair dying process. I gave Joey highlights as couple times back when we lived in Iowa, but he's never experienced the, um, joy of a full hair dye.
Here's a picture of my light-brown haired cutie before I started. He looks very excited and anticipatory of all the enrichment that dying his hair is sure to provide him.
And here he is once I applied all the hair dye.
The kids will have to find us.
There are eight of us who are hiders, so this should be pretty fun. Joey and I are pretty average looking, though, and our costume resources are fairly limited since we moved to Dallas. We've been having a bit of trouble coming up with ideas.
On Wednesday when we were driving home from church, Joey asked me, "Could I dress up in a suit? Would that be good enough?"
"Hmm," I replied, "You might be on to something there."
"What if I dyed my hair?" I whipped my head around and looked at him.
"Dye your hair?!" I asked.
"Yeah!"
"Well...we could go really dark brown...and if you didn't wear your glasses I'm not sure that even I would recognize you!" I told him. He angled the car towards Target.
After much deliberation in the hair dye aisle (an aisle that Joey used to be afraid of back before we were dating), we bought the cheapest box of dark brown dye we could fine. It cost us a whopping $2.99.
Unfortunately, it's permanent.
Our consolation is that Joey's almost ready for a haircut. Maybe it'll fade a lot in the next 2 weeks and then it won't look so funny when it's growing out?
At any rate, we saved $6. (It might not have been worth it, but we feel better about it this way. So there.)
Last night, we started the hair dying process. I gave Joey highlights as couple times back when we lived in Iowa, but he's never experienced the, um, joy of a full hair dye.
Here's a picture of my light-brown haired cutie before I started. He looks very excited and anticipatory of all the enrichment that dying his hair is sure to provide him.
And here he is once I applied all the hair dye.
His hair resembles that of a college roommate of mine. (This is not a compliment. Her hair stuck out like this sometimes, only she used Elmer's Glitter Glue and would go a week or two between hair washings. I actually washed her sheets once while she was at class because they smelled like something died.)
And the final product, I'm quite pleased to say, looks very nice. (Nothing like my college roommate at all!)
You can't really tell just how dark his hair is from this picture, but it's definitely darker than mine.
I'll post picture of us in our costumes later tonight before we leave.
I'm wearing all of Joey's clothes and trying to look like a boy. I don't think the full effect is there because I have girly eyebrows and Joey's jeans are 6 inches too long for me.
Count 'em, six inches.
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