nothing random overlooked

eighteen months

2011-04-01T15:32:00.000-07:00

To my 18 month old son…

I have now had to share you with the outside world for twice as long as I had you to myself. It is much harder than I thought. Each day, I patiently wait for the evening, when I can whisk you away from everyone and everything else, and it is just the two of us, snuggling together in our chair. You used to nestle into my neck, a warm little ball of mush, and I could hold you to me with one hand. You are now a wriggling ball of energy bouncing around, sliding off the chair to get your favorite book, Llama Llama Red Pajama – or as you say, “mama”. Not that you even call me “mama”, just the book. Hmph. When I finally get you on my lap, you are splayed out across my legs, chest, and the sides of the chair. I am happy to have you fall asleep in my arms – completely disregarding the books & rules & advice of all sleep training, but following the contentedness of my heart. Sometimes you do, and after I have refueled my snuggle tank, I hoist us both up out of the chair (you are heavy!) and try to sneak you down the hall without waking up… other times, you point to the door, and we walk to your crib hand in hand, and I will myself to let you grow up a little bit at a time, and let go of me a little bit at a time. But just so you know, I don’t want to.

You are hysterical, with a raucous laugh. Your laugh peppers the air like an automatic weapon, spraying the room with happiness and joy. Running is only done at full speed – I will always picture you running towards me, body forward, mouth in a wide open smile, yelling, with your arms spread out behind you, like the wings of a plane, collapsing when you crash into me, and my arms catch you. When I let you go, you run back to where you started, then take a few steps backward, with a twinkle in your eye, until you gear up and start heading towards me again… and again… and again.

You are rough & tumble – riding your big wheel off the curb, between garbage cans, and over the yellow bumps on the sidewalk. Falling doesn’t seem to phase you at all. I guess that’s good, but I sure do hope you pick up a smidgen of fear sometime soon. Not that I worry too much – I realized that I am already used to your style when we were at a party, and everyone was gasping and running towards you every time you took a tumble. You were pushing a toy lawn mower and ran right off the edge of the patio, and fell down two stairs… everyone went silent, and people stood up out of their chairs… you just popped up with a big grin on your face and laughed, promptly followed by swinging the lawn mower back onto the patio, and you were off and running again. Your father and I rolled our eyes and hoped it didn’t turn into performance art.

Constantly saying… uh-oh
Just learned how to… knock
Want to be… outside
Endlessly flopping on… the dog
Hungry??? ALWAYS!

I waited for 18 months to see the magical plus sign on the test announcing your arrival, and now you have been here for just as long... it was worth the wait.

Love,
Mom

24 hours???

2010-12-20T15:07:00.000-08:00

really? they need to be open 24 hours a day? their poor employees... yes, i know, tough economy... someone is going to say "they should be happy they have a job"... but are toys really that important that we need to shop 24 hours a day? i mean, who needs a set of legos at 3am? a light saber at midnight? don't answer that - i know you are out there, no need to call attention to yourself.

people have been holiday shopping since OCTOBER, for crying out loud. except for you, mom... i know you are panicking about how christmas just "snuck up on you"... again.

In my rear view mirror…

2010-11-15T16:19:00.001-08:00

I had the windows rolled down, enjoying the crisp autumn air that I so love about this time of year. A peel of giggles escaped from the backseat, prompting me to reposition the rear view mirror. In my view, I saw a little face beaming with pure enjoyment.

The wind was blowing his blond hair back from his face, reminding me that he is still just a baby, although he often acts like a little boy. He turned his face left, then right, experiencing every angle of this new sensation. When the car picked up speed, and the wind came stronger and faster at his chubby cheeks, he gasped with surprise – as if he forgot how to breathe with the surge of air pressing against him.

I saw a foot come up into view, and a shoe fly onto the floor… then a sock stretching and stretching, not quickly giving in to the hands that tugged it, but finally meeting its fate on the floorboard. One lesson the little dude has learned so far in his short life is the great outdoors are best enjoyed with bare feet.

momhood

2010-05-09T16:24:00.000-07:00

Mother's day morning with Little Dude (I know, posted late, but he was late, too, so maybe if I apply the laws of cascading time, this delay is actually on time?) Eh, it was worth a shot.

Raspberries on a rock at Folsom Lake. Grey skies overhead, but we managed to get the whole fam out for a quick walk at the lake before the sky opened up. We had to get inside before the raindrops started falling on our head.... might melt, you know.

enjoying the moments

2010-04-27T13:54:00.000-07:00

Every night, I sneak into Little Dude's room after he has fallen asleep. To admire my creation. To watch his little being fill with air. To stroke his soft cheek. To check if he is hot or cold. To discover what position he has curled into. To see how far he has burrowed into the corner of the crib.

He looks so peaceful. Quiet. Resting. Re-energizing for the tomorrows filled with growing and learning. Am I that peaceful when I sleep? Or is my mind filled with things that clutter it even when I am resting?

Some nights, he is so irresistible that I am compelled to take him out of his crib, and hold him close. My arms reach out for him before I can stop them. I draw him into my chest, and his warmth covers me like a blanket. I stand in his room, rocking back and forth in the shadows cast by the hall light. I have even been known to take him into my room, sit in our chair, and fall asleep with him in my arms. Usually I can return him to his crib before Scout catches me. But sometimes he finds us there, and I just give him a dreamy smile and say, "I couldn't help it."

Everyone always says to enjoy these moments, that he will grow up too fast. Just so you know, I do. I am enjoying these moments. And when the day comes when I can't hold him as he sleeps, I will enjoy the memories.

he's got the moves

2010-04-22T21:33:00.001-07:00

Every day, a new move. Of course we like to name them all...

so last week:

The kickstand - Lie on stomach, push up on hands, get ready to look like you're going to sit up, but not quite... swing one leg around to the side. Leg remains there propping the body up... like a kickstand.

The escape - Roll and roll and roll and almost making it out into the hall ('cause mom and dad didn't realize that they need to keep the door shut at all times), but get stuck on the door frame.

currently debuting:

Butt in the air sleeping - Cutest.Move.Ever. (disclaimer: on babies only). I've tried it. It is no longer comfortable as a sleeping position. Or an awake position, for that matter.

The drag - Not quite an army crawl, no grace, just power. On stomach, put both hands in front of body, and pull/drag body across the ground. Carpet. Tile. Whatever. Aim for anything electrical or shiny, ensuring identification of all childproofing yet to be completed.

The Base Jump - Lean out over the edge of anything (changing table, lap, chair, couch) and wriggle to the edge. Attempt to loosen the grip of those ever watchful parental hands. Drop body down as far as those hands will allow.

The Faceplant - Pop up on all fours, rock back and forth, and back and forth and -- SPLAT! faceplant! Follow with laughter.

come on down!

2010-04-14T15:31:00.000-07:00

Mark your calendars, people! Today is "Bob Barker day" around these parts. That's right - we are getting our pet spayed! Can't you just hear him in his crisp suit, holding that ridiculously skinny mike with the old fashioned wire, showcase showdown winner and loser in the background, pointing at the camera saying "and remember to spay and neuter your pets." I can, and man, he looks good - sorry, Drew, I'm sure you're doing a fine job as host, but it's just not the same.

This morning, Scout hoisted all 146 lbs of the beast (that's right, we LIFT her) into the car, cause she ~~can't~~ won't jump in. She is there for her procedure today, and stays overnight. Which means... (drum roll, please)... that I have a dog free night! Which also means that I'll have to listen to Scout moan and groan about how he misses his girl.

Why are we only getting around to this now, when most people get their pets fixed around 6 months old? Well, Scout did some research on large breed dogs, and there is some evidence that if they are fixed at too young of an age, they may not reach their full size. Now, I'm not exactly sure how that falls in the "con" column when one has a dog that is expected to reach 170(ish) pounds. But I agreed to wait until she is 18 months old so that she can grow GROW GROW.

After experiencing 2 heats, I hit my limit. I informed Scout that I can take no more. Her first heat started the day I got home from the hospital with Lil Dude. Yep. Uh-huh. In case I needed something else to worry about in my house. The second one was about 6 weeks ago, and I used an entire Costco sized package of Swiffer Sweeper wet cloths in 2 weeks following her around our downstairs, along with creating makeshift barriers around the area rugs (thank goodness for strollers, pack n plays and changing tables).

And best of all, now I don't need to worry about teenage pregnancy! (For about 15 more years). Just need to survive my husband's temporary depression whilst his girlfriend is gone.

typical guy

2010-03-23T14:46:00.001-07:00

Do you see the toys on the car seat? You must... they are brightly colored, and I put them in your lap so you have something to do when I plop you in the back of the car, or swing you over my arm like an Easter basket, or set you on the floor while I frantically search for the car keys before we leave the house.

So WHY WHY WHY do you insist on chewing the long strap used for tightening your buckle? Do you not see that it trails on the ground, and has touched every nasty, dirty surface that I have ever set your seat down upon? It catches the dog hair on the floor in our house (my nemesis), picks up germs from the parking lot, snags anything that anyone's shoe has left on the ground. I take great care to clean your toys, washing them after they drag on the ground, after you yak all over them, after the dog takes an interest and gives them a big lick. But you don't care about cleanliness, do you? Typical guy.

can i?

2010-03-17T13:34:00.000-07:00

"Hey, mom! Can I launch myself off this changing table? How fast can you get over here after taking this picture? I would make a great paratrooper!"

editor's note: no babies were harmed in the taking of this picture, and he did NOT launch himself off the changing table, much to his disappointment...

snow day

2010-03-16T10:01:00.000-07:00

LilDude and I are home today. But it's not snowing. In fact, it is 70 degrees and sunny! What a great snow day. Not so great is why we are home...

Day Care called me at work yesterday around 1pm - I had one hour to pick up the LilDude, because he had goopy eyes, and they thought it was pink eye. He was banished to quarantine in a high chair so he didn't contaminate the entire center by rolling his goop around the carpet, or smearing it on the other munchkins. I left work, and called the doctor's office to get an appointment, and instantly starting thinking how itchy my eyes were. I thought to myself (for the first time of many): don't touch your eyes!

Upon arrival at day care, I saw my little king ruling his dominion from his high chair. He was having a good ol' time in quarantine - just sitting on the edge of the play area, chatting away, issuing commands to his minions: "Antonio, pick up the red ball, now roll it to Tommy... you, over there, yeah you, Carlo, chew on that orange toy... Madison, you've been busy rolling all morning, take 5 - you deserve a nap." Okay, fine, it sounded like babbling, but I swear that is what he was saying. I swept him up (taking his crib sheet and blanket for phase one of decontamination) and took him home. He played on the floor of my bedroom, and was only allowed plastic toys that could be sanitized (seriously, I am good at decontamination).

As the hours ticked by, the goop multiplied. By the time we got the the doctor (7:15pm was the first appointment available - at the after hours clinic), his eyes were just GROSS. But he didn't care - he was smiling and happy as could be. Which is interesting, since his usual bedtime is 7:30. The doctor came in and commented on how happy he was, and noted that his eyes didn't look very pink... just goopy. A quick look in the ears, and she diagnosed him with a double ear infection, not pink eye. Phew... wait? what? A double ear infection? That doesn't sound good! He is one tough LilDude - he has been acting like his same old happy self, eats fine, sleeps fine, no temp, doesn't even rub his ears. How are we ever going to know if he is sick?

Off to play in the snow... um, I mean... SUNSHINE!

finally...

2010-03-15T10:46:00.001-07:00

My mother recounts the story of how I used to wish for blue eyes with laughter in her deep brown eyes. When my little sister arrived, with her bright blue eyes, I was taken by them. I would gaze into the mirror and ask my mother when I would get blue eyes.

It only took thirty(+) years, but FINALLY... I got my blue eyes:

TWOoth fairy

2010-03-08T07:02:00.000-08:00

The TWOoth fairy made a visit to our house at 3am on Saturday night/Sunday morning (doing a drop-off, not a pick-up). I know she was there, cause LilDude started screaming, and he is generally a fabulous sleeper (which we thank our lucky stars for every night). So when the monitor began transmitting his screeches, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but two miniature teeth on my sweet little dear. That nice TWOoth fairy must have been saving on gas, since she did a two for one by launching them both on the same night. Which meant I only had one night of interrupted sleep... I'll take it!

You can sort of barely almost but not quite see the little white specs popping through. We only tormented him for about 17 pictures before I gave up and called this one the best. Just squint, use your imagination... and try to picture them straight so I don't have to spend every other Tuesday at the orthodontist in 13 years.

mess

2010-03-05T13:04:00.000-08:00

What a mess. But would you expect anything else from me? Organization, planning - definitely on my list of strengths (or obsessions, whatever). But neatness, not so much. I love making a mess.

This is how we feed our child. We'll have to unlearn this sitting on the table business. Hopefully, he'll be so young he won't remember that we used to let him do this. Don't tell him!

If you had the previous 30 minutes on video, here is how it would look:

Scout and I sitting on the end of the table that opens to the hallway, LilDude sitting on top of the table furthest from the hallway. Two plates on the table, sitting just out of LilDude's reach. With his ever expanding wingspan, we underestimate his powers about twice a week, and have to use our catlike reflexes to block him. Or, we use our catlike reflexes to go get a towel and wipe up the spilled water, thankful that the glass didn't break, and make a mental note to use plastic cups tomorrow.

LilDude tells us he is ready for dinner by groaning and pitching forward toward his food bowl with his mouth wide open. He will lean and lean and lean until finally, 3.2 seconds later, he is satiated with a tiny glob of sticky rice goo or vegetable puree from the hand that magically delivers the spoon to his mouth. Which will hold him over for 2.7 seconds. Mark this as the beginning of the feeding frenzy. LilDude has modeled his dance moves from the 'Hungry Hungry Hippo' 4-man group. He starts sitting up, then lunges forward, head tilted back, mouth hinged open until he meets with the spoon, then he CHOMPS down, whisking away the deliciousness into his hollow leg. Repeat. And do not stop, else he will cry. Yes, we have had real tears. Do NOT get between him and his food... you will be sorry. Scout and I eat our dinner with the "one rubber tipped spoonful for you, one metal utensil spoonful for me" approach. Of course we are eating different things. I have tried a speck of baby food, and honestly, it's just not that good. I much prefer lasagna. In between the dual spoonfuls, Scout and I also take turns defending our feast from the dog. She paces the hall, attempting to invade our space with a not-so-sneaky sneak attack. With her size, there is really nothing subtle or sneaky about her. Thankfully, she is not persistent, and after a few deflections, she tires, sinks to the floor in defeat, and gives us her sad eyes (which are her everyday eyes) from the hallway. She sits and waits, until we vacate the table, then she circles her spoils, and licks the floor clean of whatever fell beyond the edge of the table. Mess removed.

the day after

2010-03-03T13:56:00.000-08:00

I can't hear out of my left ear.

My feet hurt.

I am exhausted.

But it was all worth it... cause look at our seats! Jon Bon was RIGHT in front of me! I could see the beads of sweat on his face, and his gorgeous smile, and the pixels on the big screen that I didn't even need to look at, cause LOOK HOW CLOSE WE WERE!

I have Bon Jovi songs stuck in my head.

I'm not sure how that is different than any other day.

Fabulous people watching place - the young (a 10 year old in the pit who got a high five from Richie Sambora), the old (60-somethings in front of me with their glow in the dark earplugs, a man in a wheelchair who was no less than 80), the mulletted, the lace and leathered, and of course, the hoochies (statistically prevalent in the first few rows).

* full disclosure: i stole this pic from TrailMomma... because I am lazy, and didn't feel like uploading mine... also, i think mine are blurry... or my vision is blurry... did I mention I'm tired?

rock on

2010-02-28T21:07:00.000-08:00

Whooooaaaa-ooooaaaa... we're halfway theeee-eere... that's right, ladies and gents (or whoever it is that reads this thing)... I am going to the Bon Jovi concert tomorrow night. I am a Jersey Girl through and through (mellowed with a heavy influence of a decade of California living), and there is nothing more Jersey than Jon Bon. Except for fake nails. And the Shore. And malls. And Bruce. But tomorrow, it is all about Jon. He's so dreamy. And he totally has nicer hair than I ever will. And have I mentioned that I love him?

TrailMomma (formerly known around these parts as RunnerGirl) and I have been waiting to rock out to Jon forEVER. At least, we have been waiting to rock out to Bon Jovi in person - we are very serious about our dedication at weddings (whilst my husband takes cover behind a plant in the corner and pretends he has never met me), perhaps requesting Livin on a Prayer from an unsuspecting DJ; and any other time their music fills the air (say, every time her phone rings). I am so excited! Yes, there are other girls going, too. And I love them, too, even if they aren't from Jersey. Nobody's perfect.

But I am also a little bit sad that tomorrow night, I will miss bedtime. When I get home and peek in on my LilDude, he'll probably look like this:

Suzi - this pic is for you... I know you just can't resist a sleeping baby for the perfect chance to snap the camera.

daily routine

2010-02-24T13:32:00.001-08:00

After a wonderful 4 and a half months home with the Lil Dude, I am now back at work. The best part of the day is when I pick up his smiling face and take him home (with second place awarded to the moment before I drift off to sleep). After we get home, this is what we do:

We have wonderful trails in our neighborhood (one of the reasons we moved to our current house), and with the extended daylight hours, walks have become part of our new weekday evening routine. It was pretty easy to take the dog for a walk when I was home... mid-afternoon, perfectly timed to pass the elementary school so the dog can get lots of love and attention from the ogling kids - most of whom are shorter than my giant four legged puppy. But it has been difficult to make time for everyone (including me) with the new "working mom" lifestyle. I have been trying to get back into ~~running~~ jogging, and in the name of efficiency (walk the dog, get in run, nap for the kiddo), this is my ~~running~~ jogging group. I can only imagine what people think as they see us barrelling (at the speed of molasses) down the trail - what a sight! The dude doesn't (currently) mind riding in his personal limo - sometimes he naps, sometimes he laughs at the dog, sometimes he just babbles on and on. A good time is had by all.

**Crush: 13 months, 135+ lbs; Lil Dude: 5 months, 18+ lbs

5 months of fun

2010-02-17T10:44:00.000-08:00

Lil Dude is five months old today. He has many skills for his resume: You need someone to roll over? You need someone to giggle hysterically when you make ridiculous faces? You need someone to nap at noon? He's your guy!

One of the jobs I hired him for is my grocery shopping partner. Don't call the child labor union, he is generously compensated for his work with milk whenever it strikes his fancy. He is so portable (see picture), and just smiles at everyone we pass. The lady at the deli counter loves him, and it is a good minute or two before I even place my order after she is done oohing and aahing over him. But how can I complain? She is smiling when she looks at him, he smiles at her, and I am beaming the whole time... win-win-win.

Since he can't walk, I carry him in the Baby Bjorn (aka, frontpack). I can tell when he is excited by a swift blow to my left lung, appendix, or muffin top - he looks like a little marionette driven by someone who just stuck their finger in an outlet, still pulsating from the stun. Since his wing span is still fairly small, and he has no idea what cookies are, he is a cheap date. I'll have to reevaluate him as my shopping partner once he starts asking for things, or dropping miscellaneous items into the cart.

*pic taken from my phone (in the frozen pizza aisle) on our Valentine's morning date - I'm still testing the best way to post pics here

now what?

2010-02-16T13:56:00.001-08:00

What do I do now? Do I write random posts about things I notice each day that make me smile or cry or want to throw something? Do I go on and on about how wonderful the LilDude is? Do I start posting pictures (okay, I know you all want pictures) and daily activities... I'm trying to figure out how this blog fits into my life at this very moment... I sure do wish the Magic 8 Ball would come up with some new answers, 'cause the generic answers that worked in earlier years of my life just aren't cutting it these days. Answers in essay form would be most helpful right now.

thank you

2009-11-11T22:03:00.000-08:00

Every year on Veteran's Day, I call my father (Gulf) and my grandfather (WWII) to say thank you for their service. Every year, their responses are the same. My father replies with a "No, thank YOU... it's not just the veterans who have sacrificed and served, it is also their families who have given up time with their loved ones who are serving." My grandfather reminds me that he was the lucky one, since he survived and was able to live his life, while others did not get that chance.

So today, I say thank you to all the veterans who served this great country... the ones that came back, the ones that didn't and the ones at home that love(d) them.

it's official

2009-11-06T19:56:00.000-08:00

It's official... I'm a parent! Well, I suppose that statement was true on September 17, when Maxwell Stephen joined our family. Scout and I are thrilled to have him in our lives... and someday, he'll be able to take out the garbage, mow the lawn, and walk the dog. Child labor benefits in 10 years aside, I am so in love with this little guy in this moment when he is helpless, and relying on us for his every need.

For some reason, motherhood and parenthood have different duties in my mind. Motherhood (and fatherhood) duties are loving and caring for your child. Parenthood requires setting rules and limitations. I don't think Webster will back me up in my definition, but whatever.

On his birthday, I realized that I was a mother, and responsible for this little life. Loving him, caring for him was my role - and that is what I have done. Hugged, kissed, loved, adored, changed, bathed, rocked - check, check and check.

Today we went to get his birth certificate. As if his presence isn't enough to qualify him as a person, he needed the official stamp from the county records department. Thirty four dollars later, we had two copies (come on, you KNOW he is going to lose one when he sends it away to get an expedited copy of his passport so he can go to spring break in Cancun... what? who? me? maybe... ) and he was official. So I guess you could mark that point as my intro to parenthood, but nope - didn't hit me yet... until our drive home.

We were cruising on a beautiful country road, and in my rear view mirror, I saw a Beemer zoom up to our back bumper with the windows open, and three teenage boys leaning out the sides. They were swerving from side to side, and I can't be certain, but the passenger riding shotgun may have had control of the steering wheel. Since I had my precious cargo in the backseat, I panicked, and looked for the nearest place to pull over and let them pass.

In my fifteen years of driving history, I can't recall a time when I EVER let someone pass me. But as a PARENT, I felt like those crazy teenagers (I guess you could also mark this moment as recognition of the fact that "I am OLD") were endangering my little dude. So I protected him, and thought immediately, "I'm a PARENT now!" Next, I guess I'll have to learn how to set curfew, issue groundings and deny requests for increases in allowance.

the end is near...

2009-09-08T13:37:00.001-07:00

The end of my pregnancy is near... not "here"... I didn't say "here", people, so just settle down. Believe me, we will let you all know when the baby is here. :) We are at T ~~minus~~ plus one day, and for the record, I would like to nominate "due dates" as one of the dumbest things ever. The only thing it has been good for is acting as a date by which I could start my "pregnancy leave" from work. Other than that, fake deadlines that really have no bearing on actual delivery dates are just dumb. But whatever, I am "one day overdue" on the imaginary deadline. Which he missed - I don't know if we had a miscommunication, or he just wasn't ready to present, but this is definitely showing up in his performance review for this year. Ha!

Since I am almost at the end of my pregnancy, let me share a few things that I will miss about being pregnant, and a few things that I miss about NOT being pregnant... we'll go in reverse order...

Things I miss about not being pregnant, and am excited for upon said deadline...

BEER: seriously, I have been thinking about beer for months. No, O'Douls is not the same. Yes, I have tried.
seeing my feet (for 2 reasons): 1. to actually be able to see down to my feet - honestly, it is very strange tripping over things cause I can't see them. 2. that my ankles will be revealed beneath the current sausage casings surrounding them.
beer (I already said that, huh?)
not having to answer the questions: September 7th, boy, no name (yes, we have a name, but honestly, it is just easier to not have the conversation with people... plus, we aren't telling people, so why should the lady at the grocery store know the name if we aren't telling our family?)... yeah, I'll probably have to answer questions about the baby, but at least that will be a little variety (until I get tired of that after a month). ;)
having people comment on my weight/size all the time... or the worst: "really? you're NOT having twins? are you SURE?"
beer... nuff said

Things I will miss about being pregnant...

having a legitimate excuse to nap at 2pm
unlimited ice cream (which I suppose I could continue, but it will be a bit difficult without the next item)...
elastic pants - seriously, these things are comfy! I am so showing up at Thanksgiving with maternity pants this year.
the excitement and anticipation
having the lil dude all to myself... yes, I want him to come out, and to meet him face to face, but then I'll have to share him with the rest of the world

Until then... I'll keep twiddling my thumbs, answering phone calls and emails with the requisite: "Nope, no baby yet".

ejection authorization

2009-09-03T15:02:00.001-07:00

Lil Dude -

Since we have reached September, you are now authorized to eject any time you want. Nothing against August (your dad's bday, our wedding anniversary, auntie's bday), but I really wanted you to have a nine-something-nine birthday. You know, cause that sort of thing matters in life. Riiiiight.

If you really want to hit the jackpot, give it a few days and shoot for nine-nine-nine. Super cool - all the chicks will dig you because of your catchy birth date. All you have to do is pull that ejection cord (I know there is a cord in there with you... umbili-something they call it, but since I am not a doctor, I imagine it has something to do with parachuting out of there?) and out you'll come.

Thanks,
the Management

procrastination

2009-09-02T09:14:00.001-07:00

As my college roommate can attest to, I am a master procrastinator. Yes, I am also a master planner, but that is for things I WANT to do. When it comes to the things I HAVE to do, I can come up with any number of excuses to postpone. Which is why, 3 and a half weeks into my "pregnancy disability" leave, I still had not completed traffic school. Yes, even with the impending birth of my child that would leave me no time to finish traffic school, and nothing else to do, I chose to park my rear on the couch and watch four thousand episodes of "designed to sell" and "house hunters" and "property virgins". I Just.Can't.Stop. Scout asked me if I was planning on moving while he was at work one day - he was getting concerned about my interest in house selling and purchasing. I can only imagine what he was thinking when he actually SAW me watching them, and I'm yelling at the people like it's the bottom of the ninth and they are down by a run... "You people are crazy - you aren't going to buy that house because it doesn't have stainless steel appliances? You don't like the paint color? REPAINT IT!"... Ahem, excuse me. Sorry, I get a little carried away watching home shows. See? I am even procrastinating WRITING about my task of traffic school. Moving on...

I think we all know that I got a speeding ticket recently. To avoid getting points on my pristine record, I opted for traffic school. Which, last time I took it (12 years ago), was in a dingy room somewhere in Virginia for 8 hours that felt like 8 days. God bless the advent of the internet. MUCH more pleasant experience this time... 49 minutes total, including interjections of emails, yelling at Scout about how stupid the questions are, and of course, taking notes for this post.

After registering for the course (twenty dollars), I was informed that it would be 5 chapters, with a quiz at the end of each chapter. Passing grade for each quiz was 80%. The reading material for each chapter was 4 pages long, with much scrolling down on each page. I browsed the material, then decided to just click through the pages, try the quiz, and see how I did.

Quiz 1: 70%.... so close
try again
Quiz 1: 70%... arghhhhh
copy/paste results into a word doc so I can reference the ones I got wrong, and not pick that same option again (narrowing my guessing to 1 out of 3, instead of 1 out of 4)
Quiz 1: 80%... YAY!

Here are some of the dumbest things from chapter 1:

"In a recent study conducted it was found that 40 hours are spent in traffic that is NOT moving in 1/3 of US cities." Now, I can only IMAGINE how much money was spent on this study, and it makes me want to cry. 'Cause that statistic... MAKES NO SENSE. It has no time qualifier - is it 40 hours PER WEEK, PER MONTH, PER YEAR? Also, it had no point. Just that statement.
"In a study recently, the average driver would rather spend money on public transit than on: a) new cars, b) roads, c) bridges, or d) private investments." As I was yelling to Scout in the other room about how I was coming up short in passing the quiz by 1 question, he retorted, "well, maybe you aren't as good a driver as you think you are". But I'm not sure how this question has ANYTHING to do with my driving skills.

For Chapter 2, I did a quick peruse (by "peruse", I really mean: glanced at the top portion of the first page), and scrolled down page 3. No method to the madness. I did note that they used a Wikepedia reference, and had pictures of a dude on a bike using hand signals. Which I still don't know what they mean. I prefer the method of: point in the direction you are turning when you are on a bike. All that studying led to me passing (80%) on the first try at the quiz.

I got cocky on the third chapter. Didn't even look at the title. Just clicked through to the quiz. Where I got a 40%. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. So I did. 100%.

For the fourth and fifth chapter, I also used the "no read" approach, and passed each on the first try with an 80% score, and only taking 2 minutes per chapter. Great use of my time!

I thought I was done, but there was more... a FINAL EXAM! I don't remember reading anything about a final exam (but then again, I didn't really read much at all, so it was probably there). Fortunately, it had almost all the same questions as on the chapter quizzes, and I passed on the first try with an 88%. Woo-hoo! So, my license remains pure, and I just have to drive nicely for the next 18 months, cause apparantly you can't do this every time you get a ticket (and honestly, if I learned anything from this online class, it is how long you have to wait between "get out of jail free" cards).

Now I am free to have this baby... or, um, watch more TV. Off I go...

to my son

2009-08-17T13:39:00.000-07:00

To my son,

We are 3 weeks away from your due date, and I can’t wait to meet you face to face. In some ways, I feel like I know you, since we have spent every second together for the past 9 months; and yet, I feel like I have so much to learn about you.

I know that you are a VERY active little guy – you are always bouncing around, busy doing flips and kicks and punches. You like loud music in the car (or you are kicking and screaming in there for me to turn it down… not quite sure, but I’m going with the “you like it” theory). You sleep well when we are taking walks, and you have a tendency to wake up between 3 and 4am. Your father’s voice and touch calms you – when he places his hand on my belly, you are calm and quiet.

I wonder what you look like and what you sound like. I wonder about your personality and your expressions. Soon enough, we will meet face to face, and begin this wonderful journey together – you on the journey of life, me on the journey of motherhood.

I have been thinking about all the things I want to share with you, show you, and teach you… the smell of the ocean, the beauty of a sunset, the excitement of the first day of school, making friends, celebrating successes and coping with failures. Then I realized… all the things I want to pass on to you are memories that I have collected in MY life, not necessarily things that I can tell you about and you will understand. Instead, I am looking forward to watching you and guiding you as you collect your own personal experiences that will shape your life… as a bouncing baby, a curious toddler, a growing kid, a tenacious teen, and ultimately, a magnificent man. We have quite an adventure ahead of us…

Love,
Mom

missing

2009-07-22T10:38:00.001-07:00

I forgot the item I miss the most about my old car! The thermometer! Not that it was ever quite right... clearly, it was not 121 degrees here last month when this pic was taken, but it was one of those things that I looked at every time I got in the car. Just made me happy. Also, when we went to the mountains, and it was below 34 degrees (I think they just gave it a 2 degree buffer to be sure), it would have a little picture of a snowflake... in case you couldn't see the real live snowflakes out the windshield.

As for that North/South thingy next to the temperature... never used it. Well, maybe I tried to use it, but since I am directionally challenged, it was never helpful. You would have to know which direction you were intending to go in order to have it be helpful.

different but the same

2009-07-21T11:13:00.001-07:00

After 10 years of loyal service, I have retired my car. It was a happy-sad day... that car had a good life...

She (of course it was a female car) was the first car that I owned by myself (without sharing with my sister), she traveled cross country with me when I moved from Jersey to California (on the back of an 18 wheeler, but whatever, she still crossed the country). She took me up to the mountains for countless snow days, ran into the side of a snowbank once, ran into a stationary post in a parking garage once, blared music to dull my hearing on every trip, traveled to Oregon a couple times, helped me move 3 times, went camping on numerous long weekends (and never acted as a tent), survived a break in, drove me and my shiny new husband home after we were married, carted soccer gear, skis, furniture, friends, dog, and anything else that would fit. And on and on and on... which was part of the problem. 144,000 miles on and on... and we were just fearing the day she would tire of the routine, and give up on the side of the road... or, demand repairs in excess of her worth. So we decided to trade her in for a new car.

What did we get, you ask? Why, we bought the exact same car! A Nissan Pathfinder... yes, we own two Nissans... but at least they are different colors now! Ten years later, and still... it is remarkably the same... just a little bit different. For example:

gas mileage: same... while some models of cars have made huge advancements, and Hybrid is all the hype, this mondo still consumes gas as if it lived in Texas, on top of an oil well.
size: different - it is a little bit bigger (the better to fit the giant dog into)...
radio: same - one CD player (thank goodness, those 6 CD changers just make it annoying to figure out what is in there, and how to get it out without selecting all the other 5 slots first)...
radio: different - no more tape deck! :( How will I play my mix tapes now?
air: same - it has the classic 2 knob system... turn to hi/med/low, turn to blue side or red side. phew! I HATE those fancy schmancy temperature control settings... I can't every figure out what temp to set it at, or how to make it stop blowing cold air when I don't want any more. (I know, you thought I was in my 30's from my profile... secretly, I am a 90 year old technology protester in a 32 year old body).
steering wheel: different - my old steering wheel was open on the bottom, and I never realized it, but apparently I like to drive with one hand on the bottom of the steering wheel (steering at the "6"... it's the new "10 and 2"). The new shape of the wheel has a solid bottom, and I think I am going to jam my fingers one of these days!
gages: same (ish?) - I think? I don't even know what most of them do, other than the one that lets me know I am going too fast when I see Poncherello parked on the side of the road.
center console: different - bigger, so I can shove more stuff in it, but lower, so I can't rest my elbow on it while driving.
color: different - old one was silver (so that our two silver Nissans looked like a matching set when parked in our garage), new one is shit brown. Well, they say "mocha"... but conveniently, it is the color of dirt, so we'll never have to clean it!

So there it is... my evaluation of our new (but markedly the same) car...

ROCK-a-bye baby

2009-07-20T15:46:00.000-07:00

The little dude seems to really like music... when I am blaring the music in my car, he is bouncing around. I would say he is bouncing around to the beat, but it appears he has inherited both of his parent's sense of rhythm (which amounts to approximately 0.5 %), as his breakdancing is in no way coordinated with the beat of the music.

I told Scout how much his son likes music, and he inquired, "What KIND of music are you playing for him in your car? Eminem? I thought you were supposed to play classical music to babies in the womb." I laughed and replied, "Not JUST Eminem - I have been mixing it up for him... Eminem, 50 cent, Kanye, Black Eyed Peas, Beastie Boys. I am giving him the whole range of rap & hip-hop... he likes them all." But seriously... what am I supposed to listen to in my car? Classical music? I'd fall asleep and crash on the side of the road! I am that person that pulls up next to you at the stop light, and if my windows are open, you will turn your head and think, "Someone needs to tell that pasty white girl that she is too old and too yuppie to be listening to that music." But I can't help it - I love it! And so does my son. :) Good thing he can't understand the lyrics yet... I don't have the bleeped out versions!

best day EVER

2009-07-06T14:52:00.000-07:00

Since I am fluent in dog language, let me translate Crush's thoughts on the 5th of July after we emptied the ice from the cooler for her...

OMG! OMG! OMG! (yes, she is very into the current lingo - from all the texting she does... a bit difficult with those giant paws, but she manages) They must really love me! I mean, I THOUGHT they loved me, with all the petting, and feeding, and walking, and playing, but... now I know for SURE they love me!

Where do I start? I'll just circle it and look for the best angle... No, I can't do this standing up - I should lie down and get closer... Yes, this is much better, standing was so much effort... Look at all this ice... I'll be here forever... oh, look at that part over there... let me move around to the other side... Maybe I should stand... No, I'll lie back down... Oh, they REALLY love me!

[15 minutes later]

Ohhhhhhhhhh... I shouldn't have eaten all that ice! I'll just lie here and rest...

[2 hours later]

Hey! Where did the ice go? It was just here! I was enjoying the sun, lounging around, and those people must have taken the ice away! I'll show them... what can I chew? Oh, that shiny new hose looks good! Mmmm... this hose isn't quite as good as the ice, but it will do for now...

UH-OH! That lady is coming out... I'll just look away, and pretend I didn't have anything to do with it... Oh, no! A piece of the hose is stuck in my jowels... Think she'll notice?

3% or three percent

2009-06-28T18:47:00.000-07:00

If you saw a checkout ad that said: "3% off your next purchase if you pay with a debit card"... what would you expect? A coupon for 3% off your next purchase? Hey - me, too! Not so in the land of IKEA... perhaps discounts work differently in Sweden?

Scout and I were purchasing a dresser (to store lil blue onesies for the lil dude) at the famous "build your own furniture with nothing more than a tiny pseudo-tool" store, and after hauling the heavy boxes off the 60 foot high shelves, loading them onto our cart the size of a small car, and rolling it to the register ourselves, I opted for the "self-check" lane. It only seemed fitting... also, there were only two registers with actual humans working them, with about 45.7 people in each line, while there were 8 self check registers open, with nobody in line.

I start scanning the items when I notice the sign offering 3% off your next purchase... well, we were planning on paying with our debit card anyway, so that seemed like a good deal. Then I surveyed our items, 3 items for $9.99 each, and 1 item for $299.99 (what a deal, saving that penny off $300). And JUST THEN... I had a brilliant idea! If I purchased the smaller items first, I could get the 3% discount to use on the big ticket item.

Of course, I had already shot the items with the little "beep" red laser gun, so I had all the items on the screen. At a self checkout line. After flagging the yellow shirt guy down, I explained to him what I wanted to do, cleared it with him that I could use the coupon today, for a purchase 10 seconds from now... he confirmed, and voided my big ticket item. Yay!

A swipe of the debit card (isn't it magical - it practically seems free!), a spit up of the receipt, and I was ready to save 3% off my $300 dresser. Except... where is my 3% coupon? Nooooo... there IS NO THREE PERCENT COUPON. What I got was this: a statement at the bottom of my receipt saying that I could get $0.98 off my next purchase. WHAT???? So, my savings was really 3% of my current purchase that I could use towards reducing the price of my next purchase. IN WHICH CASE... I would have made my purchases in the OTHER ORDER... HAD I KNOWN! I opted not to try to void the whole transaction (mostly cause Scout was glaring a hole in my back), and decided to just make the next purchase.

Here we go: scan box of furniture, scan bar code on the receipt offering a whopping ninety eight cents discount, and... nothing. Well, except an error code asking for Yellow Shirt assistance. Sigh... another Yellow Shirt guy shows up, and tries to enter the code for the discount... over... and over... and over... again. He just can't figure it out. Scout is now growling and frothing at the mouth, and says, "can we just leave for 98 cents?" And I said, "NO! It is the principle!" (Plus, I was pissed that I had been foiled by the 3% discount misleading advertising). So we got a Yellow Shirt girl to come over and enter the discount. Which amounted to a .33% (don't miss that period, it says POINT three three percent) savings on the dresser. So, now I have $9.73 to spend next time I go to IKEA... and use my debit card.... and get another 3% "discount"... and as the King says: "etcetera, etcetera, etcetera"!

speedway

2009-06-26T09:59:00.000-07:00

Scout, Crush and I took a trip over to the in laws house last weekend. They were hosting a retirement party for a family friend, and we went to help... um, and enjoy the party - it was a win/win. They live about 2.5 hours away - over a couple rivers and through the woods (if you consider grapevines "woods"), and past one speedway. On Sunday, there was a huge race (so I hear, not that I know anything about car racing), and we thought we would be stuck in traffic forever. We couldn't take the back way (because the giant puppy gets carsick, and giant puppy means giant... well, just imagine). Turns out, everyone must have already been grilling and chilling in the parking lot at the speedway, and we flew right by it - no traffic at all.

Cruising home, I was thinking: oh, this is going well... no traffic, I didn't have to stop a hundred times to go to the bathroom, dog hasn't puked (yet). We are nearing our exit, and I see a white car parked on the side of the road... with a guy standing pointing something at me... then we pass... then he gets in his car... then I mutter some nasty words... then Scout starts looking for insurance papers and my license... I pull over one lane and pretend that maybe he is going to pass me... he doesn't buy it, and flashes his lights at me. Crap. So I pull over (underneath the sign announcing my exit in 3/4 mile). I pull off the side of the road reaaaaallll far, so maybe he'll notice my consideration for his safety, and tell me that I am a fine upstanding citizen, and to slow down a little.

He walks up to the car on Scout's side, and my darling husband immediately hands over my paperwork. The guy takes it and says, I'll be back with these in a few minutes... and LEAVES! That was it - no "Do you know how fast you were going?", "Where are you going in such a hurry?" (which I had a good response to - "I'm 7 months pregnant, officer, and I reaaaaallly have to go to the bathroom, and I am almost home."). Just walks back to his car, grabs the clipboard from Poncherello, and starts writing. COME ON! I don't even get a chance to cry? Stupid state budget... if it wasn't so messed up, maybe he would have listened to my lame excuses, and maybe - just maybe - I would have gotten off with a warning. But noooo... Arnie needs money, and I was an easy target. (Yes, I am the victim in all of this, never mind my breaking the law).

Officer H walks back and hands me the ticket, checks off a box on his quota for the state budget reform worksheet, and I am free to go. Scout says nothing as I berate him for handing over my cards too quickly, ruining my attempts to cry my way out of it. Then I start complaining about how I am so annoyed I got a ticket, and make a comment about how I can't harass him about being the last one to get a ticket. He starts laughing, and says, "This is why you're so pissed, isn't it? It's not about the ticket, it's cause you are now the last one to get caught, and you can't make fun of me." Damn him and his mind reading. He laughs some more, good and loud. I inform him that his entertainment is going to cost us money, but he writes it off and says that this will be a bargain for all the times I have gotten away with speeding.

We make it home safe and sound, 5 minutes from the scene of the crime. I pull into the driveway, shift the car into park, lean back on my headrest, and hear the dog puke. Yep, she made it the whole way, and then puked while we were parked in our driveway. Sigh... maybe if there had been more traffic at the speedway, I wouldn't have had to make my own speedway.

doggie day care???

2009-06-19T14:44:00.000-07:00

Princess Puppy is at doggie day care right now... Yes, doggie day care. I never thought I would type that, let alone live it. I am not sure which road I turned down that led me here, or which turn I missed, but here I am. With a dog. At doggie day care.

I can rationalize it in my head... we aren't actually PAYING for doggie day care today. We got one free session when we bought our training classes. Kind of like when you buy fancy Air Jordans, they come with a "free" set of laces. And we aren't sending her there on a regular basis. She is there today so that when we drop her off for overnight visits (should we have a desire to jet off to Paris one weekend), she is familiar with the place. See? It all makes sense when I explain it like that... but still!!! Doggie day care?

closet cleaning

2009-06-08T15:25:00.001-07:00

Since the little dude is going to be arriving in a few months, we decided to clean out the guest closet. He'll need someplace to store all his diapers, onesies, and stuffed animals. And eventually, his rocks, bugs, frogs and other collectibles (I don't need to include worms in that list, since we already store those in the garage).

Here are the treasures we found in the closet:

4 sleeping bags
6 mats for camping (yes, for 2 people - you never know what thickness you are going to need)
3 suitcases
1 wetsuit
5 blankets
3 quilts (they all landed in the space saver bags, which resulted in me blowing the fuse 3 times while shrinking them down)
284 baseball cards that are actually my sister's, but my mom thought they were mine, so she sent them to me. Yes, my sister wants them back, and was pissed when she found out I had them... she could make millions!
5 backpacks
4 duffel bags (one from my high school basketball team with my name embroidered on it... I brought it camping, and my friend actually "booed" me when I got it out of the car... yes, high school rivalry apparently lasts 15 years)
1 messenger bag
1 guitar (I have never heard the strings strumming in my house)
1 wedding dress in a box

As we were emptying out the closet (and promptly stuffing all the crap in the OTHER guest room closet, so we can postpone actually organizing until we have the next kid), I yelled to Scout from the hallway, "Don't forget my wedding dress - on the top shelf!" He pulled it down, looked at it, and said, "Did you actually wear this? It looks so small..." (then he looked at me, my mouth agape) and continued, "...I know I can't save this comment... I love you very much." We both started laughing, and I reminded him that this was not a good time to be making remarks about size, and maybe he would like to sleep in this guest room tonight? And he says that I open my mouth without thinking...

Twothpastes

2009-06-02T16:39:00.000-07:00

Since the dawn of time (8.5 years ago), Scout and I have used different toothpastes. He uses Crest (gross), and I use Colgate. We have had two toothpastes (say that five times fast) in our bathroom forever, since neither side will back down in the toothpaste war (just doesn’t have the same ring as “cola war”).

Last week, I went to Tarjay to purchase some household items. Now, I love Tarjay, but one of its flaws (not MY flaws, it is an unwritten rule on the door) is that I have to circle the entire store in case there is something I need along the way. As anyone who has found themselves in the cross hairs of the red target knows, it is a LONG way around the perimeter of their acreage. So by the time I got to the toothpaste section, I was tired, cranky, had to pee, and wishing that I had a cart instead of a basket laden with “necessities”.

I turned down the toothpaste aisle, and was confronted with a dizzying array of tooth cleaners by my beloved Colgate. Did I want: whitening? brightening? cavity fightening? As I looked at the collection of products – no less than 10 feet long, top to bottom shelf full – I wondered: which one do I have now? I was so overwhelmed, I couldn’t even remember if I had paste or gel, which seemed like a pretty basic factor. At least I would be able to eliminate half of the products. And seriously – what is the difference between cool mint, clean mint and crystal mint? Will the minty sparkle make my canines look like they are all dolled up in stripper glitter? I’m not sure that is the look I am going for…

As my bladder screamed and my patience waned, I decided to just buy regular, plain old original Colgate. I scanned the rows, and found an empty section with a Sale tag sticking out, taunting me. Since I could not handle making this life altering decision, I headed to the checkout line with a huff, resigning myself to Crest clean teeth. It seems easier - it is already in my house, next to my toothbrush, and although I don't like it, I just couldn't decide which of the 32 (yes, THIRTY TWO - I looked it up on the Colgate website) varieties should come home with me.

So, we are now a onepaste house.

dog daze

2009-04-27T16:22:00.000-07:00

Scout has been very busy with his Crush, trying to make her comfortable in her new home. She has a new crate that will grow with her (seriously, it is so big that we can't fit it in our car), and he just built her a new house. We called it a doghouse, but our neighbor said that it is so big it qualifies as its own house. I hope we don't have to pay taxes on it! But maybe we could get a discount for having an extra dependent? Seriously, she doesn't work, we have to feed her - isn't that a dependent? I'll call the IRS to see if she qualifies... don't hold your breath.

Last week, he devoted every minute to her chateau from the moment he arrived home from work until the moment precisely before he was endangering his digits operating a saw in the dark. First, he bought the blueprints on the internet (no architect was consulted, and no city permits were acquired). Next, he cruised over to Home Despair to purchase lumber, and of course - a new tool! It is an air compressor, and it nails things. Which, I believe there is another tool for... I think it is called, um, let me think... a hammer! Yes, that's it! But this air compressor (cough, hammer) can dispense 347 nails per millisecond! Or something like that. Really, this project was his perfect excuse to buy the air compressor that he has been drooling over for years. And I will help him reduce his cost per project by allowing him to also use it to put up the crown molding I've been wanting for years. See? Marriage is about compromise. He buys tool, I let him do project for me. Win-win. So, after he had all his materials (and some extra tools borrowed from the neighbor), he started building.

It was so big, he built it in parts, and assembled in the final location. Else, it would not have fit through the gate to the backyard, nor would he have been able to carry it. Seriously, this thing is like 3 coffins big. So, after it was assembled, painted and placed, he tried to get the dog in it... which is where he ran into a problem. He built it so it would fit her when she is full sized. Since she is only about 1/4 size right now, she couldn't get into the doorway. She would wave her paw in the air (like you just don't ca-are) grasping for the doorway, but she was just too little. (Too little - ha - not for long!) I felt so bad for Scout - after all his hard work, and she just couldn't use it. Never fear, though, he crafted a step for her out of the half ton of scrap wood leftover in our garage. Tah-dah! Now his princess has a castle of her own...

lessons learned

2009-03-18T09:46:00.000-07:00

What we have learned from our puppy that we can bring forward into parenthood:

Remember to feed the kid twice a day.
If our child drools a lot, we will keep his/her water outside, and wipe his/her mouth before entering the house after drinking water.
Always keep the child on a leash when outside the house, else he/she might run away.
If our child starts chewing on things we don't want him/her to chew on (shoes, furniture, every single basket full of magazines/yarn/etc. around the house that my husband has been complaining about for the past 5 years - seriously, there has GOT to be a conspiracy there somewhere), we should give him/her a toy to chew on instead of the forbidden item.
Take him/her outside every few hours so he/she doesn't pee on the floor.
Be firm about sleeping in the crate - don't let the baby sleep just anywhere in the house.

Yep, I think we are TOTALLY prepared for this parenthood position now. Good thing we got that dog...

they say...

2009-03-13T14:27:00.001-07:00

They say before you have a baby, you should have a puppy. Since we only have a few months until baby, we got a puppy last night.

Okay, now that you have picked yourself up off the floor, I can continue...

Scout has been talking about getting a dog for YEARS. Over the past 2 years, he has been commenting on every dog we see: "oh, that is a pretty dog," or "honey, wouldn't you like to have a dog to go on walks with you?" My response is always some comment on the amount of hair, slobber, poop in yard, cost of food, blah de blah blah blah versus the benefit of having an animal on a leash during my walks. I have a cell phone - I can talk to people - who actually speak English, not just barky bark woof language.

Over the past few months, he has been researching dog breeds, training (he is very serious about stuff when he is very interested in the topic), and landed on the dog that he says is "PERFECT" for our family. A mastiff. In case you are not familiar with dog breeds (and I am still shocked at how many people ARE familiar with dog breeds), they are the GIANT dogs... look like horses... humongous... mellow, lazy, and um, did I mention HUGE?

Right now, she is a cute, soft little puppy, but she will probably be 80 lbs by 6 months. She is 2 months now, and 23 lbs. I got bumped off Scout's facebook pic for his other woman. She follows him around (well, like a puppy) so much that I started calling him her boyfriend. When I told Scout this, he replied, "she's not my girlfriend... she's my bitch!" That's my husband.

The good news about having a giant dog (we expect she will grow to 150-200 lbs. - I'm really hoping for a "petite" 170) is that we will not need a stroller, we are just going to teach the kid how to ride in a saddle, and have the dog carry the kid around. Maybe even build some sort of contraption like they use on top of elephants so we can strap the car seat to it.

I'm not sure exactly how this happened... I said we could go look at dogs last weekend, and suddenly, we had a puppy taking over our house... I feel like a freshman waking up on Sunday morning in a frat house: "What happened and how did I get here?"

So, it's true... pregnancy can make you lose your mind!

they say selection is RANDOM

2009-03-09T10:30:00.000-07:00

If jury selection is truly RANDOM, then how come Scout and I have both received summons for jury duty two weeks apart? Reeeaaaally... random? I would like to present a case that they scroll through the list in alphabetical order. Hmmm... except that his first name would come before mine. Buuuut... this probably isn't the most perfect process, so I'll allow it as evidence that it is possible Scout's name got caught up in a jammed printer, so he was spared for another two weeks, which would allow me to leapfrog ahead of him in potential juror line. It's plausible.

I am pretty sure if I do have to go down to the courthouse, it will only be for one day. Scout assures me that nobody wants a hormonal woman sitting on a jury. Especially once they see how many bathroom breaks I'll need! I am considering bringing a box of tissues with me in case of potential selection, since I'm pretty sure I can cry on demand these days.

No knitting needles to pass my time (deadly weapons - you should SEE the statistics on knitting needles deaths in the U.S. - on the rise!). I'll have to pass my time with the good, old fashioned book. Which might be nice, since I have a stack about 2 feet high of books I've been "meaning to read."

Wish me luck next week... sitting in a room with 347 of my closest friends, all with last names starting with "O."

growth spurt

2009-03-06T15:26:00.001-08:00

By the eighth grade, I had already completed my growth spurt, reaching peak elevation at 5'8". Which, I now appreciate - I can reach the top cabinets in my kitchen, don't have to hem my pants, and all sorts of other perks (none of which I can think of at this moment, but I know they exist). But in junior high, 5'8" was ridiculous - I towered over all the boys, and my poofy Jersey Girl bangs only accentuated my height. Fortunately, pegging your pants was in, so I didn't have to worry about my pants being too short - good thing, cause that was well before the Gap made pants in ankle/regular/long versions.

It has been many moons (and perhaps even a score ago, but a lady cannot admit her true age) since I have experienced a growth spurt, but here it goes again... and this time, I am not growing UP, but rather, growing OUT. Yes, it's true - I am currently baking a little Scout in the oven. We are not sure if it is a girl scout or a boy scout yet, but we will be asking the kind people with the cold lotion, metal prodder and mysterious black and white screen if they recommend blue or pink. See justification here.

My official due date (per Google search) is September 7, 2009 - yes, Labor Day. I am sure since I would so appreciate the irony of that, this child will not arrive on that day. In case that doesn't work out, I will be issuing an eviction notice on 9/9/09 - cause how cool would that be?!?! But rumor has it that the spawn don't listen, even though everyone says they can hear you in there! So, I say to my child: arrive whenever you want - we can't wait to meet you!

it made more sense in the middle of the night

2008-04-10T11:15:00.000-07:00

Padding into the bathroom at 2:16am due to dehydration induced gallon o’ water consumption last night, I was startled by a small, dark object on the floor. The moonlight slicing through the window - okay, fine, the bright light of the streetlamp right outside the bedroom window that will not be dulled by the shades - illuminated the object against the shiny white tile. My first thought was, “Oh, shit, a mouse. Should I wake up Scout so he can catch it?” My second thought was, “Since I don’t have my glasses on, perhaps I should verify that it IS a mouse before I wake him up (see previous mention of time of day, rather, night).”

So I flipped the light switch on to get a clear view of the mouse. A couple flaws with that plan (which didn’t occur to me until after I was fully awake, as I clearly was not when I concocted this crazy plan):
1) I had to actually come within 2 feet of the mouse to turn on the light. So after I saw it on the ground, I continued to walk TOWARD it in order to turn on the light.
2) I neglected to consider that the mouse might ALSO see the light and scurry away instead of hanging out for me to inspect its rodentness.

Fortunately for my middle of the night illogical logic, it was not a mouse. Quit squirming in your chairs. It was a travel pack of Kleenex that had fallen off the counter. You can understand how I could be confused, as tissues wrapped in cellophane have an uncanny resemblance to furry tailed rodents. People have been confusing the two for many, many years. Hey, it made sense in the middle of the night.

can you hear it?

2008-04-08T14:50:00.000-07:00

They have been silent until now, hidden away in a dark place. But today, they are calling out to me. Demons from my past? Orphaned starving children from a third world nation? Hardly. It’s those damn girl scout cookies sitting in my work drawer.

I have avoided them for WEEKS! Part of the beauty of my plan was that I would leave them in my drawer at work, and since I have been traveling lately, I didn’t have access to them. Of course, I could have driven to my office to rescue them, but that would have been CRAZY. It even seemed crazy when it crossed my mind this weekend, but fortunately (in this case), I am lazy and the prospect of driving to work seemed like… well, too much work. But now – they are RIGHT there… if I roll my chair to the right, I can reach them. And there are starving children in this world – it would be a waste to let these cookies go stale. I suppose I could send the cookies to them, but think of all the gas and packaging materials that would have to go into the shipment – and I would have a tough time contributing to global warming even if it was for the cause of reducing world hunger. Competing priorities.

I should go. I have to rescue those poor helpless Samoas (I am protesting their new lame-o name – I anticipate they will bring it back next year due to the revolution) from my drawer. Give them a better home – um, my stomach? Or I guess it would probably be more like my hips or my rump shaker. A technicality.

go ahead… make my day

2008-04-01T14:13:00.001-07:00

Each new day starts fresh… but with each new beginning, there is a certain amount of repetition. Whether it is a daily routine (flossing your teeth – or so you tell your dentist when you go for your cleaning), a daily route (didn’t you see that guy shaving in his car yesterday… or worse) or the same people (crazy guy that sits behind the bus driver and tells him the mundane details of his life while said bus driver is looking out for the jackass that is about to cut him off), there is a thread of consistency and repetition as we travel through life.

One of those things that makes my day significantly better…

Opening the door to the bathroom stall at work and finding the toilet seat still up. Not because we have a coed bathroom (do you think I am Ally McBeal?) but because nobody has used the seat since the cleaners came through. How beautiful - a pristine seat gleaming at me, untouched by any other behind. Not that I can even validate that the cleaners actually clean the seat – they might just raise it so they can squirt the blue cleaner into the bowl without dripping and leaving the evidence. Or, they might wipe it with a nasty rag. Or, they might wipe it with a paper towel and no cleaner. But I like to think they squirted every square inch with antimicrobial cleaner and wiped it down with a clean rag/fresh paper towel. Let me live my dream.

Now you know what makes my day. I’m a simple girl.

good(ish) samaritan

2008-03-27T09:11:00.000-07:00

Upon arriving home from my March Madness trip to SoCal (southern California for those of you who live outside of Ahnold’s jurisdiction), I found a puffy package in my mailbox. I ripped it open, hopeful that it was my long lost (okay, fine, only five days, but it seemed like forever) wallet. Except that it felt kind of skinny – and it was. No money inside. Not that I expected it. When I resigned myself to the fact that my wallet was not in any of the four thousand pockets of my purse/laptop bag/suitcase, I proclaimed, “I don’t care if they take all the money, I just want to get my license back so I don’t have to stand in line at the DMV.”

So why was I so bummed to find a cashless wallet? Perhaps because when I looked at the return address, there was none! It said “Sender Not Identified, General Delivery, San Francisco.” Question is: why didn’t the mysterious good(ish) samaritan not want to be identified?

1) Good(ish) Samaritan Daniel found the wallet without cash in it and didn’t want to be accused of taking his own reward (my mother’s theory).

b) Good(ish) Samaritan Daniel is wildly famous and didn’t want to draw attention to his celebrity status to avoid appearing in the latest issue of US Weekly as a hero.

iii) Good(ish) Samaritan Daniel took his reward in advance.

For those of you who guessed iii, 3, or c - you are right! Well, I don't KNOW that you are right, but I am 99.99999 (repeating) percent sure that this is the correct option. Even considering the statistical variance of .000001 percent, you are still right. A+++++ right. And here I am - missing my cash, but still in possession of my newly renewed license, all my cancelled credit cards, my blood donor card, my library card and the receipt from my grocery store allowing me to get a 10 cent discount per gallon on my next gasoline purchase. Good news is that Daniel will not be donating pints of blood under the auspices of yours truly, I will not have exorbitant library tabs run up in my name and my next gas purchase will likely be below four bucks a gallon (if I go today - if I wait until tomorrow it might be $5.39/gallon). Other good news is that I no longer have a lingering concern that I will have to do something amazing to pay back the good karma that I received for getting my wallet back – I am confident that Daniel voided the karma exchange by taking all the cash out of my wallet.

The moral of this story is (it is a simple one): don’t lose your wallet.

You have GOT to be kidding me

2008-03-19T18:44:00.000-07:00

This hasn’t happened to me in… well, ever, as far as I can remember. I lost my wallet. Really, truly, back of a taxicab (as far as I can recollect) lost my wallet. I AM a chronic misplacer… If I had a parrot in college, it surely would have been squawking the phrase, “has anyone seen my ID card?” And I am always wandering around the house collecting items (keys, cell phone) before walking out the door. But I can’t EVER remember actually losing my wallet.

And based on my last post, you might be wondering if I am out of town… well, yes, yes I am. Today is my last day (supposedly) on my project in San Francisco, and I am flying out of Sacramento tonight for 2 fabulous days of March Madness (more on that in a later post - yes, as the writer's strike came to an end and finally we will have good TV again, you will have new blog posts to read from yours truly).

To retrace my steps (which I have done a hundred times): I had an early meeting this morning (6:30am to be exact) at the office. I got up early, thought I had enough time to get ready, pack, get out of the hotel and walk to the office (about a 15 minute walk). Of course I miscalculated, AND when I got outside I realized it is still dark at 6:20am. Damn you, daylight savings time, damn you (except at night when it is still light out, then you are fine, daylight savings time). So I got a cab.

I know I had my wallet out in the cab, because I got my money out to pay the driver. And then, when I went to get my wallet around 9:20am (I mistimed everything this morning and 2 meetings later, still hadn’t had breakfast), it was not there. I went through all my bags over and over… searched the floor, searched the offices I had been in… nothing. I started to panic… I called the hotel, went out and looked on the street in front of my office building (right… like a wallet would have just laid untouched on a city sidewalk for 3.5 hours), called the taxi company (which I think was the taxi I took, but I can’t say for sure)… seriously? Is this happening to me?

Then I called Scout and 1) asked him to get my shiny new passport from home so that I could board the plane tonight and 2) asked him if I should start canceling my cards. Which I had to make a list of, and I am not sure it is complete. Do you know what cards you have in your wallet?

Dialed the first 800 number and spent 3 minutes trying to get through the “please enter your account number” prompts. Finally got through after endlessly pretending I was calling from a rotary phone by ignoring the menu selections, explained to the girl that I was reporting a lost card and then... she asked me for my account number. I held back the rage and said again, “I LOST my card, so I don’t HAVE it to give the number to you.” 37 security questions later, card is cancelled. One down, three to go. Second verse, worse than the first… joint card w/ Scout yielded a crazy customer service rep who was practically yelling at me. I hung up on her, called Scout and told him he had to call in to those crazy peeps because I couldn’t deal with them. Subsequent craziness so on and so forth with the other cards…

At home for lunch, Scout noticed a message on our home phone. It was Daniel – he said he found my wallet. But he didn’t leave his phone number (and I think we are the only people in the world who don’t have caller ID on our home phone). Of course he didn't leave his number. Why would he? It's not like people with missing wallets need them. So I told Scout to leave a new message on our answering machine: “You have reached Scout and nro – if this is Daniel and you found nro’s wallet, please call her cell phone at 867-5309.” I guess it is good that he found it, but it would have been exponentially more helpful if he left a contact number. Is that asking too much? I guess I should be happy that someone was responsible and respectable enough to attempt contacting me at all. But I will reserve final judgement until I have my wallet in my possession.

Hopefully I will get my wallet back – any bets on whether my cash will be there or not?

rules of the rails

2008-03-19T18:33:00.000-07:00

How do you reenter a party after a lengthy absence? Do you just slip into the room and hope that among the craziness, nobody noticed you were missing? I was going to just slip into the room, but after getting an email from a faithful reader asking if “nothing random was going on in my world” lately, I thought you might all wonder where I have been (and if not, you can either continue reading just to indulge my self-flattery or traipse off to the never ending fun of youtube).

[editor's note: As I was posting this, I just got another email wondering where I have been and if I am okay. Nice to know I am loved.]

Busy, busy, busy in my random world lately. Much that I would have loved to write about, but as those thoughts were floating around in my head, they never quite made it to (virtual) paper. I have been traveling to San Francisco these past few weeks. It is about a 2 hour drive in the middle of the night with nobody else on the road, 3 hours if you try to go during the working man shift. Since I can’t even stay up to watch the 10 o’clock news, I go during normal people awake hours. The train has been a savior – takes a little longer, but I don’t have to pay attention or deal with traffic. And I’m saving the environment! Maybe – not sure how fuel efficient the trains are, but the little paper slips they put my tickets in have shiny advertisements that lead me to believe I am backing Al Gore. Never mind all the paper wasted in printing those shiny ads…

After figuring out how to park my car, use that squirrelly parking self pay machine (well, after Officer Fong added 2 parking tickets to his quota for the month courtesy of yours truly), get my train tickets, know where and what time my stop is at, how to transfer, where the bathrooms are, where the snack car is, which seats are best, how to make sure that nobody sits next to me… what? You thought I just hopped on the train and went? This blog isn’t called nothing random overlooked for no reason. I consider all things mundane and irrelevant to others – powered by the tiny hamster wheels spinning in my head. After all that, I am now able to do the trip on autopilot, and have collected my thoughts on the activities of my fellow environment saving passengers.

Following are the rules of the rails...

Please enjoy:

Sleeping (please try not to snore or drool)
Gazing out the window as we cruise through the vast farmland, rolling green hills (before they turn brown for the summer) or along the beautiful and no longer oil filled bay
Reading the paper – I have always thought that reading the paper is such a grown up activity, so if adulthood is measured by newspaper reading, I am probably about 5 years old. They look fun, but trying to open and flip and fold those humongous sheets of paper, having to locate the last 2 sentences to the article on the front page among the personals just seems like a lot of work. And I don’t like getting the ink on my hands. Okay, okay, AND I like just clicking around on the internet to read the news. Truly a member of the digital age here.
Talking quietly on your cell phone. I said QUIETLY. I don’t care what you are having for dinner, how long your mother in law is visiting for, what your stock portfolio did in today’s market.
Work on your laptop – although I will not be working, because I can only work in an office. Personal policy.
Surf the internet – don’t mind my lustful gaze at your aircard, for I am sure that I could accomplish much internet reading during my travels.

Please DO NOT:

Clip your nails – although I have no issues permanently damaging my hearing by blasting my (not)iPod, there is not a setting powerful enough to drown out the clipping sound of clipping nails. And I know you are not picking up all your fingernail remnants, buddy. Yeah, you. Leave the clippers at home – just pretend you are flying and they are not allowed on board.
Board the train without showering in the past 24 hours. When the doors shut, we are all sharing the same air. Your BO is just too much to handle. Plus, it might be undoing all the environment saving, as you are contaminating the air.
Talk LOUDLY on your phone (see item 5 above).
Sit next to me. Even if you have neutral body odor.

Um, they just announced a derailment yesterday in the area we are passing through right now. Perhaps I should read the news more often. Happy rails to you!

not so pretty in pink

2008-02-22T11:14:00.000-08:00

I did not wash them with anything red,
I pulled them right off the bed.
But now they have a pinkish hue,
And as for me, I’m feeling quite blue.
I did not buy sheets that were pink…
This really stinks!

paint panic

2008-02-19T08:49:00.000-08:00

I know you have all been on the edge of your swivel chairs, wondering what I did with my free day on this long weekend. Option 4 was the big winner of this contest. Not the most glamorous, but I like to think that I also accomplished a portion of option 1, since I had to buy all the paint.

Don't think I painted my ENTIRE living room - just half of it. I wanted to see if I really really REALLY liked it before painting the whole room. Phase 3 of deciding if I like the color has commenced. From the posterboard test to the square on the wall to an entire wall. Doesn't everyone do that? No? Just me? No wonder Scout looks at me like I have three heads...

So, I am having paint panic. Do I like it? Yes. Do I love it? Not yet. Will I love it? Not sure. I suppose I should finish painting the rest of the room (phase 4 of this obviously life altering decision).

In case you are wondering what it is supposed to look like: this is where I got the idea. On my walls, however, I feel like it looks more pastel-y than in the picture. Although Easter is coming up, that was not the look I was going for. (Yes, I recognize that ending a sentence in a preposition is a first class grammar offense, but I have been inhaling many fumes lately, so that is my excuse.)

More to come on the ongoing paint saga...

friday... before a 3 day weekend

2008-02-15T10:39:00.000-08:00

Friday... Yay! And as a super bonus, Monday is a holiday! Many of you out there may already be aware of this, but it was a surprise to me. I only realized 3 days ago that I do not have to work on Monday. A bit ironic, because I was just bemoaning the fact that I wished I had President's Day off work... so many things I wanted to do! And when my friend JT called me this past Monday flaunting her first of two Mondays of not working, I promptly said "Hello, dear friend" and launched into a lecture about how she should at least know what the holiday is if she gets the day off work. She replied, "um - Lincoln's birthday? Washington's birthday? I was out shopping ALL DAY." JT and I lived together for a couple years and as a supportive and loving friend, I would dole out as much haterness as I could in the days that she spent chilling on our couch while I went to my cubicle and ~~slaved away~~ surfed the internet as much as possible in protest of working on a day when many others were getting paid to not work.

So imagine my surprise when I saw the little blue holiday marked on my calendar at work! I was giddy all day on Tuesday in anticipation of this free day. I immediately sent an IM to Scout so I could rub it in his face. You know, cause I love him and all, but really... he has to go to work and I don't... that is worth some gloating!

Now, what should I do with my day? I have so many plans, and so little time...

1. I could shop. The commercials tell me I should shop. Everyone knows that presidents like to shop, and as such, retailers have big SALES to celebrate this holiday. Even our current president thinks I should shop - he is even giving me $600 (Or maybe $1200 if I get the mail first and don't say anything to Scout... but I probably have to split the dough with the other half that qualifies me for the "married" status - especially now that he has read this) to spend however I want! I have yet to receive said money for spending, but if I charge it, and then pay interest on it until I receive my check from the expeditious government processing department, then I could share my economic stimulation with the financial industry, too! It's a win-win! But I don't want to commit to my first idea - I would like to keep my options open...

2. I could park my ass on the couch and finish season six of 24. Which I want to do and don't want to do all at the same time. I love love love Jack Bauer (who doesn't? and if you don't, what is wrong with you?), but if I finish season six, there is nothing to look forward to. Since I have only watched the show on DVD, I always knew that when I finished a season, I could start the next one whenever I started to get the shakes and go through beep...boop...beep...boop withdrawal. But when this one is over, there is nothing to look forward to... it is the end. With the writer's strike (I know it is over, but do you think they are going to write the whole next season in a day?) and Keifer in jail (I know he's out, but I'm making a point here!), it is going to take forEVER to get season seven. And what, you expect me to watch it LIVE? Please. Wait from week to week and actually have a use for the "previouslies" instead of scoffing at them because I just saw that scene seventeen minutes ago? But I can't watch them without Scout, so on to plan B (or plan 3, as it may be)...

3. I could drive over to Santa Rosa to watch Stage 2 of the Tour of California. I could rent a Winnebago and get a cute little table and sit on the side of the road with a baguette and a bottle of wine, toasting the peleton as they zoom by in a swift collection of colorful spandex. I like this idea, because I could make a sign. But I am going to the prologue at Stanford University on Sunday, so maybe two days of driving 4+ hours to watch other people exercise is a bit much...

4. I could paint my living room. For the past 14 months, I have been talking about painting the living room. The previous owners had it painted an orangey rust color. A perfectly fine color - I mean, it wasn't chartreuse or cotton candy pink or anything heinous like that - just not a color I want to look at all day. I fell in lust with a beautiful paint color on one of those home shows. You know, the ones where you can renovate a room in half an hour without even getting paint all over your clothes (as long as you have a TV crew on hand). The show was kind enough to post the paint color specifics on their website, so I went down to my local home improvement store and bought a tiny sample. A cute little paint can that fits in the palm of your hand and gives the illusion that painting is a dainty task. I brought my miniature paint can home and painted a couple swatches of posterboard to tape to the wall. (I told you I always have posterboard on hand - you didn't believe me?) After tilting my head to the left, then to the right, about 115 times from 47 different angles, I decided I like the color. Kind of. And Scout proclaimed that he liked the color enough to paint a section of the wall to see if we REALLY like it before we paint the whole room. So I did. Well, technically I painted a couple sections of a couple walls. To see it in different lights. And next to different things in the room (fireplace, floor, furniture). What I neglected to consider before graffitiing my wall with squares of paint was that I will either have to paint the whole room by the end of the month, or paint it back to the orangey rust color before hosting RunnerGirl's baby shower. So, maybe I will be painting on Monday.

Happy Friday! (or, um, if you are reading this on another day of the week... Happy whatever day today is!)

happy heart day

2008-02-14T12:22:00.001-08:00

Happy Valentine's day! Hope you all are enjoying your tiny heart shaped chocolates, noisy ass cards that sing when you open them and little pastel messages inscribed on pressed sugar. Oh, and reminding your loved ones how much they mean to you... right, that part!

Recap from the discussion hubs and I were having last night:
Him: So, what time is the flight tomorrow?
Me: (confusion - looking around, as if the walls are going to illuminate with my trusty planner's contents and tell me why he is leaving on a business trip on a Thursday, and I have no recollection of this... but all I eek out is:) HUH?
Him: Aren't you whisking me away to Paris?
Me: Oh... hey, that's MY line... and no, we aren't going to Paris. I sent my passport in to be renewed, so I am stuck in the country for 6-8 weeks (really, more like 10-12 weeks, but the form says 6-8 so I will give them the benefit of the doubt, even though I have no reason to do so)
Him: Okay, how about Hawaii?

Here is what is going to happen: get home from work, ask each other what we are having for dinner about 3-5 times, finally settle on something glamorous like mac & cheese or pizza. Debate whether we should watch more episodes of season six of 24 or the latest episode of Reno 911 on our tivo. Hey, I'll light a candle - it will be romantic.

disconcerting

2008-02-13T12:45:00.000-08:00

Nothing like driving across a bridge and looking to the right only to notice that a replacement bridge is being built. A bit disconcerting - particularly if you have an aversion to bridges, as I do. I try to keep my fear in check so I don't turn into one of those extremists who drive 200 miles out of their way to avoid going over a bridge. But I could feel my fear increasing exponentially as I was gazing at the new pilings and the new bridge (which looked more like a pier, since it just stopped in the middle of the water).

I know that the likelihood of a bridge collapsing while I am on it is pretty slim, but I also know that it CAN happen (just ask the fine folks in Minneapolis). So I take precautions to aid in my survival, should it be necessary. I open my window a crack so that in the event that my car careens off the edge (which would be quite a feat, since I always drive in the middle lane) and I survive the however-many-feet plummet to the icy waters below, I will be able to open my door to escape. Science (in particular, the Mythbusters show) says that due to the difference of the pressure of water on the outside of a sinking car and the pressure of air on the inside of the car, mere human strength cannot open the door until the pressure is equal (which means: it is filled with water... which would make it tough to breath, I think. So, I want to be prepared. Yes, these are the things I am thinking about when I drive over a bridge... ESPECIALLY when I see new bridges being built to replace the one I am on that very second - and strangely enough, that has happened THREE times recently. Either bridges are all reaching their expiration date as printed on the container, or the Dept. of Transportation had an excess of money in their budget this year. Ummm.... probably the former.

carsick

2008-02-05T20:07:00.000-08:00

I am officially sick and tired of driving. I have driven 1100 miles in 3 days. Oh, let me put the comma in there so you don't think it was a typo: 1,100 miles. One thousand one hundred miles.

Here are some highlights of the time spent with my ass in a seat, traveling companion at my side:

I drove the first 3 hours while Scout read his book. I know, wild and crazy road trip! We forgot to bring our markers to make signs to passerby "Honk if you're horny".
The radio choices in the miles between the cities that had more than one exit were: country, christian, country christian, and one lone pop station. After selecting our option (pop), I was delighted (delighted? did I turn into an old bitty on this trip? who says that anymore?) to hear Jon Bon Jovi crackling through the airwaves. I would have blasted it, but Scout is not a fan of blasting music, and constantly warns me about ruining my hearing (he must be in on the conspiracy with my parents, who have been warning me about that same thing since I was 13... hello? people? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!), so in lieu of blasting Jon Bon's dulcet tones, I took a break from my knitting, repurposed my knitting needle as a microphone (works just as well as a curling iron or brush, FYI, ladies) and started singing along. And when I say singing, I mean belting. Wooo-ooooaaaah... we're halfway (really only about a third) the-ere... Wooo-ooooaaaah... livin' on a prayer... Scout winced for the entire song, and during a break in the singing (when I was reenacting a guitar solo), he wished me hoarseness. Unfortunately for him, that did nothing but strengthen my resolve. Take my hand and we'll make it I swe-ear...

My car has a tape deck player in it (I know, right? Scout thinks it is the last car out there with a tape deck - he is all snooty now that he has his new car!), and lo and behold, there was a tape in it. So we hit the "tape" button (click, click, whir) and listened to the high quality sound of Billy Joel's Stormfront. For those of you familiar with this album, it has the song that will get stuck in your head for days, "We Didn't Start the Fire"... it was always burning, since the world's been turning... Sorry, back to the story. As soon as it came on, Scout started to sing the words. I feel like "sing" isn't the right word for that song - you are essentially trying to whoosh all the words out and gasp for air between verses. Anyway, I was completely enthralled with this (skill? talent?) that I had not seen before... seven years - I thought I knew everything about him? So I rewound and made him start from the beginning, and he did very well! I got a crush on him all over again. I know, my standards are unreasonably high.
Next trip, we are totally bringing our mix tapes... have to dig them out of the time capsule buried in our backyard. Kidding! They are in a tape deck organizer next to my nightstand... kidding again! I'm not THAT weird. But I am weird enough to still have most of them. Hey, they could be antiques someday!

Upon departure from our driveway, I started the timer on my watch. So I could know how long it takes to get there. As a rough estimate, I think I looked at my watch about seventy three... make it seventy four times during our trip. Then forgot to look at until halfway through dinner after we had already checked into our hotel, unloaded our car and driven to Scout's aunt and uncle's house. Seriously, I should put a post-it on my steering wheel to remind me to check my watch when we arrive!

Last time we drove to Oregon (a month ago), my faithful car sustained a massive injury to the windshield, and started cracking so bad (you could actually hear it crack and spread) that we decided it should be replaced immediately - safety first, kids! Can you see where this is going? Anyone? If you guessed "got hit with another rock and need ANOTHER new windshield", you are correct! Oh, the glass guys are going to love us. I like to consider it supporting the economy. Except that I can think of about 1,100 things I would rather buy than a new windshield.

So, after 1,100 miles and 18+ hours in the car (you could figure out our average speed if you paid attention during math class in high school), I was so happy to finally be home... only to get in my car the next day to drive to San Francisco for work. I should have called in sick... carsick, that is.

why would you...

2008-01-25T13:33:00.000-08:00

...microwave fish at work?

Bringing lunch to work is not one of my strengths. I realize it would save money if I made my lunch every day instead of going out or scavenging in our cafeteria, but I think I have made my feelings known about cooking. And, yes, slapping some PB&J on bread and slipping it into a Ziploc is cooking to me. So today, when I brought my lunch to work, I was feeling pretty good about myself strolling into the break room. I started to walk toward the microwave when I was hit with an olfactory knockout... someone had been cooking fish in the microwave. I felt like the three bears after they returned home and noticed that Goldilocks had been tousling their sheets. Who would do such a thing? Don't they realize that smell doesn't go away? Now, I know people argue about popcorn in the microwave at work because it wafts through the air, and in about 22.4 seconds (on average), the entire floor finds themselves drooling with the thought of freshly popped kernels. But at least popcorn smells good! Microwaved fish is just nasty... blegh! In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that I do not like fish. I have tried. Really, I try fish about twice a year. Just don't like it. Saves me on the mercury consumption, though, so I at least I have that. But even though I don't like the taste of fish, I actually enjoy the aroma of a seafood restaurant. It reminds me of boats, and the docks, and summertime, and... well, honestly, it also kind of reminds me of chicken, since that is what I always get at a seafood restaurant. So, it isn't the smell of fish that I don't like... it is microwaved fish. Horrible. Don't do it. Coworkers don't let coworkers zap fish.

seals & the things they do...

2008-01-22T15:55:00.000-08:00

Oh, hello. You’re still there. Phew. I was wondering if anyone was still out there, since I have been hiding behind the blinding white pages, wondering if words will appear on their own. (FYI: they don’t). I have tried to keep you entertained by changing my background. Can’t seem to find one that I really, really like. I mean, I like them… but I don’t like them like them. Not enough to pass a note with checkboxes to see if they like me back. Just enough to scribble our initials in a heart on my binder. I mean, if he asked me to the dance, I wouldn’t say no…

Now that we’ve settled that, what have I been up to lately? Well, this weekend I had my second camping trip of the year. And by year, I mean 2008, not within the past 365 days. Yes, within the first twenty days of the year, I spent 2 nights sleeping in a tent… in less than desirable tent weather (above freezing, but not by much). But, as you know, I am married to Scout, who insists that winter camping is fun. Woo-hoo! I can now say that I know why they put hoods on sleeping bags. I always thought it was a bit much, until I found myself encased like King Tut, with little puffs of frosted breath emerging from my gaping mouth while attempting to shiver myself to sleep. On the bright side, I didn’t have to worry about being devoured by bears, because 1) they were hibernating and 2) I didn’t want to get up and pee in the middle of the night due to the fact that I had to exit my sleeping bag. Okay, okay, it wasn’t THAT bad. But my feet WERE cold!

Why were we camping, you ask? We had a very important double date with the in-laws. They are avid state park tour attendees, and booked a tour for us to Ano Nuevo state park during elephant seal breeding season. Or, as I so eloquently called it: Seal Sex... because I am mature. We have been on this tour before, but no seal sex that time. Just seal babies. If you can’t make the correlation yourself, please redo your high school Health 201 course. So, there we were: me, Scout, Scout’s parentals and 16 of our closest, um, strangers… voyeurs galore. Hey, it’s not weird. It’s nature. But it sure does sound weird as I am typing this out loud. What are YOU doing with your in-laws this weekend?

snooze… (9 minutes later)… snooze… repeat

2008-01-11T15:24:00.000-08:00

Patent applications require inventors prove their invention is useful. I am considering writing to the patent office and requesting that they revisit the patent on the snooze button. How – exactly – is the snooze button useful? Unless they are considering it useful as a form of torture. Hmmm… perhaps this could help deflect from the recent water-boarding torture issue. Hello? White House press secretary… I have something that can help you. Yes, it is regarding the snooze button and its torturous effect on millions of your citizens. Hello? Hello?

This past week has been torturous (what? overdramatic?) getting out of bed in the morning. Every morning has been gray and dreary and cold (well, cold for us fair weather Californians – down in the forties – brrrr) and worst of all – I had to work five days in a row. After a full 2 weeks of vacation (reminiscent of the years I spent in school which yielded many more vacations than this crap they call adulthood) and a three day work week last week, it has been a long road to reach this final day of the week.

Since I AM an adult, I decided each and every morning that I would hit snooze when my alarm clock went off. It can’t be any easier – those crazy inventors made the button humongous. Just hit it, roll over (or not, why bother moving) and go back to sleep for another glorious nine minutes. Repeat until you fear losing your job, or you have to pee so bad you decide to get out of bed anyway.

So, what did all that snoozing do for me? Well, I can assure you it was not useful! Just prolonged getting out of bed and gave me a few more (interrupted) minutes of sleep that I am sure did not make me more rested.

Can’t wait to sleep in tomorrow! Oh, never mind… we are off to make use of the mounds of snow from the recent big storm. Support the local ski resort economy... woo-hoo! I’ll bet I don’t use the snooze button tomorrow. We will battle again on Monday.

green cow killers

2008-01-04T08:33:00.000-08:00

We started out 2008 going green. How trendy. We are now the proud ~~owners~~ debt-bearers of a new Nissan Altima Hybrid. We are saving the world! Except for the cows, 'cause it has leather seats. Oh, well. Two steps forward, one step back. We traded in our '99 Volvo - had to get rid of it before it broke down again. So, we went from a turbo car to a hybrid. It sounds like a luxury golf cart when you drive it - pretty quiet, and much roomier than we expected. I am practically a hippie - recycling plastic bottles, reusing grocery bags and now a hybrid car! What's that, you say? I should reduce consumption? That is so un-American. How do you think capitalism works, anyway?

It is Scout's first brand new car! He is super excited, and stayed up late playing with all the controls (and I am sure he read the entire manual) last night - I went to bed. What? It was late, and I had just signed my life away... again. But we are saving the world!

the storm is coming!

2008-01-03T13:48:00.000-08:00

Paul Revere impressionists have been running around my office, "the storm is coming, the storm is coming!" To prepare for "The Big Storm," be sure to get your emergency kit and 3 days worth of food! Go to Costco, get a generator, buy chips and salsa, make sure your XM radio can run off batteries, get a flashlight and some sandbags! Be prepared to live for 3 days without electricity! Now, how am I supposed to cook for 3 days w/out electricity? I can barely cook WITH electricity. Maybe Scout can figure out how to hook up our microwave to the gas line. Oh, we could BBQ! Perfect! Or, we'll just go out to eat. Those places must have generators. Also, one of my friends has a truck that has an actual outlet in it. You know, the kind you use to plug in your blender so you can make margaritas while you are camping? We could call him (on our cell phones, of course, charged from our cars) and cook in the back of his truck. While we are at it, might as well bring our big screen TV and satellite dish. Who needs a generator? We'll be fine.

I overheard a coworker say that she is going to bring her lunch tomorrow in case we lose power at work (seriously, I couldn't make this up). Um, if we lose power, wouldn't you just go home?

Big storm... batten the hatches... run for cover!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

cough, cough

2008-01-02T15:31:00.000-08:00

You know the cat commercials.... meowmeowmeow meowmeowmeowmeow.... I feel like I am in a commercial, but to the tune of coughs instead of meowing cats. I swear all I hear in my office is people hacking. I can practically see the germs taking flight into the air, landing on resident candy bowls and doorknobs. I have not authorized their entry into my airspace, but there they are - minuscule microbes floating into my oxygen, and contaminating my very source of life.

Now, I am not a germophobe (but I might be turning into one as we speak), but it is just GROSS. What is wrong with people? Do these people think they are so important that they HAVE to come to work? We aren't busy. In fact, most of the chairs are empty, with people extending their holiday break. Stay home with your germy self. If there ever is a pandemic outbreak, these people will be the ones to spread it!

the gift you hope you never give

2007-12-25T05:12:00.000-08:00

Your regularly scheduled random ranting has been interrupted for a public service announcement. In this holiday season of gift-giving, consider the following…

Did you ever buy a gift for someone, and like it so much you want to keep it for yourself? Once you have it in your hands, you feel like you can’t live without that (insert option: new CD/video game/beautiful cashmere sweater).

Kind of like that, except that you truly can’t live without this gift. It is not to be wrapped in shiny paper or labeled with a card. A secret delivery, but you will not be present for the exchange. You will not see the smile on the recipient’s face, or know how it has changed their life.

Be an organ donor. Check the box on your DMV form – the tiny dot next to your smiling face may someday leave a legacy beyond your own – of many more smiles from the recipients of the greatest gift of all… LIFE.

Merry Christmas to you and yours.

icing by numbers

2007-12-16T17:48:00.000-08:00

After the very succesful cookie baking last night, which finished ahead of schedule and without a hitch, the icing of said 81 (plus spares for a total of 94) cookies begins....

9:00pm - Scout entered the kitchen, and this is what he found... after 2 hours of work, I only had 11 snowmen partially decorated, and 7 circles with white icing. He asked me how I planned on finishing this, and I said I had no idea... so, he rolled up his sleeves, and joined me in the kitchen.

We came up with a plan of attack... base layers for all the cookies, accents will be applied later. I quickly realized that the amount of icing was not sufficient for the cookie inventory on hand.

9:50 - Another batch of icing (I swear this happened yesterday?)

9: 55 - Icing explosion in the mixer - so much white powder, I was expecting Kate Moss to show up at my door any second.

9:58 - What? Not enough sugar to make the icing... how did that happen? I had 10 cups of sugar at 7pm! Although our neighbors are very nice, I think this is a bit late for going next door for a cup of sugar. Plus, I need about 4 cups... of powdered sugar... not the standard request.

10:02 - Driving to the grocery store for sugar - hoping that they are still open.

10:04 - Phew... they are open until 11. Sugar in hand, headed home for the final stretch.

11:22 - Scout is ready to throw in the towel. He heads up to bed, and I finish up...

One hour later, all the cookies are decorated! Total investment: 5 1/2 hours, 12 sticks of butter, 20(ish) cups of sugar, and two tired decorators....

Plate for the contest:

1st place for Best Looking cookies!!!
1st place for Best Holiday cookies!!!
(did not win Best Tasting or Best Overall, but I think that is just cause voters wanted to give other people a chance!)

Scout's favorite: snowmen with green scarves
My favorite: peppermints or santa hats. Hey, I can have 2 favorites - it is my blog!

bake by numbers

2007-12-12T20:23:00.000-08:00

Because I am one of those crazy people who likes the weird contests at work, I am on a mission to win our department cookie contest. But it is not just a cookie contest... it is also a cookie exchange. So, I need to make 81 cookies - 19 packs of 3 cookies each to trade and 2 dozen for tasting. Which means that I will get 57 cookies back at the end of the day on Friday. I will smile, bring them home and promptly toss in the garbage, because... well, because I see these people's hygiene habits all day at work, and frankly, I don't want to eat their cookies. Also, I don't want to buy new pants after eating almost 5 dozen cookies. So, here is the summary of my cookie making extravaganza, part 1:

5:00 - Assemble baking items

5:30 - Double batch of cookie dough in fridge to chill

5:40 - Dinner break - that was a tough half hour of work! We had leftovers, of course. Puh-lease... I don't cook on a regular day - I can't possibly cook dinner AND bake cookies!

6:30 - Rolling, cutting, baking - 4 dozen cookies - only 2 casualties! Fortunately for the vulture roaming around my house, they were the largest ones, so he made out pretty good as a result of my mistakes.

7:30 - Realize I don't have enough dough to meet my inventory requirements - dishwasher just finished, so I grab the mixing bowl (warning: metal is HOT when removed from dishwasher during 'dry' cycle), whip up another batch of dough and throw it in the fridge to chill - deja vu?

Blog break

8:30 - More rolling, cutting, baking

8:55 - Last batch in the oven - much quicker than I thought! I am a cookie making master!

9:00 - Yelling at hubs for emptying the dishwasher - hey, I appreciate housework, but he was in my production area - I was trying to get the cookies out of the oven, clean up, etc. and he was all up in my space. Then I had to convince him to finish emptying the rest of it when I yelled at him for walking away. Mixed messages? Who, meeee? (batting eyelashes)

9:15 - 7 dozen cookies snoozing away on the kitchen island, unaware of the fate that awaits them... first, a dressing of icing (as if there weren't enough sugar and butter in them already) to make them beautiful for the ball... then, a horrific battle scene in the office conference room, where the snowmen will be decapitated and the bells will be cracked worse than their fair mother Liberty.

Naked cookies below:

Tomorrow: Icing Capades

worn out

2007-12-12T20:06:00.000-08:00

I was sitting in an all day meeting today at work (it was scintillating - thanks for asking), and while willing myself to stay awake, I began to notice things that would otherwise go unnoticed. Gazing at my keyboard with the same intensity as if I had never seen one before, I noticed a dull spot on the shiny keys. Thinking it might be a stain (perhaps a dried drop of soda from lunch - with extra caffeine - to help my eyes stay open), I tried to rub it, but it did not go away.

Apparently I only use my right thumb on the space bar. I have worn a tiny spot on the lacquer from my single sided spacing. Of course I have done all sorts of typing testing since I made this earth-shattering observation. My left thumb does no work at all when typing. It just sits there, waving around in midair - as if it wants to hitchhike to another activity as soon as a friendly passer-by will stop and pick it up.

So, I guess I will have to resign from my proud title of "ten finger typer" and reduce my status to "nine finger typer" - which is still better than the hunt and peck method some people employ (ahem, dad).

21 questions

2007-12-10T09:35:00.000-08:00

I got this email today, and thought instead of forwarding it, I would just post it here...

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
Wrapping paper - I used to work at the wrapping kiosk in the mall at Christmas, so I like to do fancy bows and such - kind of dorky, I know - but it makes me smile. Sadly, it makes my friends nervous to give me wrapped presents - they always start with an apology about how they aren't good wrappers.

2. Real tree or artificial?
Real (and it smells SOOOO good) - but i reuse my grocery bags, so let's call it even on the tree killing.

3. When do you put up the tree?
Sometime in December... not too early, not too late.

4. When do you take the tree down?
Has to be down before my birthday (you all know how i feel about that).

5. Do you like eggnog?
Ewwwww... gross!

6. Favorite gift received as a child?
I don't think i can narrow it down...

7. Do you have a Nativity scene?
Nope, but lots of snowmen, reindeer and santas.

8. Hardest person to buy for?
Depends on the year

9. Easiest person to buy for?
Does "myself" count? ;)

10. Worst Christmas Gift you ever received?
Any gift labeled a "combo" bday/xmas gift

11. Mail or email Christmas cards (or neither)?
Mail - I LOVE stationary!

12. Favorite Christmas Movie?
It's a Wonderful Life - or - Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer - or - A Christmas Story - or - Elf - or .... um, apparently i really like Christmas movies.

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas?
Not before December, and not until I have made a list. In red pen.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
Not yet... but I have a collection at home in case we have an exchange at work - good thing I switched departments, else peeps might get the same presents they gave me last year.

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?
Candy canes!!!

16. Clear or colored lights?
Clear

17. Favorite Christmas song?
I'll Be Home For Christmas

19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer?
Of course... but I have to sing the song in my head... you know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen... Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen... but do you recaaaaall... the most famous reindeer of all... Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer... (I'll spare you the rest)

20. Angel on the tree top or a star?
Nothing yet, but we have been looking for years, just haven't found the perfect topper. We have a star ornament hanging near the top of the tree, but it isn't quite doing the job.

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning?
One present Christmas Eve (usually pajamas) - the rest Christmas morning.

Since question 18 was missing, I added my own:

18. Where will you wake up on Christmas morning?
Marco Island, Florida - with Scout, my parents, brother, sister and brother in law - and my parent's fake Christmas palm tree (from SkyMall)!

simple pleasures

2007-12-05T20:51:00.000-08:00

Many of the simple pleasures of childhood fade with time. No longer does running in circles entertain me, roller coasters give me a headache, and pixie sticks make me worry about my next dental bill. One thing, however, has stood the test of time, bringing me joy beyond reasonable expectation: sign making.

I remember making signs to take to Yankee stadium when I could still count my age on my fingers. I can vividly picture sitting with my sister, working on our masterpieces. We each had rolls of narrow butcher paper - hers purple, mine orange. We made a lengthy purple sign that said "We love Dave Winfield." I don't remember where our seats were, but since we usually went to day games during the week, we relocated to some empty seats near right field - yelling, screaming and jumping up and down to get his attention. Taking a brief break from his job (hopefully between batters), he looked up from the field and waved to us! Which led to uncontainable excitement - picture us jumping around and screaming like... well, like little girls.

Arts and crafts still occurs in my house before attending events. Whether it is a professional baseball game, a marathon that a friend is running, or college graduation, I bust out the posterboard, paints and markers. Posterboard is always on hand - you never know when you might need to make a sign! Have to be prepared. Scout's motto.

Here are a few of my favorites:

at a Rangers/Giants game in SF

(we were not cheering for the home team)

at little bro's graduation

(have to give my sis credit - she made these signs)

It was great - when they called little bro's name, we each had a letter, and jumped up - Gramps had the second "D", though, so he was "Tod" for a little bit until Gramps made it up to full sign holding position.

at the California International Marathon

(the "peanut" is pam's baby, who ran with her - inside her belly)

(note how I coordinated my outfit with my sign!)

obsess much?

2007-12-03T15:46:00.000-08:00

Neatness is not my strength. I can still hear the disdain in my grandmother’s voice as she entered my bedroom during my teenage years – “Is that your UNDERWEAR on the floor?” I have gotten better at that. Okay, no, I haven’t, but I live far enough away that she will never have to experience that horror again, and when I stay with her, I keep my room fake neat (i.e., shove everything into my suitcase).

So I am not in danger of being diagnosed with OCD, but for some things, I am more obsessive compulsive than Melvin Udall and his plastic utensils. Sitting at the top of that short list, you will find airline seat assignments. I am completely obsessive about getting the perfect seat for my flight. Well, truly, the perfect seat would be in first class, so I guess I am looking for the perfect seat in the cattle section.

It has to be an aisle – so that I can get up and use the spacious restrooms 45 times during the flight. Can’t be the seat in front of the emergency exit, since they don’t recline, and the only time my seat is not reclined is during take off and landing, and that is only because the flight attendants raise it for you if you don’t do it yourself (of course I tried fake sleeping – that doesn’t work either). Can’t be the last seat – double whammy with no reclining and the waft of blue toilet cleaner mixed with whatever the last visitor left in there. Not a huge fan of the first seat – no room to put your belongings at your feet. I like to have all my entertainment available at a moment’s notice. If I want to read, do sudoku, have a sip of $4.25 water I purchased beyond the security entrance, listen to my (not)iPod after we are above 10,000 feet, or whatever other fun treasures I lugged through the x-ray machine that are permissible on a flight these days – I would like to do so without unbuckling, opening the overhead bins and hoping that items have not shifted during flight.

My first choice would be an aisle seat in the emergency exit row. If there are two emergency exit rows, it has to be the second one, because the first one doesn’t recline – allowing for 3 extra inches of safety so peeps can squeeze through in case of an emergency where the plane actually lands and we have to evacuate – really, don’t you think people would get through even if the seats were reclined to the resting point of 94 degrees? Which leads me to the other reason I like to sit in the emergency exit row… I would like to be the first one out. Or, rather, the third one out. Apparently my priority for accessing the restroom without having to crawl over some sleeping stranger outranks my safety.

For my next flight (cross country during the Christmas holiday – sounds like fun, no?) the airline randomly assigned my seats. They are not to my liking. Yes, I am in the aisle (directly behind the emergency exits – ready to pounce if one of those suckers replies "no" when asked if he/she will assist during an emergency – hey, I’ve seen it happen) so what is my concern? Well, we have the aisle and middle seats. If the fun little buttons they taunt you with on the plane drawing they show you when you book your tickets online actually worked, I would have clicked on an aisle and window seat for myself and my lovely (but one seat away) spouse, respectively. Here is my master plan (don’t tell anyone, okay?): book the aisle and window seats – increases the chances of having the middle seat empty. Everyone wants a window seat (except me), so our row will most likely have 3 people in it now. But if the middle seat was the only one open, it could be the last seat assigned on the plane.

Weird that I don’t want to sit next to my loved one? Well then hold on to your horses (or mouses, as is the more likely case). On one of our recent flights, I put my plan into action, and booked window and aisle. Unfortunately, the flight was full, and the seat between us was assigned. We stayed in our seats. Yep, rode the whole however many hours sitting next to a complete stranger instead of each other. I think it is these little things that make our marriage stronger.

I was unable to change our seats due to the airline's strict rules on hoarding seats for platinum gold triple titanium club members, so I will wait until 24 hours prior to the flight to call in and request better seats. I am considering setting my alarm for 12:41 am to make sure I am the first to call in. Is that too much?

how many times do I have to say it... they are SEPARATE holidays

2007-11-27T09:30:00.001-08:00

The hubs doesn't mess up much, but he blew it the other day. Big time. We were driving to Thanksgiving dinner, discussing the upcoming holiday season, and ideating about gifts for our friends and family. Then, he dropped the bomb. He dared utter, "So, what do you want for your birthday/Christmas?" Yes, he said birthday slash Christmas. The road got hazy in front of me, I turned my venomous eyes toward him (endangering other lives on the road) and seethed, "WHAT did you just say? Did you say birthday SLASH Christmas like they are ONE?"

Before I launch into the rant I delivered to him, I feel like I should preface it with the fact that my birthday is January 7th. A mere 12 days separate my special day from the colossal holiday. Yes, I have always been snotty about it being near Christmas. Yes, I realize I am a full grown adult acting like a whiny five year old (but you can’t ground me, nah nahnahnahpoopoo). Yes, I used to accuse my parents of holding back some of my Christmas presents for my birthday (I can’t believe they ever gave me ANY presents after that one). Yes, my sister is rolling her eyes right now about my constant complaining that my birthday is right after Christmas (she has a lovely birthday in August – birthday parties outside, on picnic tables, with balloons flying free against a beautiful blue sky). Yes, I do appreciate that my mother did her damndest to get my birthday as far away from December 25th as humanly possible (thanks mom) – 12 days is better than 2 – or none!

Now that you are all well informed about the facts (or, at least the dates in question), we can continue with my attack…
"How long have you known me? (Rhetorical – I couldn't possibly do math that quickly.) Have I not made myself clear that my birthday is NOT associated with Christmas? (I have.) Great, next you are going to just withhold some of my Christmas presents and use them for my birthday. (Even though it was horrible to accuse my parents of this, it somehow still didn't stop me from repurposing this accusation.) And while you’re at it, why don’t you just wrap it in Christmas paper, too? (The WORST! If you are out of birthday paper, just use newspaper – don’t wrap it in leftover Christmas paper.)" Harumph…

Okay, I’m off to do some growing up… May or may not happen by December 25th. Or my birthday. Which are SEPARATE. Sigh...

you CAN teach an old dog new tricks!

2007-11-26T10:06:00.000-08:00

I learned how to knit this weekend! AND purl! Also, I learned that purl is spelled with a “u”, not an “ea.” I was glad I learned that, because I don’t like misspelling words – not just on paper, but in my head. Does anyone else do that? Picture the word written in their head when they say it? No? Just me. Okay then. Carry on.

After I was sufficiently stuffed on turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, etc., I asked my mother-in-law if she could teach me how to knit. So fun! Okay, not really "fun" yet... or relaxing. It is still mostly work and concentration. I completed a couple rows with her, and then worked on it at home last night while watching football. I tried to watch Grey’s Anatomy, but I had to focus too much on the knitting to be able to actually watch the show. Also, I had to take a couple jaunts upstairs to go online to get some refresher training – I am attributing the memory loss to a belated tryptophan release from leftovers. I got cramps in my fingers and let a few trucker words slip (especially when the yarn fell off the stick). Sorry, needle. Yep, I am still a beginner.

I made a beautiful tiny blue square – with my own bare hands! It is about 3 inches by 3 inches, with 2 concave sides. I am not sure how that happened, but I like to consider it “art”. Also artistic are the extra stitches, and missing stitches scattered throughout the masterpiece. Makes it one of a kind. And the two strings hanging out opposite corners? Well, one is from the start, and one is from the finish. Like a race, where you have to break through the ribbon… except that it is yarn. I have yet to figure out what to do with those strings. I was showing Scout some excellent uses for my tiny square (after he told me it is too small to be a potholder), and the best one I came up with was to affix more yarn to the extra string, and fashion a small (but functional) mask, like the ones Michael Jackson used to wear. I could make millions! Sell them online! Open my own store! Or, more likely, I could get my mother in law to teach me how to tuck away the loose strings on my tiny square.

I can't wait to make something other than a tiny square… Maybe a larger square? Potholders for everyone for Christmas!

holiday time is starting

2007-11-19T11:55:00.000-08:00

With Thanksgiving upon us, and the Christmas season peering at me from around the corner (literally, around the corner - neighbors already have their lights up - which, I would like to note, is a neighborhood violation - you know how strict they are in my 'hood - I hope those peeps get a letter), I decided to take inventory of my holiday items.

We have a lovely Harry Potteresque closet under our stairwell that stores all things not to be seen. Some are put away in storage bins, nicely organized as if I had watched an episode of Mission: Organization and set to organizing my own items that very same day. Other items are scattered on the ground, or on top of boxes, waiting for a bout of organization to set in so they can be rescued from their respective piles. I parted the jackets at the front of the closet (which is very convenient, not only for quick coat retrieval on our bitter cold mornings of fifty degrees, but also as a curtain to mask the items hiding within) and scanned the contents for the Christmas bins.

Of course, they were at the back of the closet. When I say the back of the closet, imagine a long, dark tunnel, in which you can scarcely make out the end. Okay, well, a bit shorter than that (but not much) and fine, we have a light in it, so you can actually see in the back, but whatever. It is still hard to maneuver around in, as it is below the stairwell, and I can only get in the back portion if I am squatting. Or hunching. Which never works out, because if I am hunching, I get the urge to stand up straight, and inevitably, knock my noggin so hard at least one or two useless trivia items fall out each time. Instead, I squat and waddle around in there like a penguin. On a tiny iceberg, since there are only about 2 square inches of floor space available for shuffling.

I set to making the trek to the back of the closet to retrieve the Christmas bins. I picked up the first one... not too heavy (but certainly not light) and started backing out, lifting it over the other items in its way. Knocked over one other box (one of my famous boxes of junk that I have yet to unpack - maybe someday I will do that and let you know what is in it) and of course, hit my head on the growth stunted ceiling. Phew. One down, one to go.

The second box was holding coal for stockings, based on the weight. I am certain I pushed it into its current resting spot last year, but since that time, many other things have landed in its path. So, I got the bright idea to try to lift it out. I had the "this is not a good idea" flash as I was lifting it out, but somehow managed to avoid serious injury.

With my loot retrieved, I opened the boxes as if it were Christmas morning. And strangely enough, was just as surprised! Last year, I apparently bought Christmas cards at an after Christmas sale. Now I just have to start writing them. Maybe if I open the box of cards, I will find them already written. Wishful thinking...

meeeeeeeeeeeeee

2007-11-18T14:33:00.001-08:00

You could see me in person, but since this is the internet, I will reveal myself in internet form. I think it looks like me. As does my mii. Or perhaps my sense of reality is now changing to internet reality? Hmmm. Might have to call my friend Mr. Anderson.

Thanks for the fun link, Suzi. Is it weird that I had so much fun making an image of myself? I suppose I could have just used one of those old timey things... what are they called? Mirrors? But that seemed so 1900s.

what did I do to you, karma?

2007-11-15T10:54:00.000-08:00

Was it 11 days without blogging? I am not sure where I went wrong with karma recently, but I must have missed something big.

Last night, I met my friend for a run (okay, some running - more like slow jogging along with walking and chatting, but it was better than sitting on the couch all night watching the last few shows before the writers strike affects me). I picked her up at her house, and as we were pulling out of her neighborhood, she peered at the gleaming light on my dash. She shifted in her seat and said, "Um, do you want me to drive?" I replied, "Why, 'cause my gas light is on? No, it is totally fine. The park is only 2 miles away, right?" Squeaky hamster wheels spinning in my head... okay, 2 miles to the park, so 4 miles total... plus the 20 miles from work to get here... plus the 7 miles from my house to work... hmmm... I think the light was on yesterday, too. How many miles did that total? Whatever - we should make it. We are going for exercise, so if we get stuck, we could always walk back to her house.

If you think this story is going to end with us running out of gas, you have been misled like a hopeful prom date who thinks his investment in a corsage is going to pay off with the big jackpot. We went for a very nice run/jog/walk, and I delivered her home safely.

With my careful math (thirtyish miles?), and lack of memory on how long the light was on before I sort of started keeping track, I thought it best to stop and fill up before trying to drive home. Responsible, no? I pulled into the first gas station. Did you know that gas is a hundred dollars a gallon? I think I pulled into the most expensive gas station in a 200 mile radius. But, beggars can't be choosers, so I hopped out and set to giving my horse a tall drink.

I was yapping on the phone with another friend when I heard the "you are now broke" click of the pump. Upon opening my door, I saw the side of my car drenched and the ground soaked with pungent expensive liquid. I hung up on my friend (but I think I told her I was alive and not to worry before hanging up).

I glanced at the financial damage on the tiny screen, and my vivid imagination wondered if I would blow up like Derek Zoolander's friends. But then I remembered I was not a male model, nor was I toting an open flame near the pump. And then I got PISSED. Really pissed. My car (just washed a few days ago) had gas all over it... and I was CHARGED FOR IT.

So I marched myself into the "station" part of the gas station. A beautiful slice of Americana hustling Doritos and Marlboros, but it was the only place with bright lights on in the area. So, I went into the bright light. I explained to Devindar what had happened, and he (reluctantly) followed me out to my car with two orange cones. He motioned for me to move my car so he could put the cones down (which again made me flash back to blowing up in a gas station parking lot, but again I remembered that I am not THAT stupid).

After moving my dripping million dollar baby out of the kill zone, I reassessed the damages, and realized that the digital screen was notioning (notion is a noun, so this isn't technically a word, but I think it should be, considering all the legit words I have to put up with - like monies - that I don't think should be words) that I would be charged $69.12 for this incident. Oh no he dih-int... I reached for the receipt, but of course there wasn't one. In an effort to offset the global warming effect of their gasoline peddling, Chevron decided to save a few trees, and didn't bother printing out receipts. Al Gore would be proud of their environmentally friendly transactions.

I could feel Teen wolf taking over... you know what they say - you can take the girl out of Jersey, but you can't take the Jersey out of the girl. I checked for a full moon, but it was only a slight sliver in the sky. Perhaps my experience was more akin to the Hulk, then, as I was instigated by anger. My hair poofed out, my nails were instantly fake, and I had a sudden urge to visit the mall. But first, I had business to take care of... where is Vinnie when you need him?

I told the attendant that I would like to be reimbursed for 2 gallons of my purchase due to the pump malfunction (the name of JJ's next scandal - you saw it here first). He stared at me, and I realized he did not understand a word I said. I asked him if he understood me, and he walked away from me... back to the motherland of pork rinds and Miller Lite. I followed him, of course. I asked him if he understood, and he said he could not give me any money. I tried to reason with him, but since he could not understand me, my thoroughly logical argument was for naught.

After insisting that he could not give me any money, I asked to talk to a manager. He said that the manager was off that day. Of course he was! So I said, I don't care, call the owner. Get me someone. He tried to evade me some more, but I said that I wasn't leaving until I talked to someone. I knew he had contact numbers - gas stations get robbed all the time on TV, wouldn't their owners want to know about it?

After numerous misdials on his part (or fake dials, I'm not sure), I finally spoke to Pam, the assistant manager. I explained to her about the pump malfunction, spillage on their premises, and the discrepancy between the amount of gas pumped on the receipt (I requested a copy when I went inside) and the amount of gas my car holds. 18 gallons max in my car. 19.869 gallons on the receipt. So, I would like 2 gallons worth of gas reimbursed. At $3.50 per gallon, that is seven dollars. (Quick math - stay in school, kids - those skills actually DO come in handy.)

She couldn't authorize such a massive refund, so she had to call the owner. When Glenda called back, she tried to argue with me. Apparently gas stations do not follow the "customer is always right" policy. I had to restate my case to Glenda. She offered me one gallon because all she heard was 18 gallons and 19 gallons. I explained to her that I was rounding up - 19.869 is practically 20, yielding a difference of 2. Then I went Jersey on her when she wouldn't give me my seven dollars. Really? Was that going to put her out of business? Finally, Cody came on his shift, and was able to refund me seven dollars, per Glenda the wicked witch's orders after I wore her down. Ironically, the only way he knew how to open the register was by authorizing a car wash.

What was it, karma? I rescued a bug and let it out of the house last week. Isn't that enough? Or did that just cover last week?

Oh, and P.S. - nobody ever apologized to me for the pump malfunction that left gas all over the side of my car!
__________________________________________

Names have not been changed to protect the not-so-innocent
__________________________________________

what time is it?

2007-11-04T16:14:00.001-08:00

I know this time change thing is only an hour, but it has MESSED ME UP today. I think I have a valid explanation, though. We flew home to California from Florida yesterday. So, three hour time zone change - plus, a one hour daylight savings change (or is it minus one hour?) No, it is plus one hour. Could be considered a four hour swing.

We got home from the airport around midnight (or 11pm) which was really 3am (or 2 am) depending on which time zone we were relating to at the time. Woke up this morning at 6am (or 7am or 9am or 10am). I was also starving due to meal time confusion during travel last night, and since we were not at home last week, there was no food in the house. Since I was up, I decided to go grab some bagels from our local bagel shop. Except that when my growling stomach and I pulled up to the store, the "hot bagel" neon light was still sleeping. What? I beat the bagel guy to the morning? Even with an extra hour. I guess the "time to make the donuts" concept doesn't apply to bagel guys.

So there I was - running errands on a Sunday morning at 6:45 am. I went to the grocery store, grabbed some milk, juice and yogurt. I went to the bank to deposit a check. And then I went back to the bagel store and waited for it to open. Pathetic.

And now it is dark out. What time is it again?

practice makes perfect

2007-10-31T04:18:00.000-07:00

Not working sounds like a great deal... sitting on the couch eating bon bons, getting my nails done, lunching with my girlfriends. Oh, wait, that isn't what happens when you stay at home? As for my other "homemaking" skills, they need a little work.

Took the clothes out of the dryer... along with a bottle of purell hand sanitizer. Oh, shit! Unfortunately, no blaming anyone else for this fumble - I know it was in my pocket. Does that count as sanitizing the clothes? Maybe I didn't have to go through the trouble of washing them.

Drove the vacuum a little too close to some innocent bystanders... sucked up the rubber piece of a laptop cord. Note to others: those things are not attached very well. I checked under the hood of the vacuum for remnants, but it appeared the whole thing was sucked up. So, I continued to drive around the rest of the floor, until a strange odor started emanating... burning rubber. Oh, shit! I looked again, and there it was - caught in the roller on the bottom of the attack machine. Still in working order, just required some ventilation of the house - I can't imagine burning rubber is safe to inhale.

On the plus side, I did not start a fire in the oven... or overflow the bathtub... or break anything. Um, not counting the soap dish that I broke earlier in the day. Oh, well. Practice makes perfect. I think I need more practice, so maybe I should take a month off of work to get in some good practice?

sore

2007-10-21T22:00:00.000-07:00

My arm is sore. From playing video games. Now that I am a responsible adult, I can do whatever I want. Which today, meant playing video games. So there! But, um, owwwwwww. Scout was icing his shoulder this morning (seriously, I could not make this stuff up if I tried) from his tough games yesterday. I was making fun of him, and now I am paying the price. Damn you, karma.

glutton for punishment

2007-10-20T18:51:00.001-07:00

I am a glutton for punishment. Really, I am a glutton for pizza, which instigates all my irrational behavior (as follows)...

Back in college, we had a pizza chain (let's call it Crapa John's) that was the sole pizza dealer on campus. I am not sure how much they paid for exclusive rights to an entire campus of late night drunk orders, but I am fairly certain that they were able to vacation on a private island during the summer months.

Since they were the only game in town (or, campus), when 1 am hit and we deemed ourselves incapable of operating a hot pot, we HAD to order from Crapa John's. Of course, we ordered the minimum amount to warrant delivery, and expected it to arrive quickly. We were paying customers, dammit! Even if we paid as much for the delivery fee as we did for the delicious doughy sticks.

As you can imagine, their service was... well, even below the lowly standards one would expect from a pizza joint with a monopoly on obnoxious inebriated academics. As a paying customer (and a true Jersey Girl), if their service fell below my standards (which, for the record, were pretty low at the time), I felt free to call and tell them so. One night when I was inquiring (probably not very politely) about a late delivery order, the voice on the other end of the line accused me of being a Chronic Complainer. My college roommate thought this was hysterical, and the name now lives in infamy.

You would think that I would have learned my lesson about Crapa John's, but not so, my friends, not so... we happen to have our very own Crapa John's near my house, 2,777 miles from the original crime scene. I continue to give the Crapa chances to redeem himself. He fails me every time. And yet I keep coming back for more... perhaps I should report him for an abusive relationship?

Why do I continue to order, you ask? It isn't for the quality of the pizza... it is no better (nor worse) than any of the other joints in town. Which, by the way, isn't saying much. The real draw... is the cheese sauce. Delicious zesty processed cheesiness (79 cents per tiny dipping container) with which to dip the breadsticks.

I have tried picking up the order, to verify that my order would be correct, instead of waiting for some random order to show up at my house. This resulted in me: 1) fuming in my car in the parking lot waiting for the corrected order to cook after I showed up to tell them that I had not ordered 2 XL anchovy pizzas; b) ranting when they tell me that they are OUT of cheese sauce (and yes, I do ask if they have it when I call - I make them check the fridge to verify it is on the premises); or iii) wasting my three dollars and eighteen cents per gallon of gas to drive to pick it up - isn't delivery the whole point of ordering pizza?

On Friday, after a long week, I tried Crapa John's again... I had a coupon, and a craving for cheeeeeeeeeeeese sauce. Ordered at 5:30 (because I knew it was going to take forever). Expected delivery time was estimated at 45 minutes. Okay, reasonable. Delivery guy shows up at 6:30 with a friend in his car AND the wrong order. After I tell him it is wrong, he says he will go back and get it - 20 minutes. As he is running to his car, I shout after him, "Don't you want to know what my order iiiiiiiiiis?" Sigh.

After 3o minutes, I call the store and inquire (politely, this time) as to my order. The teeny bopper answering phones told me that it was out for delivery. So I explained the situation - yes, the delivery guy showed up, but wrong order. He tells me to call back in 15 minutes if it hasn't showed up yet. I am sure he didn't think that the dough, sauce and cheese (and delicious cheese dip) was going to bake itself and roll on over to my house in the next 15 minutes, but I do think his phone lines were lighting up, and he didn't want to take a call from a pissy suburbanite.

I called back again, this time asking to speak to a manager (after vehemently replying "NO" to the "Thank you for calling Crapa John's, can you please hold" intro). He listened to my situation, and said they were really busy. I held back my "I don't care - and besides, don't you WANT to be busy? Isn't that how you make money?" response. He said they would make up my anchovy pizza and send it right over for free. So I thanked him for his offer, but I did not ORDER an anchovy pizza. I WOULD appreciate it if he could send over the original order that I placed an hour and a half ago (which I had to repeat, since he had no record of its existence). And young man, could you make sure to send over the extra cheese dipping sauces, since that was the WHOLE REASON I ordered from your Crappy business in the first place!

Two hours later, the free pizza (and breadsticks) arrived at our doorstep. The cheese dip was delicious (and did I mention free, except for the pending charge on our bank account that I am REALLY hoping reverses itself in the next day or so, else I am going to have to march down there and bust out my Chronic Complaining skillz). Next time I want pizza (or cheesy dip goodness), I will have to employ all my brain power to recall this scenario (and the four thousand preceding instances). Or, maybe I should just swing by Crapa's evil lair and stock up on cheese dip (I mean, really, there is nothing natural in it, so it can't possibly go bad... ever) and order from another of the coupon sending pizza joints.

Don't even think about offering up the solution of giving up pizza...

cranberries

2007-10-18T20:03:00.000-07:00

Second music post in a row... not sure why, but maybe the right side of my brain is jamming these days (is that right? is it the right side that is the creative/artistic side? I suppose I could look it up, but I'm not feeling that thorough right now -- see? my logical left side is going numb)!

I was driving to yoga class yesterday, and Zombie by the Cranberries came on the radio (the alternative station in town that is constantly playing Nirvana and reggae music - I can't quite figure out the method to their madness). You know how music can transport you to a time and place? That song takes me back to high school, and driving around in my boyfriend's Ford Probe. First of all, what was Ford thinking when they named a car "Probe?" Second, didn't they have an advertising agency to advise against such bumbles? Back to the point, driving around in cars in high school...

My boyfriend was a year ahead of me in school, and driving around in his car was fun and exciting, because I didn't have a license. But, I did have to learn how to drive. His first car was a Jeep CJ-7. (Yes, he went through 2 cars in high school). It was an awesome high school car. My mom hated it, because he would take the doors off in the summer - which is clearly advised against on page 187 of the parenting handbook. He had to have the doors on when he picked me up at the house, but of course we would just swing by his house and take them off before we went anywhere. I can't imagine this is a surprise to the parentals (hi mom!), because I have since learned that they are quite a bit smarter than I gave them credit for in high school.

While the Jeep was fun to cruise around town, it wasn't the most practical transportation... the major flaw being that it didn't always start on demand. When it didn't start, you had to push it to get it to start. Since I didn't want to be the pusher (especially in winter), I had to learn how to drive a stick shift (back to my point way up at the top of the previous paragraph - I am not so organized in my thoughts today). I did not have my license, but I really only had to drive in parking lots to get it started, then I would switch to the passenger seat. Because that justifies the whole thing. "Well, occifer, I was just trying to get it started in the parking lot of the Burger King - I know I don't have a license, but I wasn't driving on the ROAD."

So, I learned how to drive a stick shift. I would like to note that to this day, my sister still has not mastered this skill. I have commented to my parents that this is one of the life skills in which they failed their children. But, if that is my only complaint (and it isn't - I also am not good at cooking, so I will feel free to blame that on them, too). Okay, so if those are my only complaints, I would say they did a pretty good job. Hi, mom and dad! After I thought about it some more, it actually worked out for them. I mean, I still learned how to drive a stick shift, and they didn't even have to fork over the money to buy a new clutch - or take 5 years off their life sitting in a car yelling at me while I struggled to learn. Hey, maybe they are A LOT smarter than I gave them credit for... nice move, elders!

As I was driving home after yoga class, the song came on AGAIN. Ever heard of a playlist, people? I think my [not]iPod can shuffle better than your fancy radio computer. But, you might have to listen to Jingle Bells.

stuck in my head

2007-10-15T20:07:00.001-07:00

You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your li-ips...
And there's no tenderness like before in your fingerti-ips...

Why at the end of the (work) day did this song pop into my head? And why is it stuck there with no sign of leaving soon? To solve this mystery, I tried what all good TV detectives recommend - I traced my steps. Fade to earlier today... right before this song popped into my head, I was in a heated IM discussion with RunnerGirl. She swore that (grown up) Ralphie red rider bee bee gun was in the movie The Break Up, and like a good friend, I didn't believe her. Because, hello?, I saw the movie, and I could not have missed a frame. Impossible. So, I looked him up on IMDB (the source of all truths that cannot be found at Google or Wikipedia). Turns out she was right. I'll be damned.

Okay, so clue #1: I was on IMDB... hmmm... that song was in a movie. Was there a link to Kelly McGillis from one of the pages? No? A photo of a chick with a guy's name standing at a jukebox with a leather jacket in a very warm climate? No? After examining the evidence, I cannot find anything to support that theory.

Perhaps I have watched Top Gun so many times that my neurons are now misfiring clips at random. System overload?

Since I can't figure out how that damn song needled its way into my grey matter, I will just work on trying to get it out. Now. Before I lose my loving feeling for the Righteous Brothers!

I tried my rock solid approach that has worked in the past. Sing another song. Simple, but effective. I have a particular song that I always use... is that weird? Anyone else out there do that? It isn't even a favorite song, or by a favorite band. Just a song that pops into my head whenever I am trying to get rid of another song. And strangely, it never stays in my head. Must have a broken neuron there. But this time, it didn't work! I'm trying hard not to show it, baby...

I tried to purge it by belting out the whole song on the way to pick up dinner. Scout was not pleased. He might not ever ride in a car with me again. Perhaps it was the quality of my singing? Naaahh. Couldn't be. He asked me if I realized that the window was down as we were pulling into our neighborhood. I said I knew.. maybe I was caroling. From the car. Off season. Damn holiday season sneaking up again!

So now I am on my last idea... I am sorry I have to sacrifice all of you, but it has to be done. If I can get it stuck in someone else's head, maybe I will have some peace. Now it's gone, gone, gone... wooooah-ooooah-ooooh.

they did

2007-10-14T12:26:00.001-07:00

I was thinking about my HOMEbody post, and reflecting on some of my adventures over the past few years. What have I done? Where have I been? For those of you who know me, I have adopted a pastime of attending weddings. If I were in high school, I would have been president of the "Going To Weddings Club". Not as lucrative as my original plan to be in the Babysitters Club, but my name isn't Claudia, so I had explore alternative options.

So many weddings that my hairdresser asks me where I have been and who got married every time I see her. She has been a bit disappointed with the decline in weddings this summer, as I only attended two, and only one required travel.

Halfway through the wedding tour, my husband asked me to count out how many more friends I had so he could prepare himself for the quantity of potential weddings in his future. I think he also requested that I not make any new friends that are single.

So, here is a summary of the weddings I have attended over the past half decade (not including my own):

18 weddings
9 states (California, Oregon, Kentucky, New Jersey, Tennessee, Nevada, Vermont, Maryland, Washington)
4 winery nuptials
6 church ceremonies
5 bridesmaid dresses
5 second marriages (per person, not per wedding)
9 resulting children
longest ceremony: 1hr 15 mins
shortest ceremony: 5 mins
frequent flyer miles collected: approximately 29,586 (per distance calculator)
only 1 resulting divorce! Way to beat the national statistics, people! I wonder if I have to calculate for the second marriages to be an accurate statistical analysis? Hmmm...

Not too shabby, eh? I wonder how I even know that many people! And now, for some of the more memorable moments from all these festivities:

jumping in the pool during a reception... in a bridesmaid dress
playing cops and robbers in the hotel after reception
a sign plane fly-by congratulating the couple
standing on top of an air conditioner vent because bridesmaid dresses are HOT AS HELL
the cake that didn't show up until 9pm (was one of the best cakes I have ever had, so it was worth the wait)
wearing an ice pack inside the cleavage of my bridesmaid dress to stay cool during a 100+ degree ceremony (it was a tiny ice pack, and didn't help me gain any cleavage, but it was much cooler than a bunch of tissues)
timing all of the ceremonies to establish longest and shortest ceremony winners
vodka bar - for those of you considering this for your next event, it is the best worst idea ever... it seemed great at the time, but I felt quite differently the following afternoon when I was boarding the plane
stopped up commodes
running onto the dance floor every time Bon Jovi started playing
bride, groom & bridal party of 16 leaning out a trolley ~~singing~~ yelling along to the song Gold Digger, "Holla! We want pre-nups!"
a photo booth for the guest book... I almost beat out the 5 year olds for most trips into the booth, but they just barely edged me out on that one
drunk dialing my brother at midnight from my mother's cell phone (and not leaving a message). That really freaked him out... one point for you, mom... though I barely put a dent in the paybacks for all his midnight calls to you...
locking ourselves IN a hotel room (which I still think must have been a fire code violation)

To all my friends and family who have said "I do," thanks for all the fabulous memories of your celebrations.

HOMEbody

2007-10-13T14:16:00.000-07:00

Aaaahhhh... another relaxing weekend at home. A bit out of character for me. I am one of those crazies who is usually on the go. Out for dinner with the girls, out of town for a weekend trip, game night with the gang, etc. For the last month, I have been hanging out at home on the weekends, with no plans at all. Sometimes I look at my planner (yes, a book - made of paper - I can't seem to make the digital leap to electronic planners) and wonder if I forgot to write things down, the squares for Saturday and Sunday strangely stark.

I used to think staying at home was boring, but I have managed to fill my days nicely, and leisurely. Doing laundry all at once, instead of throwing a load in before I go to bed, and having to remember to put it in the dryer before rushing out the door for work, else it will smell worse than when it started after percolating in the machine for a day and a half. Actually folding my laundry right away instead of dumping the basket on the dresser, and picking clothes out as I need to wear them. Sitting on the couch watching football all day long. Lying in bed reading a book mid afternoon, drifting off to sleep without a care in the world. (I can hear your jealousy, internets - don't be a hater.)

So, I guess I have turned into a homebody. Never thought that would happen! Not sure how long this will last - if it is just a phase - my energy waiting to be recharged, like a cell phone. Except that it takes me a bit longer than 30 minutes, and I can't seem to recharge in the car. Have to work on that one.

holiday?

2007-10-09T10:39:00.000-07:00

I love my [not]iPod! It is tiny, cute, and filled with tons of songs that can keep me occupied at work, remind of days gone by, get me fired up to go running (infrequent as it may be), or calm me down when I get too fired up at inappropriate times.

Recently at work, I have been locked in a conference room with a bunch of other people all day. Yes, ALL DAY. Since my desk is in another building, I just set up in the conference room and work at a table with about 10 other people. This means I have no personal space, so I pop in my headphones to pretend I am in my own space. Or to prevent the other peeps from asking me questions.

This morning, I selected random play all, my favorite feature on my [not]iPod - you never know what you are going to get, and it is more entertaining than just listening to a single album. Granted, I am most likely to get Bon Jovi, followed by Dave Matthews Band, then Bruce Springsteen, back to Bon Jovi, etc., but today I was in for a surprise.

Blasting into my eardrums was: O, Come All Ye Faithful by Frank Sinatra... What the? First of all, how did a Christmas album even get on my [not]iPod? Oh, yeah... I recently wiped out all my songs and just randomly loaded a bunch of stuff from our computer. For variety. Resulting in... a Christmas album and about 45 Madonna albums (I might be exaggerating, but not much). I remember deleting a bunch of Madonna albums, because, really? Do I need to listen to that much Madonna? But somehow the Christmas album snuck through. Those mobsters... they are a sneaky bunch.

As I am not yet into the holiday mood, I hit next , only to hear Silent Night. This is ridiculous! I was just getting used to the Halloween items that have been out in stores since mid August, and now I have 2 Christmas songs in a row! The conspiracy theory is forming in my head... these electronics must have chips that are controlled by Big Retailer... who has clearly surpassed Big Brother with all their power and influence over the eager buying public (and, yes, I do count myself among that crazy group). So, they trigger all iPods and [not]iPods to play Christmas music starting after the autumnal equinox, which sends people running to the stores to buy presents! Ahhhhhhhhhh....

I hit next again, and got a normal song, and then the next next song was Holiday by Madonna. I swear, the tiny man inside my [not]iPod is going to get it as soon as I can open that tiny box! Do NOT mess with me! I will NOT buy Christmas presents yet. I haven't even thought of an idea for my Halloween costume!

t-shirts and texting

2007-09-30T18:11:00.000-07:00

I have some bad news for my ego that I have been avoiding for quite some time. I might be old now. Maybe. I'm not entirely certain, but I have seen some evidence lately pointing to that conclusion.

1. I have not been IDed in, um, I don't even know how long. Not at the grocery store (but they did yell at me for just putting the six packs in my cart after checking out - I was trying to save a plastic bag, but apparently, beers must not leave the store naked, and there are no exceptions - even if you are trying to be environmental), not at the bar, not at dinner out with my girlfriends. I swear I heard one of those "We ID anyone that looks under 30" signs laugh at me last week.

2. When cleaning out my trunk of "things I somehow cannot bear to part with for no good reason" this weekend, I found a bunch of old t-shirts. I was showing them off to Scout (who was not entertained at all by my antics), and I pulled out a Rutgers rugby t-shirt... from 1993. I have a t-shirt that is 14 years old?

3. My dad challenged my bio line of "newly 30". He said it no longer applied, as I am closer to 31 than 30. Wait a second... my DAD is making fun of my age? By the nature of our relationship, he is clearly older than I am! How can he make fun of me? Hmph.

4. Professional athletes suddenly look young. College athletes look ridiculously young. When did that happen? Whilst I was munching on chips and cracking open a beer on my couch?

5. I stopped the other day to look at new cell phones. I picked up each shiny new device and examined it. After looking at half the phones in the store, I found myself asking the salesgirl (and I do mean girl - I think her parents had to drop her off at work, 'cause there is no way she is old enough to drive) if there were any simpler phones. You know, phones without all the fancy features - I don't need to play music or send video or email with a miniature keyboard. Apparently my technology aged out at text messaging.

Okay, off to bed for me... it's getting late! I guess that should have been number six on the list...

trophy wife

2007-09-28T12:00:00.000-07:00

When my parents recently moved to Florida (I know, how atypical – old peeps moving to Florida – it is a new trend sweeping the northeast), one of the many boxes was lost along the way. Obviously, it was filled with critical items one cannot live without, for when the moving company notified my mother weeks after the move, she had no idea it was even missing. The moving company ~~sifted through the box~~ carefully examined the contents of the box, and when they ~~decided it wasn't worth hocking~~ determined it was a box of items belonging to yours truly, she told them to ship it to me in California.

Three and a half months after the move, said brown box arrived on my front porch. With five “FRAH – GEE – LAY” stickers affixed to the crumpled cardboard, I suspected it had been visiting with Tom Hanks and his buddy Wilson on their deserted island during its three month tour. After photographing the damaged box (in case the valuable contents were ruined, I had exhibit A for the lawsuit accusing emotional damages), I carried it inside.

I opened the box, and after removing the top 6 inches of paper stuffing (the contents must be very important if they were packed with so much non-news-paper), I reached the first item. I lifted it out of the box… it was pretty heavy… I slowly unwrapped it, and there it was in all its glory. Gleaming in the late afternoon sun, it looked exactly as it did the day I first saw it – a gold-leafed statuette marking the memorable softball season from 1986. I cleared off the mantle above the fireplace, and placed the trophy in a spot for all to admire, and continued unwrapping items. By the time I reached the bottom of the box, I had quite a display, and a new wardrobe!

My new(old)found treasures contained 7 trophies and 4 plaques ranging from 1986-95. Strangely, there was a disproportionate amount of softball trophies to my participation in that sport - perhaps softball teams are more trophy oriented than soccer or basketball? The plaques started showing up around '91 - not sure if that is due to a trend towards plaques in the nineties, or if it was a result of my age at the time - was it cooler to give plaques to high schoolers?

Not only were the trophies wrapped in paper, but the bottom layer of wrapping was handled by reversible jerseys. It was a double surprise with each item - one trophy and one reversible mesh jersey! I now have 4 reversible mesh basketball jerseys (two with my name and number on the back), 1 non reversible basketball jersey (lame - what if I change my mind in the middle of the day - I am only stuck with only one color?), 1 soccer jersey, and 2 shorts - all PURE POLYESTER! Too bad summer just ended - they would have been perfect when it sails past 100 degrees here. In case I want to mix things up a bit with some natural cotton, I have 2 sweatpants (which are so old that when i held them up by the inside of the waistband, the elastic just crumbled, so now they are stuck in the stretched out position) and 1 project graduation tshirt.

I arranged the trophies and plaques tastefully on the mantle, and laid out my new wardrobe in front of the fireplace (as if Mr. Claus had just deposited them there after squeezing through the natural gas line, landing with a bound). I think it is quite a nice display for the room, and the golden bronze colors are very autumnal. How lucky is my husband to have a trophy wife?

PEN pals

2007-09-23T18:32:00.000-07:00

I remember when I was in school (back in the nineteen hundreds) and all English assignments required writing essays. Actually writing essays - with a pen - on paper. These days, the most writing I do is on my grocery list,which, as you know, isn't a very frequent occurrence.

Well, I think I have developed carpal tunnel syndrome today. Not from excessive repetitive use while typing , but from writing too much with a pen. I have been corresponding as a pen pal with my sister's nieces (not my nieces, so follow: her husband's sister's kids). They are eight and five, so not only do I write (on paper! with a pen!), but I have to write neatly so they can read it.

I draft my letters on the computer (did I write that out loud?). I just can't write as fast as I think... but I can type like crazy! And Bill Gates is kind enough to include spellcheck with his programs... I have yet to see a Bic that can do the same. Also, I can edit my letters better when I type them... you can never have too much rigor around a pen pal letter to an 8 year old. Did I convince you yet? I think the drafting is a bit strange myself, but who am I to criticize my own behavior?

So, after the ink dried on two letters to my pen pals, I have self diagnosed myself with carpal tunnel syndrome. My wrist is killing me, and I think I also may have torn a muscle in my forearm from so much writing. You would think I wrote a novel to them, but it was only 23 lines (for 223 words - see? Bill even put a word counter in his program... what do you have to say to that, Bic? .... Bic? Hellllllo? Are you still there?).

I have often wondered why we have so many pens in our house. Those scripting sticks are everywhere... in drawers, two full pen holders (one downstairs, one upstairs - in case of pen emergency), a few in the car, 2 or 3 in my purse, probably even one in each purse in my closet! Now I know why they are so prolific - with the digital age, it will take me until 2023 to use all the ink in those pens. Hopefully by then, someone will have developed a bionic wrist so I can get a replacement after mine is damaged from all that writing!

speaking... the public variety

2007-09-19T17:28:00.001-07:00

Since I was not going back to school this fall, I thought I should at least take some sort test this year... but I didn't really want to put too much energy into it, so I found a test that questions me on something I know quite a bit about... myself! Here are the results of my personality test:

Am I surprised by the results??? Hardly! If anything, I am surprised that I am not 100% extraverted!

Surprising, however, would describe my behavior today (as compared to the results above) during an "All Hands Meeting." We had a 150 person meeting at the Marriott today - I kind of felt like I was at a wedding reception... um, without the bar, or the dancing, or the centerpieces, or the favors, or the white dress and tux... and instead of toasts, we had speakers with power point presentations. Pretty much the same thing. Riiiiight...

Anyyyywayyyy... as with all "All Hands Meetings" (can you use repeated words if you are using quotes), we had a breakout session for some random activity, and I was the scribe. Partly because I love writing with Mr. Sketch markers (we had the yummy blueberry scent), and partly because I wanted to get out of my chair. After we compiled our illustrious list of positives and challenges (don't say positives and negatives, because in holding with buzzword lingo rule 10.c, all negatives are to be referred to as challenges or obstacles), they asked for a representative on each team to present our top two items to the room. Since I was the uber-dork that jumped up to use the (sniiiiiiiiiif) blueberry marker, my team unanimously voted me the speaker before I could even put the cap back on the marker and enjoy my last inhale.

We were table 13, and as they were working their way from table 1... table 2... up to our lucky number, I felt the familiar panic setting in... My heart was pounding, my hands were shaking, and my mind was at odds...
Halo: "There is nothing to be nervous about - you know all these people"
Horns: "But you have never liked public speaking"
Halo: "All you have to say are two stupid things"
Horns: "But they are approaching with a microphone"
Halo: "Nobody will even remember what you said"
Horns: "Unless you totally fuck it up"
...I know, I shouldn't reveal my inner thoughts. They have trucker mouths!

As I sat in my red and gold diamond patterned banquet chair, sweating, shaking, and breathing quickly, they decided to sneak up on me, and suddenly, microphone Vanna chick was in my face, waiting for me to bestow my brilliant comments upon the crowd. (Yikes, I think my heart rate is going up just typing this)! I quickly said my lines (forgetting to say my name), and sat back down. It was all a blur. I remember as much from that 30 seconds as a young freshman girl would remember about a frat party come Sunday morning.

I don't understaaaaaaaand (read in a whiny voice). I LOVE to talk... Verizon can vouch for that fact! All 14 pages of my cell phone bill, listing each call and the ungodly total minutes used per month. Sometimes I wonder how many minutes actually are in a month, but I am afraid of the answer. WHY can't I master talking in front of a crowd? And it isn't all crowds... I can talk in front of small crowds. In fact, I lead sessions at work. Small sessions. Not a problem. In fact, I like doing that kind of stuff. I am always the person with a comment. On Monday, I was cajoled by my team, because in one day, I uttered the strange phrases, "I don't have any questions" and "I am ambivalent"... both in one day! They all asked if I was okay, or if an alien had possessed me.

It has always been like this for me - speaking at weddings is terrible... and yes, I have tried the age-old trick: attempting to dull the nerves with some champagne (but not Bud Light - I have seen how those toasts go). Strangely, it doesn't seem to help. In fact, Scout reports that it just makes me talk faster. SofastthatyoucanhardlyunderstandwhatIamsaying.

So, I will add another item to my lifetime "to do" list: master speaking in front of crowds. (Knees knocking as I add it to my mental list)... I am off to have horrible nightmares about standing in front of a crowd.

cheese IS dairy

2007-09-16T18:36:00.000-07:00

Today was chore day - laundry, ironing, carpet cleaning, meal planning and grocery shopping. Although I am a chronic planner, I just cannot master meal planning. Part of the problem is that it involves cooking (I shudder just typing that word). But, today, I tried again... attempt 42 at planning meals for the week.

I sat down on the couch with my favorite cookbook (Better Crocker's healthy AND hearty - 'cause what is the point of eating healthy if you are just hungry after your meal?) and picked out a few recipes. I wrote down the ingredients, confirmed the items in the house (surprisingly, a lot of them), and added the needed items to my grocery list. I KNOW... a list. Novel idea, and not usually something that accompanies me to the store. I generally wander and grab the usual suspects: milk, eggs, cheese, deli meat, fruit, bread... and whatever else looks good along the way.

I entered the grocery store with an air of confidence. I had a list! And in a bout of energy before I left, I organized my list by aisles in the store (since when am I type A?) Rather, where I thought they might be in the store; I didn't actually know, since some of the things were items I had never purchased before.

Before I continue, let me explain something about the grocery store I frequent - it is not your typical grocery store. It is humongous. They have a section that sells dinnerware - not paper plates, not plastic plates, but actual real pottery plates. They have wine tasting on Friday nights. It is so big that you can't just run in to quickly grab a gallon of milk, because the milk is located in the back 40. So they added an end cap in the front of the store stocking milk, butter, yogurt and other quick pickup items. It is so big that they have a convenience store inside the store!

I was quickly filling my cart and crossing off items on my list: milk, yogurt, mozzarella cheese, and then I encountered cottage cheese. I looked through the entire cheese section, but it was nowhere to be found. One of the helpful employees was stocking the cheese, so I asked her where the cottage cheese was located. She replied, "In the dairy section." Huh? As far as I know, cheese IS dairy. I recognize that the FDA has changed the food pyramid a hundred times since I learned it in 6th grade, but I seriously doubt they reclassified cheese. I stood there with a blank look on my face, and she added, "by the milk." Of course... why would cottage cheese be in the cheese section? It would be too obvious.

I would also like to add the fun tidbit that there is a second cheese section - the GOURMET cheese section. No wonder I never want to cook - too much effort to find anything at the store! Oh, and the effort of cooking.

culture... of the pop variety

2007-09-13T07:41:00.001-07:00

As mentioned previously, I am from Jersey. Undisputed fact when you get me fired up, or on the phone with one of my immediate family members. RunnerGirl is also from Jersey (how we met is another story for another day) and since we are from Jersey, we have instituted a rule that anything Jersey related is automatically approved in the fiscal budget (hi, honey!).

On Sunday, we went to see the musical "Jersey Boys" at our local travelling Broadway theater (rather, theatre - apparently, it is fancier with the "re" than the traditional "er"). The funniest part of the whole night was when we were in the lobby before the show, and we overheard a fellow patron say, "You know how those people in Jersey talk"... I think he meant "tawk", but I'll let it slide.

The play was awesome, even though I knew nothing about the Four Seasons. Sure, I had heard the songs, but I was not really "into" them when I was younger. RunnerGirl was practically jumping out of her seat with every new song (and I think I heard her sing along a couple times) since she had the full cassette tape collection, as it was one of the approved musical groups by her parentals when she was younger. I did not know the story behind the group (giant gasp by the entire state of Jersey - shame on me!), but I learned so much during the 2.5 hour show... in fact, I am sure that if they had presented History in the form of a musical, I would have learned much more history in high school! Really, between the History channel and musicals, they could have saved me hours of schooling!

When I came home, I was telling Scout how I loved the play, and I was going to expand my cultural exposure by going to see Phantom of the Opera in the spring... you know, a play that was a real play, not a musical! He had a moment of silence (that I have come to know as the "is she kidding?" thought process). When he realized I wasn't kidding, he said, "but you know Phantom is a musical?" I replied, "yeah, but it's not a musical musical".

Clearly, he does not understand that musicals consist of pop culture music. Musicals have songs that are/were on the radio... songs that people sing in the shower. Songs that I can sing along with in my seat on the tippy-top row of the theaTRE. Which means that Phantom qualifies as real culture, not the culture that I am so masterfully versed in... the POP variety. Duh.

F[ootb]ALL

2007-09-06T20:04:00.000-07:00

I was willing the start of fall with my outfit today. Unfortunately, autumn was on to my silly ploy, and the only outcome was me sweating in my September outfit because it was 95 degrees outside.

Although the weather was uncooperative, fall did respond with the start of football season. Now, I am not a team fan, nor is Scout. But I do love watching football. Not the dedicated sit-on-the-couch, cheer and watch every game of the season type of watching football, but I do love the game. In fact, I like watching all sporting events. I am unbiased, as demonstrated by one of my favorite sport shows, Ninja Warrior. I digress... the start of football, but not fall...

Football brings back fond memories over many different eras of my life. (Am I old enough to have eras of my life?) Junior high games at Ungermann field (under the lights - so very grown up)... the Warriors vs the Red Devils... followed by a trip to Dairy Queen. High school football games... getting all dressed up in my corduroys, plaid shirt and wool sweater... and maybe my barn jacket if it was really cold out.... standing in the upper left section of the stands cheering for our not-so-great team. College games - okay, I need to clarify this... I only went to about 3 games in my entire college career. In fact, the only reason I knew we even had games was because I had a penchant for dating the football players. But we did have some great tailgating!

Fantasy teams, friday night lights, body painting, first and ten, player of the game, and only two nights of the week without games... now that football has started, maybe the weather will catch on?

the bears and the bees

2007-09-04T21:00:00.000-07:00

Camping trip was a success. Such a success, in fact, that we brought back the lovely aroma of campfire to our house. Why is it that every time we go camping, I forget that we will have that scent in our lives for the week following the trip? I have washed my hair 3 times, and sent all our clothes through the washing machine to no avail. I hope our house doesn't catch on fire - I'm not sure I would notice.

I really enjoyed our time in the great outdoors, with the exception of the following: the bears and the bees... (RunnerGirl would argue that I should add birds to that list - from her personal aversion, and also to create a more ironic title).

the bees
Scout and I were the first to arrive at the campsite on Saturday. We stepped out of the car with our yummy sandwiches from the Yellow Submarine (our favorite sandwich place in Tahoe - we might be partial based on the name alone). Plopped ourselves down on the picnic table, enjoying the great outdoors... and were immediately joined by 20 bees. They were clearly more interested in our processed meat sandwiches than any food they might scrounge up in their natural habitat. To avoid accidentally swallowing a bee trying to nibble off our lunch, we headed for the safety of our car. Yes, we ate our lunch - in a campground - inside our car - with the air conditioning blasting. Very outdoorsy and environmental of us.

the bears
As always, the campground has a form you must sign upon entering the park acknowledging the danger of bears and vowing to place all food items (including toothpaste) into the bear lockers provided at each site. Should you fail to comply, a $1,000 fine will be assessed... if you manage to survive the night without getting eaten by a bear. I have signed (or seen) this form many times, and always have the tiny nagging fear in the back of my mind that a bear could come into my tent and devour me while I slumber. Scout assures me that I will not get eaten by a bear, but I have seen Grizzly Man, and - spoiler alert - he most definitely was eaten by a bear. Could happen.

Due to the fires in Tahoe, and the destruction of their natural habitat, bear sightings have been more prevalent recently, and unfortunately, someone in our campground saw a bear on the first night. This news travelled faster than the high school rumor mill, and was all the buzz in our campground.

At the restrooms, random dad was waiting for a group of kids to make their last pit stop before tucking them into their sleeping bags for the night. The kids were riled up about the bear sighting, and to assuage their fears, he told them, "The bears are always there - the only difference between last night and tonight is that someone actually SAW them." Um, is that supposed to be comforting? Now you are telling me they are always there? I like to think that if I can't see them, they AREN'T there (mild panic ensues). He continued, "The bears are not interested in us - they are only interested in our food, so you shouldn't worry about them." One of the boys bravely proposed, "And they are more afraid of us than we are of them, right?" Random dad chuckled and replied, "No - in this case, you are definitely more afraid of them." I second that motion. And thanks Random dad, for not making me feel any better about this bear situation.

My first night was spent listening for giant footsteps, and jumping at every light I saw through the trees (in case the bear coming to sneak attack me was carrying a flashlight?) We heard gunshots at 1:30am - what? Were we camping in the hood? A bear drive-by shooting? Bear gangs? Scout suspects it was merely a noise scaring tactic. Which clearly means the bears were too close to people. Not helping...

The second night, I developed a highly complicated plan... drink enough beer to bring my judgment down just enough notches to quell my fears, but not so many notches that I would have to get up during the night to make the lonely trip to the restroom. You never know, that bear could have been waiting for me, if he knew I had to pee in the middle of the night. Those bears are smarter than you think.

Scout said he was proud of me for making it through the night without freaking out. Yes, I am a master of overcoming fears... with 5% lager assistance. I think this method will work great for the future... can't you just see us, heading out for a family camping trip, Scout advising the kids, "Remember to brush your teeth and put on your PJs early, cause mommy is going to have to drink herself silly so she isn't afraid of the bears." What a shining example I will be.

Or, maybe I could submit a comment to the campgrounds of the world to please not allow bears or bees at their facilities. They ruin the great outdoors.

end of summer?

2007-08-31T16:06:00.000-07:00

I just realized that today is the last day of August. And this is Labor Day weekend - thus marking the end of summer. Where did you go, sweet summer? I feel like you were hardly in my life at all this year. I have discovered that summers as an adult do not hold the same magical quality they did as a child.

Summer conjures up memories of playing outside, riding bikes around the neighborhood, swimming, chasing the ice cream truck, and having watermelon-seed-spitting contests. This summer, I fell short of those activities: I went outside if necessary (much cooler inside my house in the air conditioning), my bike hasn't left the garage once, I did do some swimming (though most would call it 'sitting') in a kiddie pool in my backyard, why bother chasing an ice cream truck when it is so easily accessible in the freezer (and does not come in the shape of a frog, as lil bro used to order from the ice cream truck), and I have yet to locate a watermelon with seeds - I think they genetically engineered them to extinction!

As a last hurrah (and belated welcome?) for summer, I will be in Tahoe attending the 3rd annual camping extravaganza with friends. Flashlight tag is on the docket for our monthly 'game night' activity, which probably will turn into Liars Dice or Poker at the picnic table, but perhaps simply the thought of a silly kid's game will revive the spirit of summer.

marketing plans

2007-08-30T14:05:00.000-07:00

Awards for the best & worst marketing plans I have seen recently:

Best:
The 2nd floor of the building I work in is starting their "Get Fit" club - a takeoff on the Biggest Loser contest. They laid the foundation for their club signup next week by having a bake sale this week to benefit the American Heart Association.

Worst:
Quizno's sign on the corner: "Get toasty". My car read 129 degrees when I got in it after work yesterday.

article 10.03

2007-08-27T18:42:00.000-07:00

When we moved to our new neighborhood in December, we knew we were going to have problems with the strict association rules for our "community". Really, we should have known better just by the word "community"... what happened to the good old fashioned word "neighborhood"? Not trendy enough? Not fancy enough? I know... neighborhood evokes the thoughts of families on front lawns and kids playing in the street, while community means a service to handle your front lawn and a security guard driving around the streets.

Our first citation arrived within a month of moving in to our home. We were actually kind of amused - we knew we were going to get letters, and our suspicion was proven true quite quickly. To avoid a reputation on the most wanted list of outlaws in suburbia, we remedied our mistake promptly. Scout climbed up the ladder and painted our satellite dish to match the color of the gutters. Yes, that was the violation: the satellite dish must match the gutters. Not the house - that would be tacky. We covered up that horribly offensive shade of light grey and erased all reference to DIRECTV, lest anyone know which brand of satellite service we have at our house. Might bring down home values in the area.

Here is a summary of the ensuing notices:

April 19, 2007

Dear Homeowners,

Thank you for the recent submittal of your backyard shade trellis plan. The Committee approved your plan with the following conditions:

Shade structure must be painted to match your house wall color.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Sincerely,
The Stepford Association

____________

May 31, 2007

Dear Homeowners,

In our ongoing effort to uphold the standards of the community, Association representatives routinely patrol the community to identify potential violations of these restrictions. During a routine patrol (coincidentally right after you submitted plans), a representative observed the following at your residence:

~~A pot farm~~
~~Babies held dangling out a third story window~~
~~Dog fighting in the backyard~~
White shade structure installed in the backyard without approval. Please paint to match the color of your exterior wall.

Can't you people read and follow instructions? We already sent you a letter about this extremely urgent matter!

Sincerely,
The Stepford Association

____________

July 2, 2007

Dear Homeowners,

Don't you check your mail? We have sent two notices informing you of your violation of Article 10.03.

Do you have any idea how you are impacting those around you by having that white shade structure in your backyard? Every day when the security guard turns around on your dead end street, he is offended by the gleaming white color of your shade structure. He is now out on disability undergoing psychiatric treatment.

Failure to correct or respond to this alleged violation may result in a written complaint filed with the President of the United States. This is your final notice before we will issue a fine for noncompliance.

Sincerely,
The Stepford Association

____________

August 13, 2007

Dear Homeowners,

Thank you for painting your shade structure, but the entire structure needs to be painted the exterior wall color, not just the lame-ass paint job you did by painting the section that we can see from the street. If someone were to jump the fence to your property, we need to ensure that the aesthetics of your entire shade structure will be in accordance with our color palette as they trespass on your property.

This is your final notice (for real this time) before we will issue a fine for noncompliance.

Sincerely,
The Stepford Association

____________

Fine, fine, fine! We will paint our stupid shade structure. Even though all the other houses in the neighborhood have white shade structures. But you can't see theirs from the street, noooooooooo.... just from the running trails that are located throughout our "community". I am sure that the amount of people driving on our dead end street is much higher than the amount of people using the running trails, so I can understand why you singled us out from the hundreds of other houses.

We have now purchased a paint sprayer, and many cans of beige paint to cover up the ill-fated white color on our shade structure. Don't worry, soon all will be beige again, and the Stepford Association can move on to more important issues, like ~~world peace~~ ensuring that no potted plant in the front yard is more than 4 feet high.

flesh/flush update

2007-08-24T13:55:00.000-07:00

Since my rant last week, I have been keeping diligent records of all the catch phrases used to excess in my own personal Office Space. To paint a mental picture, I have been sitting in my meetings and training sessions with a scorecard to accurately count the overused lingo. Don’t worry – I’m not obvious - you would need a secret decoder ring to understand my methodology. Yes, exactly the same exercise I did in Junior High when we would keep track of the repetitious words teachers would say. Here is the tally for the past 2 weeks:
flesh – 16
flush – 6
unrecognizable flesh/flush – 4
out of the box – 1
outside the box – 2
vetted (or vet) – 7
I was giving Scout a status report earlier this week on my cutting edge research, and he had never heard "vet/vetted" used as anything other than a veterinarian. Turns out he wasn’t too far off in his confusion.

Per Wikipedia: To vet was originally a horse-racing term, referring to the requirement that a horse be checked for health and soundness by a veterinarian before being allowed to race. Thus, it has taken the general meaning "to check".

Thank goodness for Wikipedia. How did we survive back in the day where you had to remember your question all day and find it in the old fashioned encyclopedia? Or, worse yet, go to the library and search microfiche? Oy, I must be old - that is the second time today I have said "back in the day".

high def... in real life!

2007-08-21T12:44:00.000-07:00

I survived the dive trip! I was not eaten by sharks, and thankfully, didn't see one the whole time... phew!

The Channel Islands are a beautiful, rugged, natural location. As we pulled up alongside the first island (Anacapa), I was struck by the beautiful shades of brown and gold, and the steep terrain along the coastline. Strangely enough, I felt as if I were in an episode of Planet Earth (one of the best TV shows ever). I could just picture the camera panning in from above on the coastline, zooming in on the waves crashing into the rocks... wait... what? I am living REAL LIFE - OUTSIDE - IN NATURE... and I am imagining I am in a TV show? Is that wrong? I feel like that is wrong...

The other dive boats anchored at Anacapa said that the diving was terrible, so our captain changed course for the second island, Santa Cruz. (Can you hear Sigourney Weaver narrating: Santa Cruz island is home to the highest peaks of all the islands, and boasts a vast variety of flora, fauna and geology)... sorry, real life... right.

After stepping off the back of the boat into the water, we started descending. I was not as nervous as I thought I would be, but honestly, still a bit nervous. I mean, who knows what is down there? Great white sharks (Helllllooooo... have you seen Jaws? Not that we were at the Jersey Shore, but still... And on a less scary note, that crazy cartoon Jabberjaws has a ridiculous tune that will get stuck in your head for days!), Loch Ness monster (maybe Nessie left his/her station in Scotland and took up residency in the Pacific Ocean), any number of animals or legends could be waiting underwater for me to arrive as their next meal - you never know! However, when we reached the abyss, the small, spiky sea urchins seemed my only dangers, and hell if I was going to touch them! I had no idea if they were actually spiky, or filled with poisonous venom, or just looked spiky. I was not risking it! [Editor's note: after research on Wikipedia, it seems that they are not poisonous, but are spiky to the touch.]

I stayed close to Scout - so close that I was constantly running into him, and every time, he would turn around and look at me and ask if I was ok. I am still surprised that he didn't turn around and knock me upside the head with the amount of times I ran into him. Rest assured, if something brushed up against my leg, I would have screamed (not that you would have been able to hear it) and used half my air panicking about what scary monster (or speck of seaweed) was going to tear me to smithereens.

All in all, a great trip, and I would absolutely do it again. We saw some really cool stuff: sea urchins, Garibaldi (the fish who had the honor of being the one whose name I decided to learn this trip - Scout figured even a non-scientist like me could identify it easily, with its bright orange color and resemblance to a giant goldfish), rock fish, other fish, kelp (which I did not, thankfully, get stuck in), sea cucumbers (of varying man-boasting sizes), huge crabs, and two octopus! octopuses? octopi? octopodes? Strangely enough, all are valid words. Granted, some more acceptable than others (the last two were not acceptable per spellcheck), but all legit - now you have learned something today. Might come in handy if you are ever on Jeopardy, or more realistically, Hollywood Squares.

So, should you ever find yourself out in nature enjoying the real life scenery and majestic beauty of Planet Earth, be sure to capture a bit of it for yourself in High Def. And don't forget the mental Tivo feature so you can watch it again and again in your mind.

70 and sunny...

2007-08-17T08:16:00.000-07:00

Headed down to the beach in SoCal (near Ventura) this weekend. While packing, I decided to check the weather. Scout laughed at me and said, "Why bother?" Here is the 7-day forecast:

sunny 72
sunny 71
sunny 69
sunny 71
sunny 71
sunny 70
sunny 70

... we might not be home for a while.

happy birthday... now get to work!

2007-08-16T11:57:00.000-07:00

Not to brag, but... (get ready for ensuing bragging)... I found the best birthday present ever! Perfect for relaxing, enjoying the outdoors, spending time with loved ones... what more could a birthday celebrator want?

The husband has been talking about getting a hammock for years. So, since he is turning 30, and might need to rest his weary bones every now and again, I thought he deserved to finally have a hammock in the backyard.

The catch is (there's always a catch - ask Yossarian), we don't have any trees in our backyard. And when I say "no trees", I don't mean, "no trees big enough to hang a hammock on", I mean "NO TREES."

Before you throw up your hands in disgust at my obliviousness to the simple solution, I am aware of the crafty hammock stands. In fact, we had one when I was younger. Which is why I did not get one now. I believe the word "stand" means: for your safety, please STAND to the side of this thing - if you attempt to board, you will promptly be ejected from either side of the hammock. Granted, that may have had something to do with the younger brother and sister, and our violation of the directions advising against roughhousing, swinging like we were on a fair ride (without the tickets and height above the plywood measuring stick required for preboarding), and the fun associated with flipping someone out of the hammock (and by someone, I mean someone else - it was always fun as the flipper... not so fun as the flippee).

Even when the siblings were not around, it was always difficult to get into the hammock stand... you had to stand in the middle - the EXACT middle - and delicately lower yourself onto the hammock, then put one leg in - stabilize - scoot in a bit - don't drop the book - grab the rope with your hand and pull yourself in a bit more... raise the other leg off the ground - wobble, wobble - scoot in more - hear the stand rattle because it is never on level ground - flop in entirely... heave a giant sigh of relief. Relax for 7 minutes before realizing you have to go to the bathroom. Damn.

So, because we (I mean, he) wants to hang the hammock from posts, his birthday present was a generous gift of relaxation. As soon as he measures, digs the holes, sets the posts in concrete, inserts the hooks, and puts up the hammock. So, as soon as he gets to work, we will both be able to enjoy his birthday hammock! Oh, did I mention that it is a 2-person hammock? I am such a giver.

mixed message

2007-08-15T19:51:00.000-07:00

No less than 7 people at work made this comment to me: "You look nice today."

I said thank you to the first three, and was feeling good about myself. My outfit was pretty nice... it even would have met the sister's approval, as it was attacked by the long-lost iron. I did put it on all wrinkly at first, but decided that while I don't believe in ironing my t-shirts like little sis, I could spare 5 minutes of my morning, and iron nice clothes... and who knows? I might not have gotten all the so-called compliments if I hadn't ironed.

By the fourth comment, I started wondering, "Do I look like shit the rest of the time?" After the sixth comment, I started to get self-conscious.

Don't worry, I'll wear jeans tomorrow (unironed, of course) and be back to my normal, apparently crappy-looking self.

ice capades

2007-08-12T13:08:00.000-07:00

Ice cubes on the floor. Again. Why is it that every time I attempt to pull ice cubes out of the ice cube box I drop one on the floor? EVERY TIME.

I reach in and grab the first handful - success! They all made it into the glass safely. Confidence inspires me to reach in and grab another handful... I will foil those ice cubes this time... extracting my frozen loot, I bring them towards the glass. As soon as my wrist crosses the freezer threshold, the bunch gets rowdy, shape shifting in my hand, and one rogue cube slips away to the floor.

Disappointment always follows. Well, sometimes disappointment, sometimes pissedoffedness. The thing is, I REALLY think that every time I tempt fate with the cubes, I will win. It is mind boggling how such a simple task can best me time and time again.

It does not seem to matter if I am retrieving one cube, or a gaggle of cubes, there is always a casualty on the floor. Sometimes they taunt me by splitting as they hit the ground, forcing me to search for an unknown amount of cube shards. Sometimes they hit the bottom of the cabinets, ricocheting and ending up in a distant land (read: living room). Sometimes I pretend I don't hear them, and let nature take its course... melting and evaporating. Hoping that no one slips on their remains in the meantime.

patient, patient, patient

2007-08-12T08:08:00.001-07:00

Many Christmas's ago, when Scout was just a wee Scout, he uttered a now famous family quote...

The O family started the morning opening a few presents, then took a break for breakfast. Little Scout was done eating, and ready to go back to tearing wrapping paper. The adult Os were content sitting around chatting, as they had been through a few gift openings in their day. Little Scout stood before them ready to reunite with the red and green clad boxes and declared, "I have been patient, patient, patient."

This quote is truly representative of his personality now that he is all grown. He has an abounding amount of patience, as exemplified by our outing on Friday.

Scout is an experienced scuba diver, while I am a recreational vacation diver. Certified - yes. Comfortable swimming in warm clear water where you can practically see as far as you can on land - yes. Will I watch Discovery Channel's "Shark Week" specials - no. (Even though they are in HD and I generally watch anything in HD).

For Scout's 30th (yikes!) birthday, we are going scuba diving at the Channel Islands. Water is cold - as in, you need a full body wetsuit, including hood, to go underwater. Since I have never had the pleasure (that doesn't seem like an appropriate word?) of diving in a full wetsuit, and I haven't been diving in 4 years, Scout decided we should do a test dive. (Note to others: not nearly as fun as a 'test drive' for a new car). Have I mentioned how he likes to be prepared? So, we rented gear (for me, as he seemingly has every scuba contraption known to man) and headed out to the lake.

After encasing my body in neoprene (20 minutes), and waddling down the hill to the lake, impersonating the new, equal opportunity Michelin woman (15 minutes), I was ready to go! Except that I was nervous... really nervous. And Scout knew this. But I said nothing, for if I said it out loud, then it would be 'out there'.

We swam out from the shore, buoy in tow, and he sent the anchor down to the ocean depths of... um, 27 feet. He instructed me to follow the rope down to the bottom, and we would run through the drills he prepped me for earlier. I reminded him for the 37th time that he was not to leave my side, as I realized on my swim out that visibility in the lake was all of 6 feet.

I tried to sink (how hard can it be to sink?), and after a few attempts, I ended up right back where I started - floating on the surface. Scout patiently waited a few feet down for me to attempt the 'jackknife' dive technique (good thing I had lots of practice on the diving boards when I was younger). And don't think I made up that technique on my own - he had already suggested it in case I couldn't sink on my own. Again, prepared.

We sank (okay, he sank - I fought my way down) to the bottom. It is a strange sensation being underwater with the surface out of sight, air funnelling through an apparatus that I do not understand (science is not one of my strengths). Stay calm, stay calm. Don't use all the air panicking. I wanted to practice my calming yoga breathing, but that requires breathing through the nose, and mine was currently trapped inside my mask with no access to air. So, I improvised with deep breathing through the mouth... hoping I wouldn't use up all my air in the process.

Throughout all 22 minutes (is that all?) of the test dive, Scout was patient, patient, patient. He demonstrated each drill first, then pointed to me to repeat. At first, I just shook my head no, as I was still trying to breathe. He didn't flinch. Didn't point at me again, didn't cross his arms, didn't push it. He just repeated the drill again. Finally, when I was ready, I repeated his movements (not as smooth), and gave the OK sign.

He wrote notes to me (on his underwater board, with an underwater pencil) suggesting technique improvements, to which I replied: I'm trying, but I (insert option: don't like not being able to see/have to use my arms/don't like not having air). With every response that I countered, he just nodded his head in understanding, and waited in case I wanted to try again.

In the silence underwater (aside from my heavy breathing), I was reminded of one of the many reasons why I love him... patience is a virtue.

flush this

2007-08-08T20:39:00.000-07:00

If I hear the phrase, "we need to flush this out" one more time, I am going to march the head belonging to the mouth that uttered the phrase to the bathroom, and FLUSH it down the toilet. Every time I hear it, I want to jump up and scream, "FLESH, people, FLESH".

I hate catch phrases at work. Don't try to impress me with your superfluous buzz words. That nonsense won't work on me. ESPECIALLY if you use it incorrectly!

I can withstand "out of the box," only because I can look at the speaker and laugh (silently, of course) as if they were standing there in pegged jeans, an Esprit sweatshirt and a side ponytail. I'm not saying I never wore that (it was one of my favorite outfits), but it certainly isn't in my closet today. Nor will you ever hear me utter "out of the box" (unless I actually mean I am taking something out of the box... for real).

Also, do not ask me if I have any "free cycles" - it makes me think of tampons.

post note: apparently this topic is much funnier if you actually work in an office. especially if said office has TPS reports.

XXXXIV

2007-08-08T20:13:00.000-07:00

I was driving along on the freeway, checking out the cars I was passing (well, I wasn't on my cell phone - so I needed some form of entertainment), when I spotted a cute new VW bug with the license plate XXXXIV. I instantly became a contestant on Bumper Stumpers, and attempted to decipher the code...

I wondered, does she mean 44 in roman numerals? But then I remembered that 40 would be XL, as the rule of roman numerals limits you from using more than 3 consecutive numerals. Then, maybe she means Triple X 14. I have become addicted to the show To Catch a Predator, so you can imagine the first thought that popped into my head. I almost called Chris Hansen, from Dateline NBC (come on, have you ever heard him say his name without the "Dateline NBC" part following it?) to have him check out the driver of this car. Since I couldn't figure it out in the 4.7 seconds it took me to get up next to the car, I thought I would take a glimpse of the driver, and perhaps that would yield the clue I needed to solve the riddle.

Strangely enough, it was a 50-something year old woman with a beehive hairdo. This completely threw me off... she was too young to have a beehive hairdo as the original style. Did she pick it up after the rage faded? Is she trying to "bring it back"? Why would someone have such big hair and a small car?

I never did figure out what she was trying to say on that elusive bumper stumper. What baffles me most of all is that this woman spent extra money on a custom license plate, and it just isn't clear what it means! I think she should ask for her money back (or perhaps think of a more obvious license plate).

party planning addiction

2007-08-04T20:43:00.000-07:00

The husband (Scout) is away this weekend at a bachelor party.

Earlier this week, I was asking him where it was (he said he could tell me but he would have to kill me - in reality, he had no idea), how much it cost, who was going, etc. After the third time I asked, he gave me the stank eye and said "really, you know me - do you think i know any of these details?" Of course he wouldn't. In fact, when I said something on Thursday morning (after he found out the cost) about how I thought that was a pretty good price for 2 nights at a house in Tahoe, he looked surprised and blurted, "TWO nights?"

I happen to be friends with RunnerGirl, wife of RonR, who is in charge of organizing (by default). Here is a recap of my IM conversation with her on Thursday prior to the bach party:

RunnerGirl: RonR just said, everyone bring up a 12 pack or whatever you want to drink and they'll have to figure out food up there
me: maybe i will send some food w/ Scout
me: costco chips, muffins, etc.
me: i am def going to send food w/ Scout even though he will roll his eyes at me like a 5yr old
RunnerGirl: they should just bbq that's what i told RonR, there will be time to go to the store and buy crap
me: yeah. is there a bbq there?
RunnerGirl: i think so
me: and is anyone going to be there fri for dinner... ahhhh... stop! i am not planning... i just cant help it.
RunnerGirl: ha! yeah let them screw up i mean figure it out on their own.

blah, blah, other stuff…

me: so, i just asked Scout if he wanted anything in particular at costco, and his response was beer and vodka. sigh.....
RunnerGirl: ha! RonR has a 12 pack, first and only thing he's packed.
me: nice. do you know what kind?
RunnerGirl: of beer?
me: yes **thinking: i'll make sure i get a different kind, for variety
me: ahhhhhhh......... i cant stop planning! make it stop.
RunnerGirl: stop planning
me: i am making a costco list in red pen right now...
RunnerGirl: STOP! it's not your party
me: i know... hmph...

outsmarted by a printer

2007-08-01T16:31:00.000-07:00

In the process of trying to be eco-friendly (and compensate for my gas guzzling SUV), I attempted to use the advanced settings on our fancy shmancy printer at work to save paper. I had a 3 page document that I needed 10 copies of, and instead of just printing single sided, I thought I would print double sided. So, I selected “10 copies”, “2-sided” and “staple”. What I got was: all the pages double sided… with no break… so page 1 and 2 were on the first sheet of paper, then page 3 and page 1 on the next sheet of paper. WTF? And at the end, one giant staple! Grrr….

Try again… little bit different result, but still nothing I could use. So, after 2 tries printing, a variety of copying techniques, I finally ended up with what I wanted in the first place: a 3 page document on 2 pieces of paper – 10 copies. With a staple in each copy. Granted, the staples were not always in the right place, but they were there.

So, the moral of the story is that when you are printing to a machine that is larger than you are (I mean that literally… the thing is huge!), don’t try to save paper… you will use 90 pieces of paper trying to get your desired result of 20 pages. But, I did recycle my plastic soda bottle today, so I am even, right?

And the most frustrating part of all is that I AM tech savvy! Sigh…

So, if you see me out in a field with a humongo printer and a baseball bat, call Michael and Samir - I am sure they will be happy to join me. (cue: Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangsta)

cat dreams

2007-07-31T10:45:00.000-07:00

I have vivid dreams – always have – and I often remember them. Last night, I had a dream that I was driving to (Tahoe?) to go camping, and it started snowing. I was unprepared for the sudden blizzard, and started spinning out (which actually has happened to me before – ending with a crash into a hill on the side of the road). I knew not to hit the brakes, which could make me spin more, and I was now in a parking lot (appeared to the left of the road), so I just let it spin until I crashed into the building. They didn’t mind, and let me stay at their inn for the night. As we were unpacking the car (which was fine – not damaged at all from the crash), hubby asked me if I had my long underwear. I started freaking out that I didn’t have them, because I didn’t pack any skiing clothes, as it is the middle of summer. So, we got inside the building… which was much larger inside than it appeared on the outside. Similar to the way the wizards use magic to make their buildings larger on the inside in the Harry Potter books. We went to our room, and I decided I wanted to take a bath (which, by the way, I NEVER do in real life in hotel rooms). It was snowing outside, so maybe I wanted to warm up? I started the water to fill the tub, and when I went back to check it, it was on the brink of overflowing… which I am famous for doing in real life… I just forget about it, and always remember right before it starts pouring out onto the floor. Back to the dream… when I went back to check the water, I found all these kittens in the water… some drowning, some on the brink of drowning. I approached the water, and tried to get them out, and then I was attacked by the mom cat… Who was watching the water, but apparently not trying to save them? Not able to save them? Either way, I was getting bit by the cat. Then I woke up. After relaying the dream to hubby, he said, “What do you think that means? Other than the fact that you don’t like cats?”