Thanks To The Moron

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Oh! To be a man!

Thanks to the moron, my car has been in the shop since just after Christmas.

DH has been taking me to work. I’ve either bummed rides or taken the bus home for the last two weeks. Taking the bus isn’t for sissys! Apparently, one needs to know NorthEast from NorthWest in order to find one’s bus stop. Who knew!? I have not completely mastered this skill, so I miss my transfers, have to make friends with strange people who seem to know where they’re going, bla bla bla…

I need to lose some weight. I’m tired, I’m stressed, a ton of stuff going on at work, so this morning was not the morning to start “dieting.” I made a deal with myself, as I was leaving the house at 6:30 a.m., that I would drink my water today. No dieting, no meal planning, no guilt… just drink my water. Baby steps, right?

6:30 a.m.: Chugged 16 ounces of chilled filtered tasty water, and ran out the door.
7:30 a.m.: Half a cup of Really Bad Coffee while waiting for my ride.
8:30 a.m.: Got set up for a conference at work and had another half cup of Really Bad Coffee.
9:00 a.m.: Last night we bought seventy 16 ounce bottles of clean tasty water for today’s all-day conference. I can drink water when I’m bored, its just something to do… I’ll get my 6-8 glasses in with no problem.
2:30 p.m.: The conference was boring enough to require a total of 3 bottles of water.
3:30 p.m.: Got a ride with someone who insisted on buying me a soda, because he wanted to stop for one. Sugar and caffeine don’t really count toward “drink water” but: Smile, nod, accept the soda. I asked for an Arnold Palmer.

He bought me a 44 oz Arnold Palmer.

I new better. I really did. I put off drinking it. I carried it back to my office, finished working, caught the bus. Had a sip. Changed buses, had a sip. Got bored, had a couple more sips.

Its an hour long bus ride. Half way into it, most of the Arnold Palmer was gone.

—-
30 minutes til my stop: Maybe there won’t be many people to pick up. I’ll make it home.

20 minutes til my stop: I’d get off and use the restroom in Starbucks, but then I’d have to wait an hour for the next bus to come by. I really wish this bus came more than every hour.

15 minutes til my stop: Oh… that woman walks so slow! Hurry up and sit down so the bus can leave.

10 minutes til my stop: Hmm Hmm Hmm La La Laaaaa. Almost there, almost there, almost there.

5 minutes til my stop: Are we going by any markets where I could get off the bus and go? I could just walk the extra few blocks home! No, of course not! Cockamamie little town!
—-

By the time I got off the bus, I had a nice little plan to run home. Except that I was so full and so cramped, I could barely hobble. Suddenly, this was not a few blocks, but an endless marathon.

I considered backtracking and trying to find a business where I could use the restroom, but the crosswalk signal on this corner is soooooooooooooo slow!

Only one way to go: home.

Its amazing what options I considered while hobbling the last half-mile home.

I could knock on someone’s door: except its late, and I wouldn’t be able to keep the half-crazed look off my face when they answered. I’d probably freak them out.

I could sit down on the curb between two parked cars: except that I’d get arrested if I got caught.

Do I really care if I get arrested at this point? Well, maaaaybe.

I could find a bush, or a side yard, or even a trashcan… darn these endless manicured lawns!!

I wish I was a man; it’d be so much easier to be discrete about this!

Its dark, I’m wearing black pants, I could just pee and do laundry as soon as I get home. No one would know… but I just bought these shoes yesterday…

That house! There’s an ungardened spot in that yard!! I wouldn’t be wizzing on their lawn! But I’d get arrested…

Dark corner, side yard, Retaining wall to hide from one direction of traffic… There! I’ll make a run for it. Darn lights are on… Oh, wait! The lights are on in the BACK of that house! They’ll never see me in the front yard!

GOSH DARN YIPPING DOG!!!! SHUUUUSH! I’m gonna wring your… I’ll get caught.

An alley! PERFECT! It’s not too far!
UUUUUGH! Brake lights, someone’s backing their car out.

Shoot, wasted all those extra steps, now I gotta get back on the path toward home.
—-

At this point I had to pee so bad I grabbed my keys from my purse, just to have something to cling to. I was moving slower, my whole body was cramped, and …

Wouldn’t you like to know what happened?

 

The Green Card Interview

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Today we had a teleconference with our immigration lawer’s legal assistant. She was prepping us for our Green Card interview. She ran through the list of all the forms we were required to bring with us, many of the questions we might be asked in the interview, and telling us to bring “extra” stuff to prove that we are married. She suggested wedding photos, letters we’ve written to eachother, bills that show we live at the same address etc. She was trying to find the words to describe other things we could bring in – when she exclaimed: “Oh! I remember you guys – You guys have a blog!

Yes, yes we do.

We had a “wedding planner” fourm set up for all of the planning, and now we have dink(y) and w98

After we could stop laughing enough to act like adults, she continued to tell us that most of the officers like to break monotony in their day by hearing stories about honeymoons, seeing vacation photos, hearing annectdotes just to liven it up.

Should I print out the “Bridezilla Meltdowns” category and take it with me to the interview?

What A Boy Wants

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What a boy wants, what a boy needs…

DH finally got around to cleaning out “those bins” of junk that have been vexing me since we moved in. Yay!

He found a 10 year old floppy disk with a copy of a document titled “What DO I want?” (in a woman). He was twenty two when he wrote this; lets see how I measure up?

someone daring, who shares my life motto of “try anything once, twice
if you like it”, yet conservative enough to recognize someone’s limits,
and not to push past those limits: check

someone who is caring, who can read my mind when I don’t really know
how I’m feeling, or thinking: D-.

someone who can recognize what I’m going through, and offer genuine
support for my troubles: D-.

someone who has “been there, done that” and can offer practical advice: Well, since I really do know everything.

someone who doesn’t push their opinions on me like they’re the law: You mean he didn’t like it when I told him that the goat-E had to go?

someone who can look into my eyes and understand my moods: The man has two moods; “Good,” and “Fine.” That should be easy enough.

someone whose eyes I can stare into for hours without them asking
“what are you looking at?” OOPS.

someone whose inner beauty outshines their physical appearance: Isn’t that what you say to placate a fat wife? Does he want a fat wife? Wait a minute, am I a fat wife?

someone who laughs at my jokes: I laugh at him when he tries to tell jokes all the time!

someone who can TELL jokes: I got one for ya: “What do you call a cow that has just given birth?”

someone carefree, and loving, and not afraid to get close to me: Where’s my hug?

someone mature enough to take a joke, yet immature enough to be
willing to play one: D-.

someone brave enough to say “yes”, but also brave enough to say “no”,
and being able to tell the difference: Exactly, Yes means No, and No means Yes, except for when No really means: “NOT ON YOUR LIFE, BUDDY.”

someone that can take “no” for an answer: Sure, I’ll take No for an answer the first 19 times, and he’ll eventually cave in and say yes!

someone who can take care of me when I have the sniffles: You mean I’m supposed to do something other than throw a box of tissues at him?

someone who doesn’t whine about the littlest things, like stubbing
their toe: WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?

someone who knows enough about what I do at work to share my
excitement and frustrations, but is willing to learn about what I do
when they don’t understand something: Uh, yeah, he like, uh, works on computers or something, and sometimes he makes my Blog pretty.

someone who will let me visit them if they’re baby-sitting, and let me
Help: He doesn’t know this yet, but he’s got Diaper Duty ’til Death Do Us Part

someone strong enough in their relationship with God that they can
teach me a thing or two: Lesson One – 1 Corinthians 6:19-20 – “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; 20you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body,” AND GET YOUR BOOTY TO THE GYM. AMEN.

someone who can share in the ministry that God has called me into, yet not afraid to ask for support in the areas that God wants to use them. He has an appointment with the recruitment table on Sunday morning

someone willing to pray with me: Especially when he says, “Dear God, Thank you for Elizabeth”

someone willing to pray *for* me, ’cause Lord knows I need it: Check.

someone who likes cats: Sure, I like Cat Scans, and Cat’s Cradle, and Catsup…

someone mature enough in their walk with God that going out with
non-Christian friends doesn’t cause a major stumble: Define “Major” and then we’ll talk

someone who isn’t afraid to tell me when my clothes don’t match, but
isn’t so anal about it that they try to dress me every time they see me: We need to have a little talk about those jeans he’s wearing

someone who doesn’t try to over-analyze everything I say or do: Check.

someone who can give constructive criticism, but knows when to stop: You mean like “Get off your sedentary butt, and go to th.”?

someone who has similar tastes in music, art and movies: Dude, He expects me to like Stevie Wonder – don’t you think he needs to reevaluate his expectations just a little bit?

someone who isn’t afraid to tell me when I’m out-of-line without
sounding like harassment: Check.

someone that can tell a secret and know that they can trust me: Psst!

someone who can *keep* a secret, and assure me they are trustworthy: All the way to my grave!

someone who maintains a sense of faithfulness, foremost to God, then
to family, then to me: Um, you know that whole “I’m mad at God” thing, we need to talk.

I find it especially funny that he had this “want ad” posted on his personal website at the time.

spacer What A Boy Wants

Pink Hair

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Pink Hair. If I want Pink Hair does not mean I’m Staid!

I want to be perfectly clear. Staid is a of settled or sedate character; not flighty or capricious.

“Characterized by sedate dignity and often a strait-laced sense of propriety; sober.”

I drank more at Blogher than I did in seven total years of college, and my blogher peeps think I’m “staid!”

I’m not staid! Really, I just have a giant stick up my hmm-hmm. Not that that’s any better… but still.

I’ve always had this false sense of delayed gratification. This isn’t so bad when we’re talking about saving for a house, and paying off the car loan. Its become a way of life. I got through grad school on a wing and a prayer. But, after years of living off ramen noodles and peanut butter, I can’t break it!!!

Nah – Let’s not go to Rome for our honeymoon, we could do it for our ten-year anniversary.
I wish I could take my favorite teenagers to the water park, ::sigh::
Oh, Honey, we don’t need cable tv.
I wish I wasn’t too old to buy a pair of Heely’s
I wish I could have pink streaks in my hair…
DH is very supportive of all my wacky ideas. When I whine that I wanna go to a water park, he says “lets go!” Even Heelys. He walks me around the parking lot holding me up so I don’t fall, just like my uncle Gil did when I was five years old.

I’ve been on a thing lately. Why do I need validation and approval before I can do something self-indulgent and wacky once in a while? I am an adult. I have a paycheck. I’m out of debt. I’m a dink. What is my problem!?

MiniMartha has to tell me to click the send button when I put bras in the shopping cart at Vict*riasSecr*t.com.

I have to use a little kid’s birthday party as an excuse to buy Paint-by-Number posters.

I “ask” DH if I can have pink hair, only because I know he’d never say no – and then I have to ask my hairstylist if she will do it!? I’m paying her and I have to have her permission to have pink hair? What the??

I’ve been looking for an excuse to make Shrinky-Dinks for over a decade. Does anyone know where I can order them online??

Mommy Bloggers Jr.

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Mommy Bloggers Jr.

I had a friend from out of town come to visit me this weekend. While I was waiting for “her,” I wondered: at what point does a blog become a mommy blog, by mommy bloggers jr? Is it when you start blogging about peeing on little plastic sticks? Is it when you start asking the Internet to refer a good OBGYN? Is it when you slap your official “It’s a…” jpeg on your homepage?

No. Chill out already! This hasn’t become a mommy blog, yet.

When do I get to join the club and start soliciting mommy blogger advice? Is there a junior membership? A mommy blogger equivalent to a Brownie Girl Scout?

Today I had to make a decision. Lord help me, I have no idea if it was the right one.

I was surfing “the latest reconnect with friends website,” clicking on links, and flipping through pictures. Each thousand-word-tale was some adventure or party, some perfect day or goofy pose. Its neat to see what each person picks as their shining moment to show the world, the things they are most proud of.

I wandered to the site of a woman who I went to school with but knew only by name. Cute pictures. Cute kid. Each picture accompanied by a comment filled with pride.

They’re the same pictures our parents took of us, and we (will) take of our kids. First missing tooth, first day at school, first yearbook picture. It doesn’t matter who’s kid is in the picture, who took the picture, where it was taken.

When you look at that picture you don’t see someone else’s kid, someone else’s memory. Your mind doesn’t absorb the details of the picture so much as your mind’s eye reaches back through your own memory. The feeling of running your tongue over that first bloody hole in your gum. The day that someone bent down and gave you the gift of your written name on a piece of construction paper cut out in the shape of a pencil. “This is yours. Let me show you, this is the letter…”

I can still feel the paper, wrinkled slightly, and pinned to my shirt.

That’s why we take pictures; to catch that moment. That’s why we share them with others; to help hang on to that emotion which is specific to that time and place. That’s why we stop to look at a picture we don’t belong to; to remember the moments that we do belong to.

I didn’t even see it until after I had gone on to read another website.

I missed the details of the picture I was looking at, because I was lost in the details of my own memory. Big black Sharpie-marker-letters, first name, last name, construction paper, safety pin, big smile, photograph, uploaded on the internet. Mom’s pride and joy.

I had to flip back at the site and stare. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing: First Name, Last Name, Big Smile, posted within one click of the page that listed the city and state that mom (and kid) live in.

The Internet makes the world smaller. Talk to your friend who is serving in the army in Kosovo. Make friends with a penpal in China. Send pictures of your pride and joy to Grandma on the east coast. The Internet brings everyone within your reach, but it makes it difficult to figuratively lock your doors at night.

I was so shocked. I paniced for her! I had to stop myself from yelling out loud at my keyboard to tell her “Look out! You forgot to crop your kid’s name out of this picture before you posted it!” As if I were literally warning her that someone left the swimmingpool gate open.

This is the part where I had to back up and say “Not the Mama!” I don’t know her. Can I email her and scream that the sky is falling? Will she think I’m a stalker? Will I terrify her into changing her phone number, and getting a PO box? Will she think I’m trying to tell her how to raise her kid? Am I being paranoid, assuming something horrible will happen to her kid? Is it really a big deal to post your kid’s picture on a website? Did she intend to crop the name out of this picture, but simply forget? Would she appreciate the reminder? What do I say to her?

Do I really even have the right to say anything?

I sent the email. I guess I’d rather be a stalker than an enabler.

Where are the lines drawn?

UPDATE:
A couple of days later she emailed back and said thanks, then she took the picture down.

Mpeg Recorder

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Mpeg Recorder: MiniMartha bought us a way-too-snazzy-to-actually-use digital camera when we got married. I let DearHusband spend our honeymoon figuring out all nine hundred and seven features. Me, on the other hand: it was hard enough to learn to point and click, let alone point, click AND UPLOAD!

Today I found a reason to figure out how to work the sucker. I even got motivated enough to learn how to video-blog. Never mind the fact that I really *should* be cooking dinner for DH.

As of yet, this has been a BridezillaBlog and a Dink(y) NewlywedBlog. This is where I’m at in life right now. ‘Tis the season for learning to cook, learning to share the blankets, learning to de-pink the load of white laundry, and learning to let him get around to cleaning up the dining-room table when he gets around to it. These are the things I blog about now.

I don’t blog about everything. There are some things that just aren’t the Internet’s business (no offence to y’all). I take my ‘Tom Cruise Condemns Me Vitamin’ every night, I am a cynical ‘Gen-Xer’ and an ‘Adult Child of Divorce,’ an ‘Eating Disorder Survivor’ a ‘Recovering People Pleaser,’ and I am all the stereotypes that go with those labels.

I’ve spent the last ten years learning that I am also much more than that. I’m ‘even-more-stubborn-than-you-are.’ I’m a fighter and a dreamer. I am a perpetual student, I don’t learn fast, but I learn. I know what I want, and Get Out Of My Way, I’m Going To Figure Out How To Get It.

At the top of my list is a solid marriage. Did you hear me not say ‘perfect,’ marriage? Did you hear me not say ‘exciting’ marriage? Did you hear me not say ‘fairy-tale’ marriage?

My in-laws have been married for thirty-four years (did you get that – I said THIRTY-FOUR YEARS, count them 20, 25, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34 years)! My MIL respects, accepts and takes care of Ian’s dad unconditionally. You can see in his eyes how proud my FIL is to be married to Ian’s mom.

It sounds like its supposed to be so stinking simple, but I’ve never seen it done before – so maybe it really isn’t. It’s just amazing to me. Before we married, I told Ian that this is what I want for our lives. Ian chose to honor me by asking me to dance to this at our wedding.

My adorable father-in-law turned 64 this year, and my mother-in-law still puts up with him! I hope they get it – I wanna be like them.

This is the birthday gift that they sent me this year. I almost died laughing when I pulled it out of the box.

UPDATE: OK, so I ran to get the camera and I started blogging before I got all the way through the package. Seriously, this time, I really DID nearly die laughing when I pulled these instructions out of the box.

Liberace: Good Bye, Fare Well

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Liberace: Good Bye, Fare Well

Ladies and Gentlemen, Libarace has left the building!

We did it! We finally ended the place setting madness! MiniMartha hooked me up with a 20% coupon for a Mikasa outlet store, and I went to town. The poor boy who asked if he could help me find anything got a run for his money.

“Yes, I’ve returned 6 sets of dishes because they were all warped. I need everyday dishes for 6 and china for 12. I’ll pay the money, but I need to make sure they’re not warped!”

Three-and-a-half hours. I spent three-and-a-half hours opening and inspecting every piece in three 92 piece china sets, and three 30 piece sets. That’s 366 dishes people! I felt like Emily Gilmore! Let this be a warning to anyone considering setting up house!! The store manager had 3 sales associates on their knees repacking the dishes I unpacked!

I had to get a referral to the store from a friend’s mom, because, let’s face it: What do I know about buying housewares?? This Mikasa store happens to be in the town were I grew up. It’s been there since I was 17 years old, and I’ve walked past it many times without the slightest interest in looking in the window.

“Bah! Crystal, I don’t like crystal!” I honestly couldn’t tell you what was in the store, because I had never looked. While the sales people were running around doing my bidding, I had some time to browse for the first time.

Marriage really gives you a new set of eyes. Suddenly, I’m justifying a 3-tier desert server because we have a Really Tiny apartment with a matching Really Tiny dining room table. And those ugly lead crystal water goblets from Auntie? I drop them in the sink all the time, and they never break! I really should buy 8 more! And why on earth would I pour water into lead crystal goblets with a plastic water pitcher? Hey! The glass snowflake ornaments are only $5 (and our Christmas tree theme is snowflakes)!!

Hubby got a phone call from the store: “Honey, will you let me back in the house tonight if i swear that I’ll never buy another dish again?”

Six Sets of Returned Dishes: $0.
Three tanks of gas driving to retail stores: $150.
Calling stores to see if they have this set and that set: $4.
Not having to listen to your wife whine about warped dishes: Priceless.

Dear Moron

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Dear Moron,

I noticed that last night, you indulged in a great deal of recreational vandalism. While I admire the perseverance you displayed while trying to break into my car, I have a couple of suggestions to help you be more successful in your career of nonviolent crime:

I believe I am qualified to speak on this subject because I had to call the Auto Club to come and unlock my car FIVE times in the last 6 months. I’ve seen the professionals break into my car enough times that I could rig a tool and break into my car in ONE try, all by my girly self.

Three separate professionals who know all of the effective ways to break into a car have dubbed you a “Moron”. All three of the professionals who examined your handy-work have separately exclaimed “Moron! They didn’t even do it right!”

From the artistic reshaping you have done to the doors of my sedan, it is apparent that you made three separate attempts to get Bessy to uncross her legs. Its also apparent that you study under the criminal masterminds behind the UPN and FOX television networks. In real life, if you are targeting the make of car that I own, a crowbar and screw driver are not the tools of choice.

It appears that you were interested in gaining access to the cabin of my sedan. I’m not sure why you would do this, as the vehicle I own is by no means a Pimp-Mobile. I drive an economy car with low-technology gadgets like a single-disk stock cd player and a cassette deck. It would be much more worth your while to swipe a new, boxed, mid-range cd player from WalMart.

If you had taken the time to look in the window, you would have seen said cassette deck. As a matter of fact, there was nothing else in the car accept a bag of pinecones flocked with artificial snow. If its really that important to you, you can have the stinking bag of pinecones, but it would have been a lot less stressful for you to just walk down to the end of the block and pick some up off of the ground.

There appears to be a direct correlation between your timing, and the start of the retail holiday season. I understand that the sounds of the season are enough to make anyone want to pick up a crowbar. On my lunch break this afternoon; I was forced to endure the sound of Amy Grant screeching Jingle-Bell Rock. Believe me, I was looking for my crowbar too! I couldn’t find my crowbar, so I will spend the rest of the season shopping online from my home.

I would advise you to put your crowbar to better use next time. Instead of going after pinecones and cassette players, use the crowbar to poke a hole in the hood of a car. Open the hood and steal a radiator or a carburetor, or an alternator. The aftermarket price on these and other “ators” is much higher than the aftermarket price of pinecones flocked with artificial snow. Besides, I have 74,000 miles on my car, its probably time for me to buy a replacement for one of these “ators” anyway.

In addition to your Artwork d’ Crowbar, I want to thank you for the Artwork d’ Fingerprint that you left on both doors. I’m so glad that I happened to have my car washed the night before you visited: the only prints on my car are yours and mine. Your swirls and loops were beautiful and clear underneath the fingerprinting powder this morning. The cars you’ve broken into are a dime-a-dozen, I’m sure, but I’m so glad that I have one of your official autographed masterpieces on file at the local police department.

Sincerely,

ekd

IKEA Teapots

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It only took a month, but I’m officially out of my old rental. On the way to turn in my keys, I had to stop at IKEA to return a dozen teapots that we didn’t end up using. Who goes to IKEA at 8:30 on a Monday night? Who? Who? Who?

I could not belive that the parking lot was full when I got there. Wanna know who goes to IKEA at 8:30 pm on a weeknight?

3 middle-aged Asian couples returning half-assembled livingroom furniture.
1 college-aged female pouring ketchup on a half-scarfed 50 cent IKEA brand hotdog.
1 lost old man walking aimlessly around a huge elevator with a very consterned look of consternation shown on his brow.
2 couples with kids who should have been in bed an hour ago.
20 unimpassioned employees
1 very tired newlywed.

If you pay cash, they refund in cash. Sweet!

Moving Madness: Winter In California ~ Seasonal Change ~ No Such Thing!

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Moving Madness!

Its the hap-happiest season of all!

Ian will tell you how he misses having an actual “fall” with leaves changing into beautiful colors. He’ll tell you how much he doesn’t miss shoveling a driveway or scraping ice from a windshield. There’s a Canadian joke that the two seasons are “winter” and “construction” because of all the cold, wet weather. In 2003 it was really odd for him to decorate my mother’s Christmas tree with the sun shining on green grass outside the window.

Ian jokes about what we Californians call “winter” out here in the desert. He mocks me for shivering when its 72 degrees. On a nostalgic day he’ll tell me he misses having real seasons.

But we do have real seasons!!
We have Rose Parade season in January to taunt all the Eastcoasters.
We have April Shower season.
We have Fire season
and the bestest season of them all started today!

The Santa Ana Winds are here! Warm toasty dry highdesert winds barrel through the mountain passes to make the whole world wonderful! Every year the Santa Anas blow the smog and the ugly out of Los Angeles. You know all those L.A. postcardswith blue skys? They’re not fake! Its just that every photographer in the state takes pictures of L.A. the day after the Santa Anas arrive! The happy winds make a special trip through the valley I grew up in and blow away all the leaves that have to be raked during the rest of the year. For a few months every year the valley that Motabcalls the Armpit of California gets a much needed pressure washing and is blessed with clean, fabulous, toasty, summer beach weather.

I walk around like a freak with my nose to the sky inhaling every second of this glorious weather. I even asked my supervisor if I could move my desk outside for the rest of the month. Thats a no. Maybe my dear husband will let me sleep on the stairwell outside the apartment 0:-).

 

 

Merging Lives ~ Merging Lifestyles

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We’re merging lives, we’re merging lifestyles. Still working out what brand of toothpaste to buy and which night is laundry night.

A foriegn object was introduced into our home. Its an inconsistant and sneaky little contraption called a “snooze button.”

At first, it was a cute little novelty. The alarm goes off at 5:30, and we rolled out of bed 37 minutes later.

Then late nights at work happend. Aweful commutes. Season-premiers on T.V. Stress from friends. Late night discussions.
Monday~
blink, blink, yawn: “What time is it?”
“Little after 6.”
“Darn. I really like our comfie bed.”
———————————————
Tuesday~
blink, blink, yawn: “What time is it?”
“6:15″
“OK, I really gotta get in the shower.”
———————————————-
Wednesday~
blink, blink, yawn: “What time is it?”
“6:30″
“Ugh, I guess I’ll skip breakfast.”
———————————————-
Thursday~
blink, blink, yawn: “What time is it?”
“6:40.”
“Ack! Good thing I showered last night!!”
———————————————-
Friday~
blink, blink, yawn: “What time is it?”
“Quarter to seven.”
“ARE YOU KIDDING! I was supposed to get up 45 minutes ago! I’m SO late for work! Why didnt the alarm go off???”
“I woke up and turned it off.”
“WHYYYYYY would you do that!!?”
“I was a wake.”
“But… but… but…”

I think the “Our Alarm Clock” experiment was a failure. I’m installing “His” and “Hers” as soon as I get home tonight.

See, snooze buttonsreally are a bad idea!!

Pod People

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I’m too cheap to keep up the times. I’ve survived most of the way through 2005 just fine with my 13″ tv, vcr, single-disk dvd player, and cellphone (not camera phone, not blackberry, not pda, or newfangled walkman/cellphone combo). Get this people, I commute home, I DRIVE AROUND CALIFORNIA while I listen to the fm radio in the car.

And then I did it. I was packing for the honeymoon and I dropped my (mother’s) cordless radio headset on the cement floor of the garage. Suuuure! I can still jog without my headphones. I’ll still ride my bike. I’ll just go to the gym, there’s music there! I’ll have no problem getting motivated to vacuum. I’ll start doing those Pilates tapes again…

Ha! 2 dress sizes later… I’m waiting in sneakers and shorts for DH to come home from work so I can swipe his MP3 player and blitz out the door to escape on my jog. After a week of this DH starts commenting on the need for duplicate technology.

Introducing, the newest member of our family. Our little bundle of joy: Ipod Shuffle Douglas.

He asked a friend to recommend some jogging music to have loaded on the ipod when he presented it to me. The sick part is that I skipped past the dance/trance ultra trendy shakeyabooty music to listen to Wake Me Up Before You Go Go.

If you ever catch me trying to pretend that I think I’m cool: whack me over the head with a frying pan!

Of course this brings a whole new list of things to fight about during marriage counseling: “He tried to recategorize my MP3’s! He thinks there’s something wrong with filing MP3’s by the year that I downloaded them! It’s my turn to load the Ipod!”

I Pod, Do you Pod?

Type A Personality

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Ok, yes, I am the first to admit that I’m just a little (no comments from the peanut gallery, please) Type A Personality. This is a fact of life. I deal with change by searching for (obsessing over) a solution, setting (obsessing over) a goal, and then work hard to (obsess over) achieving that goal. Of course, this is a very good way (the only way) to get anything done. Its a system that works very well for me.

So. I survived graduate school. I survived planning a wedding. I survived getting married. I survived my first purchase of Lemon Pledge. I survived moving in with a man who thinks beige is a color, and worse, likes it! I am woman, hear me roar! I can conquer anything.

Except for the little changes that creep up on you and then WHAP you on the head.

We registered for the most cutest set of everyday dishes. The perfect dishes. Not only does every piece in the 44 piece set match each other, get this, they match my perfect little teapot that I adore. Our thoughtful friends brought us these fabulous dishes. I kept clearing away boxes so that the next box to be unpacked would be the fabulous dish set. They are plain, they are understated, and, so help me, they will match with every tablecloth I’ll ever be in the mood to buy, every day for as long as we both shall live!

Can you see it coming? Do you see the warning signs? I certainly didn’t see it coming, but here it is!!!

I’ve become the woman who not only owns lemon Pledge, but I own lemon Pledge and I obsess over dishes!

My dearest husband hauled the enormous box of fabulous dishes across the parking lot and up the stairs. I waited and waited until I couldn’t stand it, then I started hunting through the forest of boxes for the fabulous dishes. When I found it, I wiped the drool from my chin and cracked open the fabulous box of dishes. I pulled out the perfect little coffee cups and fondled them as I lifted them to their special place in the cabinet. I pulled out the soup bowls and gently blew the cardboard dust off of them as I placed them on the counter. I sang a little song and danced a little dance as I pulled out all forty-four dishes, one at a time, and welcomed them to our lovely home.

(Look at me! I’m getting better; I can separate a pre-rant into pseudo-paragraphs.)

One by one, I placed each fabulous 11″ dinner plate on the counter and separated a special place for them in the cupboard. With all of my I-have-a-desk-job girly might, I hoisted all of the dinner plates up into the cabinet. I inhaled and blinked, preparing to take in the wonder of the fabulous dishes settled in to their new home in our kitchen.

And then I saw it.

Oh! The HORROR!

The most horrible sight I had ever laid eyes on.

The dishes were WARPED!!

My precious!!

All of my dreams of domestic bliss had just vanished before my eyes. Every single soup bowl, salad plate, and dinner plate was as straight as Liberace(I’m so upset about these dishes that I spelled ‘Liberace’ right on the first try). It was like someone gave a kindergarten class shots of Redbull and tequila and then told them to go play in the dish factory! The dinner plates were giving me vertigo because they were at eye level!
I was so traumatized that I had to go lay down (ok, I’m exaggerating), but my poor husband had to pack every dish back into that box and remove them from our home before their disease infected our silverware and bake ware!

He loves me, he is so sweet. He took them back, and exchanged them for another box. Got that box home and guess what? That set of dishes was as warped as The Fly! Did I mention that my husband loves me? He took that horrid set back to the store too.

So it was time for drastic measures. I went to a department store. A department store!! I purchased a nicer set of fewer dishes for more money at a department store! I hauled them up the stairs, cracked open the box, wiped the drool from my chin, and can you guess?

WARPED!

It is officially clear that my husband would go to the end of the earth for me! He packed up a 3rd set of dishes. Does anybody know if IKEA is hiring?

I’m ready to break out the china and use it every day. For what Ian’s family paid for the magnificent china settings, those had BETTER be straight or I may need to be committed.

My sweet husband who loves me and forgives me and adores me (did I mention he forgives me) asked that we not use the china every day. I will buy straight dishes! I am woman, hear me roar!

 

Laundry Blues

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Okay, so I get the ’til you die’ part, and I was prepared for the ‘respect your man’ part, and I was getting used to the part where I should attempt to concoct a healthy dinner at least once a month.

I’ve accepted the fact that I now own lemon Pledge and obsess over dishes.

A couple girlfriends tried to hint around about the realities of sex with a husband. I’m finding out more than I ever wanted to know about birth control.

But I was NOT, I mean I was really NOT prepared for the Laundry-Quadrupling-Phenomenon!

I always thought that laundry could be explained by simple math. The more you wear, the more you wash. In math; One plus One equals Two. I did get that far in algebra!

I’m absolutely amazed to discover that in Laundry the rules all change. When you marry, one person’s amount of laundry plus another person’s amount of laundry does not equal double the laundry, it equals QUADRUPLE the amount of laundry!

I was unaware that there is some complicated exponential equation and scientific phenomenon that occurs when combining two people’s t-shirts into one trip to the laundry room.

Any suggestions as to what that formula is? I would really like to know!

    I Mini-geek, take you Geek to be my lawfully wedded husband.
    To love, honor, and launder,
    In sickness and in health,
    For richer or for poorer,
    In low bandwidth and in high,
    ’til sixty-four, and every day for as long as we both shall live.

Wedding Traditions

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Wedding Traditions: Occasionally I see blurbs about the origin of wedding traditions such as wedding rings, bridal bouquets, and crossing the threshold. But why in blazes do we need a white pile of architecturally correct complex carbohydrates?

I’m a pretty decisive person. I wanted the pretty little gift-box cake with the perfect fondant corners and marzipan bows. I knew what colors, shape, size, and decorations were going on my cake within 10 minutes of looking at a Wilton magazine.

Over the course of the year, my cake has evolved into the cake. The cake that works for everyone.
Everyone in my life was opposed to the precious fondant creation I had picked out. The friends, the baker, the fiancé. We found out at an early summer wedding that fondant tastes awful. Ok, so scratch that.

I found the perfect baker. A no-nonsense grandmother who bakes cakes for fun on the weekends. The perfect baker who bakes what she feels like baking. She only bakes the cakes that she knows won’t fall or fall apart – and mine was not one of them. She bakes what she likes to bake, but she bakes it for one dollar per slice. I can work with that. For one dollar per person, we’ll do it her way! Butter cream and Duncan Hines it is.

We met for dinner and worked together to come up with a simple, functional, tasty cake that was within a number of parameters. Did you see that, I said “cake” and “parameters” in the same sentence. Maybe I’m getting just a little wedding on the brain.

I decided it was time to leave the cake, and the cake decorations in the hands of my very competent baker and florist. They’re good at what they do, and there’s no sense micromanaging a pile of frosting that will only exist in pictures when i’m 64.

This weekend, MiniMartha and I went down to decorate for her friend’s wedding. We jumped right in to the usual pre-wedding decorating, arranging and improvising. Ninety minutes before the wedding, the cake was delivered. The cake was leaning. “Oh, no its fine!” The baker said as she ran out the door.

So 30 minutes later, we’re busy swaging, foofing, and tying bows. And of course, it happens.
Right in front of my friend’s eyes it happens. The precarious three tier mass of pretty carbohydrates just faints like a southern belle.

As soon as we could charge some nephews with the responsibility for not letting the bride look in the direction of the pile of sugar that was once cake, I had to fly out of the building – I was laughing so hard.

“Oh, my heart is breaking for her!” the sister of the bride wailed. I understand her pain. A week before, my heart would have fallen from my chest if it was my sister’s cake. But this is this week; and it wasn’t my sister’s cake, so I was laughing like a drunk in the parking lot.
Maybe we ought to stage a cake-smashing at my reception! Any volunteers?

On second thought – how bout we just break the cake over my head?

How To Make Me Happy – Wedding Edition

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how to make me happy – wedding edition

Eww, i have to live with a *Boy*

1. Print 5 drafts of a shower invitation – to make sure I like my choices.
2. Take up finger painting to cure boredom while assembling the ceremony programs for my wedding.
3. Wash two weeks of my really really smelly laundry – just to be nice.
4. Call a babysitter for your 1-year-old just because I need you on my wedding day.
5. Send back that cute little RSVP card the same week you receive it.
6. Teach me a cool come-back for not letting people bug me for our honeymoon location.

    “Its in the vault.”

7. Reschedule your 75th birthday limo-ride so that you can come to my wedding.

MiniMartha ~ Christmas In July

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Christmas in July

Its that time. the invitations are out – the United States Postal Service is now burdoned with the task of bringing us wedding gifts. so far, we’ve received some impressively packed servingware. MiniMartha keeps telling me how lovely it will be to have all of those things when i “entertain” because that’s what married women do – they entertain. now, i’m looking at this and should be thinking about all the parties and the breakfasts and the kitchen conversations that will happen every time i pull out these gifts. i’m supposed to be anticipating the memories and the christmases, making “tea wafers”, eating cookie dough out of the bowl after i tell my daughter not to do it, and looking my husband on our umpteenth anniversary and saying “Dang, you’re old!”

All i can think – in my “7 weeks and counting” frame of mind is: “this means i’m going to have a kitchen, and kitchen cupboards, and shelfpaper and lemon Pledge to dust the cupoards.”

    - do i really wanna be that girl?

Girl? Woman? Let me try that on: the wo-man with the lemon Pledge. and 3 sets of silverware and the linen closet full of outdated pillowcases. and a cupboard stocked with 18 jars of BestFoods mayo because that’s the stuff my husband likes. O dear LORD in heaven -help me!

    I’m turning into my mother!

Quick! someone shoot me before i become a subscriber to TVGuide and PEOPLE magazine!

Budget Bride Blog: Moving, Marriage, Morning Sickness and Mortality

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Budget Bride Blog: Moving, Marriage, Morning Sickness and Mortality

You ever have that dream? The one where you’re screaming and nobody can hear you? The one where you’re eloquent thoughts are in English – but the only words coming out of your mouth are in Bork? The one where *the* wedding checklist grabs the back end of a pencil and starts erasing itself?

I had my first offficial (public) Bridezilla Meltdown today. My Darling Fiance graciously completed the items on his honeydew list – and then went looking for a few more items to check off *the* list.

He called to confirm that the dinnerware was ordered – and was told that it wasn’t- only a quote was given. So he ordered, forked over some plastic, and then called to tell me that the price had been raised.

(blink, dumb stare) Um. OK. DF sounded like the extra 40 bucks ($.05 per item) wasn’t really that bad.

A few hours later, it occured to me that every book in the Budget Bride section of Barnes and Noble talks about “The Wedding Industry” like hippies talk about “The Man.” Author after author was bent on the idea that “TWI” doesn’t deal with repeat customers. Most people get married (or at least throw a big wedding) only once in their life. So, according to these authors, TWI can gouge brides and get away with it.

I heard all sorts of helpful tips like “ask for quotes for ‘parties,’ not for ‘weddings,’ because florists, bakers, photographers, and site coordinators are in the habbit of charging a Sucker Tax as soon as they hear the ‘w’ word.”

I began to wonder if maybe my DF let the ‘w’ word slip, and that perhaps the $.05 was a Sucker Tax. I distinctly remember spending 20 minutes on the phone with a pad and paper writing out all of the items that I was renting as I CONFIRMED them, scheduling a pick-up date, and double checking the final price.

I was annoyed enough to summon the gusto required to play hardball if I had to. The same lovely man who CONFIRMED my order for teapots, plates, glasses, and sliverware asssured me that he only gave me a quote back in April before the prices were raised and that since DF had just CONFIRMED the order yesterday – that yesterday’s prices were applicable.

      I informed him that I very well DID CONFIRM the order in April
      I informed him that I had to RECONFIRM in late April – because the staff at his company kept losing my file and had to create a new file every time I called
      I informed him that my fiance was merely investigating because the company had lost my file more than once and had failed to send us a contract or invoice
    I informed him that to date – the company website lists the old price that I was originally quoted

And then he began to argue with me.

He tried to tell me that I didn’t confirm anything, that it was only a quote, so he had to reissue my DF a new quote yesterday (yesterday, he told DF that he couldn’t honor the old price because the difference would come out of his pocket), that it didnt matter if the advertised price on the company website (today) was lower – that the price was what it was and if I didn’t like it I could go somewhere else.

You know what celery sounds like when you bend it in half? – Yeah.

Unfortunately – I could not go somewhere else, because this is the only party rental supply in the area that stocks teapots. I knew I was right, I had CONFIRMED the order, and this would not be the second (or the third) time that this company had lost my file. You know, the file that had MY CONFIRMATION IN IT.

There are 4 life events that are considered to be most stressful in a persons life. Thank the LORD i am not pregnant, or dying right now. If i was, i’d definately be wearing a nice white coat on my wedding day.

For ten minutes he argued with me, I accused him of baiting and switching, he put me on hold, he argued with me, he put me on hold, he argued with me, I threatened to call the Better Business Bureau, he put me on hold.

And then I got to talk to (we’ll call him Boris – since i don’t know anyone who I would offend by using the alias Boris) Boris. Boris asked me to explain what was going on.

Poor Boris.
I told him about the changed price. Boris told me that honoring the original price was up to the owner. The broken celery stalk in my head took control of my mouth. I told him about the plethera of repeated conversations and sitting on hold while his staff searched for missing files. Boris looked in the computer, and magically, my original CONFIRMED order appeared! All 1,112 pieces of china and silverware appeared with my name, address, and credit card information, pick up and drop off dates.

Boris immediately stated that he would honor the original price as quoted in the confirmed contract that was in the computer at his fingertips.

“‘He’ would? I thought the owner had to do that?”
“Yes, I am the owner. We just don’t like to tell people that over the phone.” Boris told me with a smile in his voice.

Hmmmmmmm. I wonder why?

Blog Me ~ Happy Blogoversary To Me.

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BlogMe

UPDATE: Chadie tagged me so I can now be cool and answer questions that someone actually wants answers to! Here are Chadie’s interview questions:

What do your family and your children like that you are blogging?

Do they want you to write about them or they don’t like that?
Well, we have “no kids, (yet),” but my husband does encourage me to blog. He thinks its funny that I flex my geeky muscles once in a while. Occasionally we get into a blog-fight, if he starts responding to my blog posts on his blog (jokingly).

Have you been at a Blog-Meeting before? Nope, never. I am scared too death. I can’t wait.

How did you get to know about BlogHer? I read a lot of blogs. Everyone came back from 2005 and posted all of their pictures and their personal experiences with meeting other bloggers. Everyone seemed to forge lasting friendships. I just had to be there this year!

Which are your three best posts in your blog? Looking back to before the wedding, I was REALLY stressed out, and it was so NOT funny at the time, but now I think the bridezilla meltdowns like this one and this one are pretty funny… at least now I understand why people were laughing at me back then.
I heard the most comments from people after the moron *tried* to break into my car.

Why did you start blogging? Do blog of the same reason now or has it changed? I started blogging as a stress reliever before the wedding. If I could rant once to the internet, then I wouldn’t have to rant over and over and over to each of my friends that was helping me get ready for the wedding.
——–

The other questions I answered myself start here:

When did you start blogging and why? Or Talk about your blog. What can I learn about you in under 5 minutes? I started blogging while I was engaged to DH. Time.com had linked to Heather Armstrong’s blog as one of 2005’s best web sites. I didn’t even know what a blog was, but I was hooked from the start!

How do you use blogging to build friendships? Ok, so I’m lame because I’m too shy. I read blogs because I can find other peoples perspective on the things I am facing (married life) or will face some day (mommyblogs). One of the hardest things about going from bridezilla to dinky is moving farther away from the network of people i’ve always relied on for advice and perspective. Blogs definately make me feel less lonely.

Who do you read every day, rain or shine? clickmom. She posts EVERY DAY, I just don’t have that much to say. She’s also very raw and unpolished unlike most of my other favorite reads. I read the big three, spacerider, and my newest addiction is PW.

What don’t you write about? My immediate family. I’ve never been able to communicate to them that they need to learn the difference between a “smile” and “straight teeth.” Sometimes I think they just don’t *want* to look past the orthodontia.

How do you feel about meeting bloggers in real life? Are you nervous? Will you have great expectations? What do you hope to take away from the BlogHer experience? Holy Guacamole!!! I am so nervous and so excited. 4 more days… I’m just dying. I’m hoping that the big three on my list will not be too swamped/papperazzied to stop and chat. I feel a little silly. I hurt for people who pour out their lives to the internet in good and bad. I’m so sad for mommyneedscoffee and busymom today – I’ve never even met the chicks.

So soon we’re going to meet each other at BlogHer. Important question. How do you party? Um. Refer to the above comment about social skills… I’ll be the lemming standing by the wall wearing blue jeans and a sloppy pedicure.

Are you and your blogging persona the same person? I dunno, what’s my blogging persona like?Â

Have you ever anonymously posted on a site to flame them? Nope.  

If you had a super power, what would it be? I used to say “teleporting,” because I couldn’t get anywhere fast enough.  Now I guess I’d like to say “Able to get ready for work in 10 minutes flat… AND look good doing it.”

So, OodleDay got me thinking…Â

10 years ago, July 18, 1996: I spent the summer before my senior year *studying.* Not studying for college… but memorizing my Economics, Government, and Varsity Choir homework. I was juggling babysitting with yearbook camp at UCLA, and the youthgroup leadership team at church. I was staying busy just to stay out of my head. That was the year I started getting treated for a myriad of “stress related” afflictions.

8 years ago, July 18, 1998:I actually still have the monthly planners that I kept obsessing over *religiously* through out college. I couldn’t make a decision without looking in the book. What does the book say now? The book says that week I was I was stuck living at home that summer – after 9 months of freedom living on my own at school. I was selling knives (it was better money than flipping burgers,and I only cut my hand open once). I was horse sitting a horse I couldn’t ride, and desperate to prove myself capable of caring for a horse of my own. So desperate, that I rode on a quadrille team I couldn’t stand.

6 years ago, July 18, 2000:I had finally earned a horse of my own, but apparently I was the only one who didn’t know that yet. I had asked for a horse “for the summer” and treated her like a borrowed treasure. It didn’t occur to me that the little mule would be “mine” for the next 5 years. I was working graveyard shift at the campus hotel, preparing for the GWT (the Did you learn to write in college) test.

5 years ago, July 18, 2001: Working for the dean of faculty every day, baby sitting, dog sitting at houses in two different counties, riding my horse, getting my horses’ hooves trimmed, mailing transcripts to the car insurance guy to continue my good student discount, getting my transmission fixed, picking up my then boyfriend’s birthday gift, helping him pack and move, helping my friend (later bridesmaid) move, and buying airfare for my my Elfin friend’s wedding.

4 years ago, July 18, 2002: I graduated college, spent a week in the dentist’s office, and then started graduate school. I was still working for the dean of faculty, and still riding but I had been assigned to a different horse because “mine” was pregnant that year. This marked the beginning of my near-sited-ness, 8 hour days in the computer lab working on websites and Flash animations.

3 years ago, July 18, 2003: Two days before I met The Geek Of My Dreams. I was an intern for a computer school, writing the very first lines of the very first draft of my thesis. I dont know what possessed me to (try to) learn php, javascript and to ride in a western saddle that year. I was riding two horses every day – I had earned the priviledge of riding the “Princess” of the barn, but I couldn’t let go of my little mule.

2 years ago, July 18, 2004:The book says that entire days were filled in with nothing but “Thesis.” I was so stressed about finishing grad school that I had to stop riding. I trained new students to replace me in the dean’s office, wrote curriculum for my thesis, and wondered what the heck i was gonna do with life after college. When I said “Man, I wish i could take Goose, Moose, and Monkey to the waterpark” The Geek of My Dreams said “Lets go.”

Last year, July 18, 2005: That Geek had proposed in 2004 and we started planning our lives together. He’s built me lots of geeky toys. Everything from help with my thesis, to a new CPU, to any website I could dream up. (Ask me about usetheschwarts dot com one of these days.) I had never heard of a blog until CNN put up a link to the top websites of 2005. I was hooked on dooce.  We had planned our trip to the river – but I didn’t want to go, because I’d miss updates on Heather’s site. That Geek was nice enough to archive the entire domain and store it on his laptop so I could get my fix at the river -  I’m a lemming, I HAD TO HAVE ONE!

And there you have it. Happy Blogoversary to me.

Today: surviving My First Teaching Job, getting used to being a Dink(y) working stiff, adjusting to a new church group, going out with “Other Married Couples,” learning not to yell “$h!t” when I get a face full of flames from the pastor’s BBQ, admitting I’m mad at God, remembering not to forget when DH has a headache and needs to go home for some Advil, loving and hating all 650 square feet of “Our” home. Â

5 years from now, July 18, 2011:Hmm… Mommyblogging? A Two-Year-Old? Monthly Newsletters? A home? Telecommuting from the only house we could afford to buy (in Siberia)?

10 years from now, July 18, 2016:I can’t even see it. A Ph. D? An 8 year old kid? Another baby? Being used to DH’s snoring? I can’t imagine.

Consumerism

This weekend I had errands to run. New passport, lesson plans, pick up bracelet from jewler (again!), Britta filters and light mayonaise.

Between stopping at the civic center to request a new passport and heading to the jeweler i stopped at W*lmart to pick up the Britta filters and mayonaise.

By the time the weekend was over, I bought:
mayonaise
a family size tent
an electric ice cream maker
bubble gum
candy to mix in the new ice cream maker
Lysol that doesn’t smell as bad as the half used can we already own
bread
*stuff* from the pharmacy
a purse organizer
a skirt
2 new pairs of flip flops
a sweater
a pair of pants (88 dollars marked down to 15!!!)
Britta filters

and… a pair of Heelys.

Just as I was about to write “Please. Send. Help.” our Neilson survey Home Scan Consumer Panel came in the mail.

Babysitting

IJ came to stay with us this weekend. See what happens when you leave us alone with children?

I think we had more fun than he did.

Am I Really That Ugly?

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Am I Really That Ugly? Or Am I really that old?

Am I really *that* old? Is it really *that* time?

BlogHer is tomorrow. I’ve been packing, running errands, and shopping to for the trip.

I usually sport the “Lazy Au Natural” look. I really don’t feel like spending my life in front of a mirror. I did decide that I’d better get my eyebrows done and find a better concealer before this weekend – since there may be lots of digital cameras floating around.

Yesterday, I walked into a salon and asked for an eyebrow waxing. The asthetician looked at me, and without blinking said “And your mustache and new highlights too, right?”

HOLY COW! How rude! Yes, I know. I need new highlights. It’s been months, and I just don’t care. But a MUSTACHE!!!!!? I have a mustache? Wait, I do not have a mustache! Do I??? Am I the only one who doesn’t know I look like Charlie Chaplain? Is this chick playing me because she’s just trying to make a buck? I hate it. I know she’s gotta make a living, but making a living by getting other people to feel insecure about their God-given bodies? DOOODE! that just sucks.

Later, I walked up to the Clinique counter and asked the saleswoman to pick the shade of concealer that I need for the acne scars on my chin. Again, without even blinking… “Here, let me show you how to put concealer under your eyes too.”

I can not be *that* old, can I? Or is this a revisit of the misguided pre-teenage notion that big girls wear blue eyeshadow? How am I *already* being groomed for the next twenty years of trying to pretend that I’m still 20 years old?

Today, I’ve looked in the mirror 4 times, and it’s only 8:00am. Fabulous. I haven’t done that since I was 18 years old.

Long Day ~ Such A Klutz

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I set my alarm for 4:00 a.m. on Friday morning, because I had a 6:30 a.m. flight to San Jose. I woke up at 2:00 a.m. (earlier than I ever woke up for christmas morning) and COULD NOT SLEEP. I was too excited to get to Blogher ‘06 later that morning.

When I got to the conference and saw all of the people, i started shaking even before I picked up my very cool looking “Hi My Name is… Nervous Weirdo” name badge.

Still shaking, I put my badge around my neck and saw Oh My Gosh Its Jenn Satterwhite(!!!!!) standing near a sponsor table. And, of course, being the socially inept idiot that I am, I walked right up to her with my camera ON and said “I’m not leaving this conference without a picture of you.” Yeah, scaring people is a fabuolus way to make friends. Go me.

And, because I’m destined to make a fool of myself – I introduced myself to Our Fabulous Hostess Elisa Camahort, and fell on my butt when I went to shake her hand. Â

I wanted to see the Fussy T-shirts, so I stood too close to some poor sap and when she turned around, I dumped my drink on my digital camera.

For the rest of the weekend I was  too ashamed to go  sneak a picture of Jenn, but fortunately, there were other really cool people at Blogher 06 like  Elizabeth of  Table for five, Chase, Deb, Becky, Kris, and Carmen to make me feel at home.

I’m A Teacher, Now What?

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I’m a teacher… now what???

Ok, so the first trimester (of teaching!!!) has been kicking my butt.

Every spare minute of free time has been spent pouring over lesson plans, handouts, books, software, and the internet. I’ve gotten fat from spending every spare minute sitting at the computer. I’m rarely home to cook dinner, let alone eat it… It gets easier after this, right?

Also, In the last few months:

I made it through the busy season at my day job, events planned, excecuted,  paid for, and books balanced.

The last week in March, I taught my first night class, attended my first professional conference, taught the first night of my second night class, then caught a 6am flight to my second conference – a weekend in Lake Tahoe.

 In April, it was more of the same. Work the day, teach or plan lessons at night. One night after my class ended at 10pm, we caught a red eye to Detroit for my husban’ds cousin’s wedding. First thing in the morning we landed, and drove a rental car to the hotel. You’ve heard the rumors about traffic in L.A., “it is bad“, but nothing like Michigan.

Here’s my theory. L.A. weather is good, so people can spend the money to buy a nice car and keep it nice for a decade without having to worry about rust damage. But those people live in L.A. where there are more than 10 million other people on the road. Sure, drivers are impatient and sick of waiting in line just to get on a freeway… but they like their cars and would like to keep them nice for the decade that it will take to pay them off. This puts at least some limit on driver agression.
It don’t work that way in Detroit. As my grandperz used to say: “Seems to me that…” Detroit drivers are all related to someone who works at the local automobile factory. With their company discount, they can afford to replace their cars every time they smash them up. I did not see one blinker blink on one car with Michigan plates! I was cut off by old ladies, and tailgaited for driving at the posted speed limit! Sure, the roads are wide enough to pass on the left or the right, and the on-ramps are wide enough that you wont flip your car over if you take it at 50 miles an hour but SHEESH PEOPLE!

In May, hubby and I both started taking advantage of my new dental insurance. Maaaaaan! We have good insurance and we are still paying a ton of money!! Is it childish to say that I’m proud that he needs more work done than I do?

I will say that after 27 years of putting dentist’s children through college, I finally found a new dentist who would bother to waste his time teaching me how to brush and floss.

I was shown how to brush once  when I was five, and every year after that I was scolded by the dentist and repremanded by my parents because my teeth were never good enough to be left alone.

Also, it doesn’t hurt that the new dentist has cable T.V…. and he lets me pick the channel i want to watch during my fillings!

DH also had a birthday in May. He does more wonderful things for me than he’ll ever even relize so I wanted to do something special for his birthday. Something big, something nice, something new, something special. The only thing his heart desired… He wanted to see STOMP. again. For. the. third. time. That’s not new, that’s not different, and its not  special if he’s already seen it twice. I did pout. A lot. But it’s his birthday and its  the only thing he wanted.

It was fun. You should see it next time its in town. I only needed earplugs for the last 15 minutes of the show.

Mostly to make myself feel better, I bought him some Omaha Steaks online. This meant learning to use that weird thing called a broiler. And learning what medium-rare looks like. And remembering not to pull the broiler drawer all the way out of the oven. again.

O! We just found out that the Hamiltons are coming to town. TWICE in two weeks!!!! We get to babysit IJ! Are you jealous yet? I’ve already quequed the Elmo DVD’s at N*tflix! Can you see the exclaimation points! Can you tell I’m excited!! Next time I’m gonna have to tell them not to tell me they’re coming until 3 days before, I just can’t take the anticipation!

Stay tuned for scenes from next week’s episodes: “10 Hour Days”, “Why did you pick *that* picture to show to the Immigration Officials”, and “What’s In a Name.”