Henry gives The Look

Henry In the Jungle

Henry Gets a Bath

 

Whole Foods

Since our 1st Anniversary trip to Omaha and my subsequent first experience of a Whole Foods Market, I've been kind of hooked on them. I'd probably even shop there if we had one in Iowa. (Which, naturally, we don't.)

Joey and I are seriously considering moving to Texas in January, and Joey just reminded me that there's probably a Whole Foods in Dallas.

Sure enough.

There are two in Dallas proper, so I'm sure there are tons of other ones in the suburbs. The one I'm excited about is 1.9 miles away from the DTS campus, and all the apartments we're looking at are within a 10 mile radius.

So now I may be able to join the ranks of Whole Foods shoppers! (Assuming that it's not $4 a pound for apples and a bag of cheese isn't $5.)

I figure that's just like a big "welcome to Texas" banner.

Candy

So far this morning I have eaten SweetTarts and chewy SweetTarts, as well as Laffy Taffy. And I've drunk juice while I ate the candy.

My stomach kind of hurts. But yummy.

jMac

Joey wants a Mac. He's getting one, too. Maybe soon! The World Wide Developer's Conference is going on right now, and some silly guy is there live blogging it. I tried to read it but got too confused.

Joey, naturally, is not confused. He's at work reading it frantically, waiting to see what new, fantastic things come out this year.

I just want an iPod.

I figure when we get the new computer, we're (I'm) just going to call it the jMac. I have no idea if Joey will let me do that, though. It might not be cool enough for his Mac.

Actually, I just want a pink mouse.

I can see it now--Joey takes the jMac to the library and sets it up. He looks cool, techy-suave...and then he pulls out the hot pink mouse and hooks it up. Really kills the image.

Actually, Joey, I would be fine with just a pink cover for the iPod. I won't make you haul around a pink mouse. I've repented. :)

Only a little while more until we get to get the jMac!

You Know Your Husband Is In Seminary When...

1. You debate whether or not to buy butter this week or next...maybe it will go back down to $1.75 instead of its normal price of $2.30.

2. When the Sunday Register comes, the coupon section is the first thing you turn to. (And you get really excited when you see $1 off coupons for bacon, body wash, toothbrushes, etc.)

3. You feel guilty throwing away baggies because if you washed and reused them, you could probably save $2-4 a month.

4. You won't buy Kool-Aid because it is "too expensive"

5. Checking out free DVDs from the library is an exciting evening activity, especially when your husband is gone.

6. When your favorite/only black capri pants get three bleach spots on them, you take a permanent black marker to them to fill in the white spots...even though it isn't the same shade of black and even though you have to do it about every other time you wear them.

7. You consider making several trips to Target when you have to go, just so you can ride your bike and not use gas. (Target is only 2.5 miles from our house) You opt not do to this, though, because it is over 100 degrees outside.

8. You frantically run around the grocery store putting back a peach here, two apples there, the tomato soup, and cutting back on the green beans so that you can come in just under the weekly grocery budget.

9. Your husband gets very excited when he finds an "extremely cool" t-shirt for only $3.25 at Target. Your first question is, "Is there room left in that category in the budget?" (There was, fortunately, and he wears that shirt all the time. It's his favorite.)

10. Your favorite date is "buy one get one free" at Starbucks. They have the best pomegranate frappuccinos.

Pepsi Jazz Falls Flat

Don't waste your money on Pepsi Jazz. It's nasty.

I love Pepsi, so I'm really not sure why I bothered trying their new soda, but it's tradition, so I usually grab a new pop and see how bad it is.

This one's real bad.

Imagine a Diet Pepsi, which is the base for Pepsi Jazz, and then mix in such flavorings as Strawberries and Creme or Black Cherry and French Vanilla. The results is disturbing. Pepsi should not smell like a Starbucks Frappuccino with a Pepsi kick.

So don't waste your money and be disappointed and then feel like you have to drink the whole thing, like I did. It is not worth it. And you'll get a stomach ache.

My Scissors Rock

It sounds conceited, I know, but I just need to gloat about the fact that I have the best scissors in the entire building. Everyone elses' are sticky from tape, have a screw loose (and it's not just the scissors that have that problem), or are too stiff and won't really do much. Or they're just too darn big.

My scissors have none of these problems. I had to use a substandard pair this morning (I keep it in my desk for back-up) and was reminded again just how glorious my scissors really are.

They're black and silver, sleek, just the right size, move smoothly, and don't have any tape on them. Yet. But I'm real careful to make sure that I don't use them on gunky jobs, that's what the back-up is for.

So...I have the best scissors. That makes it a good day.

Oh, and I know I have the best scissors because I've done an cursory check of everyone elses', just to be sure, and mine really are the best.

So yes, my scissors rock.

Case In Point

I was sending out a letter two weeks ago and I needed labels. Since I don't have them on my computer, I asked for them from the person who does. This caused that person to throw a big fit, informing me how inconvenient it was for them to give me the labels.

Fine, whatever, but I still need the labels.

I got the labels about 20 minutes later, previous whining aside.

I had to send out an even larger mailing today, and so last week I began typing a database of all the recipents of this letter. It goes out to about 160 people. I finished the list, double checked it, and printed off all the envelopes this morning. It's extremely convenient to be able to do it this way, since I really don't like labels anyway. It's more expensive and it takes more time. And it's annoying.

As I was beginning to stuff my letter, I heard a squack come from behind me.

"HOW is that letter going to go out today when I haven't printed off any labels?!" Aparrently, that person was on the warpath. Again.

I stuck my head in the office, smiled and said, "Oh, don't worry about it. I typed a database of all the names and printed envelopes."

"What?! Why did she do that?!" I heard, as I shook my head and walked away, fortunately with a teeny smile on my face.

Come to find out, it seriously annoyed this other person that I typed my own database and subsequently don't even have to deal with the sticky labels. Aparrently they really, really wanted to chew me out and make me feel like scum for asking for lables again, and I didn't give them the chance. So instead they chewed me out for not asking for them.

I simply can't win.

Sneaky Exercise

I was just sitting here typing and feeling plump and frumpy.

SO...

I grabbed my water bottle and headed to "go to the bathroom". First I filled my water bottle up, though, because I felt like I needed to legitimise my trip away from my desk.

I went into the bathroom, shut the door, locked it and double checked to make sure it was locked. I then got down on the nasty rug (which, I discovered, is kind of sticky) and started doing sit-ups. For the sake of time, I only did 20.

I then flipped over and did 10 push-ups and discovered that I'm more out of shape than I thought I was. And that I probably have carpal tunnel becuase YOW does my wrist hurt. And yes, I did all this wearing my long, full, white peasant skirt. It was a challenge.

This sneaky exercise seems like a perfect solution to my insanity problem. If I "go to the bathroom" every hour, that's a zillion sit-ups, push ups or whatever else I decided to sneak in!

I do realize that doing sit-ups alone won't make me svelte (read: slim and trim--like Alyssa), but I'll at least feel like I could potentially be getting that way.

My biceps hurt.

The Reasons Why

Before we got Henry, Joey and I spent two frantic weeks trying to figure out what to name our furball.

After a long, hard search we finally settled on Henry. We have decided that when we have children, we are keeping our unborn child's name a closely guarded secret (kind of, but not entirely like, Alex's legs) until he's born.

This is because lots of people we've told Henry's name to (family members excluded!!) have hated it/said something negative about it. Especially if they haven't seen him when they heard his name.

We figure it'll be harder for people to have such rude responses to the name of our child someday if it's kept a secret until the baby's born. Fewer people have the gall to say "Wow, that's a terrible name" when it's a child and once they've seen it.

So, here are some sample reasons why we ain't tellin':

1. "You named him what?!" (I heard that just this morning, actually.)
2. "Well, he sort of looks like a Henry..."
3. "Henry, huh. I'd have gone with Oscar," doesn't build much morale.
4. "What kind of a name is Henry?" (This would be particularly upsetting if we'd picked something that we really liked that you don't hear every day. But, Moms, don't worry. We won't name any of our kids anything like Buttercup or SheDaisy.)
5. "I think you should name your dog after your father. 'Doug' has a nice ring to it," While this suggestion is not only great but hilarious, Dad would have killed us.
6. "Wow...is that ethnic or a family name, maybe?"

We haven't heard all of those since naming Henry, but about half. So we just decided that when naming a baby, it's best to keep it super top secret.

But we're not having a baby...or planning on having a baby for a couple years at least. :)

My Teeth are Nearly Three Years Old

On Saturday, in our mail came the two boxes of Crest Whitestripes Renewal that Joey and I had bought off of Ebay (for less than you can buy one box in the store, I might add). We had done just the regular Whitestrips before our wedding (about a year and a half ago) and really liked them, so we decided to try the high-octane stuff this time.

It claims to take 20 years off your smile which, when you're only 23 doesn't leave you with much left.

This is probably the main reason why my teeth have been achy all day long. I have naturally sensetive teeth that don't like the age reversal process. They have been sensetive to air, saliva, temperature changes of any kind, and liquids--all within the last 24 hours. I'm not sure about food because I haven't eaten anything drastically hot or cold yet.

Hopefully the adverse affects dwindle soon, or at least I'm able to suck it up for the cause, because my teeth are getting quite twinkly white.

Joey's a regular Einstein, he even thought to take a "before" picture of himself! I can't wait to see how much different 23 year old teeth look from age 3 teeth. If I can talk him into it, I'll post both side by side when we're done taking our teeth to the Fountain of Youth.

In the meantime, I think I'll just keep my mouth closed and drink room temperature water.

Retraction

Previously I had stated that I would never consume a SoBe NoFear again.

I must retract that statement because on Sunday, July 30, 2006 I consumed 1/2 a can of SoBe NoFear (one serving) on the way to church.

The SoBe NoFear was consumed with my evil sidekick Alex. Joey, who was up by himself up front driving the car, determined that SoBe NoFear was the most disgusting thing he'd ever tasted. Alex and I don't really mind it too much. We drank the entire can (which is pretty ginormous, like 20 oz) on the 18 minute drive to church.

I do have to admit I was so wired during Sunday School that my hands were shaking.

The Lone Ranger

Today I am the only person around. It's pretty fantastic--the phone hasn't even rung once!

So far today I have:

• Checked the newspaper to see if our baseball team made it to state. They did.
• Eaten a roll with peanut butter on it
• Painted my toenails. Three coats. (Hot pink, naturally)
  
• Listened to an episode and a half, so far, of Adventures in Odyssey
• Cut about 1/4 of the 160 squares I have to get cut today

I'm really enjoying my day to get my work done at my pace, my volume level, and listening to what I want to on the radio.

The real perk is that I can use the annoying, squeaky paper cutter all morning without driving anyone else crazy! I don't even have to go crazy because I can listen to Odyssey while I do it.

Ahh....Fridays in July.

Alex Needs All His Teeth Pulled Out

So The Kid went to the dentist today because his tooth hurt. He left with the following diagnosis:

3 cavities
Receeding gums (down to the roots, aparrently)
1 cracked tooth

I figure he just needs to pull all his teeth out and wear falsies. He doesn't have to worry about braces, retainer, or really brushing anymore if he does that.

A major downside would be, like, if he gets a girlfriend someday (IF I let him) and he takes her on a first date and his teeth fall out because he was too nervous to propertly adhere them to his gums. His girlfriend would be freaked out and she'd probably almost puke because, naturally, she wouldn't know that his teeth were falsies.

But I doubt he'll follow my suggestions, he usually doesn't.

Henry and His Toys

Henry learns to like a red balloon, but of course, not for long enough for us to capture it on video.

Henry Looks Sad

 

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. :)

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.

Henry Spars the Ball

Our new dog, Henry, gets a little rough with his squeaky ball, with a little help from his master, Joey.

Henry and His Sqeaky Ball

Our new dog, Henry, finally starts to like his sqeaky ball.

Henry Meets Ernie

Our new dog, Henry, meets his cousin Ernie.

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.

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.

Nothing To Say

Sometimes, amazingly, I have nothing to say.

Today is one of those days.

I think I typed too much or something.

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. :)

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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...

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...

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...)

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.

"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

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?)

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.

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.

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...

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.

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!

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.

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!

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.

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.

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?