Saturday, August 15, 2009

45 Lessons

The following was written by Regina Brett, 90 years old, for The Plain Dealer, Cleveland , Ohio

To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me. It is the most requested column I've ever written. My odometer rolled over to 90 in August, so here is the column once more:

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.
2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.
3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
4. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.
5. Pay off your credit cards every month.
6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.
7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.
8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.
9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.
10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.
11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.
12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.
13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.
15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks.
16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.
17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.
18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.
19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.
20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.
21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
22. Over prepare, then go with the flow.
23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.
24. The most important sex organ is the brain.
25 No one is in charge of your happiness but you.
26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words 'In five years, will this matter?'
27 Always choose life.
28. Forgive everyone everything.
29. What other people think of you is none of your business.
30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.
31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.
32. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
33. Believe in miracles.
34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.
35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.
36. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young.
37. Your children get only one childhood.
38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.
39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.
40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.
41. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.
42. The best is yet to come.
43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
44. Yield.
45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift.

Friday, August 7, 2009

My Perfect Day

There was a lady I used to work with that would proudly say her favorite day of the year was hands-down her birthday. No question about it. To me, that was amazing as so many of my own birthdays have been, shall we say, less than stellar.

At least, not until this year.

It started out as any other day... getting up just before my alarm goes off, getting ready for work and so on. You know, The Usual Thing. There were no cards or banners or little notes tucked anywhere for me to find, so I thought to myself, "Here we go again..."

But then again, maybe not.

As I slipped behind the steering wheel of my car, I found a birthday card from DH. Not just any birthday card either. It was a birthday card dripping with sweetness and lovey-dovey-ness and [insert a huge smile here] a wrapped dark chocolate Dove bar. SCORE! Be still my birthday-girl heart!

Let me tell you, nothing... nothing... could have wiped the grin off my face from then on. I was one happy camper. And, the cool thing was, my day just kept being great. I had the usual birthday treat of my co-workers singing "Happy Birthday" and getting balloons and candy... made all the more special because my friend 'B' happened to be in the lobby and was able to join in with the singing. I got a Harley Davidson mug with a tootsie-pop bouquet tucked inside from one of my BFFs... with the craziest colored suckers I've ever seen to boot!

It was a really great day at work. All the work went smoothly, customers came in specifically to wish me a happy birthday. It was just... well, perfect.

When I got home, DH and DD sang to me and presented me with a double batch of rice krispy treats (which is what I wanted in lieu of a cake), the Harley Davidson jacket I'd thought was still in special-order shipment la-la land... and a pair of diamond earrings! Can I hear an "Amen, Sistah!"??? Yep... I was in present nirvana...

I checked my Facebook page and had birthday wish after birthday wish waiting for me. Cool beans. And one of my dearest friends EVER was online and I got to chat with her. Awesome. We were even able to make plans to spend a girl's weekend together. Un-freakin-believable!

While I was finishing up online, I got a call from the local florist making sure I was home for a flower delivery. You betcha!

Seriously, can this day get any better?!

So, then DH, DD and I decided to spend the rest of the day hanging out in the 'big city' just south of us. First, we went to the hardware store for something DH needed, and I saw the bright yellow watering can I've been daydreaming about all summer... the last one on the shelf, I might add... and so I decided to splurge (with it being my birthday and all) and went ahead and bought it. Next, we had to go return some items at another store, and I found two books that I'd been wanting... and bought them as well. So, while I was on a roll, I had DH take me to a media store thinking maybe I could find one other book on my wish list... and I did. And another one I'd forgotten about wanting... and it was even marked way down. So I brought both of them home with me, too.

I swear, at that point I felt like I'd drank an entire bottle of Felix Felicis or something. (That reference won't make a bit of sense to all you non-Potter heads... sorry!)

Then, out of all the places I wanted to have my birthday dinner at, the one place I was craving was... McDonald's! I know it sounds crazy, but since we don't have ready access to one where we live, it really is a guilty indulgence... so that's where we went.

After we got back home, I got calls from my brother, my sister in law and my mom. It was great visiting with them and telling them all about my day.

DH and I topped off the day by taking a ride on our Harley with our neighbors. The weather was wonderful, the company was even better and the sunset was glorious.

And that was My Perfect Day.

Friday, July 31, 2009

A Bouquet of Sharpened Pencils

"Don't you love New York in the fall? It makes me wanna buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address."
- Joe Fox to Kathleen Kelly

I just love that quote from "You've Got Mail". And this time of year, it's hard not to have that line running through my mind as DD sharpens her entire box of pencils before tucking them in her backpack in expectation of the first day of school.

But school supplies are not the same these days. No way, Jose. You can hardly turn around in Target without seeing a newer, better... dare I say designer... version of spiral-bound notebooks or pocket folders by people like Ed Hardy.

Seriously. Whatever happened to good ol' Pee Chee folders? Anyone remember them? Heck, I felt like I'd won the lottery when my mom let us pick those out instead of the plain colored store brand. DD would scoff at having to carry something as boring as a pee chee. She'd have to drop out from the shame of it.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Jesus is Living in Our Kitchen

It's true. Jesus is in our kitchen. Right now. As in while I type this.

Okay, okay, you can stop worrying that I am off some sort of medication or have had a stroke. It's nothing like that. Jesus is a praying mantis that has somehow made his way into our kitchen. And into our lives.

While a normal family would try to A) catch it and take it back outside, or B) smush it in a tissue and flush it down the toilet, alas, we are not a normal family. Not even close.

Last summer we had a very large spider take up residence in between our interior kitchen window and the sorry excuse of a storm window we have. We named him "Spidey" and it was always cause for celebration when some bug would find it's way into Spidey's web. We'd call out to everyone in the house, "Come quick! He's gonna get another one!" And that would be our entertainment for the next half hour or so. Sure, there was a big ol' creep factor involved with the thought that Spidey might one day find his way inside the house, but as long as he was controlling the bug population before it could come inside he was a welcome addition to the family. May his hairy legs rest in peace.

This year, there is no Spidey in residence. Instead, there is Jesus the praying mantis. (Get the humor there, folks?) While I'm not thrilled that he is on the inside of the glass, I am more than happy to allow him to dine on all the creepy crawlies that attempt to invade through our sad-sack old windows.

Aren't we so... special?


Blogger's note added Sunday, August 2, 2009:

This morning we had to say goodbye to Jesus. I found him suffering on the kitchen window sill after what must have been a David and Goliath-esque battle with a spider. Or would it have been more like Godzilla vs. Mothra? A question for the ages...

*sniff sniff*

We will miss you Jesus.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

The Long and Short of It

Why is it some women have this strange urge to grow their hair out? And then, just when it gets longer, we have this strange urge to cut it shorter again? It's something akin to a sport for some of us, I swear.

I had long, long hair when I was a little girl. At least I did until my brother decided to play "Barbershop" when we were staying at my grandma's house one weekend. Thankfully, he had barely started in with a pair of those little-kid safety scissors before grandma walked in the room and stopped him. Of course, that didn't change the fact that he'd already successfully hacked a big chunk out of the hair on the back of my head.

Let's just say my mother was less than amused. She washed and brushed out my hair one last time, had my dad take me to Sears for one last picture of me with my long hair (since the front still looked unscathed) and then had it all cut off in what was probably supposed to look like a Dorothy Hamill cut. Trust me, I never felt like I would be twirling on ice with that haircut. To this day, I still think of the term 'bowl haircut' when I see me with that hairdo. Ugh.

Ironically, that was the beginning of many years of growing my hair out long and then chopping it all off again. And again. And... well... again.

I always want what I don't have. Like curly hair. I got more permanent waves in my lifetime than I care to admit to. A few even made me look remarkably like Chaka Khan. Just in case you are wondering, it was not an attractive look for a short, chubby white girl.

Now, on the verge of 39, I still cannot figure out what the heck I want my hair to look like. The angst usually starts after a bad hair cut. I kind of go on strike, I guess you'd say. I decide to just grow it all back out and pull it back in a pony tail every day. Quick. Easy. Not very flattering, mind you, but efficient nonetheless.

And then I get the urge. The Urge. Like now. I have it, and bad. I want to get a style. Something that just screams SASSY! The problem is, I never know what that style is.

So, this time I hatched a plan: I took pictures of two hairstyles I couldn't choose between, and then asked a bunch of the ladies from work yesterday. I kept the running tally a secret from them until after they had voted. One girl was outright shocked that I'd actually get whichever style got the most votes. And, maybe it is a tiny bit crazy. But if you think about it, these people see me day in and day out... they should have a pretty good sense of who I am and what I could pull off. Right?

Monday is my appointment. And I'm ready! SASSY hair... here I come! Wish me luck!

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Reality Check

The following post is actually from one of the many e-mail forwards I get. E-mail forwards are a huge pet peeve of mine, especially the ones that predict doom and bad fortune if not sent to 20 people in the next 5 minutes. But, once in a blue moon or two, I actually find something entertaining or worthwhile amidst the stinkers.

This one was entitled, “To All the Kids Who Survived the 1930’s, 40’s, 50’s, 60’s and 70’s.” Kind of catchy in a run-on, incomplete sentence way, wouldn’t you say? Yeah, I didn’t think so either. Personally, I think it should be called something like this:

“Here’s a Reality Check for the Younger Generations”

First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked or drank alcohol (or both!) while they were pregnant.

They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a can and didn’t get tested for diabetes.

Then, after that unspeakable trauma, we were put to sleep on our tummies in baby cribs covered with bright colored lead-based paints with slats far enough apart for us to get our chubby arms and legs in between.

We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, locks on doors or cabinets, and when we rode our bikes, we had baseball caps on instead of helmets on our heads.

As infants and children, we would ride in cars with no car seats, no booster seats, no seat belts, no air bags, bald tires and sometimes no brakes. (I even remember riding on my dad’s lap while he drove down the interstate… good fun.)

Riding in the back of a pickup truck on a warm day was always a special treat… sometimes even sitting on the open tailgate.

We drank water from a garden hose and not from a bottle.

We shared one soft drink with four friends from one bottle and no one actually died from it.

We ate cupcakes, white bread, real butter and bacon and we drank Kool-Aid made with real white sugar… and we weren’t overweight. Why? Because we were always outside playing!

We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on.

No one was able to reach us all day, because we didn’t have cell phones. And we were okay.

We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride them down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.

We did not have video games, no 150 channels on cable, no DVDs, no surround sound or CDs, no cell phones, no personal computers, no internet or chat rooms. Instead, we had friends and we went outside and found them.

We fell out of trees, got cuts, broke bones and knocked out teeth and there were no lawsuits from these accidents.

We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt and the worms did not live in us forever.

We were given BB guns for our 10th birthdays, made up games with sticks and tennis balls and we did not put out everyone’s eyes no matter what our mothers told us.

We rode bikes or walked to a friend’s house and knocked on the door or rang the bell.

Little league had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn’t had to learn to deal with disappointment. And those who did learned that the losing teams didn’t get trophies, too.

When we got a little older, the idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law. Image that!

These generations have produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers and inventors ever. We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned how to deal with it all.

If YOU are one of them… congratulations!

Kind of makes you want to run through the house with scissors, doesn’t it?

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Slug Bug!

Tonight, as we were heading home from a nice family night together, we started talking about ways we can make our upcoming family road trip a bit more... um... 'interactive' shall we say? You know, something to make the miles fly by a little more quickly. I, for one, suggested the good old-fashioned game of 'slug bug'. DD's reply was, "What the heck is a slug bug?!" Obviously, I have not raised her right. I'm so very sorry.

Apparently the new version of the game is called 'cruiser bruiser' since there are far more PT Cruisers on the road these days than VW bugs. Ohhhhh. I am soooooo last Tuesday when it comes to car games, I guess. Pardon me.

DH chimed in and said, "What about pop-eye and ultimate pop-eye?" For those of you not in-the-know about this game, you shout "Pop-eye!" and hit the dash when you see a vehicle with one headlight out. Or, if it happens to be a police vehicle, then it counts as an 'ultimate' pop eye. Whoopie-twang!

At this point, DH and I lost ourselves talking about some of the stupid things we did with our friends back when we were first driving. Like chinese fire-drills. And having to pay a forfeit of some sort if we said 'left' or 'right' instead of 'Luigi' or 'Ralph'. My favorite was having to lift your feet off the floor and put your finger on a screw head, yelling "Peanut butter!" every time you drove over a railroad track. Obviously, as teens we were easily entertained. Not much has changed, either.

So, my question to you all is this: what car games did you play when you were younger? Or still play, for that matter. License plate poker? I-spy? Twenty questions? What did you do to make the time go by? I'd love to hear your stories...

Saturday, May 16, 2009

66 Questions

If you don't have a Facebook account, then you are missing out on a strange phenomenon that takes the site by storm every few weeks: The Questionnaire.

It reminds me of being a young girl passing notes in school, asking friends if they have a crush on Mike, or what are they doing this weekend. Only nowadays the notes are much, much more sophisticated. And now they are posted in Facebook notes instead of on a piece of lined composition paper ripped out of a spiral notebook like we used to do in the good ol' days.

And, even more noteworthy... now adults are in on it, too. Allow me to take an excerpt off of my own Facebook wall where I channeled my inner 12-year old this morning and answered the latest questionnaire circling the cyber world. Keep in mind I did not change the questions or the introduction. You tell me after reading it if you feel like you're in the seventh grade all over again.

Ladies and Gentlemen... I give you: 66 questions...


66 questions you've probably never been asked. If you've been tagged, answer the questions and add it in a new note, then tag the person who tagged you as well as some new people who you'd like to see answer these questions! :)

1. First thing you wash in the shower?
Technically, the first thing I do is stand in the shower and try not to cry because I'm tired and I don't want to be up yet. THEN I wash my hair.

2. What color is your favorite hoodie?
My red K.L.E.T.C. hoodie. But I have my eye on a really sweet pale orange Harley Davidson one. *fingers crossed*

3. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?
Over and over again for the rest of my life.

4. Do you plan outfits?
Yes, but only because I take my clothes into the spare bedroom so I don't wake up DH when I get ready in the morning. He works nights and sleeps days, so that would just be plain mean.

5. How are you feeling RIGHT now?
Bewildered. The hamster escaped again last night even after all three of us checked that the cage was secure. So, yeah... bewildered.

6. What's the closest thing to you that's red?
A red gel pen.

7. What was the last dream you remember having?
It was this morning, actually. And I was at The Pioneer Woman's house, but it really wasn't her house, and it was for some sort of job interview. But not for me, for some people I know. And there were Amish people in it. It was a tad bizarre.

8. Did you meet anybody new today
Considering I just woke up a half hour ago, that would be a 'no'. Amen.

9. What are you craving right now?
Sleep. Coffee. A donut. Beautiful weather. A great day with the family. You know, not much.

10. Do you floss?
Yep. I love those little floss picks and hoard them, lest I run out.

11. What comes to mind when I say cabbage?
Cabbage roses. Or ornamental cabbage. Obviously I have a bad case of Spring Fever.

12. Are you emotional?
To the point of being a bit unstable, yes.

13. Have you ever counted to 1,000?
All at once? Not lately.

14. Do you bite into your ice cream or just lick it?
Depends on what type of ice cream you're talking about. A cone? No. A bar? Yes. I could go on, you know...

15. Do you like your hair?
Only on 'good hair days'... and I like having hair, so that's a plus, too.

16. Do you like yourself?
For the most part. I'm a little on the self-depreciating side though.

17. Would you go out to eat with George W. Bush?
No, I prefer sharing a meal with people who can carry on a conversation in English, not G-Dubya-ese.

18. What are you listening to right now?
The TV in the next room and the coffee pot gurgling. And the voices in my head.

19. Are your parents strict?
They were, yes. Now I am the strict parent... sorta.

20. Would you go sky diving?
With my insane fear of heights, I would probably die of a massive coronary before hitting the ground. Not really planning to go out like that, so no.

21. Do you like cottage cheese?
I'm going to steal my friend Ty's answer on this one because it's my favorite way, too: 'Yip. With pepper and beefsteak tomatoes, please.'

22. Have you ever met a celebrity?
A few. They put their pants on one leg at a time like the rest of us, whether they want you to believe it or not.

23. Do you rent movies often?
Nope.

24. Is there anything sparkly in the room in which you are?
Several things: a sun catcher wind chime, a glass fish sculpture (that I named Emery... don't ask), and a small lamp with a really awesome shade.

25. What countries have you visited?
Mexico. But sometimes I feel like a tourist in the U.S., so does that count?

26. Have you made a prank phone call?
Sure. Back before such things as last-call return and caller I.D. Now it's more fun to mess with people that call me. I love making them think they've called a wrong number only to have them apologize, hang up and call back. Good fun.

27. Ever been on a train?
Only once. The Winter Park ski train.

28. Brown or white eggs?
Cooked and dead. I don't care what the outside looks like.

29. Do you have a cell-phone?
Yes. And a teenager to show me how to use it.

31. Do you use chap stick?
Burt's Bees lip balm... but not chap stick.

32. Do you own a gun?
Yep. And if you break into my house you'll get a quick glance of it before you meet your maker.

33. Can you use chop sticks?
Yes. For some reason some foods don't taste right if eaten any other way.

34. Who are you going to be with tonight?
DH. And DD, if she doesn't make plans to ditch us.

35. Are you too forgiving?
Uh, no. If there is a grudge around, I'm the one holding it.

36. Ever been in love?
Duh.

37. What is your best friend doing tomorrow?
Probably working in the yard with me again. ;o)

38. Ever have cream puffs?
Yes. Some could have been used as paperweights and been more successful. Some good enough to bring tears to my eyes. (see #12...)

39. Last time you cried?
Last night. DD and I watched the Grey's Anatomy finale we had taped.

40. What was the last question you asked?
"Are you SERIOUS?!" ... when told the $#@& hamster got out... again.

41. Favorite time of the year?
Spring. It's the fever talkin'.

42. Do you have any tattoos?
ME? Are you serious? If you have to ask, then you don't know me very well...

43. Are you sarcastic?
Never. Seriously.

44. Have you ever seen The Butterfly Effect?
I think so. But it's probably one of hundreds of movies I don't really remember because I slept through most of it.

45. Ever walked into a wall?
Just yesterday. Again.

46. Favorite color?
For what? For my hair color, a reddish brown. For my lawn, green. For a sports car, red. Seriously, the question needs to be more specific.

47. Have you ever slapped someone?
Hell, yes. Actually, I believe a couple of those 'someones' are FB friends, too. (Or reading this blog post...)

48. Is your hair curly?
Not naturally, no.

49. What was the last CD you bought?
I bought a bunch of Steven Lynch CD's for a friend for Christmas.

50. Do looks matter?
Not as much as cleanliness and manners.

51. Could you ever forgive a cheater?
I have before. I wouldn't ever again.

52. Is your phone bill sky high?
Define 'sky high.'

53. Do you like your life right now?
Oh, yes. Without a doubt. LIFE IS GOOD!

54. Do you sleep with the TV on?
I fall asleep with the TV on. I got into the habit a long time ago, and now I need the distraction so my mind will stop racing long enough to get to sleep.

55. Can you handle the truth?
I can handle anything except not knowing. The unknown freaks me out.

56. Do you have good vision?
Pretty good with my glasses.

57. Do you hate or dislike more than 3 people?
Easily. If you have any doubt, see #35.

58. How often do you talk on the phone?
With DH, all the time. At work, quite a bit. Any other time, rarely.

59. The last person you held hands with?
DH. Last night after dinner. It was awesome.

60. What are you wearing?
Pajamas. DH's robe. A pair of hippo slippers. I'm a real babe in the mornings.

61. What is your favorite animal?
Dogs. Can't imagine my life without them.

62. Where was your profile picture taken?

Somewhere around Meade or Sublette, KS during our last poker run. The pic was snapped by my new friend Stephanie, whom I met that day.

63. Can you hula hoop?
Now? I'd prefer to be dressed for the day first.

64. Do you have a job?
A great job, actually. I'm one of the lucky ones.

65. What was the most recent thing you bought?
Groceries. But the most recent frivolous thing was some flowers for the flower beds.

66. Have you ever crawled through a window?
Yep. In high school. To meet rowdy friends and do rowdy things. I stepped on a prickly-pear cactus, so fate got me good for it, too.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Maybe I Am After All...

My Mother and I are diametric opposites. I have known this for many, many years. She is driven, hard-working and talented beyond explanation. I am convinced there is nothing she cannot do if she sets her mind to it. Nothing. And she doesn't need a staff of 300 to do it (eat your heart out Martha Stewart).

As for me, I am lazy, lazy... and while I have a creative side, I am not anywhere near as talented as she is even on my best of days. And I don't try to be (and thusly, LAZY).

My Mother's house is so clean you could eat off the floors. At my house there are times when I can't even see my floors through all the dog hair and clutter. Okay, so that might be a slight exaggeration, but in comparison, it's close.

My Mom never just sits. She is always doing something. Always. For me, I am an Olympic-caliber sitter.

Anyone could stop in at my Mom's house at any time and find it clean and company ready. She is never running around in her pajamas with her hair uncombed watching re-runs of America's Next Top Model. Me, on the other hand... well, I live in fear of unannounced company because at any given time I could be half-dressed, unshowered and catatonic in front of my TV even while there is a towering mess leering at me from the kitchen sink.

But, while on the phone with my Mom today, I was reminded just how much I am like her. She and I are without a doubt cut from the same cloth when it comes to emotions, and how we both bottle them up inside. We are easily cut to the quick by offhand things said and done by people we consider friends. And then the hurt stays with us for a very, very long time.

I called my Mom today to wish her a Happy Mother's Day, and hung up missing her so much there aren't even words to explain it. We are so different. And yet we are so much alike. And while I spend a great deal of time wishing I was more like her... well, it dawns on me that I already am.

Hey, Mom? I love you. Happy Mother's Day.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Most... Disturbing.

In a strange twist of fate, my DH has suddenly decided he loves sushi. Not the raw fish variety, or even the cooked eel or octopus kind either... but the quest for a good California roll has become a slight obsession for him over the last few weeks.

The hard part is... well... we don't live anywhere near sushi. Sushi is unheard of in Small Town. It's like the proverbial red-headed stepchild of the food world here. I must confess... we have actually resorted to eating Schwan's frozen sushi, and that's just wrong. So, so very wrong.

After being inspired to try and make our own sushi rolls, we headed to an Asian market in the next town over. Keep in mind, I don't like to go anywhere new. Ever. Seriously. The fact that DH talked me into going to this store in the first place is next to a miracle. Seriously. But it was our only option to track down a sushi mat without ordering off the internet or waiting until our next trip to Big Suburbia... but did I mention DH's obsession? Yeah, there would be no waiting.

So, we walked into the store. My first thought was, "What the hell is that smell?!" It was somewhere between sweat socks and rotten food. Or both. No exaggeration. Had I been alone, I would have left before the door had a chance to close behind me. It was baaaad.

Have I mentioned... his obsession? There was no leaving. Not yet, anyway.

I was amazed at the strange and exotic items they carried. Maybe 'amazed' isn't the right word. Alarmed might be a better word. Yeah... let's go with alarmed.

But we persevered and were able to find a sushi mat. In fact, we bought two... you know, just in case something happened to the first one... then we'd never have to go back. Good plan.

But it wasn't until we were at the register getting ready to pay that we saw the most disturbing thing I think I've ever seen in a store: panties in Ziploc baggies up in the display case by the register.

Panties. In Ziplocs.

Had the sushi mats not been fully (and safely) sealed in their packages, we would have dropped them and ran. RAN, I tell you!

But, did I mention the obsession?

Well, obsessed or not, for some unexplained reason we lost our appetite for sushi tonight. With any luck, the visual of those Ziploced panties will fade before we reach for those sushi mats.

I hope.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Did Someone Say... Poker?

Yesterday was the second annual Ride for the Future Poker Run. After some schedule changing and rearranging, DH and I were able to make the ride this year... and all I have to say is WOOHOO! What a ride!

Okay, I'll admit that the first word that came to mind was actually, "BRRRRrrrrr!" but that's not technically a word, is it? Regardless, it was cold enough during parts of the ride to make us wonder if we had lost our bananas for participating, but it was nothing three long-sleeved shirts and a leather jacket couldn't take the edge off of. Well, sorta. Barely. Okay, not really, but it was still a good time. And I'm sure DH will agree when and if the feeling ever returns from his frozen nether-regions, if you catch my drift.

I love poker runs because you know you are going to be surrounded by people who share at least one passion with you... riding motorcycles. Or is it wearing leather? Maybe both, but thats another blog post altogether, isn't it? Uhhhhh... never mind.

Aside from feeling like a sexy, leather-clad minx and having it be socially acceptable, the biggest upside of poker runs is knowing that all the while you are riding and having a good time, you are also helping to raise money for a good cause. Well, that and spending good quality time with DH, but that's just a bonus.

And let's not forget the great people you meet along the way, either. Take yesterday, for example: DH and I were done registering for the ride and were scoping out some seats for breakfast when we were invited to join a gentleman and his daughter at their table. Turns out it was going to be their first poker run and they were feeling a bit like outsiders looking in. They had a bunch of questions, and hot-diggity-dog, were we full of answers! Not really... but wouldn't that have been so cool? The reality is, yesterday was only our second poker run, but we had been lucky enough to be shown the ropes by some dear friends last year, so we paid the favor forward. And it was a great time getting to know our new friends throughout the day.

We also were lucky enough to win a few door prizes at the end of the ride meal, and actually came out ahead when all was said and done.

But, even if we hadn't won a thing... I still think we came out ahead.

A beautiful ride.

Time spent with each other.

And an excuse to wear leather... *wink*

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Smooth Operator

By nature, I am accident prone. No matter what I'm doing, I can find a way to klutz it up. It's a gift, really.

I don't really remember being gifted in this manner until the fourth grade. That's when I somehow hit the jackpot and broke a toe while trying to do a cartwheel, and broke an arm while attempting to get onto a balance beam... all in one year. That takes talent, ladies and gentlemen.

After that it was rather common to hear the other kids say things like, "Smooth move, Ex-Lax!" Ahhh... don't children just have a magical way with words?

While many of my other talents from childhood have left me... like the ability to do math without a calculator... the ability to make a complete dork of myself has not only lingered, it's nearing perfection. I am so used to hearing people say, "What did you do NOW?!" that it doesn't even phase me anymore.

And it's not like I am a daredevil. I don't do 'daredevil'. It's the really complicated things, like walking and breathing at the same time, that give me the most trouble. I can fall off my shoes if I'm not paying enough attention. Seriously. And I had a bruise in the exact shape of Australia on my leg last year to prove it.

So far this year I have slammed two different fingers into two different drawers on two separate occasions within the same week. Both at work. And both in front of customers. There is nothing like trying to bite back all those words they didn't teach you in Sunday school ifyouknowwhatImean while Joe Public stands there helplessly watching. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure good ol' Joe is trying their best not to point and laugh while I hop around and mutter under my breath... I mean that's darn good entertainment right there. Anyway, it could be worse... at least I am only losing one fingernail and not two. Right?

What prompted this post was two things:

First, I fell off a step stool earlier this week, and fell back against a counter top where I proceeded to bruise and scratch a nice long stripe on my back. Did I mention I was at work when I did it? Again? And in front of a customer? Again? I'm sure the whole 'trying not to cry' thing was super-professional. I could just about teach a class on it by now. Anyhoo, I posted a status on my Facebook wall about the fall, where it inspired a slew of friends and former coworkers to walk down memory lane...


  • Remember when you put the drill bit through your foot? That was so funny!

  • OMG! You used to fall down the stairs so much! Remember we were gonna wrap it in those fun-noodle thingies and make you a bubble wrap suit?! And make you wear a crash helmet??! HAHAHAhahaha!

  • You stapled your thumb to your math test back in junior high! I totally remember that!

  • Dude... you fell down the stairs that one time after taking diet pills. Didn't you really hurt yourself then? Okay, not so funny after all. (blogger's note: yeah, not so funny... turned out after about 10 years of intermittent pain I had actually fractured my back and went undiagnosed... oops...)

  • Didn't you do something to your foot when I worked with you? (Uh, yeah... thought I just stubbed my toe on a suitcase, but actually broke a bone in my foot)

Ahhhh... it's nice to know I leave people with such warm memories of me! I sure can make a lasting impression, can't I.

And, the second thing I did to prompt this post: I burned myself last night taking a pan out of the oven. I was using a hot-pad, mind you... I just missed it with my thumb. Have no fear: I did not drop dinner. A girl has to have her priorities, you know.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Someday, When I Grow Up

I'd like to think that one day I will grow up and not let snarky comments ruin my day. Someday soon... like maybe tomorrow.

I always thought grown ups were... oh, I don't know... more grown up or something. I always thought that I would eventually reach some sort of milestone and a magical switch would be flipped, and then all my insecurities would vanish. If there is such a thing, I am still waiting.

The funny thing is, the only reason people can ruin my day is that I let them ruin my day. I'm quite sure the person who was snotty, snarky, and downright bitchy with me today didn't even think twice about the comment that was made... but here I am, five hours later mind you, still hurt and upset. What, I ask you, is wrong with this picture? I sure can be an oversensitive ninny, can't I. Drama. Drama. Drama.

Sometimes I have flashbacks to elementary school... when I would eat my lunch at a table all by myself in the lunchroom, or would go sit on the far side of the playground and watch the other kids while they played during recess. I was the short, chubby girl that didn't fit in no matter how hard I tried. Inexplicably, even after all these years, it's days like this that I still feel like that lonesome little odd-girl-out.

Whew! All this... this... this drama from one, off-handed, mean remark?

Yep. It's definitely time for a chocolate intervention.

Thanks for listening... err... reading.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

What-apotamus?

Back when DH and I were first living together, he had a habit of saying I was 'beautimous'. If I recall correctly, that was something the cool boys said to their girls back in the 80's. Yeah, that's cool... in a dorkishly outdated kind of way. (Isn't it?)

I don't know. To me it sounded way too much like 'hippopotamus'... and for some strange reason that just doesn't seem like much of a compliment, ya know?

In the interest of always being open and honest about things, I had of course kept my dislike of that term bottled up inside. That is until it burst out in a waterfall of emotion and protest one night when I was feeling a bit on the hippy side of the scale. Nothing like freaking him out during what was supposed to be a tender moment, eh? Just call me the Queen of Tact and Timing.

After DH got a good laugh at me for thinking he was likening me to a hippopotamus (and then apologizing for laughing me, I might add) we somehow coined what was the beginning of a never-ending string of nicknames for me...

When I am upset, DH says I am an emotia-potamus.

When I am tired... a sleepy-potamus.

When I trip and fall (or do something else extraordinarily graceful), he oh-so-lovingly refers to me as a klutz-apotamus. How... quaint.

Then there is dork-apotamus, bratty-potamus, grouch-apotamus...

Well, you get the picture. He can pretty much whip out an 'apotamus' name for whatever the situation may be. It's an art, really. And, for some unexplainable (and probably really dorky reason), I get all giggly and happy when he calls me his 'wife-apotamus'.

I know. I need therapy.

Yours truly,
Blog-apotamus

Sunday, April 12, 2009

A Different Kind of Easter Hunt

Have you ever heard of Tony Hawk? You know... the world renowned skateboarding guru extraordinaire? If not then maybe you should. Today he did something truly remarkable, and my family (along with 364,000 or so other people) 'watched' as he and a handful of helpers pulled off an entirely different type of Easter hunt. Tony shipped autographed Tony Hawk skateboard decks all over the country (and even several internationally) and had his own version of Santa's Little Helpers hide them. Then he manned his twitter page all day today giving hints as to where the decks could be found. All he asked in return was for people to post pictures when the boards were located.

And it was... awesome.

Just watching the 'hunt' unfold on twitter today put a big ol' smile on my family's faces... and we aren't even boarders or skaters or anything. It was just the excitement that radiated off the pictures of those that were lucky enough to find the golden eggs... err... decks. It was contagious. And the mother who snatched one up for her son who is serving in Afghanistan? She brought me to tears. Yes, it's true... I had an emotional moment.

I hope others were as touched today as my family was. For us, it made us wonder what we could do here in Small Town that would invoke the same kind of excitement and good-natured fun that Tony was able to create on a much bigger scale today.

And for that kind of inspiration, I'd like to tell him thank you. Who knows... maybe I just did.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Easter... Bunny?

DD got her Easter surprise a day early: a new hamster. And, to commemorate the occasion for which she got it, the hamster is named... Bunny.

Already, the cutsie-ness of the name has gotten some mileage. Like when DD called DH and thanked him for the present. Mind you, I hadn't quite mentioned to him what I had planned... guess that would have been advisable.

Anyhoo, the call went a little bit like this:

*ring ring*

DH: Hello?

DD: Thank you for my Bunny!

DH: Huh? Uh... okay?

DD: Haha! It's not a bunny... it's a hamster named Bunny!

DH: Ohhhhh. Um. Well. You're welcome?

[insert lots of giggling and smiles here]

She got quite a kick out of confusing the daylights out of DH. He came home right after that to see this 'Bunny' for himself.

What I did not anticipate, however, is how fun it was going to be watching our dogs watch the hamster. We put the cage right on the floor so they could see Bunny running around in her wheel and climbing around in the tubes of the cage. We are pretty sure our middle dog, Rosie, thinks the hamster is a squeaker toy that moves all on it's own. Hot-DIGGITY-dog!

I don't think the other Easter bunny is going to be able to top this 'Easter Bunny'...

Friday, April 10, 2009

Let's Go Hunting...

This is my big brother. It's the only year that we weren't standing side-by-side for our Easter picture. And it's kind of sad, really, because that's how we always were at that age... side-by-side. He was my partner in crime. The Mutt to my Jeff. The Lone Ranger to my Tonto. The Donnie to my Marie. Well... I'm sure you get my point.

He was my brother and also my best friend. I didn't know it back then, but he was born with a number of birth defects that made him a very sick little boy. He was in and out of the hospital a lot. Maybe that attributed to how close we were growing up, I don't know... but we really were two peas in a pod. (You just thought I was done with the euphemisms...!)

Now, I'm proud to report, he is a strappingly healthy 40-year old man with beautiful wife and a 21-year old son in college. Sadly, we don't get to share holidays together anymore due to silly things like geography, job responsibilities and schedules.

And so, we don't get to hunt Easter eggs together anymore either. But then again, that's probably a good thing for me, because he was always way better at it than I was anyway.

My Easter Flashback


Lately, I have been thinking about Easter when I was a kid.

My brother and I dyed Easter eggs, and our folks would hide them for us to find the next morning. Those suckers would be laying around the house for hours and hours. And then we'd find 'em. And eat them. Heck, mom used to send one in our lunch boxes when we were old enough to be in school, too. Refrigeration? We don't need no stinkin' refrigeration! And you know what? Not once did we get sick from those eggs.

This is me, circa 1973. Wasn't I adorable? And chubby? From the looks of me, I wasn't afraid to eat much of anything back then.

Fast forward to 2009. Now it's unheard of to hide the eggs you dye... well, unless you plan to just throw them away, and that's just crazy talk. I mean, what about all the deviled eggs they could make?! I don't even want to think about it!

Nowadays, kids still dye Easter eggs, but then they are safely placed back in the fridge, lest we all get food poisoning. Some marketing genius is a bazillionaire because now all of us parents buy plastic eggs. And then buy candy to fill them. And then we still fill an Easter basket with goodies, too.

But I still love Easter. And, thankfully, so does our DD. This week she informed us that she'll want us to hide eggs for her when she's twenty and home visiting from college over Easter break.

Sounds like a plan to me.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

I'm A Loser...

Yes, it's true. I am a loser.

Now, before anyone starts lecturing me about saying self-depreciating things about myself, let me explain. For the last 9 weeks, I have been participating in Small Town's version of The Biggest Loser. Teams of 4 people competed against other teams to see who could lose the largest percentage of body fat. My team was called the B'Walkin' O'Mamas... could we have been any cutesier with our name? I think not. After all, we were looking for a little... change. (sorry... couldn't resist...)

Unlike the network TV version, there were no cameras following us around (thank heaven for that) and there were no trainers calling us wimps if we decided to just lounge around on our living room couches instead of working out (again, thank heavens). And, while the local newspaper published the team names and how they were collectively losing, no one knew who lost (or gained) as individuals. Amen.

Another refreshing difference is we didn't have to vote off other teams. What. A. Relief. I have to be honest, that is one part of the TV version I just don't like. I can't help it. I have struggled with my weight since the tender age of 6-weeks old. Seriously. My mom has often talked of how well I ate as a baby, and how the doctor put me on a diet at 6 weeks old. Six freakin' weeks old... and on a diet? How depressing is that? It's no wonder I think all the people on that show should just be allowed to stay and lose, and lose... and LOSE... without worrying about interpersonal politics, or clicks, or anything else besides getting healthy. In fact, I think it would be heartwarming if they could sit around a campfire and sing Kumbaya every night... minus the s'mores, of course. But that wouldn't make for Must See TV. Yet another reason I'm not a high-powered TV exec, right?

But I digress.

My own triumph during the last 9 weeks... 17 pounds lost. Okay, I'll admit it... it was 18 as of last week, but then there were these little white cupcakes, you see... and... and... well, I'm sure you can figure out the rest. *sigh*

I'm not complaining. Seventeen pounds is a huge achievement, especially in such a short amount of time. And, just because the last official weigh-in was today doesn't mean I'm done... I'm going to keep on going. One of my teammates is going to keep up the weight loss and exercise with me, too. Yay for us!

So, yeah... I'm a loser. And dadgum proud of it, too.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Amazon to the Rescue!

Maybe it's karma.

Maybe it's fate.

Or maybe Amazon has spies watching me. Uhhh... looking over my shoulder*... that's kind of a creepy thought, so let's hope that's not the case...

I just find it ironic that after all the back and forth these past 4 months between me and Kasbahouse, that all it took was Amazon to knock them up alongside the head. SMACK! BAM! Out of the blue today we are receiving a full refund for the broken pasta machine. AND they don't even want the darn thing back. Why they wouldn't do this back in January before Amazon had to kick their you-know-what for me, I don't know. But I sure am thankful they finally they did it now.

Amazon is a powerful, powerful being and must be revered. At least, that's what I tell myself when the credit card bill comes....

*wink*

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Lucky, Lucky Woman...

I am a very lucky woman. I married a man who cooks. And when I say he cooks, I don't mean occasionally grilling a steak or microwaving some popcorn. I'm tellin' you, my man can C-O-O-K cook! He has specialities, like chocolate mousse pie and honey-oatmeal bread (which are both to die for, thankyouverymuch). And, more incredibly, he even has secret recipes. It's true. The meatballs and marinara he makes that are absolutely second to none? That's right... they are Top Secret.

And I'll admit it... I like to show him off. I tease other women, it's true. What can I say, I have a lot to show off about. Case and point: When DD participated in a fundraising bake sale last spring, DH whipped out a bunch of loaves of his honey-oatmeal bread. Can you believe that most people gave $20 a loaf for them? They not only gladly handed over the cash... they even asked if he'd make more. What a guy.

Last night our DD was involved in yet another community fundraiser, but this time they were cooking a pancake supper. Guess who stopped in and gave the girls Pancake Making 101? That's right... my hubby. What a man.

On his nights off, he cooks dinner. Everything from pork loins cooked all day in the smoker to basil pesto pasta to deer burgers. What's more is he enjoys cooking. He misses it when he's too busy to cook. What a stud.

But... best of all... when I or our DD have had a bad day... when we are feeling down, or blue, or depressed in the slightest... he sneaks in the kitchen and whips up a batch of cookies without being prompted. What a hero.

Yes... it's true. I am a very lucky, lucky woman.

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Rock the Kasbah... But Stone the Kasbahouse

For Christmas last year I thought I'd surprise DH with a pasta maker. He's mentioned eleventy-seven times how he'd love to have one, and let's face it - giving him a pasta maker means him making pasta that I get to enjoy. HELLO brilliant idea!

Now, the difficult part was finding one. Keep in mind we live in the middle of nowhere. There are no specialty kitchen shops to go poking around in, no large department store that could possibly have one... nada. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Zero.

Enter the internet.

Ahhhhh... I love the internet. I would wrap it in bacon and eat it if I could. I swear it. A day without the internet for me is... is... well, I don't want to even talk about such a tragedy. Anyhoo, me and my beloved internet did some searchin' and researchin' to find just the right pasta maker for DH. I probably knew every pro and con there was to know about pasta makers before I stumbled across a specialty shop on Amazon called Kasbahouse. They import all sorts of items directly from Italy. I had a light bulb moment: Heyyyy... don't they make pasta in Italy? Ding! Ding! I think we found our winner! After dancing around in my nightgown and throwing out my shoulder from patting myself on the back, I placed an order for an Imperial Pasta Maker. It just sounded so... so... imperial. I was impressed with myself. And, by gosh, I just knew DH was going to be impressed with me, too.

And you know what? I was right! DH was so excited he hardly waited before he started cranking out his very first batch of lingui-SNAP! What the....?! It. Broke.

*sobbing at the memory*

Now, I've never had a lick of trouble from anything I've ever bought off Amazon. Not even an iota. But I'd say this qualified as a doozy. After sobbing uncontrollably (who wouldn't after being denied pasta, folks) I contacted Kasbahouse.

*crickets chirping*

Either Kasbahouse didn't understand the vastness of our pasta-making tragedy, or they were inundated with hundreds (millions?!) of other customer concerns the same as ours. Turns out it was a little of both. When they finally got back to me, you won't believe the reason they gave me for the defective item. Are ya sittin' down? Because they blamed Italy. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's Italy's fault there is a problem with my pasta machine.

Who knew? Who knew Italy was that vindictive. That they will stop at no costs to ruin any non-Italy-visitin' pasta dinner. What a bunch of...

Now waitaminute. *scrolling up* Yeah, that's what I thought. Those Kasbahouse people reeled me in with the "it's from Italy" sales line in the first place. And now they are using 'it's from Italy' as a scapegoat. I don't know about you, but they can't have it both ways. No way. Nuh-uh. Not in my book, folks.

Well, that was three months ago. Still no replacement pasta maker. When they said they'd send one, the time frame they gave was, "We aren't sure. You know it has to come from Italy, right?" (muttering) The sum-bastages. And, since I was gullible enough to give Kasbahouse the benefit of the doubt, there is no longer any recourse through Amazon. All because I was suckered in by one slick line: It's from Italy.

blogger's note: I want to clarify that I still love, love, love Amazon and they have in no way let me down... all my angst and hatred is directed at Kasbahouse. So if you are ever in the market for anything pasta-ish or Italian-esque, steer clear of purchasing from Kasbahouse. Like the title of my post today says: Rock the Kasbah... but stone the Kasbahouse.

Friday, April 3, 2009

It's All About Relating

I'm all about relating to people. It's a huge part of my job. HUGE. In fact, my job wouldn't exist without helping people, and to do that, I have to relate. I'm a relate-er-er, if you will (my own word... isn't it purrrdy?).

Considering no two people are exactly the same, isn't it obvious that one couldn't necessarily relate to everyone in the exact same way? Seems logical to me. So, I change things up depending on who I'm relating to. Some people like to be treated very efficiently with little to no unnecessary chit-chat. No problem, I can do that. Some people like to talk about their kids, grand kids, dogs, cats, motorcycles, the weather... whatever makes them tick. Gotcha... I'll do my best to bring it up and listen with rapt attention. And some people are just plain ornery and like to give me a hard time. And what I've learned is those people really, really like it best when I dish it right back to them with a smile on my face. Whatever trips their trigger is what I try to do... to relate to them as individuals.

Today I got in a bit of a pickle at work by relating to someone in what management deemed an 'unprofessional' manner. Oops. You see, it was someone I know pretty darn well, and he definitely falls into the 'ornery' category. Most definitely ornery. With a side of pain-in-the-you-know-what. In fact, I'm not sure we've ever had a conversation that didn't involve barbs going both directions. And we both love it. We just get each other. It's our thing. Know what I mean? Anyway, in the course of 'relating' to my customer-slash-friend this morning, one of the Uppity-Ups overheard me say "Damn it!" to him. What they didn't see was the grin on both of our faces or the twinkle in his eye when he knew he'd riled me up to that point. What can I say... it was just our thing in action. Unfortunately, Uppity-Up didn't see it that way.

Oh, well. So, I'll try to be a bit more professional for Uppity-Up from now on.

Professional, but in an ornery kind of way, that is...

*wink*

Thursday, April 2, 2009

It Just Gets My Goat...!

Warning: This blogger is about to go on a bit of a rant... proceed at your own risk!

To put it mildly, it really gets my goat when parents forget to be parents and try to just be friends with their children. I am not talking about all-grown-up children, because in my mind being able to be friends with your parents once you reach adulthood is one of the greatest perks in life. That's something completely different than what I'm talking about.

It's ridiculous when a parent forgets they have a responsibility to raise a functioning member of society. When they believe it's okay to be their child's buddy all the time. Kids are kids, for crying out loud, not little adults in disguise. They need someone to teach them right from wrong. Someone to show them life has rules and consequences and that it's damn hard sometimes, but perseverance pays off in the end. Not everyone always makes the ball team, or gets a trophy when they lose.

That's life, honey, so you better get used to it.

This has been a bit of a hot topic around our household for the last few weeks. We have a family member who has allowed the line between parenting and friendship to blur (that is if it's ever really existed - which is another debate altogether) with her own child. They are now getting a taste of what Teenager-ville is going to be like when there hasn't been true parenting present for... well, for forever.

We had the privilege of hosting a visit to this teenager-quickly-filling-with-angst during spring break and saw a child craving attention. We believe it's not too late to get things back on track, but DH and I are afraid that won't happen unless the visit becomes permanent. And, trust me, we'll do it in a heartbeat if given the opportunity. But the gloves come off in our home. We don't pull too many punches and believe in parenting first and foremost.

Aren't we just so Ozzie and Harriet with a little bit of holier-than-thou sprinkled in for good measure...?

We aren't perfect by any means. Heck, just ask our own DD and she'll tell you! She'll probably even give you an itemized list of our faults if you want. Then again, so will we. We aren't perfect, and we teach our DD that no one is perfect, but it's okay to strive for perfection and that falling short is okay... as long as you try. In short, we parent her.

It's our job.

It's our responsibility.

And it's our honor to parent our DD.

We just wish everyone felt the same way about being a parent.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled reading...

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Rabbit-Rabbit!

This is embarrassing to admit, but I have been saying 'rabbit-rabbit' as my first words every month since I was in the sixth grade. I hope my DH doesn't read this post and start wondering if he should just go ahead and have me committed now. You see, my math teacher back then was a very superstitious Greek woman who happened to mention one day that the first words you are supposed to utter before any others on the first day of every month are 'rabbit-rabbit'. Now, while I clearly remember these very important instructions... I have absolutely no memory as to why. What did she say would happen if I didn't? What? WHAT?! [insert industrious, super-thinking look here] Nope. No recollection whatsoever.

Considering that little tidbit of advice came to me nearly thirty years ago now, I am quite certain I've messed up and said something as useless as 'good morning' before remembering to say the magical, mystical... and, let's face it, nonsensical... words 'rabbit-rabbit' at some point during those years. And, as far as I can tell, I am still alive to talk about it. But I'm no needless risk taker, so...

RABBIT! RABBIT!

Ahhhhhhh... safe for another month!

Monday, March 30, 2009

Everyone Knows it's Windyyyyyyyy

One thing I'm not sure I'll ever get used to living here in Small Town, Kansas is the wind. The nearly constant, annoying wind. It's a weather element I've never been fond of, to tell you the truth.

At my parents' house back in Big Suburbia, the wind whistles through the trees and makes an eerie, creepy sound that makes you wonder if a chain-saw wielding serial killer is going to come jumping out at you at any moment. It's that kind of a sound. Just... creepy sounding. I hated staying home alone in that house because I'd lay awake at night convinced Jason or Michael or whoever was the horror movie bad guy at the time would accompany that wind. Don't ask me why, I just was.

My feelings towards wind haven't changed much since moving to Small Town. Except that it is windy here much more often. Wayyyyy too often. Like more often than not. At least today it's not bringing with it the threat of tornadoes like it does on a regular basis. Tornadoes make me crabby, and that's not good.

Wind just seems so unnecessary. And messy. And it's hard to dress for, too. Seriously... just think about it for a moment: For every other kind of weather you can just dress or accessorize accordingly. Hot out? Wear shorts and sandals. Rainy? Carry an umbrella. Snow? Layers, baby... layers! But wind??? WIND? Nothing helps. Not even the infamous 'windbreaker'. What a joke! I bet somewhere the marketing genius who coined the phrase 'windbreaker' is pointing and laughing at all of us while he counts his money. A windbreaker... *snort*... not!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go untangle my hair.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

March Madness

One aspect of living in Small Town that I'm still trying to get used to is the collegiate spirit that oozes out of pretty much everyone in town. It isn't hard to figure out what college a person has attended because nearly everyone wears collegiate-inspired clothing, uses checks with their college team emblazoned on them, or they have these odd tombstone-looking plaques in their front yards with their college logo carved onto them. It's commonplace to walk into someones office or home and be assaulted by an explosion of either purple or red and blue. Even driving down main street, you see license plate frames, front vanity plates or even those little antennae balls and you just know. You know. You'd have to be blind not to. It's fanatical, really.

But, it's foreign to me. In Big Suburbia we had every professional sports team you could think of, and that's what was televised and talked about. Even then, people were rarely so fanatical that you knew what teams they rooted for or even what sports they watched. And it was pretty much unheard of to know what college someone attended. It just wasn't talked about. It was almost... taboo.

But here in Small Town, we are deep in the midst of March Madness. I'd never even heard of March Madness before we moved here. Not really. But I'm learning. I've learned what a 'bracket' is and how to fill one out. Maybe I'm evolving. Integrating into Small Town a little bit more.

Maybe.

Small Town Cop

My little family made the move from Big Suburbia to Small Town just under three years ago now. And a lot of people think we are nuts. We are constantly being asked why we'd do something so... so... so crazy. I mean, don't we know people in small towns all across the country are trying to get out and move to a Big Suburbia themselves? Don't we watch those teenage-angst TV shows where the kids are always lamenting about being stuck in one-horse towns? Well, yes. But we lived the other side of the coin, so we can see the beauty of living in Small Town.

What brought us here was an opportunity for DH to become Small Town Cop. And, for the most part, being Small Town Cop consists of long, uneventful hours of patrolling for the occasional speeder... or DH's favorite: DUIs. He is able to come home for a dinner break pretty much every night. He can go to DD's school functions even when he is on duty. There are a lot of small perks that make us very fortunate that he is Small Town Cop.

And then a night like last night comes along and makes me wonder if being the wife of a Small Town Cop really is all that and a bag of chips after all. What started out looking like a routine traffic stop for DH quickly escalated into a high-speed chase. And then the guy jumped out the vehicle and ran. It was surreal... like something you'd see on an episode of 'COPS'. And, if at first my thoughts were 'WOOOOHOOOO, this is so cool!' they quickly turned into something more along the lines of fear... and a deep paranoia that maybe something might happen to DH. Something bad. Maybe whatever the guy was trying to hide by running would be enough for him to do something rash. Not that running from the police isn't rash, but I mean something really dangerous... like whipping out a gun. So, I laid awake last night listening for more sirens. Or for the phone to ring. Or, worse... the doorbell.

I must have finally fallen asleep, though, because I didn't hear DH come home at some point during the night. And as I laid awake in bed this morning listening to DH softly snore, I finally relaxed. My Small Town Cop made it home again, safe and sound.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Maiden Voyage

When I mentioned that I've been thinking about starting a blog the idea was met with great enthusiasm by my family. Errrr... maybe it wasn't so much enthusiasm as it was odd stares from DH and DD followed by the inevitable question: "About what?"

Hmmmm. Logical question. Not exactly the heartwarming support I had been hoping for, mind you, but understandable.

About what?

For starters, I could finally get all those incredibly intellectual thoughts that come to me in the shower each day out of my poor, aching brain. We are talking really heavy stuff here. Like... why is it that I have no willpower whatsoever when face-to-face with a white cupcake with fluff frosting and rainbow confetti sprinkles, yet am completely unfazed by all other flavors and varieties? Why? WHY?! No, seriously... any thoughts? Personally, I am convinced they slip some kind of drug into the frosting. It's the same drug in Krispy Kreme donuts. And McDonald's french fries. There is no other explanation.

So, welcome to my inner thoughts. My daydreams. My small-town life.

In short, welcome to my blog.