The Canadian Reality Check

On Friday, Joey, Cuz and I headed downtown to the parking lot of Dallas Metrocare to help hand out food to homeless people. We've been feeling convicted lately about our bad attitudes towards the ones who stand on the corners begging, so we decided one tangible way to change our hearts was to serve them.

I got home from work and changed into a grungy pair of jeans and what I thought was a nondescript t-shirt. (It was my red one with the white maple leaf and it says "eh?" on it...hilarious;) We left Henry at home in his kennel (although maybe someday we'll take him...) and headed downtown.

When we arrived at the parking lot, the line was already long, there probably 300 people were waiting. Everyone was standing in the direct sunlight leaning against the walls of the building; it was a warm evening. We set up our tables and began filling cups with lemonade and iced tea, then as quickly as possible, we took the cups to the people standing in line.

It's a really strange feeling to have twenty grown men and women begging for you to give them one of three cups of iced tea in your hand. Humbling, really. (We're all just about two paychecks or a major disaster away from that happening to us, if you think about it.)

About halfway through the line, it wound around behind a very large, white 15 passenger van. I wasn't comfortable going back there because I was out of the direct line of sight of everyone we had come with, but I sucked it up and went behind the van to give lemonade to the men in line.

"Woah!" One of them yelled as I walked by. He sort of lurched in my direction but, fortunately, didn't actually touch me. He began yelling things like, "A Canadian! A beeee-yooou-tiiii-fullll one. Can I have a kiss?"

A Canadian? I thought to myself, Where is he getting that?

And then I remembered the t-shirt and began mentally kicking myself for wearing it. I handed the glasses of lemonade to some of the men and then started to make my way out from behind the van.

The man was still yelling. I was starting to get really embarrassed.

"Is the sun in your eyes? Can you see me" He asked, as I put my left hand up to shield my eyes from the sun which, in fact, was very bright.

"Oh!" He gasped as I raised my hand to my eyes. "A married Canadian!" Then he yelled, "Look at that big, sparkly diamond!"

I was horrified that I had forgotten to remove my jewelery; it seemed really insensitive to me. I brought my hand down from my eyes, turned my ring around and marched over to Joey. I pulled off my wedding ring, purity ring and watch and handed them to Joey.

"Put these in your pocket," I mumbled, feeling foolish for not having left them at home.

"Why?" He asked.

"That guy over there is hollering about how I have a big, sparkly diamond on my finger and it's making me feel bad." That, and I didn't want to get jumped for my ring the next time I went behind the van to distribute lemonade or iced tea.

Comparatively, my ring really isn't all that big. (It is sparkly, though, I'll give him that one.) But I suppose when you're homeless any diamond is considered big.

Fortunately that man seemed to forget about my ring, but he definitely did not forget about my t-shirt. I kept hearing "Canadian!" for the next 15-20 minutes. Until he found something else to holler about, that is.

I'm definitely not Canadian.

When we finally walked over to our car at 9:30, I was a little nervous because there were about 15 homeless people sitting around it. Instead of being intimidating, though, they chorused "thank you!" and "see you next Friday!" as we got into our car and pulled away.

Talk about being humbled.

I was very thankful for my soft bed, clean sheets and fresh water to drink as I was getting ready for bed later. I couldn't get the woman I had talked to out of my mind...she wasn't sure where they were going to sleep that night because they had just found out that they'd get arrested if they went to their usual spot.

And I worry about how high the thread count in my sheets is.

Homesick

Ever since we had dinner with all our Iowa friends last week, I've been feeling a little bit poignant and even, dare I admit, homesick. Not just for any old part of Iowa, either, but Cedar Rapids/Robins and Faith Bible Church.

There's really something about walking down the hall in church and knowing that you picked blueberries in the Boundary Waters with this person, intentionally set off a car alarm in Chicago "just to see what would happen" with that person, dyed my hair gray for that one, and played a trick on Pops with that one over there. I guess it's just the whole being known for twenty years feeling. (In some cases that probably isn't a good thing.)

Here are some things I miss, I no particular order:

1. Singing with Sister in church (and everybody else, too...)
   
2. Being able to get to a Wal-Mart in under 20 minutes, although I don't even like Wal-Mart...but if I did the nearest one here is in Richardson. (Sorry, Pops, I definitely side with Homer on this issue, Wal-Mart is evil)
3. Dave Baugh & Wayne Larson -- fantastic, sacrificial youth workers, both of you.
4. Noelridge Park, for some reason
5. Working in the barn with Pops
6. Going on walks in the evening and not seeing a single car
7. During the worship time at Faith Bible, everyone really sings. Loud. I totally miss that.
8. Missions Committee potlucks...yum
   
9. Helping Mommy with things. Anything, really.
10. The Kid
11. The 4th of July downtown. There's absolutely nothing like it.
12. Shooting off rockets with Jooge and Pops
13. Mom and Dad's back porch...talk about relaxing
14. Baby calves and helping Pops "fix the sprayer"
    
15. Watching Pride and Prejudice (the 6 hr one) with Sister
    

I'm scaring myself with sentimentality.

I could go on and on...but suffice it to say that YES, I'm slightly homesick. Let's hope we get to go home for Christmas so I can get that Steven Curtis Chapman song out of my head...it's been on repeat for the last two days.

My Sideview Mirror & The Lady's Elbow

Went to Chase to pick up a friend after work. The parking lot was packed and, once she got in the car, we had to go quickly to follow her co-worker to her car to make she got there safely. There were cars behind me and on both sides, so I put mine in reverse and tapped the gas ever so slightly so that the other cars would realize that I wanted to back up. (You know, those white lights mean that you're backing up...)

There was a lady standing next to the car to my left and, unfortunately, just as I tapped my gas to signal that, yes, I wanted to back up, she put her elbow out. My sideview mirror made contact with aforementioned elbow, and the lady angrily went to the sidewalk.

"Wow, that lady is really glaring at you," my friend said.

"Yeah...." I muttered, trying to maneuver out of the parking spot so I could follow my friend's coworker.

"Holy cow, she is giving you the meanest look. I wonder what her problem is?"

"Um..." I stalled, not looking at the grouchy lady or my friend. I successfully backed up and gunned it out of the parking lot.

We never found my friend's coworker, so we're really hoping she made it to her car OK.

Once we were out of the glaring lady's view I said to my friend, "So you wanna know why that lady was glaring at me?"

I suppose I'd glare at somebody if they bonked my elbow with their sideview mirror. I, however, wouldn't be stupid enough to poke my elbow out if the car next to me was backing out.

I hope.

It's Doubtful That Joey And I Have A Life

I'm sure you will concur once you're finished reading this.

We have some friends who got us hooked on The Office. They lent us their DVDs of Seasons 1 and 2 and, on Thursday, we finished Season 2. I was certifiably hooked and, as soon as the credits rolled on the season finale I wailed to Joey, "I must see Season 3!"

Unfortunately it's not out until, like, September 3. Lame.

Joey, my ever resourceful husband, had a solution.

"My coworker bought all the episodes on iTunes last year as they were coming out. Maybe he'd let me put them on our iPod so we could watch them this weekend." He proceeded to ask said coworker the next day if he'd let us borrow them. Said coworker agreed.

Joey was rather glum about the fact that our iPod screen is so tiny, so he decided to risk it all and ask/bribe his boss if he could borrow a projector for the weekend. (Hi, Jim.)

Jim said yes!! (Thanks, Jim. Cookies forthcoming)

Joey then called me and left me a very strange, gloating-type message on my voicemail informing me that he was probably the best husband in the world. (I'd have to agree with that, too.)

When I arrived home from Wherever I Go During The Day (see, Grandpa, I'm covering all my bases...) Joey had the iPod, projector and surround sound system set up.

We watched four episodes and stayed up way past our bedtime. I woke him up at 8:30 so we could watch more this morning. We've cleaned the house and are just getting ready to go to the store. Once we return, we're watching more. It'll be sweet.

Our friends who got us hooked are coming over tonight to watch a bunch with us. (I think the main attraction may actually be the projector.) So our weekend plans look something like this: watch The Office, do some stuff, watch The Office, do some stuff, watch The Office, sleep, go to church, watch The Office, etc.

Not sure what we'll be doing about Season 4 yet...we don't have a TV.

The Brown Shirt, cont.

So we got The Brown Shirt washed and it now smells really nice.  It's also not quite as soft as it was before, which really grosses me out when I think about how sweaty it must have been.  But, since it's clean and fresh, I decided to take a closer look to see just what it said.

It says, "God Save The Queen" in an old-timey calligraphy and has a British flag with some fuzzy brown swirlies around the outside of it.

Top-notch, I say.

Joey put it on and said, "I really hope I don't run into whoever used to own this shirt.  That could be kind of awkward."

"Yeah," I said, "You can just tell him you got it from your wife."  Because everyone knows it's possible for two people to have the same t-shirt.

Joey shrugged his shoulders around, adjusting the shirt.  "I think it's too big."

"Honey, it's a medium.  There's no way a medium is too big for you."  (He's quite strong.)

"OK, but I just feel like it's supposed to fit tighter."  He shrugged and wiggled some more.

"You look very nice,"  I assured him.

And so he wore The Brown Shirt to work today and probably had an even better Friday because of it. I bet all his co-workers are jealous.  Sorry there's no pictures but our camera is still stolen.

I Am Vindicated

Someone in Minnesota searched for "Breathe Rights" and they were led to MY BLOG.

This is total vindication for all of those times I've been forced to post about the Breathe Rights found in my apartment.

Turkey Jerky

It's been awhile since I have done something really disgusting to The Kid.  So I determined that it was about time; today was the day.

I wrote him up a little note, made a collage out of all my ink stamps (things like "paid and scanned", "copy", and "confidential") and headed to the kitchen.  My goal: find something foodish to stick in the envelope and mail to Iowa.  The parameters were that it could not be perishable or crunchable.

This excluded the all the cool stuff like the organic string cheese and organic "Oreos" that I just know he would have loved to receive.  I was left with only two options, Sun Maid raisins or spicy turkey jerky.  The raisins looked heavier and a lot less disgusting, so I opted for the turkey jerky.

(And what, pray tell, is grosser than receiving a stick of turkey jerky in the mail?!)

The stick was too long for my envelope, so I had to cut off two inches and eat them.  It's Very Spicy turkey jerky.  My mouth is still burning.  In order to keep all the rats away from the envelope, I wrapped the stick of jerky very tightly in a plastic bag and put it in the envelope.  I was pleased that the envelope still sealed nicely, even with said stick jerky stick taking up more than its fair share of real estate. I weighed it, stamped it ($0.58 for that thing!) and took it down to the mail room where I deposited it in its slot.

And so, The Kid, you should be getting a stick of turkey jerky from Dallas, TX in the mail next week.  And you had better eat it, too.

I ate part of it so that should make it way more special.

The Celebration

We went out to dinner last night with Pastor Steve and Barb, Heath and Kristen, and Chris and Rachel (the candidate for the pastor at FBC).  We had a fantastic time.

About halfway through dinner, Steve asked, "So is this going to make the blog?"

"Well, I don't know," I said, "Nothing disastrous has happened yet."  (Because everyone knows that I only blog about disasters.)

Honestly, nothing disastrous did happen.  It was one of the most fortunate outings of my recent existence; I didn't spill anything, trip, run into anyone, get lost...nothing.  It was kind of strange.

(Well, unless you count the fact that I forgot to take my asthma meds before we left and by 9:30 I was coughing and wheezing and had to break out the inhaler.  Classy.)

A few highlights of the event:

• Telling stories on Pops (particularly the one with Ben and balloon of gas that they wrapped Ben's shirt around and threw in the air and then shot a tracer bullet into, causing a large explosion...) 
  
• Steve trying to make everyone eat a lot; Celebration lets you have seconds.  Joey ate seconds and dessert.  He was a happy camper.
• Joey leaning over every 10 minutes after 9:00 and whispering, "Are you OK?  Do we need to go home?"  I am my father's daughter and I usually shut down without warning about 9:45, so we usually don't stay out anywhere past 9ish.  (We didn't even leave Celebration until 10:30.)  It was kind of amazing fortitude on my part; but I have to admit, I didn't get up until 7:10 this morning and was quite late for work.
  
• I will never look at Icy Hot the same way again.
  
• There was no door on the private room we were in and I'm sure we lowered the property value of the restaurant considerably while we were there.  We were so stinkin' loud.  Way, way too much raucous laughing.  It was great.
  
• Oddly enough, all of us seminary couples had vaguely seen each other around before.  Heath and Kristen were "the cute couple with the bike" (Rachel saw them every morning getting Heath's bike out of the car and was always amazed that they got it in there) and Chris turned out to be in one of the videos Joey is editing for the Advancement Department.  About two hours into dinner Joey blurted out to Chris, "Do you wear glasses?" (He does.)  Small world...
  
• Our poor waiter, we stayed another hour and a half after he brought our check.  He started drinking wine about 9:30 and every time he'd come back to check on us, he was considerably happier.  Louder, too.
  

The whole thing was great.  It was like...the next best thing to being at home without actually being at home.  (Probably some of the most hilarious dinner conversation we've had since we got down here, too.)

Thanks Pastor Steve and Barb (and Faith Bible Church) for such a fantastic evening!

The Big Announcement

No, I'm not pregnant.

Well, I finally did it.  After two months of going back and forth between "I should" and "I shouldn't", I just walked down to the post room and mailed off manuscripts to three magazines. (And now I'm ridiculously nervous; I have this terrible feeling that I left out something really important from my cover letter, or that I put lame posts in my portfolio.)

Anyway, thanks to my many friends who, all at the same time (oddly enough), suggested I try this.

I figure the worst they can say is "no" and not publish me, which really doesn't leave me any worse off than where I am now.  (Which is that I'm not being published.)

Should something actually come of this bold venture on my part, I shall inform you all.  But, as that's not likely to happen, content yourself with the knowledge that I tried.

I am.

The Free T-Shirt

Joey likes funky t-shirts. A lot.

I was coming in from my car last night, walking quick enough so as to get home as soon as possible, but not so fast as to get one of my heels caught in a crack and fall to my death, when I noticed something brown laying on the ground cover a few doors down from our apartment.

Brown, cotton and t-shirt shaped.

I gingerly picked it up. It was most definitely a t-shirt. It had a very soft feel to it and I could not determine if that was because it was designed to be soft cotton, or if it was dirty.

I took a whiff; it was super dirty. Smelled like sweat.

While attempting to have as little contact as possible with smelly, sweaty, soft brown shirt, I shook it out to have a look at the picture on the front. (And also to determine what size the shirt was.)

The picture was a darker brown and light blue, and it's definitely supposed to be something, but I don't know what. There were some old-timey words written on it, but honestly I didn't look too closely. I tried to glance in the collar to see what size it was, but this proved to be too much actual skin contact with the shirt.

I wadded the shirt up and carried it into the house with me.

"What do you think of this shirt?" I asked Joey, laying it against the couch.

"It's COOL!" Joey said enthusiastically, noting that it was his size.

"Well, don't touch it. I found it on the ground outside and it's really smelly and dirty. But I'll wash it for you and then it'll be as good as new." I threw it in the hamper where it belonged.

"You found it outside?"

I explained to him where and how I'd found the shirt. He seemed kind of proud of me.

And that's how you know when you're in Seminary. When you take dirty t-shirts off the ground outside your apartment building (come on, it's totally litter...) and give them to your husband as a sort of gift.

In Which Jenna Learns a Valuable Lesson

Sometimes I'm not very proud of myself. This morning during church (during church!) was one such time.

Joey was running our A/V stuff because the church's Mac got struck by lightning several weeks ago and has since been reduced to a heap of quivering 0's and 1's. (Poor thing.) So Joey brought our Mac somehow hooked it up to the stricken computer and mades things happen.

I don't understand it.

At any rate, he sat up in the sound booth this morning so he could run the slides during the service. I, not wanting to look like a loser and sit by myself, sat up there with him. (It's really hot up there.)

Right before the service began, someone came over to the A/V area and said to Joey, "Ya know, we used to have 600 people and run two services on a Sunday morning." And then, after an awkward silence, he sort of walked away.

As the pastor began to preach (sorry Alan), I decided I had the bird's-eye view that was necessary to count the people in the sanctuary. So I did. (I came up with 180.)

I pointed the number I had drawn on my bulletin to Joey. He sort of nodded and looked back at his laptop screen to click the next slide. So I leaned over to Joey and whispered to him, to the best of my knowledge, just why exactly all those people had left.

He nodded in all the right places. Then he whispered back at me, "You know, we're recording this sermon and I think all that stuff you just said got recorded right over the sermon."

I paled. "What?"

Joey tapped his laptop and watched the little sound jibbly line jump. Yep, everything I had just said was recorded right over the top of Alan's message.

Good one, Jenna.

"I'll delete it after the service," Joey said.

And that's why there is no recording of the message at church today. Because Jenna's an idiot and didn't think before she spoke. So think before you spread gossip. You never know who might be standing around the corner....or what microphone will pick you up.

We're really hoping Joey's recording of the message was a backup, otherwise I'm going to have to go apologize. Definitely learned my lesson!

Tub Scum

My mom has this skill. It's the "Anything I Clean Becomes Spotless Instantly" skill.

I totally envy her.

I'm a neat freak who cannot keep her tub clean. It's a very unfortunate combination, one which I choose to think is OK since the tub is generally covered by a shower curtain and the only people who see it are Joey and I. When Joey and I moved from Iowa to Texas, Mom (poor mom!) assigned herself the task of cleaning our bathtub.

I try to clean the bathtub, I honestly do. But...it's hard. And, honestly, I get all lightheaded from the cleaner fumes. But my mom? Give her 20 minutes and she'll have that bathtub looking brand, spankin' new. It's amazing and I'm totally jealous.

This morning, I set out to clean my tub. I used way more Soft Scrub (with bleach, even!) than my mom ever would (she's real conservative on her Soft Scrub usage, not sure how she does it) and covered the entire tub with a film of cleaner. I then left it for 20 minutes, hoping it would do something while I was gone.

That, and I was getting light headed from the fumes.

When the 20 minutes were up, I put my gloves on and headed back to the bathroom. I scrubbed, scrubbed and scrubbed. I saw some improvement, which was very encouraging, but it wasn't perfectly sparkling white.

"How does Mom do it?" I thought, as I brought my head up out of the tub for air. The bleach was really getting to me. I rinsed, put the slippy mat back in and surveyed my work.

Not much improvement, I'm afraid, and I even scrubbed super hard! For a long time!

Mommy, I need you to come clean my tub for me.

Last night I had a terrible dream. I dreamt that we had to sell Henry and use the money to buy food and when I woke up, I was just bawling. (I was crying so hard that, in my sleep induced haze, I couldn't figure out why I couldn't get my eyes to dry.)

I related this nightmare to Joey this morning.

"We'd never sell Henry for food," Joey said, reassuringly.

He paused.

"We'd just eat him." He finished.

"HEY!" I wailed.

"Kidding!!" He said, dodging the hand I swiped at him.

"Deplorable Conditions"

As I was getting on the elevator this morning, a gentleman walked up carrying a very large live animal trap.  I was so curious that I could not keep my eyes off it, particularly because the only thing I've ever seen Pops try to trap on those are raccoons.  I couldn't imagine that we had a rampant raccoon overpopulation in downtown Dallas, much less my high rise.

The man noticed me looking, rather quizzically, at his live animal trap.  There was a can of moist cat food in the back that had separated and was oozing with oil.  There was also a piece of paper taped to the top of it, but I wasn't close enough to see the words.

The elevator opened and we all got on.  I angled myself close to the live animal trap so I could read what it said.

"This here's to try to catch a cat."  He said, with fervor.

"Wow, a cat?"  I said, skimming the notice.  It read something like this:

Please do not touch this trap!  It is a humane method of catching a cat living in deplorable conditions.  
Once the cat is caught in the trap, it will be rehabilitated and introduced a more comfortable and stable life.
Thank you.

Oh my gosh.

"Yeah, know where that smoking area is downstairs?"  The man asked, assuming I was having heart palpitations of sorrow for this poor cat.

"Um, no."  I said.

"Oh, well, it's down by..." he explained it to me, "And there was this cat living in a wall down there."

How does one even respond to that?!  The pooooooor cat.  I was tempted to tell him about the "deplorable conditions" in my parents' barn.  Sometimes the cats there even tear the ceiling out and go up in there.  We should probably set live animal traps for them and rehabilitate them, too.  (Oh, and sometimes The Kid forgets to feed them, but they eat mice then.)

I had been silent for too long and knew and some kind of response was required. I went the most neutral option. "Oh, wow."  (Not very creative, I know.)

"Didn't catch the cat, though," Mr. Cat Rescuer said.

The cage was obviously empty and that nasty cat food hadn't even been touched, so I had already gathered that.

"That's, um, too bad."  I said, with the appropriate amount remorse.

Obviously the cat liked its "deplorable conditions" and didn't want to leave them.  And he must not have been as hungry as whoever set that trap thought he was.  Additionally, movie stars get rehabilitated.  Not cats.  Cats are never rehabilitated, they are eliminated if they get to be a problem, nuisance, or otherwise inconvenience. 

One never rehabilitates a cat.  Oh my word.

Renegade

Got home from the art museum last night about 9:10 and was all by myself. (Joey was at that Nerd Cut Pro meeting in Addison.) Henry needed to go outside, so we went and he did his thing quickly, then he raced up the stairs and waited by the door for me to open it, wagging his fluffy little tail rapidly.

I opened the door and we went inside. I sat down on the couch and noticed, quite a few minutes later, that the house was unusually quiet. Far too quiet. Something was going on.

Either Henry had died somewhere, or he was getting into some Serious Trouble.

There was a gentle knock on the door. I jumped a mile; I was home alone and couldn't decide what to do. Open it? Leave it? I always ask who it is before opening the door, but I wasn't sure I even wanted to ask and run the risk of the person outside realizing I was actually home.

I got my phone and walked up to the door. While I was at it, I looked in the study to see where Henry was, and he wasn't there.

Odd, I thought to myself.

Then I heard jingling. My puppy's jingling. I whipped my head around to see where it was coming from and quickly realized that it was coming from outside the door. (Oops.)

Quite without thinking, I whipped open the door (didn't even ask who it was first, not my greatest moment!) and saw our next door neighbor (the bird feeder girl) and Henry.

"Did you know he was outside?" She asked as Henry bounded and leapt with excitement at seeing me.

"NO!" I was so embarrassed. "Did he sneak in your house again?"

"No, no, he was just sitting out here like a good boy, waiting for you to open the door." She said, smiling.

I picked the fiend (aka Henry) up and cuddled him. "He ran in the house ahead of me, but he must have snuck out when I turned to close the door! I was wondering where he was; I thought he was hiding from me. The house was way too quiet!"

I thanked our neighbor and shut and locked the door, holding Henry the entire time. Once I verified that yes, he was in the house with me, I set him down to go play.

Which he did, very happily.

Burnt Popcorn

Joey's at his Nerd Cut Pro User's Group Meeting tonight, which means Jenna's all alone and bored.

And, unfortunately, hungry.

We have almost no food in the house, either, the refrigerator is bare. Which makes my predicament more dire. I could think of only one thing to do: call Joey.

"Joey, I'm hungry." I whined.

"Um....eat something?" He suggested vaguely.

"There's nothing to eat; we don't have any food." I wimpered, sure that he'd leave his Nerd Cut Pro meeting and come to my rescue.

"Don't we have some peanuts?" Joey asked.

Oh, the can of peanuts; forgot about those.

"Um, I don't really like peanuts by themselves." I countered. "Popcorn, maybe?" I offered.

"There's only one bag of popcorn left in the house!" Joey yelped.

"Yeah, and I'm going to eat it," I said with determination. We hung up rather quickly and I set about making my bag of popcorn. (All the while trying not to think of the people who work in the microwave popcorn factories who are struggling with Teflon poisoning from whatever they use to coat those bags with...)

I simply adore burnt popcorn. It is, like, right up there with burnt marshmallows. SO TASTY. Joey, on the other hand, despises it. So I make it when he's gone. (I think our first marital "discussion" came from me deliberately setting the microwave timer 1 second longer than he asked me to and, unfortunately, I burnt the popcorn. But come on, 1 second?! It had to be a fluke.)

But Joey ain't here. So I set that timer for 4 minutes (the popcorn setting is for 2:45) and left the room.

I opened the sliding glass door so I could open the bag outside and release most of the smoke, that way Joey won't be wise to my mischief until tomorrow morning when he reads this blog post. (Hi, babe!)

So my love, yes, I did burn the last bag of popcorn.

And it's so good.

My Romantic Date

When I came in from shopping this evening, Joey grabbed my hand and said, "Come on, we're going on a date."

"Where, it's 8:15?" I asked, getting ready to put Henry in the kitchen. (We leave him there when we're gone.)

"You'll find out, and we're taking Henry." Joey said.

We walked, walked, walked, and walked. Finally Joey said, "You know what today is, right?"

"Um....July 11?" I ventured.

"Correct. Seven-eleven." He pointed across the street to the 7-11. "Today 7-11 is giving away free 7.11 oz Slurpees in honor of their 80th anniversary, and we're getting some!"

"REALLY!?" I shrieked, but not too loudly because there were some cops who were searching these ginormous, tough-looking guys car for drugs (parked in the street, mind you), and the ginormous guys were sitting dejectedly on the grass right next to where we were. I didn't want to set them off.

"Yep." Joey said, proudly.

"I've never had a Slurpee before!" I crowed, knowing that Joey had remembered this from the last time we were at 7-11 getting his Mt. Dew that he just had to have.

Joey went inside the store and I stayed out with Henry, following carefully his instructions to "make sure I can see you out the window at all times". Nobody tried to kidnap me.

Joey came out, mini Slurpee in hand, and then...it was MY turn. I gleefully skipped inside with my 7.11 oz Slurpee cup and stood before the Slurpee machine and tried to make my decision.

It was hard.

I finally decided I would just sample a teeeeeeeeeeny bit from the two I thought sounded the best. So I did. I wound up settling on cherry, which turned out to be pretty good.

We walked back to our apartment, happily slurping our Slurpees and having a very nice time talking as the sun went down. All in all, a very great surprise date. (Even though the mosquitoes were out in full force this evening.)

Thanks, baby, I love you!

I was in a rather large meeting today when someone across the table suddenly asked me, "Jenna, are you engaged?"

"No," I replied, "I'm married. Two years now!"

This answer was met by a Very Shocked Look.

Silence...then, "How old are you?"

I debated how to reply, but finally settled on the truth. "Twenty-four."

I cannot tell you how awkward it is to divulge one's age in a meeting that is being teleconferenced to three locations across the country.  Particularly when you're divulging said age because no one believes you're old enough to be married, much less for two years already.

The Coffee

I have really disturbing breath today and it's making me crazy.  So I figured that today was as good a day as any to get some coffee (decaf, of course, no hyperventilating Jenna today...). 

I washed out my pretty pink mug with the tulip on it (Joey got it for me!) and headed to the Flavia machine.

(Now, Greg, I realize that Flavia coffee is probably not even coffee in your opinion, but it's the best I can do under the circumstances.)

Joey despises the scent of coffee in all of its forms, and it was only recently that I could talk him into Starbucks to get hot chocolate (for him) and some sort of coffee for me.  (However the "ewww, your breath is super gross" for the next hour is not worth the enjoyment of the coffee, so I stopped drinking coffee pretty much altogether and now I just get tea whenever we go to any soft of coffee shop.)

So, since I won't see Joey for another seven hours (woe is me!), I made myself a weakling Breakfast Blend with some hot chocolate mixed in for good measure.  So now my problem is twofold:
1.)  I have bad coffee breath on top of whatever was wrong with it before
2.)  I'm really hungry

In Which Henry Guest Lectures at DTS...Inadvertantly

(If you work in either the AV or Video Editing departments at DTS, stop reading this post right now and close the window. And probably Pastor Steve, too. If you didn't like the symphony one, you probably won't like this one, either.)

This is Henry. He is our dog/firstborn.Joey needed to stay late tonight and run the sound and video for a class being taught at the Houston extension that was live broadcast at the Dallas campus. (A bunch of technical stuff that I don't understand.) He requested that I come visit him and bring Burger King with me.

As the class ran from 6-10 p.m., I decided I'd better do it if I wanted to see my husband this evening. So I went home, got a book, grabbed Henry (can't leave the kid at home unattended, right?) and we were off to Burger King.

I should mention here that getting Burger King with a dog in the car can prove to be an insurmountable task, if said dog likes the smell of french fries. Oh my word.

We arrived at DTS with Chippy (Henry's toy), my book, the Burger King and 3 waters in hand. We were prepared to stay for awhile, and Henry was freaking out. (I think he remembered the last time he was at DTS and took over Joey's entire department.)

Henry and I sneakily made our way to Campbell (although he was drawing an atrocious amount of attention from female students lounging in the grass; it's hard to be covert that way) and walked in as though we were supposed to be there.

I was, actually. It's just we never asked if Henry could go. (However, I'm not sure what I was so afraid of.)

Joey met us in the hall and scuttled us into the audio room that's just off the side of the classroom. He shut the door behind us. We ate our dinner and talked for awhile, until Henry made a little whining sound.

"He's got to go outside," I said.

"Um...can he wait?" The class had just gone on break. "There's a lot of people in the hall right now."

I waited a few minutes, but Henry whined again. "No, it doesn't appear that he can. I'll go out the back door." I said.

So Henry and I slinked out.

We'd have gotten in without detection, too, but there were two stragglers coming back from break who saw Henry and I coming back inside. They gave us a strange look which, actually, I don't blame them for.

Now that Henry was all relieved, he was really energetic. Every time Joey would leave to go adjust the sound (both classrooms, Dallas and Houston, had mics and video cameras on them, that way everybody could see and hear everyone else) Henry would sit at the door and whine.

Rather loudly.

Joey would come in again and Henry would be fine, but every time Joey left Henry got more and more excited. Fortunately he hadn't tried running out the door with Joey and into the classroom across the way (mortification!), but the classroom door was open so I was always afraid he would try it.

Henry sat at the door on High Alert waiting for Joey to come back in. He was so intense he wasn't even wagging his tail. Finally Joey opened the door, shut it, and walked over to his chair.

Henry groveled on the ground, wagging his tail so fast I thought he was going to wag it right off. Then....

BARK! BARK!! BARK!!!

I have never heard Henry bark so loudly before. Joey and I scrambled to pick him up and make him be quiet.

"Do you think they heard that?" I asked. Although, how could they not? Their door was open and we were probably 25 feet away, although the door was closed. They were Very Loud Barks.

At any rate, I soon packed Henry up and headed for home. No sense Henry barking again and the prof (in Houston) asking "Is there a dog in here?" to his students in Dallas.

Aside from the excessively loud barking, Henry was a positive angel while he was there. He didn't get into anything or cause any other trouble...aside from the barking. Which was pretty naughty.

As we were leaving, the janitor walked by. He was a large, tough-looking man.

"Oh my word, what a cute puppy!" He exclaimed, looking at Henry.

"Yeah, he's pretty great." I said.

"Was he going to class?" The janitor asked with a smile.

"Nope, just visiting Daddy; he's running the sound and video for the class down the hall so we brought him dinner." I replied, wondering what I'd been so afraid of in the first place. He obviously didn't care if Henry was in the building. (Henry IS 75% human, after all.)

"That's great, that's great..." The janitor said, and walked off, still smiling and chuckling to himself.

And, thus, Henry has had yet another successful foray onto the DTS campus. Hopefully next time he keeps his furry little mouth shut!

My Fancy Beverage

During the day, I have a pretty much unlimited supply of sodas, fruit juices, waters, seltzers, different flavors of V8, and iced teas.  Unfortunately, about 70% of it is the diet stuff, so it's made with those nasty cancer-causing chemicals that really don't wind up saving you any calories.

If soda is going to be bad for me in the first place, I'd rather not have it taste bad and give me more cancer while I'm at it.  Plus, I barely ever drink it.

Two weeks ago, I felt like having a Sprite.  So I headed on down to the kitchen and grabbed me a Sprite from the fridge.  I noticed a sliced up lemon and lime on the counter, so I grabbed a slice of each and added them to my Sprite.  To my astonishment, my Sprite was even more tasty than normal!  (Sprite is about the only soda I like, except for Pepsi when I'm eating pizza or a hamburger or something.)

Today I added two slices of lime to my Sprite.  It's fantastic.

The Baby Lizard

I was in Houston this morning with Joey and a co-worker of his. We were down there to help film his coworker leading worship for his online resume and so we got to the church at 8:00 a.m.

(Church doesn't start until 10:30.)

The church was huge. Ginormous. But, unfortunately, has been in decline since its height in the mid-fifties to the sixties. So they sold their building to Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary and it's now an extension campus. All this to say, when I got bored after watching Joey set up the cameras for ten minutes, there was a LOT for me to go explore.

I set out to find the church library, only to discover that there wasn't one and the seminary's was locked.

I then discovered a choir room, a music room, two robing rooms (whatever those are), and all sorts of other things I wasn't aware that churches had. (Fancy changing rooms up above the baptistry?!)

There was also a very nice courtyard which I went out into and called Sister. (She's on her way to the UP.)

After talking with Sister for 45 minutes, I decided I'd better go find Joey. I headed back into the building but, skittering across the sidewalk rather slowly, was a baby lizard. He was sort of waddling.

"Oh, little guy!" I cooed at him; my siblings and I are a big fan of smallish lizards.

I noticed a bulky black thing by his tail that I thought must be a piece of dirt he'd picked up as he ran across the sidewalk but I quickly learned otherwise.

He shook his little tail, deposited the black thing, and sped off across the sidewalk and into the bush to hide from me.

"My word," I said to myself. "I think that lizard was relieving himself and I actually saw it!"

I called Sister back immediately.

"Sister! I just saw a lizard go to the bathroom!" It was the most excitement I'd had all morning.

"That's great!" She said, enthusiastically.

I hung up with her so she could go back to taking her nap, then I ran inside to go get Joey so I could bring him out and show him the little lizard business on the sidewalk. When I told him what I wanted to show him outside, he was only slightly impressed, but he followed very obligingly.

"See? There." I pointed, as I led him to the spot.

"Wow...you're really proud of yourself, aren't you?" Joey said, trying not to laugh.

"Yes. Do you know how boring these last 2 hours have been?" I said, staring at the black speck on the sidewalk.

"You poor thing," Joey said, unsympathetically. "Come on, let's go back inside and you can show me around."

And so I did.

Unfortunately

I feel really unusual. Sickly without actually feeling sick, you know? (Well, you probably don't, which is why I'm terming it "unusual".)

All day yesterday I felt like I was swirling around and the world was standing still, plus I just felt disgusting. No stomach ache, no sore throat, no sniffles...just felt disgusting. So I went to bed at 9:30 last night and, um, overslept this morning and got up at 7:10.

I felt great until lunch.

It was Wild About Harry's today, and they have brisket hot dogs (only down here could you get hot dogs made out of brisket...) and custard.

I thought I was feeling Suspicious again (only this time with a tummy ache) so I got myself a Sprite with a twist of lemon. The dizzies set in shortly thereafter, and I determined that I might as well eat a hot dog because I felt sick anyway. So I made myself my first chili dog ever and am currently eating a smallish scoop of custard with fluorescent green, hot pink and yellow sprinkles.

It's super tasty and I've eaten less than half.

I'm thinking of throwing it away, though, because the longer I sit here the more Suspicious I feel. And, unfortunately , we're going to Houston tomorrow. We're staying at some people's house that neither Joey nor I has ever seen before in the course of our lives.

So I can hardly say to our poor hostess, "I'm sorry, I'm not eating that. I feel Suspicious."

My Wish List

My birthday's coming up (in like a month and a half), but it's never too early to publish the wish list, right?

• Sunshine!!
• Either this rug or this rug for my kitchen (Henry has taken to shredding the one I currently have. He thinks the side fringies are fun. I do not.)
• A silicon whisk and pastry brush
  
• A meat thermometer because I, well, inadvertently destroyed my old one
• A sturdy utensil caddy that won't fall over
• Ann Taylor Loft gift card

And for the two really far-out gifts that I expect never in my entire life to get (but a girl can dream, right?)

• A hot pink iPod nano
• Coach purse and matching wallet (yeah, right!)
  

Spelling

At 10:30 last night I was almost asleep when Joey suddenly blurted out, "I wonder why 'impunity' is spelled with a g.  It doesn't need a g."

"It's not."  I mumbled.

"It is."  Joey said, firmly.

Now, I hate to prove Joey wrong (sure...) but this time I simply could not resist.  There is absolutely no g in impunity, and there never has been.  Ever.

"Where's the dictionary..." I asked, sleepily.

"On the shelf.  Don't go get it."  I think he was beginning to wonder if there really was a g in impunity, and didn't want me to show him that there wasn't.

"No, no, I will.  I have to show you you're wrong."  So I got out of bed, walked over to the bookshelf, couldn't find the dictionary and so settled for the laptop, which has a dictionary in it.

I brought it back into our room and handed it to Joey who opened it up and furtively typed i-m-p-u-g-n-i-t-y.  To no one's surprise (except maybe Joey's, but Henry and I were not surprised), nothing came up.

"WHAT?"  Joey wailed in a manly sort of way.

"Told you."  I said, smugly.  Henry sniffed my chin in agreement.

Joey typed in i-m-p-u-n-i-t-y and, sure enough, pulled up an entry.   "I know I saw it spelled with a g somewhere..." Joey muttered as he closed the laptop in defeat.

I, however, am not sure where he could have ever seen it spelled that way.  I just searched a dictionary for words spelled similarly to "impugnity" and, can you believe it?, I didn't come up with a thing.

An even more burning question is why on earth Joey was thinking about the word impunity at 10:30 at night.

im·pu·ni·ty   
-noun
1. exemption from punishment.
2. immunity from detrimental effects, as of an action.

Blast From The Past

A little bird (ahem...) sent this to my inbox this morning. And, seeing as it's Pops and Mom's anniversary on Monday, it seemed appropriate to post it here.

This is my parents' wedding announcement. Weren't they cute?!

Happy 30th, Mom and Dad!

All His Worldly Goods

My dearest love and I just finished watching Shadowlands. (It's that movie about CS Lewis and his wife.) I really enjoyed it, but now I'm super tired.

As a bit of back story, when Joey and I got married part of his vows were, "and with all my worldly goods I thee endow", and it's really rankled him ever since that I didn't have to endow upon him all of my earthly goods.

(When I'm feeling particularly fiesty I run around the house and point at things like his laptop, the iPods, his car and say "and that's mine, and that's mine, and that's mine...")

I'd never have noticed that I got the better end of the materialistic deal, so to speak, if he had never pointed it out, but it sure is comedically convenient that he did.

So here we are, watching Shadowlands. CS Lewis is marrying Joy in the hospital and in a very romantic, heart-rendering scene he utters, "and with all my wordly goods I thee endow..."

Joey screamed, "OH!! That makes it all OK, right there. CS Lewis had to endow all his wordly goods to his wife, too, so I feel much better now. I was just quoting CS Lewis."

"Right, right." I said. I almost added, "We're watching this movie on my laptop", but I held my tongue.

I probably missed the entire point of the vow, but Joey still loves me.

Kaboom Town

First of all, a bit of a holler at my Sister for calling us at 7:30 and scaring us to death. Gosh.

Second of all, Henry totally went to Kaboom Town.

It was raining as I made our sandwiches for our picnic dinner. It was raining as Joey went to pick up Matt. It was raining as we looked for a bag large enough to hide Henry in if necessary. It was raining as we drove to Kaboom Town. And then it stopped.

"Oh look!" I said, "It's clearing to the West!"

And as soon as I said that it began to rain again. Very hard. (Obviously I didn't learn anything in the Boundary Waters.)

We continued driving in the very steady rain, parked in a nearly empty parking garage (got a great spot, too, right by the exit) and sat down on the cement to eat our sandwiches and cookies. Henry was jealous because I'd forgotten to bring him food, so he just sat on the ground and tried not to beg. He wasn't very successful.

The rain finally mostly stopped, so Joey, Henry, Matt and I decided we'd walk over to the circle and see what was going on. As we neared the circle I realized that there really was no controlled entrance/exit, just policemen standing at strategic places along the sidewalks people were using to enter.

Joey had been walking a very soggy Henry, but when he saw the policeman he quickly handed the leash to me. "He's your dog," Joey said. "I'm not getting in trouble for this."

So Henry and I walked right by the policeman. Twice.

Neither time did they stop us or say, "No dogs." (Probably because Henry is so cute.)

The rain finally stopped and the sky got clearer. We decided to stay so we set up our chairs and camped out. A family came and sat in front of us about twenty minutes later. The little boy said, "Mom, look! They brought their dog! We should have brought ours."

The mom looked back at me with great disdain and said, rather loudly, "I don't like to break rules." She kept shooting me dirty looks for the next hour, during which time I leaned over to Matt and said, "You can play with Henry, just don't make him bark. That woman looks real angry and whatnot." Matt noticed the lady's grouchy demeanor and pretty much stopped playing with Henry on the spot. We weren't feeling like risk takers.

Then suddenly Grouchface (that lady) disappeared. She returned around 8:00. With her dog.

This Kaboom Town thing was pretty cool. There was a military jazz band, a mini airshow with mostly WW2 era planes but a few tricksy ones that did flips and hammerheads and scared me a lot, an annoying band, and then, fireworks.

Matt and I agreed that these were the best fireworks we'd ever seen. I'm not sure if Joey agrees or not, he and Jordan were talking. Loudly. The whole time. (This is still a sensitive issue, if you can't tell.)

My favorite part was that the finale was color-coordinated.

Henry did not care for the fireworks at all. He shook like a leaf for the first half, then by the second half gave up caring entirely but refused to be put on the ground. He sort of clung to me for dear life in an apathetic sort of way.

We stayed until 12:00 a.m. watching October Sky (Henry didn't mind that so much) and drove home in zero traffic.

All in all, a very nice 3rd/4th of July. I hope yours is as good.

And Henry hopes your fireworks aren't as scary.

Did You Buy Your Tickets?

To the air show, of course. 

(Hmm, doesn't have quite the same ring as "gun show" would.  And besides, the air show is free.)

Torrential downpours aside, we're planning to go to Kaboom Town in Addison tonight.  It should be pretty amazing (military air show, band, fireworks, etc).  We've got a passel o' friends we're taking along with us, so it had better be amazing or we'll look like a couple of gomers.

The problem is Henry.

I was on the Kaboom Town website trying to figure out how the stink to get there, where to park, if we'd have to pay to park, etc, when I came across something that was rather disturbing in the FAQ section.

Q: Can I bring my pet?
A:  No.  Leave Fido at home; only service animals are permitted on the grounds.

Here's my problem.  Henry's not really a dog, he's our stand-in child until Joey's done with seminary.  (It is, as yet, unknown whether or not he'll be demoted from Firstborn Status when we finally do have a kid.  But yes, we do refer to him as our firstborn.  Stop laughing at us.) 

He's really small and cute (small enough, in fact, to probably smuggle him on the grounds in a large bag.  Hmm, where's Gail's Mexican shopping bag when I need it...) and very serviceable indeed.  He helps us do all sorts of things (like eat what I drop when I'm baking), so I'd definitely term him a service animal.

Oh, Henry also has a couple of shirts (which he absolutely hates to wear), but we could use one for disguise if need be.  Henry incognito and all that.  It would also serve as a good diversion if we get bored; Henry tends to try to abuse himself in order to try to get the shirt he's wearing off his person.  (He's never been successful, but he sure gets dizzy running in circles trying to chase that shirt off.  It's, um, hilarious.)

So I have another three hours to decide whether or not I'm sneaking Henry into Kaboom Town. 

He's probably coming.

Build An Ark

Before we moved to Dallas I woefully lamented to Joey that "It probably never rains in Dallas, I'll really miss the sound of rain beating down on the roof." 

Famous last words.

It has not yet stopped raining.  Thus far we are having one of the wettest springs on record.  (My associates say it's all my fault for wishing it would rain more.)

I just glanced at the RADAR and, surprise!, a new storm just popped up about four hours west of Forth Worth and will be here just in time for rush hour.  Joy.  Everyone drives like idiots when it rains and gets into tons of accidents because for some reason they just can't seem to keep it between the lines.  (All that water on the windshield or something.)

And, thus, I am considering going to Lowe's to pick up some wood to start constructing an ark.  (Although I'm not sure if Joey, Henry and I will count as two of every living creature, but we're a start anyway.)

I plan to paddle up North where it's dry.

The Mt. Dew

We went to get milk at Tom Thumb because we'd forgotten it earlier when we were at Central Market. The reason we went back to Tom Thumb to get it (and not Central Market, which has better milk) was because Tom Thumb has 20 oz bottles of Mt. Dew for $1.

Woo-hoo.

Unfortunately, 50% of the time they're sold out, but Joey still tries just about every time. (Then, when they're sold out, his morale gets really low and he wilts and walks around talking like Eeyore. It's really sad.)

Joey had raided his change jar and, with his pockets weighed down with quarters, was ready to go get himself a Mt. Dew.

He ran into the entryway of Tom Thumb, stood in front of the vending machine and fidgeted.

"I can't do it. I can't push the button. What if it say sold out?" Joey asked me, hopping nervously back and forth.

"Just push the button." I said.

He pushed the first button. Sold out.

He pushed the second button.

He pushed the second button again.

"They're not sold out!" Joey yelled and instantly began digging through his pockets for change, and spilling it all over the floor.

"But, honey, you can't buy it before you go in the store or you'll have to buy it twice," I reasoned.

"Good point." Joey said, put the quarters back into his pocket and ran into the store. He was a man on a mission. We got the milk, checked out and were back at the vending machine in 5 minutes.

Joey pushed the first button. Sold out.

Joey pushed the second button. Sold out.

"What?!" He wailed, slamming the button over and over again, as though that would miraculously make more Mt. Dew appear.

"Somebody bought the last Mt. Dew while we were in there buying milk!" He wilted as he said this. "Come on. Let's go home. I don't need a Mt. Dew." (Please picture Eeyore saying those last phrases and you'll be just about spot-on to what Joey sounded like.)

"Give me the keys," I took them from his limp hand, "I'm driving."

"It's OK. I don't need any Mt. Dew." He was completely expressionless. This whole going from having a Mt. Dew to not having a Mt. Dew was really throwing him for a loop.

We got into the car and went to two more Tom Thumbs in an effort to find $1 Mt. Dew. There was none to be had, so I finally took him to a 7-Eleven and told him to buy one for $1.29. He was pretty gleeful and happy, so it was all worth it. :)

And the Mt. Dew is gone now, but he's currently swinging the power cord for the lappy at me and keeps hitting me with it. (I probably shouldn't have encouraged him to get that Mt. Dew after all, he seems caffinated.)

Confirmed: The Downstairs Neighbor Has A Face

There has been some discussion regarding our Downstairs Neighbor. He's rather mysterious in that he's barely ever there, he often gets delinquent rent notices stuck to his door (I know this because I read them), has a very dirty balcony, and we've never actually seen him.

Until tonight.

We thought he was back because we'd suddenly been smelling this obnoxious, faint cigarette smoke coming up through our kitchen vents.

"Seems like Downstairs Neighbor might be around," Joey commented.

I concurred. We're not sure he smokes, but we know our other neighbors and they don't smoke, so if we smell it we always blame it on Downstairs Neighbor.

But back to the previous discussions regarding Downstairs Neighbor's face.

We've lived here for six months. (Yes, six months!) All we were able to ascertain about Downstairs Neighbor was that he has never fully shut the blinds in his bedroom (a table is leaned up against the window covering the portion that's not covered by blinds; he probably has no clue they're not all the way down) and he might have a cat.

I once saw him carrying what appeared to be a cat kennel as he walked away from his apartment. It was then that I first began to question his sanity.

Since the sighting with the cat, we have only seen the back of his head one other time leading us to wonder if he actually has a face.

Joey and I were headed out to buy milk tonight (yes, we forgot it when we went grocery shopping) and as we were walking to the car a youngish sort of man wearing a baseball cap, green t-shirt and geeky/trendy Coke-bottle style glasses was walking towards us. Oh, he was also carrying a Pepsi and a Mountain Dew. (They were 20 ounces and no, I'm not nosy...)

I instantly (and, regrettably, not so subtly) began smacking Joey's arm and hissing at him. "That's him! I bet that's him!"

He sort of shoved his elbow into me to indicate for me to Be Quiet.

We rounded the corner, but not before I had slowed down and looked back to make sure this guy really was Downstairs Neighbor.

"That was him!" I exulted. "I saw him!"

"Yeah," said Joey, "I couldn't understand what you were saying."

"That's OK." I said, hoping that if Joey hadn't understood me then neither had Downstairs Neighbor.

So, regardless of all former doubts and concerns about Downstairs Neighbor, we have confirmed that he exists and he actually has a face.

Whew.

"That's him! I bet that's him!"

iPhone

So it's 11:00 p.m. on Friday and I'm at the Apple store. The iPhone was released today and Joey was so excited. So.

He called me at work at least twice with iPhone rumor updates (yay) and subtly hinted that he'd really like to be at NorthPark when they released the iPhone at 6:00p.m. tonight.

So we went.

I got home from work, changed my clothes, grabbed a sandwich and went to the mall to stand on the 2nd floor above the Apple store and watch the Police officers keep the 500 people in line from storming the doors of the store befeore 6:00. It was pretty crazy.

And now that it's 11:00 p.m. Joey thought he'd have a chance at getting his hands on an iPhone, so here we are at the Knox-Henderson store. I'm falling asleep as I type this.

He's not buying an iPhone, he just wishes he was. Poor Joey.

Decisions

So with the impending detachment of my Decroded Toenail (blood clot and all), I have a decision to make.  What am I going to do with it once it falls off?

I have several options, none of which Joey really likes at all.

1.)  Put it in a Ziploc and put it in my memory box to show to our children someday
2.)  Put it in a Ziploc and mail it to The Kid
3.)  Take pictures of it (this one's difficult because the camera is still stolen)
4.)  Frame it

His idea is to just throw it away.  (Which I think is boring.)

The thing's getting really loose and jiggly on the right side, but is still quite attached on the left side, so I figure I have a week or two before it falls off. 

I'm taking votes.  What do YOU think I should do with it?

Guppy the Puppy

Every anniversary Joey buys me a Build-A-Bear.  (Their stock is listed as one to watch, according to CNBC; just an FYI.)  This tradition began on our honeymoon.  We were on Navy Pier in Chicago and happened by a Build-A-Bear store.  Joey steered me in and said, "Pick one." 

I picked out a velvety, cuddly bear and named him Pierre le Bear.  (There were two reasons for this.  One, Pierre rhymed with Bear and two, Pierre and Pier sounded a lot a like and we got him at Navy Pier.)

Subsequent Build-A-Bear purchases have been Habit the Rabbit (for our 1st anniversary) and Guppy the Puppy (2nd anniversary). Habit the Rabbit kind of went over like a lead balloon because he had these long ears that had wires in them.  He's currently stuffed in between the shelf and hanger rod in our closet, poking his head out to stare at Joey's shirts, along with my cow Daisy.  (I look at them as Closet Ambience.)

Pierre and Guppy, however, are sitting on our bed.

Perhaps it is not prudent to admit this on the Internet, but I slept with my blanket up until the time that Joey and I got engaged.  (I tried giving it up, I really did, but after 22 years it's a little bit of a challenge.)  I forced myself to put it in my baby box the day I got my engagement ring.  It was a sad time.

This is the main reason that Joey bought Pierre le Bear for me.  He felt sorry for me and my separation from Blankie, and he felt mainly responsible.  (He was, actually.)

And so I slept with Pierre le Bear for two years, until he bought me Guppy the Puppy this year.  I changed over to Guppy the Puppy because he's softer, slightly cuter, and more of a novelty since he's newer.

Last night I was almost asleep when Joey said, "You have Guppy, right?"

"Yeah..." I mumbled.

"Good.  Because I don't want to get beat up in the middle of the night if you discover you don't have him and you think I do."

That woke me up.  "What?"

"Yeah," he said, "you've been waking up in the middle of the night, saying 'give me back the dog!' and then punching me.  So then I find it and give it back to you."

"I do not either do that."  I said; I was awake now.

"Yes, you do.  Quite often."  Joey replied.

"Oh.  Well, you shouldn't let me do that!" I exclaimed, "It's really bad!"

"You're asleep."  Joey said.  "I don't know what to do except get you the dog.  You keep hitting me..." He sort of trailed off.

So I'm not really sure what to do about this one. It looks like I may need to go to Stuffed Dog Detox or something like that, because I appear to be disturbingly addicted to my stuffed animal.  (Pops always called those "dolls" when we were kids and that always bothered me.  A stuffed animal is not a doll, it is a stuffed animal.  Dolls look like smallish people and wear clothes.)

If anyone has any suggestions, I'm sure that Joey would appreciate them.  Poor guy, getting punched out in his sleep because I think he's stolen my stuffed dog.

I definitely have issues.

Apparently more people read this thing than I previously thought. A very enthusiastic "Hi" to Greg L and whoever else from FBC happens reading this. (Perhaps those of you who are as yet unidentified should comment so I know who you are...)

I have been tagged again, only this time by the other Greg. As most of you have probably read the rules in the earlier post, I won't write them again. For those of you who have not, you can find them here.

I shall commence 8 more facts/random things, however this time I'm sticking to facts. Last time I did random things.

1.) I am short.
2.) Coffee and caffeine make me so hyper anymore that I shake, my heart races, and can't breathe well.
3.) I have never broken any bones.
4.) I cannot knit, crochet, or embroider.
5.) I'm 24 going on 12, just ask The Kid. (Or my poor husband...)
6.) I like to sing!
7.) I don't like math but, um, I do math all day. (Funny how that works.)
8.) I'm a homeschool drop-out (a fact that pleases my siblings immensely) but I'm definitely homeschooling my children someday.

Hmm...let's see...who to tag....

Katie, Mark, Matt, Jenny, Grandpa (?), Kyle, Ally, Michelle

Mom's Tuesday Poem

And, as it's not likely that one can write a poem about one parent and not the other, this one about Mom oozed out of my brain after writing the one about Pops.  It's not likely that either one is likely to win a Pulitzer for poetry, but perhaps they will make you smile.

My parents, after all, make me smile.  :)

Our Mom

We all know that Mom is cute
(And that she even plays the flute!)
But I'll let you in on a secret...
If you promise not to leak it...

My mom is top-notch!


See, it's hard for Mommy to get it
That her kids all think she's a hit,
But for a better mom no one could ask
And trying to find one would be a big task.

Our mommy read us Winnie The Pooh
On afternoons when we had nothing to do,
She took us for walks in the woods
And taught us to sew skirts and hoods.
She made us do chores
So we'd never be bored,
And sometimes we went to Bever Park
Where we saw animals like those on the Ark.

Mom was always teaching us
Important things and not silly stuff,
Like Bible verses, proverbs and what was right
And trusting God, who kept us safe at night.

All these things and many more
Our mom taught her brood of four.

Wild children we turned out to be
As most, I'm sure, would quickly agree,
But I know that I can safely say
That our mom loves us anyway!

Dad's Motivational Poem

I was feeling poetic this morning (never a good sign) and so I wrote my Pops this poem.  And, as almost everyone needs motivation on Tuesdays, I felt it appropriate.

Dad's Motivational Poem

Listen up, everybody, I've got some news!
My dad's the greatest;
I'll give you the latest:

Dad's got cows and trees with boughs,
Dad fixes planes and likes model trains,
Dad sells land and leases what's grand,
Dad is smart with mind like a dart,
Dad drives tractors and knows his factors!

And since this is Tuesday
I thought I would say....

I - AM - GLAD
YOU'RE - MY - DAD!
G-o-o-o-o-o-o DAD!

The Turtle Defends Himself

Jamie flew into town this morning and, shortly after she arrived, we decided that our best course of action was to take a walk. Henry was being obnoxious because he was so excited to see Jamie, and we hoped that by walking he'd blow off some steam.

We set out briskly. In order to avoid being hit by cars, we went the long way around the athletic fields and set out on the walking trail. Our object, aside from burning Henry out, was to feed the creepy catfish, ducks, squirrels, and whatever else we found along the way.

About five minutes into our walk, I noticed a turtle who was rather off course. So far off course, in fact, that he was quite far away from the lakes (probably a three hour turtle walk, about 10 minutes for a human) and sitting atop a little rise.

"Jamie! Look! A turtle!" I squeaked and pointed. Henry pulled at the leash in anticipation of smelling the turtle.

"Ohh, cool." We stood over the turtle for a few moments with Henry sniffing at all the appropriate times.

Jamie bent over to pick up the turtle. "You can make them pass out if you hold them upside down," she explained. "All amphibians are like that."

Just as she picked the turtle up off the ground, it began to um, Use The Bathroom all over my foot.

"HEY!" I shrieked, "The turtle's peeing!"

"Oh." Jamie set the turtle down. "It's a defense mechanism."

"I should say." I shook my foot off. Henry intently sniffed the ground, analyzing the new smells.

"Let's try again." She picked up the turtle (I stepped out of the line of fire this time) and flipped him over onto his back.

He didn't pass out. He sort of blinked at us in an upside-down sort of way and paddled his little swimmers every so often. Actually, he wasn't even looking drowsy.

"Um, Jamie?" I said.

"I know, I know, a few more minutes." We waited.

People walking by were starting to give us odd looks. This is most likely because we were standing there holding a dripping turtle upside down and starting at it.

Jamie sighed. "He's not passing out."

"No, I guess not." I said, as Jamie set the turtle down. Henry bounded over to sniff the turtle again.

For good measure, Jamie picked the turtle up one more time. Immediately he began to "defend himself" (read: go to the bathroom), so Jamie put him back down.

"You know, that first time he got my foot." I said, as we walked away.

"NO! Really? Sorry, I didn't see that," Jamie said.

"Yep." I answered.

So today I learned two things:
1. Turtles go to the bathroom when you pick them up, so stand clear
2. They're supposed to pass out if you hold them upside down

Oy

Why is it that on Saturdays, the day I get to sleep in until 8:00 a.m., I always wake up at 6:00 a.m.!!!

This is beginning to drive me nuts. Here I sit at 6:45 a.m., more awake than I normally am on a weekday at this time, and all I want to do is go back to bed until 8:00 a.m.

So I guess I'll start on my housewarming loaf of apple bread I was going to make when I got up today. Since I'm up. Early.

Tag--I'm It! (and you may be too...)

Muchas gracias to Greg for tagging me.

Welcome to Blogger Tag.  I hope this goes better for me than regular tag; I was always too short and slow to ever actually tag anyone when I was It, so I was usually It for about half the game.

These are the rules, which I have blatantly plagiarized from Greg's blog.  (Many sincere thanks.)

1. Each player starts with 8 random facts/habits about themselves.
2. People who are tagged write a blog post about their own 8 random things and post these rules.
3. At the end of your post you need to tag 8 people and include their names.
4. You may need to leave them a comment and tell them they're tagged and to read your blog.

I shall now commence my 8 random facts.  Hold on tight; there's a reason I'm called The Bad Luck Child.

1.)  I once slammed a my best friend's cat paw in my car door (accidentally!!) when I was stopping by her house to surprise her.  It wouldn't have been so bad had I not locked my keys in the car, no one been home at her house, and the cat was dangling from behind the side view mirror.  For an hour.  I was also late to work.

2.)  My junior year of college I went to Slovakia with my parents.  The second day there I went to church with a bunch of people I didn't know I was very nearly arrested on a bus for accidentally double-punching my bus ticket.  (Almost got my passport stolen, too.)  In any rate, some very nice man from England bailed me out before I was hauled off to the Slovakian Slammer.  And I'm not lying about this either.

3.)  I was a camp counselor at EIBC one summer and Kelsie and I decided we were going to be the first girls to hide in the Dumpster during Counselor Hunt.  So we did.  We wrapped ourselves in trash bags and nestled down in between yesterday's milk cartons and table scraps.  Yum.

About half an hour into it we noticed mice running around behind our backsides and I started getting light-headed from having a trash bag over my head.  It was then that I remembered my mother's words from childhood..."Jenna, don't put trash bags over your head.  It's dangerous."

So I ripped myself a big hole to breathe out of and kept the bag on my head.  Nobody found us, either.  But we smelled HORRIBLE.

4.)  My first vehicle was a 1985 Chevy S-10, purchased from Woody S. in 1999. It worked great for awhile...until it started dying on left turns.  Not on right turns, just left turns.  And not every single time, either, just about 50% of it.  It became rather difficult to get places if I had to turn left to get there.

5.)  Mom, Dad, a friend and I walked to Tesco one of the weeks we were in Slovakia.  I bought chocolate (as usual) and my friend and I were behind Mom and Dad as we leisurely walked back to the church.  Suddenly my friend and I were pushed to the wall by about eight gypsies, one of which was trying to slip his hand in my purse and steal my wallet.  I happened to look down and see him, so I stomped on his foot, jabbed my elbow into his ribcage and started yelling like an American. 

All the gypsies backed off.  (He didn't get my wallet, either.)

My friend and I rushed to catch up with my oblivious parents who said, "Did you hear that bratty child back there whining?"  They were chagrined when I told them what had happened.

6.)  I went on a blind date in college.  (I think the guy's name was Chris.)  Anyway, he talked about how much money his dad made and how they were members at the Country Club the entire duration of dinner while I tried not to yawn.  And apparently I bored him equally badly because he fell asleep during the movie we went to see (Charlie's Angels...).  I never went on another blind date again.

7.)  One summer in between semesters I was working for my parents doing odd jobs.  I spilled an entire gallon of paint on brand-new carpet while painting the halls at one of my dad's apartment buildings.  (I felt so terrible because it had taken us 7 years to convince Mom and Dad to replace the original carpet in those halls and then I go and spill a huge amount of paint on it...)  So I called up my poor dad who, to his credit, did not yell at me. He showed up with a Pepsi and a Snickers and stood there, with a hand on my shoulder and said, "Yeah, you spilled a lot of paint..."  

They put a rug down over it.  And I haven't spilled paint since.

8.)  At Christmas in Indianapolis this year, Joey and I managed to leave our suitcase in  in the trunk of our car in Iowa City (we rode with Mom and Dad in their van) and, thus, were without clean underwear for 5 days.  I also washed my cell phone while trying to clean the only clothes I had with me.  We moved to Texas a week later and I lost my cell phone in a parking lot on a very rainy day.  It was picked up by a lady from Plano who got my parents' phone number, called them, they called me, I called her and we got my phone back.

Only Send, 1 4,7 and * didn't work any longer.  So I took it into the Verizon store, told them it was broken and they gave me a brand new phone.

If any of you made it through all of that, I must say that you have a very strong constitution.

And, thus, I tag...
Sister
Stephen
Joey
Karen H
Sarah M
The Kid

(I'm not doing 8 either, Greg)

Near-Miss

A friend of mine and I were discussing how hungry we were.

"I'm starved,"  I said.

"Me too," she said.

A slight pause.

"I'm such a sugar baby," As soon as I said that my mind froze.  I realized I had no idea what the expression "sugar baby" meant, or if it had Negative Connotations.  I quickly added, "I love anything sweet."

"Yeah..." my friend mumbled.

I frantically began to wonder if I had made a serious faux-pas.  For obvious reasons, I don't normally use expressions if I don't know what they mean first.  (One never knows what one might say on accident and then have to apologize for later.) 

I opened up The Google and typed in define: sugar baby.  Nothin.

I opened up Dictionary.com and typed in sugar baby and sugarbaby.  Neither one pulled up any definitions. 

I reopened The Google and typed in sugar baby one last time just doing a general web search.  I came up with a Bob Dylan song, a cosmetics line, and some kind of candy that's no longer on the market.  Whew.

And so it seems that, this time, I am safe.

However I don't think I'd run around using the phrase "sugar baby" if I were you...seems like it might have some street meaning that I don't know.  (Or probably want to know.)

The moral of the story is:  only use words and phrases you are absolutely positive you know the meaning of.  Otherwise you'll have people looking at you strangely and feeling obliged to apologize for saying something you didn't know you said.

Take Your Henry To Work Day

When I was a small, cute child I used to get to go to work with my daddy on Take Your Daughter To Work day.  (I don't think the hospital had a Take Your Son To Work day, which always seemed discriminatory to me...)

It was so great.  I'd get to sit in his office chair and play in his desk when he went to meetings, Marcia would let me have tons of Pepsis out of the fridge when Dad wasn't looking, and sometimes Daddy would take me down to the laundry room in the basement!

(And once he took even me to the smoking room to show me how gross it was.)

But the basement was always my favorite part because of the scary pipes, heavy doors, narrow hallways, and antiseptic cream color on tile floors and painted cinder block walls.  Plus the laundry room was hot, noisy, and had big machines that washed and folded linens.

I'd kind of forgotten about Take Your Daughter To Work Day (it's been about 15 years since I've gotten to go to do it!)...until today.

The cockroach exterminators are scheduled to come today and spray our apartment.  We were putting Henry in his kennel and getting to leave this morning when I asked, "Do you think Henry can be in here when the exterminators come?"

Sure wouldn't want our dog to be exterminated...

We decided we didn't know.  I called later that morning and discovered that, no, Henry cannot be in the apartment with the exterminators.

So Joey went to go get him and bring him to work.  He'd better behave because he has to be there all day long, too.  I'm not sure when he can go back in the apartment, but we have a "babysitter" lined up for this evening if need by.  (One of our neighbors likes to borrow Henry whenever possible.)

Henry's behaving pretty well, says Joey.  Earlier he had the leash around his ankle and Henry was sitting on the floor looking longingly at Joey's coworker the next desk over.  (And, of course, when the coworker left Henry began to cry.)  Currently Henry is running around Joey's office playing with everyone.  I guess he has been voted the new office mascot.  (Until he chews on some power cord or eats a flash drive...)

Hopefully Joey still has a job at the end of the day and Henry has remembered his manners and takes care of all his business outside, like normal.

Rotten Potatoes

Joey and I went to Target last night to get groceries and an organizer for our under-the-sink abyss.  (As Mom, Amber, Sister and Laura can attest, it's pretty bad under there.)  Jamie's coming on Saturday and I couldn't bear to have another friend see my cabinet in such a state of disorganization.

We got home from the store and I pulled everything out of the cabinet.   I was relieved that I didn't find any old, rotten potatoes.  (Used to keep them under there like Mom but they started rotting because they'd roll back behind the trash bag box and I couldn't see them and, well....)  Right after Mom and Dad left in March we bought a basket so I can hang potatoes and onions in plain sight and keep much better track of them.

Didn't find any roaches, neither. (Whew!)

What I did find was lots of crumbs and dried up ooze from rotten potatoes.

I guess I'm not as organized as Mom since she can keep her potatoes under the sink without having any go missing and turn rogue.

Anyway, I sterilized the cupboard and commissioned Joey to set up my new sink shelf, which he did with pleasure.  (Well, I'm actually not sure about that, I think he wanted to read his book.  But in any case, he set it up without complaining and did a very nice job of it.)

If I had a camera, I'd totally take a before and after picture of my cabinet.  What was previously disorganized and smelled funny is now organized, accessible, and smells cheerily of thyme.

While I was at it I organized my other suspicious cupboards and am quite pleased with the result.  I don't have to be embarrassed of Jamie opening up my cupboards any longer!

Three days until she gets here!  YAY! 

Breathe-Rightgate

And, thus, Pops has been indicted in yet another Breathe-Right scandal. (Unfortunately I have already blogged here and and here and here about Pops' propensity to forget/leave/save his Breathe-Rights all over the place, I will try to keep this one as short as possible.)

A month ago I was sitting on the futon in our living staring at our bookshelves in a sleepy sort of way. I noticed something strange hanging off one of the shelves, so I got up and went over to see what it was.

It was a Breathe-Right, of course.

"JOEY!" I hollered.

"What?" He asked, lifting his head up off the couch.

"I found a Breathe-Right. On the bookshelf."

He ran over to come inspect. Sure enough, there it was, stuck to our bookshelf for who knows how long.

"That thing has to have been there for a month," he said. "Since your parents were here."

"I know. How did we miss it all this time?!" I said, gingerly unsticking it from the cheap "wood" shelf.

I folded it up and threw it away, hoping to be rid of it.

And then this afternoon Joey called me.

"Hi, babe, I thought I should let you know what's going on here." Famous last words. My mind raced as I tried to figure out what could possibly have gone wrong.

"What?" I hesitantly asked.

"Well, I was letting Henry out of the kitchen and I picked up one of the chairs and I noticed something sticky was on it. So I reached down and pulled it off. Guess what it was?"

The only thing that was running through my head was cockroach and I didn't think those were sticky enough when squished to adhere to the bottom of chair legs, so I just said, "Um...."

"A Breathe-Right!" He crowed. "Another one!"

I was beginning to wonder if the kids had formed some sort of evil conspiracy when they were here. My cell phone goes missing, the camera is stolen, and we find a Breathe-Right when no one who uses Breathe-Rights has been anywhere near our house in three months.

"That is disturbing. I need to call my Pops on the way home from work tonight." I said.

Maybe he's teleporting them to us...or maybe flying his remote-controlled plane on bombing missions and dropping them in through our chimney.

It's probably the remote-controlled airplane one.

So yesterday morning I woke up with a credit card stuck to my leg.

Odd...

Not moments after I posted the last post Joey jumped out of bed and crashed to the floor.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Do you really want to know?" He said, hesitantly.

"Um...yes...." Joey slammed his hand into the carpet numerous times.

"It's dead." He said, stoutly.

I screamed. Loud.

"ONE WAS IN OUR ROOM?!"

"Yeah...Henry was pawing at it..."

And so now I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep tonight. I think those slimy creatures are nocturnal or something. Maybe if I sleep with a light on...

I Fight Back

Many thanks to those of you who have wished me well in this latest trauma of my life. I feel much better knowing that some of you have made things up to reassure me that I probably won't be carried off by cockroaches in my sleep.

I do have a rather active imagination.

Speaking of, though, before I discovered all my lovely well-wishes my imagination was working overtime. I awoke at 7:15 a.m. (on a Saturday!) with one thought in my mind:

CLEAN THE KITCHEN!!

I managed to stall myself until 8:30 and I laid in bed and tried not to think about cockroaches. Unsuccessfully. I woke Joey up on my way to scour and it was decided that we might as well just get up and go to the chiropractor and get on with our day.

At the chiropractor's office I decided to paint the kitchen.

(If one has cockroaches and is going to move the refrigerator to "clean" behind it, one might as well paint while at it.)

I made Joey move the refrigerator for me as well as check for roaches. He gave me the all clear and that's a good thing; I'm not sure what I'd have done if he'd been like, "Oh! A roach!" Probably passed out or something.

So I spent two hours painting our kitchen with some exceptionally cheap paint (but I could get a whole gallon of it for $12, which is cheaper than a pint of the good stuff...) and it's a really light shade of blue.

Similar to the one we painted Joey's parents living room but, alas, not the exact same. (I'd have had to buy the fancy paint for that color and I was feeling cheap.)

Anyway, if I were a cockroach I'd stay far away from my apartment for several reasons:
1. There are no food crumbs
2. The light blue walls of the kitchen do not provide good blending-in backgrounds for hiding
3. Screaming women would hurt my ears (do roaches have ears?)
4. There are signs posted informing of the Impending Doom when the exterminators come (well, not really...but it's an amusing idea)

I'd totally post pictures of my freshly blue kitchen...but our camera got stolen. So you'll have to use your imagination.

And tomorrow I'm taking everything out of my cupboards and washing them with chemicals. Once I tried to drown a roach in bleach and it still didn't die (I'd already tried water and 409)

....Wait, I probably shouldn't admit that.

It Gets Worse

We were just getting ready to go to bed tonight when Joey said, "I haven't read your blog yet today." So he sat down and did just that.

He finished it, looked up and asked asked, "So are you really going to call them?"

"Um, call them?" I got up off the couch and stretched.

"Yeah, the exterminators."

"Of course. I can't handle those nasty things."

Joey looked down at his lap in a Very Mysterious Way.

"What?" I asked.

"Well....I didn't want to tell you..." he started.

"Tell me what?" I demanded.

"They're coming on Tuesday. To exterminate," he mumbled.

"Wow, is that supposed to be like a surprise? Did you read my mind?" I asked.

"No."

"Well, what then?" I probed.

"I saw a cockroach in here last night--"

I screamed bloody murder, louder than I have screamed in a very long time.

"Where?! What!" I ran straight to the bathroom (don't ask me why) all the while looking around very nervously to see if any cockroaches were in my line of sight.

"It was in the office. It flew by my head and I thought it was a rubber band...then it climbed up my desk and I realized what it was."

"Did you get it? Is it dead?" I wailed.

"No...it got away."

I screamed again.

And so between now and Tuesday I will probably be living on pins and needles. Honestly; cockroaches in MY house!! (My very clean house!) What's worse is that it'll take something like three rounds of extermination to be sure all the little roachies are dead, too, said the man at the leasing office.

It doesn't make any sense to me. We have a very nice apartment in a very nice complex with very nice, new carpet. Now, how the stink do we have cockroaches? Joey said the guy told him they're in the walls. (That's reassuring...)

Oh my gosh, we might have to move.

And on that note, I'm going to go to bed before one flies past my head and I freak out and throw the laptop against the coffee table in a mad dash for someplace where the cockroach is not. (Granted, I'm not sure where that would be anymore, though.)