Saturday, July 22, 2006
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
3 Parakeets, 2 Shih-Tzus, and 4 Humans
There were more domesticated animals than people in my home last night. It was...crazy-go-nuts.
Henry and Ernie kept mauling each other, the Parakeets were checking each other out, and us 4 humans were trying to keep Ernie from eating the Parakeets.
Like I said, crazy-go-nuts.
Things were going as well as could be expected--we took Henry and Ernie to Saylorville with us and they blew off some of their puppy steam. They really, really, really wanted to play frisbee with the big boys, but just weren't quite big enough yet. This really made Ernie sad, but I think he's survived.
The four humans went to Gelaterie Stam for dessert, and we left all of our pets at our apartment.
Things started to fall apart at bedtime.
Sister and Stephen forgot their air mattress, so they were going to try to sleep on the floor. This did not bode well for Sister's back. She thought she might wind up on the couch if the floor was too hard.
I hoped that Henry wouldn't hear her move and begin his barking.
About 2:30 I got up to use the bathroom, and my movement scared the feathers off the Parakeets. The began flying frantically against the cage walls. I flipped on the light hoping that they would calm down.
It didn't work.
I snuck back to my room and shut the door, hoping that Ernie and Henry would stay asleep, and the birds would stop flying. I hated to think one might break a wing or something.
I also hoped that poor Sister would remain asleep!
My worst fears were realized a few moments later when I heard fluttering again. Then I heard a pathetic yip coming from the kitchen.
Henry was awake. Ernie too, turns out.
I mumbled for Joey to please get up and let Henry out, maybe he had to go potty. His yips were sounding more like "I have to go out now and I'm trying really hard to hold it!" than, "I want out because I'm a whiny puppy."
Getting up at 2:30 a.m. and going outside is not my idea of a good time since the bar down the street closes at 2:00 a.m. Granted: it was Tuesday and there are fewer sots on Tuesdays.
Joey stumbled out, picked up Henry and took him outside, where he promptly releived himself like the good little puppy he is.
We got the kennel and brought it back into our room with us so Henry wouldn't wake up Sister with his "I want out because I'm a whiny puppy" cries after we put him back in to go to sleep.
Fortunately he didn't cry too much.
6:00 a.m. came way, way too early. Poor Sister, sleeping on the couch as she was, was forced to get up when we got up.
Henry and Ernie fought/played for an hour until Henry had enough and started crying whenever Ernie came close.
The Parakeets' wings were not broken, fortunately. They didn't even seem to phased, considering all the banging they were doing.
Ernie has not yet eaten any of the three Parakeets.
Freddie (sister's Parakeet) has finally realized that the chirping coming from the northwest of him is two additional Parakeets and he is going bonkers trying to figure out how to get over to them so they can hang out.
Freddie is, unfortunately, a male parakeet and Mr. Darcy is a female. I hope we don't get baby parakeets out of this. :)
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
The Difficulties of Taking a Good Picture of Your Pet
After several attempts to get a decent picture of Henry, we gave up. He moves too much.
Way, way too much.
When we tried to take a picture of Henry and Moo (my Texas Longhorn that Henry has decided is his new best friend) Henry spent more time licking Moo and mauling his right hoof than looking at the camera.
Henry also likes to try to lick the lens. This causes obvious problems because puppy slobber is not good for photo quality.
Fortunately Joey has ninja-like reflexes and he pulled the camera away before Henry actually got a good taste of it.
All ten times.
The picture of Henry's face as he tried to lick the camera would have been really cute, though. (But I'm not sure a "really cute" picture is worth $200.)
Yeah, so the entire top two rows are Henry and Moo, when he wasn't trying to lick the camera. As you can see, they didn't turn out so well.
So then we thought we'd try Henry on our bed. Moo wasn't there, and there were no squeaky toys, so we figured we'd have his undivided attention.
Wrong.
Henry kamakazi jumped off the bed on to the floor. He's much, much braver than Ernie. (I think Henry's objective was to get back to Moo.)
The best pictures we finally got were when Joey was holding Henry. Not only did most of Henry's body remain still, he didn't move his head as much, either.
His face is so cute.
Anyway, that's my story of Joey and I trying to get a decent head shot of Henry without him licking the camera. And I'm sticking to it.
Way, way too much.
When we tried to take a picture of Henry and Moo (my Texas Longhorn that Henry has decided is his new best friend) Henry spent more time licking Moo and mauling his right hoof than looking at the camera.Henry also likes to try to lick the lens. This causes obvious problems because puppy slobber is not good for photo quality.
Fortunately Joey has ninja-like reflexes and he pulled the camera away before Henry actually got a good taste of it.
All ten times.
The picture of Henry's face as he tried to lick the camera would have been really cute, though. (But I'm not sure a "really cute" picture is worth $200.)
Yeah, so the entire top two rows are Henry and Moo, when he wasn't trying to lick the camera. As you can see, they didn't turn out so well.
So then we thought we'd try Henry on our bed. Moo wasn't there, and there were no squeaky toys, so we figured we'd have his undivided attention.
Wrong.
Henry kamakazi jumped off the bed on to the floor. He's much, much braver than Ernie. (I think Henry's objective was to get back to Moo.)
The best pictures we finally got were when Joey was holding Henry. Not only did most of Henry's body remain still, he didn't move his head as much, either.
His face is so cute.
Anyway, that's my story of Joey and I trying to get a decent head shot of Henry without him licking the camera. And I'm sticking to it.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Henry Spars the Ball
| Our new dog, Henry, gets a little rough with his squeaky ball, with a little help from his master, Joey. | |
Socks + Shorts = Retake the picture!!
On Saturday, after we got our adorable puppy Henry, Joey and I decided to put miles on our car and to see the entire state of Iowa. So we drove to Waterloo to see my Grandma, who wasn't home, and then to Cedar Rapids to see my family.
(After that, we went to Monroe to show Henry to Joey's family. I am slightly concerned that Eric will attempt to snitch Henry from me at some point, he seems to like that puppy a lot.)
But I digress.
Since Zewditu was visiting at my parents house, and almost all of my parents kids were home (sorry Sister and Stephen! We really missed you!!!), she wanted us to take a family picture. Here is the first picture. Alex is holding Henry and Henry is wearing a t-shirt that says "Giraffe in Training". This shirt was originally Ernie's, but I bought a size too small so it never really fit him. It is way, way too big for Henry.
But I digress yet AGAIN! Sorry.
Here's the picture.
After we took the picture, Joey showed it to me on the camera.
"DAD! You're wearing SOCKS!"
"So?" Dad asked, giving me his "up against the wall" face.
"You can't wear long socks and shorts in a picture that Zewditu is going to be showing to people in Ethiopia! They'll think it's...normal or something."
"It IS normal." Dad argued.
"No, no it's not. We're taking another picture. Take off your socks."
"Alright, fine," Dad huffed at me as he took off his socks.
Poor Zewditu said that it was fine for Dad to have his socks on, that no one in Ethiopia would think he was weird. Comments began flying about how weird I was for putting clothing on my puppy. I could see this was going downhill very, very quickly.
Dad got his socks off, grousing the whole while, and we all grouped together for one more attempt at a decent, civil family picture.
Joey pushed the time delay button, and the red light began to flash.
Dad and I were sticking our tongues out at each other, so the civil part didn't appear to be working. At least his socks were off, though, so we did fit into the decent category.
Just at the last minute, we whipped our heads toward the camera and flashed very charming smiles, as is illustrated below.
Now I must say, I think everyone looks much happier in this picture, without Dad's socks, than they did in the previous picture with Dad's socks.
This could be due to a couple things:
a.) In the first picture, everyone was so embarassed about Dad's socks that they weren't smiling very nicely,
b.) In the second picture everyone could sense that Dad's socks were gone, so they smiled more; or
c.) They were laughing at us stick our tongues out at each other like a couple of three-year-olds.
Either way, I like the second picture better.
(After that, we went to Monroe to show Henry to Joey's family. I am slightly concerned that Eric will attempt to snitch Henry from me at some point, he seems to like that puppy a lot.)
But I digress.
Since Zewditu was visiting at my parents house, and almost all of my parents kids were home (sorry Sister and Stephen! We really missed you!!!), she wanted us to take a family picture. Here is the first picture. Alex is holding Henry and Henry is wearing a t-shirt that says "Giraffe in Training". This shirt was originally Ernie's, but I bought a size too small so it never really fit him. It is way, way too big for Henry.
But I digress yet AGAIN! Sorry.
Here's the picture.
After we took the picture, Joey showed it to me on the camera.
"DAD! You're wearing SOCKS!"
"So?" Dad asked, giving me his "up against the wall" face.
"You can't wear long socks and shorts in a picture that Zewditu is going to be showing to people in Ethiopia! They'll think it's...normal or something."
"It IS normal." Dad argued.
"No, no it's not. We're taking another picture. Take off your socks."
"Alright, fine," Dad huffed at me as he took off his socks.
Poor Zewditu said that it was fine for Dad to have his socks on, that no one in Ethiopia would think he was weird. Comments began flying about how weird I was for putting clothing on my puppy. I could see this was going downhill very, very quickly.
Dad got his socks off, grousing the whole while, and we all grouped together for one more attempt at a decent, civil family picture.
Joey pushed the time delay button, and the red light began to flash.
Dad and I were sticking our tongues out at each other, so the civil part didn't appear to be working. At least his socks were off, though, so we did fit into the decent category.
Just at the last minute, we whipped our heads toward the camera and flashed very charming smiles, as is illustrated below.
Now I must say, I think everyone looks much happier in this picture, without Dad's socks, than they did in the previous picture with Dad's socks.
This could be due to a couple things:
a.) In the first picture, everyone was so embarassed about Dad's socks that they weren't smiling very nicely,
b.) In the second picture everyone could sense that Dad's socks were gone, so they smiled more; or
c.) They were laughing at us stick our tongues out at each other like a couple of three-year-olds.
Either way, I like the second picture better.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Mrs. Woestman
So until Wednesday, I've never actually been called "Mrs. Woestman". It was becoming a sore subject for me. All the kids at church just call me Miss Jenna still.
There we were, it was 9:15 p.m. and all the youth group team was sitting around Dr. Brown's kitchen table. His wife and daughter, Krista, were dishing up ice cream. Tricia leaned down to Krista and said, "Go take this to Mrs. Woestman."
Immediately, I perked up.
Mrs. Woestman?! I thought, NOBODY has officially called me that yet! This is a great day!
I watched, wide-eyed, as Krista brought the ice cream over to my side of the table, handed it to Jamie and said, "This is for Mrs. Woestman."
Cha-Ching!
Not only had Tricia called me Mrs. Woestman to Krista, but Krista had actually said "Mrs. Woestman" in reference to me!
The meeting had started off on the wrongest foot possible for me, so this was just the thing to redeem it and bring it into "good meeting" status.
Now I feel so very much more grown up.
There we were, it was 9:15 p.m. and all the youth group team was sitting around Dr. Brown's kitchen table. His wife and daughter, Krista, were dishing up ice cream. Tricia leaned down to Krista and said, "Go take this to Mrs. Woestman."
Immediately, I perked up.
Mrs. Woestman?! I thought, NOBODY has officially called me that yet! This is a great day!
I watched, wide-eyed, as Krista brought the ice cream over to my side of the table, handed it to Jamie and said, "This is for Mrs. Woestman."
Cha-Ching!
Not only had Tricia called me Mrs. Woestman to Krista, but Krista had actually said "Mrs. Woestman" in reference to me!
The meeting had started off on the wrongest foot possible for me, so this was just the thing to redeem it and bring it into "good meeting" status.
Now I feel so very much more grown up.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Nothing To Say
Sometimes, amazingly, I have nothing to say.
Today is one of those days.
I think I typed too much or something.
Today is one of those days.
I think I typed too much or something.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
The Rat
(Before) (After)
Poor Ernie has been shaved. He played with big dogs one weekend and his hair got all matted, so there was no choice.
We all still love Ernie, but he does look like a rat. Good thing hair grows back!!!
(That's my Sister holding The Rat in the second picture, by the way. She's pretty cool.)
The Biggest Sundae Ever
Last night, my amazing husband made me an ice cream sundae.
"Just two scoops of ice cream, please." I asked, as I watched him put the ice cream in the bowl. "I don't want too much."
"I know," Joey said, as he intently positioned the ice cream blobs.
I returned to my book while Joey kept making the ice cream. It was taking....a long time.
I glanced back up in time to see him putting an enormous blob of hot fudge topping on what looked like a sundae monstrosity.
"Wow." I said, as I grabbed a spoon.
"Yeah, it's pretty amazing. I filled the middle in with butterscotch and then I put tons of Cool-Whip on it, and there's hot fudge on top."
It was pretty amazing. Simply the amount of Cool-Whip doubled the sundae size, I'm pretty sure there was more of that than there was ice cream. I took my first bite.
It was predominantly Cool-Whip with a touch of ice cream and a hint of butterscotch.
My second bite was basically all butterscotch and Cool-Whip.
"Woah, you put tons of butterscotch on this!" I said as I tried to figure out just how much he'd put on there.
"Yeah, tons pretty much." Joey said absently, he was reading a book.
I ate about half the sundae (it was 9:30 at night) and couldn't finish the rest. This is what I get for waiting until after 9:00 p.m. to eat my dessert.
"Joey, are you still going to help me eat this?" I asked, as I poked the Cool-Whip.
"Um, no. I don't think so."
I ate a few more bites. My "small" sundae had grown to biblical proportions, and I was not going to be able to finish it, no matter how hard I tried. And I didn't need to finish it, either, if I wanted my jeans to fit.
Sadly, I dumped the leftovers into the sink and sprayed then down the drain.
Then I went over to Joey and gave him a big kiss for making me the best sundae ever, even if it was twice the size I'd expected. :)
"Just two scoops of ice cream, please." I asked, as I watched him put the ice cream in the bowl. "I don't want too much."
"I know," Joey said, as he intently positioned the ice cream blobs.
I returned to my book while Joey kept making the ice cream. It was taking....a long time.
I glanced back up in time to see him putting an enormous blob of hot fudge topping on what looked like a sundae monstrosity.
"Wow." I said, as I grabbed a spoon.
"Yeah, it's pretty amazing. I filled the middle in with butterscotch and then I put tons of Cool-Whip on it, and there's hot fudge on top."
It was pretty amazing. Simply the amount of Cool-Whip doubled the sundae size, I'm pretty sure there was more of that than there was ice cream. I took my first bite.
It was predominantly Cool-Whip with a touch of ice cream and a hint of butterscotch.
My second bite was basically all butterscotch and Cool-Whip.
"Woah, you put tons of butterscotch on this!" I said as I tried to figure out just how much he'd put on there.
"Yeah, tons pretty much." Joey said absently, he was reading a book.
I ate about half the sundae (it was 9:30 at night) and couldn't finish the rest. This is what I get for waiting until after 9:00 p.m. to eat my dessert.
"Joey, are you still going to help me eat this?" I asked, as I poked the Cool-Whip.
"Um, no. I don't think so."
I ate a few more bites. My "small" sundae had grown to biblical proportions, and I was not going to be able to finish it, no matter how hard I tried. And I didn't need to finish it, either, if I wanted my jeans to fit.
Sadly, I dumped the leftovers into the sink and sprayed then down the drain.
Then I went over to Joey and gave him a big kiss for making me the best sundae ever, even if it was twice the size I'd expected. :)
The Alex Nickel
Usually when I have something really annoying that I have to decide, I pick up the phone and call Alex, my littlest brother. (He is much taller than me.) Alex generally answers my question for me quickly, painlessly, and I don't have to think about it anymore.
Me: "Hey Kid, I'm in HyVee. Should I get one of those really frosted cookies?"
The Kid: "No, that's disgusting. I hate frosting."
So I didn't get the cookie. I was rather disappointed, I might add.
Me: "Hey Kid, I have to go to the bathroom. What should I do?"
The Kid: "What did you call me for anyway? Go to the bathroom!"
So I did.
I have a problem this summer, though, since Alex is at camp. He can't use his cell phone much.
This morning, I had a Pop Tart that I couldn't decide if I wanted to eat warm or cold. I never get Pop Tarts, and I secretly love them, so I wanted to be sure that I ate it correctly. After staring at the Pop Tart for awhile and not coming up with anything, an idea came to me.
I started an email to Alex asking him what I should do. Then I got out a nickel from my wallet (yes, I actually had money in there for a switch) and marked a big A on it in permanent marker and named it the Alex Nickel.
Then, I flipped the coin. Heads--I ate the Pop Tart warm, Tails--I ate the Pop Tart cold.
I got tails. Twice. (Best two out of three, and all...)
I disregarded what the Alex Nickel said and ate the Pop Tart cold.
I don't think the Alex Nickel has the same power that an actual "yes" or "no" from The Kid. (I would feel too guilty for actually disregarding the word from Alex, but I don't seem to have too much trouble ignoring the Alex Nickel.) I guess it kind of works, though.
Do you think it's illegal to write on money with permanent marker? After I did it, I thought it probably was.
I hope I don't get arrested now. If I do, I expect Alex to bail me out of jail since this is all his fault.
Me: "Hey Kid, I'm in HyVee. Should I get one of those really frosted cookies?"
The Kid: "No, that's disgusting. I hate frosting."
So I didn't get the cookie. I was rather disappointed, I might add.
Me: "Hey Kid, I have to go to the bathroom. What should I do?"
The Kid: "What did you call me for anyway? Go to the bathroom!"
So I did.
I have a problem this summer, though, since Alex is at camp. He can't use his cell phone much.
This morning, I had a Pop Tart that I couldn't decide if I wanted to eat warm or cold. I never get Pop Tarts, and I secretly love them, so I wanted to be sure that I ate it correctly. After staring at the Pop Tart for awhile and not coming up with anything, an idea came to me.
I started an email to Alex asking him what I should do. Then I got out a nickel from my wallet (yes, I actually had money in there for a switch) and marked a big A on it in permanent marker and named it the Alex Nickel.
Then, I flipped the coin. Heads--I ate the Pop Tart warm, Tails--I ate the Pop Tart cold.
I got tails. Twice. (Best two out of three, and all...)
I disregarded what the Alex Nickel said and ate the Pop Tart cold.
I don't think the Alex Nickel has the same power that an actual "yes" or "no" from The Kid. (I would feel too guilty for actually disregarding the word from Alex, but I don't seem to have too much trouble ignoring the Alex Nickel.) I guess it kind of works, though.
Do you think it's illegal to write on money with permanent marker? After I did it, I thought it probably was.
I hope I don't get arrested now. If I do, I expect Alex to bail me out of jail since this is all his fault.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Jenna Attempts Assertiveness
I generally have little trouble being assertive with: Joey, my siblings (particularly The Little Man), or close friends I have known for years.
I have trouble being assertive with: everyone else.
On Monday, I sent our newsletter down to the printers to be laid out and printed. Last month, they told me they needed a week to turn it around. I figured that, since it's going to be August and everyone else will probably be doing the same thing at the same time, I'd give them 2 weeks to get it back to me.
After I put it on the server on Monday, I sent an email and made a phone call to make sure it was received.
Nothing.
Just now, I called over there to make sure that the lady had gotten it.
"Oh, no, I haven't noticed that yet. Are we supposed to lay this out, too?" She asked.
"YES," I said, as forcefully and gently as possible.
I called the printer to set up a receiving time for the newsletter.
"Oh, gosh, I'm not sure about this." He said, when I asked him if I could have it by the 21st. "It takes a real long time and I just got two other school's recently."
I mentioned that last month I was told that I needed to have the newsletter to them one week before I needed it printed.
He hemmed and hawwed a bit.
I could see this was not going well. I was expected to shrivel, grovel, and back down, saying that it was OK for them to take as long as they jolly well wanted to get the newsletter back to us. Good thing I had been warned that we have problems with our printing company being punctual with their deadlines.
The printer was still going on about the level of inconvenience I would be causing them; he really needed two weeks. I glanced at my calendar to double check dates.
I steeled myself.
"Now, I sent that newsletter to you on Monday, and from Monday to the 21 is two weeks, am I correct?" I took a deep breath and barreled on. "I was told last month that I only needed to give you a week, and so even from what you told me then, I've given you plenty of time. I will expect to see it on Friday, the 21."
Silence.
"If, for some reason, you can't get it done, what is the earliest date you can call me to let me know?"
Silence.
Finally, I heard, "I think Monday."
"Great. If there is any problem, I will hear from you on Monday. Otherwise, since you will have had two weeks, I expect to see that newsletter on the 21. Thank you."
We hung up and I sagged back into my chair, feeling slightly nasty.
Being assertive to strangers really takes it out of me.
I have trouble being assertive with: everyone else.
On Monday, I sent our newsletter down to the printers to be laid out and printed. Last month, they told me they needed a week to turn it around. I figured that, since it's going to be August and everyone else will probably be doing the same thing at the same time, I'd give them 2 weeks to get it back to me.
After I put it on the server on Monday, I sent an email and made a phone call to make sure it was received.
Nothing.
Just now, I called over there to make sure that the lady had gotten it.
"Oh, no, I haven't noticed that yet. Are we supposed to lay this out, too?" She asked.
"YES," I said, as forcefully and gently as possible.
I called the printer to set up a receiving time for the newsletter.
"Oh, gosh, I'm not sure about this." He said, when I asked him if I could have it by the 21st. "It takes a real long time and I just got two other school's recently."
I mentioned that last month I was told that I needed to have the newsletter to them one week before I needed it printed.
He hemmed and hawwed a bit.
I could see this was not going well. I was expected to shrivel, grovel, and back down, saying that it was OK for them to take as long as they jolly well wanted to get the newsletter back to us. Good thing I had been warned that we have problems with our printing company being punctual with their deadlines.
The printer was still going on about the level of inconvenience I would be causing them; he really needed two weeks. I glanced at my calendar to double check dates.
I steeled myself.
"Now, I sent that newsletter to you on Monday, and from Monday to the 21 is two weeks, am I correct?" I took a deep breath and barreled on. "I was told last month that I only needed to give you a week, and so even from what you told me then, I've given you plenty of time. I will expect to see it on Friday, the 21."
Silence.
"If, for some reason, you can't get it done, what is the earliest date you can call me to let me know?"
Silence.
Finally, I heard, "I think Monday."
"Great. If there is any problem, I will hear from you on Monday. Otherwise, since you will have had two weeks, I expect to see that newsletter on the 21. Thank you."
We hung up and I sagged back into my chair, feeling slightly nasty.
Being assertive to strangers really takes it out of me.
"Well...you AND them"
We just got a new truck at work, so two other guys (men, actually) and I drove the three Driver's Ed cars down to the dealer to return them, and to pick up the new truck.
First of all, I need to say that I really, really like my car. I drove an '06 Chevy Cobalt down there and the thing was sluggish, and when it idled, the entire car shook. (And I had trouble seeing over the steering wheel and nose.) Oh, oh, and when I tried to get out, I got all dirty because the seat is sunk down into the body, instead of raised up like on my Corolla.
But I digress.
I tried so hard to just follow the other two guys on the way down, but they were driving so slow. I finally gave up and passed them when we were driving 30 mph on Merle Hay Road. (The speed limit is 40.)
This, of course, caused a flow of "lead foot" comments, but I did point out that they weren't even going the speed limit.
We got the vehicles returned safely and went to pick up the new truck, a Chevy Silverado 3500. It was bright candy-apple red. And the cab was about 3 feet off the ground. And it was a three-seater.
I looked at the other two guys.
I looked at the truck.
I thought, Man, this is going to be cozy. Hopefully CW4 takes the interstate on the way back home so we can get this over with as fast as possible.
We hopped into the cab (I had to take a running start) and drove off.
CW4 drove right on past the on-ramp to the interstate. Obviously we were going through town. I suppose if you're gone from the office, you might as well make the most of it. Except that I really didn't even have time to be doing this in the first place...
When we finally got back, I came back to my desk, plopped down, and got right back to work.
Someone came over and said, "So, how's the new truck?"
I said, "Oh, it's great. It's a little cozy with 3 adults, though."
She said, "Well...it was you AND them."
I thought she didn't understand me, so I repeated, "Yes, I went along and rode back with them."
She began to feel uncomfortable, like perhaps I understood she had just inferred that I am not an adult. She quickly made an excuse, and exited.
I sat, confused, staring at my computer screen blankly for a momen.
Was she just inferring that I'm not an adult? I thought to myself.
Oh well. My adult status in question does not change the fact that it was still really uncomfortable riding back in the truck with those guys. I hung on for absolute dear life on every "opportunity corner" so I would slide as little as possible.
For the record, I do think I'm an adult though. So there.
First of all, I need to say that I really, really like my car. I drove an '06 Chevy Cobalt down there and the thing was sluggish, and when it idled, the entire car shook. (And I had trouble seeing over the steering wheel and nose.) Oh, oh, and when I tried to get out, I got all dirty because the seat is sunk down into the body, instead of raised up like on my Corolla.
But I digress.
I tried so hard to just follow the other two guys on the way down, but they were driving so slow. I finally gave up and passed them when we were driving 30 mph on Merle Hay Road. (The speed limit is 40.)
This, of course, caused a flow of "lead foot" comments, but I did point out that they weren't even going the speed limit.
We got the vehicles returned safely and went to pick up the new truck, a Chevy Silverado 3500. It was bright candy-apple red. And the cab was about 3 feet off the ground. And it was a three-seater.
I looked at the other two guys.
I looked at the truck.
I thought, Man, this is going to be cozy. Hopefully CW4 takes the interstate on the way back home so we can get this over with as fast as possible.
We hopped into the cab (I had to take a running start) and drove off.
CW4 drove right on past the on-ramp to the interstate. Obviously we were going through town. I suppose if you're gone from the office, you might as well make the most of it. Except that I really didn't even have time to be doing this in the first place...
When we finally got back, I came back to my desk, plopped down, and got right back to work.
Someone came over and said, "So, how's the new truck?"
I said, "Oh, it's great. It's a little cozy with 3 adults, though."
She said, "Well...it was you AND them."
I thought she didn't understand me, so I repeated, "Yes, I went along and rode back with them."
She began to feel uncomfortable, like perhaps I understood she had just inferred that I am not an adult. She quickly made an excuse, and exited.
I sat, confused, staring at my computer screen blankly for a momen.
Was she just inferring that I'm not an adult? I thought to myself.
Oh well. My adult status in question does not change the fact that it was still really uncomfortable riding back in the truck with those guys. I hung on for absolute dear life on every "opportunity corner" so I would slide as little as possible.
For the record, I do think I'm an adult though. So there.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Butterfingers
I don't know what's happened to me, but for about the last four months, I have been a klutz.
It's pathetically embarassing.
In the last week I have:
1. Jammed the shredder, almost to the point of being permanently broken. It was so jammed up that it took two hours to get all the little pieces out.
2. Jammed the copier.
3. Dropped a huge stack of alphabetized papers
4. Dropped my celery and peanut butter while eating lunch.
5. Deleted something I was working on (ARG!)
6. Tripped on my own feet.
I suppose it could be worse, but I'm beginning to feel like an incompetent bozo! People probably don't notice my slip ups as often as I feel like they do, but I hate being a butterfingers.
At least I can type 100 words per minute, otherwise they might ditch me for being a klutz, however recently I've picked up the tendencies.
It's pathetically embarassing.
In the last week I have:
1. Jammed the shredder, almost to the point of being permanently broken. It was so jammed up that it took two hours to get all the little pieces out.
2. Jammed the copier.
3. Dropped a huge stack of alphabetized papers
4. Dropped my celery and peanut butter while eating lunch.
5. Deleted something I was working on (ARG!)
6. Tripped on my own feet.
I suppose it could be worse, but I'm beginning to feel like an incompetent bozo! People probably don't notice my slip ups as often as I feel like they do, but I hate being a butterfingers.
At least I can type 100 words per minute, otherwise they might ditch me for being a klutz, however recently I've picked up the tendencies.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Attention!
Attention one and all!
After my wife discovered my previous illicit post (don't tell her that I know her password!), she invited me to join the fun here! Now that I have my own name and password, I am ready to announce the arrival of one Joseph A. Woestman to the blogosphere.
PS. I think I kinda look like that guy from Boondocks . . . not that I support or endorse anything in that comic. I've never read it, actually.
Jenna and the Tunnel of Love
Howdy all you regular readers of Jenna's blog. Since this is my first post on "life according to jenna," (shh, don't tell her!) I thought I'd go ahead and describe what I see whenever my wife comes in the room.
Yep, you're right. Tunnel vision. I've got it bad. Is that normal?
-Joey
Joey is Incrediboy!
It amazes me how much Joey looks like Incrediboy in this picture.Joey does not, however, bear any resemblance to the evil tendencies of Incrediboy. Joey is much, much nicer than that.
Joey is Incrediboy because:
1. He found the free oil change certificate that I asked him to find, even after I found it in my car. So what must have happened is that he magically made another one. Now we have 2 free oil changes! Yay Joey!
2. Joey can read my mind. He knew instinctively that I really wanted the air conditioner in on Monday, and I never even said "It's so stinkin' hot in here" one time that day! When I called him Monday afternoon, he was already at Home Depot buying the stuff to install our unit.
3. Joey has superpowers. He can make things happen that I can't, such as reaching things on the top shelf of the cupboards (he doesn't even have to climb on the counter!) and setting the tent up without mixing up any of the pieces. Joey also has incredible skills at things like fixing his car and being my best friend.
4. Joey can fly. (Well, almost.) He likes to jump off high things like he can fly, though.
Yep, my husband is totally awesome.
My Two Husbands?!
Scary, I know. Not only is Joey kissing both sides of my cheek at once, but my neck is really skinny and my nose is really big on the end.Those Photo Booth "mirror" settings will get you every time.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
A Whole Family of Racoons
So that "wildlife" in my ceiling turns out to be a mamma racoon and her herd(?) of little babies.
The ceiling tile she's set her nest up on is bowed. She must be a big 'un.
Drama, drama, drama.
Since we'd been poking the bowed ceiling tile for about the last 3 hours to try to identify what, exactly, was up there, Mamma Coon had gone off to some other section of the ceiling.
Not five minutes ago I held a large piece of styrofoam across the hallway (because of course that will keep us safe from enraged Mamma Coon, if she should decide to come down) as five brave men held up a net to catch the babies.
It turned out that there were four little tiny babies who began squalling and carrying on just as soon as they got their little eyes adjusted to the light. (Actually, they looked more like furry moles than racoons, but they're really itty bitty.)
So far, Mamma Coon has not showed her mean face, but she probably will soon. Her babies are sitting right outside, by the hole she used to come inside in the first place, and she's got to be able to hear them.
Poor babies, they're so cute. I hope she comes for them soon.
I'm awfully glad they're not in the ceiling anymore--can you imagine when they got bigger? What if they broke a tile and fell through to the ground?
Poor things. Anyway, the mystery is solved!
The ceiling tile she's set her nest up on is bowed. She must be a big 'un.
Drama, drama, drama.
Since we'd been poking the bowed ceiling tile for about the last 3 hours to try to identify what, exactly, was up there, Mamma Coon had gone off to some other section of the ceiling.
Not five minutes ago I held a large piece of styrofoam across the hallway (because of course that will keep us safe from enraged Mamma Coon, if she should decide to come down) as five brave men held up a net to catch the babies.
It turned out that there were four little tiny babies who began squalling and carrying on just as soon as they got their little eyes adjusted to the light. (Actually, they looked more like furry moles than racoons, but they're really itty bitty.)
So far, Mamma Coon has not showed her mean face, but she probably will soon. Her babies are sitting right outside, by the hole she used to come inside in the first place, and she's got to be able to hear them.
Poor babies, they're so cute. I hope she comes for them soon.
I'm awfully glad they're not in the ceiling anymore--can you imagine when they got bigger? What if they broke a tile and fell through to the ground?
Poor things. Anyway, the mystery is solved!
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Sock Fireworks
I've pretty much been tired all day. This is mostly Joey's fault for throwing his unmentionables "over me" this morning on his way to work. They landed on my head and SCARED ME TO DEATH.
He argues that they merely landed near me, but I know different.
I decided about 12:30 to take a nap, so I climbed into my bed and got a book. I figured I'd fall asleep in no time at all.
This was not, unfortunately, the case. I began to wake up, pretty much the second I got in bed.
"Joey, what would happen if I threw this bear up into the fan?"
Joey turned a page in his book and said, absentlhy, "It would fly over and hit the wall."
"Oh. So I shouldn't do that then."
"No, probably not. But socks are OK." Joey grabbed one of his wadded up socks and tossed it to me.
I threw it up into the fan. The sock went up, hit the ceiling, came down and hit the fan, and flew sharply to the left, landing in the laundry basket.
"WOAH!! DID YOU SEE THAT?!" I was really awake now. I grabbed the sock again and tossed it up. It landed in the laundry basket.
Joey, at this time, was quite amused by my antics and was scurring all over the room to collect socks. I began throwing them, rapid fire, into the ceiling fan. Most of them were landing in the laundry basket.
I was laughing harder and harder, tears were beginning to work their way out of my eyes.
Joey looked at me, "You ARE tired, aren't you?"
"I guess, maybe. Did you do this as kids or something?"
"Of course." Joey presented me with another pile of socks, ripe for the throwing.
My siblings and I never even thought of this. We really missed out.
He argues that they merely landed near me, but I know different.
I decided about 12:30 to take a nap, so I climbed into my bed and got a book. I figured I'd fall asleep in no time at all.
This was not, unfortunately, the case. I began to wake up, pretty much the second I got in bed.
"Joey, what would happen if I threw this bear up into the fan?"
Joey turned a page in his book and said, absentlhy, "It would fly over and hit the wall."
"Oh. So I shouldn't do that then."
"No, probably not. But socks are OK." Joey grabbed one of his wadded up socks and tossed it to me.
I threw it up into the fan. The sock went up, hit the ceiling, came down and hit the fan, and flew sharply to the left, landing in the laundry basket.
"WOAH!! DID YOU SEE THAT?!" I was really awake now. I grabbed the sock again and tossed it up. It landed in the laundry basket.
Joey, at this time, was quite amused by my antics and was scurring all over the room to collect socks. I began throwing them, rapid fire, into the ceiling fan. Most of them were landing in the laundry basket.
I was laughing harder and harder, tears were beginning to work their way out of my eyes.
Joey looked at me, "You ARE tired, aren't you?"
"I guess, maybe. Did you do this as kids or something?"
"Of course." Joey presented me with another pile of socks, ripe for the throwing.
My siblings and I never even thought of this. We really missed out.
Monday, July 03, 2006
WE HAVE AIR CONDITIONING!
I was shocked.
While I was on my way out to grocery shop, I asked Landlord to put our air conditioner unit in at his convenience, but before Henry arrives, please,
Not 30 minutes later, I arrived home to find Joey (my wonderful husband), some random guy, and Landlord all finagling the huge, ugly air conditioner into place.
I also found out that Joey, who can aparrently read my mind now, stopped at Home Depot on the way home from work to pick up caulk to seal our little air conditioner we keep in our bedroom.
HOLY COW!!! Our apartment was a very comfortable (to us) 83 degrees and cooling when I left.
That sure beats 87 degrees with humidity (which is what it was when I left), or the all-time high of 95 degrees.
Now we won't broil poor Henry in his kennel. Whew.
While I was on my way out to grocery shop, I asked Landlord to put our air conditioner unit in at his convenience, but before Henry arrives, please,
Not 30 minutes later, I arrived home to find Joey (my wonderful husband), some random guy, and Landlord all finagling the huge, ugly air conditioner into place.
I also found out that Joey, who can aparrently read my mind now, stopped at Home Depot on the way home from work to pick up caulk to seal our little air conditioner we keep in our bedroom.
HOLY COW!!! Our apartment was a very comfortable (to us) 83 degrees and cooling when I left.
That sure beats 87 degrees with humidity (which is what it was when I left), or the all-time high of 95 degrees.
Now we won't broil poor Henry in his kennel. Whew.
I Am Too Short
This morning I was in a hurry, but I also had to get gas. I stopped at Casey's, for the first time since they've redone it, and hopped out of the car to get the pay-at-the-pump started.
I could not find it.
It wasn't on the pump anywhere that I could see, just 3 slightly high gas pump thingys. (What are those called, anyway?)
Every gas station, especially new ones, have pay-at-the-pump anymore, so I knew it had to be there. I looked up and it was then that I spotted it. The card reader was about 6 feet in the air (I'm not joking, I had to stand on my toes to get to it) and the very base of the keypad began 4 inches above the top of my head. And I'm wearing thick-soled flip flops today.
I struggled to get my card in and out of the reader, guessed what the little screen was telling me to do (of course I couldn't read it, it was eye level for my Dad) and then tried to get the overly high gas pumper out of the holder and into my car.
All of these actions were far too difficult. Getting gas is supposed to be fairly routine, or so I thought.
Why do they make everything so blasted high, anyway? I tell you what, I'm never going back to that Casey's again.
Oh stink, I just realized I forgot my receipt on the pump. But then again, it was a foot above my head...
I could not find it.
It wasn't on the pump anywhere that I could see, just 3 slightly high gas pump thingys. (What are those called, anyway?)
Every gas station, especially new ones, have pay-at-the-pump anymore, so I knew it had to be there. I looked up and it was then that I spotted it. The card reader was about 6 feet in the air (I'm not joking, I had to stand on my toes to get to it) and the very base of the keypad began 4 inches above the top of my head. And I'm wearing thick-soled flip flops today.
I struggled to get my card in and out of the reader, guessed what the little screen was telling me to do (of course I couldn't read it, it was eye level for my Dad) and then tried to get the overly high gas pumper out of the holder and into my car.
All of these actions were far too difficult. Getting gas is supposed to be fairly routine, or so I thought.
Why do they make everything so blasted high, anyway? I tell you what, I'm never going back to that Casey's again.
Oh stink, I just realized I forgot my receipt on the pump. But then again, it was a foot above my head...
Joey Saves The Day
On Saturday night Joey and I were going to bed much, much later than normal. (Like 11:00 p.m. later.) We'd been watching a movie that didn't get over until 10:30, so by the time we got home, loafed around, read our books and got ready for bed, it was coming up on 11:30.
We finally got settled when we heard a strange, obnoxious noise coming from the parking lot next door.
It sounded like skateboards.
We ignored it for about 3 minutes, then decided we'd better check it out. You never know, after all. Dave wants us to keep an eye out for his property and all.
Sure enough, it was two tallish highschool guys wearing long black basketball shorts, no shirts, and skateboarding. And screaming and yelling. At 11:30 p.m.
"Call the cops! Ooh, do it!" I urged Joey.
Joey, always the one with more sense, said, "Well, let's just wait a little bit."
We waited about another 3 minutes.
"They're still doing it and making tons of noise. Call the cops. I've always wanted to call the cops." I started looking for our phone book.
"Let me yell at them to be quiet first, if they don't then we'll call the cops."
"No way! Then they'll spray paint our cars and beat down the doors and kill us in our sleep. Just call the cops."
"I bet we'll be fine." Joey yelled out the window for the guys to be quiet.
Nothing happened.
I grabbed the phone book and started looking up the cops' number. Joey hesitantly picked up his phone and dialed it.
"Hi, I feel really childish, but there's a couple kids skateboarding in a parking lot outside our window and they're making a ton of noise....OK, thank you." He hung up the phone. "They're sending someone."
"YES!" I shrieked. "I wanna watch."
So we turned off the lights and hunkered down by the window, watching and waiting for the cops to come.
To our dismay, the two skateboardin' dudes saw something (the cops?) and relocated to the other side of our building, away from our window.
We never got to watch them get busted, but at least we called the cops. Next time we're calling right away so we can see the cop car roll in...
We finally got settled when we heard a strange, obnoxious noise coming from the parking lot next door.
It sounded like skateboards.
We ignored it for about 3 minutes, then decided we'd better check it out. You never know, after all. Dave wants us to keep an eye out for his property and all.
Sure enough, it was two tallish highschool guys wearing long black basketball shorts, no shirts, and skateboarding. And screaming and yelling. At 11:30 p.m.
"Call the cops! Ooh, do it!" I urged Joey.
Joey, always the one with more sense, said, "Well, let's just wait a little bit."
We waited about another 3 minutes.
"They're still doing it and making tons of noise. Call the cops. I've always wanted to call the cops." I started looking for our phone book.
"Let me yell at them to be quiet first, if they don't then we'll call the cops."
"No way! Then they'll spray paint our cars and beat down the doors and kill us in our sleep. Just call the cops."
"I bet we'll be fine." Joey yelled out the window for the guys to be quiet.
Nothing happened.
I grabbed the phone book and started looking up the cops' number. Joey hesitantly picked up his phone and dialed it.
"Hi, I feel really childish, but there's a couple kids skateboarding in a parking lot outside our window and they're making a ton of noise....OK, thank you." He hung up the phone. "They're sending someone."
"YES!" I shrieked. "I wanna watch."
So we turned off the lights and hunkered down by the window, watching and waiting for the cops to come.
To our dismay, the two skateboardin' dudes saw something (the cops?) and relocated to the other side of our building, away from our window.
We never got to watch them get busted, but at least we called the cops. Next time we're calling right away so we can see the cop car roll in...
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Henry vs. Ivan
So last night we decided maybe we weren't totally satisfied with the name for our new puppy. Fortunately we haven't got the puppy yet (July 15!) so we can still change our minds.
Up until last night, it was going to be Henry. All the other Shih-Tzus we know have such awesome names: Gus, Sam, Ernie. We want our little dude to have a name of similar caliber.
This brought us to our drive down to Yankee Doodle Pops last night. Joey was throwing out names, and I was generally saying "no" to names like Keith (no way, Jose), Alvin (Alvin and the Chipmunks?), Vladimir (no, no, and no), Hugh (reminds me of 20/20), Gunther (how many different ways are there to say no?!), George (not bad...but not good either), Guthrie (that's a street name), and Randy (absolutely not, former bosses' name).
We liked Andrew, Larry, and Doug but figured we shouldn't name a dog after my brother, grandfather, and/or father. Johnny wasn't a bad option either, but we figured that name fell under the same rule, Johnny of course being short for John (who happens to be Father-In-Law1).
Sorry, Alex, we never really considered your name. But we still like you.
The several two we agreed upon were Charlie and Wally. Neither one of these prooved acceptable because Charlie is too similar to Charlie's Angels and Wally is too much like Walmart...Wally World. I hate Walmart.
So then we were back to Henry. Maybe if we called him Prince Henry it wouldn't be so stuffy sounding?
This morning I picked up a book of baby names from the library, and we think we happened on a keeper.
Ivan.
It doesn't have a cute little "ie" ending on it, but it's not a half bad name. Especially if we registered him as Ivan the Terrible on his AKC papers. I particularly like Ivan the Terrible, since this little guy is about as far from terrible as my mom is.
It's getting down to the wire. Will it be Henry or will it be Ivan?
Input is appreciated.
We'll keep you posted. (As if you're dying of curiosity...)
Friday, June 30, 2006
Chuck Dickens
Last night Joey must have been really tired. Somehow, he got onto how 19th century authors' names are so distinguished sounding...until you slap a nickname on them. For example: Charles Dickens...Chuck Dickens.
Seems to us that a fantastic idea for a video would be Joey going into libraries and asking for books by Jimmy Cooper, Bill Shakespeare, Artie Doyle, Bob Stevenson, Steve Crane or Charlie Kingley and see how long it takes for him to get kicked out.
Chuck Dickens. Seriously, I'd never read a book by a guy with that name. No wonder his mom didn't call him Chuck.
Seems to us that a fantastic idea for a video would be Joey going into libraries and asking for books by Jimmy Cooper, Bill Shakespeare, Artie Doyle, Bob Stevenson, Steve Crane or Charlie Kingley and see how long it takes for him to get kicked out.
Chuck Dickens. Seriously, I'd never read a book by a guy with that name. No wonder his mom didn't call him Chuck.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
"All 200 Pounds Of Me"
No, I do not weigh 200 pounds.
Last night, Joey called around to try to find a Shih-Tzu breeder in our area. He started by calling the president of our area kennel club, some guy named Larry.
"Hello, is Larry there?" Joey asked politely.
"All 200 pounds of me," came the jovial reply. (I could hear it from where I was standing at the sink and Joey was sitting on the couch!)
The conversation spiraled downard from there. (Larry does not pronounce Shih-Tzu correctly; in fact, he pronounces it quite far from correctly.) He was a nut and a half, but Joey was laughing the entire time. Larry did give us a number of a breeder in our area, though.
We called that lady--no puppies for 2 months. Even after that, we'd have to wait another 3 months to get one. She gave us a number of a breeder in my hometown, so we called that lady.
The second lady was extremely nice. (She lives about 5 miles from where I grew up, actually.) I could hear the babies yipping and yapping in the background. We got to chatting and she slipped into our conversation, "They go for $600 apiece."
I didn't understand her at first.
"Excuse me?"
"They puppies, they go for $600 apiece."
My mind started working really fast. There was no possible way I wanted a $600 puppy. I don't want to show the crazy thing, I just want it to be cute and cuddly! Somehow, I hemmed and hawed my way out of that conversation real fast.
"Joey, she wants $600! I'll drive the 3 hours to that kennel up north and pay $325 any day before I pay $600 for a puppy."
"No kidding."
And so it was decided. We're probably getting #11. http://www.agreatdog.com/shihtzupuppies.html
Last night, Joey called around to try to find a Shih-Tzu breeder in our area. He started by calling the president of our area kennel club, some guy named Larry.
"Hello, is Larry there?" Joey asked politely.
"All 200 pounds of me," came the jovial reply. (I could hear it from where I was standing at the sink and Joey was sitting on the couch!)
The conversation spiraled downard from there. (Larry does not pronounce Shih-Tzu correctly; in fact, he pronounces it quite far from correctly.) He was a nut and a half, but Joey was laughing the entire time. Larry did give us a number of a breeder in our area, though.
We called that lady--no puppies for 2 months. Even after that, we'd have to wait another 3 months to get one. She gave us a number of a breeder in my hometown, so we called that lady.
The second lady was extremely nice. (She lives about 5 miles from where I grew up, actually.) I could hear the babies yipping and yapping in the background. We got to chatting and she slipped into our conversation, "They go for $600 apiece."
I didn't understand her at first.
"Excuse me?"
"They puppies, they go for $600 apiece."
My mind started working really fast. There was no possible way I wanted a $600 puppy. I don't want to show the crazy thing, I just want it to be cute and cuddly! Somehow, I hemmed and hawed my way out of that conversation real fast.
"Joey, she wants $600! I'll drive the 3 hours to that kennel up north and pay $325 any day before I pay $600 for a puppy."
"No kidding."
And so it was decided. We're probably getting #11. http://www.agreatdog.com/shihtzupuppies.html
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
BONK!
Last night at 10:30, Joey and I couldn't decide who was going to turn off the light. We "argued" for about 5 minutes, and then both got up to turn the light off.
Of course then I spotted the "Get Fuzzy" comic flip calendar and puzzled over it for a moment. Joey tried to explain it to me--I did not find it to be funny. At all.
Poor Joey. I really wish I found comics funny.
One of us turned out the light, and both of us jumped (literally, unfortunately) into bed. We landed in the same place. Our heads connected.
BONK!
"OWW!!!" We both moaned.
"I see stars!" Joey wailed.
"I did too," I whimpered.
We burrowed holes into the covers and waited for our searing headaches to pass. They weren't going away.
"Oww, your head bonked me in the cheekbone, right under my eye," Joey said, when he could finally talk again.
"Yeah, you got me in the middle of the crown. I actually felt my skull squish in a bit...does this mean I have a brain full of mush?!" I shook my head a little. It still hurt.
We continued to whine about our headaches for another few minutes, but then decided we might as well sleep them off.
As far as I know, neither one of us woke up with a headache, just an extremely strong desire to go back to bed and sleep all day. (It was gray and pouring rain at 6:30...the perfect day to call a nationwide holiday from work, don't you think?)
Of course then I spotted the "Get Fuzzy" comic flip calendar and puzzled over it for a moment. Joey tried to explain it to me--I did not find it to be funny. At all.
Poor Joey. I really wish I found comics funny.
One of us turned out the light, and both of us jumped (literally, unfortunately) into bed. We landed in the same place. Our heads connected.
BONK!
"OWW!!!" We both moaned.
"I see stars!" Joey wailed.
"I did too," I whimpered.
We burrowed holes into the covers and waited for our searing headaches to pass. They weren't going away.
"Oww, your head bonked me in the cheekbone, right under my eye," Joey said, when he could finally talk again.
"Yeah, you got me in the middle of the crown. I actually felt my skull squish in a bit...does this mean I have a brain full of mush?!" I shook my head a little. It still hurt.
We continued to whine about our headaches for another few minutes, but then decided we might as well sleep them off.
As far as I know, neither one of us woke up with a headache, just an extremely strong desire to go back to bed and sleep all day. (It was gray and pouring rain at 6:30...the perfect day to call a nationwide holiday from work, don't you think?)
Monday, June 26, 2006
I'm Charming
This post title has a dual meaning. Allow me to explain.
In Utah I bought a little hot pink, sparkly flip-flop cell phone charm. I really like it. I have been wanting one since Easter when I noticed my Aunt's. Hers was not a hot pink, sparkly flip-flop, but hers was still cool.
Every time I walk, I hear "smack, smack, smack". It's my charm banging against my phone. Kind of annoying, but terribly cute.
On to other topics...
Just last week, Joey asked our landlord if we could get a puppy. We have, of course, already named him even though we haven't picked him out. (His name is Henry.) We'd been praying that Dave would say yes.
Just this evening, Dave said yes.
To put it in Dave's words (according to Joey), "I knew I was going to say yes as soon as you asked. Jenna has a way with grandpas."
How did he know that?!
I'm obviously more charming than I previously realized. Either that or he likes the fact that I always bring him sweets when I bake them.
I am going to go home now and whip up a batch of something amazing to say THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME GET HENRY! It will probably be two more weeks, or three, before we get our puppy, but this gives me plenty of time to do research so I can be a very good puppy mom.
I figure that Dave is pretty awesome. I am kind of surprised he agreed, but we're just not allowed to let his wife know that we have a dog.
Hehehehe.
In Utah I bought a little hot pink, sparkly flip-flop cell phone charm. I really like it. I have been wanting one since Easter when I noticed my Aunt's. Hers was not a hot pink, sparkly flip-flop, but hers was still cool.
Every time I walk, I hear "smack, smack, smack". It's my charm banging against my phone. Kind of annoying, but terribly cute.
On to other topics...
Just last week, Joey asked our landlord if we could get a puppy. We have, of course, already named him even though we haven't picked him out. (His name is Henry.) We'd been praying that Dave would say yes.
Just this evening, Dave said yes.
To put it in Dave's words (according to Joey), "I knew I was going to say yes as soon as you asked. Jenna has a way with grandpas."
How did he know that?!
I'm obviously more charming than I previously realized. Either that or he likes the fact that I always bring him sweets when I bake them.
I am going to go home now and whip up a batch of something amazing to say THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME GET HENRY! It will probably be two more weeks, or three, before we get our puppy, but this gives me plenty of time to do research so I can be a very good puppy mom.
I figure that Dave is pretty awesome. I am kind of surprised he agreed, but we're just not allowed to let his wife know that we have a dog.
Hehehehe.
Comet May Be Near Death
I returned to work to find my fishy kind of lethargic. Turns out that he only got fed twice in the nine days I was out of the office. Poor little guy. I promptly fed him a few extra flakes of food and he jazzed right up.
It was then that I noticed it.
Comet lives in a large vase with one of those water plants on top. (I cleaned his vase two weeks ago when we had our computer problems so he had fresh water before I left him.) Anyway, several of the roots of the water plant, there are these large, bilious-white blubs growing.
They look SO gross.
Poor Comet! I don't know what they are, so I don't know how to get them to go away. This seems to need some extensive research. My only idea currently is to clean his vase and try to get rid of the blobs, without touching them of course, in hopes that Comet won't die from the creep growing in his vase.
This is truly a sad, sad day.
It was then that I noticed it.
Comet lives in a large vase with one of those water plants on top. (I cleaned his vase two weeks ago when we had our computer problems so he had fresh water before I left him.) Anyway, several of the roots of the water plant, there are these large, bilious-white blubs growing.
They look SO gross.
Poor Comet! I don't know what they are, so I don't know how to get them to go away. This seems to need some extensive research. My only idea currently is to clean his vase and try to get rid of the blobs, without touching them of course, in hopes that Comet won't die from the creep growing in his vase.
This is truly a sad, sad day.
Leprosy
Since returning from Utah, I have contracted what appears to be leprosy. It also could just be a peeling sunburn, but I prefer to think of it as leprosy. It's so much more dramatic.
The grossness began on Saturday, but got much, much worse on Sunday. By the end of church not only was I sleepy beyond all belief and sore (we were a bit late so we had to sit in the folding chairs in the back...oy vey) but my arms were peeling off in strange, creepy sheets of skin.
The "tan" I had is now pretty much gone.
Yesterday and today I have pretty much worn long sleeves. I'd hate for someone to think they might die from sitting near me. That and the fact that I look downright gross. Kind of like a snake shedding its skin...
The grossness began on Saturday, but got much, much worse on Sunday. By the end of church not only was I sleepy beyond all belief and sore (we were a bit late so we had to sit in the folding chairs in the back...oy vey) but my arms were peeling off in strange, creepy sheets of skin.
The "tan" I had is now pretty much gone.
Yesterday and today I have pretty much worn long sleeves. I'd hate for someone to think they might die from sitting near me. That and the fact that I look downright gross. Kind of like a snake shedding its skin...
Sunday, June 25, 2006
I Break Rules
We just flew back in from Utah last night. We had a fantastic week!
I particularly enjoyed feeding the "wildlife" in the national parks (a raven and a squinny) and drinking Pepsis, eating cookies and Pringles and watching National Treasure at 8:00 in the morning with my sibs.
I did not particularly enjoy how guilty Brother-In-Law1 made me feel for feeding said raven and squinny. I think he'd probably have fed them too, if he wasn't so afraid of getting caught. They were SO CUTE. The raven and I bonded. The squinny and I would have too, but the poor thing kept getting chased off inbetween feedings.
We did a lot of off-roading while we hiked in the national parks. We found some 700 year old petroglyphs (or, if you're my Pops, then they're petrographs...). I might add that Brother-In-Law1 touched a petroglyph. I totally would have done it too, if I hadn't given him such a hard time about it. It sorta gave me the guilts about any trouble I may have chosen to give poor Brother-In-Law1.
Yesterday (or was it two days ago?) we decided to go to the Hoover Dam on the way to Las Vegas. It's not really on the way, but it's just barely out of the way. We toured the dam, it's really huge, and then The Kid, Joey and I went up to the observation deck in the 115 degree heat to go look at the big white dam.
It was pretty big, and definitely white.
On the side of the 150 degree rails were signs posted that said "Do Not Throw Things Off. Workers Below." Of course, that made me want to throw things off.
I whipped out a piece of paper, scribbled a cheesy message, tore it off and wadded it up. I pretended to throw said piece of paper from the side of the dam.
Naturally I didn't do it, but I sure wanted to.
I made The Kid take pictures of the whole process, I figure if my dad happens to see them he'll get all mad at me because he'll figure I actually threw something off the side of the dam. Then I can laugh at him and tell him I actually didn't break the rules for once.
I particularly enjoyed feeding the "wildlife" in the national parks (a raven and a squinny) and drinking Pepsis, eating cookies and Pringles and watching National Treasure at 8:00 in the morning with my sibs.
I did not particularly enjoy how guilty Brother-In-Law1 made me feel for feeding said raven and squinny. I think he'd probably have fed them too, if he wasn't so afraid of getting caught. They were SO CUTE. The raven and I bonded. The squinny and I would have too, but the poor thing kept getting chased off inbetween feedings.
We did a lot of off-roading while we hiked in the national parks. We found some 700 year old petroglyphs (or, if you're my Pops, then they're petrographs...). I might add that Brother-In-Law1 touched a petroglyph. I totally would have done it too, if I hadn't given him such a hard time about it. It sorta gave me the guilts about any trouble I may have chosen to give poor Brother-In-Law1.
Yesterday (or was it two days ago?) we decided to go to the Hoover Dam on the way to Las Vegas. It's not really on the way, but it's just barely out of the way. We toured the dam, it's really huge, and then The Kid, Joey and I went up to the observation deck in the 115 degree heat to go look at the big white dam.
It was pretty big, and definitely white.
On the side of the 150 degree rails were signs posted that said "Do Not Throw Things Off. Workers Below." Of course, that made me want to throw things off.
I whipped out a piece of paper, scribbled a cheesy message, tore it off and wadded it up. I pretended to throw said piece of paper from the side of the dam.
Naturally I didn't do it, but I sure wanted to.
I made The Kid take pictures of the whole process, I figure if my dad happens to see them he'll get all mad at me because he'll figure I actually threw something off the side of the dam. Then I can laugh at him and tell him I actually didn't break the rules for once.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Why Wal-Mart Is The Great Satan, Part 2
I meant to write this several days ago and forgot.
I have been cutting coupons and really trying to be wise about where I grocery shop. Everyone says Wal-Mart is so much cheaper than Target, so I decided this week to try it one more time.
If you don't remember how much I hate Wal-Mart, please refer to this post. (In case anyone might think that I'm bright enough to link a previous post in my own blog, I must inform you that Joey did the linking. I tried and couldn't figure it out.)
Anyway, I was grocery shopping, selecting the weekly apples for Joey. I have resolved not to buy cheap apples. I think there's a post back in the beginning about me promising never, ever to buy cheap apples again. So I know to buy the Braeburns or Fujis, depending on which is crispier.
At Walmart, they had Braeburns of biblical proportions. These were ginormo apples, if ever I've seen ginormo apples.
They looked...kind of shady.
Seriously, they were about the size of two normal Braeburns. This particular apple farm must be using some crazy apple growth hormone or something.
I picked 6, put them in the basket, and they weighed over four pounds. That is almost one pound per apple! Insane.
At any rate, I was in a hurry so I finished my shopping, uneventfully, and headed home. (I had pizza dough raising in the bread machine!)
I showed Joey the huge apples and he was like, "Woah! COOL! Those apples are huge!" I told him I didn't hold high hopes for them, that I thought they might be mushy inside. As I was putting the finishing touches on dinner, I pulled out one of those King Sized apples and cut it open.
It was full of worms!
Where there should have been nice, crisp, white flesh there were brown streaks, holes, and worm nibbles. Joey was in the other room.
"Honey?! Come check this out!"
Joey came to the kitchen. He was appropriately grossed out by the apple.
"I'm not paying for those. I'm taking them all back to the store. And then I'm seriously never grocery shopping at that place again." I glared at the apple.
Joey agreed. He and Father-In-Law1 took the apples back to the store later when they went to purchase another fan part. Wal-Mart actually took them back, even though I'd cut one up!
That may be the only thing that store has going for it--they'll let you return positively anything.
But seriously--wormy apples?! Come on!
I have been cutting coupons and really trying to be wise about where I grocery shop. Everyone says Wal-Mart is so much cheaper than Target, so I decided this week to try it one more time.
If you don't remember how much I hate Wal-Mart, please refer to this post. (In case anyone might think that I'm bright enough to link a previous post in my own blog, I must inform you that Joey did the linking. I tried and couldn't figure it out.)
Anyway, I was grocery shopping, selecting the weekly apples for Joey. I have resolved not to buy cheap apples. I think there's a post back in the beginning about me promising never, ever to buy cheap apples again. So I know to buy the Braeburns or Fujis, depending on which is crispier.
At Walmart, they had Braeburns of biblical proportions. These were ginormo apples, if ever I've seen ginormo apples.
They looked...kind of shady.
Seriously, they were about the size of two normal Braeburns. This particular apple farm must be using some crazy apple growth hormone or something.
I picked 6, put them in the basket, and they weighed over four pounds. That is almost one pound per apple! Insane.
At any rate, I was in a hurry so I finished my shopping, uneventfully, and headed home. (I had pizza dough raising in the bread machine!)
I showed Joey the huge apples and he was like, "Woah! COOL! Those apples are huge!" I told him I didn't hold high hopes for them, that I thought they might be mushy inside. As I was putting the finishing touches on dinner, I pulled out one of those King Sized apples and cut it open.
It was full of worms!
Where there should have been nice, crisp, white flesh there were brown streaks, holes, and worm nibbles. Joey was in the other room.
"Honey?! Come check this out!"
Joey came to the kitchen. He was appropriately grossed out by the apple.
"I'm not paying for those. I'm taking them all back to the store. And then I'm seriously never grocery shopping at that place again." I glared at the apple.
Joey agreed. He and Father-In-Law1 took the apples back to the store later when they went to purchase another fan part. Wal-Mart actually took them back, even though I'd cut one up!
That may be the only thing that store has going for it--they'll let you return positively anything.
But seriously--wormy apples?! Come on!
Chicks
Yesterday, after my Most Horrible Day At Work Ever, Joey and I ran errands for our trip to Utah. (Fortunately, we leave tomorrow. I seriously need a vacation!)
We wandered into TJ Maxx because I wanted to show him some really crazy orange, blue and white striped Tommy Hilfiger lounge pants. I'd thought about getting for him when I saw them on Saturday, they were on clearance for $7.
We found the lounge pants stashed on the disorganized clearance rack and Joey said, "Uhm, wow. I don't think I'd lose those. Ever." (I think they're SO COOL.) He decided that he liked them too, and double checked the price tag. "Hey, these are only $5!"
I told him to wear them in Utah. They'd make him look like a wild child, which he totally is.
We wandered over to the housewares clearance, and it was there that I noticed it. It was still here!
I grabbed it and held to myself while I tried to find Joey. I finally found him over in the glassware section, trying to find a price tag on a really sweet glass piece for a coffee table. (We've been looking for one like it for awhile, but haven't been able to find one in our price range. This one's not far off, though.)
"What do you have?" Joey asked, as he flipped the glass piece upside down.
"It's the Chicks sign! I've been watching this for months. It's down to $5!"
Joey looked at the board I was holding up. It was about 2 feet long and 6 inches wide, painted a sage green. The paint looks kind of worn (and it's a bit chipped from being on the clearance rack for so long) and it has the word "Chicks" painted in white with wide, 1900 style brush strokes. There is a fluffy looking, yellow chick to the left of the word Chicks, and he's SO CUTE. He's made of wood too and is raised off the board about 3 inches.
"Wouldn't this look so cool above the sink? It's a little bit Country, but I think it's just goofy enough that it wouldn't look too bad."
Joey nodded. "Let's get it for you."
We hauled our two $5 purchases up, bought them, and headed home. Joey hung "Chicks" above my sink, and we both stood back and said, "Good purchase!" "That looks fantastic." "I love the chick" and "The green really looks great with the living room furniture, and the chick is almost the same color as the wall!" and other things like that.
I like my Chicks.
We wandered into TJ Maxx because I wanted to show him some really crazy orange, blue and white striped Tommy Hilfiger lounge pants. I'd thought about getting for him when I saw them on Saturday, they were on clearance for $7.
We found the lounge pants stashed on the disorganized clearance rack and Joey said, "Uhm, wow. I don't think I'd lose those. Ever." (I think they're SO COOL.) He decided that he liked them too, and double checked the price tag. "Hey, these are only $5!"
I told him to wear them in Utah. They'd make him look like a wild child, which he totally is.
We wandered over to the housewares clearance, and it was there that I noticed it. It was still here!
I grabbed it and held to myself while I tried to find Joey. I finally found him over in the glassware section, trying to find a price tag on a really sweet glass piece for a coffee table. (We've been looking for one like it for awhile, but haven't been able to find one in our price range. This one's not far off, though.)
"What do you have?" Joey asked, as he flipped the glass piece upside down.
"It's the Chicks sign! I've been watching this for months. It's down to $5!"
Joey looked at the board I was holding up. It was about 2 feet long and 6 inches wide, painted a sage green. The paint looks kind of worn (and it's a bit chipped from being on the clearance rack for so long) and it has the word "Chicks" painted in white with wide, 1900 style brush strokes. There is a fluffy looking, yellow chick to the left of the word Chicks, and he's SO CUTE. He's made of wood too and is raised off the board about 3 inches.
"Wouldn't this look so cool above the sink? It's a little bit Country, but I think it's just goofy enough that it wouldn't look too bad."
Joey nodded. "Let's get it for you."
We hauled our two $5 purchases up, bought them, and headed home. Joey hung "Chicks" above my sink, and we both stood back and said, "Good purchase!" "That looks fantastic." "I love the chick" and "The green really looks great with the living room furniture, and the chick is almost the same color as the wall!" and other things like that.
I like my Chicks.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Blog
The word blog is so....vulgar sounding. This was really bothering me as I tried to fall asleep last night. It sounds like it could be so many things, for instance:
1. A "blog" could be anything gross. "Hey, look, there's a bunch of blog over there. See it? Oh, it's so nasty!"
2. A "blog could be an exclamatory. "BLOG!!! I can't believe I forgot to clip my toenails this morning!"
3. A "blog" could be an alien of some kind. "Oh no, the Blogs are coming from Outer Space! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"
4. A "blog" could be a very unpleasant recipe that your grandma makes only for family reunions. "Look, honey, I made Blog again! Aren't you so excited?"
5. A "blog" could be a huge, vicious animal, rather like an alligator or crocodile. Can you picture it now? "The Adventures of the Blog Hunter." Well, maybe there's not quite the same ring to it.
6. A "blog" could be some kind of huge storm. "The National Weather Service in New York has issued a Severe Blog Warning for the following counties..."
So I think "blog" is a weird, dumb word. Oh well, I didn't make it up!
1. A "blog" could be anything gross. "Hey, look, there's a bunch of blog over there. See it? Oh, it's so nasty!"
2. A "blog could be an exclamatory. "BLOG!!! I can't believe I forgot to clip my toenails this morning!"
3. A "blog" could be an alien of some kind. "Oh no, the Blogs are coming from Outer Space! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"
4. A "blog" could be a very unpleasant recipe that your grandma makes only for family reunions. "Look, honey, I made Blog again! Aren't you so excited?"
5. A "blog" could be a huge, vicious animal, rather like an alligator or crocodile. Can you picture it now? "The Adventures of the Blog Hunter." Well, maybe there's not quite the same ring to it.
6. A "blog" could be some kind of huge storm. "The National Weather Service in New York has issued a Severe Blog Warning for the following counties..."
So I think "blog" is a weird, dumb word. Oh well, I didn't make it up!
Victory for Joey
This morning, Joey scared me to death. Well, nearly to death.
I was headed out the door with all my things for work. I was thinking how nice and cool it was outside, and also wishing that it would rain. (We really need it around here, all the grass is torched.)
I had a smile on my face and was just unlocking my car door to throw in all my things when I heard a shrill screech coming from above me.
My heart started beating about 300 bpm and I looked around wildly.
No one was there!
Then I noticed my sneaky husband standing up on the "porch" looking extremely proud of himself. I couldn't tell if it was because of the fact that he scared me so bad, or....
Bang! Snap!
Then he really began to laugh at my terror-stricken face. I still could not figure out what had happened--7:15 a.m. is really early to frighten the living daylights out of someone!
"Hahahah, I scared you so bad! Hahahah, I threw Bang Snaps down at you! Hahaha." Joey was quite proud of himself.
I wilted.
"Why is it that you can scare me so good, so easily, when I've been trying for 13 months to scare you just a little?!"
I suppose it has something to do with what Joey said to me last night: I'm just not very good at it. He's right.
I must say, though, I can't think of anybody who would be more fun to be married to than Joey. But he'd better just watch himself...I think he inadvertantly declared war this morning and I'm gonna get him.
I hope.
I was headed out the door with all my things for work. I was thinking how nice and cool it was outside, and also wishing that it would rain. (We really need it around here, all the grass is torched.)
I had a smile on my face and was just unlocking my car door to throw in all my things when I heard a shrill screech coming from above me.
My heart started beating about 300 bpm and I looked around wildly.
No one was there!
Then I noticed my sneaky husband standing up on the "porch" looking extremely proud of himself. I couldn't tell if it was because of the fact that he scared me so bad, or....
Bang! Snap!
Then he really began to laugh at my terror-stricken face. I still could not figure out what had happened--7:15 a.m. is really early to frighten the living daylights out of someone!
"Hahahah, I scared you so bad! Hahahah, I threw Bang Snaps down at you! Hahaha." Joey was quite proud of himself.
I wilted.
"Why is it that you can scare me so good, so easily, when I've been trying for 13 months to scare you just a little?!"
I suppose it has something to do with what Joey said to me last night: I'm just not very good at it. He's right.
I must say, though, I can't think of anybody who would be more fun to be married to than Joey. But he'd better just watch himself...I think he inadvertantly declared war this morning and I'm gonna get him.
I hope.
It's ALL GONE
The server at work crashed two days ago, and so our computers went down with it. My computer is back up today, but all of my three months of work is gone.
All of it.
There is one, random folder in my My Documents and it says "Newsletters". It's not even a useful folder! All of that stuff is old junk, not even anything I did.
It also helps that only three days ago someone asked me if I'd been backing up all my files on the server. I thought, OH NO! I didn't know I was supposed to be doing this! What if my computer crashes and everything is lost before I have a chance to back everything up?!
Backing up all my files had been the first item on my agenda for today.
Oh well, I might as well mark it off since there are no files to back up.
I could cry.
All of it.
There is one, random folder in my My Documents and it says "Newsletters". It's not even a useful folder! All of that stuff is old junk, not even anything I did.
It also helps that only three days ago someone asked me if I'd been backing up all my files on the server. I thought, OH NO! I didn't know I was supposed to be doing this! What if my computer crashes and everything is lost before I have a chance to back everything up?!
Backing up all my files had been the first item on my agenda for today.
Oh well, I might as well mark it off since there are no files to back up.
I could cry.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
My Hiding Skills Need Improvement
Since marrying Joey I have made it a point to try to scare him.
Rarely does this work. Actually, I can't think of a successful "scare" yet. (I need to go to that scare school in Monster's Inc, or something.)
Some of my worst hiding-to-try-to-scare-Joey attempts have been:
1. Hiding behind the door in the bedroom. Naturally this did not work because he noticed that the door was not open all the way.
2. Hiding under the covers in the bed, laying sideways instead of up and down. I was informed that, yes, even though the Jenna lump wasn't up and down, he still noticed a rather human-sized lump going sideways. (I actually wound up scaring myself that time, too.)
3. Hiding behind the laundry room curtain and trying to jump out and scare Joey. Unless my memory fails me (and it does, occasionally) this actually got Joey to jump. But it wasn't a big jump.
4. Hiding underneath the outside stairs. This hiding spot was very, very faulty because the stairs are made out of grates. Joey looked down and said, "Uh, babe? What are you doing down there?"
5. Hiding behind the outside door by where our grill sits. Joey actually did not notice me, but was not scared when he did. I gave myself points on the fact that he hadn't noticed where I'd disappeared, though.
6. Hiding in between the cars. Joey found me there right away; not a good hiding spot at all.
7. Hiding all crouched down outside the front door, that happens to have a large window. The goal was to sort of stop the door from opening, thereby "scaring" Joey. I was just hoping he didn't come blasting through the door and bruise me when I heard, "What are you doing?!" He spotted me through the window.
Joey says pretty much all my "hiding places" are in plain sight. I seem unable to scare him. This does not seem to bother him, though, as I think he enjoys my pathetic antics.
Maybe in Utah I'll actually get a gold medal in Joey Scaring?
Rarely does this work. Actually, I can't think of a successful "scare" yet. (I need to go to that scare school in Monster's Inc, or something.)
Some of my worst hiding-to-try-to-scare-Joey attempts have been:
1. Hiding behind the door in the bedroom. Naturally this did not work because he noticed that the door was not open all the way.
2. Hiding under the covers in the bed, laying sideways instead of up and down. I was informed that, yes, even though the Jenna lump wasn't up and down, he still noticed a rather human-sized lump going sideways. (I actually wound up scaring myself that time, too.)
3. Hiding behind the laundry room curtain and trying to jump out and scare Joey. Unless my memory fails me (and it does, occasionally) this actually got Joey to jump. But it wasn't a big jump.
4. Hiding underneath the outside stairs. This hiding spot was very, very faulty because the stairs are made out of grates. Joey looked down and said, "Uh, babe? What are you doing down there?"
5. Hiding behind the outside door by where our grill sits. Joey actually did not notice me, but was not scared when he did. I gave myself points on the fact that he hadn't noticed where I'd disappeared, though.
6. Hiding in between the cars. Joey found me there right away; not a good hiding spot at all.
7. Hiding all crouched down outside the front door, that happens to have a large window. The goal was to sort of stop the door from opening, thereby "scaring" Joey. I was just hoping he didn't come blasting through the door and bruise me when I heard, "What are you doing?!" He spotted me through the window.
Joey says pretty much all my "hiding places" are in plain sight. I seem unable to scare him. This does not seem to bother him, though, as I think he enjoys my pathetic antics.
Maybe in Utah I'll actually get a gold medal in Joey Scaring?
Monday, June 12, 2006
I Am Too A Good Cook
name has been changed to protect the innocent (me, of course)
Right, so Father-In-Law1 (not to be confused with any other Father-In-Laws I may or may not have) came over tonight to help Joey fix the wobbly ceiling fan. I like Father-In-Law1, he's pretty cool.
I made this pizza on my (supposedly) non-stick pan that was so highly acclaimed for it's non-stickeyness. I didn't bother to spray on any olive oil.
The pizza looked fantastic. It was golden on the edges, the crust had raised gently and looked really light, and the 3-meat 3-cheese blend (I call it The Trifecta) was bubbling appetizingly.
Father-In-Law1 was very hungry.
As I was cutting the pizza, I noticed the crust was sticking to my non-stick pan!
HORRORS! Now FatherInLaw1 is going to think I'm a terrible cook! I poked at my pizza crust. It definitely seemed to be sticking.
"Oh drat, my the crust is stuck to the pan. This might be kinda mangled pizza."
"Hmm, so you still can't cook?!" Father-In-Law1 commented from the couch.
I shot him an extremely good Look. (I was quite proud of it, actually.)
"Wo-ah!" Joey squacked, from the other couch, "I very rarely see that Look."
Father-In-Law1 looked as if he wondered, for a split second, if I might actually have had my feelings hurt. (I didn't, naturally.)
I made some very witty remark that unfortunately I can no longer remember. Joey came over to dish up the pizza which, amazingly, slid right off the pan once he unstuck the small section that was baked on.
Oh me of little faith.
Anyway, I like Father-In-Law1. He can come over again sometime and I might even feed him. Maybe.
Right, so Father-In-Law1 (not to be confused with any other Father-In-Laws I may or may not have) came over tonight to help Joey fix the wobbly ceiling fan. I like Father-In-Law1, he's pretty cool.
I made this pizza on my (supposedly) non-stick pan that was so highly acclaimed for it's non-stickeyness. I didn't bother to spray on any olive oil.
The pizza looked fantastic. It was golden on the edges, the crust had raised gently and looked really light, and the 3-meat 3-cheese blend (I call it The Trifecta) was bubbling appetizingly.
Father-In-Law1 was very hungry.
As I was cutting the pizza, I noticed the crust was sticking to my non-stick pan!
HORRORS! Now FatherInLaw1 is going to think I'm a terrible cook! I poked at my pizza crust. It definitely seemed to be sticking.
"Oh drat, my the crust is stuck to the pan. This might be kinda mangled pizza."
"Hmm, so you still can't cook?!" Father-In-Law1 commented from the couch.
I shot him an extremely good Look. (I was quite proud of it, actually.)
"Wo-ah!" Joey squacked, from the other couch, "I very rarely see that Look."
Father-In-Law1 looked as if he wondered, for a split second, if I might actually have had my feelings hurt. (I didn't, naturally.)
I made some very witty remark that unfortunately I can no longer remember. Joey came over to dish up the pizza which, amazingly, slid right off the pan once he unstuck the small section that was baked on.
Oh me of little faith.
Anyway, I like Father-In-Law1. He can come over again sometime and I might even feed him. Maybe.
The Case of the Missing Pillowcase
I think we have a laundry thief.
Two weeks ago when I washed our white sheets, we had two pillowcases. Now we only have one. Yesterday morning when I changed the sheets, I searched high and low to try to find the missing pillowcase.
No luck.
I had waited extra long to change the sheets because I didn't really care if I was the one sleeping on 2 week old sheets, but I didn't want Joey to have to come back home to shady sheets. (Sorry, Mom and Dad, probably not what you wanted to hear...) I had considered changing the sheets before my parents and Ernie came to stay with me, but I didn't because I wanted to them to be clean for Joey and I was too lazy to wash and change them two times in three days.
I was such a bum while Joey was gone.
Anyway, all day Sunday I searched for The Pillowcase. I have no idea where that darn thing could have gone. Either it got stuck in the innards of the dryer, Ernie found it and shredded it (possible, actually), or the laundry boogeyman stole it.
It's a toss-up between the first and the last, I figure.
Anyway, I couldn't handle have two mis-matched pillowcases on our bed. Thankfully the sheets are white, and white is about the easiest color to match with. I picked up a fantastic 400-thread-count pair at TJ Maxx for $10.
You know the missing pillowcase is going to show up right as we get ready for bed, now that I've replaced it.
Two weeks ago when I washed our white sheets, we had two pillowcases. Now we only have one. Yesterday morning when I changed the sheets, I searched high and low to try to find the missing pillowcase.
No luck.
I had waited extra long to change the sheets because I didn't really care if I was the one sleeping on 2 week old sheets, but I didn't want Joey to have to come back home to shady sheets. (Sorry, Mom and Dad, probably not what you wanted to hear...) I had considered changing the sheets before my parents and Ernie came to stay with me, but I didn't because I wanted to them to be clean for Joey and I was too lazy to wash and change them two times in three days.
I was such a bum while Joey was gone.
Anyway, all day Sunday I searched for The Pillowcase. I have no idea where that darn thing could have gone. Either it got stuck in the innards of the dryer, Ernie found it and shredded it (possible, actually), or the laundry boogeyman stole it.
It's a toss-up between the first and the last, I figure.
Anyway, I couldn't handle have two mis-matched pillowcases on our bed. Thankfully the sheets are white, and white is about the easiest color to match with. I picked up a fantastic 400-thread-count pair at TJ Maxx for $10.
You know the missing pillowcase is going to show up right as we get ready for bed, now that I've replaced it.
HALLELUJAH!!
Joey is finally back. I no longer have to be a bachelorette.
I didn't really like it.
I picked gray this time because Joey was just mentioning how his "favorite color" is "Imperial Battleship Galactica Gray" or something like that. (I thought the word Galactica was in there...)
Drat, now I've made a ditz of myself again.
sigh.
I didn't really like it.
I picked gray this time because Joey was just mentioning how his "favorite color" is "Imperial Battleship Galactica Gray" or something like that. (I thought the word Galactica was in there...)
Drat, now I've made a ditz of myself again.
sigh.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Ernie Is In The Doghouse
My parents came over last night to hang out with me, since Joey's not home yet. They brought Ernie, and I was so, so, so excited. I bought him 3 special little doggy treats (2 biscuits and 1 "cupcake").
All was well until it was time to go to sleep. I was on the couch and there just wasn't room for Ernie to sleep up there with me. Somehow The Kid manages, but I just wasn't feeling like having a furball make me even warmer than it already was in there.
So I kenneled Ernie.
About 5 minutes later, I began hearing pathetic little yips. The yips turned into whines, the whines turned into yelps, and the yelps turned into full-fledged barks.
I lay there for 20 minutes (it was 10:50 by this time--my bedtime is 10:00) and finally couldn't take it anymore.
"Is it OK if I put Ernie out in the hall?" I yelled back to where my parents were sleeping.
"Yeeeesss," said my sleepy mom.
I said, "You're on my short list, Ernie." And picked up the kennel, dog and all.
I opened the door to my apartment, and stuck Ernie right outside. (Since nobody uses our hallway but us, I knew he'd be safe.)
A few minutes after the door was shut, earplugs in place, and I was comfortably snuggled back down into the couch, I heard a very muffled doggy bark.
Somehow I fell asleep anyway.
Poor little Ernie.
All was well until it was time to go to sleep. I was on the couch and there just wasn't room for Ernie to sleep up there with me. Somehow The Kid manages, but I just wasn't feeling like having a furball make me even warmer than it already was in there.
So I kenneled Ernie.
About 5 minutes later, I began hearing pathetic little yips. The yips turned into whines, the whines turned into yelps, and the yelps turned into full-fledged barks.
I lay there for 20 minutes (it was 10:50 by this time--my bedtime is 10:00) and finally couldn't take it anymore.
"Is it OK if I put Ernie out in the hall?" I yelled back to where my parents were sleeping.
"Yeeeesss," said my sleepy mom.
I said, "You're on my short list, Ernie." And picked up the kennel, dog and all.
I opened the door to my apartment, and stuck Ernie right outside. (Since nobody uses our hallway but us, I knew he'd be safe.)
A few minutes after the door was shut, earplugs in place, and I was comfortably snuggled back down into the couch, I heard a very muffled doggy bark.
Somehow I fell asleep anyway.
Poor little Ernie.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Tactical Error
I had leftover baked beans (a LOT of them) from Sunday. Mrs. Jackson sent me home with a rather large container of them. When I say rather large, I mean a cup and a half or two cups.
I was afraid they'd spoil in the refrigerator....
So I ate them for lunch. All of them.
I feel dreadfully ill.
I was afraid they'd spoil in the refrigerator....
So I ate them for lunch. All of them.
I feel dreadfully ill.
YAY!
My mom and dad are coming today to give me company since I am still a bachelorette. We're going to go out for dinner, hang out, probably take "The Tour" of Ankeny again, and maybe take Ernie for a walk.
MOM AND DAD ARE BRINGING ERNIE!!!
I am quite thrilled; I even bought him doggy treats yesterday.
The only thing that could make this day be any better, was if Joey came home early! Which, unfortunately, he won't.
MOM AND DAD ARE BRINGING ERNIE!!!
I am quite thrilled; I even bought him doggy treats yesterday.
The only thing that could make this day be any better, was if Joey came home early! Which, unfortunately, he won't.
Monday, June 05, 2006
And I thought I was nuts
There's a least one person who is more of a cow freak than me! (YAY!) I saw her today on the way to work.
I was driving up 69 at about 7:20 a.m. and noticed a bright red van parked on the shoulder of the opposite side of the road. I noticed that this particular van had very obnoxious seat covers, they also were bright red and had big white Hawaiian flowers all over them.
It might not have been so bad if the reds didn't clash, but these reds clash.
Anyhow, nobody was in the van, but the door was open. My eye caught a glimpse of the driver just as I was about to zip by.
She was out of the car, down in the ditch, and up against the barbed-wire fence trying to get the cows in the field to come over to her.
It wasn't really working.
I thought about pulling over and teaching her my dad's go-to "Si-bossssss" that he says to his cows. It makes them go nuts, but I think it's because they think he's going to give them a treat or something. I didn't think this lady had the skills needed to learn si-bosssss, nor did I have time to teach her. Besides, I doubted that she had any treats (a.k.a hay).
Anyone who tries to fancy up a Dodge Caravan with Hawaiian seat covers needs lots and lots of help.
I was driving up 69 at about 7:20 a.m. and noticed a bright red van parked on the shoulder of the opposite side of the road. I noticed that this particular van had very obnoxious seat covers, they also were bright red and had big white Hawaiian flowers all over them.
It might not have been so bad if the reds didn't clash, but these reds clash.
Anyhow, nobody was in the van, but the door was open. My eye caught a glimpse of the driver just as I was about to zip by.
She was out of the car, down in the ditch, and up against the barbed-wire fence trying to get the cows in the field to come over to her.
It wasn't really working.
I thought about pulling over and teaching her my dad's go-to "Si-bossssss" that he says to his cows. It makes them go nuts, but I think it's because they think he's going to give them a treat or something. I didn't think this lady had the skills needed to learn si-bosssss, nor did I have time to teach her. Besides, I doubted that she had any treats (a.k.a hay).
Anyone who tries to fancy up a Dodge Caravan with Hawaiian seat covers needs lots and lots of help.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Dono Treply Strikes Again
I don't usually think of myself as a ditz. But I do have my moments.
Back about a year ago when I was applying for jobs at Wells Fargo Financial, I kept getting these emails from donotreply7@financial.wellsfargo.com. I was amazed that Dono Treply had enough time to send out emails to everybody who had applied for a job, and even more amazed that there were seven Dono Treplys working for Wells Fargo Financial.
His mother, I thought, had no imagination when she was naming him. Seriously, Dono?!
A couple months ago I was sitting, pondering how annoying Dono Treply's name was (it really bothered me!) when I realized something.
donotreply7
Do Not Reply?! Could it be?
It was and I have yet to live that one down.
I was doing a Gmail search for something and one of those old donotreply7@financial.wellsfargo.com emails came up. I thought, "That is a terrible name, Dono Treply. Seriously."
And then I began kicking myself.
So you see? Dono Treply strikes again. I just cannot read, it seems.
In other news, I am really annoyed with Wikipedia. First, half the stuff in there is wrong (Seriously, guys Evangeline Lily is not from Iowa. She's from Fort Saskatchewan in Alberta, Canada! Check IMDB) and the stuff you want to add, they won't let you.
I tried to make an article about my grandpa, Larry Lee Laird, but it wouldn't let me. Something about the person having to have "national significance" or something.
My grandpa has tons of national significance. He has a fan club! (Even if I'm the only remaining member since everybody else lost their pins.) He has a cool RV! He has my dad!
I'm gonna try to make up more stuff to see if I can trick Wikipedia into taking the article. What would be cooler than having an article about your grandpa in Wikipedia?!
Back about a year ago when I was applying for jobs at Wells Fargo Financial, I kept getting these emails from donotreply7@financial.wellsfargo.com. I was amazed that Dono Treply had enough time to send out emails to everybody who had applied for a job, and even more amazed that there were seven Dono Treplys working for Wells Fargo Financial.
His mother, I thought, had no imagination when she was naming him. Seriously, Dono?!
A couple months ago I was sitting, pondering how annoying Dono Treply's name was (it really bothered me!) when I realized something.
donotreply7
Do Not Reply?! Could it be?
It was and I have yet to live that one down.
I was doing a Gmail search for something and one of those old donotreply7@financial.wellsfargo.com emails came up. I thought, "That is a terrible name, Dono Treply. Seriously."
And then I began kicking myself.
So you see? Dono Treply strikes again. I just cannot read, it seems.
In other news, I am really annoyed with Wikipedia. First, half the stuff in there is wrong (Seriously, guys Evangeline Lily is not from Iowa. She's from Fort Saskatchewan in Alberta, Canada! Check IMDB) and the stuff you want to add, they won't let you.
I tried to make an article about my grandpa, Larry Lee Laird, but it wouldn't let me. Something about the person having to have "national significance" or something.
My grandpa has tons of national significance. He has a fan club! (Even if I'm the only remaining member since everybody else lost their pins.) He has a cool RV! He has my dad!
I'm gonna try to make up more stuff to see if I can trick Wikipedia into taking the article. What would be cooler than having an article about your grandpa in Wikipedia?!
Thursday, June 01, 2006
The Kid is Republican
Last night I had fun bothering my little brother.
On the way home from church I got curious (after seeing a Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker) what political party The Kid belonged to. He isn't 18 yet, but he can still have a party.
So I called him. He was slightly confused, but he told me that he is, in fact, a Republican.
One of his little friends in the background was talking, so I made him ask her political party. She's an Independent. I don't even know if she knows what an Independent is, I think she's like 14. The Kid was picking out a movie at the movie store, so I hung up with him. He had Important Things to do.
Unfortunately, about 5 minutes later, insatiable curiosity overtook me. I simply had to know what political party Ernie belonged to.
So I hit Alex's speed dial.
"WHAT?!" Demanded Alex.
"I gotta know what political party Ernie belongs to."
"What?? Why! What are you signing me up for?!"
"Nothing really, honest. I just have to know."
"Ernie is a Republican too." I could hear Alex shuffling around in the background.
"Oh good. Ummm...bye." I hung up feeling much better.
Joey and I (because Joey is almost always with me when I do annoying things...except he's not annoying. He's just along for the ride, and to get me out of trouble) got home and a great idea dawned on me.
"Hey Joey, I'm going to call the Kid and see if he'll give me his Social Security Number and date of birth. That'll really freak him out."
Joey shook his head at me and plunked down on the couch to read The Definitive Biography of P.D.Q. Bach.
I hit Alex's speed dial. It rang several times, I thought perhaps he was screening my calls by now.
"What."
"I need your social security number and date of birth." I tried not to laugh.
"What?! NO! I AM NOT GIVING YOU MY SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER AND DATE OF BIRTH!!!" I hear a smattering of laughter in the background. I assume his friends now think I'm insane. "What the heck are you signing me up for?!"
"Um, nothing. Promise. So you're not going to give it to me?"
"No way."
"Fine then, I'll call mom," I said.
"Mom doesn't know it."
"She used to."
"She forgot it. Besides, I have the card in my pocket."
"I really wanted it."
"You're not getting it." I could tell The Kid would not be moved.
The conversation ended much in that manner.
I never signed him up for anything, but I sure thought about it. I could put him on some really great mailing list, like Young Republicans or I Love Dogs or something.
Hmm....I still might.
On the way home from church I got curious (after seeing a Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker) what political party The Kid belonged to. He isn't 18 yet, but he can still have a party.
So I called him. He was slightly confused, but he told me that he is, in fact, a Republican.
One of his little friends in the background was talking, so I made him ask her political party. She's an Independent. I don't even know if she knows what an Independent is, I think she's like 14. The Kid was picking out a movie at the movie store, so I hung up with him. He had Important Things to do.
Unfortunately, about 5 minutes later, insatiable curiosity overtook me. I simply had to know what political party Ernie belonged to.
So I hit Alex's speed dial.
"WHAT?!" Demanded Alex.
"I gotta know what political party Ernie belongs to."
"What?? Why! What are you signing me up for?!"
"Nothing really, honest. I just have to know."
"Ernie is a Republican too." I could hear Alex shuffling around in the background.
"Oh good. Ummm...bye." I hung up feeling much better.
Joey and I (because Joey is almost always with me when I do annoying things...except he's not annoying. He's just along for the ride, and to get me out of trouble) got home and a great idea dawned on me.
"Hey Joey, I'm going to call the Kid and see if he'll give me his Social Security Number and date of birth. That'll really freak him out."
Joey shook his head at me and plunked down on the couch to read The Definitive Biography of P.D.Q. Bach.
I hit Alex's speed dial. It rang several times, I thought perhaps he was screening my calls by now.
"What."
"I need your social security number and date of birth." I tried not to laugh.
"What?! NO! I AM NOT GIVING YOU MY SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER AND DATE OF BIRTH!!!" I hear a smattering of laughter in the background. I assume his friends now think I'm insane. "What the heck are you signing me up for?!"
"Um, nothing. Promise. So you're not going to give it to me?"
"No way."
"Fine then, I'll call mom," I said.
"Mom doesn't know it."
"She used to."
"She forgot it. Besides, I have the card in my pocket."
"I really wanted it."
"You're not getting it." I could tell The Kid would not be moved.
The conversation ended much in that manner.
I never signed him up for anything, but I sure thought about it. I could put him on some really great mailing list, like Young Republicans or I Love Dogs or something.
Hmm....I still might.
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