I know it's ironic because I haven't updated in a long time - but I felt compelled to include this today.
Friday, March 18, 2011
A Day of Silence
I know it's ironic because I haven't updated in a long time - but I felt compelled to include this today.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Never neglect the little things.
“Never neglect the little things. Never skimp on that extra effort, that additional few minutes, that soft word of praise or thanks, that delivery of the very best that you can do. It does not matter what others think, it is of prime importance, however, what you think about you. You can never do your best, which should always be your trademark, if you are cutting corners and shirking responsibilities. You are special. Act it. Never neglect the little things.”I've been absent from my little blog for a long time - far too long really. And neglect seems to be the overriding theme. Yes, I've clearly neglected this little nook that I've carved out for myself on the Internet, but I actually stopped writing because I felt as if I was neglecting other aspects of my life. So I basically neglected one so that I could stop neglecting the other. Confusing, no?
The holidays were crazy around our house - and they shouldn't have been. There are no children involved, we didn't travel anywhere, and yet, I was still sapped and overly emotional the entire time. I was completely absent from Twitter and blogging as a result of complete lack of time, and it made me think....
Was I neglecting other aspects of my life because of my love of the "on-line" life? It wasn't too far-fetched for me the quickly check Twitter while dining with my husband, or even shuffling through my Google Reader while we were watching a movie. I jumped on links of products that other people loved, sometimes buying an item immediately, but certainly noting it for my next trip to that particular store. I wasn't giving it my best - everyone was getting short-changed, including myself.
I felt like it was being pulled in a million different directions, so I just abandoned it all.
My absence has been good for the most part, but good grief I have come to miss the ladies that I know and love...yes, the Internet may have distracted me from my "real" life, but it has also provided countless friendships, valuable support, trustworthy opinions, and massive amounts of advice on what to buy and for how much - and that, well that's important too. And emails I've received from those of you concerned that my absence was caused by a larger, more serious issues? Thank you. If that doesn't speak volumes about the caliber of people you can meet through blogging, well I don't know what does.
I just need to figure out the balance - I don't need to be accessing what everyone else is saying 24/7, even though I love and value those words. I just need to get a grip.
I haven't figure out HOW yet, but I will....in the meantime, I'm easing back into the lives and opinions of those I adore, because I've missed it! So much.
Thanks for being who you are.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Happy Belated Veteran's Day
I say "belated" because I'm posting this at 10:39 p.m., but I saw two things today that made me adore our soldiers even more than I already did:
First, if you think human souls are the only ones affected by a soldier's absence, you're wrong - trust me, click on that link and watch the video, it will do you heart good. Puppy squeals of delight are good for the soul.
And second:
They Told Me His Name Was Reggie
They told me the big black Lab's name was Reggie as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly. I'd only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.
But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn't hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie's advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn't look like "Lab people," whatever that meant. They must've thought I did.
But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous owner. See, Reggie and I didn't really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too. Maybe we were too much alike.
For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis balls - he wouldn't go anywhere without two stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked boxes. I guess I didn't really think he'd need all his old stuff, that I'd get him new things once he settled in. but it became pretty clear pretty soon that he wasn't going to.
I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he knew, ones like "sit" and "stay" and "come" and "heel," and he'd follow them - when he felt like it. He never really seemed to listen when I called his name - sure, he'd look in my direction after the fourth of fifth time I said it, but then he'd just go back to doing whatever. When I'd ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly obey.
This just wasn't going to work. He chewed a couple shoes and some unpacked boxes. I was a little too stern with him and he resented it, I could tell. The friction got so bad that I couldn't wait for the two weeks to be up, and when it was, I was in full-on search mode for my cellphone amid all of my unpacked stuff. I remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest room, but I also mumbled, rather cynically, that the "damn dog probably hid it on me."
Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the shelter's number, I also found his pad and other toys from the shelter. I tossed the pad in Reggie's direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the most enthusiasm I'd seen since bringing him home. But then I called, "Hey, Reggie, you like that? Come here and I'll give you a treat." Instead, he sort of glanced in my direction - maybe "glared" is more accurate - and then gave a discontented sigh and flopped down. With his back to me.
Well, that's not going to do it either, I thought. And I punched the shelter phone number.
But I hung up when I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that, too. "Okay, Reggie," I said out loud, "let's see if your previous owner has any advice.".........
______________________________________
To Whomever Gets My Dog:
Well, I can't say that I'm happy you're reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie's new owner. I'm not even happy writing it. If you're reading this, it means I just got back from my last car ride with my Lab after dropping him off at the shelter. He knew something was different. I have packed up his pad and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but this time... it's like he knew something was wrong. And something is wrong... which is why I have to go to try to make it right.
So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.
First, he loves tennis balls. the more the merrier. Sometimes I think he's part squirrel, the way he hordes them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn't done it yet. Doesn't matter where you throw them, he'll bound after it, so be careful - really don't do it by any roads. I made that mistake once, and it almost cost him dearly.
Next, commands. Maybe the shelter staff already told you, but I'll go over them again: Reggie knows the obvious ones - "sit," "stay," "come," "heel." He knows hand signals: "back" to turn around and go back when you put your hand straight up; and "over" if you put your hand out right or left. "Shake" for shaking water off, and "paw" for a high-five. He does "down" when he feels like lying down - I bet you could work on that with him some more. He knows "ball" and "food" and "bone" and "treat" like nobody's business.
I trained Reggie with small food treats. Nothing opens his ears like little pieces of hot dog.
Feeding schedule: twice a day, once about seven in the morning, and again at six in the evening. Regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.
He's up on his shots. Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info. with yours; they'll make sure to send you reminders for when he's due. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car - I don't know how he knows when it's time to go to the vet, but he knows.
Finally, give him some time. I've never been married, so it's only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He's gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn't bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially.
Which means that this transition is going to be hard, with him going to live with someone new. And that's why I need to share one more bit of info with you....His name's not Reggie..
I don't know what made me do it, but when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them his name was Reggie. He's a smart dog, he'll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. But I just couldn't bear to give them his real name. For me to do that, it seemed so final, that handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting that I'd never see him again. And if I end up coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it means everything's fine. But if someone else is reading it, well it means that his new owner should know his real name. It'll help you bond with him. Who knows, maybe you'll even notice a change in his demeanor if he's been giving you problems.
His real name is Tank.
Because that is what I drive.
Again, if you're reading this and you're from the area, maybe my name has been on the news. I told the shelter that they couldn't make "Reggie" available for adoption until they
received word from my company commander. See, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could've left Tank with... and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq , that they make one phone call the shelter... in the "event"... to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he'd do it personally. And if you're reading this, then he made good on his word.
Well, this letter is getting to downright depressing, even though, frankly, I'm just writing it for my dog. I couldn't imagine if I was writing it for a wife and kids and family. but still, Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family.
And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me.
That unconditional love from a dog is what I took with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do something selfless, to protect innocent people from those who would do terrible things... and to keep those terrible people from coming over here. If I had to give up Tank in order to do it, I am glad to have done so. He was my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.
All right, that's enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. I don't think I'll say another good-bye to Tank, though. I cried too much the first time. Maybe I'll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.
Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.
Thank you, Paul Mallory
__________________________________
I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.
I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.
"Hey, Tank," I said quietly.
The dog's head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.
"C'mere boy."
He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn't heard in months.
"Tank," I whispered.
His tail swished.
I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him.
"It's me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me." Tank reached up and licked my cheek. "So whatdaya say we play some ball? His ears perked again. "Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?" Tank tore from my hands and disappeared in the next room. And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.
First, if you think human souls are the only ones affected by a soldier's absence, you're wrong - trust me, click on that link and watch the video, it will do you heart good. Puppy squeals of delight are good for the soul.
And second:
They Told Me His Name Was Reggie
They told me the big black Lab's name was Reggie as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly. I'd only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.
But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn't hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie's advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn't look like "Lab people," whatever that meant. They must've thought I did.
But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous owner. See, Reggie and I didn't really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too. Maybe we were too much alike.
For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis balls - he wouldn't go anywhere without two stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked boxes. I guess I didn't really think he'd need all his old stuff, that I'd get him new things once he settled in. but it became pretty clear pretty soon that he wasn't going to.
I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he knew, ones like "sit" and "stay" and "come" and "heel," and he'd follow them - when he felt like it. He never really seemed to listen when I called his name - sure, he'd look in my direction after the fourth of fifth time I said it, but then he'd just go back to doing whatever. When I'd ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly obey.
This just wasn't going to work. He chewed a couple shoes and some unpacked boxes. I was a little too stern with him and he resented it, I could tell. The friction got so bad that I couldn't wait for the two weeks to be up, and when it was, I was in full-on search mode for my cellphone amid all of my unpacked stuff. I remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest room, but I also mumbled, rather cynically, that the "damn dog probably hid it on me."
Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the shelter's number, I also found his pad and other toys from the shelter. I tossed the pad in Reggie's direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the most enthusiasm I'd seen since bringing him home. But then I called, "Hey, Reggie, you like that? Come here and I'll give you a treat." Instead, he sort of glanced in my direction - maybe "glared" is more accurate - and then gave a discontented sigh and flopped down. With his back to me.
Well, that's not going to do it either, I thought. And I punched the shelter phone number.
But I hung up when I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that, too. "Okay, Reggie," I said out loud, "let's see if your previous owner has any advice.".........
______________________________________
To Whomever Gets My Dog:
Well, I can't say that I'm happy you're reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie's new owner. I'm not even happy writing it. If you're reading this, it means I just got back from my last car ride with my Lab after dropping him off at the shelter. He knew something was different. I have packed up his pad and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but this time... it's like he knew something was wrong. And something is wrong... which is why I have to go to try to make it right.
So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.
First, he loves tennis balls. the more the merrier. Sometimes I think he's part squirrel, the way he hordes them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn't done it yet. Doesn't matter where you throw them, he'll bound after it, so be careful - really don't do it by any roads. I made that mistake once, and it almost cost him dearly.
Next, commands. Maybe the shelter staff already told you, but I'll go over them again: Reggie knows the obvious ones - "sit," "stay," "come," "heel." He knows hand signals: "back" to turn around and go back when you put your hand straight up; and "over" if you put your hand out right or left. "Shake" for shaking water off, and "paw" for a high-five. He does "down" when he feels like lying down - I bet you could work on that with him some more. He knows "ball" and "food" and "bone" and "treat" like nobody's business.
I trained Reggie with small food treats. Nothing opens his ears like little pieces of hot dog.
Feeding schedule: twice a day, once about seven in the morning, and again at six in the evening. Regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.
He's up on his shots. Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info. with yours; they'll make sure to send you reminders for when he's due. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car - I don't know how he knows when it's time to go to the vet, but he knows.
Finally, give him some time. I've never been married, so it's only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He's gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn't bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially.
Which means that this transition is going to be hard, with him going to live with someone new. And that's why I need to share one more bit of info with you....His name's not Reggie..
I don't know what made me do it, but when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them his name was Reggie. He's a smart dog, he'll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. But I just couldn't bear to give them his real name. For me to do that, it seemed so final, that handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting that I'd never see him again. And if I end up coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it means everything's fine. But if someone else is reading it, well it means that his new owner should know his real name. It'll help you bond with him. Who knows, maybe you'll even notice a change in his demeanor if he's been giving you problems.
His real name is Tank.
Because that is what I drive.
Again, if you're reading this and you're from the area, maybe my name has been on the news. I told the shelter that they couldn't make "Reggie" available for adoption until they
received word from my company commander. See, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could've left Tank with... and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq , that they make one phone call the shelter... in the "event"... to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he'd do it personally. And if you're reading this, then he made good on his word.
Well, this letter is getting to downright depressing, even though, frankly, I'm just writing it for my dog. I couldn't imagine if I was writing it for a wife and kids and family. but still, Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family.
And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me.
That unconditional love from a dog is what I took with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do something selfless, to protect innocent people from those who would do terrible things... and to keep those terrible people from coming over here. If I had to give up Tank in order to do it, I am glad to have done so. He was my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.
All right, that's enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. I don't think I'll say another good-bye to Tank, though. I cried too much the first time. Maybe I'll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.
Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.
Thank you, Paul Mallory
__________________________________
I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.
I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.
"Hey, Tank," I said quietly.
The dog's head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.
"C'mere boy."
He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn't heard in months.
"Tank," I whispered.
His tail swished.
I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him.
"It's me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me." Tank reached up and licked my cheek. "So whatdaya say we play some ball? His ears perked again. "Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?" Tank tore from my hands and disappeared in the next room. And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Monday Already? (And Manbug's Birthday*)
While the weekend was wonderful, today has me feeling a bit under the weather and the signs are telling me that I'm about to get sick. Really sick. But I'm hoping to ward it off with a some high dosages of vitamins - I have a hectic week at work and weekend trip to the in-law's farm planned, and I JUST CAN'T GET SICK RIGHT NOW. That being said, we had a wonderful weekend celebrating Manbug's birthday (oh, the asterisk in my title was a reminder to drop a foot-note that Manbug has requested that I stop calling him Manbug. You probably don't recall, but his "nickname" was based upon my FAVORITE commercial of all time from over a year ago - a commercial which seemingly doe not exist anywhere on the Internet). It was one of Jack-in-the-Box's more entertaining ads - where a cheesy lounge singer croons:
Fly to me my ladybug
That's you
In the misty morning.
I sang that jingle non-stop for days upon days and I drove my husband batshit crazy. When he finally asked, no, begged me to stop - I deemed him my Manbug...and he's over it. So, new item on "Things to Do" list - find Manbug a non-Manbuggy-like nickname. Suggestions are welcome!
Anyway, my beloved turned 37 on Sunday, and we started the celebration on Saturday morning with a decadent breakfast of cinnamon buns - the verdict "We should eat these for breakfast more often." Saturday night we went to Fogo de Chao for the official birthday dinner and to be honest - it was eh. I mean, good meat and it's what he wanted, but as far as fancy and fluff? Little to none. We intended on having an after-dinner drink but parking was a nightmare so we headed home to open a bottle of wine and I gave him his big gift:
He has a beautiful dressy watch that I gave him years ago for his 30th birthday, but he needed a more casual watch for working around the house, biking, wearing with jeans, etc. I looked at a lot of pics but as soon as I saw this one, I knew it would look tres sexy on his wrist.
After too little sleep, we awoke and I made some homemade egg mcmuffins and he opened the rest of his gifts in bed - he got two wonderful gardening books from his mom and dad and tons of money in gift cards to spend at Sears and Lowe's on stuff that I could care less about (unless it's a new washing machine which I doubt), a pair of slippers (don't hate - that man has the coldest feet EVER and he refuses to wear socks in the house). This is his first pair of "house shoes" in his lifetime, so he has officially crossed the bridge to "middle-aged." (By the way does anyone else call them that? I hate it!). But, his favorite gift was from Jack:
It included an "I'm sorry for chewing up your heirloom shotgun case given by your now-deceased grandfather card" (which was surprisingly hard to find in my local Hallmark store).
We planned our whole night around the biggest rivalry in our house - the NY Giants vs. the Dallas Cowboys except...well, they are playing tonight. So we made his favorite meal (Breakfast Tacos - a recipe from his mom that's not breakfasty at all. I think the name comes from the fact you use bacon and dip the tortillas in egg. I'll share it soon!), a birthday cake, and watched a movie. I considered the birthday cake a small victory because although I adhered to his request by purchasing Duncan Hines mix for the cake itself (he LOVES the yellow cake), I drew the line at using canned frosting and instead used my Kitchen Aid Artisan Mixer for the first time since we received it for our wedding (yes, we'll be married for four years in two month) to whip up a batch of this frosting instead. I bought the canned crap just in case, and while he picked my frosting, he did say they were "comparable." WHA?
The movie was called "Holy Rollers" instead - it was about a drug smuggler that uses Hasidic Jews (usually young ones) to smuggle Ecstasy pills from Amsterdam. Michael Cera may not know it, but he has a twin brother by another mother - the actor that played the lead looked exactly like him.
Oh, and the second-in-command smuggler was Justin Bartha - the groom from The Hangover. He was amazing! (Until a few moments ago I thought this film was made years ago - I had never heard of it. Imagine my shock that it was
I consider it a very successful weekend - he isn't planning on returning a single gift (SCORE!) and he loved his dinner and cake - so a lovely weekend over all.
Hope you all had fun too!
Fly to me my ladybug
That's you
In the misty morning.
I sang that jingle non-stop for days upon days and I drove my husband batshit crazy. When he finally asked, no, begged me to stop - I deemed him my Manbug...and he's over it. So, new item on "Things to Do" list - find Manbug a non-Manbuggy-like nickname. Suggestions are welcome!
Anyway, my beloved turned 37 on Sunday, and we started the celebration on Saturday morning with a decadent breakfast of cinnamon buns - the verdict "We should eat these for breakfast more often." Saturday night we went to Fogo de Chao for the official birthday dinner and to be honest - it was eh. I mean, good meat and it's what he wanted, but as far as fancy and fluff? Little to none. We intended on having an after-dinner drink but parking was a nightmare so we headed home to open a bottle of wine and I gave him his big gift:
After too little sleep, we awoke and I made some homemade egg mcmuffins and he opened the rest of his gifts in bed - he got two wonderful gardening books from his mom and dad and tons of money in gift cards to spend at Sears and Lowe's on stuff that I could care less about (unless it's a new washing machine which I doubt), a pair of slippers (don't hate - that man has the coldest feet EVER and he refuses to wear socks in the house). This is his first pair of "house shoes" in his lifetime, so he has officially crossed the bridge to "middle-aged." (By the way does anyone else call them that? I hate it!). But, his favorite gift was from Jack:
We planned our whole night around the biggest rivalry in our house - the NY Giants vs. the Dallas Cowboys except...well, they are playing tonight. So we made his favorite meal (Breakfast Tacos - a recipe from his mom that's not breakfasty at all. I think the name comes from the fact you use bacon and dip the tortillas in egg. I'll share it soon!), a birthday cake, and watched a movie. I considered the birthday cake a small victory because although I adhered to his request by purchasing Duncan Hines mix for the cake itself (he LOVES the yellow cake), I drew the line at using canned frosting and instead used my Kitchen Aid Artisan Mixer for the first time since we received it for our wedding (yes, we'll be married for four years in two month) to whip up a batch of this frosting instead. I bought the canned crap just in case, and while he picked my frosting, he did say they were "comparable." WHA?
The movie was called "Holy Rollers" instead - it was about a drug smuggler that uses Hasidic Jews (usually young ones) to smuggle Ecstasy pills from Amsterdam. Michael Cera may not know it, but he has a twin brother by another mother - the actor that played the lead looked exactly like him.
Oh, and the second-in-command smuggler was Justin Bartha - the groom from The Hangover. He was amazing! (Until a few moments ago I thought this film was made years ago - I had never heard of it. Imagine my shock that it was
I consider it a very successful weekend - he isn't planning on returning a single gift (SCORE!) and he loved his dinner and cake - so a lovely weekend over all.
Hope you all had fun too!
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
(Insert crunchy leaf noises here)
I'm headed back to my hometown for a quick visit to see my mom and attend some celebratory function at my childhood church. I'm so excited to wear boots and tights and sweaters and not look like an escapee from the "Seasonally Inappropriate Looney Bin."
For example, today I am wearing a lovely skirt that would look great with some tights and boots. But, our morning cool temperatures will end up in the high 80s this afternoon. Thus causing my toes to become very, very hot.
I love fall - I can't wait to see New Jersey at the prettiest time of year, even if I have a million things to do before I head out of town.
I'm hoping they'll be lots of this:
And this:
With a dash of this:
And some of this:
And hopefully NONE of this:
See ya' soon!
For example, today I am wearing a lovely skirt that would look great with some tights and boots. But, our morning cool temperatures will end up in the high 80s this afternoon. Thus causing my toes to become very, very hot.
I love fall - I can't wait to see New Jersey at the prettiest time of year, even if I have a million things to do before I head out of town.
I'm hoping they'll be lots of this:
Monday, October 4, 2010
Weekend Recap
I got a lot of items on my "things to do list" crossed-off this weekend - but not nearly as much as I had hoped. But all in all, it was a very good weekend.
I sacrificed the most beautiful day in about a year in order to get mucho paperwork done on Saturday. Yes, it would have been a better "life list" call to say f-it and just gallivant outside in the crisp fall weather, but the catching-up on filing, balancing of books and organization of tax materials (all for my husband's business) had been weighing heavily on me. So I sucked it up and hit the ground running. I got about 8/10s of the way through everything I wanted to accomplish - not bad? I kept the Red River Shootout on the TV in the background so that I "felt" like I was participating...but with a sad ending for UT, it didn't help much.
We had agreed to dog-sit our friends' older Chiuaua while they were out of town with their two younger dogs (the older dog has a hard time keeping up with the younguns') and WOW - Jack's reaction had me in stitches most of the weekend.
If you ever need something to do, I suggest you sit with a beer and watch two dogs duke it out over who gets to hump whom. And if there is a disproportionate difference in size of the two participants in Humpfestival 2010? All the better. I honestly laughed until I was crying - our once gentle Jack was just swiping his poor horny friend with one paw, sending him skidding across the room. Or, he would gently place Horny's small back leg in his mouth, drag him across the room and then Jack would return to a safe-haven, such as under my husband's desk, to get some peace. It was truly hysterical.
Saturday night we watched "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" - a movie we've both been meaning to see but it wasn't number one so it kept falling to the bottom of the Netflix list. Anyway, I was uncontrollably giggling through the whole move because early on - probably in the first or second scene - I determined that this was a complete cop-off of Forrest Gump. Also, I felt the need to explaing these similarities to my husband during each scene. So the conversation on our couch went something like this:
When they introduce the character of Daisy
Me: (whispering because my husband hates it when I talk during movies) That's Jenny (said in my best Forrest Gump-like accent)
__________________________________________________________
When a hummingbird flits around symbolically in many of the scenes
Me: (still trying to whisper) That's the feather.
(NB: I actually thought that it was a dragonfly until about five minutes ago when I was corrected. Whatevs - you say hummingbird, I say dragonfly).
__________________________________________________________
When Captain Mike is introduced into the story
Me: (yelling - but for effect since Forrest always yelled this name) THAT'S LIEUTENANT DAN!!
__________________________________________________________
When Benjamin is introduced to his family's business of buttons
Me: (whispering a bit louder) Those are shrimp.
__________________________________________________________
When the characters are discussing the bombing of Pearl Harbor
Me: That's the Vietnam War.
Him: You're not ever trying anymore.
__________________________________________________________
And then finally, when Daisy breaks her leg -
Me: (not whispering as effectively anymore since I've now had 4 Fireman's 4) That's AIDS.
Him: OKAY - I get it - it's Forrest Gump except for the whole aging backwards thing.
We both enjoyed the movie - especially the scenes where Brad Pitt is young and gorgeous (and by "we" I mean "me").
My husband always makes me laugh when he's exasperated with me.
Sunday marked what most have been a cold day in hell because....my husband went furniture shopping with me. WILLINGLY. Granted he hated the chair that I promised was the perfect combination of my desire for overstuffedness and his desire for uncomfortable wingback. He hated it.
But we bought him a desk. And a table for the hall. And a workbench for the garage. So, all in all a good day. Hope you had a good weekend.
I sacrificed the most beautiful day in about a year in order to get mucho paperwork done on Saturday. Yes, it would have been a better "life list" call to say f-it and just gallivant outside in the crisp fall weather, but the catching-up on filing, balancing of books and organization of tax materials (all for my husband's business) had been weighing heavily on me. So I sucked it up and hit the ground running. I got about 8/10s of the way through everything I wanted to accomplish - not bad? I kept the Red River Shootout on the TV in the background so that I "felt" like I was participating...but with a sad ending for UT, it didn't help much.
We had agreed to dog-sit our friends' older Chiuaua while they were out of town with their two younger dogs (the older dog has a hard time keeping up with the younguns') and WOW - Jack's reaction had me in stitches most of the weekend.
If you ever need something to do, I suggest you sit with a beer and watch two dogs duke it out over who gets to hump whom. And if there is a disproportionate difference in size of the two participants in Humpfestival 2010? All the better. I honestly laughed until I was crying - our once gentle Jack was just swiping his poor horny friend with one paw, sending him skidding across the room. Or, he would gently place Horny's small back leg in his mouth, drag him across the room and then Jack would return to a safe-haven, such as under my husband's desk, to get some peace. It was truly hysterical.
Saturday night we watched "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" - a movie we've both been meaning to see but it wasn't number one so it kept falling to the bottom of the Netflix list. Anyway, I was uncontrollably giggling through the whole move because early on - probably in the first or second scene - I determined that this was a complete cop-off of Forrest Gump. Also, I felt the need to explaing these similarities to my husband during each scene. So the conversation on our couch went something like this:
When they introduce the character of Daisy
Me: (whispering because my husband hates it when I talk during movies) That's Jenny (said in my best Forrest Gump-like accent)
__________________________________________________________
When a hummingbird flits around symbolically in many of the scenes
Me: (still trying to whisper) That's the feather.
(NB: I actually thought that it was a dragonfly until about five minutes ago when I was corrected. Whatevs - you say hummingbird, I say dragonfly).
__________________________________________________________
When Captain Mike is introduced into the story
Me: (yelling - but for effect since Forrest always yelled this name) THAT'S LIEUTENANT DAN!!
__________________________________________________________
When Benjamin is introduced to his family's business of buttons
Me: (whispering a bit louder) Those are shrimp.
__________________________________________________________
When the characters are discussing the bombing of Pearl Harbor
Me: That's the Vietnam War.
Him: You're not ever trying anymore.
__________________________________________________________
And then finally, when Daisy breaks her leg -
Me: (not whispering as effectively anymore since I've now had 4 Fireman's 4) That's AIDS.
Him: OKAY - I get it - it's Forrest Gump except for the whole aging backwards thing.
We both enjoyed the movie - especially the scenes where Brad Pitt is young and gorgeous (and by "we" I mean "me").
My husband always makes me laugh when he's exasperated with me.
Sunday marked what most have been a cold day in hell because....my husband went furniture shopping with me. WILLINGLY. Granted he hated the chair that I promised was the perfect combination of my desire for overstuffedness and his desire for uncomfortable wingback. He hated it.
But we bought him a desk. And a table for the hall. And a workbench for the garage. So, all in all a good day. Hope you had a good weekend.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Jiminy!!
When someone says the word cricket, you're more likely to think of the mellifluous sound that woos you to sleepon summer nights, an anthem of the season. You might even recall a harmless light-green arthropod dressed in a blue top hat holding a red umbrella from your childhood.
But anyone who has ventured to Texas during the summer will tell you that we have plenty of crickets. And they are of the "not-so-attractive" kind.
They are EVERYWHERE. It's normal to see them indoors and outdoors - but they grow especially prevalent when the weather is wet and soggy.
And the weather has been very wet and soggy this summer.
I'm not a huge fan, but since I've been living in Texas for ten years now, I've managed to downgrade my panic upon spying one from an "OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD" to a "Gross."
So imagine my surprise when this somewhat harmless but nausea-inducing insect caused the demise of my marriage.
She: I hate it when Jack's inside and sniffs at the same place for a while. He always freaks me out like there's something there I don't know about.
He: He was doing that the other day around the TV stand.
She: That's where he was doing it today too.
(He and She begin to ponder the significance of those statements taken in tandem. Both venture into the TV room and place TV on mute. Slight chirping is heard in the background. He walks around the back of the TV....)
He: There's definitely something there...I can hear it....OH MY GOD, get me the flashlight first and the vacuum second. NOW!
(She hands him the flashlight and runs off the get the vacuum. Meanwhile, Jack hightails it out of the TV room and seeks refuge two rooms away. Under a desk. And behind a chair).
He: It's HUGE!
(She is now panicking - believing that we moved from a possible cricket-infiltration, to the more-dreaded cockroach).
He: Ok. Go ahead.
She: ????? (head tilted for effect).
He: I'm holding the light - you can't expect me to hold the light AND suck it up.
She: BUT I'M A GIRL!!
He: It's every one for themselves in situations like this.
She: Situations like this? It's a bug! What the hell are you talking about? You're willing to throw me to the wolves over a bug? I thought we were in this together! WHAT ABOUT OUR VOWS.....
He: Wait, it is a cricket - I don't like to kill them.
She: Your argument for life preservation is seriously undermined by your lack of testicles in this situation.
(At this point, the cricket displays one of its common characteristics - a characteristic unbeknownst to the flashlight-holder and the vacuum-holder: sensitivity to light. Thus, it leaps about four feet in the air towards the light source).
He and She: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Jack is now on the phone contacting the shelter he was adopted from and requesting a home without two pussies as owners).
She: You are seriously cutting into my "Bones" watching time...how about I empty the cannister, suck little Jiminy up into a clean canister, and then you can release him outside - he'll be fine.
He: I'm holding the light. I can't do both
She: #$%^&*(()&*&^%$$##@@$#$%%^&&*))^%#@!!!!!!
You will all be happy to know that I grew a set big enough for both of us, caught and released little Jiminy and even ran over his body with the corner of a paper towel to make sure the dust from the vacuum didn't hurt him.
He: Is he okay?
She:
But anyone who has ventured to Texas during the summer will tell you that we have plenty of crickets. And they are of the "not-so-attractive" kind.
They are EVERYWHERE. It's normal to see them indoors and outdoors - but they grow especially prevalent when the weather is wet and soggy.
And the weather has been very wet and soggy this summer.
I'm not a huge fan, but since I've been living in Texas for ten years now, I've managed to downgrade my panic upon spying one from an "OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD" to a "Gross."
So imagine my surprise when this somewhat harmless but nausea-inducing insect caused the demise of my marriage.
She: I hate it when Jack's inside and sniffs at the same place for a while. He always freaks me out like there's something there I don't know about.
He: He was doing that the other day around the TV stand.
She: That's where he was doing it today too.
(He and She begin to ponder the significance of those statements taken in tandem. Both venture into the TV room and place TV on mute. Slight chirping is heard in the background. He walks around the back of the TV....)
He: There's definitely something there...I can hear it....OH MY GOD, get me the flashlight first and the vacuum second. NOW!
(She hands him the flashlight and runs off the get the vacuum. Meanwhile, Jack hightails it out of the TV room and seeks refuge two rooms away. Under a desk. And behind a chair).
He: It's HUGE!
(She is now panicking - believing that we moved from a possible cricket-infiltration, to the more-dreaded cockroach).
He: Ok. Go ahead.
She: ????? (head tilted for effect).
He: I'm holding the light - you can't expect me to hold the light AND suck it up.
She: BUT I'M A GIRL!!
He: It's every one for themselves in situations like this.
She: Situations like this? It's a bug! What the hell are you talking about? You're willing to throw me to the wolves over a bug? I thought we were in this together! WHAT ABOUT OUR VOWS.....
He: Wait, it is a cricket - I don't like to kill them.
She: Your argument for life preservation is seriously undermined by your lack of testicles in this situation.
(At this point, the cricket displays one of its common characteristics - a characteristic unbeknownst to the flashlight-holder and the vacuum-holder: sensitivity to light. Thus, it leaps about four feet in the air towards the light source).
He and She: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Jack is now on the phone contacting the shelter he was adopted from and requesting a home without two pussies as owners).
She: You are seriously cutting into my "Bones" watching time...how about I empty the cannister, suck little Jiminy up into a clean canister, and then you can release him outside - he'll be fine.
He: I'm holding the light. I can't do both
She: #$%^&*(()&*&^%$$##@@$#$%%^&&*))^%#@!!!!!!
You will all be happy to know that I grew a set big enough for both of us, caught and released little Jiminy and even ran over his body with the corner of a paper towel to make sure the dust from the vacuum didn't hurt him.
He: Is he okay?
She:
Monday, September 20, 2010
New York is a sucked orange.**
Now that she's retired and living by herself, my mom volunteers two days a week at an out-patient surgical center that is affiliated with the local hospital in my hometown. She acts as a patient liaison of sorts - between the doctors and the patients' families - she holds hands, she brings coffee, she entertains scared children. Essentially, it's a perfect "job" for her.
The best part of her job, however, are the stories. Good gosh, she has some doozies. But the one that she related to me today had me laughing out loud.
Apparently there were two women waiting for their mother to come out of surgery. When the time came when a guest could go back to the post-surgical area, an argument arose because only one person was allowed. Words were said, voices raised, etc. In other words, the patients' family was less than appreciative of my mother's role.
She handled the whole thing as she always does - with grace and a few well placed insults. After all had calmed down, an older man approached my mom and tried to comfort her:
Him: I just want you to know that I think you are a wonderful lady and you made my time here today much less stressful. Thank you.
Mom: You are so welcome.
Him: I heard the way those girls spoke to you, and I felt so bad. I wanted to let you know that I appreciated everything you did today.
Mom: That was sweet of you - but I'm fine.
Him: They were very fresh to you. Young women shouldn't act like that. Do you think....
Mom: ???
Him: Do you think they were...(whispering)...from New York?
THE HORROR!!!!
The best part, my mom was born and raised in New York herself.
**Ralph Waldo Emerson
The best part of her job, however, are the stories. Good gosh, she has some doozies. But the one that she related to me today had me laughing out loud.
Apparently there were two women waiting for their mother to come out of surgery. When the time came when a guest could go back to the post-surgical area, an argument arose because only one person was allowed. Words were said, voices raised, etc. In other words, the patients' family was less than appreciative of my mother's role.
She handled the whole thing as she always does - with grace and a few well placed insults. After all had calmed down, an older man approached my mom and tried to comfort her:
Him: I just want you to know that I think you are a wonderful lady and you made my time here today much less stressful. Thank you.
Mom: You are so welcome.
Him: I heard the way those girls spoke to you, and I felt so bad. I wanted to let you know that I appreciated everything you did today.
Mom: That was sweet of you - but I'm fine.
Him: They were very fresh to you. Young women shouldn't act like that. Do you think....
Mom: ???
Him: Do you think they were...(whispering)...from New York?
THE HORROR!!!!
The best part, my mom was born and raised in New York herself.
**Ralph Waldo Emerson
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Been About Three Years Today, Guess It's Time for Me To Run Away
I'm not sure I can say it more eloquently than I did here, here or here - so if you have the time, please click through and read about a very special man - my dad. Three years ago today we lost him and it hasn't got much easier. Well, that's not true - I don't cry every day - but sometimes the pain takes me by such surprise that I have to catch my breath to make sure my heart is not literally breaking.
He was an amazing man.
He was loving and devout and respected. He was the kind of man that everyone loved - and everyone told me how lucky I was to have him as a dad. And the great thing? Was that I knew it at the time. I appreciated him while he was alive and for that I'm thankful. I have no regrets.
Well, I have one big one and that's that I wasn't there when he died. But I can't change that. So in the meantime, enjoy the lyrics to the song that accompanied us when my dad first taught me how to dance - I remember the black velvet dress and matching hair band that I was wearing as my mary janes rested upon his feet - it also gave rise to the name of this blog, and was rejected summarily by my mom and wedding planner as a father/daughter dance at my wedding!
Tied Up With a Black Velvet Band
Well, in a neat little town they call Belfast, apprentice to trade I was bound
Many an hours sweet happiness, have I spent in that neat little town
A sad misfortune came over me, which caused me to stray from the land
Far away from my friends and relations, betrayed by the black velvet band
Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair it hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band
I took a stroll down Broadway, meaning not long for to stay
When who should I meet but this pretty fair maid comes a tripping along the highway
She was both fair and handsome, her neck it was just like a swans
And her hair it hung over her shoulder, tied up with a black velvet band
Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair it hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band
I took a stroll with this pretty fair maid, and a gentleman passing us by
Well I knew she meant the doing of him, by the look in her roguish black eye
A gold watch she took from his pocket and placed it right in to my hand
And the very first thing that I said was bad luck to the black velvet band
Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair it hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band
Before the judge and the jury, next morning I had to appear
The judge he says to me: "Young man, your case it is proven clear
We'll give you seven years penal servitude, to be spent faraway from the land
Far away from your friends and companions, betrayed by the black velvet band"
Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair it hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band
So come all you jolly young fellows a warning take by me
When you are out on the town me lads, beware of them pretty colleens
For they feed you with strong drink, "Oh yeah", 'til you are unable to stand
And the very next thing that you'll know is you've landed in Van Diemens Land
Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair it hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band
He was an amazing man.
He was loving and devout and respected. He was the kind of man that everyone loved - and everyone told me how lucky I was to have him as a dad. And the great thing? Was that I knew it at the time. I appreciated him while he was alive and for that I'm thankful. I have no regrets.
Well, I have one big one and that's that I wasn't there when he died. But I can't change that. So in the meantime, enjoy the lyrics to the song that accompanied us when my dad first taught me how to dance - I remember the black velvet dress and matching hair band that I was wearing as my mary janes rested upon his feet - it also gave rise to the name of this blog, and was rejected summarily by my mom and wedding planner as a father/daughter dance at my wedding!
Tied Up With a Black Velvet Band
Well, in a neat little town they call Belfast, apprentice to trade I was bound
Many an hours sweet happiness, have I spent in that neat little town
A sad misfortune came over me, which caused me to stray from the land
Far away from my friends and relations, betrayed by the black velvet band
Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair it hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band
I took a stroll down Broadway, meaning not long for to stay
When who should I meet but this pretty fair maid comes a tripping along the highway
She was both fair and handsome, her neck it was just like a swans
And her hair it hung over her shoulder, tied up with a black velvet band
Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair it hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band
I took a stroll with this pretty fair maid, and a gentleman passing us by
Well I knew she meant the doing of him, by the look in her roguish black eye
A gold watch she took from his pocket and placed it right in to my hand
And the very first thing that I said was bad luck to the black velvet band
Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair it hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band
Before the judge and the jury, next morning I had to appear
The judge he says to me: "Young man, your case it is proven clear
We'll give you seven years penal servitude, to be spent faraway from the land
Far away from your friends and companions, betrayed by the black velvet band"
Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair it hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band
So come all you jolly young fellows a warning take by me
When you are out on the town me lads, beware of them pretty colleens
For they feed you with strong drink, "Oh yeah", 'til you are unable to stand
And the very next thing that you'll know is you've landed in Van Diemens Land
Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair it hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Zip-A-Dee-Do-Dah
I mentioned previously that I did something I swore I would never do. Also, something I had absolutely no interest in doing. Also, something I was terrified to do.
But I decided to push the levels of my comfort zone and while I'm not thrilled with the results, I'm glad I didn't chicken out. We had some good friends visit from Dallas and at their suggestion, because trust me, I would NEVER suggest this, we went zip-lining.
Because it seems totally logical to test God's willingness to keep you on this planet once you've made it safely past 40 years by allowing a 20-something to strap you into a harness that has been used by hundreds of other people, hook you up to a piece of twine 40 feet in the air, and then propel you across a ravine (with a viewable poisonous snake below) where the only thing saving you from slamming face first into a tree is the four minutes of training you learned at "ground school."
Oh, and did I mention that the location of said deathiness (yes, it was necessary to make up a word) was over an hour away from our house and our "appointment" was at 9:00 a.m.?
And that I was exhausted from a crazy week at work that involved TWO days trips to Dallas and Houston - the latter the day before said "exercise in tempting fate"?
So I was probably a little biased before we left, but given that I tried it - I can give it a resounding 3 craw fish rating.
You see, I have a list of things that I like to refer to as crawfish hobbies. It means an activity in which the effort does not equal the reward. If you have ever attended a craw fish boil, or just eaten craw fish, you know of what I speak. In other words, you spend a long time working at something, only to end up with a microscopic speck of meat that doesn't even taste that good.
Let me elaborate - take skiing. You spent hours getting dressed - you add layer upon layer - from your special underwear to your socks to your ski pants and sweater and then finally a jacket, hat, gloves and goggle. You then toddle to the slope looking like a bloated inchworm and walking like you have a cold cucumber up your butt, all the while predictably sweating under the 1,567 layers meant for your protection. You then go to the ski shop, wait in line, try on equipment - hell, buckling your boots takes 45 minutes alone because of the fabric beer-belly that prevents you from bending over or even seeing your toes. Then, you're ready. Oh wait, no you're not - you have to inchworm-toddle to the lift line, wait your turn, and ride up the mountain.
Then, you ski. And it's over in a fraction of the time it took to get there. Craw fish hobby.
Ziplining is quite the same idea. You spend a lot of time waiting, and only a fraction of the time ziplining (is that word?). Like this:
Oh, and the equiment? MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE THE BIGGEST TOOL EVER.
My husband had tears streaming down his face when he looked at his best friend and realized that they both looked like idiots. Let's just say that the harness that is a required part of the process affects those with external genetalia a bit differently than those of us that don't have such extremities.
In other words, the harness makes you look like you have shelf coming out of your nether-regions. Add to that the helmet that creates the illusion that you are a giant-ill-dressed pencil...and well, there you have it.
Was it fun? Yes. What I do it again? Yes, but only beause I discovered (too late) that there is a winery down the road.
So it gets a resounding "craw fish" from me.
But I decided to push the levels of my comfort zone and while I'm not thrilled with the results, I'm glad I didn't chicken out. We had some good friends visit from Dallas and at their suggestion, because trust me, I would NEVER suggest this, we went zip-lining.
Because it seems totally logical to test God's willingness to keep you on this planet once you've made it safely past 40 years by allowing a 20-something to strap you into a harness that has been used by hundreds of other people, hook you up to a piece of twine 40 feet in the air, and then propel you across a ravine (with a viewable poisonous snake below) where the only thing saving you from slamming face first into a tree is the four minutes of training you learned at "ground school."
Oh, and did I mention that the location of said deathiness (yes, it was necessary to make up a word) was over an hour away from our house and our "appointment" was at 9:00 a.m.?
And that I was exhausted from a crazy week at work that involved TWO days trips to Dallas and Houston - the latter the day before said "exercise in tempting fate"?
So I was probably a little biased before we left, but given that I tried it - I can give it a resounding 3 craw fish rating.
You see, I have a list of things that I like to refer to as crawfish hobbies. It means an activity in which the effort does not equal the reward. If you have ever attended a craw fish boil, or just eaten craw fish, you know of what I speak. In other words, you spend a long time working at something, only to end up with a microscopic speck of meat that doesn't even taste that good.
Let me elaborate - take skiing. You spent hours getting dressed - you add layer upon layer - from your special underwear to your socks to your ski pants and sweater and then finally a jacket, hat, gloves and goggle. You then toddle to the slope looking like a bloated inchworm and walking like you have a cold cucumber up your butt, all the while predictably sweating under the 1,567 layers meant for your protection. You then go to the ski shop, wait in line, try on equipment - hell, buckling your boots takes 45 minutes alone because of the fabric beer-belly that prevents you from bending over or even seeing your toes. Then, you're ready. Oh wait, no you're not - you have to inchworm-toddle to the lift line, wait your turn, and ride up the mountain.
Then, you ski. And it's over in a fraction of the time it took to get there. Craw fish hobby.
Ziplining is quite the same idea. You spend a lot of time waiting, and only a fraction of the time ziplining (is that word?). Like this:
Oh, and the equiment? MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE THE BIGGEST TOOL EVER.
My husband had tears streaming down his face when he looked at his best friend and realized that they both looked like idiots. Let's just say that the harness that is a required part of the process affects those with external genetalia a bit differently than those of us that don't have such extremities.
In other words, the harness makes you look like you have shelf coming out of your nether-regions. Add to that the helmet that creates the illusion that you are a giant-ill-dressed pencil...and well, there you have it.
Was it fun? Yes. What I do it again? Yes, but only beause I discovered (too late) that there is a winery down the road.
So it gets a resounding "craw fish" from me.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
The Kind of Snake You Don't Want to Receive in a Text from your Husband
I owe y'all a long explanation/story about the weekend I spent dangling forty-feet in the air while wearing a helmet and harness that made me look like a tool, but work is a bit crazy - so let me tie you over with a little story.
The story begins with a girl who had to awaken three times in one week prior to 5:00 a.m. in order to take a stress-filled trips for work. This particular day, the girl was heading to and from Houston for a few hours and had to entertain out-of-town guests for the weekend beginning that same evening. Guests that would surely arrive at her house while she was still sweating like a pig in an un-air-conditioned warehouse. Because of her travels, she had to rely upon her husband, and her cleaning lady, to get the joint in shape. Cleaning lady was assigned to the inside. Husband was assigned to the outside.
Imagine her surprise when she received a text from her husband entitled "Look What Jack Found" attaching the following picture (by the way, can we please give my damn dog a break? That poor thing has had the equivalent of 1800 nervous breakdowns in the past few weeks, including a recent piddle-inducing encounter with a nail gun):
I know it's hard to see because of the shading over the garden, but trust me - THERE IS A HUGE ASS SNAKE THERE.
Unfortunately, the snake had become entrapped in our netting (netting meant to keep the squirrels away but nonetheless has captured (1) a household pet, (2) a freaky caterpillar the size of my fist and now (3) a snake. It has yet to show us, however, that it is effective at keeping the damn squirrels away!).
The snake was hopelessly trapped - that fact, coupled with a not-so-reliable diagnosis from my father-in-law that "it didn't sound poisonous" (really? sound? You don't want to know, I don't know, what it looks like?) made it obvious that the little guy had to be put out of his misery.
Don't get me wrong - I don't like snakes - AT ALL - I just don't like killing anything. Especially when we are essentially living in his habitat.
Oh - totally unrelated, remind me to post a picture of my new snakeskin bag.
Just kidding.
Hissssssssss.
The story begins with a girl who had to awaken three times in one week prior to 5:00 a.m. in order to take a stress-filled trips for work. This particular day, the girl was heading to and from Houston for a few hours and had to entertain out-of-town guests for the weekend beginning that same evening. Guests that would surely arrive at her house while she was still sweating like a pig in an un-air-conditioned warehouse. Because of her travels, she had to rely upon her husband, and her cleaning lady, to get the joint in shape. Cleaning lady was assigned to the inside. Husband was assigned to the outside.
Imagine her surprise when she received a text from her husband entitled "Look What Jack Found" attaching the following picture (by the way, can we please give my damn dog a break? That poor thing has had the equivalent of 1800 nervous breakdowns in the past few weeks, including a recent piddle-inducing encounter with a nail gun):
Unfortunately, the snake had become entrapped in our netting (netting meant to keep the squirrels away but nonetheless has captured (1) a household pet, (2) a freaky caterpillar the size of my fist and now (3) a snake. It has yet to show us, however, that it is effective at keeping the damn squirrels away!).
The snake was hopelessly trapped - that fact, coupled with a not-so-reliable diagnosis from my father-in-law that "it didn't sound poisonous" (really? sound? You don't want to know, I don't know, what it looks like?) made it obvious that the little guy had to be put out of his misery.
Don't get me wrong - I don't like snakes - AT ALL - I just don't like killing anything. Especially when we are essentially living in his habitat.
Oh - totally unrelated, remind me to post a picture of my new snakeskin bag.
Just kidding.
Hissssssssss.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
New Blog Header by Kramey Martin
Just wanted to give a shout-out to the wonderfull talented Kramey Martin for my GORGEOUS new blog header! If you are thinking about a facelift or redesign, drop her a line. So talented!
If you are in Reader, click on out and take a gander at her work. Thanks!
If you are in Reader, click on out and take a gander at her work. Thanks!
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Jack Had a Ruff Weekend
No - I'm not above stupid puns. Obviously.
Jack woke me up at 6:00 a.m. on Saturday to be let out. I dutifully opened the door and then debated watching over him (as I usually do ever since he Houdini-ed out of yard), or sneaking back to bed for 20 minutes while he sniffed and pondered and licked his own penis. I decided to sneak back to bed and my snugly husband.
At 6:25 a.m. I got out of bed again, opened the door to our patio and whistled. You see, Jack always comes running when I whistle.
(Also, I can whistle pretty well - my husband, not so much. When Allen attempts to retrieve Jack from the yard with a whistle, I will literally come from wherever I am in the house in order to stop the loud slow leaking air noise
that my husband calls a whistle).
Anyway, I whistled - he didn't come. I called his name - he didn't come. I yelled "come" - he didn't come. I started to panic since I was slowly realizing I couldn't see him anywhere either (I mean, our yard is big, but it's not like Yellowstone-Park-we-lost-our-dog big). I threw on my Wellies (which I keep by the back door just for this purpose) (and which by the way, do not go very well with purple pajama bottoms) and ran out to the yard. I heard some flailing noises to my right and lo and behold, there was Jack....
Trapped underneath the anti-squirrel netting that we were forced to put over our tomato plants SINCE WE HAVE YET TO EAT ONE FREAKING TOMATO FROM OUR OWN GARDEN THANK YOU VERY MUCH F-ING SQUIRRELS. Ahem.
Anyway, he was stuck. And he looked pathetic and scared. And although I love him oh-so much, I broke down and starting laughing maniacally. It took a good ten minutes to get him out of that damn netting - it's hard to untangle a flailing puppy. But even as I sit here, three days later, I still have tears in my eyes from laughing at the vision in my head.
(Although I was TERRIBLY tempted to run back in the house and grab my camera - I decided that such actions were not kind and terribly inhumane of me. In retrospect, I should have. You'd be peeing in your pants right now instead of reading this pathetic commentary).
So I tried to cheer him up and I promised him great fun at the local dog park. Dogs! Butt-sniffing! Peeing! Lukewarm water with other dogs' saliva! What's not to love?
We loaded up the truck and headed over there - I could tell he was getting excited and the cheer-up factor was working. Until we arrived....
There were NO other dogs at the park. Dog park fail. Dog momma fail. I felt horrible. I immediately texted my husband who was at a store procuring some garden-related accouterments and he responded (rather quickly for him) "Bring him home." I could hear the protectiveness in his "voice" and I was touched. So we headed home and those two played in the yard for a few hours to make up for the dog park fiasco. I even let Jack sniff my butt while I was cooking dinner so that he felt better.
Then Monday came - and after I let Jack back in the house after his morning pee, I noticed that his eye was swollen. Turn out he got bit/stung by something in our yard and doggone it - he's decided that he's had enough! (Benadryl seemed to work and he's on the mend).
I mean, how much can one dog take I ask you?
Jack woke me up at 6:00 a.m. on Saturday to be let out. I dutifully opened the door and then debated watching over him (as I usually do ever since he Houdini-ed out of yard), or sneaking back to bed for 20 minutes while he sniffed and pondered and licked his own penis. I decided to sneak back to bed and my snugly husband.
At 6:25 a.m. I got out of bed again, opened the door to our patio and whistled. You see, Jack always comes running when I whistle.
(Also, I can whistle pretty well - my husband, not so much. When Allen attempts to retrieve Jack from the yard with a whistle, I will literally come from wherever I am in the house in order to stop the loud slow leaking air noise
that my husband calls a whistle).
Anyway, I whistled - he didn't come. I called his name - he didn't come. I yelled "come" - he didn't come. I started to panic since I was slowly realizing I couldn't see him anywhere either (I mean, our yard is big, but it's not like Yellowstone-Park-we-lost-our-dog big). I threw on my Wellies (which I keep by the back door just for this purpose) (and which by the way, do not go very well with purple pajama bottoms) and ran out to the yard. I heard some flailing noises to my right and lo and behold, there was Jack....
Trapped underneath the anti-squirrel netting that we were forced to put over our tomato plants SINCE WE HAVE YET TO EAT ONE FREAKING TOMATO FROM OUR OWN GARDEN THANK YOU VERY MUCH F-ING SQUIRRELS. Ahem.
Anyway, he was stuck. And he looked pathetic and scared. And although I love him oh-so much, I broke down and starting laughing maniacally. It took a good ten minutes to get him out of that damn netting - it's hard to untangle a flailing puppy. But even as I sit here, three days later, I still have tears in my eyes from laughing at the vision in my head.
(Although I was TERRIBLY tempted to run back in the house and grab my camera - I decided that such actions were not kind and terribly inhumane of me. In retrospect, I should have. You'd be peeing in your pants right now instead of reading this pathetic commentary).
So I tried to cheer him up and I promised him great fun at the local dog park. Dogs! Butt-sniffing! Peeing! Lukewarm water with other dogs' saliva! What's not to love?
We loaded up the truck and headed over there - I could tell he was getting excited and the cheer-up factor was working. Until we arrived....
There were NO other dogs at the park. Dog park fail. Dog momma fail. I felt horrible. I immediately texted my husband who was at a store procuring some garden-related accouterments and he responded (rather quickly for him) "Bring him home." I could hear the protectiveness in his "voice" and I was touched. So we headed home and those two played in the yard for a few hours to make up for the dog park fiasco. I even let Jack sniff my butt while I was cooking dinner so that he felt better.
Then Monday came - and after I let Jack back in the house after his morning pee, I noticed that his eye was swollen. Turn out he got bit/stung by something in our yard and doggone it - he's decided that he's had enough! (Benadryl seemed to work and he's on the mend).
I mean, how much can one dog take I ask you?
Saturday, June 26, 2010
One Year Later
Today marks one year since we lost our beloved pet - I went back into my archives to read the post that I wrote last year, and even though it brought tears to my eyes, it made me laugh at the same time. It was so sad to lose him, but I'm so glad I recorded our memories. So, in honor of our little pup - I'm reposting.
THINGS I LOVED ABOUT MURPHY
I loved that you never quite got the hang of how to wag your tail. Instead, it just sort of swayed from side to side in a wavy S form.
I loved that despite your lack of wagging skills, we always knew when you were happy.
I loved that you couldn't lick very well either - you would aim for my cheek, but always end up somewhere around my nose and forehead.
I loved that despite the fact you were badly abused before I adopted you, you trusted anyone that I introduced you to - you just assumed they were good people if I exposed you to them.
I loved the spot between your two ears. It was the softest thing that I've ever felt and if I could make it into a pillow, I would.
I loved the way you used to let your dad hug all over you, even though you may have been somewhat apprehensive at first.
I loved that you had two spots in the house that were yours and yours alone. The tile in front of the fireplace, and the corner of our bedroom near the closet. I still look at those two spots and my heart aches.I loved that no matter what time it was, if I headed to bed, you followed and laid near me in your spot.
I loved the way you used to get caught up in the curtains, fireplace instruments, and/or TV cabinet if we called your name while you were lying down. You were so anxious to get up and come to us, you often got tangled up.
I loved how you answered to any of the crazy names we gave you - such as Fuzzy, Fuzzbucket, Fatty, Fuzzacious M.
I loved the look that came over your face when your heard your dad's voice.
I loved that he was your dad and always will be, even though I adopted you over a year before I even started dating him.
I loved the way your ran - a bit bow-legged, and with your chubby thighs likely rubbing together.
I loved the reactions that you would evoke from passers-by. My favorite? "What the fuck is that - a bear cub?" Yes, we're walking a bear cub on a plaid leash, for the win.
I loved the way that you would come running into the room whenever you dad and I decided to "show our affection" to each other. And then you would stand there watching. And we would end up cracking up. But we never missed the romance - laughter was enough.
I loved the way you would take a running start into your dog bed and then leap into the air and land with a huge "poof."
I loved the way you listened to me even though you had no idea what I was talking about sometimes.
I loved the way you would come up and try to cuddle with your dad if you heard us raising our voices with each other.
I loved the way you would sniff a piece of food for about 15 minutes if we offered it to you. Like you were some sort of "Top Chef" apprentice.
I loved the way you walked around with a piece of turkey on your head forever after you dad threw it to you with bad aim. And when we laughed at you? You looked like you were laughing right along.
I loved how you trusted me with your life. Even when I made you sit in an 1/8th of snow in Dallas so that I could get your reaction in a photograph.
I loved the way you dreamed. The little barks you would emit, and the way your paws would move? I often wondered if you were following your herding destiny in your dreams - even though you were more than happy to give that up to be wit us.I loved the way you tried to get our friends' cat to like you. And he did - down deep - he was just afraid to show it.
I loved the way you went ballistic the first time I took you to a dog park in Austin.
I loved that you were probably gay in that you only showed interest in other male dogs. We were proud of you any which way you ran.
I loved your nose and the way it would twitch a mile a minute when you were outside!
I loved the way you loved your "sister" Riley - she misses you terribly. I loved the way you changed our lives. Even in your passing. You dad and I miss you, but finally feel ready to discuss the possibility of loving another type of little one in our lives. And I've even considered your dad's proposition that our child use the middle name Murphy.
We loved you Fuzzy. I hope you still know that. Murphy - RIP - 06/26/2009.
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